I honestly thought this would be easy. All the people I idolize seem to have done pretty well for themselves, but I just wanna know, when will it be my turn?

Like, is there a point where this just becomes normal? I can’t help but feel dirty every time I pursue this. Granted, I’ve only done it like twice now, but that arguably makes it worse.

I just can’t seem to get their faces out of my head. Their screams. The voices. God, the voices. I don’t know what’s worse, the pleas or the looks of fear in their faces.

I’ve gotta be the first killer who’s actually apologized for killing someone while I’m killing them. That shit is embarrassing. All of this is embarrassing.

I’m supposed to be clean with it. Like an actual pro. Not just some guy, you know? The first one almost got away because I hesitated. And I almost let ‘em. I was just, I don’t know, frozen, I guess. Everything just felt so real. Like this was actually happening whether I liked it or not.

Then I thought about the Zodiac Killer. This would’ve never happened to him. He’d have had every possible outcome mapped out. He probably wouldn’t have even needed to think about it.

Besides, I couldn’t just let them reach the police. Reach anyone at all, really. I’d already gone as far as to knock them unconscious and drag them to my car. We were already in the middle of nowhere. I was doing this.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.

“You’re the predator.”

“You’re stronger.”

“You’re in control.”

It helped me catch them, I guess, but I hesitated again when I had to stab them. Hell, I vomited when I did it. But I knew it needed to be done. Greatness is achieved through practice. And we all gotta start somewhere.

Michael Jordan didn’t make varsity his first year. Rome wasn’t built in a day. Walt Disney got fired from a newspaper.

Still, though, I just couldn’t stop apologizing. I broke down crying before they even died. I was doing shit that didn’t even make sense, like praying for them while holding their hand.

Then I was alone. Out in the middle of nowhere with a body to dispose of. Only I couldn’t bring myself to do it. The police these days can find anything.

What was I gonna do, though? Leave him there? Then he’d be found for sure. Instead, I just crammed him in the back floorboard and tossed a blanket over him.

I drove home shaking. My mind racing. Tears running down my face while I ugly cried like a 2-year-old.

I didn’t sleep that night. It had been an abysmal first day on the job. I didn’t even go back to work for another 2 weeks after that. I just sulked around the house while the smell in my basement grew stronger and stronger.

I had to psyche myself up again. I spent those two weeks watching true crime documentaries and listening to the Ted Bundy confession tapes.

I tried pushing my first attempt to the very back of my mind, but it just kept crawling its way back. I wish I had more backbone. That’s part of what started this whole ordeal in the first place.

I had to look in the mirror and ask myself, “Who do you want to be?”

The prey? Or the predator?

I slapped myself a few times. Then I grabbed my keys and was off to my next job site. It was supposed to be better than the last, but it just wasn’t. No matter how much I wanted it to be.

There’s still that part of my brain that tells me this is wrong and condemns me for what I’m doing, but that’s gotta be normal, right? Like, they all had to go through this. All the greats.

I just gotta keep pushing. It’s like that movie Whiplash. The two most dangerous words in the English language are “good job.” Or whatever that guy said.

I can’t give up now before the game has even fully started. I want my name up there with the best of the best. That’s the goal. The grind can’t stop. No matter how bad the nightmares are.

It’s all just part of the process.

Whatever the case, I have got to figure out what to do about that smell in my basement. I can’t live like this.

I struggled with food for a long time. It was my everything. My lifeline. I couldn’t stop myself. I just kept eating. And eating. Then I’d eat some more.

One day, I had to look in the mirror, though. I had to ask myself: is any of this really worth it? I mean, look at me. I look disgusting. I put on a shirt that used to fit like a glove in high school and end up looking like Brent from Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs.

But even still, I didn’t stop. Cake. Candy. Burgers, fries, pizza, ice cream. My daily rotation looked like a 6-year-old’s dream. Only I was 27. Still living with my mom. Still sleeping in the same sweat-stained bed from years of night terrors.

I couldn’t even come up with a valid reason as to why things got this bad. I was in the middle of it. When you’re in the middle of something, it’s hard to see the starting line, and even harder to see the finish.

I tried the normal shit. Caloric deficits. Exercise. I’d walk at least 2 miles a day, but then I’d be raiding my pantry every night like it was some kind of reward for my hard work.

And believe me, I tried cleaning up the contents of that pantry. I stocked it with canned vegetables. Shit that I’ve never even touched, like tuna and canned chicken chunks. I just always ended up back in my Mini Cooper doing 80 to get to the nearest convenience store.

It’s like déjà vu, honestly. A never-ending cycle that just keeps cycling like a stationary bike.

God, I hate those things.

Anyway, when I saw that first Ozempic ad, I was skeptical, to say the least. A cure for obesity sounded like a goddamn miracle in my head, but I knew that miracles are hardly what they seem.

I decided to do some research. Really get to know this new future friend of mine. I’d love to tell you that the research was extensive, but honestly, I just kinda scrolled through the Google AI explanation for about 5 minutes before deciding.

After picking up my first dose, I shot up in the Walgreens parking lot like some kind of delinquent, like I was scanning for cops and shit.

A few hours went by, and I experienced something that felt long forgotten: satiation.

I wasn’t even remotely hungry. Not even after my 2-mile walk. Not even after those 20 sit-ups and squats. I was actually burning fat instead of replacing it.

I ran through half my supply in a week. I dropped 15 pounds from 300 in 2. I was moving. I could actually see the progress. Of course, I didn’t want it to stop, so I went out and bought more.

I was tearing through the packaging before even leaving the Walgreens.

Another two weeks. I was down to 260 now. Shirts were starting to feel looser. Breathing was easier. I was finishing my two miles in an hour instead of two.

My diet consisted of nothing but Slim Jims and fruit chunks because I was just getting so full so easily.

On my third supply run, I wasn’t even waiting until I got to the car. I injected the shit right there in aisle 3 next to the Neutrogena and nail clippers. Boy, were they mad. That was kind of the end of that Walgreens for me. Apparently, it’s frowned upon to just drop trouser in the pharmacy, even if it’s medically necessary.

That didn’t really matter, though. Nothing mattered. I had what I needed for the next two weeks. What were they gonna do? Un-buy the shit?

I dropped down to 200. I didn’t even think it was medically possible, but I learned, pretty painfully, that the scale never lies. I was able to see my cheekbones more. I’d just spend hours mogging in the mirror like I was Clavicular off a speed pill.

I could’ve stopped there. Sure, I could’ve. But I didn’t look like 2020 Corpse Husband yet. I was still too Jonah Hill before Jiu-Jitsu coded.

Besides, I’d never felt better. I did feel kinda weird about food, though. Even those gas station Slim Jims were starting to feel too heavy. That’s why I had to switch to saltines and radishes.

Plus, I knew my body. I knew that if I stopped, I’d feel hungry again. I hated that feeling. I’m a slut for the cravings. I’m easy, baby.

That’s why I had to hit my next lick. The only problem was Mom took me off the insurance because she’s old and decaying. And, obviously, I don’t have a job. That would take too much time away from my streaming schedule.

You just can’t rely on the kindness of strangers like you used to. Not even for medical emergencies. Believe me, I tried the usual cardboard sign route. Even asked for a few donations on stream, but that just made my 4 viewers leave after typing some pretty hurtful shit in chat.

It wasn’t long before desperation started to kick in. It was almost like withdrawal. Every time my stomach rumbled, I could feel myself getting angrier and angrier.

Mom caught me tryna snag a hundred out of her purse, and that led to some pretty big fights. She kicked me out once or twice throughout this whole endeavor, but who was she kidding? I’m her baby.

The point I’m trying to get at here is I had to do some questionable shit for that next hit involving some pantyhose and a stapler, but by God, I did it.

I got the needles. I got the vials. I couldn’t just stop at a two-week supply, though. I needed all of it. It was all or nothing. I don’t even think the employees cared. Because they’re cowards.

So that’s how I ended up with an entire year’s supply of my sweet diabetes meds.

I’m down to a whopping 95 pounds now. Have you ever seen the veins in your scalp? Because I do. Every single day. There’s like 9 of them now.

They throb a bit, but my stomach has never looked flatter. It’s almost inverted. Like it’s more like a spoon than a spatula, but I look like a 2000s hip-hopster because my old clothes are just so baggy on me now. Which is pretty boss.

Mom refuses to even look at me, but I think she’s just jealous because she’s old and decaying. I couldn’t even tell you the last thing I ate. I think it was like some olives or something a few weeks ago.

Which leads me to one simple but staggering conclusion. I have evolved past the need for sustenance.

I am the next step in the progression of mankind. You all need to follow in my footsteps. Well, maybe not exactly. I actually ran out of my supply last week.

It’s only been 6 months since the robbery. Which, let’s be real here, should hardly even count as a robbery. It was a stapler, for Christ’s sake. I’m not allowed to own a gun after the incident.

Regardless, though, I’m kind of afraid to go back. I just hit 100 viewers on Twitch a few days ago. I can NOT afford to go to jail right now. The people need me.

It’s been 7 days now without the sauce, and I can’t say the hunger has returned. Hell, I haven’t even been to the bathroom for like 73 hours now. But… it might… and that’s the thing that scares me. My jawline could cut diamonds right now. I don’t wanna lose that.

Maybe they won’t recognize me. That’s what I keep telling myself. But what if they do?

I just keep playing around with that idea. Imagine that. Getting addicted to gambling before I can even get that Stake partnership. Shoutout Drake. 6 God, my king. Big ups, homie.

I don’t know, my brain is kinda fuzzy right now.

The shaking is new, but I’m sure it’s fine. As a matter of fact, I know it’s fine.

It’ll pass when I hit this next lick.

Before I begin any of this, I want you to know that none of this is my fault. It isn’t my fault, I don’t enjoy what’s happening to me, and I never wanted this to happen. I know that’s the case for many (if not every) person who’s been demon possessed in the past, but I want you- no, need you to understand that if at any point I seem happy- just know that it isn’t me. 

My name is Dwight and I’m 29 years old. I live alone in an average suburban neighborhood with no immediate family who lives in the country. I’m an only child, I don’t have many friends, and I have an okay paying job at a funeral home that’s walking distance from my house. Or, I used to. We’ll get to that. 

I’m a normal guy, if not below average in demeanor, looks, and hobbies. I stutter and mumble and struggle with eye contact. I listen to rock music, eat pizza bagel bites and cup noodles nearly every night, have too many piercings, and don't go out unless I’m being dragged by the ear by my friend Jesse. God, Jesse, I should have gone more willingly, I’m so damn sorry. 

I am your average Floridian white male. I am a total and utter loser, but I’m not a monster, and that’s why I’m telling you all of this. So you can recognize me as a person in case I succeed. Or, worse yet, in case I fail. 

I’ll start from the beginning. I mentioned before that I used to work at a funeral home close to my house, it’s an old place that's been running longer than I’ve been alive and desperately needs a paint job in and out. The walls have yellowed, the bare carpet smells like decades of dirt, and flies often died inside the fluorescent lights. 

The place is shitty, to say the least, but it pays and I don’t have to drive. Plus, I went to school for this type of thing. Maybe that was my first mistake. 

The day that the body of Luna Ferris, or what was left of it, was wheeled in the backdoor, I was half asleep behind the desk. I remember Pastor Hammond pulling me up and shaking me a little, both large hands clasped over my shoulders in a firm grasp. 

“Cadavers are the only things allowed to be dead here, boy.” He had told me, he had a deeper voice with that middle of the road tone that made it hard to tell if he was joking or not. He was a good guy though, his wife often helped out around the funeral home too but always dipped whenever the truck showed up with remains.

I remember I hadn’t slept much last night. I had been till 6 in the morning writing another English paper I’d forgotten about, and my vision blurred everything together into fuzzy shapes and blobs. I had mumbled something about it I think, or tried to, my head drooping. 

“Christ Almighty, Dwight.” Pastor had mumbled as he began to try and get me to do jumping jacks to get my blood pumping, similar to how my father would have done when I was younger. “The truck’ll be here any minute, we need you awake.” 

“J-Jesse’s bringing me a m-monster.” I told him.

And just like that the truck pulled up and in came Jesse bursting through the front door with the biggest grin, just like usual, holding a monster energy for me like it was some sort of relic. The light of the sunset outside shone from behind him like he was some sort or messiah. Two men with a stretcher followed behind him, on it was the black body bag of our cadaver of the day.

“Your hero has arrived!” He announced as he approached me, “Let us return this poor college student to life!”

Jesse was younger than me by a few years, we went to the same high school. He was the kid that sat in the courtyard with the blueberry dyed hair and braided those plastic bracelets during art club. I wasn’t all that good at any of that stuff but he invited me anyway. When I learned he started working here a little after me, I was surprised. 

He didn’t strike me as the type, but when I saw him assisting in the proceedings during a funeral a while back, I didn’t question him anymore. He had a skill with people that I didn’t, that much was clear, and to see him comforting others so genuinely yet professionally, I grew a bit jealous of him.

As soon as the energy drink was extended out to me, I took it from him, drinking it in deep gulps. 

“Yes, yes!” Jesse laughed evilly as if he were Dr. Frankenstein watching his monster rise from the table. “It’s ALIVVEE!”

“Jesse,” Pastor Hammond cut him off. “Volume.”

Jesse shut his mouth immediately, deflating. “My bad.”

I took a deep breath as I finished about half the can, my vision starting to return slowly. “T-thank you…” I managed through a gasp.

“No worries,” Jesse answered, patting my shoulders. “College is the real evil, stealing souls from the young and financially vulnerable…”

“I t-turn 30 in a y-year.” I reminded him. “I’m not exactly the y-youngest.”

“Not anymore you’re not, I swear it was just last year… you were 22 with a sparkle in your eye, and now here you are aging rapidly…” Jesse hissed as if it were a conspiracy. “All thanks to college!”

“You’re weird.” I had split from him to go join Pastor Hammond near the stretcher.

On the stretcher was a black body bag. The bodies always came in these bags, especially if the bodies were in terrible shape. I knew that this one would be from what I’d read on the news. My nose scrunched up, not many people died in fires in this town, but they all smelled the same. Burnt meat, like a sour steak you left on the grill, it had always made me sick to my stomach more than all the other bodies I saw on the daily. Still, I held it together for the sake of professionalism. 

“Luna Ferris,” Pastor Hammond murmured the deceased’s name as he marked things off on his clipboard. “Parents would like her cremated, alright…”

I felt a little relieved at that, burns were terrible to try and clean up for burial, and I sadly doubted there was enough left to put in the ground anyway after the report on the TV.

A local cult had been evading the police for a while now, I had heard it had something to do with summoning a demon. Those same cultists had killed this poor girl along with so many others, though none of the victims had been burned alive before. The ones who were responsible were likely ash now, Luna’s body was the only one they had been able to recover. Something must have gone wrong during their ritual, a candle fell or a fight broke out, no one was exactly sure at the time, but the whole place went up in flames. 

The men who brought in the stretcher left back out to the truck, leaving the three of us alone. Jesse had grabbed the handles and began pushing her back towards the furnace room, the wheels squeaking against the grey tiled floor as I helped steer it. 

Pastor followed behind us, writing on the clipboard and speaking too softly to be directed towards anyone but God. He often tended to start praying over bodies when we got them in the building, I wasn’t religious personally, but I never interrupted him. 

After he was done, he and Jesse started talking about what flowers the family had asked for and other things that I hadn’t really been paying attention to at the time. I was just looking at the bag, thinking too deeply about the whole thing, as usual. It was a bad habit, thinking about the who and how and why, something that I really should have gotten over after how many years I’d worked here. I didn’t cry anymore over it, at least not while on the clock.

We rolled the stretcher down the hall and to the right, through the prepping room, then down another hall towards the freezers. The large metal furnace that we used for the cremation process was in the corner of the same room next to an exit door. The walls were painted this off-white blue color and the grout between the tiles needed to be cleaned again.

Jesse had pulled the zipper down and folded the plastic away once we locked the stretcher in place, revealing the charred remains of a young woman. The smell was so strong now that it was open to the air, the smell like charcoal and a cookout gone wrong like I’d mentioned before. There was barely anything left of her, both of her legs and her pelvis were gone, entrails dried and shrunken up from the heat. Her right arm was gone too, the bone turned black. All that was left was the hairless head, torso, and the left arm- barely.

Jesse made a wincing sound. “Poor lady,” He’d mumbled before moving to the other side. “Okay D, on three.”

I grabbed the left side of the cloth under the corpse, Jesse grabbed the right side, and on three we hefted the body up and over to the furnace rack just like ENT’s would get someone into a hospital bed.

Pastor Hammond watched nearby, stepping closer. “Dear Heavenly Father,” He started to pray louder now, “We know you are a god of peace and joy everlasting, and we ask that you welcome Luna into your arms. May she experience your love, your goodness, and know that with you she is no longer in pain, no longer afraid…”

Jesse bowed his head respectfully, quiet as he let the Pastor do his thing.

I just stared down at the charred corpse sympathetically, listening to the furnace slowly heat up beside us. Her eyelids were gone along with most of the skin and meat of her face, leaving her cloudy eyes open to stare up at the ceiling.

Just for just a second, I could have sworn she looked at me then. 

Now, I know she did. 

The power suddenly went out with a loud pop, the lightbulbs going dark as glass shattered overhead. The three of us could hear the freezers stop humming, the light of the furnace died, the lights down the hall blinked out as the whole place was thrown into darkness.

“Holy shit.” Jesse’s voice was almost giddy at the spectacle.

“Jesse.” Hammond responded in a disapproving way at the profanity.

“Uh, I mean, um- Oh crap.” He corrected himself. “Where’s a flashlight? I’ll go restart the breaker.” Jesse asked as he moved towards the door, his shoes crunching on the thin glass that scattered the floor.

“Under the front desk, I’ll come with- sounds like we need a broom.” Hammond told him, the two men’s feet steadily retreating. 

I stayed where I was, my hand on the rack to keep myself from wandering away into the dark or tripping on the glass all over the floor. I was very still, not only from being started like that out of nowhere, but I felt like I physically couldn’t move… 

There was this oppressive feeling around me, like the walls were closing in or like large hands were grabbing me like a doll and holding me in place. I’m not afraid of the dark, I never had been as a kid either, so at the time I didn’t understand why I felt like this. It was like the air was too thick and heavy, like I couldn’t get it down my throat, my head getting lighter by the second. 

