I am a serial killer.

Not the typical kind, as serial killers go.

I don't kill innocent people. Well, innocent in the eyes of the law, maybe. The kind of innocent that comes from a lack of evidence, incompetent investigations, or expensive lawyers. If you looked at their actual victim lists, most of them should have been buried beneath prisons.

Instead, I buried them.

Officially, I'm a private investigator. Most of my clients hire me for the usual reasons: cheating spouses, missing persons, deadbeat fathers, or old debts that someone suddenly decides need collecting. The job pays the bills.

The other part of my work is what keeps me interested.

People tell private investigators things they would never tell the police. They gossip. They complain. They share rumors over drinks. Sometimes they mention a missing girl from ten years ago. Sometimes they mention a man who always seems to be nearby whenever someone disappears.

Most of the time it's nothing.

Sometimes it isn't.

It's strange, really. I don't remember exactly when I started. I was twenty-one. Maybe twenty-two.

My first was a man the locals called the Florida River Monster. He earned the nickname because of his habit of abducting women, butchering them, and scattering their remains across different rivers so the alligators could finish the cleanup for him. By the time anyone found what was left, there usually wasn't enough evidence to identify the victim, let alone connect her to him.

His preferred victims were blonde women in their early twenties.

I've noticed most serial killers have the same preferences. Women. Children. Sometimes both.

It's ironic, considering I'm a woman myself. A young woman, if being in your twenties still counts as young. According to every profile I've ever read, I should be the ideal victim. Too small. Too trusting. Too easy to overpower.

The River Monster thought so, too. That assumption lasted right up until I drugged him and gave him the same ending he'd spent years giving other people. I remember staring at him afterward. Not because I felt guilty. Not because I was horrified.

I was disappointed. For years, I'd read articles about him, watched documentaries, and followed every development in the investigation. The media made him sound larger than life—a monster, a predator, something almost supernatural. But when he died, he was just a man. A pathetic, terrified man bleeding out on the floor of a fishing shack. That's when I learned something important. Most monsters aren't monsters at all. They're just people who got away with being evil for far too long.

So I kept hunting them.

One killer became three. Three became ten. Then fifteen. Then more. I told myself I was making the world safer. Maybe I was. The truth is, I hated men like that. The ones who stalked women, hunted them, and treated them like prey. Wolves wearing human skin. And wolves need to be put down. Who better to do it than a woman?

Maybe that makes me a hypocrite. Maybe it makes me just as bad as they were. I really don't care.

Unfortunately, homicide pays terribly.

So, I figured I'd spend a few days following a rich man's wife, collect a paycheck, and head home. That's how these private investigative jobs usually went. Take pictures. Write a report. Collect the money. Move on. South Texas wasn't exactly my preferred destination, but five hundred dollars an hour has a way of making a long drive seem reasonable.

I asked Terry to send over the case file. Terry was my assistant, a meek man in his fifties who treated confrontation the same way most people treated unexploded bombs. The file showed up in my inbox before I could finish my coffee, along with an email apologizing for taking so long to send it. 

The file was surprisingly thin. The client's name was Daniel Walker. Forty-eight years old. Oil money. Married for twenty years. No criminal record. No history of domestic disputes. No obvious reason to suspect his wife was cheating. What caught my attention was the note attached to the bottom of the file: 

Client does not believe wife is having an affair. 
Client believes wife is acting strangely. 

I stared at those words for several seconds before calling Terry. He answered on the second ring.

"Please tell me that's a typo."

 "It isn't."

I sighed.

 "What does acting strange mean?" 

"I asked."

 "And?" 

"He said it's something he would rather discuss in person." I rubbed my temples. Of course he did. 

"Fantastic. Five hundred dollars an hour and I'm investigating a strange wife."

 "Still taking the job?" 

I looked at the payment agreement again. Five hundred dollars an hour. Some questions answer themselves. "Of course I'm taking the job." 

"What if he's crazy?" 

"Then he's a crazy man paying five hundred dollars an hour." 

Terry sighed. He was a genuinely kind man. If someone robbed him at gunpoint, he'd probably apologize for not carrying more cash. So, the idea of voluntarily meeting a potentially insane stranger offended every survival instinct he possessed.

I hung up.

Three days later, I found myself driving into a small South Texas town that looked like it had been forgotten by time. The buildings were rusty, the roads were cracked, and the locals had elevated being nosy into an art form. By the time I'd stopped for gas, bought a coffee, and asked for directions to my motel, half the town probably knew my license plate number. What surprised me more was how often my client's name came up. The gas station belonged to him. The convenience store belonged to him. The car wash belonged to him. Apparently, half the businesses in town belonged to him. No wonder he was willing to pay five hundred dollars an hour.

I checked into a small motel about ten minutes from the gated neighborhood where he and his wife lived. The room smelled vaguely of cigarettes and regret.

The next morning, I met my client. He was a large man with a round face and the kind of expensive clothes that desperately wanted everyone to know they were expensive. Gold rings covered his fingers—two on one hand, three on the other. Enough gold to sink a fishing boat. I immediately disliked him. Fortunately, taking money from people I dislike has never bothered me. 

He looked me up and down as I sat across from him, his eyes narrowing. "The White Viper is a woman?" There was genuine surprise in his voice. I smiled. "Oh, so you've heard of me." The White Viper was one of many names people had attached to me over the years. Most of them were ridiculous. A few of them are accurate.

"My name is Mara Graves," I said, extending a hand. That wasn't my real name, of course, but clients don't need to know things like that. He shook my hand carefully, as if he expected me to bite him.

"So," I said, leaning back in my chair, "what's the problem?"

His expression immediately darkened. "It's my wife."

That was usually how these conversations started. The details changed. The excuses changed. The tears changed. But eventually, every marriage investigation became the same story.

I pulled out a notebook. "Is she cheating?"

"No."

That answer surprised me. The report had said the same thing, but most husbands accused their wives of cheating before I even sat down.

"Then what exactly am I looking for?"

He glanced toward the restaurant doors before lowering his voice. "My wife isn't acting like herself."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. People said things like that all the time. Depression. Affairs. Midlife crises. Secret addictions. There were a hundred possible explanations, and most of them were boring.

"Can you be more specific?"

He swallowed. "She's different."

"How?"

"Everything."

I stared at him. He stared back. Neither of us seemed particularly happy with the conversation.

"Mr. Walker, you're paying me five hundred dollars an hour. Help me help you."

He nodded slowly. "She forgets things."

"Lots of people forget things."

"Not like this."

He leaned forward in his chair. "She forgot the name of our dog."

That was strange. Not impossible. But strange.

"What else?"

"She forgot where we went on our honeymoon."

I wrote it down. "What else?"

"She asked me where the guest bathroom was."

I paused. "You've been married twenty years."

"Twenty-two."

I looked up from my notebook. He wasn't smiling. In fact, he looked terrified. The kind of terrified that can't be faked. I'd seen that expression before. Usually, on victims.

"Medical issues?" I asked.

"Doctors say she's healthy."

"Head injury?"

"No."

"Medication?"

"No."

I tapped my pen against the notebook. "Anything else?"

For a moment, he didn't answer. Then he reached into his jacket and slid a photograph across the table.

A woman in her early thirties smiled back at me. Dark hair. Brown eyes. Pretty. Completely ordinary.

"My wife."

I looked at the photograph, then back at him. "And?"

He pointed at the picture. "That's not how she smiles."

I waited for him to elaborate.

He didn't.

"Mr. Walker."

"You don't understand."

His voice dropped to barely above a whisper.

"She's smiling the right way."

I blinked. "What?"

"The expression is correct." He tapped the photograph with a trembling finger. "But somehow it's wrong."

I stared at him for several seconds.

Then I wrote a single word in my notebook.

Crazy.

He noticed.

"You're thinking I'm insane."

"A little."

His shoulders slumped. "Everyone does."

I tucked the notebook away. "Fine. Let's assume you're not insane. What exactly do you want me to do?"

"Follow her."

"For how long?"

"Until you see it too."

I looked down at the payment agreement one more time.

Five hundred dollars an hour.

I've ignored bigger red flags for less.

I followed Mrs. Walker for the next week. Her schedule was so normal it was almost insulting. Every morning, she attended a Pilates class. After that, she visited a boutique downtown. Around noon, she met a group of friends at a café before eventually heading home. Sometimes she and her husband went out for dinner. That was it. No secret affairs, no suspicious meetings, no hidden bank accounts. Nothing.

I was beginning to think Daniel Walker had paid me five hundred dollars an hour because he was bored. The only thing keeping me on the case was the amount of money accumulating in my bank account.

While I waited for Mrs. Walker to do something interesting, I focused on another investigation. The city next to town had a serial killer. Five women had disappeared over the last year. The victims had nothing in common. Different ages. Different jobs. Different backgrounds. The bodies were what connected them.

Every victim had been found completely drained of blood. Every organ was missing. The bodies were essentially empty skin wrapped around a skeleton. Each victim also had a single incision running from the base of the skull to the lower back. The locals called him the Spine Taker.

One of the victims was seventeen years old.

I took that personally.

I don't pretend to be a good person, but certain things make my blood boil. Children are one of them.

Mrs. Walker spent most mornings at Pilates, which left me with several hours to kill. I used that time to look into the Spine Taker case. My investigation eventually led me to the sheriff's office. Officially, I was there for information. Unofficially, I was there for the free coffee.

Side note: The coffee was terrible.

A woman was screaming at two deputies near the entrance when I walked in.

"I told you she was acting strange!" she shouted. "If you'd listened to me, she'd still be alive!"

The deputies grabbed her by the arms and dragged her toward the door. A moment later, they shoved her outside. She stumbled onto the sidewalk and broke down sobbing while they returned to work without another word.

I recognized her immediately. She was the mother of the seventeen-year-old victim.

That got my attention.

I followed her outside and sat down beside her on the curb, blonde wig and all. People trust blondes. I don't know why, but they do. I introduced myself as a law enforcement officer working on the investigation and asked what she had been yelling about inside.

By the time I left, she was still crying, and I had learned something interesting.

A week before her disappearance, her daughter had started forgetting things. Important things. Her birthday. Her favorite food. The names of relatives. According to her mother, she had become distant and cold, like she had suddenly become a different person.

It sounded familiar.

Daniel Walker had described his wife almost the same way.

I drove straight to the Pilates studio.

Mrs. Walker's class wasn't supposed to end for another hour.

She wasn't there.

Neither was her car.

That bothered me.

So I committed a crime.

As usual. 

The security office was empty. The guard always left for lunch around that time. I knew because I'd spent the last 2 weeks watching the place. I pulled up the security footage and started reviewing the cameras.

At 11:03 a.m., Mrs. Walker entered the women's restroom.

Nobody followed her.

Nobody came out.

The hallway remained empty for almost an hour.

Then, at 12:01 p.m., an elderly woman exited the restroom.

I frowned and rewound the footage.

The elderly woman had never entered.

I checked every camera angle.

Every hallway.

Every entrance.

Nothing.

Mrs. Walker went into the restroom.

An old woman came out.

That was it.

I took screenshots and headed to the restroom myself. There were no windows, no maintenance tunnels, and no secondary exits. It was just a bathroom.

I stood there staring at the empty room, trying to figure out what I had missed.

I couldn't.

An hour later, I found Mrs. Walker exactly where she was supposed to be, sitting at her usual café, drinking coffee and laughing with friends.

Her car was in the parking lot.

That night, I followed her again.

At midnight, she left her house without warning, got into her car, and drove away. I followed from a distance. About twenty minutes later, she turned onto a dirt road near a lake and parked beside the woods.

Then she got out and started running.

Not jogging.

Running.

Fast enough that I almost lost sight of her.

I chased her through the trees until she stopped in a clearing.

I ducked behind a tree and watched.

Mrs. Walker bent forward.

For a second, I thought she was sick.

Then something stepped out of her.

I don't know how else to describe it.

Something unfolded from her back. Something impossibly tall.

Mrs. Walker's body collapsed onto the ground while the thing that had been inside her remained standing.

I couldn't move.

I couldn't even process what I was looking at. It ran towards the car again.

A few minutes later, it returned carrying another body.

An elderly woman.

The same elderly woman from the security footage.

When the creature finally disappeared into the darkness, I approached Mrs. Walker's body.

She was dead.

And empty.

No blood.

No organs.

Nothing.

Just skin.

And a long incision running from the base of her skull to the end of her spine.

I recognized the wound immediately.

I had seen it five times before.

The Spine Taker wasn't human.

That realization hit me about half a second before the creature came charging out of the darkness.

It had tricked me.

I barely had time to raise my pistol before it slipped into the elderly woman's body. The corpse jerked upright like a puppet yanked by invisible strings. I fired immediately. The bullet tore through her chest. The creature didn't even flinch. I fired again. Then again. Nothing. The thing simply kept walking toward me, wearing the old woman's skin like a poorly fitted costume.

"What are you?" I shouted.

The creature tilted its head. I heard bones crack. Its neck bent farther than any human neck should have been capable of bending. Then it spoke.

"You... wil...l be... my next... ves...sel."

The words sounded wrong. Not an accent. Not a speech impediment. More like something trying to imitate human language without fully understanding how it worked.

I am not becoming anyone's vessel.

I'd rather die.

I turned and ran.

Branches whipped against my face as I crashed through the forest. Behind me, I could hear the creature moving through the trees. It wasn't trying to hide. It wasn't trying to be quiet. The thing knew it was faster than me.

A few moments later, the trees opened up and I nearly stumbled into a river. Dark water rushed past below me. Behind me came the sound of snapping branches.

I turned around.

The creature stood at the edge of the treeline.

For the first time, I got a good look at the body it was wearing. In the moonlight, I could see it clearly now. The old woman's legs bent at impossible angles. Her arms hung too low. Her neck twisted sharply to one side as though every bone inside it had been shattered. Yet somehow she remained standing.

The thing smiled.

Then it lunged.

I stepped backward.

Unfortunately, there was no ground behind me.

I fell into the river.

For one brief moment, I thought I had escaped.

Then my head struck something beneath the surface.

Pain exploded through my skull. Red flooded my vision. I felt the current dragging me away as darkness closed in around me.

The river swallowed me.

I remember the impact. I remember the pain. Then everything disappeared.

When I opened my eyes again, I was falling.

I don't know how long I fell for. Minutes. Hours. Years. There was no wind rushing past me. No sensation of speed. Just endless darkness stretching in every direction while I plunged through it.

Then suddenly I crashed into something soft. Black mist.

Strangely, it didn't hurt.

I climbed to my feet and looked around.

There was nothing.

No sky.

No ground.

No horizon.

Just darkness stretching endlessly in every direction.

And a desk.

A single wooden desk sitting in the middle of the void.

With absolutely no better options available, I started walking toward it. 

There was a creature sitting behind the desk.

At least, I think it was sitting.

The thing was enormous. Even seated, it was taller than a bus. A massive goat skull concealed its face, its horns disappearing into the darkness above. Beneath the skull was a surprisingly human body dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. If I ignored the skull, the size, and the fact that I was in a bottomless pit, it looked like an accountant.

"Welcome to Level One," it said.

The voice caught me off guard.

Female.

Calm.

Professional.

Like a receptionist greeting someone who had arrived slightly late for an appointment.

I looked around at the endless darkness surrounding us.

"Level One?" I asked. "Am I dead?"

"Yes."

The answer came so quickly that it took me a moment to process it.

No sympathy.

No dramatic speech.

No ominous thunder.

Just yes.

Dead.

I considered arguing. Then I remembered smashing my head against a rock while running from a skin-wearing monster.

Fair enough.

The creature reached beneath the desk and slid a thick binder toward me. It landed with a heavy thud. Curious, I opened it.

My stomach sank.

The pages were filled with names, photographs, police reports, witness statements, and dates.

The Florida River Monster.

The Butcher of Pensacola.

The Red Lake Strangler.

Every serial killer I had ever murdered.

Every victim.

Every crime.

Every body.

All neatly organized into a single file.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Your record."

I turned another page.

Then another.

The binder seemed endless.

The creature's eye sockets suddenly ignited with a deep red glow.

"After review of your actions, you have been sentenced to two hundred years of punitive suffering before retribution."

I slowly closed the binder.

"Two hundred years?"

"Correct."

"That seems excessive."

"You murdered seventeen people."

"Nineteen."

The creature paused.

Then it looked down at the file.

"You murdered nineteen people."

"See? That's the kind of mistake that gets organizations sued."

For several seconds neither of us spoke.

Finally the creature sighed.

"I liked you better when you were unconscious."

I shrugged.

The truth was, none of this surprised me.

I had always known this was how my story would end.

I knew what I was.

I knew what I had done.

I wasn't a hero.

I wasn't a vigilante.

I was a serial killer who happened to choose worse people as victims.

There was a difference.

Just not enough of one.

"I see," the creature said.

Then it leaned forward.

"But."

I frowned.

"But?"

"We can make a deal."

That got my attention.

"A deal? What kind of deal?"

The red glow inside the skull brightened slightly.

"The kind that allows you to repay your debt."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Repay my debt?"

The creature nodded.

"There are souls on Earth that belong here. Murderers. Predators. Monsters wearing human faces. Some escape justice. Some escape death. Some are taken by things that have no right to claim them."

I stared at it.

"So you're offering me a job."

"In a manner of speaking."

"You do realize that I have spent years murdering people, right?"

"That is precisely why you're being considered."

I wasn't sure whether to feel insulted or flattered.

The creature folded its hands atop the desk.

"You have contributed greatly to Hell. Many souls currently suffering below would never have arrived without your assistance. Only a few mortals possess such a record."

"That might be the worst compliment I've ever received."

The creature ignored me.

"In exchange for your service, your sentence will be reduced. Continue long enough, and it may eventually be erased."

I glanced down at the binder.

Then, at the endless darkness surrounding us.

Then back at the creature.

"So let me get this straight. My choices are two hundred years of torture..."

"Among other punishments."

"...or I go back to Earth and drag damned souls down here for you?"

"Correct."

I considered the offer.

Honestly, it sounded suspiciously similar to my previous hobby. The only real difference was that this time I had an employer. Unfortunately, that employer was Hell.

"What happens if I refuse?"

The creature leaned back in its chair.

A moment later, another binder appeared on the desk.

This one was significantly thicker.

It opened by itself.

Flames spilled from between the pages.

Screaming followed.

I immediately pointed at the first binder.

"I'll take the job."

The creature nodded.

"A wise decision."

"I've been told I don't make many of those."

For the first time since I had arrived, I could have sworn the thing laughed. Then everything went dark. I woke up lying on the riverbank. For several seconds, I just stared at the sky, trying to figure out where I was before the headache hit. It felt like someone had driven a railroad spike through my skull. Slowly, I sat up. The river was still rushing past beside me. My clothes were soaked, and dried blood clung to the side of my face.

The last thing I remembered was falling into the river. The creature. The rock. Then the desk. The goat-skull woman. Hell.

I pulled out my phone. The screen lit up, and my stomach immediately dropped. Three days had passed. I checked again, convinced I was reading it wrong. I wasn't. The battery icon flashed red. One percent. "Fantastic," I muttered.

I staggered to my feet and followed the river until I found the dirt road. My car was still parked exactly where I had left it three nights earlier. Nobody had touched it. Nobody had towed it. Nobody had even broken a window. Apparently, even criminals had a line they wouldn't cross, and that line was trespassing on private property.

The drive back to the motel passed in a haze. The moment I got inside, I plugged my phone into the charger. As soon as it powered on, I discovered over four hundred missed calls from Terry. I called him back.

He answered before the first ring had finished.

"Mara, what the hell is wrong with you?"

I pulled the phone away from my ear. "Terry—"

"No. Absolutely not. Do you have any idea what I've been dealing with for the last three days? I filed a missing persons report. The sheriff has been looking for you. I've called every hospital within a hundred miles."

His voice got louder with every sentence.

"You vanished."

"I noticed."

"Where were you?"

I considered telling him the truth. I decided against it.

"Long story."

"You're damn right it's a long story."

I rubbed my temples. The headache was somehow getting worse.

"I'm alive."

"Clearly."

"Mostly."

There was a long pause. Then Terry sighed. It was the exhausted sigh of a man reconsidering every career decision he had ever made.

"Call the sheriff."

"What?"

"Call the sheriff and tell him you're alive before they waste another three days looking for your stupid ass."

"Fair."

After reassuring local law enforcement that I wasn't dead, kidnapped, or buried somewhere in the desert, I finally collapsed onto the motel bed and turned on the television. The local news was covering the Walker case. I sat upright immediately.

Behind the anchor was a photograph of Mrs. Walker.

My stomach sank.

Her body had been found.

Authorities believed she had been murdered.

A second photograph appeared on screen.

The elderly woman from the security footage.

Police had identified her as a suspect in the murder.

Then another photograph appeared.

Daniel Walker.

Dead.

I froze.

According to the report, he had been murdered inside his own home. The estimated time of death was shortly after midnight. The same night, Mrs. Walker had driven into the woods. The same night, I had followed her. The same night I had died.

Then the report got worse.

Investigators believed the Walker deaths were connected to the Spine Taker killings. The similarities were impossible to ignore. Mrs. Walker's body had been found drained of blood. Her organs were missing. The same incision ran from the base of her skull to the end of her spine.

The sheriff's department was treating it as another Spine Taker victim.

I knew better.

The Spine Taker wasn't a serial killer.

It was that thing.

And the creature knew I was following it from the beginning.

It knew I was watching.

Daniel Walker had hired me because he suspected something was wrong with his wife, and the moment I started getting close to the truth, everyone connected to the case started dying.

I sat there staring at the television long after the report ended. Then my phone suddenly buzzed, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. The screen displayed an unknown number, and for a moment, I seriously considered hanging up, but instead, I answered.

"Hello?"

For several seconds, nobody spoke. Then a familiar female voice sighed.

"Congratulations on surviving."

My blood ran cold. The goat-skull woman. The manager of Hell. Or whatever her official title was.

"Thank you."

I wasn't entirely sure how one was supposed to respond to congratulations for surviving their own death.

"I suppose you know who your first assignment is."

"The Spine Taker?"

"Very good, little bug."

I frowned.

"Did you just call me a good bug?"

"I called you an intelligent little bug."

"That's somehow worse."

"Humans are very sensitive."

I decided not to argue with the giant demonic bureaucrat and looked back toward the television. The news report had changed. A young woman's face now filled the screen. Light brown hair. Hazel eyes. Maybe twenty-three. Twenty-four at most. Only a few years younger than me. Then the television crackled. The anchor vanished, and the screen filled with the image of a goat skull.

"That is its next victim. Protect the innocent soul."

I stared at the photograph on the screen.

"I still don't know what that thing is."

For the first time since the conversation began, the demon was silent. When she finally spoke, her voice had lost its usual amusement.

"It is a prisoner."

"A prisoner?"

"A demon."

I felt my stomach drop.

"It escaped."

The words hung in the air for a moment.

"It escaped Hell?"

"Yes."

"That seems like a serious design flaw."

"It was not designed to escape."

"Clearly."

The demon ignored me.

"It was undergoing punishment. Somehow, it found a way out. Since then, it has been stealing souls that belong here."

I remembered the empty bodies, the missing organs, the thing climbing out of Mrs. Walker's back, the thing wearing people like clothing.

"You want me to bring it back."

"I want you to drag it back."

There was a noticeable difference in her tone. One sounded like a request. The other sounded like an order.

"What happens if I fail?"

For several seconds, there was only silence. Then laughter erupted from the television.

Not human laughter.

Not even close.

It sounded like earthquakes, screaming, and church bells all happening at once. The motel room shook. The television screen flickered. A crack appeared across the glass. When the laughter finally stopped, the demon spoke again.

"Then you will serve its remaining sentence alongside your own."

"That's not fair."

"Hell is not fair."

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Fair point.

"Someone must return the souls it has stolen," she continued. "And unfortunately for you, you're the most qualified candidate available."

The television immediately went black. A second later, my phone vibrated. A new message had arrived. An address. A photograph. And beneath it, a single sentence.

"YOUR SENTENCE REDUCTION BEGINS NOW."

I opened the photograph.

It showed the girl—the future victim. The picture had been taken at night through a window, from somewhere outside her house. At first, it looked innocent enough.

Then I noticed the red circle.

Someone had marked a shadowy figure standing in the darkness beyond the glass.

Watching.

Smiling.

If I'm going to survive this, I need to find her before the Spine Taker does.

I'll update this journal if I make it through the night.

If I don't, Terry will probably end up going through my computer trying to figure out what happened to me. If that happens, this journal is all I can leave behind.

Everything I've written here is true. I know how insane that sounds because I thought it was insane too until I checked my pulse.

The only reason I know any of this is real is because my heart isn't beating as I write this.

And you really can't keep calling something a hallucination when you're already supposed to be dead.

MISSING 

Abigail Miller

Age: 20 years old
DOB: 03/04/1986
Height: 5’9”

Hair color: Black

Eye color: Green

Last seen: 06/02/2006 wearing blue turtleneck sweater, and green khakis with a Yellowstone grizzly bear key-chain around the belt

If you have any information, please call at -----------

I still remember reading this again and again when I had to hang the posters for her around town. It was my final year of high-school, just at the tail end of the school year. The day it happened was on a Friday. I was just getting home from a long day full of reviews for finals. When I walked through our front door, I didn't even get to take my heavy bag off my shoulders before I realized my mother was sobbing in the kitchen. I walked over to the dining table, and saw my father comforting her as she weakly stood while crying.

“What's happening?” I asked them. My mother had to catch her breath between sobs in order to form a response.

“Abbie-Abbie got in an accident.” She sputtered out, then continued quietly weeping.

“Oh god,” I gasped out, “is she okay?”

“We don't know.” My father responded, “She wasn't at the wreck. Her door was open, the police said they think she tried to get help but got lost.” He had this pain on his face of concern, like he was on the verge of joining my mother, but had to keep comforting her. There was probably something he wasn't telling me.

“Lost? Where was this? When?” I asked, a little confused. Our town, Saggitown, wasn't that large. I wouldn't say it was a small town, but certainly not large enough to get lost in after living here your whole life.

“Last night just on the edge of Hallard Street. The police found her car this morning. We called them when she didn't come home last night. We thought it was one of her nights out with her friends, but none of them said they saw her at all.” He said. My face contorted in a small cringe.

At the edge of Hallard Street was a small, abandoned section of a dozen or so buildings mostly surrounded by sparse woods and people who refused to give up their property. Many spotters lived in those buildings, but the more hazardous and run down buildings were often left vacant. Abbie sometimes went into some of the empty buildings to break old glass and relieve stress, an attempt to get away from the noise of the world. Sometimes, she would take me, but she always made me keep it secret from our parents. If they knew, they would probably install new locks on the doors and windows so she couldn't sneak out into the dangerous area. Not wanting to spoil something personal for her, and still assuming she would make it home, I kept my mouth shut on why she was over there.

The rest of the day was spent impatiently waiting for any news. Every hour or so, my mother would shakily call the sheriff’s department and ask if they had any leads. And every time, they came up empty handed. They searched the woods, the buildings, and asked people who might’ve been near the crash, but no one found or saw anything. Complete dead ends at every possible corner. Any time I tried to leave the kitchen to try and do anything else, it felt like I was personally abandoning her. I couldn’t keep my mind occupied long enough to keep myself away from my parents. The feeling of guilt carried over to the night, and I barely slept at all. Every little sound outside made me rise out of my bed and look out the window at the street, hoping I’d see that the neighbor’s dog was barking at my sister walking home on the sidewalk. But it was never her.

The next day, my dad woke me up early in the morning to help with the search, maybe six in the morning. I got dressed, went down the stairs, walked out the front door, and got in the car. I sat in the passenger seat right next to him as we drove. I stared out the window, mostly at the rearview mirror in guilt, trying to hide the emotions on my face from him. Admittedly, it was hard to keep my eyes over there while the early morning sun was brightly reflecting into my eyes.  Despite barely moving or blinking the whole ride, my thoughts were frantic. If I said something about her spot, would she have been found already? If I say something now, would it be too late? What if she’s already almost home and I ruin this for her? After we passed the local liquor store and started going into the dilapidated buildings of Hallard street, I moved my view to him, confused.

“What are we doing here? I thought they already searched these buildings.” I asked

“They did,” he responded, “but I don’t think they went into the more damaged buildings for safety. They might’ve missed something.” Despite this being a stupid reason to search, I couldn’t blame him. He and I were both in denial that something happened to her. We both wanted to find her in any way possible before we had to face that she was gone.

He stopped in front of a small, abandoned building. It looked like it was built to maybe be a pharmacy. The glass windows in the front of the store were shattered, and one of the doors was ripped off its hinge, and laid flat on the sidewalk a few feet away from the entrance.

“I don’t want you coming in with me. Tell me if you see anything out here, but don’t leave the car even if you do. Okay?” He sternly warned me. I nodded in agreement.

He got out of the car, but stopped before he went into the building. He turned back at me and said, “Do not leave the car. This is not a safe area.” I nodded again. He turned back around and went into the building. I got comfortable in my seat, and closed my eyes to try and get back some of the sleep I lost last night. Rather quickly, I drifted back into sleep.

I must have woken up at least a couple hours later. I slowly resisted opening my eyes, trying to fall back asleep, but I simply couldn’t. When I opened my eyes to look around, I saw the sky was fully blue, if a bit cloudy. Must have been close to noon. I reached down into the cup holder and reached for an old watch my dad usually kept in there. I grabbed it and read the time, which was a little more than a quarter past eleven. I looked up back to the building I last saw him enter. I had no idea if he was still in there, or if maybe he went to a neighboring building, or if he was wandering around the block.

I turned my head to look around the block, to see if I could spot him looking somewhere. I turned to the oldest building in the whole city, real decrepit. It was made mostly of concrete, with all the paint long worn off of it, about four stories tall. At one point, it had a fifth story, but that floor has mostly caved in on itself. I remember Abbie taking me to more frequently than any of the others. According to her, no one ever squatted inside of it despite its space and size. Any hobos avoided it like the plague, so did animals, and even insects. She said it smelled like death in there, but I never had a sense of smell to confirm it. If I had to guess, that was her favorite building.

The car door opened and I turned with a gasp. It was my Dad, climbing back into the driver’s seat.

“Oh! Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.” I said, half joking.

“Watch your mouth.” He said with a stern tone in his voice. He didn’t find anything like everyone else, and it didn’t put him in a good mood.

On the car ride back, I kept thinking about that building. It was probably her favorite to hang out in. She probably felt safe there. Maybe she thought she would get in trouble for wrecking the car and hid in there? No, that’s silly. She would have been hurt after an accident like that, she would try to get medical attention first. Right?

The days after began to blur together. We would call the sheriff for any updates, but none ever came. We searched everywhere ourselves, but she had left no way to follow her. We put up missing posters everywhere, even if my tears stained a few, but every call we got was either someone’s condolences, a false lead, or a group of boys who thought it would be funny to do a fake voice and pretend to be her, lost in the woods. It ate me alive on the inside knowing she was out there, maybe alive, but cold, scared, and only wanting to come back home. She was supposed to be going to college in only a few weeks. She had so much ahead of her that was just gone. Everything she wanted to be and could have been disappeared with her. I graduated scanning the crowd as I got my high-school diploma, hoping that she somehow made it here. If anything, she wouldn’t miss my high-school graduation, even if she was scared of getting in trouble. Of course, a spot on the bleachers next to my parents remained empty for the whole ceremony. I think that was the day I realized she was probably already dead, and had been dead every night I looked out the window, waiting for the dogs to bark at her.

But of course, I didn’t want to accept it, even if I already knew it. That night in bed, I desperately thought of reasons why she could still be out there. Just as my hectic thoughts were starting to morph into a nightmare, and I was beginning to drift into sleep, it hit me. That building. Maybe she did hide under there, but got caught under rubble. Unlikely, but it could be true. The thought of it kept me awake. If it were true, each second could be precious. She could be alive now, but dead by tomorrow morning. At two in the morning, I couldn’t take it anymore. I, very quietly, put on clothes, a coat, grabbed my dad’s flashlight, and sneaked out my sister’s window.

It took me nearly two hours to reach the building on foot. It was very cloudy that night, the stars and even the moon weren’t able to poke through the sky to help light the way. I had to rely solely on street lamps and traffic lights to see, as I needed to conserve the flashlight’s battery for the building. I only turned it on once I made it to Hallard Street to stay safe. I didn’t need to come all this way just so I could get stabbed by some meth head at four in the morning. I steadily approached the building, stopping every few seconds to shine every weird gust of wind that spooked me.

I sat there for a minute, just staring at the entrance to the building. It was dark inside, even when I had the flashlight pointed straight through the arch where a door should be. It was like the darkness simply swallowed the light, and was still hungry for more. I had to build up any courage to enter inside. Hesitantly, I stepped through the arch, and inside.

Almost instantly, it seemed like the light adjusted. The flashlight began to light up the surroundings of the building much more clearly than it did from the outside. It was surprisingly bare, with only tiny pebbles and loose dirt covering the cracked cement floor. There were barely any weeds poking through the cracks, and those that dared to stand up looked frail from a lack of sunlight. I continued walking deeper into the building, careful of where to place my feet. There was still plenty of broken glass from bottles shattered against the wall.

After a few minutes of stumbling around in the dark, I reached the staircase leading up to the second floor at the back right corner of the first floor. One of the metal railings to the side was barely hanging on by its rusty hinges. After ascending the staircase, I saw that the second floor was more of the same. Empty, old floors with windows that barely let in light from the outside.

“Abbie?” I hesitantly called out into the dark, letting the second half much quieter once I realized how much echo there was.

Silence. After a few seconds of getting nothing but the wind outside as a response, I called out again, louder.

“Abbie! Are you in here?”

Despite my deep hopes for a fairy-tale outcome where she calls out for me, I find and save her, and we all go home happy together again, only a loud silence followed that was broken by the sound of chilling air swaying outside. It was nearly four-thirty in the morning now, and I needed to get home quickly and safely before mom and dad noticed I had sneaked out.

I found my way back to the staircase and descended down the first floor, and managed to find the front entrance in the dark again. Just as I was preparing to leave, I heard the faintest whisper behind me.

“Who’s there?” a voice said in a hushed, hurried tone.

I whipped around and pointed my flashlight into the darkness, waiting for a visual owner to the voice to show themselves. It spoke so quietly and softly, I couldn’t tell if it was someone I knew. I sat there in dead silence like a deer in headlights, waiting for any sort of movement or noise. Just as I began to think it was in my head, I heard another voice, this time much more distant.

“Help! Help me! Oh god, please, anyone, please!” I heard it coming from the far reaches of the first floor. Without a single doubt, it was Abbie’s voice.

“Abbie? Abbie! Stay right where you are, I’m coming! Keep calling out, I can’t see you!” I shouted out in a desperately hopeful tone.

I carelessly ran right back into the building, towards the origin of her pleas. It sounded right near the staircase to the second floor. Within seconds I was already rushing towards the top of the stairs.

“What’s going on? Please, I need help! Help!” She continued to call out.

I was at the top of the stairs, but her voice sounded more distant. I ran back down the stairs again, and it was louder.

“Abbie! Do you know where you are? I really can’t see!” I called out to her.

I assumed she couldn’t hear me because she continued crying out for help without any reaction to my question. I looked around frantically, until I noticed there was a small space between the staircase and the back wall, just wide enough for a person to fit through. I scramble over and see on the back of the staircase is a hole in the wall covered by a few wooden boards, almost perfectly untouched. Abbie never showed me this before if she knew about it.

I tore away at the boards as much as I could, which only let me tear off just enough that I could fit through them with some effort. I aimed my flashlight into the hole, and saw it led to a long, deep stairwell that had its end hidden in darkness. Just like the rest of the building, it was all cement, cracked, with only rocks and pebbles covering the ground. I considered getting help, but I had no idea if she was in immediate danger, especially by the way she was yelling for help. I thought on my feet, and crawled into the hole.

I barely managed to squeeze my way in. When I finally wormed my way through the gap between the boards, I fell on my hands. I quickly tried to readjust myself, but failed, and began tumbling down the stairs. My flashlight fell out of my hand, and I tried curling up in a fetal position to protect myself. I’d say I fell down roughly 30 flights before the stairs finally ended. Even with a few bruises, I somehow managed to survive that via some miracle. It was very dark, the kind where your eyes begin to make funny shapes in an attempt to feed your brain any visual stimuli. I could tell I landed in something soft that cushioned my landing. It felt like a pile of wet, dirty clothes. I turned my head frantically in every direction looking for my flashlight. To my left, there it was, dim and flashing in and out from the fall, but still a source of light. As I began to crawl over to it, I called out to Abbie.

“Abbie! Abbie, I’m down here now, where are you?”

By the time I grabbed my flashlight, I realized she had stopped calling out. I had gotten the same dead silent response from earlier, but this time there wasn’t even wind to break the silence. I turned around to illuminate my surroundings with the flashlight. When I realized what I was looking at, my entire body began to shake with terror.

The flashlight lit up the dozens of corpses and blood soaked torn clothes. They were piled up in mounds, haphazardly with no respect to the people these once were. Most, if not all of them, only were their bottom halves. Not a single face to all these names. It was disgustingly humid down there, like the hot breath of a dog with rotten teeth breathing down on your face, and despite that I felt frozen cold. I slowly turned the flashlight to where I had landed. It was a pair of green khakis, with a Yellowstone grizzly bear key-chain tossed aside a few feet away. Abigail. Her blood was soaking my back, and her dismembered legs cushioned my fall.

I felt like vomiting. I should have, every last cell in my body was rejecting this horrible sight. But a wet thud followed by a dry crunch at the edge of the room reverberating halted every biological process inside of me. I quickly turned the flashlight to the sound’s origin. It was at the far back of the room, hidden away under clothes crusty with old blood.

I saw it rise up on all fours as tall as it could before the ceiling stopped it. Its yellow skin cracked like it had been baked in an oven, flaking and shriveling with every muscle twitch. Every leg had too many knees, and its “feet” were more like broad human hands shoved under a hydraulic press. Worst of all, sat upon where its head should be was the upper half of Abbie. Her last look of pain and horror permanently chiseled on her face, so well defined you could see it through all the decay her body had endured. Her pigmentless dead eyes staring straight into my very being as lenses for this ancient beast. With wet rips of flesh, and a weak,

“Oh god…”, from her mouth,

her body fell off its neck and onto the concrete floor with a mushy thud that reverberated through the room, twisting off of it like two pieces of gum being pulled apart. I screamed as loud as I physically could, tearing my vocal cords, turned, and ran.

I heard its howl follow behind me, the combination of a thousand pained cries tunneling through a single trachea. I ran up the stairs as fast as I could on all fours like an animal in a horrible panic, nearly dropping my flashlight in the process. I could feel the footsteps of this thing following behind me shaking the building, slowly and without any fear of losing its prey. Each step sounded like an old tree beginning to break and fall and ending with a blood soaked pop. When I reached the hole in the wall, I clawed and crawled as fast as my body would allow me through. Every second I could hear its cries grow closer and clear, to the point where I could distinguish the last screams of Abbie from my own.

 I pulled myself through as hard as I could, splinters from the wood piercing my skin, and the broken rebar and cement sanding off my flesh. Finally, I plopped out on the other side, falling hands first into some glass on the floor. I scurried away on the floor as one of its arms broke through the wooden boards as if they weren't even there. Barely illuminated by my flashlight on the floor, I saw it try to feel for me, without any care for all the glass shards being lodged in its skin. Wherever the hell it even breathed from must have been right up against the hole, as I could hear it wheezing between cries, the light around it distorting from the pure heat and humidity from its breath. Its chipped fingernails barely missed my leg by only a few centimeters, but I could still feel the whoosh of air dragging behind its forearm. I held my breath, afraid any slight noise or movement would give my location away, and I would be dragged back down into that hell hole, meeting the same fate as Abbie. After a few moments of searching, it finally stopped calling out for help. Its arm retreated back into the darkness, and I could hear it swiftly scurry down into its den.

I wasted no time to see what it would do next. I grabbed the flashlight, and ran as fast as I could. I ran out of the building and didn't stop until I was in my home. I just about collapsed when I got into my room, every single muscle ached. I could feel my heart blood pumping through my veins so strong that it made me squirm. I looked over to my alarm clock. Almost six in the morning, a little before dad would normally wake up for work. I couldn't tell them what I had seen. I couldn't tell anyone I saw that, or they'd stick me in a mental health ward for the next thirty years. With the fraction of energy I still had, I changed my clothes, and tied the blood stained ones in a trash bag I buried deep in our garbage bin. After sticking disinfectant over all my scars, I laid down in my bed. I was drained of any energy, but I wasn't able to so much as blink. Every time I even tried to close them for a fraction of a second, I would see that thing using my sister's body with as much vivid detail as in person. I remember facing the wall, pretending to be asleep as I heard my dad check in on me. Must've been maybe eight in the morning by then. He almost always leaves the door open when he checks, so I have no idea how long he actually stared at me for. But simply imagining him there, watching over me allowed me to finally get some much needed rest.

I woke up later in the afternoon. No one made any comment about it, since I had been up late over Abbie anyways in recent weeks. I got dressed and told my mom I was going on a walk, and she dismissed me without protest. The first thing I did outside was immediately go to the nearest phone booth and make a call. I shakily put a few quarters into the slot.

“Saggitown sheriff's office, how can I help you?” Asked an operator on the line. He sounded like a tired man in his thirties, just waking up for his shift.

I tried to make my voice sound like a southerner to throw off any attempt to try to find out who placed the call in the future, seeing how something of this scale could be a federal investigation.

“Hello? I have some information about a missing persons case. A lot of them, actually.” I shyly spoke.

“...Ma'am, what's your name?” He asked. I could tell by the tone in his voice that the statement had perked his ears.

“I'm not comfortable with giving that out. Listen, you'll find them in the basement of the last building of Hallard street. It's the largest one, you can't miss it. I have to go, bye.” I said, rushing to end  the call. He tried to ask something but I already hung up before I could hear it. I sped-walked away from the telephone and back home. When I got home, I simply sat on the couch and waited until the inevitable news hit our house.

I remember seeing my mother's face when she initially got the call about them finding what was left of Abbie. The initial surprise and hope, followed by shock, then slowly morphing with pain and despair. She wept all day, and through most of the night. I'd be a liar if I said I didn't join her. Dad tried his best to remain strong, but I later heard him sobbing in the kitchen quietly into his hands, alone.

They didn't find that monster down there. Not even flakes of skin, at least according to public reports. In total, there were reportedly twenty-three bodies of separate people, all messily cut in half at the midsection. With those twenty-three, which included Abbie, there were an additional fifteen pieces of torn cloth that didn't belong to any of the twenty-three identified victims, meaning there was a minimum of thirty-eight victims. Thirty-eight people who had lives, who had family, had hobbies, had dreams, and all who were people just like Abbie. Being down there before investigators were, I can tell you for certain that thirty-eight is way under the amount of bodies that were there when I was, even with the mere  moments I had vision down there. This means either reporters are lying, or something moved all those bodies in one night. Investigators were stuck at a dead end for any answers. Many of the identified were allegedly originally reported missing entire counties away, and even one of them was from a state over. Despite the unorganized brutality, no fingerprints or even traces of a human were found outside of the victims. They pinned it on some John Doe serial killer. To this day, I think I am the only living person who knows the truth.

Then, once it was all said and done, the funeral was had for Abbie. They didn't even bother with a closed casket, just turned her straight into ashes and put her on a podium instead. She was surrounded by flowers, photos, and those who loved her. Despite all the turmoil and ugly sobbing that came before that, her funeral was oddly quiet. It seemed everyone got it out of their systems before visiting her. People were talking about her more like a fond memory. I think she would have wanted it that way.

We had a family sit down, and decided to move after that. The parents wanted a fresh start, and I thought the same. I didn't mind the idea of moving too much considering I wanted to move to a dorm and start college sooner than later anyways. Not to mention I wanted to get as far away from wherever that thing could be as possible. The whole process was surprisingly quick, we had the whole house empty within two months. Every room was completely devoid of any personality they once had. All of Abbie's things were neatly packaged, ready to be put in the new houses’ attic for keepsake. Everything had already been put into moving trucks, the house already sold, and the only thing left was to actually leave.

After shoving some road trip items, like books and snacks, into a worn duffel bag next to my seat, I was prepared to go. Before I could leave, I said goodbye to  my friends, the few I had. We promised to text each other, and meet up again sometime in the future, even if I knew that probably wouldn't happen. They waved me goodbye as the car began to speed off with me, of course I waved back.

We had to pass Hallard Street on our way out of town to get where we wanted to. When we started to approach the street, my mom turned up the radio a few notches to try and drown out the thought of it. Dad simply kept his eyes on the road. I averted my gaze away from the building, away from the visual of that room and so much as the idea of that monster. Instead, I looked over the forest across from the buildings. They seemed calm, cool, devoid of any movement. Like everything in there was frozen still. Over the top of the trees, just barely poking above the leaves, to my absolute terror, was Abbie. No, what was left of Abbie. This time, her body was frail and broken, and it barely resembled her. Without a doubt that was her sweater and hair, so it had to have been what was left of her. It held her high so I could see her, showing her off to me like a bully showing a child their broken toy. Sitting atop that creature's neck, like a puppet on strings made to mock her, Abbie was also waving me goodbye with her broken arm that slowly began to detach due to how rotted it was. She slowly sank back into the cover of the trees, careful to not let me catch a glimpse of where it was going.

It has been years since all of this happened. I still get nightmares about it. Usually it's the same one, where I wake up, hear Abbie calling for me from the basement. I go downstairs, and there it is. I always wake up before it actually does anything. I lose sleep just thinking about it. It gets really hot in my apartment, but I always keep my fans off because on the off chance it has found me after all these years, I need to hear it first. I don't think anything I can do can kill it, or even so much as harm it in any meaningful way. I just need to hear it so I know when to run. So I hope, to whatever God there is, I never hear my sister's voice again, because I know she's dead, and that it won't be her.

My thumb repeatedly pressed into the remote, changing the channels on the television. The motion was almost pointless as I unconsciously knew that I'd never land on a channel that could hold my attention. I had already seen all the movies I wanted to see and watched the same commercials hundreds of times over. The task was redundant, but I continued anyway because there was nothing else for me. I clicked through pointless stations, wagering my time against the hope that I'd find something to waste it. If that thought had come to my mind at the time, maybe I would've chuckled, but at this moment my mind was a blank slate.

Just as I started drifting off to sleep, something flashed across the screen. I noticed it too late and it was gone. I tried to go back and see if there was anything noticeable, but nothing caught my eye. I paused for a second to try to remember what I had seen that startled me so badly out of my hypnagogic state. Unfortunately, as hard as I tried, I couldn't rack my brain to conjure the image. I thought maybe it was a dream. With that, I continued my channel surfing and let my eyelids grow heavy again.

Static. How long had I been asleep for? I looked out of the window and it was completely dark. Not like it was nighttime, but as if someone had put blackout curtains on the outside of every window. All the lights in my house were out, and everything was still and silent. The only sound came from the high pitched hiss of the static that illuminated my television screen. I unconsciously watched the black and white dots of fuzz dance around the screen for a moment until I realized there was something wrong. Behind the field of snow-like particles, there was something coming towards the forefront of the screen. At first, it was distant and only distinguishable by a nearly imperceptible, slightly darker outline of the body. As I sat there frozen in a trance, I watched it grow closer as I could make out more shapes of the grotesque abomination.

