CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - 2+ Hours of Chilling r/Nosleep Horror Stories to chill to in the days leading up to Halloween

Episode Date: October 25, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORIES-►0:00 "What Happens at Dillerson Farm" Creepypasta►17:58 "Let Me In" Creepypasta►40:07 "I dove to depths uncharted. They should have stayed that way" Creepypasta►1:02:15 "There's a labyrinth in the middle of the world" Creepypasta►1:31:13 "Please Stop Believing in Cryptids" Creepypasta►1:51:41 "The Monster I Carried Out Of The Woods" CreepypastaCreepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...CREEPY THUMBNAIL ART BY►Austen Mengler: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/yzdQKSUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPastaCREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only-

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That is Shopify. combe. some may consider strange. Of course, there are typical haunted houses and old burial grounds that may or may not actually be supernatural, but none could truly comprehend the happenings of the Dillison Farm. The Dillison Farm was a place that even the bravest adventurers would not go. It was hard to call skeptics truly skeptic when they refused to step foot in the place. The origins of the Dillison Farm are not exactly known, but its history was.

enough to write a book. The first case would be from 1962. The Dillison farm would be inherited by John and Mabel Dillison, along with their four children. John inherited the farm from his grandfather who passed away from tuberculosis. John's grandfather, Henry, would be described as a good man. He was a hard worker who cared about the farm as much as he cared about his family. For many decades, Henry lived on the farm, though it was never known if he was he was. own the farm, or if he inherited himself? In Henry's final days, he was hysterical. In his hospital room, he would scream constantly about, holes in the fields, and hands rising from the ground. We've never known what he meant before he died, that is, until John inherited the farm.

Neighbors were not as keen to see these dillisons as they were to Henry. John was described as a raging drunk. Mabel was a loud, burdensome woman. The three days were not as a loud, burdensome woman. The Dillison sons were troubles and teens who would skip school and throw parties on the farm. The one Dillison daughter was a sheltered and spoiled child. Police would be called to the Dillison farm almost daily, from domestic abuse to noise complaints. There was nothing the Dillisons weren't notorious for. That is, until the night of May 16th, 1963. At around midnight, neighbors heard Mabel Dillison screaming and shouting from the fields.

She was nude and red in the face. She seemed unspeakably hysterical about something. The situation quickly turned grim when he was discovered why she was behaving this way. A few days before, Mabel's beloved cat, whiskey, had gone missing. Mabel speculated that perhaps John had something to do with it. It wasn't until that night

that Mabel was taking a late-night shower when she heard faint meows from the bathroom window. She didn't even put any clothes on before she ran outside. That is when she was met with a grisly sight. Mabel discovered whiskey, but he'd been completely skinned. It was not like his fur had been shaved. Whiskey's skin was completely gone.

It was like it had been cleanly peeled. The worst part was that the poor thing was still alive. Seeing this, Mabel went into an absolute meltdown. She began screaming into the night, blaming John. Mabel spent that night in police custody for her own protection. John got his rifle and put the poor feline out of its misery. Who would do something so heinous? No animal or person should ever have to go through something so horrendous.

The next event would take place on February 2nd, 1964, at 10pm. Police were called to the Dillison Farm after gunshots were heard. When they arrived on the scene, John Dillison was out in his backyard. He was an incoherent mess. He was screaming about the farm's well. He claimed to have witnessed each and every other Dillison member get dragged into the well. He spoke of black oily tendrils that arose from the well and pulled Mabel down. She'd gone out that night to check upon the chicken coops after she heard of ruckus.

John was watching from the window. He jumped up and tried to ill at the kids, but they were already gone. They weren't in the bed where he'd last seen them. The gunshots rang after John was. after John proclaimed that they came back, but it wasn't them. He spoke of something in the well that took his family, then pretended to be them. The police assumed that John had suffered a mental breakdown, executed the other Dillison members, and disposed their bodies in the farm's well.

John was later sentenced to a mental facility for the rest of his days. The rest of the Dillison members were never recovered, though attempts were made to recover them from the well. Though they tried, the authorities noted that the well, quote, never seemed to end. It's not known how deep that well truly is, but this was an all too familiar situation for the neighbours of Dillison Farm. They recalled Henry's dying ramblings. Did his talk of something in the ground actually have weight? For almost two decades, Dillison Farm would be a desolate mass of land.

People who around the area began to suspect that the Dillison Farm was cursed. The next event wouldn't take place until 1983. By this point, the Dillison Farm was practically in a state of abandoned disrepair. That was, until the property would be purchased by Ed Smith Mining, a mining company that was mainly based in New York at the time. In late fall of that year, Ed Smith sent a 20-man crew to Dillison Farm in the hopes of harvesting rich soil. While Dillison had its cursed reputation,

the place would produce some of the best crops ever seen. By this point, most of the neighbours had moved away. Dillison was officially a desolate strip of land. Fifteen of the men vanished one November night during a 30-minute nightbreak. The manager had come back to find 15 of his staff gone and four incapacitated on the ground. Of the four that remained, none of them could accurately recall what happened. All that could be gathered was that the crew had heard strange noises coming from one of the freshly dug holes. One of the men went to investigate first, but he was gone for far too long.

Eventually, the worker came back. But he appeared strange. The worker seemed almost anxious and tried to convince the others to follow him to the hole. That's when the four remaining workers blacked out, only to awaken to 15 other comrades missing. The missing 15 workers were never found, recovered, or heard from again. Ed Smith Mining filed for bankruptcy in 1919. 90 after the families of the missing workers filed a lawsuit against the company. To this day, the Dillison Farm still remains, untouched and unexplored.

That brings us to just a few months ago. I used to work for a team of paranormal investigators. For safety purposes, my name and my colleague's names have been changed. Once prior, we've been preparing for a three-day camp and exploration of the Dillison Farm. If there truly was something cursed about the farm, we were going to find out. The day had finally come. The team for this exploration consisted of Dave, Ashley, Hector, Rob and myself. Dave was the leader of the exploration, as he had the most experience exploring paranormal locations.

Ashley was roughly new to exploration, but she had an ambition that you just couldn't find anywhere else. Hector was the oldest of the group. He joined the team in the hopes of something breaking his sketch. skepticism of the paranormal. Rob was a stern, hard-boiled guy, but he was cool as long as he stayed on his good side. We arrived on the farm right around dusk. The place was a dusty old mess. I never thought I could describe a place as depressed, but this place was completely devoid of joy or life. The first thing Dave pointed out was the uncanny lack of sound. Nothing could be heard but the dry breeze of the dusty air.

There were no birds, insects or passing cars. It was just complete and utter silence. Not a single living creature had set foot on this land in years. The farm was just an abandoned purgatory lost the time. Something feels off about this place, Ashley said. This place sure as hell gives me the creeps, that's for sure, said Hector. I was somewhat mesmerized by the place. I'd heard about the place, but I'd never set foot

the grounds before. Seeing it in person was far, far more intense than any tales could give off. Daylight is fading, people. Let's move. Ordered Dave. He simply put what our mission was. We were to investigate the infamous well, the same one that was spoken of in the John Dillison case. Dave's plan was to attach a submersible camera to a thick wire and send it down the well. Our plan was to see if we could find what the police could never. If John Dillison's story had any kind of weight, and the bodies of the Dillison family may still be in that well, if they were ever there in the first place. While Dave, Hector and Rob set up the line and camera for the well,

Ashley and I investigated the farm in Dillison living quarters. The house had nothing interesting. The house, for the most part, had been completely emptied. The only thing that remained were a few old kitchen appliances. The barn was no different. The place was mostly empty, other than left behind farm equipment. There was one thing that Ashley noted, though. There was a strange trail in the dirt that led from the barn to a filled in hole by the outhouse.

The trail looked fresh. Too fresh. What made it even creepier was that the trail didn't seem like it was made by a person. It was weird and disorganized. At some points the trail was serpentine. At other points it turned insect-like. Ashley took a photo for the notes. I couldn't escape the unease of what could have caused that trail, though.

It was now about 8pm. The line was ready to go down. I'd set up tents and placed floodlights on the scene. This was about to be a long night. Hector loaded the camera on the brim of the well. On Dave's cue, the camera began to descend. We have vision, Ashley confirmed, as the camera's point of view appeared on a laptop. It's too dark, activate night vision, requested Dave.

Ashley activated the night vision from her laptop as the camera continued to descend. There was nothing strange so far. All we could see were the walls of the well. We've now descended to 20 feet, said Ashley. The man-made stone walls of the well continued onward. Huh, it's a bit strange that the well goes down this deep. The stone walls, that is, I said. Dave looked to me like a sand-looking idiot.

I probably did. in his mind. We've descended to 40 feet, said Ashley. By this point, we were beginning to see the moisture against the walls. Something was a little off, though. There was a strange black ooze beginning to appear in patches. At first glance, one would assume it to be mildew or sludge, but it's slightly wriggled as the camera passed it.

I would almost compare it to slugs. What is that? I asked. Probably worms. They decomposes, you know. Maybe that finis. something dead down there, said Rob, semi-psychastically. We've descended to 80 feet, said Ashley, confused. 80? What happened to 60? I asked.

I don't know. The camera completely skipped a marker. It's just a glitch. Proceed, said Dave. Hector and Rob continued lowering the line. By this point, the walls had stopped being stone. The walls which is a combination of darkened mud and that weird black sludge. That's when the camera came to a sudden halt. Why did you guys stop? asked Dave. We didn't. I think we hit something, said Rob.

The camera didn't show anything, though. We were still looking at the same murky sludge. That's when the camera began to short out. This signal began to go in and out. For a split second, the screen changed the something else. Ashley, pause a live feed and play that back, said Dave. Ashley did so and sure enough

something showed up for a millisecond Ashley took a few tries before she was successfully able to pause on the image it was a black screen with a few simple words What are you looking for Seeing this made everyone pause

Well that's freaky Said Hector What do we do about that? Asked Rob This is just an interference satellite interruptions. Keep going.

This has nothing to do with us, said Dave. Dave was thoroughly creeped out. I could see it all over his face. After a bit of wrestling with the wire, the camera began to descend again. We've descended 280 feet, said Ashley through a shaky voice.

For the first time, through the entire descent, the camera's audio detected something. It started as a slight noise, but the low, went, the louder it became. Soon we could vividly hear what it was. It was the painful meows of a cat. The sound was clearly a cat, but it sounded distorted. The only way I could describe it was as if something that wasn't a cat was trying desperately to sound like one. Through it all, we went lower and lower. Eventually, the meowing began to sound less animalistic and more human-like.

The cries of a cat began to sound like the cries of a person. Several people. The voices screamed in unison. By this point, Ashley was ready to get the hell out of there. I was as well. Rob tried his best to stay composed, but I could tell he was on the verge of freaking out. The night vision wasn't seeing anything anymore.

He was just darkness. The screen began to display words and phrases. Mabel, Bobby, Sam, Frank, Joshua, whiskey. they're a part of us now you can be a part of us too behold the camera's footage was cut out entirely the camera remained off for several minutes

suddenly hector and Robb yelled as the wire began to rapidly descend something was pulling the camera and he was pulling hard Rob tried to grab the wire only for it to burn his hands the wire reached its limit the end of the wire which was rooted into the ground

violently popped out and went straight down the well. No, the camera! yelled Dave. The footage of the camera returned. The camera depth displayed as minus 340. The camera appeared to be somewhere else. You could see stalagmites, water, and more of that black sludge.

Something picked up the camera just out of view and held it there for a few seconds. The screen displayed a final set of messages. Dave, Ashley, Rob, Hector, Mark, don't be afraid. We can keep you safe. Down here. The camera turned to reveal what it was holding. What we saw made us all visibly pale. A grotesque amalgamation looked into the camera. We could see what appeared to be a combination of three women, four men, a cat, and a few other creatures. All of them were covered in a coating of black fluid.

In unison, they smiled into the camera. The camera went offline for good. Suddenly, we began to hear something rapidly climbing up the well. All of us ran to the van as quickly as possible. We had no regard for our belongings over each other. All of us jumped into the vehicle and stepped on the gas like there was no tomorrow. In the rearview mirror, we could see a disgusting mass chasing us on thin, insect-like legs. The entire ride was silent.