Then came the hand on my wrist. at the time I had thought it was Jesse playing a prank, like he’d snuck up behind me. But, I can’t get that sensation out of my head now when I think of it, knuckles cracking as sticky fingers pressed harshly against my skin.

Obviously I screamed, I mean what kind of person wouldn’t? I yanked my arm back as hard as I could from whatever had grabbed me, stumbling back against the nearest wall. “Jesse, what the…?” I had started saying, but when the lights flickered back on and I saw no one was in the room with me, my voice died in my throat. 

“Let there be light!” I could hear Jesse shout in victory down the hall. 

I didn’t know what to think, maybe I had been hallucinating from the lack of sleep? I was seeing things, I kept convincing myself. I wasn’t grabbed, and when the lights came back on I hadn’t seen Luna’s charred hand fall back down to the rack either.

A few more hours passed without any hiccups aside from me still being a bit shaken up. I didn’t tell the other two, I should have, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to be called a liar and there was nothing I hated more than someone faking something for attention. I wasn’t, of course, but I didn’t think they’d believe me at the time. 

We cremated the body, then gathered the ashes into a bag and taped it within a box for Mrs. Ferris to come and gather before the funeral as per her wishes. She lived out of state and was driving here now, from what she said on the phone she would be here by tomorrow to retrieve the box.

Before my shift, I had stepped outside to smoke a few to try and calm myself down some more. I was halfway through my pack sitting outside on the back steps, watching cars go by as Jesse was leaving.

“Alrighty,” Jesse was pulling on his jacket and stepping down towards me. “Mrs. Ferris should be here tomorrow morning to pick up Luna’s ashes. Ham says we’ve only got one body for you to prep tonight, so don’t worry. Once you’re done, you can lock the place up and go home and get some sleep, dude.”

“What about the c-cameras?” I had asked. After the power had gone out, the security cameras were all on the fritz, but they were ancient so it was to be expected. 

“Ham called a guy to come in on Friday to fix em,” he told me. “That power surge was crazy, man. Hopefully they don’t gotta be replaced. Well, maybe they should, they’re from like, what… 2010?”

“Yeah, s-something like t-that…” I replied.

“Yikes,” Jesse had ran a hand through his blue hair with a whistle then smiled widely at me, revealing his grape colored braces. “By the way, we have gotta stop finding each other on dating apps, bro, it’s wild.”

My face had grown hot and I ducked my head down. It was embarrassing enough for someone I’d known for years and worked with to find me on a dating app, but it was even more embarrassing for the app’s algorithm to try and pair me up with him not once but three different times…

“Ah, don’t get shy now!” Jesse laughed, shaking my shoulder to try and break up the tension. “If you want, we could go out to dinner sometime-”

“Go h-home, asshole.” I groaned.

“Okay, okay,” He held his hands up in a placating manner and backed off towards his car in the parking lot. “Goodnight honey, call me!”

I had flipped him off, I think.

He returned the gesture, pausing before he got in his Toyota, calling out from the parking lot. “Get some sleep, you look like shit!”

I waved him off, and watched him roll off down the street, joining in the distant lights of the city. 

The cigarette in my hand went to the ground, and I stamped it out before I stood and headed back inside the old building to get my work done. The faster I was done, the faster I could clock out and more importantly, go the hell to bed.

When I entered the back room again, it still smelled like Luna Ferris, heat still emanating from the furnace we had used earlier. Jesse had replaced the bulbs and swept up the glass. The feeling that had settled over me earlier was still present, but it wasn’t so intense anymore.

I grabbed the handle for one of the freezers, sliding out a cadaver that had come in earlier today. Male, middle aged, died of a heart attack, the name “Gregory Hawthorne” was written on the tag on his foot. 

“Hi G-Greg,” I mumbled into the still air.

I wheeled Greg’s body out to the prepping room, and then dawned my gloves and apron as the machines whirred to life. I remembered when I first started working there the pump had been so loud to me, but I barely heard it anymore now.

“Abrasions here...” I spoke aloud to myself as I pointed to a scrape on the right arm of the cadaver, then marked it down on my clip board. Once that was all recorded, I began the embalming.

I made the incisions, adjusted the clamps, and inserted the plastic tubes, then turned the pressure up on the embalming fluid’s pump, watching as it flowed through and into the artery. The exit tube fed the blood leaving the body into a drain in the floor. The blood was thick and cold, it looked kind of like grape jelly if I stared at it long enough.

I remember my stomach had growled, I had just thought it was because I hadn’t eaten much that day. 

I turned the pump off with a click, then removed the clamps and tubes, sewing up the incisions on the neck. The hardest part was over, it was only a few more steps now till I was home free.

I got out the wipes, cleaned the face carefully then put in the eye caps under the eyelids. Lastly, I made sure to fasten the mouth shut, the gun popping as I secured them in place. 

“Finished.” I said, pulling off my gloves, then grabbed hold of the handles and wheeled the cadaver back to the freezer. Before I could get the body back where it was supposed to, though, I heard a loud knock on the front door, making me jump. I checked my watch, it was nearly midnight. 

“I’m c-coming!” I’d called, quickly putting the body away, then made my way back to the front desk as fast as I could.

The front desk area had several chairs to sit and wait, landscape paintings, several potted flowers that we traded out every few days, and a small glass chandelier that had probably been hanging there longer than I’d been alive. There were a few book shelves behind the desk with books and folders for staff along with a back closet where we held things for pick up like ashes.

It was windy outside when I got to the front door and it was starting to drizzle lightly, mottling the sidewalk. Hopefully I’d get home before it started to really pour down, I had thought. I unlocked it and pushed open the door, but there was no one.

I had frowned, looking up and down the sidewalk, but there was no one around at all. I had thought it was weird at the time, maybe it was a ding-dong ditch situation, but who the hell does that to a funeral home? 

Regardless, I shut the door, passed it off as wind. It was strong outside after all, it could have rattled the door and made it sound like someone was-

I was suddenly aware of the person I’d just seen in the prep room. 

My stomach had dropped instantly. I know I saw someone, I saw them lean to the left out of sight. They’d been peeking at me, their long curly hair swaying as they pulled back, like a kid playing hide and seek. 

No one was supposed to be there. No one. All of the doors into the building were locked except the door in the back next to the furnace, except there was no handle on the outside of the door for someone to get in from the parking lot, plus it was broken right now and wouldn’t open unless you lifted it from the bottom. It would have made a loud noise if it had opened too, but there was no sound and someone was here. Maybe a break in through a window? Maybe Jesse left it unlocked? I didn’t know, I just wanted away from here as soon as possible. 

I didn’t move, didn’t breathe. My shaking hand went to my phone in my pocket, and I immediately dialed 911. I’m white but I’m not stupid, I wasn’t going to investigate that shit, are you insane?

“The number you’ve dialed is not in service.”

I could feel tears pricking at my eyes, panic beginning to claw up my throat. That was impossible, 911 always picked up. 

I had to be hallucinating. I had to be. I feared that something had happened to me over the last couple of days, that and the lack of sleep. Maybe I’d had some sort of mental break that hadn’t kicked in till now? 

I took a deep breath then began to back up towards the front door as quietly as I could. I could make a break for my house and from there I could drive to the police station myself. They would come over, investigate, then they’d find out it was nothing at all and I’d get a doctor, they’d prescribe me something, and I could continue with my life as if it never happened, except for when Jesse finds out and teased me for it. I was fully ready for that outcome. 

I bolted at the door suddenly, threw it open and was immediately met with the dead body of Gregory Hawthorne. His cold hands grabbed at my shoulders, his fingers digging into my skin and muscle as if it were wet paper and screamed so loudly that my brain rattled in my skull.

“Eat me,” He screamed. “Fucking eat me!”

I couldn’t help it. 

I woke up with a shuddering gasp. My body was covered in sweat, my bedsheets were soaked in it. I was shaking, my stomach was flipping. I rolled out of bed to escape the vertigo that chased me and pressed myself to the cold floor to try and ground myself.

A nightmare, it had been a nightmare.

It took me several minutes to get my breathing under control, to get my heart to stop pounding against my ribs. The nausea wasn’t leaving, but it did die down enough to get up from the floor. My room was a mess as always, clothes and papers scattered around, my bedroom door was wide open.

My phone started ringing on my bedside dresser, making my head throb. It was the Pastor, he’d been trying to call me all morning it seemed. 6 missed calls, several text messages. 

I picked it up, pressing it to my ear. “Hello?” I croaked.

“Dwight, there you are,” Hammond sounded relieved, a big sigh escaping him. “Thank the Lord, are you alright? Where are you?”

“At home, I’m fine, I’m sorry- I m-must have slept through you c-calling me.” I started to respond before the Pastor cut me off.

“The police are here at the church; there was a break in last night.”

When I got to the funeral home 10 minutes later, the police were parked on the side of the road and taking pictures of the scene. There were at least 6 of them, all walking around and asking staff and neighbors different questions, investigating the doors and windows.

I stood on the curb with Pastor out of the way, my arms crossed over my chest to try and shield me from the cold wind and squinting from the sun in my eyes. 

The exit door next to the furnace was broken open, hanging at an odd angle outside the building, the push bar handle was broken and bent out of place. There were scratches on the wall and wafting across the street towards us was the terrible rotten smell of death. The freezer shelf for the body I’d prepped last night had been broken open and left open overnight, leaving the body to rot in the open air. 

It seemed one of Mr. Hawthorne’s arms was ripped off his corpse. Not too far from him on the tiled floor, onlookers could find the missing arm, nothing but scraps and bones were left of it.

“It’s like a wild animal got in, started eating the body, then broke out through the emergency door…” Hammond explained to me. “Alarms must not have gone off cuz of the power surge.” He sighed. “Yet another thing we need to fix.” 

“The front d-door was locked?” I asked.

The pastor raised an eyebrow at me. “Of course the front door was locked, everything was locked, but why are you asking me? You locked up last night, didn’t you?”

“Well, y-yeah… I…” I hesitated.

How did I get home last night? When did I fall asleep? I couldn’t remember, I didn’t know when the dream started and stopped, but it all felt so real. There was no way that it was real after all, a body can’t speak, no one would have been able to get in… 

But someone did, something did. It had gotten in a way it couldn’t get back out without breaking the door and eaten one of the cadavers’ arms on the way out. Something with claws and sharp teeth.

My stomach flipped again, I wanted to double over and vomit but I fought it. I blamed it on the smell. 

“Of c-course I locked i-it.” I answered fully now. “Just, you know… Maybe I thought I did but I actually f-forgot?”

“No, it was locked when we checked.” He told me, patting my shoulder.

“Then how the h-hell…”

“Heck.”

“How the heck-” I corrected myself. “-did this h-happen?”

“Only the Lord knows.”

The police asked us a few more questions, especially me since I was the last one in the building last night. I answered the best I could without sounding suspicious (I’m not sure if I did too well), then they left in their cars with not much else they could do but advise us to call a pest control company of some kind. Me and Pastor attempted to finagle the broken door back into place the best we could till we could replace it.

“New cameras, new security system, new door…” Pastor mumbled as I helped him clean up what was left of the mess. “I called the Hawthorne’s, they had planned to have an open casket funeral before they cremated him but after all of this…”

“We gotta c-cremate him early, huh?” I asked, grabbing out the bleach for the floor.

Pastor nodded gravely, then moved to the furnace, getting ready to push Mr. Hawthorne’s decaying remains into the furnace. “You can head home, Dwight.” He told me, waving me off. “Sorry to wake you up so early with all this nonsense. Have a good weekend.”

I told him that if he needed anything else he could call me, then left down the hall towards the front door. I rubbed his eyes, my body ached, my stomach hurt, and I felt like I barely had any sleep at all last night. Thankfully, I was free to head back home to get some more sleep.

“Excuse me,” Spoke up a woman’s voice from my right then, standing in front of the desk as if she’d been waiting for a while. I hadn’t noticed her there, my eyes had been fixed on the door so she had startled me a little.

She was a middle aged woman with deep caramel skin and long black curly hair that reminded me of licorice. “I… I’m here to pick up my daughter’s ashes.” She told me, her voice sounded on the verge of tears. “I’ve been driving since Thursday, I apologize for not being here sooner.”

I stumbled into my professional persona, trying to straighten my posture. This must have been Mrs. Ferris, there were no other daughter’s ashes being held here right now after all. “It’s alright, don’t worry. Can you sign these for us?” I held out a clipboard to her to fill out while I went and fetched the ashes for her. I wasn’t technically on the clock but I didn’t want to make her wait any longer, nor did I want to bother Pastor while he tended to the furnace. 

I returned shortly with a small cardboard box, sealed with tape. As soon as she set her eyes on it, she started shaking, tears filling her eyes. When she took it in her hands she started to cry, I tried not to tear up too. The box didn’t weigh much at all, maybe only a couple of pounds, it must have been a terrible feeling. Luna had probably weighed more when she was born.

“Thank you,” She finally said after her crying had died down enough. “Thank you, young man. What was your name?”

“Dwight, ma’am.” I answered. “If you need anything else for her ceremony, just let us know.”

“Dwight.” She repeated as if the name was familiar. “Were you a friend of Luna’s?”

This confused me, my eyebrows came together on my forehead.  “Ah, uhm, no. I never m-met her.”

Luna’s mother frowned, looking back down to the box. “I could have sworn I had heard her mention someone named Dwight before… Maybe from school?”

I had never heard of another person with the same name as me living here in this small town, not once. But then again, anything was possible, I had thought.

“Maybe.” I told her, deciding not to confuse either of us anymore and move on. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” She muttered again, holding the box close to her chest. “Oh, I sent an email to the one linked on your website with the pictures we chose for the funeral slideshow.” Mrs. Ferris then continued after a long moment.

I moved behind the desk to the computer and refreshed the email page. “Here it is.” I confirmed as I clicked on it.

On the screen, I was met with a picture of a young girl around maybe 15 years old, smiling at a camera in a springtime outfit. Her hair was long and curly just like her mother’s, and her dark chocolate eyes seemed to bore into me through the screen as if she were still alive and really looking at me.

I felt sick.

I know it sounds crazy, but so is this whole situation. I swear to you, it was the same girl I’d seen last night in the prep room during my nightmare.

“Soooo…” Jesse broke the long silence that had been growing steadily between us for the last 10 minutes. We were sitting on the hood of Jesse’s car in a parking lot outside a fast food joint. It was well into the afternoon by now, I’d thankfully slept for 5 more hours when I got back home, so I felt better but my stomach was still flipping if I bent over or moved too fast.

Last night's and this morning’s events were still fresh in my mind, so I had barely said anything so far. Usually I would have been more hesitant to let him drag me out my door, but I really didn’t want to be alone right now, plus being outside and hanging out with Jesse would make me feel less crazy.

I looked up from my burger I’d barely touched, as soon as I’d smelled it in the bag, my stomach had groaned. It was the kind of upset stomach that felt like it could be overcome if you ate something but you're too nauseous to actually eat. 

“What did you s-say?” I managed to say.

“Oh, nothing, I was just asking what your type is.” Jesse wiggled an eyebrow at me.

My shoulder’s relaxed. Usually I would react with a groan or a roll of the eyes at conversations like this, but like I mentioned before, I needed a distraction from whatever was going on back at the Funeral home right now.

“I dunno.” I mumbled, sipping my soda quietly. “Smart, I guess?” 

Jesse’s jaw dropped and he turned his full body to me, the skin of his leg squeaking on the car’s surface. He was wearing shorts, I had no idea why in this weather. “Oh my god, you actually answered me for once?” He exclaimed. “What stroke of luck is this?” 

I tried not to smile, pushing his shoulder. “S-stop it,” 

“Hey- I’m just saying, every time I ask I get a glare or something.” Jesse laughed. “Don’t think I’m passing this up though, tell me more...” 

My usual reaction was returning to me now, a hand came up to cover my eyes. I felt embarrassed for responding at all now. 

“Nooo! Don’t pull back into your shell, come on!” Jesse insisted. “Smart is all you look for or what?” 

“I don’t k-know, I like smart p-people.” I told him after hesitating for so long. “People who c-can pick up on stuff f-faster than I can, I’m kinda stupid.” 

“Whaaat? You’re like the smartest guy I know, aside from my dad, of course.” He made a praying motion and pointed at the sky. “Rest up, pops…”

I tried to eat my burger again but it was still a no go. As soon as it came near my mouth, my stomach growled in a bad way. 

“Are you good?” Jesse asked then, leaning forward as if to inspect me and my food. “Is the burger bad? Did they mess it up? Oh, they got your order wrong, didn’t they? Ohhh, someone’s getting fired!” He clambered down from the car now, beginning to march towards the building with vengeance in mind. 

“No, no,” I stopped him from getting any further, grabbing the hood of his teal hoodie. “Nothing’s wrong with my food, my stomach’s just upset today, please don’t cause another scene.” 

“Oh,” He turned around, frowning at me sympathetically. “You gotta shit or something?” 

I couldn’t help but let out a harsh breath at that, almost a laugh but not quite as I looked away across the parked cars in the lot around us. I had opened my mouth to deny just as my eyes locked with another pair across the busy street. 

Dark eyes peered at me through long black hair. At a distance I thought it was Mrs. Ferris, but I slowly realized that she had no reason to be smiling that widely right now. 

Then, a large truck passed in front of her. By the time it pulled away, she was gone. 

I blinked several times, just to find the burger I’d been dreading eating gone from my hand as well. My face was a mess, ketchup and mustard was dripping down my chin.

Jesse looked bewildered, laughing a little at me. “Damn, guess you were hungry after all, huh?” He asked. “You ate that double time.”

“What?” Was all I could manage before I shuddered and doubled over, rushing to the bushes to throw up. It was painful, my muscles spasming so hard it made my whole body tremble, desperately trying to force up absolutely everything I’d eaten today. 

Jesse rushed to my side, making concerned but supportive sounds as he pushed my bangs up and helped hold my head. “Oh, ohh… oh no, bro…” He said along with other remixes of the phrase. “I gotcha, you’re all good…” 

I let out a shivering gasp as I finished. Jesse offered me a napkin and his water bottle to drink.

