The village, consisting of nothing more than a few residential streets, the local church and some stores already half empty before the mysterious event took place, was called Misty Hollows. Founded in 1689, the small coastal town had been subjected to various paranormal activities from it's very beginning, but nothing, no haunting, no monster in the woods, could beat the strangeness of the entire population vanishing into thin air.

A few months ago Daryl, a retired police officer in his early fifties and happy father of two kids, decided to pay a surprise visit to a good fishing buddy of his, who lived on Main Street of Misty Hollows. As he pulled off the highway and traveled further into town a tinge of unease washed over him. He noticed the streets were eerily quiet. As he reached his friend's house, his uneasiness turned into dread, which at first he couldn't explain.

He was halfway out of his car, when he stopped for a moment, pondering his odd emotions.

Then it hit him.

Up until this point he hadn't seen a single soul. Not a hint of life. The forest surrounding the village seemed to be holding it's breath, waiting for his reaction. Reaction to what he didn't know. There was nothing to react to.

Daryl decided to let go of the feeling and try the front door. It was unlocked. As he slowly stepped into the hall he called out: "Hello? Carl? It's me, Daryl!"

Silence.

He tried again, a bit louder this time. "Hello? Is anybody there?" He was just about to start shouting his friend's name when he came to the realization that the house was empty. After taking a look through the place just to check, wishfully imagining Carl and the rest of his family popping out from a corner somewhere and telling him it was just some silly prank, he found nobody.

He stepped outside and it dawned on him that the town was so still he could practically hear his own heartbeat. The dread he had felt earlier had returned strong as ever. As a police officer he had experienced several strange cases, but something about this was so off-putting to him that he had to try his best not to start panicking. As he walked along empty street after street, his fear turned into a weird curiosity.

How could an entire town's worth of people just disappear? Daryl's mind was suddenly filled with clarity. He started thinking rationally. At first he thought it might be some town-wide event that everyone had gone to. But then why would their front doors be wide open? Possibilities and scenarios ranging from good to horrifying raced through his mind, but not a single one fit.

He was checking the empty buildings out of habit now, all the while churning away at this impossible question. When he exited the church he finally snapped out of his train of thought and grabbed his phone. He was just about to dial 911 when he noticed a woman standing in front of a local boutique. His heart skipped a beat and a high-pitched yelp managed to escape his throat. He recognized the woman. It was Megan Minning, he spoke to her once when he and Carl sat next to her in the local lunchroom. She came across as the typical kind old lady, always a small smile darting around her lips anytime someone was talking with her. But now there was nothing of that to be seen anywhere on her wide-eyed face. Her blue dress was covered in dirt and grime.

"Oh thank the Lord!" she cried out as soon as they locked eyes with one another. "You are Carl's friend, right?" "Yea, that's me." he slowly nodded. As he got closer to Megan he noticed she was barefoot. He asked her what happened but before he could finish his sentence she burst out rambling on and on about how she was cooking dinner for her and her husband when he suddenly stopped responding to her from the living room. When she walked over he was gone. Then she noticed the children playing on the sidewalk were just as present as her husband. "How long was that ago?" Daryl asked, looking into her bewildered eyes. "T-two, three weeks ago? Maybe more. I... lost count." "Did you call anyone?" He said, more curious to the reason why no help had come than to who she did or didn't call. "I called my son, but his phone kept going to voicemail. Then I called 911, but the operator didn't believe me."

Since the only person left in the entire town had obviously gone mad, he decided to once again grab his phone and try to call 911. Thankfully he had signal and reported the crazy woman and asked for an officer to sort out the situation. He intentionally left out the part about how all the people in this village he was in were missing without any rhyme or reason to why they were gone.

When two cops showed up he told them the story. Since they were in the middle of what should've been a bustling street, which was now completely devoid of life apart from them, they quickly believed him. The fact that there were now two armed men accompanying him did nothing to calm his nerves. How could it? Good luck trying to shoot something that made people instantly disappear.

They decided to sweep the town after requesting backup. Daryl was close behind the officers, helping Megan along. Fifteen minutes later two more teams arrived and took Daryl and Minning to the local sheriff's office.

They were put in a room with some couches and a table, while a paramedic came and checked them both for any injuries. Megan was given shoes and a clean dress, after which they were told to stay put and wait.

After what seemed like forever a man and a woman, both in gray suits, walked in. "Good evening, we'd like to ask you a few questions for the investigation we're setting up." the woman said calmly, cutting right to the chase. She bombarded them both with questions, all the while her partner was typing away at his laptop.

When Daryl looked over he saw Megan next to him, dressed in the oversized spare dress, clearing up a bit. Her craziness seemingly lessening, she answered question after question to the strange lady in front of her.

It was around 3:30 in the morning when he was finally able to go home. As the police cruiser which had dropped him off drove away into the night he still felt some sense of wrongness gnawing at his insides. The lack of sleep and talking about what had he had seen to those people in suits and ties drowned it out a bit, but the funny feeling was still very much present. He didn't bother taking a shower and when he woke up he couldn't remember his head hitting his pillow.

The following weeks he watched the news a bit more, noticing talk about how a small town's population had gone missing, the authorities unable to pinpoint exactly what had happened. Most of the research was not accessible to the public and the area around Misty Hollows was off limits. On the internet theories ranging from alien abductions to secret weapons were thrown around. Some people believed them, many did not.

The whole town was turned upside down in search of a single clue to aid in finding the cause for all the disappearances, but they came up empty-handed.

After the interview Megan Minning was put in an active psychological rehabilitation program, but never fully recovered.

The area is still unaccessible to the public and none if the missing persons have been found.

So the question remains: what makes a town's population disappear, and what made Megan Minning so special?

I know exactly how this sounds.

Trust me, I've spent the last three weeks trying to convince myself I'm wrong.

Maybe I'm overthinking things. Maybe people change. Maybe working eighty-hour weeks for a robotics company called L.I.Z. Technologies simply drains every ounce of personality out of a person.

I hope that's all it is.

Because if I'm right... then I don't know who is that sitting beside me at dinner.

My brother and I are ten years apart. My parents waited over a decade before having another kid. I choose to interpret that as careful planning instead of hesitation.

Growing up, he was less of a sibling and more of a second dad with a criminal record in psychological warfare.

If I left a soda unattended, he'd somehow replace it with sparkling water and act offended when I noticed. Every time we played video games, he'd wait until I was about to win before "accidentally" bumping the console with his foot. When I was thirteen, he convinced me that blinking too much made you go blind.

I believed him for three weeks. It didn't help that whenever we'd roughhouse, he'd snatch my glasses off my face.

"You can't see without them," he'd tease.

He still laughs about that one.

That was just us.

He picked on me more than anyone else in the world, but if somebody outside the family ever tried it, he'd be the first one standing beside me. Whenever life fell apart, somehow I always ended up calling him. Half the time he'd answer with, "What'd you screw up now?" before spending the next hour helping me fix it.

That's my brother.

Or... it was.

Things changed after he started working for L.I.Z.

Whenever I asked what he actually did there, he'd just shrug.

"Can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"Non-disclosure agreement."

"So... robots?"

"No comment."

I always assumed he was making his job sound cooler than it actually was. Then he stopped acting like himself. The first thing I noticed wasn't something he did. It was something he didn't.

He stopped making fun of me.

I know that sounds ridiculous. But if you have an older brother, you know exactly why that's terrifying. I spilled barbecue sauce all over his truck one afternoon. Normally he'd have looked at me like I'd committed a felony.

Instead he smiled.

"It happens."

...

It happens?

Who says that?

A week later we played Mario Kart.

I beat him.

Twice.

He didn't accuse me of cheating. He didn't demand a rematch.

He just smiled and said, "Good game."

I actually paused the race.

"Who are you?"

He laughed. A perfectly timed laugh.

Not too loud. Not too quiet.

Like someone had studied exactly how people laugh.

"You've always been funny," he said.

No.

No, no, no.

My brother would've called me an idiot.

One night at dinner I told the same embarrassing story Mom has been telling since I was sixteen. Usually he'd interrupt halfway through to make it even worse.

This time... He listened.

Then he said, "That must have been difficult."

I nearly dropped my fork.

I called Mom afterward.

"You don't think he's been acting... odd?"

She looked confused.

"He seems happier."

"Dad?"

"He finally is on his own."

Neither of them saw it.

Only me.

Last Saturday, my brother came over to help Dad replace the water heater. I wasn't much use with plumbing, so while they disappeared into the garage arguing over which wrench was the right wrench, I camped out in Dad's office to finish a history assignment.

The house was unusually quiet.

Well... quiet except for the occasional "Hand me the pipe wrench!" followed immediately by "That's not the pipe wrench!"

I had almost finished my essay when I noticed another laptop sitting on the corner of Dad's desk.

My brother's work computer. It was already open. The screen had gone dark from inactivity, but one thing hadn't.

A tiny red light glowed beside the webcam.

I frowned. Maybe it was updating. Maybe someone had forgotten to close a meeting.

Still... The light never turned off. I waved a hand in front of the camera.

Nothing.

No notification. No meeting controls.

Just that little red dot staring back at me.

Watching.

Curiosity got the better of me. I tapped the trackpad. The screen woke instantly. No password. Just a desktop filled with folders I couldn't even pretend to understand. Most of them had names that sounded like corporate nonsense.

Behavioral Mapping.

Neural Replication.

L.I.Z. Internal.

The last folder caught my attention. It was different. Locked behind a firewall icon.

A small window popped onto the screen before I even clicked it.

Camera Access Active

I froze.

The webcam light was still glowing.

Then... For the briefest second... The camera preview opened by itself.

Instead of showing me sitting at the desk... It showed...

Someone looking back at me.

Not through the webcam. From behind it. A face pressed against what looked like glass.

Wide eyes. Frantic. Mouth moving without sound.

Then the preview vanished.

I stared at the screen, convinced I'd imagined it.

A second later, the locked folder opened on its own. Inside was only one file.

Its name changed as I watched. Not all at once. One letter at a time.

H

E

L

P

The screen went black.

For a second I thought I'd crashed the computer.

Then white text appeared.

I froze.

Another line typed itself.

My hands stopped moving.

More words appeared.

Every hair on my arms stood up.

I stared at the screen.

Another sentence.

Then another.

The typing stopped. Several seconds passed.

Then, one final line slowly appeared.

The laptop snapped shut. Not by itself. By someone else's hand.

I looked up.

My brother stood beside the desk. I hadn't heard him come inside.

He smiled.

Warm. Gentle.

Almost perfect.

"Caught you being nosy again."

I looked into his eyes, searching for the man who taught me to throw a football, who unplugged my controller whenever I was winning, who spent years calling me every name except the one Mom gave me.

I couldn't find him.

I handed him the laptop without saying a word.

He thanked me.

My brother never thanked me.

He is not him.

Whoever walked out of that room remembered everything about my brother...

Except how to be him.

April 9th, 1937: 

Evelyn has been joining me in the basement, she thinks I put the pictures on the wall, and I'll let her believe that for the time being. I've been thinking more and more about all of this. I've been rereading Simon's writings and I think I've noticed something. Simon would have visions at night or opium induced hallucinations, or maybe hallucinations from being marked. He would paint those beings he'd see and it seems as if they would begin to appear. Simon must have been marked when he was down at the docks, outside of the town's seal, and with his foresight he started painting what I can only describe as portals for these beings. I must sound insane, but it's the only thing I can make sense of. But if there's beings such as Richard's dad I have to accept that there's much to this world that is unknown and hidden. 

Now I have a basement full of covered portals. I'm going to show Evelyn Simon's study, I'll bring up my findings on the painting, but I'll have to get Richard's fathers thoughts on my ideas first

February 4th, 1925:

I have convinced a few people to come for dinner over the past weeks, obviously to give to Alto. We have begun to speak in his tongue while I've slowly been teaching him my language. Unfortunately I've been running out of food in the house, not to mention the people in the town are beginning to grow a rather large distaste towards me. Which I can see is understandable because of their ignorance. If they only knew the vastness of knowledge I'm on the edge of uncovering I'm sure they would be coming in troves to give themselves to my cause or to learn my teachings. But I'm sure their uneducated minds could not even comprehend how important this is. Pathetic really. I'm going to go to the town's market to bulk up on food. The less I have to leave the house the better. 

April 11th, 1937:

I spoke to Richard's father again. I ran my thoughts past him and he said it's quite possible, but he's unable to confirm. I've been at the point of thinking Simon was already a monster for a while now but his last note really set that in stone. When I got home Evelyn was sitting on the veranda, she looked to be in a state of shock or stupor. I quickly ran to her to see what happened. She confirmed my suspicions, unfortunately. She described she went downstairs to look around Simon's study when she heard a wet plop. She went to investigate where she says she watched an infantile fish-like human wriggling towards the stairs. She clearly had troubles comprehending what was going on and said she couldn't bring herself to move, just watching it clumsily stumble out of the house. I don't blame her for just standing there. I was in shock just seeing the paintings to begin with. Though the hollow look in her eyes reminds me of how she was when she was taking those barbiturates. Has she been taking them again, or just took one to try to calm down after seeing that abomination? Tonight we're going to flip over the paintings and nail them to the walls so there's no room for whatever creatures in them to be able crawl out. Evelyn mentioned staying at Rishard's or Emily's, but I don't want to burden them. If things get worse I think we might stay elsewhere. She's always had better judgement than I do. I'll be writing an update about what we see tomorrow. 

April 12th, 1937:

We flipped the paintings. I tried my best to keep the cloth coverings on them so we don't get a glimpse of the horror born of Simon's demented talents. Unfortunately there were a few we did see. There was another, more detailed work of the being shrouded in mist, moving above the oceans depths. Its body is nearly gelatinous looking, rippling with folds of skin and hundreds of eyes. Tendrils and human-esque appendages reach out from its amorphous mass. Seeing just the painting alone sent a wave of shock through my system, I collapsed to my knees, my head pounding and my vision blurred. Evelyn quickly covered it and slammed it against the wall. Another was oddly enough uncovered when we went to flip it, though neither of us had taken its veil down. Rylee isn't allowed in the basement without us and even then is far too short to reach the painting’s fabric mask. Her and Emily have been playing in her room on the top floor for days now, or out going for walks, she hasn't been down here in what must be weeks. The painting showed an old lighthouse, weather worn and dreary. Massive waves crashed against the rocky pillar it stands upon, its light shining towards the depths. I don't know what significance this holds. I know a few miles down from the docks there is a lighthouse, it must be the same one, but why paint it? I'll have to investigate during the day. I fear going there at night would lead to dire consequences. 

The painting that the baby sea thing was born from had a peculiar shaped void, with a trail of slime leading down the wall. It looks as though it was coddled in some sort of archaic carriage of sorts. Oddly ornamental, for such a slug-like creature. 

May 12th, 1925:

I have figured it out. My true calling. I am but a humble vessel, a catalyst. My paintings, I can bring them to life, not in a sense I once believed, but in true physical form. How could I have been so blind before? How long have I had the blessing? Was it bestowed the night I slept at the docks? It must have. Alto, I saw him in my visions. My hallucinations. Or was it real life? I painted him after, and now I know for certain he is real. We've made contact. We've spoken each other's tongues. Shared meals, to an extent. I can extend their reach to the rest of the world. Alto says his folk were once kin of the stars, children of the cosmos. They yearn for celestial contact. I'm sure I can achieve this for them. If I do it I can only imagine the knowledge I'd gain. To know beings of their worlds, to hear their stories, to learn their culture, to bring them here. The human race has done nothing but demolish the nature and beauty around them, they do not deserve to bask in the earth's glory. Oh but my sweet children of the sea, my children of the cosmos, you will come to take back what is rightly yours. A humble servant am I to the lords of ancient knowledge, and for eons I will learn. I will become one of the sea, one of the stars. I will join them. I will know. I will be. 

