As The Raven Dreams Podcast - 4 Hours Of Terrifying Creepypasta! - 13 Creepy Pasta Compilation

Episode Date: August 21, 2021

4 Hours Of Terrifying Creepypasta! - 13 Creepy Pasta Compilation is a collection of some of the best creepypasta stories from the first half of 2021. This is over 4 hours of fantastically spooky spaghetti for your enjoyment! Do You Have A Story you want to see featured on this channel?  Send it my way  ➤  https://www.astheravendreams.com/submit  Post it To my Subreddit  ➤ https://reddit.com/r/TheRavensDream  Or Email me at [e-mail] Always Remember That You Are Loved, You Are Valid, And You Are Important. NEVER Let anyone tell you otherwise. ♥ ✯✬✯✬ 【Enjoy The Nevermore】 Subscribble to the Chibble! ➤ https://www.youtube.com/c/astheravendreams?view_as=subscriber?sub_confirmation=1 MY True Crime Channel ➤ https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCX9TQVx8YUuuI5gBP58NTtA Listen On Spotify! ➤ https://open.spotify.com/show/1EFYMKPBTTkmKyDla2JE1Q Listen On Your Apple Device! ➤ https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/as-the-raven-dreams/id1543612283 Wear The Nevermore (MERCH SHOP) ➤ https://teechip.com/stores/astheravendreams Follow me on Twitter ➤ https://twitter.com/RavensDreamYT Everything Else ➤ https://www.astheravendreams.com/the-nevermore ✯✬✯✬ 【TIMESTAMPS 🕠】 0:10 What the Heart Wants by N. Murdock 16:47 The Faculty Ritual by Justin Chua 28:45 The Corn Fields By PA Nightmares 37:06 The Burden: Cabinview by GhostInk 1:02:32 The Beast From Below by Gogorobzilla*** https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/The_Beast_From_Below 1:19:49 That Awful Dripping Sound by by DoctorBleed*** https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/That_Awful_Dripping_Sound   1:45:02 Six Feet by Winslow Swan 2:05:52 RTA by Ray Beaman 2:29:39 Forgotten Dreams by OCEAN GREEN*** https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Forgotten_Dreams  2:38:13 Darkness By Mr Dupin*** https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Darkness  2:43:45 The Descedants of tomorrow by DarkHorseTales 3:24:03 Don't Turn Around by CHMod Official*** https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Don%27t_Turn_Around 3:29:56 Family Reunion by Beautiful Nightmare ***STORIES are utilized under FANDOM/CREEPYPASTA WIKI broad license ➤ https://www.fandom.com/licensing (All community content is licensed under CC-BY-SA UNLESS otherwise noted. This story/stories were not Otherwise noted at the time of this video.) License Info: https://www.fandom.com/licensing & https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ ✯✬✯✬ 【LEGAL DISCLAIMERS】  ➤All stories within are used w/ direct permission from the author- or under some level of CC license (where noted) True Stories are not verified, and should all be considered 'supposedly true'. Some Fonts used are from https://www.misprintedtype.com - Eduardo Recife makes some AMAZING fonts! If you need to contact me for Business purposes, please contact me at [e-mail] and indicate that the email is for business.  #TrueScaryStories #AsTheRavenDreams #RedditStories Be sure to *subscribe* if you like any of the following; Glitch In The Matrix Stories, Creepy Encounter Stories, Deepweb horror stories, Darkweb Stories, Reddit scary stories, True Scary Stories, Creepypasta, Reddit ghost stories, Or really anything- my channel is pretty diverse. --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/astheravendreams/message Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/astheravendreams/support Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

I'm not really sure how to start this off. I mean, sure, I can hit all the cliches on the head and make this the most unoriginal thing you've ever read. But you deserve so much more than that. You deserve something pure and from the heart. Something that you can see and know that it was me, and only me, who could have put these words on the page. The trouble comes about when I saw,

stop and think about just what it is you mean to me. I know that probably sounds bad. Like, really? He can't even put how he feels down on paper? Do I mean that little? No. The issue here is that words are fickle, and frankly, can't accurately express the things I feel when I look into your eyes.

When I see the sunlight dance off of your hair. or when I see a smile spread across your lips. Every detail of your being is etched into my mind as if by the finest sculptor. You are a miracle given form, the sweetest dream come true, a hypnotic mirage that I can't help but stumble toward. I can't help but be entranced by you. and everything that you are. From the moment we first spoke, I knew there was no sound sweeter in heaven or earth.

You were shy the first time we met, like you weren't sure just how much of yourself you should let me see, as if I could judge someone so perfect. When our hands first touched, you pulled away before blushing. I couldn't help but grin. You smiled back meekly, your soft lips pursing slightly. And right then and there, I knew. There were no other lips for me.

The gentle breeze drifted through your hair and sent your perfume dancing through my nostrils. I was mesmerized. I felt like I could float away into the sky. die at any moment. You caught me staring then, though you didn't seem to mind. You just giggled in that innocent way that you do and set me falling for you that much more.

When it finally came time for us to part ways, both an eternity and an instant later, I asked you if I could treat you to dinner. Again, you blushed and nodded before taking out a pen and writing your number on my palm. Huh. I was over the moon. As soon as I got home that day, I got to work. I had to do my research and figure out just how I could impress you.

I had only one chance, after all, and I wasn't about to blow it. I entered your phone number online and set to work figuring out every little detail about your life. Everything I learned, it just made me. me more enthralled. I found out where you lived, what you did for work, who you've dated in the past, everything. I'll admit, I did get a touch jealous when I saw your exes, but I didn't feel threatened. You didn't have a connection with them like you too with me. I considered learning about them. I mean, I did have their names. And so many people neglect their privacy settings on their social

media, so it really wouldn't be hard in the end. But I opted just to focus on you for now. When I felt I had learned everything there was to learn about you, I called it a night. I went to bed, thinking about you. I wanted to give you the world, and I was going to. That night, I had dreams of us, the places we would go. the things we would do. I've never had a more restful night of sleep in my life. The next day, I set out to find that perfect gift for you. I had seen on your timeline that one of your friends had recently gotten engaged.

You were happy for her, but it was clear that you longed for a prince to offer you a ring like that and to pledge his undying love. So that is what I aimed to do. I pulled all of the money from my savings. I sold my car. I even managed to get out of the lease on my apartment and get my security deposit back. What do I need an apartment for if we're going to spend our lives together, right? I took all the money I had and I bought you the most beautiful ring that I could find.

The woman at the jewelry store said you were the luckiest woman in the city. Can you believe that? I waited until sunset to surprise you at your house. I know you've always thought moonlight was romantic. And I know it wasn't a full moon like you were probably imagining, but a guy can only do so much. I knocked on your door, and I got down on one knee, ready to see your face light up.

When you answered the door, though you seemed confused. You didn't look happy or ecstatic. You didn't pull me into your arms and accept my proposal. At first, it was like you didn't even recognize me. But that's crazy. I mean, how could you not recognize your soulmate? I could see in your eyes when it clicked. They got wide.

Don't get me wrong. I'm a sucker for those big dark eyes, but you looked scared. Why would you be scared of me? You don't ever have to be scared, not of me or anything else. You know that I would always protect you, don't you? After a moment, you choked out a quiet question, and I have to say, it rubbed me the wrong way. You asked me what I was doing at your house. What did I look like I was doing?

How could you even ask me that? I told you I was there to make all of your dreams come true, to take the first step towards our future together. At that you looked like you were going to be sick, like you wanted to shut the door in my face and run. And I wasn't too happy when you did try to shut me out. I quickly wedged my foot in the door and told you to calm down. Everything was going to be okay. We were going to be happy. But you just screamed at me, told me to go away.

What were you thinking? We're meant for each other. We're in love. I forced the door open, and you screamed again. God, all that screaming, it just... It didn't sit well with me. I told you that you were safe. I told you that I loved you.

But all you wanted to do was cry and scream and throw things at me. You actually threw a fucking shoe at my face. Who throws a shoe? The toe caught me just right to split my eyebrow open, and I'll be the first to admit that I may have lost my attempt. I grabbed your ankles and pulled you closer and I know you're not supposed to hit a woman. It's not the way a man should treat anyone, let alone someone he loves. But you just wouldn't stop fighting me.

And sooner or later, your screaming was going to draw attention. The last thing we needed while we worked this out was the police or some good Samaritan showing up at our front door. I hate to say it, but hitting you worked. You got quiet, and I could finally feel my headache start to subside. While you were out, I tied you up for your own safety. I swear, I didn't want you to wake up woozy and have a fall or hurt yourself, and I only gagged you so that you wouldn't scream before we got the chance to talk. I was going to make you dinner while you were indisposed, but you should really go shopping more.

I mean, we have, like, no groceries at all. So, I just ordered people. pizza from that place down the road. I know your favorite is Hawaiian, but I just don't think pineapple belongs on a pizza. So I ordered pepperoni. Nice and simple, right? The food got here on time. You weren't quite awake yet, so thankfully I didn't have to explain our little lovers quarrel to the pizza guy.

I realized that I must have hit you a lot harder than I meant to. to. And I'm still really sorry about that, but one little spat isn't going to stop our love from growing. I know you'll come to forgive me in time. By the time you came to, I had lit some candles and set out some pizza for us. When your eyes adjusted and saw me sitting there admiring you, you, you began to struggle. I whispered to you to you calm down. And, and, you, soon enough, you did. Your eyes were wild like some animal.

I was a little hurt that my presence didn't soothe your fear. I told you, if you could promise not to scream, I would take the gag out. Besides, the food was getting cold and I've

never been a fan of cold pizza. You nodded in agreement, and slowly I moved my hand up to get the rag from your mouth. I couldn't help but caress that soft cheek of yours before I did, though. It was at this point that I almost felt like you were trying to fight me, because when I pulled that gag out while my fingers were still in your mouth,

you fucking bit me! Now, a little playful nibbling here and there. is fine. It can be really cute, but you, oh, you bit my index and four finger clean off, like fucking carrots. Why do you insist on fighting me? I love you, and I know that you love me too. You can't just push me away by acting out like this. I clamped my free hand over my mouth, and I tried to muffle my own cries of pain, you, on the other hand, started squirming and wriggling to get out of the knots that I tied you in. You started screaming for help as you crawled away from me, and all I could do was frantically try to bind the bloody stubs of my fingers. The knots came loose, and soon you

were on your feet, screaming for help all the way. Help? You don't need anyone's help but mine, but I can't fucking help you if you keep fighting me. I staggered to my feet and I made my way after you through the house, bleeding all over our carpets. I finally caught up with you in the kitchen. See, while you were out,

I went ahead and I locked all the doors and windows in the house. And we should have a talk about that too. Seriously, what if some crazy person had broken in while you were asleep? But that's why you have me to protect you. Thankfully, you weren't able to unlock the door before I stopped you. I just wanted us to have a nice, romantic meal on our engagement night, but all you wanted to do was fight.

I grabbed your wrists and I held you still while I tried to talk to you. I tried so hard to calm you down, to make you see sense. I knew that cohabitation would be rough at first, but it was like you wanted to throw our whole relationship away. With all of that screaming and scratching, I couldn't help myself. Before I even really knew what I was doing, I reached for your neck and I started to squeeze. I felt something, kind of like a little. a crunching. As my grip got tighter and tighter,

I, I just wanted you to be quiet. And finally, you, well, you were. Your eyes got really big, way bigger than before, and your face, it turned this ugly, reddish, purple color. You made this horrible gurgling sound while you were choking for air. I didn't like it, but it was better than the constant screaming. I don't know how long I held you there, but it felt like an eternity. My arms were aching by the time I finished.

When I was sure that you were done fighting with me, I sat you gently on the floor, and I fished that bottle of blueberry wine from the cupboard. I poured myself a glass, and I downed it in a matter of seconds. There were a pen and some old envelopes sitting there, so I decided to write this letter for you. Sure, you were there for it, but I don't know. It just feels right.

I don't expect you to read it now. Obviously, I'm not crazy. I know what I've done, but sooner or later, someone is going to notice that you aren't around anymore and come looking, or maybe one of our neighbors just will have called the cops. I think it'll help them piece everything together

when they finally find us. But I'm going to put you to bed now. You'll be more comfortable there. I'm gonna finish this wine. I'm gonna put this ring on your finger. And then maybe I'll take a knife.

and I'll join you in eternity. I will always love you. If you are reading this, it means that I am now dead. I'm currently typing this in my laptop at an ungodly pace, so please bear with me if my grammar and spelling is sloppy, but it's because I have not much time left

on this god-forsaken earth. This is a warning about the entity that will be the death of me shortly. Its name is Belfidov. Very stupidly, my inevitable demise was caused by my participation in a ritual that I have now come to regret. Now, I have always been a skeptical individual. Even from being young, I always believed that anything paranormal or horror-related on TV was all make-believe.

I was always one to debunk these types of things, and feel. figured what was the worst that could happen. Until that is, I discovered this ritual. So, it was without a doubt that when I heard a certain set of rules for a ritual in which I had inherited from my grandmother, may her soul rest in peace, my sense of curiosity skyrocketed through the roof. The world is cruel for even allowing such a vile right to exist, so I'd be lying if I said that I cared if anyone else tries it, after all, you're still reading this, aren't you? All I can say is that, if you so choose to partake in this ritual, although not recommended,

that it should be done with an open mind and with absolute certainty that you would follow the rules. Failing to do so would enrage, Belfadav, and let me tell you the result would not be pleasant. Of course, every ritual has a reward, whether physical or cognitive, which is what really drove me to do it, but I will get to that later. You will need three dozen candles, preferably dark colors, a box of matches, salt, any living creature of your choice, a bug, a lizard, even a rodent perhaps, but you must keep the creature of choice in containment

where it shall not be able to escape. An alarm clock, a pocket mirror, a flashlight, which is optional, a few strands of your own hair, a pocket knife that is sharp enough to leave a mark on wood, and lastly, an empty room with no windows, and a door that can block off as much light as possible. It must be a room big enough for two people to lay down, and one with a wooden floor, when you have no problems with making blade marks on. During the morning or afternoon, on the day that you would like, to initiate the ritual.

Shut the blinds, and lock all the doors in your house. Shut off all the lights, including the ones that could potentially enter the room through the gaps of the door. To begin the ritual, you want to make sure that the time it commences is 12 at midnight.

No shorter than a few minutes past midnight may work. Next, sit directly in the middle of the room and place the candles in a pattern to make the shape of an oval. Make sure you can fit your entire body within the oval. Now sprinkle a ring of salt around the candles so that it too forms the shape of an oval. The barrier of salt will act as a protective field

between you and the entity. It is basically a limit to how close it can come near you. After creating the salt barrier, place a few strands of hair anywhere outside the salt barrier. The step is needed to summon Belfidov, as he will taste your essence and be drawn to try and take more. Lastly, place the creature you have chosen under containment outside the barrier of salt.

This creature acts as an offering for Belfidov. Now, you must step into the oval of the candles and lay down, making sure to not knock any of the candles over. Set all the items within the salt barrier and proceed to carve to the best of your ability in the middle of the candle barrier that you have created, a symbol consisting of a circle

being covered by the triangle and inside the circle drawn upside down cross. After all the preparation, it should be nearly a half hour past midnight. Next, set the alarm clock so that it goes goes off in two hours. Now have yourself a rest. You'll need it.

And it's necessary for the ritual to continue. Upon dozing off, you will dream of yourself waking up somewhere in a very poorly lit, abandoned underground facility. The smell of death will fill your nose. Unnatural, low-pitched screams, with seemingly no source will dance around your ears, and the taste of rust will constantly linger on your tongue.

With no self-control, you will go through a series of doors throughout the many halls in the facility until you reach a door that is painted red and you would enter it, at which you would be woken up by the alarm. Very briefly after opening the tainted door, you would have caught a glimpse of what Belfidove looked like from behind. He stands roughly ten feet tall,

with bare reddish skin, and his hands would be covered in a pair of tight, red gloves. As far as I remember, it was covered in a substance that looked like blood, but it moved like a gas. Upon waking up, you would start to feel a presence somewhere in the room.

The temperature will drop dramatically, but you would just have to fight it. You will soon notice that the containment of the creature that you have offered has been somehow removed when you were in Dreamland, but the creature will be stationary. Upon noticing this, you must keep your eyes shut for a few seconds. And the creature will be a crushed form of what it was a second to go.

Congratulations. Belfadove has now accepted your offering. Once Belfadove has accepted your offering, pick up your pocket mirror and hold it up so you can see yourself and the space behind you. You will notice two, glowing red orbs through the reflection. At least, that's what I thought those were. They're actually the eyes of Belfodov,

and he is not, at the least, happy to have been summoned. He will put you through a number of trials to test whether you are worthy of possessing a great power, which I will get to later. Each trial will test the strength of each of your senses. Whatever you do, don't show any signs of weakness or fear or Belfidav will feast on your very being, leaving you almost unrecognizable. Now on to the first trial, you will experience a stench more foul than one you could have ever of imagined. Do not gag and keep yourself from throwing up as this is a sign of weakness.

will soon fade after a short while to which you will begin trial two trial two test your sense of touch where an enlarged version of the creature you have chosen will appear healthy and alive you need to kill it either using your bare hands or the blade you have brought

upon killing the creature trial three will begin and you will need to consume a small portion of the creature's blood by gathering a portion of it in your palms and drinking it. As bad as it may taste again, do not gag or show any signs of weakness. Belfodov, at this point, would be quite impressed, and you will feel a tongue sliding past your neck.

Do not freak out. This is just his way of acknowledging you. The second to last trial, trial four, involves endearing a noise so loud and demented you would have wished you never had ears, but as irritable as the sound is, do not cover your ears or show any signs of weakness. The last trial will not only test your sight,

but your bravery as well. Upon blinking, you will see dead bodies hanging from nooses on the ceiling. Do not panic, as this would be a sign of weakness and fear. These bodies, they're believed to have belonged, to the people who participated in this ritual and failed. Now, their souls are trapped with Belfodov for eternity. What follows is the area I have failed in.

You would start to notice a young boy outside the barrier of salt staring directly at you. His face would start to shift into what you can only describe as an abomination. And he will lash out at you, but don't worry, he cannot make contact with you. to pass this trial, all you need to do is avoid flinching.

If all was followed, the boy in the bodies will disappear, and you will come face to face with Belfodov himself. He will offer you three choices, the ability to never have to sleep in your life again with a bonus of superhuman strength, the ability of eternal youth to look the same until your inevitable death,

or the ability to telepathically communicate and read people's minds. Whatever you choose is entirely up to you. Upon choosing your offer, Belfidov will disappear, and you will be left with what you desired. To end the ritual, carve two parallel lines across the symbol, blow out the candles, and exit the room. You can now use the flashlight.

you might want to carry a locket of salt because Belfadove might choose to follow you until the end of your time. Now, that is how you do the ritual. Here's where I messed up. During that fifth trial, I started feeling a sense of pure dread and immediately started flinching. Now at this point, you'd think I'd be dead for sure, but no. Upon flinching, I knew I had to accept my fate, but before Belfadov made his final blow, I slipped under him and barely made it out of my house alive. I now type this from a nearby hotel with crappy Wi-Fi, accepting my unavoidable fate, this time because I know one thing. You can outrun Belfadove, but you cannot escape him.