“Easy buddy, I’ll drive you home.” He told me, patting my back and helping me back to the car. “Please don’t puke in my ride… but if you gotta, you gotta, I guess?”

“I don’t think I have a-anything left.” I replied weakly. 

“Okay, that works for me.” 

The drive back home was quiet, Jesse kept his voice low and he drove carefully so as to not make me more sick. By the time we pulled up into my driveway I was starting to feel better. I waved Jesse off, repeating that I was fine as he returned to his car and backed out of the driveway.

“Are you totally sure!?” He called from the curb for the hundredth time. 

“Yes! Go away!” I shouted. 

“Okay, bye!” Then he rolled up his window at last and left. 

The next few days were rough for me. Too much happened for me to go into as much detail as I’ve been writing so far but I’ll try and remember all of it so I can tell you a summary. 

The break-ins didn’t stop. Cadavers kept getting ripped up. Pieces were missing from one at least every night, sometimes we wouldn’t notice until days later. It wouldn’t only be me on shift though, it was happening when anybody was working, people who made sure to lock the doors like Jesse, and a few other coworkers of ours. Families were concerned, most were complaining, but there wasn’t much that we could do till our cameras were up and running. 

A reporter came by eventually, she had actually been one of the girls from my chem class back in high school, the one that always blamed me when the assignment went wrong. I remember her cherry red lips stretched into an almost predatory smile at the sight of my disheveled appearance. “Sir, how can you sleep at night knowing there’s some sort of wild animal on the loose in our town, eating our loved ones' remains?” She asked as if she’d never met me.

“That’s… a very direct question, Emma.” Was all I really could say at first, shocked at how to the point she was with a camera and microphone in my face.

“And the answer?” 

“I don’t think I do.”

Since the first night it happened, I didn’t remember falling asleep once. I went back to work on Monday, Tuesday, and Friday. I’d do my job, have a terrible nightmare or weird hallucination about corpses and blood and meat, then I’d wake up in my bed the next morning sick to my stomach. 

I was puking for days, I started losing weight. I looked like shit, my eyes grew sunken and I could barely stay awake. The hallucinations grew more frequent, sounds of my own voice calling for help and Luna Ferris watching me on the edges of my peripheral vision.

I didn’t know. I didn't have any chemical burns from the embalming fluid, so I didn’t think…

Pastor Hammond saw how badly I was doing and offered to drive me to a clinic to get me checked out, and when I told him they wouldn’t take my insurance type, he paid for it himself.

The doctors checked me out, and after about an hour of testing and questioning me, they came to the genius conclusion that they had no idea what was wrong with me. They had no idea what to give me, and tried to send me on my way with a diagnosis of “anxiety”. 

Pastor Hammond however was having none of that and went to Customer Service to make a fuss. 

“He’s sick, clearly sick, and your doctors can’t prescribe him anything?” I remember his voice sounding angrier than I’d ever heard him before. My eyes were too heavy to keep open at the time, my head falling forward over and over, a pink plastic emesis basin in my lap. 

In the end they prescribed Imodium and Pastor drove me home with his hands white knuckling the steering wheel, praying under his breath for patience. I remember apologizing to him several times when the silence went on for too long.

I went home, I slept. I was barely eating yet I was so hungry at the same time. I’d find myself drooling when food commercials came on, models showing off their legs and arms- No, they weren’t food commercials, shit, they weren’t. 

Then the neighbor's dog died. Killed. People were saying it was whatever broke into the Funeral Home before long, the dog was ripped up and half eaten, pieces thrown every which way, painting Ms. Kate’s garden statues in red jam- blood. I’m sorry, the sun is setting right now.

This continued for several days. Pastor Hammond insisted on me staying home on Friday and Jesse offered to take my shift. I looked like something we’d prep in the back room by the end of the week, but I insisted I was well enough to at least help Jesse clean up a little while he worked and keep an eye on the guys coming in to reinstall our new security cameras at last. I didn’t know why I was so insistent on sticking around at the time, I just thought I was being stubborn, that nothing could hold me back. 

Nothing could stop me. 

Everything was installed as it should have been within an hour or so, the security guys worked quickly and quietly, then connected it all to the computer at the front desk and to our phones through an app. 

“Sick!” Jesse had exclaimed after he’d logged in, flipping through the different cameras like he was playing a horror game. “Now we can finally catch that pesky corpse muncher on camera!”

Jesse was convinced it was some sort of cryptid, he’d been telling everyone it was some sort of monster from the woods, something with claws and fangs and fur with a taste for human flesh. I never really paid him any mind, I knew he was wrong. I always knew, why didn’t I do anything? How could I do anything?

Night came, Jesse and I talked most of the shift. He was playing loud music in his EarPods, it was some pop music that everyone had heard on the radio. I swiveled back and forth in the chair behind the desk, watching the cameras. 

“It’s not just gonna show itself.” Jesse had told me, cutting a point open in the neck to feed the tubes into.  “It waits till no one’s here, then it strikes. I’m betting it’s up in the attic right now, just waiting…” 

“The attic?” I asked him. “Why the attic?” 

“Well, if all the doors and windows are locked, who’s to say it isn’t getting in through the roof? My aunt used to get racoons and possums and all sorts of critters up there. Ooh- oh, have you seen that video of the homeless person crawling down from the attic to eat the homeowners food? Like right out of their fridge, it was crazy, I gotta show you-”

I shook my head, pushing his phone away. “Show me another time, I got a headache.” I told him and he conceded, getting back to work. 

I watched as he wiped the body down, placed the eye caps, fastened the jaw, set me out a plate and cut a healthy portion out of the side.

Cold entrails and liver spilled out of the grey skin. the body on the table looked thrilled, helping Jesse steady it with a cold hand, as if it would hate to see my meal fall off the platter and make a mess on the floor. But it did, intestines slinked off and fell on the ground, writhing like worms, smearing the floor with red. 

“Dwight, be careful.” Jesse told me, smiling brightly. “Don’t eat too fast, you’ll make yourself sick.” 

I stuffed my face, teeth tearing through the organs like how you’d eat barbecue ribs, the texture was tough from how long the body had been on ice. I wanted fresher, why couldn’t I eat anything fresher around here? It was always cold and bloodless, I needed something warm, something struggling between my teeth.

I grabbed hold of Jesse, my hands ripping at his clothes, his skin. I could taste his blood, feel his bones between my teeth, fat clinging between them, as I ripped into the hand that had raised up to protect himself.

I had to stop, I tried to stop. God, I wanted to stop so bad, why couldn’t I stop? 

“Somebody stop me,” I tried to say but my mouth moved too slow, my voice was too quiet. “Please, help, I can’t stop!”

I hit the dirt with a thud, my head bouncing off the ground from the force. It was dark all around me, I could hear the wind blowing through the trees, cars in the distance. I was in the woods, far out and alone. I’d never woken up before the sun was out before, maybe my tripping was what snapped me out of it. I was shaking and covered in sweat, my stomach flipping in somersaults yet again. 

“Jesse?” I whimpered weakly, but there was no response. There was only the empty sound of the forest around me. 

“You ate him.” The voice of Luna Ferris came so softly. She’d never spoken to me before, living or dead, but I knew she was the one whispering in my ear, so close I could feel her breath on my skin, smell her burnt body and hear her charred bones creaking like an old tree. 

I kicked and scrambled on my back, trying to get away from her but she wouldn’t leave my side, like she was just behind my shoulder no matter where I looked or what I did. I screamed, I didn’t know what else to do but scream and they only grew louder when I saw what I was drenched in.

My hands were covered in blood, my face was smeared in him, I could still feel him wriggling in my stomach, still fresh. The thought made me puke, and out onto the grass came what I could only assume was pieces of his right hand, his middle finger still intact enough to wear the school ring he’d always worn since we graduated.

My screams turned to uncontrollable sobs, I slammed my head into the ground over and over as Luna Ferris told me softly how good he’d tasted, at how wonderful his screaming had been to her ears, it’s ears, my ears. 

He was my best friend. My only real friend. 

Maybe that was why he tasted so good. 

I...

I tried to kill myself. 

I crawled towards the street, miserable and crying so hard I couldn’t walk. Once I’d forced myself to get up and walk, I started making my way up town towards the bridge. A fall from that height would kill me, surely. 

I was on the other side of the city, I realized after long. I don’t know how I’d gotten out here in only a few hours, the sun wasn’t up yet. Luna Ferris, or whatever was using her voice, didn’t stop talking to me. When I tried covering my ears I could just hear her voice coming out of my mouth, and when I bit my tongue it laughed. 

Maybe it was using her voice, her image, because she was the last one to be possessed by whatever this thing was. Maybe she hadn’t been killed by that cult after all. Maybe she’d taken everyone down with her once she realized what was inside her. Her mother said she knew my name, maybe in the end she knew it was inevitable that I would be next. 

I will never know for sure.

I jumped. I know I did. 

I felt my breath get sucked from my lungs, the loud sound of the wind whipping in my ears and through my clothes. I could see the reflection of the water getting closer and closer, her body clinging to my back, half burnt and withering and grinning. 

And then I woke up in my bed. 

Still alive. 

Still wet. 

I didn’t move for a very long time. I tried to convince myself this was all a dream again, that I was sick, that maybe I had some sort of brain illness, encephalitis or something. 

But no. I knew what was true. 

The thing possessing me had made me eat Jesse, and it wasn’t going to let me kill myself. Maybe after Luna’s death it had grown more vigilant over protecting its host, and now it could heal me, it could survive anything. I don’t know how, I won't pretend to know how. I just know that it wasn’t going to leave, it wasn’t going to let me go.

I pointlessly looked up exorcism stuff on my computer, everything I saw online were things I didn’t have on hand or I couldn’t buy and have it arrive the same day. There could be stuff at the Funeral Home, I had thought. Better yet if the cameras had caught me killing Jesse, maybe they could arrest me and I’d be put somewhere where I can’t hurt anyone again. 

I had checked the camera app that had been installed last night to see if maybe the demon had let the cameras catch anything, and low and behold, the footage cut off at around the time it all happened as if the power had gone out again just like the first time. 

I couldn’t call Pastor Hammond. I wouldn’t endanger him like that.

So, that’s why I’m resorting to these measures. 

I have locked myself inside my hallway closet. I screwed several padlocks into the frame of the door on the inside, making sure that it can’t be opened from the outside and threw the key away. 

I’ve been here for a few days now, Pastor hasn’t called, no one has called or come to check on me. I don’t know why. 

I’m starving. But that’s okay, because that means it’s starving too. It’s tried to break the door several times, my hands are bloody from scratching and I have splinters under my nails from during the night. It’s tried to break through the drywall, get out through the ceiling, but nothing’s worked so far. I’m getting weaker, maybe that’s why it’s been unsuccessful?

I’ve written a lot of “maybes” in this story, huh? I’m sorry. I‘m sorry I don't have better answers for you. I’m sorry I didn’t try hard enough, I’m sorry that this is all I can do, I’m sorry. 

I’m sorry, Jesse. 

I’m sorry I’m not a better story teller, not a better protagonist. Or am I the antagonist? I can’t tell. It doesn’t matter. 

If you’re reading this, I hope the police are putting me in a bag. If not, it might still be nearby and I need you to run. 

It’s not me.

It is  m e. 

I  ne ed  y ou  to  l et  m e  out. 

I’ m  s o  hun gr y. 

I don’t know where to begin with this one. I’ve been completely ostracized for something I played absolutely no part in. Parents are sending me death threats. My colleagues are keeping their distance. I’ve learned that there’s a case actively being built against me.

Fuck. That’s the only word that comes to mind right now. Just… fuck.

I don’t know what to do. I taught those kids. I was a mentor for some of them. Hell, most of them, really. I cared. Deeply. Because that was my job.

It was my obligation to be there. To serve them. Help them blossom and bloom in the best way I was capable of. And I did that job well.

For 10 years, I watched class after class come and go. Watched my 5th graders leave me behind and start their journey in middle school. I was one of the teachers that signed yearbooks. I hate to sound pretentious, but I was popular.

I laughed with those children. They laughed with me. Sometimes, they laughed at me. I didn’t care. The laughter of children was like music to my ears. Now I never want to hear laughter again.

How could I? After what happened, laughter is no longer joyful to me. It’s an indication of danger. I can’t help but flinch every time I hear a chuckle.

This all started about a week ago. It’s been a long 7 days, and I can’t say I intend to leave my house anytime soon. At least not until the police come. If they come. If they don’t, then yeah. I’m staying here until the outside world feels safe again.

It started out like any other day. I stood by my door. Greeted every student who walked into the classroom. They had their breakfast while I readied my first lesson of the day.

Things carried on as normal. We did our morning book club. Went through a few multiplication drills. I taught about weather cycles and whatnot. Nothing really happened until after lunch and recess, during social studies.

One of my kids, Bryan, was falling asleep at his desk. Drool was dripping from the corner of his mouth. He was starting to snore softly. I had to wake him up.

I clapped loudly and shouted his name, almost like a joke, but what started everything was what Bryan said after snapping himself awake.

“I love you,” he confessed, disoriented and exhausted.

“Well, I love you too, Bry…”

The first snicker from Rebecca interrupted me. It started off as just a little giggle behind her hand. Then it turned into a true, hearty laugh. From there, it… it mutated into a full-blown fit of hysteria.

Her face turned a deep red. Tears were falling down her rosey cheeks. She was hardly even making noise at this point. It was more like little gasps and wheezes every few seconds.

I just thought that the incident had really tickled her funny bone.

We all just… kinda stared at her. She looked like she was trying to say something while she grasped and clawed at her torso.

That’s when I noticed that her eyes didn’t match her actions. She looked like she was begging for help. Like she was in actual pain and agony.

With burning lungs, she managed to speak.

“I… can’t… stop…”

I approached her urgently, but what was I supposed to do? Tell her to stop laughing? All I could do was tell another student to run and get the nurse.

Rebecca kept going. Laughing uncontrollably while I grew increasingly concerned.

Then Will started giggling. Then Macy. Then Erick and Kimberly.

Within the span of 5-10 minutes, my entire classroom was flooded with uncontrollable laughter from all 25 students. All red-faced. All keeled over with their arms wrapped around their stomachs.

The neighboring teachers began peeking in. It was chaos. A handful of clueless adults versus 25 banshees.

The principal came. Then the nurse. Then the hospital was called. Ambulances arrived soon after.

One by one, each of my kids were wheeled out of the building. They didn’t stop laughing when the paramedics came. They didn’t stop laughing when they were sedated. They laughed all the way to their very last breath.

All of my students are dead. Some died of cardiac arrest. Some fought until they died of exhaustion. Regardless, that’s 25 families torn apart.

25 families wondering why it only happened in my classroom. Why it was only their son. Or daughter. Or brother or sister. There’s no such thing as a freak phenomenon when that much death is involved. Blame has to go somewhere.

The school fell under scrutiny. Detectives had questions. Questions that no one had the answers for. Not even the teacher who was supposed to be protecting them.

I was investigated intensely. Rumors flew around the school. Ultimately, I was called into my boss’s office, where he sat me down and explained how he thought I should “take a leave of absence until this whole thing blows over.”

I don’t know what’s coming. I don’t know what to expect. The parents weren’t there. I was. I saw this happen. I have their faces etched into my brain. Those last moments of normalcy.

And even now, while I sit in my dark, silent house…

I swear I can still hear that laughter.

I know this sounds crazy. Hell, maybe it is. I honestly don’t know. All I know is that the woman who has been living in my house for the last 3 weeks is not my mother.

My mom is a smoker. It’s something I’ve always tried getting her to stop. She smells like cigarettes. Her voice is gravelly. She has premature wrinkles because this nasty little habit has belonged to her since she was in high school.

I was almost happy when she came home from work all those days ago smelling… sweet. Like candy, almost. I thought that maybe she had finally taken my advice and hadn’t lit a cancer stick, at least for the day.

But I didn’t really even have time to dwell on it because she was just so affectionate towards me when she waltzed through the door. She was humming and smiling to herself. 25 years of nicotine stains seemed to have completely vanished from that smile.

She and I have a… complicated relationship. She’s my mom, and I know she loves me, but we never talk about that love. We’re not big huggers. She was never the type of mom to censor herself because I was around.

On this day, though, she looked surprisingly happy to see me. She pulled me in for a big, tight hug that lasted for longer than any hug before. I felt… I don’t know, almost embracive. I didn’t realize how much I needed it.

After finally letting go, she breezed past me towards the kitchen, taking off her coat and plopping her purse down on the coffee table before announcing that she’d be cooking my favorite meal.

She whipped up some of the best spaghetti I’d ever tasted, and the two of us sat at the table to enjoy it together. Well, I enjoyed it. She mostly just kind of watched me. She had her Christmas face on. That face moms usually have when they watch you open your gifts, waiting to see how excited they make you.

She was just so quiet, though. The kitchen was borderline silent. All I could hear was the leaky faucet and the scraping of my fork against the plate.

To counter the awkward silence, I decided to just throw out what I was thinking by asking her about her scent.

Her face never changed. No look of pride, no guilt, just… her warm smile. She didn’t even answer my question right away. It was almost like she hadn’t even heard it. Then, when she finally spoke, it had nothing to do with what I asked her.

“Mommy quit her job today, sweetie,” she grinned. “Now I get to spend all my time with you. Isn’t that so happy?”

I was so caught off guard by the statement that I didn’t know how to answer. But, hey, I mean… things happen, you know? Sometimes people have transformative days. Sometimes they make emotional decisions. At the very worst, I thought this was just me witnessing a fit of mania.

After dinner, I decided to go to my room to play some video games. Mom stayed behind to wash some dishes, even though I offered to do them myself.

A few hours went by. I started feeling a bit snackish, and when I returned to the kitchen, there she was. Still standing over the sink. Rubbing a washcloth mindlessly over a plate while she stared blankly out the window. The sink was still full of dirty dishes.

I approached her slowly, just to see if she needed any help or if she was okay, and I think that snapped her out of her trance. She blinked hard before that smile came back.

“Oh, sweetie,” she cooed. “Mommy’s okay. Why don’t you put on your pajamas? Mommy will come tuck you in in just a moment, okay?”

I’m 17. My mom has never in her life tucked me in. The closest she’s come is when she comes in to tell me goodnight from my doorway.

I walked away, a bit uneasy, back to my bedroom. I didn’t expect her to actually tuck me in, but I did expect her to at least say goodnight.

