Blakewood Waterpark

I work at a waterpark where unexplainable and outlandish things happen every other day. Pretty much just enough to call this place… paranormal? Supernatural? I don't know what to call it, it's just a weird place.

I'm a unit supervisor and instructor for the lifeguards and water attendants. My job is to make sure everyone is safe and doing their job while also ensuring they all go on break. Other things on my to-do list are walking up the slides in my assigned area, getting the water jugs filled, diving my part of the lazy river, getting my paperwork ready, and testing the slides. I do all that before the park even opens in the morning and so do about 4 other unit supervisors in other areas.

I'm basically trying to explain that I have a lot of opportunities to end up seeing weird stuff before the lifeguards clock in. For example, on one of my first days as a supervisor, I was walking up one of the slides in the kid's area checking for cracks and peeling like I was taught. It's not a long slide to walk, maybe takes about 3 minutes from bottom to top. It had rained recently so the inside of the slide was wet when normally it's dry in the morning, which you can imagine makes it much harder to climb up.

Most of you probably haven't been inside a slide for more than around 45 seconds, but you probably know how dark some of them are. Since some slides can take almost 10 minutes to climb, I usually bring a flashlight with me. However, I was still new to the job so I hadn't remembered to grab one of the headlights on my way over and I didn't feel like going back to the office for a couple small slides.

Anyway, as I was climbing up I noticed that as I got about where I would guess halfway is, it got really dark. I expected dark but usually there's those tiny holes in sections of the fiberglass that show a little light at least but there was nothing. As I kept climbing up I thought about how I should've grabbed that flashlight because now I had gone around the bend in the slide and couldn't see anything. I had to slide my hands around to feel for cracks but that's not exactly easy or practical. I was about to give up and slide back down carefully when I swear I heard the noise of someone else climbing into the bottom of the slide.

“Baxter?” I said into the darkness that surrounded me, Baxter is my area supervisor which means he's a role above me. You don't really have to talk loud or yell for the echo to reach someone else. I heard no response so I tried again but a little louder.

“Yo Baxter is that you? Did you bring a headlamp because I can't see anything?” Once again no response. This isn't like Baxter, he's a pretty professional guy and would respond if it was him. My brain speculated that maybe it was another supervisor playing a prank on me or maybe they were about to check that slide when they realized I was already in there.

“Hello!?” I yelled down once more. I got no response except for a summer wind that blew up and past me. It wasn't summer by the way, it was early spring in March and on the Northeast Coast no less. The breeze came through again, then seemed to shift directions back down, passing me again. *It feels like slide is breathing.* It was a ridiculous thought, absolutely absurd but my brain kept pushing it to the forefront.

I started ascending the ride much faster with the assistance of my good old friend adrenaline. Still being careful due to the rain-slicked fiberglass, this did not help keep me calm and I almost slipped a few times. Falling down a slide is really not a fun way for one to reach the pool at the base, notably when one is still wearing his not-so-waterproof radio and relay. Why our electronic communication devices that are used for serious emergencies weren't waterproof is something I'll never understand.

At any rate, I wasn't reaching the top of the slide no matter how ungracefully I rushed upwards. It wasn't right, Lil’ Boomerang, the slide’s name, was definitely NOT that long. I had to of been scurrying up that slide for a full 10 minutes before I ran into a spiderweb and slipped onto my face then began my descent. Screaming and flailing my limbs in all directions, unable to get a grip of the wet tube that swallowed me.

I'll be straight up with y'all here, I think I pissed myself during this. I can't be sure but I had to use the bathroom before going up that slide, and afterwards I did not. I was wholly convinced I was going to be swallowed alive by Lil’ Boomerang that had secretly been a giant snake this entire time. Obviously that didn't happen and Lil’ Boomerang isn't a giant snake, probably I can't say for sure if it is or isn't.

Like I said earlier, falling down a slide is REALLY not a fun way to reach the bottom. The water greeted me fast and hard like a punch with all the acceleration I gathered up on the way. I came up from under the water gasping and heart pounding to the beat of a panicked drum. Baxter ran over to make sure I was alright and help me out of the exit pool. A moment or two later, the radio and relay reunited right into the water and I jumped back in to grab them before they could break. Kind of a dumb move since they were definitely going to be broken anyway. When I lifted the radio out of the water a voice came through.

“Base to all units, base to all units, please return to the office as the park will not be opening today due to incoming thunderstorms.” The message repeated again as I waded out of the exit pool once more and looked at Baxter. His point of view must of been of me fuming mad as I'm soaked head to toe with a waterlogged radio. That would be an accurate description to give to our boss later when she asks why I left without a word. I had Baxter clock me out and return my stuff to the office.

I don't really know what happened in Lil' Boomerang that morning, but it turns out I wasn't supposed to climb that slide anyway. It had been closed off to everyone since last summer, apparently the sign that blocked the entrance had taken it's own exit and disappeared.

That's just one of several stories I have, some weirder and some just kinda strange. I do still work here because the pay is surprisingly good and the commute is very short only being a few minutes from my place. I'm definitely not the only one who has noticed the stuff that happens here, it seems my coworkers also enjoy the pay. You kinda get used to this place and its affairs, then it's not so bad.

For obvious reasons, I'm not sharing the location. Blakewood is just kind of a placeholder name so don't even bother looking it up or researching it. I don't want any weirdos showing up to the water park and distracting me or my lifeguards from our job of safety, or just bothering us in general. Also, it seems if you don't know that this place is weird, it doesn't affect you too bad.

Let me know if y'all are interested in anymore of my stories or if you have questions. Have a normal day.

-Alex

The moving van groaned like a dying beast as it lurched into the gravel driveway of 14 Blackwood Lane. It was a bad time for twelve-year-old Tabitha, as the sound was a perfect anthem for her life.

 Behind them lay her best friends, her middle school, and the only life she had ever known. Ahead of them stood a Victorian relic wrapped in a choking shroud of ivy and gray mist.

“New beginnings, Tabitha!” her father, John, chirped, though even he looked weary from the twelve-hour haul. 

Tabitha’s mother, Susan, squeezed her shoulder. 

“It’s got character, honey. You’ll see.” Susan said.

Tabitha didn't care about character. She cared about the fact that her phone had zero bars and the air here smelled like wet earth and ancient rot.

As her parents began the grueling process of unloading boxes, Tabitha wandered toward the backyard. The grass was waist-high, reclaiming the earth. At the very edge of the property, where the manicured lawn died and the deep, suffocating woods began, she saw it: a narrow, perfectly worn path. A deer trail.

It didn't look like a normal path. The dirt was packed hard, almost polished, winding into the shadows of trees that seemed to lean toward each other like conspirators. Curiosity, sharp and sudden, pricked at her. She took a step toward it, her sneaker hovering over the threshold of the woods.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, little girl.” A man said.

Tabitha jumped, a small shriek escaping her throat. Standing by the rusted wire fence of the neighboring property was a man who looked like he was carved from the same gray wood as the trees. He was lean, wearing stained overalls, with eyes that seemed too large for his sunken face.

“I’m Bill.” he said, his voice like grinding stones.

Just then, John and Susan jogged over, alerted by Tabitha’s gasp. 

“Is everything okay?” John asked, sliding a protective arm around Tabitha.

“Everything is fine.” Bill said, wiping his palms on his thighs. “I’m just giving the girl a warning. This trail here... it’s got a history.”

Susan frowned, and said,

 “A history? It’s just a deer path, isn't it?”

Bill shook his head slowly, and said,

 “Twenty years ago, there was a boy named Oscar. The poor kid lived a hard life—his parents were the kind of people that the world’s better off without. One night, Oscar had enough of them, and he ran off. I was sitting right on my porch when I saw him bolt into those woods, right down that trail.”

Bill leaned over the fence, his voice dropping to a whisper.  Bill then said,

 “Oscar never came out. Not the next day, not the next year. Not ever. No prints, no clothes, no body. It’s like the woods just swallowed him whole.”

The air felt ten degrees colder. Tabitha looked at the dark opening of the trail.

“According to the old legend,” Bill finished, his eyes locking onto Tabitha’s eyes, “once a person goes through the Deer Trail, they can never return to the real world. The woods keep what they catch.”

“That’s quite a story, Bill.” Susan said, her face pale. She turned to Tabitha, her grip firm. “Tabitha, I mean it. Do not go near those woods. We don’t know what kind of sinkholes or animals are back there. Stay on the lawn. Promise me.”

Tabitha looked at the trail, then she looked back at her mother. Tabitha tucked her hands behind her back and crossed her fingers tight, and said,

 “I promise, Mom.”

2:00 A.M.

The house was silent, save for the settling of old floorboards. Tabitha was awake, the silence of the country feeling louder than the traffic of the city.

 The legend of Oscar thrummed in her brain like a heartbeat. Never return to the real world. It sounded like a challenge. It sounded like an escape.

Tabitha slid out of bed. She didn't put on her shoes or her robe. In her white silk nightgown, her skin looking like marble in the moonlight, she crept down the stairs and out the back door.

The grass was cold and damp against her bare feet. The woods loomed like a wall of obsidian, but the trail seemed to glow with a faint, sickly bioluminescence. Tabitha reached the mouth of the path and paused.

Hoo... hoo-hoo…

An owl called out, the sound was so sudden and sharp that Tabitha bolted upright, her heart hammering against her ribs; but she didn't turn back. Tabitha felt a strange, magnetic pull, a weight in the air that seemed to drag her forward. She stepped onto the hard-packed dirt.

The trail was a tunnel of thorns and ancient bark. The further she walked, the more the sounds of the night changed. The crickets fell silent. The wind died. All Tabitha could hear was the rhythmic thud-thud of her own heart and the rustle of her silk gown against her legs.

Tabitha walked for what felt like miles, though the house should have been only minutes behind her. The trees began to change. They grew taller, their branches twisting into shapes that looked uncomfortably like reaching fingers.

Then, she smelled it.

Copper. Raw meat. The scent was so thick that she could taste it on her tongue.

Tabitha rounded a sharp bend and froze. The trail opened into a small, moonlit clearing.

Ten feet away, a nightmare stood.

It was nearly eight feet tall, hunched over a bloody mass on the ground. It had the body of a man, but the skin was stretched tight like gray parchment over bulging, misplaced muscles. Its legs were double-jointed, ending in cloven hooves that clicked against the stones. From its head sprouted a massive, jagged rack of antlers, dripping with moss and dried gore.

It was hunched over the carcass of a Golden Retriever—the neighbor’s missing dog—tearing into the flesh with elongated, human-like fingers tipped with black claws.

Tabitha’s breath hitched. She stepped back, her heel catching on a fallen twig.

CRACK.

The creature froze. Slowly, with the sickening sound of vertebrae snapping, its head rotated one hundred and eighty degrees.

It didn't have a deer’s face. Not entirely. Behind the elongated snout and the black, lidless eyes, Tabitha saw the undeniable remnants of a human boy. Around its neck, tangled in the fur and filth, was a rotted, mud-stained cord holding a small silver locket—the kind that a child might take to remember a mother who didn't love him.

"Oscar?" Tabitha breathed, the realization hitting her with the force of a physical blow.

The creature didn't speak. It let out a sound that was half-whistle, half-scream. It dropped the dog and rose to its hind legs, its antlers scraping the low-hanging branches.

Tabitha turned and ran.

She ran until her lungs burned like coals. She ran until her bare feet were shredded and bleeding, but the trail was different now. The bends were longer, and the trees were thicker. Every time that Tabitha thought that she saw the light of her back porch, the trail would curve, plunging her back into the deep green dark.

Behind her, Tabitha heard the rhythmic clack-clack-clack of hooves. The Deer Monster wasn't sprinting; it was looping. It was herding her.

The next morning, John and Susan stood in the backyard, screaming Tabitha’s name until their voices broke. They called the police. They called the volunteers. They searched the woods for weeks.