All that is left for me right now is death. as I sit in this bathtub toying around with the blade that I escaped with. I wonder, I wonder if using it on myself would be a better way of dying than being slain by Belfodov. Nicholas and Annie, twins, always enjoyed fall. They enjoyed the cornfields, the corn mazes, the pumpkins, the weather, and even the changing of the leaves. They always would play games in the cornfields, any chance that they got. Living in Pennsylvania, especially in farm country, there was an abundance of cornfields. So they never had to play in the same field twice.

However, the farmers never would take too kindly to them playing in their fields, and they always tried to avoid the fields that would have scarecrow's. For some reason, scarecrow's always unnerved them. There was always something off about them, like at any second they could come to life and get you. But sometimes, you just can't avoid playing in the cornfields that house those creepy bastards. On this late October afternoon, Annie and Nicholas did just that, and it was to their dismay that these events transpired.

Leaving their house, then running to the nearest cornfield for a little bit of afternoon shenanigans, Nicholas and Annie stopped dead in their tracks. They quickly realized this cornfield housed a scarecrow, but they decided it was well worth it. as they ventured into the cornfield, immediately they grew uncomfortable. They had a feeling that, at any moment, something was going to come around the corner and grab them. Nicholas spoke to Annie, I don't think we should be here, Annie. There's something not right. The sound of disembodied laughter from children could be heard.

Annie looked at Nicholas and said, What was that? Nicholas responded. I don't know, Annie, but we need to get out of here now. They were not very deep in the cornfield at this point. They began to run, and it seemed as if they had been running for ages, but not making any progress in getting out of the cornfield. The children's laughter surrounded them. Both of the twins were running away from the disembodied voices,

trying to escape. But no matter where they turned to, the voices seemed to be all around them. The voices whispering this way, don't go that way, follow us. But the children were not paying attention to them. They thought that if they just kept running in a straight line, they would have to reach the other side.

The field was not that big, and they had been running for quite some time. Finally, they came to a clearing, and in the center sat a malevolent-looking scarecrow. It just sat there, looking down on them. It seemed to be daring them to run, just so he could chase them down. But scarecrow's can't come to life,

Nicholas thought to himself. We're just lost in a cornfield, close to dusk. It's causing our imaginations to run wild. Out of breath, both children collapsed at the foot of the scarecrow. Nicholas looked up at the ugly thing, smirking at it and asked, What in the hell are you looking at, buddy? Annie asked Nicholas, what's going on here? Why can't we find the way out of this field?

We've done this thing a million times, and we've never had a problem. This is a new field. That is all. We'll find our way out, Annie. Annie yelled. Really? You're just going to pretend like you did not hear all that fucking laughter in the voices? So you're just going to pretend like this is absolutely normal?

Like we're skipping through a fucking field of daisies? You don't have to be so snarky, Annie. Why do you always have to be so emotional? This situation is no different from any other time we've done this. We just need to get up and start moving. We will eventually come to the way out. It's not like we're locked in here with some supernatural beings. Let's go.

We can't stay here all night. Nicholas proclaimed. The scarecrow's hand grasped Nicholas by the hair and pulled him up to meet his face. With a sinister grin, The scarecrow pulled the knife off of his belt, plunged it into his stomach, and slowly pulled it left to right. As Nicholas's intestines fell to the ground,

the scarecrow tossed him aside like he was a toddler, training his focus on Annie, the scarecrow slowly removed himself from the pole that held him up. Annie started to run. Once again, the spirits started to surround her. Go this way. He's going to get you. No, you're going the wrong way. Follow us. The disembodied voices commanded her to follow them. But she just assumed this was another trap set by the cornfield and continued to run in a straight line. She kept running and running and running the next thing

she knew she was back in the center of the cornfield. She was now face to face with the thing that had just killed her twin brother. She spun around and tried to run, but it grabbed her hair. He ran his blade across her throat. After they were both dead, the scarecrow removed both of their hearts and consumed them, going back to his perch to look over his land once more. Now that he had had his sacrifices, this land would prosper and flourish for another year, as well as no harm would come to this land.

Such was the pact of the ancestors of this land. He had made this with him all those years ago. Now that they were dead, the two of them could see the spirits of the other children that were in the field. We were trying to help you, not hurt you. If you had listened to us, we could have shown you the way out. Now, just like us. Your souls are doomed to wander these fields for all time.

Nicholas and Annie both did not believe they were trapped in this cornfield, so the spirits of past sacrifices escorted them to the boundary of the cornfield. As the children tried to escape their new prison, they noticed in the distance their parents running up to the house of the person who owned this land. Annie and Nicole's parents were in desperate, search for their children. They furiously pounded on the farmer's door. John, the farmer, answered the door.

Hello, Mr. and Ms. Jenkins? What can I do for you on this fine evening? Have you seen our kids? Miss Jenkins exclaimed. In a panic toned, she then stated, You know what time of year it is? We haven't had the lottery yet. John cursed.

Shit. They were your youngans? Well, I saw them enter my field a while back. I tried to stop them, but once they crossed into the Veneyre's domain, their fates were sealed. A forest, blanketed by snow, with very little green from the firn trees. It was silent, not an animal in sight.

As a light breeze of cold winter air blew across the land, a cabin laid upon the white blanket, dark within its empty rooms, with little in ways of furniture standing, a place that so few have been. The sound of rustling snow is no less than a mile away. A truck could be seen struggling against the pale sand, eventually stopping in front of the cabin itself. The truck still roaring from its engine, the passenger-side door opened. A child, no older than 13, jumped into the deep snow.

The engine going silent. a man with a dark beard stepped out into the snow as well. Both of them were dark gray beanies and gloves. A heavy black coat was worn by the man while the child wore a hoodie and jeans. As they walked toward the cabin, the feet crushed the snow beneath them. They struggled slightly because of the heavy weight of the snow upon their feet. Eventually, reaching the door, the man pulled out keys which unlocked the front door. Quickly, the child ran inside as the man followed behind.

Closing the door behind them, their breath could still be seen, feeling a bit denser than before. Anthony, the man called the child. I got some logs a couple days ago. They're in the kitchen near the back door. Anthony nodded, without a word, and walked in to the kitchen, as if familiar with the place. Walking in, it felt colder. A heavy weight of frozen air filled the room. Seeing the logs near the back door, Anthony quickly grabbed them without hesitation.

Walking out of the kitchen, he turned left and entered the living room where the fireplace laid. Tossing all the ones he could carry inside, he turned over to where the man was still lying stuff down. Dad, I need your lighter, Anthony told him. His dad nodded, tossing the keys in Anthony's direction. direction. Anthony tried flicking it on, failing a couple of times, before eventually getting the flame to stand and stay. He hovered it over the log before blossoming into a bright flower of heat, starting small before sprouting across the log. Blowing on it lightly, the flame began to brighten and heat filled the room in a matter of time. Sitting in front of the fireplace, the cold, heavy air seemed to disperse in a matter of minutes.

He heard his father sit upon the couch, not too far from him. Anthony's face showed no signs of happiness. No emotion was expressed. The room still felt empty, despite the company within. Tossing back the lighter to his father, the sound of the lighter flickering on again quickly was heard within Anthony's ear. Turning his head, his father could be seen lighting a cigar. A disappointment grew upon Anthony's face.

as he turned away. What's wrong, son? His father asked him, in a curious and innocent tone. Nothing, Anthony responded plainly. His father raised his brow. Don't need to hide anything. It's our vacation, after all. His father pointed out.

So, out with it. When did you start smoking again? Anthony said bluntly. I figured it could be a cheat day since we won't have any more problems. Anthony didn't respond after that. Instead, he stood up and walked out of the room. His father's eyes followed him as he left. Oh, before you go to your room, mind getting our bags out of the truck?

I forgot them there. His father commanded in a light tone. Anthony nodded and went out into the frozen land. Walking out, he tried his best to run through the snow, although, like before, he struggled to move his feet through the snow. snow, almost tripping over his feet. Getting to the truck and grabbing the bags from the back seat, a noise stopped him almost immediately. Steps scraping the top of the truck kept Anthony frozen in place. Once it stopped, Anthony mustered the strength to look up above. Without warning, a raven caught in his

face, causing him to tumble down into the snow. He felt as if he sunk into the snow itself, having a little trouble getting up from it. Able to stand up once more, wiping the snow off of his hoodie, he looked up once again to see the raven staring straight at him. He reached out his hand in curiosity, only for the raven to caught once more before flying away. Watching where it flew, a figure caught him off guard. The raven flew past it as it stood there.

It didn't move. Not a single sound or breath. Anthony winced his eyes as he stepped forward trying to get a better look, although he was quickly stopped by the shouting of his father. Anthony, he yelled. You all right over there? Anthony nodded. Yeah, I just fell earlier, he said, before walking back with the bags.

Walking back, he turned again, still seeing the figure standing in place. Turning back, it didn't seem as if his father noticed whatever he was staring. staring at, almost as if he didn't see it himself. Without saying a word, they both entered the house. Anthony set the bags against the couch, crouching down, he opened his bag to get what seemed like a small gaming console. Opening it up, he saw the battery on it was low. Remembering being here before, there weren't any plug-ins for a charger.

Even if there was, he forgot to bring it, like the last time he was here. sighing a disappointment he walked away from his room each step he took the floor creaked the noise filling the house each time heat from the fireplace eventually warmed the entire house making it tolerable compared to the cold air from before sitting on a bed he remembered back when he was much younger memories filled his head almost like a dream whispers of a familiar voice filled his ears looking up A woman with light blonde hair stood in front of him with a warm smile across her face. A tear dripped down his cheek as he stared at her. A smile also crossed his face as he stood up. "'Mom?' he said, as he walked toward her, only to bump into his father. Anthony quickly backed up as the look upon his father's face was one of fear. "'What did you say?' he asked, with his tone shifting completely.

"'Nothing,' Anthony said, backing away even further. "'Are you sure?' "'Cause clearly something slipped out of your tongue just a moment ago.' He said, anger filling his voice. "'I'm sorry,' Anthony said, while falling to his knees, tears pouring down onto the floor below. His father eventually calmed down, took a breath and spoke once more. "'I'll be in the kitchen to make us some dinner. "'Don't leave here till I call for you,' he commanded.

Anthony nodded as his father walked out of the room, stomping on to the floor below him. Sitting back upon his bed, Anthony laid flat upon it, wiping the tears away from his face and sighing of relief. In his mind, the only way for his father not to harm him is to fake being afraid. Tears and falling to his knees were the only way to escape any pain his father would inflict upon him. It wasn't simple belt-woopings. Blood was spilled. Anthony never truly feared his father despite what he could do to him. Pain was something he

was used to. Looking back into the doorway once again, his mother stood there once more with a smile. Anthony, this time, wasn't smiling back. A frown grew upon his face this time. Sitting up from his bed, looking out the window back at the same spot where the figure stood. With no surprise, it still stood there without any sign of movement. He figured he could check it out the next day to see what it could be if it didn't move. A bad feeling ached his stomach of the thought of it before lying back down. Though before he could rest, the call of his father

sprouted him up. Anthony, food's ready, he yelled. Without the slightest hesitation, he quickly walked out of his room as his stomach growled in hunger. The table in the kitchen had two plates, microwaved dinner sitting upon them, steaming with the smoke of being freshly cooked. Although it smelled nice, it wasn't something to last. Anthony sat across from his father as they ate. His father scarfed down his food as if he hadn't eaten in days as Anthony ate slowly. They were both silent, not saying a word nor looking at one another.

The fire flickered a bit, the flower dying within it as it blacked. The cold air soon seeped back into the house, though not as heavy as before. His father gave him a look that got Anthony to stand up and go back to adding logs into the fire. Doing so, this flower blossomed once again. Anthony watched as the flames circled the log, slowly burning from the light brown that it was to pitch black. shaking his head, he walked back into the kitchen and sat back down in his seat. His father looked up at him, smacking as he chewed his food.

Before bed tonight, I want you to put in two more logs for the night. Tomorrow I'll be needing you to cut a few for the day, his father commanded. Okay, Anthony said bluntly. I'm sorry? His father asked, raising a brow. Yes, sir. Anthony corrected himself. There you go.

His father said as he got up and put his plate in the sink. Wash these dishes when you're done, too. Anthony was eventually alone in the kitchen, staring upon his food, losing his appetite, not wanting to waste it. He ate it anyways. Washing the dishes, whispers touched his ear once again. His eyes glazed over to the back door.

His mother standing there with her usual, warm smile from before. It wasn't long before he looked away, only a frown upon his face. Before going to his room, he placed two more logs within the fire. He grabbed his bag as he walked down the creaky hallway. Entering his room, setting the bag down, he pulled out a book, titled Within Another Life. The book was something his grandmother gave him when he was younger. opening it, he took the bookmark off of where he left it and began reading. Soon, his vision was getting blurry. Without thinking, he put the bookmark back in his book.

His eyes, soon drifting into pitch black, all sound, dulling out. Though within a void of darkness, he felt something grasp onto him. His heart, aching in pain, a scream, not just any scream, but a familiar. one. Hearing it, his ears felt like they were being stabbed with knives. He quickly woke up, coated in his own sweat, his heart racing, beating against his chest and wanting to escape. The sun shined against the window, brightening up the room. Wiping the sweat off of himself, he jumped out of the bed to get dressed for cutting wood for the morning. Dressed with a heavy coat and boots, he stepped out where a stump stood. Wood chunks, laying beside it later.

as if they were thrown around. As he cut the wood, the cold air dried his throat and his lungs became heavy. The morning sun made the snow sparkle like crystals, making the empty land feel more alive. Shadows were cast all around, one catching Anthony's eye.

Looking up, his axe dropped to the ground as his eyes widened. The figure was much closer than before. It moved to where it was halfway toward, the house. Nothing but a coat was visible enough to see. Not daring to get closer, something else also caught his eye. The figure was looking directly at him. It wasn't any taller than himself, if not shorter, although the thought of something like it was frightening enough. Before he could move, however, the back door of the kitchen opened, revealing his father.

How's the wood coming along? he asked, in a happy mood. I got a couple ready, but... What is that? Anthony asked, pointing towards the figure. His father looked towards where he was pointing. Confusion, filling his face. His eyes moved around sporadically, on whatever it was that Anthony was attempting to point at.

What? What is it? He asked, confused. Do you not see the figure in a black coat? Anthony asked worriedly. "'Anthony, are you sure you're all right?' he asked him. Anthony felt confused and afraid for the first time in a long time. His mind baffled that his father wasn't seeing the figure which stood no further than a hundred feet away.

Anthony himself began to think he was crazy, to believe something like that was actually there. Ignoring it, he shook his head. "'Yeah, I'm just seeing things. Sorry.' Anthony apologized. His father patted him on the back. Cut the rest of the wood and I'll see you inside, he said, before walking inside once more. Anthony still stared at the figure. No movement, not even steps within the snow.

The figure stood perfectly still, as if it didn't really exist, but was an allusion to his eyes. Without thinking too much more on it, he went back to cutting the wood. The ache within his stomach seemed to worsen afterward. The rest of the day, things continued on as normal. Wood was placed in the fire now and then, not speaking to his father unless he needed to. The house was mainly quiet, with a few creaks and pops from the fire. As he sat on his bed, reading his book, a hum was heard outside of his door. It was slight and pleasant to the ear, drawing in his curiosity.

He stood up to follow the sound. It led to the living room where a woman sat in front of the fire. It was his mother once again, yet this time she didn't look back. Mom, he called. She turned. A smile larger than before was shown, except her eyes were gone. Nothing but empty filled the sockets. He backed up, as she stood up walking towards him with a large grin,

Backing up, he bumped into his father. Anthony quickly turned around. Da, he said, before being punched directly in the face by his father. The force alone caused him to slam into the wall behind him, lying on the floor, blood now dripping from his nose and coloring the wooden floor with crimson. Seems like I heard you correctly this time, his father said, as he crouched down and put himself in front of Anthony's face.

I dare you to say that word again. Anthony sat quiet, letting the blood fall as his father waited for him to say something. Giving a glare of hatred towards his father, he stood back up. Clean this shit up, he said, before walking away. Anthony stood back up once again, cleaning the blood or what he could off the wooden floor. Returning to his room, he shut the door behind him. Opening his bag from before, a knife was pulled out. Turning his arm over, he poked his wrist with the tip of the knife.

Slowly, he pushed a little within his arm. All he had to do was cut inside and pull the knife up his arm. Staring dead at it, before sighing in annoyance, he threw his knife to the dresser that stood beside his bed. He was tired of his father, yet he couldn't seem to push himself to leave the cruel side that he found himself. The next day, He stared at the window once more. His eyes gleamed against the light that pierced it.

The figure was closer to the house, standing not too far from the door itself. Still, even from a distance, he wasn't able to see anything other than the black coat that it wore. His father, he saw, was already up and walking around, phone in hand and talking to someone. Anthony began to feel like he might be getting crazy when his father seemingly walked around near the figure without a single notice. He sighed before getting himself out of the bed once more. Walking into the living room, he heard his father still talking to someone. It echoed throughout the cabin, yet he couldn't understand what the conversation was about.

It ended before he could hear a lick of it. His father appearing from the kitchen, Anthony was curious on who he was talking to. Who was that? Anthony asked him. Some snowstorm is supposed to happen tonight. I got to go out to get some things for us. I won't be back until later tonight. Make sure that fire is lit, especially if this turns out to be true. His father explained.

Anthony simply nodded as his father walked past him and out the front door. The cabin felt emptier than before, though it didn't. Never felt alive either. Despite that, Anthony went ahead to get set up for a possible snowstorm. It was later in the evening, the sun setting down the horizon, creating the picturesque mixture of orange and blue with the shade of pink. Anthony stared outside his window, awaiting for his father's return. It wasn't too long, however, before the night fell pitch black.

Winds began to grow in speed as snow began moving. moving with it. Watching it slowly, the snowstorm eventually arrived in a strong way, blowing the snow strongly against the cabin, almost like rocks were hitting against it. Trying to ignore the sound from outside, an odd sound captured his attention. Turning his head, the book within his hands fell to the ground. Down, within the deep snow, barely seen within the intense winds of ice. The figure stood. darker than the void of space itself, yet its face could be seen. Gray, with a cracked and dry skin, a smile that only death could show.

Its coat it wore tightly, hiding the horror unseen. It tapped on the glass of the window disturbing it from its slumber. As it stood, sounds began to dull as the ticking of the clock woke. The smile grew larger as its mouth opened wide. wider, revealing the dark pit of the unknown and two rows of jagged teeth. Its hands grasped onto the window, leaving scratch marks as it drifted its fingers up the glass. He felt a sudden impulse to move. As he did, the glass shattered as the creature slammed through and now standing upon his bed.