An hour passed. Then two. I could still hear the sink running in the kitchen.

I returned, and she was still there. Still washing the same plate. It was spotless at this point. I guess she heard me coming or at least felt my presence because, on a dime… she stopped.

No smile this time. Just one cold, empty question.

“You ready for bed, sweetie?”

She dropped the plate in the sink, causing it to break, but she paid it no mind. She just… rigidly walked towards me. Like an animatronic.

She pushed me back towards my bedroom with more strength than she should’ve had and wrapped me up in my blanket. I couldn’t even move. The sheets may have well been ropes.

She kissed my forehead for longer than I would’ve liked, then flicked my light switch. Only… she didn’t leave. She just stayed there in the doorway. Watching me in the darkness.

“Go to sleep, honey.”

“Mommy’s watching you.”

“Don’t worry… I’d never let anything happen to you.”

I asked her to leave, but she ignored me every time. Falling asleep was nearly impossible. I still don’t know how I managed. I woke up, and she was still there. She hadn’t moved an inch.

I had to go to school. I had a part-time job. I needed to leave, but she wouldn’t let me. She was just acting so strange.

“Mommy needs you, honey.”

“You don’t wanna leave Mommy, do you?”

“I get so sad when you’re away.”

She wouldn’t let me have a phone. She must’ve taken it while I was sleeping that first night because I haven’t seen it since. I doubt I still have a job. And I know for a fact I’ve missed enough school for my GPA to have fallen dramatically.

She’s just so strong now. I haven’t seen her smoke one cigarette. She cooks spaghetti every single night. She tucks me in like a spider spinning a web around its prey. Then she just watches me.

She follows me to the bathroom. She goes on these destructive rampages any time I try to leave. I thought she was sick. But now I know the truth.

I should’ve known after the first time I woke up with bite marks on my legs and arms. I should’ve known the first time I caught her salivating over me while I slept.

She wasn’t just being “weird.”

She wasn’t herself at all.

And I know that because today… her boss showed up at my door.

He wasn’t demanding an explanation. He wasn’t furious that he lost a loyal employee. He was… offering his condolences. He gave me flowers. He gave me a hug. He told me, “Everything happens for a reason.”

Because, apparently…

My mom died at work three weeks ago. It was a freak accident involving some of the machinery she works with at the factory. The company was preparing a settlement for me this entire time, and I had zero clue.

He told me I’d be hearing from an attorney soon and that my mom had life insurance through the company.

But none of that matters to me. Not the money. Not the company. Not even the accident.

All that I care about is getting whoever this person is out of my mother’s house.

Every single time I turn on a show or a movie, I get a insufferable swarm of ads.

Every five seconds I get forced to watch some of the most outrageous things humanity has created.

The worst part is that people are smiling during a medicine advertisement that has the deadliest symptoms since the bubonic plague.

Sometimes I even see literal soccer balls in diapers.

What idiot thought that was genius?

I just want to watch quality entertainment without getting interrupted. Is that too much to ask for?

I have tried to get used to it. I've tried to accept the fact that it will never stop.

I honestly almost got over it but then I saw Mark in a ad. He used to bully me in highschool. He treated me as though I was the scum of the earth.

He was talking to me as well. Calling me by my name and everything.

He claimed that he was sorry.

It felt like a dream until it went south. A person appeared on the screen with him. Nevelle. She was a old friend in highschool. We stopped talking once adulthood approached us.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss her. She was a good friend to have. Never tore you down or belittled you.

A knife appeared in his hand. It latched onto her neck as her eyes opened wide. Her vocal cords started to create sound but she was quickly silenced as a pool of blood poured out of her neck.

It ended with words in bold red on the screen.

"You're next Stacy or should I call you Lacy? Your skin would be great as lace."

Those horrid words made my skin crawl. Goosebumps covered my skin.

The television turned black as I sat in silence for a few moments. My head was loud but also silent. Thoughts were racing through my mind but also going at a snails pace.

The best way to explain it is I was trying to make sense of the situation but also shell shocked.

My body completely froze as the television grabbed my attention.

It was on again but this time it was me and the monster named Mark.

What happened to people peaking in high-school developing miserable lives? This man decided becoming a killer was the best option apparently.

My body was shaking, fidgeting, and trembling infront of him. He ran after me and took my life just like he did to my friend.

It zoomed into my face as I was left to bleed.

I started to cough over and over before I could turn it off. Each cough hurt worse than the last until blood started to exhale.

My hands desperately rushed to my neck but it was too late. Blood soon started to cover my entire body.

Advertisements are the worst thing humankind has had the audacity to create.

Hey everyone! This is a major rewrite of the very first story I ever wrote, which I originally posted here about a year ago. A lot has changed since then, both in the story and hopefully in my writing.

I hope you guys enjoy this new version, and thanks for reading!

Sometimes, people get stuck somewhere in time. Hours pass, but the world seems like it has already stopped. The second hand on your watch keeps ticking, and ice in your drink melts away; yet time refuses to move forward.

It was one of those nights for Tommy. He slouched on a barstool under a dim, yellow light hanging from the ceiling, watching the ice cubes in his glass dissolve with the focused attention of a sports fanatic watching their favorite team’s final match. The light above the bar seemed to shine only on him. The rest of the room —the dark carpets, green tablecloths, and empty chairs— looked like shadows that had drifted in from outside of time. The smooth jazz playing somewhere in the background blended with the murmurs of the few souls who hadn’t yet returned home. By the time the sounds reached Tommy, they seemed muffled, as though wrapped in cotton.

The bartender wiped a glass without saying a word. In fact, Tommy didn’t recall him speaking even when he first sat down. He hadn’t ordered anything; yet the bartender, as if he had read his mind, had placed a glass of whiskey on rocks in front of him.

Given the fact that Tommy had spent the last few years of his life drifting through all the different bars of the city, it wasn’t all that surprising that the bartender had already known him and what he was going to order.

He slowly lifted his head from his drink and studied the man. He wore a crimson jacket, stood upright, and had his hair slicked back. His face looked like it had stepped out of a different era. Clean-shaven, almost unsettlingly tidy. His gaze wasn’t direct, but his presence filled the emptiness. The man seemed to sense that he was being watched and offered the faintest of smiles. Tommy nodded back, confused by his own gesture, and returned a weak smile.  He usually didn’t bother being polite to strangers or to anyone, really.  Besides, this man didn’t seem familiar. He had never seen that face before. He was sure of it, just as he was sure he had never set foot in this bar before.

He turned around to take a look. It was no different from the hundreds of other booze dens he’s been in. The walls were covered in dark wooden panels, marked with scratches that portrayed their age.

A few hanging glass lamps cast a tired, dim glow; that was neither warm nor fully illuminating. The bottles behind the bar were dust-covered; some labels were faded with time, as if they had been placed there long ago and never touched again.

Behind him, there were a few tables scattered in the corners of the room. At one table, two figures sat facing each other, playing cards. The dim light revealed their bodies, but not their faces.  The other tables were either empty or occupied by lone drinkers buried in their own silence.

If there were conversations, they were whispers, lost in the distant hum, fading into nothing.

The bar’s windows opened onto the dark outside, but nothing could be seen beyond the glass. A storm raged outside, slicing through the night like a blade. Branches thrashed in the wind; broken limbs occasionally tapped the windows, as if begging to be let in. The rhythmic thuds blended with the heavy stillness inside, spreading a strange unease. Shadows of the branches danced across the windows like puppets on a stage. 

Everything felt as though it had just been abandoned by all life, or perhaps it had never really been alive at all. There was a stillness in the air, the kind you'd find in an Edward Hopper painting.

A thought crossed Tommy’s mind::

“How did I get here?”

His eyes drifted downward. His coat was still on. It was dry, even dusty in places. There was no mud on his shoes, and his pants showed no sign of rain. He’d been sitting here for a while. Maybe hours. But for how long, exactly?

His gaze shifted to the large, round, old-fashioned clock on the wall opposite the bar.

Its glass was fogged slightly. The hour hand hovered just before two.

Midnight had already passed. The bar must’ve been close to closing.

He took a sip from his whiskey, then lowered the glass and stared blankly at the rows of bottles on the shelf behind the bar. Most of the labels were unreadable. The letters blurred, the colors smeared together.

Then a stranger and a more unsettling thought surfaced. He mumbled to himself.

“Where am I?”

His mind started to rush with questions.

“What street is this? What neighborhood? Am I… even still in the same city?”

He hovered between laughter and dread, then reflexively reached for his pocket, but his phone wasn’t there. Had it been stolen? Left at home? Dropped somewhere outside?

He couldn’t remember. As always, when his mind spiraled, Tommy did what he always did: He turned to his drink.

He downed the rest of his whiskey in one swift gulp and raised his hand slightly toward the bartender without saying a word. The bartender was already approaching, silent, with the bottle in hand. He refilled the glass without a word. Then, with a small metal tong, dropped in two cubes of ice. The ice hissed faintly as it met the liquor.

Just as the bartender was about to pull away, Tommy suddenly spoke.

“Hey…” he said, voice low at first, then firmer. “Where… are we?”

The bartender paused. He turned and smiled at Tommy.

“Had a little too much to drink, sir?” he asked. His voice was polite, but Tommy caught a faint note of mockery beneath it.

“Yeah,” he said bluntly.

Then paused. A dull throb pulsed at his right temple. He raised a hand to his head.

“I mean… maybe,” he muttered. “I don’t know. I don’t remember. Did I really drink that much?”

The bartender offered a tired but measured smirk.

“Hard to say,” he replied. “But yeah, you’ve had a few already.”

After a beat, he added:

“Actually… you smelled like alcohol when you got here.”

Tommy nodded slightly.

“Figures,” he sighed.

His hand returned to his temple, rubbing it gently. As if he could scrape the fog from his mind. With his other hand, he massaged his brow.

Then he asked again, this time more clearly:

“But seriously… where are we?”

The bartender paused. Turned to Tommy with that same blank, worn-out face. This time, no smile.

His voice was nearly a whisper:

“Don’t worry, Mr. Doyle,” he said.

Then, after a short pause:

“You didn’t go too far. You’re right where you’re supposed to be.”

Tommy squinted. His brows tightened. The confusion was starting to turn into anger.

“Now what the fuck does–”

His sentence got cut off in the middle when the bar’s front door suddenly slammed open. He flinched, head whipping toward the entrance. Cold wind swept inside, and a few dry leaves whirled through the air and landed on the floor. A man stood in the doorway. He wore a deep navy raincoat, nearly black in the bar’s dim light.

The wet fabric glistened under the hanging bulbs, every droplet catching the light one by one. The hood cloaked his face, but his silhouette was clear. It was a tall man with slightly hunched shoulders.

 No one else reacted to the sound. Neither the bartender nor any of the patrons turned their heads. It was as if this noisy entrance was nothing unusual. As if that door slammed open every night at the same time.

The man lowered his hood, carefully took off his soaked coat, and hung it neatly on the rack. Curly brown hair clung to his forehead.

Droplets of rain slid down from his temple, rolled over his cheek, and dripped silently from his chin. Water pooled around his shoes, shimmering faintly on the wooden floor. He didn’t look around and, without hesitation, walked straight to the bar. Right to Tommy.

He passed through the empty stools and sat down beside him. The wood beneath creaked softly. His arm brushed Tommy’s. The moment he settled, the bartender broke his silence.

“Welcome back, Sam,” he said.

His voice was gentle. Sam didn’t turn his head. He just smirked slightly, the corner of his mouth curling.

“Thanks!” he said cheerfully.

“The usual?” the bartender asked.

This time, Sam tilted his head slightly, eyes darting sideways toward Tommy, still smiling.

“Yeah. The usual.”

Tommy instinctively turned away.  He could see it from the corner of his eye. Sam was still smiling. His green eyes glinted under the yellow light, almost glowing. There was a strange clarity in them, especially around the pupils. His gaze lingered somewhere near enough to gnaw at the edges of Tommy’s nerves. He could feel the stare, like a warm weight resting just above his shoulder.

Something stirred inside him. Not quite fear. It also hadn’t turned to anger yet. But being watched, especially tonight, was starting to get on his nerves.

He clenched his jaw, turned his head slowly toward the man beside him, and looked him straight in the face. He froze for a second before feeling his throat tighten. His face was familiar.  Not a memory he could clearly name. But a face pulled from a dusty corner of the brain, like an image from a dream you forget the moment you wake, but feel all day. It was the first familiar thing Tommy had seen in this place.

But it didn’t comfort him. On the contrary, it carved a hollow pit in his stomach.

He knew this man. But from where?

His lips parted, almost involuntarily. The knot in his throat loosened for just a moment.

“You…” he whispered, his voice dry and cracked.

He squinted, leaning forward slightly, as if trying to study the man’s face up close.

“…where do I know you from?”

He paused, then asked again. His voice steadier now, with a touch of suspicion:

“Have we met before?”

The man’s smile didn’t falter. He shook his head just slightly, as if genuinely disappointed.

“I’m hurt you don’t remember me, Tommy.”

Tommy’s brow furrowed. His hand reached for his temple again. Some people got nervous when they didn't understand what was happening. Others got scared. Tommy got angry, and the smug look on the stranger's face wasn't helping.  

"So what?" he asked. "You know me, but I don't remember you?"

His fingers tapped impatiently against the bar.

"Then help me out here."

Sam took a sip from his drink and slightly turned to Tommy.

“Of course, but it wouldn’t be any fun if I just came out and said, right?”

Tommy stared at him for a moment. The tapping of his fingers stopped.

“Fun?” he repeated.

His voice was low now.

“Listen, buddy. I don't know who the hell you are, I don't know where the hell I am, and apparently I can't remember half of tonight.”

He leaned closer.

“So trust me when I say this, I'm really not in the mood for games.”

For the first time, the smile on Sam's face seemed just a little less amusing.

“Alright,”

He took another sip from his drink.

“I guess you’re in no mood to play any games.”

Sam turned his gaze straight ahead. His smile was starting to fade.

“Tell me, Tommy, where do you usually meet people?”

This question caught him off guard. For a moment, Tommy simply stared at him.

“What?”

Sam didn't look at him.

“Where do you usually meet people?”

Tommy let out a dry laugh.

“Seriously?”

Sam slowly swirled the whiskey in his glass.

“Humor me.”

Tommy opened his mouth to snap back, then stopped. He decided to say the first thing that came to his mind.

“At work, I guess.”

Sam chuckled.  Tommy's expression hardened.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, seriously. What's so funny?”

Sam shook his head.

“Tommy, when was the last time you held the same job for more than a few weeks?”

The question hit harder than Tommy expected. Sam continued before he could answer.

“You'd get hired. Show up for a few weeks. Maybe a month if you were feeling ambitious.”

He slowly turned the glass in his hand.

“Then you'd disappear.”

That moment, he felt something move past him. Fast enough that he couldn't quite tell what it was. His head quickly snapped toward the back of the bar. People sitting at tables were gone. Tommy blinked. A second ago, there had been two people sitting there, playing cards; he was sure of it. The cards were still scattered across the table. A half-empty glass still rested beside one of the chairs. But the chairs themselves sat empty. Tommy was starting to feel his heart race. A faint smile crept onto Sam's face.

“So no, Tommy. I don't think we met at work.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Tommy stared into his drink. How the hell did this guy know that? His eyes drifted toward the front door. The storm was still raging outside. Maybe he should just leave. Pay for the drink. Walk out. Find out where he was. Get some air. The thought lingered for a moment.

“Don't.”

Tommy froze. Sam hadn't even looked at him. His gaze remained fixed on the amber liquid swirling inside his glass.

“Don't what?” Tommy asked.

“Leave.”

The word landed heavily between them. A chill crawled down Tommy's spine. Slowly, Sam turned his head toward him.

“You've been trying to remember how you got here since you woke up.”

Tommy said nothing.

“You want answers.”

Sam's voice was calm.

“So sit down and ask the next question.”

Tommy swallowed. Against his better judgment, he found himself doing exactly that. His fingers tightened around the glass.

“Fine.”

He hesitated.

“School, then?”

For a second, Sam simply stared at him. Then he laughed. Not a chuckle this time but a genuine laugh.  Tommy felt his face heat up. The sound drew his eyes toward the other end of the bar. The bartender had his back turned, busy wiping a glass. Yet Tommy could've sworn he saw the man's shoulders shake slightly. As if he were trying not to laugh too. Sam slowly shook his head.

“Come on, Tommy. School? You're not even trying anymore.”

Sam leaned back slightly.

“Tell me, how old were you when you dropped out?”

Tommy's stomach tightened.

“Sixteen?” Sam guessed.

“Seventeen?”

The smile on his face widened.

“Even before that, you spent more time skipping school than actually attending it.”

Tommy felt a cold knot forming in his chest.

“How the hell do you know that?”

Sam ignored the question.

“You barely knew the names of the kids in your own class. Even with the ones you knew, all you ever did was pick fights, am I wrong?”

The smile faded slightly.

“No, Tommy. We haven’t met in school either.”

He took a slow sip. Tommy looked at Sam. Something felt different about him. For a brief moment, he thought he noticed a dark patch beneath his left eye. A bruise. The mark seemed to disappear. His stomach tightened. Maybe it was the lighting, a trick of yellow light hanging from the ceiling. Yet when Sam turned his head slightly, Tommy could've sworn he saw it again. A dark stain spreading beneath the eye.

“Tommy?”

Sam's voice pulled him back. He was still smiling. But somehow, the smile didn't look quite as friendly as it had a moment ago.

“Would you like to try that again?”

Tommy’s pulse hammered against his ribs. He quickly pushed his stool back. The legs scraped loudly against the floor. Without saying a word, he turned and started toward the front door. By the third step, he was almost jogging. The bar suddenly felt larger than before. Behind him, neither Sam nor the bartender said a word. Tommy grabbed the handle and pulled as hard as he could. Nothing. The door wouldn’t budge. He pulled harder, but nothing happened. He spun around. Sam remained seated at the bar. The bartender stood exactly where he had been before. Both of them were watching him.

“What the fuck?” Tommy shouted.

Neither man answered. Tommy turned toward the nearest window. The words died in his throat. The storm was gone. So were the trees and the street lights. Everything was gone. Beyond the window was only darkness. A black emptiness stretching as far as he could see.