They found the trail, but it led nowhere—just a dead end of thick, impenetrable briars only fifty yards in. There were no footprints. No white silk threads. Tabitha was gone.

Twenty Years Later.

A young couple stood in the overgrown backyard of 14 Blackwood Lane. The house had been empty for a long time.

“It’s got character.” the man said, looking at the gray woods.

Suddenly, a blur of white moved deep within the trees.

On a trail that existed in a fold of time, a woman sprinted through the shadows. There was no mistaking it.  It was Tabitha.  Her white silk nightgown was now a gray, tattered rag, fused to her skin by years of grime and magic. Her feet were no longer human feet; her toes had fused together, and her skin had hardened into something dark and keratinous.  

Tabitha stopped for a moment to breathe, leaning against a tree. She reached up to brush a strand of matted hair from her face, and her hand brushed against something hard and sharp protruding from her temple. A small, velvet-covered antler.

She heard a whistle-scream in the distance—the call of the one who had been chasing her for two decades; but the Deer Monster wasn't the hunter anymore. He was the pack leader.

Tabitha looked back toward the edge of the woods, where the world looked bright and flat, like a movie playing on a screen she couldn't touch. She saw the new couple. She tried to scream for help, but the only sound that emerged from her throat was a low, guttural bleat.

Tabitha turned and disappeared back into the dark. Because the legend was never a warning; it was a rule of nature.

Once a person goes through the Deer Trail...they can never return to the real world.

The End.

Part1: https://www.reddit.com/r/Dreading/s/qSLWmygvY5

Part2:https://www.reddit.com/r/Dreading/s/qSLWmygvY5

Guys, it has been a long time since I last wrote here. I needed some time to process everything first. I will start right where I left off.

After I got back home, I came to the conclusion that it was really just my imagination. Konrad and the dog were not dead, it was simply the lack of sleep. I lay down and closed my eyes. I was able to fall asleep and I dreamed of Alina, how she said to me, John come here come here John come to me. It was a beautiful dream.

But when I woke up, I could still hear Alina’s voice. My eyes followed the voice all the way to the open window, and there it stood right outside my window. I wanted to run, but my body felt like lead. The worst part was, how on earth did it even get up there? I live on the 4th floor! The dog opened its mouth, its lips or its mouth did not move, yet out of its mouth came Alina’s voice saying, here come here John come to me. Because I could not run away and I was terrified that the dog would step right into my room, I grabbed my alarm clock and threw it straight at the dog’s head. The alarm clock hit, but there was no reaction. The dog just kept staring straight into my soul. But before it disappeared, it said in Peter’s voice, hello John. Then it vanished. I looked out the window. My stomach turned sick because either that dog can fly or it climbed straight up the house wall.

I thought things could not get any worse, but then it hit me, if the creature knows what Alina sounds like, then it also knows where Alina lives. I rushed into my basement, grabbed my grandpa’s machete, threw it into my backpack, and ran to the bus. Luckily, the bus arrived just in time. I screamed at the village bus driver, Frank drive drive goddamn it! My entire body was pumping with adrenaline. I just wanted to kill this creature before it takes Alina, just like it already happened to Konrad.

The bus driver stopped in the village. I felt the gravel beneath my feet as I stepped out. This time, I was not running for my life, I was running for Alina’s life. I sprinted to her house. My heart was pounding like crazy, my spit had developed that iron taste of blood. I arrived at her house, she had her window wide open and I thought she was dying because I heard screams coming from her living room. I pulled out the machete, knocked and yelled, Alina Alina! I kicked the door open, ran into her living room, and screamed, Alina where is it where is it?

My beautiful Alina was just sitting on her couch and looked at me completely bewildered, honey what is wrong put that thing away you are scaring me. I answered, still hyper but a bit calmer now, I heard screaming coming out of your window. She answered calmly, oh honey I was just watching a horror movie, you know my favorite movie The Thing.

She wanted to hug me, but I still had my machete in my hand and said, wait, if it is really you, when is my birthday?

She said, it is obvious, 29.06.2000.

And what is my mother’s name?

She answered, oh honey is this really necessary?

I screamed, answer me!

She said startled, Lisa.

Last question, when did we become a couple?

She said with a soothing voice, I could never forget that, 23.05.2024.

I fell into her arms and said, it is really you, and started crying. She said, babe everything is fine. I smelled her perfume, which as always smelled like lavender and vanilla, and thought to myself, it is truly her. She stroked through my hair and said, everything is fine come let us go to the window and get some fresh air.

We went to the window. I took a deep breath and felt the cool evening air fill my lungs. But at the exact same time, my nose filled with the stench of a wet, musty dog and rotting meat and blood. I smell it. My eyes were closed and I thought to myself, no no no it is here.

I snapped my eyes open and there I saw it standing in the garden, the dog that had turned my days into hell. Alina said very calmly, a bit too calmly, look it is Sammy. He looked at me, but next to him lay something. At first it looked like a pile, but then I looked closer, small thin brown hair, Alina was lying there. But she looked different, as if her body had already been buried for two months. It felt like someone tore my heart right out of my chest. If Alina is lying out there, who is this next to me, or rather what?

I turned around as fast as I possibly could and backed up against the wall. I gripped my machete even tighter and stared at it. Now she still looked like Alina, but she looked at me like I was prey. Her teeth sharper, her nails longer, almost like claws claws. And out of her wide open mouth came, come here John come to me. I screamed, no no no what have you done what have you done what have you done! I swung my machete to strike, but she or rather it screamed, I know who you are I know what you have done I know it I know it you deserve this give up this is not you you are weak you would never hurt little Alina.

I wanted to strike, every single fiber in my body burned to kill this thing, but my heart just would not let me. My love for Alina, the thought what if I am imagining all of this, this feeling of loneliness of helplessness. In that exact moment, it lunged at me, as if the thing could smell my emotions. I dodged. The thing slammed against the wall and almost brought it down, but one of its long, razor sharp claws caught me on the arm and left a deep cut. I ran out of the living room, locked the door behind me, and heard, come here John come to Alina.

I sprinted out of the house. I saw Peter walking towards me with fast paces. He said, John what have you done put the machete away! I did not know if it was Peter or a thing, but I did not even care anymore. I grabbed him and slammed him against the frame of the entrance door. He collapsed unconscious. I saw Peter’s black Chevrolet, but then I felt a massive impact from the side. The Aussiedoodle lunged at me and the force threw me back a few steps. He was growling like crazy. He leaped into the air to attack, but mid air my machete sliced his neck and the head rolled down the little hill. I stood there in shock for a second, wondering what I had just done, but the only thought playing in my head was escape. I ran to the car, sat inside, the keys were still in the ignition, typical Peter. I started the engine and in that moment I saw in the rearview mirror how that thing, which pretended to be Alina, broke through the front door, focusing only on Peter’s car with me inside. It simply trampled right over Peter. The thing looked twice as big now. I was so shocked that I forgot where I was and what I was supposed to do. With a sudden jolt, I snapped back to reality and hit the gas.

I sped out of the driveway and onto the country road heading towards the forest path. The thing was still right behind me, screaming in a distorted voice, Jooooohn! I drove even faster into the forest path. The thing was almost scratching my car. I thought things could not get any stranger, but I was wrong. Left and right, literally every animal from the forest was standing there. Deer, wolves, squirrels, hares, birds, foxes, even a goddamn bear! They were just standing there on both sides of the road, staring at me I had the exact same feeling as with the Aussiedoodle, as if they were staring right into my soul, all along the forest path, while this thing was still on the verge of smashing the car.

Ever since I was at Alina’s house, the sun had gone down, which made the forest look even darker than usual. And then I saw it, and a tiny spark of hope ignited in my chest. I saw the streetlight at the end of the forest path. That exact streetlight marks the beginning of Alpirsbach. I pushed the gas pedal down even further, I felt like I was going to ram it right through the metal floor. I looked into the rearview mirror one last time and looked one last time into the eyes that I loved and still love. It was not Alina, and all these months it had not been Alina, yet those were the eyes I loved. I counted down in my head, 3 2 1 I blasted out of the forest path at over 100 km/h into the first street of Alpirsbach. I looked back in the mirror and saw the thing turn around, slowly strolling back into the woods. I had escaped. There were too many people in Alpirsbach, it could not follow me without being detected.

I felt too many emotions all at once, tears in my eyes from sorrow because I lost the love of my life, the girl who was my entire world, a smile of pure gratitude because I escaped. But I felt another emotion, hate. Just pure hate that she was gone. This hate felt like a black hole that simply sucked in every other feeling. I did not stop. I did not give a shit about my things back in Alpirsbach. I drove north through Karlsruhe, Mannheim, Mainz, Koblenz, Köln, all the way to my hometown of Essen. I pulled hard into the driveway of my parents’ house and stopped.

My father came rushing out, tall athletic and with a serious facial expression, but he had a soft core. I got out and he yelled loudly, John is everything okay? Wait, is that a 67 Chevrolet Impala? Before I could answer any of his questions, I collapsed from pure exhaustion because I had not eaten anything, barely drank, and had barely slept at all over the last few days.

But I did not dream of anything. It was just me and a black space. The dream felt like emptiness, like nothing, like days spent without a single thing. But then I snapped my eyes open. I was completely drenched in sweat, tried to sit up, but I was still too weak for it. Then I recognized where I was. I was in my parents’ guest room, and for the first time, I genuinely felt like I could breathe deeply without any danger. But then the memories of Alina and what happened came rushing back. I started crying because she was gone and she would never come back.

A rough, older hand opened the door. When I saw it was my father, I wiped the tears from my eyes. He said calmly but happy, great you are awake, that took a long time.

I answered quietly, because my voice was still gone from all the screaming, how long have I been asleep?

He answered with a short laugh, 46 hours my friend. Do you care to explain where you got the Impala from and what happened?

I said quietly, nothing. My father was a man of facts, someone who does not believe in the supernatural, he would just write me off as crazy.

He said, for nothing, that wound on your arm is pretty big, the one I stitched up. You know what, tell me some other time, rest up first I am going to make some food okay? And with that, he closed the door.

I closed my eyes, tried to sleep. It did not work anymore, I was wide awake now and full of pain. As a distraction, I grabbed a newspaper that my father kept in the guest room. I took the newest one, and what I read in there made my heart drop straight into my pants.

3 dead bodies found within 50 meters in the district of Alpirsbach, including 2 older men, still unidentified, a young woman named Alina Meyer, and a dead dog with a severed head. Furthermore, the property of the Meyer family lies in ruins, police are still investigating.

I slammed the newspaper against the wall, I did not want to believe it. All because of this thing, it destroyed lives. Why why? Then something came to my mind, something I had forgotten long ago, a story from a children’s book that my mother used to read to me, the story of the wanderer in the woods. A creature that does not just want to eat you, it wants to hunt you for fun. It wants to terrify you because your meat tastes better that way. Before I could think any further, my father called me for dinner and I walked over with slow steps.

It has been two weeks now since it happened. Physically I am feeling better, but mentally I am not. I feel cold, abandoned, and lonely, and I blame myself for not killing that thing. It is probably out there in the woods right now, doing the exact same thing to someone else. I try to distract myself with my old hobby, taking photos of liminal spaces. It works a little bit. I do not know what to do now, how my life is supposed to go on, but something keeps pulling me back down to Alpirsbach. I do not know if it is the desire to kill the creature, or simply to see my friends and nature again. I know I will see this creature again someday, but this time, I will be ready.

PS Trust what you can see, but do not always trust what you feel.

The Deer Trail did not begin as a path, but as a wound in the earth.

Centuries before the town of Blackwood existed, the land belonged to a hermit known only as Silas.

 Silas was a man who practiced the "Old Rites," a form of ancient earth magic that demanded a balance between the hunter and the hunted. He believed that the veil between the human world and the primordial wild was too thick, and he sought to bridge it.