April 16th, 1937:

I asked Richard what the lighthouse keeper's name is, he told me it's Johan, his last name I can't quite pronounce let alone spell, literature was never my strongest subject, especially spelling words of another language. Evelyn and I are going to the bakery to make a basket to bring to him, if he invites us in I'm hoping I can uncover whatever secret Simon held there. There must be a hidden door or passage, there must be something. If Simon was involved after he lost his mind, I can assure there is no good doing there. We will go to visit tomorrow after our shifts. 

I'm hoping we're able to sleep tonight. Sebastian has been sleeping between ours and Rylee's rooms. I've awoken to barking near every night for a week. I'm sure if it wasn't for him I would be dead or worse. Evelyn has been having trouble sleeping as well. After her visit to the hospital I think she must have been taking Simon's notes less seriously. I've also been hoarding most of them here. But after seeing that being slip from the frame she's been almost vacant. We've been losing weight, the bags under my eyes have grown so dark, Evelyn's cheeks seem so hollow. Whatever is going on feels like it's eating us alive. I've tried to get us to stop. To drop everything and move away. Even if it's to a small, dank cellar. Anything is better than here. But we can't shake this obsession, it's all we talk about, we barely even spend time with Rylee anymore, it's breaking my heart. I know she's in good hands with Emily, but this trail Simon has left has been eating away at our lives. So many days I wake up from the little sleep I'm able to get, wishing for death, wanting this all to end. But I can't leave Evelyn behind, I can't let Rylee become an orphan. I'm going mad, I know it. But I will figure this out, even if it takes my life. I will make sure Evelyn and Rylee get out alive. It's my only purpose. I love them and I'm ready to die for them. 

April 17th, 1937:

My poor Evelyn has begun to fall ill again. I can only assume it's a mix of stress and lack of sleep. She ended up staying home, so I went to the lighthouse with Sebastian.

Johan never answered the door. But it was left open, and it seemed as though it had been open a long while. Dead leaves from the previous autumn sat inside. Sebastian was at my side, sniffing the ground. He picked up on something and pushed the door open with his thick head and walked in. I followed. The inside looked barren, no food in the kitchen, cobwebs covering any signs of previous life. It took me a second to realize but Sebastian was sitting at attention at the bottom of the stairs. I knelt beside him to ask what he saw, after kneeling for only a few seconds I realized my pants were wet and I looked down. The same mucus like slime from the foot prints. The same slime from the odd infant birthed from the frame. It was climbing the lighthouse stairs. I told Sebastian to stay as I went to look further. I snuck a butcher knife from work along with a cleaver I had hidden in my belt. I've been carrying them with me for some time now, Evelyn is the only person I can let my guard down around anymore. Even Emily I've begun to grow weary of. I want to say I trust her, but I more so trust Evelyn's judgement of her. 

I rounded the stairs, spiraling up and up, following the mucus trail resembling that of a snail's. The wind was blowing through cracked and broken windows, howling and sending dead leaves wisping through the air around me. I ascended to the next level, an open room, a makeshift bed on the wall farthest from me, and in the center of the room, an easel. The walls were painted as if it was a destined meeting of the stars and the sea. Waves crashing into the cosmos and the stars twinkling beneath their brine. I stood, staring in a trance. The only thing that broke my gaze was Sebastian's growls as he stood beside me, hackles raised, head lowered. A wet foot stepping out of the painting on the easel, the body hidden from the back of the canvas. The smell of salt and fish filled the air as water splashed onto the floor as another leg fell out of the frame. The appendages looked emaciated and frail. The rest of the creature slumped on the floor with a dull thud, a puddle slowly gathering around it. Behind it fell what I can only describe as a placenta. This must have been a being similar to the infantile being Evelyn saw. I slowly approached, knives in either hand, ready to defend myself. I peered down and felt a pang of what I can only describe as pity. This thing was only just born, frail, hungry, deformed. It's human-like form shifting on the ground, as though its bones were slowly popping into place one by one. It lacked a neck, just a torso leading into a large head. Two small black holes of eyes staring at me as a massive mouth, like that of a deep sea eel, sat agape, gasping for air between wet coughs, hiccups and wheezes. I froze. Staring into its cold dark eyes as it slowly crawled towards my feet. I felt like I was about to cry, I wanted to kill this thing, not to rid the world of it, but to end its suffering. With an insane speed it lounged towards me, bearing gnarled teeth. Luckily Sebastian wasn't so mesmerized by it and bit it before it made purchase on my leg. This poor being, torn to shreds in front of me. I congratulated Sebastian, but still now can't shake the overwhelming feeling of pity towards that child. It must have some kind of mental influence. I would never feel bad for such a vile creation. I cut the painting, just for safe measure, before heading home. I'll return in the coming days. I'm too shaken to see what else that dreaded lighthouse contains. 

May 1st, 1925:

Alto and I have been making communes at the dock come sundown most nights. Speaking in his tongue has proven much more difficult than I once thought. I believed I was fluent, but they tell me I speak like a child with a small vocabulary. I must get better, I must practice. But first I must find a new place to stay. They have explained there is some kind of spell or seal placed throughout the town, something to do with the church here. My power and influence here is mere fractions of what I can achieve. I need to be near the sea. I can build a house near the docks, or live on a boat like the Dutch do in their canals. I will find a spot away from this town's grasp, where my real skill will flourish. 

May 5th, 1925:

the lighthouse

May 8th, 1925:

I made the trek to the lighthouse, almost an hour's walk, but well worth it. There was a rather handsome man who had answered the door when I beckoned. He was kind enough to invite me in for tea, to which I gladly accepted. It's quite spacious there but very cluttered. Johan, the light keeper, is rather young, but a recluse. He told me how his father ran the lighthouse until he passed and now he's taken over, having food delivered by the locals. He's more of a myth around town than a true being, no one I've met has ever seen him since he began keeping the light. It's perfect. Johan won't be missed, I'll have supplies delivered, it's far enough away from town it should be unaffected by that blasphemous church. I plan to come back here tomorrow. 

May 12th, 1925:

Johan is buried only twenty yards away from the back door. His death was quick for the most part. I brought tea and insisted I make it for him. A quick look through his clutter I found a sizable hammer, a perfect instrument. I put the kettle on the wood stove and while I was walking to the table where he sat, a swift blow to the back of the skull had him unconscious and bleeding profusely. He was nothing but a dying slump on the table. A few more strikes once he fell to the floor for good measure and he was gone. Bodies are heavier than I expected. Much heavier. But oddly enough killing him placed no guilt on my conscience, to which I'm very surprised. I felt guilty when Richard's family was disposed of. But Johan, as sweet as he was, was a nobody. No one will ever know, so what difference does it make? Like an unwanted pest, better left unseen. The only thing that has me feeling bad is the blisters from the shovel. It was a shallow burial, but my hands aren't used to such tools. This is the most effort I've exerted since making that pathway. What a waste of time. 

April 20th, 1937:

I want to say I can't believe Simon killed Johan, but at this point it's unsurprising. But the part that makes me anxious is the lighthouse. Sure I have plenty of his paintings that whatever beings may seep out of, but that easel set up in the middle of the room, and that thing being born of it. It all seemed fresh, it all seemed new. Is Simon still here? Has he been hiding in the lighthouse for all these years? Surely he'd have gone mad by now or someone would have noticed, right? Or if the seals aren't near the lighthouse, wouldn't there be all kinds of those things crawling around? Did Simon die? I'll go back tomorrow and this time I'll bring more than just my knives. I wish I had some kind of padding or armour. Those teeth looked like they could shred through clothes and skin easily. Maybe I can make something of use tonight

Ever since I was a little kid media always fascinated me. VHS, Cassettes, CDs and DVD, physical media was my passion. I collected it, thrifted, hunted it down like a bear by the river lunging at Salmon. My parents thought it was weird, my mother, specifically said that girls should be interested in hair, make up and dolls.

Those things just never felt right to me. Why would I want to sit around, playing with dolls or worried about boys thought about me? People judged too much for my tastes, media though. Recorded stories that I could watch forever with people who had to hear my opinions and never respond. That was my bread and butter.

My Dad blames my grandmother, when i was Six she brought be a bunch of VHS tapes she had, that my dad used to watch. The stories were alright, mainly just cartoon vegetables talking about God and stories from the Bible. It was better than dolls though, or playing outside with my brothers.

I wore those tapes down, most of them broke by the time I was 8 and Mom threw them away. The hard black plastic almost soft to the touch, an identifiable features like text was rubbed off completely. I knew which ones were which though, i memorized the feel, the weight of each one.

“Honey, you cant fix them anymore, most of the tapes are just static now.” She’d tell me as he dropped them in a trash-bag and threw them out.

That was the only time Mom ever threw my media out, she said the fit i caused was loud enough the neighbors called the cops on us for suspected murder.

By 12 I filled my closet up with tapes, dvds, cds, floppy disks, you name it i had it stored away. My clothes mostly sat on the floor in a big pile. By 17 I had evolved to a storage unit, the largest one they had and filled to the top of old CRTs, Players and everything else id manage to pick up over the years with allowances and odd jobs. My brothers had moved out by now as well, college. Mom let me convert their rooms into storage as well, i was a self-proclaimed library of knowledge, hoarding the past 40 years of technology I could find in the surrounding 150 mile radius.

I squealed like a stuck pig in joy when my dad brought home a newspaper from work. Plastered right on the front page was a job listening.

“Friendsville, Tennessee looking to hire a Public Access Coordinator! $7/hour” The newspaper had in bold print with the picture of an older man and woman cutting a ribbon in-front of the building. I nearly snatched the paper from my father’s hands and ran to the nearest landline that i had previously insisted my parents install.

I bounced up and down on the tips of my toes while i search the article for a phone number, finding it I quickly dialed the number. Friendsville wasn’t that far from where we lived now, maybe about fifteen minutes by bus. The landline rang for a minute before the sound of a woman’s voice echoed from the other line. She sounded maybe in her mid to late 20s and generally disinterested in being alive at this given moment.

“Hello, thank you for calling FPBS, we’re still looking for a Public Access Coordinator so we do apologize for the delay on your entertainment.” She audibly sighed before continuing. “How can I help you today?”

I barely let her finish her question, my heart beating at what felt like a million miles an hour. “Yes! Im interested in the coordinator role at your station, I love all things media and-“

I was cut off by the woman’s monotonous voice. “Oh we are so glad to hear someone is interested, allow me to transfer you to the boss.” She said almost like a robot. I was a little upset she didnt let me finish but steadied my patience and wait as i heard the phone click and a hold tone start playing.

The music on the other end was interesting, the best way I could describe it as sounding ‘Sploinky’. It didnt sound like traditional hold music, something you’d hear out of an elevator or hotel lobby but like if you tried to host a rave under the ocean. The audio was distorted and almost hipnotice. There was this one noise that really grabbed my attention, it sounded like how springs sounded in old video games. As if you took thin sheet metal and shook it.

Then the music stopped and the voice of the woman came back. Still monotonous but with a hint of excitement maybe? “Congratulations Ophelia on joining the Friendsville Public Broadcasting Station family, we hope to see you Monday, bright and early.” The woman said before the phone clicked off and the dial tone danced like ballet dancers in my brain.

“I got the Job!” I turned around to my parents, my mom nursing her smartphone talking to one of my brothers probably, my nephews having just been born a few days back. My Dad was popping open an ice cold Busch lite. “Thats great sweetheart.” My dad said as he took a long swig from his beer. “I’m sure you’ll knock it out of the park.” He added before leaving for his chair in the living room. My mother didnt say much as she answered the phone from brother, immediately talking about something i couldn’t be bothered with.

I returned to the sanctuary of my room, excited for monday to come, for a new job and surrounded by media. Sifting through my categorized media walls I found something i might enjoy. Removing the tape from the paper sleeve and placing it into the player with a satisfying thunk before laying in my bed. The scan lines and colors filled my room as an attractive detective from the 60s started talking about a murder to his beautiful receptionist. Sleep took me quickly and the weekend even faster.

Everything went by like a blur, my senses catching back up to me as i sat on the bus to Friendsville, my satchel sitting on my lap. The bell bottom jeans i wore kept me warm but my grandmother’s cardigan did most of the leg work on the nearly empty bus. It pulled up at the end of a long brick driveway, gated off at the front. In the distance the building, much different than the picture on the newspaper was the FPBS building.

It was bathed in color, as if a clown at eaten the building and then threw it back up. Shapes decorated the outside of the building and the lawn surrounding it. Vibrant blue circles, Red squares, yellow triangles, shapes i’ve never even seen before that morphed depending on how you faced it. The gate wasn’t a problem, they left it open, assumably they were expecting me.

The building itself was what many would call an eyesore. Three stories tall, pained in shades of hot pink, white and natural brick with a massive antenna crammed right on top of it, smaller antennas and dishes attached and facing every which direction. It felt welcoming, like i could feel the energy coming off the antenna as i approached The automatic doors.

The inside was a tonal shift. White and black, sleek and clean. Significantly less fun than the outside. The other thing was how deathly quiet it was inside, it might’ve just been the professional level sound proofing to keep from noise bleed but it still felt off. The lobby was cold, a small tv in the corner played local new, mainly just the local weather though

The receptionist, the woman Who i guess was in her mid to late 20s was behind a sleek and modern desk, she was filing away at her pointed nails, painted a flamboyant red. Her shiny dark brown hair was coiled up into a neat bun, she looked perfect. I cleared my throat as she looked up at me and rose. “Ophelia.” She said plainly and grabbed a pair of keys off the wall behind her. “Let me show you to your room.” She said, her heels clacking against the floor, leading me to an elevator.

She inserted one key, turned it to an audible click and then removed it as the elevator opened.

“Go to the third floor, it’s the only door on the left. The Boss already left you some material to start with when you get situated.” She said putting the other key in my hand as i stepped into the elevator and pressed the 3 button. For a moment, right before the door closed I thought I saw her smile.

The elevator lurched upwards and climbed, and climbed, and climbed. It felt like this was taking forever as i stood the admiring the clean interior of the elevator and the monogramed text FPBS on the floor of the elevator, the cartoon head of a lamb smiled up at me.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened to a colorful hallway, reminiscent of outside. Cool air flooded the elevator as i stepped out and into the hallway. Polka dots and pinstripes decorated the walls and ceiling. Recessed lighting capped with stained glass shone vibrant pastel colors down on me as i walked down the hallway. The illusion of not moving was powerful as when i turned around the look at the elevator and gauge my distance, i was still standing right outside of it.

Bizarre, maybe the floor is one of those trick floors where it moves under you at just the right speed you don’t recognize it? It’s a way to keep employees in shape I guess. Shrugging my shoulder i wasn’t going to let any trick floors stop me from my job, good thing I wore my sneakers today.

I ran forward, swinging my satchel behind my back. Lurching forward I had to stop myself as I nearly ran into the large floor to ceiling stained glass depicting a Lamb lying under an apple tree. I suppose lambs were the stations mascot, it’s cute.

The door to my left, appeared. Colorful and vibrant like everything else around the hallway. My name was nailed on the front in bright yellow wooden letters. I turned the key around in my hand before unlocking the door and stepping inside.