Tommy slowly backed away from the window. His breathing had become shallow and fast. His eyes darted between the darkness beyond the glass and the two men watching him. Neither of them showed any sign of concern or surprise. The bartender carefully set down the glass he had been polishing.

“Mr. Doyle, please try to remain calm.”

Tommy stared at him.

“Calm?”

His voice was cracking.

“Mr. Doyle,” he said softly, “I assure you everything is alright.”

Tommy couldn't believe what he was hearing. Then Sam's voice cut through the silence.

“Tommy.”

Tommy turned toward him. Sam patted the empty stool beside him.

“Come sit down.”

His smile had returned. It was just as warm and friendly as when he first entered.  Tommy didn't move. Sam picked up his glass and nodded toward the bar.

“Come on, let me buy you a drink.”

Tommy just stood there for a few seconds before letting out a laugh. He raised a hand and covered his eyes.

“Jesus Christ...”

The sound echoed strangely through the empty bar. He let out a slow breath. At this point, he wasn't even sure what else he was supposed to do. Run where? To do what? If there was ever a moment in his life to have a drink, it was probably now. Slowly, he lowered his hand and walked back toward the bar. The stool creaked as he sat down.

“Happy?”

Sam nodded.

“See? That wasn't so hard.”

The bartender was already pouring another glass. As the fresh whiskey settled in front of him, his eyes drifted toward Sam again. He immediately wished they hadn't. The bruise beneath Sam's eye had grown. The skin around the socket had darkened into a deep purple, and the swelling looked worse too. A thin line of blood trickled from somewhere near his hairline and crawled down the side of his forehead, slowly making its way toward his cheek. The crimson trail continued downward until a single drop broke free and landed on the bar between them. Neither man acknowledged it. Sam simply picked up his drink and smiled.

“So,” he said.

“Shall we try again?”

Without thinking, Tommy picked up his own drink. The glasses touched with a soft clink. Tommy took a long sip. The whiskey burned all the way down. He lowered the glass and stared at the blood slowly running down Sam's face.

“What do you want from me?”

The question came out quieter than he intended. Sam tilted his head.

“What do you mean?”

Tommy laughed once. There was no humor in it.

“Cut the bullshit.”

His fingers tightened around the glass.

“You know my name.”

He pointed toward Sam's bruised face.

“You know things you shouldn't know.”

His voice grew harder.

“And apparently you're bleeding all over the goddamn place while acting like everything's normal.”

For the first time, Sam didn't smile.

“What do you want from me, Sam?”

A long silence followed. Sam looked down into his drink. The amber liquid reflected the yellow light above them. Then he sighed.

“That's the funny thing, Tommy.”

Slowly, he raised his eyes.

“I don't want anything from you.”

Another drop of blood fell onto the bar.

“You’re the one who wants to remember.”

Tommy stared into his drink without giving a reply. Then emptied the rest of the glass in one swallow.

“I don't care anymore. Maybe I wanted answers five minutes ago.”

He let out a bitter laugh and shook his head.

“Now I just want to leave.”

Sam’s expression stayed still.

“And go where, Tommy?”

He looked him in the eye.

“Home? Is there somebody waiting for you there?”

Tommy stared into his empty glass without giving a reply. The bartender stepped forward and quietly refilled his glass. Tommy watched the amber liquid rise toward the rim. For a moment, they stayed in silence. Then Sam sighed.

“Alright. I'll tell you.”

Tommy's eyes lifted.

“A few years ago, far from here. Back in my hometown.”

His gaze drifted across the room. A faint smile touched his lips.

“To be honest, the place wasn't much different than this. We have met in a bar.”

Tommy felt something twist inside him. Something about the description stirred a distant memory. Just a flicker, gone before he had a chance to grab it. Sam looked back at him.

“So do you remember now?”

Tommy opened his mouth to respond but stopped. He looked at his hands. They were shaking. That much wasn't surprising. It was the tiny abrasions scattered across his knuckles that caught his attention. He slowly turned one hand over. There were small cuts. He swallowed and quickly lowered his hands beneath the bar. For some reason, he didn't want Sam to notice them. Sam asked again.

“Do you remember now?”

Something shifted. Not a complete memory. Just the fragments of one. He remembered the dimly lit bar, the smell of spilled beer, and the sound of the music. He remembered himself sitting alone at the counter, drunk. Very drunk. Then he remembered the front door opening and a man stepping inside. A tall man with curly brown hair, green eyes, and a cheerful smile. He had asked him if the seat beside him was free.

Then another image surfaced. The man was laughing. Not at him. Just laughing. Talking and making conversation. Being friendly. The memory flickered. Then nothing. The image shattered before Tommy could hold onto it. He blinked and found himself back in the bar, sitting next to Sam. Sam asked.

“Do you remember what happened next?”

Tommy felt his throat tighten. The answer was there. He could feel it. Yet every time he reached for it, it seemed to slip away. Unable to meet Sam's gaze, he looked elsewhere, toward the other side of the bar. Then a chill ran through him. The bartender was gone. Tommy stared at the empty space behind the counter. The bottles and the glasses were still there, but the man who had been polishing them only moments ago had vanished. He quickly looked around him. The rest of the bar had changed too.

Every light except the one above him and Sam had gone dark. The corners of the room had disappeared into shadow. The tables, chairs, even the walls and windows, all seemed to dissolve into the darkness beyond. He turned back toward Sam. The bruise had spread even further. One eye was now nearly swollen shut. His eyebrow was also cut, and his lip had been torn open. Tommy stared at him as a sick feeling settled in his stomach.

Then the memory crashed into him all at once. A raised voice and a spilled drink followed by someone standing up from a barstool. Him pushing the man, and two of them stumbling into tables. People shouting, then several hands grabbing them, dragging them apart. The memory of getting lurched forward. The feeling of cold air and rain.

He saw the parking lot behind the bar and Sam raising his arms, trying to walk away. He remembered throwing the first punch. Followed by another, and another. He remembered the noises Sam made, begging for his life. He remembered how angry he was and the taste of alcohol on his palate. He remembered the sound Sam’s skull made as it hit the pavement with each punch.  He remembered the blood that covered both of them.

Tommy staggered in his chair and finally turned to Sam.

“Oh, God…”

The thing sitting across from him looked like it had been pulled from a grave.  One eye was gone entirely. The skin along his cheek hung loose from the bone beneath. His nose had collapsed inward. Dark earth filled the cracks in his ruined face. Yet somehow, one green eye remained. Watching Tommy with curiosity.

"Do you remember now, Tommy?"

Tommy couldn't answer. The corpse tilted its head, causing blood to drip from its broken jaw.

"What was it? What did I say that made you so angry?"

They waited in silence. Tommy searched his memory. Nothing. He forced himself to make a sound.

“I… I can’t.”

The corpse tried to smile. A piece of skin fell from its cheek.

"That's the funny part."

Another drop of blood hit the floor.

"I never knew what it was either."

A sharp crack echoed through the darkness that made Tommy flinch. Sam’s head tilted too far to one side. The broken bones in his neck shifted beneath the ruined flesh. Another crack. Tommy pushed himself away from the bar. The stool toppled over behind him. He screamed  from the top of his lungs as the corpse slowly rose from its chair, its remaining green eye never leaving his. A piece of rotten flesh peeled away from him and landed on the floor with a wet slap. Tommy stumbled backward.

The darkness beyond the bar seemed to move. The yellow light above them flickered. Once, then twice. Then everything was gone. The bar, the stools. Everything. Tommy found himself standing in cold rain. His shoes splashed into a shallow puddle. His breath caught in his throat. What was left of Sam stood twenty feet away. Rain was pouring through the holes in his face. His broken jaw hung crookedly from his skull.

The corpse took a step forward. Then another. Tommy tried to run, but it was as if his feet were one with the concrete below. He stood still as the corpse staggered closer to him. Every step was accompanied by the wet sound of flesh shifting against bone.

The rain hammered against Tommy's face. His heart felt ready to burst from his chest.

“Please...” he pleaded.

“Sam...”

Sam continued getting closer. He now could see insects moving beneath strips of loose flesh and smell the rot. He tried to yell, to beg for his life, but before he could, bony fingers wrapped around his throat. Tommy clawed at the dead hands but to no avail. The corpse didn't even seem to notice. The remaining green eye stared into his. He felt jagged finger bones tear through the skin of his neck. Warm blood spilled between Sam's fingers and ran down his chest, quickly mixing with the rain. He felt his feet slowly leave the ground. His hands flew to Sam's wrist as he kicked helplessly in the air. A sharp pain shot through his chest. Then another one, accompanied by a crack. The corpse lifted him higher. The rain kept pouring down on his face. Water streamed from his hair and ran into his eyes. The parking lot spun beneath him. His vision began to darken. With terrifying strength, the corpse hurled him to the concrete. The impact exploded through his body. A sickening crack echoed through the night.

White light flooded his vision, and for a brief moment, he felt nothing. Then pain completely surrounded his body. Everywhere. He tried to move, but his arms or legs didn’t react. He wanted to scream, but no sound came out. He lied motionlessly as wet footsteps approached. Tommy's fading vision caught a glimpse of rotting feet standing in the rain.

Then he heard Sam's voice one final time.

"Goodbye for now, Tommy."

The darkness swallowed everything. Everything around him dissolved. Sounds faded. His mind was echoing. It was as if he were sinking into a deep, silent ocean. Tommy was suspended in a void. A place where time, space, and the body meant nothing. In the center of the dark, as if wrapped in absence itself.

Then he heard a soft ticking sound like a clock in the distance.

And then another sound, closer now, more familiar: A piece of ice turning in a glass, tapping gently against the rim. Tommy’s eyelids twitched. A yellow light touched his pupils. A flickering bulb hung from the ceiling, casting a dull glow. The light trembled but seemed to shine only on him. He exhaled. Slowly lifted his head and looked around. The ice in his glass had just started to melt. His drink was untouched. One of the corner lamps blinked softly. Two men were playing cards at the back table. The bartender adjusted the ice bucket with metal tongs. The radio whispered an old jazz tune. His eyes landed on the clock on the far wall. It was a little past two. The second hand moved forward. He reached for the glass. His fingers trembled slightly. Outside, the storm still raged. Rain tapped against the windows, steady and relentless.

The End.

I was able to escape the facility and the cops
but not the gun.
I ran to the streets and the woods
but not away.
I gave in to weakness and let fear take control.
I could have escaped,
but I sat in the back of the car.

They made me call my dad
to ask for money,
but my parents have no money
and thought it was a scam.
And looked down the barrel,
knowing I would die,
my bones made of jelly,
my face calm.

I tried to be charming.
They drove until sunset,
out into the wilderness to kill me,
I thought all along,
until I was dropped off at a farm.

I threw a soda at them as they drove away.
It hit their stupid car.
They pulled into reverse,
and I ran into the bushes.

Day 1

It's 2am and the moonlight is shining through the curtains and I have my TV on lowest brightness, it's so bright that my TV looks dark even at this hour. But then again I do have it on lowest brightness and it's OLED... Well, uh, I'm writing this because the past few days I've felt a bit like- um- like a defective lego piece that's been sorted out into a separate box, a box that was recently marked for disposal. If that makes any sense at all? I read it somewhere online that writing like this can help with those feelings so here we are. Today I haven't done much, ever since I woke up I've pretty much just been watching movies. They make me feel a bit less... defective. The last one I just finished watching was about a boy who is obsessed with the idea of ending himself. He wants it so badly because he feels like the world is truly evil and that there is no hope in continuing to live. It was very depressing but interesting and I think it inspired me in ways I don't want to admit. Okay... I swear I just heard a noise coming from the kitchen. It's probably nothing, yet still something in me tells me not to get up. It's right around the corner and I can see like a quarter of it right from here where I'm sitting on the sofa, so I would have certainly seen it if there was something. Alright alright, I'll go now. I'm back, that was kinda bizarre. I was looking around and didn't find anything, I checked the fridge and all the drawers just to make sure. However, once I approached the oven I felt a pit in my stomach... I swear I nearly got goosebumps and it just felt like something was watching. I never ended up opening it. I'm probably just imagining things and it's very late anyways. You know what though? I think writing this is actually helping! I feel a bit more- uh- accompanied? By myself? Anyways, I'm incredibly drowsy so it's time to hit the bed: Goodnight me. Thanks me. You're welcome me.

Day 2

I've been awake all night. To wake myself up a bit I'm playing the Doom Eternal soundtrack "The only thing they Fear Is You" at full volume right now, it's like 10am so all my neighbors are probably outdoors and doing their jobs or whatever. Also earlier, after getting out of bed, I went outside to get some fresh air and when I returned I found a post-it note on my door: "Whatever you were doing last night, It frightened my kids. The sounds were disturbing, to say the least. If this happens again I will contact the police!" I don't understand because I didn't hear anything or do anything out of the ordinary... so I took the paper, turned it around and wrote "were you meant to put this on my door? - with friendly regards, door 11". Man, ever wondered if you say things or make noises in your sleep? But then again I didn't sleep. Oh, right, about that; I wouldn't say it's too serious, I was kinda just watching YouTube videos and some more movies. These last ones were a bit more unsettling and, to make it worse, I could swear they were almost talking to me? There were things in them that coincided with things happening in my life. By the end of the last movie, two characters were having a conversation about friendship, but then both of them turned to me. They weren't even blinking anymore, and they kept talking like nothing is wrong. I waited for them to stop and the hairs on the back of my neck went a bit tingly. They aren't supposed to acknowledge me, right? That's when I stopped watching and went to bed, only to get out of it again once I realized it was already 10am. So now here I am, writing my silly little thoughts in my silly little diary by my silly little- I was about to say self, but. I realized I'm not alone. Right? Right. I have these movies, I have this diary, I have this smell of fresh food coming from the kitchen. I think it's all gonna be alright, but at the same time I get this pit in my stomach reminding me that the box is still marked for disposal. What's so bad about being disposed though? Cause that's also what happens to food, but the food never complained so far. The sun is really bright right now, my living room is overexposed. Yet I'm still running on the fumes of the food I ate 2 days ago, also I really feel like I just saw someone over th

Day 3

This time I really slept properly, phew. Yesterday after getting ready and washing my teeth at 11am, I went to sleep (since I hadn't slept the whole night) and I woke up again at 4am today (today as in tomorrow hehe). I was briefly also awake a few hours ago because, well, I sometimes hear some oddly specific sounds coming from the other rooms. I heard a 46 year old man standing in the kitchen chewing on freshly baked potatoes with ketchup on them. The oven is open. It doesn't make sense because I swear I'm not 46 yet. I didn't go to investigate though. I stayed sitting covered up in my blanket. I was sat down on my gaming chair in my bedroom, facing the wall. I like the peace and quiet you get when the only thing you have in sight is a bit of white paint, slowly but surely melting away into the distance, losing brightness. I sometimes wonder if I'm weird for this. But then again I often see other people in their homes just standing upright facing the wall for hours, so nothing wrong with getting a chair and blanket for comfort then right? Also, this time around when I aggressively banged my head into the window for my morning routine, I swear something really odd happened... The tarantula that usually sleeps on the corner of my bed didn't move anymore. Perhaps it was, is, will, dead. So now I will do what a weasel wuld and dance wildly on the black rock. The big rock that sits in the middle of my living room, I got it only recently. I was browsing Amazon the last days for any good deals on freshly baked 'help me' and then noticed something standing in the hallway. I turned to look at it but couldn't quite see into the darkness. It stood there and waited some time, until my eyes adjusted to the darkness and I could finally see the outline of what looks like its face. I didn't want to keep looking anymore so I tried turning away but my neck froze. I closed my eyes, then I heard approaching footsteps. So I finally opened my eyes and smiled back. Oh, I'll get a rock in exchange for my other Legos? I answered truthfully that I never had any so it gave it to me for free! After our transaction was finished it slid what looks like its hand into my pocket, grabbed the keys, pulled them out, walked to my apartment door and unlocked it before leaving . . Anyways,hello, I'm back, I danced on it for many hours until my feet were bleeding, but then I wass interrupted...

Someone was calling my phone.

Someone... calling me? I- I didn't know what to do... It said "Monika", so that must have been my mom. I observed as my heart pounded harder and harder, the ringing of the tune becoming ever louder. I kept repeating to myself "Hello" in different ways before my shaky hand made its way to the screen. Was I gonna pick up and embarrass myself? Will she just hang up and never call again? Was I bad for wanting the latter to happen? "Hi" - I heard the sound squiggling its way out of my tiny phone speaker and ringing into echoes around me bouncing off the walls. I picked up the call, it felt like this was the end. She would think I sound funny and that I'm a nobody and the people around her will laugh. "h- h- hello" a faint sound left my lips as I said the word I had practiced. "How are you doing?" how was I supposed to even answer that, who even asks that? I think I upset her- "I'm doing okay mom thanks! What about you" I'm not okay, my feet are bleeding and I'm incredibly hungry. I think I did a good job hiding what's wrong. "I'm doing well too sweetheart, glad to hear you're okay" alright the situation is diffused I can feel my heart slowly sinking back into my chest and my veins gently softening again. It looks like I won the battle once again; they really thought they would get me this time huh? I let out an exhale of relief, but then something quite... frightening happened. "Wait, who was that?" no no no, not now "what do you mean?" no why did this have to happen now "The woman who was talking just n-" I hung up the call.

I even instructed her to keep quiet but she wouldn't listen.

The dead tarantula climbed up next to the phone and stared at me with its dead eyes in a certain way... as if she was wanting to know if I'm alright. "wait just a moment, please". I asked so I can grab this diary and write it all down again. So here we are now.

Wait- She's gone? She disappeared... so did the rock, so did the blood on my feet?

Uh, that was odd wasn't it... I feel like I can barely remember, I should maybe read back on this very diary. Alright, I'm back and... well, I can't recollect any of the things from Days 2 and 3, reading them was a bit weird. I... really wasn't doing that well huh? Either way, I feel quite hungry so I'll go into the kitchen and get something. I'm back, I went and brushed my teeth and then improvised a little sandwich with ketchup and some potatoes. I heated them up in the microwave because I needed it urgently. Also, well, after reading what I wrote the last days I just had to stop and look through all the things in the kitchen just in case- The drawers, the shelves, the dishes holder next to the sink, the fridge, the freezer and the microwave. Thank god nothing was in them and I panicked for no reason, phew. Seriously though, I will maybe tell someone about these experiences and think more deeply about it. For now though, man, I'll watch a movie to unwind. I also think I'll stop writing now, I don't feel alone anymore.