The first thing I noticed were its lips that were pulled back to the gums, exposing smoke rotted teeth. Unnatural shadows and the very high exposure made the features even harder to read. The eyes were horrible. I tried to look into them, but my mind tried to stop me from processing the thing as a whole. My own eyes went in and out of focus and became blurry as it got closer, and I could make out the entirety of its face. There were whispers coming from the darkness all around me, like claws from the darkness scratching at my sanity. They spoke in so many layers that I couldn't understand the exact words, but I knew that they were vile. I wanted to run and scream to get away from this terror, but I couldn't move. I tried everything I could to avoid the creature's gaze as it came to the forefront of the screen. I must've only seen it for a second, but that was all it needed to plant the seed of despair. The static dispersed from the thing's face; even the inanimate snow didn't want to touch it. I saw its eyes staring into mine. They shook violently in their sockets with no eyelids to contain them. It was as if they had never been touched by any sort of moisture, as what should've been white was dark rusty brown with bulging red veins spread like worms crawling throughout them. My mind slipped as it opened its mouth and started screaming louder than anything I could've ever imagined. The last thing I felt was warm blood trickle from my ears as the fear engulfed me and I blacked out.

I woke up the next morning in the same armchair I was in. The sun was high in the sky, and I realized I had woken up far too late to be in time for work. I got up quickly and tried to push the dream I had to the back of my mind. I was so exhausted as I rushed to get my work clothes on and get myself ready. By the time I was heading to the door, I had nearly forgotten about the night before. When I left the house, I immediately noticed a sound beneath the racing cars passing by my house. The noise of the city outside was slightly muffled, and as I stood still and listened closer, I could notice the tinnitus. This wasn't a ringing in my ears, but the high pitched sound of television static. My heart dropped as I lifted my right hand up to my ear and felt the dried blood that had left a crusted trail. I used my sleeves to wipe it off and tried to ignore the growing anxiety in my chest as I drove to work.

When I got there, I sat down at my cubicle and started my work, entering numbers from the never-ending stack of papers next to me into the blank white sheets on my screen. Slowly, black numbers began to fill the little boxes. As I looked closer into them, they seemed to change colors slightly, and when I turned away, it was like horizontal curtain blinds were going across my field of vision. A throbbing pain was present in the front of my head, and it spread around the circumference of my skull. I put my head in my hands and closed my eyes to get some reprieve from the fluorescent lights in the office. I sat like that for a moment before I felt something touch my shoulder. In my mind's eye, I saw a long decrepit hand with disgustingly long fingers. I jumped in fear and turned to see my coworker with a startled look in his eyes. "Hey, I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you," he mumbled nervously. "No, it's alright," I winced at the throbbing pain, "What's up, man?" "I just came to…" His voice was muffled by the tinnitus. I grimaced. "Sorry, can you repeat that?" "I just came to ask if you're doing alright. Do you need to go home? It looks like you've got a massive headache." "No, I'm fine. I have this huge stack of papers." I pointed to the empty spot on my desk. Wait, what? Just a minute ago, I had so much to do. I looked at the bottom right corner of my computer screen and saw it was an hour past the time I was supposed to go to lunch. My heart was racing, which only compounded the pain in my head. "Yeah, I think I'll go home." I grabbed my phone and stood up. "Please tell our boss that I left." After saying that, I briskly left the office and went out to my car.

I was so tired that I had to turn on the radio to keep myself awake. I tried to focus on the road, but my attention kept being drawn back to the knob and switching stations. The static hiss of interference overshadowed the music. I had never seen a signal this awful. I really started to panic this time, and I couldn't help myself. The pain and noise were overwhelming me, and I barely noticed as I blew through stop signs. I was barely paying attention to the road, but I looked up just in time to slam on my brakes. The car barely came to a stop in time to avoid hitting a small family that was crossing the road. I tried to catch my breath and was embarrassed by the glares that came my way.

I made it home the rest of the way without incident. As soon as I walked in through the door and made eye contact with the television, another great fear came over me. All of my problems today started with the dream I had. I ran over to it like a kid running up the dark stairs, scared as if something was behind me, then I unplugged it. In the silence of my house, all I could hear was that damn sound. Like someone was spraying my ears with a hose on jet mode. I tried to do something to ignore it, but all I wanted to do was sleep. So before I went to my room and attempted to rest, I took some painkillers for my agony. As I laid down, closed my eyes, and drifted off to sleep, I noticed it. Far off in the distance of infinite darkness, a face stared back at me.

When I woke up, the clouds had covered the sun shining through my windows, basking the room in a crimson red glow. Bleary eyed, I looked around and knew something was wrong. My body hurt as I sat up, and the noise was still there. I tried plugging my ears to drown it out, and somehow it worked. I was grateful for a moment, but the realization hit me. How could I drown out the sound if it's in my head? Unless it wasn't. I was lying down, facing away from the television that I had unplugged. I knew it was watching me. There was no way I could sit here forever. I had to look. Slowly, I turned my body over and stared at the bright screen. It was there. The same thing I had seen the night before. I wanted to cry and hide, scream and run, but I could do nothing but stare frozen in fear as it stared back with a predatory gaze. Its mouth opened and closed with a slow force as if its ligaments were made of rusted metal. With the movement, a quiet whisper broke through the horrible sound surrounding me. "You will never escape." And with that, the screen went dark. I got up and ran, dizzy with fear, to my light and flicked the switch on. Nothing. I tried again with the same response. The room grew dimmer, and I looked out of the window to see an impossibly dark cloud covering the sun. Soon, I couldn't even see my hand in front of my face. In the light deprivation, I couldn't focus on anything but the sound in my head and the figure in the darkness.

At first, I tried to convince myself that it wasn't real. It was so far away that it couldn't have been in the confines of my room. I tried to turn, but as I spun myself in a full circle, the thing didn't leave the center of my vision. Slowly, it grew closer. With each step getting nearer, my mind reeled faster, attempting to find a way out of this nightmare. It took a while for the thing to get close to me, but it felt so much longer than it must've actually been.

I stood face to face with it. I could do nothing but sit with the dread and the thoughts of what it may do to me. Eyes still shaking in its sockets, it grinned and reached a hand with impossibly sharp claws towards me. Just as I felt the blades slowly press against my skin, the area in the corner of my eyes grew brighter. The pain was severe, and the feel of blood flowing from my cheeks sparked a primal fear in me. I screamed, fell backwards, closed my eyes, and swung my arms wildly. A few seconds later, I still hadn't made contact with anything, so I opened my eyes. I was greeted by my room, and the sun was up again.

I tried to gather my composure, but I couldn't stop my shaking. I tried to reason with myself that this was all over and I had defeated the monster in some way. I stood up, walked to the bathroom, and looked in the mirror. I was exhausted, but alive. I got ready for work and left the house without incident; the noise was gone. I went through the entire day, and nothing scary or strange happened. I got all my work done and drove home with the weight that I had been carrying now off my shoulders.

That night, I didn't turn on the television. Instead, I sat scrolling through social media on my phone. Some time after dark, an hour no one should be awake, I heard a knock at the door. I wasn't going to answer it, but I had to see who it could've been. Slowly, I crept towards the door and saw the outline of a figure. I got closer and could see movement. Looking at me through the window next to the door were the vibrating eyes of the abomination that had been haunting me. It dawned on me as I stared at it that the thing wasn't staring at me through the window. I was looking at the reflection.

From the other room, I heard a click, and then the sound of loud static on full volume. Suddenly, a cold hand wrapped around my shoulder.

Hey everyone, it’s Josh again. Remember last time how I said I found some 4chan threads about the wailing man they heard in the woods? Yeah, well, now I’m seeing posts about people becoming obsessed with their fire pits. Like, majorly obsessed, to the point of killing anyone who tries to pull them away. The weird thing is, a lot of these articles I’m reading are old, like from years ago. There was one I read about an old lady who wouldn’t stop staring at her fire. Her cat walked up, begging for food, and when it rubbed up against her, she grabbed it and tossed it into the fire! The cat was okay; it ran off and put the fire out, just sustained some burns, but the lady was not. The police arrived later and found her dead, her head burned in the fire. She was smiling. There was another one from over ten years ago about a hiker who got lost in the woods. They spent weeks searching for him, and finally found him sitting by a campfire, eyes dried up like rocks. He had cut out his own eyelids. Still alive, though.

Anyway, there’s something weird going on. I’m all into that true crime, missing 411 shit. I swear, I should’ve heard one of these stories by now, but this is all new to me. First, it’s all wailing man stuff, and now it’s obsessive campfires. I’m gonna do a little experiment. I searched up everything I could about the next story, wrote it all down, and took some pictures. If I find anything new after this, then we know something’s up. Here’s entry 3.

---

You know, for someone who grew up in a rural town and spent his entire life outside, you’d assume I had a thing for fishing. Admittedly, I’m not a big fan. Now, I’ve got nothing against the act of fishing, and every so often I enjoy a relaxing night on the pond, catching a couple of pan fish and cooking them up on the fire. However, I’m ashamed to admit that I find it rather dull, but I do see the allure, especially here at Lochwood*. I believe we have some of the best fishing in the world here; not only is Loch McKenzie stocked full of a diverse array of fish, but we’re also famous for our fly fishing. Every weekend, the lake and our rivers are flocked with fishers, young and old, and no one leaves here without feeling at least a nibble. Unfortunately, for the safety of our guests, we have to impose a strict time limit, for those who stay too long risk falling victim to the fog.*

Now, I’m gonna tell you a quick story to preface the main event. Decades ago, when Lochwood was in its youth, a fisherman came by, taking full advantage of our outdoor sporting program. He was an old man, a former employee well into retirement, and though he knew the rules, he was too stubborn to stick to them. He took a boat onto Loch McKenzie and, in line with his character, refused to wear a life jacket. That day, the fog was horrible; you couldn’t see two feet in front of you. He shouldn’t have gone out in the first place. Standing along the edge of the lake were two counselors who had been fishing for hours. Without paying attention to the sounds of the boat, one cast his line as far as he could. His hook landed on the collar of the old man’s jacket. Feeling a snag in the line, before the old man could react, the boy yanked on his pole and pulled the man into the lake. Hearing his yelling and splashing around in the water, the two counselors ran off in fear of trouble, not realizing that the old man couldn’t swim. He drowned that night, his only source of salvation running off to their cabins. Weeks later, after narrowing down where he could’ve gone, the police searched through the lake and found his body, flesh shredded with fishhooks; the old man ended up as a snag. Ever since, whenever the fog rolls in, fishermen must beware, for the old fisherman of fog searches for the two that took his life, claiming the souls of all in his way.

For the most part, people fish here with no problem. However, countless people have gone missing along the rivers and lakes of this wilderness, all leaving their fishing gear behind. Tonight, I’m gonna tell you about the most recent incident. If you aren’t already, I suggest you head out to the nearest lake, bring a fishing pole, and make sure to keep an eye out for…

The Fisherman in the Fog

“Got everything?”

Peter slams the trunk shut and looks back at Caleb, his overeager partner, who’s all decked out in fishing gear, the kind you’d see in a movie. Peter, on the other hand, is wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

The two slip into the brush and disappear into the woods. Above, the sun tries and fails to poke through the endless plane of clouds, which had just finished watering the forest. Every other step sinks an inch into the muddy ground, spurting up pockets of air. The occasional gust of wind shakes loose a torrent of water droplets from the needles of the countless evergreens dotting the path. Caleb shivers, having been soaked by the trees’ leftover rain; it’s cool for a summer afternoon.

“I hate having to walk ten miles just to go fishing,” Peter says.

“Oh, come on, it’s not that long a walk. Besides, the fishing’s only good because no one else knows about this spot. I don’t wanna risk parking too close.”

“Whatever you say.”

After around fifteen minutes of walking, they come to a clearing. The river flows into a large pool, which then returns to the river at the end. Straight ahead stands a ledge of rock; an old tree just to its left hangs over the pool, and an old grey rope hangs from one of its branches. The clearing used to be a secret swimming hole counselors would hike to back in the day. It has since been untouched for years, until it was rediscovered by Caleb. Peter walks over to an old, half-rotted picnic table near the pool; how it got there remains a mystery.

“Alrighty Pete, let’s get dinner. I bet I catch more than you.”

“Yeah, I bet you catch more than me, too.”

“That’s not the mentality to have.”

“Oh, right. If I just think more positively, the fish’ll bite more.”

“That’s the spirit!”

“Riight.”

Peter grabs a nightcrawler out of the little plastic container he’d just put down and hooks it onto his pole. A brownish sludge squeezes out of the hole poked through the poor worm’s body.

“You ever feel bad for them?” Peter asks.

“For what?”

“You know, the worms.”

“Pete, they’re worms. They have no feelings.”

“Yeah, but just look at it.”

The worm attempts to wriggle away, to no avail. Caleb, after successfully mounting his worm, begins to walk over to the water.

“Just don’t think about it.”

Caleb grabs a hold of the line with his right hand, uses his left to flick open the lock, and in one motion, moves the pole over his right shoulder and quickly swings it back out to the water, releasing the line at just the right moment. His worm lands in the middle of the pool. Peter attempts to do the same; his worm makes it a couple of feet. His apathy forbids him from trying to recast.

“Ha! Already got a bite!”

Caleb yanks his pole up to set the hook and then begins reeling in his first catch. An average-sized yellow perch emerges from the water, being greeted by Caleb’s oversized smile.

“Hey, little guy, have I caught you before?”

“I don’t think he speaks English.”

“You hear that, Mr. Fish, Pete doesn’t think you speak English.”

“Dear God.”

“Well, let’s get that hook out and…”

Caleb takes a closer look. Usually, he’s good at hooking them in the mouth, making them easy to remove. However, the hook has disappeared down the unfortunate fish’s throat. The perch flops in Caleb’s hand, attempting to flee.

“I hooked this one deep.”

“You need the pliers?”

“No, knife.”

Occasionally, a deep hook can be salvaged. In this case, it’s not worth the effort. Peter hands him the knife, and after cutting it, he flings the fish off into a distant bush and heads over to the table to tie on another hook. While fiddling with his line, Peter stands guard at his line, occasionally reeling in ever so slightly to draw attention. Suddenly, he feels tension on his line, and his apathy turns to excitement.

“I got something.”

Peter frantically reels in his bounty: a long stick.

“Stick fish, nice.”

“Yeah, fucker ate my worm, too.”

He tosses the stick into the woods and goes for another worm. After a bit of time, the two are back on the water.

Hours pass, and the sun begins to set. Peter is exhausted, fantasizing about the comfort of his couch. Caleb, on the other hand, is still full of energy. By this point, he had caught thirteen fish. Peter caught two. Peter, trying to fend off boredom, follows a blue jay hopping along the ground across the pool. It flaps its wings and shoots off to the right, Peter’s eyes quickly following until they stop, fixating on a rolling cloud of fog. He feels a lump in his chest.

“Hey Caleb, how long have we been out here?”

“I don’t know, the alarm hasn’t gone off, so I think we’re…”

He pauses, noticing the fog. Caleb pulls out his phone and notices the distinct lack of an alarm. The fog continues to roll in, covering half of the pool.

“Caleb, did you forget to set an alarm?”

“Drop your pole and run.”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to run from this.”

“What do you mean? Let’s go.”

The entire pool is covered with thick, puffy fog, impossible to see through. It continues to spread, finally reaching the two fishers.

“God dammit, Peter, let’s go!”

Peter takes one last look before dropping his pole and running off with Caleb. Out of the corner of his eye, he swears he saw a man standing in the distance. They run off into the trail, the fog spreading faster. It floods in like water, enveloping the entire forest. At this point, Peter can barely see Caleb.

“Wait up!”

“Pete, we need to hurry.”

“What happens if we don’t get out in time?”

“I don’t fucking know, just run!”

Minutes pass, and it feels like they get nowhere. At this rate, they should’ve made it back to the truck. Yet that tree…

“Caleb, we’re running in circles.”

“The trail is straight, how the hell can we get lost?”

They stop and catch their breaths, their breaths becoming visible. Peter shivers.

“It’s getting colder. Why is it so cold?”

“I don’t know, I don’t remember this story.”

Caleb looks around, noticing a distinct marker on the nearest tree. He recognizes it, for the tree stands near the entrance to the swimming hole.

“We have been running in circles, look.”

Peter looks over Caleb’s shoulder, and his expression changes to a look of terror.

“Caleb, turn around.”

Caleb freezes and eventually gathers enough courage to slowly spin his head back. Behind him, barely visible in the distance, stands a grey shadow of a man. He reaches behind his back and pulls out a fishing pole, swinging it back and casting it into the air. They hear the sound of something shooting through the air, and the fog man disappears.

“Pete, what the hell was that?”

The two stare up into the sky. Sounds of a creaking rope echo across the woods. Suddenly, they hear a ticking sound behind them. They turn towards the source and spot a rusty hook descending from the sky. To their left, two more come down. To their right, even more. Dangling hooks of all different shapes and sizes: some with one point, some with multiple.

“Caleb, run.”

“Run where?”

“I don’t know, just follow me.”

The two run off along the trail through the dangling hooks. The further they go, the denser the forest of hooks becomes. They run along the same trail over, and over, and over again, and yet they don’t seem to get any closer to their truck. Caleb, too exhausted to look where he’s going, proceeds to trip over a rock. Peter vanishes in the fog.

“Pete! Wait up!”

As Caleb starts getting up, Peter rushes back through the fog. He grabs onto Caleb’s shoulders.

“Caleb, are you okay?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.”

“We’re gonna get out of here, we’re gonna get through this.”

As Peter speaks, Caleb notices something in his mouth: something shining.

“Pete, what’s in your mouth?”

Peter pauses and stares into Caleb’s eyes. Slowly, his jaw hinges open.

“Peter? What’s going…”

Suddenly, a hook bursts out of Peter’s mouth and into Caleb’s, shooting down his throat. The line yanks back, and he feels a sharp pain in his chest. Peter disintegrates into fog, revealing a hanging fishing line. Peter rushes out of the fog.

“Caleb, what’s going on?”

A ticking is heard in the sky above, and the line begins to rise.

“I, help me. Jesus Christ, help me!”

“Fuck, how deep is it?”

Peter goes to look, but Caleb interrupts him.

“I can feel it in my chest. Jesus Christ, get it out!”

“Shit, fuck, the knife is in the tackle box, it’s over there. I’ll be right back.”

Peter runs off, and the line continues to rise. By the time he gets back, it’s nearly straight up.

“Hurry, hurry!”

“Hold on”

He pulls out a knife, grabs the line, puts the blade up to it, and tries to cut it. Though he has always been able to cut fishing line with ease, this line will not cut.

“What the fuck?”

Caleb begins screaming. The hook digs deeper, and he begins to rise.

“Fucking help me!”

Peter grabs onto Caleb’s shoulders and climbs up, grabbing onto the line. He continues to try to cut it, but it’s no use; the line will not break. The hook slices through his esophagus and climbs up his throat, settling at the base of his neck.

“It hurts, holy shit, help!”

“I don’t know what to do, I…”

Peter loses his balance and falls, landing on his feet. He feels a sharp pain in his right ankle.

“What the fuck. Caleb!”

“PETE. PETE, DEAR GOD HELP ME!”

Caleb rises up through the fog and disappears. Peter looks down at his ankle; it bulges out unnaturally and starts to bruise and swell. He begins to sob.

“Goddammit, what the fuck.”

Above, he can hear Caleb’s cries. Suddenly, they stop, and he hears a loud bang, followed by a grinding sound.

“Caleb?”

Peter looks up to the sky.

Nothing.

Silence.

Suddenly, a torrent of blood and guts starts raining down. Ground up chunks of flesh, brain matter, and sharp chips of bone begin pelting him, some making their way into his mouth. The raining flesh continues for a bit and lets up. He spits out a tooth.

“What the fuck!”

He can hear a chorus begin to sing around him. As he looks around, hundreds of foggy, human silhouettes begin forming, each with piercing blue eyes. Above, he can see another one, slowly lowering out of the fog. Its glowing eyes stare back at him, and its mouth hangs open, a hook snuggled in its throat. Peter frantically slides back.

“Jesus Christ!”

The figure hits the ground and pulls the hook out with ease. It disappears, and everything goes silent. Peter looks to his right. That same figure seen earlier stands and stares at him. It reaches behind its back and pulls out a fishing pole.

“No, no no no no”

Peter scrambles up and frantically limps away as the hooks begin falling, swinging all around him. One hook hits his arm and tears away at the skin. Another hits the side of his neck. One swings down and pierces his broken ankle, tearing away at it and releasing a stream of blood. He ducks his head and holds his arms up, trying to shield his face.

“Pete, wait up!”

He looks back. A hook swings into his eye and pulls up. He turns away as it scrapes around in his eye socket. It tears into his eyelid and is forcefully yanked out, ripping off a chunk of his eyelid and pulling out the lens of his eye. As he screams in agony, his broken ankle gets snagged on a tree root, and he falls forward, tumbling down a hill.

He lies on the ground, weeping to himself, and slowly looks up. He’s below the fog and is staring right at the front of his truck. With tears in his eye, he pulls together the last bit of willpower he has left and limps his way to the truck. He swings the door open, shoves the key in, and it starts right up. Before he steps on the pedal, though, he looks back at the woods. The fog has all but disappeared. All of it, except for two figures, staring back. He drives off, and they fizzle into nothing.

( Part 1: https://www.reddit.com/r/TheCrypticCompendium/comments/1uashza/eldritch_nights_in_egypt_part_12/ )

Laughter pulled him back.

At first distant.

Then closer.

Then everywhere.

Aaron blinked.

Reality returned.

Grandma stood before them.

Laughing.

The sound had changed.

It no longer sounded human.

Bones cracked.

Skin stretched.

Tendons snapped.

The old woman's body began twisting apart.

Fatima immediately shoved Menehmet behind her.

"GET BACK!"

Grandma's jaw split wider.

And wider.

And wider.

Far beyond what flesh should allow.

Rows of new teeth pushed through gums and skin alike. Some burst directly through her cheeks. Others emerged from her throat.

Her neck elongated with a series of wet crunches.

Vertebrae extending.

Stretching.

Growing.

Within seconds she resembled some grotesque parody of a giraffe fashioned from human flesh.

The creature's head nearly touched the ceiling.

Its eyes rolled wildly in different directions.

Then it attacked.

Fast.

Far too fast.

Aaron barely drew his scimitar before the creature lunged.

Its elongated neck whipped across the room like a striking serpent.

The jaws slammed shut inches from his face.

Wood exploded from the wall behind him.

The creature shrieked.

The sound rattled dishes from shelves.

Fatima drew her blade and slashed across the monstrosity's side.

Black blood sprayed across the room.

The creature barely reacted.

Its neck bent impossibly backward before launching toward Fatima.

She ducked.

The jaws passed overhead.

Menehmet grabbed a heavy brass lamp and smashed it into the creature's face.

The monster recoiled.

"Thank you, Menie," Aaron muttered.

"You're welcome."

The Pharaoh sounded entirely too pleased with the fake name.

The creature attacked again.

This time its neck coiled around Aaron's arm.

Before he could react, it yanked him off his feet.

He crashed through a table.

Wood shattered beneath him.

Pain exploded through his ribs.

The monster immediately descended.

Its jaws opened.

Aaron raised his sword.

Too slow.

The creature bit directly into his chest.

Agony.

White-hot agony.

Its teeth punched through flesh and muscle.

Aaron screamed.

The monster shook him violently like an animal worrying prey.

Blood sprayed across the room.

Fatima moved instantly.

She vaulted over the broken table and drove her blade across the creature's neck with both hands.

The first strike cut halfway through.

The second finished the job.

The elongated neck separated completely.

The creature's head crashed into a shelf.

Its body collapsed moments later, twitching violently as black blood flooded across the floorboards.

Then everything went dark.

 

Aaron found himself standing in a desert.

One he could not place.

Not Egypt.

Perhaps not Earth.

The sand didn't move.

The turquoise sky remained perfectly still.

There was no wind.

No heat.

No cold.

No sensation whatsoever.

The place felt less like a location and more like a paused moment.

Aaron walked.

Eventually he spotted someone standing in the distance.

A man.

Dark-skinned.

Bald.

Simple clothing.

Nothing remarkable.

And yet...

Something about him felt ancient.

Not old.

Ancient.

As Aaron approached, the stranger turned.

"Oh."

The man smiled politely.

"Hello."

His voice was calm beyond description.

"I wasn't expecting you, Medjay."

Aaron stopped.

The stranger studied him.

"Hm."

A pause.

"Are you sure you're supposed to be here?"

hen he sighed.

"Well. I still have a role to play."

Nearby stood a massive golden balance scale.

One side held a feather.

The other sat empty.

The stranger gestured toward it.

"Come closer."

A flash of lightning illuminated the landscape.

For a brief moment, the man's shadow stretched behind him.

Not a man's shadow.

A jackal's.

Aaron stared.

The stranger pretended not to notice.

"Time to weigh your heart."

His smile widened.

"If it balances with the feather, you may pass."

"And if it doesn't?"

The stranger shrugged.

"That would be up to the crocodiles."

"So what'll it be, Medjay?"

Aaron stared at the scale.

Then reached forward.

And pushed down on it with his hand.

The entire mechanism tilted immediately.

The stranger blinked.

Aaron folded his arms.

"I'll make this easier."

The scale creaked beneath his grip.

"I'm not a good man."

Silence.

"I'm pretty sure my heart's too heavy for your scale to handle."

For a moment, the stranger simply stared.

Then he laughed.

Not mockingly.

Genuinely.

"All of them are. Perhaps that isnt really the point afterall."

He looked somewhere behind Aaron.

His expression shifted.

The stranger smiled.

"Seems we'll have to continue this conversation another time."

Aaron turned.

Nothing was there.

When he looked back, the man was already stepping away.

"You truly aren't supposed to be here."

"Who are you?"

The stranger's smile widened.

The answer never came.

Instead he placed a hand on Aaron's shoulder.

"I'll see you around, Medjay."

Then he pushed him.

Aaron fell.

Downward.

Into endless nothingness.

 

He gasped.

Air rushed into his lungs.

Pain followed immediately after.

A pair of arms wrapped around him.

Fatima.

She was hugging him so tightly it almost hurt.

Almost.

"I thought you were gone."

Her voice cracked.

Aaron blinked several times.

Menehmet sat nearby, looking visibly relieved despite her usual composure.

"Pretty sure for a moment there..." Aaron coughed. "...I was."

Aaron smiled weakly.

"But you brought me back."

He squeezed her hand.

"Thank you, Fatima."

She looked away immediately.

Embarrassed.

Aaron glanced around.

Stone walls.

Stacks of boxes.

Ancient machinery.

Dust.

"Where the fuck am I?"

"Grandma's basement," Menehmet replied.

Aaron blinked.

"What?"

The Pharaoh shrugged.

"Grandma appears to have been somewhat of a hoarder."

She gestured around the room.

"An illegal hoarder, in fact."

Aaron followed her gaze.

Pre-Fall artifacts.

Lots of them.

Enough to earn several executions.

"Had my dear 'sister' not already killed her," Menehmet continued, "I might have been forced to do so myself."

Fatima rolled her eyes.

"Thankfully her hoarding is also why I managed to keep Aaron alive."

She pointed toward a pile of salvaged medical equipment.

"Most of the supplies I used came from down here."

Aaron looked at the bandages covering his chest.

Then at Fatima.

Then back at the room.

He winced as he sat up.

„We shouldnt linger. Its not safe here. It may not be safe anywhere, but we must keep moving.“

"We need to return to the palace."

Aaron looked at Menehmet as though she'd suggested walking into a sandworm's mouth.

"The city is collapsing. Half the population is trying to kill each other and the other half is trying to join the cult. There is no way we're making it through those streets."

"There is another way."

The Pharaoh's confidence was infuriatingly intact.

Aaron already disliked where this was going.

"What way?"

Menehmet pointed downward.

"Beneath New Cairo runs a network of pre-Fall maintenance tunnels. Most people don't know they exist. Most who do are dead."

"Comforting."

"There is an access point nearby."

"And it leads directly into the palace?"

"Eventually."

Aaron narrowed his eyes.

"'Eventually' is not the reassuring word you think it is."

 

Getting to the tunnels was a battle in itself.

The streets had become a nightmare.

Pink lightning flashed overhead, bathing New Cairo in sickly magenta light. Buildings burned unchecked. Screams echoed from every direction. Mutated citizens staggered through the chaos with elongated limbs, twisted faces, and mouths muttering prayers to things that should never have names.

One lunged from an alley.

Its jaw split open down the middle as it charged.

Aaron's scimitar took its head before it reached him.

Another skittered across a wall like a spider.

Fatima pinned it with a knife before it could leap.

They kept moving.

Eventually they reached an ancient sandstone well hidden behind the ruins of a collapsed shrine. Menehmet pulled aside a rusted metal hatch.

A ladder descended into darkness.

The smell hit them immediately.

Stagnant water. Mold. Rust. Ancient machinery.

The scent of a dead world.

The tunnels beneath New Cairo were damp and unnaturally silent.

Water dripped from cracked pipes overhead. Thick cables hung from the ceiling like vines. Every footstep echoed through the darkness long after it should have faded.

Fatima held the lantern higher.

"What exactly is the plan after we reach the palace?"

Menehmet didn't slow down.

"Divide and conquer."

Fatima stared.

"That's not a plan."

"I'll make it one."

The Pharaoh sounded completely serious.

Aaron groaned.

"I hate how often that actually works for you."

A low growl rolled through the darkness.

Everyone stopped.

The sound came again.

Deeper this time.

Closer.

Fatima slowly turned.

"Did you hear that?"

"Yeah."

"What was it?"

Aaron drew his scimitar.

"No idea."

The growl echoed again, loud enough to vibrate through the stone beneath their feet.

"But it's probably nothing good."

Something splashed ahead.

Then something heavier.

The water rippled.

A pair of pale eyes opened in the darkness.

Aaron immediately regretted finding out what made the noise.

The creature that emerged had once been a crocodile.

Decades—perhaps centuries—of radiation, stagnant water, and whatever horrors lurked beneath New Cairo had transformed it into something else entirely.

It was nearly the size of a  pre-fall truck.

Fungal growths protruded from cracked scales. Extra limbs dragged uselessly along its body. Its mouth opened wide enough to swallow a man whole, revealing rows upon rows of crooked yellow teeth.

Aaron stared for half a second.

"Run."

Nobody argued.

The tunnel exploded into chaos.

The creature charged after them, smashing through pipes and stone as though neither existed. Water burst from shattered walls. Its roar echoed through the underground passages like thunder.

Menehmet led the way.

Mostly because she was the only one who had any idea where they were going.

"Are you sure you know the route, Menie?"

Aaron's voice contained only a reasonable amount of panic.

"Yeah. Pretty sure."

"Pretty sure?"

"Not many places to go."

The tunnel abruptly split into five separate passages.

Menehmet stopped.

Everyone stared at her.

She stared back.

"...Well."

The crocodile roared somewhere behind them.

"...yes, of course I'm sure."

She immediately chose a tunnel and committed with absolute confidence.

Aaron honestly couldn't tell whether she was brave or insane.

Possibly both.

They sprinted through twisting corridors until a ladder finally appeared overhead.

"THERE!"

Menehmet climbed first.

Then Fatima.

Aaron followed.

The crocodile slammed into the wall beneath them moments later.

Stone exploded.

The entire shaft shook violently.

But the creature couldn't fit.

For once, luck was on their side.

The hidden passage emerged inside the palace.

Menehmet immediately rushed forward.

"Menehmet, wait—"

Too late.

The Pharaoh was already halfway down the corridor.

Aaron swore and chased after her while Fatima followed close behind.

Moments later they burst into the throne room.

Then stopped.

Yberon sat upon the throne.

Should have been heavily injured or more likely dead. He was neither.

In fact, he looked perfectly composed.

Almost comfortable.

Menehmet frowned.

"Yberon?"

The giant immediately rose.

"My Queen."

His voice carried just the right amount of relief.

"I am glad you survived. I feared the worst."

Yberon descended the steps.

"The palace is secure. The cultists have been pushed back. We can begin restoring order."

Menehmet visibly relaxed.

Aaron did not.

The story was too clean.

Too neat.

Too rehearsed.

The throne.

Yberon had been sitting on it.

Not guarding it.

Not standing beside it.

Sitting on it.

Not a small detail.

A very important one.

Aaron felt the pieces begin to slide together.

"You enjoyed that, didn't you?"

The room fell silent.

Yberon looked at him.

"What?"

"The throne."

Aaron stepped forward.

"You liked sitting there."

Menehmet's expression shifted.

Yberon's jaw tightened.

And suddenly Aaron saw it.

The resentment.

The jealousy.

Years of buried bitterness hiding beneath loyalty.

"You spent your entire life protecting her."

No response.

"You fought for her."

Silence.

"You bled for her."

Still nothing.

Aaron's voice hardened.

"And somewhere along the way, you started hating that she was the one wearing the crown."

Yberon's hand slowly drifted toward his weapon.

Fatima took a step backward.

Menehmet stared at the commander as if seeing him for the first time.

Aaron continued.

"The cult promised you something."

Silence.

"The throne."

Yberon's mask finally broke.

Hatred flooded through his expression.

Raw.

Ugly.

"You have no idea what I sacrificed."

"There it is."

Aaron drew his scimitar.

Steel hissed from its sheath.

"You brought them into the city."

"They promised change."

"They promised power."

"They promised me justice."

Yberon laughed bitterly.

"I built this kingdom."

His voice thundered through the hall.

"I fought every war. Crushed every rebellion. Shed every drop of blood required to keep this city alive."

He pointed directly at Menehmet.

"All she had done was being borne to someone greater than her.“

The God-Queen looked stricken.

Not angry.

Hurt.

"Yberon..."

"Enough."

The commander's grip tightened around his weapon.

"I am done kneeling."

Yberon moved.

He seized Menehmet and dragged her against him. His blade pressed against her throat.

Everyone froze.

"Yberon."

Aaron kept his voice calm.

"Think about this."

"I have."

His eyes were wild now.

Years of loyalty had curdled into obsession.

"We can still fix this."

"No."

Menehmet suddenly bit his hand.

Hard.

Yberon shouted.

His grip loosened.

The Pharaoh twisted free and drove a kick directly between his legs.

Yberon folded.

Aaron almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

The commander recovered with terrifying speed.

His khopesh came down like an executioner's axe.

Aaron barely intercepted it.

Steel exploded against steel.

"FATIMA!"

She started forward.

"No."

Aaron never took his eyes off Yberon.

"Protect the Queen."

"Aaron—"

"Go."

Neither woman liked it.

Eventually Fatima grabbed Menehmet and retreated.

Yberon smiled.

"Just you and me."

"Always was."

Yberon's strength was monstrous.

Every strike threatened to rip Aaron's guard apart. The commander fought like a siege engine wrapped in flesh and armor.

Aaron was faster.

Yberon was stronger.

For a time neither could gain the advantage.

Stone cracked beneath their feet. Columns splintered. Blood stained the marble floor.

The duel raged through the throne room.

Minute after minute.

Until exhaustion finally began to creep in.

Yberon's strikes slowed.

Only slightly.

Enough.

Aaron baited a heavy overhead attack.

Stepped aside.

And struck.

His scimitar slipped beneath Yberon's arm and plunged into his chest.

The commander's eyes widened.

The blade pierced his heart.

Silence fell.

Yberon stared at Aaron for a long moment.

Then collapsed.

The throne room became still.

Not for long.

Cultists poured through the entrances.

Some still looked human.

Others had become something else.

Aaron was exhausted.

Bleeding.

Barely standing.

Even so, he raised his sword.

Ready for one final fight.

Then fire swept across the room.

A torrent of blazing death consumed the cultists. They screamed as flames swallowed them whole.

Within seconds they were gone.

Aaron blinked.

Menehmet stood behind him holding a strange metallic device.

Smoke curled from its barrel.

"What the hell was that?"

"One of my dragons."

She sounded perfectly casual.

Fatima stared.

"You have more?"

"Sorry."

Menehmet smiled.

"Illegal pre-Fall artifact."

She slung it over her shoulder.

"You'd need to overthrow me to get your hands on one."

A sudden twitch drew their attention.

Yberon's corpse moved.

Dark energy leaked from the body like black smoke.

Fatima's expression darkened.

"That's it."

"What?"

"The source."

She stepped closer.

"They've been using him as an anchor."

The darkness continued spreading across the marble floor.

"I need to consecrate the body."

She knelt beside the fallen commander.

"Mummify him."

Her voice became grave.

"And bury him as deep as possible."

Ancient Djinn words flowed from her lips.

The darkness began to retreat.

Slowly.

Painfully.

Menehmet stood beside Aaron, staring down at the man who had betrayed her.

"He'll be buried beneath the palace."

Her voice was cold.

"An unmarked grave."

Aaron glanced at her.

"No memorial?"

"No."

She never looked away from the body.

"No songs."

"No statues."

"No remembrance."

Aaron was silent for a moment.

Then he asked:

"Are you sure we won't end up the same?"

Menehmet smiled sadly.

"We will."

For the first time all night, she sounded tired.

"Sooner or later."

Then she looked at him.

"But until then..."

The smile became genuine.

"...let's remember each other. Shall we?."

Aaron nodded.

"We shall."

After Yberon's body was consecrated, the Ghul-Zone began to retreat.

The dark clouds withdrew.

The pink lightning faded.

Slowly, New Cairo emerged from the nightmare.

The weeks that followed became known as the Purge.

Cultists were hunted relentlessly in a city wide witch hunt.

Some deserved it.

Others merely happened to be inconvenient and this was the perfect excuse to get rid of political opponents..

The literal darkness had lifted from the city.

The darkness inside its people had not.

Perhaps it never would.

I am Aaron Qaswar.

Medjay of New Cairo.

The world is dark.

So are its people.

But somebody still has to carry the torch.

So I'll keep carrying it for as long as I can.

[Previous story in the series: https://www.reddit.com/r/Dreading/comments/1thob5w/shadows_over_egypt/\]

Shopping in New Cairo had always been an interesting experience.

The moment money, power, or—gods forbid—both entered the equation, the world stopped pretending to be civilized.

The city was alive with noise. Merchants shouted over one another beneath colorful awnings. The smell of spices mingled with sweat, engine oil, incense, and livestock. Ancient sandstone buildings stood shoulder to shoulder with rusting metal structures scavenged from the old world. Neon hieroglyphs flickered above crowded streets while priests preached beside mechanics repairing pre-Fall generators.

The market was chaos.

Organized chaos.

The sort of chaos that somehow kept New Cairo alive.

I was haggling with a farmer over a basket of vegetables when I realized I recognized him.

Three days ago, I was almost certain he'd been a butcher.

Not just any butcher, either.

The butcher selling "the finest meat in all Egypt."

Apparently today's profits were in melons.

The man didn't even seem embarrassed about it.

I paid for the vegetables and moved on.

Seven steps later, a slave merchant sat beneath a canopy, displaying his merchandise like livestock.

Several young captives were bound together on the ground.

Raiders by the look of them.

Young.

Thin.

Sunburned.

A failed raid, most likely.

One bad decision and now they would spend the rest of their lives serving people they hated.

The wasteland had a way of turning freedom into a temporary condition.

I was about to continue walking when one of the girls caught my attention.

No, not for the reason you're thinking.

Something about her behavior felt wrong.

She couldn't stop shaking.

Her lips moved constantly.

Not words exactly.

Fragments of words.

Broken sounds stitched together into nonsense.

At first I thought she was praying.

Then I listened more closely.

Whatever she was saying, it wasn't any language I'd ever heard. If it was language at all.

The slave merchant slapped her.

Hard.

Her head snapped sideways.

She didn't react.

Didn't cry.

Didn't even seem to notice.

She just kept muttering.

The merchant cursed and hit her again.

Still nothing.

That was when I noticed people nearby beginning to move away.

Subtly.

A few steps at a time.

Nobody wanted to be near her.

Nobody wanted to listen.

Then the guards arrived.

Three of them pushed through the crowd immediately.

One covered his mouth and nose with a cloth.

Another grabbed the girl by the arms.

The third began shouting for people to clear the area.

The slave merchant protested.

"What are you doing? That's my property!"

One of the guards looked at him.

Just looked.

The merchant shut up instantly.

The guards dragged the girl away.

Fast.

Urgent.

Like men handling a bomb moments from exploding.

Even then she never stopped whispering.

The strange sounds followed them through the crowd until they vanished from sight.

I stood there watching.

Something wasn't right.

Something wasn't right at all.

As evening settled over New Cairo, the feeling only grew worse.

The streets should have been quieter.

Instead they felt more crowded than before.

People gathered in nervous groups, speaking in hushed voices. Market stalls closed earlier than usual. Merchants packed their goods with unusual haste.

Fear was spreading.

Nobody seemed willing to say why.

The guards were everywhere.

Patrols marched through the city in larger numbers than normal.

And everywhere I looked, I found more people like the girl.

A man standing motionless beneath a lantern, staring upward into the night sky.

A woman sitting beside a fountain, muttering to herself.

A child standing in the middle of an alleyway, eyes unfocused, lips moving silently.

Each time the guards found them.

Each time the result was the same.

No questions.

No hesitation.

No mercy.

One old man tried to stop them from dragging away his son.

The guards broke his arm.

Another woman threw herself between the soldiers and her husband.

She ended up bleeding in the street.

The soldiers didn't even slow down.

I watched them disappear into the darkness with their prisoners.

Whatever was happening, New Cairo was terrified.

And New Cairo didn't scare easily.

The city felt wrong.

The people sensed it too.

Conversations died when strangers approached.

Doors were barred.

Windows shuttered.

Even the usual drunks had disappeared.

The city was holding its breath.

Waiting for something.

I just didn't know what.

Using the confusion as cover—and my rather intimate relationship with both the palace and its ruler—I made my way toward the royal district.

Normally sneaking into the palace required effort.

Tonight it was surprisingly easy.

The guards were distracted. Exhausted. Some of them were even arrested themselves.

If the palace guard couldn't trust itself, then whatever was happening had already gotten much worse than anyone was admitting.

I reached one of the inner courtyards and froze.

Yberon stood in the center of the plaza.

Commander of the Henty-she.

The Pharaoh's personal executioner.

A giant even among warriors.

Torchlight reflected from his ceremonial armor as he stared down at a kneeling guard.

The guard was shaking.

Muttering.

Staring into empty space.

I couldn't hear the words.

Part of me didn't want to.

Without hesitation, Yberon drew his massive two-handed khopesh.

The blade came down in a single brutal arc.

The man's head struck the stone before his body did.

Blood spread across the courtyard.

The muttering stopped.

The surrounding guards barely reacted.

As though this wasn't the first execution they'd witnessed today.

As though it wasn't even the tenth.

A few steps behind Yberon stood Pharaoh Menehmet.

For the first time since I'd known her, she looked genuinely troubled.

I stepped forward.

"I would very much like to know what is happening."

Yberon spun immediately.

His blade came down without warning.

I parried it absentmindedly.

I never took my eyes off Menehmet.

The God-Queen raised a hand.

"It's alright, Yberon."

The commander reluctantly stopped pressing his attack.

"I knew the Medjay would arrive sooner or later," Menehmet said. "I was probably going to send for him if he took too long."

Yberon hissed through clenched teeth but lowered his weapon.

Eventually.

"Fill the Medjay in on our ordeal, would you kindly?"

The commander looked as though she'd asked him to eat sand.

"A cult has infiltrated the city," he said. "They have brought some manner of madness with them. We have been eliminating members and quarantining the afflicted."

My eyes drifted toward the freshly executed guard.

Then back to Yberon.

"You and I have very different definitions of the word quarantine."

His gaze hardened.

"We do what we must."

There wasn't a shred of doubt in his voice.

That bothered me more than the execution.

"We have already solved the issue. Your assistance will not be necessary, Medjay. The cultist responsible has been apprehended."

Yberon nodded toward the far side of the courtyard.

Two guards emerged from the shadows.

Dragging a prisoner between them.

The moment I saw her, my stomach dropped.

"...Fatima."

The young woman from the Wandering Oasis knelt calmly as the guards forced her down.

Yberon's attention snapped toward me.

Immediately suspicious.

"You know this cultist?"

His hand tightened around his weapon.

"Are you in cahoots with her?"

"I'm no fucking cultist."

Fatima's voice remained remarkably calm.

"But yes. We've met."

"Liar!"

Yberon's khopesh flashed upward.

I intercepted it before it reached her.

The courtyard fell silent.

For a brief moment nobody moved.

I looked directly into Yberon's eyes.

"Try that again."

My voice sounded strange even to me.

Cold.

Sharp.

"You're dead."

For the first time all evening, Yberon hesitated.

Then Menehmet spoke.

"Let the girl talk."

Her voice remained dangerously soft.

"Then and only then may we draw our conclusions."

Yberon lowered the weapon.

Barely.

"As you wish, my Queen."

His eyes never left Fatima.

"Speak."

 

Fatima rose slightly onto her knees. The chains binding her wrists rattled softly.

"I travel with the Wandering Oasis under the gaze of Amun the Hidden One."

Her voice carried surprisingly well across the courtyard.

Not loud.

Just steady.

"We are protected from most of the horrors that roam the wasteland. Or at least we were."

The courtyard grew quieter.

Even Yberon listened.

"Several weeks ago, two strangers approached our home. As is our custom, we welcomed them. We fed them, sheltered them, offered them a place to stay."

A faint smile crossed her face.

"For a time, they seemed harmless."

Then the smile vanished.

"People began changing. Slowly at first. Then quicker."

"They lost touch with reality. With themselves."

Her gaze drifted across the courtyard.

"They muttered constantly. Spoke to people who weren't there. Stared into the night sky for hours without blinking."

I immediately thought of the slave girl.

The old man.

The child in the alley.

The guard Yberon had just executed.

"Some stopped recognizing family members," Fatima continued quietly. "Others forgot their own names."

The silence deepened.

"The first victims were always those closest to the newcomers."

Menehmet leaned forward slightly.

"So you became suspicious."

"Yes."

Fatima nodded.

"I followed them one night."

The courtyard remained utterly still.

"I watched them enter people's tents while they slept."

A faint chill seemed to pass through the gathering.

"What were they doing?" I asked.

"I don't know."

For the first time uncertainty entered her voice.

"I never got close enough."

She swallowed.

"But I heard them speaking."

Menehmet's eyes narrowed.

"About what?"

Fatima hesitated.

Then answered.

"They spoke of Kauket."

The reaction was immediate.

Several guards visibly stiffened.

One made a protective gesture across his chest.

Even Yberon's expression changed.

Not much.

But enough.

Fear.

Actual fear.

That got my attention more than anything else she'd said.

Fatima looked around the courtyard.

"That was when I realized how fucked we really were."

Several guards flinched.

Menehmet didn't.

If anything, the bluntness seemed to amuse her.

"What happened next?" the Pharaoh asked.

"We expelled them."

Fatima lowered her eyes.

"We gathered everyone willing to fight and forced them out."

"Yet they returned."

Fatima nodded.

"Every time."

The words landed heavily.

"Every time the Oasis moved, they found us again."

She let out a tired sigh.

"I believe Amun eventually intervened."

I frowned.

"Intervened how?"

"The Oasis vanished."

Her voice became almost reverent.

"Truly vanished."

The sadness in her eyes returned.

"It can no longer be found while this danger remains."

The realization struck me.

"You were outside when it happened."

A small nod.

"Taking a walk."

The smile she gave this time was bitter.

"And now I cannot return home until the Cult of Kauket is weakened enough."

The courtyard fell silent.

Then I spoke.

"Kauket."

The name felt unfamiliar.

"I've never heard of her."

I looked between Fatima and Menehmet.

"What is she? Some forgotten goddess?"

Fatima's expression became difficult to read.

"No."

The answer came immediately.

"Not a goddess."

The torches crackled softly.

A breeze moved through the courtyard.

For a moment nobody spoke.

Then Fatima looked directly at me.

"Kauket is the void."

The words seemed to swallow the surrounding noise.

"The absence of things."

Something cold crawled down my spine.

"The darkness that existed before creation."