All of us were lost in her own shock. We just discovered something horrifying. at Dillison Farm, but all the evidence had just been abandoned there. When something like that happens, you don't think about evidence or conspiracy. All that's on your mind is survival. I gave up on paranormal investigation after that. I think all of us did. I never heard from any of them again.

I assume they all just went out and got normal jobs. I never saw or heard mention of Dillison Farm ever again. Truth be told, I don't think of them. think I want to know anything about it. If it were up to me, I tell the military to go in there and burn the place to ashes. There are some things in this world that human eyes were not meant to understand. What was in that well? Whatever became of it?

I've made several theories on what it could have been. I first thought that there's some body-snatching aliens living under Dilettison Farm. My other theory was that the well may have been some sort of portal to hell. I don't think I'll ever truly know what it was. However, I'll leave off with a simple message. If you ever come across a place called Dillison Farm, stay the hell away from it. Dillison Farm is a place lost the time. It is a place that remains a desolate blind spot in the eyes of God.

And that is what it must remain. Whatever you do, let Dillison Farm rot. When I was 10 years old, I heard a man die and did nothing to help. It's not something I'm proud of, but I was just a scared kid at the time. I was often left home alone when I was a child. I won't say my parents didn't love me or anything so dramatic, but they had priorities. Oftentimes, I was not high on that list. Still, I enjoyed the solitude.

I had the run of the house and could pretty much get away with whatever. I wanted while they were gone, well, as long as I made sure to clean up after myself. It was early February when it happened, while my folks are out and are part Valentine's part anniversary date. They had married at this time of year around 15 years ago, so they would make a big deal about it annually. It was snowy outside, and I wanted to go play in it while they were gone, but I had the biggest fear about inadvertently getting myself locked out of the house and freezing to death before anyone arrived to save me. It was close to 10 o'clock when my mum called and told me they would not be home until morning.

This would neither be my first nor last time alone in the house. So I assured her I would keep the doors locked and get to bed at a reasonable hour. Surely what I considered reasonable and what she did were far different times. Were I being responsible, I would likely already be in bed. But I was happily in the middle of binging horror movies when she called. I won't say they never gave me nightmares, as my mother warned, but I still loved them. We had a great assortment of channels on our unlocked cable box, so it wasn't hard to track down movies to suit my late-night tastes. It was going closer to midnight, and I felt my body began to crave my bed, when the commotion began outside.

I peed through the living room window to see a man screaming and running across the street. He was yelling out for anyone to help him. him. He even ran into some of the neighbouring houses and pounded on their doors. Help, for God's sake, somebody help me. He cried out into the night, while he slammed his fists against the doors and walls. Most houses just turned the lights off when all of this began, but I couldn't look away. What could have gotten this guy so worked up? It was a typical suburban street I lived in as a kid. Little than nothing ever happened, aside from the occasional car pulled over for one reason or another.

Finally, the man arrived at my door. He beat his hands against the wood and shouted out, begging me to help. I was a kid. What the hell was I supposed to do? Please help me. They're coming. He yelled out from the other side of the front door. I pulled a chair up to the door and I stood on it to look out the peephole. The man looked young, maybe in his early twenties, though to my perception at the time, he may as well have been in his 60s.

He had dark beard stubble and wore a thick blue hoodie and knit cap in gloves. It was really cold outside, so I knew he had to be freezing. Please, just let me in, he whimpered softly. Just help me. I'm begging you. I felt bad for the guy,

but I couldn't invite a stranger into the house. Even if I believed he was truly scared. I can't help you, Mr. I called out to him. I hoped he would just move on to the next house, after he heard that I was just a child. But it made him beg harder. Please, kid, I won't hurt you.

I just need to get off the street. He whined. My dad says I can't have people over, I said, hoping to rationalize with the man. Just let me in. Please, he asked softly. I'm sorry, mister. I can't.

My dad would kill me, I reasoned. Suddenly, the man turned around, and I felt him push us back to the door. His head was right in front of the peephole now, and I couldn't see what was happening. Oh God, he said. I jumped down from the chair and ran to the living room window again. By the time I made it to the glass, he started screaming out and pounding on the door again. I heard the doorknob jingle as he attempted to force his way in, but I'd locked it and deadbolted. Jesus Christ, just let me in, for God's sake, please.

He was wailing and his voice had given way to high-pitched shrieks. As I glared out the window, I saw three dark shapes speeding across the road in front of my eyes. They were almost blurry, as if I looked through an unfocused camera lens. I couldn't even make out what they were, but they darted off the road and towards my house. I whipped the curtains closed and sat down on the floor under the window. Suddenly, the man's yells changed to blood-curdling squeals. I heard more pounding against the door, as well as the walls of the house, along with the sound of what reminded me of when my dad would cut the turkey at Thanksgiving.

The yells turned to goggles, and I heard something wet, sprayed to the ground, and the siding at my house. I heard snapping and crunching sounds, along with something like fabric being torn. After the man's goggling scream stopped, there was a chorus of shrews, squeaks that did not resemble anything I had ever heard before. It reminded me of when I had pinched the mouth of a balloon, letting the air out, only much louder and more guttural. After a moment, everything fell silent again. When I finally did emerge from my safe spot under the window,

I ran up the stairs to my bedroom, locked the door, and hid under my blanket, until I fell asleep. I was awake in the next morning by the sound of police sirens out front, accompanied by a loud knock on the front door. I peeked out of my bedroom window to see several police cars and a black SUV parked on the road in front of the house. I was too scared to answer the door since my folks had not arrived back home yet.

I just stayed up in my room and ignored the hammering on the front door. After a while, the knocking stopped, but the police stayed out there until my parents drove up an hour or so later. My mom came flying through the front door and up the stairs. She tried to get in, but my door was still locked. She just pounded and shouted for me to let her in. Her words, along with a knocking, sent a shiver at my spine after the previous night's events. I swung the door open, and she pulled me into a hug.

After a few minutes of holding me in place, she started grabbing my arms, checking for injuries. Once she was certain I was okay, she asked me if I heard anything last night. Not entirely sure why I lied to her and said I didn't hear anything. Maybe I felt guilty about what I assumed had happened to the yelling stranger. It could have just been as simple as I didn't want my folks to know I stayed up so late. Sometime later, my father came inside after the swarm of vehicles in our street thinned out. One of the cop cars and the black SUV stayed out the front for a while, and two officers went to each house of the neighbourhood.

It had been a bizarre series of events, but I paid no mind after a couple of weeks past. Sure, kids at school spun many a rumor about the murder that had seemingly occurred on my street, though a body was never found. There was a great deal of blood that spread across the front of my parents' house and on the driveway. Some would theorize it was way more than the human body was capable of holding, but there had been a lot of exaggerated stories over that first week. For several months after the man begged to be a loud entry into my home, my parents refused to leave me at the house of my own.

It was actually quite nice, if I'm being honest. Though I missed having the run of the place a bit, my folks were more attentive than they'd ever been. Again, I would never accuse them of being overly neglectful. They just never saw the danger in leaving the house with me as its only occupant until then. Of course, their new outlook didn't last for long. It was mid-December before I'd be left alone again.

My parents had a Christmas party to attend with some friends, so they asked if I would be okay in my own. Given the fact I had no desire to be left with some babysitter, who was only a few years older than me, I said I would be fine. Truthfully, though I enjoyed them being more attentive these days, I did miss my solitude. As was usually the case, my mum checked in around tenish,

to which I informed her all was well. She told me they would like to be home around one. I recommended that I try to get to bed soon. Of course, I did not plan on hitting the sack until I saw the lights on my parents' honda rolling into the driveway, but she didn't need to know that. After successfully riding my makeshift Captain America Shield down the stairs several times in a row,

I decided to just hunt for a good R-rated movie to bide my time until I had to head up to my bedroom. It was right around midnight, when the knocking on the front door pulled my attention away from Jason steadily strolling after a fleeing, topless girl. Let me in, the voice called from outside. I instantly tensed up as my mind revisited the stranger who was left as nothing more than a bloody pool across the front lawn. My dad had ended up having to repaint the front of the house as the stains would not wash off. Even the concrete driveway still wore a few marks that would not clean up. Come on, kid, let me in, echoed from behind the door. I turned the volume up in the movie to attempt to block out the sounds.

Help me, save me, let me in, the voice called out, grown louder with every word. It wasn't like he was shouting, it was more like his vocal tones elevated in the same way I'd turned up the sound on the TV. Hesidently, I crept over to the window to peer outside. I saw no evidence of anyone or anything. The whole neighbourhood appeared to be at rest, but I still heard the man behind the door. Just let me in. I won't hurt you. I promise, he called out again. I quietly carried the same chair over to gaze to the peep hole.

I frozen place, after I accidentally bumped wood-to-wood while attempting to position my prop. I know you're in there, kid. Just let me in. Please. I climbed up to glance to the small circular hole to see nobody out there. Come on, kid, you can save me. You know that right, the miserable stranger asked. Certain that I had eaten way too much candy or had knocked myself senseless while sliding down the steps, I decided to just turn the TV off and head to bed. Even after, I turned on the box fan I used to provide ambient sound to help me sleep,

I still heard the voice, which now sounded like it was coming from directly my second floor window. I sandwiched my head between two pillows, but it made little difference in the volume of the cries for help. Don't go to sleep and leave me out here, kid. All you have to do is just let me in, it begged. It wasn't until I saw the light trays across the far wall of my bedroom that signify my parents' arrival, but the voice fell silent. For years, it carried. on like that, always around midnight and only when I was alone. I got to the point of

practically begging my folks not to leave when they would inevitably head out for the night and even requested a babysitter when they would. They agreed to my requests for someone to watch over me while they were gone, but that ended after I turned 12. Sometimes I was able to arrange a sleepover with a friend, but there would be times I could not weasen my way out of being alone as the hours approached. Regardless of how often the voice would return, I was never able to just ignore it or push it to the recesses of my mind while I focused on other things. When my folks would be gone all night, the voice wouldn't stop until I finally drifted off to sleep, which always required quite the struggle to achieve. As the years progressed and my school days ended, I went off to college where I would have a roommate for a time.

Though I would involve myself in any activity that would keep me from being a little. alone in my dorm room after hours, there was still those times I would once again be at the mercy of the voice behind my door. No matter where I went in life, the stranger would follow, though there would never be evidence of his presence, aside from the begging plea and knocks on the door. After college, I still maintain a roommate to avoid as many late-night visits as I could, though it would not keep them away entirely. I couldn't exactly forbid my housemate from having a life after all. For some years, I would only have to worry about the cries for help around the weekends.

Unfortunately, when my roommate decided to move in with his girlfriend, I was out of luck. Sure, I attempted to get another roomy, but my erratic and desperate behavior freaked most interested parties out. So, every single night after my housemate moved out, the knocking and screaming came. No matter how hard I tried to ignore it, the volume would cramely. Crank up higher and higher. I even tried checking into a busy motel for a night, hoping that the crowded hallways would keep it away. But no, as long as I was alone in my room, the pounding would begin again around midnight, without fail.

For months, I fought against my slipping sanity, but I could never block it out. Ear plugs? Nope. Earphones are playing music? Nope. Nothing would keep the man's begs for help from reaching my ears. Finally, after way too many sleepless nights to count, I couldn't tolerate it anymore. As many times before, I gazed through my peephole to reveal nobody there, though the cause and knock still bellowed through. With a heavy sigh and a racing heart that felt as though it would crack through my sternum, I wrapped my trembling fingers around the doorknop and pulled it open.

