CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - 2+ Hours of CHILLING r/nosleep REDDIT Horror Stories to count the remaining days until Christmas

Episode Date: November 23, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORIES- ►0:00 "I Have To Hide When It Rains" Creepypasta►18:09 "A Romanian Prometheus" Creepypasta ►35:18 "There's some strange things going on in the morgue I'm working in" Creepypasta ►50:39 "Object 16" Creepypasta ►1:20:32 "If you come across unattended body bags on the side of the road, do NOT stop" Creepypasta ►1:47:40 "Why I No Longer Hunt in the Alpines" Creepypasta Creepypastas 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►Nagy Norbert: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/2LdAg SUGGESTED 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/CreepsMcPasta CREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪ ►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪ ►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪ ►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment-

This weekend I'm in a while I'm new as I'm not on think. Oh, that dossier that morning off must be all moot as I'm too

on think. Oh, van't at a pedal tournoe I'm a moose if I'm a moose if I'm not too to come.

Give you self then a boost with bio-cure Maxshot Liquid. Three opepend plants, magnesium, iceer.

An energy booster to make then to come to come out of bio-cure Macshot liquid. Fooding Supplement forcrag by the

apotheker. I hate when it rains. The feeling of the air makes my skin crawl, and the pitter-pattering of the droplets pounded in my ear. I hate the rain. How it fills me of bad memories. Images are my grandfather cowering under the blankets. An adult man who fought in wars,

whimpering like a child as the sound of thunder shook the house. I'm so afraid of the rain because of what it brings. A monster. A curse. I was around two years old when my dad left. He just disappeared without saying a word to anyone. My mom did her best to take care of a baby while she was a kid herself. She was only 20 years old when she had me.

She struggled so much because of me. Her parents had cut off all connections to her, but thankfully my grandparents on my dad's side were so supportive of her. We were pretty lucky. They gave us a place to stay and took care of me while my mom worked her ass off to provide her. for me. Eventually, my mom was able to get a great job as a secretary for some lawyer, and we were able to get her own apartment. My mom is amazing, and when I was six years old, she decided to finish

up a college education. It was hard for her to work, study, and raise a child, so my grandfather after take care of me every now and then. I remember how excited I was to see my grandfather's old truck pulling up to the school to come and get me. My grandmother had passed away a couple of years before, so it was just us boys in the big house. I'd stare there after school, and my mom would come and pick me up later that night. Things were awesome. Grandpa would let me do whatever I wanted and tell me stories of when he was a soldier fighting in dark, rainy jungles. He'd call me his partner. Just us men against the world, he'd say. There was just one thing that I always found a bit peculiar about my grandpa.

He was terrified of the rain. I didn't really think much of it. He wouldn't pick me up on rainy days, though it kind of inconvenienced my mom. When I was over there while it started to rain, he would grab me and take me upstairs, locking us inside his bedroom closet. We'd sit there in the dark, and he would silently sob as he'd whisper. It's okay, partner. We'll get through this. We'll get through this. As soon as the rain would stop, he'd take a moment to compose himself, and we'd go about the rest of our day, like nothing ever happened.

It was when I was 10 years old, when I finally asked him. Grandpa, what happens when it rains? He paused and looked at me with sullen eyes. Well, uh, what do you mean, partner? When it rains, we always have to go upstairs in the closet. Even when it's just a little bit of water, we have to go in there. Grandpa looked outside, up towards the clouds. Despite it being a beautiful, sunny afternoon, he lit out a deep sigh.

He turned back to me and finally answered me. Come on, partner, let's go sit in the couch so I can tell you a story. He slowly stepped towards a living room couch. I rushed over and grabbed his hand. to help him. Grandpa was gaining some years, but when I grabbed his hand, he gripped it so tightly, I felt a wave of nervousness.

It took a minute, but we finally made it to the old pleather couch. Grandpa groaned as he took a seat. I shuffled up the couch to take a seat beside him. He chuckled and ruffled my hair. Grandpa's smile slowly faded

as he started to stare off into the distance. His eyes began to glaze over. He looked to me and took a deep breath to prepare himself. Then, he told me his story. You see, my grandpa was just a young man at the time, just turned 22, and he was sent off to Vietnam to fight, and used to tell me all kinds of heroic stories when I was growing up.

But this story was different. His voice was low and shaky, as he recounted the tale of his youth, a youth soldier who'd been fighting. for his country. He was part of an infantry division. His group had caught wind of a nearby village that housed Viet Cong. They'd been in the wilderness for days.