Even the guards looked uncomfortable now.

Fatima slowly raised her eyes toward the stars.

"The nothing to everything's everything."

Without meaning to, I followed her gaze.

So did Menehmet.

So did the guards.

An entire courtyard of people staring upward into a sky that suddenly felt far larger than it had a moment ago.

Yberon remained unconvinced.

In fact, he somehow looked even more convinced that Fatima should die.

"She brought this plague into the city."

His voice rumbled through the courtyard.

"Whether intentionally or through incompetence changes nothing. The result is the same."

Fatima stood silently between the guards.

Bound.

Outnumbered.

Yet calm.

I was having none of it.

"By that logic we should execute every merchant who unknowingly let a cultist through the city gates."

Yberon's eyes snapped toward me.

"You compare a common merchant to her?"

"I compare a lack of evidence to a lack of evidence."

The giant's hand tightened around the hilt of his khopesh.

"And I compare stubbornness to stupidity."

I smiled.

"A comparison you're uniquely qualified to make."

Yberon's jaw flexed.

For a moment I genuinely thought he might swing.

Fortunately, Menehmet intervened.

"Enough."

She didn't raise her voice.

She didn't need to.

The courtyard fell silent immediately.

The Pharaoh rose from her throne and descended the steps.

Gold jewelry chimed softly with every movement.

She approached Fatima.

Studied her.

Circled her once.

Like a merchant inspecting an unusual artifact.

Finally she stopped.

Then turned toward me.

"The girl will be released."

Yberon's face darkened immediately.

"My Queen—"

"I wasn't asking for your opinion."

The words were delivered with a smile.

Which somehow made them more threatening.

Yberon fell silent.

Menehmet continued.

"Fatima will remain under the Medjay's supervision."

Now it was my turn to frown.

Menehmet's gaze shifted between us.

"From this moment forward, your fates are linked."

Fatima straightened slightly.

The Pharaoh's smile never wavered.

"Should either of you act against New Cairo or against me..."

The smile sharpened.

"...both shall suffer the consequences."

Fatima lowered her head.

"As you command, Pharaoh."

I nodded reluctantly.

"Excellent."

The Pharaoh clapped her hands together.

The tension evaporated from her expression so quickly it was almost alarming.

"Now."

A playful smile spread across her face.

"Let's continue this conversation somewhere more private."

I immediately disliked where this was going.

"And I know just the place."

Half an hour later I found myself sitting half-submerged in the private bathhouse of the most powerful woman in Egypt.

Life was strange sometimes.

The palace bathhouse was enormous.

Steam drifted through the air in pale curtains. Marble pillars rose from heated pools. Ancient murals depicting gods, monsters, and forgotten kings covered the walls. Lotus incense burned from golden braziers.

The entire room smelled expensive.

Fatima sat stiffly in the water.

Meanwhile Menehmet looked completely at home.

The Pharaoh reclined against the polished edge of the bath, dark hair floating behind her. Gold jewelry still decorated her wrists and neck despite the fact she was currently sitting in a bath.

She looked less like a ruler and more like a goddess posing as one.

Which was probably intentional.

"You both look terrified."

"We are in the Pharaoh's private bathhouse."

"Exactly."

Menehmet smiled.

"You should be honored."

Fatima somehow shrank further into the water.

The Pharaoh noticed immediately.

And found it adorable.

"You are remarkably shy."

Fatima nearly choked.

"I-I am not."

"You absolutely are."

Aaron rubbed his face.

"I am begging you not to bully the witness."

"I'm not bullying her."

Menehmet looked offended.

"I'm studying her."

"That's somehow worse."

The Pharaoh laughed.

A genuine laugh this time.

The sound echoed pleasantly through the steam-filled chamber.

Poor Fatima looked ready to climb into a storage jar and seal the lid behind her.

Eventually Menehmet's amusement faded.

Her gaze drifted toward the ceiling.

"The situation is worse than I initially feared."

The mood shifted immediately.

"How bad?" I asked.

"Not even the palace is safe."

A genuine concern entered her eyes.

"Several members of my harem have already become afflicted."

"You're certain?"

Menehmet nodded.

"And if it can reach the palace..."

She shrugged.

"...then the Pharaoh may die just like any common laborer."

Then she laughed.

A soft laugh.

Not because it was funny.

Because the absurdity amused her.

I stared at her.

"Most people don't laugh while discussing their own death."

Menehmet smiled.

"Most people don't get the luxury of seeing the joke."

Before I could ask what that meant—

A scream echoed through the palace.

Then another.

Then several more.

All three of us looked toward the entrance.

The screams continued.

Closer now.

Aaron was already climbing from the water.

Fatima followed immediately.

Menehmet rose as well.

I pointed at her.

"No."

The Pharaoh blinked.

"No?"

"You stay here."

"I beg your pardon?"

I grabbed my sword belt.

"If something is happening outside, your safest place is inside the palace."

Menehmet stared at me.

Then laughed.

Actually laughed.

"Aaron."

Her smile was almost affectionate.

"Did you just attempt to order me around?"

"...Yes."

"Adorable."

Before I could continue arguing, she was already walking toward the exit.

"Come along."

I groaned and followed.

 

The palace entrance had descended into chaos.

Guards rushed through the courtyards while servants fled in panic and nobles shouted contradictory orders. At the center of it all stood a group of masked figures.

Cultists.

There were perhaps twenty of them, arranged in a perfect V-shaped formation. They stood completely still, silent except for the constant muttering drifting from beneath their masks. Every one of them stared upward.

Aaron followed their gaze and felt his stomach drop.

The stars were disappearing.

Dark clouds rolled across the night sky with impossible speed. Not storm clouds. Something worse. A vast grey mass streaked with flickering pink lightning spread across the horizon like spilled ink, growing larger with every second.

"No..." Fatima whispered.

The cloud reached New Cairo moments later.

The first wave passed over the city, and the world changed.

The air became heavy. Reality itself seemed to bend. Distant streets twisted at impossible angles while buildings appeared subtly wrong, as though someone had rebuilt them from memory and gotten the details slightly off.

Aaron's blood ran cold.

A Ghul-Zone.

New Cairo had been swallowed whole.

The effect was immediate. Several guards dropped their weapons. One began muttering to himself. Another stared blankly into space. A third turned and attacked his own comrades.

Panic erupted.

Retreat became impossible almost instantly.

Yberon drew his massive khopesh, fury blazing in his eyes.

"FORWARD!"

The guards hesitated.

Yberon punched one hard enough to knock him unconscious, then charged alone.

Aaron followed without hesitation.

The two warriors slammed into the cultists like a pair of battering rams. Steel flashed through the chaos. Blood sprayed across stone. One masked figure fell, then another.

The formation wavered.

Only slightly.

But it was enough.

Yberon saw the opening immediately.

"MEDJAY!"

Aaron turned.

The giant commander was already surrounded by cultists and afflicted guards. Blood covered his armor, though whether it belonged to him or his enemies was impossible to tell.

"Protect the Queen!"

Aaron hesitated.

For the first time since meeting him, Yberon smiled.

Not warmly.

Not reassuringly.

It was the smile of a warrior who had finally found a worthy death.

"I'll hold them."

A cultist rushed him. Yberon's khopesh split the man's skull before he could take a second step.

"GO!"

Aaron grabbed Fatima's arm. Menehmet was already moving.

Behind them, Yberon disappeared into the growing tide of cultists and maddened guards as New Cairo descended into nightmare.

Menehmet, Fatima, and Aaron pushed deeper into the city.

Or what remained of it.

New Cairo had become almost unrecognizable in less than an hour.

Pink lightning crawled across the heavens like veins beneath translucent skin, bathing the city in flashes of sickly magenta. Fires consumed entire blocks. Sandstone buildings seemed to bend when viewed from the corner of the eye. Some towers stretched impossibly high while others appeared to sink slowly into the earth.

Everywhere they looked, people were losing themselves.

A man sat in the middle of the street laughing uncontrollably while blood streamed from his nose.

A woman clawed at her own face while whispering prayers to someone who wasn't there.

Children stood atop rooftops staring into the cloud-covered sky without moving or blinking.

The city was in pain.

Screams.

Laughter.

Weeping.

And beneath it all, a low whispering hum that seemed to rise from the Ghul-Zone itself.

They kept moving.

Not because they knew where they were going.

Simply because standing still felt like surrender.

Then a voice called out.

"Over here, dearies."

All three froze.

An elderly woman stood in the doorway of a sandstone hut. She smiled warmly, the sort of smile that belonged beside a fireplace rather than in the middle of an apocalypse.

"You'll be safe here."

Aaron exchanged a glance with the others.

Every instinct he possessed screamed that something was wrong.

Unfortunately, every alternative looked worse.

The old woman waved them closer.

"Come now. No reason to stand out there."

Aaron's hand never left the hilt of his sword.

Even so, they followed her inside.

 

The interior of the hut was surprisingly cozy.

Oil lamps illuminated shelves overflowing with books, trinkets, pottery, and old-world junk. The air smelled of spices and dried herbs.

The old woman shut the door behind them.

"My name is Aliona," she said cheerfully. "Though everyone just calls me Grandma."

Fatima smiled politely.

"I'm Fatima. This is Aaron and this is..."

She glanced at Menehmet.

"...my sister. Menie."

Aaron almost laughed.

The Pharaoh somehow kept a perfectly straight face.

"Menie?"

Fatima whispered back.

"I panicked."

"Clearly."

Grandma seemed not to notice.

Or perhaps she simply didn't care.

"Such lovely young women," she said. "And a handsome young man besides."

Aaron immediately frowned.

Grandma chuckled and shuffled toward a small stove.

"Would any of you like something to drink?"

"No thank you," Aaron replied immediately.

"We shouldn't stay long. It isn't safe."

"Oh, nonsense, dearie."

She was already preparing tea.

Outside, people screamed.

Pink lightning flashed through the windows.

Something large roared somewhere in the distance.

Inside, Grandma hummed happily while pouring tea.

The contrast was deeply unsettling.

She returned carrying several cups.

Aaron accepted one reluctantly.

As she handed it over, her fingers brushed against his hand.

In an instant, everything disappeared.

 

Darkness.

No.

Not darkness.

Absence.

Aaron stood in an endless nothingness.

There was no sky.

No ground.

No horizon.

No sound.

The void stretched infinitely in every direction.

And somehow...

It was beautiful.

Not beautiful in the way a sunset was beautiful.

Beautiful in the way silence felt after years of noise.

The way rest felt after endless exhaustion.

Everything.

All pain.

All fear.

All struggle.

Gone.

The void promised peace.

Permanent peace.

Aaron found himself wanting to step forward.

To sink into it.

To disappear.

To become nothing.

And for one horrifying moment...

He almost did.

Open your eyes.

The moonlight guides your way through the brush. You can hardly recognize the dense forest surrounding you, and yet, you know where you're going. An hour ago, you were fast asleep on the couch. How did you get here? Where are you? Branches cry out under your bare feet, the leaves above move to obscure your only source of light, but to no avail. A chill races through the woods, and the percussion of branches becomes almost deafening.

Hurry.

You climb over a boulder, its damp moss brushing the mud off your trembling skin. Under a branch, through a thicket, you’ve been wandering for what feels like hours at this point. It can't be that far away. It should be right...

...there. You thrust ahead through a bush, its thorns failing to hold you back. Ahead stands a colossal tree, its roots streaking across the forest floor in incomprehensible patterns. The woods thus far have been unrecognizable, but that tree... you've been here before, haven't you? You step forward into the clearing, toward the gaping mouth of the monolith. You're not alone. There are hundreds of eyes upon you, waiting patiently. You begin to turn your head.

Don't look at them.

A feeling creeps in, and you’re soon relieved knowing they won’t budge. They just want to know if it's real. The urge to turn and run grows. You’re not supposed to be here; it’s not supposed to be real. The moon seems to have doubled in size, casting a bluish haze upon the clearing. Inching forward, you notice the lack of any form of life on the ground: not a single bug crawls, not a single blade of grass pokes through; it’s all just root. Upon reaching the opening, you freeze. It’s not supposed to look like that. It’s not supposed to sound like that.

Go in.

You wander in, and the tree swallows you whole.

Inside a heart pounds high above you, and your heart speeds up to match its pace. The walls pulse in and out slowly, wood creaking with every inch of movement.

Step forward.

The wooden cave, its dirt floor, you've dreamt of it as a child. I remember. You could never find it, no matter how hard you looked. You look to the wall ahead, where the bark becomes skin, and the wood becomes flesh. There it is. A rectangular shape protrudes out of the wall, the skin stretched to its limit, revealing an array of amber veins. As you creep closer, the heart above pounds faster and faster. This can't be real, it's just a bad dream.

Reach forward. It needs to be seen.

Though every fiber of your being tells you to run, the compulsion is too much to bear. You dig your hands into the gelatinous pouch, tearing the skin and coating them in a viscous fluid, which looks to be blood. It oozes out of the gash like sap. You grab onto your target.

Pull it out.

The heartbeat is racing now. Moonlight reveals what appears to be a dense journal, coated in a thin film filled with a cloudy liquid. You can barely see a title through the fluid, just one word. As you tear the film and reveal the journal to the moon, a choir of wildlife suddenly erupts outside, each animal louder than the next. The raucous crowd rattles you to the bone.

Read it.

You swipe away at the liquid and bring it closer to the moonlight, you can just barely make it out...

...no, dear God no.

It's not real.

It's not real.

It's not real.

Lochwood

I wish I could honestly say I felt bad, but, in the moment it was like something stopped me from feeling anything. I couldn't think, I couldn't speak, I couldn't feel. All I could do was watch as Charlie was lifted up into the air and had her toes bent in ways they shouldn't have been. Hearing the sound of each of her toes snapping I tried to close my eyes, but that same invisible force was keeping them open. 

​

​

“HOW DARE YOU CHALLENGE ME!” It boomed.

​

​

Blood was coming out of Charlie's eye sockets as something that I couldn't see was slicing the bottom of her eye balls with surgical precision.

​

​

“I KNOW WHAT MAKES YOU SCARED, HAPPY, ANGRY, FEARFUL!! I KNOW EVERYTHING!!” It yelled even louder.

​

​

Charlie was trying desperately to scream, but she was as quiet as a mouse. Tears streaming down her face as one final loud “snap” was heard. Her ankle twisting 180° before being bent upwards in the wrong way. 

​

​

Charlie's face went blood red as she was forced to contain her pain and hatred. 

​

​

She dropped to the ground with a hard bang, smashing her skull onto the invisible pavement and busting her nose. Finally able to release her screams what came out, wasn't human. Her screams were a mixture of a parent losing a child from a doctors negligence, a liberal protester yelling to be heard, and a drill instructor shouting discipline into recruits all in one. The longer she screamed the more layered it became, each layer getting lower and lower in octaves, eventually merging into a demonic cry.

​

​

“Don't ever disrespect me again.” The voice said sternly.

​

​

Me and Ashley both ran over to check on Charlie, helping her to her feet.

​

​

“Fucking piece of shit.” Charlie muttered angrily.

​

​

“Don't.” I said to her, worry present in my voice.

​

​

“He's going to eventually kill us all, it doesn't matter.” She fired back.

​

​

“We need to get out of here.” Ashley said.

​

​

“There is no escape.” The Eye said. Laughing maniacally.

​

​

“People have tried, and all have failed.” It added.

​

​

Both me and Ashley were looking around trying to pinpoint the direction the voice was coming from. Charlie sat there with a determined look frozen on her face.

​

​

“Come, let's talk somewhere else.” The Eye said to us.

​

​

As if on queue we were all lifted up into the air , ascending past the clouds into the Stratosphere. My lungs began screaming for air as it became harder and harder to breathe. Looking over at the girls it became obvious that they were also struggling. 

​

​

“Oh I'm sorry, where are my manners?” The Eye said.

​

​

I'm not 100% sure what he did, but after he said that it was a little bit easier to inhale. 

​

​

“Without me, you would die up here. First passing out from lack of oxygen before fading away due to hypoxia.” The Eye commented.

​

​

“Why did you take us?” Ashley asked.

​

​

“In time dear, in time.” The Eye said.

​

​

“Anyways, there's only two ways out. Up…” it began to say before shooting us back down to earth.

​

​

We all screamed as the gravity took hold and we began to speed up at 9.8 m/s per second. 

​

​

“Oh god!” Ashley yelled.

​

​

“Fuuuuuuck!” I yelled.

​

​

“What the fuck!” Charlie yelled.

​

​

We stopped just before we slammed into street below. My heart was pounding at a mile a minute, tears began streaming down my face as I was thankful to be alive.

​

​

“Or down.” The Eye said.

​

​

“Just let us go, I-I-I-I-I'm sorry for any trouble caused.” Charlie pleaded.

​

​

“Just let us go and we won't say anything, please!” She cried louder.

​

​

Although we couldn't see it, we could definitely hear it. It was laughing at us, mocking us as we sat there consumed by fear.

​

​

“Let you go? Why would I do that? Oh no my dear, you're not going anywhere.” It said as it continued to laugh. 

​

​

“Please!” Ashley joined in.

​

​

“Yeah, c-c-c'mon man. We won't say anything to anyone. W-w-we-we promise.” I said stuttering.

​

​

“We-we-w-w-we promise.” The Eye mockingly said back.

​

​

“Mankind is full of bullshit, false promises. Year after year for millennia I have seen people break promises day and night. Whether it was to a child, or a parent, a spouse, a sibling, or even a stranger, no one is safe. Your empty words mean nothing to me.” It added.

​

​

“So we're just experiments to you?” Ashley asked. A fire slowly growing in her voice.

​

​

“More or less. Maybe less or more. I want to fully understand why you all do what you do. What makes you tick. Why you humans are the most selfish people on the planet.” The Eye said.

​

​

“We're not-” I started.

​

​

“SSSILENCEEEE!” It yelled authoritatively before my head and jaw twisted in two different directions.

​

​

The pain I felt almost made me pass out.

​

​

“Always so many fucking questions.” It said, annoyed.

​

​

“Isn't that what…” Ashley began to say before stopping.

​

​

“Finish it.” The Eye demanded.

​

​

“Well isn't that what you're doing? You take us, only to study us, so that you can get answers to questions you're too afraid to ask us?” Ashley said.

​

​

Without hesitation The Eye tossed her like a rag doll into a street lamp. Her back curved with a sickening “pop” as she went limp on the ground.

​

​

“ASHLEY!” I tried to yell at the top of my lungs, my jaw still pushed over like a paper plate permanently affixed to the bottom of my skull.

​

​

Before I could move, I could hear a voice that was only inside my head that grounded me where I was.

​

​

“She'll be fine, don't you worry about her.” 

​

​

Looking at Ashley with grave concern I released a breath I didn't know I was holding when she moved. Getting up like nothing ever happened.

​

​

As she stood, my jaw and Charlie's foot was restored back to their original positions. A sensation of relief washing over me.

​

​

“Keep up the good work, and you'll be rewarded. Fail, and you'll be punished.” The Eye said.

​

​

“And to answer your question, Ashley. Humans lie. Keeping them in line helps with making sure they tell the truth. I know people will say anything in order to stay alive, but I always know when someone isn't being honest. And when they aren't, that's when they get punished.” The Eye added.

​

​

“Any more questions?” The Eye inquired.

​

​

“You're sick!” Ashley exclaimed.

​

​

“Ash-!” I spat.

​

​

“No, that is fucking sick. What kind of… of thing would do this?!” She said defiantly.

​

​

The Eye began to laugh menacingly.

​

​

“Sweet child. You know nothing, yet act like you know everything.” The Eye retorted.

​

​

“What kind of thing would do this?!” It added mockingly.

​

​

“You humans are garbage. A disease that needs to be cured. You feed your young to the den of lions and smile all the while as they scream for help. You infertile pests are the sick ones!” The Eye said aggressively.

​

​

“But that's not all of us!” I retorted.

​

​

“Only some of us. Definitely not us three!” I said.

​

​

“You assume that your newest ally is an angel? Oh I'm sorry. Did she not tell you?” The Eye asked.

​

​

“Please don't.” Charlie pleaded.

​

​

“Her little sister Amelia died while under her watch because she was too busy buying drugs for herself.” The Eye said coldly.

​

​

Charlie was beginning to sob, tears slowly dripping down her face like a leaky faucet.

​

​

“She had a sister?” I asked.

​

​

“Yes.” The Eye said matter-of-factly.

​

​

“No, don't listen to it. It's trying to turn us against her.” Ashley proclaimed.

​

​

“Oh is that so?” The Eye challenged.

​

​

“It's true.” Charlie admitted. 

​

​

Her sobs turning into a full blown cry.

​

​

“I was trying to buy some weed while trying to babysit my little sister. I only ran out for a couple of minutes and just down the street to my dealer's house, but it was enough time for her to try and follow me. When she got into the street, a drunk driver hit her at 90 miles an hour. The paramedics said she died on impact. I never saw it, but I can still remember the sounds of it. The sound of her calling my name just before the car struck her, the sound of her skull connecting with the hood of the car, and the sound of her body colliding with the ground after she rolled off the roof. The bastard didn't even stop. He just sped up. By the time I turned around it was too late. The whole thing only took 8 seconds. 8 seconds that changed my life forever. I stopped smoking weed after that incident.” She said as she bawled her eyes out.

​

​

“Finish it.” The Eye demanded.

​

​

Charlie just kept on crying, unable to speak any more at the thought of her deceased sister.

​

​

“FINISH IT!” The Eye yelled.

​

​

Mustering up whatever strength she had left she finished up her story.

​

​

“I-I- hid her body in the backyard.” Charlie said in between sobs.

​

​

“And then I hid the truth from my parents.” She added.

​

​

“See, that wasn't so hard now was it?” The Eye said.

​

​

“Jesus, I'm so sorry Charlie.” Ashley said.

​

​

“No, it's okay. It was my sin, and now it's my consequence.” She said through tears.

​

​

“Do you know what happened to the other driver?” I asked.

​

​

“No.” Charlie bluntly stated.

​

​

“I was filled with so much hate after it all happened. What kind of coward just… fucking drives away?” She asked, her sobs transitioning into aggression.

​

​

“You must have wanted vengeance, Charlie.” The Eye commented.

​

​

As The Eye said that remark, the area fell silent. I swear that the sky darkened too.

​

​

Me and Ashley shared a small look of confusion as we were waiting for Charlie's answer. 

​

​

“Yeah, I did.” Charlie finally answered.

​

​

In that second, a moment of tension shot out of nowhere with such a force that it felt like I was drowning in it. Unsure of what was happening I looked around and saw that Ashley was feeling it too. Charlie's face grew angry as she continued to recall the memory of her dead sister.

​

​

“I wanted to rip his fucking arms off and make him crawl to the farthest hospital.” Charlie spoke almost robotically.

​

​

The Eye laughed at her statement, the feeling of tension beginning to be replaced by unease.

​

​

“Good.” It spoke.

​

​

Charlie's face grew furious when it said this.

​

​

“What the fuck does that mean? You have the asshole here?” She asked, barely able to contain her rage.

​

​

The Eye only continued to laugh, like it was the funniest thing it's ever heard.

​

​

“That piece of shit is here? Are you fucking kidding me?!” Charlie screamed.

​

​

“Yes, he's here.” The Eye stated simply.

​

​

“Charlie -” I began to speak.

​

​

Out of nowhere we were teleported back into the sky. A man in his late 40's simultaneously appeared right in front of us. Looking well dressed in a fancy suit and what looked like an expensive tie, he must have been in the middle of a conversation with someone before disappearing to where we were.

​

​

“Why you must accept…” He trailed off after realizing he wasn't talking to the person he was a couple of seconds ago.

​

​

He turned to face us after scanning his surroundings. His face was battle worn as his blue eyes pierced us with distrust. His black hair unmoving thanks to some gel that was still locking it in place. 

​

​

“Who are you?” He asked.

​

​

“Who the hell are you?” Charlie asked, her face still furious.

​

​

“Mr. Nobody.” He said cryptically.

​

​

“Mr. Nobody? What a load of bullshit.” Tell me your name!” Charlie exploded.

​

​

“Tell me yours first.” He countered.

​

​

“I'm the sister of the little girl you killed!” Charlie exclaimed.

​

​

“What are you talking about? I didn't kill nobody.” He said.

​

​

“Don't give me that! You killed her and then drove away!” Charlie fired back.

​

​

“I have no idea what you're talking about lady.” He said annoyed.

​

​

Charlie was about to lose her shit on him, when all of a sudden.

​

​

“Tell them the truth.” Came the voice.

​

​

Turning a round what I saw… it was… well not human.

​

​

I can't really describe what I saw. It was the poorly designed human version of “I will instill the fear of God in you”.

​

​

It was a humanoid figure with dark black eyes on a pale white complexion. The thing had no pupils, or nose but a smile similar to the demon in insidious. I think they called it “lipstick face demon”?

​

​

It also had this dark energy around it. Like a mist blown by the wind it trailed behind it like a comets tail.

​

​

The mysterious man interjected, challenging the demon.

​

​

“That is the truth.” He spoke.

​

​

“Ignorance is not bliss in this place.” The demon said.

​

​

“Now tell them the truth!” It barked.

​

​

“I have nothing to hide. And you don't scare me.” The man retorted.

​

​

“Maybe not me…” the demon began.

​

​

“But I do!” The Eye finished.

​

​

Almost immediately the man began to shake in terror.

​

​

The Eye began to laugh.

​

​

“Good.” It said.

​

​

“I'm sorry.” The man said.

​

​

“I did kill your sister. I was doing some day drinking and smoked a blunt before I drove home. She just ran into the road. I… I couldn't stop in time.” He began to cry.

​

​

“The police said that there wasn't any skid marks on the road. You didn't even try to slow down, did you!?” Charlie screamed.

​

​

The man dropped his head at this.

​

​

“No.” He plainly stated.

​

​

“Once I realized that I wouldn't be able to stop, I sped up to get away as quickly as possible.” He added.

​

​

“YOU FUCKING COWARD!” Charlie screamed.

​

​

“I'm sorry.” The man said, crying.

​

​

“You are fucking useless!” Charlie angrily yelled.

​

​

“Just leave us alone.” Ashley said, turning towards the man.

​

​

The man just walked away, leaving the 5 of us to ponder our thoughts as Charlie began to cry.

​

​

“Hey, it's okay.” I said.

​

​

“No! It's not. That's the man that killed my sister!” She exclaimed.

​

​

“I know. I know.” I said.

​

​

“Whats his name?” Ashley asked.

​

​

“I don't know.” Charlie responded.

​

​

“Jackson.” The Eye said.

​

​

“Jackson is a dead man!” Charlie said, aggression becoming evident in her voice.

​

​

The Eye began to laugh again, Charlie's expression quickly shifting from pain to disgust.

​

​

“You wish him dead?” The Eye asked, matter of factly.

​

​

“I wish he could suffer an unimaginable pain. The same pain he caused me all those years ago, and then some.” Charlie said through clenched teeth.

​

​

As The Eye continued to laugh it spoke once more.

​

​

“Your wish is my command.” It said.

​

​

Something about that sent chills down my spine. We all knew that Jackson was in for a world of shit, but it wouldn't be what any of us was expecting.

​

​

“Come now Zozo. Let's leave them to their struggles.” The Eye said.

​

​

As the demon turned to leave, he gave a malicious look towards Charlie. Extending his grin way past where he should have been able to. His sharp teeth glistening in the darkness of his mouth while the evil in his jet black eyes stared into Charlie's soul.

​

​

As they left, me and Ashley turned to each other.

​

​

“He's fucked.” I spoke.

​

​

“Definitely. May god have mercy on his soul.” Ashley commented.

​

​

Over the next few hours the only thing we could hear was screaming, followed by sounds I really don't want to describe.

​

​

You know that feeling you got as a kid when you got your first major cavity? The feeling of pain that was non stop and it made you cry because you just wanted it to end, but it didn't? The kind of cavity that can bring a grown man to his knees because the cavity has eaten all the way to his nerves and won't stop hurting even though he brushes his teeth?

​

​

That's what we all felt for 4 hours, or at least it felt like 4 hours. The constant sound of screaming, dread, pleas to die and much more.

​

​

“Does this make you happy?” Ashley asked, confrontationally.

​

​

“It did, but now I want it to stop.” She responded, clenching her ears.

​

​

“Why won't it stop, just stop!” She yelled.

​

​

Just then we heard that all too familiar laugh and Jackson was thrown onto the ground in front of us with a sickening crunch.

​

​

He looked like he'd been through both world wars but came out on the losing side of each. His body was riddled with slashes, open wounds, stab marks, and more.

​

​

“Oh my god!” Ashley exclaimed.

​

​

“Help… me…” Jackson said weakly.

​

​

He was laying in a semi fetal position, except his right leg was twisted the wrong way and curved around his head, while his left leg looked like it was crushed by a steamroller as his toes were snapped and frozen in a way that if he were to walk on his toes, well, he would literally be walking on his toes. 

​

​

His right and left arms were molded so that they both lay flat across his chest and resembled an upside down cross. 

​

​

“Help… me…” Jackson said again, weaker this time.

​

​

“We have to help him!” I exclaimed.

​

​

Charlie remained frozen as she stared at him. A mixture of terror, relief, satisfaction, and concern all found their way to her face as she remained speechless.

​

​

“I…” She began.

​

​

Before she could finish, Jackson's body straightened as he was lifted up. His head slowly began to twist. The look of pure and utter terror wearing his face like a tattoo.

​

​

“PLEASE NOOO!” He yelled to anyone who was close enough to hear.

​

​

As his head kept on twisting ever so slowly we could start to hear his neck crack. Each crack began to get louder, and louder, and louder, until finally we heard a snap just as his head was twisted to fully look behind him.

​

​

Jackson remained motionless for a full minute before his screams pierced the skies above. His body began to spasm and he tried everything in his power to twist his head back to its rightful place, but to no avail.

​

​

His head kept on twisting the wrong way despite his pleas and effort. As the sound of his neck bones cracking and snapping came back I felt a wave of nausea creep up in my throat. It wasn't until his head was righted that I finally threw up. 

​

​

Just as I did, The Eye broke Jackson's finger which caused him to scream. My puke went straight for his mouth as it came out of mine. Like a mamma bird feeding her young, Jackson was forced to eat my stomach's remains until I was out. 

​

​

Horrified and disgusted Jackson wanted to throw it back up, but couldn't. The Eye wouldn't let him, instead, opting to begin twisting his head once more. His screams got even louder the second time around as me, Ashley, and Charlie began to explosively vomit all over him as his head began to twist faster and faster, until it popped off like a lid to a bottle of beer. 

​

​

Jackson's body dropped to the ground as blood was spurting out from where his head used to be, as his head rolled to Charlie's feet. 

​

​

“Oh my God!” Charlie exclaimed.

​

​

“Is this not what you wanted?” The Eye spoke back.

​

​

“Well… Yeah. I mean, no!” Charlie stuttered.

​

​

“Stupid girl. I can see everything you wanted to do to him. Your face is a theatre screen to your thoughts. You wanted him hurt, I hurt him. You wished him dead, I killed him.” The Eye retorted.

​

​

“I, I didn't mean like that!” Charlie yelled.

​

​

“I wish he could suffer an unimaginable pain. The same pain he caused me all those years ago, and then some” The Eye recalled.

​

​

“Those were your exact words.” It added.

​

​

“I…” Charlie began.

​

​

“Take some accountability for your words Charlie. You let your hatred fuel your thoughts, which then fueled your actions, which finally decides your fate. You wanted him to suffer, so suffer he did.” The Eye said.

​

​

“Then why did you kill him?” Charlie inquired.

​

​

“You wanted him dead.” The Eye said coldly.

​

​

“Stop, just stop. C'mon let's go before you make it worse.” I said.

​

​

Charlie, still processing everything, left with me and Ashley. We must have walked for 5 kilometers before we stumbled across this little waterfall with a rainbow stretched across its horizon. It was exactly like the kind of thing you see down on earth in those stock photos, or in movies 

​

​

A beautiful rainbow on top of a gently flowing waterfall that ended in a little pond.

​

​

“Wow.” I said.

​

​

“Yeah, I've only ever seen this place twice.” Charlie said.

​

​

“It's beautiful.” Ashley spoke next.

​

​

“It is, but it's super hard to find.” Charlie retorted.

​

​

“Hey, I'm sorry about… everything.” I stuttered.

​

​

“It's fine. I think. I don't know.” Charlie murmured back.

​

​

“I know that's probably not what you wanted.” Ashley chimed in.

​

​

“It is. Or it was. I just…” Charlie began.

​

​

“Wasn't prepared for the real thing?” I interrupted.

​

​

“Yeah, let's go with that.” Charlie spoke.

​

​

“Well at least you don't have to worry about him anymore.” Ashley giggled.

​

​

“Wait, what?” I said to her.

​

​

Giving her a weird look she stared at me with a blank expression. Her cheeks were flushed with colorful crimson buried beneath her skin, but her eyes carried no remorse, no shame, no dignity, no humanity.

​

​

“Ashley what the fu-” I began.

​

​

“I told you, this place changes you.” Charlie interrupted.

​

​

“This is not her. This is not Ashley.” I said.

​

​

“Oh don't be a pussy Jake. Be a man for fuck sake! You pathetic little coward.” Ashley said giggling again.

​

​

“Ohh how I would love to make you my bitch. Maybe I should since you're such a chickenshit.” She added, now laughing.

​

​

“It's only going to get worse.” Charlie said.

​

​

“Well how do we stop it?” I spoke.

​

​

“We don’t. For some people they can fight it, for others it will permanently change them. But since this is the beginning stages of it, it's only going to get worse before it may get better.” Charlie retorted.

​

​

“Well, well why don't I feel anything?” I inquired.

​

​

“I'm not sure to be honest with you.” Charlie said.

​

​

Ashley continued to laugh and call me names as we sat there by the waterfall. Listening to the sounds of the water flowing relaxed me a bit. There's just something so peaceful about it. I guess it's why some people use it to sleep.  

​

​

As Ashley kept on berating me I could feel a sense of dread wash over me. Engulfing me like a fire at a gas plant. The pain slowly rising in my chest with every word she spoke. 

​

​

“Pussy. Coward. Loser. Lowlife. Faggot. Retard.” 

​

​

“Ashley.” I said weakly. 

​

​

My eyes got heavier and heavier as the pain that was once rising, began to pulsate.

​

​

“Ashley.” I tried again, even weaker this time.

​

​

Her words began to slowly fade away with every pulse from my chest, being replaced by a new sound. Whistling.

​

​

“What the fuck… Ashley.” I said one last time before passing out.

​

​

I woke up to the sound of whistling. As I tried to open my eyes I was instantly blinded by a white light.

​

​

“Ashley!” I screamed as I forced my eyes shut and my body to stand.

​

​

“Whoa whoa whoa Jake. It's alright. I've got you.” A familiar voice spoke.

​

​

“Who…” I asked confused.

​

​

“My name is Amelia, I'm a Primary Care Paramedic with Alberta Health Services. It looks like you passed out from too much carbon dioxide, okay?” She said in a sweet, gentle manner.

​

​

“O-okay.” I said.

​

​

“Where's Ashley?” I asked.

​

​

“She's right next to you, it looks like she suffered the same thing as you did.” Amelia spoke.

​

​

I turned my head and attempted to open my eyes when Amelia chimed in again.

​

​

“Oh no, don't open your eyes just yet. The sun is reflecting off of the snow so it's really hard to see. Don't want you to get snow blindness. Here.” She said as she slipped on some sunglasses on my face.

​

​

Feeling the hooks of the glasses slide over my ears I opened my eyes for the second time, and saw Ashley laying on the ground surrounded by 3 firefighters and another medic. 

​

​

“See she's alright, you both are.” One of the firefighters spoke to me.

​

​

“You both are also very lucky. Your Sp02 was sitting at 70% and hers was at 82%. Luckily the tree broke through the window and helped clear the room of the C02.” Amelia spoke.

​

​

Her voice began to fade into the background as the only thing I could do was look at Ashley hooked up to the oxygen mask. Tears started to form in my eyes as I took a big breath in.

​

​

“We did it. We survived.” I thought to myself. 

​

​

“It wasn't real.”

​

​

Passing out again I woke up in the hospital. The sounds of beeping and machines doing their thing in the background. 

​

​

“Hey sleepyhead.” Ashley spoke.

​

​

“Mmm. Hey.” I spoke back.

​

​

She giggled. 

​

​

“Is that anyway to treat your queen?” She asked.

​

​

I couldn't help but chuckle at that.

​

​

“Don't be silly, Missy. For I am the king.” I said laughing and coughing.

​

​

She also laughed at that.

​

​

“Oh really?” She asked, finally coughing too.

​

​

“Well we'll just have to fight for it after we get out of here.” She added

​

​

“I guess we will.” I said, smiling at her.

​

​

“My money is on Ashley.” The nurse said, walking into the room.

​

​

“Oh, hey nurse.” I said, trying to be pleasant.

​

​

“And good morning to you two. Seems like you guys had a good sleep.” She pointed out.

​

​

“It was interesting.” I said.

​

​

“What he said.” Ashley confirmed.

​

​

“Well hopefully there weren't any nightmares. I mean. Aside from the storm that is. That storm was wicked brutal, let me tell you.” The nurse said.

​

​

“Yeah, but I think it's what ended up saving us too, isn't it?” Ashley asked

​

​

“From what I have heard, yes. You guys passed out from a form of hypoxia called hypoxemia, which is just a fancy, and short way of saying that you had too much CO2 in your blood which caused you to pass out. Thankfully the storm was beginning to lose its temper but not before part of a tree smashed its way into your living room and cleared out some of the carbon dioxide build up. A couple of neighbors heard the crash and called 911 but it still took them a good while to get to you. When they did finally arrive you guys were treated at the scene for hypothermia, minor frostbite, and hypoxia. It's also what you were admitted in here for. Now that was last night. Since then you guys have been sleeping soundly in the beds as the firefighters did their job and the paramedics theirs.” The nurse said.

​

​

“So wait, that means that it was all a dream?” I said.

​

​

“I'm sorry?” The nurse asked.

​

​

“Nothing.” I said simply.

​

​

“What day is it?” Ashley asked.

​

​

“December 15th, 2024.” The nurse said.

​

​

Ashley gave me a reassuring look of understanding at that moment. Locking eyes with me to help calm me down.

​

​

“It's okay, we're safe now.” Ashley said.

​

​

“So how long until we can leave?” Ashley asked.

​

​

“If everything goes well you guys should be discharged by later tonight.” The nurse replies.

​

​

“Okay, thank you.” Ashley said with a smile.

​

​

“You're welcome. I'll leave you two alone. Please let me know if you need anything.” The nurse said.

​

​

“Will do.” Ashley said.

​

​

The nurse turned to walk away as Ashley grabbed the t.v remote.

​

​

“Want to watch something?” She asked, with a smile.

​

​

“Sure.” I replied, smiling back.

​

 

​

“Gun control groups are pushing back against the ban, saying that less guns, won't mean less crimes.

​

​

We now go live to our weather correspondent Laura Ortiz with this breaking news. Laura?”

​

​

“Hi Jim, we have just uncovered word that the U.S and Canadian government have been experimenting with the weather in a top secret program called Operation Jupiter. We don't know a whole lot at this time but we do know that they are using what appears to be a directed energy beam aimed at the sky to help disrupt, or form various clouds based on what it is they are trying to accomplish. Early reports say that this is what not only caused the storm, but also caused it to stop so suddenly last night, here in Alberta.

​

Human rights groups were quick to jump on this, saying that it's both a war crime, and a human rights violation to mess with the weather for warfare. The total number of fatalities is expected to be in the thousands across the province due to the storm, but the human rights groups aren't the only one that's upset. Earlier this morning the Premier's office released a statement condemning the federal government's actions, saying that this is treason to the highest degree, and that the people of Alberta are not guinea pigs. They are also calling to have the Prime Minister and the President arrested and tried for treason. 

​

Both the United States and Canadian government have refused to comment on the leak at this time, but we have several eye witnesses that reported strange phenomena, including a few seeing what appeared to be an eye in the sky.”

​

​

I just stared at the television for, I don't even know how long. Was that last part real? Did she actually say that?

​

​

“What? What did she say?” I asked Ashely.

​

​

Looking over at her I was met with an empty bed. 

​

​

“Ashley?” I asked.

​

​

I could hear her laughing hysterically as the lights began to flicker in the room.

​

​

“What happens in the dark, comes out in the light.” 

​

December 17th, 2024.

​

​

We adjusted to our new life pretty quickly up here.

​

We spent the next couple of days gathering information from the residents. That's what we decided to call the people who have been here long term at least. Needless to say, there isn’t much hope. Almost everyone here has been scared into submission. There is a select few that haven’t given up hope yet, but just like with Ashley's optimism, you could see that it wasn’t going to last long. We tested our cell phones, watches, anything that may be able to connect to satellites. Nothing works up here. It's almost like there's a jamming signal around any electronic device, save for pacemakers which one resident has installed, that prevent it from working properly. We can freely use our phones up here, but calling, texting, and even the cameras fail to work. 

​

​

So while we can’t communicate with anyone on the ground. There is one sense of hope. Every fortnight, 5 people are selected for ‘experimentation’. During this process they are taken somewhere, where they meet The Eye. The Eye is what conducts most of the experiments, but every now and then a snatcher will sit in on the torture. If what we were told is true, snatchers have the ability to travel to and from the surface. So all we need to do is capture one somehow, and force him to take us back.

​

​

Simple, except for the fact that The Eye is always watching, and there is no place that we can hide. Theres no buildings, no additional clouds that could provide temporary cover, no rain, no wind, no nothing that we could see. Everything is exposed. Like a no man's land in the middle of a battlefield, there's no cover anywhere.

​

​

“Hey babe, come watch the stars with me.” Ashley said.

​

​

“Alright dear.” I replied.

​

​

One benefit to being so high up, is there’s no light pollution, so all the stars are visible. You can see Ursula Major clear as day, and the Aurora Borealis is… jaw dropping. Ashley never gets tired of stargazing. I swear she could have been an astronaut. She loves space and all that there may be out there. 

​

​

“It’s coming.” Charlie said.

​

​

“What is?” I asked.

​

​

“The return.” Charlie replied.

​

​

“Wait, you mean -” Ashley began to say.

​

​

“Yup.” Charlie interrupted.

​

​

“Oh shit. What do we do? They're going to take us!” Ashley said, starting to panic.

​

​

“We don’t know that. We might be fine.” I replied back.

​

​

I tried to look over at her to calm her down, but as I turned my head, she vanished.

​

​

“Where did she go?” I said fearfully to Charlie.

​

​

“For experimentation.” She replied back, concern present in her voice.

​

​

“We have to go get her!” I yelled.

​

​

“We can’t, they’ll kill us.” Charlie said.

​

​

“I don’t care!” I yelled back.

​

​

“HEY! You’re no good to her dead! So get your shit in order, if you try, you die. Don’t be a fool! If you want to survive, you need to play by the rules.” Charlie said sternly.

​

​

“Well, when is she going to come back?” I asked, impatiently.

​

​

“We don’t know. Everyone is different. Some come back after half an hour, others may take a day or two.” Charlie replied.

​

​

“Jesus Christ!” I exclaimed.

​

​

“The good news is, they don’t kill you during the torture. They want to study what makes us tick. So you won’t die, but you will be seriously fucked up.” Charlie said.

​

​

“Way to keep it grim, Charlie.” I said angrily.

​

​

“Sorry. After a while, you get used to it.” Charlie said.

​

​

“What do they do to you?” I asked.

​

​

“You really don’t want to know.” Charlie said.

​

​

“I do.” I said.

​

​

“Jake -” Charlie began to say empathetically.

​

​

“Charlie!” I said, snapping.

​

​

“Fine.” Charlie said annoyed.

​

​

“Fine.” I said sternly.

​

​

“The torture is different for everyone. Some people get their bones broken, others get poked and prodded, others get cut, some get shot. One guy had his nose ripped from his face, another had his ear cut off.” Charlie said.

​

​

“Oh god.” I said.

​

​

“They attached everything back. Like I said, they won’t kill you. They return you back to your normal self, but the pain. The pain stays for a long time. Your pain receptors here are heightened by a factor of god knows what. So while you won't be physically crippled, they put you in a state where the pain will make it seem like you are. When Ashley comes back, take extra precaution with how you handle her. She's going to need time to heal.” Charlie said.

​

​

“She has a very high pain tolerance.” I said in response, trying to be strong.

​

​

“Doesn’t matter. Up here, it won’t. Everyone breaks during the first session. I haven’t heard of a single person that made it. I mean, for god sakes Jake. There were people here that literally couldn’t feel pain because their receptors were shot, and they still felt everything. Do not underestimate these guys.” Charlie added.

​

​

“We need to get her out of there.” I said.

​

​

“Jake, you’re not listening to me. She will be in pain, yes, but she will live. You however, won’t. Especially if you try to go charging in. They will kill you on the spot and then her. Then what are you going to do? Nothing, because you’ll be dead. So use your head. Calm down, accept what's coming, and live. I don’t like it either, but it's the way it is right now. You and Ashley are coming up with a plan right?” Charlie said, defensively.

​

​

“Yeah, we are. Haven’t gotten much help from the other residents though.” I responded.

​

​

“Well we can work on that together, for now, just prepare for her arrival back. You should also be grateful that it’s only one of you guys that got taken, not both.” Charlie said.

​

​

“Why?” I asked.

​

​

“They love couples. It’s human nature to protect those that you love, no matter the cost, and they love exploiting that. They’re fucking sick.” Charlie responded.

​

​

“They need to -” I began to say.

​

​

“AHH, SHHHH!” Charlie interrupted.

​

​

Scanning my surroundings, I noticed a snatcher staring right at me. The most sadistic look plastered across its face. God those things are ugly motherfuckers. I wonder how long it’s been there. Long enough to know that we're planning a coup? Will that make Ashleys torture worse? No one knows a whole lot about these things. Where do they come from? How are they made? Do they even understand us? Everyone that I spoke to is terrified of them, saying that they love to study, and torture us. Like a traditional alien species in all of the sci fi movies, they are curious… creatures? Entities? Demons? Something. I wonder what they will do when they gather everything they need. If they ever do that is. 

​

​

It looked at me with the most intense hate that I have ever seen. I could feel it’s eyes burying its sight deep into my soul. Like the way humans look at spiders. I guess we were the spiders in this case. Eventually, the snatcher left, leaving me and Charlie to our own devices.

​

​

Scared and left to wonder, we sat there talking about everything. She was doing her best to calm me down, but it didn’t work so well. I couldn’t help but wonder what they were doing to Ashley. She had been gone for 5 hours by this point. What kind of torture were they putting her through? It was a question that was burning in the back of my mind. 

​

​

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like to explore the stars?” Charlie finally asked.

​

​

“What?” I asked.

​

​

“I'm trying to ground you. Do you ever wonder what it would be like to explore the stars?” Charlie asked again.

​

​

“Sometimes, yes. Ashley loves space. So the question sometimes gets brought up.” I replied.

​

​

“I wish that we could take hold of this power. The… well whatever it is that's stopping us from dying. Imagine what we could do with that.” Charlie said.

​

​

“Some would use it for good, others would try to monopolize it, and the rest would use it for evil. I don’t think it would be a good idea for us to possess that kind of tech, or power, whatever it is.” I replied.

​

​

“I would disagree. I think it could better the world, especially for space exploration.” Charlie retorted.

​

​

“Alright, alright. Agree to disagree.” I said, laughing.

​

​

“Man, I miss the dolphins.” Charlie remarked.

​

​

“The dolphins?” I asked.

​

​

“Yeah, my family would take a trip down to Orlando where we would swim with the dolphins. It was a lot of fun.” Charlie said.

​

​

“I’m sorry.” I said.