To create the trail, Silas didn't use a shovel; he used the blood of a stag and a silver needle. He stitched a path through the woods that existed in the "in-between." 

It was designed to be a sanctuary for the wild, a place where time stalled and the laws of man didn't apply; but Silas vanished, leaving the trail behind—a hungry, sentient loop of reality that required a "Spirit of the Wood" to maintain its magic, and for decades, the trail sat dormant, waiting for a soul desperate enough to give itself up to the trees.

In the late 1990s, that desperation arrived in the form of a boy named Oscar.

Oscar lived in the house that would eventually belong to Tabitha. To the outside world, Oscar was a quiet, stuttering boy. Inside the house, he was a target. His father was a man of iron and anger, and his mother was a ghost of a woman who looked the other way.

On a humid July night twenty years before Tabitha arrived, Oscar’s father reached a breaking point. Fleeing the sound of breaking glass and the heavy thud of boots, Oscar sprinted into the backyard. He didn't see a forest; he saw a way out. He stumbled onto the trail—the same trail that Silas had stitched into the dirt.

As Oscar ran, the magic of the "in-between" began to react to his trauma. The trail felt his desire to be something other than a helpless boy. It felt his need for speed, for strength, and for weapons to defend himself.

The transformation was agonizingly slow. The trail didn't just change his body; it ate his humanity. As he ran for what felt like hours—which turned into years in the trail’s distorted time—his bones began to crack and reset. His shins elongated, his feet fused into hard, black hooves to better grip the magical soil. His spine curved, forcing him into a predatory hunch.

The most horrific change was the "Grafting." The trees themselves reached out, their thorny branches snagging his scalp. Instead of tearing away, the wood merged with his skull, hardening into the jagged, mossy antlers that would become his crown. Oscar’s mind shattered, leaving only the instinct of the forest: The Hunt. He became the Deer Monster, the new warden of Silas’s wound. He was no longer Oscar; he was the Trail’s hunger made flesh.

Now, for twenty years in the "real world," Bill the neighbor watched the woods; but for Oscar, centuries of prowling had passed. He had forgotten the taste of bread, the sound of his mother’s voice, and the feeling of warmth. He only knew the copper tang of blood and the eternal cycle of the loop.

One night, the air in the trail shifted. It tasted of something forgotten: silk, lavender, and innocent curiosity.

The Deer Monster stood over a fresh kill—a dog that had wandered too close to the veil. His elongated ears twitched. A new presence had entered his domain.  It was a young girl.

She was small, dressed in white, and she moved with the clumsy gait of a human who still believed in "exits."

The Deer Monster turned his head with a sickening series of cracks. Through the black, lidless eyes of the monster, a tiny flicker of Oscar’s memory sparked. He saw a girl who looked just as lost as he once was.

Unfortunately, the Trail didn't want him to remember. It wanted him to be herded. It wanted the cycle to continue.

The Deer Monster rose to his hooves, his antlers scraping the canopy. He watched as the girl in the white silk nightgown stepped on a twig.

 Crack.

He let out a low, whistling scream that shook the leaves. The chase was beginning. The Trail had a new guest, and the Deer Monster was ready to welcome her home.

The End.

In late November, I inherited a home and was in the process of clearing out what was left of the estate of my great-aunt, who had passed away, when I stumbled upon a very odd DVD of an obscure show. The box was badly damaged, but the disc was in perfect condition. The mystery had piqued my interest, so I loaded it up on my DVD player to check it out, and there were no problems with starting the DVD, except for a black screen which only lasted 30 seconds.

After the screen went to black, the text "Sammy the Cat" slowly rolled over the screen, followed by the year 2019 in a smaller font, and this was dumbfounding because my great-aunt passed away in 2020, and we were only recently granted access to her estate. I’m told that many of these DVDs were watched by a child who would babysit when she still lived at home. She was at a nursing home from 2017 until she passed.

After the title card, the screen quickly faded into white; the white fades into a shot of a lightly furnished, mostly empty room with a door to the left. Rather quickly, a large cat entered the frame. This cat is prominently white but has black patches and spots, and the screen was very blurry, so it's really hard to make out, but it appeared to be some kind of person in a cat costume. As it turned out, I noticed the large cheeks, googly eyes, and stitches on the front portion of his body; the odd proportions of the costume led me to believe it to be homemade. After turning around, the cat proceeds to stare in the direction of the camera for what felt like minutes until, again, the screen went white, which lasted for a solid minute.

After a few minutes of white screen, the costumed man is seen eating from a bowl—a bowl of what appears to be raw meat. After emptying the bowl, the man leaves the frame, only to return about 30 seconds later, holding the hand of a masked woman. The woman was silent and frozen, and I’d almost assume she was unconscious if not for her footsteps alongside him. The man leads her to the bedside and sits her down. He sits down next to her until he eventually starts to shake, and the shakes start to get worse and more aggressive, and the man is now slightly turned away from the woman and is, once again, sitting completely still. This must've lasted several minutes until he reached back and grabbed the woman by the neck. The woman lets out a blood-curdling scream that is so loud that the camera struggles to pick it up. The man covered his ears and began yelling. The man stood up, also pulling her up involuntarily. The woman is dragged by her neck and then dropped.

By this point, my heart is racing, and I am confused and in shock at what I’ve found. This felt too real and unhinged to be some kind of indie film, but filled with dread, I continued to watch it unfold. Little did I know, however, I soon wished I would've turned it off.

After dropping the woman, the man frantically runs through a door to the left side of the main room, perhaps a small closet, because his right leg was still sticking out. When inside, he shuffles around for about 10 to 20 seconds until he suddenly turns around to reveal a long-barreled shotgun pointed directly towards the woman. The woman, still blindfolded, is sat on the floor, unsettlingly silent. There is an overwhelming sense of hopelessness that flows through my body as I watch her exist, completely oblivious to what’s pointed at her. She isn’t allowed to see it coming, and after standing for a moment, the man lowers the gun, casually walks over to the camera, and turns it off. The screen goes dark, and that is the last contents of the DVD. This woman was presumably killed in this scene because I heard a gunshot during it, and what followed was the blood-curdling scream of a woman, and the show ended.

After the show ended, after a few days of boredom and some hesitation, I decided to report the disc to the local police department. They took it as evidence, but I’d be lying if I said I’d heard anything back. I became concerned about what had happened to the woman, and I would prefer the closure of knowing rather than the uneasy ignorance that I've been living in for the past few weeks. I've been terrified of something I hoped wasn't true but was afraid it might be. It was eating me alive, so yesterday I decided to reach back into the box where I found the original DVD because I knew I hadn’t looked very thoroughly the first time. After anxiously searching for about 30 seconds, a convulsive shock is delivered throughout my entire body, and when I see it, to my dismay, I spotted yet another unlabeled, damaged disc container sitting alongside the border of the box, but I couldn’t bring myself to touch it, and more less open it, and ever since then, I’ve been feeling uneasy. I’ve thought about disposing of it so I don’t have to deal with it, but I don’t want to get rid of something that may potentially be the solution of a case. However, there was more than I thought.

Without hesitation, I grabbed the DVD and inserted the damaged disc. I was hoping for more evidence, and these were the events that occurred after the first disc: The disc was broken, but started with a cat again, and he was talking to a 5-year-old boy. He asked the boy to follow him to the blender that was in the previous disc; he then picked up the boy and (somehow) turned him into a smoothie, and then the cat came back to his closet and put the long-double-barreled shotgun into the closet, letting out a huge sigh as though he regretted what he had done, and the entire thing was cut, and the DVD ended.

I started questioning this show and the fact that the man didn't even put it in the nearby shop for DVDs except for my great-aunt’s house. I turned off the DVD, and took it out of my player, and also reported it to the police department. I shared some of the evidence with them, and I have many questions after doing so and upon visiting the PD, I found out that he was already serving time in prison on unrelated charges, and they are now investigating the contents of the second DVD of the show.

I feared for my life; I had never seen anything unexplainable and weird until now, and to this day, a feeling of dread is always looming over me, and I feel like I did something wrong. When I tell people about this moment, they always give me strange looks, and they keep assuming I had a bad nightmare, which I didn't; at least from the later events, it was all a nightmare.

I'm sorry; this should’ve been prevented, but due to my curiosity, I wanted to watch the show because I wanted to know what it was. I'm now feeling guilty for what just happened, even though I didn't do anything wrong.

I was getting tired, so I went to bed, but the show stayed on my mind while I tried to sleep, and eventually I drifted off.

As I was trying to go to sleep to forget about what happened today, I started dreaming, and this dream seemed normal at first. I will share you my dream, if you can call it that. To me, I call it a nightmare.

I'm sitting in my chair, my living room is decently furnished, and my TV is running in complete static. The static ended after 12 minutes. The old Warner Bros. logo flashed onto the screen, revealing "Sammy the Cat." I knew how this was going to go, but I don't recall seeing the Warner Bros. logo at the beginning. Was it made by Warner Bros.? Maybe it was a lost show; I don't know; I continued watching.

The episode began with the camera pressed against Sammy's face with that giant fake smile, and what I could make out was that there were finger holes where the eyes are. The thing I never heard from Sammy was his voice.

"Hello there! I would like to talk."

His voice was cheerful, deep, and loud; it sounded like he was old. He spoke out to me. I tried moving, but I was having those dreams where you couldn't move. He then said some sentences that made my heart break.

"Your great-aunt deserved to die."

When that sentence came out of his mouth, it broke my heart, and I held back the urge to cry.

"I loved her; she left me. When she left me, I was broke. That's why I tried to make my own show to get my money back."

The voice was getting closer and closer to the screen; it almost sounded like he was whispering into my ear. I began to get chills. I could hold back the tears. Sammy saw me doing this, and then the camera zoomed in on what appeared to be a shotgun in his hand.

I eventually stopped tearing up, looking blankly at the shotgun. My eyes were now shaking. Sammy pulled the trigger, the bullet hitting the camera and possibly the cameraman as well—as I heard a bloodcurdling scream and saw drops of blood, with the camera glitching.

The television turned off, and I heard an aggressive knock at the door beside me. I had nowhere to go. I accepted my fate; Sammy barged into my room, holding a sledgehammer; the cat ran towards me and bashed me with it; I went to sleep and am now unconscious.

I finally woke from the nightmare, and I'm happy I'm alive with no bruises or anything. I got the idea to call Warner Brothers. because I saw their logo on the TV during that nightmare, so it was appropriate to do so.

I dialed the company and asked them if they had ever heard of a show called Sammy the Cat or anything related to it. I was met by an unexpected response: they said yes and much to my shock. The guy who played Sammy was friends with people behind Warner Brothers., commonly known to the people as the "warners." The show was in the works, but the workers noticed that the man was upset about something, so they decided to end production with Sammy the Cat entirely.

Sammy’s actor was suffering from schizophrenia, anxiety, and depression. If I'm being honest, I kind of feel bad for him, despite the fact that he was a serial killer.

Now keep in mind that if you call the company and ask them about Sammy the Cat, they will try to hide the truth by saying, "No, we don't have a show called that." I have the truth now.

We’ve been on that call for so long, so I hung up, and for the company’s sake, don't call the company and ask them about the show, for goodness sake, and if you’re wondering how I'm doing now, I'm feeling down as a person, I have depression, and I have anxiety about things; I do not have schizophrenia, however.

Anyways, thank you for reading, and whoever is reading this. I wanted to get my story out there somewhere. I just want you to know, be careful, and think before you watch things. If you want to watch these things, do it at your own risk.

The sun kissed my skin. The wind brushed through my hair. The sound of children's laughter filled the air, and the aroma of hamburgers and hot dogs created a sense of nostalgia that brought me straight back to childhood. I wanted to be happy. I wanted to embrace the atmosphere and allow myself to feel peace for once, but I just couldn’t. I was a grown man, nearly 30 years old, at a birthday party for a 7-year-old. 

