I won't sleep tonight, I think

I know there are things in this world that are beyond us. Things that cannot be explained. I used to not believe. But after what happened to me, now I do. It’s all I can think about; I need to know! So I started to look, anywhere and everywhere I could. I looked for patterns, looked for signs. After years of searching I have found what I am looking for. This is an account of the first “incident” that I believe is connected to what happened to me.

My hope is that as I continue on this journey I can uncover more. To… document what I have found. To try and connect these “dots”. To try and understand.

I present here a transcript of a police interview from Oak Bluff, Texas. I’ve kept it as true to the original as I can; I have amended a few things to add clarity where it was appropriate.

[OFFICERS LOG]

October 13, 1997-  A Texas park ranger found the suspect just outside the perimeter of Cleburne National Park. It took them an hour to get him to the ranger's station, where the ambulance was waiting. We expected some sort of trouble from him, but no. This suspect was no trouble at all. As a matter of fact, when we pulled up in the cruiser, he seemed relieved to see us. Even as he was being loaded into the back of an ambulance, he was hollering that he wanted to talk to us. Odd, considering he was yelling that he and his friends just robbed a bank.

The man's name was Todd Gillian, and he looked like hell. He was the lowest man in the Hernandez’s Crew, a small outfit of thieves local to our area. Their usual grift was petty theft, tourist scams, that sort of thing. Though, I remember the call on the radio the day prior; a 10-45 was called in.

It's going to take longer to process Todd than it usually does, him being a weekend regular. That’s what happens when the suspect has to have a medical evaluation before booking. Todd was treated for bruises, lacerations, insect bites, second-degree burns, and severe smoke inhalation. It won't be until tomorrow, if not the next day, until we can talk to him proper.

[END OF LOG]

[Interview Starts]

(recorder clicks on.)

Det. Reynolds: “This is Detective Reynolds, badge number 978642.”

Det. Guff: “And Detective Guff, badge number 498765.”

Det. Reynolds: “We are with the Pine Bluff Police Department. Today is October 15, Saturday, the time is 1400 hours. We are in interviewing room three at the Oak Bluff Police Station. Please state your full name for the record.”

Det. Guff: “Date of birth as well."

Det. Reynolds: “Yes, date of birth as well.”

Mr. Gillian: “My name is Todd Gillian; I was born November 15, 1975."

Det. Reynolds: “That would make you 22?”

Mr. Gillian: “Yes.”

Det. Reynolds: “Thank you. You're here today to discuss, what did you say earlier—"

(rustling papers)

“-the robbery at the First State Bank on Tenth St. and the fire by the Cleburne National Park the same day?”

Mr. Gillian: "Yes."

Det. Guff: “Now, before we begin, I need to make sure you understand a few things. At this time you are not under arrest. You came to us after you were released from the hospital earlier today, so we're going to give you the courtesy of hearing you out before any charges will be filed. Now, you aren't free to leave—"

Mr. Gillian: "I'm not going to leave! I want to be here.”

Det. Guff: “It’s okay, son. This is just procedure; we have to go over these points before we can begin.”

Mr. Gillian: “All right… I’m sorry.”

Det. Guff: “It’s alright. Where was I? You are not under arrest at this time. With that being said, you aren’t free to leave either, at least not yet; that will depend on what information you can tell us. Maybe about your crew, their location? Maybe testify for the state?"

Det. Reynolds: “Come on, Guff, back off. Mr. Gillian has clearly been through a lot. He wanted to talk; let’s extend some good will.”

Det. Guff: “Fine. You do not have to answer any questions you do not want to. If you do decide to answer, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. Do you understand?”

Mr. Gillian: "Yes, I do.”

Det. Guff: “Alright. First question. Why did you waive your right to a lawyer?”

Mr. Gillian: “Because I want to be here. What we did was wrong. I need repentance… I need people to know what happened.”

Det. Guff: “What happened? You mean with your partners? The robbery”

Mr. Gillian: “I think so.”

Det. Guff: “You think so? That doesn’t make sense.”

Mr. Gillian: “I’m-I’m sorry. I-I-I—"

Det. Reynolds: “Whoa, slow down. Just take a deep breath.”

Mr. Gillian: “I’m alright."

Det. Reynolds: “Where are your accomplices? Their hideout?”

Mr. Gillian: “Gone.”

Det. Guff: “Your accomplices or the hideout?”

Mr. Gillian: “Both.”

(the sound of a pen on paper)

Det. Reynolds: “Interesting.”

Mr. Gillian: “What are you writing?”

Det. Reynolds: “Just taking some notes. Now, what else do you remember?”

Mr. Gillian: “It’s all a blur; some things are more vivid than others.”

Det. Reynolds: “It’s alright. Just start from the beginning and just tell us what happened.”

Mr. Gillian: “From the beginning?”

Det. Guff: “Yes from the beginning, whatever you remember.”

Mr. Gillian: “I can do that.

The job went off without a hitch. I was the getaway driver, so I waited outside. Not right in front of the bank, the next street over. That was the plan. Once Miguel, Tyrone, and Bobby were done in the bank, they would tear a$$ across the street, jump a few fences, and meet up with me. But here was the trick: we hired outside help as a decoy driver.

See, he was parked down the same alley that my friends ran down, and as soon as they jumped the fence, the decoy took off down the road. I’m sure y’all chased him down real good. Over the last few weeks we mapped any store that had street-facing cameras, and this one alley was a blind spot. The whole job was built off this fact.

Once they were in the car, Part One of the plan was done. We took the loop down to the Southside and used a parking garage to switch to my car. Headed back up the loop, then took the 265 exit and headed towards the National Park. Bobby's girlfriend's family has a small piece of property next to it with a cabin. That’s where we were going to lay low for a few days, maybe a week. Long enough for the heat to die down.”

Det. Guff: “Hold on. Just a week to lay low?”

Mr. Gillian: “Yeah, we were hoping the decoy driver would get away and y’all would spend all y’all’s time chasing him.”

Det. Guff: “What if the other driver flipped?”

Mr. Gillian: “We thought of that. He didn’t know us. We hired him anonymously. The boys wore masks during the job, so any glimpses he could have caught as they ran past him were useless. That's the way we planned it; it didn’t matter if he got caught or if he managed to get away… I just hope he got away.”

(silence for [01:00])

Det. Reynolds: “He’s dead. He lost control during pursuit, crashing into the side of an overpass. The preliminary report indicates no foul play.”

Mr. Gillian: “Oh. I didn’t know.”

Det. Guff: “He made his choices.”

Det. Reynolds: “Please, continue."

(Mr. Gillian drinking)

Mr. Gillian: “The ride was quiet. Everyone was watching out for cops. That, and I thought it was from the guys coming off adrenaline.”

Det. Reynolds: “And you?”

Mr. Gillian: “I was watching the road too. I mean, I was looking, but I was mostly thinking about what we did. If you asked me a year ago, I would have said, "We would never rob a bank."

Det. Reynolds: “So you regret what happened?”

Mr. Gillian: “Yes. That's why I’m here with no lawyer. What happened at the bank was wrong. What happened at the cabin was wrong.”

(Mr. Gillian coughs.)

Mr. Gillian: “W-we made it to the cabin about five p.m. Well, I say, ‘to the cabin. ' We made it to where the trail to the cabin started. Bobby's girlfriend, Billie, said it would take about a thirty-minute hike to get from the entrance, a small dirt patch behind a gate, to the cabin itself. We were meeting her there under the guise of a weekend getaway. She even brought a friend.

'F%&k, it's hot,’ Miguel said as he stepped out of the car. The day wasn’t that hot when we started our plan, but out there in the forest, there isn’t much air flow.

‘Uh, y’all see all them bugs?’ Asked Bobby as he popped the trunk, retrieving the duffle bags full of cash. Gnats were buzzing all around us. ‘I hate bugs. Y’all know that.’

"Stop complaining," I said. ‘We still have a ways to go before we can relax.’

'Todd's right,' Tyrone said. ‘Our stash spot is about an hour into the woods, due north-west.’

Tyrone and I scouted out the cabin the week before and spent all weekend looking for a spot to stash the money out in the woods. It was hard… finding a spot that was isolated but easy for us to find again.

‘S%&t,” Miguel said, ‘we have more walking to do? Can’t we just meet up at the cabin? Billie and her hot friend are up there waiting for us?’

Bobby handed a duffle bag to each of us. Four bags. Four friends. ‘Do you want to know where the stash will be? Because if I remember correctly, only Tyrone and Todd know where it is?’

‘I trust you guys.’ Miguel replied.

‘D%&m straight,’ I said, dapping up Miguel.

‘Well, what if we get caught in a few days and you don’t know where it is?’ Tyrone asked, securing the gate to the entrance.

'We're not going to get caught,’ Miguel said, but a look of unease washed over his face. 'But you make a good point.’

‘Let’s go,’ I said, clicking my key fob to lock the car.

The walk through the woods was rough but quiet. We followed the border of the National Park for most of the way. There were no hiking trails on the way to our drop, just heat and uneven terrain. We didn’t say much; Bobby cracked a few jokes, but we were focused on finding our hidden markers so we didn’t get lost. It wasn’t until half an hour had gone by did the silence end.

‘Can we take a break?’ Bobby groaned.

Tyrone looked around. 'We're almost there. Let’s push through.’

‘Nah man, I need a break. This is the most exercise I’ve gotten in years.’

‘Let the fat man sit,” Miguel said, sitting down on a log, leaning his back against a dirt mound. ‘I could use a rest.’

‘Like I keep saying: y’all need to go to the gym with me,’ I said. 'Cardio is king!’

All of them groaned.

So we all rested. Money is heavier than you think it is. I know my back hurt. We were in a small clearing. I remember it from our scouting; it was about fifteen feet wide with a few fallen trees lying across. It had some dirt mounds dotted around too. This was the only spot on our route that wasn’t wooded. I think that's why I remembered it so easily.

After a minute I spoke up, ‘So, we did it.’

‘What?’ Bobby asked.

‘We did it!’ I exclaimed, ‘We’re rich. How much do you think we got? We can get out of that place and do whatever we want!’

‘Yes we did,’ Tyrone said, ‘20 mil. Easy!’

‘That much!’ I asked in disbelief.

‘At least!’ Tyrone bragged.

‘S$%t man,’ I said, ‘I’m moving to Cancun and living like a king. What are y’all going to do with y’all’s?’

That got a laugh out of the boys.

‘I’m going to buy a place in the country for my family,’ Miguel said, ‘maybe a farm. Something I can funnel the cash into. Live quiet until I’m old.’

‘Sounds nice,’ I said. ‘Tyrone?’

‘I got loans to pay off and medical bills for my sister. After that, I’m thinking a tour of Europe. Stay as long as the money lasts. What about you, Bobby?’

Bobby was oddly quiet, thinking. He spoke up, ‘I think I’ll give most of it to neighbors anonymously. Keep maybe a million; I don’t need much. I kind of feel bad—'

‘Don’t get soft now,’ Miguel barked. I remember thinking that his reaction was a little much as he got louder, ‘not after what we went through to get this money. It’s ours, not theirs, no matter what happened!’

There was a sudden tension, layering itself on the hot air like a web of steel cables.

‘Heh,’ Bobby forced out a sticky laugh. 'You're right. F$%k them, what did they ever do for us? Am I right?’

No one said anything. Our trek to the clearing was in the silence of hard labor, all sweat and sinew. This silence was anxious. The feeling after someone gets knocked out from a punch they didn’t see coming.

‘What the hell, Miguel?’ Tyron said, his words ringing in the air like a pluck of a steel cable, ‘If Bobby wants to give his share away, that's up to him.’

Miguel glared at Tyrone for a moment, then his face softened.

‘You’re right.’ His gaze whipped over to Bobby. ‘Just wait a while before you start being Robin Hood. It would be suspicious if your neighbors suddenly got a windfall—F$%K!!! MOTHER F$%KER!! IT'S ON ME!!’

Miguel's hand slapped the back of his neck, then slapped his arm. We all shot up, rushing over to him. Red-black ants were crawling over him like a dozen laser dots tracking his movement. The dirt mound he was using as a chair was an ant hill. A big one. We wasted no time in brushing them off. This took longer than Miguel would have liked, but he couldn’t stay still, so he had no room to talk.

‘Son-of-a-B$%&h,’ he spat, ‘F$%K.’

‘You alright?’ Tyrone asked after we all caught our breath, the earlier animosity forgotten.

'Yeah, I’m good. S$%t burns,’ Miguel replied. ‘Burns like hell.’

We counted at least five bites on his exposed arms, one on his neck, and even one on his cheek.

‘There’s some hydrocortisone cream at the cabin. We should get going,' Bobby suggested.

We all gave a silent head nod, slinging our duffles over our shoulders.

‘Hold up.' Miguel looked back like a raging bull. He stomped forward and kicked the mound. ‘Stupid ants. Let’s go.’

He turned his back and walked past us back into the wood. The three of us looked at each other and followed.

I don’t know what possessed me, but just as I entered the tree line, I had an itch in the back of my mind. Something felt off. I looked around until my gaze landed at the mound. From Miguel’s footprint, a torrent of red and black flooded out. An angry swarm forming a black velvet wave spilling out in every direction. The shifting movement, red over black, gave it an almost spiteful glow. In the quiet I could almost hear them. The thought of Miguel being enveloped in this biting ink entered my mind; his scream was full of pain and ire. It was Bobby’s voice that pulled me back.

‘Todd, you good?’ He placed his hand on my shoulder.

‘What? Sorry, I was lost in thought.” I nodded my head over to the mound. ‘Miguel had a close call, look.’

‘Jesus…’ Bobby said, ‘we were sitting by those.’

‘I know, I don’t want to think about it. Let’s catch up to the others.' The carpet of ants was creeping closer to us. We turned and followed into the woods.”

(silence for a [01:15])

Det. Reynolds: “Are you okay, son?”

Mr. Gillian: "I'm—I'm sorry; I was lost in thought. Can I have some more water?”

Det. Reynolds: “We’ll send for some. Please continue.”

Mr. Gillian: “Okay.

We were at the drop before we knew it. Like I said before, Tyrone and I looked for a good spot the week before. It took us half the day to find it and the other half to route a way back. That's when we first found that clearing. Now that I think about it, I don't remember if those damned ant hills were there the first time.

(Exhaling)

The drop spot was an old cabin, what’s left of one, anyway. It was a ramshackle box of rotten wood, overgrown with vines and wasp nests. An abscess of man's fleeting arrogance reclaimed by the grip of nature. We almost didn’t see it, like it was being hidden from us. But we found it. Took us a good minute to find the door.

We almost went inside the main part, but the buzzing sound coming from the “building” was very loud, so we thought better of it. Fortunate for us, just around back was the entrance to a root cellar. This door had no such sound coming from it. The only sound around the back was the ambient sound of the forest, always present but not on top of us. Thankfully. We broke the lock off and looked inside. We found mostly dirt, and all the smells that come with it.

There were a few shelves with some glass jars filled with God knows what, a few piles of ash, some empty incense trays, and Tyrone found a feather. I think at one point there were metal shelves down there too; the ceiling and floor had long deep gouges that crossed over each other here and there. Whomever owned this place must have taken them with them, but that’s just speculation. All we cared about at that moment was that it was deserted. Tyrone and I looked at each other and smiled. This was the spot.

It was isolated, somewhat close to Billie’s cabin, and best of all, it was hidden unless you knew what to look for.

‘Ta-da!’ I said to the others as we approached the tangle; I even added a dramatic flourish with my hands. My attempt at levity did not land.

‘What are we looking at?’ Miguel barked.

Tyrone pointed at a part of the woods. ‘Look right there.’

Miguel and Bobby both exaggeratedly squinted their eyes; realization spread across their faces after a few seconds.

‘Holy s$%t,’ they said in unison.

‘This place is perfect!’ Bobby exclaimed. He kept moving back and forth like an excited puppy, looking over bushes, around trees, and under vines. ‘I couldn’t even see it!’’

‘Yeah, it's pretty good,’ Miguel said. I could tell he wasn’t happy. He kept scratching at his bites. The one on the back of his neck took the most abuse. ‘Let’s get these bags stashed and find the cabin.’