The sound of a clock ticked as the creature stared dead within Anthony's eyes. Despite it not having eyes of its own, it was clear to Anthony that it could see him clear as day. Anthony, without thinking, began to run, which the creature soon followed suit. It ran on all fours, even grabbing on to the walls of the hallway. Knowing there was a key hung in the kitchen for the basement, he grabbed onto the key itself quickly before running inside. He slammed the door behind him, which the creature then slammed into. running down the stairs with a burst of energy skipping steps as he went down, he looked behind him where the small door was placed.

It was a place for shelter in harsh storms, quickly going inside and locking the door behind him with the key. He sat down, and he listened. The basement door was opened, the sound of crawling heard scampering across the floor. His heart pumped within his chest once more as the sound of crawling stopped. silence was all that filled the room. After a while of nothing, Anthony relaxed himself, calming down and believing he was safe. A familiar hum filled the room.

It crept behind him. A chill crawled down his spine as he stood frozen in place. As the hum got louder before it stopped, as it reached his ear. He ducked down, as the creature leaned forward, snapping its jaws and barely missing. Anthony's head. Unlocking the door, he slammed it once more behind him, running back up the step. His knife came into mind. Assuming it was the only way to stop it, he ran for his room, grabbing

the knife from his dresser, and he stood by his doorway and waiting. Footsteps were heard coming down the hallway. The knife gripped tightly in his palm. As a foot entered the room, Anthony yelled as he swung his knife. Doing so, he watched his blood dripped down. He watched his blood dripped down to the ground like a waterfall. Horror and tears filled Anthony's eyes as to what he had done. The knife was stabbed deep within his father's chest, directly piercing the heart.

Anthony let go of his knife as his father fell to his knees, blood coming out of his mouth as he tried to speak. His father grasped onto Anthony's shirt, trying to say something but the only thing that came out was blood. Eventually, his father's body collapsed to the ground with a thud. Anthony yelled out in terror, tears dripping down his cheeks once again. Before he could mourn, the creature stood within the doorway, a grin still upon its cracked lips. Anthony, without thinking, throws himself out the broken window,

some glass piercing through his shirt and into his skin. He continued to run through the deep snow and treacherous winds of the icy storm. into the forest he found himself lost, not knowing where he had gone. He shivered within the cold, freezing to where his skin was turning blue. However, the storm finally stopped as time passed. The only thing that led Anthony anywhere was the moon shining, its gaze on the white blanket of snow. He felt weak, to the point that he fell down to the ground. He turned, seeing the creature still standing behind.

behind him, standing and waiting. It crept closely towards him. The sound of a clock continued to tick. Anthony closed his eyes, accepting the inevitable fate before him. The clock that hung against a wall ticked until it reached midnight. The creature stood, frozen, realizing that the next day had begun. The sound of running was heard, causing Anthony to open his eyes once more. In front of him,

Three objects lied upon the snow. Two eyes, one of hazel, one of blue, and a knife was in between them both, stained of crimson. Anthony wept one last time, before eventually going silent. After a long night, the forest felt entirely empty. No sign of life, or the sound of a simple breeze that passed by. Fire still blossomed, only to eventually be. eventually die out in the darkness. The clock stopped its tick, and the strings had finally been cut.

I don't like Godzilla movies. I know. Weird way to start a story, right? It seems so far out of left field for the kind of stuff you find on websites like the one I'm posting this to. Most people would start their stories with some kind of description of how they got into the mess they're in, or some ominous warning. But all I've got is the fact that I don't like movies about a radioactive dinosaur smashing cities.

It's dumb. I know. See, the appeal of monster movies, if I had to describe it, is how impossible people think they are. According to accepted scientific law, animals that big simply can't exist on land, because they would collapse under their own weight. I think it was Neil de Grosse Tyson that said that once, something along those lines. I don't know. I'm not big on science. I never managed more than a passing grade in the subject in any school.

But what I do know is that these people are full of shit. And, well, I'm about to explain why. I remember the whole incident pretty vividly for something that happened. I don't know. two or three years ago. The actual date is fuzzy, though. And even if I had a date, I wouldn't

give it out. I'm not going to tell you where this happened either, but I'll describe the location as vaguely as I can manage without making it pointless. I live in a small rural town. It gets really hot in the summer,

really cold in the winter, and ever since 1924, we've had 10-minute earthquakes every 10 years. It's just kind of an accepted fact of the place at this point. Residents like to joke and call it Shakespeareville. So, you know what, we'll call it that from now on. Anyone who lives here will know what I'm talking about.

And for your sake, and everyone's, do not say anything about where Shakespeareville actually is. Anyways, I've lived in Shakespeare. I was born the day after one of these earthquakes, and we've never left since. Aside from the odd vacation, it's a pretty nice place in all honesty. I have a job working nine to five at the local grocery store, I pay my bills, and just generally make a decent living. I'm not some massively creative person by any means. I just do what I need to do to get by and remain content. with what I've got.

But I'd always wondered, what caused these earthquakes? I'm sure anyone who's been in this town for more than ten years has wondered that. In fact, no, I know it. We would always talk about it after school, because we all had this weird feeling

that it wasn't something natural. After all, they always happened on the same date, at the same time of day, and they lasted for the same amount of time. Some kid named Jimmy, he was a weird one. He always said that it was because there was something beneath the earth. Some species of mole people that burrowed the earth every ten years or something like that.

We all laughed it off. Said it sounded ridiculous. Looking back, I almost wish it was. It was that simple. It happened three times in my life. The earthquakes, I mean, once when I was nine years old, once when I was 19, and once when I was 29. The time when I was 19, I had made a decision. I would use the money I got from working at a local burger joint to get some equipment

and figure out where the epicenter of the earthquakes was. I got a ruler, a high-quality compass, a printer, and some paper, a beefy calculator, and then I got to work. I watched the clock intently. A guide written by an undergraduate studying geologists lists the following instructions, and these are the ones that I followed for those curious. Number one, measure the time that elapses between the arrival of the primary wave and the arrival of the secondary wave to the seismic stations. Number two, using the SP time, determine the epicentral distance of each station to the earthquake using a travel time curve.

And then step three, use a map and graphical compass to draw arcs of radii equal to the epicentral distance around each station. Where these arcs overlap, you may approximate your epicenter. I didn't manage to get a precise measurement. Maybe it was because I only had ten minutes to do it. Maybe it's because it was my first time, or maybe the instructions were bad. I don't know. I'm no geologist, but I did get a general direction. And the next day, I called in sick, I got some supplies, and I walked in that direction,

out of town, and into the woods surrounding them. I had the foresight to time my walk, five hours there and back in total. When you work at any kind of restaurant, you get used to some. standing on your feet all day and looking back, I am incredibly grateful for this, because I don't know if I could have made it all the way out there if I hadn't been used to being on my feet 24-7. But after two and a half hours about, I broke through the trees and, well, I found the weirdest thing I'd ever seen up to that point. It was, it was some kind of, I don't know, rock formation in the middle of some kind of clearing. And it was a...

huge. Like, it was so big that it could have been mistaken for a football stadium from really high up. I didn't even bother trying to walk around it. But something didn't seem right about it. For one thing, it was made of a bunch of jagged rocks that almost looked like canines. You know, the little fangs everyone has on the upper and lower lines of the teeth. Run your tongue across your teeth, and if you feel the little fangs, that's them. Some looked chipped, others didn't, but they were arranged in a circle, or maybe an oval. The way they were angled gave me the impression that it could be either or, but the weirdest part is when I went over to it and managed to get a peek between them.

All I saw was a hole. By this time, I decided that it was something to do with these rocks. Specifically, what, though, that's what was confusing me. I made a personal note to come back here a few hours before the quakes happened again in ten years, and then I went home. Things just kind of went along as normal. In the ten years between then and the next quakes, I quit my job, found a new one, got hooked up with a girl I knew in high school, broke up with her after I caught her cheating on me,

and moved into the house that I owned today. and every passing day inched me closer to it. I have to admit, I was kind of excited. I started having all these fantasies of showing my recordings to some scientist and becoming massively popular. This world-renowned guy who uncovered the mystery of the Shakespeareville quakes. And then finally, the big day arrived. After calling in sick and packing my equipment, camcorder, tripod, lawn chair, and some...

sodas and snacks in case I got hungry or thirsty. I chose to take my car that time, driving out to the location, and then parking my car out there and getting everything set up. I started with the camcorder, getting it recording. It had enough battery life to last for ten hours, and the quakes were due to start in just one. I stood in front, gave my name an exact time, stated my intent, adjusted it to make sure it was all correctly set up and

that I would get the full picture. And then I just set up my chair and waited. Fifty minutes passed. And then I thought I heard something. Something like a distant movement. Something hard scraping against dirt. It got steadily closer

and closer until I physically felt it moving beneath my feet. But it wasn't the exact time for the quakes to start. which left me more baffled than anything else. Of course, I quickly realized what was happening. Something was moving underground and it was causing a smaller, more localized quake. My mind briefly wandered back to that kid, Jimmy, and his idea of mole people.

Then the sharp, tooth-like rocks shuddered, and what came up from the hole they surrounded, physically froze me to my chair in sheer unadulterated horror. I felt myself shaking horribly, yet I couldn't voluntarily move a single muscle. It looked like some kind of gigantic worm. Its entire body was pitch black in terms of color. It didn't suck up light.

It was just very, very dark in color. It did glint. under the sunlight which allowed me to make out details. It scarred and battered exoskeleton. Its long yellowed tusks coming from its lower jaw. Its segmented body curling as it rose out of the hole in the earth. It had a single bulging eye embedded in its head and three nostrils between that and its mouth.

Coming out of either side of its body were arms. They were fairly thick and width. compared to the worm, giving the impression that it was quite physically strong. Each arm was adorned with three-fingered hands, with worn claws extending from each finger. It didn't have thumbs. Looking back, they were probably meant for scraping through dirt more than grabbing things. Long, sharp fins rose out of its back, going down the entire length of what I saw. This thing?

It was massive. I have no doubts that it would have zero trouble wrapping around the Empire State Building if it wanted, and it could probably dwarf the whole thing if it raised itself up as high as it could. It cast a massive shadow upon the ground behind it, and its gaze was focused squarely upon the sky. It braced itself against the rock formations, which made me think that it had trouble standing upright. Its entire lower jaw split vertically down the middle, and it drew its head back, taking in a breath for a solid five minutes.

So much air was pulled in that I felt myself becoming short of breath. So I breathed in myself, and I waited it out. The first thing I did that wasn't just sitting and staring an utter horror. It stopped, and it held its breath for just another moment. Then it thrust its head forward, and what came out was a roar that was simultaneously the loudest thing I have ever heard and the quietest. I now know where the quakes come from. It's this thing. It's emerging from beneath the earth every ten years and unleashing this terrible shout for ten minutes straight.

It's so loud that it shakes the ground for the entire. duration, yet it's so high-pitched that you have to strain your ears to hear it. But once you pick it up, it becomes almost reflexive, and you're able to hear it without trying. It wasn't a pleasant sound either. The noise, it was dreadful in every capacity. Sounding like every dying squeal you've ever heard from an animal all meshed together and pitched up so far that you can barely hear it. It strikes me as odd that after a few years, I still remember it so, so vividly. I guess it's just one of those things that you cannot forget.

After the allotted ten minutes, it stopped. It very slowly blinked, its eyelids closing vertically rather than horizontally like you or me would. Then it turned its head, and I realized that it knew I was the way. there. It removed a claw from the rock formation and bent over, planting it on the ground to support its weight, and then it did so with its other claw, and pulled itself towards me, twisting its head 180 degrees clockwise to angle the eye at the ground, and it hovered its head over me and stared down at me for what felt like hours. Though, after looking at the footage, it was just a couple minutes. I've never been more convinced that I was going to die right then and there.

This horrible thing from right out of a monster film, it was going to eat me or squash me or even breathe on me a little too hard and break all of my bones. If I ran, I would most certainly die, so I stayed put, hoping and praying to whatever God existed that this thing would decide to spare me. It eventually began to go back, rotating its head into the default position as it used its claws to push itself back towards the hole. It climbed back in, once more using its claws to brace itself against the formation. It gave another roar of the same length as the last, and then it slipped back under the

surface to return to whatever pit it called home. I sat there. for about an hour or so, as I regained my ability to move. Once I did, I very shakily got up, turned off the camcorder, got everything packed back up, woofed down some snacks, and I went home. I didn't sleep that night. How could I?

I had just witnessed something horrible, something I couldn't forget if I tried. I attended a local church that next morning. I've never been a religious fella, but I needed to feel that there was someone out there better than that thing. Something that could give me some small inkling of security. It hadn't killed me for some reason I was still alive, but the thought of the kind of damage it could do

if it ever had a reason to go on some kind of horrible rampage, it haunted me for months after, and it still hasn't quite left my mind. Of course, The townsfolk seemed shaken as well. Two quakes instead of one? They were baffled, somewhat concerned, and when they saw me, they just assumed I was worse off than them over the same thing.

Apparently some accidents happened during that second roar. Thankfully, no one was seriously injured, but it still left some people jittery. I refuse to release these tapes, or even say exactly where I found it. Hell, this is the first time I've mentioned it to anyone besides myself, but if somehow you know where it is, then do yourself a fucking favor and listen to me. Tell no one. Because if word gets out, it'll create a panic. And if there's panic, the military is going to get involved, and they're going to try to kill it.

And anyone who's watched any giant monster film knows exactly what will follow. Now, you want to know the reason I don't like God. Godzilla films these days. It's because they remind me of what could actually happen. Howard Radley was locked in his own apartment. No clear way out. No obvious exit.

And nothing to look forward to, but that awful, dripping sound. He knew where it was coming from. He had seen the little water droplets falling from his ceiling right near the corner where he kept the wood-burning stove he never used. But for the life of him, he could never tell what was causing it. His apartment was in the middle of the building, so it couldn't have been coming from the rain. Maybe a pipe burst?

Or maybe there was some kind of nasty flooding in a room upstairs that never got fixed. It was hard to tell exactly what was going on, but... It had been happening for three solid weeks with no end in sight. The water damage made that spot a hideous sight. It became blackened and rotten and ugly. There was definitely mold in the area. It would be quite an expensive hassle to repair. But those things, they didn't bother Howard.

Those were all the things his landlord would fix, whenever he would see him again. and if he had to pay a little extra in rent, that was fair. What bothered him was the noise, the insufferable pitter-patter of the tiny drops of whatever falling in perfect secession, one after another, hitting the ground and making tiny, little splashes, hitting the pots, the pans, the bowls he put underneath them, or just hitting the hardwood floor. It was a frustrating sound. A distressing sound.

It always meant the roof was getting worse, or something underneath it was getting ruined. It wasn't just the sound of dripping water. It was the sound of his living conditions deteriorating even further. Howard was not an ideal neighbor. His room was in a miserable state of disrepair. His walls were battered and full of holes. His apartment was full of rats and bugs. and worst of all, it was a compulsive hoarder.

It was all junk, not a single item of even the most remote value, things he had no use for and didn't even truly want. He just wanted to be surrounded by massive piles of junk. It eased his constantly panicked mind. It felt as though he was surrounded by massive walls that protected him. It was all worthless crap. that he had procured from a number of different places. Yard sales, goodwill stores,

thrift shops, even the curbs of suburban homes on Carbage Day. Books that had never been read and only served as clutter. Clothes that had never been worn and wouldn't even fit him. Family photos of people he had never even met, children's toys that he was too old to have any interest in playing with. appliances. He had no intention of ever plugging in, and because he was mortally afraid that they would cause a fire. Indeed, his apartment was a terrible fire hazard. A single lit match dropped in the wrong place would engulf the entire room in flames. Everything that wasn't clumsily strewn about the ground was shoved into overstuffed garbage bags and massive cardboard boxes.

These boxes, they were the bulk of the space in his room, forming thick maze-like walkways that made the apartment feel, also suffocating in its crampedness. The mess had become so bad. Howard had remembered owning cats at one point, but now, well, they were nowhere to be found. The only part of the room that was not stuffed with clutter was the small space Howard had cleared out. so nothing would be damaged by the drip. Not that it would matter. He'd keep the items even if they were severely water damaged. They were totally valueless anyways. Only there for comforting reasons.

For Howard? Sleep was a battle. That annoying drip sound would keep him awake all night. He couldn't handle it. He was a very unnerved out person, and any exterior source of stress was something he could not handle. It certainly didn't help that every night the sound would only become louder and more rapid. Two pillows locked in position by his arms to smother his head, three layers of blankets covering him.

The faded sound of the withered old Walkman on the coffee table next to his soiled mattress laying on the floor, playing random cassette tapes. He managed to scatter from his mess. These were the elaborate steps he had to take every night. to try to drown out that noise. It never worked. The sound still haunted him. The only respite he would ever receive

came from the occasional noise of the rats in his apartment, scurrying around through the clutter and garbage, which had become soothing to him, almost like white noise. As time went on, things would only become worse. Eventually, the dripping became, so bad that part of his roof collapsed completely.

Rubble and plaster rocketed to the ground, making noise almost like a gunshot. Howard's solution was to gather the rubble in a discarded grocery bag and toss it into the mess. Because of this, the sound became far worse.

The aggravating drip was joined by two others. Now they formed an obnoxious crescendo, becoming almost a as they inconsistently fell and splatted on the floor. To make matters worse, more drips began to appear in different areas in his roof, sputtering and pattering all at different times,

making a horrible song as they slammed against the floor, his boxes, his garbage bags, and the assorted mess on the ground. He was no longer concerned with his thing, They no longer brought him any comfort. He had come to resent the way that he lived. No one ever came to see Howard. No visitors.

No neighbors. Not even his landlord. He had wondered if his lifestyle had frightened them all away. He wondered if they had left him to his fate, to wallow in his own miserable filth. He had no electricity in his apartment. He couldn't afford it, and he didn't care to have it. He believed electricity caused brain damage, that it contained microscopic carcinogens that slowly destroyed your body and ate your viscera away. He had running water, but his pipes, they were old and withered.

The water always came out a thin, brown color, and tasted unpleasant. Howard hated leaving his apartment and took steps to make sure that he never had to. He stockpiled dehydrated food enough to last a decade. Making it with the water from his bathroom sink made it taste terrible, but after years of only eating it, he had learned how to keep it down. His only interaction with the outside world was looking out the window right above his bed. The natural light it brought was the only illumination in the entire room for years. nights were pitch black, but Howard's eyes had since adjusted to it.

He enjoyed looking out the window, seeing all the people walking by, the cars driving from place to place, the animals frolicking along and the children playing. It was the only thing that ever brought him true peace. He would stare out of that barred window for hours on end. wishing he could be a part of that world again, wishing he wasn't so afraid anymore. The window could never be opened again. He made sure of that. He had nailed it shut,

screwed prison bars over it, chained it up, and locked it tight before discarding the key in a place that he was sure he would never find it again. He had done the same with the door just prior to covering it. it up with so much clutter that he couldn't even tell where it was anymore.