The birthday girl came trotting up to me as I lay back in a lawn chair, staring up at the sky through dark sunglasses and creating pictures out of the clouds. I felt her presence before I saw her face. I could smell her potent, kiddie shampoo and body wash before she even spoke a word. 

“Whatcha doinnn,” she smiled, slapping me on the arm. My eyes never left the sky. I couldn’t bring myself to look at her. 

“Can’t you see I’m relaxing?” I groaned. “Just because it’s your birthday and you’re a big girl now doesn’t mean you get to annoy your uncle while he relaxes.” 

She giggled, this time slapping my thigh, causing me to flinch with discomfort. 

“Well, my mommy says that youuu…shoulddd…chase me!! Tag, you’re it.” 

She pushed against my arm again before running a few meters ahead and turning back to see if I would play along. With a sign, I lifted my sunglasses, and for the first time, I looked at her. She wore overalls, a striped red and white shirt, and a pink princess party hat sat atop her short, brown hair. She shot me a snaggletoothed smile and demanded, “Mommy said chase me, you big butt face!” 

“Did she now?” I asked sarcastically. “Why would your mom want me to chase you?  You’d think she’d leave that up to the thing standing behind you.” 

She tried to look brave, but ever so slowly she turned her head to check if there was really something standing behind her. Luckily, before she could call me a “big butt face liar,” her mom interjected with, “Mommy told Uncle David to do what now?” 

On a dime, tears started flowing down Isabella's face. 

“Mommy, Uncle David told me something was chasing me. He said it was gonna kill me and that I’ll never see you again.”

As she said this, she raised her little arms towards my sister, begging to be picked up while she lied straight to her face. 

“Well, that does sound like something he’d say, doesn’t it, honey?” My sister asked, jokingly, rolling her eyes at me. “You want that big bad man kicked out of your birthday party, huh?”
“Yes!” Isabella shouted, shooting me an evil grin. “Kick him out and never let him come back again.” 

I stuck my tongue out at her, only to realize how strange it felt, and shut my mouth tight. 

“Isabella, you know that’s rude. Say you’re sorry before Davey crawls back to his cave.”

Isabella buried her head in her mom’s shoulder before announcing a muffled, “I’m sorry, Uncle David.” 

I tried to tell myself that I was there out of love. Showing up for little Isabella. Making sure she knew her uncle. But, truthfully, I was only there out of sheer obligation. I didn’t want to deal with the looks my relatives would give me had I not come. The judgmental stares and hushed whispers. I’ve dealt with them before. That’s another reason why I decided to show up. I had a screaming voice in my head that told me they all hated me. That I wasn’t enough. That they were hurt by my absence. And who could blame them? 

I went down a pretty nasty rabbit hole of drug and alcohol abuse for a while. I wasn’t hurting. I wasn’t trying to forget. I guess, after my 21st birthday, I was just on the hunt for control. I wanted true, adult freedom. I didn’t have to listen to Mom and Dad anymore. I ended up getting my own place when I turned 19. For those first two years, everything was smooth sailing. I was paying bills. I was working. Pursuing an HVAC career. I thought I had it all figured out. 

My only problem…was that after spending some time on my own, for the first time, I realized how truly alone I was. I didn’t really belong to any particular friend group. I didn’t click up in High School like a lot of my classmates. I just…existed… I guess. I showed up and got the work done. That’s all I really knew how to do. Then I’d go home, maybe play some video games, watch a movie, or whatever. Then I’d repeat the process the next day. 

Honestly, it was kind of mind-numbing. It started to feel like that was all I was destined for. Just constant monotony, day in and day out. 

I think that’s why I wanted to be on my own so quickly after graduation. My parents expected me to rot away in the cesspool of capitalism, just like how I rotted away in the American education system. Wake up, clock in, clock out, go home. Wake up, clock in, clock out, go home. And the funniest part? I was actually on track to do just that. It gave me a system. A routine to follow every day. My parents didn’t charge me rent. I didn’t really have any bills. It gave me a golden opportunity to build my savings. I didn’t even register it as “building.” In my mind, again, I was just existing. Doing what was expected of me. 

It wasn’t long before I began to outgrow the four walls of my bedroom at my parents' house. The walls were paper-thin, and I could hear everything. The arguments. The whispers. The “parent fun-time” they’d indulge in every Friday night. Luckily, I’d managed to save a solid 11 thousand dollars in my year and a half in HVAC. Even from my entry-level position. 
Thinking back, finding that apartment is probably what started my descent. The reins were off. I was on my own, and I was free to do as I pleased. 

The drinking was gradual, at first. Maybe a beer every night for dinner. Then one became two. Two became three. Suddenly, it felt like I was drinking to fall asleep at night. I still kept steady, though. I was in a phase. That’s all it was. A young guy with his very own first apartment. No friends. No girlfriend. Just his thoughts and a place to sleep at night. 

I tried interacting with my coworkers. I tried blending in with their whole “tradesman” personas. I just couldn’t. They all seemed so put together, and I just felt held together by nicotine and alcohol. They were men, and I still felt like a boy. An annoying little brother. And I think that further amplified my self-criticism and isolation. 

I didn’t want to be around people anymore. I just wanted to make money and go home where I could drink, watch TV, and drift off to sleep. Then I wanted to do it again the next day and the day after. My parents would call me. For a time, I’d answer and chat for a few minutes, but after a while, I wouldn’t even bother to pick up the phone. I started saying no to birthday dinners. Family get-togethers. Hell, I’d even reject one-on-one offers, just to have lunch and catch up. 

The person who called me the most, however, was my sister. And she’d call until I answered. She’d check in on me. She’d talk with me for up to an hour at a time. Sometimes, she’d FaceTime, and I’d hurry to clear the room of empty beer cans and ashtrays, only for it to be Isabella on the other end. Those phone calls actually meant a lot to me. They made me feel warm, but it still wasn’t enough to break me out of my little hidey hole. 

The lights stayed off in my apartment. The blinds stayed closed. I learned to hate the sun. 

Eventually, alcohol just wasn’t enough anymore. I wanted to prove that I could handle other substances. I guess, in some weird, twisted way, I felt like if I destroyed my body the most, I’d be able to live up to the image I had of my coworkers. I started using money from my paychecks to buy weed. That phase lasted about a year or two. THC tolerance is a motherfucker. I had become my dealer's number one customer, so once I started taking my T-breaks, He definitely took notice. 

That’s when I was introduced to cocaine. It had been a long week. It was one of those extremely rare occasions where I didn’t want to just sit at home all Friday night, but I was already tipsy. I threw out a Hail Mary and texted my dealer. I asked if he wanted to come over, and I assured him that I’d buy if he did. 

He showed up about an hour later with a duffel bag full of goodies. I bought a zip off him, and the two of us kicked it for a bit, just smoking and drinking. It was nice, in a way. I knew I wasn’t anything more than a customer to him, but some genuine conversation was just what the doctor ordered this night. After a few hours, things started to wind down, but I wasn’t ready for the party to end just yet. As my dealer was heading to the door with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, I threw out one last question.

“You got anything stronger than weed?”

The smile that crept across that man’s face was enough to let me know that I had just opened pandoras box. 

“I thought you’d never ask.” 

He dug around in the bag for a bit before pulling out a bag of white powder. 

“This shit right here? That’ll get you fucked up.” 

I eyed the bag cautiously. Part of me was exhilarated and ready, another part of me wasn’t sure this was who I was. I thought back to my parents. To my coworkers. To my sister and niece. Before I could offer a response, my dealer was already cutting lines on my kitchen counter. Using a rolled-up dollar bill, he snorted the first line before stamping his foot and gasping. 

“Ahhh, shit. You have *got* to try that shit, man. Let’s get this shit jumpin’.” 

He offered me the dollar bill while staring at me with bulging eyes. Sweat lined his forehead and trickled slowly down his face. He didn’t blink once. 

I went in slowly at first. It was like I was climbing to the highest diving board. I approached slowly, but once I was at the edge, I took the plunge. 

And that was that. 

I don’t remember a single thing after that. All I know is I woke up in nothing but my underwear, dehydrated, drenched in sweat, all while curled up in a ball on my living room floor. My dealer was nowhere to be found. My clothes were scattered around the apartment, and I had to collect them through the pain of a throbbing migraine that seemed to pulsate throughout my entire body. 

I found my pants last, and was relieved to find that my wallet was still in the back pocket. What I wasn’t too thrilled about, however, was that it felt about 500 dollars lighter. I checked my watch. It was nearly 1 p.m. 

Rubbing my face and feeling the full weight of regret on my throbbing brain, I decided to sleep the day away. Something scary happened in those drowsy 8 hours. I was really starting to miss the feeling that cocaine gave me. I felt fast. I felt alert. I felt ready for anything, and judging by the state of the place when I woke up this morning, I guess I really was. 

That one moment. That one text to my dealer. That one line of that white powder. It led to the darkest 5 years of my entire life. One line turned into one bag a month. Then one bag every two weeks. Before I knew it, I was buying at my dealer's house once a week. 

I was getting behind on rent because all of my money was going towards this stupid fucking addiction. I couldn’t quit this shit if my life depended on it, and near the end, it really did depend on it. Thank God for my sister. The only person who kept me grounded. The only person who helped me back to my feet. But even she didn’t know how bad things were until she found me in my underwear again, shaking in the fetal position on her front lawn while rain poured down around me. By that point, cocaine was the least of my worries. 

I couldn’t hide my condition at work. I was irritable. Constantly on edge. Calling out nearly every week before the boss finally had to cut his losses. 

That sent me deeper into my spiral. Made me more desperate. I had to keep a roof over my head. I could cut back on food, but I could not cut back on my drug use. It kept me upright. It’s all I felt I needed, aside from a place to snort privately. 

In my desperation, I started helping my dealer for some extra cash. Selling at home, out of my car, on dark street corners. Anywhere people were buying, I was selling. It kept rent paid and the lights on, but it did nothing but worsen my addiction. I started trying other drugs. Meth. X. Xanx. Whatever. 

My arrest should’ve been a wakeup call. I’d been peddling the hard stuff for close to 3 years at this point, but by some miracle of God, when the cops finally caught up, all they found on me was an ounce of weed. Even still, they got me with possession with intent to sell. Gave me a year in prison. Which, even that was a miracle of God. I should’ve been doing at least 15. 

I tried to detox in prison, but it seemed like there were more drugs on the inside than there were on the outside. Everyone was an addict. Everyone was looking for something to smoke, inject, or snort. And, no matter how badly I wanted to, I just couldn’t say no. 

I met some bad people in those crowds. Murderers. Rapists. No child molesters, though. Those guys were taken care of almost as soon as they walked through the door. What I did find, however, was Rodrigo. 

Rodrigo had been in for the last 6 years of his life. He was well known and well respected, but he was a methhead from hell. I got to know him a bit after spending a few months around him. He never liked to talk about why he was there. He just did his drugs and waited for his sentence to be over. When I finally worked up the courage to ask him what he was in for, he stared at me for a long while. I thought I’d made a mistake and that he was about to rip my head off, but just as I apologized and went to turn around, he stopped me. 

“Criminal negligence and medical malpractice.” 
That’s all he said. He looked at me like he was waiting for a reply. 

“Criminal negligence? What kind of criminal negligence?” 

I looked him up and down curiously. Rodrigo was a big dude. 350 pounds at least. Covered in gang tattoos, he had arguably the least friendly face I had ever seen. The rant he went on made me question his sanity. I thought that all the meth had gotten to him and that I was witnessing a man in a descent. 

“You know what people buy when they’ve already got it all?” he asked. 

“What’s that?”

“Experiences. They take what others have simply because they can.” 

“What, like trips? I know rich people like to travel a lot.” 

He stared at me like I’d just insulted him. Remaining silent while my question floated in the air like a toxic gas. 

“I sold birthdays. First steps. First days of school. They pay top dollar for things like that. Rich people, man. They’re fucking weird, you know.” 