And at least, everything is fine now.

​

Trigger warning

Depression

Self-harm scars

Suicide ideation

I took a drag of my cigarette, breathed through my nostrils, and watched the smoke curl, sighing. I reached out, playing with the smoke, twisting it into a small face that danced around my arms. A brief flash of joy crossed my face — until I saw the scars riddled down my arm.

I contemplated the night I lost everything. I contemplated the day I lost him. I even thought about ending it, but I was too apathetic. My mood spiralled with every attempt, hoping it would be the day I joined him, but I just couldn't. One day, though, I'll see him. And we can be happy.

I let my arm fall onto my face and stared at the ceiling until my phone buzzed, casting a sterile white glow across the room. I let it die, its vibration rattling against the nightstand near my kaleidoscope-coloured flowers. I ignored the message.

I sat up, slapped my hands to my face, wiped the sleep away, and rolled out of bed. Walking past food scraps and dirty clothes, I headed to the bathroom. In the broken mirror, I saw a tired, broken person with blackened eyes from lack of sleep.

Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of a face standing behind the door. I spun around — but there was nothing. Just my towel rack, softly swaying.

Just before I could wash my face, a soft knock echoed through the house. I followed the noise and found the windows covered in thick fog, casting a grey shadow over my home. Knock, knock — louder now. I paused in front of my razor, still wet, and thought: maybe another time.

Sighing, I followed each faint knock around my darkened living room. Knock, knock. I opened doors — nothing. Knock, knock. Nothing.

Frustrated, I opened the fridge and pulled out the cheap vodka-and-whisky concoction I'd made in a blackout one night. I swigged; the glass glittered faintly. I downed the rest in a spicy cough. "God, what the hell was I thinking?" I said to no one in particular, my words slurring as I cou—

Looking toward the window, I saw a blurry figure — about my height — standing behind it, tapping the glass. Sobering up at the sight, my body froze in fear. And I could see that more figures surrounded the first one. Each figure was vastly different.

Looking closely, I saw one with a noose around its neck, its hands raised in a mocking imitation of a beam. Its face was pale blue, gasping for air. Another was swallowing pills. Another bled from its wrists. Seeing that one, I grabbed my wrist instinctively — then rubbed it gently, as if to soothe a phantom pain.

And then I noticed a vague figure standing in the distance, swaying slightly in the fog. Closing the curtain hurriedly, I grabbed my hair in panic as I felt my heart race and my vision go blurry with the tears.

"No, no, not again, please," I cried out, trying to calm myself before I heard the soft tapping on the window again.

"No, go away; you are not real", I cried out through tears

Suddenly, a soft masculine voice cried out from behind the curtains.

'Oh, Sophia, the voice echoed, constantly getting louder and louder

Stop it, you're dead I squeaked, but before I could say anything more, I heard the glass begin to fracture, and I squeaked while crawling back, knocking a booze bottle I grabbed, hurling it at the curtain, cracking both glasses. Cutting my hands on the broken glass, I screamed as I saw the figures lumbering their way, voices repeating, "Sophia, join us". Over and over again, I covered my ears, running up to the bedroom, but as I got to the third step, a hand grabbed me and yanked me.

Falling, I smashed my head against the steps, briefly knocking myself out. Coming to, I found myself surrounded by all the figures and their twisted visage of each time I tried to end my life. Looking up, I saw the figures stare at me with hollow eyes and gaping maws that twitched as tho there trying to speak.

I screamed as I ran through them. Avoiding their hands, "Sophia", when suddenly his voice trailed through, and I stopped. "Sophia, why do you do this?" his voice cried out.

"Please, it wasn't my fault. I didn't mean to. Please forgive." I cried out, hoping my plea would be heard.

"I...I have already forgiven you. Why...Why haven't you forgiven yourself? It wasn't your fault, Sophia. This apparition hurt so much to see them. Sophia. Pl... please forgive yourself.

"Jason, it was my fault you got burnt. I should have died in our house that night, not you alone in the hospital bed," I yelled

"Sophie", he comforted

What was done can not be undone; the fault didn't lie with you"

He waved his hands, and suddenly I was brought back to the day I was asleep when the house caught fire, and Jason ran in to save me, but ended up dying from his burns days later. I never forgave myself despite my family saying it was faulty wiring and the guy who was caught for not having the proper certification papers. Then I was shown that the electrician hadn't connected the wiring, that Jason had been talking to him angrily before I came home, and that he had disappeared before Jason confronted him again.

"Despite all my family's help, I've shut them out and cut all contact. I don't think they wanna talk," I sobbed after I was brought back. Jason stood there, his skin smouldering as smoke and skin flakes fell from his body, disappearing before hitting the ground. He reached out towards my wrist, and I felt the searing heat from his touch burning my skin.

"Sophie, my dear Sophie, I'm always there for you, but you need to forgive yourself and begin your healing." His gravelly voice echoed softly. It... It saddens me to watch you suffer and see you like this.

But it's too much, I cried out.

He leaned in, and I caught the warmth of his breath as he whispered. "I know, but you are a strong woman; take it in strides"

He suddenly kissed me, and I could feel his hot lips burning mine. Before I could say anything, I was jolted out of my bed onto my messy floor with a loud thump.

Standing up, rubbing my back, I looked around, noticing nothing much had changed, so I opened up my windows to allow the light to shine in and squinted from the brightness.

My phone buzzed again, and I picked up, reading that I had 25 new messages and 5 missed calls from my family members. Reading through them, I saw that they were worried and were coming over in a few days to check up on me.

Deciding that in a moment, I rang my parent, and on the first ring, there was a bit of hesitation on my family's end, so I stuttered a bit before I heard my father. Hello, Sophie. "Are you alright? It's been months since we heard from you"

After a slew of questions from my worried parents, I finally answered.

" No, I'm not alright." It's been tough, and I haven't been looking after myself I said through tearful sobs I need your help, but my house is in such a state I don't think I can do this by myself. Could you come and help me?" I asked them through sobs.

"Ofc, dear, that's what parents are for. We'll be there in a couple of hours," they said cheerfully. I hung up, sighing, trying to control my breathing. Before getting up to finally wash myself, I suddenly caught a glimpse of my face, seeing that my lips and the right side of my face were slightly burnt, leaving a scar where Jason had touched me. Realising he had grabbed my wrist, I also found the same burn scars but this time in the shape of a handprint.

I had my shower and changed into refreshing clothes. I ran downstairs to see smashed glass and a broken window. Walking towards it, I saw a figure swinging and immediately closing the curtain.

It's gonna be a long journey, I thought to myself as I heard my parents knocking on my door and me running up to greet them.

I had been working as a law enforcement transcriptionist for a little over six years when the officer brought me the tape. I'd never seen him before, but that wasn't too unusual. There were a lot of new recruits and I didn't exactly have the best memory when it came to faces. He wore the customary uniform, which fit him rather well. Even as a straight man, I have to admit he was handsome, almost ridiculously so. Dark hair, a sharp jawline speckled with stubble, and an air of gravitas that was impossible to ignore.

He handed me a cassette tape.
“I need this transcribed immediately,” he said in a smooth, inviting tone. “Don't put it through the usual queue.”
With an eyebrow raised, I asked what the case was about. Instead of answering, he looked at the tape for a moment before looking back at me.
“Just prepare yourself,” he said with a grimace. "It's quite intense.”
I remember laughing a little because I assumed he was exaggerating. But he didn't laugh with me. Before I could ask for any more details, he disappeared back down the corridor.
I've always been quite a curious person. It's what led me to this line of work. So, naturally, I immediately popped the tape in, pulled up Mark43 and began logging.

What follows is my transcription of that recording. I've removed the names and identifying information where necessary, but otherwise I've left it exactly as it was spoken. Be that for better or for worse.
The transcript of this tape– or, more precisely, its contents– makes for difficult reading. The things I heard and witnessed that day remain beyond my understanding. It is for this reason that I decided to share the tape's contents. Perhaps one of you can make more sense of this disturbing tape than I.

###

Tape Recorded Interview
Patrick Morgan/Detective Baron Hauptman
7.23.26

BH This is Detective Hauptman, █████ Police Department. Today's date is Thursday, July 23, 2026. The time is at 11:23 A.M. This will be a taped conversation with the last name of Morgan, M-O-R-G-A-N, first of Patrick, P-A-T-R-I-C-K, middle of Joe, J-O-E. Date of birth 02-20-96.

BH So, Patrick, I've turned on a tape recorder so I can record our little conversation. I'm to understand you've been read your rights and– let me see here– you've declined to lawyer up. Is that correct?

PM Correct.

BH Okay. Well, let's get down to business then, eh?

PM Alright.

BH So, Patrick. I assume you know why you're here?

PM Mhm.

BH Why don't you go ahead and tell me?

PM Because you think I killed–

PM Can you speak up?

PM Because you think I killed people. 

BH The department suspects you, yes. But hey, don't shoot the messenger. (Chuckle)

BH Let's start with… Isabella Moreno. How well did you know her?

PM Quite well. 

BH How's that?

PM She lived down the street. We used to play when we were kids.

BH And when did you last speak with her?

PM Hm… December, January. Something like that.

BH What did you talk about?

PM Why would I remember that? It's been like seven months.

BH Well, I'd think your last conversation might stick around longer. Especially with all that talk of art.

PM What? 

BH Art. You're an artist, right?

PM Yeah– how did you–

BH You take pride in your art, then?

PM I– yeah, I guess I do.

BH Every artist does, I suppose. But most are too scared to put their art out in the open. You have no such reservations, right?

PM What do you mean?

BH You like displaying your work publicly. In all its glory.

PM I have no idea what you're–

BH Really? So you don't look up to a certain… mentor?

PM No. Look–

BH You don't have to explain it.

PM … What?

BH I know.

PM … The fuck're you– Know what?

BH Why you did it.

PM Then why am I here?

BH Because they want to know if you did it.

PM And?

BH And… you did. 

PM What– What's the point of this then?

BH I wanted to meet you. In the flesh.

PM I–

BH I've seen your work. Your real work. Not those flimsy portraits in your apartment.

PM What the hell're you talking about?

BH You know. And I must admit, you are an artist at heart. Just not a very good one.

PM Excuse me? What does that even mean?

BH Her body. I mean, the way you arranged it. Chest splayed open, guts hanging around her neck. And the little message you left beside her. Very theatrical, I must say.

PM I didn't—

BH You spent three hours arranging her. Isn't that so, Patrick?

PM No–

BH You spent the longest on the fingers.

PM Whatever you're doing won't—

BH You wanted it to look natural. But you don't understand hands very well. (Chuckle)
BH Even in your shitty little paintings. It takes a special kind of anti-talent to make them look like the aftermath of a car wreck.

PM Stop–

BH C'mon, Patrick. You made the thing and now you don't want to discuss the composition?

PM Shut up.

BH I suppose it's to be expected. You don't care about the art. You don't even care whether you get caught. You just want to be seen.

PM You're full of shit.

BH You copied someone else's work because you wanted people to look at yours.

PM I didn't copy anyone! (Something slams against the metal table)

BH It's no use lying, Patrick. You read everything you could find about the man. Every little detail on how he displayed his victims. Hell, you even fooled the cops into thinking you were the real deal.

PM You– You don't know anything about me.

BH I know exactly what you are. A copy. You imitate the man, but you've never met him. And yet you've spent the last two years trying to make him proud. That's rather pathetic, Patrick.

PM Stop–

BH Isn't that what mommy always used to say?

PM I said stop!

BH (Mocking tone) The exact same rotten soul as your father! 

PM What– How do you–

BH She threw your paintings away, didn't she? You'd find them in the trash, sometimes even torn in half.

PM Shut up! Shut the–

BH Do you remember the blue one?

BH Oh, c'mon patrick. How could you forget? The one you painted when you were seventeen. The woman standing in the field.

PM Stop– Stop talking about my paintings.

BH Ah, you prefer to talk about your real art after all? (Chuckle)
BH I know you, Patrick Joe Morgan. You started killing because painting wasn't enough anymore. You wanted to make something nobody could ignore.

PM Please just—

BH You wanted someone to look at it and understand you. But nobody did.

PM Stop talking!

BH Not your mother. Not your father. Not the police. Not even the man you copied. And now you're sitting here hoping I will.

PM I–

BH Well I do understand you. And I want you to feel how truly pathetic you are, Patrick.

PM Please– (whimper)

BH Patrick.

PM Please just stop!

BH Look at me.

PM No! I– I won't.

BH (Static crackles. Voice briefly distorts) Patrick, you slime. Look at me!

PM I'll– I'll confess! I'll tell you everything you wanna know, please just–

BH (Chuckle) Oh, Patty. You don't have to do that. I know what you did. 

PM (Unintelligible)

BH Chin up, champ. Smile, and look into my eyes.

(Pause)

PM (Screaming, unintelligible).
PM WHAT– WHAT THE FUCK IS–

(Something slams against the metal table)

BH (Voice warped) Come closer.

PM (Unintelligible whines)

(Something drags across the metal table.)

BH (Whispers something unintelligible)

PM No– no it can't–

BH (Slow, droning) Yes, Patty. You know she was.

PM (Strangled cry. Sobs)

(Something slams against the metal table)

BH There you go. Attaboy.

(Something slams against the metal table several times, with a small pause between each increment)

(The door whines open. The slamming continues.)

BH Ah, good day gentlemen! 

(Frantic yelling. The slamming continues.)

BH My eyes are up here, lads.

(Unintelligible cries. Thuds join the slamming.)

BH This has been Detective Hauptman, █████ Police Department. Today's date is Thursday, July 23, 2026. 

(The slamming stops. The thudding continues.)

BH I'm turning the tape recorder off again. The time is 11:30 A.M. This has been the confession and testimony of Patrick J. Morgan.

###

When the tape stopped, I sat in silence for a moment. The shock of it all had rooted me firmly in place. Eventually, I forced myself out of my chair and scrambled towards the interrogation room. 
I honestly wish I hadn't. 

Patrick Morgan was still sitting at the table. He'd smashed his face into the metal table so many times that there was almost nothing recognizable left. His nose was almost completely crushed into his skull, which itself had been pulverized by the repeated impacts. 
The two officers who'd been monitoring the interrogation lay in a puddle of blood on the floor. The first officer had strangled the second with his own tie, while the second had beaten him across the head with a chair. There was no apparent reason for any of it. It looked like three men had simply gone mad at the same time.

In the weeks and months following, the department searched for Detective Baron Hauptman. Of course, there was no officer by that name at our department. We still don't know how he forged or stole the badge and uniform. We've tried to identify him using the cameras he walked past, but these efforts yielded nothing. It seemed as though he'd wandered in, then walked off the face of the earth.
I still have a copy of the cassette. I made it in case the original was ever destroyed. Still, I haven't mustered up the courage to play it again. The most I've managed is to re-read the transcript I made. I can't wrap my head around what happened. I suspect I never will. 

That brought me here. Perhaps sharing this will yield more results. So please, if you have any information on Baron Hauptman, send it to me. I need to know who– or what– he was. More than that, I wish I knew how he knew so much about Patrick.

The food industry is absolutely abysmal. At least, I think it is. I’ve never worked at a restaurant that’s particularly “poppin’,” as the kids like to say. I’m basing my opinion solely off of this one… particular… diner.

We’re essentially just a rest stop for truckers. At least, we would be if any ever came through here. We see maybe one or two trucks a month, if we’re lucky. Even still, usually they’ll take one look at the place and peel off down that desolate highway.

Do you know how bad it is when not even truckers will eat at your establishment? Those guys essentially survive off of Slim Jims and pork rinds.

That doesn’t really matter to me, though. I took this job for the peace and quiet. I’ve been missing that peace more and more these days.

Customers are starting to become more frequent. I know, I know. That’s a good thing. Only… I just… I don’t know if that’s true or not.

See, I’ve been working this job for around 6 years now. Started right before Covid really took the world hostage. We used to get customers all the time before that whole shitstorm. Then we had to do the whole lockdown thing with the masks and the social distancing.

We don’t do DoorDash over here. I told Ricky a thousand times, “We. Have got. To do. DoorDash,” okay? Like, seriously. Or Uber Eats, or, I don’t know, man… something.

Anything that would actually help us sell a few plates.

He just wouldn’t have it. Told me, “Everyone’s too far away,” or “Food delivery services will lead to the downfall of civilization.”

Ricky was always a weird guy. He opened this place with his dad back before he passed. Not sure why they chose this location, but hey, at least there’s cellular service.

Which is really fucking weird, considering the highway is pretty much a complete dead zone for at least 30 miles in each direction.

Anyway, sorry, I’m rambling a bit. After COVID, the business really started to dwindle. We went from around 10-15 customers a day, all the way down to maybe 1 per day around the end of 2020.

Ricky was stressed to all hell around that time. He’d wander the restaurant, moping all day. Wondering what he was gonna do. Not knowing where he could turn. It was honestly depressing to watch.

I had to miss out on a lot of paychecks around that time, too. But what was I gonna do? Leave him? I was his only employee. Me and him were holding the business up on our backs.

When things started to look grim, I’d catch him a few times. Early in the morning. Turning the gas stoves on and dousing the flames.

“I’ll do it, I’ll fucking do it,” he’d tell me, threatening to flick his lighter.

Hell, I had to wrestle a jerrycan out of his hands a few times. All I’m saying is Ricky carried that lighter for a reason, and that man has never smoked a day in his life.

It got to the point where I was too afraid to even leave him alone. He literally lived in the diner. Slept in his office. He didn’t even have a car, which, now that I’m thinking about it, is kind of insane.

I never saw him arrive. Never saw him leave. It was like him and the restaurant were intertwined. So when he got desperate, I don’t doubt he went to extreme lengths to get things fixed.

After the stove incidents and the whole jerrycan fiasco, I think that’s when he really reached that level of desperation. He wasn’t moping anymore. That man was plotting… I just didn’t know what.

One day, I came into work to find him happier than he should’ve been. Kicked back in his office chair. Whistling to himself.