My jaw practically fell onto my chest, when my eyes met the shredded figure in the door. in front of me. Half of his face had been torn away, leaving her reddened skull, with strips of meaty tissue where skin once lay. His left arm had been ripped from his shoulder, and he was hard to differentiate the blooded muscle and bone from the clumped threads of the shirt and hoodie that remained. His guts was spayed open, leaving oozing intestines hanging to the floor in a scarlet pool, and both of his legs were a gruesome combination of moist ground beef and bone, with little holding them in one piece. Somehow, his right arm was the only part of him free of any manner of injury,

which he still held out in front of him with his bald fist in preparation to knock once more. Thanks, man, he said, trying to smile with the one side of his face that still had the ability to do so. You're a lifesaver, he continued, before he collapsed to the ground. In a series of snapping and squishing sounds, his body did. twisted and contorted as it smoked, bubbled and popped, shrinking down and dissolving into the fuzzy welcome mat and concrete pavement. Within seconds, all that remained of the stranger, who was only visible through the open door, was no more than a charred crimson stain on the ground. I caved at the damp mat that still wore the marks of many dirty feet,

combined with the new red and burnt black, to find nothing hidden underneath it. Though my mind was reeling and my mouth still hung agape, I strolled across the pathway that led away from my house, nudging the mat towards the garbage can that stood at the end of my driveway. I picked up the carpeted sheet that now read, we, me, on either end of the grizzly stains by one of the untouched corners, and dropped it in my trash bucket. I stood outside, staring back in my house with my head in the days. Could that really be all I had to do to put an end to this madness? Would my nightly visits finally be over? I began to cackle like a crazy person while I paced back to my open door,

feeling like my remaining marples may indeed be rolling out of the confines of my noggin for good. Before I could reach the entry to my home, I heard what sounded like a pack of wild animals thundering their feet across the ground behind me. I whipped around to see three, hideous and deformed. dog-like creatures scampering across the road towards me. Thick, flammie slobber dripped from their gaping moors

as they sprinted at me on muscular legs, covered in matted, dreadlocked fur. I screamed at the top of my lungs and hauled ass back through my doorway and slammed it shut behind me. I quickly flipped the deadbolt latch and pressed my back to the door while the beasts rammed into it from the other side. Whaling barks and growls, blended with something that resembled the sound of woodchipper might make

if you threw 50 pounds of frozen food into it, squalled from outside. They did not attack the actual tour again after the initial slam from the quickly ceased high-speed pursuit. I had no doubt that they were attempting to force their way in. My simple locks would not keep them abate for long. I glanced to the people again to see the trio just pacing back and forth, still dripping that noxious drool with every whimper of their awful sounds. Each of them were quite large, easily twice the size of the largest dog I'd ever seen.

Their bodies and limbs bulge with rippling muscles, and their mouths were filled with jagged and misshapen yellow teeth. Every one of the six and large dyes glowed a vibrant orange beneath their forehead brow. Accepting that another sleepless night was ahead of me, I drew my largest kitchen knife from the rack beside my stove and sat to my couch trembling from head to toe. Of course, I had no doubt that a paldry blade used for preparing a meal would provide little defence against the horrendous beasts. I just gripped onto the hilt like a safety blanket and prayed they wouldn't try to force their way inside.

At some point I must have fallen asleep and by the time the sun rose, the beasts had moved on, as far as I could tell anyway. I slowly pulled my door open. To reveal nothing, but the staying concrete behind it. I felt an edge for the rest of the day, but nothing else appeared out of place

while I went to my daily grind. It wasn't until I was on my way home, after dining with some friends after work, that I understood the new, troubling situation I would be forced to endure. The sun began to sit on my drive back to my house, something that never made me nervous before, not until midnight anyway.

By the time I arrived at my street, the world was now lit by the subtle glow of the moon. It was then that I heard the barking and growling again. I darted my eyes to the rearview mirror to see the three matted creatures speeding at me from behind. I slammed my foot to the floor, causing my Nissan to speed faster across the road to my house than I would ever have dared before. I was terrified at the idea of kids playing on the street or absent-minded drivers drifting onto my lane, but I had to outrun these things and reach the safety of my home.

I skidded into my driveway and felt my right tire lift from the ground as the left one spun to a halt, tearing into the grass and dirt of my front lawn. My heart was hammering against my chest again while I sprinted to my front door. I could practically feel the foul breath of the demonic hellhounds on the back of my neck as I fumbled my key against the knot in my attempt to gain entry. I dared not look behind me until I finally achieved success and tripped on to the end. the floor, kicking the door shut with my heel. I rolled over and reached up to latch my lock.

When I heard and felt the hard slam of the monstrous creatures, beginning another night of their atrocious whales calling from outside. This is how I live now. I never stay out after dark, no matter what. I feel a panic attack building up whenever I see the sun beginning to recede for the night, whether I'm safely behind my walls or not. I don't date, I don't socialise. Those things only lead to the inability to put a door between me and my stalkers when night falls.

I can't say mine is a happy existence, but I'm alive. I wonder sometimes if I had allowed the stranger entry the first time he begged for it, would I be where I am now, or would he have transferred this curse to me sooner? Somehow, I doubt I'll ever have answers. But there has to be a way out of this, right? If you take nothing else from this tale, just remember this. Should I ever come knocking on your door after dark, no matter how hard I beg, no matter how much I cry, do not even acknowledge me? And for God's sake, don't let me in.

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That is Shopify.B.E. I first thought that crossed my mind as I hit the water was how warm it was. We left for the Galapagos in mid-December, arriving on sight towards the end of the month. I thought it would be cold. December has always been a time of cold night and long snowy days for me. So, when I broke the water, I was greeted, not by an icy wall of goosebumps-inducing darkness, but a comfortable, lukewarm ocean. I was pleasantly surprised.

An unpleasant surprise followed shortly after, as the raided. in my ear blared to life. The voice of Anne, already grainy and hard to make out, despite being only 15 feet above me, highlighted the budgetary shortcomings of our expedition. Ground control to Kappa 1? Actually, I wouldn't be ground control, would I? Since I'm, you know, not on the ground. What would you call the boat version of ground control?

Anne asked, a new radio quickly becoming a toy in her eyes. Now hang on, why am I Kappa 1? I called back into the radio, ignoring a question. that I admittedly did not know the answer to. Because Kappa's live in the water, duh, she called back, rather matter-of-the-factly, before giggling at her own cleverness. A splash was heard some distance to my left,

before the radio picked up again. A man's voice this time. This is Kappa too, I'm in the water, Brett called out, our youngest member, though he'd been with a company longer than I had. You don't need to say that, I watched you jump in, and called chastising. I know.

Just can let you to have all the fun with a new radio, Brett rebutted, while I was slowly starting to regret buying the thing. All right, enough playing around, but wasting sunlight, came the voice of our senior, Robert. He was as no nonsense as ever, although this was somewhat endearing of him. He always kept a cool head on his shoulders and kept us focused. Jason, move into the bell.

Brett withdrew the sea scooter and join him. We want this done before sunset. Robert directed through the radio. I wasted no time, swimming over to the large device dangling from our boat by a thick metal cable. It was almost shaped like a bell, as our nickname suggested, a large, bottom-heavy structure that narrowed at the top and widened at the bottom. It was around seven feet tall and half that in diameter, four small round windows positioned in its north, south, west and eastmost sides, and one large hatch at the bottom. As I moved to climb inside this hatch, Brett joined me at my side, using the sea scooter to catch up, its light illuminating the diving chamber in the dark ocean water.

I was a little jealous Robert had chosen him to pioneer the sea scooter for our company, and not me. It was a small device, no bigger than the motor of a weed whacker. At its rear with two handles and a small lever to pull on the right and a button for the light on the left. attached to these handles was the motor, a loud thing, strong enough to turn the blade to the front of the device to propel its occupant forward faster than they could swim. Just beyond the propellers, right in the center, was a large light. I could see Brett's smile showing to the thin glass of his mask as he delighted in his new toy, and we both climbed into the chamber, sealing it shut behind us while it began to build pressure. I took a seat opposite Brett, and we could feel the chamber moving.

sinking through the water a few feet at a time. The water inside didn't jostle or move, but we could feel the world pulling upon us as we sank down, deeper and deeper. Robert's voice came over the radio gain, growing fuzzier, but not so much that we couldn't make it out. Remember to watch your depth gauges, and don't go too deep. Those suits the NOAA lent us will get you to the vents,

and maybe a little deeper. Let's not find out how much deeper. just chart the entrance to the trench, leave your markers and get back to the bell. Roger, Roger, Brett called into the radio, and I heard Robert let out a sigh. Now, we started the wait. As the chamber sank into the depths, it built pressure to acclimatize us to the pressure of the ocean at our desired depth. That way, we could get out, do our work, and decompressing the bell, instead of doing decompression stops in open water,

which was going to be nice, as decompression from this depth. should take close to 14 hours. We hooked our air tanks up to the tubes in the bell, running up the cord of the bell all the way up to the surface, so we shouldn't have to worry about running out of air. I stared at the depth gauge on my left wrist, watching it tick up as it worked even from within the bell. Ticking past a thousand meters already, it was nice to have such a fancy bit of hardware in the form of these suits. Our bell and scooter was outdated as they get, and our boat was on her last sea legs. This job could have been the start of something new. With any luck, it would lead to more business with the NOAA, and our little diving shop might make it big.

Suddenly, a question shot to the front of my mind, a question I aired over the radio to our captain. Why us? My question was met with silence at first, and a funny look from Brett before he spoke up. Well, because Anne doesn't dive, she man's the ship, and Robert's too old to make it down here anymore. Careful too, you know he's sensitive. Anne teased back at us, and Robert let out what could have been a chuckle, or maybe a cough. It was hard to tell. That's not what I meant. I mean, why did the NOAA hire us for this?

Don't they have divers and divers with better gear? Divers they trust with these fancy suits a hell of a lot more than a basically unheard-of-diving team? There was a long silence after this. I thought maybe he knew the answer, but didn't want to say. It seemed everyone took a few moments to ponder this question, or maybe the others were waiting for our captain's response like I was. Regardless, our thoughts were interrupted by the bell, jerking to a stop, causing us to swing and sway in the water before we stead it again.

Brett was up first as we unhooked our tanks from the bell's umbilical. His hands cupped around his eyes at the window, searching for whatever it was we came here for. No, no, that can't be right, he mumbled to himself before beginning to undo the hatch. I moved to the window to see whatever it was he saw. But I saw nothing. An endless expanse of dark water lay before me. At least I think it did.

It was dark and I couldn't make out much. What is it? I don't see anything. My eyes didn't leave the window as I asked. waiting to see some colossal beasts swim by, or some ravaged sea life. My mind starting to swim as I waited for his answer. He didn't reply, not until he had left the bell, ducking out into the water and drifting just below the hatch, floating motionless in place

as he looked out at the surrounding ocean, the light of the bell finally clicking on, revealing more of the nothingness around us. That's the problem. Shake your depth gauge. And I did as he instructed. reeling at a depth. We were 2,600 meters below the surface, the deepest anyone had ever gone without a submersible. The vents, he started.

We should have hit the floor 50 meters ago. This can't be the right place. The hydrothermal vents are gone. He sounded angry and a little confused. Robert called to him over the radio, trying to calm him down. Brett, it's a newly formed trench. The vents are still there, just moved. If you get back into the bell, we can adjust the position until we find the edge.

It shouldn't be more than a few dozen meters away. Brett ignored him, swimming away from the bell now. Brett, I called out. Stay near the bell. If you get lost down here, wouldn't it? I was cut off before I could finish. Brett started to shout into the radio, turning his sea scooter on and propelling forward, with me following along against my better judgment, trying to keep a mental note of where the bell was. No, this is a little. impossible. The edge isn't a dozen metres away. There is no edge. This trench is massive. A trench this large forming and so close to land. There should have been tsunamis and earthquakes. This kind of

damage doesn't just happen without anyone noticing. We were at 2,700 meters, and getting deeper by the second as he searched for the ocean floor. Combs were quiet for a few moments before Anne spoke up. Brett, it's okay. I need you to get back to the bell. We'll figure this out, and I'm sure the NOAA have an explanation for what happened here. She spoke soothingly, and Brett slowed, coming to a stop at 2,750 meters, with me just a few behind him. He took in a breath, looking round the expanse of ocean before us. He'd always been more of an environmentalist than I. I can't imagine how seeing such an important part of sea life ceased to exist, it must have made him feel.

I put a hand on his shoulder, trying to guide him back. come on let's get back to the bell the sooner we get this done the sooner we can get answers he looked back at me his face betraying how upset he was as he tried to sound calm he didn't look angry anymore just sad maybe that was worse yeah okay he spoke softly and with a sigh starting to position the scooter to take us back when suddenly we saw something what is that Brett asked. His tone curious as a small dark object slowly floated up towards us from the chasm below. It looks like a fish, he offered, and he seemed to be right. A small, skinny fish was floating up between us, at our legs now. Robert's concerned voice came over the radio, each word dripping worry.