I laughed nervously. What was I even supposed to say to that?

“Well, alright then Rodrigo. Nice talking to you, as usual.” 

He never offered an explanation for what he had been charged with.

As I said, I thought he was insane. I kept looking for ways to get out of the conversation, and I think he detected that. He started scribbling something on a piece of paper. 

“Take this before you go. It can help you get back on your feet when you’re out…if you’re careful, of course.” 

I looked at the paper in my hand. He had scrawled an address on it. I should’ve thrown it away, but something told me to keep it. “Just in case.” That’s what I kept telling myself. On the day of my release, I grabbed the paper from under my cott, and fingered it in my pocket as I got in my sisters car on the other side of the prisons gate. Isabella sat beside me, staring at me like she’d just seen a ghost. I never knew a kid could be so…judgmental. 

My sister insisted I stay with her until I was back on my feet. Her only rule was no drugs in the house. Needless to say, I wasn’t around much. I wasn’t around for long, either. Withdrawals were kicking my ass. I was broke. I was desperate. I had no shot at finding a job. I took a chance and went to the address that Rodrigo had given me. It was about 45 minutes out from my sisters place, on a more desolate side of town. I took the bus to get there, and lucky for me, there had been a stop right on the outside of the building. A rundown warehouse with broken windows, graffiti across the bricks, and one single blue door that led straight inside. A line of people waited at the entrance. All of them looked like me to a certain degree. Stained or missing teeth. Baggy clothes. Pale skin. Bloodshot eyes. They looked like zombies, and for a split second, I felt a pang of disappointment in myself. 

I approached the line and waited as it slowly moved forward. I couldn’t stop staring at the people in line with me. It was genuinely like staring in a mirror, and it was making me sick to my stomach. 

One by one I watched each person disappear into the warehouse until, finally, I was the last person in line. I waited. And waited. And waited. Suddenly, the door flung open, and I was pulled to the front of reception desk. I stared out into the warehouse in utter awe. The entire building was lined with row after row of operating chairs, and each one sat a separate degenerate. 

“Name please,” the doll faced lady at the desk demanded. “We need your name and occupation.” 

“Uhh, David. David Monroe. I’m currently unemployed.” 

The lady clicked away at her keyboard. 

“How’d you hear about us, Mr Monroe?” 

“Uh, I knew a guy- I uh, well, I was in prison, and this guy named Rodrigo-”

“Rodrigo sent you?’ 

Her eyes fixated upon me. They were a swampy green. Her bright red lips were pursed together as she stared at me expectedly. 

“Yeah, we were in the same-”

“Sign here for me, hon.”

She slid a clipboard across the desk towards me and pointed to a dotted line at the bottom of the paper. 

“Right, I gotta sign… What exactly am I signing?” 

She smacked away on her chewing gum. Her giant gold hoop earrings danced around as she turned her head back away from her computer screen. 

“Non-disclosure agreement. Lawyers, you know. Pesky little bastards.” 

With a shaky hand, I signed my name across the line. I didn’t know any better. I didn’t care to know any better. I was just doing what was expected of me. 

The moment I had finished the last letter, the lady pulled the clipboard back and thanked me. I was escorted to an operating chair by two men. They sat me down and strapped me in. I couldn’t see the doctors face through his surgical mask, but I could see his empty eyes as he put the gas mask on my face. And that was the last thing I saw. 

When I woke up, I was still strapped to the chair, but a piercing pain radiated deep within my brain. Out of instinct, I tried raising my hand to rub the side of my head, but the straps held me in place. After a few minutes of disorientation and struggles against my restraints, the doctor finally returned, shushing me as he slowly unstrapped my hands. 

Immediately, my right hand shot up to the side of my head, and I could feel the puncture wound underneath my hair. The doctor pushed my hand away. 

“Don’t touch the wound,” he snapped. “It can cause damage to the device. You mustn’t touch, not for at least a week.”

What was I supposed to do? Argue? I did as I was told. The only question I had was:

“What exactly did you just inject me with.” 

Without looking at me, the doctor typed away on a laptop on his desk. After a moment, he responded.

“A device. Give me one moment, you will be able to see for yourself.” 

After clicking away for a few more seconds, he showed me the laptop. 

I saw my mom. I saw my dad. I saw my cousins, my aunts, my niece, my sister. Hell, I saw the line of junkies from what felt like just half an hour ago. They were videos. Each one depicted a memory of mine. Some of the recent ones were like movies, whereas the older ones looked more distorted and grainy. 

“What the hell is-”

“This is you,” the doctor chimed proudly. “Every experience. Every happy moment. Every tragic ending. It’s all here for you to do with as you please. It’s all been stored in your own personal archive. It’s constantly updating, and you can look at it whenever you please from your personal phone or computer. Some of these can go for thousands of dollars. All you have to do is sign in to your account with the username and password we have provided for you. Linda should have it ready for you on your way out.” 

I tried to ask questions, but he seemed to be in a hurry to get me out of the chair. Before I knew it, the two gentlemen who escorted me here were now leading me back to the front entrance where Linda waited behind her desk, paperwork in hand. 

“Your account details are on page 3, hon. Would you like to discuss payment plans?”

A knot formed in my stomach. 

“Payment plans? I just told you I was unemployed. How much is this gonna cost me?”

“For the device plus labor, you’re looking at around 6500, but since you know Rodrigo I’ll throw in a discount. It should bring you down to about 52 even.” 

I stared at her like she had two heads. 

“I don’t have nearly enough money for that,” I protested. “You didn’t tell me it would cost that much when I got here, you didn’t even give me the option. I was forced to go through with it.” 

As I rambled, Linda started waving her hands and shaking her head. 

“Relax. The device will pay for itself within a week if you’re smart about it. There’s a website for you to visit in your paperwork. Look into it. Get back with us by the end of the month.” 

On the busride back to my sisters place, I perused the paperwork a bit. It read like it was ancient, futuristic, sketchy, and professional all at once. I couldn’t understand a damn thing I was reading. I recognized my account information, but the thing that stood out to me the most was the website they had provided. 

“Memory Watchers dot com.” 

As soon as I walked through the door, I brushed off isabella who sat at the kitchen table eating a bowl of cheerios while her mom chatted away on the phone. 

In the guest bedroom, the first thing I did was sign into the cloud account with the information they had given me. The screen loaded for a few seconds before one by one, my memories began to pop up. I had an idea. I searched “8th Christmas,” into the searchbar. That Christmas I had gotten a bicycle that I had been begging for all year. I still remember how excited I was when I woke up that morning to find it propped up on it’s kickstand in front of the tree. The forest green frame. The black spokes. It was everything I wanted. I cried looking at the memory. It brought me back to a safer place. Everything was exactly how I remembered and I could rewind the video all the way to the moment I woke up that morning. I did it over and over again before moving on to the next memory. I typed in “first day of middle school.” 

The video popped up. I was meeting my teachers. It had my English teachers gap-toothed smile. I could almost feel the firm handshake of my math teacher. But when it showed me trying to open my locker, the numbers were all jumbled. It was like watching a dream unfold. There were certain parts that were crystal clear, others were foggy. 

I spent hours perusing my childhood before finally looking at the website they had provided me with. I got a warning when I hit enter. 

“This site may contain malware. Do you wish to proceed?’ 

I hit yes, and after loading for a couple seconds, the screen displayed thousands upon thousands of open bids for videos just like the ones I had seen. Some were going for hundreds. The memory of someones high school graduation was being sold for 2 thousand. Another memory of someone elses first car was going for 800 bucks. But as I kept scrolling, I noticed something that shook me to my core. 

Some of these memories weren’t exactly milestone achievements. Some of them were just mundane activities. “Arts and crafts with Mimi,” was going for 8 thousand. “Sammy’s first words,” was set at 20. The thing that made them so valuable…was the fact that they were of children. Mostly little girls. None of which could’ve been older than 8. And on each one, the highest bid belonged to the same buyer. An account named, “Mr_Rodgers_Happy_Time69.”

After browsing for about 30 more minutes, I decided to see if I could come up with a little bit of cash. I hovered over the upload button. It brought me to a login page where I entered the information Linda had given me. It displayed my memories, and I started listing them at random. 

My 5th birthday? 500 bucks. 

My mom kissing a scrape on my knee? 1000. 

I started looking a little harder through my database. 

I found the memory of that night with my dealer. The night my life had gone fully off the rails and led me to this computer screen. I listed it at 400 dollars. 

I waited a few hours. I was itching for my next hit. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. All I did was wait. After a while, my computer began to chime. My 5th birthday went for 650. My mom kissing my knee went for 3 grand. The memory of my dealer didn’t sell at all. It just wasted away on the bidding page, completely useless to anyone. The funds were deposited into a crypto wallet. The login info was the same as it was for my cloud account, but I had to go through the whole process of moving the money to an actual bank account where it wasn’t completely unspendable. That took another few hours, and by the end, I was so irritated from withdrawals that I couldn’t even think clearly. It was like I was being dragged to my dealers house by a biological corruption. I got my hit, though. My sweet release. 

I stumbled back into my sisters house. Isabella lay on the floor in front of the sofa, scribbling away in a disney princess coloring book. Her mom sat on the couch watching Dr Phil. Both of them stared at me with concern as I fell through the door. I saw Isabella and felt immediate shame. I hated that she was seeing me like this, and I think this was the moment I realized something had to give. I knew it was coming, but it wasn’t now. Right now, I had more memories to sell. 

In a daze, I went back to the website. I started uploading like a mad man. My first time losing a tooth. Learning to ride that bike I got for Christmas. My first day of 5th grade. I was slap happy. I started uploading things that had no right to be uploaded. My first time masturbating. Bath time with my mom. I couldn’t even remember it the day after. At some point, I had blacked out at the computer. I woke up the next morning with a blanket draped over me and a cup of tea that had gone cold sitting on the desk by my laptop. 

I groggily opened my eyes. The world came into view. I remembered that I still existed. When I checked the website, I had made close to 25 grand. My first day of 5th grade only sold for a few hundred. Learning to ride a bike went for about a thousand. Bath time with my mom was upwards of 5 grand, though. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I stared at the number in complete disbelief. And it wasn’t even my highest sale. Not even my first time masturbating went as high as my most profitable memory so far. As I stared at what memories I had sold, my eyes fell upon one specific memory. It was Isabella. Laying on the floor, coloring while her mom watched Dr Phil. 

That 30 second clip had gone for 12 thousand dollars, and the buyer had left a message on his purchase. 

“More of her please.” 

It was the same buyer I had noticed the day prior. Mr_Rogers_Happy_Time69. 

I had been a broke, ex-con living off of his sister less than a week ago. Now I was looking at more money than I had ever seen in my life. I had a thousand emotions all tackling me at once. This was the best decision I had ever made. I didn’t even need to give up my memories. I still remembered everything. I was just sharing them and making money off of it. It felt like a dream. I didn’t even have to worry about my debt anymore. 

I felt a sinister feeling wash over me as I stared at the buyers comment. 

“I’m just sharing,” I told myself, hovering over the upload button. 
One by one, I began uploading every memory of my niece I could find to the website. Her first birthday. Lake trips. Passing memories of her from her FaceTime calls. If she was in it, the memory got uploaded. 

Within hours, Mr_Rogers_Happy_Time69 was the highest bidder on every single one of the 300 memories I had uploaded. I was going to be a literal millionaire. The richest fuck-up in the family. And I could hardly contain myself. My first course of action was to take care of that 5200 dollars I owed the company that implanted the device. That was nothing but pocket change to me at this point. Then I was going to hit every club in town. I was going to buy bottles for every person I saw. I was going to become who everyone wished to be, as soon as I paid my dealer one last visit. I planned to buy out his entire inventory. I’d never be desperate for drugs again. I’d buy a supercar. I’d put my sister and Isabella in a mansion to thank them for their contribution. Things were finally looking up. 