Right under his mattress, he kept his two favorite items, a fire axe, and a 38 special revolver with a small box of ammo right next to it. It was an old superstition that had been passed down from his father, sleeping with weapons to avoid bad dreams. Owning those weapons made him feel safe. He had a pathological fear of intruders, which was a symptom of his phobia of other people. He needed those weapons. He knew it. As the time went on, the condition of his room only became worse. More of the roof began to collapse. The three dripping spots were now practically faucets that poured in dozens of drops of water every second. Howard tried not to look up anymore because the sight of his own ceiling disgusted and revolted him so much.

The roof had become completely decayed and ruined. The areas where the droplets of water would pour out had become warped and rotted, like a festering open wound that had become infected. The black discoloration of the exposed wooden paneling was discolored to a sickly greenish, blackish hue, covered in small fungus spores. around the edges of the gaps of his ceiling were coated in a thick, black mold that was accented with tiny green spores.

It looked alien and unnatural. It made Howard sick any time he had to look at it. Even the parts of his roof that didn't have huge tears were covered in thick cracks and seams that seemed to slowly get longer and thicker. Every time he looked up. His ceiling began to look like a mold jigsaw puzzle with huge pieces missing.

He could no longer deny it to himself. His room was falling apart around him. All throughout the day and night, huge chunks of his ceiling would break off and fall to the ground, sending more water and debris everywhere. He had no longer had any place to dispose of them, and had all but given up trying to tame the horrific mess his apartment had become, sleep became harder to achieve every single night. The deterioration had become unsalvageable one day,

as the seminal spot of the damage collapsed entirely, sending an entire section of the roof and the floor from the upper levels of the building down with it. Howard felt sickened and horrified but relieved that he no longer had to look at the festering detritus that spot had become. He had a view to the room just above his, which was totally empty and decayed even worse than his was. It looked like it hadn't been inhabited in a long time. Howard was revolted by the thought of having to leave the darkened room that had served as a makeshift womb for him for the past. Five years, but it couldn't be helped. The room was falling apart around him,

and even the very air he breathed had become thick, foul, and repulsive. If he didn't escape, he would die. He was sure of it. He flipped his mattress over and took his pistol and axe with him. He found the holster for his gun in the water-damaged mass of boxes and bags and created a makeshift sash from discarded belts so that he could sheath his axe on his back. If he was truly forced to join the outside world,

he refused to go unarmed. There were no ladders, no ropes to be found anywhere in his room. His only means of traveling upwards was to gather up the soggy and ruined boxes and bags that surrounded him and pile them together in a disgusting, mushy pile so that he might climb up into the fat crevice in his roof to the next room. Climbing the giant pile he had created was a difficult and incredibly uncomfortable task. It was difficult to gain stable footing on the mass due to the slimy, rotten water that was covering it completely,

and the moldy goo that had formed all over the place. Even the rats in his apartment seemed extremely unnerved, running around and screaming loudly as if they were trying to escape a feral animal or a fire. After much effort, Howard managed to settle himself on the pile, and was able to ascend to the rotten hole in his roof. He nearly fell at least a dozen times, and grabbing on to the molded edges of the hole he was trying to escape out of, it burned his hands like hot oil, but through sheer will, he was able to pull himself up and out of the prison cell that had trapped him for so long. The new room he found himself in was a wrecked and broken mess. It looked as though a fire had consumed the room, and it had been extinguished only by a flood.

The roof was filled with several giant gaps that served as makeshift windows to the room right above them. Debris, rubble, and scattered insulation littered the floors. The walls were completely collapsed and coated in water damage. There were thick spots of black mold all over them. The state of the building grew worse and worse, the more that Howard traversed it. Holes became craters and breaches as large as doors. Entire walls were destroyed. Rubble had formed its own insurmountable walls that blocked off huge sections of the hallways.

The fire axe had become extremely useful for tearing down obstacles, and wall chunks that obstructed Howard. If he didn't have it to smash away at the rubble and clutter, he believed he would have been completely trapped. The state of the building was so withered that there were instances where Howard would accidentally step on a certain spot too hard, and the floor would simply break away underneath him. The upper levels of the apartment's building were completely abandoned.

Not a single sign of another person was any one, where to be seen. The only other inhabitants aside from Howard were these strange rat creatures that scurried along the floors and through the shattered walls around him. They, not being

rats, they were rat-like things. They only vaguely resembled rats from a distance, but upon closer inspection, they were too mutant and unnatural. They were bloated in fat. Their limbs crept and stretched,

similar to primates or some other humanoid creature, and their faces were long and skinless and blotted out from wads of fatness where their neck should be. One thing that Howard noticed about these creatures, as he was frantically swinging at them with his axe, as they ran along the walls and tried to pay him no mind, some of them had the strange mold all over the walls of their bodies. It appeared to grow out of them rather than simply cover them. As he proceeded down the unlit hallways that seemed to become more rotten and more moldy as he went along,

he began to notice not just rat things, but large slugs as well. These slugs had worm-like qualities and seemed to feast on the huge mold spots in the walls. They were the size of mice. and were covered in tiny, sharp barbs. With nothing else to call them, he simply dubbed them mold slugs. The final and the worst of the strange creatures he found lurking in the wasted decay of the building

were piles of mold that pulsed on the ground like organs. They appeared as a fungal mass on the ground that looked to be formed from slime and debris. Upon inspecting up close, Howard found that it was moving, and he even heard a slight breathing noise from it. When he squinted at it, he could vaguely make out something that almost looked like an inhuman face. Finally, Howard came to the final door of the hallways. A massive structure, completely consumed by black mold, covered in large green boils and gooey webbing. as he stepped near it,

he saw dozens of large spider-like creatures that appeared to be wrapped in flesh and viscera, dig their way out of the walls and scurry out of sight, without so much as a second thought, and with no other doors to go through, Howard took his axe, and smashed the door down. The sight before him was the worst he'd ever seen. The entire hallway had been so strong.

swallowed whole by the mass of black and green mold, making the entire area look twisted and warped by the organic growth it had become. Only faint glimpses of the building underneath were visible. Large cysts that looked like egg sacks grew out of the wall. Rat things were present, but their bodies were completely molded over. Large green, glowing tumors jolted out where their eyes shoolded. have been. Their movements were crippled and sloppy, awkwardly waddling around and digging holes in the thick walls of mold around them. Fluttering in the air were large fly-like creatures that

sizzled and pulsated like organs. These flying polyps spun around in the air briefly before setting themselves upon the walls and feeding on the black mass growing all over. There were thousands of maggots crawling and slithering around, surrounding the many mold-eaterers. moving about in large clusters like schools of fish. Flesh spiders, as large as the rat things, were building large webs, apparently made of some strange white viscera goo material. Howard's mind, it had no way of coping with what he was seeing. He was terrified, but completely dumbfounded and numb.

All he could focus on was trying to find some way to escape. He happened upon a room without any sign of the otherworldly and unnatural insects in vermin that he had been exposed to. A room with giant, large egg sacks, the size of human males. The eggs were transparent and green, and from inside he could see completely black bodies gestating in a watery green slime. Their bodies were covered in a strange fuzz and littered with the same green boils he had seen growing out of the walls.

He couldn't help himself from touching one of the disgusting egg sacks. His finger went right through the tissue of the blob, making a small hole and the watery goo began to drip out of it. Howard left the room shortly after. His movements were deliberate and careful, quiet, and tailored so as not to disturb anything that roamed the halls. He wished not to be seen or caught. He wanted no part of the pulsing, functional. the longest beast rat things or flying polyps all around that building. The final room that he happened upon appeared to be some kind of cruel pastiche of a church

room. There were no pews, no stained glass windows, but there was a great stage, and a gigantic altar all made from the mold, webbing, and some unknown organic tissue. All around the room, bowing down and chanting in low hums that formed no words were the same black figures he had seen growing in the pods. Large humanoid figures that had no features to speak of, save for a disorganized and inconsistent mess of facial pincers, large green boils and tendrils, both large and small growing out of their bodies.

Some were the size of grown men, and other were the size of children. Some had tentacles growing out of their faces. or arms, and some had them growing out of large gashes in their body. Some had claws and long fingers, and some only had stumps. Some had mouths and teeth with large tongues growing out, but most had no mouths at all. Some, like the rat things, had giant green boils where their eyes should be, and others had nothing resembling eyes at all. Upon the altar, they were all bowing.

towards a large monster that resembled nothing Howard had ever seen in his entire life, a massive pulsing mass of flesh with dozens of tendrils growing out of its cone-like body. It had no face or head of any kind, and mouth like polyps growing out of each tentacle. The black fungal mold men clearly worshipped the horrific creature, looking at the bizarre creature they all worshipped, made Howard's head pound. At the worst possible moment that it could have happened, the ceiling behind Howard collapsed, creating a large, bashing noise that alerted the strange mold men to his presence. They all gazed at him in unison, and though the great tendiled creature had no face Howard could

feel its gaze. He unholstered his gun, and he shot wildly into the crowd, hoping to scatter them or at least make them frightened. It didn't work. They rose slowly up and walked towards Howard, shambling and waddling inhuman ways. He tossed his gun aside and began to swing at them with his axe. It had little effect. One of the moldmen grabbed his weapon and pulled it away.

All of the creatures grabbed Howard with their arms and tentacles and forced him to the ground. They dragged him away and forced him in to one of the empty egg sacks that he had seen earlier. The acidic green goo filled his orifices and burned his skin. He couldn't move. He couldn't scream. Before his mind withered away, before his humanity was lost forever, in a foamy, green mass, before mold formed all over his body, turning him into one of those freakish creatures that shared a hive mind with the strange tentacled monster that they worshipped, he could only hear one thing.

The last thing that he heard Was that awful, dripping sound. You were lucky to find me at home. Most of the time, I'm terribly busy working the grounds, so I'm not here. The best time to find me in this humble abode is at night, around midnight. Yes, I live right here on the grounds. The house is small by your standards, but it suits me fine. It's easy to clean, and since I'm alone, well, not exactly alone.

But I find that it is quite comfortable. I am surprised that you even found the place being so isolated. I'm trying to figure out exactly why you even came out to see me. The cemetery has been here since the 1700s, and I've been the groundskeeper for the past 40, years, so I don't understand why the council sent you. Yes, I know that there are some members who think that I may be too old for the job. I am in the best of health, according to my doctor. Why, last week, he told me that I not only look like I am 50, but I have the health of a

20-year-old. Not bad for a man of 72, don't you think? You see, I have always lived simply. My parents were poor, and I slept on the floor because they could not afford a bed for me. Luckily, I was their only child. They worked hard, and were able to send me to school where I dropped out in the 10th grade. They were killed in a car accident, the day after I decided that education was overrated, and I was sent to a foster home.

The army did me a lot of good, and I was able to get a high school diploma. Sending me to the war garnered a piece of shrapnel in my head and a hefty check from the government. Why do I like working here? It's peaceful. I keep the grass mowed and make sure the gravestones look good. Even the older ones from the Civil War. Did you know that there are some historical names buried here? I try to keep the dirt and the eight.

down to a minimum. Sometimes we get tourists that come out of the way to check out the ancient tombstones. I would not be at all surprised if George Washington slept in a tent on one of those graves. I mean, before it was a grave. That was part of the job description when the council hired me for this position. Of course, I also had to dig the graves whenever new guests arrived. Even with a slight injury, I was able to use a shovel into spade. I was the fastest digger that the council had ever seen. One time, I dug four graves in one day. Now, of course, that was some time ago,

but I can still dig a grave. I think it is downright sacrilegious to bring in that backhoe the council brought a few years ago. A grave is a very sacred thing. It is the final resting place for the guests. It should be dug by another human being, not some machine. Even the lowest human being deserves a little respect from a fellow human, not from some cold steel vehicle.

I always tried to make my graves special for each guest. I made sure that the dirt would not fall in during a service. I made sure that the placement was correct, and I always kept excellent records. I could tell you who was buried where without even looking up the file or checking the map. Oh yes, there is a map. I have it in the back room. It started quite small when I first started and has grown over the years.

That why you are here? You want to tear down the cottage and make room for more graves? No, that cannot be the reason that you showed up tonight. I do not believe that I have ever seen. You. I know everyone in town and all the council members, but I don't recall ever seeing you. Strange. Oh, I see. You are that reporter that came down from New York that everyone around has been talking about. They say that you've been asking a lot of questions about the missing people around here.

I guess it is natural curiosity. to ask about missing people, especially since there have been so many lately. You're not the first reporter to come out to the cemetery to speak to the lonely old caretaker. I am sure that you've heard all kinds of stories about me from the townspeople. Like I was telling you, I've been the caretaker here for 40 years. I have seen a lot of things in my time here, but the night of July 29th, sort of stands out in my mind. Now, I was digging a grave for a special guest that had passed away the day before.

I wanted it to be perfect. After all, the mayor of the town is an important person. I was making sure that the sides were smooth and packed tight, so that they would not collapse when I heard a voice call my name. I looked up over the edge and saw Brad Wilkins wandering around, calling my name out every few seconds. You should have seen the look on his face when he saw me climbing out of that hole. You scared the life out of me.

Hey, I told him, don't make me dig another hole today. We both had a good laugh over the scare that I gave him. Why don't you come up to the house? I asked him. I've got some stew simmering on the stove. I thought she would never ask, Brad said with a grin. Admit it, Brad, I told him, It's the only reason that you come all the way out here.

With a diner that cooks the best steak in the state right there in town? Brad asked with good-natured humor. Well, it has to be the cooking. Or the buck and a half I'm going to win from you over rummy tonight, Brad said, finishing my sentence. Brad was also a veteran who made a decent living in the town as one of the city characters. He rode a bike everywhere. wore second-hand clothing,

kept his beard long and always sat on the steps of the library. He was also the richest man in town. He once told me that he held four patents on some inventions that whatever industry the thing affected had bought all rights to so it could never be produced. When I asked him what they were, he told me that he could not say, but that it made him a multi-manenture.

millionaire. Looking at him, you would not think so. And I often wondered if maybe he was a bit, um, touched in the head, until he took me out to his home one night and showed me. My mouth gaped open when I saw the safe where he kept almost a hundred grand in cash. He gave me the combination and said that if anything were to happen to him, it was all mine. I made him put that in writing. And we had it notarized the next day.

The notary knew both of us and only smiled when she stamped the paper. I guess in her eyes, we were just two old war horses that liked to tell stories. As we were walking away from the open grave, Brad stopped. I was just ahead of him talking about the warm weather that night, and how it seemed that there had been more services than usual that year, when I noticed that he was not beside me anymore. I turned. and I asked him what he was waiting for.

Didn't you hear that? He asked. I listened for a second. And then told him that I think that he just heard the wind blowing. No, he said, a slight quiver in his voice. No, it sounded like, uh, like, like, like what? I asked, exasperated. The stew's been simmering for at least an hour,

and my stomach is telling me it is time to eat. eat. Just give a minute, he told me, maybe it will happen again. We both stood there like statues, waiting for some mysterious sound to make itself known.

I don't hear any. It was all I could get out when even I heard it. I'm not sure how I can describe exactly what the sound was. It was almost like a child, sighing behind a closed door.

muffled, you know. It was soft, extremely high-pitched, and it sent a chill right up my spine. Did you hear it? He asked me excitedly. It was probably just the wind, I said, but I did not believe it myself. It sounded like it came from over there,

he said, pointing to the open grave. The moon was coming out, full and bright, and was casting eerie shadows over the tomb, stones. The granite slabs that had been laid in the ground seemed to glow a dull white. The hole that I had just climbed out of, it looked ominous and foreboding. There isn't anything down there but dirt, I told him. Brad started walking back toward the hole. Naturally, I followed him, trying to get him to come back to the house. Maybe, maybe I should have tried harder. I was standing about three feet from him when he walked up to that gaping hole in the ground.

He was looking down into it, trying to adjust his eyes to the darkness. How deep have you gotten? he asked me. Six feet, I told him, like I always do. Have you ever wondered what might be deeper than that? He asked, looking back at me. I pondered the question before I answered. Never really crossed my mind. Think about it, he said, looking down into the hole.

I mean, this place has been here for a long time, maybe even millions of years. Well, I don't think the cemetery is that old, I told him with a smirk. Not the cemetery, he said earnestly, but the ground itself. We just dig six feet down and plant the bodies, but haven't you ever wondered what might be even deeper. Do you stay up nights thinking of this stuff? I asked him, trying to break the mood that was beginning to get, and you will pardon the expression, but rather spooky.

They have found fossils in less ground than a grave, he told me. I think the stew is calling us, I said, beginning to turn away from him. The sighing came again. A little louder and stronger this time. It was coming from the open grave, and the chill that had run up my spine earlier was now invading my entire body. I was starting to shake all over. Hey, Brad, I tried again. Why don't we?

It was the last thing that I said to him before he disappeared. Now, I'm not talking like a magic act, where the magician covers himself with a sheet and slides down a secret. door. This was not anything that I had seen before, and I damn sure do not want to see it again. Brad screamed, and I saw him jerk forward into the dark abyss of the open grave. It was as if an invisible hand had reached out and grabbed him, yanking him with such force that his body bent backwards. I saw his head jerk backwards, and I could hear the bones in his neck break. I heard the of the body as it hit the solid ground below. Oh, I ran to the edge, yelling for him, telling him to hold on.

I grabbed the small flashlight that I carried on my belt and I shone that light down. He wasn't there. I should have seen a crumbled body in the bottom of the grave, but there was no sign of him. I grabbed the shovel that I had left in the mound of earth and I jumped. jumped down, thinking that maybe part of the wall had collapsed on top of him. I stabbed at the ground, pitching shovels of earth to the side, trying not to hit him with the silver edge. I stabbed again and heard something that has haunted my dreams ever since.

It was a scream. A high-pitched scream that did not sound like it belonged on this earth. It was as if someone had screamed into the recorder, ran the tape backwards at high speed, and then played it through a spinning fan. I froze with fear. That started in my stomach and it welled up into my chest. First, I thought that I had hit Brad with the shovel, but I knew that the scream was not human, at least no human that I had ever heard. I fell to my knees and started scooping bits of dirt away

hoping to find Brad but what I did find was even worse I saw what looked like a tentacle sort of like what you would see on an octopus covered in dirt it was only about a foot long but I could tell that it had been cut

by the shuffle blade I began to brush the dirt off and my highs refused to see what they were seeing. The thing, it was disappearing. No, I could still feel it, but the dirt that fell away,

there was nothing that the eye could see. I brushed my hand over the slimy thing, feeling the muscle, knowing that I was holding something in my hand that I could not see. There was another sigh from somewhere under my feet. I scrambled away from that open grave, dropping the tentacle or whatever it was as I climbed out.

I ran back to the house. I grabbed a bottle of whiskey and I drank every drop. The funeral for the mayor was the next day, but I was too sick to attend. I managed to cover the hole and said good riddance to whatever it was that was just under that six feet of ground. Later that day, I had to dig another grave. It was to be on the other side of the cemetery, about a quarter mile away. All I really wanted to do was stay drunk, but I had a job to do, and I was damned, determined to do it. I was working up a good sweat, stabbing at the ground, and I was throwing the dirt into the pile beside the hole.