What do you see? Are you too alright? Anne was also talking now, her voice quiet and meek. Is there something down there with you? you. The fish kept on rising. It wasn't swimming. Its side was facing up, tail dragging behind it, and one empty eye socket pointing to the sky. And it was covered in what looked like red seaweed, wriggling and waving in the light ocean current. It looks like a dead fish. It's just floating here, Brett finally answered, though his calm demeanor was broken by what I said, and what we saw next.

There are more, look. I pointed down, seeing dark shapes rising towards the service from below. Dozens of them. Fish, turtles, stingrays, all looking half decayed, none moving. Each one was covered in the red seaweed. Some had much bigger patches of it on them than others. And as the fish rose closer to us, we could see at last that it was not seaweed, but would look to be worms of some sort, sticking out of dozens of small.

small holes in their skin. They were skinny and long, each one waving around in the water, there's no feeling for something else to latch onto. At what appeared to be their head was a single disc-like growth, flat and skinny, but relatively wide, maybe an inch and a half in diameter. Brett slowly reached towards the thing, his hand tentative, but driven on its own by growing curiosity. As his hand approached the fish, I thought to stop him.

to reach out and swat his hand away, or to tell him no. Instead, movements made clumsy by the water all around us. I reached out and touched the fish. Instantly, the worms had driven the flat growth of their heads against my suit's glove, and felt an awful pinching sensation as they wriggled and shook violently. I let out a yelp, shaking my hand as I tried to dislodge the creature. But it held fast, the pain in my hand increasing as my panic rose. I thought to grab them and pry them off,

but I feared more inside the corpse of the fish, waiting to latch onto me and exasperate the situation. Finally, Brett grabbed my wrist and, with his knife, cut at the wretched thing. They held for a few cuts before withdrawing into the fish, releasing my glove. None of them had been severed by his knife. Anne looked at my shaking hand,

sucking in deep breaths as I tried to calm myself, the voices of Robert and Anne cutting each other off, as they tried to ask me what was wrong, what was happening to me, and demanding we return to the bell. My glove had several large indent in the material. The gloves were a strong fabric, but here it seemed they were almost chewed through. Long cut like scrapes in the circle moving towards the central point where each of the worms had held on to me. Brett's voice came over the radio, the other two resigning to not getting an answer and clearing the comms. It's all right, they didn't get in.

Captain, there are some sort of whims living in the Dead Sea Life down here, definitely unfriendly. We're going back to the bell, get ready to take us up. I'll get on the radio with the Coast Guard, and Man the Crane. Robert's voice was stern and commanding. It was comforting to have someone sound collected and in control of the situation. Looking around, dead sea life was all around us, slowly moving past as they floated for the surface. It was like a swarm of jellyfish. We didn't want to get close and touch any of them

But if we didn't move More would float up and surely touch us Looking around I didn't even know where the bell was We had left it so long ago And orientating yourself in the open ocean Was like spinning around in a pitch black room And then trying to find the bed Where's the bell? I asked

More to myself than anyone else Anne and Robert couldn't help us reach it The best they could do was keep it in place and hope we see the lights again. We have to go back the way we came, just go nice and slow, and I'll use the scooters to push them out of the way. Brett presented his plan,

and it sounded like a good one. He moved in front of me, using the light of his sea scooter to shine us a clear path and turn the engine on. That was a mistake. Once the engine turned on, the sea life stopped moving.

Each one close enough for us to see them stopped dead in their tracks. no longer drifting towards the surface. What the hell? Brett choked out before slowly but surely, each decaying fish began to move towards us. Where before we had a path, we were now slowly being closed in on

by a mass of dead animals, worms reaching with all their might towards us. Brett's voice was scared now, lacking the determination his plan had afforded it before. Captain, they're coming towards us. We can't slip past, not this many, he cried out. pointing the light of the scooter around like it was some sort of gun to hold them back.

Not like they responded. They crawled on, moving closer and closer. Stay calm, son. There has to be a way out. Just stay calm and keep looking around. There are Coast Guard ships on the way now, Rob assured us over the radio. I knew it wouldn't matter. Even if the Coast Guard were here right now, they could never make it to these depths.

Not without our suits. Maybe with a submersible. then what would they do, ram the things out of the way? I kept this to myself, not wanting to upset Brett any more than he already was. I needed him to come up with a plan like before, some way to get us out of here. It struck me then. If I were wrong, well, we wouldn't need the sea scooter anyway. I reached out and grabbed it, pulling it away from him. Hey, don't you leave me here? He cried out, fearing his eyes as he held tight. But it didn't matter. I was bigger than he. him, and after a brief tussle, I had the scooter.

I pointed it away from us, turned the engine up to medium, and let it go, watching it drift away from us. What are you doing? Brit demanded, grabbing my shoulder and spinning me around to face him. We needed that. You've killed us both. Around this time, the first fish drifted past us towards the direction of the sea scooter. He let go and turned around. We had to dodge them a bit, but... they were moving past us, leaving us alone. I think they were drawn to the sound.

When you turned it on, they came towards it, so I turned it up and sent it away. I explained, trying to keep him calm. Well, you could have just said that asshole. He was still angry, but too relieved to hold on to it. He turned, and we both started to swim, making our way to where he claimed the bell was, careful to avoid the sea life

that hadn't been close enough to notice the sea scooter. With each passing meter, I grew more concerned. turned. If this was the wrong direction, we were only getting ourselves more lost. And these things, these dead things, were still here with us, a little more spread out, but they were here. And I was worried more would come, and it would become too dense a group to swim through. As my fears began to bubble to the surface and form words in my throat, my thoughts were interrupted again when Brett shouted over the radio. There it is. The light! I can see the bell. I swam a bit

faster, straining to see what he saw. And sure enough, just ahead, there was a light. He swung towards it, fast, waving his arms and breathing heavily as he raced for it, ignoring the fish floating around him and rushing for the bell. As we got close, I began to notice something. There was something big, just below it. Brett, stop, there's something there, I tried to call. But, over his frantic breathing, the radio is too garbled for him to understand. Maybe he thought I was celebrating as well. I should have tried harder, yelled louder, something. But I didn't.

I didn't think he would be able to hear me. And as he neared the bell, the thing below rose into the light, coming into view and freezing him in his tracks. It was a whale, a huge humpback whale. But this one wasn't dead, and it wasn't drifting, though just barely. It had huge holes all along its left side and tightly packed clusters. The skin they clustered on was swollen and infected. The holes leaking a dark fluid into the water.

Its body was lumpy, long tubular growths protruding all down its back into its tail. And these bumps wriggled and moved, twitching and causing the body to move along with them. One of its eye sockets was empty, and the other eye, while still there, had a large hole in it with a huge worm sticking out the front. It slowly approached Brett, its one big eye locked onto him as the worm reached for him, both of us frozen in shock. As it neared him, the whale let out an awful sound. A groan of pain and anguish as its mouth was pushed open

by a mass of worms inside. They reached out, latching onto Brett, causing him to jolt to action again, flailing and screaming, jabbing at them with his knife to no avail, as one latched onto his face, slowly pulling him into the mouth. He screamed into it, screamed and cried, and fought for all he was worth.

But he wasn't getting away. And I only watched as it took him. Once he was gone and the mouth was closed, his screams did not stop. They kept coming over the radio, drowning out anything anyone else might have to say. The whale then slowly sank, leaving the light of the bell and vanishing into the darkness. I wasted no time swimming for all I was worth, looking at the bell and hoping that maybe if I didn't look, I wouldn't have to see it rising to swallow me too.

But it didn't swallow me. It didn't return as I swam into the bell, didn't attack me as I sealed the hatch and press the button to return me to the surface. And it didn't rip the bell from the ship and sink me into the ocean floor as I waited for the bell to slowly rise out of the depths. But he did scream. He screamed the whole way. And as he did, his screams slowly became groans of pain,

muffled by whatever it was that had him. And just when I thought I couldn't take the screams anymore. He spoke. He begged not for his life, not for rescue, not for me to come back and save him. He begged me to kill him, pleaded with me in a voice so weak and with breath so raspy, breathing weasily, unnaturally. He pleaded with me, and with God, and with the devil to kill him and free him from the pain he suffered.

And when our radios finally disconnected, I wept, and I hoped he got his wish. I don't dive anymore. I man the crane, but I'll never get in that water again. I'd leave, say goodbye to this life, and to the water forever. But I can't do that to Robert and Anne. I can't leave them and this business behind after what we went through together. So I man the boat and I lower the bell But I don't think the ocean is safe anymore

Because sometimes on long jobs during the late night on the water Our radio will pick up something It's always staticy and hard to make out But I know what it is He's still begging us To kill him What would you do for $2,000? dollars. Would you eat a jar of spiders, walk naked through Times Square, shave your eyebrows?

Would you be buried in a coffin in America's most haunted graveyard? That was exactly what they were offering. Two grand for a night spent six feet under. It wasn't in the name of scientific exploration in case you were wondering. It was for one of those ghost hunting shows, the ones where the only ghosts they find are. Well, none. Because ghosts don't even. exist. Anyway, they wanted independent, unaffiliated civilians to prove the Westmont Cemetery was a place of supernatural interest. How, you ask? By burying three people alive in different parts of the cemetery for one night. We would have oxygen tubes, water, and not a whole

lot else. I guess they figured by burying us, we might see ghoulish apparitions. Who knows? Who cares? I didn't, so I volunteered. Why the hell not? When I hit the cemetery at nightfall, the producers had me sign away my life. It was one of those liability waivers, indoor trampoline places make you John Hancock, in case your kid lands funny and snaps their neck. That was fine by me. I would have signed a letter of endorsement to my public official,

saying I believed afterbirth smoothies should be mandated for man, woman and child if it meant I got any money at all. Was I nervous? Well, no. Yes, but not really. It was all rather goth. The kind of stuff's 16-year-old me, drenched in black clothes, smoking clothes and listening to skinny puppy would have relished. The cemetery was creepy enough.

Westmont, the sprawl of dead and buried, and made our town famous. It was totally overgrown, a patchwork of gravestones whose epitaphs had been scrubbed away by time, of thick vines snarling up the rusted wrought iron gates of approximately 600 gallons of fog rolling in half the woods. It certainly looked haunted, but so did plenty of places. The small army of cameramen, lighting apparatuses and PA's made it all a little less creepy, as did the host of the show. A semi-celebrity with a penchant for being obstreperous

who's goofy, over-the-top enthusiasm would have made the overlook hotel seem like a motel six. So, all in all, it tasted like a pretty good deal to me. Until I saw the coffin. I'm not sure what I had been expecting. It was a coffin after all. I guess I'd just been hoping for something a smidge bigger. It was narrow, claustrophobic, fitted with night vision cameras and microphones, like strange plastic warts on its wooden skin.

I shivered, suddenly unnerved at the thought of being buried among the rotting dead. It would only be a little. overnight, but Christ, what was I thinking? You ready? A producer asked me. Before I could lose my nerve, I nodded yes. I reclined in the coffin, which they kindly padded for comfort, and watched the world disappear as the lid was lowered, locked,

before a crane dropped me into the earth. My breath, cold and ragged, quickened as I had the thunderous, clumpy buffeting of earth being unloaded atop my narrow prison. A while later, the noise stopped. And I was officially buried among the forgotten souls of Westmont. There had been a voice. There had definitely been a voice. Okay, Lindsay, cool off.

You're hearing things, that's all. I'd been buried for, who knows how long. A while, a long, dark while. It had been silent until it hadn't. There had been a whisper. I was certain of it. Hello, muted syllable laced into the silence. I tried to listen to the gallop of my heart.

I couldn't hear anything. I swallowed dryly, squinted in the gloom. My eyes had adjusted, and I found I could decide for the coffin walls and... There was a face pressed up against mine, ghostly pale in the murky gloom. It was made of dead, wrinkled skin, torn back over a narrow, wolf-like skull. The flesh stretched smoothly over its eye sockets. Its thin, cracked lips drew back into a sneer, revision teeth that were jagged and rotten, like broken toenails.

Leaf! It howled in a sharp, grating voice. I screamed, jumped, banged my head on the lip of the coffin, and fell back down with a startled cry. I fumbled out my cell phone, which I'd mercifully snuck in, saw I had no reception, and thumbed the flashlight. My hand was trembling as a narrow collar. was doused in cold, white light. I saw.