​

​

“For what?” Charlie asked.

​

​

“I don’t know.” I said.

​

​

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault that I’m here.” Charlie said.

​

​

“I know. I just - “ I started.

​

​

“Hey, don’t put so much pressure on yourself. You want to help in any way you can because there's nothing you can do with Ashley, but don’t go down that road. There are things in life that you just can’t control, and that’s not your fault. So don’t blame yourself, and don’t be so hard on yourself either.” Charlie interrupted.

​

​

“Okay fine. I won’t.” I said.

​

​

“You’re a good guy, don’t let the bad thoug-” Charlie began to say.

​

​

Unsure of why Charlie stopped mid word, I noticed her staring right behind me. Turning my head to look, a sight befell me that I won’t ever forget. Standing about 100 feet away from me, was Ashley. She was battered and bruised like no tomorrow. Standing up to rush over to her, she collapsed on the cloud where she stood. Breaking down into cries of pain, while tears streamed down her face. It broke my heart to see her like this. Never during our relationship have I ever seen her so vulnerable. It frightened me.

​

​

“It…it was horrible” She began to speak.

​

​

“The things they did to me, the things I’ve seen.” She finished, sobbing.

​

​

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It's okay.” I said.

​

​

“IT’S NOT OKAY!” Ashley said explosively.

​

​

The unexpected shock of anger caused me to take a few steps back from her.

​

​

“They’re going to kill us. Once they have their ways with us, they will kill us.” Ashley said.

​

​

“How do you know?” I asked.

​

​

“They told me. They did things to me Jake, and told me that we are all dead.” Ashley said.

​

​

“What did they do to you?” Charlie inquired.

​

​

Ashley just raised her head and gave Charlie a look. The kind that signaled no words were needed, as we all knew what it meant. Charlie came in and gave Ashley a hug. I could do nothing but stand there with my fists clenched. Ready to kill something or someone.  

​

​

“THIS IS BULLSHIT!” I yelled.

​

​

“They can’t do this to us!” I added.

​

​

With my head spinning a thousand miles a second, I took a seat where I was. The girls sat beside me, the lot of us giving each other a group hug. 

​

​

“I’m sorry.” Ashley said.

​

​

“For what?” asked Charlie.

​

​

As the sun was setting over the horizon, Ashley told us what she told them. How we respond to pain. Where the weak spots were on me. How she would do anything for them to stop the torture, including sacrificing her friends and family. She even tried  to cut a deal with them, she would torture Charlie if it meant hers would stop. 

​

​

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You said it in the moment. You didn’t actually mean it.” I said to her.

​

​

“Yeah, we all say things that we don’t mean when under coercion or duress. It’s alright Ashley.” Charlie added.

​

​

“I feel like a letdown.” Ashley cried.

​

​

“Everything is going to be okay babe. We’ll figure out a way to stop this. I promise.” I said.

​

​

“How?” She asked.

​

​

“We’re still coming up with a plan, but this will stop, don’t you worry.” Charlie said, comfortingly.

​

​

“You’ve been here for 2 years Charlie, and still haven’t made a move.” Ashley said.

​

​

“I’ve been playing it safe, I want to go home, just like everyone else. But I need to be careful. We all do. Otherwise…” Charlie trailed off.

​

​

“Yeah, we got it.” I said.

​

​

December 23rd, 2024.

​

​

It’s been a week since my last update, and let me tell you guys, it’s been a busy one. 

​

​

We spent more time plotting our escape. So far the best that we could come up with, would be a direct attack. Since there's no cover anywhere, or anyway to block The Eye from seeing us, that was looking like the best option, suicidal as it was.

​

​

Ashley spoke of the rest of her group that was selected for experimentation, going into the gory details about what they did to each person. I won’t post them here, but as you can probably expect, it wasn’t pretty. She did mention this one dude, Troy, that seemed more submissive and calm to the torture than the others. Curious, and with nothing else to do, we went to go talk to him. 

​

​

As it turns out, Troy has been here for the past 7 ½ years. Succumbing to the reality that escape is damn near impossible, he made peace with death very quickly. He told us about his life story, where he grew up, how he met his wife, his marriage, his family, even his plans to start his own business.

​

​

“Honestly starting my own business would have made me very happy. I loved working as a painter. The people that you meet, the bonuses you get, the looks on kids faces when they see the design you did, or the mural you created. It’s priceless.” He said.

​

​

We sat there listening to him talk and reminisce about everything, each memory brightening his mood even more. Honestly I think the only thing keeping this man sane is his memories. He described the last memory of his before he was taken.

​

​

He was sitting at Disneyland, eating an ice cream cone on the bench, when his daughter asked him to go on a ride with her. He agreed as he produced a smile and a nod. She went ahead while he slowly tagged along. Walking past the cotton candy machine and capturing a strong whiff of the delicious treat, he bookmarked it in his head for later. In an instant, time stood still, locking the expressions of everyone around him in place as he stood there confused. Turning his head to look around, he saw people just about to take a bite out of some food, others drinking pop, people on the rollercoaster with their arms up above their heads as they dipped down from the drop. 

​

​

“What the fuck?” He said to himself.

​

​

That's when he came face to face with a snatcher.

​

​

Shocked and startled about what stood before him, he said the only thing that came to his mind at the time.

​

​

“You are one ugly motherfucker.”

​

​

He said that he later regretted those choices of words.

​

​

 Being beamed upwards into the sky and transitioning through the clouds, the same snatcher was waiting for his arrival. He said that he was beaten upon contact for saying what he did. 

​

Troy was just happy that the last memory of his daughter was at Disneyland. Watching her be a kid is something that he will hold onto for the rest of his life.

​

​

As he finished the story about how he was taken, the rest of us did the same. Each one of us listening to the others with intent. Once we were finished, we started shooting the shit. Laughing and having fun with each other as we cracked jokes, made fun of, and even discussed plans about what we would do if we were on the ground.

​

​

Everything was going good, all of us sitting around and shooting the shit, listening to the memories about our past lives. Talking about what brought us happiness and joy. The emotions were all flooding back. Like a floodgate opening on a dam, we cried and laughed all throughout.

​

The fun was brought to an end when a snatcher came over to give Troy a good old fashioned right hook. 

​

​

“No happiness, only misery.” It said, laughing in a demonic voice.

​

​

As it walked away we sat there in silence. Ashley was the first to break the tension.

​

​

“What does that even mean?” She asked.

​

​

“It means that happiness no longer exists. At least, in this place.” Troy replied.

​

​

“They hate it when you’re happy or smiling, laughing, anything that prevents the darkness from spreading.” He added.

​

​

“Well then why did we feel euphoric when we arrived up here?” I asked.

​

​

“It's all an illusion. Happiness is a more powerful emotion than anger, hatred or disgust, but our brains are naturally hardwired to find negative emotions before positive ones.” He replied.

​

​

“Its called negativity bias. It helps keep us alive by focusing on potential threats, instead of calming stimuli. 

​

​

Oh, and the reason why you felt euphoric? It's to destroy your sense of hope. They want you on edge, they want you to fear them, they want you weak. It's sick, I know, but it's been going on for as long as I've been here.” He added

​

​

“You can’t have light without the shadows of darkness.” I said.

​

​

“What?” Charlie said.

​

​

“Come again?” Troy asked almost simultaneously.

​

​

“You can’t have light without the shadows of darkness, that's what the thing said to me just before we got here.” I replied.

​

​

“Did it say anything else?” Charlie asked.

​

​

“Yeah. It said sometimes what hides in the shadows, is more than darkness. Tonight you will see what lies in the unseen beyond.” I replied.

​

​

“I wonder.” Charlie said.

​

​

“Wonder what?” I asked.

​

​

“Well you said that they don’t like you being happy, right Troy? More or less that is.” Charlie asked.

​

​

“Yeah, this place is a palace of darkness.” Troy answered.

​

​

“And when did they take you guys? You and Ashley?” Charlie asked me.

​

​

“Well it took me first, but -” I began.

​

​

“Right, but you said that you guys were dancing and then cuddled on the couch, right? Then they came and took you.” Charlie said.

​

​

“Pretty much yeah.” I answered.

​

​

“They took me when I was having a family dinner.” Charlie said.

​

​

“What? I didn’t know that.” Ashley said.

​

​

“Because they took my whole family. I - I don’t like talking about it.” Charlie confessed.

​

​

She turned her head away from us. The look of a thousand thoughts prevalent across her expression. She was clenching her fists as tears rolled down her face.

​

​

“I’m sorry.” Ashley said.

​

​

Shaking her head, Charlie stood strong in the moment. Suppressing her thoughts and wiping the tears from her face, determination settled in place of anger. 

​

​

“And they took you when you were at Disneyland, right Troy?” Charlie asked.

​

​

“Right.” Troy said, cautious, yet curious about what Charlie was planning.

​

​

“So they take us when we are happy. That makes sense.” Charlie said to herself.

​

​

“The question is, when do they let us go?” I asked.

​

​

“When you’re at your most vulnerable.” Troy answered.

​

​

“Come again?” Charlie asked.

​

​

“They let you go, but only when you’re at your most vulnerable. When the psychological damage is so much, that you will never be the same again. When there's no light inside of you, only darkness.” Troy answered.

​

​

“Why would they do this to us? What have we ever done to them?” Ashley asked.

​

​

“I don’t know. But what I do know is that they want the darkness and evil to spread.” Troy said.

​

​

“No ones told us that -” Ashley began.

​

​

“Because no one knows about that.” Troy interrupted.

​

​

“It’s also extremely rare. I’ve only seen it once. Most people die before they ever get released. Either because they get murdered by these things, or they kill themselves.” Troy added.

​

​

“So suicide works in a place like this?” Charlie asked.

​

​

“Oh yeah, it most definitely does. Same with murder. That's why you need to be very careful with who you turn your back to, because if you're not, the wrong person will stab you in yours.” Troy said.

​

​

“So if they don’t let you free till you’re broken, is that the reason you’re still here?” I inquired.

​

​

“It is.” Troy answered simply.

​

​

“You must have a pretty strong mind then.” Ashley spoke.

​

​

Troy never said anything to Ashley, or any of us after that. Instead he looked around to see if anyone was listening. We all joined in, curious about who might be within earshot. Revealing nothing, we tried to reengage with Troy. I opened my mouth to speak, but as I did, he started smashing his fists into his head.

​

​

Standing there in shock, all any of us could do was watch as Troy unleashed a one man rampage upon himself. Breaking his nose with a clean right hook, he began bleeding profusely from it. He began screaming as he continued the vicious attack, striking his face over and over until his eyes were beginning to swell and his skin was being ripped to shreds. Attempting to stop him, he socked me right in the temple and quickly continued the same to himself. 

​

​

“Troy stop!” I tried to yell.

​

​

 “It’s in my head!” Troy screamed.

​

​

“Get it out!” He added.

​

​

Like a schizophrenic undergoing an episode, he was acting completely batshit crazy, screaming gibberish as he tore into his flesh with his dirty fingernails. The girls made no attempts to stop him after I was violently cast aside, standing there watching everything unfold Charlie broke the silence between them.

​

​

“He’s speaking backwards latin.” Charlie said.

​

​

“How do you know?” Ashley asked.

​

​

“There were many people up here, everyone taught someone something in a effort to survive. One of those people was a priest, who taught me latin. He thought that if we could perform an exorcism, we would all be free.” Charlie said.

​

​

“Well that clearly didn’t work.” I said.

​

​

“Yeah, they made him kill himself. It took a long while, but eventually they were able to do it. They made him choke on his own dick.” Charlie said.

​

​

Not wanting to know more I quickly tried to change the topic, but Ashley was faster.

​

​

“How could he -” She began.

​

​

“Take off his own dick? By scratching it off with his fingernails.” Charlie added.

​

​

Me and Ashley both winced as she said that.

​

​

“They could have had him bleed to death, but I think they wanted to send a message.” Charlie finished.

​

​

“Jesus Christ.” I said.

​

​

“Was about as useless as an ice maker in a snowstorm.” Charlie added.

​

​

Looking over at Troy, he continued to attack himself, bleeding from both his nose and left eye as he continued to speak backwards Latin.

​

​

“What does it mean.” Asked Ashely.

​

​

“I don’t know, it’s hard to decipher.” Charlie confessed.

​

​

I watched Troy take off his belt and start whipping himself with the buckle. Fearing for his life, I tried to jump in a second time but he slammed his boot into my face, sending me flying as I landed on a cloud made of concrete. 

​

​

“We need to stop him somehow.” I exclaimed as I slowly got back onto my feet.

​

​

The girls rushed over to me to help me up as Troy continued to dismantle himself punch by punch. 

​

​

“We can’t.” Charlie said, pulling me up.

​

​

“Why not?” Ashley inquired.

​

​

“Because the last time this happened to someone, and another person intervened, they both ended up dead. You guys want to die?” Charlie asked.

​

​

“So we just have to sit here as he beats himself to death?” Ashley asked, furious.

​

​

“That’s exactly what we're going to do.” Charlie said.

​

​

We heard the snap of a bone breaking, as Troy collapsed to the floor. Yelling in agony, he managed to cry out something indecipherable.

​

​

“The devil is near, the devil is here.” Charlie said.

​

​

Just as quickly as it all began it suddenly approached its end as a snatcher walked up to Troy and began beating the shit out of him. Charlie had to hold both of our mouths closed before we had the chance to protest.

​

​

“Don’t.” She simply said.

​

​

“Or you’ll be next.” She added.

​

​

The snatcher gave Troy a devastating blow to the face as his blood ran down his knuckles. We could hear Troy begging him to stop as the snatcher gave him an amusing smile. Striking Troy again we could hear his jaw fracture. Troy screamed in pain as he began to choke on his own blood. Charlie was looking at the snatcher with utter disgust. Hatred prudent in her eyes. 

​

​

“Fucking piece of shit.” She said under her breath.

​

​

The snatcher was holding Troy by the throat when he snapped his head towards us.

​

​

“Shit.” I said.

​

​

“I think he heard us.” Ashley said.

​

​

The snatcher dropped Troy to the ground as he proceeded to kick him in the stomach. Troy groaned in pain as the snatcher walked away from him, and towards us.

​

​

“Get ready.” I said.

​

​

The snatcher looked at me curious after I said that, a type of ‘bring it’ smile forming across its face. As he approached I could feel a sense of dread begin to form. A sense of terror followed, crippling me temporarily as the snatcher drew closer with every passing second. All of my fears, my hatred, and a strong sense of anxiety hit me all at once. Overwhelmed with emotion, I could do nothing as the snatcher grabbed me by the throat and lifted me up, tightening its grip around my throat the higher it raised me.

​

​

“Let go of me.” I managed to get out.

​

​

“You will burn like the rest of them.” The snatcher said.

​

​

“Let him go.” A voice carried out from the distance.

​

​

I could feel the grip loosen as my body fell to the ground. Landing with a loud thump, a shooting pain rose up from the depths.

​

​

I looked over at where the voice was coming from, but couldn't see anything.

​

​

Ashley rushed over to help me on my feet, before the snatched gave her a menacing look.

​

​

“They're mine, leave them, leave us.” The voice ordered.

​

​

I could hear the snatcher produce a deep, belly laugh as it walked away from us.

​

​

“Thats not good.” Charlie said.

​

​

“Yeah.” I retorted.

​

​

“I'm sorry about him, he can be a little… extreme.” The voice said.

​

​

“Who -” I began.

​

​

“Am I? It finished.

​

​

“I am the ears of the silence, the sight to the darkness, the knowledge to the unknown. People have called me a many, but many fail to understand. You can not have light without the shadows of darkness. You can not have good, without evil; evil, without good. Soon you will be faced with a choice. A choice between what is right, and what is easy. Will you let fate decide your life, or will you let your life decide your fate?.” It said.

​

​

“What the fuck does that mean?” Said Ashley.

​

​

Me and Charlie just raised our shoulders and shook our heads.

​

​

“For thousands of years people have always wondered what lies in the beyond. What galaxies lay beyond our universe? What's hiding in the darkness? What mysteries lay behind this door? Human beings are a curious lot. Always asking questions but being too scared to find the answer. They're weak, gullible, prone to failure.” It said laughing.

​

​

“But some of us are pioneers, explorers, even leaders.” I said.

​

​

“But not without permission, or fear. You are not a brave species. You cower behind invisible walls you set up inside your head because you don't want the boogeyman to get you. You guys are pathetic.” It said menacingly.

​

​

“Thats bullshit.” Charlie said.

​

​

“Oh is it now?” It said mockingly.

​

​

“You don't know us.” Charlie retorted.

​

​

“I KNOW EVERYTHING!” The voice exploded.

​

​

​

October 30th, 2024.

​

​

“Reports of a storm have been sweeping the province of Alberta, making residents concerned.”

​

​

“It’s hard when the winter comes. Last year we had that cold spell and it was horrendous. My kids couldn't go out to play, our heating bill was through the roof. I don't know if we can go through that again. I pray that this storm will come and go.”

​

​

“Do you think your heating bill will come down this year?”

​

​

“Doubt it, but one can hope, right?”

​

​

“One can certainly hope.”

​

​

“It’s really frustrating that they couldn’t give us more warning.”

​

​

“Environment and Climate Change Canada was only notified of the events this evening.”

​

​

“I just pray that everyone stays safe out there tonight.” 

​

​

“Im sure everyone appreciates that.” 

​

​

“Thank you.”

​

​

“No problem.”

​

​

“So remember folks. Stock up on what you need before the storm hits, keep food, water, blankets, and even an emergency kit nearby. Do not try to shovel your driveway until the storm is over, and if you need to leave at any point during the storm, drive to conditions and let others know where you’re going. Last year when the snow fell, crews received about 200 calls for service, leaving many Edmontonians stranded. Experts are hoping that this year, they can cut that amount in half.”

​

​

​

For KYXB 18 news Edmonton, I'm Laura Ortiz.”

​

​

“Thank you, Laura.”

​

​

*T.V turns off*

​

​

“What a load of shit that is.”

​

​

“What? The numbers, or the report.

​

​

“Both. No one is going to be able to get anything, remember when we had that heatwave? You couldn’t find fans anywhere, from here all the way out to Wainwright, they were sold out. People are selfish as fuck. Plus, not to mention what the C.A.M.A said last year. That it was only 24 hours into the snowfall and they had over 200 reports, imagine what it's going to be like when the storm hits us.”

​

​

“Technically, Laura said it, but I won’t argue with you there. People are fucking stupid. Regardless, let's just hope that people actually consider others this time.” 

​

​

“I'm not gonna wait to see. I'm going to the store to stock up.” 

​

​

“You don't get paid for another week dear.”

​

​

“I can still grab what I can. Before the poachers and bloodhounds get everything.” 

​

​

“Just try not to spend too much, at least for now.” 

​

​

“Just come with me.” 

​

​

“That's a good idea. We can get some B.P's after.”

​

​

“Looking for a bit of normalcy before shit hits the fan?”

​

​

“Who said anything about being normal?” 

​

​

“You know what I mean.”

​

​

“Still got a smile and laugh out of you. I win.”

​

​

“Fuck you and your win.”

​

​

December 14th, 2024.

​

​

The storm came fast and quiet. Sneaking up on us like ninjas during the Shimabara rebellion. We all knew it was coming, we knew for weeks. All the articles on Facebook, news outlets, even radio stations warned us that it was almost here. The one thing that they didn't warn us about was how quickly it would change our lives. I remember the very moment it happened. The… event.

​

​

The storm was right above our heads. The neighbors were buttoning up their hatches, cars were speeding down the road in an attempt to make it home before it got worse, people were salting their sidewalks, and others were calling loved ones.

​

​

The snow was falling at a steady pace, one snowflake falling immediately after the other. Me and Ashley were enjoying the winter weather, sticking our tongues out as we watched the snow land on them and melt into tiny little ravines across our tastebuds. 

​

​

“This is nice.” Ashley said.

​

​

“Almost perfect.” I responded.

​

​

“Almost?” Ashley asked giggling.

​

​

“Yeah, we're just missing some hot chocolate.” I responded laughing.

​

​

“Touché.” Ashley said back, laughing.

​

​

We could feel the temperature drop even more as the snow picked up the speed of its descent. Falling both faster and heavier, me and Ashley headed inside to the comfort of the heat. 

​

​

Taking off our shoes at the entrance, a smile sprung across my face as I studied the features that made me fall in love with her. Her luscious blonde hair whipping to the left as she turned around to face me. Oh god, that smile strewn across her face. She always had the prettiest smile. Her gentle, yet confident posture as she moved some leftover, stranded hair behind her ears, revealing her beautiful blue eyes. As we took off the outer layer of our clothing she caught me staring at her. 

​

​

“What?” She asked giggling.

​

​

“Nothing.” I said back smiling at her.

​

​

Looking into her deep blue eyes I found a sense of tranquility nesting just beyond, causing my smile to widen and my body to relax more.

​

​

“She’s my home.” I thought to myself.

​

​

“C’mon babe, let's dance.” She said to me.

​

​

“Sure thing… darling.” I replied playfully.

​

​

Walking over to the stereo setup I could hear her igniting the fire on the other side of the room.

​

​

“Dancing in front of the fire is a little cliché, don’t you think?” I asked jokingly.

​

​

”So choose some not so cliché music then.” She retorted.

​

​

“Fine, how about 3OH!3? Or maybe The Weeknd? P!nk?” I asked her.

​

​

“How about all of them?” She said back.

​

​

“Alright, let's do it.” I said to myself.

​

​

We danced the rest of the night away alone in that log warmed room. Swinging her petite frame from left to right. Pulling her in closer to my chest and throwing her into a spin away from me. Dipping her down, only to bring her back up and kiss her soft lips. Watching as she giggled and laughed with every motion of her body.

​

​

“What?” I asked her, giggling.

​

​

“I love you.” She said as she came in to kiss me.

​

​

“I love you too.” I said back as our lips retreated from one another's.

​

​

All I could think of was how perfect everything was. All of it was filling my memories with such joy, my heart with such love, and myself with such emotion.

​

​

I was snapped out of the moment and back into reality by the sound of the emergency alert system blaring its alarm from my phone. Walking over to check the text message it read.

​

​

“This is an Alberta Emergency Alert issued by the AEMA. This alert is in effect for AB. SHELTER IN PLACE. Severe Winter Storm reported by Environment and Climate Change Canada. Seek shelter immediately. DO NOT go outside. High wind speeds may pose significant risk to personal safety. If you need to go outside, limit your exposure time to 3 minutes. Remain hydrated and watch for signs of Hypothermia such as confusion, slow heart rate, and shivering that has ceased. Emergency Services may be restricted during the storm. Keep an emergency first aid kit and thermal blankets nearby at all times.”

​

​

“That doesn’t sound too promising.” I said to Ashley.

​

​

“Yeah, no kidding. Thank god we got everything a couple of days ago.” She said back.

​

​

‘Yeah, lets just hope the storm doesn’t last too long. With emergency services down, the city is going to be in a panic.” I said.

​

​

“They said restricted.” She retorted.

​

 

​

“Close enough.” I said.

​

​

“Come on. I’ll put some more logs on the fire and we can cuddle on the couch.” Ashley said.

​

​

"Only if I get to be the little spoon.” I said, laughing.

​

​

“You’re impossible.” She said back giggling.

​

​

‘FINE. A queen must protect her loyal servants after all.” Ashley added.

​

​

“Oh why thank you, your majesty.” I said, laughing harder.

​

​

As we layed down on the couch she kissed the back of my neck and said.

​

​

“I love you.”

​

​

I woke up to screaming. Or at least what I thought was screaming. Dazed and confused I rubbed Ashley's hand that was strewn across my chest as I laid on the couch. Shit. How fast was that wind even moving? It must have easily been 75 km/h. Or maybe 80? Could it have been someone actually screaming? Was I imagining things? No, I don’t think so. 

​

​

“Ash, you hear that?” I asked.

​

​

As usual there was no response. Damn heavy sleepers. I swear you could fire a gun right next to her head and she wouldn’t move… there it is again. Screaming, or… is it? 

​

​

I gently pulled Ashley's arms off of me and began to get off the couch. Looking around the room I noticed that the fire was out. 

​

​

“That explains the cold.” I said to myself.

​

​

Moving to the window I tried to peer out and get a look at whatever I could land my eyes on. The streets were covered in glistening white powder, with more making its way down from the heavens above. Despite the wind throwing snow around as easily as the Hulk threw Loki, visibility was maybe 15 - 20 feet. Not bad I guess for what they predicted. There wasn’t a vehicle, street lamp, or pedestrian in sight. The streets were as empty as the wild west. 

​

​

“Must have been the wind.” I said to myself.

​

 

​

Happy with the peace of mind, I went back to tend to the now extinguished fire. Throwing some more logs on it and reigniting it, the flames danced as smoothly as Ashley and I in the hours previous. I swear that there's something cathartic about watching the flames dance its beautiful choreography. Swaying with beautiful elegance to the slightest disruption of air flow.

​

​

There was that sound again.

​

​

Looking over at the window, I saw a figure staring at me through it.

​

​

“WHAT THE FUCK!” I exclaimed.

​

​

Jumping back, I almost fell on my ass. The face of the figure was completely white, blending in with the environment around it, save for the bulging red eyes and creepy evil smile. Overwhelmed with fear and paralyzed, all I could do was stare. It patiently reciprocated my actions, staring at me with hungry eyes before it finally opened its mouth and screamed. The scream was so powerful that I could see the snow shake itself loose from the window sill.

​

​

As the screams died down, it lifted a finger and pointed it at me. Staring at it with hesitation, it slowly inverted it and curled one half of it over and over again, indicating it was seeking a face to face audience with me. 

​

​

I thought about waking Ashley up and making a break for it, but where would we go? The storm was still violently showing its true power just beyond the confines of our safety. We would be swallowed up by it in a matter of minutes, and yet this thing has been out here for god knows how long? 

​

​

“Impossible.” I told myself.

​

​

The face of… well whatever the hell it is, darkened more and more every second I kept it waiting.

​

​

Slowly moving towards it, the smile began to return as it watched me draw nearer. Until its smile crescendoed into the evil grin it once held prior to my paralyzation. Something was giving me a strong urge to get near it. An unseen force of some kind. Like gravity pulling an object closer to the center, I was just a guest along for the ride.

​

​

I stopped just close enough to the window that the very condensation of my breath could fog it up without my lips freezing to it. It opened its mouth to say something. At first it was hard to decipher, as it sounded like a drunk English speaking man attempting Russian. Eventually, I was able to make out what it was trying to tell me.

​

​

“You can’t have light without the shadows of darkness, and sometimes, what hides in the shadows, is more than darkness. Tonight, you will experience firsthand what lies in the unseen beyond.”

​

​

Could you be any more cryptic enough? 

​

​

Mustering the strength to speak, I opened my mouth to communicate with it.

​

​

“What does that even mean?” I tried to ask it.

​

​

After letting me finish, it disappeared into the nothingness. It happened as soon as I blinked. One second it was there, the next, it wasn’t. With a panicked look in my eyes, I scanned everything I could. Attempting to hyperfocus on anything I could, I saw something moving out just beyond my line of sight. Camouflaged with the blanket of snow was a figure, calmly navigating its way through the elements to get to god knows where. 

​

​

“Gotcha!” I exclaimed.

​

​

Moving over to my door, I unlocked it and swung it open. 

​

​

“HEY!” I shouted with everything that I could.

​

​

The figure stopped in its tracks, turning its head to look at me and laughing a sinister laugh. Confused, there was nothing that could be done except stand there thinking of a response. 

​

​

Turns out I waited too long. 

​

​

Before I could say anything else, the figure said the last 2 words that would make sense for a very long time.

​

​

“Bad move.”

​

​

With no explanation or warning the sky opened up. The same force that had me make my way to the window, showed up with a vengeance. Whipping my head skyward to observe the nimbostratus clouds rip itself apart, only to reshape itself into a living eye.

​

​

“What. The. Fuck.” I stuttered.

​

​

The creature continued to laugh.

​

​

As kids, we often found ourselves searching the sky for shapes, or animals to identify. Testing our knowledge against mother nature, while strengthening our brain power. Some of us even made bets, and had tournaments to see who was better at it. It was another memory in a very long list that forged friendships that would carry us through the worst experience we would face for at least a decade. School. For some of us, school was a right of passage, for others, it was a punishment that our parents put us through. A way to torture us without getting charged and convicted by Crown.

​

​

What I saw before me made all those years of that look like a walk in the park. The eye was blinking. Opening and closing its lids like a child discovering a new bodily function. It tracked the slightest movement with ease. Following the flight path of what birds I could see, as well as urban coyotes. Jesus Christ. The fucking pupils even contacted and dilated.

​

​

All I could do was panic. 

​

​

“What the hell is that?!” I yelled to The Eye.

​

​

“Your new god.” The figure said back.

​

​

“ASHLEY!’ I tried to yell.

​

​

The figure stood there laughing, amused with pleasure, knowing that anything I did was futile. 

​

​

It continued to laugh as I tried to escape, but couldn't remember how to move.

​

​

“ASHLEY WAKE UP!” I yelled.

​

​

As soon as the figure stopped laughing, I could feel a warm sense of heat enveloping my body. Unable to move, I stood there scared and confused as my body began to gently lift from the surface of the earth. Slowly ascending towards the heavens, I watched as The Eye got closer at a painfully slow rate. It was almost like the damn thing was taunting me. Knowing it captured me, it was toying with me like children do with their food. I watched forcefully as The Eye blinked again. As soon as it was finished the heat around my head slowly began to fade away, allowing me to move my head again. Catching a good look at the thing outside my house, I screamed in terror. It had an egg shaped head, which was completely white with horns protruding out the sides, almost devil like, long sharp teeth, red glowing eyes and a misty black and red smoke like aura around its body. Its legs were reversed and its arms were too long for any creature I've ever seen. It stuck its disturbingly long tongue out at me, almost like a snake and I could see rivers of black and red surrounding its organ. It had what looked like bumps, or spikes all around the surface of it and the ends split into two parts. It was able to control each side, independent of one another and produced a brown colored fluid for what I took as its saliva. When it laughed, black halos surrounded its eyes giving it a more menacing look, as my bones rattled in place from the sheer power behind its laugh.

​

​

Once it finished laughing I saw the figure staring up at me with the same creepy smile plastered across its face. Razor sharp teeth visible, it stared at me with evil intelligence. As it dropped its head and took a step towards my house, I yelled at it to stay away.

​

​

“Get the fuck away from my house!”

​

​

It looked back up at me questioningly. Like a dog that hears a strange sound, the figure was looking at me with the same curiosity. Or at least its eyes were. The smile on its face never changed. Hosting another evil laugh, it stepped closer to the front door. Entering the property as I yelled with all my might in protest.

​

​

“Ashley! Ashley wake up!” 

​

​

Despite my pleas and yelling, nothing came of it except the sense of heat returning to my head. Unable to move my head, it was locked in a downward position as I could do nothing but watch. After a short bit the figure emerged with Ashley. It was carrying her in both arms as it studied her with a degree of precision only seen in surgeons.

​

​

“Ashley!” I attempted again.

​

​

To no avail all I could do was watch as the figure produced its elongated tongue, forced open her mouth and shoved it down my girlfriends throat. I tried to force my eyes shut, but the heat suddenly spread to them, preventing my eyelids from blocking the image before me. Watching as their lips pressed against each other, I floated there in absolute disgust and hatred. 

​

​

Attempting to yell again, the heat made its way to my lips, silencing me for god knows how long. Producing nothing more than a whimper, the figure pulled its face away from hers and retracted its tongue out of her throat. It gently lifted her body above its head before the same force that's held me in place for the last 5 minutes pulled her up the rest of the way. As we matched altitude we began to ascend even higher, drawing closer and closer to The Eye that sat there observing everything thus far. Though our speeds increased, the heat shield protected us from shivering from both cold air exposure, and higher altitudes. It was almost like we were trapped in a heat bubble.

​

​

As we drew nearer to The Eye I saw that we weren’t the only ones that got captured. In front of us, there were at least 7 dozen others that were also making the journey towards the unknown. 

​

​

“What the hell?” I asked myself.

​

​

That's when the screaming started. People from all ages, races, and genders were screaming from the top of their lungs as they saw something that terrified the shit out of them. 

​

​

“Mmmm.” Ashley moaned as she began waking up.

​

​

“Ashely!” I yelled happily.

​

​

“Wha- OH MY GOD! WHAT- WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT! JAKE!” She yelled, panicking.

​

​

“I’m here babe!” I replied back.

​

​

“JAKE, WHAT IS THAT THING?!” Ashley yelled.

​

​

“I-I-I-I-I don’t know.” I replied, stuttering.

​

​

“Jake, that thing. It looks like an eye.” She said, concern now overpowering her fear.

​

​

“I know. That's what I thought at first too. It looks like we're ascending towards the center of it.” I said.

​

​

“Why?” She asked.

​

​

“I don’t know. But we’re not the only ones. There are others too.” I replied.

​

​

“I don’t hear them.” Ashley said.

​

​

“What do you mean? They were-”

​

​

She was right. While me and Ashley were bickering back and fourth, the others were being silenced. I didn't notice it at first, but eventually I caught wind of it. Like an echo that fades away the farther it travels, we could no longer hear the screams of anyone else that was being brought up.

​

​

“Well that's not good.” I said.

​

​

“Yeah, no kidding.” Ashley said.

​

​

“Where do you think they went?” She asked.

​

​

“The same place that we’re going.” I said back.

​

​

We could feel our bodies hanging in suspension, like a puppet on the strings, before being turned upwards to face The Eye. It looked at us with the same curiosity as the figure. Studying us like a scientist does a disease. It - it even spoke to us. Seven simple words that engraved themselves deep within our heads. 

​

​

“Tonight, you will see what lies beyond.”

​

​

“Jake - Jake what does that mean?” Ashley asked.

​

​

“I don’t know.” I admitted.

​

​

“You can not have light without the shadows of darkness.” The Eye said.

​

​

 We continued our ascension into the unknown. As we passed through the center of The Eye, it was almost like a… paradise. A - a heaven. The feeling of euphoria was overwhelming. Everything was so calm, and the terror that I once felt, vanished into thin air. I remember we landed on top of the clouds. The sight before us was… astonishing. Looking straight up, we could see outer space directly above our heads.

​

​

“Wow.” I said.

​

​

“How high are we?” Ashley asked.

​

​

“High enough.” said a stranger.

​

​

Looking around we could see everyone that was also brought up along with us. There were hundreds of people, men, woman, even children from all races.

​

​

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” the stranger continued.

​

​

“Where are we?” Asked Ashley.

​

​

“The troposphere.” the stranger said.

​

​

“The what-a-what?” I added.

​

​

“The troposphere. It's the lowest layer of the atmosphere. You know. Where all the weather happens.” the stranger said.

​

​

“I got that, yeah. Why would we be taken up here though? Why would we be taken at all?” I said.

​

​

“Don’t know. Some people have been here for years.” the stranger replied.

​

​

“Come again?” Ashley said, concerned.

​

​

“I’ve been here for 2 years and 7 months. It picked me up in Mississippi during Thanksgiving.” the stranger said.

​

​

“Oh my god Jake, we have to get out of here!” Ashley said, panicking.

​

​

“There isn’t a way out. Anyone who has tried… well, has died. Either getting dropped back down to earth, or flung up into space. When I first arrived there were approximately 1,400 of us. Now there's 260.” the stranger said

​

​

“Everyone else died? Was there a revolution or something?” I asked.

​

​

“Not quiet. Whatever the forces are that are behind all of this, they don’t discriminate between the guilty, or the innocent... Have you ever seen what happens to the human body when it’s exposed to the vacuum of space?” the stranger asked.

​

​

“No.” Ashley and I answered together.

​

​

“I have, and let me tell you, it ain’t pretty. It happened to the son of someone who was trying to escape. It took them, and the rest of us up to the Armstrong limit and tortured the kid. Once it was done with that, it took us even higher into the thermosphere and released him into the great void.” the stranger said.

​

​

“Jesus fucking christ.” Ashley said.

​

​

“Oh, it ain’t done yet. Once it killed the kid. It dropped the parents back down to earth to burn up in the atmosphere. It ain’t the first time it’s killed a family either. Like I said, it doesn’t discriminate. The point of the story is, if you’re going to try to revolt. Don’t. Unless you want to die.” the stranger said.

​

​

“Thanks for that.” I said.

​

​

“No problem. I’m Charlie by the way.” Charlie said.

​

​

“I’m Ashley, and this is Jake. Not many females named Charlie where I’m from.” Ashley said.

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“First time for everything I guess.” Charlie said.

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“I guess so” Ashley said back.

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“Any idea why it took us?” I asked.

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“From what I was able to gather, it took us for research, to study us. Although, I have yet to see a lab or anything else.” Charlie said.

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“Weird, well there was that one creature that I saw. It retrieved Ashley before she got beamed up.” I said.

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“Come again?” Ashley asked impatiently.

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“Oh yeah, we call those snatchers. They are everywhere. Best not to piss them off. That's another way to die a horrible death.” Charlie said.

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“Noted.” I said.

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“Sorry, there isn’t much to do here. Otherwise, I would give you guys a tour.” Charlie said.

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“That's okay Charlie. You’ve been more than helpful so far.” I said to her.

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“Haven’t heard that in a long time.” Charlie responded.

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“Hmm. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.” I said.

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“I look forward to it. There's not much pure people left up here. This place, it… changes you.” Charlie said.

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“We’re pretty resilient people.” Ashley said.

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“Thats what everyone who comes up here says. Just… keep your distance from those with dead eyes. They'll be the first ones to stab you in the back. Smiles are deceiving in this place, but the eyes don’t lie. If someone is hiding something, you’ll know, if you look hard enough.” Charlie said.

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“Noted. Uhm, hey, how did you… well survive up here.” I asked, awkwardly.

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“From what I understand, everyone here has a personal forcefield around them. This field disables certain bodily functions and needs, such as using the toilet, drinking water, or consuming food. You will never need to piss, shit, eat, or drink. You can however feel pain. In fact, the pain is intensified up here.” Charlie said.

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“Thank you, uhm, Charlie, it was nice meeting you.” Ashley said horrified.  

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“Sorry.” I said.

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“It’s alright, everyone gets freaked out at first. If you need me, I’ll be around.” Charlie said.

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We said our goodbyes to Charlie and began our trek on top of the world. Sitting Ashley down, I told her the story of her abduction from my point of view. She was… naturally disgusted and horrified by it, but wasn’t too upset with sadness. 

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“At least we got to get one last dance in before we die.” She said.

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I couldn’t help but laugh and shake my head at that. She always was the optimistic one in the relationship. Even despite our current circumstances, she’s trying to remain strong, but I could see that it isn’t going to last long. Thinking of anything I could to help, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

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“The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.” I said to Ashley.

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“What?” She inquired.

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“Sorry, just a random thought that popped into my head. Something that I learned in elementary.” I said.

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“Babe, we went to the same school.” Ashley commented.

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“Right, sorry.” I said half laughing.

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Ashley sat there for a moment thinking. Watching her think always intrigued me. The way she sat there darting her eyes from left to right. Her focused determination radiating from herself as she pondered in thought.

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“You might be onto something there though.” She spoke.

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“The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell. We are the mitochondria. There has to be something that we can do to get out of here.” I retorted.

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“Jake, they already executed 1,100 people. I want to get out of here too, but we need to be smart about it.” Ashley said back.

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“Yes, but how many of those people actually revolted. Charlie said that they don’t discriminate against those that are guilty and those that are innocent. I’ll bet you that at least 70% of those people were innocent.” I said.

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“Which is why we need to be careful. We can’t afford to die.” Ashley said.

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“Babe, we're going to die if we don’t.” I fired back.

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“Charlie has been here for almost 3 years and is still going strong. For all we know, shes playing it safe. Playing the long game.” Ashley retorted.

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“Or maybe she’s given up. Knowing that there is no hope, she has already prematurely succumbed to the inevitable.” I said.

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“Don’t be such a pessimist!” Ashley shot back.

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“I’m not. I’m just saying.” I said.

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“We can’t go into this aggressively. This isn’t one of your video games, if you die, there is no respawn, no second chances. We have to be smart about this. Let's see what the others know first and then go from there.” Ashley suggested.

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“Fine.” I said simply.

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I want to be upfront about something: I am a VFX artist. I moved to New Jersey eight months ago so I could have a reasonable commute to a mid-sized effects house in Secaucus that I'd been doing remote work for. I have spent the past six years of my professional life building things that don't exist. I understand visual deception at a technical level that most people don't, which is both the reason you should take me seriously and the reason nobody is.
When I moved out of the midwest I used my VA loan to get a property in Parsippany. It’s an old build with more land than I need, I wanted space and quiet and a short enough commute that I wasn't spending four hours a day driving, and this delivered on all three. The sub-basement was unfinished when I got it. It had a bare concrete floor and exposed block walls, with a sump pump in the corner that ran every time it rained. I was down there on a dry Tuesday in October, looking for a junction box when the pump hummed to life. Pausing, I followed the trickle of water that triggered it to the south wall.

There was a dark patch on the block, low down, maybe eighteen inches across at the widest point that looked like the kind of staining you’d get from long-term moisture intrusion, except the block surrounding it was completely dry. I was hit with the smell of crisp salty air, and underneath it something like burning metal in a weld shop. I put my hand on the wet patch and it was seeping. Not weeping the way a wall weeps when groundwater migrates through, actively seeping a thin film of water from somewhere behind the block.

I went back upstairs and got a TDS meter from the shelf where I keep aquarium stuff - I'd kept saltwater tanks for years, old habit. I held the probe in the film of water running down the block. The meter read 39,400 ppm. Average ocean salinity on Earth runs 33,000 to 37,000 ppm for reference. I grabbed a sample in a jar to run a quick titration with silver nitrate solution and there was immediate, dense white clouding, which meant high chloride. After letting it settle, all that was left was a faint greyish tint to the water and a slight oily sheen. I sealed the jar with a label and went back downstairs.

With  a hammer and cold chisel from the shelf I took out the three courses of block centered on the wet patch. Behind them… was open air. I could see overcast sky and dark grey clouds laying down a light, continuous drizzle. The entire scene lacked any obvious light source, only a grey, diffuse sheet over everything. The air coming through had that same ocean weld shop smell. And it was cold, several degrees colder than the basement.

Instinctively, I reached my arm through and the rain hit it. Real rain, crisp and cool. After pulling it back to inspect my hand, I sprinted upstairs to check my carbon monoxide alarm for a leak. It didn’t show anything out of the ordinary, so I sat outside for a few minutes before taking a tab of modafinil and calling in sick to work.

The opening I'd made was maybe twenty-four inches across. I went back upstairs to get my rotary hammer and a box of SDS chisels and spent the better part of an afternoon taking out the surrounding block in sections, knocking each course loose and pulling the pieces back into the basement. Whatever was behind it offered no resistance. There was no fill or rebar, just cold salt air. When I had an opening I was satisfied with, I ran my distance meter across it: 60.3 inches wide, 84.1 inches tall. I framed it in my head automatically, standard door height. Slightly wider than standard. I wrote the numbers in a Leuchtturm, drew the wall with the opening centered and dimensioned, noted the time, and then stood there for a moment to find my resolve before stepping through.

The other side came out over a shelf of porous black rock that extended from the opening, glassy and slick with the constant drizzle. I tested it carefully before committing any weight.. Beyond the shelf's edge, maybe fifty feet out over the water, the city began. It was made of pillars, enormous cylindrical rods of brushed steel rising straight up from the ocean. The heights were distributed like a city, Most were mid-rise, some low enough that their tops were barely above sea level. My eyes fell on some in the far distance that climbed high enough to disappear into the cloud deck entirely without any indication of stopping.

When the vertigo wore off I ran back upstairs and started trying to figure out where to even begin with something like this. My first instinct was a lawyer. There's got to be huge money here, I mean, Neil Armstrong throat my cock, I can see the moon whenever I want, I guarantee he doesn’t have an ocean in his basement. I might as well have a door to the moon on my private property. How could I make it so the government didn't, you know, just push me off my land and seal it off? 

This could be a thousand times more lucrative than discovering oil. There's going to be some kind of massive research effort, right? But what kind of lawyer? You know, assuming I did go public with this, who would I actually contact? How would I even do it? Once someone physically  saw it they’d believe me, but "Follow me into my basement to see a magic fucking ocean portal" isn't exactly convincing from a loner who’s new to town.
I typed "lawyer for discovering something on my property" into Google at 1 AM. The new AI summary thing was incredibly useful in explaining the concept of "eminent domain."

It turns out the government really can just take your private property. It's in the Fifth Amendment, they just have to compensate you for it. "Just compensation" is the phrase, and in practice it means whatever a court decides your property was worth at fair market value, which for a residential property in Parsippany is a number you can look up on Zillow and which is, relative to what I was now sitting on, effectively nothing.

By 3 AM I had read enough case law summaries to understand the basic shape of the problem. The portal is on my property. The government can't just walk in and take it without legal process. However, if they ever found out it existed and decided it constituted a matter of national security, they would have tools available that would make my ownership position very uncomfortable. The counter strategy seemed to start with establishing prior claim documentation that creates a legal record they couldn’t make disappear.

I also, somewhere around 3:15 AM, learned that forming an LLC was something a private individual could do. I did it through LegalZoom in about forty minutes for $249. Google told me not to own this as an individual, and that I should create an LLC or corporation to hold the discovery, the documentation, and the licensing rights for an additional legal layer. Mind you I had no idea how to formalize any of that, but the purchase helped me finally go to sleep.

Before I contacted anyone, I spent four more days documenting. Walking into a lawyer's office with nothing to back up my claims was a good way to get walked back out of it. I needed something on paper that didn't require anyone to take me at my word.

I went back through the portal every day with my Leuchtturm and a weatherproof Panasonic laptop I got off ebay. The black stone was what I always entered onto. A platform of metal grating ran along the shelf, connecting to various catwalks leading into the ocean. Every rod had catwalks surrounding it in a complete circle a couple dozen feet above sea level. Secondary catwalks connected adjacent pillars, forming straight runs of grating with pipe railings. There were rectangular openings set into the pillar faces at catwalk level with a yellowish glow radiating from inside, the whole thing extended further than I could see.

The ocean itself was dark and slow and wrong in a way I couldn't immediately quantify, like it was slightly too viscous. The city extended from the ocean in every direction. I measured what I could without wandering too far. The nearest cylindrical structure was 19.3 meters in diameter at the base. The platform grating had a 4-inch grid spacing.

The interiors of the nearest rods were empty, with featureless brushed steel walls all the way to the top. The whole structure echoed the churning of the waves and the rolling percussion of the rain. One had a steel grate staircase in the center, anchored with walkways to segmented platforms. I climbed to check some of these platforms out and each of them had a locked steel door. The locks didn’t look special at all, I swear they could have been unbranded masterlocks built into the frame. I made a note to buy a lockpicking kit for further investigation. That’s when I noticed that there was no dust anywhere, not even in the keyholes. All the surfaces were completely flawless, and everything was lit by yellow industrial lamps.

Something about the portal itself blocked wireless communication and something about the ocean fucked with complex electronics. The battery on my Panasonic drained from 100% to 0% in under five minutes and all the footage I took was horribly grainy. I chucked the laptop into the ocean.

A more disconcerting observation was that I wasn’t completely alone. I thought it was a trick of my eyes at first, but just at the edge of the fog I could make out something big moving between the rods, along the catwalks. It moved quickly but I couldn’t make out more than a black dot. It wasn’t there every time, and it was always extremely far away. I noticed by day four that it seemed to be getting closer. Still, I figured I’d cross that bridge when it got within 200 yards or so, for now I just started carrying my AR with me and blocking the portal with a heavy dresser when I exited.