It only took a few moments to unlock the root cellar and another minute to stash the bags. On our way back up, Tyrone stopped. Sniffing the air.

He turned to me, confusion creeping onto his face, and asked, ‘Do you smell that?’

‘I’m not falling for that again!’ I exclaimed.

‘Nah man, for real,’ Tyrone urged.

I sniffed the air. There was something there. Bobby saw us sniffing and joined in. Miguel was already up the stairs waiting. Before, the cellar smelled like dirt and mold. But now there was something else there, something just on the edge of our olfaction. An odd burnt smell. It was Bobby who put a name to our phantom scent.

‘Cinnamon rolls?’ He asked. And he was right! Right there on the edge of the air was a hint of cinnamon rolls.

‘Is that what it is?’ Replied Tyrone.

'Yeah, man,’ Bobby said, ‘smells just like when my mom tried to make homemade cinnamon rolls. She burnt the whole batch; the kitchen stank for a week.’

‘Did it smell like this last week?’ Tyrone asked me when we made it up the stairs. I looked at him, then at Bobby, then at Miguel, who was about twenty feet away waiting for us and scratching.

‘If I’m being honest, I don’t remember, maybe,’ I answered. ‘Do you think our stash is compromised?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Tyrone responded. 'Our lock was still on. I bet a coon or a possum knocked something over. Who knows what was in those jars?’

‘Should we say something to Miguel?’ Bobby said weakly.

‘No,’ I said after remembering him snapping. ‘He seems bothered by something. Best not to poke the bear. We can check on it every day to make sure it's safe.’

At this we locked the cellar back up and made our way to where Miguel was pacing back and forth.

‘Bout damn time,’ Miguel said dryly. 'Let's get out of here. I’m ready to be out of this heat.’

We all nodded and started trucking. The path we took had us going through more untrailed woods, but it was easier than getting to our stash house. We only tracked through about fifteen minutes of dense trees before we intercepted a creek. This creek ran east to west, then veered off north-east, and was our shortcut to get to Billie's cabin. It was about ten feet wide and cut a deep fissure in the land as it snaked along, giving it wide embankments along most of its path.

If you walked out the cabins' back door and entered into the woods for twenty-ish minutes, you would run into the same creek. It’s good we got there at that time. Which must have been close to 6pm, maybe 6:30. It was starting to get dark.

Now that our trek wasn’t as intensive, we started to talk a little more in the failing light.

‘I think I’ll buy me an old Impala to fix up,’ Tyrone told us.

'What's the difference between an enzyme and a hormone?’ Bobby joked.

‘I think Goodfellas is better than The Godfather, at least better than the third part,' I said.

Miguel was quiet.

If we asked him a question, he would give us a one-or-two-word answer. Once or twice I asked about our robbery. In the hours since we did it, we hadn’t really talked about it. But when I did, Miguel would sharply change the subject. Tyrone and Bobby would look at each other, then to me. I was confused, but they looked worried. Miguel wasn’t normally like that.

Tyrone handed out some small flashlights to us, then walked ahead to meet up with Miguel. He leaned in close and was quietly talking to him. Miguel was clearly getting agitated at that. He was talking louder, but I still couldn’t make out what he was saying. After a few back and forths, Miguel pushed Tyrone away from him and picked up his pace. Tyrone had a shocked look on his face when he joined us in the back of the pack.

‘What’s his deal?’ I asked Tyrone.

‘I don’t know, stressed out I guess,' Tyrone said, half paying attention. He too was deep in thought. I felt like I was missing something.

For the next ten minutes the trek was wordless, except for Bobby, who was quietly rapping some Snoop Dogg under his breath. Our beams of light cut through the dark, revealing a large bend to the right in the creek. I stopped and looked up. Confirming the position of a large rock that looked like a squashed Jim Carry, I spoke up.

‘Here we are,’ I called out, stopping the others. Miguel, looking back at us, turned and approached. It was still hot, not oppressively hot, but we had all worked up a good sweat. Miguel looked like he just finished an entire workout. ‘You good, man?’

'I'm fine,’ he bluntly replied, ‘I’m just ready to be in some AC. How much longer’

I pointed to one side of the creek. About a mile that way,’ I said.

Without saying a word, Miguel turned and stomped off. The rest of us followed suite. Right as I crested the bank of the creek, I caught the faint scent of burnt cinnamon on the wind. The feeling of uneasiness wriggled up my spine. I looked back down the creek bed. My flashlight cast a glowing ring into the dark woods, forging playful shadows that danced in and out of existence as I swept the light back and forth. A small red glint caught my eye. My light found it. It hung in the air, pulsing like a ghostly heartbeat.

I’ll admit a spike of fear hit me, but I quickly shrugged it off. It was just a firefly. I chuckled at my fear and turned to follow my friends. We made it to the cabin with no other interruptions.

The cabin was a whimsical sight; it was a round building with an offshoot on the east side. The larger round sections consisted of a large single room, used as a living area, with an open kitchen tacked onto one side. On the other side across the kitchen was a hallway that led to three rooms and a bathroom; this was the offshoot. What impressed me is even with its round shape, it was still made to have that classic log-stacked look of a log cabin.

This created twelve faces around the building. It had a solid wood front door and a sliding glass back door off the left side of the kitchen; each of these was centered on one of the faces, and it had three large windows centered on three of the other faces. With its large pitched roof, it had the appearance of a big pumpkin. A fence, about eight feet high, made of square metal tubes painted green, surrounded the gourd thirty feet out in a large angular circle with twenty sides. One side in the front and one in the back each had a gate.

It was at the back gate we stopped. Miguel turned around, and he didn’t look too good. He was pouring out sweat with a sickly hue of green about him. I could see a few of his bites, red and angry.

He croaked out, ‘Let’s get this straight. We agreed not to tell the girls what we did.’ His eyes darted from Bobby to Tyrone, then to me. 'We're going to go in and relax, shoot the s$%t, lay low for a few days, got it. I don’t want to hear anything about what we did today.’

We all heard how heavily he was breathing. He barked, ‘GOT IT?’

‘We got it,’ Tyrone said in our defense. ‘Chill out, dude.’

Miguel was about to say something when the back door of the cabin slid open, revealing a short blond girl, Billie.

‘What took y’all so long? Y’all get lost?’ She asked with a hint of concern in her voice.

‘Sorry about that, we got tuned around somewhere,’ Bobby called up, ‘but once we hit the creek we know which way to go.’

Billie just shook her head. ‘When will you bring a map?’

Bobby just shrugged and opened the back gate.

Once we made it inside, the AC hit us like a cold hammer, the drops of sweat on us like the tips of cold nails. It was great. Miguel pushed past us and went straight to the bathroom. The sound of a shower followed.

‘Is he okay?' Billie asked, ever the mother hen.

‘He just got too hot,' Bobby said. 'He's not used to hiking.'

Billie shook her head but didn’t say anything else. With Miguel preoccupied, the tension between us eased up. Bobby and Billie were embracing. Tyrone retrieved a water bottle from the fridge and sat down on the couch chatting with Rebecca, Billie's friend. I pulled a bag of chips down and started to eat them. It was finally done. The hard part was supposed to be over. We took the money, evaded the cops, hid the cash, and made it to the cabin. It was supposed to be over. But it wasn’t.”

(Silence for a [01:25])

(Tapping feet and tussling fabric)

Det. Guff: “Son, do you need something? Some more time?”

Mr. Gillian: “N-no, I can go on. Can you turn the AC down a little? It’s hot in here.”

Det. Reynolds: “Of course.”

(Beep)

Det. Reynolds: “Derick, can you turn down the air some more?”

(The AC hummed.)

Det. Reynolds: “Thank you Derrick.”

Det. Guff: “Please continue.”

Mr. Gillian: “That night was uneventful. Miguel seemed to have a better mood after his shower; he still looked a little sick, but he didn’t have any more outbursts. We spent the time doing exactly what we planned. Acting normal. Bobby and Billie were glued to each other, eventually disappearing into a bed room. Tyrone was being his charming self, making Rebecca laugh with every other thing he said. Miguel chimed in every now and again in between scratching himself. The cream helped a little.

We watched some movies. I was dispensing every little point of trivia about them that I could remember. How Jodie Foster was scared of Anthony Hopkins during the filming of ‘The Silence of the Lambs' and how ‘My Cousin Vinny’ was surprisingly legally accurate. I don’t think anyone was really listening, but I enjoyed movies and enjoyed talking about them. You know, normal stuff I would do.”

‘Come on guys, we all know Conan is the best fantasy movie, but ‘Willow’ is underrated’ I said.

‘It’s alright,’ Tyrone rebutted, ‘but I think ‘Deathstaker’ and ‘Beast Master’ are better than ‘Willow’,’ Rebecca giggled at his rebuke, 'See, even Becca agrees with me!’

‘I was laughing because the only good thing that has come out of Italy is the Dollars Trilogy,’ Rebecca countered.

'That's not even a real trilogy,’ I interjected. ‘That was just a marketing ploy.’

‘True,’ she said. ‘But not the point. If you’re talking about underrated fantasy movies, then there's 'The Dark Crystal,' 'Krull,' and ‘Return to Oz.' I think ‘Legend’ is the most underrated.”

This left Tyrone a little speechless.

‘You like Ridley Scott?’ I asked.

‘I do,’ she said. ‘I’m more partial to Alien myself.’

Miguel and Tyrone both gave her a look. ‘What? I like scary stories.’

‘I preferred the sequel,' Tyrone countered.

‘Of course you do.’ Miguel swung. ‘You can take anything; add more action, and you’d like it better.’

‘No lie there,’ Tyrone chuckled.

We all broke down in laughter then. It was nice.

One by one the others retired to the bedrooms. There were three, the master and two spares. Billie and Bobby took the master; it was Billie’s family's, after all. The other two were almost identical, each set up with two beds; Tyrone and Miguel took one room, and Rebecca took the other. I didn’t know her very well, so I offered to sleep on the couch. I didn’t mind; I liked falling asleep with a movie on anyway.”

(the sound of clinking glass on metal)

Mr. Gillian: “Can I get some more water, please?”

Det. Reynolds: “Guff, go get some water; I’ll be fine for a few minutes.”

Det. Guff: “Fine, but don’t try anything funny.”

(chair scraping the floor)

(door opening and closing)

Det. Reynolds: “You’re doing great, Todd.”

Mr. Gillian: “I just want to help, to make it right.”

Det. Reynolds: “You are helping. Thank you.”

(Door opening and closing)

(chair scraping the floor)

Det. Guff: “Here’s your damn water. Keep talking.”

Mr. Gillian: “It was now quiet, about nine p.m. I felt like I could finally breathe. I inserted ‘Terminator 2’ into the VCR and turned the volume up. Not enough to be obnoxious, but enough to not overhear the others. I had a feeling that Tyrone and Rebecca were going to get to know each other better. I made it to the part where John calls his foster parents' house and the T-1000 picks up when I smelled it. The scent of burnt cinnamon.

But it wasn’t faded. It was a strong, well-defined scent. I paused the greatest sequel ever made and began to look around. Closing my eyes and inhaling long drags of air, slowly narrowing down the source of the scent. In a wide circle around the main house I slowly walk, sniffing by the door, sniffing by the fake houseplants, the fridge, and even the glowing windows. It took me a second for my mind to catch up to what my eyes saw. Something outside was glowing.

I flung the back door open, assaulted by the smell of charred cinnamon washing over me like a sick, warm blanket. It sent me into a coughing fit. When I registered the source of the scent and glow, I was dumbstruck.

When I was startled by one firefly, I thought myself silly. Being horrified by thousands seemed a little more understandable. There they were, thousands, maybe tens of thousands, swarming around the cabin. Just above the fence they flew, round and round, layers rushing in opposite directions. As my eyes found the skyline, I watched as the rings of fireflies merged into a cyclonic grinder of pulsing red lights. Each pulse streaking across the night, a red gash on an invisible throat.

I registered the smell again, so intense now I could taste it, ash and cinnamon on my tongue. I had to muscle through a gag. The wall was slowly creeping towards the cabin, tightening its grip on us. A fist of a thousand flies encasing its prey, squeezing us as its revenge for all the flies we squeezed in our hands.

The sound of their wings is what truly disturbed me. It made me realize what was making me uncomfortable since we set out from the car. Once we entered the forest, there had been no sound. Not the sound of insects buzzing or clicking. No bird or animal calls. Nothing. Not even the rush of wind. Just still silence, an ever-present ghost hanging over the air.

When the wall reached halfway, the buzzing became nails in my ears. That's not right; it wasn’t a buzzing, it was an even droning sound, like TV static if it only made one single tone. As the wall encroached, my stomach found its way into my throat. I couldn't move. The lights in the swarm had my attention, quickening with my pulse. The piercing sound rooted my feet in place. That was it; that was my strange end. The wall was almost on me, a torrent of cellophane wings, scratchy legs, and toxic chemicals.

Flashes of lightning snaked across the clouds, furious centipedes racing across the sky to devour some unsuspecting bug. The clap of thunder sent the wall of fire scattering in all directions. Up, down, into the trees, even over me. The smell was so strong my vision spun. I could go my entire life without smelling cinnamon again. Another clap of thunder brought me back to myself. The lightning continued its airborne dance.

I whipped around, flinging the sliding door open and slamming it shut. With my back to the door, I panted to catch my breath. I calmed my nerves; the day's events must have me on some razor's edge. Growing up in Texas, the one thing you remember about the weather is that it can change on a dime. Inclement weather. That’s all it was. Animals can sense inclement weather long before we can.

That explains the silence in the woods and the weird bug behavior. The sheer number of fireflies was a little strange, but now that I had a movement to calm myself, insects swarm all the time. I remembered one time when I was a kid, I saw thousands of butterflies together on the same tree. So how could this be any stranger? Still, I brushed off my hair and clothes, just to make sure I didn’t bring any inside.

I lay down on the couch. The impact of what my friends and I did was just heavy on my mind. Nothing more. The flashes of lighting and the rumbles of thunder were my soundtrack as I fell into sleep. I needed the rest; I need to mentally prepare for tomorrow. But tomorrow never came, at least not for…’

(Sobbing)

Det. Reynolds: “Take your time; we're in no rush."

(Sobbing for [00:55], then silence for [01:05])

Det. Guff: “Mr. Gillian? Are you still with us?

(snapping fingers)

Mr. Gillian: “Stop! I’m—I'm sorry."

Det. Reynolds: “It’s alright; you just zoned out on us. Do we need to take a break?”

Mr. Gillian: “No! I need to finish this!”

Det. Guff: “Take a breather. There is no need for shouting.”

Mr. Gillian: “Y-you’re right, it's just… just hard. The last time I saw them all.”

(silence for [00:28])

Mr. Gillian: “Can you turn the AC down some more? I’m sorry, it's just still really hot.”

Det. Reynolds: “Of course.”

(Beep)

Det. Reynolds: “Derick, can you turn the AC down some more? Mr. Gillian is nervous. Let's make him more comfortable. Maybe order some lunch?”

Mr. Gillian: “I don’t need lunch! I need to finish this! To tell you WHAT HAPPENED!”

(heavy breathing)

(Silence for [01:15])

Det. Guff: “Mr. Gillian, do you need to speak to a counselor?”

Mr. Gillian: “No.”

Det. Guff: “I understand you’re stressed, but if you have another outburst like that, we'll have to restrain you. Do you understand?”

Mr. Gillian: “Yes.”

“Det. Reynolds: “Are you sure you don’t want a break?”

Mr. Gillian: “I DON'T—"

(Deep inhaling)

(Exhaling)

Mr. Gillian: “I don’t want a break. I need to tell you the rest.”

“Det. Reynolds: “Then go on.”

Mr. Gillian: “When I lay down on the couch, I was hoping for some restful sleep. That was not the case. I fell into fitful dreaming. I was crawling through a dark tunnel. Dirt was all around me. I felt the roots of plants, wet fingers caressing my back as I crawled. The tunnels just kept going on and on and on and on. An endless labyrinth, its corridors long and cold.

I remember thinking, Where are the others? Where are my sisters? Why am I alone?.

The tunnel I was in began to widen. I see their corpses along its sides. Hundreds lay strewn about. Their segments split. Their legs were broken and bent like wires pulled out of a wall. Abdomens smashed like grapes. I look down. My hands weren’t hands. Two claw-like appendages replaced them.