I was trying to get the memory of Brad and the invisible tentacle out of my mind. I stabbed at the ground harder and harder, as if I was stabbing. some monster that I could not see. I was about four feet deep when I heard it again, that same, sighing voice, only a little more muffled. I began to dig harder,

trying to get deeper and deeper into the earth. I didn't care about the sides or the possible cave-in. I just wanted to find out what sort of creature was down there. I'm not sure what happened after I hit six feet. You...

You kind of get a feeling of how deep you go after you've dug enough holes. I bent down and started to scrape away the dirt, just a little at a time. I heard that sighing coming from just below me. I almost jumped out of my skin when I felt that invisible tentacle come up from the ground. I saw the dirt explode upwards and it blinded me at first. I thought, this was it, that whatever had grabbed Brad was about to. to take me down as well, but that's not what happened. The thing, whatever it was, began to stroke my cheek.

It was soft and gentle, like a dog licking your face because it was happy to see you. I felt that slimy thing wrap itself around my waist and gently hug me before it went back down into the ground. I started to laugh. Before I knew it, I guess I sounded like a maniac laughing and howling. I climbed out of that hole and went back to my humble home. Yes, sir. I have been digging graves for almost 40 years now. I forgot how many now, but it has sure been a lot of them.

How long that thing has been under the earth, I could not hazard a guess. The way I figure it, whatever that thing is, wherever it came from it's quite large and it has been under the ground way out here for maybe billions of years

maybe it was sleeping or in some sort of hibernation maybe it was some alien that landed on this planet and it just curled up and slept maybe maybe it's something that scientists and archaeologists have not even discovered yet

all I know is that I started thinking about the way it hugged me and it did not even try to hurt me. I could not, for the life of me, think why I was spared. Then, it had sort of hit me. I wasn't sure if I had the right answer, but I knew one way to find out.

I went to the shed, grabbed the shovel, I followed the path to the closest grave that was new. I started to dig until I got, got down to where the coffin was. My hands were sore from the work, and I could feel the sting of the sweat in my eyes. I took a crowbar, and I started to pry open the coffin. Not only was there no corpse inside, but the bottom of the coffin was missing.

I dug up four more plots around the cemetery, from old graves to new, and I found the same things. No corpse, and a missing bottom of the coffin. The only thing I can think of is that when this place became a cemetery, that creature woke up. Maybe it could smell the bodies that were being buried here, and it found something on this planet that it could eat. Maybe when Brad went up to the open grave that night, it could smell something a whole lot fresher than a four- or five-day-old corpse. Maybe it thinks that since I'm the one digging the holes and lowering the cat, that I'm its owner or caregiver or feeder. And maybe you should sit.

Very still, Mr. Reporter from New York. This gun I have in my pocket has been pointing right at your belly since you sat down. We've not had any burials in quite some time. You see, I know it can survive on corpses, and that's fine. Ever since it got Brad, though, it's been wanting something a little fresher. So, why don't you come outside with me? It's almost midnight.

Feeding time. Sirens. For as long as I can remember, it has always been the same. It starts with the darkness. The thick veil of nothingness, which seems to cloud the mind and hinder the same. senses. And then the lights, flashing in the distance, just beyond the precipice, hard to see and even harder to understand. There is crying, there is always crying. And finally, just when the dread

has taken a hold, just when the frightful fear has seized my being and ensnared my mind, there is a screech. Its pitch is high and its pitch is deafening. It vibrates through my body, and it rattles my soul. The noise is sharp. The noise is final, and it is in this moment, without fault and without reason, that I awake in my bed. Sweat, cold, and terror visible. I... I cannot sleep. Looking back now, I cannot remember when it had begun.

At some point, the nights had somehow become distort. thwarted, frayed, and weathered, transformed from a peaceful embrace, into a nightmare which seemed to persist, haunting me with its elusive message. I cannot remember. I do, however, remember the end. It started with a box, and it ended with a pox. The box was small. It had been wrapped carefully.

The paper neat and handled with obvious care. To look at it, it would seem that it had always been on my coffee table, just sitting there, waiting for its moment, waiting to be opened. There was a tag attached to it, but it was blank, a monument to the time which had tragically passed it by. It seemed to be at home, and it seemed to sit right against the wood, but I knew that it was a lie. No matter how comfortable the box feigned to be,

no matter how well placed or how just its position, I knew that it was a lie. I found it there one morning. It was not mine, and I had not left it there. I had lived alone for some time, so I was dumbfounded by its presence. Perplexed. I retrieved my phone and dialed the only number which matters,

mattered. After a few short rings, she answered. Did you come over last night? A few seconds of silence followed before she spoke. What do you want? My eyes drifted back to the coffee table. Last night, I repeated. Did you come over and use the spare key? There's a box here. I'm just wondering where does come from. The spare key? She paused for a moment. Is that what we are calling it now? I ignored the obvious anger hidden underneath her tone.

Is this yours? I just need to know where it has come from. She sighed before answering. I'm worried about you, she said. I have not seen you for so long. I just want to make sure that you are okay. I moved towards the table and picked up the gift. I'm fine.

I replied. My words seeming to belong to another. I... I just need to figure this out. She laughed slightly. You do. Listen, if you ever need to talk, we can, okay? You do not have to be alone.

Her words drifted as I struggled to think. I quickly made my excuses and hung up the phone. I cannot think. For some reason, I could not bring myself to open it. Whenever the thought was there, so too was the sinking feeling of despair. As my fingers tightened around the paper, the despair only grew deeper, and a cold blackness seemed to grow from within me. I cannot explain it.

I just knew that I could not bring myself to open it. The sensation was dark, much darker than anything I had ever experienced before. I decided to hide the gift away. It needed to be out of sight, and it needed to be out of mind. As I closed the cupboard, sealing the box, and my own sadness within, I just knew that somehow I would not be able to escape it forever. It was still there, after all. as much as I pretended to be at home, the box would never be right.

I tried to busy myself through the day, but it had been so long since I had been genuinely busy. No matter how hard, I tried to occupy my mind, the gift was always there, encroaching on the boundary of my consciousness, infecting my thoughts with its unspeaking presence. Slowly but surely the hours passed, and the day gave way to the night. And then, once again, I found myself in bed. Sirens, the blue flashes of color, dance within the distance of my sleeping mind. She is crying, she is always crying, and then the screech. It is sharp, and its tone is final.

My ears seemed to ring as I shoot upright in bed, my heart beating violently in my mind a haze of horror. This night, however, was not the same. Of course, the dream was exact. It's repetitive torment of verbatim and unforgiving. The reaction of my body was exact, my heart thick and painful, as it recovered from the nightmare and my mind was exact.

breaking ever so slightly with each and every passing slumber. The shadow, however, that was different. The man stood, at the end of my bed, his body still and his head unmoving. Even through the darkness, I could see that his features were obscured by the blood which oozed thick down the entirety of his face. His chest rose slightly as he inhaled. This night was not the same.

I tried to move. I tried to scream, but nothing came. All I could seem to do was look. Just look at him as he looked at me. He inhaled again. This time the noise seemed rougher and more forced as the thick blood on his face meshed nicely with his intake of air. I could no longer feel, and I could no longer think.

My whole existence had been reduced to nothing but emptiness, a cold and hollow feeling that gripped my being and consumed my world. I was sure that my heart was beating even though I could no longer feel it. Suddenly, the figure began to weep. The sound was somehow worse than that of his breathing. The sorrow sputtered forth from within him. tears and blood torment and decay. All of it wrapped together inside of the nightmarish apparition which stood before me.

He slowly raised his hand and attempted to wipe away the tears, only to soak his hand with the thick red hue which leaked relentlessly from his nose. Streaks of blood smeared across his face, further complimenting the horrific sight which stood before me. through the dirty noise, through the darkness of the night, and through the fear which now resided within me, he began to plead. What did you do? His question melted away at my life. What did you do? The world was ending. What did you do?

Suddenly, I could scream. It was almost as if I remembered that I could, and once that I did, I screamed. I pushed every little bit of fear from within, the terror bursting outward in a single, never-ending pitch, which sounded just as guttural as it did strained. My throat tore, and my chest burned. But I continued. The man at the end of my bed continued to cry as I became dizzy. and then, after an eternity of error, I passed out.

In the morning, the box was there. Somehow, it had moved itself during the night. It had managed to pull itself from the cupboard, pull itself back into my living room, and it had yet again managed to infect my world. It waited patiently for me on my coffee table. I knew that it would never. stop waiting.

What did you do? I found myself crying down the phone as she waited for me to answer her question. What did you do? After a moment, I managed to compose myself. I put it back in the cupboard. I need to think. I need to figure this out. She sighed.

You don't have to figure this out alone. You know that, right? After everything, we only have each other in this world. I knew that she was right, even though admitting it to myself was just too much to bear. I... I can't. I sobbed. I have to do this myself. I can fix it.

I can figure it out. I know that I can. She laughed slightly. That was always your curse. You have to fix things. Working alone at life, it takes so much from you. In the end, it will take everything. But you already know that.

She is right, as always. I'm sorry, I said, moving the phone away from my face. I can't. And then, she was gone. And my sadness yet again concealed and hidden by the press of a button. I can fix this. Again, the day was consumed with thoughts of the box. How odd that I came to realize that I had bore little thoughts to the different nightmare

of the night prior, all I could seem to do was focus on the box. As I sat in my living room, trying to busy myself, I felt that I could almost hear it call to me from the cupboard I had hidden it in. It pleaded, just as the man. at the end of my bed had. It called for me. It demanded me. Once more, the day bled away quicker than anticipated, and the night slowly approached. As I lay in my bed, my eyes closing as the sweet embrace slowly welcomed me. I felt a tingling sensation of dreads sparking slightly in my mind. somehow I just knew that something would be waiting for me tonight.

The man at the end of my bed was a warning. I knew it to be true. I just wished that I knew exactly what he was warning me of. It didn't matter, though. As my eyes weighed heavily and the sleep enveloped me, all that I could think about was the box. Sirens. The flashes are closer now.

No longer in the distance, but nearer and frantic. She is crying. She never stops crying. By now, even though I was dreaming, I knew to brace for the inevitable screech. It came harsher than before, stronger than before. It pierced my brain and rattled my ears. Its high intensity shaking me instantly from the nightmare that I had been made to endure. Again, I shot up in bed and again he was there waiting for me.

This time, he was pointing at me, as little specks of blood dripped silently from his fingers. He inhaled several times, trying to clear the wave for air. As he did, the blood bubbled against his nostrils. His hand shook as he held it up, pointing towards my terrified form, commanding. my attention. What did you do? He asked once more, his blubbering unnatural and dirty

as the blood flowed unrestricted down his face. What did you do? This time, I knew that he deserved an answer. My lips moved and without thought. The words flowed from within. I did not mean to. I found myself answering. I did not mean to.

I did not mean to? The words had come from some dark place within me. Somehow, the man had pulled them free, free from the spot that I had concealed them so long ago. He had exposed them and he had exposed me. Even though they had come from me, I still struggled to comprehend what they actually meant. The answer was inside me.

The answer was me. After a few moments, the man dropped his arm, and his crying subsided. Gradually a smile grew across his blood-soaked lips. I know that you did not. He whispered, as the fluid leaked into his open mouth, mouth. And you know that, too? He was right.

Whatever he meant, he was right. I knew somewhere within me he was right. My voice trembled as I spoke. I do not want to live like this anymore. I just want to sleep. I do not want these dreams. These nightmares? Please, help me.

Just let me sleep. He smiled at me. You are the answer. He growled, his voice seeming to echo from wall to wall. You can set yourself free. He is right. From somewhere, the box came to mind. Yes.

He nodded, almost as if reading my thoughts. You know what needs to be done. I know what needs to be done. My body moved without thought. I rose from my bed, nodded to myself, and turned to leave. The man remained stationary, only smiling as I turned and left the room. this night was meant. I knew that now.

I could not live like this forever. For far too long I had hidden from my choices, hidden from my life I had created, the life that I had destroyed. I had tormented myself. I had punished myself, but that was soon to be corrected. After all, this night was meant.

I was there. In front of me the cupboard and within it, the box. I paused for a second, as my emotions buzzed. The despair was no longer there. The darkness and the blackness which had threatened to consume me had dissipated. In its place, I found a new determination, a drive, one which would propel me towards the truth that I had hidden from for far too long.

My hand moved, and the cupboard door opened. The box was no longer there. Confused, I turned and looked towards my living room. On the coffee table, just as I had expected, I saw it. To look at it, it would seem that it had always been on my coffee table, just sitting there, waiting for its moment, waiting to be opened. That moment had come. It had to be opened.

I moved towards the box. With each step, a tear fell from my eye. This is it. You have to do it. I took another step. You have to face this. This is how you end this. I took another step.

This is the moment life cannot be ignored. I took a final step, and my hands shook slightly as I reached down and retrieved the gift. The box was small. It had been wrapped careful. The paper neat and handled with obvious care. In that moment, I knew that no matter how comfortable I had feigned to be, no matter how well adjusted or how well I had pretended to cope with the truth, I knew that it was just a lie.

Slowly, the relief began to grow throughout me, and as my fingers tightened around the paper, the relief only grew deeper as a warm sensation pulsed pleasantly. It is time. My fingers tightened as I tore at the paper. The colorful material fell gracefully from my hands as my mind drifted back, back to the truth which needed to be remembered. We were arguing. Again, we were at each other, bickering over something which seemed to matter so much in the moment.

Our car sped down the road. The only illumination coming from the headlights, as they cut perfectly into the night. You don't have to work so hard, she begged. We're both here. We're always here. Take some time. You're tired. Take some time for us. Why can she not see that I try so hard for us? The anger was there, and I lashed out.

I'm doing this for us, I yelled. my voice cracking under the strain. Why can you not see that? She was upset. No matter what I did, I always seemed to upset her. Quiet, she pleaded. You'll wake him up.

I turned wearily and looked in to the back seat of our car. My son was still asleep. Thankfully, I had not woken him with my impulsive outburst. For a second, my attention lingered. I was tired, and I was worn out. She was right. I really did need a break. I really did need to put more time into them, into my family.

In that moment, I knew that I had to slow down. Tragically, that moment was fleeting, and the moment was all that it took. The other car was... already on us. It hit us in slow motion. The world turning and flipping as our vehicle rolled several times. My life was changed in a moment. Life is full of moments.

They come and they go. Some stay, but most flee. No matter how hard you try to grasp them, to keep hold of the ones that matter. They just fall through your hands like, like colorful paper. The screech was there, and then I blacked out. When I opened my eyes, she was crying.

The sirens were there, closing in, coming to help, but I knew that it was too late. The blood falls unaided from my nose as a single thought repeats. What did I do? Tears fall from my eyes as I finish unwrapping the gift. I had meant to write on the tag, but I had just forgot. There was always so much work to be done, and so many deadlines to be met. I dropped the lid to the floor as I pulled the photo frame from the box. There we are, all three of us.

Me, my wife, and my son. I began to sob uncontrollably at the truth. Truth, life is full of moments. They come and they go. I just wish that I had been there in those moments instead of existing within them. Through my best intentions, I had missed the important ones. And through my best intentions, I had robbed us of all the moments that could have been. That was the truth.

No matter how hard I had tried to hide from it, my life and my wish. wife's life would never be the same. Thankfully, in that moment, I knew that I was ready to deal with my indescribable loss. Life would never be the same, but I knew that this nightmare was over. It started with a box, and it ended with a box. Do you know that we forget most of our dreams? Psychologists have long since proven that we actually dream every time we fall asleep, although most of these dreams are forgotten as soon as we wake up.

So the question here is, what's the point of having dreams if you can't remember them? Psychologists explain that this seemingly unreasonable forgetfulness is caused by the inactivity of some parts of our brain during sleep, but that is not the truth. The real reason is that we see and hear. hear things in our dreams that are forbidden to the human perception. In other words, things that are simply too much to bear for our mind and soul.

And if we don't forget about them, they would drive us insane. However, should you wake someone up in the midst of a dream, he will remember every bit of the dream he is having. You should never ever do this because it may kill him. To illustrate my point, let me tell you about a strange experience I had three years ago. I was living in an apartment in downtown Sydney at the time. My roommate was a man named David. When we first met each other, he told me that many people had refused to share a suite with him because of his especially loud sleep talking.

But I didn't mind. You see, I had served in the Navy for five years. And over 1,800 nights of sleeping in a cabin right next to our ship's engine room, there was literally nothing loud enough to disturb me in my sleep. I told David so, and he was so pleased that he offered to pay 60% of the rent, which I gladly accepted. Our first three months together went extremely well. David was great company.

Not only was he a master cook, but a man of great compassion and humor as well. He wore the most friendly smile at times, and he was always ready to engage in a pleasant conversation. As for his sleep-talking, well, frankly, I had to say that I heard none of it, because I'm in the habit of going to bed before 11 p.m. while David usually stayed up until one in the morning. Sometimes David would warn me to never wake him up while he was sleep-talking. I asked him why. I don't know. Instincts, I guess. He only shrugged. I agreed. With my usual schedule, it's not likely that I'll ever get to hear him sleep-talking.

talking anyway. However, after a few more months, the World Cup began. Now, as I've already told you, I'm usually accustomed to going to bed early, and I'm also one of your typical soccer fans who are always willing to stay up late for a game. That night, I bought a bag of snacks and some beer, and invited David to join me in cheering for the Australian team. He seemed quite disturbed by this. Mark, I think I might as well skip the game. After all, I'm not much of a soccer fan, he said hesitantly. But the problem is, should you stay up tonight, you're bound to hear me sleep talking.

Don't worry, man. I'll just ignore you. That seemed to reassure him. All right, just remember, do not wake me up whatever you hear. Sure, good night. The game that night was awesome. It was so awesome that it made me forget all about David and his sleep talking. However, at exactly three in the morning,

a horrible moan from his room sent me bouncing off the sofa. It was the groan of souls trapped in hell, guttural, deep, and filled with despair. David's voice was pleasant and somewhat chirpy, but this was something else entirely. Keeping David's word in mind, I turned up the volume of the TV and tried to ignore the creepy groans coming out of his bedroom. It didn't work well.

The groans just grew louder and louder until they eventually merged into a steady, choked scream. Now, you may wonder how come I could stay asleep with David making that much noise every night, but then again, that's because you've never been aboard a Navy warship. Have you ever heard the noise of a cruiser's zubes? engine. That was the loudest buzz anyone could ever imagine. Booming like gunshots been fired right next to your ear. Now just think, as a Navy soldier, I'd spent five years living under that kind of noise. Now, do you understand? After a while, when the groans had not stopped, I began to grow worried. What if David was having a heart attack and struggling for life in

his bedroom right now. I had to go in there and check on him, so I put down my beer, and I ran towards his room. After knocking on the door for several times without getting any response, I turned the knob carefully and walked in. There lied David, with his face towards the door, and his expression was unspeakable. His bloodshot eyes seemed to be bulging out of their sockets, and his lips were upturned like that of a wild animal, revealing gritted teeth. His tongue lulled out of his mouth, dangling like the tongue of a man who had hanged himself with a rope. Seeing the sight of horror confirmed my suspicion, that there had to be something wrong

with my roommate, and that I must rush him to the hospital ASAP. That is when I made the mistake of trying to wake him. Hey, buddy, wake up, what the hell is wrong with you? The change on his face, it was almost instant. The eyes narrowed, and the bloodshot was gone. His tongue retracted into his mouth, and for a moment there was my friend again, staring blankly up at me as if dumbfounded.