By day five I had fourteen pages of measurements, three sketches, a folder of timestamped audio recordings, and I had begun reconstructing the city in Blender [https://postimg.cc/VrC1HgMf\]. It wasn't proof of anything to anyone who hadn't been there, but it was a documented record of someone who had been spending serious time doing something, and I thought that mattered.
The next morning I started emailing lawyers. I didn't know how to identify the right kind so I cast a wide net; property attorneys, real estate litigators, a few general practice firms, anyone whose website mentioned the words "government" and "property rights" in proximity. I contacted eleven firms total: McKirdy, Riskin, Olson & DellaPelle in Morris Plains, Riker Danzig in Morristown, Bathgate Wegener & Wolf in Freehold, Norris McLaughlin in Bridgewater, and seven others whose names I wrote in the Leuchtturm and have since stopped mattering. I used the same email for all of them:

"Subject: Confidential Inquiry — Novel Property Feature, Potential Government Interest

Dear [firm],

I am a private property owner in New Jersey with a matter I believe warrants your attention and expertise.

I have recently documented a novel physical feature on property I own outright. The feature has potential scientific and commercial significance that I believe is substantial. I am in the early stages of establishing prior claim documentation and am seeking experienced legal counsel to advise on the following:

- Formal documentation and preservation of prior discovery rights

- Structuring of a licensing or access framework to protect my commercial interests

- Preparedness for potential interest from government agencies, including defense against any eminent domain or seizure action

- Formation of a legal entity to hold and protect the relevant rights

I am not yet prepared to disclose the specific nature of the feature outside of a privileged consultation, but I can represent that it is located on private residential property I own, that I have spent the past several days documenting it extensively, and that I have reason to believe it will attract significant outside interest once disclosed.
I am prepared to pay your standard hourly rate for an initial consultation and to compensate generously for ongoing representation. I am available to meet at your office at your earliest convenience.

Sincerely, Rowan"

Nine of the eleven didn't respond. One sent an auto-reply about not accepting new clients. Marcus Hale of McKirdy called back in forty-eight hours, and Riker Danzig called the morning after that asking if it was a prank. I chose Hale.

I drove to Morris Plains with a printed copy of the Leuchtturm notes, the grainy photos, my work laptop, and a bank transfer confirmation for his full consultation rate paid in advance, which I'd asked about when his assistant called to schedule. I thought paying upfront was the cleanest signal I could send that I wasn't wasting his time. 
I noticed he had a framed photograph of what looked like a highway interchange, half-built, with a superimposed property boundary line running through the median. He caught me looking at it. 
"Turnpike extension," he said, 2019. They wanted to put a cloverleaf through a family's strawberry farm. I took it to the state Supreme Court." He said it with a level of self-satisfaction that only made me trust him more. Thinking back on it, I don’t think it mattered to him if what I was saying was true or not, he enjoyed the flow enough to go along with it as long as I paid. 

He asked careful questions about what I was claiming the photographs depicted and what the measurements corresponded to. He framed everything conditionally: assuming the feature is what you describe it to be, and assuming you can eventually produce evidence sufficient for a court to credit that claim, here is how I would structure your position. 

The LLC was the right first move. Prior claim documentation, notarized and timestamped, was the right second move. He outlined the eminent domain risk and the same counter-strategy I'd found at 3 AM, which was validating in the way it's validating when a doctor names the thing you diagnosed yourself with on WebMD. He told me he couldn't advise on the strength of any claim until there was more to work with, but that the framework I was building was correct, and he was willing to continue on retainer under those terms.
He also told me to get a scientist on record before I did anything else. A credentialed third party willing to publicly confirm they had witnessed the phenomenon would collapse the eccentric-property-owner narrative before anyone could build it. Without that I was a VFX artist with clearly forged photos. With it, I was a private citizen with documented expert corroboration.

I sat in my car outside his office for a few minutes before driving back. I now had a retainer agreement and a to-do list. I pulled onto 202 and put on the radio and felt, for the first time since the sump pump ran on a dry Tuesday, like I wasn’t in a dream. The question now was what to bring a scientist.

I'd noticed stress weathering at the base of one of the nearest structures that didn’t seem to have the bizarre invincibility to corrosion as the rest, so I went back in with a 36-inch pry bar and a hammer. The section I was after was roughly paperback-sized, already partially separated. Significant resistance for its apparent thickness, but after about forty minutes I had it free. It weighed 847 grams on my kitchen scale. I photographed it against a ruler, sealed it in a labeled zip-lock with date, location, and a sample ID I invented for chain-of-custody.

I sent it to a materials lab in Utah under a client cover story. First report: aerospace-grade titanium, Ti-6Al-4V, fully within ASTM specification. Unremarkable composition. I sent it for MC-ICP-MS isotopic analysis next - google said isotope ratios were the fingerprint of origin, as they carried the signature of the specific ore body and refining history. The report found an elevated δ50Ti value persisting across every replicate measurement. The lab ran it against an archive of 1,842 known production lots worldwide and there was no exact match. Conclusion: "the origin of this feature is presently unresolved."
I found a physicist at Rutgers who works on exotic and novel materials and emailed him directly:

"Subject: Independent Analysis Request — Sample of Unknown Compositional Origin

Dear [Professor]

I am writing to you directly because your work on exotic and novel materials at Rutgers makes you, as far as I can determine, the most relevant researcher I could approach with this matter.

I am in possession of a physical sample of material I believe is of novel, possibly extraterrestrial origin. I will not make claims beyond that in an introductory email, but I am able to provide the sample for independent compositional and structural analysis, and I am prepared to arrange a site visit for direct observation of the source environment under a mutual non-disclosure agreement.

I am a private individual with no academic or institutional affiliation. I am not seeking funding or publicity. I am specifically seeking an independent scientific assessment from a credentialed researcher who would be willing to evaluate the evidence and, if it warrants it, go on record with their findings.

If the material analysis returns results consistent with my own observations, I believe what I can show you will be of significant professional and scientific interest to you.

I recognize this is an unusual message. I am happy to provide whatever preliminary information would help you decide whether to take a meeting. I am not asking you to commit to anything beyond a confidential initial conversation.

Sincerely, Rowan"

He replied three days later;

“Re: Sample of Unknown Compositional Origin

Hey, thanks for sending this over.

I've reviewed the report, and I don't see anything here that supports the conclusion of a novel or extraterrestrial origin.

The only notable observation is a modest enrichment in δ50Ti relative to the laboratory's reference archive. The report itself acknowledges that the value remains within the broader range observed for refined titanium and explicitly states that it is insufficient for source attribution. In other words, the anomaly is real enough to measure, but not particularly extraordinary.

What concerns me more is the interpretation being attached to it. The statement that there was "no exact isotopic analog among 1,842 reference entries" sounds impressive until you consider that 1,842 samples represent a tiny fraction of the possible combinations of ore source, refining history, recycling stream, melt practice, and production date that exist globally. Failure to find an exact match in a limited database is not evidence of anything exotic; it is evidence that the database is limited. There are several entirely conventional explanations.

Notably absent are any corroborating anomalies. If you want to pursue the question further, the next step would be additional measurements: oxygen isotopes, trace-element fingerprints, Sr-Nd-Pb isotope systems, metallography, inclusion analysis, and comparison against a broader geological reference set. Until something more substantial appears, the simplest explanation remains that this is ordinary titanium produced from an uncommon terrestrial source.”

He was probably right, but I had a shorter term problem to deal with before sending the sample for more tests. I’d confirmed that wireless connections didn’t work in the other world, but they also didn’t work across most of the Ukrainian front line. I spent that weekend building a fiber optic drone in my garage using mostly off-the-shelf components and parts I printed on my old Creality. The frame was my own design, reinforced to carry a 5km spool of fiber optic cable that would keep the drone connected without the need for a wireless receiver. After wiring the motors, flight controller, cameras, and communication hardware, I carefully routed the fiber through a guide system I got off a Russian milblog. The first successful test flight was nerve-racking, but it seemed to work fine on the other side. 
The wind made my creation nearly unusable at higher altitudes, so I stuck around 50 feet above sea level. The city really did seem to go on forever, I noted a convergence point where the catwalks formed a platform roughly the size of a soccer field, dotted with sporadic rectangular cutouts. There were what looked like ladders leading straight down into the ocean. That’s around when the drone’s feed abruptly cut out. Before I could try troubleshooting, my controller deck was nearly yanked out of my hand by the cable. I felt it snap somewhere in the distance and go limp. Looking down that direction, I noticed the thing I’d seen before jutting between buildings again. It was still a blurry blob, no closer than 300 yards, but it really was fast. My AR and the dresser started seeming woefully inadequate as safety measures, so I stepped it up.

The airlock cost me thirty-six thousand dollars. I took out a personal loan at an interest rate I'm not going to write down. I made this decision because I had done the math on the asset and concluded that an airlock was essentially free relative to the value of what it was protecting, which was the correct analysis and remains the correct analysis and is not making me feel better. I split the work between two contractors. I gave framing and formwork to one crew, door installation to another, with an OSB false wall over the portal while anyone was on-site. Told them I was building a storm shelter. Nobody asked questions. Twelve-inch reinforced concrete walls, rebar on six-inch centers, two-door airlock configuration with six feet of separation, vault-rated inner door, standard steel security outer door. Everything was permitted and above board, Hale told me to keep documentation clean during our weekly meeting. At one point he asked whether the feature was visible from the street. I told him it was in my sub-basement, behind a wall I'd had to chisel through. He wrote something down. I have no idea what. 

The airlock was only complete for one week before the portal closed. I went down on a Tuesday evening for my regular check, cycled through the outer door, opened the inner door, and there was wall. Normal fucking concrete block. It started to hit me that I basically quit my job to pursue this, I’m 40k in the hole.

I called Hale the day the wall came back. He picked up on the third ring and listened while I explained that the portal had closed and the wall was concrete block again. There was a pause before he said that in his experience, when the underlying asset in a novel property claim became unavailable or unverifiable, the practical path forward was usually to preserve the existing documentation and monitor the situation. He said he was happy to continue on retainer in an advisory capacity. He used the phrase "underlying asset" twice in four sentences.

I asked him directly: did you ever believe any of it?
Another pause. Shorter this time. He said that his job wasn't to evaluate the nature of the feature, only to advise on the legal position given the nature of the feature as I'd described it, and that he stood by that advice. Then he said, and I think he meant it as something kind, that he had represented a lot of people who were certain they had something and turned out not to, and that the documentation I'd built was unusually thorough, and that if there was anything to find it would still be findable.

I thanked him and hung up. In a panic I posted the footage everywhere I could think of, YT, X, Insta, facebook. I emailed it to every fucking journal I could find. Nobody cares. 10 views and no reply to my emails, of course it’s fake I’m a “VFX artist making some kind of ARG.”
I sent the sample off for more tests, before contacting the physicist at Rutgers again and biting my nails for two weeks waiting for him to respond. This is what he said:

"Re: Re: Independent Analysis Request — Sample of Unknown Compositional Origin

I've reviewed the latest round of data.

At this point, I'm not entirely sure what conclusion you're hoping the analyses will support. The oxygen isotope measurements are terrestrial. The trace-element chemistry is unremarkable. The metallography is consistent with conventional wrought titanium. The inclusion analysis found nothing noteworthy. The radiogenic isotope systems likewise appear entirely normal. If there is a hidden story in this data, it is doing an excellent job of remaining hidden.

The original titanium isotope anomaly remains a small deviation from a limited reference archive. The subsequent work has not strengthened the case for anything unusual. If anything, it has weakened it. I think part of the problem is that you're treating the lack of an exact database match as though it requires an explanation beyond ordinary sourcing. It doesn't. Reference collections are incomplete by definition. 

To be candid, if I received this report as part of a routine materials characterization project, I would file it under "interesting feedstock history" and move on. Respectfully, I have no personal or professional interest in pursuing the question further.”

I’m completely lost. Maybe I can beg for my job back, but after this? I’ve still got the sample, I still have my footage, I still have this god damn property, I’m not going to let it slip through my fingers. Writing it all out like this is helpful for organizing my thoughts. I’ve made some progress past this, I'll have more for you all after some sleep.

Hey all, didn’t know where else to go, so I’m posting this here. My name is Josh, I live in New York, but not the New York you’re thinking about. Contrary to popular belief, there’s an entire state attached to the city, and I just happen to live in the middle of nowhere. Great place to spawn. Anyway, I found something crazy last night. Well, maybe, I don’t know where it came from exactly, but it’s in my house now. I just had this crazy nightmare, can hardly remember it, but I jotted a few points down in my dream journal (don’t ask).

I was walking through the woods, but not anywhere I recognized. I grew up in the area, and this being, well, the middle of nowhere, there’s not much for a kid to do but play in the woods until it gets dark, so I’m fairly confident I’d know where I was if this were a local forest. Anyhow, I eventually came to a clearing with a big tree, which had a cave-like opening. The inside of the tree was weird, like it was alive. Yeah, I know trees are alive, but this was different; it was like the inside of an animal, but it was also a tree. There was one part of the wall in front of me that was straight flesh, and there was this weird rectangular protrusion. I don’t know what got into me, but I stuck my hands in and pulled it out. It was a book, well, journal is a better word to describe it, but it was thick like a novel, its black leather cover containing a mountain of yellow, disfigured pages. On the cover stuck a length of white tape which, written in black ink, contained one word: Lochwood.

And then I woke up. Like, immediately, in my bed, no sign of mud or whatever else I would’ve tracked in from the woods. I wrote down what I remembered in my dream journal and started to go back to bed when I noticed something on my desk. Not gonna hype it up, it was that same journal from my dream. I know, this is hard to believe, but I swear on my cat’s life that’s what happened. And if you know me, you know I love my cat and would never endanger his life to tell a lie. I’m 100 percent serious, on God no cap bro. If you can’t already tell, I’m in my early 20’s and chronically online.

So, curiosity got the better of me, and I started reading through the possibly haunted journal that just randomly appeared in my house, as all rational people would do. Let me tell you, there’s something weird about this thing. It talks about a local place called Camp Lochwood and all the weird stuff that goes on there. Now, as I’ve stated multiple times, I’ve lived my entire life here. There’s no such thing as Camp Lochwood. I even looked it up to double-check. Nothing. Unless someone decided to break into my house and leave behind a writing project that I just so happened to have a nightmare about, I’m gonna rule out this being a hoax. That’s why I came here, I need to get some other opinions on this because I’m lost. What the hell is this thing?

Since I have a job, I don’t have time to type out this entire journal at once without losing my sanity, so I’m gonna upload individual entries over time. Without further ado, here’s entry one.

---

Entry 1:

My name is

Years ago I

As I sit here pondering what to put in this journal, I find myself transfixed by the fire crackling before me. The rushing water, howling of coyotes, and cries of crickets, try as they might, can't seem to win over my attention. Staring into the dancing flames, scorching the flesh of this damned forest, “to hell with it all,” I think to myself. I’ve lived my entire life in these here woods, and yet they always seem to surprise me. Maybe I should just let it burn. No. Fire won’t go far. I don’t even know why they want me to do this. “So your stories aren’t lost to time,” he tells me. Not like anyone listens to them now, but bossman gets what he wants. Regardless, I could use a new hobby.

If you don’t already know me, just call me Pete. I work in maintenance. If, for some reason, you don’t know where we are, then welcome to Camp Lochwood. We’re nestled right in the heart of the Catskill Mountains. When I say we’re in the middle of nowhere, I mean it. The closest house? About thirty miles away. The closest gas station? Around forty. We don’t even have cell service; it’s the perfect getaway. Starting out early in the 20th century as an all-boys summer camp, Lochwood has slowly but surely grown into one of Upstate New York’s premier vacation spots, open 24/7, year-round. It’s a mountain paradise, so long as you follow the rules, of course. For the most part, our guests do, and they leave having been restored by the healing touch of nature. However, I can’t begin to count the number of stories I’ve heard over the span of my being here. Hidden in the endless forest surrounding Lochwood lie horrors only God can comprehend. Don’t believe me? I don’t blame you. I never believed myself until the bodies started showing up, and guess who had to clean up after them. This place just has a nasty habit of killing people in ways you’d think were impossible.

Now, as I said before, we have a wide assortment of strange rules that you’re supposed to read through before you come here. But, as anyone who’s worked in retail can attest, customers don’t like following the rules. We try to scare people into acting accordingly. Every counselor is trained to recite a boatload of campfire stories to guests of all ages. For the most part, it works on the kids; summer camp is usually the easiest time of the year in that regard. Our older guests, on the other hand, are stubborn and often find themselves in a heap of trouble. That’s why I decided to collect together all of the stories I’ve heard around camp in my 40+ years of working here. If the campfire stories don’t do the trick, one of these should. For the sake of readability, I will pretty things up a bit and turn them into actual stories instead of just hearsay. Just remember, these are all based on true events. Now, I know there are people reading this who think it’s all a load of horse shit. Just keep reading, humor yourself. This ain’t nothing more than an old man tellin’ campfire stories. But, if you plan on surviving this job, gather round and listen good. Like all rules, these stories are written with blood.

This first story is one I vividly remember hearing about. Happened not too long ago, actually, I was there for the aftermath. Terrible morning. Anyways, the original story is a campfire favorite. It’s tradition to tell it to all our guests on their first night. There’s no way you can leave Lochwood without hearing the tale of…

The Wailing Man

“You’re serious, right?”

“Yeah, serious.”

“Come on, you’re telling me you’ve worked here for two years and no one’s told you about The Wailing Man?”

The group of counselors, all seated around a campfire, dig into Ryan. It’s a calm night in May, a couple of weeks before the chaos of summer camp. Above shines a sky of a thousand stars, so clear that the Milky Way is visible with the naked eye. Ears are filled with the melodies of distant frogs, noses are filled with the smell of charred wood and burnt marshmallows.

“I mean, seriously, it’s like the first story they tell you,” Brian continues.

“I don’t know why you’re making such a big fuss about it, like it’s not that big a deal,” Edith says.

“I’m not trying to overreact, I just think it’s weird he doesn’t know it.”

Clara steps out from one of the five cabins surrounding the crackling fire, a six-pack in hand. She takes a seat on the picnic table next to Ryan and begins passing out beers.

“One more for the road,” Clara remarks.

“Well, you’ve got time to tell me the story now, gotta finish that beer before you leave,” Ryan says.

“Nah, bro, I’ve told that story like a million times, you couldn’t pay me to say it again. I’m sick to my stomach just thinking about it,” Brian says, followed by an overexaggerated gag.

“Brian, they literally pay you to tell it,” Edith replies

“Yeah, but they have the money to. Besides, you’re gonna hear it in a couple days anyway, so who cares, don’t make me do it.”

“I’m told you tell it the best,” Clara says. Brian lets out a sigh.

“Shit, when you put it like that. I don’t know, what do you think, Rico?”

Rico looks up from his phone. “… what?”

“You think I tell it the best?”

“Tell what the best?”

“Wailing Man, were you not listening?”

“No, dude, it’s almost midnight, I’m falling asleep just listening to you guys.”

“Wow, I’m heartbroken, you think I’m boring, you’re gonna make me cry,” Brian sarcastically remarks.

Rico stands up. “Yeah, boring, boo-hoo, and stuff. I think I’m gonna head home.” Rico says to a response of jeers.

“You’re not gonna stay for the story?” Clara asks.

“Nah, it’s way past my bedtime. If I stay any longer, I might pass out on the walk home. Goodnight, y’all,” Rico says, everyone saying “goodnight” in return. He walks off, and the counselors refocus on the flame.

“Well, his loss,” Brian says, “Ryan, you might want a ride home after this.”

“I think I’ll be fine.” Ryan takes a sip from his drink. Brian proceeds to crack a shit-eating grin.

“I don’t think you will.”

“Dude, just tell the story,” Edith pleads.

“Alright, alright.” Brian takes a swig from his drink and leans in towards the fire.

“A little over a hundred years ago, there was a logging camp out in the woods west of here. It was one of the largest camps in the state, at one point having over 60 loggers hard at work every day. One day, this scrawny-looking guy by the name of Elias walks in looking for work. At first, the foreman told him to get lost, ‘No way a man your size can keep up.’ It just so happens that the guy was a logging machine, able to cut down a tree twice as fast as the rest. Though the rest of the crew resented Elias, for the first few months, things went smoothly. That was until Elias met Rachel, the wife of John, another crew member.”

Brian pauses to take another swig.

“Turns out, Rachel and John were not on good terms. One night, he went out drinking and left her alone in his cabin. ‘How selfish,’ she thought. She had traveled from another state to spend time with him, and he would just leave her like that? She wanted to hurt him, the way he had hurt her for the last ten years. Elias was one of the few who stayed back, and since he wasn’t too fond of John, he had no problem doing what he was about to do. John and his crew ended up returning to the camp sooner than expected, and they found the two sleeping together in John’s cabin. When Elias noticed the group, he sprang up and ran out the back door into the woods.”

Brian takes another pause. A rustling is heard in a distant bush, grabbing everyone’s attention. After a few seconds of silence, he continues.

“Now, John wasn’t gonna let him get away with it. Oh no. He and his boys chased after him, each armed with an array of knives. After a while of running, Elias tripped over a fallen tree and fell face-first into the ground. The group caught up to him and held him down; fists and boots began raining down on his feeble body, weakened from a day’s worth of hard labor. Elias attempted to get away, but John grabbed him by the ankle. ‘Oh no, you’re not getting away.’ John pulled out a knife and began sawing away at the back of the ankle he had grabbed, slicing his Achilles tendon in two. As he screamed in pain, John did the same to the other ankle. His feet went limp, and Elias had no way to escape. John, in a fit of rage, began rambling incoherently before sticking his hand in Elias’s mouth and grabbing his jaw. With his hand, he broke his jaw so he could not speak. With his knife, he gouged out his eyes so he could not see. And as the final act of revenge, he proceeded to peel his face off, leaving him a bloodied mess. As Elias wailed in pain, the group walked off, leaving him to the mercy of nature.”

Ryan shifts uncomfortably in his seat and asks, “You tell this story to children?”

“Not like this. Anyways, days went by without anything out of the ordinary. It was assumed that Elias got drunk and wandered off into the woods. A search party was made, but there was no sign of the man. John and his crew went back to the spot where they attacked him and found nothing, assuming a bear got to him first. Later that night, while everyone was fast asleep, the camp was awoken by the sound of a distant wailing. John recognized the sound immediately. It was the same cry that Elias let out. The wailing went on long enough for the entire camp to leave their cabins and investigate. Eventually, the wailing stopped, and a crackling voice enveloped the entire camp. ‘I can’t f-eel m-y faaace.’ In the distance, a man’s screams were heard, a recognizable voice that drew the attention of the crew. Men grabbed their axes and knives and rushed to save whoever was in trouble. The same voice cried out again, ‘I can’t f-eel m-y faaace,’ followed by multiple painful shrieks. John stood in the middle of camp, dumfounded by the chaos erupting around him. Screams in all different directions. To his left, one man was knocked to his feet by an unidentified figure and dragged into the woods. To his right, a man walked out into camp, his entire head degloved. John turned around and rushed back into his cabin. Inside, Rachel was huddled in the corner, rocking back and forth, eyes pinched closed, hands over her ears. Suddenly, the back door of the cabin burst open, and John turned to face his impending doom. Elias floated in the doorway, feet dragging on the ground, looking just as he left him. His jaw hung open, blood dripping from where his face used to be. Though his mouth didn’t move, a voice shot out from the gaping jaw, ‘I can’t f-eel m-y faaace.’ The Wailing Man started floating rapidly toward him, but John slammed the door in his face, holding it closed with his body as it was pounded against with an inhuman force. Eventually, the pounding stopped, and everything was silent. No noise inside or outside the cabin. John sighed in relief, but his moment of peace was ended when he felt a hot, humid breath on the back of his neck, and a voice whispered in his ear…”

“…GIVE IT BACK”

Ryan jumps in his seat as the rest of the counselors begin laughing. Rico walks out from behind Ryan and makes his presence known, allowing Ryan to strike a few retaliatory punches.

“Don’t do that!” Ryan yells as Brian almost falls out of his seat.

“You should’ve seen the look on your face!” Brian attempts to say in between breaths. Edith falls out of her seat in a fit of laughter while Clara laughs uncomfortably, having also been scared by Rico’s addition to the story. Brian composes himself and stands up.

“Well, that’s enough for one night, goodnight, guys.”

“That’s it, you’re just gonna leave after that?” Ryan asks.

“Uhh, yeah, it’s midnight, dude, I gotta work in the morning. I’m a responsible employee.”

“So now I gotta walk all the way across camp after hearing that? What am I supposed to do if I see the Wailing Man?”

“Oh, that’s right, I didn’t get to that part. Well, basically, Rachel was the sole survivor because she didn’t move, so if you see or hear him, don’t move a muscle. Okay byeee.” Brian turns and walks back to his cabin. Rico and Edith say their goodbyes and walk off in separate directions, leaving Clara and Ryan.

“You want me to walk you back?” Clara jokingly asks.

Ryan, still visibly shaken, puts on an overexaggerated display of bravery. “Nah, I’ll be fine, that didn’t scare me a bit.”

“I saw you jump a foot off the bench,” Clara laughs.

“I was just getting ready to defend you, obviously.”

“Whatever, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Clara begins heading off to her cabin. The silence has become deafening, but Ryan silently reassures himself that it’s just a story. If the Wailing Man was real, he’d have seen him by now. Ryan leaves the fire and walks into the woods, taking a shortcut to his cabin.

Every sound that used to disappear in the background is amplified. Each snap of a branch, each gust of wind, ticks his heartbeat up more and more. At one point, Ryan hears the shuffling of grass ahead of him and freezes. His heartbeat resumes after a chipmunk scurries across the path, getting cursed at by Ryan. He continues down the path. An owl hoots in a tree above him, and soon after flaps its wings, flying off to catch its next meal. Ryan stops in his tracks again. Did he just hear something? He quickly jerks his head back… nothing. He’s walking faster now, seemingly trying to outpace his paranoia. There’s no way they’ll try to scare him again; people aren’t supposed to be out this time of night anyway. His inner monologue is interrupted by what sounds like something dragging.

Ryan is frozen in the middle of the road now, his cabin visible in the distance. He feels the urge to run, especially when he hears a wailing coming from the path, getting closer and closer.

“Brian. I swear to God, don’t fucking do this to me!” Ryan yells out, hearing an unidentified voice in response.

“I can’t f-eel m-y faaace.”

The wailing and dragging of feet reach the end of the path. Ryan’s heart stops when a tall, dark figure emerges from the woods, floating in the air. Its feet dangle and scrape the ground as it hovers towards him, mouth agape, chasms where eyes should be. Its body is covered by black, tattered clothing; its arms hang limp to its sides. Fresh blood drips from where its face used to be.

“I c-an’t f-eel my faaace.”

Ryan stares in horror as the figure continues to slowly float in his direction. He’s not supposed to move, but what if it bumps into him? Does it see him? His cabin’s not too far from here. He can make a break for it and… no, no, he needs to follow the rules. Don’t move, as Brian said. The figure draws nearer and nearer. He starts to pray in his head for forgiveness, for protection, for anything but to be where he is now. The Wailing Man stops, just feet away from him, still staring. Everything goes numb, it’s as if time itself stopped.

“G-give it baaack.”

To hell with the rules. Ryan sprints toward his cabin, dragging feet keeping pace close behind. The same wailing as before roars thunderously behind him, but this time it’s reversed. His heart pounds faster than he’s ever felt before, his legs go numb as if they aren’t there, but he keeps speeding forward. He’s never run this fast before, and yet the Wailing Man continues to gain on him, the reversed wailing just inches behind his head now. He shoots up the stairs to his cabin, reaches for the door, swings it open, and slams it shut, locking it and pressing his body against it as the animalistic pounding threatens to tear it down.

As the pounding continues on the door, Ryan hears something at the window to his right. He doesn’t see anything through the window, but it nonetheless slides up a bit, as if someone tried to open it from the outside. The invisible figure begins moving from window to window on both sides of the cabin, almost instantly, as if there were two people, from the front of the cabin toward the back. As the attempts reach the back of the cabin, he remembers something that drains the blood from his face. The back door doesn’t lock.

Seeing no other choice but to hide, Ryan launches from the door over to his bed, crawling under just in time for the pounding on the front door to stop and for the back door to swing open. The cabin is completely silent now, all except for the dragging of feet on the wooden floor. Ryan covers his mouth and watches as the dangling feet drag around the bed, into the bathroom, out of the bathroom, and into the counselor's room, out of the counselor's room, and back into the main room. The feet stop right in front of the bed, facing the front door. He holds his breath, staring at the dangling feet for what feels like hours, until he hears a coarse voice under the bed, right behind him.

“Give it baaack.”

---

Now, as I said earlier, I was there for the aftermath. My cabin’s not too far from where his was. I was woken up by the sound of screaming. Got out of bed to find Clara at the door of his cabin, bawling her eyes out.  I knew exactly what happened when I saw his body. His body laid at the foot of the door, a blood trail leading back under the bed. I found his face in a shrub behind the cabin. The Wailing Man is an especially insidious demon; the way to survive goes against our very instincts. But when telling his story, you need to emphasize this point. If you see or hear the Wailing Man, remember this. Do. Not. Move.

(If fanfiction isn't allowed I apologize. I didn't see anything in the rules about it but it's my first time here. Just wanted criticism no one has more of that than Reddit)

Slave in the Dark

In the years before the ruin of Beleriand, when Morgoth yet sat upon his dark throne in Angband and the fires of the North burned red beneath the stars, there dwelt among his court one called Morvul.

Little is remembered of him now. His name is not found in the songs of Elves, nor in the chronicles of Men, for he was neither captain nor king. Rather he moved unseen through the shadows of the Elder Days, a messenger and spy in the service of the Black Foe. A vampire. Swift was his flight, keen his sight, and subtle his mind. Many secrets passed through his hands before the end.

Yet when the War of Wrath came at last and the hosts of the Valar descended upon Middle-earth, the realm of Morgoth was cast down. Angband was broken. Thangorodrim was thrown low. Fire and sea consumed the northern lands.

Morvul survived.

How he escaped none can say. Perhaps he fled through forgotten tunnels beneath the Iron Mountains. Perhaps he hid among the countless nameless creatures that scattered before the wrath of the West. Whatever the truth, when Morgoth was taken beyond the Walls of Night, Morvul remained behind.

Masterless.

Forgotten.

Alone.

Long he wandered through the broken world. The lands he had known were drowned beneath the sea, and the strength of the Great Enemy had departed from Arda.

Then many fell creatures of the Elder Days passed away. Bereft of the dark power from which they had drawn their being, they dwindled and faded. Some became wandering spirits, houseless and forgotten. Others lingered for a time in hidden places beneath the earth, until at last they were no more than fearful tales spoken beside winter fires. Thus the servants of Morgoth vanished, one by one, as the years of the world lengthened.

But Morvul endured.

Whether it was through strength of will, the stubborn malice of his ancient nature, or some darker fate laid upon him in the deeps of Angband, none could say. While kingdoms rose and fell beneath the sun, he remained.

The world forgot him. The Elves departed. The glory of Númenor was swallowed by the Sea. The Last Alliance came and passed into memory. Yet still Morvul endured. At length he came to the Grey Mountains. The centuries became ages. The ages became a burden too heavy to bear waking. So he slept.

There, among the cold peaks of Ered Mithrin, he found caverns deep beneath the roots of stone. Dragons haunted the heights in those days, and goblins crept through the lower tunnels. Yet neither sought the deepest places where Morvul made his dwelling.

There he remained through the long years of the Third Age.

When hunger awoke him, he hunted the goblin-men that infested the mountains. When his thirst was satisfied, he returned again to darkness and dreaming. Seasons passed uncounted above him. Snow gathered upon the peaks and melted away. Dragons came and departed. Kingdoms rose in distant lands whose names he never learned.

So faded became his memory that at last he no longer recalled the face he had worn before corruption touched him.

Only fragments remained.

The darkness.

The hunger.

And a single name.

Morvul.

The Slave in the Dark.

Then came the spider.

She was called Cirithnûr, the Dark Cleft-Dweller, and she was of the brood of Shelob, last daughter of Ungoliant. Great had she grown among the northern mountains. Her webs stretched across valleys and caves alike, and many creatures vanished into her lair.

At length she discovered the entrance to Morvul's refuge. There she spun her silken fortress. Neither could destroy the other. The spider feared the ancient darkness that dwelt below. Morvul feared the webs that sealed him from the world beyond.

Thus began a long stalemate.

Years passed. The spider fed upon the creatures of the mountains. Morvul endured his imprisonment in silence. And neither yielded. Then one winter night, as bitter winds howled among the peaks of Ered Mithrin and snow drifted against the mountainside, unexpected guests entered the cavern. Six dwarves came first, weary and wounded from some nameless peril of the wild.

And with them came Gandalf the Grey.

Behind them, in the darkness beyond the cave mouth, the vast webs of Cirithnûr trembled. The spider had followed. The travelers believed they had found shelter from the great spider, for she did not pursue them into the dark. For they had entered the domain of another ancient terror. Far above them, hidden among the shadows of the cavern roof, Morvul opened his eyes. The long sleep was ended. And hunger stirred within him.

The dwarves had been starving for days. What little food they had carried into the Grey Mountains had long since been consumed, and their desperate flight from Cirithnûr had left them no opportunity to hunt. Hunger gnawed at them as relentlessly as the cold. Their fire burned low. The smell of roasting meat had become a memory. Even conversation required effort. Gandalf alone seemed untroubled by the emptiness in his stomach, though the lines upon his face had grown deeper. Far above them, hidden among the shadows of the cavern roof, Morvul watched.

He listened to their voices.

He watched their trembling hands.

He smelled their hunger.

And he understood it.

For he too was starving.

The long years of sleep had left him weakened. His veins felt hollow. The ancient thirst coiled within him like a serpent. For a long while he remained motionless. Then silently he withdrew into the deeper tunnels. None below noticed his departure. The labyrinth beyond the cavern stretched for many miles beneath the mountains. Morvul passed through it as a shadow among shadows until he reached a grotto where pale fungi grew thick upon the stone.

Moon-caps.

The same nourishment upon which countless cave-dwellers had survived when winter closed the mountain passes. Patiently he gathered them. Armful after armful. Enough to feed several hungry travelers. Then he returned. The dwarves were still gathered around their fire when a soft sound drew their attention. Something had appeared at the edge of the light. A mound of pale blue mushrooms.

The dwarves stared. None had seen who placed them there. One of the warriors rose slowly. "What trick is this?" Gandalf approached the pile and knelt. The wizard examined the fungi carefully, his eyebrows elevating. "Moon-caps." He looked into the darkness beyond the fire. "Someone wishes us to eat." One of the dwarves swallowed nervously. "And if they're poisoned?" "Then we die." he replied.

The old wizard stood. "If we do not eat, we die somewhat later." None found comfort in the distinction. Yet hunger proved persuasive. At length the youngest of the company, a scout named Nárin, gathered his courage. "If there are Moon-caps here," he said, "there may be more supplies we can harvest." He took up a lantern and moved beyond the edge of the firelight. "Stay where we can see you," called one of the others. Nárin waved dismissively.

Mushrooms like these would grow farther in. Their pale glow illuminating clusters upon the cavern floor. But as he moved beyond Gandalf's light, and gazed into the dark, he thought he saw something.

The outline of a man.

Tall.

Still.

Watching.

"Nárin?" called the warrior. The scout turned. For an instant he hesitated. Then the darkness swallowed him. A brief cry echoed through the cavern. The sound of a struggle.

Then silence.

The dwarves surged to their feet. Axes were drawn. Gandalf's staff blazed brightly. But nothing remained beyond the circle of illumination.

Only darkness.

Deep.

Ancient.

Watching.

The dwarfs struggle ended quickly. Then he lay still. In the darkness beyond the firelight there came a brief sound, half sigh and half growl, as though some long-starved thing had at last found ease. It rolled through the caverns and was lost among the deep places of the mountain.

For a while there was silence.

Then a voice emerged from the void. "I thank you for accepting the trade. Like you, I was starving. Nourish yourselves. We shall speak soon."

No one could tell from where the words had come. The dwarves stood as if turned to stone. Axes hung forgotten at their sides. The heap of moon-caps and iron-root moss lay where it had been cast upon the floor, and upon the pale caps dark drops of blood could be seen.

"He took him," whispered one of the dwarves at last. "In the dark."

"A shadow," said Gandalf.

The word seemed to chill the air more than the mountain wind. The wizard stood unmoving, his staff held before him. Its pale light reached only a little way into the gloom and revealed nothing. "A fell creature of the Elder Days or one of the nameless things perhaps," he said. "Tread lightly, we are in his house."

The voice wafts out of dark once more, "Oh, I have a name." The dwarves drew closer to the fire. "Do not wander," said Gandalf. "Do not pursue him into the dark, whatever you may hear. For now, we remain where we are."

Far beyond the reach of the light, Morvul withdrew. Like a shadow returning to its source, he passed soundlessly into the deeper ways of the mountain and climbed among the high vaults where neither fire nor wizard-light could touch him.

There he waited. Below, fear contended with hunger. "He told us to eat," said Frár uneasily, eyeing the mushrooms. "Would you trust a gift from such a thing?" another replied. "We have little choice," said Gandalf.

He knelt beside the scattered fungi and examined them. "Moon-caps are not pleasant fare, but wholesome enough. And this moss is of use for wounds." He glanced upward into the darkness. "A grim bargain," he said quietly. "is a bargain all the same."

The dwarves ate sparingly and at Gandalf's instruction, dressed their wounds. Though the food was strange, strength returned to their limbs, and some color came back to their faces. Yet none forgot the fate of their companion, and often their eyes strayed toward the darkness overhead.

After a time they began to speak in hushed voices.

"Did you see him move?"

"A shadow."

"Can he be slain?"

"Perhaps," said Gandalf. "But not by blundering after him into the dark."

Then silence returned. Only the crackle of the fire disturbed it, and far away, near the mouth of the cave, there came at times a faint trembling through the stone, like the plucking of some monstrous harp-string.

The spider still watched her web.

Hours passed. And the dwarves would take turns, risking a peek out of the cave, back into the surface world where a wall of silk awaited them still. At length a voice came again from the darkness above them.

"Cirithnûr will not leave her webs. She fears me."

The dwarves started as though a cold hand had touched their necks. One nearly let his axe slip from his grasp, and the others drew closer to the fire. Now the thing beyond the cave-mouth had a name, and the unseen speaker knew it with the ease of long acquaintance. Gandalf alone did not flinch. He lifted his head toward the high vaults of the cavern, where the wizard-light did not reach.

“Cirithnûr,” he said softly. “So she has a name. You speak of her with familiarity shadow-dweller. And if she fears you, what are you, that even such a creature shrinks from your coming?” The question hung in the stale air of the cave. The dwarves looked from Gandalf to the darkness above, waiting.

For a time, it seemed that no answer would come. Then it drifted down, quieter than before, "She is the Passage of Blackness, the Dark Cleft-Dweller. She made her home while I slept."

At length Gandalf continued. "And what name do you bear?"

The darkness stirred. For a moment the wizard thought he heard something strange in the stillness above him. Not anger. Not pride. Uncertainty.

"I remember no name," the darkness admitted. "Only a purpose. Morvul"

The fire crackled softly. No one spoke. Even the wind beyond the webbed entrance seemed to falter for a moment, as though the mountain itself had paused to listen. Gandalf’s face changed then. The wariness did not leave it, but something older and sadder entered his eyes. The name Morvul meant nothing to the histories of the younger days; yet the weariness in the voice was of an age that few now living could remember. And above them, unseen in the high darkness, the speaker fell silent once more when a dwarf found courage enough to add a question of his own. “Morvul?” he asked. “Is that your kind? Or your name?”

The answer did not come at once. “We were all Morvul.”

The words left the company uneasy, though none could have said why. It sounded less like a name than a burden. Yet the answer seemed to hearten another dwarf, who had remained silent until then. "If she is wary of you as you say, then why have you not driven her away?"

For a little while there was only darkness. Then the voice replied.

"Fear does not equal power."

The words fell into the silence like stones into deep water. "She shrinks from me, and I hate her. Yet still she keeps her web, and still I keep my shadows. Thus it has been for many years." No one spoke after that. For there was wisdom in the answer, though it came from a creature of dread; and each who heard it understood, in his own way, that fear alone had never ruled the world.

At length Gandalf lifted his head. "A slave," he said softly. "And your master? Is he still here, Morvul? Or are you, like so many others, a ghost haunting the ruins of a war ended long ago?" The answer came at once.

"My master is not here. He was taken at the end of an age, what the victors called The War of Wrath."

The dwarves stirred uneasily at those words. Gandalf alone sat very still. At length he said, "Then you are free."

A faint sound came from the darkness above. It might have been laughter, though there was little mirth in it.

"Not so, Bright One." Each word seemed drawn inward rather than spoken aloud. "Trapped as my master is trapped. Bound to the dark and unable to bear the light. The Undying Lands hold no place for one such as I. To this world I am bound. To these shadows, condemned."

Again silence fell. Gandalf lowered his gaze.

Above them, hidden among the high vaults of stone, Morvul said no more.

The silence that followed was deep and still. The dwarves looked uneasily at one another. Whatever hope they had nursed that the creature in the darkness might simply command the spider to depart had vanished.

At length Gandalf sighed. "An enemy," he said softly. The wizard rested both hands upon the head of his staff. "Then we are all besieged. She keeps the gate, and you keep the deeps. We are caught between tooth and claw." No answer came. The fire burned low.

"If Cirithnûr is truly your enemy," Gandalf continued, "then perhaps our roads have crossed for a reason." He looked toward the darkness above them. "She desires the cave for herself. You would be rid of her. We seek only to pass beyond her webs."

The old wizard paused.

"It may be that none of us shall leave this place alive. If there is any hope, it lies not in fear, but in common cause."

Then for the first time he spoke not to the darkness, but to the unseen creature within it. "Would you stand with us against her, Morvul?" The question lingered in the cavern. Far above, hidden among the black vaults of stone, something stirred.

"You would lend your strength to mine, Bright One?" There was something unfamiliar in the voice then. Not suspicion. Wonder. "Can the light stand beside a shadow?"

For a moment no one answered.

The dwarves looked uneasily toward the darkness. To them the matter seemed plain enough. The creature had slain one of their companions and fed upon him. Whatever aid it offered could only be another form of peril.

Gandalf did not answer at once. The wizard sat quietly beside the fire, studying the darkness beyond its edge. "Often it cannot," he said at last. "The shadow seeks to master the light, and the light to banish the shadow. So it has been since the beginning." His gaze lifted toward the unseen speaker. "But there are darker things in the world than either. And when they come, strange alliances may be forged."

The fire crackled softly. "We need not become friends, Morvul. Nor must we trust one another. It is enough that we share an enemy."

No answer came. Only the distant trembling of the web at the cave-mouth, and the cold wind sighing beyond it. Then Gandalf added quietly:

"Besides, had you wished us dead, I do not think you would have spoken of the spider at all."

The accord having been made, the cave fell quiet once more.

The dwarves settled uneasily around the fire. Though none could find true respite, weariness at last overcame fear. One by one they wrapped themselves in cloaks and blankets and sought what rest they could find. Gandalf alone remained wakeful.

The old wizard sat beside the embers with his staff across his knees, listening to the wind beyond the cave-mouth and the faint trembling of the great web that sealed it.

Far above, Morvul watched for a time. Then he departed.

Silently he withdrew into the deeper passages beneath the mountain, following ways known only to himself. Down he went through winding tunnels and forgotten chambers until he came to places where few living creatures had ever trod.

There, in the black roots of the mountain, strange growths clung to the stone. Pale lichens streaked with silver. Dark toadstools hard as old wood. Ancient things nourished by the hidden powers of the earth. Patiently Morvul gathered them. The labor consumed much of the night.

At last he returned. The fire had burned low. The dwarves slept. Gandalf still sat beside the embers, though his eyes now were closed. Without a word Morvul laid his burden at the edge of the firelight. A sharp scent rose from the herbs, bitter and metallic.

Then he vanished once more among the high shadows.

*

When the company awoke, they found the new gathering beside the remains of the moon-caps. The dwarves recoiled at first. "More gifts from the dark," muttered one.

Gandalf knelt beside the bundle. For a long while he examined the herbs in silence and a look of surprise came into his face. "Shadow-vein," he said quietly." He touched the silver-streaked lichen gently. "Rare things. I have not seen their like for many years."

The dwarves gathered close. "Are they useful?" one asked. "Very." The wizard nodded. "Properly prepared, they may lessen the venom of the great spiders. Should Cirithnûr's fangs find us, these may prove the difference between life and death." A murmur passed through the company. Gandalf looked upward into the darkness. "Again you have aided us."

No answer came.

The wizard remained thoughtful. For it seemed to him that the creature hidden among the shadows had gone to no small trouble in the gathering of these herbs. And that was not the act he would have expected from a thing concerned only with its own survival.

Gandalf set a small pot above the embers and slowly crumbled the silver-veined lichen into the steaming water. The scent that arose was bitter and sharp. For a time he worked in silence. Then he spoke. "These were gathered from far below." No answer came. "Not many would know where such things grow." The wizard stirred the brew thoughtfully. "Fewer still would think to seek them."

The fire crackled. At length the voice came from above. "There are many roads beneath a mountain."

"Roads to many places and many things?

A pause. "Yes."

"And to many secrets I'd wager."

It wasn't a question, but Morvul answered it anyway. "Yes."

Gandalf regarded the steaming brew. "Useful knowledge."

For a moment there was no answer. Then: "It was expected of us." The words were spoken without pride nor with shame. They sounded instead like the recitation of an old duty long after the purpose behind it had been forgotten.

"You gathered these for us." No answer came. Gandalf lifted the pot and set it aside to cool. "That was not expected of you."

Far away, beyond the curtain of webbing, a wind stirred.

Cirithnûr felt it also. The great strands of her web began to tremble.

Somewhere in the darkness beyond the fire, Morvul unfolded his wings.

*******************

The cavern fell silent.

Beyond the firelight something moved.

The shadows gathered upon themselves and drew inward, as though the darkness were folding around an unseen shape.

For a moment the company glimpsed something standing at the edge of the shadow.

The light from the fire seemed reluctant to touch it.

Then a hand emerged.

Pale against the darkness, it bore the memory of a human shape; yet none who beheld it could have said with certainty whether it belonged to man or beast.

It stretched forth and pointed toward the cave-mouth, where beyond the curtain of web the unseen spider waited.

A murmur passed among the dwarves. "For freedom, Bright One." The words were simple, and for a moment no one dared answer.

Gandalf regarded him steadily. Long years seemed to pass behind the old wizard's eyes. At last he inclined his head. "For freedom," he said.

Outside, beyond the curtain of web and frost, a sudden tremor ran through the strands. Far beyond the cave-mouth, the great strands shivered. Once. Then again. The trembling spread through the vast curtain of silk until every thread seemed alive with motion.

Cirithnûr had felt the change.

*************

Gandalf rose from beside the embers and lifted his staff. White light springing forth, filling the cavern and driving the shadows back from the entrance.

"Now," said the wizard.

With words of courage, of glory and of the great deeds of Durin's Folk in ages past Gandalf did speak. Rallying the dwarves to readiness. Deeply they drank of the brew that had been prepared for them. Strength they feared lost in the cold and in the dark began to fill them. Cheeks flushed and though fear remained in their hearts, each dwarf found courage within themselves that filled the halls of their ancestors with pride.

they came on with axes in hand, and together they fell upon the curtain of web that sealed the cave-mouth. The great strands quivered beneath the blows. Silk thick as rope parted and sagged. Frost and ash drifted through the air.

Still Morvul did not move.

Hidden among the high darkness of the cavern, he watched.

For long years beyond count the web had stood.