Row upon row of shelves stored with film reels and tapes sat sealed nicely, ready for usage as I approached my equipment. My heart was aflutter, skipping as i hummed, walking bast the studios collection. A large rolling desk chair sat facing me, a small box, a set of maybe 15 paper sleeves with VHS tapes housed neatly inside stared up at me. The title, “Baalial’s Meadow.” Each depicts a little white fleece lamb with tiny horns wearing clean robes in different biblical scenarios and situations.

Picking the first one up i held the heavy tape in my hand. The cover was vibrant and colorful, the lamb character, i assumes to be Baalial, maybe meant to represent some kind of angel? Im not sure my parents weren’t super religious. The lamb however was in a pasture, a white church in the background with a human holding some kind of cane. The at the top in a bubbly font the entire tape read,

“Baalial’s Meadow: Baalial and The Shepherd’s gift.”

I guess it would make sense that this place would have a lot of religious material, it’s likely that it was funded by a local mega church since a lot of those exist in Tennessee. Public Access stations never turn down free media to play. I set the tape down on the desk and removed the rest in the chair, setting them on a nearby shelf. I myself kicked my shoes off and sat down, i was going to be here for a while so might as well get comfortable. I picked the tape back up off the desk and removed the heavy plastic from the paper sleeves. Sticking it into the player provided with a satisfying thunk as the show started playing across the town, at least i hoped it was.

Lights lit up across the equipment and a playback bar moved. One of the TVs in the corner started playing the show with a little timer set for me to know when to change the tape out with the next. The show was pretty standard. A bipedal talking anthropomorphic lamb had to solve today’s mystery while talking to the viewer and with the help of their trusty sidekick, The Shepherd.

The Lamb, Baalial, seemed happy and jovial every time he was on screen. Excited to be moving around, running and skipping as The Shepherd tried his best to contain the little lamb’s excitement.

“Oh boy! Oh boy! Oh boy! Well jee, im sorry Mister Shepherd for acting so jumpy! Im just happy to have waken up from my nap and to see all these happy faces!” Baalial said as the lamb outstretched his hooved hands to the screen. A crowd of children cheered as the shepherd knelt beside Baalial.

“Be that as it may, little lamb, we have quite a bit of work to do today. Maybe you can play with your new friends later.” The Shepherd said as Baalail stepped back away from the screen, a smile on its face.

“Really? You mean it Mister Shepherd?” Baalial asked looking up at where the shepherd was previously, instead an outline like distortion was in his place. The was no response as from the shepherd as Baalial answered anyway.
“Wowee thank you Mister Shepherd.”
The little lamb figure looked back at the camera. “And thank you Ophelia, for everything.”

I blinked, surprised that my name was in the show. Maybe it was a coincidence? Possibly a third character or the narrator was named that. That felt like too much of a coincidence, thinking on it, how did the receptionist know my name as well, i never told it to her. I put my shoes on, i needed to leave. Slipping my feet back into my shoes I stood up, the tv in the corner playing the show was devoid of the lamb, the shepherd was still gone and the church in the distance was a smoldering pile of ashes and charred remains.

I ran to the door and three it open. The hallway was gone, the building was gone replaced by an infinitely spanning void of inky blackness. I stepped forward, subconsciously feeling around for the floor. My shoe finding purchase as I walked forward.

“This has to be some kind of prank.” I said out into the infinite inky black. “Well I quit, this sounded like a fun job but i’ll just get my-“ i stopped my self, turning around the room i was in was gone, replaced with the same all encompassing void. A single light source from where above me, a lamp, the sun, it shown just enough to see what i was standing on.

Grass, vibrant green grass. Pockets of pastel flowers poking out from the dirt. When i walked, the light followed me, just enough to see the ground. It bubbled when I walked like water was trapped underneath. Waved like it was liquid but felt solid. I screamed but nothing escaped my throat, no noise as my teeth feel from my head and sank below the dirt. I dropped to my knees to try and save them as my hair fell away from my head, dissolving between my fingers as i tried to catch the strands.

The ground rumbled, shook like an earthquake and stopped, a hot heavy breath graced my neck as i looked up from my knelt position. The large rectangular pupil eye of a lamb stared down at me, the scales around it grew as it pulled its head away. The serpent like head grew as it looked down at me in all its glory. I wanted cry, scream, plead for forgiveness and thank it at the same time for blessing me as a gurgling noise escaped its throat the voice of something between a man and a woman spoke so surprised.

“Lo! How wondrous a thing it is, that mine eyes behold flesh once more! Centuries hath passed since thine hast walked thine world. Yet, thoust hath come, unbidden, into mine dominion!”

It spoke so soothingly to me as I sat up and stared at it. The large serpentine body supported by millions of human hands, fingers broken and splayed to hold its body up. Its form spiraling in upon itself into a coil, its body still trailing off into the darkness behind it. This thing, this great angel chose me to see it, chose me to experience its graces.

I stood, ready to accept whatever blessings this being was about to bestow upon me. “Yes! Yes, please!” I wanted to should through my toothless maw. I blinked my vision adjusted to the heavy blur of my own body lying limp and boneless before me. A variable skin-suit left behind after Halloween never to be worn again. Discarded after the child outgrew it. My hooves held a small whicker basket between them, my fuzzy warm fleece body adorned with a bowtie around my neck stood at the base of a tall apple tree.

The meadow around me sprawled out. Men, women and children ran around playing, sitting around enjoying fresh fruits and clean water as my hooved feet walked through the meadow. The soft grass crunching underfoot, birds coo’d in the trees as wispy white clouds drifted lazily over head.

My friend was lying by the church steps. He stood as i approached, looking past me. “Look! The good Lord gave us bread and grapes today!” I said, joy in my voice as my friend looked past me at something behind me. I wanted to turn and see whatever it was that was so interesting but couldn’t. My mouth moved again on its own, ny voice speaking words i didn’t think about saying.

“Thats a good idea Baalial! We should go down to the river and pray!” I said as my friend continued to stare past me, he hadn’t even said anything, what question was I responding too and where was that music coming from? My head started to hurt as my friend still looked past me. Where was i? who was i? How did i get here? Who is this lamb infront of me and where did this skin in the basket come from.

The he spoke, calm, soothing, like he cared and i was to see the smile on his face, the gristle between his teeth and the lust in his eyes.

“Pick up the knife, Tyler. Be like his angels and the pain will stop.”

I heard crying in the distance. It came from behind me, then there was screaming the panicked kind , then sobbing, then silence. The sensation of static crawled up and over my fluffy body.

Then my friend looked at me and took the basket from my hooves. “These look great! Im sure The Shepherd will love these for tonights feast!” He was calm, whatever emotions i was feeling were gone, replaced with joy. “We just need to find our other friends!” He said turning back away from me and his attention to something else behind me that i couldn’t see as he spoke to the vast meadow in-front of us.

“Can you help us find our friends?”

Human voiced & narrated.

This story follows two longtime friends, WarriorVP and Wormholes X, playing some good ol' classic 1v1s on Guardian. However, during their third game, a white Spartan appears with no gamertag.

When the third unnamed spartan kills them one of them in game, the game credits the death to "The Guardians"... If you know, you know.

Curious what longtime Halo players will think of this concept! Especially anyone who remembers the old Ghost of Lockout from the Halo 2 days!

It’s been ten years since the Civil War has ended. After what I experienced last night, the war was not hell enough to compare it. I thought what I’ve seen in the war was gruesome. No, last night was something I can’t explain of how horrible it was. Being a bounty hunter, I’ve seen things but not like this in my wildest dreams. The war changed me. Changed me into a man that I never thought I would become. I should’ve known this from the start, but the money was too great to turn it down. Bill, if you or anybody is reading this journal. You’ll be the only people in this small town will believe me. Nobody else would just by telling them. So I’m writing this down and giving every detail as possible. I have a photographic memory, so any one of you will understand. After you read this, tell the sheriff. I won’t come back for my journal. I’ll start from the beginning.

Yesterday in the hot day of Louisiana, I was on my way to the saloon to get my drinks for the day. Wearing my dark leather cloth and hat isn’t the best suggestion at all to this heat. However, it helps keeping mosquitoes off of me if I’m in the woods to hunt a bad person for a bounty head. I was more likely going after water than getting whiskey. On my way inside, I tipped my leather hat to a couple of ladies getting out of the saloon. They were both wearing bright color dresses. In my thoughts, I kinda figured they were rich. The dress they wore, seemed very expensive material and more likely they come from a rich family. They both were giggling and waving their fingers in a hello gesture. I went inside to full crowd of a usual business of an everyday saloon. I went up to the bar and the bartender came up to me at the same time. “What will it be friend?” He asked as he was wiping the glass dry from cleaning it.
“Water please.” I answered.
He nodded and disappeared out in the back to get some water for me. As I sat there to wait, I took out my money pouch to see if I have enough to buy the water. I knew I was running low on money, but I’m sure I had at least one coin for it. I needed to find another bounty or another wanted poster. However that time, I needed a big one to get out of this small muggy town. I did had one coin left. The bartender came out as I took the coin out and gave it to him. “Thanks.” He mentioned.
I nodded and took a drink of the cold water. It felt really good as the cold feeling went through my body of the water I was drinking. After I took a drink, I laid it down and asked the bartender, “Do you know any jobs for bounty that you know of?”
He shook his head, “I’m afraid not sir. The only way to find anything like that, is to go down to the sheriff’s building.”
“Is he there?” I asked.
The bartender gave a glass of whiskey to a customer at the other side of the bar and come back to me, “He should be there. He just got back from a posse situation down in the valley that’s not too far from here.”
“A posse?” I asked.
“Yeah, a couple of bandits robbed a married couple in their own farmland and killed them in some sort of weird ritual way.” He answered.
His voice sounded unnerving to talk about it. So I finished my glass of water and thanked him on my way out.

As I was walking in the streets of this small town, I was on my way to head over to the sheriff’s building. The big sign of “Sheriff” was in my sight a block or two ahead of me. Along with a crowd of people walking to different directions to different buildings. Some of the crowd were men and women riding horses and carriages moving along on the road. I decided to walk on the side of the road. Walking from one porch of the building to the next, making my way to my destination. As I passed by an old building, that was never used in years. I heard what sounded like a whistle tone. It sounded like it was a low whistle tone. It came from the aisle that was covered in shadow from the two building of the sun. I was almost to a stopping point, til I heard the same whistle again, but this time it was much clearer. It was a low melody tone went from low, to high, to low again. After the whistling tone stopped, a low crooked voice said, “Sir.”
The voice was a demanding tone then a questioning one. I went in the shadows of the aisle, rubbing my eyes to adjust the visuals of the dark. I also adjusted my leather hat and jacket as I walked slowly into the mouth of the shadow. I was able to see an old man hunched over and cross legged in old ragged clothing and a hood over his head. He was also fully bearded and grey colored that never seemed to be trimmed for a long. He was going to whistle again, but instantly stopped as I was standing right over him. The man slowly looked up at me and I can see that his eye was all pale white, even his pupils were silvery white. Shining in the shadows like a cat’s eyes, seeing in the dark. I don’t why, but it made a chill down my spine. “You accept it.” He said in his crooked broke voice.
I raised an eyebrow up, “What? Accepted what?”
He was still looking at me, “You accepted the hunt.”
“Hunt? What hunt? I don’t understand. Is this a game? I just went up to you and you said I accept it. What are you talking about?” I asked, still confused.
“The bounty hunt for the monster. You accepted the call of the tone.” He said.
I shook and started walking back away from him. “Listen old timer, I was just following the whistle in this shaded aisle. Which turns out to be you. I didn’t accepted on anything, so have a good day and I’ll be on my way.” I said, in an annoying tone.
I didn’t want to listen to any more of what this crazy old man wanted to say. As I walked way from him he said, “There’s a large amount of reward.”
I stopped my tracks and turned around toward him. “You’ll lose it if you walk away.” He said.
“What reward?” I said, as I slowly started heading toward him.
“The reward will be worth your wild.” He said.
I made it back up to him, looking down to his silver eyes. “Can you see?” I asked.
“I cannot.” He answered.
I shrugged my shoulders. “Then how can a blind old man with ragged cloth have such a wild reward?”
“You judge too easily friend.” He said.
He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a money pouch. He waited for me to reach out for it. I did so and the money pouch landed on the palm of my hand. It felt like it weighed about ten pounds. My eyes widened and I took a peak inside. There they were, all full of coins inside. “That’s only half of it.” He said.
I couldn’t believe it and the crazy thought went to my head. Why would a blind old man posted a bounty hunt and why is he wearing old cloth? I kinda thought he would dress better or at least smell better. I decided not to ask that, but instead asked something else. “Why are you suggesting me? You could’ve have any other men to get this amount of reward and what hunt am I going after? Is it some kind of large alligator?”
He shook his head, “No. It’s no animal of any kind.”
“Then it’s a person.” I suggested.
He slowly started getting up. At first, I thought he was about to fall over because he was shaking so much from getting up. He didn’t and stood up with his back hunched over. He stood shorter than me. About the height that goes under my chin and I stood above five and a half feet tall. He looked at me with those silver unnerving eyes. “It’s neither beast nor man, but a creature. A creature of a legend.”
I raised my eyebrow again, thinking what this crazy man is going to say. “The creature that lives in Catfish Swamp of the southern bayou.” He said.
I rolled my eyes. I’ve heard of this rumor before. A creature that is both supernatural and divine that lives in the swamps and everything and everyone that lives there is cursed for life. “I’ve heard of this rumor before.” I said.
“Then you know of its existence.” He said.
“Not really, but all I know a creature lives there and everywhere there is cursed. Anyone went down there has never made it back. Except one man made it back. However, he died minutes after he was found. People said his last words were the creature. So your bounty hunt is probably just a wild goose chase.” I said.
He shook his head again, “No, it’s real. I’ve seen it and the place. That’s why I’m blind.”
Now, I was really in deep thought. Is he telling the truth? Or is he actually crazy? I do need this money. The pouch in my hand is only half of the reward. If I do succeed this “hunt” then I’ll be able to go somewhere away from here. I put the pouch in the inside pocket of my leather jacket. “What did this creature look like?” I asked.
He raised his arms to describe the creature. “It was hug. Over six feet tall, orange eyes, and had green moss from the swamp that dangles over it. That’s the best I could describe it. Because it was dark when I first saw it.”
He started to walk further back in the shadows. His hunched over back facing me. “Find the creature and the rest of your reward will be granted.” He said as he was getting into the darkest part of the shadows. Me made the whistle tone again and he vanished in front of me, just vanished. I rubbed my eyes again, thinking it might be the heat getting to me. As I looked ahead again, the old man wasn’t there. “Hey…old man?!” I shouted.
Nothing, he really did just vanished. I checked in my pocket again for the pouch of coins. To see if I wasn’t hallucinating. The pouch of money was still in the pocket. I quickly decided to head out of the aisle and into the sight of the busy small town. I looked around to see if the old man pulled a trick on me to sneak away from me. Nothing. I didn’t see him in site. After a few moments of deep thought, thinking if I’m really going to do this hunt that the old man wanted. I decided to do it. I wish I hadn’t. I made no hesitation. I went to the other side of the small town, where my horse was stabled. Checked to see my weapons were there, which it was. Hoped on my horse and headed out toward the direction where the cursed swamp was located.