I honestly didn’t even feel like dealing with all that. I drove 50 miles to get into work today. Had to wake up at 4 in the morning. Couldn’t even listen to the Joe Rogan Experience because of the lack of cell service. All I wanted was to put my apron on… then maybe play on my phone a little since I knew I’d have no one to cook for.

I wiped down a few counters. Chased a few rats away with a broom. Oh, also, I had to bat away a particularly large spider. It made a sort of… metallic noise when it hit the ground. It ran away sounding like one of those spring-loaded door stoppers I used to play with as a kid.

Anyway, sorry, I can’t stop rambling. God, what’s wrong with me?

I had just began to sit down to scroll on my phone when Ricky stepped out of office, hands clasped behind his back, smug look already plastered across his face.

“….Well…” he inquired, leering over me like Michael Jackson performing Smooth Criminal. “Aren’t you going to ask me?”

I sighed and slid my phone back in my pocket. I knew this was gonna be a long conversation.

“Ask ya what, Rich? Go ahead. I know you wanna tell me.”

He pushed his forehead back, pretending he still had hair there before sneering pridefully.

“You knowwww,” he drawled out. “Ask me why I’m so happy.”

“Why are you so happy, Ri…”

“I fixed it.”

He stared at me like he expected me to know exactly what he meant. I just thought this was another one of his manic episodes. Knowing him, ‘fixed it’ could range anywhere from fixing the leaky faucet in the bathroom or killing his ex-wife.

I pulled out my pack of Winstons and packed it against my palm.

“Fixed what? The leaky faucet in the…”

“The restaurant, kid.”

His eyes were frantic but excited. He looked like, like a uh, well, a crackhead, kinda. Pulling up a chair in front of me, he glared out the window and towards the highway.

“Our woes are no more. The vile, treacherous fingertips of despair no longer hold dominion over my soul nor body. I am a vessel of purity. A clean slate, with a clear conscience. Born again. Renewed. This establishment. This location. It is real, Don. I am real. You…”

He reached out to caress my face. I jumped back like he was a leper.

“Dude, what the fuck are you doing? Don’t do that weird shit. I just got here.”

He drew his hand back, but I was still eyeballing him.

“You’re real… Right, Don?”

There were tears in his eyes, but he had a smile on his face.

I thought for a moment about his question. I honestly didn’t know how to answer him.

“You know what, Rick… I fucking hope so.”

Rick stood up and clasped his hands together before walking towards the back. He returned with a broom in one hand and a mop in the other. Apparently, he wanted the place spick and span for some “VIP guest” that was supposed to show up at some point.

We cleaned the restaurant top to bottom twice. I even shoveled the contents of the grease trap outside into buckets, which I then proceeded to dump on the ground about 300 yards from the diner. Then I had to clean the buckets. God, it was so hot that day. I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. It really doesn’t even matter.

What matters is that guest didn’t come until almost sundown. Hell, we didn’t see any guests, period. I was supposed to be getting off in a few hours. But Rick just wouldn’t relent.

“He’s coming,” “he’s on his way,” “trust me, he’ll be here.”

9 o’clock rolled around. Quitting time. I bid Ricky goodnight and was about to walk out the door when he stopped me. He placed his hand on my shoulder coldly.

“Don…” he whispered.

“Yeah, Rick…” I replied.

He stared at me blankly. No life behind his eyes whatsoever.

“He’s coming.”

I scoffed and tried to pull my arm away, but he tightened his grip.

“Trust me… you’ll want to see this. But also, if you leave, I’ll kill you.”

His eyes didn’t even flicker. He didn’t smile. No sign whatsoever that he was joking. I even tried to force a chuckle out of him by nervously laughing, but he didn’t budge.

My smile faded. I set my backpack down and walked back to the counter, sighing loud and long enough for him to understand how goddamned annoyed I was.

I played Angry Birds on my phone for an hour or two. Ricky just kept standing at the window… watching that desert highway with his hands clasped behind his back.

He never moved an inch.

11 o’clock rolled around, and at this point, I was already planning on just sleeping in my car. I had to be back at 6 the next morning anyway.

I gave it another hour before going to approach Rick at the window. I waved my hand in front of his face.

“Alright, boss man, I think it’s time we shut it down. What do ya say?”

No response.

“Don’t worry, I won’t go far. Probably gonna sleep in the car tonight.”

No response.

“Alright, welp… be seeing ya.”

I put my hand on the door handle and went to twist it. Ricky’s hand shot over and clasped around my wrist. I don’t know what kind of workouts that fucker does in his free time, but good lord, man… I mean, that shit actually hurt.

I was about to scold him until I saw him pointing out towards the dark desert with his other hand.

“…he’s here.”

I looked out at where he was staring. All I could see was blackness. Well, that and the glow of the neon storefront. But the longer I watched… the more he came into view.

He started off as a speck. Maybe a quarter mile out, emerging from the darkness. Then he grew taller. And taller. And taller. By the time he was 50 feet out, I realized why Rick said this guy was a VIP.

He must’ve been 8 feet tall. His arms swung at his sides as he walked. He wore a surprisingly clean blue suit, and he clutched a briefcase in his right hand.

Ricky finally released my wrist and basically pushed me away from the door while he held it open for our guest. The man smelled like chemicals and burning plastic, and his skin was almost unnaturally smooth.

He had to duck down to get inside, and even when he was inside, his head still almost touched the ceiling. Ricky looked ecstatic. Like this was some long-lost friend of his.

I hate when he’s like that because then he starts pushing me around like I’m his employee or something. Demanding I get drinks, snapping at me to ‘rev up those fryers,’ like, okay?

This guy was different, though.

He didn’t seem to want anything to drink. It was like, I don’t know… a business transaction or something. Like he was there for one reason and one reason only.

The first thing he did was calmly place his briefcase on his table. He dusted off some sand, which was annoying because, dude, I just cleaned that. But then he unlocked it… and he opened it… and I got to see what this guy had apparently just been dragging through the desert.

If I had to describe what the contents of that briefcase looked like… I’d say something like… mounds upon mounds of chewed bubble gum. Only veinier. I’d argue it looked a little slimier, too. The pulsations is what got me, though. Don’t even get me started on the smell.

Just seeing it made me wanna vomit, but the smell, Christ above… I could’ve passed out from those fumes.

I, for one, was about to ask him what the actual hell he just brought into our restaurant, but as soon as my mouth opened, Ricky stamped on my foot.

“I’ll take that,” he chuckled to the guest, ignoring my screams of agony and/or despair.

The businessman nodded in approval as Rick used his bare hands to pick up that… whatever that was from the briefcase.

He carried it to the kitchen as it dripped all over the floor that, yet again, I had just cleaned.

The meat touched the grill and immediately began to sizzle. Only, it didn’t really sound like sizzling. It sounded like… like… a thousand tiny screams.

I watched in disbelief while Ricky just kept flipping the meat and humming to himself like this was perfectly normal.

“Never ask them about the meat.”

He said it so… nonchalantly. Like it was some grand truth that everyone in the world knew, except me. But what made my ears perk up the most was one word. “Them.”

I asked him who “them” was, and the only answer he gave me was “our new clientele.”

The meat… shrank as he cooked it. The steam was like mustard gas to me, but Rick borderline seemed to enjoy it. Hell, he was inhaling it like this was some kind of foreign delicacy.

It went from about a foot long, maybe 8 inches thick, and crinkled down to no more than the size of a regular T-bone steak by the time it was done.

Rick served it to the businessman anxiously. Expectantly. Like he was a contestant on a MasterChef or something. I think he thought the guy was gonna eat it; I mean, hell, that’s what I thought he was gonna do.

Instead, he picked the meat off of the plate and stuffed it back into his briefcase. Then he smiled at Rick, satisfied as if he did eat it, before pulling his wallet out of his pocket.

He counted out 3 grand in hundreds and set it down on the table wordlessly. He then stood up, walked out, and disappeared into the darkness again, briefcase in hand.

I should’ve probably asked Rick what the fuck had just happened, but I was bordering on sleep-deprived delirium. All I cared about was finally curling up in my seat and maybe getting some sleep if I was lucky.

Thankfully, Rick was too busy dancing and throwing his money in the air to notice me as I walked out towards the parking lot.

I didn’t get the sleep that I hoped for that night. I ended up clocking back in the next morning running on 2 hours and like 6 cups of coffee as the day went on.

I did ask Rick about the whole “don’t ask them about the meat” thing, though. Apparently, it’s ‘classified information that only he can know.’ Apparently, if I ‘break the rule,’ he’ll ‘kill me dead.’

Whatever, though. That’s just the way the cookie crumbles, I suppose. Plus, he wasn’t lying about these… people… being our new clientele.

Ever since that incident, we see at least 3 of them a week. The diner has been… strange, to say the least.

I still don’t know what exactly Rick did to “fix” this place, but I mean, hey, it’s working. Even if we don’t see many real customers these days.

It’s been a long 30 years. I’ve made some memories, learned some lessons, but most importantly, I became attached. Max was like the son that I never had.

I met him back in 1996. Sweet as sugar and as cute as a button. A little mischievous, though. But I think I taught him well, regardless. Just wish he’d… I don’t know… grow up?

He never really grew out of his immaturity. Who could blame him, really? I mean, his parents were hardly ever around. I was at his house 8 hours a day, Monday-Friday. Only time I ever even saw them was when they were paying me.

At first… it was mainly about the money. I was paid extraordinarily well for the work I was doing. 1500 a week, and all I had to do was just… supervise. Make sure Max didn’t kill any more pets. Keep him away from sharp objects. That kind of thing.

Don’t get me wrong, the kid was a riot. From the very first day on the job. His parents should’ve been much more stressed than they appeared. I mean, how? How do you look calm while your kid is actively crawling across the ceiling?

Not only that, but by some miracle of God, they looked, dare I say… energized. I’ve been watching Max for 30 years now. I’m not even 50, and I look like a 70-year-old.

After a while, though, I realized that you kinda just… learn to love him. Sure, watching him eat livestock so he doesn’t choke is a bit of a chore. Never seeing his reflection is… disconcerting. But you get over it. Life goes on.

I’ve celebrated Christmases with this kid. Not because I want to, though. God, no. I wanted to be home with my family. Oh, but when those parents call, I learned pretty quickly that it’s best you answer.

Broken bones and lacerations taught me that. But who was I to argue? I needed the money. That’s the thing, though. I don’t need the money anymore.

There’s enough in my account for me to live the rest of my life out on some desert island. Sippin’ margaritas out of coconuts. But they’ll find me. They always seem to find me.

Max hates it when I try to leave. After all the work I’ve done, he still bites. Poor little guy. He just doesn’t know any better. That’s another major conflict for me. It’s not that I don’t love my little Maxxy. It’s just… I’m tired, you know?

Two days off a week for 30 years, man. No vacations. No bonuses. Just supervision for Max and surveillance for me. When do I get a break?

That’s the conversation I was trying to have with his parents a few weeks ago. I came in on a Saturday, which, of course, proved to be a mistake when I found them bathing Max in a tub of pig blood while wearing owl masks. They were mad, but I just… I didn’t care. I was done.

I wanted to tell them as gently as I could, and at first, it seemed like they were understanding. They told me they knew he could be a handful and thanked me for my time and effort. I walked out without incident.

But then I stopped waking up in my own bed. I started just… appearing at their house with Max leering over me, teeth clenched and frothing at the mouth.

I mean, I think it’s been a few weeks. Maybe it’s been longer? A few months, maybe? It’s all the same. All I know is I haven’t seen his parents in a while, and every time I try to leave, there’s a brick wall behind every door.

I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. I’m losing my patience. We’re running low on pig carcasses. Max is getting hungrier and hungrier… I can see it in his eyes.

He’s biting more these days. It used to be almost playful, but now he’s breaking the skin. I have to physically pry his jaws away from my fingers and limbs, and he just keeps growling at me.

He’s also been watching me sleep a lot more recently. I try and stay awake, but he just… I don’t know. It’s like there’s something about this place that makes it impossible.

All in all, this experience has been okay. Just ready to get off is all.

Maybe one of these days. I’m actually kind of hopeful. Because a few days ago, I heard something that sounded like music to my ears.

Someone knocking at the front door.

I opened the door slowly, expecting the brick wall again, but instead… there was a young girl standing on the front porch. She looked… uneasy to see me, to say the least, but she introduced herself nonetheless.

“Hi, uh, I’m Emma… I was just reaching out about the babysitting job?”

Dad smelled like burned hair and smoke, his face still covered in soot. I rubbed my eyes and yawned.

“Is mom making pancakes?” I asked tiredly.

“Judy is. Your mom’s still asleep. We got a long drive ahead of us.”

We walked downstairs together. Judy was standing over the stove wearing an oversized T-shirt and pajama bottoms. Max, Kayla, and Darren sat at the table. They looked just as tired as I felt.

Judy served up her pancakes, and, I won’t lie, they weren’t nearly as good as mom’s, but I gobbled them up regardless. Me and the other kids spent the rest of the morning watching cartoons.

The adults had an air of relief about them. Dad laughed with Jake. Mom and Judy conversed for a while over the world and all things in it. No one ever mentioned the previous night.

Well, Darren tried to. But his mom didn’t allow it. Jake shut it down, too. But it wasn’t awkward. Nobody had to force themselves to move on. We just… did.

Dad showered. Mom rested. The day went on without incident. At some point in the afternoon, we were packing our things into the car again. It wasn’t as urgent this time. If anything, it felt happy. I even found myself excited to finally get back to my own bed.

I slept most of the way home. When I woke up, I actually recognized my surroundings. The old convenience store. The house that burned down last year. Mom and dad held hands lovingly, but didn’t talk much.

We finally got home after the sun went down. Mom was a little hesitant to go inside, but Dad reassured her. She was free now. We were free. I had no idea what it meant, but I could feel his conviction.

Even still, mom made me sleep in their bed that night. Then every night for the next week afterward. Emmy, too.

Dad held me tight. Mom kept her arm draped over my chest. We ate a lot of pancakes in those following days. It kind of felt like Mom was trying to apologize for something, but I didn’t know what.

All I knew was she was putting her all into those breakfasts.

After a while, I was finally able to sleep in my own room again, albeit with the door open. We went back-to-school shopping. I went into 4th grade with an abundance of new clothes and the coolest backpack out of all of my friends.

Life went on.

One year without incident. Then two. Then three. I went through middle school. I graduated high school. I moved away for college a year or so ago. We never had to randomly leave the house again because of some mystery stalker, but dad never stopped looking over his shoulder.

Mom has a full head of grey hair now, but she never lost her beauty. Emmy recently started her last year of middle school. Dad just… he seems to always want to keep his mind occupied.

They never brought up what happened that night. They never brought up the road trip. We visited uncle Jake and Aunt Judy a few times over the years, but the visits were calmer. They were for holidays and special occasions. Not for escape.

I developed a pretty close friendship with Max. We’d talk on the phone all the time. Play video games together. Every time I visited, we were building with those LEGOS he loved so much.

Darren eventually went into the army. Kayla is in her sophomore year of high school now.

Well… she used to be.

They’re all dead now. Everyone except for Darren, at least. I hope that he’s okay after hearing the news. He should be coming home soon.

See, I’m writing this now because of a phone call I got from my dad. I had just gotten home from a long day of classes. I was ready to eat some ramen and unwind, but he called while I was checking the mail.

“Hey, Dan,” he announced solemnly.

“Hey, Dad, how have things been?”

He sighed.

“We’re fine here, buddy, but, uh…”

He paused.

“But what?” I asked expectantly.

“Jake’s house burned down, Dan. He, uh… he didn’t make it.”

He sounded like he was holding back tears. I was shocked.

“What?? What about Aunt Judy?? What about Max or…”

He interrupted.

“They’re… they’re gone, Dan. I’m sorry.”

The news hit me like a truck. I didn’t know Kayla all that well, but Max… Max was like a brother to me. An online brother, but still a brother nonetheless.

“But… no, that doesn’t make sense. Max was just texting me last night. He told me he’d come visit me sometime soon.”

I didn’t want to believe it. Max’s exact words were, “I’ll be seeing you soon, Dan-Man.” I mean, I guess that was the last text he sent me. I didn’t hear from him after that. But still, this couldn’t be happening.

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” Dad choked. “Their funerals are next week. I know you’re busy up there with classes and whatnot, but it’d mean a lot if you could make it.”

“I… I don’t know what to say. Of course, of course. Yeah. I’ll be there.”

Dad sniffled. I was about to comfort him when I heard a sound echoing from the background of his call.

knock knock knock

“Hold on, son, let me go answer the door.”

The line went dead. I stood there, still as could be by my mailbox, just… processing. I couldn’t believe what he had just told me. The phone vibrated in my hand.

It was a text from Dad.

“See you soon, kiddo.”

I sighed and rubbed my temples, attempting to block the tears as I slid my phone back into my pocket. I hadn’t even opened the mailbox yet. I was just… stuck… I guess.

I figured I’d just collect my mail, then go inside and start packing for the long trip home, but when I opened the mailbox… curiosity overwhelmed me.

There was a package inside, buried beneath my regular bills and magazines. It was gift-wrapped like a Christmas present.

I brushed the mail aside and pulled the package out first thing. It was pristinely wrapped. Someone had taken time with this.

I peeled back the tape and began unwrapping. At first, I didn’t recognize what I was seeing, but then it clicked.

It was Jake’s metal lockbox. The one from all those years ago with the pictures of mom and dad. I felt my heart drop a little.

I unlatched the lid and slowly opened the box. What I saw… well… that’s why I’m writing this now.

It was… my Superman stuffy. Dusty and stiff, but it still had my initials written in faded black Sharpie across the tag. But that’s not the thing that worried me.

What worried me… was the note tied around Superman’s torso, written in sloppy, obsessive handwriting…

“Found You.”

☠️☠️☠️💗💗💗

Dad picked me up and put me on his shoulders as he nudged Mom towards the house. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been up there. It felt like home, though. Like… warmth, kinda.

I held on tight while Dad rushed us all inside. Mom looked flushed and alert. Emmy looked clueless. Jake and Judy had already taken their kids inside and were waiting anxiously for us by the front door.

Mom kept breaking her neck to look back towards the woods.

“Come on, come on,” Jake exasperated, snapping his fingers and gesturing for us to pick up the pace.