Nothing. I was alone. My mind was white with fear. I couldn't even begin to. I just needed to get out of here. Screw the $2,000. I grabbed the walkie-talkie I'd been given. The one that producers told me not to use

unless it was an emergency and keyed the button. Okay, damn, I sobbed. I'm not doing this. Just ring me up. The walkie squirt static. It was a dead wave, lifeless. There was no one on the upside listening for me. Damn, damn.

There was a sound, a low hissing tucked into the gale of my frightened breath. I swallowed. My throat was dry, sandpaper. Was this a joke? Was it all part of the show? Not funny, guys, I spat at the camera. I did not reply. Seriously, I want to...

The hissing grew, grew, it seemed to be coming from. A river of Vance poured out of the clear oxygen tube, stamped to the ceiling. Hundreds, thousands of them flooded the coffin in a thick, disgusting stream. They were huge, each like a thumbtack. The body's warm and dreadful. They tunneled through my hair and up my nose, down my ears. I screamed and did the only thing I could. I kicked.

My feet impacted the narrow end of the coffin with a tree. dry crack and the wood flew away. Like, I'd just battering rammed a locked door. I writhed, pushed, wormed to my body towards a dark opening that now stood at my feet. I felt my legs go through the portal, finding not compact earth, but empty air, some kind of cavity beneath the cemetery. I fell forward and found myself in. Where the hell was I? It didn't matter.

I could still feel them crawling through my cracks and crevices. With a gag of revulsion, I shook my limbs, hair, trying to dispatch myself of the ants, drenching me like a squirming suit. With a shudder, I leveled my light and looked around. So many things looked back. I started to scream, stopped, and adopted a puzzled expression as I came to realize that things looking back were all long dead. I was in a chamber wrapped in human skulls, one still ripe with rotting flesh.

The low, earthy ceiling pressed down, roots snarred out like tentacles. I swung my light around and caught a flash of metal. There was an elevator in the middle of the catacombs. This must be part of the show. A prank, something. It was a service elevator. One of those old ones made of Latisse metal bars with an up and down lever. Through the back wall, I saw a vague, non-darkness that contrasted the deep black of the chamber.

Jesus, I muttered, heart racing, realizing this was all too much to be a part of any cheesy television program. I noticed I was still holding the walkie-talkie and absently stuffed it into my pocket. I gripped the elevator door and pulled. At first it wouldn't go. Then it gave with a sudden grinding squeal. The sound of metal fighting metal. I stepped inside and peered to the back wall.

I was high up. Higher than I possibly could have been, above some kind of biblical valley spread, one doused in moonless moonlight, and completely filled out. By a labyrinth, massive stone wall edge lines, curves, and dead ends as far as the eye could see. What the hell? I had time to think, before the elevator dropped me, like a stone. I was instantly weightless, an astronaut about as far away from space as one could get. There was a long, interminable blur of utter nausea where the elevator fell, and I fell with it, screaming. Yes, screaming. Then, just as suddenly as it started, I came to a

crashing stop, with the bang of a cannon going off. The floor drove through me, center mass, drilling out all the air, leaving me breathless, drowning on dry land. I staggered to my knees and stuffed oxygen down my throat, only to have it refused by my brutalized. lungs. I gagged, suffocating, my chest dropped like someone was pounding it with a meat tenderizer. After a moment of raw panic, I was able to take meager sips of the foul, musty air that piped in from. The labyrinth. I could see the entrance just ahead, waiting for me like a mouth, a hungry, gaping mouth. Rotten fog drifted over it, distant cries echoed and bounced. What the hell is going on.

It sat like that for a while. It is ringing, chest robbing, and breathed. I had nowhere to go but in. I pried open the elevator doors and wandered out. My footfalls muffled by the mossy ground. Hello? I called, hating the way my voice decayed into nothing. I swallowed the lump in my throat and locked up.

The night sky looked back. One devoid of stars and moon, but still glowing with faint celestial life. Behind me, a massive canyon wall stretched up to the heavens, whittling off into a fine point that didn't seem to end. The tallest rock face in existence, splitting it into like a metal scar was the elevator shaft that it carried me down. But the drop hadn't been more than a split second.

How was that possible? That was the least of my concerns. Nothing was broken after all. From worldwide topmerken To undernors That's net begin Milliooning Retrowe on your winkel

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Grewed with you with you Every step of the way Start today your gratis proof period On Shopify That is Shopify.b. Guides, where was I? I stepped up to the labyrinth's entrance and looked both ways.

A tall, fat wall of crumbling stones, the cracks widened by roots, weeds, creepers, stretched off both ways, winding down into nothing. The labyrinth ran like time, endless, perpetual. I pulled a shaky longful of air, air that tasted ripe with corruption. and did the only thing I could think to do. I stepped into the maze. I heard the rattle of stones, felt the air shift around me, and glanced back to sea. Nothing but wall.

The entrance had sealed off, sealed me in. This was insane, a psycho fever dream. I was still in the coffin. I was still in... But I wasn't. I was in the maze. the one which filled out a valley so large it didn't end. Maybe I'm dead, I thought.

Maybe the oxygen tube malfunctioned and piped the coffin full of carbon monoxide instead of clean air. It was an oddly comforting idea, because a reality where things like this exist isn't a reality at all. It's a crazy, impossible lie. I pulled a deep breath and tried to get myself under control. Okay, you can do this. holding out my phone like a crucifix and a wardenough gesture. I started forward. I got no more than five feet before a wall of fog washed everything away.

It swallowed me, devouring my world in pale mist. My flashlight was useless, utterly. Her face appeared in the fog, inches from mine. A woman's face, nude and grey without hair of any kind. Her eyes, milky and blind, reflected my own drawn expression as I leapt back with a scream. No, she hissed. Quiet, hush, fool, hush before it hears you.

Before I could react, her hands, which felt like nothing but bones beneath damp, leathery skin, found mine and dragged me along. I saw she wore tattered rags over a lanky, malnourished form. What are you? Silence, she muttered. Silence is the key. It hears you.

Smells you, yes, but its ears, they hear all. I swallowed, dryly, shuffling along through the fog as stone walls shifted by. She pulled me down a long corridor, then another and another, before dragging me into a circular clearing, like a cul-de-sac in the belly of the labyrinth. At first, I didn't realize what I was seeing. Pitch torches through guttering light over skinned rib cages, devoured limbs, and dead human things strung up by the flesh of their ankles. I saw a dozen pale people

tearing flesh from bone with their teeth. They wore bibs of blood beneath eyes that were rabid, feral, and completely blind. It slugged me through the stomach like a closed fist. These were cannibals. Something hard and blunt impacted my skull with a sickening crack. And I collapsed into darkness.

I awoke to screaming. High, strangled screaming. My head was pounding, slow and rhythmically, like someone was going at it with a big wooden mallet. I reached up, my fingers came away red. What? I started before the world around me took shape, and I saw the carnage. The pale people were dead, brutally slaughtered, torn apart, errant limbs decorated the clearing here and there. Viscuous black blood crawled across the ground.

I saw a small knot of the living, the woman who had tricked me among them, carrying away from... From what? A moving shadow, one which flickered and writhed like it was cast by flame. It acted like a stuttering TV, lurching, pausing, then rambling onward as it tore through the remaining cannibals like a blender through meat. Blood splashed, limbs flew, trailing gore like gruesome streamers. The pale woman's severed head Hit the stone wall with a hollow knock Bounced, rolled

And came to rest at my feet A pale eyes blinking once Before going still All at once I was alive I felt everything The dull throbbing ache tucked into the back of my mind

A high tingling pain singing up From my knees As though someone had buried a live wire in my flesh I pushed to my feet Found unsteady footing took a lurching, dizzying stride, before kicking off into a crazed life run that carried me out of the clearing, now drenched in hot blood. I didn't scream, I didn't cry out. I kept silent, the only sound being my feet pumping beneath me, my breath, whipsawing through my lungs, my heart pounding in my ribcage.

I ran and ran, and never once looked back. I recognised the girl who was chained to the rock. I'd run until I could run no more Until I could only lobe along in a tired jog My phone had died long ago Forced me to navigate by the cold, watery light Which splashed down from the heavens Time was a flat circle

Though no hours, days, months Merely a strange, dreamy shuffle forward Punctuated only by distant screams Cries in ghastly whales And then I found her The girl from the cemetery another volunteer who had signed up to be buried.

She was older now, hair stringy and laced with grey, face bracketed by deep wrinkles, a girl who had been no older than 22 when she walked into Westminster. And now she was... She came to life with a choked wheeze. Her eyes frightened and bleary, swept through me like I wasn't there. They returned a moment later, settling on mine. You, she said, her voice like a crows like a crowsy. cracking glass from which more cracks spread.

I know you. It's been long. She was fitted to a massive boulder at a dead end. Her wrists and ankles locked in rusted shackles that displayed her limbs in a human aches. On the earthly ground beneath her was a rusty cleaver. Written on the blade in dried blood were two words. Map inside. Inside what?

But I knew. Deep down, I knew. I looked at a horrible pang of realization clipping through my chest. The map to escape was inside of her. I pulled a deep, trembling breath and picked up the cleaver. No, she pleaded, her cheeks flushing with fear. Please, don't, please. I raised it.

It felt good in my hands. It felt right. I saw the blade, which I thought to have been painted with rust, was actually crusted in gore. Scraps of tissue clung to curdled blood. Little twist of hair hung off. I raised it as he sobbed, as a chest rose and fell,

as he screamed at me not to. I raised it and swung it with all my might. The cleaver impacted. her wrist shackle with a sharp clang. The metal split apart in a flash of sparks, releasing a right arm. I went to work on the others, and when she finally fell forward, free at last, the cleaver's blade was broken in two. Thank you, she was crying as she dragged herself to her feet. Thank you for...

She suddenly stopped, her face twisting up when she'd gotten a bad oyster. She looked at me, eyes distant, skin pale, and said matter-of-factly, I don't feel so. Then she coughed and a spray of hot blood flew from her mouth. It misted my cheeks, eyes and mouth. I joked back with a cry of disgust and watched with mounting horror as her back snapped into a sharp arch, as her face knotted up in raw agony, as her throat began working spasically. She looked like she was in the throes of having a demon exercised.

With a strangled cry, she threw her head back and vomited a geyser of blood. Then she collapsed, crumbled down like a puppet with cut strings, falling into a loose, lifeless pile of limbs. I stood there and watched red-phone bubble from her lips. I tried to speak, but my voice wouldn't come. Are you okay? I whispered. It was a ridiculous question.

She was dead as a doorknail, but it was all I could manage. As expected, she did not reply. I stared at her for a while. Eyes rolled back, face frozen, in a bloody death rictus, as I tried to find the nerve to grip the cleaver. I couldn't bear the thought of, but at the same time I had to. Finally, I wet my lips, gripped the cleaver, and, moving like a woman in a dream, got to work.

I crouched over her and dug the rusty shards into a pale belly. The flesh tore apart with a wet rip. Red stuff tripled out. I pulled back the skin like a medieval surgeon and saw her insides for nothing but a vaporized soup. Before I could lose my nerve, I plunged my hands in. My fingers fell through warm goo, finding nothing but deconstructed anatomy. I rooted around in the hot stew.

Two, paused the vomit, resumed, and dug like that, the world's most gruesome prospector, until my hands found something hard and square. I withdrew it, the taste of bile still hot in my mouth, and found myself holding a stone tablet, one about the size of a paperback book. It drips sheet of blood and gore. With a grimace, I wiped a clean and held it up, squinting at his untouched surface. Slowly, before my eyes, lines resolved on my eyes. its rough skin, etching the corridor in which I stood in real time.

It was a map. There was a forest in the middle of the labyrinth. I followed the stone tablet, wondering in a hazy, dreamlike state, shuffling along blindly, my eyes never leaving the blood-drenched lifeline. It had eventually led me here, to the heart of it all. A wide, sprawling wood tucked into the center of the maze. I looked at the tablet. It showed an intricate tattoo of lines,

swells, false hallways, and a white circle at the center of it all. I had reached the end of the labyrinth. It was a forest. A biblical, awful forest. I let the tablet fall to the ground and started off through the trees. I didn't care where they led me.

I already come to terms of the fact that this, whatever this was, would be my tomb. So, I walked. It was all I could do. One step after the next, after the next, after the next. The woods were densely packed, tied together by tangles of brush and the fog which flowed out of the shadows that wrapped the corners of my vision. I heard things, throating mutters, faint whispers, and felt my neck crawl. There were eyes watching me.