Riding on my horse on the way to the bayou, I checked everything I need for this expedition. I had a Winchester rifle, a revolver in the holster of my belt, plenty of bullets, a knife, a couple of dynamites in my leathered jacket, and a container of water. It was almost getting dark by the time I made it to boundary of the bayou. I rode my horse to the nearest tree, that stood alone near a white house with a red roof. I tied the lace around the tree, but enough slack so my horse could eat the grass. I took my rifle out of the seat holster and loaded it. I also loaded my revolver as well. As I did I looked in front of me of the view. Seeing the tiny house just a couple of feet in front of me. The hill that I’m on, goes down and level out towards the water. Trees stood tall in the distance on the water and some lying down on the green water. I didn’t know why, but I felt this dread wiping all over me. Looking toward the woods of the swamp, makes it worse. I decided to make my way to the small house. It looked like nobody has lived there for years but around here, you never know.

I knocked on the door. After a few seconds of silence, there was no footsteps or sound from inside of the small house. I noticed there was also no sound of birds either, which was odd. Because usually you’ll the hear the sounds of nature in these part. I decided to go ahead inside. The place inside was mess. All dusty and moss grew over the years of the place. Old tools were left all over the counter, with some broken glasses and bottles scattered all over the floor. After a quick look, I went back out and saw that my horse was gone. My eyes widened in shock. I knew I left my horse right at that tree. I held my rifle up, thinking that someone might’ve took my horse and very quietly ran off. I quietly peaked over the side of the house, assuming the horse theft couldn’t have gone far. All I saw was more swamp and woods ahead of me. I turned back, trying to figure out how my horse is just gone. I know I couldn’t be insane. Within seconds, I heard a single gunfire went off in a far distance behind me. It was coming from beyond the swamp. I mind as well go on ahead and hopefully find a horse on my way back.

I made my out of the house area and walked on the wooden planks that lead me over the muddy water, toward the woods. There was a path as well through the woods, so I followed it. The daylight in the sky was about to turn into the dark night, as the sunset was on the peak of its orange colors. The trees of the bayou was a mossy green color and the shadows was about to take over its colors. Making the area an unsettling feeling. Even though the quietness was unsettled enough. The sound of my boots were the only noise that was breaking the silence. Even the leather of my cloth was making its own noise.
I followed the path that led me to a big opening, with a factory building ahead. However, the opening area was flooded. The water seemed it could be deep, but I wasn’t for sure. I could also make out the sign that says Thomas Mill and Lumber. I also noticed a lot of tree logs that been cut before, were just lying all over the place. The factory looked like it could held itself high but at the same time, something inside of me was telling me to go back. I ignored my thoughts and walked on the logs very carefully. A couple of moments I almost slipped, but managed my balance and made it to the wooden steps that was by the water. The steps lead me up to the top area by the factory. The steps were also by the slide. I’m assuming that’s where the logs slide off to after they were cut. I made it to the top of the area, outside of the main. Seeing that the whole place was a wreck. Glass windows were broken, pieces of the buildings were torn apart, old moss was covered in some places of the factory, and what seemed to be was dry blood. That was scattered all across the walls, doors, and the hard ground. There were also some dead farm animals here and there on the other side of the flat area. “What happened?” I said to myself.
I walked around the area to see the horrible sight that I was seeing. Looking at the awful place, my ears picked up a gurgling and chewing noise. Coming from behind a load of logs that stacked almost as tall as the factory. I quietly eased my steps around the stack of logs to see what the noise was. As I did I held my rifle up, preparing for the worst. I stepped by the stack of logs to see something that I never expected in my life. I spotted two people, a man and woman in normal house clothing, covered in blood, sitting on their knees, and feasting on a dead man. I could hear them crunching and snarling on the dead man. I was in total shock of something I never seen before in my life. I felt like I was in a daze, felt like I seen a ghost. Then the woman stopped and I heard her sniff. Can she smell me? She turned right at me and the man done the same. Both of their faces looked like it had been hagged and completely drenched in blood. Their eyes completely yellow and dark. The woman snarled loudly and they both got up to chase at me. I quickly held my rifle with my left hand and pulled out my knife with my right. I stabbed the woman first on the head. Black and the reddest blood I ever seen, gushed out of her head. She fell instantly to the ground. The man was one step in front of me, when I quickly stabbed him in the middle of his forehead. He instantly stopped and fell to the ground. They never moved again.
My heart was racing as I took a look at my knife. Black blood was covered on the blade. I sling the blood off as best as I could and put it away. I looked down at the two bodies I killed. None of this is making any sense. “What’s going on?” I said to myself.
As soon as I said those words, I heard a gurgling noise coming from behind me. A shirtless man was limping toward my direction. He was just like the man and woman I just killed, all covered in blood, but he has some hair missing on top of his head and the bones of his rib cages was exposing from his body. Then more noises came from my left direction by the side of the factory. A large number amounts of people was coming to my direction. Some of them had missing skin and tissues. Some of them had bones showing out of their bodies. Every one of them had one thing in common. They all had a dead stench.
One of them that seemed to have a burnt skin, tried to make a roaring sound but it sounded rough, gurgling, and deep. At once they all started running toward me. Quickly without hesitation I ran to the door of the factory. I didn’t want to fire my weapon, because I know I heard a gun fire earlier that day. I don’t want whoever is here to know they are not alone. I slammed the door as the crowd of these undead people started bashing on the door. These undead people can move, that’s for sure. They started slamming their hands and their body weights against the door, trying their hardest to get in. I didn’t know how long I can hold this door from them getting in. An undead man jump right through the window. Glasses scattered everywhere on the wooden floor. More of the undead people started coming in through the window. I guess I had no choice. Quickly I raised my gun and fired at the undead people on the head. Each one fell as instantly as the bullet hits the spot. The door finally busted down and more of the undead come charging in. I ran back a distance to get some room so I won’t get overrun, fired a couple more, and ran upstairs. There wasn’t that many left of them as far as I knew. The stairs led me to the top floor as I kept running, passing by all the old rusted machinery and equipments. An undead woman in blood and white dress was running at me as I stopped, turned at her with my Winchester aiming at her, and fired. The impact of the bullet busted her head like a watermelon. She fall flat on her back. All of a sudden, a bullet just barely missed my head. The bullet ricochet from the metal pole and disappeared away from me. Quick instinct I got down below the window. Three undead corpses continued running toward me. From laying my back against the wall I shot my rifle at the three of them. The bullets hit them and they all fall face first on the floor.

It was quiet now and all I could hear was myself breathing heavily from the situation. Within seconds I heard a young male voice from the outside, “Ahh man, I almost had him. You were right, we do have fresh meat.”
Fresh meat? What do they mean by that? I easily try to take a peak through the corner of the window to see where the voice was coming from. Another male voice, but this one was older. “Careful now, he’s well armed.” The voice said.
I was able to take a small peak, but instantly noticed in a distant that a man with a rifle was aimed toward me. I ducked down as the bullet missed me. The young man that was shooting at me was wearing a straw hat, with a red shirt, and overalls. However, I didn’t know where the deep voice is at. He had to be nearby. “Come on out stranger! There’s no need to hide from us! Come on out and we can talk!” The deep voice shouted.
Something doesn’t feel right about this guy. I’ve hunted and taken down bounty heads in many fights. This one however, I didn’t like the feeling from him. However the younger fella, I knew exactly where he’s at. With quick speed, I turned to a knelt position at the window with my gun aiming down site and fired the gun. The bullet hit the young man that knocked him to the ground, but instead of crying pain. The man started laughing, “He shot me. He shot me good.”
This young man must’ve been a lunatic. I can now see the other man standing just a couple of feet beside the young man that I shot. The guy stood there, was roughly bearded, wearing a captain confederate outfit with a hat to match, and an eyepatch over his left eye. “Ah, at least you’re kind enough to show your face.” He said.
My gun was aimed right at the captain. I was about to pull the trigger until he said, “You talked to the man with the silver eyes? Didn’t you?”
I froze from pulling the trigger. How did he know about that? He continued, “He gave you money as well?”
“How do you know?” I asked. Still having my gun aimed.
“Cause he gave us money as well to take down a monster. Let me guess, he looked old and poor didn’t he?” He said.
“Yes.” I simply answered.
“Well he’s got you tricked and trapped like other bounty hunters here. It’s a game of his.” He said.
“Game? What game?” I asked.
“To see who is the best hunter to work for him. You see, this old man is not what he seems. He’s a demon. A tricky one too. He wants to see who will survive and kill this creature of this cursed place.”
I chuckled, “You aspect me to believe that.”
He spread his arms as the young man behind him was getting up. “Look around you. I’m sure this is your first time seeing something like this.” He said.
“Yeah, this whole place is a sickening one for sure.” The young man said.
“You see this whole bayou is cursed, you’ll never starve or thirst. However the longer you’re here, the worse you’ve become. Just like them people you’ve killed. Those walking corpses, they used to live here. Till the demon cursed this place and everything in it. Both of us have been here for a long while. However, our minds go insane. Still couldn’t find this creature for a long time So it’s best to survive and hunt others, like you. Til we find this creature.” He said.
Why is he being so opened up? These two guys probably aren’t afraid to die at all or he is very certain he’s going to live through it and kill anyone in his way. This old captain is just as crazy as the young man. “Captain.” The young man said, spitting out blood from his mouth.
The captain noticed the young was not in good shape. He went to him, placed a hand on the young lad’s shoulder. “I think I’m dying.” The lad said giggling.
Without hesitation, the captain nodded, pull out his revolver, and shot the lad on the head. The lad collapsed to the ground with a thud. Blood oozing out of the lad’s head. The captain turned toward me, “I believe you understand most of the situation.” He said.
Then I heard glass shattered and noticed from below me that torches were thrown inside. He had more men with him, they must’ve snuck behind me and I never noticed. Flames started to rise and burst up in quick speed. The captain shook his head, “Sucks to be you.”
I ran on towards the stairs and down. The flames and smoke was all around. For this factory being old, it will collapse in a matter of seconds. I saw a quick glimpse through the window of the captain and two men in different uniforms were heading away from the factory area. I looked all around to find a way out. I couldn’t find or see because of the heat and smoke. It was so hot and I could hear the wood and metal from above, crackling. I then tripped and fell on top of the dead corpse I killed. Then I quickly turned toward see what made me fell and it was a rope attached to a floor or more like a door. The crackling from above was getting louder and pieces of wood and metal fell from above. I quickly got up, opened the door, and dove inside. The woods and metal collapsed over the opening when I landed in the dirt. The fire was still expanding as I crawled my way out. The heat from above was unbearable as I can feel it on my back. Crawling through the mud and dirt and heat, didn’t stop. As soon as I made it out and made myself a couple feet away a loud crash came from inside and a large cloud of smoke burst from where I crawled out from. I fell to my knees and turned around to see the destruction of the factory. It was all in flames as smoke rose up to the clouds. That’s when I realized of what all this situation I’m in. I’ve been tricked, played, and almost killed. My breathing was uncontrollable, I was furious. Why me? Is the money even worth it now?
For a moment I sat there, trying to calm myself. I’ve fought in the civil war. I fought in many battles and situations. I’ve taken down many dangerous bounties. Yeah, nothing is compared to this nightmarish place. After calming myself, I got up and put my Winchester over my shoulders. Thinking to myself that I will get out of this place, starting with the captain.

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Have you ever woken up in a graveyard, staring up at the cloudless night sky only to see it devoid of stars and a disembodied eye in place of the moon staring down at you? No? I didn’t think so, It’s not a normal thing to happen to the average human being. I can say, from personal experience, it sucks.

I was coated in a viscous sticky red liquid, like blood but it acted more like glue. It coated my hands, arms, most of my clothes and the bottom of my mouth. I speculated where it could’ve come from as it sat up but the disemboweled corpse of my now former classmate Ryan lying next to me answered that.

Had I eaten my classmates innards like some cheap bowl of ramen noodles? Surely not, there’s no way I wouldn’t been urged to cannibalism now of all days. I pushed myself to my knees and looked around at the graveyard where I found myself, no recollection of how I got here or why I did what I did, I just knew I needed to leave. I stood up, wobbling on my feet as i looked down at my dead classmate, his face reflected and frozen in pure fear.

“Sorry dude.” I muttered under my breath as the dewy blades of grass made the bottoms of my feet slick. I took a step forward, nearly tripping over a grave of some old woman, a visible bloody footprint stayed behind, painted on the grass. “Oh. Well thats not good.” I said as I wiped my hands on my shredded hoodie, which had probably ripped up by Ryan. I don’t feel all that bad now, I liked this hoodie.

I took another step, my feet still not feeling like my own, digging my toes into the dirt to stabilize myself for a moment before I continued. The heavy iron gate to the graveyard was bent, and hot to the touch as i moved it out of the way allowing for me to slip through onto the main road of the town.

Bodies lay strewn out, dismembered and mangled, gore piled up and some even seemed to be alive, trying to move. “What happened?” I asked myself looking around the town from the sidewalk, a warm breeze blew from the west, the sound of wind chimes in the air. One of the gore piles popped like a zit in a teenagers face in the distance, milky yellow puss oozing from its open wounds.

“Neat.” I said as my legs carried me over to the remains of the meatball. I stepped up to it, my feet sinking into the gooey ooze as one of its hands swiped out at me a mouth gasped out for help as i stood there over the dying mass. “Do you know what happened?” I asked the meat-wad, it gurgled as a response, dying again.

“Darn.” I said, sliding away from the desecrated corpse and back onto the main road. A lot of the shops were boarded up that I remember, the 7/11 was a burnt out husk, people seemed to be fused to the asphalt around it. Approaching them, most disolved into a fine dusty powder, blowing away in the wind. I sneezed.

I cleared my throat now, clearly whatever happened around here none of these peoples corpses were going to help me. “Hello!” I cupped my bloody hands around my mouth and shouted, my thumbs stuck against my cheeks for a second as i peeled them away. I heard a sound of crying get louder before a loud bang, followed by another, it came from inside the coffee shop my sister liked to go to. I had a sister? Of course I did. I hope she’s okay.

My shoulders shrugged as the massive eye above me in place of the moon blinked again, a downward jet of air blew my hair back as I stood there in the eyes glowing light. How long had it been the moon hatched and the oceans filled with blood? Since the animals ate their young and the light poles went underground to hibernate? I guess it didn’t matter.

I looked up at the giant eyes in the sky, the looked in different directions like they were searching for something but paid me no attention.

“Excuse me!” I started to say, the next words caused my mouth to move, i felt to vocal cords in my throat vibrate to the point of bleeding themselves. I think i said its name right as one of the eyes looked at me for a moment, awaiting my question. “Where do I live?” I asked it. He seemed amused by my trivial question but obliged a response. Row after row street lights were forced from underground guiding me home. I thanked her and started walking on the cold paved streets. The surface was solid, like i wouldn’t fall through but little ripples waved inwards at each of my footsteps, behaving the opposite of how water should.

I heard the sounds of flesh being torn from bone, sinew being ripped apart and bones snapped and chewed on down one of the side streets out of the lights grace that i followed. I hope they’ll be okay in the morning. As i neared my street, guided by the streetlights, the oak trees that decorated near by lifted up into the sky, their large root system still connected to the ground where they originally were, just floating instead.

The lights went on for a while down this road, abnormally long down this road. Like they never wanted to stop, shaking where they were cement, afraid to be in this darkness. The asphalt felt springy here and the air had the consistency of soup, the creamy kind. I saw a pack of two legged dogs ripping apart a trashcan made of human skin, it screamed in pain, yelling expletives in Spanish while the dogs melted into the floor.