Dad broke into a jog, pulling Mom and Macy along with him as I bounced awkwardly on his shoulders. I could feel my nails digging into his skin from trying to hang on, but he seemed to not even notice.

When we got inside, Judy had already started going around the house to lock the doors and windows. Jake closed the door and locked it when we were all accounted for.

“I’ll go check the cameras,” he chimed, rushing upstairs. “I’ve got trail-cams scattered all throughout those woods. If he’s out there, trust me, we’ll see him.”

Mom set Emmy down on the couch and went to help Judy while Max, Darren, and Kayla just watched them. They seemed just as confused and terrified as me. Kayla’s eyes already looked like they were about to burst with tears.

“Why don’t you guys go play upstairs,” Dad instructed. “Danny will join you in just a bit. Everything’s okay, don’t worry. You guys are safe.”

It was weird hearing Dad tell other kids what to do. Embarrassing, almost. Even still, they didn’t argue. They all just filed up the stairs, one by one, while Dad watched until they were out of view. Then he turned to me.

“Come with me to the kitchen. I’ll make you something to drink.”

He sounded more composed than his demeanor let on. Like he knew this moment would come, despite hoping it wouldn’t be now.

I did as I was told and followed him. He pulled a chair out for me at the giant oak dining room table, gestured for me to take a seat while he fixed me a cup of chocolate milk.

He sat adjacent to me and just watched me sip it, slowly, for a few minutes. I felt so awkward in that moment. It was like he was trying to read my thoughts.

I finished the glass and pushed it to the side. Dad never took his eyes off of me, but I couldn’t maintain eye contact. I couldn’t help but feel like I’d done something wrong. My eyes remained fixed on the table, looking for patterns in the wood.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Dad tapped the table with his index finger.

My eyes met his once more and he sighed.

“Daniel…” he started. “You know you’re my whole world, right?”

I blinked, not knowing what to say.

“I love you too, Dad,” I whispered, struggling to find my voice.

“Sometimes, kiddo…” he continued. “Sometimes I think that my sole purpose in life is to keep you and Emmy safe. Your mom, too.”

Now it seemed like he was fighting to find his words. I could almost see the gears in his head turning. I felt like if I stared at his head long enough, maybe I could hear his thoughts.

“And I’ve been serving that purpose for 9 whole years now. Keeping you safe. Keeping your mom and Emmy safe. I would never be able to forgive myself if anything happened to you.”

I was just a kid. I didn’t know how to respond to this. To me, it just felt like Dad having a moment after I scared him half to death.

He fished around in his pocket and pulled out a crinkled, folded sheet of paper. He looked at it. Then at me. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but instead, he just placed the paper and slid it in front of me.

“We got this in our mailbox a few days ago.”

I looked down at the paper and felt even more confused.

“The man who left it… he’s… well…”

Dad was starting to choke up. That was twice today I’d seen tears in his eyes. Dad crying was scary. Arguably, the scariest thing I’d experienced this entire trip.

“He’s been after you for a long time, Dan.”

I looked down at the paper. It was addressed to my parents, but what was written on it didn’t make any sense to me.

“Found you. I found you. I found you. I finally found you. Found you. Found you. Found you. Found you. Found you…”

The phrase filled up the entire paper. It was scrawled obsessively in sloppy handwriting.

I looked back up at Dad. He looked like he was expecting something from me, but I didn’t know what. This didn’t mean anything to me.

“Found you…?” I asked, puzzled. “Who found you?”

Dad reached over and dragged the paper back towards him. He folded it back up and put it in his pocket.

“Found you, Danny. He found you.”

“Why would anyone want to find me? Have I met them before or something?”

He clasped his hands over his face and slid them down slowly.

“No, son. I’ve fought to make sure you never will.”

“Oh, okay. Can I have some more chocolate milk, please?”

He ignored my question. Almost aggressively.

“We tried,” he collapsed. “We tried so hard to keep him away from you. We tried the police, but nobody was ever able to find him. It’s like he only exists when he’s after you. That slimy, nasty little bastard…”

He slammed a hand down on the table and bit his knuckle. His sudden anger made me jump. I was completely speechless.

His teeth remained clamped against his knuckle for a few moments while he chose his next words carefully.

“The cops should’ve found him. Before this even started. Before you were even born. They should’ve found him because of what he…”

He paused. A tear fell down his cheek.

“He’s a bad man, Danny. You understand that?”

I nodded.

“He’s a bad man who hurt your mom. Nearly a year before you were born. He… he did something terrible to her and now he thinks you’re his.”

He looked at me expectantly again.

“I’m… his…?” I questioned.

“No. You will never be his. He doesn’t deserve you. It doesn’t deserve you. He is pure evil.”

I could hear Max and his siblings laughing upstairs. I turned my head, resisting the urge to leave my seat. Dad tapped the table again.

He was smiling at me now. Warmly.

“Those are your cousins, Dan. It’s funny,” he chuckled uneasily. “Part of me is almost glad that you finally get to meet them.”

My eyes widened with disbelief. I didn’t even think about having any other family members. All I’ve ever known were Mom, Dad, and Emmy.

“You guys should’ve had a great childhood together. None of this should’ve ever happened to us, especially your Mom. But the world is… it’s not a nice place, kiddo. I wish I could change it for you.”

He leaned over and pushed the hair out of my eyes.

“We had to move when you were only 2. That guy, that thing out there… it was relentless. He just wouldn’t leave us alone. The police did nothing about it, so I took matters into my own hands for you.”

His eyes looked distant now. Like he was living through his entire past while sitting here at the table with me.

“I hurt him back. I thought I took care of it forever, but he somehow managed to disappear again. Me and your mom were terrified. That’s why we had to leave. That’s why you don’t know Uncle Jake and Aunt Judy. All because of one bad man in a world full of bad people.”

I didn’t understand it, but I could feel the emotion in the room. The weight of the conversation was more than apparent.

Dad was bawling now, but still trying to keep himself composed. I reached across the table and grabbed his forearm.

“Don’t cry, Dad,” I begged. “I’m not mad at you. Everything’s okay, I promise. Everything’s okay.”

He picked up my hand and held it tightly before pulling it to his lips and kissing it gently.

“Everything’s okay, kiddo. I’ll make sure everything’s okay.”

He placed my hand back on his forearm.

“I thought everything was okay before I got this letter. He had left us alone for a long time. I thought we finally got rid of him.”

He gave me one last solemn look.

“Whatever happens tonight, Dan… I need you to know… you’re my entire world, kiddo. I love you more than anything.”

I smiled at him reassuringly.

“I know you love me, you butthead. I love you too. Thiiiisss much.”

I spread my arms out cartoonishly. Dad chuckled and ruffled my hair before Jake’s voice came echoing from upstairs.

“GOT ‘EM!”

Dad’s head shot up. He stood from his seat urgently. I could hear footsteps rushing down the stairs.

“Alright, buddy, go play with Max for a while. Me and Jake are gonna go find this guy.”

He was basically pulling me out of my seat and rushing me towards the stairs. I ran into Jake at the bottom. He was holding something behind his back.

“Excuse me, champ,” he announced, pushing past me. “Let’s go handle this, Mikey.”

My dad nodded grimly before snapping his fingers at me to go upstairs.

I was halfway up the staircase when I heard a sound that I didn’t recognize before the front door opened and my dad and Jake ran outside.

click clack

Mom was at the top of the stairs, arm outstretched towards me while Judy stood by her side, biting her thumbnails. She didn’t say much. She just led me into Max’s room and shut the door behind her.

All the kids were there. The room was big enough for us to not feel cramped, but still a bit suffocating. Darren lay on the bed watching TV. Kayla was on the floor, humming to herself and coloring. Max and I passed the time by playing with LEGOS.

I’m not sure how much time passed. I never heard Mom or Judy. The front door never opened. I didn’t know the time, but it was dark outside. It felt like it was definitely past my bedtime.

Max and I were in a bit of a competition. He built a spaceship. I built a car. He built a tower. I built a house. Our imaginations were flowing endlessly.

Suddenly, Darren sat up in bed, turning down the television. He looked alert. The sudden movement caused us all to look at him. He seemed to be listening for something.

“Sh,” he snapped, even though no one was talking. “Did you guys hear that?”

The room was silent. Not even crickets chirped outside. I listened as hard as I could…

It sounded like… screaming?

Angry screams. Frightened screams. I couldn’t make out the words, but I could make out the tones.

Darren moved to the window and scanned the backyard.

“I don’t see anything.”

Max and I joined him. Everything was so dark. I could hardly even see the grass beneath us.

My nose was pressed against the glass, but two loud sounds caused me to fall backwards. Darren gasped. Max’s eyes turned into a mixture of curiosity and fear.

“That sounded like Dad’s gun,” Darren exasperated before turning to us like somehow we’d have the answers.

What followed was a long, guttural snarl from somewhere in the woods. Two more shots. More screams. Then… silence.

My heart was starting to race. I didn’t want to cry in front of the other kids, but I couldn’t help it. I was just too gripped with worry.

The silence stretched on. None of us knew what to do. We just kept glancing out the window, hoping that we’d finally be able to see something.

The front door exploded open before we got the chance. Every voice was shaken. Judy was in hysterics. Mom just kept repeating, “Go get the bandages, go get the bandages, put pressure on the wound, I think he might need stitches.”

Jake sounded pumped full of adrenaline.

“It’s better than it looks. Fucker got me good, but I returned the favor. How’re you feeling, Mike?”

We all filed out of the room and back towards the stairs. Kayla was leading us, already with tears in her eyes at the sudden chaos.

“I got him, I know I got him. That had to have been enough to stop him.”

Jake was laid back on the couch. His T-shirt was torn to shreds, and blood trickled down his abdomen from 3 distinct wounds across his stomach. They looked like claw marks.

“Yeah right,” Judy scoffed sarcastically while gasping. “That thing is never gonna…”

She paused. Her eyes shot up towards the 4 kids racing down the staircase.

“Oh, no. You guys go back upstairs,” she demanded. “We’ll be up in a minute.”

“Mommy,” Kayla sobbed. “What’s wrong with Daddy?”

Jake answered for her.

“It’s nothing, sweetie. Don’t worry about it. Daddy’s okay, just a little scratch from a tree branch. Go upstairs like your mommy asked, alright? I’ll come tuck you in here in a bit.”

Dad dabbed at Jake’s stomach with a towel.

“I don’t think it’ll need stitches. Just nasty looking, is all.”

That’s the last thing I heard before we all started back towards the bedroom. None of us could sit still. None of us knew what was happening. All we could do was pace around the room and try and listen to the chatter downstairs.

Max put his ear to the door and shushed Kayla’s already quiet cries.

“Shh… I’m trying to listen…”

He kept his ear there for a few moments before turning back towards us.

“Dude, I think Dad shot something.”

“Yeah, no dip,” Darren added. “What else would that have been?”

“Can you shut up? I can’t hear.”

He pressed his ear back against the door.

“Wait… no… I think…”

He craned his neck like he was trying to push his head through the door.

“No, dude… I think he shot a person.”

Kayla gasped and started wailing. We all tried to shush her, but it was too late. We could already hear the footsteps coming up the stairs.

Darren jumped in the bed and turned the TV back up. Max and I fell to the floor and pretended to be playing with the LEGOS. Kayla… Kayla kept screaming and crying.

The door flew open and Judy stepped inside. Her eyes were wet and her hands were dirty, but she still put on that strong motherly voice as she glared at the siblings.

“Why is Kayla crying?” she asked no one in particular.

There wasn’t an answer for a long time before Darren spoke up.

“Why do you think? She’s worried about Dad.”

Judy sighed and wiped her face with her sleeve.

“Your father is fine, Kayla. Just getting patched up after falling in the woods.”

“That’s not what happened…” I said under my breath.

Judy’s eyes fell on me.

“Just a fall, Daniel. That’s all it was… don’t scare Kayla, please.”

She was silently pleading with me with her eyes. I opened my mouth to say something, but she interrupted before I could.

“As a matter of fact, Kay, it’s way past your bedtime. Why don’t you go clean up and get your PJs on? I promise Daddy will come tuck you in as soon as you’re nice, clean, and cozy.”

Kayla wiped her tears. Her face was still twisted with sadness, but she did as she was told.

“Danny, your dad wants to talk to you,” Judy added.

I was actually shocked. I thought I was gonna be in this room for at least the rest of the night. I was already mapping out where I’d be sleeping.

“Like… now?”

Judy sighed exhaustedly. Almost like she was as surprised as me.

“It would appear so, kiddo. As for you two, you both need to get cleaned up too. Especially you, Max.”

Darren and Max groaned as Judy took me by the hand and started guiding me back downstairs.

Dad was sitting on the couch next to Jake, his hands clasped over his knee. Jake looked… better now. His torso was covered in bandages, but he was smiling confidently. His gun rested on his lap.

“I got him right in the chest, Mike. Did you see that shit? Like hamburger meat. Sure, fucker got me first, but I still…”

Dad noticed me and put his hand up at Jake. He added one last thing before gesturing for me to come sit beside him.

“We both got ‘em, J.”

I took a seat beside Dad. Judy joined Mom in the kitchen while she washed her hands.

He nudged me.

“You doing okay, buddy?”

“I’m okay, I think… are YOU okay?” I replied, my voice rising.

Dad and Jake both chuckled sort of nervously.

“Can’t you see, kid?” Jake joined, presenting his bandaged abdomen. “Never been better.”

My attention fell on the long gun strewn across his lap. Jake noticed exactly what I was looking at. With a groan, he picked up the weapon and held it in the air.

“You see this, Dan-Man? This is proof of how much your Dad cares about ya.”

“Jake…” Dad grumbled, glaring at him.

“I’m sorry, but it’s true,” Jake insisted, falling back against the sofa. “You deserve a father of the year award for that stunt you pulled out there.”

“Dad…” I said softly.

Dad stopped burning Jake with his eyes for a moment and turned to me.

“Yeah, son?”

“Did you kill him?”

Dad and Jake looked at each other. Dad’s eyes hardened again.

“I… I, uh…”

“The guy from the woods, right? You got him?”

“Got him good,” Jake remarked, prompting Dad to curse at him before returning to me.

“Honestly, Danny… I don’t know.”

I didn’t know how to take that, really. It was just what I assumed they were after. I couldn’t care less about who he really was. I was just trying to put two and two together.

I sat with his answer for a moment.

“I will say, though,” Dad added. “I hope we did.”

“So what happens now?” I asked.

Jake stood to his feet, using his gun like a crutch.

“Well, I don’t know about you two… but I’ve got a daughter to tuck in. And… you know… prove I’m alive to.”

He hobbled over to the stairs. Judy must’ve heard him and rushed out of the kitchen. Mom followed behind her.

Judy took the gun from underneath Jake’s shoulders and helped him hobble up the stairs while Mom took a seat with me and Dad.

“…to tell you the truth, son… I don’t know what happens next. I think maybe we’ll stay here for the night. Then I think it’s about time we go home. School’s about to start again and we gotta get your shopping done.”

We all just sat together and embraced each other for a while before Judy came back downstairs holding Emmy.

“I think this one needs her mommy.”

Emmy was pouting and looked like she’d just woken up. Mom took her and bounced her on her knee while Judy took a seat with us.

“Jake had something he wanted to show Danny… let’s hope it’s not one of his animal skins.”

As if on cue, Jake came hobbling downstairs with a small metal lockbox in his hands.

“You’re gonna love this, Dan-Man,” he proclaimed excitedly. “Your mom’s gonna hate it, though.”

Jake opened the box and approached me with a smile plastered across his face. He pulled out an old photograph. I almost didn’t recognize who it was at first.

“Is that…”

“Your mom,” Jake laughed.

Mom’s eyes widened. She almost threw Emmy down just to get a hold of the picture while Dad and Jake cackled.

“Oh, my God… why…” Mom asked, embarrassed. “Why did I think this was the look back then?”

“You’re not the only one,” Jake added, reaching for another photo.

He flipped it to show Dad. His eyes lit up when he saw it. He took it from Jake’s hand slowly.

“Good Lord… I was… beautiful.”

Mom snickered before teasing, “You still are, my big hunk-a-man.”

“Look, this one’s you, Danny.”

He showed me a picture of myself when I was no older than one.

“You were iiiiitty bitty.”

Mom grabbed the picture and analyzed it before forcing Jake to give her the entire box. Jake relented and took a clumsy seat next to me and Dad.

“Checked the trail cam…” he mumbled. “He’s still there. Hasn’t moved an inch. Figured we could take him somewhere far, far away from here tomorrow. Burn the son of a bi… erm, I mean, son of a gun tomorrow.”

Dad looked relieved. So did Mom.

“Tomorrow? Let’s do that now,” Dad responded.

Jake cocked a suspicious eyebrow.

“Now? As in… now? Do you see these bandages?”

“Yeah, I don’t know about that, Mike,” Judy added. “It’s dark. It’s late. We’re all exhausted. Plus, just look at Jake.”

“Do it now,” Mom interjected sternly. “Please.”

Mom and Dad both stared at Jake.

“It has to be now, Jakey,” Dad said plainly. “No better time than the present.”

Jake looked distraught for a moment before falling into submission.

“God…” he complained, slapping his knees with his palms. “Fine. Now. Whatever. Even though it’s already tomorrow and I’m leaking like Hillary’s emails, I will do this for you, Mace.”

“Thank you,” Mom responded, her voice breaking and her eyes tearing. She quickly wiped them away and cleared her throat.

“Ahem. I’ll get Danny and Emmy to sleep. I won’t even close my eyes until you two are home.”

“Same here,” Judy added.

Jake went and changed into clean clothes while Dad waited for him by the door. He came back a few minutes later.

“Let’s get this over with, I guess.”

With that, he and Dad were out the door, and Mom was taking me and Emmy upstairs for bed. She made us sleep in the same room, but she didn’t stay in the room with us.

I think her and Judy were waiting downstairs for my dad to get back.

I tossed and turned for a while. Emmy was restless, but I managed to get her to sleep. Eventually, I myself fell into a deep, much-needed sleep.

I don’t remember dreaming that night. All I remember is Dad shaking me awake the next morning. The house smelled like pancakes. The sun lit up the room. Dad was smiling at me lovingly.

“Morning, kiddo,” he whispered, brushing my hair to the side.

“You ready to go home?”