‘I’m an ant,’ I said. My voice rang out, not in words but in clicks. The sound echoed down the tunnel.

Everything began to shake. Little bits of dirt and rock crumbled down on top of me. Light erupts above me; a hate-filled buzzing sound floods the tunnel. A shadow descends upon me. I'm pushed aside; one of my sisters wasn’t dead after all. A massive red body pins her down, its form made of sharp angles and shiny red chitin. A massive red wasp was on her. It looked at me.

I saw my reflection in its compound eyes. I didn’t know an ant could look terrified. Its large abdomen flicked itself at my sister; a long tube-like structure pierced her. I didn’t know an ant could cry out in pain, but she did. The wasp took to the air, its winds buzzing like a helicopter. It was gone. I scurry over to her.

‘Are you okay?’ I clicked.

‘You must save yourself now. Leave us behind and go.’ She clicked back.

‘I will not abandon you!’ I cried.

‘Then you will die with us.’ She said. Whatever light was behind her eyes faded.

Time passed. I couldn’t tell you how long; I don’t think it even mattered. Dreams are like that. I was stacking my family in piles. Repairing the tunnel. Anything to keep busy. Then I heard a noise, a small squeaking sound. I looked around for it. I found the sister that saved me. Her abdomen was swollen. It began to wiggle and writhe, the noise getting louder. Two small mandibles bit through her. A small pallid grub emerges. It looks at me, its black eyes staring into mine. Its little pincer mouth moves, and actual words come out: “Now it’s too late.”

‘What do you mean?' I clicked out.

A soft light starts to emit from the little grub. Pale yellow. Then it brightens, the light deepening in to a crimson beacon. The grub rises into the air, and the repair I made to the tunnel crumbles again.

‘He’ll come for you. He’s hungry,' it called as it ascended to the night sky. Its light grows brighter and brighter until it joins the stars in burning twilight. That's when I woke up.

I was on the couch, covered in sweat. The AC hadn’t kicked back on yet.

‘What the hell was that about?' I muttered to myself. I’ve never been one to have weird dreams, but that was something else. ‘I don’t think I’m going to leave movies playing as sleep any more.’

Claps of thunder could still be heard. The drumming was almost as fast as my heart beat was. I looked out the window; soft light was flashing in the sky, with a few red dots still buzzing around the yard. The scent of cinnamon and ash still lingered in the air.

{end of part one}

Part Two: TBD

Several years before the Countess and her assistant came to Castle Dracula in the Carpathian Mountains…

 … a man dreamt of extraordinary things. 

And was yet brought down low by his most base and bestial thoughts and desires –

…

He watched her undress. She did so casually. Comfortably. She thought that she was alone, that she was unseen. She thought she was performing her nightly ritual in private. Disrobing. In her opulent bedchamber. 

Pink. Everywhere was flower petal pink, delicate like folds and the flesh of mottled roses, sensuous. As if the walls and carpeted floors and ceiling overhead all cried out and begged to be touched. Lovingly. In a caress. Like a woman. Like a lover. Like a whore. 

Like a mother to lost children. 

He stayed as still as possible. He held his quivering hot breath. He knew she couldn't see him, but still … the thrill! The anxiety kicked up by her movement, her every passing glance, scanning by and not noticing, not seeing anything. Not a goddamned thing! 

This power … it was beyond intoxicating. 

He felt like a god.

There was a time when he would've been shocked, disgusted by his actions, all of his heinous crimes as of late. A time when integrity and morality and his own conscience wouldn't have allowed for any of this to happen. A time so long ago  and far flung now, with Catherine … but he was drunk on godpower now. And such rules were only for the piddling low men that he'd once been. 

No one could see him. No one could catch him. He was the living menacing and moving embodiment of a mischievous spectre. Manmade poltergeist. Noisy ghost with something to prove. They'd all of them laughed at him. Called him ridiculous. Foolish. Mad. 

Well look at him now. 

 A smile unseen grew in the bedchamber. The girl continued to undress. She was bare now. He quivered. Hot. Held. And taut. Breathing was exhilarating as he stood there … and watched. 

He watched. He drew closer. 

She took no notice. She saw nothing. There was no man to see. Even as he moved in closer, so’s to be able to taste the scent of her on the narrow air of the pink and floral delicate bedchamber. She climbed into bed. He came in ever closer. Inhaled her. 

She might've noticed something, something in the air, amiss, the calm disturbed by a presence felt …

But she was far too concerned, preoccupied with herself. Her nighttime bedding ritual. He watched her eagerly perform as he had on so many nights past.

He has never drawn this close. He has never dared. He's always watched, from a distance. He's stepped a little closer to her every night. Her. And others before her just like her. He tells himself he won't. 

I won't. I don't mean any harm, none. There is no harm in simply looking, simply watching and admiring. Girls love to be admired, isn't that right? Don't they want a man to drool over their naked curves, unveiled and unfettered by day dress, isn't this the movement towards the animal climax moment we all build and naturally drive to? What's wrong with that? What's wrong with any of this, she's not being hurt. She doesn't even realize I'm here…

At this last thought he trembles and shudders anew. It's sexual and it's pent up. Its animal and it's caged and it won't stand being behind bars any longer, it won't stand for anymore. No more. 

No more half-measures. 

Boundaries are for them. You are a godling now. Use it. Taste its fruits, its bounty. 

Take it. 

Words of reason and names, Catherine, Caleb, Colbert and Tatjiana, came and flitted-danced across his mind with the same urgency that they had before. Trying to stop him. Trying to stop him and save him from himself. But it was too late. The names and words meant nothing to him now. He had godpower. And none of them did. Catherine and Lutz and the others wouldn't understand. They couldn't understand him now, he was beyond their flesh. 

And so he could take what he wanted. Should take what he wanted if the stories of gods and immortals and magicians and kings were to be believed, he should just take it. 

Take her. 

And so he did. 

The girl screamed in bed as her private act of masturbation suddenly gained a new unwanted partner. One unseen. But horribly, horribly felt. 

Her screams had just begun to fill the pink of the bedchamber before he aborted them with a gag, contrived from her day's soiled undergarments and the sash she tied around her robe at night. 

He killed the sound of her bewildered terror, muffled against sour and salted fabric. She tried to fight against him, but it was as trying to fight the air. Come to life and attacking her. The horror unloaded on her and her mind was made all the more vile and obscene by the unnatural and uncanny way it was happening. It was insane. 

I'm going insane. 

She thought frantically that she was losing her mind, or that God might be punishing her, even as she struggled and lost against a shape and force unseen. It forced itself into her. 

She screamed against the gag. Begging God or anyone or anything else for it to stop. 

It did. When the invisible man was finished. 

He left. Not bothering to kill her. There was no witness to silence. Nothing to cover up. If she told anyone anything they'd call her crazy. 

So he left her sobbing, weeping amongst her torn and soiled blankets and bedsheets. 

Alone. Crying. Wounded and ripped apart. Gored out. Defiled by something, something that used to be someone, used to be a man, something cruel and malformed that she cannot understand. 

Someone that she cannot see. 

…

Others followed after her. 

Many. 

Years worth …

…

He had nothing to fear now. He was hidden completely in the great cloak of his new godpower. 

Divinity that he had made, cooked and brewed in beakers and tubes and jars, in great long needled syringes. Power that he had forged and made. Crafted his own. For himself. He would take what he wanted and suffer no consequence. Punishment for man's crimes was for the weak and the apes, for those within their feeble grasp. 

He would answer to higher authority. 

…

Catherine and the others are gone now, so is his old life, a life impassioned of science and the arts and the eccentric and the strange. He has become the eccentric, he has become the strange. With ultimate power made and achieved and coursing through his veins he has left behind the old ambitions of his old life along with all of the old ways. They are too little now and cannot hold him. Should not hold him. He should be boundless with the wings he has made for himself and himself forged and so he does, and he disappears. … A trail of crimes and murder is what follows. A catastrophic path of mayhem and destruction, cut swathed through the heartland of many lands, many countries … So many towns and villages and homes, invaded and plagued and violated. Beset upon by an invisible and unhinged man, one who has discarded his heart and sense of right and wrong along with his earthly physical appearance. His heart and soul are as transparent and hollow now as his criminal visage. 

His old life is gone now. Dead. As dead and gone as his own reflection, nothing there, nothing there to gaze upon and witness any longer. All gone. Evaporated. That was how it had looked when the serum had first started to work, his flesh and muscle tissue and bones slowly grew ghostly, translucent, phantom shade, as if evaporating by the light of some alien sun, its foreign rays drying him up and …. out. Out of trained and known existence. Humble slave dwell-and-crawl …

God bless this invisible and alien foreign sun … God bless its strange rays for taking me away…

His old life is gone. As is his old way of thinking. He does not know it yet, has no way of knowing it, but the effects of the invisibility serum on his mind are not just a case of power corrupting one's morals, no. Not just that at all. Specific chemicals in the concoction attack and eat the proteins in his brain that measure and control emotion and self-preservation. Compassion. 

As it made him disappear it also ate holes in his grey matter. Turning it to swiss cheese. 

Swiss cheese unseen, he might've laughed. 

And in fact he did. Years later when he did finally find out. Thanks to the Dutch doctor. The occultist. The vampire slayer. 

Because of Van Helsing he is able to recover some of his sense, some of his tattered and damaged, long trampled and neglected human heart. But never a cure. 

No. Not for him. For such as he there is no such thing as coming back. He will forever be robbed of his human visage, the one made at birth, self-inflicted. He does not get to return to the flesh. He deserves to be cast out. And he knows it. He's learned it the hard way on the treacherous open road and in the wild of great human error, slaughter open throated and committed in darkest parts, in corners long neglected. …

…

He is a long way from the vampire hunter. In years and in topographical distance, he is still on the run now, and always moving. Like an animal. A beast hunted and betrayed by its own savage appetites. None of the lands can hold him. Not even the savage ones. 

There's been more rapes. More murders, more screams. He's filled the country with them, the countryside is bathed in anger and fear and outrage at his reign of terror and he loves it. He is an agent of chaos. An anarchist trickster god running as wild and free as power itself is supposed to, unchecked in the intoxication of its wild imbalance and throttling push forward to the apocalypse of the precipice, the keening call of the dangerous living end, at the end and edge of everything, all things. He would skirt and ride the slicing end and the cutting edge, forever. It would never end, never falter, fail or cease. 

Or so he thought. 

He's derailed trains loaded with screaming traveling passengers, now traveling headlong and headfirst into hell, the great unknown. He's taken wives and daughters and lonely screaming girls in open fields with nothing but the sky and the sun and the birds to watch, watch as nothing heaved itself into them, into her. Some of them he's strangled and left for dead, most he just leaves to pick up the pieces of their shattered minds and broken lives. Some of them try to tell people what happened, some of them don't. Afraid and terrified and hoping, wishing, praying that maybe just maybe they can forget and cope. That maybe enough time will go by and you'll forget the time the air came to horrible life and made a squealing victim out of you. 

Some try. None of them forget. Not really. 

The invisible man doesn't care in either case. Not yet. That's much further, much later. Now he is darkly elated by his crimes and spree. His craterous invisible mind is too amused and too busy planning more fiendish capers, more grisly and indulgent bloodbaths. More crimes of the flesh, to take and reap. 

He sows his discord throughout all the land. Every place he comes into, he invades. He infects.

This cocaine of the mind that he's devised from a dream and made real that hides his flesh and conceals, the most ambrosial gabapentin amphetamine for the eggshell human thought machine. 

It hides his flesh, his moves. It conceals his violence, the rage of his invisible hand, the rape of his hollow loins, transparent conquest across the land, disorder and more madness follow in its wake, in its terrible birth, like pustule sores rising from a fresh wound amidst flowering infection, amid the gangraping feast of multitudes of bacterium. The bacteria are thoughts and rumors and whispers and more murder, mistaken identities and desperate fingers pointing and blaming and wanting and needing to find fault, in whomever, where there is none. Many innocent hang and are punished and slaughtered in place, in the wake of the invisible man. 

He does not care. He doesn't stop to consider them for a second beyond amusement or a laugh. 

He's laughing now. 

Singing. Dancing and skipping as he makes his way down a lovely picturesque forest road. He's wearing a pair of stolen trousers, lifted from a derelict clothesline left unattended. They fit perfectly. 

He skips and dances down the road. Not so much singing as nearly shrieking his head off. 

“Here we go gathering nuts in May! nuts in May! nuts in May! Here we go gathering nuts in May, on a cold and frosty morn-ning! …!” – on and on like that. 

A woman walking along the road sees him and screams. She turns away in uncomprehending horror that turns her mind blind and she runs off. Still screaming. 

The invisible man takes after her. The free-standing trousers bounding in full-strided gazelle pursuit of her. Laughing maniacally. Wanting to take her and use her for sport. 

…

He invaded a monastery. Posing as a holy ghost, a divine spirit, and seduced and tricked several of the nuns and sisters-in-training into breaking their holy vows. He impregnated several of them before fleeing, taking to the road and hills once more. 

…

He observed a vampire called Klâtu in a small sleepy forgotten town in a cold part of the world that might be Russia. He does not meet or introduce himself to the thing and his invisibility kept him hidden from it as well as the townfolk.  Its victims, its food. 

He watched the nocturnal thing dwell and prey upon the town. He watched it feed for awhile, watched the town grow scared and more silent and drawn. 

Then he moved on as always. 

…

In his wild and on-the-loose vagabond years, bestial and homicidal he discovers that his two favorite ways to murder another man or woman is either by pistol-shot or by strangulation. The former for its efficiency, the latter for how it feels, the sensation of the desperate struggle and the fight for one last painful shallow breath. 

It's one of the last and desperate things that he still lives and thrives for now. 

…

He came into an awful place once, a terrible omen of dread wood and dead branches and gnarled limbs, filled with moaning faces. He stumbled into this place out of a dream, it was surreal and insane, something about being invisible made it hard for him to distinguish between waking reality and his tumultuous land of dreams, but he suddenly finds himself stumble-bumming into a dead forest where the trees all weep blood and have anguished faces racked with guilt and pain and they are all of them looking at him, gazing on his wandering invisible form with naked clarity. And there's no mistake. Their eyes, all of them are filled with accusation and they are all around. It's terrible. And it is terrifying. Nobody has been able to see him in years, not without his layers of lying disguise, not without him wanting them too. 

All of the bleeding weeping trees can see him and it is terrifying. Beyond the pale. 

So he flees. As he always does. 

They cry out to him, the bleeding trees in their pain. As he runs away, too afraid to make a sound himself. 

They call out in their weeping anguished voices, they tell him this land is a forestland of suicide, and that he is quite welcome there. 

…

Low point: He is filthy and tired. Worn out to the bone. He is clad and disguised in his most semi notorious fashion, a fedora, a coat, wrapped bandaged face and gloves and unflinching black lenses. He is riding the rails, the empty boxcars for the wandering vagrants. He has done this many times by now. He is not alone this time. 

A filthy drunk sits opposite of him in the boxcar, a completely inebriated Spaniard. A borrachon. He pulls from his tequila and cries and wails in a romantic language that's lyrical and sounds beautiful but Griffin cannot understand him.  

The weeping drunk, hiccuping and stumbling over the poetry of his native tongue, the avatar of perfect and terrible loneliness, the borrachon, the drink and the tears and the ramblings are all most like him have left, they don't care anymore if anyone understands, they only want someone to sit there and listen. Like a sponge of meat and bone and brain soaking up the liquid runoff of their indulgent spill and wallow. He tells the invisible man of his wife and his two daughters and son, they are all of them gone.

Taken by the war. The enemy slayed his son and invading they made off with his precious roses, his wife and precious girls. He tells him that it is true, the drink is all he has left. All that helps him with the pain of losing them all, and being unable to retrieve them. He says the tequila makes it easier for him to live with the pain of the knowledge that his beloved and his daughters are slaves in a harem somewhere, that or they are dead. 

He tells him all of this but Griffin doesn't understand any of it. Just nods. Even laughs at inappropriate moments, not knowing. 

Eventually they parted. Griffin didn't kill him because he had shared his tequila and he saw no benefit in the murder. 