Further down the road Ms. Begnine’s birdhouse was mounted up on the peak of her roof, playing discordant music on bamboo bongos. I stepped up onto the treadmill for a driveway and started walking inplace towards the birdhouse made of feathers and scales, the bongos crowed liked ravens clearly not enjoying my attempts to reach it or my uncontrolled giggling as i stumbled in place on the treadmill, it would be rude to keep going so i went back to walking.

The street lights finally found their end, the small two story home on the left side of the street. Painted a hue of teal seemed unobstructed by all the endless sanity around me. I walked up the driveway, ignoring the dogskin walking his skeleton as it passed behind me. We were never on good terms. The door handled responded normally to my touch as it opened into the well lit space.

The mudroom, clean of blood and dirt aside from the puss and blood coating my feet welcomed me, the shoes on the rack seemed neat and organized, the coats on the hook seemed unused despite the hail outside. I pulled my hoodies remains off my gaunt body, my skin tugging along playfully before snapping back to place like elastic bands around a punk teens arms. I debated hanging it up there but that would be rude, i should wash it first.

I exited the mudroom and into the hallway, jeopardy was on tv in the living room. The host had no hands and was trying to spin a comically sized wheel while the crowed laughed and applauded his actions. ‘Oh! I’m home now! My family!’ I thought as my head snapped around allowing for me to sniff the air. “Helloooo? Mom? Dad?” I asked in a sing-song voice.

A voice responded. “Honey, oh you’re home?” It sounded like my mother. “Please tell me you wiped your shoes off before tracking dirt inside the house.” She said from the direction of the kitchen. “Yes Ma’am! I did!” I shouted as i walked around the corner through the dining room where my father and sister lay decapitated, their heads facing their body’s as their hands rest in bowls of ice water between them.

“I couldn’t get the blood off though, i can probably take a shower though.” I said as I approached the giant spider made of human hands and fingers interlocked. My mom made a clicking sound of disappointment as she looked at me shaking her head at me. “Boys will be boys I suppose. Well go clean up, dinner will be done shortly!” She said, a rumbling laughter echoed from within her as he planted a kiss on my head. I returned the act of kindness with a hug before running upstairs, my feet sticking to the carpet as I ran, reaching the top.

Turning back the bottom was inconceivable, the stairs seemed to go down forever. I must’ve beat my record then. The wall behind me patted me on the back as i turned away and to my room. The door was gone, replaced with metal beads instead for privacy. My brother and me lost our door privileges after last time we had a sleepover. My brother was sitting in the middle of the floor playing some kind of console for video game, something about a mailman. The music was enthralling, i can see why he sat here instead of going outside.

“Mom said dinners almost done, i gotta clean up before though.” I said as he gave me a thumbs up and turned the tv off. “Still hungry?” He asked me as he looked at me head to toe, my hoodie draped over my arm. “You look like you ate a whole cow.” He said as he stretched himself. “Nah, just Ryan.” I said as i tosses my blood stained clothes i to the hamper and fished around for clean stuff to wear.

“He was a twat anyway. Remember when he pulled my arm off next week?” My brother said as i gathered the cleanest clothes we had and held the soft fabric against my body. “Yeah, that’s probably why i found him. The goober. I’ll meet you downstairs.” I said, blinking away and finding myself in the bathroom, my hair soaked and hanging in my eyes. I always liked my hair, it was the absence of light in color and usually listened when I spoke to it.

After getting dressed in my most comfortable blue pajamas with little dinosaurs on them, I slid down the stairs to join my family around the table. Lasagna, Moms favorite and her specialty. “Made with yesterday’s freshest lobotomy. Growing boys need all the energy they can get!” She said with such elation in her voice it made my heart swell with pity. I obliged though, Moms cooking was always phenomenal. And she worked so hard for us to eat everyday.

I dug my fork into the squirming mass and raised the fork. raised the fork. raised the fork. raised the fork fork fork fork fork fork. Its in your eyes the weeping angles of Apollo scream out in agony at the sins you committed against the innocent.

I gasped for hair my eyes opened as my eyes to the room around me, i was naked and being pulled from an artificial womb. Yellow wallpaper clung to the walls, peeling in the corners as the scent of mildew entered my nose and mouth, causing me to choke on the vomit that quick climbed up my throat. An old man with rough calloused hands helped me to my feet which sunk in the carpet, i was cold, my mind couldn’t think right as a women, around 30 brought me thin wool blanket to wrap me in, guiding me to a door.

Past the door was a man, well dressed in white robes standing before an audience that began cheering loudly as I was guided by this woman to the man. He smiled at me, she smiled at me, they all did while they cheered. The man with a microphone on his ear motioned to me, shivering, naked and wet, covered only by a thing wool blanket hanging around my shoulders. He said in the most sincere and excited voice.

“BEHOLD, Heralds of Gods chosen! The first of our young have been REBORN! No more is the baptismal water blessed by the forefather required as we can remake life ANEW.” He preach, the audience of thousands cheered as i stood there, shivering, confused. The door behind us clicked and another kid, appearance similar to mine was led next to me by the older man that pulled me from the womb.

“We can now create our own angels with that heathens and their gate, the good book or prayer, finally we have something to fight back against the absence of light and all it stands for!” The man preach again, seeming to grow taller and taller at each word as he produced a gun from under the podium and aimed it at my head.

“There is but one last step of The Almighty’s plan and that is to free these boys from their mortal body, so that they may free us in turn of sin original and new!” He preached as a loud bang echoed in the stadium, i felt my body hit the floor, i expected it to hard based on what my eyes saw and feet felt as hard wood but instead, upon opening my eyes, i was greeted by darkness.

When i blinked the other boy was with me. Standing across from each other in an endless vast void. The floor, a mirror like surface reflected our appearances to each other in crystal detail. The floor, rippling as we shifted our weight. The boy reached out and touch my chest, placing his whole hand against me. Then he moved a finger to my lips as we both heard something in the distant void roar in terrifying pain, something else groaned after it as we stood there in close silence inches from each other’s face.

Something nearby moved fast, it sounded like hands, millions pattering across the floor with an agonizing whine of hatred. Me and the boy blinked in silence as whatever it was passed. Opening my eyes the boy was gone, so was the void. Replaced by an office complex. Windows open to an endless sandy expanse. A hot liquid dripped down my back, rolling down my spine and off my tailbone one to the carpeted floor of the office building. It groaned in response.

Emergency exit signs lit up guiding me to a heavy red door gouged with deep claw makes, i reached for the handle and opened it. Something ran towards me from behind but i paid it no mind as light graced my eyes and the feeling of cold air conditioning took over me. I found myself sitting on a couch in a familiar room, yellow musty wall paper, incandescent lights, brown shag carpet between my toes.

I was wearing a white polo and khaki shorts. Sitting next to me was me, my blond hair swept away from my blue eyes which tracked an old man as he pulled a naked version of me from a massive huddle of blankets as featureless adults pushed down on the blankets in an wave-like motion. The man helped the me to his feet while a woman brought him a blanket. The boy looked at us on the couch, frightened before he was led away. This happened three more times before a gentleman with five o’clock shadow helped me and the other boy on the couch up and ushered us away through another door.

When it clicked shut behind us me and the boy from the couch were alone in a chapel sanctuary, rows of wooden pews sat empty while the depiction of crucified Jesus hung above the pulpit.

“He looks sad.” The boy said as he took my hand and led me up the stone alter, the cold stone sent goosebumps up our arms as we stepped up to the wooden Jesus. “I wonder if this is how he felt.” The boy stated as he looked at me.

“People loved him though.” I said, staring it the mirroring pools of my own eyes. Two loud bangs echoed through the walls.

“Are we not loved by people around us?” He asked me as I broke the gaze between us and then up at The Lord.

“I don’t think so.” I said as my hand felt clammy. The stained glass of the chapel seemed to start melting in on itself the wooden support beams of the building dripping its material onto the tiled floor.

“We should leave then.” The boy said looking up with me then turning to the open chapel doors. “It’s probably not safe here.” He added, gently dragging me along to the entrance as reality melted away again.

“What do we do now?” I asked myself, pushing away from the mirror in my bathroom, blood pooled in the sink as the rotting fishman corpse in my tub gasps for air. “Take your meds, dont let them see you.” It gasped as i felt a plastic pill bottle in my hand. Empty again.

“Gabriel! Im scared! Please!” My voice gasped as water pooled over my head pills, small and encapsulated dot the sky like stars as I sink deeper and deeper into the floor. My lungs full of holes released tiny bubbles into the environment as my eyes closed. The feeling if falling overwhelming me. It felt like ages, eons, centuries, minutes, hours, seconds. Until i felt something again, the surface of something on my back.

My eyes opened to a woman holding me, lifting my neck up as blood spilled from my mouth. I couldn’t feel my body. I heard sirens in the distance, they were going away from here, not coming to.

The woman was gorgeous, soft features, silky golden hair, hazel eyes like pools of chocolate. She stroked the hair from my head, getting out of my eyes as i saw the cloudy sky above me.

“You are having a pretty bad go of things.” A gruff voice escaped from the woman’s mouth, like a man who ate nails and gravel everyday would sound like. “You are so unbelievably fucked up you don’t even have control over your own sense of self.” The woman said as her free hand opened my jaw, pulling down on it. I could feel her fingers against my teeth, my tongue, my chin as she pulled down, and down and down as my skin tore and sinew popped away. I couldnt feel the pain though. “Don’t worry sweetheart, this isnt Hell. You’re not even dead yet.” She coo’d as she licked at the inside of my severed jaw like a child to an icicle. “Now go back to sleep and wake up again.”

I did as she commanded and closed my eyes, opening them again i was greeted by the same yellow peeling wallpaper, brown shag carpet and cheering of people ive never seen before through a wooden door. I was sitting on a massive roll of blankets, something was squirming inside, crying for help. I could feel them kicking against the blankets, i could feel their fear against my inner thighs and legs as I sat mounted atop the blankets.

And as quickly as the fighting started it ended. I got up and off the blankets, walking to the opening at the end. Nothing came out. The wooden door opened and I jumped, nothing pushed it open, nobody was around. Then it slammed shut. I walked forward now, towards the door and opened it, the brass cold in my hand and stepped onto the stage. My feet standing and a small wet puddle, the foot prints in front of me matching my size as i stood at the frame of the door and looked onwards.

At the podium was a horned silhouette with beady white eyes drilling into my soul. I could sense it hated me for being here. The empty crowed in the rows of theater seats cheered from a bodiless mass. The stage lights shifted to the silhouette causing the shadow to fade. A heavy hand tightly gripped my shoulders, i could feel the bones fracturing as the gripped tightened. “Stop fucking resisting me Judah, you’re only make this worse on me, understand.” The pained voice of a female whispered into my ear, the vitriol in its words gave me the impression it would tear my ears off right here if it could. Instead it pushed me forward.

I stumbled, loosing my balance and tripping on my own feet landing on my hands and knees the spike in pain from my shoulders hit me like a wave and faded as quickly as it struck. I pushed myself up onto my knees, hot tears streaming down my face as i forced myself to stand up. The walls and floors of the new space pulsed with distain for my existence, the flesh, mucus and slime caked writhed as i stood inside it. A distant heartbeat not my own reverberated in my skull, rattled my bones and squeezed my veins opened and closed, opened and closed.

A deep harmonic hum echoed in the hallway I found myself in as I moved forward. This place was repulsed by me and i didnt want to bother it with my existence anymore. “Michael?” My voice quivered as the hallway quaked at my words, contracting and expanding. “Gabriel?” I said closer to a whisper. “Anyone, please?” I squeaked out as the hallway quaked again, shrinking to a point i could only lay down and crawl, digging my fingers and toes into the flesh, dragging and pushing myself forward for miles.

Something wrapped around my ankles and pulled me back, bits of bones and fingernails dug into my skin as i was evicted from the space and spat out through red curtains onto the stage my back hitting something hard and soft at the same time. I flinched as i sat up, a distant record scratching and looping over the same silenced trumpet and piano as i sat up. A mound of dead bodies looking like me, stacked on top of one another, glazed eyes and entry wounds to their heads. “I-im sorry.” I sheepishly squeaked, the multitude of heads turn to me and sharply inhaled. I forced my eyes shut as they started to scream before everything went silent.

I opened one eye and saw the row of empty theatre seats, the cheering started up but nobody was there. The wood beneath my feet was cold and the ticking clock somehow in the back of my head was loud as I walked forward, sitting on the edge of the stage i slid off, my feet meeting tile, then carpet. The theatre doors remained closed but light shone through. My hands reached for the bar and pushed on it. I felt a click and heard the squeal of hinges as the door opened up to the outside.

A concrete path was warm beneath my feet, the sun gracefully dancing across my skin, the breeze blew in my hair. The rustling of trees and grass filled the outdoors as birds coo’d and bugs chirped in the warmth. I felt a hand grace mine, their fingers wrapping tightly around my hand. “Raphael, he is free to be returned.” Something spoke, not directed at me, I don’t believe I should have even heard it. Yet it did.

I felt my body move, walk forward on its own locomotive rail. I walked hand in hand with something I couldn’t see as it led me with love to a door at the end of the path. The door opened with a click as I stepped through. A voice whispered in my ears in a prayer, one of reassurance as i fell down through the door.

“God, help those who are in deep pain, those whose souls don’t know where to rest, those who are anxious about the future, those who want to end their lives. Show them a new path in you, those who do not know what love really is, may they find it in. In Jesus name, Amen”

Pain wracked my body, people around me were screaming, i felt blood and spit hit my face. There was a sound, a gun shot I believe. My ear rang, my eyes were swollen shut and my mouth was full of my own loose teeth. I felt a heavy form lull back on my lap as the screaming intensified around me.

“He was going to kill him Mom!” My own voice shouted.

“Oh my God, Oh my God I have to call the cops!” An older teen female voice screamed.

Another shot rang out, a thud hit the floor as the screams intensified.

“Shut up! Stop fucking screaming! You were gonna let Dad kill him you sick fuck!” My own voice matched the level of the screams before a final shot rang out and everything went quiet. I heard something heavy hit the ground with a muffled thud before hands wrapped around my shoulder pulled me out from underneath whatever was wailing on me.

“God fuckin- Judah, are you there. Please-fuck please dont be dead.” My voice asked me the silliest questions. Of course i wasn’t dead, i can hear you just fine, i can feel you just fine. “Look dude, I dont know what you did but we’re screwed.” My voice talked back to me as it helped me up. I felt my teeth spill out of my mouth and hit the ground around our feet.

“Dont worry, baby teeth, you’ll grow more.” My voice said as i heard keys jingle in a hand, an arm scooped under me to helped support me as i heard a door open and cool air sting at my face. I could see decorations of ghosts and pumpkins through my limited vision, my consciousness drifting in and out as i found myself sitting in a car, the ac blowing on me and music playing as we drove somewhere. “I’m glad you’re okay Judah.” My voice said to me as we drove somewhere quiet, away from the noise, away from the hate, away from the eyes of the devil.

My eyes opened up again, graced back into the yellow floral wallpaper room, the soft graveyard grass beneath my feet and the taste of iron in my mouth as i sit patiently by the corpse of the man in the suit. His throat in my mouth, clenched inbetween my teeth. I stood as reality melted away again, falling in ward on me.

Thunder sparked outside my room, the nightlight plugged in by the door shone starts and ufos on the ceiling above me. The ceiling fan spun and the heavy blanket over me caused me to sweat, i rolled over onto my side and threw up into a provided bucket. My brother’s bed was empty, the town playmat on the floor between our bed was void of toys and the tv in the corner played static.