I hurried my pace, jumping each time I snapped a dead branch. or crunched through a bundle of rocking leaves. I stopped and looked around. How long had I been walking? Ten minutes, twenty, an hour? The forest pulled away from me, falling off into an inky ocean of shadow. I desperately wished for a flashlight or...

There was a sudden roar, a deep bellow of some unholy beast. It seemed to shake the woods to crack them in half. I felt my knees buckle and heard... hooves, thundering through the darkness, getting closer, louder, the tremendous tattoo of something big, something dreadful, something... I was blown off my feet as a freight train ran through me, sent a mass. The air was driven out of me, sledge-hammered from my lungs with a hot whoosh. Then I was flying, weightless.

The world sun-assalted and I saw a flash of brown fur, curved horns, two burning red eyes. eyes without intelligence of any kind. And then the ground flew into me, and I saw no more. I was being dragged and everything hurt. Something was broken. Something was badly broken. The woods watched me with indifference.

Watched as the ten-foot beast, the one wrought in muscle and fur, his clove and hooves pounding forward, pulled me off towards its lair. The minotaur's lair. I could see it just ahead. A wide, gaping caves set into the forest floor. A mouth, a huge, hungry mouth, decorated in carcasses.

The smell of rot, of things long dead slapped me in the face. It was a thick wall of reek that made my stomach roil. It wasn't the creature or the thought of impending death that booted me into motion. It was that smell, that awful, warm smell. It tunneled into my lungs. It made me ache. I threw my body back and kicked for all I was worth. A burst of pain tore up my thighs as my feet impacted the thing with a fleshy crack.

It grunted its surprise and momentarily lost its grip on me. My feet fell, hit hard ground and sang with a sudden burst of agony. I cried and shoved back, soldiering through the pain, the white-hot pain that filled my chest like molten lava. The minasaur turned, roared, the wood shaking with each footfall. Thick sprays of steam hissed from its nostrils as it slowly advanced. Its eyes, red and dumb and full of hunger, regarded me with cruel amusement. I felt around for something, anything.

A rock, a stick, a goddamn AK-47. I came up empty as it stumped, close and closer. Then I felt plastic, cold and hard, filling out one pocket. I tore out the bulky rectangle of black technology and looked at it for a moment, uncertain of what I was holding. I realized with a sudden jolt that it was the walkie-talkie.

Great, praise be, a useless hunk of plastic to defeat a mythical beast. My finger spazened on the trigger and the walkie issued a high, frightened squawk, the sound of a parrot discovering a dead body. The minute's all reared back with a deep bellow. a distressed cry from the lungs of an ancient something. It was like a dog with a dog whistle, I realized,

shoving the walkie at the beast, which fell back, thrashing his head in discomfort, as a high, tinny shriek issued from the device's speaker. The Minotor fumbled. Blood ran from its eyes, from his bovine ears as it fell back, crumbling in on itself like tissue under flame. It was disintegrated,

before my eyes. Then, suddenly, the whole world was. evaporating like fog in the sun. The forest and the labyrinth crashed toward me. The heavens fell like an elevator with a broken cable. I screamed as the whole world folded in on itself, as everything blipped toward me with the speed of light. And just as I was to be crushed, atomized, disintegrated with a great vacuum of the end,

the walls of the coffin, which I'd long forgotten crashed into place, and I was back where I was supposed to be. I heard voices, commotion, the sound of scraping. The coffin lid flew away and warm, blinding sunlight hammered in. The crew of the ghost hunting show stood above me. I looked at their smiles and started to scream. Turns out the young woman, the one I'd seen in the labyrinth, had suffered an acute aneurysm while she was on the ground.

She's in a coma as we speak. I think about it a lot. The labyrinth buried in my mind, the one I'm not sure exists. Had I dozed off? Maybe. Maybe I dreamt it all. Maybe I dreamt the feeling of blood, warm and greasy, on my hands as I dug through insides for the map made of stone. Maybe I drank the Minotaur.

I don't know. I don't know much of anything anymore. But I do know one thing. I feel it with every fibre of my being. I know, without a doubt, that Westmont Cemetery is haunted. That I do know. As you may know, cryptids have been a hot topic for many centuries at this point, with a recent resurgence in interest, especially as of late.

In fact, it may surprise you to know that every single popular story, even the ones you pretend to believe, is real. Every mythical monster, spectral spirit and a barren aberration you've ever heard of is real. It is the job of my order to hunt down and put these creatures down, but it's becoming worse by the day, and all of it is humanity's fault. I'm not referring to climate change or man-made disasters or anything like that to cause these creatures to become more aggressive or anything like that. But it is, inherently, man's fault. I've been given special permissions to reveal to you all the foundation of my order, and a few of the hunts I've been sent on in order to convince the world to stop believing in cryptids. Otherwise, we won't last much longer against the tide of the night.

I beg of you one and all, listen to this through to the end and heed my warning, or all may perish. The order I am a part of was founded in the far-long past. You all may be familiar with the concept of belief manifesting itself in human life, as is a common belief for some cultures, but is known to most. Believe that money and fortune will come to your life, and it will, etc. What I'm sure most of you don't know is that this idea has been around for far longer than anyone might think. The founding of my order occurred in the time of ancient Greece and the birth of the Roman Empire, as a group of philosophers had theorized and discovered the power of the power of the power of the world of the world. and discover the power of belief. These philosophers theorized that human belief could manifest many things,

from material to immaterial, be it non-living or fully sentient. It mattered not the nature or intelligence of what we manifested, and I suppose in our own way, humanity is almost godlike. There was, however, a caveat to our mind-manifesting power. The true limit was based on what people believed, and how many believed it. The basic concept would be that for a thing to manifest in the entity that is made real. Multiple people would have to believe it, having the same characteristics and or powers. For instance, the gods themselves.

Yes, to answer bluntly, the gods of every single religion to ever exist were or are real. Only due to human belief, though. I've met multiple versions of each major religion's god or patriarch god, each with varying degrees of power, But for all they could or couldn't do, they were still never exactly how pictured, or nearly as powerful as the holy text may describe. In essence, if the world came under one grand religion and there are no different sex or denominations and everyone believed this god looked one way and had these powers, etc., we could manifest an actual, all-power, all-knowing deity.

So now you know the scale of what this power, or curse some might say, humanity has can do. Now think of what cultures all around the world have in common. Myths, legends, urban rumors, ghost sightings and more. Now think of the amount of people who fear and believe these things. Less than the people whose culture is a part of, for sure, but not an insignificant number. I'm guessing you know where I'm going from here. Cryptids are real, and it's our fault. Don't get me wrong, not all cryptism malevolent, some are cooperative and benevolent, and some act as profits for those who know where and what they are. Nessi, for instance, is cooperative, benevolent and prophetic. We've monitored her for a while now, ever since we found her really.

We've done her best to ensure her concealment from a public eye, and she lets us monitor her in the lock, as well as saving people from drowning in it when she can. She hibernates for one whole month before the first major chill, which is almost like a reverse groundhog, as soon as she lays her head down and doesn't get up for a day or two. That's our first sign of winter in Scotland. The mothman is another prophet, and some mistaken him for malevolent. That has proven a difficult trial to overcome for our agreement with the mothman.

We've also agreed to conceal his presence from public eye, and in exchange we get a strange kind of feeling and glimpses of a little. of images whenever a disaster is about to occur. It's always jarring, even after the first time, and knowing what to expect, to get a message from Mothman. I could go on, but you get the idea. Maybe later, if you all want, I could recount some of the stories from my hunts. But there are two, in particular, I wish to share with you all.

It will help prove my point as to why you should stop believing in cryptids. The Wendigo are creatures. of Native American culture, malevolent shades, taking over a human body, causing them to go feral and insane, devouring human flesh and never ceasing in their hunger. In myth, they are typically quite pale and emaciated, looking more ghostly than human, but still retaining their humanoid form. I've hunted one such creature before, and it wasn't easy then, and it hasn't gotten any easier. The preparation for this hunt was extensive. We acquired the ewe. aid of a medicine man, an older gentleman whose name I couldn't pronounce at the time,

so he told me to just call him John, as it would be easier for me. At the time, all we needed was some powerful tranquilizers and the ability to fight the creature until it was subdued. John had described it as the power of the Wendigo, how we could hold a grown man down and rend the flesh from him with little effort, and while the tranquilizers would weaken it, we'd need at least three other strong, well-trained men. I gathered a few other hunters, known as P, the marksman, A, the swordsman, and Theta the support, and together with myself, equipped with a spear, and John bringing his trusty shotgun, we ventured into the territory suspected to belong to the Wendigo. The medicine man was exceptional

in tracking down the Wendigo by some sort of scent. I later learned how to pick up myself, the unmistakable scent of a vile curse. I won't even attempt to tell you that. The smell a curse gives off, as I can hardly describe it myself. But for those who know how to trace and track a curse, you know the scent. We trudged through the forest as quietly as we could, though John was as a specter, seeming to hover above the ground in his quietness. He made no audible noise, and he seemed to glide through the wood with relative ease. The rest of us were accustomed to the hunt and stalking our prey, but couldn't quite move

like John, and Theta was the greenest among us, also the loudest. I think that's why he was the one. Halfway into the Wendigo's territory, I took note of Theta's disappearance, as though he had vanished into thin air. I approached John and gave him a small hand signal. We all stopped dead in our tracks. The only trace we had that Theta was ever even there was his revolver lying in the dirt. His medical supplies and most important, The sedatives were gone with him. I wanted curses and spat far words under my breath of the creature we hunted, but took solace in the fact that it would soon be dead.

We moved more carefully in the darkness of the undergrowth, John having a flare at the ready at all times since the disappearance of Theta. Windingos have an aversion, a weakness to fire, he told me, but they can be harmed by most means. Fear not and keep your wits about you. John continued to glide across the forest floor towards the scent of the creature. But even those of us not well-versed could smell decay and death on the wind. We were almost certainly approaching the creature's lair.

The ground around the cave mouth that served as the creature's lair was saturated with blood, old and new, and took on a frigid, damp quality. Even the air seemed to almost freeze around the creature's lair. Although, without a word, we all were. understood that this was the creature's home, where it had brought Theta, and that it would also become its tomb. We all made sure our preparations were absolute before entering the cave mouth. John made sure he had a shell racked. He made sure he had around in the chamber of his rifle. A and I checked our weapons to see they were sharp and ready. We could hear a ghastly mixed howling, and almost hissing noises coming from deep within the cave, as we made our approach.

and John handed each of us a flare. With the loss of our sedatives, our new plan was the blind and frighten the creature into confusion and subdue it with bullet and blade in its panicked and less cunning state. As we made away deeper into the cave, and the noises made by the creature became louder, more blood-chilling, as a stench of rotten death almost became overwhelming. John turned back and nodded to us all.

We popped the flares. We rushed away, into the antechamber of the cave, the Wendigo's lair, and it stared up at us in surprise, start the way from its never-satisfying meal, the latest victim of the Wendigo. Theta. He was mangled, bones broken, marrow-eaten, and the visage of pure terror and endless sadness stuck on his face and death. His chest had been torn open, as the creature had been devouring everything inside and outside

of him. Seeing the state of our comrade pushed us onward into the fight with the feet. vigor and veracity. The Wendigo shrank away from the approach of the fire of the flares as we fanned out into a semicircle. We all dropped our flares around the Wendigo encasing it in a cage of fire. P and John nodded to A and myself, and we stepped into the ring of fire as the former stood without. I approached the Wendigo with caution and dexterity, Spear pointed out in front of me and body close and small, while A approached with strength and confidence, saw pointed at the Wendigo in a stance that could be offensive or defensive.