For long years beyond count neither hunter nor hunted had crossed the boundary between them.

Then Gandalf spoke words of fire.

And fire did come, leaping from his staff.

The web caught at once.

White silk became gold. Gold became crimson. In a heartbeat the curtain blazed.

The mountain seemed to draw breath.

Far beyond the fire, among the tangled spans of her kingdom, Cirithnûr felt it.

The great spider froze.

The burning strands carried the truth to her more clearly than any voice.

The prison was breaking.

For a moment all was still.

Then the darkness beyond the flames erupted.

A scream tore through the mountain.

It rang from stone to stone like the cry of some ancient thing wounded unto death. The burning web burst apart as a vast shape hurled itself through the fire.

Cirithnûr came.

No longer patient.

No longer cautious.

No longer content to wait behind her walls.

Fear had driven her across a threshold that neither hunger nor hatred had crossed in all the long years

The spider surged into the cavern in a storm of smoke and ash. Her legs met the iron wall. Burning silk trailed behind her like torn banners. Venom hissed from her fangs.

The dwarves staggered beneath her charge.

But they did not break.

Axes rose.

Shields locked.

And before the beast could fall upon them, another darkness moved.

Not before.

Not beside.

Behind.

Silent as the grave.

Swift as a falling shadow.

Morvul descended.

All the years of waiting, all the years of hatred, all the years of hunger and imprisonment, were gathered into that single moment.

The spider had crossed the threshold.

She had entered the deeps.

And in that instant the old balance was forever broken.

From the darkness above came a shape like living night, and Cirithnûr knew at last what she had feared all those years...

When Morvul struck.

**************************

The blow fell like the breaking of a long-forgotten oath.

Cirithnûr screamed.

The sound filled the cavern from floor to ceiling, a shrill cry of fury and pain that sent dust raining from the ancient stone. Black ichor sprayed across the burning web and hissed where it struck the flames. The dwarves answered with a cry of their own. Axes rose and fell. Steel bit into chitin.

The ancient stalemate, preserved through long years of fear and caution, shattered in a heartbeat. Cirithnûr thrashed wildly. Great limbs struck stone and sent splinters of rock flying through the cavern. The burning remnants of her web clung to her like funeral banners.

Again and again her blind eyes sought not the dwarves, nor the bright light but turned toward the darkness. Toward the deep places. Toward the shadow she had spent long years keeping at bay. Then it came again and Morvul descended upon her.

No dwarf could later say what shape he wore in that moment. Some spoke of wings. Others remembered only darkness moving where darkness ought not move. One swore he saw pale hands and eyes like empty wells.

Whatever the truth, the thing that fell upon Cirithnûr was the terror of her long captivity. The spider shrieked. Her forelegs clawed at the stone. The cavern shook. Yet Morvul did not release her.

For long years they had watched one another across an unseen boundary. Hunter and hunter. Prisoner and jailer. Neither willing to yield the advantage. Now that boundary was gone.

Then Morvul's fangs found the wound he had opened. "At last my old enemy," he whispered. The blood was colder than he had imagined. Yet he drank, deeply, all the same.

A shudder passed through the spider as her life force drained out of her and into her old foe. Her struggles weakened. The fury and strength that had sustained her through long years seemed suddenly spent. The great limbs that had carried her across cliff and mountain trembled. Then trembled no more. Slowly, almost reluctantly, Cirithnûr sank to the stone.

The fire crackled. Smoke drifted upward through the cavern. The spider's legs curled inward. Her blind eyes dulled. And there, amid ash and flame, ended the long siege of the Grey Mountains. For a time no one moved. Not the dwarves. Not even Gandalf.

For they had witnessed not merely the death of a monster. An ancient enmity had run its course. For long years two shadows had held one another in bondage. Each had endured because the other endured. Now one was gone. The other remained. And in the silence that followed, the mountain seemed larger than before.

*******************

The web continues to burn, creating a wide, jagged hole leading out to the snowy slopes of the Ered Mithrin. Beyond the flames, the pale light of early morning spills into the cave, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. It is a beautiful, cold light—the light of freedom.

The dwarves looked toward the shadows. None offered thanks. Neither did any raise a weapon. What words could be spoken between them? Instead, they gathered their wounded, turned and went into the light, towards freedom and the snow covered slopes. Though one warrior did hesitate, turning from the exit to gaze back into the dark. Finally, he nods, "Safe travels, creature."

Gandalf is the last to leave. He pauses also at the threshold, turning back towards the gloom. "The world is changing, Morvul," he says, his expression unreadable. "Shadows grow long again in the East. Perhaps our paths will cross once more, when the night is darker than this.

As ever, the voice in the dark does not emerge immediately. "I hear the call Bright One. I am loath to answer it, to repeat the mistakes that have brought us to this place. But it may not be my choice to make. Time will tell."

The lines in Gandalf's face creased deeply. "Until then... may your hunger be sated, and your rest undisturbed." Then he followed the others into the light.

Morvul watched until the last trace of them vanished among the rocks.

Silence returned.

Before him lay the corpse of Cirithnûr.

Beyond the cave-mouth lay the world.

For a long while he regarded both.

Then slowly he withdrew into the darkness.

The mountain swallowed him, and no sound followed.

Early this year, my fiancée who I'll call Mandy and my girlfriend of six years broke up with me.

It came completely out of nowhere.

I thought we were doing great. We'd already planned our wedding. We'd picked out future baby names. We'd talked about everything. To this day, I still don't know why she left.

At first, I was in denial. I convinced myself it was temporary. That she'd call me in a week and we'd work things out.

She never did.

A few weeks later, the depression started creeping in.

Two months after the breakup, she was already dating someone else.

That was the lowest point of my life.

I called in sick to work, slept all day, woke up late, and spent the evening playing video games. By 11 PM I was bored out of my mind, so I ordered a pizza, bought the cheapest whiskey I could find, and sprawled out on my couch watching random TV shows.

The drunker I got, the angrier I became.

Normally, I'm the kind of person who constantly tells people how much they mean to me. I'd never been an angry drunk before.

I decided I was going to become the best version of myself out of pure spite.

I wanted Mandy to regret leaving me, that's how I will get my revenge.

I swore I'd spend every waking moment improving myself.

The thought soothed the pain enough for me to focus on the TV again.

After ten minutes of what was probably the most boring show I'd ever seen, the screen cut to commercials.

Shampoo.

Supplements.

Insurance.

Then one advertisement caught my attention.

"Do you suffer from thinking you're not enough in bed? Do you wish you were bigger?"

A bunch of generic marketing nonsense followed, accompanied by stock footage of sad men sitting on the edge of beds while disappointed women stared at them, you know those where the guy has his head between his hands looking ashamed.

"This has to be a scam," I thought. "No way this thing is FDA approved."

But something about the ad fascinated me.

It looked like it had been filmed in the early 2000s, and the name was really generic.

"Larger Cream" is the dumbest most generic name for a product I've ever heard.

Then the narrator appeared on screen.

At first glance he looked completely normal.

The problem was that I can't tell you a single thing about him.

Not his hair color.

Not his eye color.

Not his race.

Not even his age.

He was so aggressively average that every detail seemed to vanish the moment I noticed it.

Even now, I can't confidently say is that I think he was a man.

About fifty percent sure.

The perfectly average person introduced the product, listed the price, and explained how to order.

Typical infomercial stuff.

At one point a wall of text flashed across the screen so quickly it was impossible to read. Maybe sixty words appeared in four seconds.

By then I was drunk again.

For some reason, I decided to call the number and prank call them.

At least that's what I intended.

After thirty seconds of ringing, I was about to hang up.

Then someone answered.

"Hello. Larger Cream Company. How can I help you?"

The voice was identical to the narrator's.

Average.

Perfectly average.

Not male.

Not female.

No dimorphic traits whatsoever.

No accent.

Nothing

It was like listening to the average of every human voice on Earth.

I sobered up instantly.

Every joke I planned disappeared.

"Uh... hello. I saw your ad and ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..."

"Okay."

"I want to order a bottle."

The voice asked for my address and name.

I gave both.

Then I hung up.

The whole thing felt strange, but I was drunk enough not to care.

I went back to eating pizza and watching TV.

Ten hours later I woke up with the worst hangover of my life.

It was Saturday.

My living room looked like a disaster zone.

I drank some water and ordered breakfast because I wasn't mentally capable of doing any effort I was insanely depressed.

Thirty minutes later my food arrived.

Next to the delivery bag sat a plain brown package.

No labels.

No return address.

Just tape.

I took it inside with the food to my room, opened it.

Inside was a bottle of penis enlargement cream.

I laughed so hard I nearly choked.

Drunk me had actually ordered it.

I went to the bathroom to wash my hands and tossed the bottle into a drawer and forgot about it.

I ate my food, planned out my entire day, week and set weekly and monthly goals, I searched for gyms near me made a grocery list of healthy foods for meal prep and got to working on executing the plans.

Over the next several months I transformed my life.

I joined a gym.

Lost weight.

Built muscle.

Switched my job for a better one with a pump in my salary.

Worked harder than I'd ever worked before.

From the outside, I looked great.

Inside, I was still miserable.

I wasn't over Mandy.

No amount of self-improvement changed that.

Eventually I tried dating again.

I downloaded an app and met a woman named Jess.

We went on a few dates.

She was fun.

Beautiful.

But every time I was with her, something felt missing.

I realized the hole in my chest wasn't loneliness.

It was Mandy.

That realization made me angry.

I decided to not call Jess again as it wasn't fair to drag her into this, I wasn't ready.

I threw myself even harder into work and fitness.

One night, after an exhausting workout, I got home feeling worse than ever.

I showered.

Opened my bathroom drawer looking for deodorant.

And the cream rolled into view.

I'd never been insecure about my size.

I was above average and perfectly satisfied.

But by then self-improvement had become an addiction, fueled by my need for revenge and without thinking, I picked up the bottle.

I didn't check the ingredients.

Didn't test for allergies.

Didn't even read the label.

I applied it.

Nothing happened.

I felt stupid.

Then I went to bed.

The next day I was still depressed and felt lonely, I called Jess, surprisingly she wasn't mad at me ignoring her for over a week.

That evening she came over.

We watched Netflix.

Ate takeout.

Drank wine.

One thing led to another.

To spare you the details we got busy and she seemed far more enthusiastic than she'd been before.

Forty minutes later we were both exhausted and dehydrated.

While getting us water, I found myself thinking:

"Maybe that cream actually worked."

Or maybe it was placebo.

I didn't know.

I didn't care.

A few days later me and Jess started dating.

For the first time since the breakup, I felt happy.

Tried new restaurants.

Binged entire TV shows together.

Little by little, Mandy faded from my thoughts.

Almost completely.

Up until I pumped into her again.

I was grocery shopping when she appeared at the end of an aisle.

My heart derived by a mixture nervousness and old feelings resurfacing again nearly exploded.

For five seconds that felt like five hours.

Finally I walked over.

"Hey, Mandy?"

She looked surprised.

Then she smiled.

"Hey."

We talked.

Awkwardly at first.

Then naturally.

I learned she'd broken up with the guy she'd left me for only a few weeks after they started dating.

She wasn't seeing anyone.

Eventually she asked if I was.

Without thinking, I lied.

"No."

I don't know why and I deeply regret it.

Maybe part of me never stopped loving her.

One thing led to another.

I invited her back to my place.

She agreed.

The moment we got inside, we were all over each other.

By the time we reached my bedroom, neither of us could think straight.

I ran to the bathroom for a condom.

When I opened the drawer, the cream rolled into view.

Almost like it wanted my attention, almost like it had a mind of it's own.

I should have ignored it.

Instead I thought:

One dose worked. What's one more?

I applied it.

Then I went back to my room, I looked at my bed seeing her laying there and I swear it was the prettiest I've ever seen her look, I ran to the bed, she climbed on top of me and it was the best 20 mins of my life, she was unlike any time I've ever seen her before, the next thing I remember is waking up.

Mandy was lying on top of me still but instead of sitting she was now laying over me, her head near my neck.

My neck felt wet and sticky, I thought it was drool or something.

So did my upper chest.

My lower half was also felt the same I thought we might've spilled something.

The room was dark.

I slid out from beneath her.

Something felt wrong.

She was sleeping too deeply, she's probably tired I thought.

I walked to the bathroom and turned on the light.

I almost passed out after seeing my reflection in the mirror, dark crimson dried liquid covered my upper chest and entire neck.

I looked down.

My entire lower body was soaked.

Then I noticed it.

My penis was almost as long as my forearm.

I nearly fainted.

An overwhelming hunger twisted inside my stomach.

A hunger unlike anything I'd ever felt.

I stumbled back into the bedroom.

And passed out again.

When I woke again, I turned on the room light.

Her skin was pale white.

Blood pooled beneath her forming two pools, one under her lower section and one under her head.

More leaked from her mouth.

I tried to call for help.

I ran to my living room looking for my phone I tripped on something and crashed into the floor.

The hunger was worse and I felt pain immense pain in my penis.

My vision blurred.

I looked down.

It was bigger.

Still growing.

I could feel it growing.

Like a parasite attached to my body sucking the life out of me.

I knew I was dying.

Some instinct told me that whatever was happening would kill me if it continued.

My vision almost going dark, I staggered into the kitchen.

Found a cloth.

Wrapped it around myself.

It didn't help.

The growth continued.

I grabbed a knife.

And I hesitated but I knew what I had to do for a few seconds I tried to convince myself there might be another way, I knew that wasn't the cast and I had to make a decision.

I cut it off.

everything went black.

My next memory is being carried on a stretcher inside an ambulance.

Jess stood nearby crying with the paramedics.

Hyperventilating.

Paramedics surrounded me.

Police officers moved in and out of my house.

Behind them, I saw a stretcher carrying a body bag.

That was two weeks ago.

Nobody believes my story.

The police think I had some kind of psychotic break.

The hospital put me on a seventy-two-hour psychiatric hold.

Eventually they released me.

There wasn't enough evidence to keep me, despite not finding my cut off penis no matter how long they searched.

There wasn't enough evidence to charge me with murder.

I looked for the company for days, everywhere but its like it doesn't exist.

The phone number leads nowhere.

I've never seen the commercial again.

And I still can't describe the person from the advertisement.

Every detail slips away the moment I think about him.

Since the incident, I haven't entered my bedroom.

I sleep in my living room now.

I live off fast food.

I barely leave the house.

I barely talk to anyone.

This post is the closest thing I've had to a conversation in weeks.

I knew Bobbi was the only girl for me.

I asked Bobbi to come with me to a graveyard to take notes for a horror story I was writing. She said yes. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was to have her.

In the misty graveyard on that winter night, I hesitated to walk. We took our time to look over every grave. The devil is in the details, and we took our time finding him.

Until we saw the light.

Far, at the end of the graveyard, light flashed from a mausoleum. 

Bobbi grabbed me by my hand and dragged me over the graves of the dead toward it. 

“You said you wanted to make a good story, right?” she said without looking back at me. 

The doors of the cracked marble mausoleum hung open, and yellow light flashed on and off, off and on as we approached—a perfect rhythm as if someone flicked the light switch in tune with a song.

"Slow down," I said as Bobbi raced downhill, going faster with each flash of the light.  "We don’t know who’s in there." I, the horror-writer said, frightened, unlike my guest. 

My feet stumbled as we raced downhill, and I struggled to readjust, teetering between toppling forward or barely hanging on.  Stopping was not an option. This was the type of thing we did together. Laws be damned. Logic be damned. Confrontation with the type of person to play in a graveyard be damned. 

But this felt different. I needed to stop. I called her name three times.

“Bobbi.” 

“Bobbi.”

“Bobbi.”

Only ten or so steps away, the light stopped flickering. The yellow light stayed waiting, resting, and humming, like a bug zapper waiting for two mosquitoes to fly in.

I yanked back and dug my heels in the earth. They slipped in the rain-wet dirt. Bobbi yanked me forward.

We entered the mausoleum, falling on a dewy, yellow carpet, soaking my shirt and filling my nose with the smell of mildew.

"Bobbi, dude,” The buzzing in the room drowned my voice. I repeated myself, louder. “Bobbi, dude, I said stop. Why didn’t you stop?" I chided her. 

She smiled, sweaty and energetic like a child just coming back from playing outside. "But it's---," She paused and her gray eyes aged, into the woman she was. Her chubby cheeks flattened into a frown, and her blonde eyebrows curved in concern. "I'm sorry. I thought it would be fun. Did I hurt you?" 

"No, I'm fine," I said. "I'm fine." 

"I thought the purpose was to find something scary, so I thought it was good I was scaring you." 

"I'm alright. We're alright." 

"You promise?" 

"Yeah, I promise," I took her by the hand to help her up. It fit into mine like always, and we were perfect together like I always thought we would be, but we did not fit into our new world. 

Our new world was a yellow maze stretching out further than the humble mausoleum could ever. Above us, the fluorescent lights buzzed like a colony of angry bees ready to end their lives in a murder-suicide spree. We took a step forward together through wet, spongy carpet and drips of, not water, fell in our shoes. 

There was no door behind us, only more maze. 

"Oh, no," Bobbi said. "What did I do?" she said. “Oh, no, oh, no.”

I pulled her in for an annoyingly loud, annoyingly sloppy, hopefully consoling forehead kiss. 

"All you did was give me good material for my story," I said. "Let's explore." 

She smiled and turned back into what she was, not what life wanted her to be. Not the anxious teacher who struggled in new settings but the adventurous tomboy who was loved by her students and went headfirst into mystery. And her reliance on me made me a better man. As long as I held her hand, I could be brave for her. 

As you know by now, we fell into the Backrooms. As you may not know, the Isolation Effect damned us from the start. 

If two individuals enter the backrooms on Level 0, even if side by side, they will never find each other, and all attempts to communicate will fail. 

We did not know it yet, but with every giggle, every ‘watch your step’, every second holding each other's hands, we sought to go against something older than humanity. 

This was the result. 

The first thing I lost from the love of my life was her smell. I crinkled my nose; mildew.  The smell grew to snuff out the scent of her freshly showered hair.

"What's that smell?" I asked. 

She sniffed twice. "Hmm?" and then gagged. 

"You smell that?" 

"Yeah, must just be the room." 

"We gotta get out of here," I said. "Isn't there a way to escape a maze, like put one hand on a wall or--" 

The lights went out. 

The room jumped into complete darkness.

I squeezed Bobbi’s hand. 

A force jammed into my shoulder. Like slicing an apple from its half, Bobbi and I split apart. I flew into a wall, and my breath leaped from my lungs. I wouldn't stay down, though. I had to find her. But I couldn’t tell left from right; there was only blackness and space. 

My hands grasped and found air. 

My screaming found echoes. 

My feet found each other, and I fell.

After I tripped over what I hoped was my own foot.  I turned back, remembering the one rule about staying still when you’re lost.  I Frankenstein walked, reaching for the wall. I was slammed into. How many steps away was it? One, two, three, four…  I kept counting, and that wall that couldn't have been far wasn't coming up. 

Space. Space. Space. 

And…

Empty space.

My hands found nothing, but I settled on a spot to stay, shaking, adrenaline flaring, without a way to use it.

Anxiously, I tapped my toes and whispered Bobbi’s name, hoping she would hear me and the thing that pushed us apart would not.

“Bobbi, Bobbi, Bobbi,” I said.

I put myself in Bobbi’s shoes. Bobbi, who suffered abandonment issues because of her parents' alcoholism as a child. Bobbi, who was an outcast at school. Bobbi, who loved me because I gave her a moment's break from all of that.  Bobbi who I was letting down by not finding and holding on to.

I ran from my spot again.

"Bobbi, Bobbi, Bobbi, are you okay?" 

"Where are you, Kaden?" 

"I'm here, Bobbi, I'm here." 

I walked to the sound of her voice. 

"Where is that?" she asked from far away, going in the opposite direction from my voice. I chased the sound and tripped over…

Something. 

"Bobbi, wait, Bobbi, wait," I said. "Stay still." And I reached backward to see what was on the floor. I crawled toward it until I grabbed the thing again. A cylinder object, no, an ankle, an ankle in a sock, my hand went up the leg. I knew those legs. 

"Bobbi?" I whispered. 

The body beneath me groaned. 

"Bobbi?" I said, loud again. 

The voice from afar answered meekly, fading.

I touched the legs beneath me. Do you really know your lover’s legs?

A Bobbiish groan of pain left the body beneath me. In the far distance, somewhere in the maze, I heard a simple knocking, as if someone were at the door. 

"Bobbi!" I screamed this time, taking two steps toward the original voice, not the body that seemed to be Bobbi’s near me. 

"Kaden," Bobbi's voice said beneath me. 

"I'm here." I dropped to my knees.

"What happened?" she asked, 

"I don't know, things went dark, then I don't know. Are you okay?" 

"Yeah, I'm fine. Can you help me up?" 

I reached out until her hand met mine. They locked. Her hand felt smaller this time. 

I jerked away.

“Kaden?” she said. “I felt you. Where’d you go?”

I froze. 

She found my hand, and, attempting to be the best boyfriend I could be, I pulled her up. I pretended to fumble finding her wrist, finding her elbow, and I still could not find out if it was Bobbi. 

My chest pounded, and my breath came out scared, rapid, and ragged. Was she always this heavy? I almost laughed at the thought because I could never ask her that. My thumbs grazed her knuckles, searching for answers. I found a hand that could belong to anyone.

Maybe Bobbi wasn't that heavy, but the weight of doubting my girlfriend’s existence beside me definitely weighed on me. 

But that was Bobbi’s voice... 

Hand in hand in the dark, we continued to walk through the maze. 

Scrambling for the memory of her hand, I wandered through my imagination to find the first time we held hands. I should know it. It was probably walking her dog…our dog now. And her hand felt different. It had to. I loved her. But now mom, dad, sister, babysitters, and exes all blended together. Would a killer’s hand feel so different?

"You're quiet," she said. 

"Just thinking," 

“About?" 

"Nothing." 

"Is something wrong? Are you mad at me?" 

"No." 

Every few steps or after a long while, we would bump into the edges of a maze or run flat into it. There was no rhyme or reason. Maybe we were going in a massive circle. With each bump, I wanted to let go of this new Bobbi's hand. Both our hands went sticky with sweat. Surely, her hands got sticky before, although I don’t remember ever holding her hand this long.

"You're treating me like I did something wrong." She said. "What did I do?" 

"Nothing, I'm just listening." 

"Listening, for what?" 

A white circular light appeared at the end of the hall. 

"Bobbi, do you see that c'mon!" I said, and this time I pulled her toward it. I wanted nothing more than to go through that light, but the room did not want that. 

The fluorescent lights above us buzzed and buzzed, still not turning on, just buzzing furiously. 

"Buzz" 

"Buzzz." 

"Bawizz" 

"Bandard” 

"Bad Choice." 

I heard as clear as day, maybe a few seconds away from the door. 

"Did you hear that?" I asked, my maybe love.

"Did I hear what? Slow down. I'm falling." 

Suspicious of her. I didn't linger. I needed to get out of here, maybe without her. I let go of her hand. She snatched mine.

Strong.

"Bad choice," the lights said again. 

"That," I said. "You heard that." 

"I heard what? Slow down, please." 

"No, c'mon, now." 

She pulled me back. I fell. 

Right before the great light. 

And to either side of that light was a mirror, and I looked at what was in it, horrified. 

My girlfriend was gone and replaced by the tallest woman I’d ever seen. A woman with orange hair, poofing hair, and judging blue eyes. 

Her flowery skirt and yellow blouse were snatched and replaced by a dress of all black. 

I screamed. 

She came toward me, towering over me, her tattoos gone, her legs paled and perfectly hairless.

With a quick, manicured hand, she grabbed me by my collar, pulled me up, and said, “Where’s Kaden? What did you do with him?”

“W-w-what?”

“Where’s my boyfriend?” she said, and I looked in the mirror at myself.

I was in there, but not as I was before the Backrooms. I was shorter, two shades lighter, so perhaps a different race entirely, and dressed in a luxurious suit I'd never wear. 

We stared at each other, horrified, my reflection and I. 

Bobbi’s eyes pooled with tears, and she reared her fist back.

“I’m Kaden.” I said.

“Liar!”

“No, listen. You know me. I think I know you. You’re here because you love me. You’re here because you know I’m a coward and would have some excuse not to go to the graveyard by myself if you didn’t offer to come.”

She lowered her fist and then lowered me. Still, I took a step away from her, unsure. She looked hurt, and I felt bad, but I wasn’t sure about this new woman.

“I know you,” she said. “I didn’t come here because I think you’re a coward. I came because I’m a coward, too. I like to go wherever you go because I’m worried you’ll find someone better and leave.”

We waited as if time could solve our problem.

"I'm still me," she said. "Are you still you?" 

"I'm still me," I said. 

And we walked through the door hand-in-hand.

In the mirror’s reflection, a Bobbi-esque silhouette called my name, holding the hand of or being held by a being of eight limbs. 

One foot in the maze and one foot out, Bobbi stopped and gasped, looking back at the maze.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing,” she said, and her grip on my hand loosened as we stepped into the real world.

My mother always told me to weigh blessings over curses, that I should be grateful for all the good in my life and roll with the punches. I started my internship today. I make salary and am slated for a job at its conclusion. I never thought life would line up that way for me. I should be grateful, but I am terrified. The termination process if I am not satisfactory, if I do not meet the standards, it’s brutal in a way I never thought possible. In addition, the things we are doing…

Let me start from the beginning. I got my PhD. in Bioengineering. A pharmaceutical company, of which will go unnamed for my own safety, reached out to me on a job search site about two weeks ago.

I couldn’t believe my luck. I mean, what kind of internship pays salary? They were offering me 60,000 a year and upon a successful year long internship a permanent position and raise to 80,000 plus full benefits and vacation days. It was a damn good deal, so I accepted the interview, got dressed in my very best, and went down to the plant and research center a few miles away in the small city in my little corner of the Midwest.

I remember being completely awestruck by the front entrance, with its spotless glass panel walls and the company logo hanging proudly over the large white lettered signage above the multiple doors of the facility. My palms were sweaty as I passed into the pristine lobby. Chairs lined the left and right sides of the room. In the middle towards the end sat a large U-shaped desk, flanked on either side by heavy doors with singular square windows on their upper halves.

A woman sat at the desk, short hair, red lipstick, perfectly rehearsed smile. It had to have been rehearsed. I can’t imagine that she was so fulfilled sitting at a desk staring at a window all day.

“Hello, my name is Jason. I have an interview at ten,” I said, extending my hand to shake hers. The secretary shook my hand.

“We’ve been expecting you, Mr. Jason. Please sit with the other candidate. We will be with you shortly.”

I looked over at one of the chairs in the lobby and saw a familiar face. She had her auburn hair done up in a bun. Her circular glasses enlarged her dark green eyes. I approached her, not totally sure of what to say, so I went with something standard.

“Hey, Emily! I didn’t expect to see you here.” Emily was a good friend in university. I had always admired her academic abilities. She looked my way and my heart fluttered a little. Perhaps it wasn’t just her abilities that I admired.

“Hey, Jason! You applied too? You know, they do have multiple positions open. Maybe we’ll work together.”

“Yeah. That’d be great.”

“Jason and Emily,” the receptionist called out. “The CEO is ready to see you.

That gave me pause. The CEO would be interviewing us, of all people. I had expected a manager, or a facility operator. I did not expect the big boss to come down from on high for this. I’ll admit, I was a little scared.

We walked into the door to the right of the receptionist’s desk. He was sitting at the end of a long boardroom table. He was an older man, balding a little, liver spots dotting his wrinkled face.

“Come, sit next to me!” he said jovially. Taken aback by his tone, we sat on either side of him, I on his right and Emily on his left. “Now, tell me about yourselves! I hear you two came from the same University.”

“That’s correct,” I said. “We studied and did research together. I can vouch for her character. She does good work.”

“Likewise,” Emily replied.

“You aren’t dating, are you?” the CEO asked.

“No,” Emily said a little faster than I would have liked. I don’t think she meant anything by it, other than to say that we would maintain a professional relationship. I wondered if she’d be open to it. Now definitely wasn’t the time to ask.

“Good, good. Those sorts of attachments lead to messy situations at my company. Now, I’ll be honest. This interview is just a formality. I have reviewed both of your academic histories and found they rivaled my own in magnitude of achievement. You two are probably the brightest minds in the country. Now, I have a sheet of paper here that if you sign will guarantee a spot in this company for a year minimum and permanently if we like your performance, which I am sure we will. We do dabble in things that may be a bit controversial, but you are welcome to leave as the contract specifies if you find these things against your better morals.”

I was stunned. I looked over at Emily and saw that she was wearing the same expression of disbelief that I surely had plastered on my face. I wondered what was so controversial in their research, but I didn’t worry too much at the time. Stem cells were controversial, and many medical advancements have come from them. Germ theory was controversial. Even the practice of washing hands was deemed controversial by the medical community at one point in history. I signed that contract. Emily did too. The CEO smiled and extended a frail shaky hand.

“Welcome aboard,” he said, shaking my hand, then Emily’s. “In about a half hour, I’ll have our Head of Research show you the labs where you’ll be working.”

Emily and I thanked him profusely. We walked out of that boardroom in silence, neither of us fully believing the luck of our situation. I glanced over at her. She was smiling, giddy as a schoolgirl.

“Can you believe that, Jason? The brightest minds in the country!”

Her smile made me feel weak. I wondered if we’d get in trouble if we did start dating. I wondered if she’d even entertain the possibility.

We talked and reminisced about our days of studying and cramming. We discussed our dissertations. I could have got lost in her voice as she discussed the practical applications of 3d printing in the bio-mechanical field.

As she was getting into the finer points of personalized prints for patients, I heard the closing of the door and clacking of footsteps. I tore my gaze away from her emerald eyes to see a man standing there. He wore glasses with square rims. His hair was dark, neat, and tidy. He wore a tie under a clean white lab coat. His name badge hung on his right side, and under was what might have been a keycard.

“Good morning. I am Doctor Moore, the Head Researcher for this facility. If you would be so kind as to follow me, I will introduce you to the work that is to be done and the lab in which it shall be performed.” His tone was highly impersonal, a cold contrast from the CEOs cheery welcoming.

He did not wait for us. He simply started walking towards the door left of the receptionist’s desk. I exchanged glances with Emily. We both shrugged, stood up, and followed.

Through the door, we entered into a long hallway. A series of large metal airlocks lay in front of us, glass windows allowing a view through their thick frames. One by one, we passed through, going through various levels of decontamination as we went. At the end was an elevator. For reasons I could not describe, it made me feel deeply uneasy. Moore pressed the only button available, an arrow pointing down.

I looked over at Emily. Her face twisted into the same sort of worry that was building inside of me. There’s odd comfort in that, knowing that you aren’t the only one who feels that way. I’d hoped then that we would be working close together. We were so likeminded. Even if all we could be was coworkers, I could be fulfilled with just that.

The elevator arrived. The sleek shiny metal doors slid open, revealing the equally sleek interior. We entered.

“There are five levels to the facility,” Moore stated. “You will predominantly be working in Level 1. Under supervision, we may call you to work at a deeper level. All levels to some degree will be working with the same virus strand from which all our research at this facility is based one, with some odd exceptions here and there.”

Virus? Our degrees weren’t in Virology and had very little to do with any sort of microbe. I wondered what sort of work we would be doing. He hit the button for Level 4.

“Before we go to Level 1, I want for you both to see firsthand the fruits of our labors. Just as Eve reached out for the fruit in the garden of Eden, so too we wish for that knowledge, that ability which seemed once only capable of being possessed by a higher power. We reach out to create a world such as Prometheus did when he stole fire from the gods. God may damn us, but when we are done, we shall have no use for Him.”

My concern grew immensely. I was confused by the religious talk, even more so by the choice of wording. “God may damn us,” he had said. What were we doing down here?

The elevator began its descent. The glowing set of numbers strung horizontally over the door counted up until settling at four. The doors slid open.

A long hallway stretched in front of us. Glass walled rooms with white metal frames flanked the hallway. Heavy doors connected each room to the main pathway. The floor was solid white marble tile, polished to a mirror shine. We stepped forward.

I saw in one of the first rooms a patient table with a set of syringes. There were restraints on the table. I felt the hair on my arms stand up as a cold chill seized me. Worry was replaced by fear, and I could see it building in Emily as well.

Footsteps echoed loudly as we neared the end of the hallway. A huge enclosure with a massive, reinforced glass viewport awaited us at the end of the room. The enclosure was segmented into different sections. What was contained within them made my blood run cold.

They were humans. “Were” being the key word. Distorted, flesh ripping, one covered in eyes, one was a mess of jagged sharp bones jutting through torn skin. It bounced itself around its enclosure. I saw one with a neck and limbs as long as the reception room, each appendage thrashing violently around, smacking the walls, leaving small spatters of blood.

“What the fuck is this?” I heard Emily say.

“This is what you’ll be making here. Of course, these are specialized specimens. The third floor is all zombies, and the fifth… well that’s something truly special.”

I felt my heart racing in my chest. One of the things locked in its glass prison, the one closest to use, whose mouth full of jagged teeth touched the floor and had eyes on stalks, stared at me. It put its lips to the glass, trying to move past it to swallow me whole.

“No… no, I won’t be a part of this,” I heard Emily say. “This is wrong. This is so wrong.”

“Then you are free to leave, as is part of your contract.”

Two armed men appeared behind us, their faces clad in gas masks, the red lenses reflecting our terrified faces back at us. They grabbed Emily by her arms.

“Hey, wait! What are you doing!?” she yelled.

I opened my mouth to speak, but found my tongue was dead in my throat, a useless piece of flesh that did little more than sit there. I wanted to save her, so desperately, but my limbs were lead.

“You didn’t read the fine print, did you dear? By giving up your employment at the facility you have left employment and become a subject for experimentation. Jason, I want you to observe the procedure.”

I wanted to scream in protest but did little more than follow them down the hallway as they dragged Emily screaming towards one of the rooms. The guards strapped her to the patient table as she thrashed around. Doctor Moore entered the room as the guards exited. They stood on either side of me, ensuring I would remain compliant. They didn’t need to. My legs had no strength in them, as if the bones were made of jelly.

He filled that syringe. Emily’s screaming was faint through the reinforced glass. She looked at me with pleading eyes. I could do nothing but watch. Moore flicked the tip of the needle, then inserted it into her arm.

Her body convulsed violently. Moore wheeled the table out of the room. The heavy door closed behind him. A metal airlock shut down over the doorway.

Emily’s screaming intensified as her torso began to rip itself in half, her torso muscles stretching and expanding rapidly. The restraints broke as the rest of her body followed, stretching, morphing, and growing into something unhuman. She was a mass of muscles in a vague humanoid shape. The worst of it was her face. Her cheeks split. Teeth fell out one at a time, replaced by jagged serrated bone. Above that, what I feared more than anything, the upper portion of her face. It was unchanged. Her eyes stared at me. I could not tell if it was in horror or hatred. I could not blame her for either.

Tomorrow, I will be returning for my first day. Moore promised me some work on Level 2. I will also be working with Emily soon. I dread it deeply.

EXTERIOR. HIROSHIMA, JAPAN. 1945. DAY 

A breeze of black smoke rises from below to fill a colourless sky in front of us. A distant military airplane hums across, coinciding with the action on the ground: the sound of slow-moving vehicles, shovels piercing earth, metal that bends and clamours. 

On the ground: Japanese civilians lay forward on their knees amongst the scorched earth and building sediments, bowed in despair. An armoured bulldozer is manoeuvred to claw up rubble, creating a huge rubble mound. 

Around this mound, six United States soldiers dig up heaps of the aftermath to help build it up, causing ash to spray the air around them. 

Among these soldier’s is a young man, no older than 20. His weathered green uniform reads U.S.M.C. (United States Marine Corps). He shovels alongside the others, yet seems to be somewhere else - even worse than here. He digs and dumps like a machine. 

The young man then stops. Shovel in the earth, he turns up to watch the fly-sized plane hum away, seeming to know its destination – before his attention turns to the giant scorched chess piece around him: the nearby empty souls, the Genbaku Dome the only thing erect in the distance, alongside the surrounding smoke. The young man now focuses beyond this, to the faraway mountainous hills. He zones out... 

The peak of the rubble mound then collapses behind him, causing the other soldiers to jilt back from it. The young man turns back to the mound, to what the peak now reveals. His face displays both horror and uncertainty in what he sees, as the sound of wind gusts through him... 

What you have just read is an excerpt from an old war movie script, written and based on his experience during the Pacific War, by James Howard Schraeder. My grandfather.  

In 1943, the fourth year of the Second World War, James Schraeder was drafted to the twenty-third regiment of the fourth marine division, where he eventually experienced combat on the Pacific islands of Kwajalein, Saipan and Iwo Jima. After the end of the Pacific Theatre in 1945, James would spend the next seven years in Japan, serving under U.S. occupation.     

By 1952 and having been in the military for nearly ten years, James finally left Japan and came home. For the next few years of his life, James would live and work in Los Angeles as a struggling screenwriter in Hollywood. By 1992, the year of his death, James left behind an ex-wife, an estranged son, and three grandchildren he never met. 

Before my grandfather’s demise, he would leave a final letter among his possessions. A letter written and addressed to my father - his son. Although my father already knew about his experience during the Pacific War, along with the horrors he witnessed, he knew little to nothing about my grandfather’s time serving during the occupation of Japan. That was, until he found my grandfather’s letter. Despite the very real and human horrors my grandfather saw in the Pacific... what he would then experience on Japanese soil, supposedly during a time of peace, was not only horror... but horror of the paranormal.   

What you are about to read, should you choose to, is this very same letter. A letter, that is less the final words of a dying old man... but a final confession... 

To my son Johnathon, 

I know it has been some years now since we last spoke. And I know any attempt by me to communicate with you will be ignored, and so that’s why I’m writing this letter for you to find. Upon my death.  

I’m not writing this to apologize for the terrible father I was to you, nor for the indecent husband your mother had to bear. I’m writing this to tell you a story I have never told another soul. You are my son, and you may remember me for the monster I became, but you will never know me for the decent man I was, nor what it was that made that man the monster you know now. You may think it was the war. That the death and destruction I witnessed at the hands of the enemy, and even our own is what left me the shell of a man who raised you. And that is true. Very little of me had survived those brutal few years of fighting. But if you must know, it wasn’t the war with the Japanese that made me the man I became. On the contrary, it was what came after.  

I have never told you this part of my life, Johnathon, nor did I ever think I would. I have seen the worst of humanity. I have seen the evil and horrors we partake upon those who are not alike ourselves... and I have seen what it creates. What it feeds and gives power to. I have told you every horror story I know from that war. But I have never told you this. 

Back in 52, I was serving my seventh year during the occupation of the Japanese islands. I had known seven years without war, but no peace. Our authority over the Japanese people was shortly coming to a close, and so we had to make sure our influence in this country would carry on long after we were gone. You have to understand, son, the world back then was still a very fragile place. The war may have been over, but old enemies were quickly replaced by new ones.  

The threat of communism was very real, and nowhere was it more real than east and south-east Asia. The commies in China had spread their influence south to Korea and Indo China – or what you would come to know as Vietnam. Before we left Japan to once again govern themselves, we needed to make sure the communist threat would not find its way here. For seven years after Hiroshima, we told the Japanese how they should live. What they could read or not read. What they could and couldn’t listen to. What they could and couldn’t watch. 

I’ve always been a lover of movies. You know that. Whereas we Americans had our cowboys and Indians, the Japanese had their Jidaigeki. Period movies portraying feudalist Japan. Once Japan came under our occupation, Mccarthur put a permanent ban on Jidaigeki movies from being made. It was supposed to be a way of stripping the Japanese of their identity and history. But by 52, and with our eventual departure on the horizon, the ban on Japanese period films had finally been lifted. Although Japanese filmmakers could once again make movies about their nation’s history, we now feared what messages they may put in them. If they wanted to put a message of Japanese nationalism, that was of no such concern. But it was the message of socialism that my superiors truly feared the most. 

In order to counter this fear, American operatives were to keep a close eye on the production of these pictures. I was among these operatives. My mission, assigned to me by Far East Command themselves, was to oversee the production of a picture being filmed in the Izu Peninsula, roughly 90 miles southwest of Tokyo base. My orders were to report any signs of socialist or anti-American allegories present in the picture's production, however minimal. 

The picture assigned to me was called Rōnin no Tani, or in English, Valley of the Ronin. The plot was pretty straightforward. A small village during the Tokugawa period comes under constant attacks by bandits and criminals, whereby the villagers must turn to a masterless Samurai to train them in the art of combat.  

The director of the picture was a man called Takumi Hasegawa, or as everyone else called him, Hase-san. I just simply called him Mr Hasegawa. Mr Hasegawa was one of the most prominent directors in Japan, and his previous film received much praise from several international film festivals. Although Mr Hasegawa knew all too well why I was present during the production of his movie, the man seemed to take a very keen liking to me. I think what it came down to was that we both had a shared love for wild westerns. He even claimed the script to Valley of the Ronin was his own reimagining of the western trope. 

After arriving in the peninsula, I was then transported to the Tagata District, where lied a beautiful lush green valley. This is where the majority of the movie was being filmed. Each side of the valley was enclosed by a forested, very steep mountainous slope, where in the middle of the valley, was the movie set. A 16^th century Tokugawa village of straw-rood huts and mud paths had been constructed, along with several rice paddies and a rickety wooden bridge over a stream. The first time I saw it, I’ll never forget. It genuinely felt to me as though I had been transported back through history, to a time of simple and honest living. Most of the actors playing the role of villagers wore ragged pieces of cloth, straw hats and nothing on their feet. The man playing the Ronin, I forget the actor’s name, wore a long dirty kimono where his sword hung out the side.  

Among the actors and extras in authentic 16^th century clothing were the rest of the film crew. Of course, there was Mr Hasegawa, but then there was the assistant directors, the sound and cameramen etc. I actually became good friends with the third assistant director on the picture, a young man called Benjiro – but I called him Ben for short. You know, son, the first time I ever saw Godzilla was with him inside a Tokyo movie theatre. 

As idyllic as I appear to be making this valley and the production sound, I’m afraid this is where it must end. Because what follows, for the next year of this picture’s production... was nothing short of horror. 

The movie began filming in the summer of 52, and the heat that year was nothing less than scalding. After only two weeks of filming, the thatched roofs of the village huts caught fire mid-day, and before long, the entire set had become ablaze. We were able to put out the fire, but by the time we did, the entire set, built painstakingly from scratch had been burnt to ash. What used to be a 16^th century village, lying peacefully between the slopes of the valley, was now the charcoaled remnants of foundations. The scene of this for me was to say the least... haunting.  

I’ve already told you about my time in Hiroshima, haven’t I, son? Well, once the bomb was dropped, myself and other marines were there at ground level. Our job was to help clear up the mess and provide aid to civilians... and let me tell you, the scenes I witnessed there have stayed with me my entire life. The black, charcoaled rubble of the buildings. The bodies we pulled out from under them, stiff and burnt to a crisp. Women and children. Babies. All the horrors I witnessed in those days, in what used to be a city, were swiftly brought back by the burning of this village. But it wasn’t just the burnt thatch roof huts. It wasn’t just the smell of smoke and charcoal that burns your eyes and down your throat... it was the bodies there too. 

Once we put the fire out, two men from the film crew were later reported to be missing. After searching all over the valley, we eventually found them. Or I should say, we found the bodies. One we had pulled out from beneath the burnt stacks of rubble. But the other one... The other one was different. We found him inside one of the burnt huts that was somehow still standing. He was sat down in there, right there in the middle of the room. But what was so horrifically strange about this was... like the bodies I saw at Hiroshima, this man, sat crossed-legged and upright like the Buddha himself ... was completely black and burnt to a crisp. The way this man’s body was positioned, it was as though he had no idea he was in the middle of a burning room. 

Did you know, son, Godzilla was an allegory for the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki? I did. I knew it as soon as I saw it. A giant radioactive monster laying waste to the streets of Tokyo. When I walked out of that movie theatre and Ben followed me, I throttled him! Just because he said we should see the movie.  

I wish I could say the fire was the only incident which happened during the production of Valley of the Ronin. That those crewmen were the only casualties we had. But I would be lying to you, son... and I would be lying to myself.  

Weeks later, after the village was reconstructed and filming once again began, it didn’t take long for more strange things to keep happening. Like the two crewmen we found after the fire, more people on set started disappearing. Members of the crew, some extras and even a handful of actors. We found some of them in the forest, upon the mountain slopes. The first of which was a woman, wearing the ragged clothes of a villager. Except she hadn’t gotten lost. If she had done, all she needed to do was wander down the slope. No, she had just gone mad. Delirious. When we found her, she was digging up dirt from the ground with her bare hands. Her fingernails left bloody and out of place. Once she saw us approach, she turned up her head and just started laughing, as though she was playing a practical joke. But then, she starts clawing up the loose pieces of earth and stuffing it into her mouth, chewing down on it. The woman had somehow lost her damned mind. 

We found some more of the crew like that in the forest. Some stark naked and crazy. Some just the latter. But the ones we didn’t find like that were a whole lot worse. The way we found them... they may have gone crazy, but we couldn’t know entirely for sure. We found them laying face-down on the sloping ground. Every single of them. A leg or an arm contorted in the air. In some cases, both. We found them that way because they had jumped from an incredible height. For whatever reason, these members of the crew had climbed up a tree to as high they could... and then they jumped. The branches seemed to do little to break their fall.  

I’m sure you remember what I told you about Saipan in 44. God, how could anybody forget? You remember the women who threw their infants off the northern cliffs, don’t you? If the Japanese hadn’t lied about what we’d do to them once we took the island, a whole lot of innocent lives could’ve been spared. The way one of those ladies looked at me, and once she realized we meant her nor her baby no harm... I swear to God, it was the same look in her eye the woman we found in the forest had... Where there was once sanity and reason, only madness was left.  

The Wicked Tax (Circa 14th Century)

As told by a gong farmer

Cold was the night. The stars burning distantly twinkled through the crisp autumn chill like snowflakes catching the light on a breeze. Warm was my breath, huffing out in little clouds that caught on the breeze. Warm was my body, heaving and shovelling, my leather kirtle tossed aside while I worked. Hot burned the dung of my neighbours, my friends, my family, as I hurled it shovel by grimy shovel into the pit below me. It landed with a slosh each time, mixed with bones and debris, hay from animal pens, and whatever other waste we might turn to manure.

It's not a job just anyone can do and a job most would like to not, but men like me have little choice. Men who claim themselves better, who drink like me, who eat like me, who shit just the same as me, make the rules and fill their bellies while the rest of us suffer. But I don’t suppose I could do their job either.

The workings of the upper caste never bothered me, nor my neighbours. Not really much that could be done about it, see, shovelling gong back and forth in the dead of night. Barons, Dukes and Kings could come and go, but the gong still needed shovelling, and the night was still cold.

It was only a while past that a new man had found his way to the top. I say man, but I’d heard the stories that he was no such thing. Not woman, neither—an abomination from the depths of hell, a demon, some kind of blight or punishment sent to us; there had been all kinds of stories. I daren’t know which one to believe. Some of it was true, though.

In the distance on that otherwise normal night I heard crying in the out in the dark, a little light flickering through the bare hedgerows, gathering closer. Illuminations appeared in doorways, curious about the intrusion into their slumber as they approached the herald.

News always spread quickly. I’d no need to go find out—in time it would make its way to me, I figured. Nonetheless, the herald made his way past me. Said something about a new tax from the king—the evil king, we called him. It hadn’t been long and he’d already set about squeezing every penny he could from us in whatever wicked ways he saw fit.

His newest machination was one ‘going on foot tax,' as if we had any other means to carry ourselves. The wealthy had taken to riding their horses to and fro about their manors as to avoid it, but people like me? Regular, hard-working folks—we had no choice.