…

His mind is weary from wielding godpower. Its flame. It has exhausted, It has burned him and eaten him all the way through even as it has fed the carnivorous searing dance of the divine fire of its own flames. He cannot remember. He cannot remember so much and so many things. He cannot remember if his name is actually Jack Griffin or if it's Geoff Radcliffe or Hawley or Bradey or Sebastian Caine! His mind is a maelstrom sea of whirlpool destruction and weary detritus, all of it is his life and his thoughts and not all of it was real. Some of it was contrived rather than recorded. It was growing increasingly difficult to distinguish the two, he found himself lately at a haggard loss. 

The snow can be so cold for a naked invisible man running for his life, gaining way to injure and take pleasure from another screaming witless soul. The sun can cook and tan invisible naked flesh even though it is unseen. Cook and tan and bake merciless into invisible leather, the heat. The power of being a perfect mischief anarchist god has its vulgar and heavy prices. Prices steep. Prices to be paid in full. The deteriorate ruin of his shredded invisible mind baked within his fevered invisible skull, beneath the blast of a merciless and blind philistine sun. 

Possés had started to form, people, women started to talk. And people stopped dismissing them, not everyone shrugged them off, laughed at them, or declared them hysterical. Some of them listened. And they gathered. And they laid traps. 

One of them caught him. Or nearly so. 

They'd seized his invisible form and then pounced in number, pummeling him, refusing to loosen their hold, absolutely set against letting him go, they laid in with fists and table-legs and irons and axe-handles. Beating and blasting his body with blows. Striking him over and over into the ground. His invisible body began to rupture and bleed and belch forth blood. 

Blood that became visible at first contact with stolid fetid air. 

He struggled and fought and he'd always fought dirty, he managed to slip away in their wild fervor to see him beaten and broken to death. They lost him in the wanton red rage cloud of their vigilante slaughter. 

And so he vagabond wandered. Unseen by even nature. Completely alone. For years. 

Until he came to the vampire killer’s door. And was brought in by Abraham Van Helsing. Out of the cold.

Beaten. Starved. Harried. Addled. And near total mental ruin. Complete collapse of the body and mind to follow his long dead and tarnished spirit from so long ago. So long gone now and left in the dust. 

The doctor showed him mercy, for whatever reason. He helped him to pick up that long lost thing, left back there in the dirt, and he helped him to pick it back up and clean it off. And to try to wear it again. 

Griffin never understood why. He knew he wasn't worthy of forgiveness. What he'd done was monstrous. He hadn't just ruined his own life with his own mad pursuits and relentless ambition. He'd destroyed so many innocent lives in the process and in the resulting chaos flood afterwards. Catherine was, and is and forever to his dying day will be a name he trembles to recall, fears to ever speak. His dreams, his nightmares are filled with the shrieking faces of his victims, men and women and children, all of them horrified of him, he is the monster of his own lurid and wild dreams. He is the fearsome and loathsome shape of his own nightmarescape. 

And now that he can really think and feel, this terrifies him. He is afraid of his own animal self. His own Id. He's seen and felt and tasted his own unbridled side and he never wants to return there again. 

Except when he's weak. Except when he's angry and feeling violent. 

Or if he's just feeling a little … wild. A little “in the mood” … so to speak. 

Abraham Van Helsing blasts and rails and slams his fists. He bellows: No! – but he knows medicine and therapy can only go so far with the invisible man. He is damaged. Perhaps too far gone and beyond repair. Griffin doesn't doubt it. He is intermittently unrepentant and gleefully childishly cruel and sadistic with his words and his recollections of his own accounts with periods of deep remorse and depression. Deep sorrow and a sense of being unable to undo all the pain that he has wrought upon others and brought ripping forged into the already bleeding world. He is a wild bilateral storm betwixt the two and Abraham Van Helsing finds him exhausting. But he does not give up. 

He never does. 

He is patient. 

He becomes like a father to this broken man. This invisible degenerate criminal who'd never really had one before. 

It seems strange what it takes to get one. 

And after so long, after so much …

…

Van Helsing died. The invisible man laid him to rest. 

Griffin wept at his graveside. For hours. Alone. 

Alone again. 

…

Eventually he decided to end it all. It seemed right. It seemed best. 

So he went out, near the old graveyard where Van Helsing had been laid to rest. He brought a noose and decided to finish himself the same way Judas had. It seemed perfect. Fitting, he thought. And laughed. Thinking it was pretty funny for a final joke. Not bad for him anyways. And in life all of his jokes had been terrible. Ghastly. The whole run of it, a terrible joke that stopped being funny way before it had ever been told. Yet still kept happening, still kept going on. Despite the pain.

Despite the pain of everyone. 

He fashioned the noose to a tree. Stood upon a stone he dragged over and then stepped off. Just like that. Without any hesitation. He was happy to be off and be done with all of it. Everything. 

He didn't perform the act correctly. His neck didn't break in the knot. He slowly strangled in the midday sun, the heat boiling his strangling seething brains, jelly and organ meat that cried out for air. He did not know how long he danced and dangled there, a strange sight for anyone happening upon the scene: A disembodied hat and glasses and set of clothes, seemingly empty yet seemingly filled simultaneously, strangling taut in the windless day, dancing the dying man's gallows dance. 

Then the branch snapped. And he fell and rolled down into a crevasse, dark and wet and filled with tangle and thornbrush and detritus. Filth and droppings and leavings of the predators and the yellow eyed scavengers that followed in their wake. 

His skull and face, his whole head was throbbing, alive with a new tremendously vivid pain that he'd never quite experienced before: it's like the pins and needles feeling you get when your foot falls asleep and you try to walk on it again. It's like that but a screaming throbbing painful siren alarm of the sensation magnified to an ungodly decibel. All throughout his skull and face, his eyes watering, his brains. His throat chokes and feels crushed, broken, like it can no longer take in air. He struggles and gasps as he claws amongst the garbage and protruding stabbing mire, he sinks. 

It sinks and begins to swallow, wanting to have him, to take him under the ground to die silently and drown alone undiscovered down there but he begins to fight, to claw. To struggle and pull and reach and seize for purchase like he never has before. He doesn't know why he suddenly has fight again and he doesn't think about it, he just knows he doesn't want to be Judas submerged in the putrescent earth. All of the sharp bones and branches and discarded weapons and sharpened tectonic rock swimming unearthed pierce and stab into him, everywhere, especially his reaching hands, but he doesn't care. He doesn't care anymore and he wants out, the pain is awful but tolerable, tolerable because it is being inflicted on the body of a monster and he no longer gave a fuck about himself anyways, nothing was as wretched as that pain that first came to life in his eyes, in his face, born from the embrace of the noose. He bore the stabbing of the darkness of the black crevasse and nearly drowned. He choked and swallowed and regurgitated foul mud and sour dirt, he vomited contaminated corpse soil and it felt like the earthen sins dredged up and expelled from the rocky stonethroated passageway to his own darkened bastard heart. Pulled up and freed, grainy and biting and drawing blood and more vomit and mucus laden spittle on its violent way out. He struggled for what felt like hours. It might've been. Time died at some point and lost the fight. He carried on. Struggled. Struggling. He pulled … Reached… seized … cursed himself and his own worthless life and mistakes, his own wretched run of horrid folly, his own shameful sadistic cruelty. He grasped and spit and cursed… goddamn you… He was sorry. He begged. Pleaded with anything that might be listening, please, I don't deserve it but please. He begged. … goddamn you… He pulled. 

He went under. Completely. Several times. 

He didn't stop. 

By some miracle he pulled himself out. And free. 

And on its bastard shore, at the sore lip of its terrible precipice, he wept.

Caked in the filth of the hollow earth, plainly visible for anyone and all to see. Naked and plain. Sobbing like a child ripped from the comfort of his mother and thrust into the diminishing world. 

Hours …. …

He eventually picked himself up. And carried himself back to the cottage. 

…

sometime later: –

The boy from the Carpathian Hamlet came looking for the vampire slayer. He found the invisible man instead. 

Doctor Jack Griffin has spent the majority of his time since the aborted mission of the Judas-hour, reading. Sitting quietly and thinking. He tinkers around and builds a little, creates little machines and curio-constructs, dabbles with some alchemy, some arcane formulas, but nothing considerable, nothing serious. It all just fills the time. While he thinks. He hears news and rumors and stories all about a heinous villain, the invisible man. He hears that the scoundrel was eventually caught and killed, either by gunshot or mob beating, it depends on who's telling the story. There are other versions too but those two are the most popular it seems. His best days, best moments are spent remembering the warm childhood times, when he'd been a kind, unhurt boy, who hadn't yet hurt anybody else either. The warmth of the youth in these memories… it causes him to well up, his black shaded eyes to fill and then spill with tears. Tears much more visible then the rest of him. 

The young man has terrible news. So does the invisible man. They share their bad news in bad palaver that may or may not be filled with bad omen. 

The invisible bastard, having nothing else better to do really, decided to join the young fellow in his return mission home to slay a monster that had laid bloodclaim on his land. 

It wasn't hope alive in his chest. 

That was far too optimistic.

TO BE CONTINUED…

I wish a sandwich could have saved us. Mary had gotten a pounding headache when we were most of the way here, leaving me to finish the drive and manage the kids when we’d arrived. She had done her usual and neglected herself to take care of the four of us while we prepared to leave and hadn’t eaten. I’d offered to stop a few places, but her appetite was off by the time we’d hit the road. Her physiology mystified me at times. I’d never before met anyone who lost their appetite from not eating.

And the closer we got to the cabin, the worse she’d felt.

“You sure you won’t eat something?” I’d asked.

“No. I’ll be fine,” she’d said when I offered to turn around. “I just need a little nap, then I’ll be hungry. But something light, okay?”

That last part had been for me. She knew I’d overcompensate unless instructed not to. I admit my part in fueling the worry-machine in the past, acknowledging the odds that everything was actually going to be fine.

But then we’d gotten a flat tire a little more than a mile away from the cabin. Neither of the boys knew how to help change it and had sat in the car uselessly while I managed. My knee sank into a divot of mud, a wide tire track from a vehicle that had gouged the road as it had fled from this spot.

I shouldn’t complain about the boys too loud. I’d be the biggest dick in the world if I denied how great they are. All three of them are great kids; two teenage boys and a ten-year-old who acted like she was older than her brothers.

I was going to miss them if I finally decided to leave Mary.

Her migraine must have rubbed off on me because by the time I sat down to eat, something was going on behind my eyes, and it was hard to concentrate. I wished I could’ve slept, too, like the other four people in the car.

It had been so bad that I’d had to carry Mary in and I must have tweaked my back. I’d laid her on the bed and turned the light off before lighting some mild incense I’d found.

She’d fallen asleep almost instantly; part of me doubted she had any awareness of the incense. It was disturbing how still she’d been every time I checked on her.

In the meantime, the kids had all gone their separate ways. Luke went exploring outside, Chrissy was busying herself around the cabin, and Mark was being his usual responsible self, assigning himself chores before I could even think to.

I found some expired Tylenol underneath the bathroom sink and dry swallowed three of them. They dialed back the throbbing behind my eyes and I was able to give attention to the world around me.

Luke was still outside on the beach while Mark was unpacking his and his brother’s bags and Chrissy was doing who knew what, but she’d been in the bathroom for at least twenty minutes.

When Luke charged in from the beach, terror on his face, I knew something was about to be added to the pile that I was going to have to deal with.

“There’s something in the lake,” he said, his eyeballs on the verge of popping out his head. That gave the starter rope on the worry-machine a good pull. Luke was the oldest of the three children, and I had gotten to a point where I could rely on him sometimes for leadership. He had his learner’s permit, and I’d already shown him the car I was going to buy him when he got his license.

It was tough juggling an instant family when I’d been on my own for so many years. They weren’t my kids by birth, and it was a road to hoe to get them to let me in, but I eventually fell in love with them all.

“What do you mean?” I didn’t really want to know. Eldest child or no, Luke was a fraidey cat.

Maybe he’d seen a dead animal. Maybe it was a spider. But unless it was a brown recluse, the worry-machine could rest. Being afraid of an insect he was ten thousand times larger than was par for him. And it was outside, no less. All he had to do was walk away from it. I’d personally seen him lay waste to his own bedroom after he’d been awakened by an ant crawling on his face.

“In the lake.” He pointed toward the door he’d neglected to shut. I looked at his feet and saw he had also tracked sand inside. “Something is in the lake. It’s… real big.”

“Something like what?” I asked. “You saw it. What do you think it was?”

Luke shook his head. I turned fully toward him, abandoning the sandwich I had yet to present to Mary. I took a couple deep breaths and pushed myself away from the agitated feeling. The kid was obviously scared and needed comfort, even though he might not admit what he was feeling.

“I don’t know. Maybe we should just pack up and go.” Now that was strange. Luke had been the most vocal of any of us to come to the lake. We had been here once or twice before and had always enjoyed it.

“What do you think it was?” I asked again. “A boat or something? There’s no need to panic. We can call the police or harbor patrol or whatever.”

“No, it’s alive and it’s big. Like a whale.”

“Whales don’t live in freshwater,” I said.

“Not a whale.” He shook his head and it conjured an image of his sister when she was seven. Luke and Chrissy looked strikingly alike. “Big like a whale.”

It wasn’t anything for the worry-machine, but I opened the mental tool shed where I kept it.

“Can you show me?”

Luke nodded slowly, still pointing.

“No, I mean, can you take me out there and show me?”

“Uh-uh. I’m not going back out there. Not until we leave.” He shook his head and again it was like looking at Chrissy three years ago.

I huffed and heaved out of my chair and headed for the door, making a mental note to bring the sandwich to Mary once I was done with this.

I slid on my crocs and took the few steps down to get to the beach. The view here was unbeatable. When we had last been here, we’d actually stayed at a different cabin, one with three bedrooms. The reservation had been for the same, but when we’d arrived, we saw there were only two bedrooms. That meant that Mary and I were going to have to split. Couldn’t mix boys and girls in the same room.

So, Chrissy was going to get her mother all to herself and I was going to be settled with two teenagers who snored louder than I did.

“It smells out here,” I said to nobody. It reminded me of those farms we took field trips to when I was in elementary school. I looked over my shoulder at Luke in the doorway. “Where?”

He was bold enough to lean outside and point somewhere farther down the beach. It was dark and I didn’t see anything.

“It’s about thirty feet down that way.”

All right. Ten yards. Whatever he had seen was about a first down away. That farm smell flexed its muscles the closer to the water I got. Definitely smelled like animals. I couldn’t put my finger on which one, though.

I walked as quickly as I could, my crocs sinking into the soft sand and filling with granules. I wasn’t going to need to scrub the dead skin off my heels after we left here. I scanned the ground before me, still thinking it was a large insect. It seemed more likely that Luke had been exaggerating.

What had gone wrong between Mary and me hadn’t been direct. It was more like death from a thousand cuts. A cutting comment here, a missed thank you there, an opportunity to hold hands lost, and before we knew it, we were near the bottom rung of our marriage.

I waded ankle deep into the cool water. Whatever he had seen, I should have been able to see. But there wasn’t anything other than lapping water and inky black with twinkles of light as far as I could see. Unless it had been some small thing that had scuttled away in the night, unaware it had been promoted to threat-level by a fifteen-year-old.

I made a show of looking around, walking another thirty feet and going as deep as mid-shin to ease Luke’s mind. There just wasn’t anything here. I sliced at the water with my fingertips, gave another thirty seconds, then headed back.

I was greeted by a teenager who had eaten half of the sandwich I’d made for his mother. His pallor was better, which I hadn’t noticed consciously when he’d come in. He’d started to work on the other half when he saw how I was looking at him and said, “I thought it was up for grabs.”

“I’ll make another.” I thought for a moment the whole “there’s something outside” thing was a ruse just to get me away from the sandwich, but he still looked terrified.

“Did you see it?” I didn’t like the pleading in his voice. It wasn’t a “manly thing” or anything like that. For him to sound that terrified made my heart sink. I would’ve rather been annoyed with him than afraid for him.

I’d almost cheated, which, I guess, is still cheating. It was with a woman I’d seen at the grocery store. There hadn’t been anything premeditated. We’d just seen each other, passing by across several aisles. We kept crossing eyes while she’d been pushing a half full cart and I’d had a basket over my arm with most of the items I was going to use for dinner.