The Wendigo scuttled slowly back in the corner of a fiery cage, backing up to the Coldstone Wall as it hissed and snapped at us, but we fanned out an approach from the sides. As soon as the Wendigo had no further ground to give, it was like someone had dropped a match into the gasoline. All hell let loose. Pee and John fired hatred in the form of lead into the Wendigo. P hitting the Wendigo square in the shoulder,

as John hit its center mass with two slugs. A. Let fly a swing, meant to hack off the monster's arm the rest of the way from its shoulder that P had hit, but it ducked, taking a glancing swipe to the back as it scurried on all fours to A and took out his legs. I'd begun charging the creature before A had made his swing, and I reached him in time, stabbing into the creature's ribs as two more shots rang out and hit the Wendigo in places I couldn't quite tell. And it howled an awful howl. woman in pain mixed with an oak's cry. A had begun recovering his wits and breath as he took his sword and managed to drive it into the Wendigo's shoulder, leaving one of its arms lying limply to the side as he ranged it

upward, sending the arms sprawling away from his body. Wendigo tried to claw it A with his good arm and snapped at him, ever-hungry jaws yearning for fresh and supple flesh. I yanked my spear out, tearing chunks of rib and rotten flesh with it as I stabbed its arm down to the ground, effectively pinning the creature. A took his sword and stabbed it through the creature's eye, and shoving hard. The arm broke under the force and bent in an unnatural way, as the Wendigo turned to lie flat in its back,

with his arm still trying to face the way it had been when he was on its stomach. A kept his hand firmly in the sword, as the Wendigo struggled weakly against our restraint, and he planted his legs firmly between the creatures. Though not much had been done on our accounts in reality, The creature's frigid aura and the force required to ponder its body and severed limbs left A. myself more tired than we should have been after only a minute of fighting. And through a few panting breaths, A managed a snarl.

We have it pinned, remove the heart and let us be rid of this monster. John came over with some sort of intricately designed knife and pierced the chest of the Wendigo, slicing the blade down his torso and dragging the knife down to its stomach as he reached in to remove the heart. about the only thing to still survive the rotting curse of the Wendigo's body other than its bones. Keep it there, he said, rushing out the cave. It may not seem so, but it still lives. Only after I burn its heart will it truly die. And so A&I waited. It was only a few minutes, and we never relented in our restraint of the Wendigo. Thankfully, we didn't, as his jet black eyes became

wide when it realized its heart was being burned. It screamed and fought and kick today, with all the force its broken, battered body could muster. A, obeyed to the kicking of the monster as best he could, and P fired a few rounds into the thing to reduce its struggling with his deadly accuracy. After a full 30-second struggle against the thing, they let out one more haunting streak, and fell limb. It's jet black eyes fading to a pure, milky white. This, I assure you, is the more interesting of the two tales I have to share with you this night.

More recently, the image, power and strength of a Wendigo has begun to change with popular stories and such. The modern depiction of Wendigo has antlered humanoids with deer skulls, black fur, nigh impervious bodies, black blood and filling the air with a scent of copper is both inaccurate to most legends and a pain in the order's collective ass. There's only one thing that we found that actually works in the damn things that you all fabricated. Toxins extremely potent toxins, ones that are not only difficult to get a hold of, but difficult to manufacture. P&I was sent on a mission after a success with the original Wendigo.

A. didn't come along this time because the plan was much simpler, as I had a shield and a small crossbow. Fill the thing with sedatives and neurotoxin until it fatigued itself enough to have its heart burned. The neurotoxin was there to prevent its struggle when we burned its heart. By this point, I'd learned how to detect a curse upon the wind, and we had tracked the thing deep into the wooded valley in the Appalachians. This thing was faster than the original Wendigo we fought, and truth be told, when we first glimps the thing, we thought we were dealing with some sort of messed-up Sasquatch.

But, of course not. The belief around the Wendigo had changed, and so did the creatures we now hunt. P and I managed to catch the thing running through the tree line ahead of us, and I dashed in front of P to form a vanguard, and distract the creature, while P filled it with toxins and sedatives. The thing barreled into my shield at almost lightning speeds, and I had no clue what had hit me, but it thrashed around the edges of my shield, trying to get in my delicate vitals and head.

I'd been prepared for a good amount of force, like the original Wendigo, but this thing almost knocked me under my back. I held in pain as it clawed around my shield, weakening my weapon and my shield arms, knocking my hand crossbow out of its holsters away from me and almost breaking my shield arm and two with the impact. Pee stayed calm and started firing dart at a dart into the creature at suspected vital locations. Most of them blinked off the creature like he was wearing some sort of armour.

The actual hell is wrong with this thing, I cried out to P, unsure of how long I could withstand the assault. I don't know, Gamer's reply, but I have an idea. Hold on for just a little longer M. and I heard the dull pop of a cork bottle. I pried my weapon arm loose of the creature's grip and reared back for a thrust of my spear, but the spear just barely drew any blood on impact.

This seemed to drive the creature into a frenzy and he began gaining ground on P and shoving me back. I heard an extremely loud gunshot go off as P fired his high-caliber rifle into the thing. The bullet managed to pierce flesh, deeply enough for the creature to feel it and how in pain. P. pulled the bolt as the halving kicked up into a fever pitch and prepared another round, firing into the creature's shoulder this time.

I expected it to have weakened the creature like the previous Wendigo, but it seemed to just tick it off even more. Pee told me later that he had coated those bullets in the sedative and neurotoxin, and it simply hoped it would be enough. If it hadn't been, we would have both died. I felt the assault begins a lesson against my shield and body, and I tried to drive the creature back. but it was like trying to move a mountain with nothing but a shovel.

I did manage to seize its charge forward though, and I jabbed it a few more times with a spear, puncturing deeper into the gash I had already made. P, bring me the damn vials! I cried out as I screamed a war cry and continued to jab the creature, running almost purely on adrenaline. Pee, being the superhuman marks many years,

took stock of the situation, and instead, quickly ran to my hand crossbow, attached the uncoked vials by some string to the bow, bolt loaded into the crossbow and fired at the creature. The bolt itself seemed to have no effect on the creature, but I reached up around the wrathful, unabating claws of the creature and smashed my spearhead against the vials, coating the tip in glistening, painful death.

I reared back and shoved the creature one last time, before thrusting my spear into the wound I had made deep, thrusting almost sent a mass deep into the creature, and wrenching my spear inside of it. It howled and reared back, swinging full force in the wound of my shield as it sent me flying into a tree, stunning me for a few moments. The creature was slowed by the earlier efforts of pee, already having sedative and neurotoxins inside it.

It tried to clamour towards me, but it seemed that I had hastened the effects by forcing so much toxin so deep inside of the creature. The charge with me sluggishly, slowing down even before the charge had fully started, and only getting slower as it progressed. It collapsed and tumbled forward a few yards in front of me, and, but later find out, died there. No ritual, no burning of the heart, nothing needed to kill it. It oozed black, goopy blood as it lay there dying.

Consciousness failed me shortly after it collapsed. The next thing I remember is waking up in the infirmary in the Ordish headquarters in North America one week later. I had, in fact, suffered broken bones and ribs. shock as well as concussion that put me in a small coma. My spine still doesn't feel quite right after my encounter with that damnable creature. Shortly after this incident, many other hunters came up missing, confirmed dead, or severely injured by many powerful creatures,

more powerful than either of their previous counterparts or any cryptid to come before it. I was tasked by the order to help convince the world to stop believing so strongly in cryptids, or at least to believe in the same. the original myths and was given special permissions to reveal ourselves in order to do so. And so, here I am, we're counting to you, one of the strongest gatherings of people who believe in these creatures, my tales and my orders. I beseech you all. Stop believing in cryptids. I'm not sure how much longer and we can hold them back.

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very much. Shopify grew with you with you may every step of the way. Start today your gratis proof period on shopify.b.E. That is Shopify.b. Every year I spend a week in the woods alone.

I cannot stand being inside my empty house on the anniversary. Of when I lost everything important in my life. The walls close in on me and I feel suffocated. So I go to the woods. I sleep, drink and try to shoot at least one deer. On the second day in my trip, I was walking through the forest in damp weather, feeling miserable. When I came across it. a creature hanging by its foot from a tree.

I panicked when I first saw the figure strung up in the tree and rushed forward, hoping if it was a person I could still help. As I got closer, I saw that even though his body was similar to a human, all the proportions looked wrong. The legs far too long and skinny, the stomach sunken in, rib cage visible, making it seem like it had no muscle mass or fat. I stopped below the creature, staring up at it in disbelief of what I was saying. One foot was stuck inside a bear trap that was attached to a train, hooked over a branch.

His entire body was hanging from a torn and bloody ankle, snared inside the trap. Wrists tied together and arms so long they nearly reached the ground as they dangled past its head. The creature's face was covered by a blank wooden oval, with moss spilling out from it. At first, I was certain it was dead. As I got closer, I saw the chest rise weakly as it let out small wheezing breaths from under the mask. Even without seeing what was under the mask, I knew this thing wasn't human. The woods had a bad reputation of people going missing. Most didn't like camping overnight inside the forest anymore.

It was a good place to find fish and hunt, but not to stay the night. I had my hunting rifle with me. I could put it out of its misery, or just left it alone. Someone put this thing here. They might be back for it. Misty rain came down and I could see puffs of my breath in the terrible weather. My feet cold and fingers stiff. It would get dark in a few hours.

I should go back to my camp and get dry or else I would get sick. Or leave this damn forest before any more of these creatures came for me. Instead, I did something. Only an insane person would. I placed my gear in the ground to climb the tree to get the creature down It was the middle of the night when the creature stirred I treated the wounds the best I could

Getting the bear trap off without cutting my hands Took almost an hour to do so Dragging the lanket thing back to camp Warm me out and I still needed to dry the creature off And wrap its wounds The damn thing better appreciate what I did for it While I waited for it to wake up I sat by the fire

sitting under a tarp to keep dry. I let the monster I dragged back used my tent, keeping the flap open, so I could keep an eye on it. I was dead tired, but didn't want to fall asleep with whatever the thing was close by to eat me my sleep.

Its limbs were so long I had to fold them to make sure it fit inside my small tent. At some point in the middle of the night, I heard movement in my tent. Slowly, a hand came out. Long fingers tested, the damp ground. I couldn't see the thing's expression because of the mask and moss covering its

entire head. Even while it slept, I didn't dare look what it really looked like. I remained still, wrapped up in my spare blanket. If it attacked, I could shoot it, but I didn't even reach for my rifle. Half of the creature's body came out of the tent, body freezing up when it sensed me nearby. The next few seconds were tense. Neither of us moved. waiting for the other to act first. I hoped this would be a treat and release process that when this creature woke up, it would just go back off into the woods.

I was not so lucky. It made the choice to attack the easy target. Dartsing forward, it cleared the distance between us. I was knocked over, thin, bony hands pinning me down to the ground. The mass flipped up so fast I never saw what was underneath. Sharp teeth grabbed a hold of my jacket and started to shake it, tearing the fabric, and not reaching my skin.

The attack didn't last very long. I was fully ready to accept my death in that moment. After all, I had nothing waiting for me outside that forest. If I could become food, at least my death would mean something. But this creature didn't even give me that. It stopped, releasing my coat and staggered back. Collapsing on its side, it let out ragged, wheezing breaths. I used up all his strength in that thin body.

I watched it, wondering what to do next. I grabbed a blanket from my tent, trying to wrap it up to keep the creature warm. It weakly pushed my hands away, sharp claws catching my coat but not tearing it. Wrapping the thing up very much like a burrito, I went about getting it back inside the tent. I couldn't see the creature's expression, but I could sense how annoyed my new campmate was being manhandled and wrapped up. Until it would gain some strength, it would need to accept some help.

I went back outside, wrapped myself in my own blanket again, and stared back into the weak fire. I planned on staying up all night, but I drifted between sleep until dawn came. Out in the trees, I heard sounds, as if someone was walking round in the dark just beyond my camp.

Fear fluttered in my stomach. I was out in the open, exhausted from the cold weather. I didn't mind death, but I was still afraid of what I was stalking around in the night. When morning came, I looked around the camp to find someone, or something, had in fact been circling my camp. Muddy tracks and broken twigs gave me enough evidence of being watched.

I wondered if it was more of those creatures, waiting to grab the injured one inside the tent. At least I lived through one night so far. My new guest was out of the tent when I got back to camp. It was wrapped in a blanket, glaring at me from under the mask. I could feel the eyes on me, even if I couldn't see them. I needed to think of what to do next. I could just pack up and leave.

I doubt that these things would follow me into the city. It still wasn't healed up and wouldn't be able to protect itself if whoever hung it up came back. Trying to get the creature to eat, it had no interest in the hot dogs and marshmallows I brought. It was a little surreal seeing a lanky creature like it in the dim grey morning light. This thing wasn't human, and yet I was helping it for reasons I didn't know. Aside from people, this thing might eat other meat. If I could shoot some game, maybe a good meal will help it gain some strength back, and maybe for all my trouble I would be eaten in the end.