Then, all of a sudden, he leaped from his bed and started screaming. My God! My God, I saw... What the fuck did I see? Oh, God! Oh, God! He screamed. As he banged his head against the wall so hard that it drew blood. I tried in vain to get a hold of him, but he was astonishingly strong.

I saw them, Mark. Oh, God, I saw them in my dreams. These things... Oh, they... They talked to me in my dreams, and I could see them so clearly. They tortured me, and... Oh, fuck. Those damned eyes?

These hands! He collapsed into a fetal position on the floor and began to weep like a boy. In the end, I called the hospital, and they sent someone to pick him up. Two weeks later, I read in the local newspaper that David had committed suicide in a mental institution.

He had been staying awake for over 80 hours when he died, banging himself in the head or biting down hard on his arms whenever he felt sleepy. He was afraid of them. The beings that haunted him in his dreams, and now, because of me, he could remember. Now do you see, if you caught your friend,

having a bad dream, you never wake him up, or his blood will be on your hands. I had moved out of that apartment now and rented a smaller suite on the opposite side of the streets. It's a humble place, and the facilities are generally unagreable, but at least it's a suite that I can afford to rent by myself. However, you see, the problem is, I began to dream talk as well. Last week, my new roommate complained that

I would sometimes grown horribly in my sleep, and I would even beg and weep as if I would, was being tortured. Maybe. Just maybe. They are now coming after me as well. You open your eyes.

An endless ocean of black fills your vision. You blink, trying to cast the darkness away. But the veils of darkness still loom over your body. You try to move, but a cold wall, inches away from your face,

pins you to the ground, You're down. Distressed, you stare into the empty void pressing down on you. Questions start to form in your mind. Are you asleep? Have you gone blind? Are you dead? Seconds become minutes and minutes become hours. Or so you think. You've completely lost any concept of time. You put your hands against the firm wall on top of you, trying to push yourself away from the darkness. You manage to move your body if you. You manage to move your body. few inches. Your nails clung at the hard wall and your legs scraping against the cold floor, but the top of your head hits another hard surface, and you're forced to stop. Suddenly, you hear a creaking noise coming from above. Something is on the other side.

You can definitely hear a squeaking sound, faint, but clear. But as swiftly as it started, the sound stops. You're once again plunged into complete darkness. Then, a dreary thought sneaks into your mind. You're buried. Buried alive. It seems obvious now. The sound you just heard was your coffin groaning under the weight of the dirt above.

You're trapped. A feeling of claustrophobia builds up in your heart. A cry of utter despair and hopelessness bursts out of your lungs. Help! You shout. But you know it's all. in vain. Nobody can help you. Your eyes are wet, a warm tear drops on your cheek. You didn't want it to end this way. You had dreams, a family, friends, you had your life to live. But your

cruel fate has stripped everything away. You close your eyes. You pray that your torture ends quickly. An indefinite amount of painful minutes. You begin to drift away. Your existence slowly washing off the face of the earth, but then you hear a sound. At first you can't determine what it is, but slowly you recognize a familiar

whooshing sound of a strong breeze. You must be very close to the surface. New hope is planted into your heart. You start yelling again, hoping to catch the attention of anyone, passing near you. Suddenly, you hear a loud thump. The roof of your coffin bends inwards. The cold surface now pressing down on your face. You turn your head sideways to allow for breathing space. Something has fallen onto your coffin. Is it dirt about to crush you? No, no, it can't be.

Whatever caused the bend in is still moving. Maybe, maybe you aren't buried. But if that isn't the case, then where are you? A shiver runs down your spine. A question you should have thought of earlier pops up into your mind. How did you end up here? You realize you have no recollection of the past events. Where were you? And what were you doing?

Your memory is completely blank. But you can't give it more thought as a creaking sound breaks the silence once more. The bend in above you subsides, indicating the the weight on top has shifted. You can very, very faintly hear a whimpering sound, like someone is trying to muffle his crying. As suddenly, a flash of light blinds you. You look to your right. A little crack has appeared in the blackness that surrounds you, allowing a sliver of light to invade your world of darkness. Your heart jumps. This is your escape. You extend your hand, your fingers touching the edge of the crack. You are surprised to find not the hard surface you

imagine but a smooth and soft cloth that parts under your light touch. You push with your fingers, the velvet-like material apart, creating a hole big enough for your hands to pass through. With another push, your hand exits your dark prison and enters the world of light. The fresh air cools your skin while you blindly explore your surroundings with your hand. At first, your palm lands in a cold surface that seems to extend far beyond. your reach, but moving your hand up, you again come in contact with a soft material. You grab onto it, trying to determine how far up it goes. You start climbing up the cloth with your hand, but almost immediately your fingertips

reach the edge of a strange fabric. Suddenly, a high-pitched screech pierces your ears. Mommy! Mommy! After a few seconds, you hear a door open. What is it, sweetie? There's a monster under my bed. Well, it's another day. My alarm clock is going off again.

I hit my alarm clock to keep it quiet. I don't hit snooze. I'm not stupid. I know myself. If I close my eyes again, a few hours will probably fly by before I wake up. Then I will be way late for work. Nope, that's not going to happen.

Not again. I can't afford that. I need to keep this job to pay off my credit card bills, my student loans, and daily expenses. You see, my problem is that I discovered credit cards while in college, and then American expressed myself into more debt as I grew older. But I can't help myself. I love getting food delivered with stuber grub and taking advantage of other simple but small luxuries that really add up every month. When people try to talk to me about climate change, ethnic cleansing, or other topics, I give an appropriate facial expression, horror, disdain, sadness, and then I nod along and exit the conversation as quickly as possible.

I've got my own problems to deal with before I can worry about peace in the Middle East. So, here's my morning routine. I ease into consciousness and reach for my G-phone. Then I tap on this popular application called Smixmock. It's this crazy, popular Chinese video social media application, where you can create very short videos and then watch tons of other videos. Most people think it's popular because you can see tons of beautiful girls doing suggestive dances on there. I can verify that they do a great job at being seductive, but it's got a lot of other content, too.

Ranging from comedic commentary on the latest political situation to other interesting niche videos to watch, what is amazing about this application is that it serves up fresh content each, and every single day. It's like it knows exactly what will keep my attention. So, yeah, I watch various clips from my feed for at least 30 minutes before I'm ready to face the day. If I didn't have any obligations or responsibilities, I swear, I'd probably continue to swipe through it for hours on end. I then turn to Athena, and I tell her to play a 70s rock mix,

and some Janice Joplin to really get my morning started. I ask her to tell me the weather and the top news of the day and to tell me my agenda for the day. Before I head out, if I remember, I usually tell her to order some groceries from holistic foods so I can have it delivered to me by the time I come home. I don't want to worry about picking up my brown eggs, my lactose almond milk, and 100% whole wheat bread.

as well as my large packet of Fiesta blend cheese and my probiotics from the grocery store on the way back from work. Getting groceries by myself? Right after work? Pff, forget about it. I know I can trust Athena, because she'll make the order and have it delivered by 6 p.m. So, all right, I'll grab my wireless headphones and then it's time for me to head out the door. I hop into my Sonda Discord and drive over to my local train station. It's colder than my ex-girlfriend right now, but boy, am I glad that I'm wearing my thermo-warm jacket today?

It's got this internal heating component that keeps you warm like a Texan in the Sahara. I park my sonda and head over to the train. I'm right on time. I quickly grab a seat before someone else takes it, and I get comfortable. I pull out my G-phone, click on G-tube, It is creepypasta time. Yep. My commute is filled with spooky stories from the dark web and post-apocalyptic worlds.

I scroll to the channel of my favorite narrator as the Teradactal dreams. So now, I am fully engrossed in his creepypasta narrations. The first story plays. It's pretty good. It only lasts for about 12 minutes or so, but I wish it went on for longer. That story? it could have a sequel, and there were so many questions left unanswered. The current stop is Furio Station.

I've got another 20 minutes before I've got to get off at my station. Well, well, well, that means I get to choose another story. And click, the story starts playing. It's about this lunatic that goes into people's houses in the evening, ties up the people that live in the house, conducts seemingly random acts of violence and then has his way with the women in these homes. It's strange because the report indicates that

he always goes into their kitchen and makes himself various types of sandwiches after he's done his evil deeds. Believe it or not, that was a true crime story. Morbid? You bet. It is a crazy world out there. There's some real, troubled people. And that is when I hear, you are now arriving at Westminster Station.

It's time to get out. They don't ask you for your tickets anymore. It's all electronic now. I don't know how they do it, but they can tell who is who. I think it has something to do with the facial recognition technology that they've installed recently. That's coupled with the sensors that we walk through every time we get on the train. it makes it to where they can track and charge your card for your train usage. It's pretty cool and scary how they can tell who it is,

even as most people have different types of masks on. I wonder how they reduce homeless people on the train. Do they just count those people as a given? I walk for about five minutes and am at my workplace. I'm glad I don't work in the heart of the city. That would take more time. and I hate seeing the clusters of homeless people that congregate in that area. There was this one time that I was walking around in the heart of the city

and this strange sense that I was being followed by someone from one of these clusters. I turned around and someone was there. I remember feeling anxious and saying something along the lines of, could you stop following me or back up a bit? This isn't a comfortable situation and I feel afraid of you. To my surprise, the homeless guy took a puff of his cigarette and said, I'm scared of myself, and then backed off. How does that clustering of homeless people even work?

Why is it that you can find groups of homeless people right next to skyscrapers? Those who live on the margins mixed in with people who build their collective wealth, by increasing their margins. Huh. What a world. Anyway, I work in this rather quaint part of town. In a quiet, mid-sized business, what do I do?

Data entry. You know, the type of job that asks you for a high school diploma, 45 words per minute, basic computer knowledge and punctuality. Yeah, and that's me. I work at a medical billing company, and boy am I glad to have this job. The staffing company, Talent LLC,

told me that this was one of the last jobs they had on hand. I believe it, too. The economy hasn't been great over the last 10 years, because of this huge financial crisis that came out of nowhere, but that's not all. The gradual rise of technology continues to march on and slowly eat away traditional jobs while making our lives easier.

But something else has dragged financial progress down even further. Around eight months ago, we noticed a global spike from an overseas virus. There's been a lot of talk about the origins of the virus. Some say it came from a mysterious lab, and it's a foreign government by a weapon. Others say that it came from some interaction with a bat. Whatever the case may be, that random or planned event has been affecting the world in more ways than one.

Governments all over the world have made it to where businesses can only operate at a small level. Some even mandate that certain types of non-essential businesses stay closed. They did this to curb the spread of this contagious virus, only it's having mixed results. It's definitely hurt a lot of small businesses and has hurt many at the individual level, level as well. From an increase in the decline of mental health to financial issues. Meanwhile, many people are afraid to spend money and move around as they fear losing their jobs due to cutbacks, or maybe even getting a bad case of the virus. People aren't even going on flights like they used to. It's about half of all total travelers as what it was compared to

a year ago. There's cars snaking around several blocks as they wait in line to get food in a socially distanced manner at food banks. Crimes, slowly going up in a couple of large cities, and then finally, there's seemingly a lot more anger and sadness in the world today. Thankfully, a few companies have worked vigorously to come up with this new type of vaccine to combat the contagious virus. They've got all the right approvals, and they're finally rolling it out to the public. Everyone is expecting that everything

could be back to normal within eight months or so. But, I don't know. I've got this strange feeling that it's going to take longer, much longer. I mean, just think about it. It's easy to tear things down, but way harder to build them back up. Sure, at least, we'll be able to go eat out at a restaurant or go see the latest sci-fi thriller at a movie theater and hold parties without thinking about putting someone else's life in danger.

But it seems to me that we've got a long way to go before we get back to the regular way of life. So, am I happy to do this job during these times? You betcha. Does the future look bleak? Not to me. I think it's all a matter of perspective. There's a lot of changes happening, and technology is taking off as more people,

stopped it to communicate, to stay in touch, to ensure productivity in the workplace that it continues. Unfortunately, even though I could do my work remotely, my company is living in a different era. They still want everyone to show up, masks on, and ready to go. I think they like to make our lives just a tiny, a tiny bit more miserable, just for fun. I need to look for another job, but for some reason, I am mentally trapped in this one. It pays decent, but I don't have any particular interest in it. It feels like I'm running on a treadmill, like I'm not going anywhere.

I need to snap out of my funk, but still have not found the solution. Just then, a Billy, a middle-aged, balding co-worker walks into the room. He's got troubles of his own. He's got a smoking habit he's been trying to kick ever since I met him, a few exes he pays alimony to, and another child on the way. But he's wearing a positive vibes only t-shirt and some dark jeans. This guy really thinks that he's one of the kids. Yeah.

Billy has a colorful life. He says, hey man, what's up? I nod. He takes his mask off and sits right next to my cubicle. He takes out some snoo. places it in his mouth. Then he turns to me, shows me a funny video from Smix-Smok. I laugh politely and try to go back to work.

Billy's been known to have a bit of a rage, so I tend to indulge his videos, even if they aren't particularly funny or interesting. He then tells me that he's excited about the latest season of this new show coming out on Cadabra Advantage. It's called The Youths. The premise of the show revolves around egotistical superheroes. They're about justice, but they're far from the choir boys like Superman, Spider-Man, your typical superheroes. They go over the top with their mischief when they aren't answering the call of duty.

He tells me it's hilarious, crazy, and entertaining in that I've got to check it out. He's been telling me to watch it ever since I met him, but it just doesn't seem that interesting to me. I change the subject and say, hey, you order any interesting products from Cadabra recently? Cadabra is this company that works in over 12 different countries, shipping out products to people within two days, if you're a Cadabra Advantage member. If you're wondering, yes, I'm a Cadabra Advantage member too. People pay around $119 per year for the privilege of speedy delivery and access to a wide variety of other perks,

from discounts to new shows to a whole lot of movies via their streaming platform. In addition to other things, Kadabra will send you your favorite pair of sneakers while at the same time letting you save files and run websites through its servers. If Kadabra even acts like it's going to step into a particular market, companies in that space gets scared. Kadabra is everything. I think back to Athena.

the Cadabra Virtual Assistant device. Athena knows more about me than my own family. Billy tells me, Actually, yeah, I did order something off a Cadabra the other day. I got this new quadcopter that I'm really excited about. It usually cost around 8.50, but I got it for less than $4.99 because I'm a Cadabra Advantage member. You know, Cadabra offers exclusives on its products to Cadabra Advantage members. as he kept droning on,

I realized why I didn't have as much motivation to move on to the next job. I needed the next job to be better than this. My next gig had to have more opportunities, better pay, better people. I have to be immersed in the position, learning something, growing, and feeling like I'm doing something with my life. I'm getting lost in my thoughts, but Billy brings me right back to present reality. He says,

Hey, Lucas, anything new with Athena? He doesn't have one of those devices yet, but tells me that he'll buy one pretty soon. By this question, I surmise that he means, is there any new feature with Athena? I say no, not that I've noticed. Anyway, a few hours later, while I'm on break at Jimmy's house, a local restaurant,

with Billy, Sonny, and a few other coworkers, I order a classic chicken-fried steak with brown gravy. mashed potatoes, and some iced tea with extra lemon. That type of order is par for the course. I don't usually experiment when it comes to food. I say why go for the unexpected when the tried and true doesn't disappoint. I glance over at my G-phone, and to my surprise, I see an advertisement for quadcopters.

What the... I never looked it up. Did they hear me? my conversation with Billy a few hours ago and then send me the ad? That's something that will always surprise me. How targeted these advertisements

are getting these days. It's like someone is right there in the room with you listening in over conversations. There's a TV droning on in the background. I sift through different smixmock notifications on my phone. There's some other

notifications too, like when to update my phone and some other nonsense that I don't really care about right now? I pick up random phrases from the television. I'm half-heartedly listening to it. The NASDAQ is down 300 points today following more reports of the virus. Congress has yet to release any further details on another stimulus package. It's been six months, and investors are getting antsy.

The UK has instituted a new tier system in locking down different parts of the country, according to the level of cases. I want to yell at someone to change the channel, but I'm generally a polite person and know that other people want to listen in on the latest news. The television drones on. The attractive, golden-haired reporter woman states, In other news, we should be expecting some interesting solar phenomena over the next few days. I'm interested in space-related activity, so I glance over at the television. It's a...

It's as if she knows that the only thing I'm interested in, and she wanted to spite me. She quickly moves on to the next segment and says, All right, back over to you, Jim. And Jim goes over into the weather. Sunny interrupts my train of thought by saying that he's excited to have a few matches on Smush. He points his phone in my direction and flips through some of the matches. Some of them seem god-awful, but a few of his matches seem like there's potential. One of the chicks he's matched up with has a funny line in their profile.

I'm rich, good-looking, and I've got a rapist wit. I think that's from a movie, but it shows that she has a sense of humor. I like that. It takes real guts to put yourself out there and show more parts of you. You know, like your humor and personality in an otherwise sterilized world. We get our food. It's all right. Nothing special. It's not good or bad.

It's not remarkable in the lead. It's certainly nothing to write a yeat review about. We finish eating and walk outside. It's sunny. There's a slight breeze. It's fantastic weather. Sunny points out a dead bird and asks, What's up with all these dead birds?

I see more of them around town these days just lying they're lifeless. I wonder what the deal is. He then says, Is it true their stomachs explode if you feed them rice? I say what? What are you talking about? about, where do you even come up with these questions, man? And I then say I've never looked into it before.

The others laugh. I say you could be right, but I genuinely have no idea. We head back to work, and the hours pass on. For some reason, the light starts to flicker in our office, and then turns off for a few minutes. Before they go back on again, our computers also turn off. We're all surprised, so we look around to see what has. happened. The manager, Isabella, an attractive, slim Greek brunette, walks up to the front of the

room and says that it's nothing to worry about and that we should all go back to work. She walks over to me and tells me that she's scheduling a one-on-one with me for a week out to conduct a general performance review. Has it really been that long, though? Long enough for me to get a performance review? Wow, the months do fly by pretty fast. I don't even know why they do these performance reviews. They have software that tracks productivity, punctuality, and other key performance indicators. The software, eyes, gave you all the information you needed to know about a certain employee. I didn't really get the point of middle managers like Isabella.

Why did they matter? What did they even do or have? People skills? How did that contribute to anything? Anyways, I make a note of the meeting in my mind and get on with the rest of the workday. I glance over at the clock. It is finally 5 p.m. I navigate to the X button on my browser window and close it out for the day.