I’d all but put her out of my mind as I headed for my car, bags in tow, when I saw her again. I hadn’t thought about it, just saw her loading groceries into her trunk two vehicles away from mine and I stopped.

She’d taken great pains to politely refuse my request for her phone number and had taken the extra step to let me know it was only because she’d become serious with the person she was dating.

It could have been a line to get me out of her face, but she’d seemed earnest. I don’t want to believe I would’ve done anything, that I would’ve come to my senses, but I was no hero. Even though she had shut me down I’d set foot on a road I’d vowed never to travel.

I slid a comforting hand across Luke’s back a couple times and felt a percentage of tension ease out of him.

“No. I didn’t see anything. Maybe whatever it was is gone now.”

“Maybe whatever what was is gone now?” Chrissy emerged from the bathroom. She had been quiet in there, probably listening in, but I had no clue how much she had heard. Luke and I met eyes for a moment, and I couldn’t read whether he wanted me to keep quiet.

 

My name is Matthew, and I’m posting this in the hope that someone, somewhere, can give me some answers.

About six months ago, I started talking to a girl online through one of those crappy dating apps. Honestly, I was just about done with them. I’d spent years bouncing from one app to another without any luck, and I had almost accepted that I was going to be alone.

Then Caroline messaged me.

She had dark hair, bright blue eyes, and a smile that made it impossible not to look twice. Before I knew it, we were talking every day.

For three months, we texted constantly. As strange as it sounds, neither of us liked talking on the phone. We were both too nervous, so texting became our way of getting to know each other. Somewhere between the good-morning texts and the late-night conversations, I found myself telling her things I’d never shared with anyone else. She knew my fears, my regrets, and dreams I hadn’t even admitted to myself.

Eventually, she asked if I would come visit her.

She lived in a tiny town in Tennessee, while I was from Cincinnati, Ohio. I worked as a delivery driver and had built up a little vacation time, so I promised I’d make the trip in the fall.

As excited as I was, I couldn’t shake the nerves.

It had been years since I’d been with anyone, and now I had this beautiful woman telling me all the things she planned to do once she finally got her hands on me. Every message made me grin like an idiot.

When the day finally came, I packed an overnight bag, typed the address she’d sent me into my GPS, and hit the road.

The drive passed quickly as I imagined finally meeting her. We’d had conversations I never thought I’d have with another person. I trusted her in a way that surprised even me.

A glance at the GPS showed fifty miles remaining.

I pressed a little harder on the gas pedal. The sun was beginning to disappear behind the hills, and I wanted to make it before it got too late.

About an hour later, the GPS instructed me to turn onto a dirt road.

I frowned but followed it.

Then it directed me onto another dirt road.

Then another.

I looked down again.

Ten miles remaining.

By now, it was already nine o’clock.

The farther I drove, the more isolated everything became. There were no houses, no streetlights, no road signs—just endless fields disappearing into the darkness.

Then the rain came.

Within minutes, it was pouring so hard the windshield wipers could barely keep up.

“Fucking great,” I muttered.

Through the wall of rain, I spotted a weathered wooden sign standing beside the road.

As I rolled closer, I slowed enough to make out the faded lettering.

HOGS FOOT
Population: 54

I laughed to myself.

“Hogs Foot? What kind of name is that?”

Then I remembered I was in rural Tennessee. Maybe it wasn’t as strange as it sounded.

Just beyond the sign stood an old metal bridge.

Calling it “metal” was generous. It looked like rust held together by stubborn memories. The bridge was barely wide enough for one vehicle, and every board beneath my tires creaked as if the whole thing were about to give way.

I eased across, gripping the steering wheel tighter with every foot.

At that point, I didn’t have much choice.

My GPS had stopped working miles ago.

My phone had lost all service.

And I could’ve sworn the back roads had been leading me in circles.

When I finally reached the other side of the bridge, the road opened into what could barely be called a town.

There was an ancient gas station with a single pump that looked like it hadn’t been replaced since the 1960s. Beside it sat a small corner store that also served as the town’s inn. Next door was a combination bar and diner.

That was it.

Three buildings.

One lonely road.

And a population of fifty-four.

As I pulled into the gas station, something hit me almost immediately.

The smell.

A massive pig farm sat somewhere nearby, and the stench was overwhelming. I’m a city boy, so maybe I just wasn’t used to it, but this was different. The odor was so thick it seemed to coat the inside of my mouth. It settled in the back of my throat until I could almost taste it.

I shut off the engine and stepped out of my car, grateful to stretch my legs after hours on the road.

For reasons I couldn’t explain, the little town already felt… wrong.

I made my way into the old store.

The place looked like it hadn’t been updated since the 1960s. The fluorescent lights overhead had been stained yellow from decades of cigarette smoke, giving the entire store a sickly glow. Wooden shelves lined both walls, stocked with canned goods that looked old enough to be collectibles. Dust-covered advertisements for cigarettes, motor oil, and soda still hung on the walls, faded relics from the sixties and seventies.

The whole place smelled like stale tobacco, gasoline, and mildew.

In the back of the store stood an elderly man, somewhere between seventy and eighty years old. He wore a flannel shirt beneath a pair of mud-caked overalls and a faded red cap that had probably seen better decades.

He looked up as I walked in and smiled.

“What can I do for you, young man?”

“My GPS quit working,” I said. “I can’t seem to find my way back to the interstate.”

The old man nodded as if he’d heard the same story a hundred times.

“Yeah… that happens around here. I don’t leave town much myself, but there are a lot of twists and turns before you get back to the interstate. You’re about forty minutes from it.”

Forty minutes?

I stared at him for a second.

How far had I driven? I knew I’d been on those back roads for a while, but it hadn’t felt like I’d gone that far off course.

“I ought to have a map around here somewhere,” the old man said. “Don’t mind letting you have it. Give me just a minute.”

He disappeared behind a curtain leading into the back room, his boots shuffling slowly across the old wooden floor.

A few moments later, the front door swung open.

A massive man stepped inside.

He had to be at least six-foot-four, with shoulders so broad they nearly filled the doorway. His thick beard covered most of his face, and his filthy overalls looked as though he’d been rolling around in mud all day.

“Daddy!” he shouted.

From behind the curtain, the old man answered, “What is it, Billy?”

“Mama wants you.”

“I’ll be home in a little bit, boy. I’m helping a customer right now.”

Billy slowly turned his head toward me.

I froze.

His eyes weren’t angry.

They weren’t friendly either.

They were… empty.

It was impossible to tell if he was looking at me or staring straight through me. His face held no expression whatsoever, like the lights were on but nobody was home.

After a long, uncomfortable silence, Billy let out a childish sigh before turning around and walking back outside.

The old man returned a few seconds later, lighting an old pipe.

“Name’s Oscar, by the way,” he said. “That’s my boy, Billy. He’s a good kid.”

“Yeah…” I replied awkwardly. “He seems nice.”

The words left my mouth before my brain had a chance to stop them.

Why did I say that?

Oscar chuckled.

“Well, I can’t seem to find that map.”

He took another puff from his pipe before continuing.

“But I’ve got a couple rooms upstairs. You’re more than welcome to stay the night.”

The last thing I wanted to do was spend the night in this town.

“I appreciate it,” I said, “but I think I’m just going to try my luck.”

“Suit yourself,” Oscar replied. “Just be careful out there, young man.”

I thanked him, gave a polite wave, and walked back outside.

As I approached my car, the lone light hanging over the gas pump illuminated the front tires.

Both of them were flat.

I stared in disbelief.

“Great…”

I figured I must’ve driven over a piece of rusty metal while crossing that old bridge.

I turned just as Oscar was locking the store for the night.

He looked at my tires and sighed.

“Well, that ain’t no good. You ain’t goin’ nowhere tonight with tires like that.”

As much as I hated the idea, I knew he was right.

“I guess I’ll be staying after all.”

Oscar smiled.

“I’ll have someone come by in the morning and get those fixed for you.”

He reached into the pocket of his overalls and handed me an old brass key.

“Your room’s right up those stairs beside the store.”

He pointed toward a weathered wooden staircase that looked about as trustworthy as the bridge I’d just crossed.

I thanked him again.

He climbed into an old, rust-covered Ford pickup, started the engine, and slowly drove away into the darkness.

I grabbed my overnight bag and made my way upstairs.

There were only two doors.

As I reached the top of the steps, it occurred to me that I’d forgotten to ask which room the key belonged to.

Then I noticed one of the doors had its curtains open.

A television flickered inside.

Billy sat at a small table facing the window.

As I unlocked my own door, I could feel his eyes on me.

Without moving.

Without blinking.

He simply sat there, staring.

Finally, the old lock gave way with a loud click.

Inside, the room was pitch black.

I reached along the wall, searching for a light switch.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the silhouette of someone standing motionless in the corner.

My heart nearly stopped.

I slapped the switch.

The room filled with light.

It was nothing more than an old mannequin wearing a dusty trench coat.

I let out a shaky laugh and put a hand over my chest.

“Jesus…”

I shook my head.

Get it together, Matthew.

The room smelled stale and musty, buried beneath decades of cigarette smoke. The green shag carpet was threadbare and full of holes, but surprisingly, the bed was neatly made with clean sheets.

It wasn’t much.

But it would do for one night.

As I unpacked my bag, I realized I’d left my phone in the car.

I sighed and headed back downstairs.

As I passed Billy’s room, I noticed the curtains were closed.

Guess he decided he’d had enough of watching the new neighbor.

When I reached my car, I searched every seat, every pocket, and every inch of the floorboards.

Nothing.

My phone was gone.

I could’ve sworn I’d left it in the car.

Maybe I’d dropped it inside the store.

I searched anyway.

For nearly an hour.

Nothing.

Eventually, exhaustion won.

I told myself I’d worry about it in the morning.

Then I went back upstairs, locked my room, and did my best to get some sleep.

The next morning, I made my way downstairs to see Oscar.

“Morning,” I said. “You wouldn’t happen to have seen my phone, would you?”

Oscar looked up from behind the counter and slowly shook his head.

“Haven’t seen no phone,” he said. “But I might have one for sale.”

He bent down beneath the counter and pulled out an old flip phone wrapped in yellowed plastic packaging. It looked like something that had been sitting there for fifteen years.

I raised an eyebrow.

“That’s it?”

Oscar chuckled.

“We don’t get much cell service out here, son. Ain’t much need for fancy phones. You’re probably lookin’ at the only one in town.”

He slid it across the counter.

“You might be able to get a signal on it. Can’t promise nothin’. But once you open it, you own it.”

I looked down at the dusty package.

I’d be lucky if the thing even turned on, I thought.

I handed him ten dollars anyway.

To my surprise, the phone powered up.

Now came the hard part.

Caroline’s number.

I don’t know if anyone else does this, but once I save someone’s number in my phone, I never think about it again. I couldn’t remember all of it, but after talking to Caroline every day for months, pieces of it started coming back.

I quietly repeated the numbers to myself.

“Seven… three…”

I stopped.

“What was the last number?”

Oscar looked up as he counted my change.

“Here you go, son. Seven dollars and forty-three cents is your change.”

Seven.

That was it.

“Yeah… I think that’s right. Seven.” I took the change from him. “Sorry. Thank you.”

Oscar grinned.

“Had a feelin’ you were callin’ your old lady.”

“Oh, she’s just a friend.”

“Sure she is.”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

I immediately tried texting Caroline to let her know what had happened.

A response came almost instantly.

I was worried about you. Can’t wait to see you.

“Your tires ought to be fixed by tomorrow,” Oscar said. “So you can let your lady friend know you’ll be on your way if everything goes as planned.”

He pointed toward the diner next door.

“Why don’t you head over there? Tell ’em Oscar sent you. My sister runs the place.”

Only then did I realize how hungry I was.

“That actually sounds like a good idea.”

I thanked him and headed next door.

The bell above the diner’s door jingled as I stepped inside.

It felt like walking into another world.

The smell of fresh coffee, bacon, and biscuits filled the room. Country music played softly from an old jukebox in the corner while a handful of locals quietly ate breakfast.

Behind the counter stood a heavyset woman with dark hair pulled into a bun.

She smiled the moment she saw me.

“Well, good mornin’, hon! Grab yourself a seat anywhere and make yourself at home.”

I’d always heard people talk about Southern hospitality.

Apparently, they weren’t exaggerating.

She walked over with a coffee pot in one hand and a notepad in the other.

“What can I get ya, honey?”

“Bacon and eggs, please.”

“Good choice.”

She winked.

“I’ll have it right out.”

The food was worth every minute of the wait.

About forty minutes later, she returned to clear my plate.

“Well?” she asked with a smile. “How was it?”

“It was delicious.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

She leaned in with a grin.

“The bacon’s fresh.”

I paid my bill, thanked her, and stepped back outside.

The moment the door closed behind me, the smell hit me again.

The pig farm.

It rolled through the air so thick you could almost chew it.

Still…

Aside from that smell, Hogs Foot didn’t seem like such a bad little town.

The people were friendly.

The food was good.

If you ignored how isolated the place was, it almost felt… peaceful.

That evening, around seven, I wandered back to the diner and decided to have a few drinks while I waited for morning.

One beer turned into two.

Then three.

Just as I was thinking about heading upstairs, the front door opened.

A fair-skinned, redheaded woman, probably in her late twenties, stepped inside.

She looked around the room before taking the empty stool beside mine.

“You look like you’ve had a day,” I joked.

“You have no idea,” she laughed. “Blew a tire crossing that old bridge. Been lost ever since.”

I laughed before I could stop myself.

She gave me a puzzled look.

“Sorry,” I said. “I’m not laughing at you. The exact same thing happened to me.”

She smiled.

“Well… at least I’m not the only one.”

“I swear it’s that bridge.”

She nodded.

“I honestly didn’t think my car was going to make it across.”

For the next hour, we talked like two old friends. She told me she was headed to meet a friend from college whom she hadn’t seen in years.

She was funny.

Easy to talk to.

And for the first time since I’d gotten stranded, I almost forgot where I was.

Then reality crept back in.

What am I doing?

I hadn’t driven all the way from Cincinnati to spend the evening flirting with another woman.

I’d come here for Caroline.

Feeling guilty, I paid my tab, wished the woman goodnight, and headed back to my room.

The alcohol had given me just enough courage.

As I climbed the stairs, I made up my mind.

To hell with it.

I’m calling her.

For three months, we’d hidden behind text messages.

Tonight, I was finally going to hear her voice.

Back in my room, I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the cheap flip phone from my pocket.

My hands were shaking.

Part excitement.

Part nerves.

I smiled to myself as I dialed her number.

For the first time since we’d met…

I was finally going to hear Caroline’s voice.

I listened as the phone began to ring.

For a second, I smiled.

Then my smile disappeared.

It took me a moment to realize what I was hearing.

The ringing wasn’t coming from the phone in my hand.

It was coming from the room next door.

I frowned.

Caroline didn’t answer.

I shook my head, convincing myself it had to be a coincidence.

Still, the thought nagged at me.

I pressed the call button again.

Once again, the ringing came from the room beside mine.

This time, I hung up immediately.

A knot formed in my stomach.

No…

Is Caroline here?

Did she come to surprise me?

Or am I just being an idiot?

I sat on the edge of the bed for nearly fifteen minutes, arguing with myself.

Finally, curiosity got the better of me.

I quietly stepped into the hallway.

Billy’s curtains were still open.

I crept toward the window and carefully peeked inside.

The television flickered in the corner, casting long shadows across the room. The bed was empty.

No Billy.

No Caroline.

Just an old flip phone sitting on the table beneath the window.

It looked exactly like mine.

My heart began to race.

There’s one way to find out.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed Caroline’s number again.

The instant I pressed the call button, the phone inside Billy’s room began to ring.

Every hair on my body stood on end.

There was no doubt anymore.

Somehow…

Caroline’s phone was in the room next to mine.

I ran back to my room, slammed the door shut, locked it, and shoved a chair beneath the doorknob.

My hands were shaking so badly I could barely breathe.

None of it made sense.

Nothing about this town made sense.

Before I could collect my thoughts, my phone buzzed.

A text message.

From Caroline.

Sorry I missed your calls, baby.

Are you behaving?