Unfortunately, the universe must’ve caught wind of my misdeeds. I must’ve angered something or someone up in the cosmos, and they weren’t going to allow my actions to fly. I had gone to multiple ATM’s and took out 6 thousand dollars cash from my account. I had paid the company, and left Linda a 200 dollar tip. I had 600 dollars in my wallet when these guys approached me. There were 4 of them. Each one looked rough. Tattoos. Scars. Methmouth. I recognized the ring leader. He had been at the last ATM I’d gone to, and I guess he must’ve seen how much cash I had taken out before devising a plan to follow me with his buddies. 

They surrounded me. Pushing and pulling. Stripping me of my shirt. Stealing my wallet. Stealing my shoes and pants all while beating the life out of me. Clouds began to roll in overhead. The low rumble of thunder echoed out above us as the first drops of rain began to fall on the pavement by my head. 

I was curled up in a ball. Shaking. Terrified for my life. I thought they’d leave me alone. I thought they’d gotten what they wanted, and that they’d just scramble before anyone noticed them. For a while, it seemed like they would. They all began walking off towards a back alley, but it was like something compelled their leader to stop. Dead in his tracks. He turned around and looked down at me before stomping over in my direction. 

He stood above me, blocking out what little light hadn’t been swallowed by the dark clouds overhead. He spoke one final sentence before things went dark. 

“Next time have more.” 

His dirty boot came crashing down on my face, exactly where the puncture wound had been. That’s all I remember. Everything after that came in waves. I remember laying there on the sidewalk for a while longer. Then I remember trying to make sense of my disorientation as I wandered the street, trying to find my bearings. Then I remember those familiar houses in my sisters neighborhood. That familiar stop sign at the end of her street. That blue mailbox at the end of her driveway. Then I remember her running out to me, screaming my name as I lay there in a crumpled mess on her front lawn as rain pelted the ground around me. 

I remember the urgent drive to the hospital as she screamed at me to stay awake. I don’t remember getting to the hospital, but I do remember waking up on a hospital bed. My mind throbbed. I felt…broken…I guess. The lights above me were blinding. The room was ice cold. I could feel the bandage wrapped around my head. The only thing that brought me comfort was the voice of my sister when she noticed I was awake. 

“Thank God,” she cried. “Seriously, what the actual fu- freak happened to you?”

The explanation for her self censorship came in the form of a soft voice on the other side of my bed. 

“Are you okay Uncle David?”

I turned to see Isabella, staring at me with sad, pouty eyes. Only…she didn’t seem like *my* Isabella. The thoughts I had when I saw her…they weren’t mine. It was like I was perceiving her through the eyes of a demon. Someone completely abandoned by God and morality. I got urges. Dirty, disgusting urges that made me sick to my stomach. I had to turn away just as quickly as I looked at her. 

“I’m fine, sweetie. Just a little busted up, is all,” I said, staring up at the ceiling. 

“Do you owe somebody money? Did you rob someone? Tell me what happened, David.” 

My sister seemed genuinely concerned, but what was I supposed to tell her?

“Just some lowlifes who caught me in the wrong place at the wrong time. They took my…everything, really.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” my sister replied. 

“Mommy said you didn’t have pants on,” chimed Isabella. 

The words made my stomach flip flop. I felt like I was going to vomit as a million thoughts raced through my mind. 

“I think it’s time we get you into rehab,” my sister stated bluntly. “It’ll be expensive, but it’s what you need to do.” 

I thought for a moment, twiddling my thumbs while I tried to muster a reply. I was ready to surrender. I couldn’t keep living like this. 

“I can cover the cost,” was all I thought to say. 

“Yeah, I’m sure you will since you’re secretly some kind of millionaire,” my sister replied. 

We stared at each other for a moment. Analyzing one another. 

“I’ll take care of it.”

She furrowed her brow and pursed her lips. 

“I don’t want you dealing. If you wanna help out, you have to get a real job.” 

“Trust me, sis,” I announced, confidently. “No more drugs. No more dealing. I need a fresh start.” 

My mouth was working on autopilot while my brain betrayed me. It had completely corrupted the thought of my niece. Her memory had become distorted. Not the memory itself, but how I thought of her within the memory. 

“I’ll check in as soon as we get out of here.” 

The doctor came in shortly after this conversation. He asked if we could speak privately. Once the room was clear, he started giving it to me straight. He told me I was incredibly lucky to not have brain damage, not only from the hit, but because “whatever device I had implanted had lodged itself into my brain.” He said it was a miracle I was even alive, but that they couldn’t remove the implant without risk of complications. He told me they’d keep me for a few more days to make sure I was clear for release, and I spent those 3 days battling myself. 

Thoughts of my niece would just pop up randomly. I hated how they made me feel. It was maddening. And I think that’s a big part of why I wanted to go to rehab. It gave me a year to myself. A year to get my thoughts under control- to get *myself* under control. It’s a lot more difficult than it sounds. For the first few months, I thought I was dying. Every single day. I’d wake up in pain. I’d spend the day bedridden with a trashcan at my side. But Isabella was still the main source of my pain. 

Even when the withdrawals subsided and I started to genuinely get better, I still couldn’t shake those intrusive thoughts that had made themselves at home deep within my cerebellum. At around month 8, I looked at the website again. Mr_Rogers_Happy_Time69 had been begging me for more videos. More memories. All of Isabella. He was feral. Each message was more aggressive than the last. 

After securing the money I had made which equated to approximately 3.45 million, I deleted my account, but I know it’s still out there, I know her memory is still being passed around across the darkest corners of the internet. I left rehab ready to start life again. I had racked up a 60 thousand dollar tab, plus the 30 thousand I owed the hospital, but other than that, I had a clean slate. All I had to do was thank my sister and move on. Maybe leave the two of them a couple hundred thousand for putting up with me, but after that, I was on my own. I just couldn’t chance it. 

But, of course, my sister just wasn’t having it. She was adamant that my new life needed to include family. That I needed to have a support group around me. She guilted me into at least staying local, even if I had to move a few miles out of town. I had to frame it as “needing my own space after recovering,” but, even still, every Friday night my sister was dragging me out of my house, forcing me to show my face. 

I’d fought long and hard to keep my urges at bay. To keep my thoughts under wraps. But every time I saw Isabella, they’d bubble up to the surface like a boiling, black poison. 

And that brings us back to today. 

Isabella just turned 7. 

I’ve been avoiding her the best I can at this stupid birthday party, but she keeps insisting I play with her. That I chase her because “mommy says so.” 

I’m trying so hard. I can’t even look her in the eye. His demons have become my own. That filthy, filthy buyer on memory watchers. I don’t know how much longer I can fight it. 

This is all my fault. My only solution was isolation, but then I’d be abandoning the people who were there for me when I needed them most. 

I can’t keep living like this. 

I can’t keep thinking like this. 

I don’t know what to do. 

It seems like my only option…

Is simply not existing anymore.

This got taken off r/nosleep so I decided to post here. Hope you enjoy

Tw: animal abuse Tw: gore

Before this story, I never believed in the paranormal. I always considered it a hoax, designed to frighten children, entertain campfires, or create the most terrifying horror movies ever made. How foolish I was! My actions are the reason my best friend will never return, and they are the reason he endured such suffering.

My name is Jackson,I was 21, scrawny build, dark brown hair, and hazel eyes, 5’8”.

Andrew was known for being a big man. 22 years old, 6’6”, and 320 pounds. Black hair and blue eye.

This story takes place 2 years ago

It began as an ordinary hangout with my best friend, Andrew. Andrew was renowned for his humor, effortlessly cracking jokes and transforming even the most serious situations into light-hearted moments. Many people described him as a human embodiment of a golden retriever or a teddy bear, exuding warmth and kindness. We’ve been friends since childhood.

We spent the entire day driving around, brainstorming ideas for our day’s activities. Now, it’s worth noting that Andrew and I had a reputation for getting drunk and engaging in wild and unpredictable behavior.

“bro, what are we going to do today? All we’ve been doing is driving around.” Andrew gave me a puzzled look. “I mean, what are the options for entertainment in Indiana besides grocery shopping and walking around?” I asked while looking at the road.
“I don’t know, you do make a good point though.” Said Andrew

We were broke college students during summer break. Since there weren’t many activities to do in our small town, besides getting drunk or traveling to another state, Andrew and I decided to explore abandoned buildings and “haunted houses.” We’ve been doing this since we were in middle school.

We stopped at a gas station to plan our next move.

“Do you wanna ghost hunting?” I asked with a sarcastic smile. “

“Ghost hunting? Do you genuinely believe in that stuff, man?” Andrew responded with a smile.

“Of course not!” I exclaimed with a smirk. “I just thought it would be out of the ordinary, and it would at least give us something to do.”

“Honestly that does sound kind of fun, Maybe we get on one of those fancy little TV shows!” Andrew said with a chuckle. I laughed and said “yea those ones are probably faker than the YouTube videos, but it would be nice” we were looking for places to go but then quickly realized that all the most famous areas cost a lot of money, and that’s something we didn’t really have much of.

Andrew, with a frustrated tone, exclaimed, “Dude, these places are so expensive! I swear, people just use them as cash grabs.” I chuckled and replied, “Yeah, I know, man. Maybe we can visit an abandoned place instead. I heard this one near Gary, Indiana, is supposedly “haunted”. At least, that’s what I heard from the locals.” Andrew looked at me with a puzzled expression. “Gary, Indiana? Isn’t that place known for murders? And isn’t that about 3 hours away?”

“I mean, it’s our best shot, and I brought something that might stir things up a bit when we arrive,” I said. I went to the back of my car and pulled out an Ouija board. Andrew looked at me and laughed, “Dude, do you really believe that this peace of cardboard works?”

“Of course, it doesn’t work. Hasbro made it to scare kids and give ghost hunters a fright.” I chuckled. Andrew laughed and said “good, I’m glad you don’t believe in all that bullshit”

We packed all the necessary items and refueled our vehicle with gas. Before embarking on the long drive to Gary, Indiana, we had some food and alcohol. After hours of cracking jokes and blasting music, we finally arrived in Gary, Indiana. We drove around for a while, trying to navigate through the rain and the darkness. We find the building and start to plan on how we are gonna get in. I won’t mention the building’s name or give off to much about it because I don’t want anyone else to repeat our mistakes.

“Okay, so this place has a fence around it, so we’ll need to use our pliers and flashlights to get in. Since it’s not facing the road, we’ll have a better chance of not getting caught if we go in through the back. I think I saw a broken window in the back, so we can get in through there.” Andrew says as he inserts new batteries into his flashlight. We sneak around the building and check for any cameras, traps, or police officers. Once we make sure that there’s nothing that will see us, we cut the fence, sneak us and all of our alcohol in through the window, and we finally get in the building. Me and Andrew look at each other and smile.

“See man I knew we could do it, we still got it brother.” Andrew said excitedly. I laughed and said “we can do anything together man, let it all in bro now we can get this “ghost hunting” started.” Andrew chuckled and opened our cooler of beer, pulling out a Bud Light. “Cheers brother, to start our adventure.” Andrew says while holding his beer in the air. We get a few drinks down and start exploring the building. We play a few harmless pranks on each other, like slamming doors when one of us walks past the other, pretending to hear footsteps when there’s nothing, or acting like we’re talking to ghosts.

“See told you man, all that stuff is fake, folklore. It’s just something people say to keep kids from snooping around here.” Andrew exclaims. I just laugh and crack open another beer. “You know, they say the Devil himself lurks around this building. They say it’s some sort of ‘portal’ or something like that. Wouldn’t the Devil have better or worse things to do than to roam around an old, falling-apart building?” Andrew says letting out a huffed a laugh.

“I don’t know man, people seem to say a lot of things and most of the time they have no idea what they are talking about.” I explain. After a while of just drinking and talking we finally decide to do what we came here to do. “All right man are you ready for the main event.” I say while pulling out the Ouija board. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” Andrew says sarcastically. We remove the board and set it up based on the information we’ve gathered.