Billy says, hey, later, man, I'll catch you tomorrow. I sigh and say, sure, man. He asked if everything's all right and says, I think you need some Prozac or some weed, man. You've been kind of mopey over the last few days. and I don't like that negative energy around me, man. I'm just, like, sure, and head off to the train. I pop in my headphones and listen to a true crime story on the way back to my stop.

This one was about an ex-cop turned serial killer. It was especially scary because it was about a cop, who knows how not to get caught. I think it was about the famous Golden State killer. Then, the lights flicker. and the train comes to an abrupt halt. I then hear a high-pitched scream. I thought it was a lady,

but it was actually some macho-looking dude wearing judo attire. Our train driver announces that everything is fine, but that we seem to be having some technical difficulties. It'll have to go to manual override. It takes about 20 minutes to get the train back in motion, but we're back on track. I finally get to my stop. I jump in my Sonda discord and head back home.

The delivery lady, an older chain-smoking Irish lady, stops by with my groceries. I put the groceries away, eat some leftover Chinese food, put my phone to charge, and then ask Athena to play some deep web stories before I go to sleep. The next morning, I wake up. It's daylight out. What?

Oh no, what happened to my alarm? Oh, fuck. I think. I'm going to be late. I don't need this on my profile. And right before, the one-on-one? It's just my luck. I glance over at the alarm clock, and it's dead.

What? What is going on? I tried to turn on my phone, and it's dead. Fuff. I swear, I put it to charge last night. What happened? It's too late for a shower. I swig some peppermint schnapps to fruct.

I'll rush in my breath, eat a trail mix bar, and then head out the door. I hop into my Sonda Discord, and I race off. I can't go to the train station. It's too late for that. I'll bite my losses and go straight to work, but something strange is going on. For some reason, there's been a 20-car pile-up. It's a massive accident. Really, today of all days, they had to go ahead and get into an accident.

Come on! I've got to get to work. It doesn't look like I'm going to get anywhere in this traffic, but I can't get out of it. There's a long line of cars behind me, and there's nowhere to go. Looks like I'm stuck for another hour, so the police aren't even here yet to clean up the damage. I get out of my car, and I notice that the signals aren't working. They aren't even blinking.

They're just dead. One of the drivers in traffic yells at me, he says, Hey, man, it's like this all over town. I took an alleyway to get out of a 10-mile backup just a few blocks over. I think, what the hell is going on today? I asked the driver, hey, can I borrow your phone? I need to call into work. He looks at me and smirks before going into an outright laugh.

Didn't you hear? The phones aren't working? There's something wrong with the lines. I don't believe him. I frantically walk over to another driver and ask if, I can borrow their phone to call into work. She says no. I rush over to try another one and they oblige.

And he says, sure, you can try, but it won't do any good. I've been trying to call people for some time now and it's not going through. I'm in a state of dismay. I have no idea what's going on, but it seems like a massive power outage and telephone outage. I know something is going on. I could feel it in my gut. I have no idea what it is. but I know I need to stock up.

I drive off the median, past the grassy knoll, to get away from this traffic. Let me see if I can try the Mr. B's by my house to get some supplies and hold of a phone if it works. I get to Mr. B's and walk up to this masked brunette. She's wearing this extremely form-fitting loungeware. It's Heather. She's been working for here ever since she got out of high school. I asked her to hand me the phone so I can call my workplace and tell them I can't come in. in. She then says it's not working, but that I can give it a go. She's right. Nothing is happening.

I try dialing, but nothing goes through. I ask Heather, what's going on? She's just standing there, chewing gum, saying that nothing is really working right now, that she was only at work because she walked over and that was when the shift started, but it seemed like the generator kicked in. Besides that, it doesn't seem like the register is working or transmitting any information. and she couldn't process any transaction unless it's cash. Boy, am I glad that I went to the bank a few days ago and got some cash then. I hand over 200, grab some non-perishables, and head home. There's nothing I can do.

The power's out, my cell's out, and I'm just here. Existing. A few hours go by. It feels like forever into day. I make myself a tuna sandwich by mixing a little sliced lettuce, some black pepper, a lot of mayo, and a dash of relish. It's almost 9 p.m., but it's still light out. That's strange.

How is it clear as day? And why is the sun as high as it is during the high noon? It's funny because I feel tired and sleepy, and I'm bored out of my mind. And before I know it, I'm asleep. I wake up a few hours later and I'm drenched in sweat. I glance outside and it's still light out. Seriously, what is going on? I walk outside and it's a scorcher.

I swear I could fry an egg on the asphalt or on my car's dashboard. My souls start sticking to the asphalt. God, it is so hot outside. It's only then that I realize that I don't have any shoes on and something has to be truly wrong. I swear it... It looks like I'm seeing a mirage. I'm hungry, though.

I quickly go into my house, add some butter to my skillet, crack some eggs over the skillet, and test my theory. I place a lid over the skillet, leave it on the asphalt. Sure enough. After a few minutes, the eggs are cooking. I added some cooked turkey to it. This is nuts. It was fantastic weather two days ago.

And now it's hotter than the Sahel. Sarah. Seriously. What is going on? After about 20 minutes or so, I flip the eggs and the turkey slices, and it looks like I've got a hearty breakfast. My neighbor Ruby looks out the window. She laughs hysterically and asks what the hell I'm doing outside right now. Her husband hears her, comes over to take a look, and then he laughs as well. I tell them, what does it look like? I'm making breakfast. Do you want some? They say sure, and I walk over. And now before I give them any food, I tell them not so fast. Do you know anything about what's going on right now? I still can't use my phone or run my water or really do anything. Ruby tells me nothing's working for her either.

Alessandro, Ruby's husband, seems a little shifty. He seems like he knows something but is afraid to say anything. That's how he's always been, but now he's. he seems even more shifty, I know that he's an astrophysicist and ex-astrodot. After a little more coaxing, he says, come in, I've got something I need to show you.

He quickly grabs some of the food off my skillet, scarfs it down, and leads me into his workroom. It's got this planetarium. The planets are aligned a little differently, though. They aren't in the regular formation. Alessandro glances over and notices

my astonishment and starts to talk. He tells me about this ancient Egyptian book that he's been reading, about this God named Raw and the revenge he would have on humanity at certain points in time. Raul would have his revenge because the people would neglect him and find fascination with a new deity, themselves. He tells me the book tells of a time when the earth would get hotter all the sudden, where it would be day for several months before the world plunged into darkness, where mere mortal technologies, advanced, though they may be,

would cease to function, and humans would find themselves back in the dark ages. I'm already thinking that Alessandro is crazy, but I let him continue. I've got no other options, and plus, Alessandro is a genius. He works for a space agency. Alessandro says that everything is lining up,

and making sense. First, we've got this crazy plague that takes over the world. Then we've got this sudden rise in temperatures. And finally, it's been day for about a day and a half now. He predicts that it will be like this for several months. He motions me over to his notes. He's got quite a bit scribbled on his notepad. He says that this is the chatter I've picked up for the last few months.

The chatter has been rising about a potential massive solar flare that would disrupt life as we knew it. I think back to the other day, when me, Billy and the others went for lunch at Jimmy's house, the classic American Fair Cafe, and I heard on the television about some interesting solar activity that should take place over the next few days. Was this what she was talking about? This is the interesting solar activity that she talked about for only a minute or so. it seems to me like they could have expounded on it a bit more, but no, they had to cut away to do an interview with Snooki from the Jersey Beach, a reality show about these idiots focused on drama, working out, doing their laundry and tanning.

Alessandro snaps me out of my reverie and tells me, look here, the chatter has been increasing of the potential effects of the solar flare. I ask, solar flare. Really, that's what you think this is? He says, No, son, that's what many of my colleagues have been talking about over the past couple months. They've been talking about it more each day. See, I don't know if you know about sunspots, but there are these small, dark, cool patches that a keen astronomer could see on the face of the sun.

We don't know exactly what causes them, but we do know they occur due to friction with the sun's magnetic field. See, solar flares and these burst of plasma, they take place by these sunspots. The more sunspots there are, the more solar activity there is overall. But you see, over the past couple of months, my colleagues have been recording more solar activity. I didn't really pay much attention to them, because I was focused on another project, looking for water on alien planets. but I've been taking notes.

He points to a few notebooks stacked up on top of each other and goes right back to explaining the situation. He says, every decade or so, the sun's magnetic field wholly flips and what's north becomes south and what south becomes north. It goes from minimal activity to maximum activity, and that is where we see these huge increases in sunspots. time and time again, this has happened for decades,

and the solar activity recedes as this transition happens. I mean, Christ Almighty, did you know that scientists have been looking at these cycles since the 1700s? And we've been recorded a solar maximum about 10 years ago. Yet this time, something is strange. We're on the 25th solar cycle, but we're not hitting a solar maximum. In fact, we've surpassed the previous solar maximus and are at a much higher level. It didn't seem like too much cause for concern. We've been seeing these cycles for some time now.

But as you can plainly see outside, this solar cycle is quite different. The sun will typically hurl a storm of highly energized particles through space during the solar cycle. These highly energized particles are very dangerous and can disrupt electronics. and power grids. But like I said, we've been experiencing and observing this phenomena since the 1700s. We've never had a cause for concern. I'm entranced. Not because I'm a space geek, but because I've never expected my neighbor to be so immersed in many aspects of space.

I ask him, why? He scratches his bald head and responds, well, you might know that the Earth's magnetic field has defenses against solar storms, and can keep the planet secure. But if a solar storm is too robust, if it is too strong, these powerful particles will come through like invisible winds and destroy these defenses.

A genuinely robust solar storm can potentially eliminate power for billions of people. Then, his face turns into a pale and ashen color, and he says, what's even worse than that? And it gets worse. He points up. Up there in orbit, it can get even more pernicious.

It can take our GPS and telecommunications infrastructure up in space. These solar winds can come in with their charged particles and truly fry these electronics, just like you fried those delicious eggs. He starts hyperventilating a bit and starts to tell me about the fact that it would destroy the lives of many astronauts up in space right now. and they would have no way to navigate or control their ship. From resupplying at the International Space Station to other forms of survival up there, it would all end quickly. Alessandro kept going.

These solar winds are so dangerous that they could create massive amounts of radiation that will severely damage our health. But why is it acting like this right now? I ask. Alessandro says, I have no heavenly idea. We have had to deal with smaller storms over for several years now, but did you know that we had to ground some flights due to these solar maxima? The Swedes had to ground some flights in 2015 because of a solar flare that interrupted their flight radar system.

You might not have heard about the geomagnetic storm that affected millions of people in 1989, a storm that took out power for over 4 million people in Canada. Our current solar storm seems to be the worst one on records so far. It's only clicking now. Even within my own mind, I didn't really grasp the severity of this situation until now. The losses that will take place are countless. I estimate over $4 trillion in losses will occur within this year,

from lives loss to transaction, disruptions, and even general economic activity. If this is what I think it is, and it's not your regular solar cycle that occurs every decade, then I fear, it's an extreme outlier. Your internet, your power grid, satellite communications,

and general advanced technological infrastructure as you know it is no more. Life as you knew it will be no more. The sun is thought of as a sphere of life. It gives sustenance to all, from vitamins through its rays to photosynthesis and plants.

It's now turned into this sphere of destruction. If I'm right, we can notice DNA mutations and extreme disruptions in our ecosystem due to these highly charged particles. His words shook me to the core, but he also literally shook me.

He said, Think about nuclear reactors and the various consequences. It will be dire, he screamed. Dyer! Then, I lost consciousness. I fainted. That world seemed like a dream.

A paradise. Things would not be the same. There would be a new normal every few years as our living situation became worse, and the world devolved into a wasteland. Scarcity and strife, it would follow, and anarchy ruled the day. Neighbors turned against each other. Those who suffered from mental illness could not cope and quickly gave up hope. Many perished.

A mutation of humans have come to the fore. they've embraced the uncertainty in chaos that reigns. They seek comfort in this new hellish landscape, that we used to call Earth. These mutant humans, they're minor in number, but they rule the new lands. They know not of the customs of humans of old, but only know the power of brute force.

At times, your bed can feel like the most secure place on Earth. cut old under a warm blanket left to drift off to sleep no matter where you are the thought of getting home to your bed is comforting you savor the moment that your head crashes onto your pillow

and you feel every muscle in your body sigh of relief that moment when your mind drifts off to the farthest reaches of space and time until it goes into a state of unaware awareness and bliss. It feels as if the world revolves around your comfort. But sometimes,

sometimes your mind wanders into a different place, a darker place. You've probably felt it before. Your heart starts to beat a little faster. Sweat beads start to form on your legs because it's so hot under that blanket. So, why not just, pull it off.

Why not expose your body to the air? Then you'll feel fine. But wait. Wait, wait. What was that noise? It was probably nothing. Stuff makes noise all the time. Maybe it was a pipe, or the floorboard's moving.

You can't hear anything else. There's no way anything could be in here. And gosh, it's getting really uncomfortable under those covers. So just stop being a baby and move all You tell yourself. Sweat is accumulating on your body. He will never fall asleep like this. You're a young adult.

Being afraid of monsters is for children. So just move already. But you can't. You're immobilized by fear. Not fear of what is there. Because there's nothing there, right? You're not scared of that. But why can't you move then?

because you're scared of what could be there. You're scared of what you can't see. The unknown. There could be anything there. In fact, there could be nothing there. You're not looking. Your mind works against you. It reaches into your deepest consciousness,

and it reflects what you're afraid of. It molds and forms a figure right behind you. A tall, slender figure, wheezing for air. Its face is pure white, almost fluorescent, adorned with two pitch black eyes that peer right through you. A gaping abyss filled with jagged teeth twists into an inhuman smile. Behind it lies a trail of bloody footsteps.

It has come to claim its next victim. Each shaky breath it draws in brings it closer to you. You can hear it breathing. you can feel its presence. As you lay sweating and shaking in your bed, it draws closer to you. Its clammy warm breath blows through your hair, giving you goosebumps all over your body,

and all you can do is pretend that you're sleeping. Its hand hovers over your head, ready to draw the breath from your lungs. Each bony finger. trembles slightly as the monster salivates in excitement. You can feel it. Your body trembles in fear. Your breaths come sporadically and quickly.

Your pillow is soaked with sweat. You feel the last warm breath draw into your lungs, the oxygen course through your body, as the monster wraps its hand around, Your head. But you don't feel anything. You brace for the impact, but nothing comes. And you wonder to yourself, what are you doing?

You hear nothing. Your breath returns to normal, and you realize that it was never there, right? It was all in your mind. You created it, and you scared yourself. In fact, you could say that you are the monster. It goes with you everywhere. You can imagine that it's absent, but it's not. because in any given instant your mind can call that monster to you.

It's behind you when you're sleeping, when you're watching TV, and when you're on your computer. Don't turn around. If you can imagine it, you could almost feel it breathing down your neck. And that is the scary part of things. All of it's in your mind. You can't escape your mind. Don't think about what's behind you, just stay calm and try to sleep. But, you know,

It is behind you. You can feel its presence. You know that the instant you turn around, you will be consumed by those piercing eyes. The smell of a thousand rotting corpses will fill your nostrils, and you will feel the icy, cold grip of fear. Be reasonable. And do what's best for you.

Don't turn around. The long and winding road up the side of the snow-covered mountain brings a half-smile to the driver's lips. He's been planning this trip for a while now, anxious to finally get a much-needed vacation away from his job. The man is rather excited to be reuniting with his family after soon. so many years of being separated. The last time he can remember them all being underneath the same roof was when his father became ill ten years ago. The man looks over to his wife.

She seems disconnected from the world, disinterested in their little adventure yet he isn't able to tell because her gaze is cast out the window beside her. He quickly resumes to looking out the windshield. His way of ensuring that they will reach their destination safely, The car travels further up the mountain. It can be quite a difficult journey, however, it is one that he's happy to make. This should make for an exciting day.

Perhaps they might just stay the entire weekend. I'm sure you'll like the rest of them. The man says, There's no doubt in my mind. The woman's monotone voice replies, and they're your family after all. Hey, I know they will love you too. Yeah.

The woman doesn't react when he reaches over and places his hand on hers. She continues to stare out of her window, watching as the mountains blur together, one bland tree after another. She does not act like she is happy to be in the company of her husband. She does not act like she is enjoying their journey thus far. You've barely spoken since we got in the car. He frowns. I'm sorry, babe.

I'm just a little nervous, she calmly says. that's understandable, but they're your family now too. There isn't any reason for you to be nervous. Her bottom lip begins to quiver upon hearing his sweet tone of voice. She knows that he truly cares for her, but hearing him say things that only one other person has ever said to her before, it is stricken a nerve and she has no way of knowing how to handle it. The loss that she has experienced, she never had the opportunity to properly grieve. Reeve, never had the chance to say her goodbyes.

Now, well, now she has to pretend that starting this new life is what she wants when it isn't. This woman has wished for well over a year now that her life would return to the way it was before everything tragic had happened. She wished that time would rewind and different choices would have been made. Alas, she knows that this is her reality and one that she must accept. She places her right hand upon the side of her stomach As a tear rolls down her cheeks This is the life she has to live now For the unborn

The woman closes her eyes Waiting for darkness to envelope her long enough to withstand This already painfully awkward and silent car ride She needs an escape from her reality for a little while The man glances at her from the corner of his eye The excitement that he had been feeling slowly fades away as he listens to her light and steady breathing. The smile he had not long ago disappeared when he heard the tone in her voice. No enthusiasm.

This woman, the one he loved so dearly, has been acting strange the past few months. She barely looks at him, barely talks to him. He doesn't understand the sudden change in her behavior. He doesn't understand why she lacks the compassion that she once had, but he assumes it has to do with her visit to the doctor around the time her mood changed. What exactly is wrong with you? He thinks to himself. A mixture of dark and gray clouds float across the sky, obstructing the sunlight, while beautiful snowflakes begin to fall, landing atop the windshield. The man turns on the wipers, hoping the sound won't wake his sleeping wife.

He has been consumed in dark thoughts for about two hours, assessing the situation and trying to find a proper explanation to his wife's unknown ailment. He has yet to find one. His eyes remain focused on the road ahead, glancing to the right occasionally to catch a glimpse of a dirt road. However, it's not the one that he's searching for. Half an hour goes by before he turns off the highway, onto a dirt road which is surrounded. by a familiar pattern of trees. His eyes bore into the numbers resting underneath the spinometer. A half mile.

One mile. One mile. And then finally, he makes a hard left upon hitting the two-mile mark. The squealing of the tires against loose rocks startles his wife awake. She sits upright while rubbing at her tired eyes. Bags resting beneath them. The car continues for another mile before slowing to a stop. The man parks alongside the other cars sitting in the makeshift driveway.

The woman hesitantly opens her car door, repeated in the action of her husband when a sudden wave of nausea overwhelms her. She sits there for a moment, holding back the bile threatening to slide up her esophagus when she notices a hand extend toward her. She looks up to see her husband standing there. A concerned expression plastered to his face and quickly places her hand in his. She is stricken with a wave of dizziness causing her body to sway from side to side and into the warm embrace of her other half while snow begins to fall much heavier.