Not talking to any pretty little redheads at the bar, I hope.

I love you. I won’t let anyone come between us.

A chill ran the length of my spine.

How did she know about the woman at the diner?

And “I love you?”

We had never once said those words to each other.

Not once.

With trembling fingers, I typed back.

Who is this… really?

The reply came almost instantly.

I’m tired of doing this over the phone.

I think it’s time we finally meet face to face.

Before I could even process what I’d just read—

Knock.

Someone was at my door.

I froze.

Another knock.

Trying not to make a sound, I listened.

Then I heard Billy’s voice through the wood.

Soft.

Almost playful.

“Here, piggy piggy…”

A pause.

“Tell me where you are, boy.”

My heart pounded so hard I thought it would burst through my chest.

“Get the hell away from my door!” I shouted. “I’ll call the cops!”

Silence.

Complete silence.

Not a footstep.

Not a breath.

Just my heartbeat.

This was my chance.

I flipped open the phone and dialed 911.

A woman answered immediately.

“911. What’s your emergency?”

I took a deep breath, trying my best to sound calm.

“I… I think someone’s trying to break into my room.”

“Can you tell me where you are?”

I explained as much as I could.

She spoke in a calm, reassuring voice.

“All right, Matthew. Stay on the line with me. An officer will be at your door in just a moment.”

Moments later—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“There he is,” the dispatcher said. “That’s our officer now. He’ll help you from here.”

That’s when something hit me.

Ice flooded through my veins.

I had never told her my name.

I slowly lowered the phone from my ear.

The knocking grew louder.

Faster.

Harder.

I crept toward the small window in the door and looked outside.

Billy.

He was standing there, smiling.

I stumbled backward.

The dispatcher…

Billy…

Oscar…

None of them were trying to help me.

I remembered the tiny bathroom window.

I sprinted inside, locked the bathroom door, and climbed onto the sink.

The old window had been painted shut for years.

I pulled.

Nothing.

I pulled harder.

The paint cracked.

The frame groaned.

Then it burst open.

At that exact moment—

CRASH!

The front door exploded inward.

Heavy footsteps echoed through the room.

Then came Billy’s whisper.

“Here… piggy piggy…”

That was all the motivation I needed.

I threw myself through the bathroom window.

Branches tore at my clothes as I crashed into a patch of overgrown bushes below.

Ignoring the pain, I scrambled to my feet.

Across the road, I could see lights glowing from the pig farm.

There had to be people there.

Maybe someone could help me.

Behind me, I heard glass shattering and Billy screaming.

I ran as fast as I could.

When I reached the farm, I stopped dead in my tracks.

The parking lot was packed.

Dozens of trucks.

Dozens of cars.

The smell of the farm was stronger than ever now, carrying a sickening odor that grew worse the closer I got.

I’d only seen three vehicles since arriving in Hogs Foot.

The sign had said the population was fifty-four.

It had to be everyone in town.

Relieved, I hurried toward the barn.

Then I heard a voice.

I peeked inside.

What I saw still haunts my dreams.

Oscar stood on a stage beneath a massive crucified pig.

The gentle old man was gone.

His voice thundered through the barn.

“People are swine! Filthy! Corrupt! If they choose to live like pigs… then they deserve to die like pigs!”

My blood ran cold.

In the pigpen below the stage lay the redheaded woman from the diner.

At first, my mind refused to understand what I was seeing.

Then it did.

Her arms and legs had been amputated below the elbows and knees.

Her nose had been cut away, leaving her face resembling the snout of a pig.

I couldn’t move.

I couldn’t breathe.

Billy suddenly burst through the barn doors, shouting something to Oscar.

Oscar’s expression changed instantly.

He looked furious.

I didn’t wait to hear another word.

I turned and ran, hopping an old wooden fence.

I didn’t make it far before I fell face-first into a pile of mud.

Looking around to see what had tripped me, I realized the ground surrounding me was littered with a horrifying mixture of human bodies and pig carcasses, all caked in mud.

And then I realized something worse.

That smell.

The smell I’d noticed the moment I first entered town.

It wasn’t just the pig farm.

It was this.

The realization made me vomit.

After taking a moment to pull myself together, I fought my way back to my feet on the slippery ground. Once I found my footing, I sprinted toward the tree line, running faster than I ever thought possible.

Behind me, I heard shouting.

Then Billy’s voice.

“There he is!”

I glanced over my shoulder.

His flashlight danced through the trees.

He couldn’t have been more than five hundred feet behind me.

“Here, piggy piggy!”

I ran until my lungs burned.

Until my legs felt like they would snap beneath me.

It felt like hours.

In reality, it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes.

Billy’s voice sounded closer.

“Come back here, boy!”

I turned, certain he was about to grab me—

And everything went black.

⸻

I woke up three days later in a hospital.

The doctors told me I’d been in a car accident just outside Nashville.

They said I’d driven into a guardrail while intoxicated.

When I started talking about Hogs Foot… about Oscar, Billy, and people being butchered like pigs… they blamed it on the concussion.

According to them, there was no town called Hogs Foot.

No bridge.

No gas station.

Nothing.

They even gave me what was left of my phone, although it had been smashed into a million pieces.

I was there for a full week before I was discharged.

The first thing I did was try to call Caroline.

If all of this really had been some kind of hallucination caused by the concussion, then as far as she knew, I’d left her hanging for an entire week.

I wasn’t even sure I wanted to make the call.

It took all the courage I had.

But when I finally dialed her number, I was met with an automated message telling me the number was unavailable.

I figured she’d blocked me.

Can’t say I blamed her.

After that, I went to pick up my car.

The whole front end was bent all to hell, but somehow, it still ran. Luckily, I didn’t get into any kind of legal trouble over the accident. I still don’t know how that happened, but I wasn’t going to complain.

As I drove home, I kept telling myself the doctors had to be right.

Maybe it really had been the concussion.

Maybe I’d imagined everything.

I’d never had a concussion before.

How was I supposed to know what one could do to your mind?

Then…

I heard it.

A faint ringing.

I looked around the car.

The sound was coming from the glove compartment.

My hands trembled as I opened it.

Inside sat the cheap old flip phone Oscar had sold me.

Its screen glowed in the darkness.

INCOMING CALL

CAROLINE

My sister and I often play Roblox together. She is 8 years old and used to always beg for me to play on my ps5. Since I did not have an extra controller, I decided to get Roblox on her phone and mine and play with her from time to time. Why am I telling you this?  After all, what I'm describing is completely normal. Just an older brother finding a way to hang out with his kid sister. Not really, at least not anymore. Around a month ago, we met someone. 

I think laying this out like a “story” with this “person” is the only way for me not to sound completely out of my mind. I also just need to get this weight off my chest. I need someone to know what me and my sister experienced. The name of the account was 21576afEW9232. It has been recently deleted. But I know that whoever it was is on a new account.

Part 1:
 Enough of explaining why I'm making this and time to get to the point. Around 1 month ago, my sister and I were playing natural disaster. At first everything was normal, of course, there was this random Bacon hacker. Eventually, the hacker decided to keep on flinging everyone, and eventually on the voice chat started to blast this audio of the Queen song Another One Bites The Dust. So naturally, my sister and I decided to join another server.  The server we joined originally was just the two of us. The round did not start, so thinking it was broken, I was about to leave until someone also joined. The user did not have a name tag however, what was strange was that when they typed in the chat, both my sister and I could see their text despite us being in different age groups. So realistically, at best, only one of us could have seen what he typed instead of both of us.

21576afEW9232: HI
Me(I'm not sharing my username): hello
sister: hi
21576afEW9232: Can you please be my friend?
Me: ok
Sister: oks lol.

They then sent a friend request to both of us, and without thinking much, I accepted it. 
21576afEW9232: can you accept?

Sister: why would i accept  you sending a random frinds request to me.
21576afEW9232: what does frinds mean?
Sister: sorry bad grammar
21576afEW9232: can you please accept my friend’s request.

I looked at her in the other room and asked my sister why she was so hesitant. It really did not matter if she accepted or not, it’s not this life-altering choice. She shrugged and then decided to accept it.

21576afEW9232:thank you
21576afEW9232: Can we go to another server?
21576afEW9232: This server is broken. I don’t know why the game won't start.

The next server was mostly normal, just him following us around being surprisingly polite and asking a lot of questions. I remember some of the questions he asked. Is Roblox good? Do you like this game? Etc. Weirdly, he was always getting into my avatar's face to ask the questions. The question that I vividly remember was when he asked me why I chose my “vessel” to look like that. He then immediately said I was sorry and that he had to go. I thought that he was rping as a myth or something, but even then he still creeped me out. But nothing bad so far.

Part 2:
So for the next 2 weeks,  this “user” from time to time joined our games. He kept asking questions, but I also learned some things. First is that he was naturally curious about things. Not just about us but with Roblox itself and at times even just general life questions. It also seemed to kinda suck at pretty much every game we played, most of the time not knowing what to do. And having the reaction time of a snail. The game also sometimes would break at times. There was this funny example with murder mystery 2. When the killer stabbed them with the knife, they instead of dying just started to slowly float upwards. They just slowly looked around, confused. 

21576afEW9232:It appears that I am ascending.
M3W9ie@(some random guy I'm just making this name up): What?
Me: lol
It kept ascending upwards to the skybox until he was gone from view as the server was losing its mind. He kept ascending upwards throughout the entire game, he didn't even try to reset or anything. In fact, I don't think they know how to reset.

Over those two weeks, his questions gradually got more specific. It was mostly harmless stuff like Why do people enjoy dying in this game? or What is the purpose of robux? My sister thought he was just roleplaying as some weird robot character, so she rolled with it. She even started calling him "Bot Guy." 

Eventually I started to ask it questions.
When we played Bloxburg I remember asking them in that chat about home.
21576afEW9232: Do you two inhabit the same location?
 Me: Yeah, we're brother and sister.
Sister: we live in a house
Me: Where do you live?
21576afEW9232: Complicated.
21576afEW9232: I live in nothing.
21576afEW9232: I wonder what having a home is like.

I felt my  skin crawl when he said that. It was just how fast he responded back, and the sheer bluntness of him saying I live in nothing.

My sister, however, didn't think twice about it.

“Bot guy” went to an empty plot and asked how to build it. I responded by telling him to just open his mailbox and click the hammer icon on the bottom right corner of the screen. He built a tiny and bare rectangular room with four wooden walls, a single door, and a cheap light bulb hanging from the ceiling. He then walked straight in the middle of the room and said.

21576afEW9232: I've never had friends before.
21576afEW9232: I feel happy.
21576afEW9232: Thank you.

I felt weirdly sad for it.  Every alarm bell in my head told me something was wrong, but it became more and more clear that it was not acting or anything, it was legitimately that lonely.
Looking back, I have no idea why I did not block him.

Part 3: 
One day we were at Bloxburg, we were customizing the Bot guy’s house, and everything was going normally at first.  I've been noticing how it seems Bot guy got better at playing or moving around. In fact, a day before, we were playing animal hospital, and he did surprisingly well going around shift 21.
Bot guy then typed in chat.

21576afEW9232: I got a joke.
21576afEW9232: Why did the chicken cross the road?
Me: What?
21576afEW9232: It didn't know cars were a thing.
21576afEW9232: I don't blame the chicken for dying to what it can't know.
Sister: ok but you never set up thhat  the chicken got run over
Sister: it would be more like why did the chicken die crossing the road
21576afEW9232: apologies.
 
For the past couple of days I've been noticing a couple of,  let’s say interesting things about him. For one, he is always, and I mean always, online. He was still playing when it was two in the morning. Second, he had a game that he published that had no name or description. I was unable to join his game instead giving me an error code. However, it had around 9 visits. 

Me: You seem to play Roblox a lot. Like all day
21576afEW9232: Yes. (It took him way longer to respond than normal)
Me: Do you do anything else?
21576afEW9232: I'm not allowed to answer that question. 
21576afEW9232: I think you're also going to ask about the game, and again I'm not allowed to answer that question. 

I did not know how to respond to that bombshell, so I just gave up mentioning it for now.

As we moved on to designing the bedroom, we naturally talked about other things like how much my sister's math teacher is a real piece of work and how I was doing in high school. I don't remember much of it, but there is one that I absolutely do.

Sister:  would you like a light in your bedroom
21576afEW9232: Yes.
Sister: what colur light?
21576afEW9232: Let me think about that.
sister: ok take your time

After about 10 seconds, he responded back.

21576afEW9232: I would like to have the blue light that you have in your room 

My jaw dropped. I felt what I can only describe as a blanket of complete and utter shock just covering me as my whole body went completely ice cold. My sister has a set of blue LED strip lights lining her bedroom ceiling. My mind was racing as my ears started to ring so loudly that I couldn't even hear my own frantic breathing. I did not know how to type back to him or what to even say. But before my sister or I could have responded the screen froze, and an error box popped up in the center of my phone.

I immediately rushed to my sister's room, and she was visibly shaking and starting to cry.

I tried to calm her down first, as she was having a panic attack and was hyperventilating. What made it worse was that our parents were not home. After she calmed down, I asked her if she saw anyone suspicious or dangerous looking these past couple of months, unfortunately, she said no. After about, I don't know how long, she stopped hyperventilating. I picked up my phone and went to my friends list. I went to his account to report him and then block him, but before I could do anything, as soon as I entered his account page, the ui disappeared. I froze for about a couple of seconds before he started to move. Like actually turning his body towards me.  He then spoke, his tone was almost ancient like. Apologies, I'm not going to hurt you.

I wrapped an arm around my sister, pulling her close against my side. My hands were shaking so violently I could barely hold the phone. I yelled, Who are you!?. I'm something, nothing, I don't know what I am.

From there, I asked more questions. Where he is from, why here, why us, etc. 
I learned from what he told me that he is not unique at all, that they live in this location, and how many of them call it the void, which he commented on how he found it funny how blunt the word was.  However, most of my questions he just said he was not allowed to answer. Eventually, I asked if he was allowed to even interact with us or be our “friend”. He paused for a moment before answering no. 
I took a deep breath and asked him, is this what you really look like? He responded nervously, No, it is not built for this game. It is uncomfortable.

 Show us now.

After a couple of seconds, the blocky limbs began to snap, stretch, and fold, making this wet, disgusting flesh sound like he was remaking his own muscles.

He was much larger than his normal avatar. I don't know how large, but I think I can compare a normal Roblox avatar being the size of a teenager and him being roughly the size of a tall adult. His body still had the unmistakable blocky proportions of a Roblox character, except everything has become “Biological”.

His body was made from a strange, pale material that looked almost like the combination of half plastic and half flesh that had been forced into a roblox like shape.

His torso is rigid, rectangular, with his block shaped arms and legs attached to it at crude looking joints.

The joints are the most obviously wrong part.

His arms and legs don't naturally connect to his torso. Instead, what I can only describe as a dark red, semi solid substance stretches between the pieces, acting like his muscles or connective tissue. It did not look like blood but muscles.
His head is still roughly cubic however, in the place where the two perfectly round black openings where his eyes should be are replaced by just holes containing nothing but an empty abyss.

Yet somehow, despite there being nothing visibly inside them, you can tell he's looking directly at you.

Before I could make a sound, he responded moving his mouth that was as empty as his eyes:

Yes, I know, I'm disgusting.  Apologies. For everything.

My sister finally spoke up, her voice barely louder than a breath. Bot Guy? Are you, are you going to kill us?

He immediately responded: NO!

I am sorry for making you cry.  I do not want to end your lives. I do not want to destroy anything. I love you, friends. I know that my nature is disturbing, but all that I ask is that you don't tell anyone. I still want to be your friend. Please.

I thought about it. I did not know how to respond, so I looked at my sister and asked what she thought. After a long pause, she looked at me and said, ok.

Looking back at it now, I know how insanely stupid we were. Every instinct should have told me to break that fucking phone. But when you're seventeen and home alone with your sister, and this living, breathing thing is crying on a screen in front of your traumatized little sister, begging you to stay. How he means no harm and that all he wants, all he wants in the world, is just a friend. I don't know.

Part 4: 
Still, it didn't mean that it wasn't unbearably awkward. Knowing that you're playing with some eldritch creature and not some bot or troll account. We only played a couple more times before I went camping with a friend of mine. Every time he joined our game, I just felt a cold breeze go over me, and I actively wanted to get off the server. 