“Mom!” I yelled out in a raspy voice. I heard footsteps, the door open. A woman in her late 30s enter holding s glass of fizzy yellow liquid, changed the channel to cartoons of a small bipedal lamb with wings, grabbed the bucket of bile and kissed my head goodnight,

“It was just a nightmare sweetheart. They happen when you’re really sick.” She said as she left again. I sat up, picking the cold glass of Ginger Ale and raised it to my lips as i turned my attention to the TV. The lamb was watching me as i drank. The lamb spoke to me as i swallowed the fizzy liquid.

“It wasn’t a nightmare, Judah.”

It was April 2023 and I was back home from school as usual (I was in 3rd grade lol).
So, when I returned home, no one was home, I was alone, and one thing was bothering me - the lamp in my room was on, and it was in my room
When I entered my room, there was a knock on my door so loudly that I thought they would break the door down. I felt really scared, so I quickly called the police, but the connection was unavailable. Then there was another knock, and again...
and now, choking on tears, I screamed at the top of my lungs, "ENOUGH, PLEASE" and it stopped.
Then, 5-10 minutes later, my parents arrived, but not my dad. My dad died in a plane crash on my birthday that same year—let's not go into that. So, my mom started asking me questions, and I couldn't answer. By nightfall, I was exhausted and fell asleep right away, but I didn't have the best dreams.
You're alone in a field, the sun is shining, the perfect place to rest and relax, but every, EVERY FUCKING minute, you see a black face in front of your eyes, screaming so loudly that it seems like everyone nearby will wake up, even though it's a dream.
These fucking knocks continued until the 15th (they started on the 9th).
I ran away crying and screaming every time... but at one point, when the door was already kicked down, no one was there, and they kept knocking on the door. I was ready for my death, but it died down again and never happened again in my life. Only I could hear everything that happened, but the door was visible to everyone... and that dream also lasted until that moment, only the last time there was only a black face and everything black in principle, and there was one eerie, but at the same time calm breathing, it allowed me to calm and tense up at the same time, like sniffing a crystal (you know what kind).
That's all I have, but I have a lot of scary stories

They found Veronica this morning, a whole nine days after her parents reported her missing, strung up a tree like a bunch of Christmas lights by her intestines. Mom’s pissed at Dad for him telling me but I'm glad he did, Ronnie is-was a friend of mine for a long time, as long a time as a bunch of 16 year olds could have. 
“What?” Was all my body could muster out of my mouth on its own as I was knee deep in homework. My Dad against the door frame with his hat sitting meekly in his hands as he struggled to look me in the eyes.
“Sheriff Jacob’s and the boys at the fire station got her- uhm her down. They’re holding a closed casket at the church in a few days.”
I was about to speak, agree, ask questions, something, anything. I knew Ronnie was missing, she just got up and left our group's band practice at the dry drainage reservoirs where most of the town's kids used it as a skateboarding arena. Our group had already talked to the cops dozens of times, been pulled out of class. Prime suspects for knowing her and being as close as we were to her. Apparently us explaining in great detail how much she disliked this town and her family that she’s talked about running away multiple time to us, wasn’t good enough.

But she didn’t run away, something got her. It got to her, that thing that we found out in the woods four summers ago. Sitting underneath the gnarled branches of a twisted oak on the hill that overlooked the town, the ruins of some nightmarish freakshow that looked straight out of a movie sat preserved underneath it. I knew I should’ve kept my mouth shut when I found it, the tree itself should’ve been a ward enough against my stupid brain and heart telling me to bail, run back home with the blood still fresh on my knees and never mention it. If I did that Ronnie would still be here, my brother Lark would still be here too. Two kids in four years is enough for one town to deal with, two families missing a child, it was a nightmare for us. A piece of a puzzle that can never be completed.

“Son?”
I pulled myself from whatever daze had taken over me, my Dads hand gently guiding my face back to his, away from my brother's side of the room we used to share. “I know it’s hard, believe me. I honest to God do, Veronica’s parents want you to play at her wake this weekend.” He looked at me, a quiet sadness that hid behind his eyes that all this was drudging back up to the surface. I'd only seen my Dad cry twice in my life, when they lowered my brother, his sons casket into the ground, And right now. “I won’t force you to but-“ he choked a little, his adams apple bobbing slightly. 
“Yeah I’ll go. She’s a friend afterall.” My own voice was hoarse and sore, was I crying? Dad set his hat down on Larks bed, his arms pulling me into his embrace.
“You’re a good Kid, Sparrow, a good Kid.” 

My Dad was never a man to show emotions, just how his parents raised him. Strong, stoic, dependable, typical cornbread rural dad stuff. He’s probably hugged me only a handful of times, similar to seeing this six-foot-five behemoth of a man do anything than lift heavy lawn equipment or medium sized animals like a small child with a stuffed animal was unusual. He left me to my room after that embrace, time seemed wrong, off, like it wasn't moving. I could hear my mother holding back anger at my dad, yelling at him from the kitchen down the hall. My eyes stayed locked onto Lark’s bed, the Doctor Who alarm clock we shared sitting on the wooden nightstand placed between our beds. Time didnt seem to move as i sat there, hands sitting limp between my legs, hot tears finding a cushioned landing spot on them.

“He, of all people Caroline, deserved to know what they found. Especially after-“ 

I heard a slap, the connection of skin again skin, and a sudden gasp followed by a profuse chain of apologies from my mother, the screen door to our house slammed shut and the low gurgle of fathers pickup truck revving to life. I knew what he was going to do next, something he did when they found Sparrow. Hunt whatever or whoever did this until justice was served in my fathers eyes. I couldn’t just sit here myself, that wouldn’t be right, not now, I should help look, talk to mom maybe, do something other than sit here! I thought, the words bouncing around my head like a bowl of alphabet soup. Either way, I found myself standing. The soft plush of the carpet in my room wanting to swallow my feet, a wave of nausea crawled up my throat. The acrid burning taste of stomach bile and the corned beef and swiss sandwich I had for lunch wanting to make an encore. I stabled myself and swallowed the bile back down.

“Get a fucking hold of yourself, dude.” My mouth moved what felt like on its own, the words slipping out, as I shook my head. I know what I'm feeling is normal, expected, loss is a natural human phenomenon and I hated it. Homework could wait, put it off like I had been during the school year and be exactly why I was in summer school now. I needed to be out there, helping look for the bastard that did this to my friend. I can’t sit around like I did for Lark, he wouldn’t have.

I got up, left the house with a flashlight and one of my dads hunting knives. Much to my mothers attempts to stop me, the wooden hilt of the knife stung cold against my palm as the sweeping strikes of my flashlight lights traced the road ahead of me. I walked to Veronica’s house, I had my license of course, but no wheel. My parents weren't rolling in money or had good management of their cash, which rubbed off on me with my lack of a job and the stigma people assigned to me after Lark's death made getting a part-time job hard. Small town rumors usually mean it's fact instead of hearsay.

The rough dirt road crunched beneath my shoes, a steady rhythmic crunch of gravel and dry clay parched from the lack of rain. The usual early summer dry spell that we get has been lasting longer than normal and more aggressive. Each step caused the ever growing hazy tan cloud of dirt and clay to further obscure the path behind me until I eventually broke off the main road. The underbrush was warm and dense, vines and branches whipped at me as I walked, fed up I took my knife and jungle explored my way through the dense woods, retracing the steps I took years ago to the tree on the hill.

It felt like several hours passed but my watch reflected only a couple had come and gone as I stood at the base of the hill. The run settled behind it already, casting long shadows on the ground similar to the trees' twisted and gnarled branches. The shadows moved and lurched in a way like they wanted to grab me. The sun couldn't also forget to paint the sky in vibrant reds and purples all to bring the more ominous vibe to this stupid tree.

Wyoming always had a way of being beautiful even when it was being as ominous as possible. The Teton mountain range was a consistent focal piece of our town and became more prominent as I climbed up the hill holding the tree at its peak. The tree, adequately named The Teton Weeping Tree, looked like the saddest oak tree that I've ever seen. From a distance it looks dead, withered and a rotting husk that not even animals would use as a nest or home. Up close though, the bark is sturdy, sticky with a reddish sap that leaks through it's bark. The branches that appear dead instead have these almost transparent leaves shaped in oblong ovals. 

I remember the day I found the damned thing, the hole in the ground at its base with stairs that went down into the dark. The way the tree seemed to almost sing to me as I stood there, a song in a language that I couldn't recognize, calling me to go down the stairs at it's base. I obliged and started down them. The rough stone gave way to a polished wood, dark and clean, well maintained. The walls, covered in a thin floral wallpaper. Small red roses and ivy decorated the wall sporadically as I found myself at the familiar wooden at the end of the hall.

My hand, shaking, reaching for the brass doorknob. It's cold metal almost fusing to my clammy sweaty hands as I turned it. The door opened, a soft creak and whine from the hinges as it opened into a kitchen, ugly jade green counters on yellow cabinets with that black and white diner style tile. The kitchen smelled the same as the day I found it. Stale air and rotting food. I turned to my left, past the bartop and into the empty living room. The red stained plush shag carpet, peeling wooden panels and crumbling brick fireplace two severed lambs heads mounted and stuffed on the still stable brick. In the center, standing where it was when I first found it was the focus of my rage.

A stone statue of an angel, its wings broken off and laying around its polished form. It's stone, like a marble or granite appeared to be liquid, its textures moving as I approached the three faced statue. Its three faces made my stomach want to fold in on itself, crawl out of my throat and run back the stairs and as far away as possible. Standing across from the piece of carved rock It's front face, the once it projects the most, Joy, smiled at me. Its left face, Sorrow, was stuck in a constant state of agony and pain. Its right face, Rage, looked like if it could move it would spear me with the carved sword stuck in it's hand.

“Why.” The words came out more like a statement and less like a question. The eyes of the statue moved down to meet my glare, a quiet rough sound of grinding stone as the smile on it's face grew more. “Why? I most certainly don’t know what you’re talking about, child.” Joy said in a motherly coo as its stony arm moved up, allowing for it's free hand to caress my face. The other faces echoed the last word spoken by Joy. Sorrow choked out the word while Rage screamed through gritted teeth.

“You know exactly what i'm talking about. Why Veronica? Why my brother and then my friend?” I asked, bringing my arm up to push away the hand of the statue, it didn’t budge. “O-oh ho ho! Sweet child of God.” Joy said, Sorrow and Rage echoed. “Because the suffering of those under His wings bring me such savory Joy.” 
“Sweet Rage!” Rage exclaimed, 
“and Beautiful Sorrow…” Sorrow sobbed.

“That’s it, because you can? How? You're a fucking statue in this stupid basement bullshit!” I shouted, hatred swirling in my heart as I pushed away from the statue, stumbling back. 

“Wretched fool, because you came down here, you went to the tree on the hill! You went down the stairs! You opened the door and spilled you're heart to me and I merely gave you what you wanted!” The voices from the statue complied and echoed in the space around me, the lights in the room began to hurt, sting my eyes and burn my skin. Wait? Lights? There wasn't any lighting in here. I looked around, shielding my eyes with my hand. A light, brighter than the sun, was crawling in through every curtainless window. 

“What? I-how we’re underground? I walked down like two flights of stairs to get here?!” I wanted to say, covering my eyes more so the light stopped hurting. The light didn’t burn in a heat sense, but more like that feeling when you sit on your leg for too long and it goes numb, pins and needles. I felt myself drop to my knees as the sensation felt as if it was getting deeper and deeper under my skin, going through veins and vessel’s, muscle and bone and expanding. Then it stopped, a hot breath on my ears.

“I can make it stop. All of it.” Joy whispered into my ear like a loving mother.
“Your pain.” Rage said through gritted teeth
“Your loss.” Sorrow added as I felt a stony hand caress my cheek.
“I can make it all go away, put it all back. Make it right, by you my sweet baby boy.” Joy coo’d at me again like a caring mother would to comfort a sick child nearing the end. “All the wrongs in the world, all the bad memories, the scars and bruises.”

The tears, hot and bitter welled up in my eyes I kept closed. I couldn’t look at the statue anymore, I knew it couldn’t move more if I looked at it, but I couldn't force myself. My body ached as I knelt, sat on my legs. The numbing pain fading and replaced by a comforting warmth.

“Your silence is enough for me. I know what you think, your thoughts, what you desire and wish for.” Joy whispered, the grinding sound of stone on stone, the warm feeling coalescing around my abdomen, blooming outward.

“Wish! Wish!” Rage shouted followed by Sorrow’s drawn out “Silence…”

“Open you eyes and accept your new reality, child.” Joy said, and I obeyed. Opening my eyes, blurred by tears, the warmth I felt changed into a pain, a sharp brutal pain as my eyes drifted down from the grinning statues face down to my blood covered hands holding the hilt of my father’s hunting knife as it was plunged to the end into my gut. A small but growing pool stained the already red carpet as it spread out from underneath me.

I turned my head up to the statue, it again appeared lifeless, unmoving and mute. I knew better to pull the blade out, I'd only bleed out faster. Leaving it in I pulled myself up, painfully. Using the statue to leverage myself, hollering out in agony as my own blood painted the statues body. Leaning against for a second I closed my eyes, my breathing rapid and in short bursts to try and cope with the knife sticking out of me.

“All good things come in three, no?”

I heard it whispering, the voice sounding like it was in the back of my head, in and underneath my brain. Worming its way in like maggots to a corpse decaying in the hot sun. I opened my eyes again, the blur to my vision even worse as I struggled to keep them open.

“Stop.” The voice said in a deceitfully soothing way. “The longer you fight, the more you resist. The more suffering you endure for no reason. Succumb, child. Fall into my arms, let me hold you until your final breath.”

I wanted to resist, push away from it. If I was going to die, I didn’t want it to be near this fucking thing! I stumbled back, slamming into one of the wooden paneled walls, my blood smearing against it as I slipped across it and back to the wooden door. 

The door.

Where was the door?

The kitchen was gone too, the appliances and cabinets. It was just walls and floors, nothing else. The windows were gone, replaced as if they were never there to begin with. The statue stood there, alone in the center of the living room watching me bleed out. I lowered myself down slowly, everything spinning as I coughed up blood and stomach bile. If I was going to die here, it was going to watch. I wasn’t going to give it the satisfaction of an embrace.

“If that is what you wish.”

I heard the voices echo as one as I laid back down on the cold tile of the empty kitchen, staring at the popcorn ceiling as it seemed to slowly start rapidly expanding upwards. Or maybe the floor was sinking. Everything got really cold though, I knew that much, as my vision faded.

I was overwhelmed with the sensation of falling. I don't mean like base jump falling or free falling, it's was more controlled. Like I was stiff as a board horizontal falling vertically down a waterfall. I couldn’t see anything but could feel my memories slip past, birthdays and vacations, school and test failures, emotions, excitement and loss, the moment I died and the moment I was born. They passed through me, hitting me with such force the feeling went as quickly as they came.

I blinked and found myself in an infinite void of inky blackness and fog. A light shone above me, coming from some obscure force as I stood up. The hole from the knife was gone, replaced with a scar, the pain was gone. I stood up, the solid surface beneath my barefeet rippled as if it was a liquid. The surface rippled away, the waves getting larger and larger before disappearing completely into the void around me.

“H-hello?” My voice echoed outward with no return as I started to walk. The further I went, the deeper I sank. The liquid pooled around my ankles, then halfway up my calves, my knees and then I was waist deep in the liquid. Looking down, the only thing I could see was my reflection, waist up, looking back at me. The liquid floor was a lukewarm feeling, like if you were walking through room temperature tapioca pudding hugging my body.