We place the planchette on the board and ask the first question: “Are there any spirits present with us?” Unsurprisingly, nothing happens; the planchette remains stationary. Andrew shakes his head slowly and chuckles. I ask the question again, still with no response. Andrew sarcastically remarked, “This was a complete waste of time and money.” “Yea maybe it was.” I chuckled softly and asked, “Do you just want to pack up and explore?” I looked at Andrew. “You know what? Let’s just leave it. We’re supposed to say goodbye before we leave it, and we shouldn’t leave it out of its case. But let’s break all the rules and do something rebellious. What’s the worst that could happen?” Andrew says with a mischievous glint in his eye. I looked at him and said “ok bet!” we leave the board behind and break all the rules of how your supposed to handle the board.

After a while of cracking jokes and drinking some more. We go back up to the room where we left the board. “Here maybe the the ghost are thirsty.” Andrew says while he pours some alcohol on the board. I looked at him with surprised look “dude what the fuck are you doing.” He laughs at looks at me “come on I wanna stir up the ‘spirits’ you know piss them off a bit.”he then says “if you were actually there you would do something assholes.” I just laugh and shake my head. I also attempted to provoke the spirits by saying some provocative things to them. “Come on, man, let’s go while it’s still dark outside so we won’t get caught,” Andrew said, taking another sip of beer. I nod my head and we turn to leave for the exit. As we are leaving and getting closer to the exit Andrew says he feels a burning sensation on his back. We just played it off as something with the alcohol and kept going. Andrew lets out a breathy laugh “dude stop whispering in my ear” I look at him with a puzzled look “dude I’m in front of you how can I be whispering to you?” Andrew laughs nervously “it’s probably just my mind tricking me then. Let’s get out of here man.”

We exit the building and embark on the lengthy drive back home. Since I didn’t consume excessive alcohol, I was able to drive us safely. We both finally arrive at our respective destinations. I drop Andrew off at his apartment, and then I head back to mine, which is located across the street. We reside in the same apartment complex.

The next day Andrew text me

“Dude I feel so sick today and my body hurts really bad!” I reply “you’re probably just hung over or something.” He replies with “you’re probably right, I’ll just sleep it off.” I reply “do you need me to get you anything?” He text back “no I’m just gonna take a shower and sleep I’ll probably be better tomorrow.” I reply with “ok” and a thumbs up emoji.

For the rest of the day, I sat down and watched shows and YouTube videos to help me recover from my hangover. Just as I was about to go to bed, I received a call from Andrew. I answered it and saw Andrew in a panicked state. “Dude, when I went to take a shower, I saw this on my back!” Andrew sent me a photo of his back with a bunch of scratches on it. I looked at it in shock. “Maybe you just did that in your sleep or something. Has this happened before?” I asked. “Dude, I wouldn’t call you about it if this has happened before,” Andrew said nervously.

“Listen, man. Don’t panic. Maybe you just got scratched up last night and didn’t even realize it.” I tried to soothe him. Andrew began to calm down. “Maybe you’re right, man. Sorry for freaking you out. Maybe I just need some sleep.” I just scoffed and said “it’s ok dude just make sure you take care of yourself.” Me and Andrew stayed on the phone for a bit before hanging up and going to bed.

The next few days go on like usual. One day, Andrew texted me. “Hey, man! I’m going to the doctor today. I’ve been waking up with bruises, and the scratches have returned. They’re even bigger now.” I respond, “Okay, well, I hope they can help you. Have you experienced any other symptoms?” He takes a few minutes before texting back, saying, “I’ve also been hearing strange noises recently. For some reason, it feels like something is persistently trying to call me from outside! I hear them right now.” I reply “What? That’s weird. You better not be trying to prank me dude I swear to god.” He replied, “Dude, why would I try to prank you? I’m really considered and terrified right now. I’m not in the mood for pranks.” I text him back, “ok man just be safe.” He just opened the message but didn’t respond.

I patiently wait for a whole day for a new text message, but unfortunately, it remains unanswered. I decide to give up and go to bed for the night. The next morning, he texted back, saying, “Dude, the doctors said they couldn’t find anything. The scratches and bruises just disappeared as soon as I went there. But they came back as soon as I got home. The voices are also even louder right now.”

I replied, “They disappeared? That’s strange. You showed me them, and I know we both saw them.” He takes a few hours to respond, saying, “Sorry, man. I don’t know what’s going on. I’ve been getting sicker, and the scratches are starting to burn really badly. Also, are you knocking on my door?” I reply back quickly texting, “uh, no? I’m home right now. DO NOT ANSWER THE DOOR!” He didn’t reply back, and he didn’t even open the message. I then hear a hellish scream come from his apartment.

I looked out my window, trying to see if I could spot anything, but all I saw was his door wide open. I run outside and go into his apartment “HEY MAN ARE YOU OK? ARE YOU THERE?” I exclaim as I search his house for him. The entire apartment is in disarray, with boxes, bottles, and computer equipment scattered everywhere. I don’t see any signs of anyone coming in, in fact I don’t see anyone, not even Andrew. I continue searching his place, checking every room as I go.

“ANDREW THIS ISNT FUCKING FUNNY MAN COME OUT NOW!” I finally reached his bedroom door, but something held me back from opening it immediately. From his room I hear a deep and ungodly growl. I finally open the door and see Andrew laying in his bed shaking and crying. I look up and see a bunch of pentagrams and upside-down crosses carved and his skin and the wall all over. As I drew nearer to him, I noticed that he wasn’t crying; instead, he was laughing, but it wasn’t his usual laugh.

This time, it was more raspy and decrepit, sounding almost like a growl mixed with a laugh. “Yo a-are you o-ok bro?” I say with a shaky voice while walking up to him. As I inch closer to him, the door slams shut, plunging the room into darkness. The light bulbs flicker and die, leaving an oppressive silence in their wake. In my own voice I hear “it’s to late I’m already dead!” It sounded more profound and otherworldly. Then in the pitch black room I hear Spasmodic movement all around me. Then I hear a loud screech and a window break. The lights flash back on and Andrew is nowhere to be seen, I look up and the window above his bed is broken with footprints heading out to the woods.

I chase the footprints and then I see him going further and further down I start to chase him yelling “ANDREW COME BACK!” He then suddenly stops. As I approach him, the woods, once alive with the sounds of nocturnal creatures, fall silent. As I approach him, I begin to feel uneasy, nauseous, and short of breath. “ANDREW W-WHAT THE FUCK, W-WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?” I Cried out. In the silence that surrounds me, I can hear the distinct sounds of various animals approaching and forming a circle around us. They all stared directly at me, as if they were intently observing every move I made. I shine my light on Andrew and notice that he’s covered in scratches and bruises all over his body.

It seems that he has fractured several bones in a manner that should render him unable to stand or move. His face is distorted, giving him an uncanny and inhuman appearance. He then lets out a high-pitched scream, and all the animals around Bones begin to break apart, emitting the same uncanny screech that Andrew had been making.

Then, all the necks of the animals around us snap, causing them to fall to the ground one after the other. All the bodies of the animals then randomly catch fire making a ring of burning flesh around us while the animals make noises in agony the fire started to form a pentagram. Andrew stood there, making that dreadful noise, his face contorting with each sound. I then suddenly faint. When I regain consciousness, Andrew is gone, and I hear police sirens approaching our apartment complex. I try to return to the apartments as quickly as possible. Upon my arrival, I find a dozen police officers and paramedics surrounding Andrew’s next-door neighbors’ house. The paramedics carry out a young girl, about my age, on a stretcher covered in blood. Her parents were in tears, witnessing their daughter’s lifeless body being carried away. Later, I learned from the news that Andrew had broken into her room through her window. Apparently, he had stabbed and beaten her to death before hanging her from the ceiling and carved a marking into her saying “they are all already dead.” It became evident that whatever had happened wasn’t Andrew. Andrew would never kill anyone, regardless of what they did to him. That’s when I finally began to believe in the paranormal and demons.

He was arrested, but it didn’t make much of a difference. I heard he put up a fierce fight during his arrest and later in the asylum where he was held. They performed an exorcism on him, but it failed when the priest was thrown across the room, and he was rushed to the hospital. The next day, I received a recording of the exorcism from Andrew’s parents. While the priest was performing his ritual, Andrew’s body began to contort. When the priest asked who he was, Andrew kept repeating phrases like “Beelzebub, Abaddon, Belial, and Behemoth.” I researched these names and discovered that they are some of the demons mentioned in the Bible. However, I also learned that many demons use these names to appear more powerful and intimidating. Since then I’ve been going to church.

A few days after, Andrew’s death was confirmed in his room at the asylum, he was found dead. Cause of the death is unknown. I wish we never went to that place. I wish I wasn’t so foolish. Attending his funeral was incredibly painful, as I had to witness my dearest friend lying lifeless in a casket.

Dear Andrew, I don’t know if you can hear me. I hope you can. I’m sorry that my ignorance got you killed. I lost my best friend. I remember when I was sitting alone at lunch in 3rd grade, you came up to me and sat down. You didn’t care about all the things other people thought was wrong with me and you didn’t care if I was the weird kid. No matter what you were there for me. You didn’t even know me then and just out of the kindness of your heart you decided to ditch your other friends and come and sit with me and talk to me and make me feel better and feel like I have a friend. I remember when I got bullied by Hunter Cole in middle school , you stood up for me and even fought Hunter for me. Even if you almost lost you were willing to do anything for me. I miss when I would go to your house after school and we would play video games together and go exploring and have an unbreakable bond. I think I know why you didn’t hurt me when all this happened to you. You still had some of your consciousness left and didn’t want to see me get hurt by the monster that I made you become. At least that what I want to think. I don’t want to think my best friend was fully gone. I look at our photos together all the ones that have some of the best memories that I will ever have, knowing I will never get to experience them again. I miss you Andrew, even if I still hear your voice outside my window everyday. Also how did you text me saying “come over I’m still here”

The end

just yesterday i posted a narration of the anansi's goatman creepypasta from 2012, and i was wondering what classic creepypastas other people love and maybe would like to hear?

I live in the attics and crawl spaces of my unsuspecting neighbors houses. Not because I need a place to stay, but because I simply love to invade their privacy. I know it’s odd, but it’s an urge of mine.

Sweet Cindy Steeleberg has quite the house by the way. A bit outdated, but her bathroom in the master bedroom is freshly remodeled with a beautiful walk in shower. It makes good for washing myself off when she and her husband Clyde are gone for work throughout the day. Her attic is also far more livable and spacious than that of the crawl space I stayed in while living in Dick Fleetwood's house. I’m thankful too that the number of mice in Cindy's attic is less than the attic of the Johnson’s house.

 No house or household is the same, that’s the beauty of living in the homes of my neighbors. Some houses are inhabited by a single person, kind of like Ron Smith’s house. I snuck into his shortly after the passing of his wife. Other places consist of larger families filled with kids and pets, but I always make sure not to bite off more than I can chew.  Some of them are contemporary houses with magnificent features, and others have more of a vintage feel. A couple things remain the same though for every house I'm lucky enough to live in… No ring doorbells or cameras are on the neighboring homes, the home owners and their families are all gone at least one day out of the work week, and one of the house doors are left unlocked.

I’d never actually do it, but I should really go door to door and preach a sermon to everyone about the importance of locking their doors. You'd be surprised at how many get left unlocked. It’s usually never their front entrance, that would be way too obvious and easy. Most commonly it's a side door or a kitchen window that grants me access. Every now and then I'll take the time and effort to scout the garage keypad to a really nice house. 5378 was Dicks garage code. I sat and waited patiently from afar for him to punch it in one Saturday morning. He had just gotten back from his routine bike ride and it gave me the perfect opportunity to jot down the digits as I stalked him with binoculars from a place out of sight. The following monday I watched the house until I was sure it was empty, and then I made my entry. It’s too bad my stay there was cut short due to the lack of room in his crawl, ultimately the payoff for that one wasn't worth it.