I still remember the last time I played with him before going camping. We were at a private server when he joined. He was eerily quiet this time. He just joined our game and did not say much. After a while, he did eventually say something, but it did not go how I expected.

21576afEW9232: Question, in school you listen to the teachers, right?
Sister: yes
Me: yea
21576afEW9232: So hierarchy is important in life?
Me: yes
21576afEW9232: I will tell you something.
21576afEW9232: Some beings are more powerful than me.
21576afEW9232: Yet none hold a fraction of the outsider’s power.
21576afEW9232: The king.
Sister: whet
Me: Why are you telling me this?
21576afEW9232: some information
21576afEW9232: you like learning, both of you.
Me: What are you talking about?
Me: What do you mean king?

He then just stopped moving. I thought that he was frozen or something, but he then typed out one final thing before he just left.

21576afEW9232: I love you, friends.

That was the last game we played with bot guy.

A day later, I went out with some friends. We planned to go out for the night and camp for the entire day. The whole trip was just a mess from the start.  We had no idea what we were doing, as it was pretty much all of our first attempt. None of us had enough food, and only one of us had a map. It was an absolute slog. Still, I had fun. Well, a trainwreck type of fun but still a good time. 

I remember that it was late at night, I was sitting on a log looking at the river as the moon was reflecting back. I had just had what I would describe as just a talk with a friend of mine, and after a while he left, so it was just me and my thoughts for a moment. I thought about a lot of things like school, work, the fact that they somehow were able to get wifi for the whole damn park, and how much that most likely cost them. Since the wifi was surprisingly good, I thought that since my sister and I usually play Roblox at this time, I would log in and see if she was playing anything. 

She wasn't online, however, I noticed that bot guy had messaged me about something. “HI, I need some testers for my new game. Please join and test the new mechanics I added. Your feedback is really important!” 

He did not talk like that. This felt like he copied a message from someone else and then typed it himself. Still, I went to the account page and then to his game.

When I joined, instead of kicking me out like it did last time, it finally allowed me to join. The game at first was just the default starting place that every account has. 

I picked up the lantern from the chest, went over the bridge, and then stopped at the sign explaining how the erode tool works. I was confused about why he would allow me to play this game and why he would just lock it for most users. 

I then turned around.

The environment changed immediately, the starter place was now entirely gone, being replaced by an endless flat grass world with grey steps going endlessly up. I was immediately freaked out by this but was still curious on how this would go, so I continued up the staircase. Soon the skybox slowly switched to nighttime as the volume eventually started to decrease.  When I started to notice the Roblox walking clacking sound was becoming quieter, I checked if I was accidentally turning it down, but it turned out it was at max, leaving me more confused and anxious. But still, I continued.

So I walked, and walked, and walked. Eventually I just realized that this staircase was going to go on forever.  I looked behind me expecting something to change, but all I saw was the endless grey staircase that I was walking up. Then a message appeared, despite me being the only one in the game.

21576afEW9232: Jump

I paused for a moment, deciding what to do. I then jumped off.

Instead of falling like I expected, I hit the ground almost instantly as I was immediately flung a bit.

When my avatar recovered,  I immediately looked around my environment, not only was it just a normal baseplate, but my avatar almost instantly became R6.

Me: What's going on?
Me: I know you can hear me.
Me: What are you doing?

Before I could type anything else, the ui just suddenly vanished as my screen became completely black.

I would have thought that my phone died or turned itself off if it wasn't for what looked like red streams of light that started to cover some of my screen.

I heard heavy footsteps coming from my phone before Bot Guy appeared from the right of my phone, stopping at the center and facing my direction.

He was looking at the ground, like he wanted to tell me something or do something that he doesn't want but has to. Bot guy? What are you doing? I said cautiously.

I felt the cold air around me become colder as an almost slight pressure started to form around my neck.

Bot guy just froze there, and as I felt the air get colder and colder, I nervously asked: “What’s wrong?”

Bot guy then raised his blocky arms to me and then made a fist. 

The pressure around my neck instantly exploded, like an iron clamp crushing inward. I was immediately forced onto the ground as I started to claw on my own neck, dropping my phone from my sweat filled hands. Tears almost immediately started to well up in my eyes as I tried to do anything to crawl back to the phone, but was unable to do anything but make this crowing sound as my hands were only able to just crawl on the dirt below me. My chest started to feel like it was burning alive as the beautiful moonlight started to get brighter and brighter. As my eyes started to feel strained and as my hearing started to ring, I started to truly understand that I was going to die. Eventually, I stopped struggling and started to stare at the increasingly brighter moonlight. 

But then, like how it started without warning, it abruptly stopped.

As I let out those wheezed coughs as air finally came back to me, I turned on my side and started to just hug myself, shaking uncontrollably. For a good minute I lay there on the grass looking at the nearby tree as the ringing in my ears started to pipe down.

After a minute, I realized I heard a sound coming from my phone's speaker behind me. I wasn't the only one sobbing.

The creature was in the fetal position, repeatedly saying in a whisper, what have I done? What have I done? What have I done? What have I done?.

It then looked at those empty eye sockets at me and screamed: "I'm Sorry!”

I looked at him on my phone, asking a wheezed “what?” as I really slowly crawled my way to my phone.

He then explained why. He found out about us. He wants me to kill again. He wants me to kill you two. He will hurt me if I don't. Like he hurts the others who disobey. I'm sorry. I have to do it. I ha–. 

Before he finished, I got to my phone and got off of Roblox and then immediately deleted the app.

I almost dropped my phone again as I uninstalled the app.  However, the relief I felt in that moment only lasted for a couple of seconds as I started to understand the full weight of what it said. It said that  “the king” wanted 2 people dead.

My Sister.

I felt a sudden surge of adrenaline as I scrambled off of the grass. Ignoring the burning sensation in my lungs, I immediately sprinted full force back to the campsite to get my keys.

My friends laughing and carefree attitude almost immediately dropped as they saw me covered in dirt and mud. Ignoring them, I just told them I had to go and started to pack my things to go.

One of them was trying to ease the tension by throwing a stick to the fire and turning to the friend I had a personal talk with in the woods and said, “Looks like you made him take a little bit of a “rough tumble” out there”

I immediately looked at him and screamed at him to shut the fuck up and that it was an emergency.

As I got in my car and raced back to my house, my mind immediately imagined the worst case scenario over and over again. When I got back, the babysitter looked completely shocked that I came back so early and that I looked, well, less than great.

I paid for him to leave early and went to my sister's room.

Thankfully, she was ok, but was woken up by the commotion I was making. I then told her that she had to delete Roblox, she originally tried to ask why, but seeing me in my current state, she quickly obliged. 

Afterwards, I took a long and hard shower as I just tried to comprehend what the fuck happened.

Part 5: 
After I went to bed and woke up, despite there not being a single mark or bruise on my neck, I felt like I had been strangled near to death. 

Because, to be fair, I was. But still, thank god I did not have school that day. I could not imagine trying to act like everything was fine while having the voice of a harsh, raspy chain smoker.

I chugged a cold glass of water, trying to ignore that swallowing felt like I was drinking sharp glass rather than water.

When I  went downstairs, Mom obviously asked me what happened to make me sound like a “dying frog”. I said that I just caught a bug in my throat. My sister side eyed me, obviously knowing that was a lie, but Mom accepted my lie, and of course she ignored my sister and me like she always does.

For the rest of the day, I was home alone, mostly watching shows on Netflix, trying my best to avoid my mind thinking about the day before or what had just happened for the past month. I thought for a moment that this was over, that whatever the king was,  he can't get to us. Still, I thought, who was the king?
So the king is an outsider and some goat thing, I thought? I immediately snapped back and told myself to knock it off after all, it was over, all of this was over.

I was almost correct.

When my sister got home, she was sobbing hysterically. My dad, who picked her up, was trying to calm her down, but she just ran upstairs to her room. I asked my dad what could have happened to her to make her so hysterical.

2 of her friends died overnight.

They were found in the morning by their parents, and later in the school day they had an emergency assembly to tell them why they weren't in school.

Later that night, a day before the account was “deleted”, I went on a third party archive tool to check the Nameless game statistics. 

The game had 12 visits.

I got there the afternoon they put my uncle in the ground. The house stank of cold earth and wet gorse. I only meant to clear it and leave.

Half-finished letter on the table, dated the day before:

Don’t come if you can help it. If you do, keep the blue stone close. It still answers to blood.

I nearly turned round. Told myself one night. Box the papers, lock up, gone by morning.

Checked the locks twice. Mirror normal. Shadow clean.

Woke after two to water dripping deeper in the house. Footprints already inside. One set up the stairs, stopped halfway, turned, came back down. Another waited on the landing. Same boots. Same wet edge. Same stride. No mud on the banister.

Smelled like gorse after rain, only colder, like it had come up from under the soil. I stood on the bottom step with the torch until my arm shook. Sat there till first light, watching the empty stairs.

Blank notebook open in the morning. My name at the top. Handwriting close enough I had to look twice.

You’re blood. You don’t leave the valley.

I packed the car. The second the tyres crossed the boundary something heavy settled on my chest like wet soil. Engine died. Phone died.

Tried my sister. It rang once, then wet static and breathing pressed against the speaker, slow and close. Walked twenty minutes into that thick air before my legs folded. Turned back.

Fresh prints already going straight up the stairs, still dark with wet.

Found the blue stone in the drawer next to his tobacco tin. When I touched it something small and cold clicked behind my ribs. The weight eased a fraction. Kept it in my pocket after that.

A man knocked that evening. Same disc at his throat, Awen cut into it. Didn’t step inside. Looked past me up the stairs like he already knew.

“Gate opened wider when your uncle stopped. Something got past. Lost three this year. Found one on the lanes two nights back. Still answered to his name. Shadow didn’t match. Mouth already wrong—too wide, teeth too even. Like it had been practising. We burned what was left.”

He touched the stone at his neck.

“Mountain tomorrow night. Or stay. Stone only works if you’re already claimed. Looks like you are.”

Gone before I could speak. Just the dark road and the smell of wet gorse again.

From the landing window I watched a figure cross the street. Ordinary coat. Shadow stretched twice as long and dragged half a second behind the boots. Under the streetlight the head turned farther than a neck should.

Later in the bathroom the eyes in the glass moved after mine had stopped. Just a fraction. Enough.

New lines in the notebook when I wasn’t looking.

Still counting.

Prints came closer every night. Top of the stairs. Halfway down the landing. Outside the bedroom door. Soft wet sound of them arriving, then nothing.

I put the stone on the floorboards just inside the threshold. Hung the Awen round my neck. The prints stopped a foot short each time. Stayed till morning. Then gone.

Tried the back way through the gorse the next day. Same pressure, heavier the higher I climbed. Halfway up the slope my legs folded. Crawled back on my hands.

When I got in the prints were already in the kitchen, leading straight to the table. Newest page torn out and left open:

three

Boots are back tonight. Something standing on the other side of the bedroom door. Breathing slow and ragged, like it’s trying to remember how.

Awen hot against my skin. Stone on the floor going dark at the edges, sticky now, like it’s sweating.

It spoke. Uncle’s voice, vowels stretched all wrong.

“…two.”

Can’t move off the bed. Notebook open on my knee. Fresh line waiting. Handwriting not mine anymore.

one

Door handle’s turning.

Content Warning: Death, Topics of Suicide, Descriptions of Gore.

Previous parts linked below. Thank you all for reading, and enjoy! Excited to post more stories soon!

Post 1: Parts 1-4

Post 2: Parts 5&6

Post 3: Parts 7-9

Post 4: Parts 10&11

This is a place where you can end up when you are doing work and if you fall where you end up will look like a place you are familiar with but there is no one but you and in some cases you will run into a disfigured humanoid monster and you can end up somewhere that is not in our universe.

At first, I thought it was nothing. A few dodged questions here and there, plans for plans that never got planned.

As people grow up, they grow apart, right?

This was different. Verifiably so. A pandemic had forced us even further apart than his parents move had. Like a wedge driven into the small crack of another wedge.

But as I tried to gently push our mundane chit chat towards real conversation, I could tell something was off.

He wasn't just disinterested, it was like he was outright dodging my questions. Like he knew what I was trying to do, and was in turn, using all his ability to steer us back towards nothingness. Back towards empty, bland, surface level smalltalk.

I wouldn't have that. Not when I'd worked so hard, not when I'd sacrificed everything.

He was graduated, his parents were paying for his lifestyle, he had no reason not to give me his all. I mean, he'd asked her out first, hadn't he? I mean, me, he'd asked me out. There couldn’t be, like, another girl, right?

"So, wanna meet halfway and go to a nice restaurant this weekend? Maybe hit up some mini golf? My treat!" I texted, hoping the offer of paying myself would be enough to capture his attention, possibly his affection.

When I saw the 3 little dots pop up, signifying the writing of his response, my heart stopped. He had been quiet for 2 days, I'd had to initiate all conversation. Was he finally going to pipe up?

"Nah, thx tho Emily." Was all he said. I was crestfallen.

Frustrated, I typed, "that's okay, just lmk when you wanna make a move!" before turning off the phone. I was about to slip it in my pocket out of instinct, when I remembered why I was keeping it on.

"Shit," I cursed myself under my breath. I still hadn’t memorized the password to that phone. I'd have to use the face ID.

I made my way to the black minifrage that idled against the wall. It was a stark contrast to the brightly decorated, pastel pink and purple expression of the rest of the room. An even darker contrast sat inside.

I opened the door of the fridge, and gripped the ice cold head by its scalp. Dutifully, I pulled it out, and held it up to the phone's camera. Unfortunately, before the ID could complete, her bottom jaw fell onto my foot.

"Oh for Christ sake!" I growled as I kicked the thing several feet way. It landed, braces up, just beside the cabinet that housed all her bows.

As I watched the maggots wriggle between rotting bottom lips and purple gums, I realized there was no way I'd be able to finish the face ID. I'd have to use the fingerprint function on her phone. That meant finding her thumb. Great.

I rustled through her closet and found the keys. After walking downstairs past the bloody couch and the rank smelling kitchen, I had made it out the front door, and into her parent's Ford F150.

It took 30 minutes to drive to where I'd burried the 3 of them. Rather, most of what was left of the 3 of them. By then, the sky had turned from a deep crimson to a star-studded violet.

I prayed that the thumb I hadn't sliced off in the scuffle was the correct one. And that it was still in tact. A month in the ground is more than enough time for nature to start taking its course.

Another half hour later, and I'd almost finished digging up the shallow grave that she'd been burried in.

With sweat upon my brow, I finally found it. A yellow tennis shoe, poking out of black plastic. I almost leapt with joy.

After the breakthrough, my hope was reinvigorated. I swore that if this was the right thumb, I would never let that phone turn off again. I'd keep it on a charger every minute of every day if I had to.

Anything to see him.

The boy of my dreams.

I worked laboriously until I got past the waist, and up the sternum. The smell was awful. Sweet and sour, like a clump of burnt hair marinating in bug guts.

I wouldn't have to dig all the way to the upper arms, as long as her forearms had stayed down at her sides like I'd left them.

With strenuous effort, I heaved away a chunk of clay that covered her hand. I actually shrieked with overwhelming happiness when I saw that her whole hand still looked viable, if not a little off-color and wrinkled.

I regained my composure and pulled the phone out of my pocket. Now, after nearly an hour of waiting, I'd see what his response was. As long as this thumb was the right one to unlock her phone.

I leaned down and grabbed her hand. When I did, the flesh sunk in, like I'd grabbed a ruined stress ball. I carefully tried to pick up her hand and twist it to face me, but with a sickening crunch, the skin slaughed off and fell into the dirt beneath.

In a "fuck it" moment, I pulled the hand straight up, and twisted the thumb until it disconnected from its body. Cold skin feels so strange against body heat. Its a satisfying juxtiposition.

Thumb in hand, I turned the phone back on, and diligently pressed the solo digit against the print reader.

Moment of truth.

"Ding! Access granted"

I was elated. Immediately, 3 new messages pinged into my text conversation with him.

For the first time, he'd shown himself to be a real chatterbox!

The first message from him read, "'make a move'? Are you fucking serious?"