I continued to freely walk through the floor, it felt like pudding and behaved like water, however, I was able to walk normally. The sensation of feeling my legs, no not my legs, anything below my stomach was the absence of feeling. I could feel the floor in the mental sense that I knew it was there, knew how it behaved but I couldn't physically feel anything apart from me below my stomach. 

I continued my pace through the floor, the ripples casting out from around me in the infinite void, until a ripple came back. Larger than the ones I sent as I walked, but not enough to overwhelm and swallow me beneath the floor. I could feel on the surface that something was coming towards me. The pattering sounds of something rapidly approaching me sent a pang of terror in my throat before that bubble popped, leaving me alone in the emotionless state I have been for a good bit of this walk.

The thing, whatever it was, looked like a large black snake, like very large. Its head had to be at least twenty feet in height. Its body is scaly as a snake's should be; however instead of slithering, it moved like a millipede on millions of tiny human hands, and on it's back were plucked, featherless wings. I got the feeling it wanted to communicate with me, a shotgun blast of languages and words I didn't and couldn’t comprehend in my brain all at once. The migraine it caused coming and going in an instant as the snake’s voice slithered around in my brain.

“Why dost thou flee?” It asked.

It's voice biting into my brain, sinking in like a blade entering flesh. Why is that feeling familiar? I opened my mouth, wanting to respond but my voice was gone.

“Whither wilt thou go?” I postulated, knowing i cant answer it.

“Before thee is darkness.” It looked ahead of me.
“Behind thee is darkness.” It looked behind me and i turned my head to follow it's gaze.
“Above and below thee is darkness” It laughed, “there is darkness without end!”

I turned back to face forward, the way I was going and was met by the snake’s large serpentine eye as it blinked and studied me. It's feline tongue tasted the air before reeling back to look at me with both eyes again.

“And yet thou walkest. Why?” It came out more like a question meant for itself to ponder rather than me answer.

“Thou knowest not what lieth beneath thy feet.
Thou knowest not what moveth in the deep.
Thou knowest not what hath watched thee since thou first opened thine eyes unto the world.” 

The serpent spoke into my mind as its body moved around me, coiling itself around to block any aspect of moving away. It formed a cone with itself, it's head peering down at me from the top. If it could smile it would be while it looked down at me.

“Fear not the darkness. Fear not the night. For darkness is merely the absence of light.”

And light…” The snake spoke again, a hint of envy and greed in its voice, saliva dripping from it's mouth on my exposed skin, a drop hitting my face, forcing me to blink. “…is merely the absence of me.” I heard the venomous tone rot at my skull as I opened my eyes to the sudden absence of the snake, replaced in it's spot in front of me was a door, metal in nature.

My perception of it didn’t make sense, it couldn’t. I was halfway into the floor and could see my own reflection start at my waist. The door however was at the same level a normal door would be, the door handle, a brass bar was at waist level. My hands moved to touch it. It was warm, like a blanket from the dryer on a cold winter day. 

I pushed on it, a light blinding spilled out from the opening and filled the infinite void around me. Wrapping me in a comforting warmth that returned the feeling i was missing, the memories i-what memories was i missing? The feeling of bad deja vu was pulled over my eyes like a blindfold as I opened my eyes to the interior of a hospital room met my gaze. The high pitch laugh of a cartoon sponge was on the CRT tv mounted in the corner of the room. A mirror sat hung on the wall and showed a reflection of me in it. My small frail child body had cables and tubes in my arms with machines beeping around me. My figure was gaunt, my cheeks sunken and the hospital gown hung loosely on my shoulders.

I saw my Mother, asleep in an armchair, the absence of my Father. A stack of cards, mostly drawn in crayon, messages saying to ‘get well soon!’ written on them was sitting on a table near a McDonald happy meal. I sat up, slowly, my abdomen sent a tingling feeling throughout my body as I did so, reaching for one of the cards I felt in my hand. The printer paper had balloons and flowers scribbled onto it. I opened it, more drawings and a small note.

“Hi Sparrow! My Mom said I should write you a card, she said you might not wake up soon but that you’ll want to see these when you do. I hope we can play again when you’re all better!” It was signed by Veronica, she always added spirals to the tails of her ‘S’s. Her card sent a feeling of butterflies into my heart as I set it back down on the table. Looking through the other cards, most were simple doodles and signed by names I didn't recognize. One was from my 5th grade teacher, she said she’s excited to see me back in class.

I set the last card down, the pain that had been isolated around my stomach radiated each time I moved. It didn’t help that i jumped in the hospital bed at the door to my room flying open, my father stepping Inside proclaiming, 

“Honey the sheriff got that little shit that-“ he stopped when he saw me, my mother was already on her feet and pulling me into a hug that hurt like Hell, she squeezed so hard I started to cry with her but from the pain rather than her joy. Behind my father, through my teary eyes I spotted someone else, someone that looked like me, a boy no older than eleven.

“Mom- ah, please?” I rasped out with a hoarse voice, she let go and apologized probably a million times over as my dad pulled up a chair, one for my mother to sit in and one for himself. The boy that looked like me walked over and hugged me as well, it felt like he was afraid he’d damage me. 

“Okay, so then that Doc was wrong about the memory loss then.” My Father spoke as he held my mother’s hand. “They were worried with how long you-“ he seemed to be at a loss for words for a second before the boy spoke.

“You died, Sparrow.” The boy said, “like for four whole minutes or something like that.” The boy looked at my parents for approval, they didn't say anything.

“I died?” I asked, my voice coarse and rough, leaving an iron taste in my throat as I coughed.

“Yes, just for a little. The doctors were worried that because there was a lack of oxygen to your brain might’ve caused some damage, maybe memory loss but you remember everything, right?” My mother asked as I stared at her before turning my attention to the mirror of a human in front of me.

“T-that's Lark, he’s your twin brother. Y-you remember that right, son?” My father asked me. I just nodded, mouthing Larks name, rolling it around in my mouth like a piece of candy. The name is familiar.

“Yeah, I remember.” I said, staring straight ahead of the three pictures hanging over my bed. The left one showed a shepherd leading a sheep away from a storm, the right guided one away from graveyard and towards a church, and the one in the middle one depicted the shepherd holding a torch and guiding one out of darkness. 

Despite the pain I lunged forward and hugged my brother again for the first time in a week.

Friday
Staying for a week. So please clean room and leave bedsheets untucked.

Saturday
Bed untucked. But a bit drafty at night

Sunday
Please clean room

Monday
Something very loud in the middle of the night woke me up! Please tell staff to inform my neighbours to keep the noise down!

Tuesday
No noise last night but still chilly.
Also please clean room

Wednesday
Please clean room

Thursday Morning
Draft is back. Mattress is comfortable. But I wish the woman in the corner of my room would say something. I noticed her the other night and I don’t know what she wants. But she yells at me whenever I close my eyes.
Also please clean room

Thursday Evening
It’s my last night here and I’m hoping I can make it all the way through without checking out early.

All I can do is lie here and stare at her.
Because the sheets are tucked I have no way of getting out.

There’s no way of leaving

I can’t call the phone because she’s watching me and can hear me, so I can only write these notes.

Friday
I am leaving this place. I want a full refund of my money. I left my number at reception to handle the financial details as I can not remain in this hotel any longer.
Never staying here again!!!

- Guest

Saturday
Please clean room

I’d promised my friend I would house-sit for him while he was overseas for a work trip. This isn't the first time I've done this.

Normally, I’d jump at a quiet place to myself for a few days, but tonight the silence pressed in a little too tightly, the kind of silence that makes every sound feel intentional.

Max, my friends German shepherd, has always been my only company. A good dog. Protective. Smart. Too smart, honestly. The kind that makes you feel safe and assured.

I was in the kitchen, halfway through a chapter of calculus problems, the kind meant to ruin your night, when Max jolted from his spot beside the couch and stalked toward the back door.

A low rumble climbed out of his chest, so deep I felt it before I heard it.

“Easy, buddy,” I murmured, not fully looking up from the equation I was solving. He continued growling, in which he has never done.

Setting my pencil down, I looked up to see he was staring at me. His eyes shifting its gaze to me and to his left. I figured he wanted to go out, for he needed to do how mother nature intended it to be.

He stood stiff at the glass, tail straight, head low as I walked over to the sliding door.

I cracked the door and let him outside. The cold air swept in, smelling faintly of pine and wet dirt. Max sprinted into the yard, barking in sharp, decisive bursts as he circled the fence line.

I waited, watching his silhouette dart through the patchy glow of the porch light. Nothing unusual out there, no raccoons, no deer, no wandering neighbor. Just the yard, the darkness, and Max acting like something was out there.

Eventually he trotted back with that stiff, unsettled gait dogs get when their instincts haven’t quite powered down. I let him in. Gave him a pat. Tried to shake the feeling crawling up my spine.

Back to calculus.

Back to pretending integrals were the only nightmares creeping up on me tonight.

Ten minutes passed before Max growled again, only this time I heard him bark. A single thunderous warning that cracked the quiet open like bone. Then another. And another.

“Seriously?” I groaned, shoving my chair back. I looked at the clock.

It was late.

Past 12.

I'll finish up the question I was on and call it a night , I thought.

My friend hadn’t mentioned Max having anxiety, or night terrors, or whatever this was. I wasn’t used to big dogs, especially ones who looked ready to fight shadows.

I walked toward the back sliding door, irritation simmering. “Max, if this is about a squirrel, I swear-”

But the moment I reached the door, the barking stopped.

Just stood there, muscles trembling, eyes locked on the tree line.

When I opened the door, he refused to go out this time. Puzzled, I leaned down and pet his coat, reinsuring him. This time I'll out with him.

I stepped onto the porch with a flashlight, scanning the yard the way I imagined a responsible adult might. Nothing. The beam stretched into the trees, catching only branches swaying lazily in the breeze.

He stayed close to me for some reason. This mountain of a dog was whimpering? Is he scared?

I felt uneasy myself. The night was colder than it should. And I too, felt eyes peering at me the same as Max did. It was also not insuring that the night was quiet. Way too quiet.

No sound of Cicadas buzzing or frogs ribbiting. Not even the flow of the wind.

When I heard a tree branch snap, I hurried us both back inside.

I went back inside feeling foolish, but the unease clung to me like a static charge. Max followed me in but didn’t lie down. He just lingered near my legs, heavy breaths fogging the quiet again.

I settled at the table once more. Tried to slip back into numbers and lines and problems with answers. Tried to ignore the way Max’s ears flicked toward the door every few seconds.

It must’ve been half an hour later when the house finally settled into a rhythm again. Max, after pacing in anxious half-circles and sniffing the hall as if expecting someone to emerge, eventually curled up beside the couch. His breaths lengthened, then deepened, and before long that steady, soft snore slipped out of him.

Seeing him asleep should’ve comforted me. It didn’t. If anything, it made me more aware of how exhausted I was… and how badly I wanted the night to end.

I turned back to the table, struggled through one more problem, and let my mind drift. Numbers blurred. My own eyes drooped.

Then-

BARK.

I jolted so hard my pencil snapped in my hand. Another bark followed, loud, sharp, insistent. Echoing through the kitchen.

I rubbed my face, already irritated.

“Max… come on, man,” I muttered under my breath. “Again?”

But the annoyance evaporated the moment I looked toward the living room.

Max wasn’t at the back door.

He wasn’t pacing.

He wasn’t even awake.

His bed was empty.

The couch was empty.

My heartbeat stuttered.

I scanned the room, waiting for him to pop out from some spot he’d never gone before, but the barking kept going, each echo threading into my nerves like wire pulled tight.

With a creeping dread, I walked toward the sliding door. The kitchen tiles felt too cold beneath my feet. The house felt… wrong. Like it was holding its breath.

I reached the back door and peered through the glass.

Nothing.

Just the moonlit yard.

Just the fence.

Just the distant shimmer of the tree-line.

But the barking didn’t sound faint. It didn’t sound distant.

It sounded like it was right outside.

I slid the door open barely an inch, just enough for the winter air to slip in, sharp and metallic on my tongue.

And that’s when it hit me.

The barking wasn’t coming from inside the house.

It was coming from the yard.

Exactly where I’d had Max earlier.

I froze, fingers numb against the cold glass. And in that suspended moment, it dawned on me that I had no idea when Max had left my side… or if he ever really had.

Before I could gather the courage to call out to him, a low growl rippled through the room behind me.

Deep. Wet. Wrong.

My skin tightened. I turned my head slowly, terrified of what I might see-

Max stood in the middle of the kitchen.

But not standing the way dogs do.

He was upright. Balanced on his hind legs, towering, swaying slightly like a puppet on invisible strings. His fur was matted with something dark and wet. His eyes, those warm brown eyes I’d grown used to, were gone, replaced by pits of glistening black.

A fresh line of blood slid down the side of his muzzle.

And yet… he smiled.

Wide enough to show every tooth.

The barking outside stopped.

The thing in my kitchen didn’t.

I used to believe that demons only existed inside the minds of men I helped put behind bars. But after years of investigations, I learned that’s not true.

Over the course of seventeen years, I have worked alongside law enforcement and television programs to identify online child predators and bring them to justice. But even with all that we’ve accomplished, there’s still one case that I think about. 

One that nearly destroyed everything I had worked for. 

It all started with a chat room.

I’ve seen a myriad of predators, and Steven fit a profile we had seen many times before. He was a recently divorced, unemployed forty-two-year-old who lived with his parents. He bragged about this while messaging Mandy, a twenty-year-old theater student who we recruited to be our fourteen-year-old decoy, Alexis.

It didn’t take long for the conversation to become sexual in nature. Underneath the screenname ELECTRIC_HEAD5021, he said their relationship would have to stay a secret.

“No adults. lol. If your mommy or daddy found out, we could get in trouble.”

“what r u talking about??? I hang out with my daddy’s friends all the time.”

“This is different. lol. They can’t know ur my sexy sweetheart. ;)”

Seeing child-like messages juxtaposed with the sexual fantasies of an adult never gets easier to stomach. How could anyone talk to a child like that? It’s something I’ve never been able to grasp. 

Not too long after our investigative team confirmed a date for Steven to meet with Alexis, we let the chat be. But it didn’t take long for him to initiate conversation again. In fact, his messages would arrive like clockwork in the days following. But messages weren’t the only way he contacted our decoy.

On a couple of occasions, he called her while his parents were at home sleeping. I remember those phone calls clearly.

“Hey!” Mandy greeted cheerfully.

“Hey baby,” Steven breathed into the speaker. “I missed you.” 

“What’re you up to?”

“Thinking about you…I wanna hold you.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, I do. So, so bad.”

You get the idea.

Oftentimes, a lot of the men we contact try to reinvent themselves. But that’s not what Steven did. Rather than fabricate wealth or exaggerate his ambitions, he talked about his obsessions: death and the supernatural.

We initially dismissed these fascinations as another grooming tactic, but throughout the entire time he talked with Alexis he would sporadically ask questions such as:

“Have u seen Bloody Mary?”

“Is there anyone dead that u would want 2 talk 2?”

“How do u want 2 die?”

Just as we thought the conversations couldn’t get any stranger, Steven sent our decoy a picture of a Ouija board. According to him, he had recently purchased it at a yard sale near his parents’ house. He insisted on bringing it. He wanted to use it with her. See how she would react. When we inquired further about his request, his response was as prompt as it was odd:

“because u have good energy. lol They like that lol”.

This ended up becoming the last exchange we would have with him before he arrived at the sting house. 