They stand there for a few moments, each one gripping on to the other until she begins to feel just a little bit better. He gently squeezes her hand, as if to reassure her that everything is all right, that nothing bad is going to happen to her ever again. The woman looks away from her husband, when he begins to guide her up the old dirt road.

Her gaze is cast upon an old rickety-looking cabin. The fading brown walls are spotted with black mold, the boards slowly rotting away, while the roof has shoddy patchwork to keep it from caving in. The windows on the visible side are bordered up due to being shattered, but the strangest thing about the entire place is the neatly kept wooden shed sitting beside the house. The exterior condition just begs to someone to enter and see the pristine condition that the interior is in.

The woman swallows the giant lump in her throat just as her husband's hand is ripped out of hers. She immediately turns to see her husband rolling on the ground and struggling underneath another man. She hears what appears to be laughter, yet she is unable to tell. Her husband rolls on top of the man, his fist striking the man's mouth before he stands up. She grabs a hold of his hand once more while he attempts to wipe the dust from his clothing. Seriously, Josh, that's the first thing you do? The man chuckles. Hey, I have to make sure you're not turning into a wimp.

I hate for Dad to disown you. Josh shrugs. He too stands up and brushes the dirt away from his clothes before he freezes. His eyes rest upon the woman standing beside his brother. Her eyes waver with uncertainty, which is something that he absolutely enjoys. joys. Who's the visitor, Nick? This is Clementine, my wife, so don't get any funny ideas. You've nothing to worry about, little brother. She's not my type. It's nice to meet you, Clementine quietly says. Welcome to the family, dear. Josh wickedly smiles. Let's head inside.

Nick irritatingly growls. Clementine follows Nick as he guides her towards the house. His brother trailing closely behind them. She can feel the gaze of Josh burning into the back of her head, her pace quickening with every step that she takes. She's clearly unsettled by the behavior portrayed by her new brother-in-law. Something about him doesn't seem quite right. Then again, nothing about this family is right. Nick seems to be the only normal one in the whole lot,

and she's only met a few of his siblings, the one that she works with. The three of them walk up the stairs to the small wooden porch. Nick holds open the front door for his wife, his left hand touching the small of her back as a way of nudging her inside the house. He lets the door slam on his brother, seemingly agitated by the way Josh had been acting. Nick is fully aware about the job that his brother has,

aware about what happens to the women that Josh encounters in his life, and although his job is similar, Nick will be damned if his wife is to become one of those women. Needless to say, Nick would do anything for Clementine, including murdering his own brother if it came to it. Josh is the one to guide the couple down the small hallway into the cabin. The walls stained red in certain places.

The texture feels rubbery, almost like leather when Clementine places her hand against it. She quickly pulls her arm back. fear washing over her. Nick glances at his wife when her limbs begin to tremble. She's visibly shaken. And although he may not be able to calm her down at this particular moment, he is hoping that an explanation will help.

He opens his mouth, but the voice that comes out is not his. I'm a carpenter by trade, Josh explains. I suppose it isn't the exact way most people would do the job, but it happens to be the way that I prefer. You see, making furniture is a passion of mine. I'm glued to my work, in a sense. Don't scare her more than you already have, dumbass. Another voice says,

The three of them turned to a corner at the end of the hallway to see a room full of people. Clementine looks around the room, counting on her fingertips the amount of people. It takes her a few moments. She counts slow, as if to not miss a single person, yet she stops, when she finally reaches 15. A family of 15, 13 children, and two parents. What on earth has she gotten herself into? A wave of relief washes over Clementine when her eyes glance at three familiar faces.

Tamara, Carson, and Derek all nod their heads at her. She politely waves at them, as if to not offend them because her lack of speech at the moment. These three people are Nick's siblings and co-workers at the restaurant. the very restaurant that doomed her fate. She begins to feel a bit more at ease now, that she's not a complete stranger to the entire family. Please, have a seat. An older man, roughly, says.

Clementine hesitates at the tone of his voice. He seems disinterested in the fact that she's here. His menacing glare at Nick makes her feel uncomfortable. I'm sure she's tired of sitting down, Dad. We were in the car for five hours, Nick replies. I'd like a chance to speak with my daughter-in-law. The man growls. Come on, Nick.

Don't argue with Dad for just one time. Tamara says. Nick looks like he wants to say something. However, he calmly takes a seat on the couch beside his sister. Clementine takes the empty place beside him. Well, would you like to tell me how this marriage came to be? The man inquires. You don't have to answer that.

I... Uh, my husband and I were going out for a night. We decided to have dinner at a restaurant that we hadn't been to before, Clementine quietly explains. The food was good. It, um, tasted better than anything I'd ever had before. But, well, I guess something was wrong with it. We both collapsed, and I woke up in the kitchen.

She survived the drugs, someone asked. We aren't sure how, but, yeah, she's the only person to ever survive. Tamara nods. That's incredible, a blonde-haired man exclaims. What do you mean, Clementine questions. Why is it incredible? Well, a few of us have a skill for making all sorts of drugs. Some designed for certain people and some designed to render anyone who uses them unconscious.

The type they have at that restaurant, you shouldn't have survived. The man explains, "'Can't you all think of a better way to get to know her?' Nick grumbles. He squeezes his wife's hand only to have her pull away. She places her hand over her mouth to hold back the vomit threatening to escape. "'May I use your restroom?' she politely asks. "'It's just down the hall,' Carson points.

"'Are you okay?' another person asks. "'I'm just not feeling well as all.' Clementine forces a smile. She stands up from the couch with her left hand on her stomach. The older-looking woman, that has to be her mother-in-law, raises her eyebrows. Clementine averts her gaze to the floor as she scurries out of the living room. She finds her way down the hall that Carson had pointed to. Her hands remain at her sides until the room that resembles a bathroom comes into view.

The sleeves of her jacket are pulled over her hands in order for her to not touch the leathery handle as she pulls the door shut behind her. The bile that she had been fighting hard to keep down now slides up her esophagus, and lands in the pristine toilet bowl. Clementine shudders upon hearing the disgusting sounds that are filling the room. It's hard to think that such a sweet-looking woman can make such a heinous noise. The back of her hand is wiped across her mouth after her body has nothing left to release. The sickness that made her stomach churn is the result of her ailment that she has yet to tell her husband about.

The toilet flushes. She waits for all of it to fade away with the water swirling down the bowl. She pulls the door open, a sigh of relief rushing through her parted lips as she makes her way down the hall once more. The living room is silent. The only person still in the room is her husband. Are you all right? he asks. I'm fine. It doesn't sound like you're fine, honey. Where's your family? she asks.

Nick takes his wife's hand gently pulling her through the rest of the leather-covered house until they reach the back door. He seems to hesitate when he reaches for the handle, like there's something on the other side that he doesn't want either of them to see. They're outside. It's, um, it's time for us to go hunting. Hunting? Yeah. This has been a yearly tradition since I was a child.

The day of Christmas Eve, we go out and we hunt. My dad will spend all night preparing our catch, making sure that everything is ready to be cooked for Christmas dinner. Oh. Don't worry, Mashiri. I don't expect you to go with us. You can stay behind with Mom and Tamara. Tamara doesn't go hunting? Normally she does, but she offered to stay behind with you and Mom because this is your first holiday with the family. We should be back before sundown. Please, don't leave me alone. Clementine squeezes his hand. I won't be gone for more than a few hours, I promise. He kisses her forehead. Nick, she says, he glances down at her adorable pout.

Clementine, he said as he touches her cheek, you'll be glad to get away from me for just a few hours. But I've never asked you for anything, she starts to say. It's a yearly tradition, sweetheart. My dad will spend all night preparing to cook tomorrow morning since it'll be Christmas Eve. Clementine reluctantly pulls away from Nick. Her eyes waver with uncertainty as she turns away from him. His face retorts, a frown residing on his lips while he walks down the stairs of the small wooden deck

and joins the rest of his family by the shed. His brother, Josh, hands over all the necessary equipment that Nick has grown accustomed to over the years, his bow and arrow being the favorite. His brother gently nudges his arm, a sly expression plastered to his face. The two men quickly walk toward the tree line of the forest to catch up with the rest of their family. Nick glances over his shoulder one last time to see his wife standing beside his sister. Her back still turned toward him. He shakes his head and turns his attention towards his brother.

Clementine, too, looks over her shoulder, upset, and astounded by the fact that her husband would leave her behind while he goes out to hunt. She knows all too well what kind of game the family. is hunting, and she certainly does not want to be a part of that. The three women retreat back into the rubbery textured house. Tamara and her mother scurry about the kitchen in an attempt to prepare the ingredients needed for when the rest of them return. A small analog clock hangs above the kitchen sink, the hands moving around the circular face painfully slower than it ever has before.

Not more than a few hours has already passed since Nick disappeared and to the tree line, leaving his wife alone with these monstrous people. Clementine sits at the kitchen table, that nauseated feeling from earlier returns with each different smell of something wafting towards her nose. She throws a hand over her mouth and tries to keep it all down. At this point, she has nothing to get rid of. Tamara and her mother don't seem to notice that she is acting strangely. If they had, then nothing has been said. The The sky turns a lovely pink color as the sun begins to set over the horizon. A few people walk through the tree line, small animals in hand as they place the weapons within

the shed once more. The three people make their way back on to the porch. Their kill being tossed upon the nearest table before the back door to the kitchen is swung open. Carson, Derek, and Josh enter the room. Blood streaked across their foreheads, yet happy smiles plastered upon their lips. "'What, something smells incredible, Mom,' Carson says. "'Dinner will be ready soon.

"'Where's the rest of them?' the mother asks. "'They're not too far behind,' Josh says. "'Dad wanted us to come here and tell you that the problem has worsened, and we need to take care of it.' "'Oh, did he have a reason for saying that?' "' Apparently there's an addition,' Derek says. "'The glass dish in the mother's hand, as well as the metal bowl and Tamara's hand fall to the ground.' as they all turned toward Clementine. Beautiful Clementine leisurely looks at the people staring.

She pretended, as if she had no idea what they were talking about, when in fact, she was the problem, and her unbored child was the addition. Fuck. Are you feeling all right? Tamara asks. Clementine nods her head as she swallows the lump in her throat. Her eyes move slowly around the room, taking in expressions of each person. while looking for anything that can be used as a weapon. I'm fine.

I'm just, um, I'm just, uh, feeling a bit peckish as all. You've been sick a lot over the last few months. Do you know why? Carson asks. I do know why, and I would appreciate it if none of you were to tell Nick. He doesn't know. Derek raises his eyebrow. I, I haven't found the right way to tell him.

him yet. She shakes her head. Well, there really isn't any reason for him to know, the mother says. The situation can be handled before he even returns home. Hearing those specific words come from her mother-in-law's mouth causes Clementine to hastily stand up from the chair she has been sitting in. The small group of people standing in the kitchen begin to close their distance between themselves and her. But she? She's already made a plan for the way that she will survive this wicked family that she married into. Carson and Derek were both quite strong, considering the work that they do at the diner.

However, Josh seemed to be equally matched in strength. If Josh was truly a carpenter, then he was another obstacle standing in her way of freedom. Clementine tightly grips the handle of the knife that she had swiped a while back. Carson reaches toward his sister-in-law only to have a metal blade pierced through his left hand. He screams in pain, shock consuming him as his eyes widen. He briefly glances at Clementine. Her feet seem to have a mind of their own as she steps backwards. Carson dares to take another step toward her, despite having a knife protruding from his hand.

The others, too, take a step forward, and that's when something extraordinarily surprising happens. The knife in Carson's hand is hastily ripped out and plunged. deep into the chest by none other than Josh. Clementine watches in pure terror as Derek is swept off of his feet. The metal of a meat tenderizer rapidly pulverizes the nose of his face. Josh's face turns redder with each strike of force that he delivers to his brother. Sweat rolls on the side of his face while the other two shout for the horror to stop. Tamara, as much as Clementine liked her, was the next person to be taken away by the outraged Josh.

Tamara made the mistake of lunging at her brother in order to get him away from Derek. However, her eyes went wide and surprised when Josh grabbed a hold of her throat. Her face began to turn red from the lack of oxygen getting into her lungs. Josh glared at her while he walked over to the stove. Tamara flailed, her nails scratching at Josh's arm and hands as she attempted to pry herself out of his grip and it may have worked if Josh had not looked toward the sink. He placed her right hand in the drain of the sink. He flipped the switch, allowing the awful grinding noise to echo throughout the kitchen. The sound of bones crunching causes Clementine to cringe with an uneasy feeling,

but Tamara's screams of agony are soon muffled. That is, once Josh dunks her head into a pot of water that was boiling on top of the stove. Amelia, the mother of these incredibly strange people, watched in terror as her children fought blood and bone against each other. She idly stood by and watched one by one as her most violent child took away the mellower ones. The twins, Carson and Derek, had never really harmed anyone in their life. Of course, they participated in the family business, but they weren't quite like the others. Tamara, now she had a good head on her shoulders. She was good at managing things much like her father.

She had the mind to keep their family business running, which is exactly the reason why she was one of the smarter ones. Amelia grabs a hold of Clementine's hand, pulls the young woman towards her before placing the blade of the meat cleaver to Clementine's throat. Josh freezes in place, finally being met with an ultimatum.

Either he surrenders to the objection of his mother, or he can watch his sister-in-law be killed because of his unwillingness to actually obey. Amelia opens her mouth to speak once she has the attention of her son. However, the only sound that can be heard as gurgling. The spearhead of an arrow enters the nape of her neck

and sticks out the front side of her throat. The blade that she was holding crashes onto the hardwood floor at the same time her body does. Clementine spins around in time to see Nick standing there. His left arm pulled all the way back. Crimson Liquid is smeared across his face as he lowers his weapon. He stares at his wife. His gaze on her is more intent than it ever has been

since the day that they met. Clementine, happier than hell to see her husband, runs over to him, being swallowed up by his muscular embrace. Josh picks up the meat tenderizer that he had previously used to bash in the face of his brother, just as the sound of shouting outside the house sounds. Nick takes his wife's hand in his own before the three of them scurry down the leathery hallway and out the front door. They're met with the last five remaining members of the family, each look on their face more menacing than the next, The members of the family are at a standoff. Nick, Clementine, and Josh all stand on the porch to the house,

while the others stand there with weapons in hand. Clementine is pushed out of the way when a throwing star whizzes past her head. She falls over the railing upon the forceful push, yet the fight that begins is much more frightful. Nick is the first one to run down the staircase at the porch. The arrow in his hand is harshly forced into the left eye socket of the blonde man that had been surprised to know Clementine had survived his drum. hugs. Nick grabs a hole to the arrow once more, pulling it towards him and watches his blood

drips from the eyeball onto the snow-covered gravel. He shakes the arrow loose of the eye and hastily approaches one of his sisters. Josh, on the other hand, is surrounded by two people. The man closely resembling him while the girl resembles his mother. The tenderizer in Josh's hand is slammed into the top of his sister's head. Her face contorts. Her eyes cross and the sound of skulls crunching beneath the blow ripples throughout the lower. large area. Josh's hand encloses around the throat of the man, his grip tightening with each gasp the man takes. The man's face begins to turn red when Josh is suddenly struck over the head from behind. Elijah, their father, has an angry look on his face as his gaze zeroes in on

Clementine. Her own eyes widen as the fear of her unborn child overwhelms her. Nick has his back towards her not able to see that his brother is down and his father is about to harm the only person. and he truly cares for. Elijah slowly approaches Clementine. He cracks his knuckles, rotates his head in order to prepare for the killing that he has planned. Clementine, on the other hand, has already figured out a way to survive the madness that's currently happening. She cautiously stands up, the handle of a somewhat heavy tree branch in hand, as she menacingly

glares at her father-in-law. The man says nothing while closing the distance between the two of them. His grip tightens on the blue color. handle of the axe. He struggles for a second or two, before managing to lift the object in the air. Clementine, scared at the outcome of this little fight, thrust her arm forward. The branch she is holding gets stuck on something. Elijah's eyes widened once the realization sinks in.

The sharp pain in his chest causes the beating of his heart to increase. His head lowers in order to truly process what happened. The tree branch that his daughter-in-law had been holding was shoved into the front of his chest. The sharp and jagged tip of the branch protrudes at the back of his chest, blood dripping on to the gravel just behind his feet. He sinks to his knees as Clementine grabs a hold of the branch and drives it further and further into the man. Clementine moves the back of her left hand across her forehead.

The sweat beat atop it now whisked away. Her chest rapidly rising and falling as she raises her head. Two feet begin to approach her. Her gaze meets the worried one of her husband. She hurries over to him, as if her legs had a mind of their own. Josh slowly pushes himself up from the ground. He holds on to the back of his head as he sighs in relief. Nick glances at his brother.

The two of them share a knowing look. The expression on their faces, the mutual understanding glimmering in their eyes, almost. It seems like they'd had expected all of this to happen. Like they knew that this is exactly how the holiday was going to turn out. out. Nick takes his wife's right hand into his left one again. His free hand gently rests on her stomach as he smiles down at her. The reason why you've been so sick lately, it didn't occur to me until I was hunting, Nick says. Surely, you know that I did all this for you, Masherty. I know. Clementine understandingly nods. Then trust that I will never let anything happen to you,

either of you. He smiles. And neither will I. Josh speaks up. Listen. Josh and I have one last thing to take care of before we can all leave this hellhole. Do whatever you have to. Clementine tiredly trudges toward the makeshift driveway.

Relief washes over her when she is able to lean against her husband's car. The next few hours seem to move by ever so slowly as she watches Nick and Josh drag their family members' bodies out of the house, and from the spot to where their lives ended, into a grave that they had spent a wild digging. They pour many cans of gasoline into the muddy, snow-covered grave before striking a match. Nick and Josh share one last look of acknowledgement, just as Josh tosses the match in. The grave instantly burst into large flames, as they pat each other on the shoulder. They make their way towards the driveway.

both men way too tired and too pissed off to think about what may happen next in their lives, but the one thing that they were thankful for was to have each other, even if the rest of the family had to perish. Josh gives Clementine a long hug goodbye, and they part ways with the last member of his family. Clementine is tightly pulled into the embrace of her brave and trustworthy husband once more. Instead of shuddering and disgust upon his touch, she wraps her own arm, around his torso and tightly hugs him. She may have been taken away from the life that she once had, but somehow, in some, sick and twisted way,

this life is better. The family reunion that Nick had been looking forward to for so long, the reunion that he had specially arranged in order to introduce his wife to the rest of his family, began with awkward greetings, a few arguments, but it ended in nothing other than pure disaster. the family reunion had been the only thing that he was truly looking forward to. However, there was a lesson that he had to learn the hard way.

It doesn't matter if you have the same blood coursing through your veins as other people do, because that doesn't mean they are truly your family. Family are the people who you surround yourself with, the people who will always be there when you need them the most. Family? Family is the people whom truly care for you no matter what you may have done in life. They will always and unconditionally love you despite any flaws that you may have. Family isn't what you were raised into.

Family is precisely what you make of it.