Only time would tell how thankful this thing would be for all the help. I didn't want to go off into the forest hunting a life. If another person came across my camp, I didn't want them to come across my monster. One of them would end up dead if that happened. I paced, trying to think of what to do. As if it could sense my train of thought, the lanky creature bundled the blanket, putting it inside the tent to stay dry. Then it climbed up my back, lanky limbs wrapping around me. My skin crawled and stood, back bent, trying to support the sudden weight change.

I waited for the attack. that never came. We just augly stood there, waiting on each other to do something. I could go hunting if I carried the creature my back. It would take longer than normal, but could be done. Picking up my rifle and small pack, I started off into the trees,

still really creeped out by the thing that I decided to help. At least it wasn't trying to eat me. I really needed to call the creature my back something. Naming things was difficult. I went through, at least a hundred while sneaking through the woods, trying to pick up on any game tracks. I didn't know what it was, beside Not Human. Skin Walker and Windigo just didn't suit what it was from what I've heard about them.

No legends or cryptic names felt right. Soon I found myself not caring if I had the name of this species. I doubt as humans even came across them often enough to give it a name. I was startled as of my thoughts when I came right up on a deer. a decent-sized book that should have run off before I even got close. Holding my breath, I froze, hand on my rifle, careful to make as little noise as possible. I raised my weapon to get my shot lined up. For a moment I wondered what I was doing was even right.

This thing I was taken care of could be evil. The missing person cases was a hint towards that. Then again, it might just be part of nature. Killing a deer to feed the creature wouldn't be wrong. if this is what happened in the woods without me interfering. I shot twice for good measure. The buck fell with a grunt of surprise. The thing of my back dropped to the ground, moving like liquid.

It sought towards the fallen creature, masked face darting around as if it expected something was going to swoop in and take its food. While watching it eat, I decided to name in the worst way possible. I've seen videos of what a fox sound like, Those nightmare screeches and sounds Were the same kind this creature made While it tore into the deer and ate

Because his back was turned to me I never saw its face Just the fact the mask was lifted So it could bite and tear off chunks of flesh Fox felt like a suitable name for the monster I'd taken in Fox I said mostly to myself

Trying the name out The creature slightly turned at my voice Letting me see a human-looking mouth but filled with bloody sharp teeth. I think he liked the name. Fox ate through the entire deer with insane speed. Even after devouring through pounds of meat, he was still skinny enough for me to seize ribcage.

It was a mystery where he put it all. Gathering up the larger bones, he followed behind me back to the camp. At least he could walk now, although limping and trailing behind. He crawled mostly on war-for's, even though he was holding bones in his hands. I led him to the river first so we can get cleaned up in the cold water

and I refilled some of my bottles to boil later. When we arrived back at camp, fox gnawed on a rib, while reluctantly letting me look at his injured ankle. It healed so much I knew he would be fine by tonight or tomorrow. Watching him chew through his bone stash, I wondered yet again what I was doing. Not only did I not leave him to die,

I'd named him. There was something seriously wrong with me if I could get attached to a creature like this. You can eat me, you know, I told him, not knowing if he knew what I was saying. Fox looked over at my voice, but didn't pause in his gnawing, bone under his moss blanket covering his face.

Strangely enough, I wasn't scared of him. I'd already accepted my death for a while now. If he wanted to eat me next, I would almost welcome it. the rest of my day I let him wander around camp and I kept the fire going and took a few short naps to catch up on sleep when night fell the fear of death finally came to me I was inside the tent while fox stayed beside the fire

I'd heard noises from outside and carefully crawled out from my sleeping bag to try and see the source it sounded like a few people walking just outside where the firelight could reach fox tensed up looking ready to to attack if needed. I found my rifle, taking it into my hand as silently as I could. My eyes adjusted to the darkness, and I could faintly see forms similar to fox moving around in the trees.

There was more of whatever he was in the forest. I stood, waiting for them to make a move, rifle pointing downward. I didn't want to shoot one if they only showed up to pick up a missing member of their pack. One was brave enough to poke his head into the light. He was low to the ground, lanky elbow was pointing up. It also had a blank wooden mask, but it had a mane of tangled branches covering the upper half of his body. For a second, I thought I spotted glowing eyes inside that heap of wood,

staring daggers at me. Well, go on, I whispered to fox, trying to encourage him to go and rejoin his group. Almost like cats, they got closer to each other on all fours, backs arched, studying and doing a half circle around each other. Other creatures appeared watching the exchange, each having a wood mask with some sort of pile of forest debris covering their faces. Some stood on two legs, making them almost eight feet tall.

Others and all fours ready to swiftly run forward if startled. It looked like it was going well. Fox got closer to the other creature and reached a clawed handover as a gesture I didn't understand. In the blink of an eye They both flew into a fury of motion Horrible hissing and garbling cries Came from the tangled pair Thrashing trying to kill each other

My heart sank And a pit of black fear opened up in my stomach Fox healed up a bit since he was with me But he wasn't strong enough to fight of a newcomer Let alone all the ones in the woods watching I accepted I would die But I was not able to let Fox die with me I lifted my rifle and aimed it away from the fight

I fired it off into the woods aiming at nothing I hope the sound would make them stop and it worked the one creature stopped to look around for the sound fox kicked the other side and scrambled to me as I ran over and stood between him and the other pale form the newcomer was covered in scratches dripping in blood

fox looked worse his arm broken and countless cuts on his thin body from the brief fight getting between them I received a fast long cut to my arm but it was nothing compared to what Fox went through I pointed the rifle towards the monster in all fours ready to fire if needed it stared at me from behind that faceless mask the other creatures didn't move

I heard Fox shuffling around behind me but I didn't turn to see what he was doing when the creature turned its head away from me to watch Fox I finally did the same He'd taken off the faceless wooden mask from his hood of moss and tossed it into the fire in front of all of us. The wood gave off a high-pitched shrieking sound as if it was an animal dying. Black flames shot up spewing into the sky for a few seconds

until the noise died down. The mask was burned up completely. Fox sat next to the fire, nursing his bad arm. Slowly, the creatures around us started to leave one by one until the one that attacked Fox remained. It sat, blood dripping from its wounds. Finally, it too turned and left us. My arm bleeding and rifle feeling heavy.

I dropped my weapon, collapsing to my knees. Caring about someone else was beyond stressful. White-hot pain started to come through my body from my cut. I found my arm was too heavy to move to see how deep the wound was. Trying to stand, my legs suddenly refusely. refused the work. Not knowing why, I fainted into a deep sleep. I didn't awake from until it was morning. When I opened my eyes, I was inside my tent at my side. My arm out in front of me, so I could see the wound was stuffed with the moss. I felt hot and too weak to move or do anything

at all. I couldn't even move my fingers. Pain came in waves as I tried to ignore it. Focusing on anything but the throbbing in my arm, I listened to the the pattering of rain outside. The light was grey and impossible to tell what time it was. The tent flap open, letting cool air and misty rain come inside the tent. Fox must have been the one to put me in here,

but he didn't know how zippers worked. My energy fading, I fell asleep again. The next few days, I knew I was dying. Whatever got into my cut was nasty. That creature, easily being able to kill with one strike of its claws.

I slept most of the time. far too weak and feverish to move. Fox would keep me hydrated by lifting my head to let me drink from my steel water bottle I brought along, but the water tasted muddy. He was getting it from the river, not knowing how to boil it. His efforts might just kill me faster. In my fever dreams, I was to ment it by the truth that haunted my every waking hour. The reason why I wanted death so badly, even though I was too much of a cow to do it myself.

I wasn't there to hear the car accident, but was still plagued by the sounds. My mind repeated the sound of the officer knocking on my door at 4 in the morning to augly tell me the news. His first time saying such tragic words to another person, and I knew it was my fault. Five years ago, I cheated on my wife. And one night fleeing, I didn't have a good reason, aside from I just felt like it. I told her, knowing I'd be unable to hide it. She very understandably got upset and left the house to her brother's place

four blocks away They both drank and insulted me Something I rightfully deserved To this day I don't know why they decided to drive back home that night She was too drunk to drive But a brother thought he was fine It was only four blocks away from our home

And yet they got into a three car pile up From people leaving the bar for the night Everyone in my wife's car died that night everyone in the other cars were lucky enough to receive injuries they could recover from. Three people died. My wife, her brother and our daughter in the back seat of the car. I went to sleep when she left and wasn't even aware she took her daughter to her brother's place with her. All because I made one decision to go home with a woman I thought was attractive.

A whim that killed three people. I needed to live with that fact for the rest of my life. Delirious from the fever I could barely keep my eyes open I saw Fox sitting next to me His form blurry in my weak state I couldn't handle falling back asleep And hearing my daughter was gone again

Please Kill me I begged him in a voice Barely above a whisper He didn't react for a long time The longer I looked The more I noticed he was slightly different More human

his proportions not as lanky as before. He leaned in and I saw, instead of the mask covering his face, he replaced it with torn up fabric that was once my clothing. He didn't keep it together with glue or thread. My tired brain wondered how the heaps of cloth stays on his head. Reaching over, he took my arm, now red and infected from the cut. It caused a jolt of pain that almost knocked me out again to rattle my bones, lifting my hand to his covered face,

Fox lifted some of the rags to reveal a mouth of sharp teeth. Without any hesitation, he took my pinky finger off in one bite. I led out a soft scream, struggling to stay awake. Let in my hand drop, his long fingers came into view, moving directly to my throat. Darkness overtook me. I died.

Fox choked the life out of me. Then he gave some back. It's something beyond anything I could ever understand of how it happened, and I don't think I have a need to fully understand it. I woke up, scar on my arm, feeling better than I had in years. Aside from being stiff, my illness left me. I was still inside my tent, brain softly hitting against the outside. Looking to my side, a bundle of blankets was taking up most of the space,

peeking under them, Fox was curled up He moved from his nest being disturbed But didn't wake up I left him alone Climbing out of the tent Trying to get the kinks out of my back It was still damp But I was glad to be in the cool air outside

A few minutes passed After I came out and took stock of everything My pinky was still gone With a wound healed Along with a cut of my arm Aside from my clothing being torn apart by Fox nothing else touched the camp while I was out of commission. I was wondering what I should do, when crunching of twigs drew my attention.

A pair of men wearing raincoats over wet gear stud, both with rifles over the shoulders, unable to keep them dry. I thought I saw some chain poking out from one of their overpacked bags. Each seemed as if they were camping for a long time and worn down to the bone. Can I help you with anything? I asked the pair, voice cracking from a dry throat. I knew who they were. Without a doubt, they trapped Fox and left him hung up in a tree to die. I wondered if I was going to run into the people who did such a thing,

and still didn't know how to react when it happened. Have you seen anything strange at night? One asked, slowly looking over my camp. I felt my hands started to shake and force myself to keep them steady. Nope, nothing. Terrible weather, didn't you think? I'm going to pack up and leave today. I hoped I sounded casually enough.

Glancing over, I saw Fox sitting up in the tent, moving around in the blanket pile silently. From the angle, only I was the one who could see him. The two men looked at each other as if trying to decide something. If Fox saw them, would he kill them? Would I let him after what they did? If we let them go back into the forest, these two could kill more of those creatures.

I was sure of that. Whatever was in the woods, they hunted them down. And I found, I didn't care. I didn't save Fox because of what he was. I saved him to give myself a reason to keep going. He was special because I named him and made him special. They hurt him before he became that. If they left, I wouldn't go after them.

But if they dared trying to harm Fox now, I wouldn't hesitate in killing them. Either they were too tired to deal with me, or I looked natural enough for them to believe my lie. All right, take care of yourself, the older one said with a small wave of his hand. I watched as they left, still holding my breath. Fox spoke out his head, covered in rags, directly towards the men who were already gone. Still not too late to go after them. Fox gave me no notice.

Do you want to go home? I asked him. I'm not even sure if you could understand. me. When I left the woods, I took something with me. A creature that almost looks human now. I saw my house and bought a very small cabin by the lake. I figured it would be better suited for fox being around the woods. He's never spoken to me and I've never seen what face he hides. There is still so much I don't know about the monster I carried out of those woods. The only thing I do know about him is that is now my reason to keep living.

I never needed a good one. I just needed something.