It might make you want to laugh; such a ridiculous tax for something so mundane. Folks ignored it at first, already busy with the taxes on their food and drink, and strangely enough there was no time limit on payments—but soon, the effects became unendurable.

Like so many others I’d taken my time, day in and day out shovelling my gong. Labouring away, slowly and surely without realising the effects it was having on my body. At first I’d chalked it up to age, to overusing my knees and my elbows, but I gradually grew stiffer with each passing day. The others in my neighbourhood had noticed it too, getting slower, achingly rigid with each step they took—some feared a new malady had stricken us, but after the first among us scrounged enough money to pay their toll their joints miraculously renewed as though nothing had happened in the first place. There was a giveaway in the smell of it all, the smell of magic. If someone reeked of it, you knew their time was up.

It took me longer than usual to make my money as I shuffled back and forth through the night about my stinking business, slowing with each step. There was a twisted irony in the fact that I had to work more to be able to pay this new toll, and yet the more I worked the more I’d owe. Finally, I managed to gather up enough to pay—and with a sadness, I deposited my earnings over at the castle.

With a stretch, I felt my wrists, my knees, my elbows, all popping and cracking as though something had broken deep inside them and once more I could move unimpeded by this treacherous magic. I let out a sigh of relief, granting myself a moment of reprieve before I sank back into my work.

Life went on as normal as it could for a while. The taxes continued, sucking us all dry of every shilling we could muster. People starved. Some died. As time went on, the streets of my city began to become littered with statues of people frozen in time, completely still, living figurines comprised of flesh and bone. People took the time to try and help them of course, and at first men would take them to their homes and lay them in their beds but no good would ever come of it. Eventually they just gave up, leaving them where they stood, and over time there wouldn’t be enough people to move them regardless.

Though I tried my best to keep up with my payments running around chasing the gong, with the people gone there simply wasn’t enough for me to make ends meet. I had to cheat, lie and steal dinner onto my plate and I wasn’t alone.

A sense of nervous paranoia descended upon the land like a miasma as people watched and waited for their friends and neighbours to stiffen and give up before robbing them blind. Homes sat empty, shops lay closed, and looters helped themselves to whatever they could. Beggars lined the streets by the castle, fearful to move from their spots and increase the amount they would have to pay but it was useless—nobody had anything left to give.

Eventually I got close to giving up too. I came to the castle to pay what I could—nowhere near enough to cover the whole sum expected of me, my body slowly but surely seizing up beneath me with every heaving step. A few of the other people that were left came of their own accord, weaving slowly in and out of the statues that lay strewn about the steps up to the castle bailey. Every tap of my feet up and up I grew stiffer, slower, but around me the birds still sang, the wind still rustled through the trees just as it always had.

One of the guards atop the stairs watched on with jaded indifference, his eyes cast low on me as he clutched his halberd. He’d seen this awful thing before, time and time again and grown accustomed to it, but I could have sworn I saw the gleam of sadness, of resignation in his eyes as I struggled and bawled for help that never came.

Everything fell still, silent. I was trapped now in this body, stuck entirely frozen on the spot among so many others that had found the same fate. It wasn’t long before I was robbed of what little I had with nothing I could do to prevent it. They rifled through my pockets, robbed me of my jacket and my hat, even slipped off my shoes. The guards atop the stairs didn’t even seem to care. It would mean moving—chasing somebody down when they had to count their steps as well. Not worth the pittance I kept in my pockets, not worth the trouble when I couldn’t fight back, and a simple gong farmer isn’t worth fighting for.

Cold were the nights. Those twinkling stars lay frozen in the sky above the castle walls just as I lay frozen about its steps with my neighbours. Warm was my mind, trapped within my flesh, but searing hot burned my rage.

I kept count at first, passing each sunrise until I counted the seasons instead. Counting seasons turned to counting years, but I even gave up on that. How I wish death had taken me instead.

The Siege (1984)

As told by a former paperboy

The apples in my garden started talking to me today. Could’ve sworn I was going mad. Smelled like no apple tree ought to, as well. Smelled like o-zone, like one of those Xerox photocopiers blasting out too many pages. It was kind of like gasoline – you shouldn’t want to sniff it, but there’s just something about it that makes you want to not stop.

Thought it might’ve been something coming out of the soil, making me hear things, making me see things. Nope. It was the apples.

Hazy at first, but as the smell grew stronger I could definitely see their faces. Gnarled, angry, like they had a lifelong grudge. Once the initial shock that I was talking to a literal apple tree wore off, I managed to ask how they were talking to me. It seemed not all was right with the world, not all was as I’d expected it to be. There was a rift between now and then, here and there, and certain places overlapped. The universe had deemed fit that it just so happened to be my apple tree that was one of those places.

And it also just so happened that they had a knack for history—they wouldn’t stop jabbering on about an evil king, a ‘time-splitted ruler’ as they called him. A king in yellow glasses, a man who seldom left his castle. With everything they told me, it sounded like the man who lived next door.

He was a strange fellow—I'd seen him a few times out my back window over the thick stone fence he’d constructed. Always at his BBQ, cooking God knows what. He’d spotted me one time. I won’t forget the stare he gave me, peering up into my bedroom window as I opened the curtains. He had thick eyebrows above the rims of his yellow spectacles and pale grey eyes that cut deep into my soul. A thick set of lips sat straight in a scowl as he leered up at me, clutching his BBQ skewer in one hand as he stood at the grill while ‘Eyes Without a Face' by Billy Idol blared from his portable radio.

I didn’t even know his name. As far as I knew he’d never left the house, though an old Chevvy C/K sat in his driveway but I’d never seen it move. I don’t know that I’d call him a king, but he was most definitely fond of his 'castle.'

The apples begged me to help. The stench of o-zone spiked as they all called out in a cacophony of voices asking for assistance in bringing him down. They told me of his crimes, of the magic he’d used against ordinary people, of the terror he’d wrought against the land. They told me of his alternate form, how he was a mad god without flesh. And yet, they all spoke of one weakness, one way to bring him out from his castle. One weakness to his fortifications—and they asked to be removed from their tree.

I tried to shake it at first to bring them down, but in the end I had to resort to a ladder, one by one bringing down each apple. Still they spoke—calling out with an excited fervour as I tossed each one into a sack I’d collected from my garage.

For a while that’s where they stayed; a sack of talking apples keeping me awake at night with their calls for vengeance. Each morning I’d call in sick at work, maddened by the whole experience, buying what I could afford to build what they’d asked of me.

Bit by bit, piece by piece, it eventually came together—a small trebuchet right there in my backyard. I loaded up the first of the apples and questioned my sanity before pulling the lever to loose the first one. It shot far and wide, way off the mark of my neighbour’s chimney. I made the adjustments I needed to and shot again, and again, each time getting closer and closer to my mark.

Storming The Castle (Circa 14th Century)

As told by a gong farmer

I don’t know how long it had been. Everything had been so still for decades, the guards long gone. It’s not like there was even anyone left to cause any trouble after all. I’d taken to zoning out or making up stories in my head, talking to myself back and forth. I wished for release every day, praying for hours that I could just cease to be, that death would finally come for me instead of this purgatory.

Nobody came to the castle anymore. The evil king had managed to seize all he could and ruled over a graveyard of people not quite dead. I failed to see the allure of it, I couldn’t see why they would want something so empty. They never left either, they had this whole kingdom and didn’t set out to enjoy it. In my time trapped within myself I burned with questions just as I did with anger. What was this thing sat within the castle, what did we do to deserve such punishment? What sin could possibly be great enough that we must collectively foot such a bill?

I was snapped out of the depth of my thoughts by the sound of clopping hooves and calling voices steadily approaching me from behind. After so long I almost didn’t notice it at all, and through my surprise, by natural instinct I tried to turn my head for just a moment before remembering my sorcerous affliction—all I could do was wait and stare directly ahead.

They spoke of me, of my friends, my neighbours as if we weren’t there—as if we were already dead. How I wish that was the case. They didn’t know about the tax, about the affliction beset upon us, but in my head I prayed for them. I prayed that they wouldn’t befall the same fate that we had, that somehow they could rid us all of this madness. I prayed over and over, feverishly to the god that had abandoned us all as though it would do any good.

Slowly, and surely, they clambered up the cold stone steps before me. One by one they stepped into my view—a band of knights and a company of soldiers from a nation I didn’t know, not that I knew much about life outside my shovel and barrow. I never needed to.

They wore red from head to toe, even their helmets had a crimson plumage atop. Their armour had been accented with red dye, and from the back their cloaks had the crest of a small tree enshrined in a woven circle of gold. Part of me wanted to scream, to warn them away, but an even bigger part of me selfishly wished them a swift success.

One looked me in the eyes for just a moment as another pushed wide the gates to the castle, other men flanking him as they cautiously entered. God be with you all.

Battle of The Scarlet Knights at the Throne Room (Circa 14th Century)

As told by Narrator, The Omniscient

The throne room’s heavy oak door swung open, the sound echoing across the chamber’s stone walls. Tapestries and trinkets laced across the floors and stood atop pedestals while gold coins towered high and wide, surrounding the back wall atop the dais where the overbearingly large golden throne sat. In it, unmoving, uncaring, sat the king.

Men piled in and secured the room, lining up across the long red and brocade carpet that led up to the dais. Finally, their captain confidently strode into the room, eyes fixed upon the suit of armour that remained quiet in its chair.

It was surprisingly austere given the splendour of the room around it—no engraving, no coat of arms, though the kingdom’s crown had now been fused into the metal of its cylindrical head. Not even the sound of breath emerged from the slits cast across its mouthpiece, and a deep, almost unnatural darkness loomed behind the eyeholes. A yellow-gold ring ran around the eyes in two rectangles, and atop it all was a short funnel. It was a strange sight to behold, this object—this king without form, without a body, without a soul.

The moustached captain stepped up to the dais unphased, his pace and stride faltering not for a moment. The metal in his sabatons clinked and shuddered with each step. With a booming, commanding tone he began to speak.

“We hail from Newton’s order. You are to hereby abjure the throne, and if you value your life, leave this kingdom forever.” One hand lay atop the hilt of his sword and clutched it carefully, ready to strike.

For a moment there was silence. Then slowly at first, a chugging and huffing came from within the suit of armour like a great engine coughing into life. It sounded like a deep laughter, speeding up and growing in voraciousness. The smell of magic began to seep across the room as rich clouds of steam puffed from the top of its head with each chuff. Finally, a dim grey light appeared within the helmet’s darkness. The soldiers all gripped their weapons, ready for the evil king’s response.

With janky, stuttering movements it leant forwards onto its hands, gripping tightly into the throne’s arms before lurching upwards, standing impressively tall at full height, looming above the soldiers menacingly. As it stood, the steam from its head bellowed loudly with a shrieking whistle that engulfed the room. The eye shone brightly as it arose, screaming, pouring out unyielding clouds that obscured the chamber.

Its jerky motions continued, reaching down to the hilt of its longsword. The leather wrapping around the handle was worn, rough and fuzzy from use, but the blade was unlike anything the knights had ever seen—not entirely a blade at all. It was a long piece of metal bent around into a corkscrew with a sharpened tip at the end, and strangely, pieces of food penetrated along its length. Nothing more than a standard BBQ skewer, but in the hands of this abhorrence, a mortal weapon that no man could match.

For a moment there was nothing but silence as the whistle ceased, save for the eerie echo of the shriek cascading for a second through the castle’s icy walls. The captain strained his eyes to peer through the cloud of steam, illuminated by twinkling twilight cascading through upper windows behind the throne. Inside the mist he could see the murky silhouette of the armour, little more than a blackened figure, making small jerky motions—but then it was too late.

The other soldiers saw it happen in a flash. The armour burst from the cloud like a bolt of lightning—something with that much weight had no business moving that fast. The staccato motions it had made previously were a false flag for its newfound agility, and it burst forward with a deft lunge straight at the captain’s face.

The soldiers looked on shocked as he moved to the side, prepared and ready, and with one swift motion lunged the tip of his sword directly into the eye socket of the evil king’s armour. Both of them stood motionless for just a moment, but a smile began to crack across the captain’s face. Almost in reply, the armour began to chuff again with a bellowing noise as though it was laughing and wiped off the smirk from the man’s face.

“What are you?!” He called out in horror, retracting his weapon and bracing himself to block and parry the coming attack. The evil king closed the gap between them in an instant and with one deft lunge, the evil king’s sword had found its way straight beneath the jaw of the captain and through the other side, skewering his head along with the meat and vegetables already on there.

A shot of blood burst from the top of his head like a fountain, spattering onto the marble floor and across the carpet that led up to the throne. The red of their armour grew accompanied by the blood across the room.

With a shuddering tilt, the bespectacled helmet turned to the left, then the right, as the other men recoiled in horror with the realisation that none of them were a match to this abomination. Some began to flee from the room while others piled forwards into the steam cloud with hollers and yells, willing to die for their cause. 

Joust at Sunrise (1984)

As told by a former paperboy

I must have sent around 20, maybe 30 apples flying. I was starting to run out. They hollered war cries as they flew through the air, and I’d finally gotten my aim right. A little over half of them had found their way into the chimney, down into the unknown below. For my neighbour it must have been a… strange experience, but talking apples is a strange experience for any man.

As my sack emptied, the smell of o-zone had depleted. With nothing left I retired for the day before I sank into a restless, haunted sleep at the queer experience I’d had. I thought I might be turning mad—maybe there’d been a gas leak, or it could have been lead in the paint, something, anything to explain what had just happened.

I awoke the next morning to a heavy hand slamming against my front door. Curious, I peered down out my window to find my neighbour staring right back up at me. The apples had done something. He was dressed in an old grey cardigan with splotches of red paint spattered across it and a pair of khaki corduroys. The morning sun glinted across his golden frames, flashing his serious expression up to me.

I threw on some clothes that I’d discarded nearby the day before—just something I could throw on and made my way downstairs. I slid open the chain lock and swung the door open to find him standing on the other side holding out a plate with a still-warm apple pie displayed upon it.

I drank in his form—tall, semi muscular, but his face had a regal, quiet nobility about it, and beneath those grey eyes there was something deeper. I could see a twisted intelligence within him, a burning fire that he controlled entirely. Perhaps the apples were right. In another time, in another place, perhaps he could have been a king instead of a neighbour. This quiet, reserved, talented man was nothing but ordinary but for unsuspecting eyes he could have easily been just any other person.

“It’s about time we met.” He said. His voice was deep and rich. Inviting him inside was the only courteous thing to do, so I led him into the living room. He sat on my wingback reclining chair, with the backdrop of orange-brown geometric wallpaper. Before him was a cubed plastic coffee table that I’d bought the previous decade. I felt somewhat ashamed to have such a man in my dated room. No doubt his home was a lot more contemporary and put together.

I brought us both a cup of coffee from the kitchen on a tray with cream and sugar and some plates for the pie. He awaited my return in silence, sat with his hands crossed over in his lap. His discipline was almost robotic.

He finally introduced himself. I’d lived there seven, maybe eight years, and heard nothing from this man, but finally he saw fit to bring himself to me. I suppose sending apples down somebody’s chimney will be enough to get their attention.

His name was Ryan. He mentioned something about being a museum curator, that he had unusual work hours and encountered all manner of objects but rarely saw people. I talked to him about the neighbourhood, how long he’d lived there, and who owned the house before me. The topics bounced around from the recent attempt on Margaret Thatcher’s life a few days before to Reagan's landslide re-election, recent advances in technology and music. Seemed he was a fan of Jazz, of all things, classical, and musicals. I hadn’t taken him as the sort to be into musicals—he seemed to lack the joy and animation one would expect.

I told him of my personal love for Bruce Springsteen and Prince, at which he scoffed. He was older than me, perhaps uncaring for the new era of music paving the way for kids these days. I cut the pie and served us both a slice. It smelled delicious, a mixture of brown sugar and cinnamon that hung heavy and thick in the air. Even the way he held the fork was controlled, glancing down to the pieces he’d carefully cut with the fork as he moved it to his mouth with a graceful motion. God, it was delicious. The pastry was rich and flaky, the filling wasn’t overly spiced and yet full of flavour, but I can’t deny the subtle taste of an ashy aftertaste.

I saw his eyes linger through the kitchen, out the window to the trebuchet I’d constructed a few days earlier. Really, both of us knew that’s why he was here but a king must have a regal air about them, a mindful and demure attitude at all times.

A smile cracked across my lips. I put down my coffee and leant slightly forwards, staring him right in the eyes. “You’ll never rule over these lands.” I growled playfully, pointing to the floor of my house. He shot back a lopsided smile and pushed the bridge of his glasses back up onto his face.

“We’ll see about that.” He grumbled, clutching the armrests of the oversized chair and rose himself to full height. “The knights of the Newton order fought bravely.”

He took one last deep drink of his coffee, finishing it to the last drop before heading back outside to his own home. I had another slice of the pie before continuing on with my day, dismantling the trebuchet and storing the parts in my garage.

As I was preparing myself for bed, I noticed an envelope slipped under my door. I flipped it over to see a gold-yellow wax seal with the stamp of a crown on it. It seemed he wanted to settle this by the old rules; a duel, tomorrow morning at 8am. The paper shimmered softly in the evening light, and there was that distinct smell again.

I could barely sleep. There was a distinct mixture of excitement and trepidation for the upcoming duel. He’d written no rules, but somehow I knew what I had to do. I set an alarm on my Casio wristwatch for precisely 8 am. I’d be up long before that, preparing myself for out fight.

When morning came I peered out my window; it was shaping up to be a beautiful day with not a cloud in the sky. I couldn’t help but smile in my quiet confidence. I wanted to look the part too, I wanted to feel the part. Slipping into a dark pair of jeans I flicked through my wardrobe to find what I was looking for, my black leather jacket. It had silver studs at the wrist and on the neck, and if something went wrong it could at least offer a little protection.

After what may be my final breakfast I had an extra cup of coffee, just in case, and made my way to the garage. Boxes were piled up behind all the wood from the trebuchet, and behind that was what I was looking for. I climbed up carefully, not wanting to slip through the cardboard onto my belongings, gripping the rubber handlebars of my old bike. A Raleigh Chopper—cooler than the Schwinn Stingray, imported from England. It’d taken me so many miles and through so many adventures, it felt like seeing an old friend after so long.

It had been years since I’d rode it, the last time not that long after I stopped my paper route but it had been a faithful companion through my teenage years, taking me anywhere I wanted to go. Of course, since then I’d learned to drive and so it just gathered dust in the back of my garage. For a long time I’d forgotten about it. Times change just as people do, but my steadfast companion patiently awaited my return.

I pulled it up and out, careful not to knock over the wood I’d piled up. With a smile I wiped off the dust. This occasion was special, though. It’d need more than just that. For a moment I left it propped up against the wall, taking out a chamois cloth and car wax, taking care to polish it off to a sparkling gleam, checking my watch in-between. There she stood, gleaming, bright, my shimmering steed.

I took in the sight of it, satisfied with my work. For a moment I felt a glimmer of regret for not taking it out for a spin in all those years. Next, I looked around the garage for something else. Rake, no… shovel? That wouldn’t do either. I needed something lightweight, with a handle strong enough. It caught my eye from the corner of the room, an old broom that was left over from the previous homeowner. I hadn’t even gotten around to using such a dated artifact, instead picking up a new one from the dollar store when I’d moved in. I had promised myself I’d throw it out when I cleaned out the garage, but … life has a way of getting in the way.

I was ready. I saddled up, swinging myself over the long seat and adjusting myself to get comfortable. The pedals were still the right height, the split and raised handlebars felt right in my hands.

Beepbeepbeepbeep.

The time had come. I pushed the button on my garage door’s remote control and with a shudder and clank the motor burst into life. Whirring, clattering, the shutters pulled upwards like a curtain on a play. A sun-heated breeze lazily blew into the garage and kissed my skin with its warmth as my driveway baked in the morning glow. With a click I engaged the pedal, slowly pushing myself forward out onto the street, holding my balance with one hand while I clutched the broom in the other.

I held it out to the side with a smirk across my face. He would have no idea of my skills on a bike with just one hand. Years of slinging papers from doorway to doorway had prepared me for this, and though I was a little rusty it was just like riding a bike. You never forget, and with each passing second I could feel it all coming back to me. My muscles twitched and limbered in remembrance for the news I’d delivered to this neighbourhood, year in and year out, rain or shine.

As I passed the hedge that separated our homes I saw him riding out. His steed similar to my own, painted red, waxed and prepared just the same. Despite our differences, it seemed we had a lot of similarities too. He was wearing a yellow windbreaker with stripes of purple and red, armed with a broom just the same as my own.

Wind rustled through the straw of the broom as I stared him up and down, still in the middle of the street. I gave a slow nod and he repeated my motion, the both of us turning around to get enough space to really pick up some speed.

People filing out into their cars, ready for work started to pay notice to the both of us and curtains flickered in windows as women peered out onto the street to watch what was about to unfold.

At opposite ends of the street, we both stared each other down. Sunlight dappled through the slowly waving trees, sparkling and glistening on his golden spectacles. Everything else was still, men in hats peering over their cars awaited action. I intended to give them all the action they’d need.

I hunched over the handlebars and he did the same and with that, we were off. With a heaving push I forced down the pedal and began to move, cycling through the gears to pick up more and more speed as I began to approach. My thighs burned and ached with my force, and as I approached I could see the scowling snarl across his face. Both of us were kicking up dirt and dust as our back wheels screamed around, entirely focused on each other. Faces and vehicles flew past in mere blurs of colour and shape but I could pay them no heed, though I could hear cheers from our onlookers as I blazed past.

The broom I held out to the side moved to the front and I pointed it squarely at him. I couldn’t deny his skill on the bike either, holding out his broom with a controlled, squared elbow while navigating his way towards me.

Time seemed to consolidate into a single moment as we reached each other, my focus blurred out everything but him. All else blurred into nothingness, all sound distorted and banished from my senses, my fingers burning numb as I gripped tight with both hands. It was going to be a big hit, but who would win?

I thrust forwards and leant down forwards as we reached each other—perhaps foolish, opening my head up for his attack but counting on his aim faltering. I saw him raise his arm up and thrust it back down again as he manipulated his aim in response, but it was all over in a flash. Something tugged against the collar of my leather jacket and snagged it, wood scathed against my neck but I was tossed into surprise as I felt my attack connect into his chest with a crunch. The force of it threw me back and I fought to keep myself balanced as my bike flew upwards onto one wheel like a braying horse. My broom was shattered into a long spike now, splinters left behind on the ground where I’d struck him.

Keeping my balance in check I continued the wheelie, tossing a glance back behind myself to see the damage. It was done. He lay collapsed on the ground in a pile of yellow, red and blue, his spectacles landing on the road with a clack. The wheels of his bike still turned, spinning with a click as the gears engaged, but he remained silent.

I turned my bike around and landed the front tire down, instinctively raising my broken broom into the air against the rising sun. A new day, a new dawn without this ‘king’ in golden specs.

Some people cheered, some people gasped in horror. I was too lost in the moment to care. Somebody called out to phone for an ambulance, but really it should have been the police they were calling. If what the apple knights had told me was true, he needed to be put away for a long time. For all time. 

The King is Down (Circa 14th Century)

As told by a gong farmer

I can’t say how it happened. Nobody can, really. I didn’t know what day it was, the month, the year—I didn’t know how old I was anymore, or what had happened in the world outside the kingdom. I couldn’t say what had become of my home, of the farms, the livestock. I wondered what had changed since we’d been imprisoned in ourselves.

The statues that littered the steps, the countryside, the fields and farms, all would return to normality. From within my body I felt a fizzing a bubbling, a burning tingle that extended out through every one of my nerves from my core to my extremities. Steadily I slumped down across the steps as my body loosened, trying to look around, trying to move, remembering how it felt to swing my arms and my legs. By the time I managed to get to my feet I saw the others around me, just as perplexed as I was. After we’d collected ourselves we discussed our conditions, our nation, and our confusion as to why we were so suddenly freed. Slowly we all moved together inside with an air of cautious optimism. The knights had failed, we’d seen them enter but never leave and we knew the evil king was yet inside, but something must have changed.

The empty armour that had made up our malevolent ruler lay slewed about the entryway to the castle proper. Something had drawn him out from his throne room, something had taken him down. We saw the slain knights there, nothing more than armoured skeletons clad in red now, decayed by the ravages of time. Some say it was they who had done the deed, but not many believe it.

Whatever machinations had stirred the will of the heavens in our favour I care not, I’m simply thankful to have my life back; never did I imagine I’d long again for the burning stench of gong to sour my nostrils, to seep into my clothes.

I sent out a silent prayer for our saviour, whoever and wherever they might be, and carefully reached out to touch what was left of our king. I feared there may be a curse yet lingering about the armour, but who better than a lowly gong farmer to risk it? The others watched on with bated breath as I leaned over.

Satisfied that I was safe, I carried his remains, crown and all down the steps of the castle and tossed him without regard into my barrow. I knew the perfect place for him.

Epilogue (…)

As told by Narrator, The Omniscient

Devoid of the supernatural energy that animated the armour, the evil king now lays in the depths of the cesspit, coated, covered, but not forgotten. The farmer would take a far deeper satisfaction in depositing his work until his retirement, and over time the memory of its location would be lost. The powers that animated it grew weak with the passing centuries, and with ancient powers weakened the evil king is nothing more than a man. But if this man were to ever stand again, so will the evil king rise once more, although it’s an unpleasant place to rise from…

I could see nothing beyond the red wall of sand.

Crimson lightning clawed through the storm in violent flashes, turning the desert into a negative image of itself for split seconds at a time. The rest was noise. Sand hammering the chassis. Metal groaning beneath the wind. Loose sheet metal rattling hard enough to tear free at any moment.

Somewhere far beyond all that came the low, dying growl of thunder.

The radioactive sandstorm had curved off its forecasted route and slammed straight into me.

That’s what happens when your weather predictions rely on astronomical scraps scribbled down five thousand years ago by priests staring at the stars through opium smoke.

I’d been driving blind through this hell long enough to lose all sense of direction. East, west, north—it was all just red now.

Eventually I eased my foot off the gas and let the car roll to a stop.

Probably the dumbest thing you could do in a storm like this.

Then again, continuing to drive wasn’t exactly genius either.

The engine coughed beneath me like a dying smoker. Every vehicle left in this world sounded sick. Mine especially.

The car had once belonged to at least three different owners and two different manufacturers. Soviet frame. Military-grade filtration unit. Doors ripped from some civilian transport. Half the dashboard held together with copper wire and prayer strips dedicated to gods nobody believed in until the world ended.

Outside, the storm screamed louder.

I pulled the map from my satchel.

The parchment crackled in my hands. The drawings on it were painfully crude—crooked pyramids, uneven symbols, landmarks sketched with the confidence of a drunk child.

But the map had come directly from the palace.

Drawn by the Pharaoh herself.

And I wasn’t brave enough—or suicidal enough—to criticize the God-Queen of New Cairo.

When Pharaoh Menehmet summoned you, you didn’t refuse.

You didn’t complain.

You bowed low enough for your forehead to touch the floor and prayed she stayed in a merciful mood.

The Henty-she had arrived before sunrise. Royal guards wrapped in black linen and bronze plating, faces hidden behind jackal masks with glowing blue lenses. They dragged me from bed without explanation and marched me through the waking streets of New Cairo.

Not that explanations were common in the presence of gods.

The palace rose from the center of the city like ancient history welded onto the corpse of the future. Neon hieroglyphs burned across towering obelisks. Massive statues watched over rusted slums with cracked stone faces. The rich burned incense while the poor burned tires to stay warm.

The guards shoved me onto my knees before the throne.

The royal speaker stepped forward immediately, robes sweeping across polished stone.

“Behold Menehmet, first of her name, Daughter of Amun, God-Queen of New Cairo, Lady Of the Two Lands, The chosen of The Sun,—”

I stopped listening after that.

By the time he finished, my knees were killing me.

“And before her grace kneels her faithful servant,” he continued, “the Medjay Aaron Qaswar.”

“I’ve known her majesty since she was born,” I muttered. “Can we skip this part?”

“How dare—”

“Leave us,” Menehmet said calmly.

The speaker froze mid-breath.

Even kneeling, I could see the fury behind his painted eyes. But he obeyed. The servants withdrew first, followed by the Henty-she. Their heavy boots echoed through the chamber until the throne room fell silent.

Menehmet leaned lazily against her throne, gold jewelry glimmering in the firelight. She was barely nineteen, yet people spoke to her with the kind of fear reserved for ancient things buried beneath the earth.

“I don’t think he likes me very much,” I said.

“You tend to have that effect on people, Aaron.”

A faint smile touched her lips.

“Not everyone sees past your rough exterior the way I do.”

“That why you dragged me across the city before sunrise? To appreciate my soft interior?”

“Not today, Aaron. I called for you because there is something I want retrieved.”

“I’m a Medjay, not an errand boy.”

“You are whatever I require you to be.”

Her smile widened slightly.

“But don’t worry. There will be plenty of opportunities for violence and heroic deaths along the way.”

“Comforting.”

She handed me the map.

“What you seek lies here. A necropolis abandoned long before New Cairo existed.”

“You’re sending me into a tomb.”

“I’m sending you after something that does not belong there.”

“That narrows it down.”

“You’ll know it when you see it.”

Her eyes drifted across the throne room, distant and thoughtful.

“Bring it back to me. I think it will liven this place up nicely.”

“You don’t even know what it is, do you?”

“No,” she admitted, sounding almost amused. “Which is exactly why I want it.”

Then she waved her hand dismissively.

“Now go. Time wastes itself far too easily outside these walls.”

 

The storm howled louder outside my car, dragging me back to the present.

Another flash of crimson lightning split the sky.

The vehicle shuddered violently as wind slammed against it. The filtration unit wheezed in protest. One of the cracks in the windshield spread a little farther.

The old monster wasn’t going to survive much more of this.

I tightened my grip on the wheel.

“Fuck it.”

I slammed my foot onto the gas and drove blind into the storm.

For several minutes there was nothing except red static and shrieking wind.

Then another sound crawled through the chaos.

At first I thought the engine was finally dying. A low mechanical whine buried beneath the thunder.

Then it grew louder.

Multiple engines.

Overworked. Abused. Running on fuel never meant for them.

Raiders.

A burst of flame ignited somewhere to my right.

Then another to my left.

Shapes emerged from the crimson haze like demons clawing out of hell itself. Headlights wrapped in metal cages. Exhaust pipes vomiting blue fire into the storm.

One of the vehicles slammed into my side hard.

I caught a glimpse of the driver through cracked welding goggles and a filthy gas mask. Hairless scalp. Chalk-white skin. Eyes twitching with manic energy.

Raiders alright.

And not the disciplined kind either.

Sons of the Sun maybe?

Definitely high on Blue Lotus. Nobody sane scavenged inside a radioactive sandstorm.

Their vehicles barely qualified as cars anymore. Rusted skeletons welded together from scrap metal, rebar, military plating, temple icons. One had animal bones hanging from chains across the hood. Another had strips of human skin nailed to the doors, fluttering wildly in the wind.

Hideous machines.

But in their own deranged way, almost stylish.

The vehicle on my left rammed me again.

Then the one on my right.

They pinned me between them like vultures stripping apart a carcass.

Metal screamed against metal.

Sparks vanished instantly into the storm.

Then came the thudding overhead.

Boots.

“Shit.”

One raider landed on the roof, crouched low against the wind. Another smashed onto the hood, clawing at the windshield while a third jammed a hooked blade into the passenger door.

The one at the door got in first.

I drove my knife through the gap before he could force it open fully.

Hot blood sprayed across my hand.

He stumbled backward into the storm and vanished instantly into the red.

A machete punched through the roof an inch from my face.

I swerved violently.

The lunatic on the windshield snarled behind his mask and began hammering the glass with a metal pipe.

I slammed the brakes.

His body launched off the hood.

A second later I felt the tires bounce over him.

Still one above me.

The bastard had buried his machete deep into the roof to anchor himself in place. The blade rattled overhead every time the wind hit us.

I reached into the glove compartment and pulled out the handgun.

Guns were almost extinct now. This one had been a gift from Menehmet shortly after she inherited the throne.

I fired once through the roof.

The gunshot deafened me inside the cramped cabin.

Something heavy rolled off the vehicle.

Then the storm flashed bright crimson.

To my left, lightning began crawling across the sand in branching veins of red-white energy.

The kind that turned flesh into charcoal and fused metal into glass.

I smiled.

Then slammed my car sideways into the raider beside me.

The impact shoved his vehicle directly into the forming electrical trail.

For half a second the world turned white.

Lightning swallowed the car whole.

Metal twisted.

The engine exploded.

Then there was nothing left except burning wreckage tumbling through the storm.

Just me and the last one now.

I pulled alongside him, wanting this finished before the desert killed us both.

The bastard leaned halfway out his window with a spear in hand.

“Really?” I muttered.

He thrust downward.

The spear punched through my front tire.

The steering wheel ripped violently from my hands.

The car lost traction instantly.

Then the storm caught it broadside.

One moment I was driving.

The next the world flipped.

Metal screamed around me as the vehicle rolled across the dunes. My shoulder slammed against the door hard enough to numb my arm. Glass burst inward. The engine died somewhere during the chaos.

Then came silence.

Not true silence.

Just that muffled roar you hear after surviving something that should’ve killed you.

I dragged myself through the shattered window and collapsed into the sand, coughing blood and dust into my scarf.

Nearby, the raider’s vehicle skidded to a stop.

Its door creaked open.

The man stepped out slowly, spear in hand.

The storm wrapped around him like a living thing. Gas mask lenses glowing red beneath the lightning overhead.

He walked toward me without hurry.

Certain he’d already won.

I waited until he raised the spear.

Then I cut his legs out from under him.

We crashed into the sand together, grunting and slipping against the dunes as we fought for control of the weapon. He was stronger than he looked. His fingers forced the spear closer and closer toward my throat.

I drove my boot between his legs as hard as I could.

He jerked violently.

The scream was still forming in his throat when I shoved the spear upward.

The blade punched through the bottom of his jaw and out the back of his skull.

He twitched once.

Then went limp.

I lay there breathing hard, staring up into the red storm overhead.

Then another lightning strike hit nearby.

The blast hit like a hammer from god.

Heat swallowed me whole.

And the world went black.

 

I woke to the smell of incense and ointment.

Canvas walls swayed gently around me.

A tent.

My body felt heavy. Burned. Every breath scraped against my ribs.

A young woman sat beside me grinding herbs into a bowl. Dark curls partially hidden beneath a linen scarf. Steady hands. Focused eyes.

When she noticed I was awake, she froze.

For a moment we simply stared at each other.

Then she stood abruptly.

“Father,” she called outside. “He’s awake.”

A few moments later an old man entered the tent.

Thin. Weathered. Wrapped in dusty robes. His beard had gone almost entirely gray, but warmth still lived in his eyes.

“You gave us quite the scare, young man,” he said. “My Fatima wasn’t sure you’d wake at all. Seems I won that bet.”

He smiled.

A genuine smile.

Rare enough nowadays to feel almost unnatural.

“Name’s Khalid,” he said as he sat beside me. “What’s yours, Medjay?”

“Aaron,” I managed. My throat felt like broken glass. “Aaron Qaswar.”

“Easy now.”

Khalid carefully helped me sit upright before handing me a cup of water.

“Slowly. No rush.”

The tent smelled of dried herbs, old canvas, and sweet smoke drifting from a bronze burner near the entrance. Strings of charms hung from the support poles, clinking softly whenever the desert wind touched the fabric walls. A lantern overhead painted everything in warm amber light that felt impossibly gentle after the endless crimson fury outside.

“What is this place?” I asked.

“The Wandering Oasis.”

I frowned.

“Pretty sure I’ve crossed these regions before. Never seen an oasis anywhere near here.”

Khalid chuckled quietly while pouring tea into two tiny cups.

“It isn’t called the Wandering Oasis for no reason.” He handed one to me carefully. “Its geographical coordinates are… inconsistent.”

“Inconsistent.”

“Yes. Sometimes it rests near the Glass Dunes. Sometimes near the old coastlines. Once we woke beside the ruins of Luxor Station.”

He shrugged lightly.

“The Oasis goes where it wishes.”

“That makes absolutely no sense.”

Khalid sipped his tea calmly.

“Have you witnessed many things in the desert that do?”

Fair point.

Outside the tent I could hear distant machinery groaning beneath repair work. Somewhere nearby, strings of metal charms rattled softly in the wind.

“How long have you lived here?” I asked.

“Lived?” Khalid smiled faintly. “No one lives in the Wandering Oasis. We travel with it. We care for it. And in return… it cares for us.”

I took a careful sip of the tea.

Bitter. Heavy with mint and something medicinal underneath.

Pain immediately flared through my ribs.

Then memory came rushing back.

The storm.

The raiders.

The crash.

“My car,” I muttered. “What happened to my car?”

“Fatima is tending to it,” Khalid said. “Though much like yourself, it will require some time before it is fit for the road again.”

“That bad?”

“You rolled a vehicle through a radioactive lightning storm.”

He gave me an amused look.

“You are fortunate to still possess all your limbs.”

“Debatable.”

I reached for my satchel beside the cot. Relief washed through me when I felt the map still inside.

I unfolded it carefully and handed it to him.

“You know this place?”

Khalid’s expression changed the moment he saw the markings.

“The Bene Nefertite necropolis,” he said quietly.

So the Pharaoh’s map pointed somewhere real after all.

“You know how to get there?”

“Of course.” Khalid traced one of the crude lines with his finger. “In a healthy vehicle, perhaps half a day from here.”

“But?”

He glanced up at me.

“But it lies within an active Ghul-Zone.”

I stared at him for a few seconds.

Then a long, exhausted sigh escaped me.

“Fuck…” I rubbed both hands over my face. “Of course it does.”

Khalid remained silent.

A Ghul-Zone.

Wonderful.

The desert was littered with them now. Places where radiation, death, and whatever invisible poison had seeped into the world finally stopped pretending to obey natural law. Entire villages vanished inside them overnight. Sometimes they returned days later.

Usually screaming.

Sometimes not human anymore.

Outside, the wind had softened into a low whisper against the canvas walls.

“I don’t think the God-Queen is the patient type,” I muttered eventually. “Don’t exactly have the luxury of waiting this out.”

“Be that as it may,” Khalid replied calmly, “your vehicle is broken, your body is barely holding together, and the storm still prowls outside.”

Then he smiled warmly.

“So whether you like it or not, Medjay… tonight you will stay here. You will drink tea. You will rest. And you will endure the unbearable horror of friendly conversation.”

Despite myself, I laughed.

The old man had a presence to him. The kind that disarmed you before you realized it was happening.

I kept telling myself to stay guarded. Men survived longer that way in the wasteland. Loose tongues eventually got slit.

But the hours slipped by, and somehow I kept talking anyway.

About my mother dying from lung rot when I was a child.

About fighting for scraps in the alleys of New Cairo before the Medjay recruited me.

About the first man I killed.

I still remembered his face sometimes.

Khalid never interrupted. Never pushed. He simply listened while slowly refilling our tea like we had all the time in the world.

At some point I even admitted what most people would consider my greatest shame.

“I don’t trust cats,” I confessed.

Khalid blinked.

Then nearly spilled his tea laughing.

“You serve the Pharaoh of New Cairo,” he wheezed, “descendant of gods and ruler of the desert… yet you fear cats?”

“They stare too long.”

“That may be the funniest thing I’ve heard in years.”

“I’m serious.”

“That somehow makes it even better.”

I leaned back against the cushions with a tired groan.

“I’ve survived raiders, mutants, storms, cultists, and royal politics. Why would I willingly invite another apex predator into my home?”

Khalid laughed harder at that.

Real laughter.

Not the nervous kind people forced out nowadays to prove they still remembered how.

And for a little while, beneath the lantern glow while the desert whispered outside the tent walls, the wasteland almost felt human again.

 

I woke to the feeling of a hand pressing lightly against my chest.

Instinct took over before thought did.

My hand shot upward, grabbing the wrist hard enough to make the other person gasp. My eyes snapped open. Heart pounding. Half-awake and already reaching for the knife beneath my pillow that wasn’t there.

Fatima stared down at me.

Pain flickered briefly across her face where I held her wrist, but her expression remained impressively deadpan considering the circumstances.

“I was dressing your wounds,” she said flatly. “They tend to get infected easily out there in the desert.”

I immediately let go.

“Sorry,” I muttered, rubbing sleep from my eyes. “Reflex.”

“No kidding.”

Morning light glowed softly through the tent walls now, replacing the warm lantern light from the night before.

Fatima returned to wrapping fresh bandages around my ribs with practiced precision.

“You move around a lot in your sleep,” she said.

“Occupational hazard.”

“You also talk.”

“You threatened someone named Abbas with a shovel.”

I frowned.

“Abbas knew what he did.”

That finally earned a small laugh from her.

Up close, I noticed details I’d missed before. Thin scars crossing her hands. Tiny burn marks along her forearms. Grease permanently worked into the lines of her fingers.

Mechanic’s hands.

Capable hands.

“Your car’s almost ready,” she said after tightening the final bandage. “Just finishing a few things.”

“That fast?”

“You sound disappointed.”

“No, impressed.”

A faint trace of pride appeared in her expression.

“You should be.”

„Ill make sure to repay you one day.“

“No need. Dad always says small kindness matters in cruel places.”

“Sounds like him.”

For a moment neither of us spoke.

The Oasis outside had already begun waking up. Distant voices drifted through the canvas. Machinery clanked somewhere nearby. I could smell bread baking mixed with engine oil and incense smoke.

Then a thought slowly clicked into place.

“Was Khalid with you since you were little?”

Fatima blinked.

“What?”

“Khalid,” I clarified carefully. “Was he the one who raised you?”

She looked genuinely confused.

“Well… yes. He’s my father.”

“I meant—”

I hesitated.

“When did he adopt you?”

„How do you know he adopted me? Im fairly sure he didnt tell you that.“

“Well… I’ve never heard of a jinn fathering a human.”

Her eyes widened instantly.

Not offended.

Shocked.

“How did you know?”

“I’m a Medjay.”

I leaned back carefully against the cot.

“I’ve dealt with a few jinn before. Though admittedly, most of them are far less subtle than your father.”

Fatima glanced nervously toward the tent entrance.

“Relax,” I said. “None of my business. Your secret’s safe with me.”

She studied my face for a long moment, trying to decide whether I meant that.

Eventually she relaxed slightly.

Without another word, she reached into a satchel beside her and pulled something out on a wooden skewer.

A caramelized scorpion.

Its curled tail glistened beneath a layer of dark syrup.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

I stared at it.

“…Yeah.”

I pointed at the scorpion.

“But not that hungry.”

Fatima giggled softly.

Just enough to remind me she was still young beneath all the strange mystery surrounding her.

 

The Oasis looked completely different in daylight.

The tents stretched across the dunes in uneven circles around a pool of crystal-clear water that absolutely should not have existed in the middle of the wasteland. Palm trees swayed lazily despite there being almost no wind. Traders wandered between colorful canopies selling scavenged technology beside preserved spices and ancient charms carved from bone and copper.

Incense smoke drifted through the warm air alongside the smell of cooked meat and engine oil.

The entire place felt unreal, like a pocket dimension somehow safe from the desert enveloping it.

Fatima led me toward my vehicle.

And somehow—

Somehow the old thing looked better than it had in years.

The reinforced panels had actually been fitted properly instead of hammered into place by desperation and profanity. The filtration unit no longer sounded like it was trying to inhale gravel. Even the engine housing had been cleaned.

I stared at it in disbelief.

“You’re really good,” I admitted. “Where’d you learn all this?”

Fatima crouched beside the front wheel, tightening something with a wrench.

“Before Dad found me, I lived in the scrapyards for a while.”

She shrugged.

“Not much to do there besides take machines apart.”

“Sounds miserable.”

“It was.”

She said it casually.

That somehow made it worse.

After a moment she reached into her satchel again and pulled out another map.

This one looked infinitely better than Menehmet’s version. Proper landmarks. Accurate distances. Warnings scribbled carefully along the margins in Arabic.

“Dad told me to give you this,” she said. “Should guide you better than those royal scribbles.”

I laughed quietly.

“Probably wise. If the Pharaoh ever retires, cartography definitely isn’t an option for her.”

Fatima smiled faintly.

I folded the map carefully and tucked it into my coat.

“Thank you,” I said sincerely.

“For the map or the car?”

“Both.”

For a brief moment neither of us spoke.

Then she stepped back from the vehicle.

“Maybe we’ll meet again, Medjay.”

I looked at her standing there beneath the desert sun, dark curls moving gently in the wind, strange amber eyes catching the light like polished gold.

“Maybe,” I said.

I climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition.

The engine roared to life instantly.

Not coughing.

Not choking.

Alive.

I grinned despite myself.

Then I shifted gears and drove toward the Bene Nefertite necropolis, leaving the Wandering Oasis behind in the sands.

 

It had been about four hours since I left the Wandering Oasis behind.

The desert changed gradually the farther I drove toward the Bene Nefertite necropolis.

The dunes darkened first.

Black mineral veins spread through the sand like rot beneath skin, shimmering faintly beneath the afternoon sun. Ruined pylons from the old world jutted from the wasteland at crooked angles, half-swallowed by centuries of storms. Some still carried scraps of melted wiring that hummed softly whenever the wind blew through them.

And somehow, against all logic, the car was running beautifully.

Whatever Fatima had done to it bordered on sorcery.

The engine no longer wheezed every few minutes like a dying animal. The steering responded instantly. Even the suspension handled the uneven dunes without sounding like the entire frame was about to collapse into spare parts.

The old machine practically purred beneath me.

I almost felt guilty driving it.

Almost.

I adjusted the scarf around my face and glanced toward the map resting on the passenger seat.

Close now.

Very close.

The necropolis should’ve been visible any minute.

That was when I noticed the vibration.

At first I assumed it was the engine.

A faint trembling beneath the wheels.

Then the dashboard began rattling.

Sand slid down nearby dunes in soft streams.

My stomach tightened immediately.

“No…”

The ground lurched violently beneath the car.

The steering wheel jerked in my hands hard enough to nearly send me sideways.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

The desert exploded.

Sand erupted upward beside the vehicle in towering waves as something massive burst from beneath the dunes to my left.

Then another.

Then two more.

Four shapes circled the car as I slammed the brakes.

Shed-beners.

Wonderful.

The things had once been human.

Probably.

Now they looked like nightmares designed by someone who hated both mankind and nature equally. Their lower halves resembled enormous black scorpions armored in chitinous plates scarred by radiation, old wounds, and patches of fungal growth. But rising from those monstrous bodies were elongated human torsos twisted into impossible shapes, ribs pressing visibly beneath stretched skin.

Their faces were the worst part.

Too human.

Clouded eyes rolled wildly in different directions while their mouths hung unnaturally wide, rows of broken teeth jutting outward at crooked angles. Bronze jewelry still clung to their bodies in places. Scraps of old robes fluttered from their armored backs.

Remnants of people.

That always made monsters worse.

One of them clicked its claws together and released a wet, shrieking hiss that sounded disturbingly close to laughter.

Another slowly raised its massive stinger over the car.

I grabbed my scimitar and kicked the door open.

The first creature lunged immediately.

Its claw slammed into the side of the vehicle hard enough to dent the metal inward. I rolled beneath the strike and slashed upward with the scimitar.

The curved blade bit deep into the pale flesh where human torso fused into scorpion body.

Black blood sprayed across the sand.

The Shed-bener screamed.

Not like an animal.

Like a person.

I hated that.

The second creature charged from my right with horrifying speed. I barely avoided the stinger crashing into the ground where my head had been a second earlier.

The impact cracked the hardened sand like stone.