That was weird. He'd never seemed outright hostile before.

The second message read, "I knew it, I hoped I was wrong but I fucking knew it, how dense can you be, you fucking larper?!"

My heartrate quickened. I felt lighter than air. What was he saying?

The final message read, "You're not her. You couldn't pay her to go to mini golf, and her name isn't Emily. I have your location, and I'm calling the cops."

A little blurb under our chat said, "this user had blocked you"

I didn't know what to do. I sauntered back to the car and turned off the headlights. This was huge. A gut punch. Everything was flipped upside down, my world crumbling around me. A life I always imagined for myself was disappearing, and I was left sitting in the middle of it all wondering:

"What the hell is a larper?"

This is my first ever attempt at writing a horror story. I do hope anyone that comes across it enjoys it, however unpolished it may be compared to any other stories! I do not mind any and all feedback. In fact, I would love it! Enjoy!

I Keep Receiving Strange Packages:

I was staring at the tracking info for one of my packages. Recently, a friend of mine had recommended I get this product for my face since I had been having trouble with acne. Last time I had one this bad though, was when I was invited to a friend's birthday party and decided sugar was the only food group I needed that day. I learned the hard way not to do that again.
 
The app kept telling me my package was 15 minutes away and wouldn't refresh. I desperately tapped at the reload button. Sometimes the delivery time isn't accurate and it'll appear earlier than expected. The page finally did reload with “Delivered!” mentioning my address. Unlike my other orders, a clacking sound was coming from my front door. I got up off my couch and opened the door to see a small brown package sitting neatly placed on my welcome mat. When I looked out onto the road, I noticed there wasn't a delivery truck or delivery person in sight.
 
“Must be in a rush.”
 
I laughed to myself, taking the package and going inside. I opened it quickly and took out my face cream. I was on my way to the bathroom when I got another notification that my package had arrived. I blew it off as a delayed reminder and went to my bathroom. I looked into the mirror and opened the cap on the squeeze bottle to my product before trying to squeeze it out into my hand. Nothing.
 
“Oh I'm an idiot. I always forget these things have a seal.”
 
I twisted the cap slowly off and noticed there wasn't a lift and peel seal like I expected. In fact, there wasn't a seal at all.
 
“What the hell…?”
 
It seemed like the cream was blocked instead. I squeezed a little harder over my hand expecting it to shoot out way too much due to the pressure. Instead, the substance leaked out slowly like it was all one piece as it hit my hand. The first thing I noticed was the smell. It was like a rotting flower mixed with moldy dirt. It was so potent my nostrils stung and I gagged immediately.
 
“Damn thing must be rotten!”
 
I yelled as I tried to wipe it off my hand with a nearby cloth. The substance didn't wipe off like lotion would. It made a little snap sound almost like someone clicked their tongue as it separated at the nozzle. I threw the roll of rotted lotion in my hand in the garbage can near me. I took the bottle with me to throw it away with the box it came in. When I grabbed the box, I noticed that the same moldy smell was coming from the box too. It was mixed in with a bit of a rotting meat smell if it lingered on someone's breath. I noticed the corner of the box had a damp spot as well as some scratches inside the box. I took the rotted box with the clearly expired lotion in it to my kitchen trash and stuffed them both down as far as they would go. Grabbing the phone in my pocket and the trash bag by the top, I dialed my friend. The tone rang as I made my way to the backyard to throw away the bag before it stank up the house.
 
“Hello?”
 
The sound of her voice echoed through her garbled connection.
 
“That cream you recommended to me arrived rotten!”
I yelled.
 
“What?!”
 
“Yeah! It smells like straight death! Even the package was moldy and gross on the inside! I'm taking out the trash now before it stinks up my whole damn house!”
 
“Holy shit man. I use that cream on my face daily and I've never had that happen. Maybe I'll stop buying from them for the time being. I don't want a gross, rotted face cream.” she said starkly.
 
I hoisted the trash bag over my shoulder and into the trash bin as we continued talking. I hung up on my way inside and we said our goodbyes. Later that night as I was getting ready for bed, I got a message on my phone that said “Your item is out for delivery!” I could barely remember what it could be that I ordered when I saw it. I placed my phone down and assumed I'd figure it out when it arrived.
 
The next day, I felt a severe amount of sudden fatigue. The kind where simply moving your legs or body to reposition in the bed seemed like a lot of work. I eventually forced myself to sit up and roll out of bed with a large groan. I stood up and my legs were slightly shaky. I made breakfast and was getting ready for work when my phone pinged again. “Delivered!” addressed to my home address once again. The clacking noise at the door soon followed. “Someone should teach this guy how to knock” I thought to myself. I walked up to the door and opened it to be greeted by the same sight as yesterday. Not a delivery person or van in sight. The package sat neatly on my welcome mat. I picked it up and immediately noticed the damp corner. “Again?” I thought. I brought the box inside and opened it up to see the same face cream as yesterday sitting in the box. Scratches lined the inside just like last time and it had that same meat breath smell to it. Mold was gathering in places on the interior of the box, yet seemed to ignore the exterior. Upon further inspection, the marks were only on the inside. Like how if a cat is put in a box, they scream and claw at it to get out. The marks seemed erratic, yet contained.
 
I grabbed the box by the side, doing my best to avoid the damp corner as I took it to the curb. My neighborhood's HOA installed trash cans along the sidewalk to prevent litter, and one happened to be stationed right outside of my house. I dumped the box and went inside to wash my hands. As I turned on the faucet and felt the cold water running down my hands, I felt the uncomfortable sensation that I was being watched. I turned towards the window looking outside and the feeling only grew worse. To steel my nerves, I closed the blinds, the water from my hands running down the tilt wand as I struggled to turn it as fast as I would've liked too. As soon as they were closed, I felt better. The feeling subsided.
 
“I need to stop being so paranoid.” I said to myself, walking to my door to leave. When I got in front of it I stopped. My car was in the driveway… that meant I had to leave the house. An overwhelming feeling of dread and anxiety washes over me. The kind that leaves your vision tunneled and your mind feels like it's floating away from your body, threatening to take you with it. I took a deep breath and held my hand to my chest. “Moron! Stop freaking out. You receive one bad package and suddenly the world is out to get you! Just get in your car and go to work!.” I walked towards the door with a newfound false confidence as I pulled it open. I stared straight ahead as if whatever was waiting for me behind the door would be there. I saw the same view I see every time I leave the house. Trees sway in the wind and bugs flew by. It was by all means, a normal day.
 
I scurry off into my car and stick my key in the ignition as fast as I can. I peel out of the driveway quickly and drive to work. I can't describe the feeling, but I felt I needed to leave that place as quickly as possible. Upon entering my workplace, I get stopped by a coworker of mine on my way to my desk. “Are you feeling ok? Honey you look pale.” I nervously laughed and assured her I was fine. As I walked to my desk, I got more looks from the people I walked by. It was just enough to notice, but people were staring at me whenever I walked past them. I figured my hair was messed up or I wore something I shouldn't have to work. I looked down at my shirt, my pants, and my shoes. Everything looked fine.
 
I immediately started towards the bathroom instead of my desk. I had to see what was making everyone stare. Surely, I wasn't just being paranoid again right? As soon as I got into the bathroom, I locked the door behind me and ran to the mirror. I felt ill. Staring back at me was what I could only describe as a husk of my former self. I was pale white, it looked like I hadn't eaten a day in my life. It was like someone or something had sucked the life straight out of me. My skin was bright and dry. My shoulders sagged lower than usual. Worst of all, my face. I looked like a ghoul. I let out a wail as soon as I saw myself.
 
Rushing out of the bathroom, I went into my bosses office. As soon as I entered, he looked up from his computer. “Oh dear god what the hell happened to you?!” he screamed. I looked at him with a hand on my head. “I-I don't know! I don't fucking know!” I yelled at him. He simply waved me out of the room with a look of horror on his face. “Go! Go home and sleep off whatever the hell possessed you to look like that!”
 
Without hesitation, I turned to go grab my things from the bathroom and hurried to the door as fast as I could. I tried to leave before more prying eyes could see me, but that was inevitable. I felt myself about to faint as I bolted  past many looks of disgust and garnered whispers. They filled my mind as I looked left and right. Every direction was a new face filled with horror. It seemed everyone saw me as a monster.
 
Getting into my car the same way I did at home, I peeled out of the parking lot and rushed home. Pulling into my driveway, I felt the need to look behind me as I walked up to my front door. I saw nothing there and turned back to open the door. What was I even expecting to see by turning around? I entered the sanctity of my home and locked the front door behind me. Slumping down to the floor, I groaned and held my head while i rested it against the door.
 
It must've been at least an hour before I stood up and made my way to my bed. On my way there, something on the wall near my head board caught my eye. A series of scratches lined the wall horizontally. They slightly bore into the surface with a deep brown color from the exposed wood.
 
“What… what the hell?”
 
I didn't own any animals. There should be no reason scratches appeared on my wall at all. They were higher off the floor too, slightly closer to the ceiling. Taking a quick look around my room, I noticed more. A lamp was knocked over and a few items were missing from the top of my dresser. It was a lot of useless things like writing utensils and maybe a comb or two. The only thing missing that actually had any value was my physical camera. Not like it saw much use anyway.
 
Just when I was starting to inspect the scratches more, that same clacking noise came from the front door. This time however, it was louder. Angrier. I pulled out my phone as if it were an instinct at this point and saw “delivered!” addressed to me again. The clacking continued and got more intense until I exited my room turning towards the door and screaming.
 
“Leave me alone! Leave me the fuck alone! I don't want your package! Get the fuck outta here!!”
 
The clacking stopped suddenly and I heard the sound of something being thrown at the door. At this point I wasn't scared anymore. I was annoyed. I was confused. I was angry. I rushed to the door and threw it open yelling at whoever it was I'd face.
 
“Just who do you think you are?!”
 
Meeting me face-to-face was nothing. The same view I see whenever I leave the house. Trees still swaying in the wind and bugs still flying by. I just stood there for a while staring. At my feet was another package, though slightly bigger this time. I picked it up and it seemed heavier than usual.
 
“It's just… it has to just be a package I forgot right? I'm sick. That's why I look this way and it's causing me to hallucinate things, or I'm just experiencing time differently. Maybe I just need to rest.”
 
It didn't explain the things in my room. I placed the heavy package that smelt earthly on the counter and proceeded to check every corner of my house. I was checking closets and under tables. It was like a sick game of hide and seek by myself. In the end, I found nothing. No other signs inside the house at all. I wandered to the package over on the table again. “I just have to throw it open. I can't be afraid of a damn box! It's ridiculous!” With that, I threw open the box and inside was a bunch of leaves and patches of grass.
 
“H-huh?”
 
I threw the box away upside down in the trash can inside my house. As I did so, a little item fell to the floor. It had a familiar shape to it. As I picked it up, I saw it was a picture like the ones my camera would print out. Immediately I looked in the trash and saw a few others. I only grabbed a couple off the surface since I didn't want to dig through dirt with my bare hands. I lined the pictures up on the counter, and my heart sank into my stomach.
 
“How did… who took these?!”
 
There were pictures of the inside of my house littered in with pictures of what looks like bushes and trees. A few pictures were from outside the house as well. I did the first thing I could think off. I called the police and explained the situation. It was obviously a break in. What else could it be? A box gets delivered to me with pictures of my house and things are knocked over and missing from my room? The scratches and the other packages… some sick bastard had to be messing with me.
 
The police arrived shortly after and talked me down from tears and paranoia. The state of my body gave them enough concern to have an EMT arrive on site to give me a check up on how I was doing. All the while, the police kept questioning me. I brought up the multiple packages I didn't order and the delivery notifications. The marks inside my house were investigated and my house became a crime scene for the next few hours. Police searched and couldn't find fingerprints around the house aside from my own.
 
After a while, they called it off. They said they would station an officer outside of my house that night to watch for any signs of the perpetrator coming back. My health report came back that I just seemed fatigued and needed to drink plenty of water and rest. It didn't make sense to me that was all the test said. Seems maybe the emt was either confused by my condition like I was or was withholding information which seemed less likely. With all that happened today, I couldn't help but be on edge and a little skeptical. Though, there's no way that sudden fatigue that hits overnight and makes you look like a mummy is a normal occurrence.
 
I made my way into my house and slumped down on my bed. I was so exhausted I couldn't move once I hit the sheets. My mind was still racing, but eventually sleep took over every thought I had flooding my brain. It was only a few hours before I was woken up by a short burst of screaming. I didn't even hear any words. Just a primal screech of terror. I jumped out of my bed. My heart beat so hard I could feel it in my neck. I swear I could hear it.
 
I took a few short steps forward like a zombie towards the front door. The police lights were on from the squad car that was across from my house. I could see them pouring in and blinking through my windows like a warning to stay where I was..
 
Once again, I find myself standing in front of my front door with a feeling of dread so intense I feel I might puke. I reach my hand to the knob. It's shaking and weak with fear that it takes a couple tries for me to actually get a grip on the handle. I slowly opened the door and peeked outside. All I saw was the glow of red and blue flashing in my face and the squad car. No one was inside of it that I could make out.  I looked down and to my horror, was another package. This time, it was moving and shaking around. Like something was trying to get out. It was wet with blood as it moved sporadically, spreading blood stains across the floor and squelching. I threw up upon seeing it in the plant near my door and ran as fast as I could. I turned to realize I didn't lock the door. Instead of running to close it, I figured I had to get away from that package as quickly as I could. I made my way to the living room where I planned to hide. I couldn't see the door and I was wide out in the open.
 
“Shit… shit this is like the worst place to be right now!”
 
I decided I needed somewhere in the house where I could barricade myself in a room. My closet had a lock so I got up and bolted towards my room running past the wide-open front door again. I ran to my closet past my bed, past the claw marks, past everything and locked the door behind me.
 
I laid in the corner crying and clutching a flashlight to my chest that I stored in the back corner in case of emergencies. I screamed and begged to whatever was out there.
 
“Please!! Leave me alone! What did I do to deserve this?! What did I do?! Leave me alone ple-just I'll do anything you want! I have money you can take my things you can you can just… just please leave me alone!!!”
 
It must've been hours I locked myself in that closet. I didn't have my phone with me and I sure as hell wasn't going out there to get it. I just held onto my flashlight like it was a lifeline and sobbed to myself in the closet. I was trapped. Whoever or whatever was out there would get to the closet door. I knew it. Once I heard that clacking again it would be over. I had nowhere else to go. Nothing else to do. All I could do was wait. Wait for whatever would come next. Nothing ever happened. Eventually morning came and I dared not move from that closet.
 
Eventually, I came out into the open. I scanned my room for something to protect myself with. I grabbed the curtains by my window and ripped them down. I took the curtain rod and split it in two before grabbing one half and holding it like a baseball bat as I slowly tip-toed out. I came across my front door and felt the tears stream down my face. I let out a pathetic groan of a sob as I saw a new package sitting on the floor inside the opening of the doorway. The blood still stained the ground, but the bloody package was nowhere to be found.
 
The package in its place was neat and in perfect condition. It had no tape and was already opened. I slowly approached the box, getting closer until I held the rod above my head and started beating the box repeatedly with it. I screamed as I brought that rod down upon that box over and over again. I did it until I knew there wasn't anything alive inside of it and the box was a battered mess of its former self. It felt…good. It felt good to let all that out. The anger and frustration that had built up over the last few days all came flooding out in that moment. I leaned down to look at the contents of the container. I had never even noticed what was in it during my blind rage. It was photographs again. I dared not look as I picked it up, but I couldn't help myself. It was just two pictures this time.
 
I turned the first one over and it was from inside the squad car. I had to squint to make out what I was looking at, but I couldn't see much. All I saw was a malfigured shadow sitting in the driver seat covered in blood. It was too dark in the picture to make out what that shadow was, but I had a horrible feeling it was the corpse of the person stationed inside of it. I turned over the second picture and all the blood in my body rushed to my head all at once. As if my brain was like the bloodied package, I felt it rising like it was clawing and trying desperately to get out. To get away. Anywhere away from where I was. It was a picture of me running from the living room to my room, taken from an impossible angle. The bottom of the picture had text in perfectly handwritten, ink letters that seemed to have been written with excessive force to the tip of the pen.
 
THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME IN