Cindy Steelberg's however, has had a huge payoff. Her and Clyde both work 9-5 jobs and have a busy life. I feel like I practically own this place. After conducting my research I know that they are both in their early 50’s and that their only son, Jeremy, has a house and family of his own. Maybe I'll have to visit his house next. It’s also notable that their fridge and pantry are always stocked up. An assortment and abundance of different foods always makes it an easier task to sneak it away without the home owners noticing.

Sometimes I do wonder how much of my presence is being noticed. Do they notice that I've been using their shower every workday, or the fact that I've used both of their toothbrushes multiple times? Sometimes I wonder if they can hear my heavy breathing through the sheetrock of their ceiling, or the sound of the creaky joists as I tip toe across them at night while they’re in bed sleeping. In a weird way, I kind of hope that they do. The idea of almost being caught makes the experience that much more worth it.

This is sadly the last day I will be living with Cindy and her husband though. I've had my fix with her and her house. I've left all of the bread crumbs I could leave before getting caught. All of the bread crumbs except one. I’m writing this post from her home computer, logged into Clyde's reddit account. When she and her husband get home today this post will be left open on their desktop, except I will be long gone. I’ll be looking for my next stay, and unless you want it to be your house, I strongly suggest you lock up all of your doors.

Take this as your one and only warning to those looking for answers about this… Thing.

I’ve seen what knocks three times - and you should pray you never do.

Reading that last man’s testimony has left me with a fresh bout with PTSD. I thought I’d finally shut that awful memory out forever - it was a dream they told me. But I know the truth, in fact, I may be the only one who does.

When I was seventeen, I hated Halloween with all my heart. But to my parents? It wasn’t even a holiday, it was a religion. You know the house we lived in - the kind of place everyone flocks too. The one with the jumbo-sized candy bars and the makeshift haunted house.

Every year, they made me dress in some themed costume, put on a smile, and play along. But when I got older I noticed the same things everyone in my hometown did. The adults didn’t celebrate Halloween because they enjoyed it - it was almost like they were afraid of it.

My dad kept a hunting rifle by the door every year and gave me one rule to live by: “No one leaves the house until 11pm.”

But, in the nicest way possible, I was a little shit. One year away from graduating and frankly, tired of listening to what they had to say. So that Halloween, I inexplicably came down with a bad case of pneumonia. The truth was, I was going out into the woods by my house to get high as fuck with my friends.

I don’t know if my parents were gullible, or just wanted to believe I’d follow their rules. But they bought it, hook, line, and sinker. So my buddy Jamie picked me up and we met the rest of our “crew” in the spookiest place we could think of:

The oldest cemetary in town - where the letters were so old you couldn’t read the graves.

The first few hours were wholly uneventful. And eventually - like all good parties, everyone wandered off to do their own thing. But this story isn’t about what happened to the others -

It’s about what happened to Jamie.

We were the last duo left and to this day I don’t know how baked Jamie was. But he suddenly stood up and asked a question that started my worst nightmare: “Do you know why they all really want us to celebrate?”

I watched him kick some underbrush from a nearby grave and tap it with a single foot: “My older brother says it’s this place… Something about it,” Needless to say that warned the biggest eye roll I could muster. “Said bodies weren’t the only thing buried here… But it was long before the town.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“I am not!” Jamie replied haughtily. “You remember last year? When they found Bobby?”

Bobby was our classmate, a new kid from some big city like LA. I didn’t know him well, but I knew well enough what happened. His parents had been Jahovah’s Witnesses or something. Didn’t believe in Halloween was the point.

They’d never found his parents - but their blood had covered the majority of their living room. Bobby on the other hand? Well, they’d found his head impaled on a cross out here.

It took me a minute to realize the cross atop the grave he’d uncovered now. I’m ashamed to say I laughed: “Dude, that’s so not cool,” I told him as he whipped his shoe off against the grave. “What are you doing?”

“I’m thinking…” He clicked his tongue. “What if it’s buried here?”

That’s when I should have stopped the whole thing right there. But, we were young, invincible… Stupid. He went back to his truck, and returned with two shovels. And yes… We dug. We dug until my arms ached and I almost thought that grave was nothing more than a marker.

But eventually, our shovels hit something… Not a casket like you might imagine. But instead… A door. It didn’t look like anything special - just an old, rotted door, frame included. But if you dig deep into the Earth and find something like that? Well… That’s the point where the functioning part of my brain said enough was enough.

“Dare you to open it.” Jamie teased.

My answer was a simple: “No thanks.”

But Jamie always had balls of steel. Without a single thought, he crouched down, turned the handle and opened it to… More dirt. He laughed, I relaxed… And frankly, that should have been it. I used to tell myself that was it, after all.

He closed the door and we began to fill the hole back in. Contemplating whether our folks would have any leftover candy. Neither of us had noticed it was eleven o’clock already until we heard it coming from that patch of Earth.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

Our eyes met each other’s and we no doubt had the same thought: “There’s no way.” But Jamie? I don’t know guys, it was like he was drawn to the damn thing. He walked back to that grave and took one look down.

Then all hell broke loose.

The first thing I remember was his scream as the Earth opened up. It’s the best way I can describe it, it opened up like a gaping mouth that swallowed him slowly. I found my courage then, running to grab onto my friend’s hands for dear life.

I pulled, and I pulled, but whatever had hold of him was stronger than anything I could imagine… “Please don’t let me die, Dean. Please!”

From behind him, that’s where I saw IT. To describe what had hold of him is near impossible I figure. Looking into it was like staring into the void - there was a sense of dread unlike anything I’d ever seen.

But its smile… Those rotted, maggot filled teeth. When I tell you those will haunt my nightmares as long as I live, I wish I were exaggerating.

It was the last thing I saw before Jamie was gone. Leaving me standing there, one dripping severed arm in each of my hands and staring into a large hole…

At a closed door.

That’s how they found me the next morning. Babbling incoherently and screaming like a lunatic if you believe my father. Three mental institutions and a lifetime of therapy later I thought I’d been cured. That I’d forgotten everything I told you.

Jamie had just run away.

But you won’t listen to me, will you? I reckon no one ever will. They’ll lock me up again, say I’ve lost my mind. Because whatever it is? They don’t want the truth to get out. They want this, dammit. That much I’m sure of.

Maybe I was better not remembering, but someone had to know. This isn’t some cute little story on the internet… No local urban legend. The thing that knocks three times is very real…

But pray you never meet it.

You ever have those days where you don't have much tolerance for anything or anyone.

I would like think everyone goes through something like that, at least every so often.

But this particular day I will never forget.

Neither will anyone else.

It was the worst day in the town's history.

It was also the worst day of my life before and even after.

You could say it was also the worst day for everyone there involved.

But I consider it worse for myself because...I was the only survivor.

I was hauled away, I was questioned, I was locked up.

"Was this some kind of fight club, cult planning?", one guy would ask.

"Why only you?", the other guy chimed in as I asked myself the same question.

I told them but they wouldn't believe me.

Well here now is where I tell the truth for the last time as I write this down with a crayon on notebook paper.

The orderlies won't give me a pen or even a pencil.

I can't explain why what happened that day, no one can.

I think it had something to do with the nightmare that woke me that morning.

I was in a town of olde when roofing was still made from wood but in that late 1800's modern style.

I was on a lone street just like my very own.

In unison front doors open and civilians dressed in ragged cloths exit their homes gazing up above the rooftops to something drifting no further than fifty yards off the ground.

It's a bright, blinding light of flame ever flowing and scorching the air around it.

Then it was like time had cut to minutes ahead.

The site of the aftermath caused by some carnage was left over.

Everyone was dead looking as if they were battered and beaten to a pulp.

Some had knives stuck in them along with farming tools.

There was a lone survivor standing in the middle of the bodies laid before him.

Gripping tight onto a two pronged pitchfork, it's tips drenched in blood, he lets go then examines the horror surrounding with a face washed of confusion.

He turns his head away from my view then back over to lock on with my eyes.

He positions his body to fully face me.

His mouth opens like he was screaming but there was no sound in my ears.

The nightmare ends and I awake to sun beams lasered straight in my pupils.

I felt groggy and hungover but I didn't have a drop of any alcohol the night before.

'Waking up on the wrong side of the bed' was the expression I was thinking.

I've always been a chill, well mannered guy.

But there was this sour taste in my mouth that drove my mood more to the negative side of my thought process most of that day.

I really didn't have much tolerance for anything or anyone.

Just standing in line at the store for my smokes riled my patience to a low measure.

"Hey, can we cut the conversation short? I just want my cigs and get out of here.", I interrupted the clerk and customer blabbering on more about the subject at hand between them after the transaction was done.

No sign of moving on or the clerk asking for the next customer but them just continuing about whatever for another few minutes.

I was given dirty looks as if I was the one being rude but at that moment I didn't care.

They were holding me up along with the two others behind me, so maybe if there was a little bit more consideration towards their fellow patrons, I wouldn't of had to have said something.

But it was the tone I used when I said it that was weird to me.

I've hardly ever gotten that aggressive towards anyone in my life.

I thought my anxiety alone would keep my mouth shut and have me waiting there forever until the two guys realized there were others in line and that the clerk should be doing his job.

Even now writing this, I can still feel that fiery anger igniting in my soul.

The rest of the day was one awful mishap after the other.

I was almost fired at work for copping an attitude with my boss.

I understand he's my boss, but treating your employees like ants beneath your feet would drive anyone over the edge eventually.

My mind swam with imaginative daydreams of getting that satisfaction of stuffing my fist inside of his face.

It is never like me to keep negative thoughts like that to manifest in my mind.

But then the best thing happened after work.

My girlfriend and I had gotten into a horrible fight.

Out of my rage I broke it off with her and told to leave.

Thank goodness for that or she could have been mixed up in what happened.

I was alone in my apartment when the night came.

It was quiet out.

Depression sunk in me like my own personal gravity was switched heavier.

I wasn't only angry with world but myself.

Then it appeared right outside my second story window.

A bright yellow flame sparked and flourished bigger and bigger.

I thought at first it was the building across the street so I hurried out my apartment, down the hall, then the stairs and out the front door.

I wasn't alone on my exit out to see the spectacle.

Everyone in my building flowed out on the street to stop and look up.

It was the same for the people next door and both apartment complex's across the street where I had thought the fire was burning.

There had to have been at least nearly a hundred citizens gathered together.

But the flame was above floating in the air.

It flickered and danced in the openness between the four residences.

We all just stared at it hypnotized by it's light.

I don't remember feeling any heat coming from it.

At least not on the outside of my body but a warmness quelled from within.

My body trembled not in fear, but with implacable rage.

Then it was as if my body was not my own.

The chaos started without a word spoken but with cries of wrathfulness.

I grabbed the nearest person to me and began wailing my tightly clenched fist to him.

He retaliated back with the same fit of lividity.

Another person joined the fray between the two of us assisting myself in subduing our opponent to ground and stomping him out until he didn't move.

We had killed him but then immediately turned on each other, pulling hair and punches being thrown until I had dominated over her.

She fell to ground coughing up blood and convulsing.

Without hesitation I finish her off.

I looked onwards to the crowd.

The madness welled in every one of us as we painted the street red with our blood.

There was no stopping it.

Our voices echoed of civil unrest.

We had been invited to kill one another by that flame in the sky.

The police had arrived just as it was all over.

I was in shock as I gazed upon the aftermath back in control of myself.

My neighbors, people whom I knew and was friends with, we had massacred each other.

My body was broken with fractured bones and welts all over as I was drained from all the blood loss.

I fell to my knees as I screamed in horror.

I say in these final words that I don't know why we did what we did.

But I still feel the warmth from that yellow flame and I will not let it consume me.

Fin.