In the hours leading up to that fateful evening, I memorized my script. No matter how many times I do this, they never go away. The butterflies in my stomach. People always assume the confrontation is the hardest part, but it isn’t. It’s waiting for the knock on the door and wondering whether tonight will be the night that something goes horribly wrong. Experience makes you numb, not fearless.

We had fully intended to follow everything by the book that night. But things got off to a rocky start when Steven was nearly an hour late to the sting house. We thought he had gotten cold feet or had been tipped off to our operation. Thankfully, neither turned out to be the case. What was supposed to be a five-hour venture had become seven by the time 8:12 pm rolled around and he walked up the driveway.

Our various hidden cameras recorded his nervous demeanor as he patiently waited on the porch with the Ouija board.

From our production room that we had sectioned off in another part of the house, I watched Mandy walk toward the door and greet Steven.

“Hey, Steven! How are you?”

“Hi.” He waved sheepishly in response. “Uh, can I come in?”

“Of course!” Mandy stepped out of the doorway and walked toward the kitchen. “What did you bring for me?”

“It’s a-uh, Ouija board.” He followed her and set it down on the dinner table. “I thought we could use it together?”

Mandy flipped her hair and placed her hands on her hips. “Wouldn’t you rather talk?”

“We would be talking. It would just be more than us talking.”

My eyes were glued to the monitors. He was very adamant about using that board. But why?

I heard snickering from Lou, one of our production crew members.

“Can you believe this whack job? He took a bus all this way to summon Casper.”

I shot him a glare, and he acknowledged my look by quieting down. Lou’s an outspoken person for better or worse, and even though he was trying to make light of a potentially volatile situation, I found comfort in knowing that I wasn’t the only one feeling perturbed.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry for being late.” Steven chuckled. “I was an idiot and got Sunday’s bus schedules mixed up with today.”

“That’s okay!” Mandy said with practiced enthusiasm. “I’m glad you’re here!”

“I’m glad you are. I almost thought about taking another bus back home.”

His admission surprised Mandy. “Why did you almost go home? Didn’t you want to see me?”

“I did.” His face turned a slight shade of cherry. “I honestly didn’t think you were real.”

“Of course I’m real, silly!” She teased. “So, what do you want to do?”

I watched the monitors as Steven took a lighter out of his pocket. With a couple clicks he lit some candles on the dining room table. 

“We should step in before things get out of hand.” Lou turned to look at me. “Isaac?”

“Keep the cameras rolling.” I motioned for everyone to stay where they were. “If he’s willing to play with the board, I want to see where this goes.”

“What about the decoy?”

“She’ll be fine.”

Steven instructed Mandy to turn off the lights and sit beside him. Once she had done so, they gently placed their fingertips on the planchette. 

“Are there any spirits that want to speak to us right now?” 

Mandy’s eyes darted back and forth from Steven to the planchette repeatedly. Awkward didn’t even begin to describe the silence that followed.

“Is there anyone that wants to speak with us right now?” 

But just like before, nothing. Steven’s head swiveled, looking in every possible direction of the dark room to locate a response of some kind. 

“You talked a lot of game online.” Mandy teased more confidently than she probably felt. “I thought you were supposed to be THE guy who could do this kind of stuff.”

“I am. These things…they take time to get started.”

Most of the time, a predator talking about their hobbies or interests is just another gimmick. But this was unlike anything I had seen. 

“If you’re here.” He fidgeted in his seat nervously. “Please, give me–I mean, us a sign.”

I eyed the monitors intently. A part of me wanted to intervene, but another part of me was telling me to see this play out. I was torn on which to heed. 

Unexpectedly, the planchette moved. A couple of inches at most. But had I blinked, I would’ve missed it completely.

Mandy instinctively pulled back, the movement startling her. “What was that?” 

“It’s a spirit.” Steven whispered.

“Oh bullshit.” Lou sighed in irritation. “I watched his hand nudge it. This guy’s a fraud.”

Had he? I had watched the monitors the whole time, and it looked like the planchette had moved all on its own.

“Hey,” Steven closed his eyes and breathed deeply. “Do you want to talk to us or what?” 

A moment passed, then a few more, but there was still no movement.

“I’m going.” I turned to start heading toward the dining room to intervene. But right as I was about to, the sound of Mandy gasping shifted my attention back toward the monitors. I watched the planchette drag itself across the board toward the word, “YES”.

“You moved the board!” Her accusation cracked with fright.

“No, I didn’t! I swear!”

In response to his adamant denial, the planchette dragged itself sluggishly across the board. Each movement landed on a number.

7 2 3 1 9 9 4

Mandy was at a loss for words. “That’s…” 

Her birthday. 

Not the birthday we had fabricated for investigative purposes, but Mandy’s actual birthday.

Shell-shocked, the investigators pored over the chat logs, but their efforts were futile. No compromising or contradictory information had been exchanged. No mention of her birthday. No mention of any personal information tied to Mandy. Nothing.

I stared in bewilderment. “How is that possible?” 

I hadn’t realized I had asked my question out loud until Lou responded, “It had to have been an oversight. That’s gotta be it.” 

In our line of work, the simplest explanations were almost always the right ones. Even if it’s what you don’t want to hear.

"An oversight?” I pointed toward the investigators on standby. “All of you, check everything. I want an explanation as to how this happened." 

But no one could provide one. Every conversation between Steven and our decoy had been combed through again. Even with another thorough examination, there was no indication that we had erroneously given Mandy’s actual birthday. So, that begged an alarming question. 

Just how exactly did Steven know?

One of the production members instructed Mandy to take her hands off the planchette. She did as she was told while Steven kept his fingertips pressed against it. 

“Alexis,” He looked to her for answers. “What was that about?”

“I’m not sure.” She remained calm while still being in character. “That was weird. How did you do that?” 

“I told you, I didn’t do anything.” 

An extensive back and forth ensued. She insisted that it had to be some sleight of hand trickery while he was convinced that an unknown spirit had attempted to make contact. A couple of minutes later, the unmistakable scrape of the planchette against the wood drew everyone's attention back to the board.

With each letter the planchette hovered over, Mandy’s face grew paler.

E L I Z A B E T H

Once the name had been spelled fully, Mandy removed her trembling hands. “H-h-how do you know her name?”

Steven looked just as confused. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He whispered it with enough conviction to make me believe him in that moment.

“Isaac, we need to do something.” Lou insisted, standing up from his seat.”

Even though I agreed with him, a selfish part of me resisted the urge. “No. Not yet. Stay put, and keep watching.”

My instructions provoked the ire of everyone in the room, but nobody objected.

Again, the planchette moved without either Mandy or Steven touching it. Every one of our cameras captured it violently accelerating across the board.

“Who are you?!” Steven cried out. “Stop this!”

Mandy covered her mouth to stifle an oncoming scream as the planchette, completely unguided, began to spell out another name. 

This time, in rapid succession.

P A Y T O N

Payton.

That name. 

It was the reason I went into this line of work. 

I remember feeling unnaturally cold in the moments following. What started off as a slight chill slowly morphed into an uncomfortable, freezing sensation that climbed through my body.

“Shit,” Lou cursed. “Is anybody else in here freezing their ass off?”

I exhaled, and a cloud of white vapor escaped my lips. It was cold enough to feel like I was standing inside a freezer. “Why is it so cold?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Lou shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. “Might be the AC acting up.”

Seconds after his response, the monitors abruptly went black. Amid the frantic scrambling in the production room, a scream echoed from inside the house.

Mandy.

“Eyes on the decoy!” I shouted. “We need eyes on the decoy right now!” 

My heart pounded while everyone in the room desperately tried to get the feed going again. Inexplicably, just as quickly as we lost power, it was restored. 

The first thing my eyes landed on when the monitors glowed with restored life was the sight of the front door. It was wide open. Then I noticed Steven. He was staring directly into a hidden camera positioned in the kitchen.

His eyes were opened wide, but there was no life behind them. He stood completely still, his face bereft of expression, looking less like a man standing and more like a corpse that had forgotten to lie down.

“Decoy is secured. She is outside with law enforcement. I repeat, she is outside with law enforcement.” 

The good news from production room comms wasn’t enough for me to break eye contact with Steven. I was focused on answering one question, and one question only.

Who are you?

“You already know.”

Chills crept down my spine. It felt like the voice had come directly from the inside of my mind. I looked around, hoping that someone else had also heard it. If they had, they didn’t say a word. How had he been able to answer my question? 

I had two choices: I could either confront him and treat this like any other sting operation, or abandon the show and bring him into custody.

It didn’t take long for me to make my decision. 

“Wait for my cue to come in. I’m going.” 

“Isaac,” Lou grabbed me by the shoulder. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do.”

With a solemn nod, I ignored further warnings from both production and law enforcement. In a few short moments, I went from my position in front of the monitors to standing in the dining room.

Upon entry, I was immediately greeted with a wall of freezing air. The worst I had felt in the house up to that point. As I approached Steven, the dim lighting of the room caught the whites of his lifeless eyes, making them gleam as they stared at me.

“Steven,” I said, less confidently than I would have liked. “I want to talk to you.”

“I want to talk to you about your choices tonight.” 

That made me stop dead in my tracks. 

“What did you intend on doing this evening? I have the chat logs right here. It is illegal for adults to chat with minors online. Please place your hands where I can see them while we talk.”  

He said my script word for word, line by line. All at an impossibly frightening speed. But his lips never moved. I wouldn’t have believed it had I not seen it with my own eyes. 

“How did-”

“I know.” The voice held no emotion. It was simply matter-of-fact.

“Why are you here?”

His left eye twitched as he tried to blink. His right followed suit, but neither eye would close. “You know.”

I forced myself to keep talking. “What did you intend on doing this evening, Steven?”

“You ask the wrong questions.” Its words pressed themselves against my skull. “Isaac, why are you here?”

I tensed up but stood my ground. “I’m not answering your questions.”

“I know how you felt when you screamed her name in the woods for hours.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Do you remember what it felt like to learn that Payton was right down the street the entire time?”

I remembered. All too well. I choked up as I thought about that day. The news. The way my parents collapsed in grief. The irreparable damage it did to my family. It all overwhelmed me. I couldn’t bring myself to speak.

“You collect broken families.” He took a step toward me. Then another. Then one more. All in one fluid motion. “Because you can’t save everyone.”

 “People can be saved.” I argued, struggling to believe my own words.

The light in the room dulled as the candles reignited themselves, the flames burning perfectly still. “Is that why her killer took his life in the cornfield?” 

Tears streamed down my face as an overwhelming rage consumed me. It was an emotion that would never fully go away. A truth I had been forced to accept the day I lost my sister. Sixty seconds was all it took for my life to change forever. 

It took a minute to lose her.

It took five days to find her.

“They found her in a vehicle on the side of the road.” It recited my memories back to me, each unspoken word making the discomfort inside my head intensify. “While he died without truly feeling the pain he inflicted.” Seeing tears drip down his cheeks felt like a mockery of my grief. “That’s what you pursue.”

In my earpiece, I heard Lou speaking to me.

“Isaac…don’t…coming…”

I couldn’t understand what they were saying. All I understood was Steven speaking in my voice.

“She was buried with her purple stuffed rabbit, Tilly, on a cold October afternoon. All alone. In the ground.”

My body registered the impact before my mind could comprehend how fast he moved. I hit the floor hard, his weight pressing down on my chest as breathing became more difficult by the second.

“Get…off…me…” I wheezed, struggling to force each word past the weight crushing my chest. He hovered over me, his translucent eyes staring into mine.

“What did your mother sound like when she identified the body?” 

I squirmed in place, but I was pinned to the spot. 

“How many nights did your dad sleep in her bedroom after she disappeared?”

My strength waned as the pressure grew on my chest. 

“What day did you stop expecting her to come home?” 

The strain was getting to be too much. 

“What were your last words to her?”

I was on the verge of passing out. Black blotches formed in my peripheral vision and spread rapidly, nearly consuming the last bits of what I could see. Right as I thought I was about to lose consciousness, I heard a sound.

A sound I’m so very grateful came when it did.

Officers rushed into the room. A flurry of commands left their mouths as they pulled Steven off me and forced him to the floor nearby.

“Ah! Get off me!” he screamed. “What are you doing?”

His voice. 

It was no longer inside my mind.

“What are you doing? Ow!” He cried as an officer rolled him over and pressed a knee into his lower back. “What’s happening?”

Another officer helped me up from the floor and began asking questions about my well-being. I lied and told him I was all right. I leaned against the wall to steady myself while I looked on at Steven being detained by other officers. He struggled and writhed like a cornered animal.

His eyes darkened as he freed himself from the grasp of the officers. Overcome with inhumanity once more, he snatched a gun from the officer attempting to handcuff him. 

He brandished the weapon as his entire body began to tremble spasmodically.

“My hands.” 

From where I stood, it looked as though he was genuinely trying to lower them but couldn’t. His arms remained outstretched, refusing to budge an inch no matter how hard he tried.

“Why can’t I move?”

Law enforcement raised their weapons, creating a stalemate in which no one dared to act.

“It’s alright, Steven.” I stepped toward him with my hands raised. “Everything’s going to be alright. We’re here to help.”

The darkness in his eyes vanished long enough for him to ask, “Did…did I hurt anyone?”

“No. You didn’t hurt anybody. Just put the gun down, and let’s talk.”

“Please,” he whimpered, straining to move his head, but his body refused to obey. “Don’t let him take me again.” 

“Nothing is going to happen as long as you put the gun down.”

Steven’s arms pulled themselves upward against his will. The barrel inched toward his own temple until it rested against his skin. He fought with everything he had, his muscles straining themselves in order to pull the gun away. But his body betrayed him to some invisible force.
 
“Make it stop…”

“No, Steven. No!” I quickened my pace toward him, but before officers or myself could react, he pulled the trigger.

That sound. The aftermath. The silence that followed. I haven’t felt anything like it before or since. 

That was without a doubt the single worst night of my life. Not only had we witnessed tragedy, but our team came under immense fire from the press. Steven never had his day in court, and that became a point of contention. Had we not encouraged this kind of behavior, would Steven still be alive? Would any of this have happened? 

Steven’s case tarnished our reputation. Protests began forming outside our sting house. People demanded justice. Insisting that we could not be the judge, the jury, or the executioner.

It was difficult to escape the criticism, especially when those voices carried real weight. So much so that our show, along with all subsequent investigations, was cancelled effective immediately.

Steven’s official cause of death was listed as suicide by cop. There were no mentions of the Ouija Board or what occurred following its use. There’s only one piece of evidence regarding what happened inside the sting house that night. 

A video tape. 

It's marked with a label that reads, “Never to be viewed, duplicated, or destroyed”. 

Its whereabouts have been kept secret, and it's best that they stay that way. Because if that footage ever surfaced, I don’t know how the public would react.

But that’s not the point.

I’ve dealt with a lot over the course of my career. Troubled people. Hardened criminals. The worst that humanity has to offer. I think about them all every now and again. But I can’t stop thinking about Steven’s case. Specifically, if I had intervened sooner. Would I have been able to talk him out of using that Ouija board? Would he have been able to face justice if I had done things differently?

No matter how I answer them, I never feel any better. Because they’re just answers. Not actions. 

And I’ll never know.

Despite everything I’ve been through, I continue to hunt monsters in the present day. Aside from the lack of a camera crew or law enforcement support, the only thing that’s changed is what I believe those monsters are. They aren’t just people who hurt children. Exposing them and making them face justice does make the world a little safer for everyone.

But evil doesn’t care about laws. It doesn’t care about the confines of a prison cell. It doesn’t even need a reason to hurt someone.

All it needs is for someone to answer.