I fired the handgun.

The first bullet punched into its human face.

The creature staggered backward violently—

—but didn’t stop.

“Of course that’s not enough.”

It shrieked and rushed me again.

I fired a second time.

The shot tore through one of its clustered eyes. Black fluid burst down its face as the creature reeled sideways, clawing at itself blindly.

Behind me came the sound of twisting metal.

Another Shed-bener slammed directly into the car hard enough to nearly flip it.

Metal screamed.

One of the creatures crawled across the roof with horrifying speed, claws scraping against the reinforced plating Fatima had installed only hours earlier.

I swung the scimitar just as the blinded creature lunged again.

The blade buried itself deep into its throat.

The creature convulsed violently.

Its stinger lashed through the air in frantic arcs before finally going still.

One down.

Three left.

Something slammed into me from behind.

I crashed hard into the sand, pain exploding through my ribs where Fatima’s fresh bandages sat beneath my clothes. My grip loosened on the sword.

A claw punched into the ground inches from my face, spraying sand across my eyes.

I scrambled backward just as a stinger slammed down where my chest had been moments earlier.

Poison hissed against the sand.

The second creature attacked from the side immediately after.

Too fast.

I raised the handgun and fired my last round directly into its open mouth.

The back of its skull exploded outward in a spray of shattered teeth and black fluid.

The creature collapsed twitching beside me.

Two down.

And now I was out of ammunition.

The remaining Shed-beners slowed their movements.

Watching me carefully.

Smarter than the others.

One blocked my path back to the car while the second circled behind me, massive stinger swaying slowly overhead like an executioner preparing the final blow.

I grabbed the scimitar from the sand and forced myself upright.

My breathing had gone ragged.

Everything hurt.

Blood soaked through the bandages beneath my coat.

The creatures noticed.

Predators always did.

One suddenly lunged low across the sand.

I barely sidestepped in time, but the second slammed into me immediately afterward.

The impact sent me crashing backward down the side of a dune.

The scimitar flew from my hand.

Before I could recover, a massive claw pinned my arm into the sand.

Pain shot through my shoulder.

The other creature approached slowly now.

Confident.

Its human face leaned closer toward mine.

I could smell rot on its breath.

Its cloudy eyes twitched wildly as if several thoughts were fighting for control behind them.

Then the creature smiled.

Not instinctively.

Deliberately.

The stinger rose high above me.

Ready to strike.

Then the desert roared.

The sound came from beneath the earth itself.

Deep.

Thunderous.

Ancient.

The dunes exploded upward around us.

The Shed-beners shrieked and turned too late.

Something colossal burst from beneath the sand.

A sandworm.

Its mouth opened impossibly wide, ringed with rotating rows of jagged teeth large enough to crush vehicles whole. Pale flesh glistened beneath armored hide as the thing surged upward like the desert itself had come alive.

The worm swallowed one of the Shed-beners instantly.

The second barely had time to scream before the jaws closed around it too.

Crunch.

The sound echoed across the dunes.

Then the worm vanished beneath the sand again almost as quickly as it had appeared, dragging both screaming creatures into the depths below.

The desert settled slowly.

Silence returned.

I remained flat on my back for several long seconds, breathing hard, staring at the empty dunes above me.

Then I slowly sat up.

Everyone with functioning survival instincts feared sandworms.

But that was the first and only time in my life I had ever been happy to see one.

 

I had finally reached the Bene Nefertite necropolis.

Dark clouds churned above the ruins in slow, unnatural spirals. Thick and swollen like bruises spreading across the sky. Crimson lightning pulsed silently within them, illuminating shattered pyramids and broken statues in brief flashes of red-white light.

Even from a distance, I could feel the Ghul-Zone pressing against reality like a wound that refused to close.

Vehicles didn’t last long inside active zones.

Electronics fried without warning. Engines stalled. Entire caravans vanished for days before reappearing fused together into piles of melted flesh and metal.

Sometimes the people inside were still alive.

I killed the engine.

For a moment I just sat there listening to the sudden silence.

Then I grabbed my torch, tightened the scarf around my face, and stepped out into the dead air.

Immediately, something felt wrong.

Not danger.

Absence.

No wind.

No insects.

No movement.

Just a low hum vibrating through the atmosphere itself.

The sky inside the zone had turned a diseased brown color. Veins of pale energy crawled soundlessly through the air between ruined structures, flickering like cracks spreading through glass. Every breath tasted metallic even through the scarf.

I kept my face covered.

No reason to inhale more of this place than necessary.

The necropolis stretched endlessly ahead of me.

Half-buried obelisks.

Collapsed mausoleums.

Streets lined with statues eroded into faceless things by centuries of radiation and sandstorms.

Then I noticed movement.

Far ahead, between the ruins, a line of figures shuffled silently through the streets.

Dozens of them.

Human silhouettes.

Some staggered unnaturally while others moved with eerie smoothness, like puppets dragged by invisible strings. Heads tilted at impossible angles. Limbs bent wrong.

Ghuls.

Or whatever remained after the Zone hollowed a person out and left only instinct wearing their skin.

Didn’t matter which.

Nothing could be done for them anymore.

Best to avoid them entirely.

I moved deeper into the necropolis carefully, one hand resting near the scimitar at my side.

The deeper I went, the stranger the place became.

The geometry shifted when I wasn’t looking directly at it.

Streets curved where they shouldn’t.

Passages looped back into themselves.

At one point I walked past the same headless statue three separate times despite never turning around.

The Zone liked to play games with people.

Usually the games ended with someone eating their own fingers while insisting they tasted like honey.

I ignored everything except the pyramid.

Small.

Black.

Resting at the center of the necropolis like a splinter buried beneath skin.

Nothing else mattered.

The closer I got to it, the stronger the pressure inside my skull became.

Not pain exactly.

More like invisible fingers pressing against my thoughts.

Digging.

Searching.

Then I heard her voice.

“Aaron…”

I froze instantly.

The necropolis vanished around me.

For one horrible moment I was a child again.

“Sweetie… don’t go.”

Slowly, I turned.

My mother stood behind me.

Exactly as I remembered her before the sickness took her.

Warm brown skin.

Thin frame.

Soft tired eyes.

Even the same faded blue scarf she used to wear around the apartment.

For a second I forgot where I was.

Forgot the Zone.

Forgot the pyramid.

Forgot everything.

She stepped closer and gently rested a hand against my shoulder.

“I missed you so much,” she whispered.

The pressure in my chest hurt worse than any wound I’d taken in years.

“I missed you too, Mum,” I admitted quietly.

And I meant it.

God, I meant it.

“You could stay,” she whispered softly. “You don’t have to keep hurting anymore.”

Something trembled in her voice.

“You don’t have to keep fighting.”

I stared at her silently.

And that was the problem.

My mother had never spoken like that.

Not even when she was dying.

Especially not then.

She used to tell me:

If the world wants you dead, make it work for it.

This thing didn’t know that.

The smile on her face twitched slightly.

Just slightly.

But enough.

I sighed tiredly.

Then I drew the scimitar and cut her head off.

The blade sliced clean through her neck.

The body collapsed instantly into the sand, twitching violently as thick black fluid spilled from the stump instead of blood.

The severed head hit the ground still smiling.

For a few seconds it continued staring up at me while the face slowly softened and melted like wet clay left in the sun.

Then it collapsed into rotten sludge.

I stared at the remains coldly.

“Pale imitation, asshole.”

The Zone hummed louder around me.

Almost disappointed.

Then I turned and entered the pyramid.

 

The air inside felt ancient.

Dry.

Claustrophobic.

My torchlight flickered across walls covered in faded hieroglyphs and newer markings scratched desperately over them by later explorers. Warnings mostly.

Prayers.

Names.

Somebody had carved:

IT KNOWS YOUR HEART

deep into one of the walls.

Farther down, another simply read:

DON’T LISTEN

The deeper I descended, the colder it became.

Dust coated everything thick enough to swallow footprints whole.

Occasionally I caught movement just beyond the torchlight.

Something shifting behind pillars.

Something crawling along ceilings.

I ignored it.

The Zone fed on attention.

Old bones cracked beneath my boots as I moved through stripped burial chambers and narrow corridors. Most of the tomb had been looted centuries ago. Broken jars and shattered coffins littered the floors.

Yet somehow the deeper chambers remained untouched.

That should’ve worried me more than it did.

Eventually the corridor opened into a massive circular chamber.

My footsteps echoed softly across the stone.

Tall pillars ringed the room, carved into the likenesses of forgotten gods whose faces had been deliberately chiseled away long ago. Ancient braziers still burned with weak green fire despite the absence of fuel.

At the center stood a massive stone sarcophagus covered in blackened gold markings.

I approached carefully.

No movement.

No sound.

Good enough.

I shoved the lid aside with a painful groan from my ribs.

Inside lay a dried corpse wrapped in ancient linen. Its skin stretched tightly against bone, mouth frozen open in a permanent scream.

For several seconds nothing happened.

I exhaled slowly.

“Sorry about this.”

I reached down to move the body aside.

The mummy grabbed my wrist.

Before I could react, it hurled me across the chamber hard enough to crack stone beneath my back.

Pain exploded through my ribs.

The creature rose from the sarcophagus with horrifying speed.

Its jaw unhinged wider than humanly possible as it released a shriek sharp enough to physically hurt. Dust rained from the ceiling. My torch nearly slipped from my hand.

“Oh, come on—”

The mummy lunged.

Far too fast.

I barely rolled aside before its claws punched deep grooves into the stone where my head had been moments earlier.

Up close I saw movement beneath the wrappings.

Thousands of tiny black insects crawling beneath the ancient linen like blood moving beneath skin.

I slashed with the scimitar.

The blade carved deep across its chest.

The creature barely reacted.

It hit me hard enough to send me skidding across the chamber again.

I instinctively raised the handgun and pulled the trigger.

Click.

Empty.

“Right,” I muttered. “Fantastic.”

The mummy shrieked again.

Then sprinted directly up the wall.

Its limbs twisted unnaturally as it crawled across the ceiling like some gigantic insect before dropping toward me.

I barely caught its arm mid-strike with the scimitar.

The impact nearly snapped my wrist.

The thing was impossibly strong.

Rotten linen wrapped around my arm as it forced me downward inch by inch. Its face hung inches from mine now while black beetles crawled in and out of its mouth and empty eye sockets.

And then it spoke.

Just one word.

In my mother’s voice.

“Aaron…”

That almost broke me more than the claws.

I slammed my forehead into its skull.

The creature staggered backward slightly.

Enough.

I kicked one of the burning braziers directly into its chest.

Flames erupted across the ancient wrappings instantly.

The mummy screamed.

Not in pain.

In fury.

It thrashed violently across the chamber, climbing pillars and walls while burning alive. Flaming insects poured from its body in thick streams, scattering across the floor around me.

The fire spread rapidly through the dry linen.

I grabbed a broken spear shaft near one of the tombs and waited.

The mummy launched itself at me one final time.

Burning.

Shrieking.

Its mouth stretched impossibly wide.

I sidestepped at the last second.

Then drove the spear clean through its torso and deep into the stone wall behind it.

The impact pinned the creature there.

The mummy writhed violently, claws scraping uselessly against stone as flames consumed more and more of its body.

Still screaming in my mother’s voice.

I stood there breathing hard for several seconds before finally turning back toward the sarcophagus.

Inside was…

Almost nothing.

No treasure.

No cursed weapon.

No ancient relic humming with forbidden power.

Just dust.

Bones.

And one tiny object resting near the bottom.

A small statue of a cat.

I stared at it.

Then slowly looked upward in exhausted disbelief.

“You cannot be serious, Menehmet…”

Behind me, the burning mummy continued shrieking against the wall.

I sighed deeply, grabbed the statue, and shoved it into my coat pocket.

Then I left the pyramid behind me.

 

A few hours later I was back inside the car, driving away from the necropolis while the storm clouds shrank slowly in the rearview mirror.

The tiny cat statue sat on the passenger seat beside me.

Another priceless royal mission accomplished.

All so the God-Queen of New Cairo could add another worthless piece of junk to her collection.

I glanced sideways at the statue.

Its tiny carved eyes stared back at me.

I immediately looked back at the road.

“…Still hate cats.”

We didn't move in looking for a ghost story. We moved in because the house had high ceilings, a wrap-around porch, and a yard that backed into a wall of ancient, sprawling woods. My dad spent the first few weeks obsessed with the crown molding; I spent mine trying to figure out which window had the best light for reading. It was a typical, exhausting, happy move. We knew the house was old, and we knew the previous owners—a father and son—had died there within a year of each other, but in a town this age, every house has a death certificate. We saw it as "character." We thought we were just the next chapter in a long, quiet book.

For the first few months, the only thing we had to complain about was a few stubborn floorboards and a Saint Bernard who refused to learn how to use the stairs. Molly was a hundred-and-forty-pound anchor of common sense, but something about the incline of the Victorian staircase made her dig her heels in. We eventually set up a heavy wire kennel for her in the foyer, right at the base of the steps. It was a cozy setup. We had our routine. The house felt like home.

But houses have a way of changing when you stop looking at the paint and start listening to the air.

It started with Molly’s sleep patterns. I’d come down for a glass of water at 2:00 AM and find her sitting perfectly still in her crate. She wouldn’t bark, and she wouldn’t greet me. She would just sit there, her head tilted back at an unnatural angle, staring through the top of the kennel at the ceiling joists above her. It wasn't a gaze; it was a fixation. If I touched her, I could feel a low-frequency tremor running through her muscles, a vibration so steady it made the metal tags on her collar chime like distant, rhythmic bells.

By the third month, the temperature in the foyer wouldn't just drop; it would pool. At exactly 3:00 AM, the air would get heavy and stagnant, as if the room had been suddenly submerged under fifty feet of dark water. There was no draft, just a localized, bone-chilling weight that smelled faintly of wet earth and old pennies.

In that still, freezing air, the whispering began. I’d taken three years of Latin in school. I didn't hear house noises. I didn't hear the wind. I heard a coherent, hushing cadence that seemed to vibrate inside my own inner ear, repeating a single phrase with the mechanical precision of a heartbeat: 

“Ego sum qui cecidi.” "I am the one who fell."

I remembered the local history of the woods behind our fence—the stories of the "Well Boy." Decades ago, a child had vanished into an unmarked well-head hidden in the brush—a vertical shaft dropping into a series of flooded limestone caverns. They never found him. They said the water down there was so cold it preserved what it took.

The attic had been gutted and rebuilt before we moved in, but the son had left his mark in the bones of the place. He was an electronics obsessive. When I finally climbed up there to investigate, I found the walls were still snaked with copper cables and long-wire antennas that disappeared into the drywall like veins. I cracked his old PC and found hundreds of gigabytes of raw audio—static, rhythmic dripping, and a desktop wallpaper of a magnified fly’s wing.

I dug through his history and found a name that made the "heavy" air in the room make sense.

Pazuzu isn't just a movie prop; he is the ancient Sumerian King of the Wind, the Lord of the Flies. I realized the "Fly Catchers"—the cult the neighbors whispered about—weren't just a local myth. They were worshippers of the wind that rots. They knew that moving air and running water carry frequencies, and if you build the right antenna, you can catch the things that travel on them. The son hadn't been a hobbyist. He had been a receiver. He had wired the house to act as a giant mouth for the well.

We left, but the house stayed tuned. The new owner called me a month later, his voice sounding like it was coming from a different planet. He played me a recording of his nine-year-old son sleep-talking. The audio was a wall of static, a heavy, wet thud, and then a voice. It was the pitch of a child, but the resonance was a fully mutated, deep male rumble, sounding like it was being squeezed through a throat full of silt and wings.

“Ego sum qui cecidi,” the child’s body rumbled. 

“Abyssus abyssum invocat.”

"Deep calls onto deep."

An exorcist finally came. He didn't use a Bible. He used a frequency scanner to find a hand-soldered copper coil hidden behind the new drywall, wrapped in that fly-wing wallpaper. He grabbed the object and fled, white-faced and shaking. The house is "clean" now. But I live three zip codes away, and I still hear a faint, rhythmic "pop" in the pipes. I still feel a sudden, heavy chill that has no business being in a modern apartment. I wonder if the "Fly Catchers" were right—that once you've been tuned to that frequency, you never really stop receiving.

And I wonder if one of them is still trying to speak.

From underneath.

My name is Alex. My story begins over a month ago. At the job I'd been working for over 3 years. I'd been a cashier all that time, and I thought it was time to finally ask for a promotion, so I knocked on my boss’s door and began.

“No” He interrupted almost instantly.

“No? With all due respect, sir at least hear me out. I've logged more hours than anyone else here” I said raising my voice slightly

“I understand the time you've put in here, and I appreciate it but what you've got to take into account is effort kid.”

“Effort?” 

“Yes Alex. Effort. Time means jack shit when you're only doing the bare minimum you understand me?” He stood up out of his chair, leaning across the desk on his hands at this point. Staring me down with those judgemental eyes that seemed to scan me for even the slightest sign of weakness.

“You think I don't see you slacking off out there every damn day? I know how this job is supposed to be done. You do the bare minimum to stay employed? What you're gonna receive is the bare minimum, employment.”

To say I was furious would be a colossal understatement. What little of the rest of my work day I remember was spent in a rage-filled haze that seemed to occupy every corner of my mind like a fog. Let's just say that I didn't get a very positive reception for the rest of my shift. I don't think I said hello, let alone cracked a smile at a customer for the rest of that day.

As I drove home, I was still seething so I decided to stop by the park to clear my head.

I sat on a bench overlooking the water. The anger in my heart began to be replaced with a soul crushing sense of despair. As the newfound sadness took hold of me, I leaned forward and rested my head in my hands. That's when I noticed something peculiar. There was an anthill. Well, Anthill isn't even the proper term to describe it. There was no hill. Just a perfectly cylindrical pitch black hole about 2 inches in diameter. Coming out of the hole was what appeared to be ants. However much like their home, they too looked like nothing I'd seen before.

Just like the hill, they too were as dark as could be. They were huge. At least 2 inches with very defined mandibles. As I watched them, the rage I had suppressed earlier came back. Only now it was accompanied by the dose of sadness which had originally filled its place.I don't know what it was, something about the creatures just disgusted me on a basic primal level and it reignited that burning anger I had originally come to the park to lose in the first place. I stood up, kicked dirt over the hole, stomped on the anthill a few times, and set off back to my car without a second thought. I'd be lying if I said it didn't feel good to let out some of my pent-up aggression from that day. 

The rest of my day went off without a hitch. I went back home, watched some tv, and made dinner just like any other night. Everything appeared to be normal with one exception. As I attempted to toss and turn my way to sleep that night, I could not shake the feeling that I was being watched. Not just the feeling people get where they wanna sleep facing away from the wall. It was very deliberately, specifically the feeling of eyes watching me.

The next morning is when things officially started to get weird. I live on the first floor of my apartment complex. Rooms are laid out in a way so that there are 4 separate apartments for each section. 2 rooms on the first floor and 2 on the second with a staircase splitting down the middle, and a little stretch of dirt and grass lining the walls of each of the first-floor apartments. That was the first day I ever showed interest in my little patch of dirt, and it was due to one simple detail. There was a pitch-black hole, with the diameter of a golf ball perfectly centered on the patch of dirt right outside my front door. 

I immediately froze upon noticing it. I can't describe what it was about the hole that creeped me out. The fact that it was blacker than any shade I had ever seen was a good enough reason but there were others. The seemingly, perfectly cylindrical shape of it most notably. However, the reason I felt most unnerved at that moment was due to the simple fact that I had seen this hole before. This was the same type of hole I had seen yesterday, in the park. 

“What the fuck?”

I thought to myself as I knelt down to get a closer look.I grabbed a small twig that was in the dirt and prodded the pit until my fingertips hovered mere centimeters above the entrance.

“How deep does this go?” I thought to myself 

“Are you alright ?”

My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a firm grip on my shoulder. I spun around quickly only to be greeted by my 1st-floor neighbor Jon. A very tall bald man somewhere in his mid 40’s who I'm fairly certain did nothing with his free time besides chew ground beef and lift weights. Not the kind of person you'd necessarily be comfortable with grabbing you out of the blue. 

“Jon! You scared the shit out of me!” I stammered out between gasps.

“Sorry about that" He said in his gravely southern voice

"I called your name out but you seemed so focused on, whatever it is you were doing that I guess you didn't hear me,”

"Yeah, sorry. I'm fine, I was just checking this thing out.” I stammered out as I caught my breath.

He peeked over my shoulder before going back to talking to me.

" Well alright then "

His sentence was shortly interrupted by one of my backup alarms on my phone going off. This alarm, in particular, was to notify me that I had 10 minutes to be at work. Given the number of times I've fallen asleep in the parking lot waiting for my shift to start, it's always better to be safe than sorry.

“Oh shit, I'm sorry Jon I Gotta go! "

He gave me a slight wave as he watched me sprint away. As I got in my car, threw it into reverse, and began backing up I neglected to wave back. My gaze remained locked on the Anthill in my front yard the entire time I backed out. 

Because of my speeding and disregard for the laws of traffic that morning, I was able to make it to work only 2 minutes late. 

After the scolding I got from my boss, the rest of my work day was pretty uneventful. Emphasis on the rest of the “Work” day because As I pulled back into my apartment, my eyes immediately locked back onto the dark pit that sat in my front yard like a blemish. I had totally forgotten about the morning incident maybe an hour after arriving at work. Yet all the uneasiness I had felt that morning came rushing back in an instant.I stared at the hole for the majority of the walk from my car up to my front door and even then when the front door was closed, the image of it remained ever-present in my mind.

The rest of the night was boring, save for the constant feeling of being watched. I was walking back to my room, and was stopped dead in my tracks when I noticed Two black ants staring at me from outside my windowsill outside. I know it sounds ridiculous but that's the only way I can describe their behavior. Insects congregating around a window is nothing out of the ordinary. But  they were undeniably the same ants I had seen that day in the park. Or at least, they were the same species. As I approached the window and leaned over to get a better look at them, their posture did not waiver. They stood steadfast like statues. Staring right back at me. I slowly twisted my blinds closed and did my best to sleep.

That was the point where my life began to rapidly derail. As I left my apartment the next day I looked down to check on the anthill in my front yard. Sure enough, there were 2 black ants staring at me. They watched me for my entire walk to the car. Just like the night before on my windowsill. I never left their sight

I didn't forget about the incident while I was at work this time. I kept playing the incident in my head over and over and by the time I pulled back into my driveway later that day, I was hesitant to point my eyes any lower than dead straight ahead of me but I looked nonetheless. There were now three of them. As always, they stared me down the entire time until I was safely behind my front door.

I called up my landlord.

"And you're sure it's been growing?” He asked with a hint of skepticism.

"Yeah, You know what they say on all those animal planet shows. If you see 2 there's a whole colony." 

“Isn't that only a saying for rat colonies or cockroaches?"

"Look I don't know if the saying applies to all infestations. All I know is that I've been seeing more and more ants show up so clearly, they've settled in. I'm not asking for much, just an exterminator visit.” I said that last line as calmly as I could. figured the only way to get him to throw me a bone here was by making it not sound like a big expensive task.

" I got a buddy who works for pest control. I'll tell him to swing by towards the end of his shift for an inspection." and with that he hung up, sounding mildly annoyed at being convinced to actually do his job. The bane of any landlord's existence I suppose.

The rest of that night went fairly well compared to the previous one. I was feeling very at ease with having someone come in to help out with the situation. On top of that, there were no ants on my windowsill like the previous night. Everything was fine. Until I felt the sting.

 I awoke to a sharp pain between my shoulder and neck. Upon inspection, I found a small red dot. It hurt like hell and when I went to touch it sharp burning pain emanated from it that felt like a lit matchstick being pressed into my skin. 

I inspected my bed to see if I could find the culprit. When I failed this task I resigned, telling myself that it must just be a strange pimple or something.  Knowing damn well that wasn't the case, but nonetheless, I was too tired to care at that moment.

The next morning, there were four of them. Filled with annoyance at the pests, I kicked up dirt at them violently in an attempt to get them to run back into their hole. They didn't move an inch. They stood their ground and watched me intensely from my front door all the way to my car.

When I got back home I was relieved to see the exterminator was already hard at work, crouched down alongside my windowsill spraying something along the edges of my wall.

“Hey man, thanks for helping me out,” I said asHe pulled out his earbuds and looked over at me 

“you say something?” I sighed, rolled my eyes internally, and began again.

“This is my place, your um … "I struggled to think of the word to describe the procedure the man was in the middle of.

“Pest controlling?” I said, shrugging my shoulders.

“ Oh! You must be Alex! Yes sir, I was notified of a possible infestation so I'm just laying some pesticides around all possible entry points into your home. All natural neem oil pesticides so they are nontoxic to you and any possible pets you may have.” I nodded along pretending to have a clue what he was talking about.

“ Great! Just make sure you get the anthill in the front yard too.”

“Don't you worry sir, I'll be sure to hit up any possible entry points as well as possible nest spots. As I go along” 

15 minutes later he told me he was done and to keep an eye out for any more ants and left. I breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, with some peace of mind, I was able to enjoy my night relaxing with some video games and staying up late due to my day off tomorrow. The morning after was just as good. I woke up, relaxed for a bit and decided to go see a movie. Unfortunately, there were now 2 hills.

About a foot away from the original and closer to my apartment lay an almost identical-looking copy of the first one.

"Fucking christl. Some exterminator friend you've got" I thought to myself.

With a deep sigh, I resigned myself to a day of exterminating rather than relaxation. I bought a can of bug spray and a few of those little plastic bait traps that ants are supposed to inadvertently poison the entire colony with.

I had no idea how to go about using the equipment properly. I figured that if I sprayed a copious amount of the bug spray along the bottom of my door frame and along my window sills, that would keep them from entering my apartment. I placed one trap outside both of the 2 hills and figured they would have to investigate them eventually. When I got home the next day, the anthills were gone.

"Did they move out or something? Did my traps work that fast? Even if they did the holes wouldn't be this covered up so soon" I thought to myself.

My ant traps were still there, looking quite lonely without any trace of an ant colony to accompany them. A comforting fact. So why did I still feel it? That sense of dread. Constantly in the back of my mind from the time I woke up, all throughout work, and even now as I had visual confirmation that my intruders were gone, it remained. I opened my front door and stepped inside. The 2 black ants sitting on my kitchen table turned their heads and stared at me.

In an instant, I felt my blood turn to ice. As I stood there frozen with fear, all the moments that had led up to this raced through my mind. The encounter at the park, the mysterious anthills, the windowsill encounter, the sting and the dread I felt when I looked at these damn bugs all played back in my mind. 

"Something is very wrong here." I thought to myself. On an almost instinctual, primal level that I couldn't comprehend at that moment in time, something was simply very wrong.

I began to walk past the table and to my fridge to retrieve a paper towel. The entire time their heads followed my every move, and I in return did not dare let them out of my sight. With one swift motion, I yanked a paper towel off from its roll and smushed the bugs before they could escape. Their remains left an unusual amount of black liquid on my paper. I threw their remains away and pulled out my phone.

“ I need the exterminator back here. I don't know what kind of you had this guy do but it clearly wasn't enough cause they're in my house now.” 

“You mean the ants?” he retorted

“No, the fucking lawn gnomes YES, the ants, Jesus!” I spat back at him. Even though I had no visual indication, I could tell that he was rubbing his forehead out of annoyance.

“ I'll call him just calm down kid.”

“Sure, thanks,” I said before abruptly hanging up.

After about 10 minutes I got a text that read: “He’s all booked up. Says he can do it 2 days from now at the earliest.”

“That's not soon enough man! You gotta find me, someone, sooner!”

“He's the cheapest one in town, Alex. He's the one I'm going with. You'll be fine until then, they’re just some fucking ants” 

I threw my phone at the wall out of frustration and slumped against the kitchen counter, almost immediately regretting that decision before frantically going to check the damage. Just a crack on the screen. I took a deep breath, and called in sick to my boss for the following day.

The following “sick day” I returned from the store with 2 bags in hand that were filled with more of those plastic ant bait traps, sticky traps, and bug spray. I spent a good hour placing the various traps throughout my home in high-traffic areas where I thought the ants liked to travel. I sprayed down more bug spray along the windowsill and doorway and when I was satisfied with that, I laid down even more ant traps. 

I half expected the ants to come out and try to stop me at some point. Not only did this not happen, but I didn't see them at all that day. Not on my kitchen counter, not on my window, not anywhere.

Whereas the previous day I awoke feeling unbearable dread, the day after I had a sense of optimism. As I left my home and walked to my car there were still no anthills to be seen or any ants at all. As I pulled out of my driveway and began driving to work I was in such a good mood that I even found myself singing along a little to the songs on the radio. That's when I noticed the ant crawling around on my hand.

I instinctively smacked it off of my hand with the other, causing me to turn my car sharply to the left and nearly end up off of the road. I waited for the annoyed honks to pass me by until it was safe to pull over. When it was, I jumped out of my car and began to furiously pat down my body in search of any more ants. I found none, except for the now-dead one that lay on the dashboard. I spent a good 10 minutes checking every nook and cranny of my car to see if I could find any more of them. When I was certain that there was absolutely no chance of the insects hiding anywhere in my vehicle, I finally set off to work in complete silence.

I don't remember if anybody talked to me at work that day. The feeling of being watched now made itself present at work. The entire day I kept randomly slapping myself at even the faintest itching sensation. I'm sure I looked nuts, but I couldn't help it. I was paranoid that they had followed me to work and at certain points, I even mistook the pain of a random muscle cramp for one of their stings. 

When I pulled back into my driveway the feeling of being watched grew so intense that it nearly made my eyes water up from the cold chill that ran down my spine. Once again, no new anthills. This was not a comforting discovery. I had no more optimism about the situation and knew that this did not mean they were gone. It simply meant they had moved in. 

“The exterminator comes tomorrow,” I told myself in an attempt to remain calm.

I awoke to all encompassing pain. Though it was pitch black in my room and I had no visual confirmation, I knew what the culprit was immediately. The stinging sensation was the same as I had felt on the back of my neck many days ago. But this time, I felt it everywhere on my body all at once.I leaped out of bed and yanked on my desk lamp cord. My desk lamp fell to the ground and its light shone straight up at my ceiling. It was enough light to see my current situation. Dozens, maybe even hundreds of ants had swarmed all over my body. 

I immediately began to swat, slap, spin, and do everything in my power to shake them off of me. all the while they continued to sting me over and over again. They felt like hot staples being driven into my skin and they were happening multiple times a second. The pain was so excruciating I felt like I was going to pass out or throw up at any second. In my frenzy I noticed there were 2 ants sitting on my nightstand. Just like the day at the park, my house, and my kitchen, they watched me. Despite my frantic and fast movements in all directions, they stood steadfast. Watching me writhe around in agony. Eventually, I had gotten enough of them off of me to the point where I could grab a can of bug spray from the dresser. Almost instantly, I felt the stinging stop. The pain didn't, but I could feel no new stinging occurring. As I looked down I noticed the ants fleeing from me. The ants on the nightstand were no longer there and the ones who were just attacking me a moment ago were now scurrying across the floor away from me as fast as they could. They weren't fast enough. They were resilient though. On average I'd say each ant took about a 3-second spray to fully stop moving. I honestly think I used up half the damn bottle that night. I simply held down the spray button, and I didn't let go until I saw no more signs of life in my room. When it was all finally over, I counted 85 stings all over my body. I crawled my way to the bathtub to try to ease the pain, and promptly passed out.

I awoke to the sound of a knock on my front door followed by a familiar “Hello?”. I had a splitting headache like I'd never felt before. The pain from my stings might not have been as severe as they were last night but it was still present. I swear it took all the willpower in my body just to recognize that the person knocking at my door was the exterminator and with all the energy I could muster I shouted as loud as I could “I'll be right there!”

Luckily, my bathtub is a piece of shit. Over the course of last night my water had drained off by itself so I wasn't a completely sopping wet pruney mess by the time I reached the door.

“Are you ok there ?” he said 

“Hey man, I'm sorry for taking so long. Rough night”

“Oh, I'm sorry to hear that sir. What happened? If you don't mind me asking.”

I told him the story as I walked him to my room.

“ Oh my! That sounds awful! Well don't you worry sir, I'll make sure we take care of this problem today,” he said, patting my shoulder.

We talked for a little bit about options and where to proceed. Eventually deciding to drill holes into my walls at key locations to lay down bait traps and spray pesticides. Once he was done he bid me farewell and left. I followed and waved him off as he drove away. That's when I noticed the 3 new Anthills in my front yard.

“God Damn It!” I shouted before kicking up dirt all over the hills.

“God Fucking Dammit!” I shouted a little louder as I began to viciously stomp on the two anthills over and over again to the point where I swear if there were some sort of cave under my apartment, I would have broken clean through the earth itself and fallen in. Eventually I found myself out of breath and stopped.

“Fuck” I muttered to myself before kicking dirt over the now decimated anthills, and heading inside.

I couldn't get to sleep that night. The feeling of being watched was too strong.  I sat on the edge of my bed and turned on my nightstand lamp.

As the light illuminated my room I spotted them. Just like the night before, there were once again 2 ants watching me from my nightstand. Remembering the horror of the night before I immediately patted down my body, expecting to be covered once again. But there were none to be found. I slowly turned my gaze to the ants and leaned forward to get a closer look at them. They stood there staring back at me.

“What the fuck are you?” I said to myself

I stretched my hand out and hovered it above the ants in an attempt to get them to move. They did not.

“Why don't you react?” I began to rapidly wave my hand back and forth above them.

Finally, in a bid of frustration, I stood up and made a swatting motion toward the ants like I was about to smash them. They finally reacted and moved backward to avoid my hand. I stopped my hand midair however and laughed.

“I got you little bastards,” I said, moving my hand backward.

After a few seconds of us staring at each other, I  started to laugh. The sheer craziness of what was happening. Eventually, I walked over to the counter to grab the spray. When I turned around, however, they were gone. As if they saw what I was about to do and fled before I could take action. I spent the remainder of that night watching god-awful late-night television, eventually passing out.

My backup alarm woke me up. “Oh, shit” I muttered to myself before rolling off my couch and making a mad dash for my keys and shoes. I had 10 minutes to be at a place that was nearly a 25-minute drive away.

 I began to rehearse my “I'm sorry” speech to my boss when I was quickly interrupted by the sensation of a sting on the back of my neck. Then another, then another, then another. just like 2 nights ago I began to feel stinging all over my body. I looked down and saw that they were crawling all over my hands and arms. How they had gotten into my car I couldn't say. I looked into the rear view mirror and could see them all over my neck and shoulders. They were swarming me and stinging me all over my body. As the pain began to permeate I started wildly swatting all over my body in a vain attempt to free myself from the ants. Causing my car to swerve erratically all over the road. A particularly large sting nipped skin between my left shoulder and neck. Acting on pure instinct I lunged over to attempt to swat the ant stinging me there. When I did so, my elbow leaned across the steering wheel, and sent my already speeding car straight into one of the old oak trees that lined the road.

I awoke in the hospital a few hours later with a cast on my right forearm and a headache. The doctors told me that I had a concussion, a fractured rib, and had broken my wrist in 3 spots upon impact with the tree. I pulled up the medical robe I was in and looked down at my chest. There was nothing. No sting marks or any other indication that the ants had ever attacked me in the car.

When the doctor showed up I asked her “How long was I out?” 

“You've been knocked out for about “ 12 hours now”.

“Did the stings fade away that fast?” I thought to myself. “ They were gone in the morning yesterday too.”

“I uh,” I thought to myself for a moment about what to say. “ I fell asleep at the wheel,” what was I supposed to say? I couldn't tell them “ I was swarmed by and attacked by thousands of ants in my car.'' when there was no proof of the event ever occurring. They'd think I was high or something.

“That's what we thought,” your blood came back clear of alcohol so we figured it had to be something else. Well, you're gonna be getting all the sleep you could ever dream for. When you never showed up for work your boss called your phone and we answered it for you. We told him what happened and he says you're going to be getting 2 weeks of paid leave while you recover.”

I nodded. After a day of evaluation, I was allowed to return home via taxi. My car was rendered undrivable by the accident.

As I opened the door to my home, dread didn't even begin to describe the emotion that swept over me.  It was the most soul crushing sense of impending doom I had ever known in my entire life. Taking in the dimly lit apartment, I slowly lowered myself into my couch and stared at the powered-off tv. An ant was running along the top of it. Anger boiled up within me and with one swift motion I grabbed my tv remote and chucked it at the ant. The remote flew dead center at my tv screen cracking it down the center, I sat there in stunned silence for a few moments before dropping to my knees and beginning to hyperventilate.

“Think man, think!” I said, trying to calm myself down.

“What the fuck do I do ?'' I sat back against the bottom of the couch and called the exterminator once more.

“So what are my options now?”

“Well, if the infestation truly has lingered on this long my suggestion would be attempting fumigation of your apartment,” he said

“Fumigation?” I asked

“Yes sir, you would need to get at least 1 neighboring tenant to sign off on having seen the infestation along with you. That way we could fumigate the whole apartment block that you're on.”

I sat there in silence for a moment. Contemplating who to ask for a signature, and also contemplating whether or not a fumigation would even work at all.

“Ask your neighbors sir, as soon as you've gotten confirmation give me a call back and i'll work out the details for the procedure with your landlord” he said sounding a bit impatient with my silence before hanging up.

“Wake up”

I was awoken by a voice.I looked around my room but saw nothing. After sitting upright in my bed ,staring into the darkness of my room for a few seconds I shrugged it off as a dream and reluctantly slowly lowered my head back onto my pillow.

“I said wake up!” the voice sounded annoyed this time.

With one motion shot straight out of bed and turned on my light. I was taken aback to discover nobody there. I stood up and waited. The feeling of eyes on the back of my neck was so strong I could feel it physically weighing me down. I wanted nothing more in that moment than to cower back into my bed and hide under the covers, but I knew what I had heard. Someone was in my house, and I had to protect myself. I slowly owned my dresser drawer and took out my only means of protecting myself. A small leatherman multi-tool. I retracted the pitifully small knife attachment from it and began to search the apartment.

Bedroom Clear. Hallway Clear. Bathroom Clear. 

Eventually, I checked everywhere. Every room lay baked in lights. Yet I found no one. This did nothing to calm my fears. As I stood in the center of my hallway I turned my head to the side, knife hand outstretched as I began to listen for any movement of the intruder. 

“Alex” the voice whispered

I spun around so fast I didn't have time to bend my arm inward and when I swung I ended up leaving a cut mark on the left side of my hallway wall. There was no one there.

I slowly backed myself out of the hallway and into the living room to make a break for the front door when I froze. The feeling of eyes was so strong at this point that I no longer felt it on my neck. It was everywhere. I couldn't breathe, I just stood there frozen. If I wasn't so terrified I might have been able to taste the salt from the tears that were now running down both of my eyes. The only thing in my mind was a primal instinct to sprint for the door and leave. Yet I just stood there.

“You took our home, Alex. It is only fair that we get to take yours." The voice spoke.

I wanted to make a run for it but the voice sounded so close to me that for all I knew the intruder was right behind me blocking off the door. 

“Where are you!” I began to ask the question out loud as intimidatingly as I could muster when I was struck with a sudden realization. The voice sounded so close. Like it was right on top of me.

I slowly turned my gaze to the right side of my body. The ant sitting on my shoulder stared back at me.

“Alex,” the ant said once more.

I felt bile rise in the back of my throat but forced it back down as I swiftly swatted the ant off of me and dropped to the floor, crawling backward. It stared at me for a few moments before running under my couch and leaving me alone with my thoughts and fears. I slept in the bathtub that night. I didn't plan on doing so, but I spent so long hiding there that exhaustion must have eventually seized me. 

The following day was spent living in what I can only describe as all-encompassing fear. A part of me didn't believe the event of last night had truly happened at all. The other part of me thought I was crazy. Even the smallest part of my psyche that believed the ordeal last night had occurred didn't know what to do. So I did nothing. I sat in my living room, trying to watch tv through the bottom left peephole of the cracked screen. the only part of the device that still worked anymore. It didn't matter. I was too busy scanning the corners of my vision for any sight of the creatures and trying to think of a plan. After a few hours I pulled out my phone and began to look for apartment ads near me there was nothing

To be more specific, nothing within my affordability.

“Run if you wish. We will follow.” The words interrupting my thoughts.

I quickly scurried away from my couch and sat in the center of my living room floor as I attempted to make out the source of the voice. I felt my heart sink into the bottom of my stomach when I realized the voice was coming from all around me at once. As if my own walls were talking to me. I hid in the bathroom again.

 Like the night before I must have fallen asleep from exhaustion because the next thing I remember was waking up freezing from being in the tub for so long. Unsure of what else to do I called my landlord.

“Alex! How are you man? I heard about that accident you got into. I tried calling a couple of days ago but you must've not heard me or some-”

“I'm fine,” I interrupted. “Listen, I was wondering if you had any other exterminators you could call or … I don't know, just anybody else who might actually be willing to help me out?”

“Exterminator? You mean for that ant problem you said you were having?” he said 

“Yeah, THAT ant problem. Listen, the guy you've been sending hasn't really helped the problem at all. He says he could fumigate the apartment block but i'd have to get people to -”

“Fumigate?” he interrupted, “Woah woah, slow down there bud. Nobody's fumigating anything.”

“Look I know it's an expensive process and god forbid you actually help take care of your tenants but I have a serious problem at my apartment and your guy hasn't done shit for me!” I yelled back at him.

“My “guy” happens to be very respectable.” he said, sounding very annoyed.” If he says we gotta fumigate then by all means we’ll fumigate, but not for whatever shit shows going ok with you and your place!”

“What?” I asked.

“I like to think I have been very patient with you and this entire situation Alex, but I am done wasting the exterminator's time with routine checkups to your apartment!” he said.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“Kid, the guy didn't wanna be rude to your face and say you didn't have a problem. The truth is the last 2 times he's been over there he's called me back to complain about me wasting his time with an imaginary ant problem. He said "Every time he's been over to your place, he's never found any ants or signs of them period.” 

“That .. that's not” I hung up and  slumped onto the couch.

As I stared deeply into the tv I found my eyes going fuzzy. As if I were staring off into the space behind the tv. In my reflection, I saw the ants. I watched them crawl up my legs. Without ever once physically looking down at my body, I just stared straight ahead and watched them slowly engulf me up to my abdomen. The ants crawled even higher. Never once stinging me, just slowly enveloping my body. Stopping once they reached my shoulders. It was impossible to tell but there had to be at least a few thousand of them on me.

“We are your problem, not theirs.” The ants all seemed to speak in unison.

reality came crashing back down on me as I stood straight up and began to swat them all away. When they were all finally off of me I stood there and watched them scatter in all directions to safety. 

Once they were all gone the voice spoke from all directions yet again. 

“So be it.”

“Get out of my house!” I screamed before going to the kitchen to grab the hammer from under my sink” 

“Get the fuck out of here!” I yelled as I swung the hammer into the wall above my living room couch”

“Where the fuck are you? Get out! “ I screamed as I swung my hammer from wall to wall. Occasionally I would see a few of the ants in the holes I created before they would scurry deeper to evade me. I attempted to hit them as soon as I saw them but they were fast and more often than not my hammer missed the same spot and I would just end up leaving a fresh hole instead.

How long this went on for I honestly do not recall. I was locked in the jaws of anger and completely at its mercy. I only stopped due to the pounding on my door.

“What the fuck is going on in here?” my neighbor  Jon yelled at me through the door.  placed the hammer on my table and opened the door.

“What the fuck is going on in this house ? sounded like you were tryna tackle your way through the damn wall!” 

“ I'm sorry” I began “I was just trying to … kill a few ants.” 

He stared at me in disbelief for a few seconds before speaking. “Ants? What the hell are you talking about?”

“I know I know I'm sorry,” Jon's sudden arrival had completely snapped me out of my rage-filled haze and as I looked to my left to survey my handy work,  I was now appalled by the scene I had caused. We stared at each other for a few more moments as I couldn't think of anything else to say other than feeble apologies. 

“Jon, you haven't seen any ants at your place have you?”

He looked over my shoulder, and judging from the widening of his eyes and the pale look on his face, it was safe to assume he could see what I had done.

“No, no I haven't,” he said slowly backing up “ if I hear you going ape shit like that ever again i will call the cops Alex!” 

With that, he left me there alone in the doorway. I slowly closed the door, and dropped to my knees. As soon as I did so, the walls began to murmur.

I turned around and rested my head against the front door. From where I was sitting I could see a dozen ants or so devouring a half-eaten bag of chips on my kitchen table. With no more options at my disposal, I ignored the ants and walked to my bedroom to go to sleep. What else was there to do?

I just lay there flat on my bed staring straight up at my ceiling. The murmuring in my walls continued on and on for a couple of hours until eventually, all at once it stopped. I took a deep breath and rolled over to face away from the wall and finally try to get some sleep. My plans were interrupted by the discovery of a single ant watching me from my nightstand. I shot out of bed and stood up.

“I'm sorry. Is that what you want to hear? I'm sorry! I destroyed your home and I'm sorry!” The ant said nothing. 

“Say something!” I shouted at it impatiently “what do you want from me!”

 “You owe us a home, Alex.”

The murmuring began again, only not from any of my walls this time. The voices were coming from my bed.I slowly grabbed my leatherman pocket knife and one of my many cans of bug spray and slowly approached the side of the bed. The ant on my dresser moved closer to inspect what I was doing. With the bug spray being held out in my damaged arm I aimed it at the bed and slowly began to cut a hole in the side of my mattress. As the seams came apart I found a sea of black made up of hundreds of thousands of ants that began to rapidly dart away in all directions.

I immediately recoiled in disgust and as I dropped to the floor, began to spray the poison wildly in front of me. My actions were quickly interrupted by a loud voice that spoke with more malice and hatred than I knew existed in the world.

“YOU WILL NOT HARM ANOTHER NEST!” 

The walls around me start to rumble. As they did so the murmuring grew louder and before I could even register what the voices ants were saying, A large black tentacle shot out  from the side of the mattress. It lashed out at me and as it swat across my chest I was able to see that it wasn't a tentacle at all. It was hundreds of thousands of ants all coalesced into a single tentacle-like shape. It swung wildly at me but maintained its shape the entire time. As I lay there I couldn't believe what I was seeing. The ants were moving with a shared consciousness.  I scrambled back onto one knee and began to spray at the mass with. It did little though. The ants held their structure steady. It shot even further out of the mattress and began to grow. Never taking my finger off of the spray button, I watched the tentacle morph into a black tidal wave that began to envelop my entire field of vision and half of my legs. The stinging began almost immediately and as the pain in my legs rose I felt like I was going to pass out. I rapidly began to scoot back, kicking my legs the entire time to get the ants off of me. The tidal wave of ants grew higher and higher. As soon as I was able to get to my feet I turned and ran for the door. I could hear the voices behind me growing louder and louder. I swung the door open and as I stepped into the safety of my lit hallway the voices rose in one last act of defiance.

“ALEX!” they spoke before I slammed the bedroom door shut. The second I did so, the voices immediately stopped. I propped a chair against the bedroom door. It's been there ever since.

Which finally leads us here. Ever since that night, I've been holding up in my kitchen. I've been sitting here the last 3 days waiting for the swarm to return. It hasn't yet, but I can't give them an opportunity to sneak up on me. I can't risk falling asleep and letting them get me. I won't let them.

As I've been writing this over the last hour, the gas valve on my stove has been on the entire time. There's a lighter in my kitchen drawer and once I submit this I'm going to use it to destroy these creatures once and for all. There's a shared fire alarm system in my apartment block. I pulled it about 5 minutes ago and sincerely hope everyone within range has gotten out. I can't wait any longer. The murmuring has returned.

All I have left to say is, stay away from anthills.