The terrain was so difficult for them to deal with and the battles that were forced to fight in the jungles had left them paranoid. My grandpa's hands were shaking at this point as he described how silent the night was. Not even their footsteps made noise. They were low on ammunition as well as morale, but they trudged forward.

They crept up to each of the huts and took out their lights, lit torches, and set everything ablaze. My grandpa began to cry at this point. He described the nauseating smell of smoke as the flames illuminated the dark clouds above them. He paused his story for a moment to cough uncontrollably. It was as if he was back to that dark night. I patted his back. Then he grabbed my hands and looked at me with his teary eyes and continued his tale. He was hesitant at first because I was so young,

but he seemed determined to tell the truth. He told me that screams erupted from the crackling flames as people covered in roaring fire began to rush out of the huts. His platoon took advantage of the chaos and brandished their knives, finishing off the enemy one by one. The bodies were burning, screams echoed. Then the cries of women and children began to flood their ears. My grandfather described standing there at the centre of the village, slowly realizing their mistake.

A woman came barreling out of her home as a body slowly burned. She slowly stepped towards my grandfather and yelled at him in a language he just didn't understand. My grandfather was horrified as she continued to yell at him until she finally collapsed to the ground. The cries and screams slowly subsided. Then the rumble of thunder came. rain began to crash onto them. It was a monsoon. It came down so hard that the flames were quickly extinguished.

The burning bodies were now piles of melted flesh. And when my grandfather looked at the woman, he realized she was holding something. He began to describe the nausea he felt, the pure guilt when he realized that she was holding the chart remains of a baby. My grandfather began to choke up again and let out a disgusting cough. I was too young at the time, but I understood that he was in so much pain.

All I could do was hug him as he began to sob. He tightened his arms around me. For a moment I couldn't breathe, but I enjoyed for his sake and returned the hug with as much strength a child could muster. We sat there in silence for a moment. until he whispered. That isn't the worst part, partner. It got much worse. I felt my heart drop as I heard him say that.

I tried to look at him, but he kept me tight in his arms. He whispered again. That woman, she cursed me. Her words, like a flesh that night, were burned into my memories. I felt his body began to shake. as he continued. I inquired about what she said, and apparently she cursed me. She told me that she will get a revenge on me and my men. I felt tears thump under the top of my back as he finished his story. Every time it rains, she comes for us. One by one my men began to fall. Every time

the damn rain came. He ground in pain, as he said it. It didn't stop there. She wanted all of my my men. She didn't want just them, and she won't stop at me either. He released me from his grasp, and looked deep into my eyes. His eyes were filled with an unending sadness. She won't stop until she avenges her child, too. She'll go to me, then to your daddy, then to you, and if you have you by then, pray, you don't have a son. He said with such terror, his voice. I couldn't control it at that point. He was too much for a child at myself, and I burst into tears. My grandfather realized what he had done and did his best to distract my young mind to help me forget. He snapped back to normal, and he tried everything to help me forget.

I didn't forget. That story he told me stuck with me for a long time. He told me to never tell my mom, and I didn't. I was too afraid to tell anyone. I wish I could tell you that was when the story ended. But this is where it will begin. It was that same year, a couple of months after he told me the story. On a dark summer night, I was out of school, and mom had to start taking classes at night. So, my grandpa suggested, I stay over some nights. It was so much fun spending the night at my grandpa's house.

We'd watch movies and eat tons of snacks. It was this one particular afternoon We were watching some cartoons on TV And I guess we must have fallen asleep I'm not sure how long we were out But I was awoken by the sign of thunder I looked around The lights were off

And I could hear rain slowly tripping onto the old home I placed a hand onto my grandpa's shoulder And tried to shake him awake He stirred for a moment and slowly opened his eyes He was about to ask me what time it was, until he was interrupted by the rumble of thunder. Despite how dark the house was, I could see his eyes shoot wide open when he started to hear the rain.

He grabbed my hand and tried as hard as to get up from the couch. I hopped off the couch and tried my best to pull him up. Hurry, hurry, we have to go upstairs, yelled. We made our way towards the stairs, and when we reached the bottom of the steps, the rain poured harder outside. The sound of rushing water was almost deafening. I went to step ahead of my grandpa, holding his hand tightly as we tried to rush upstairs.

We made it halfway up the stairs, until Grandpa suddenly stopped moving. I turned to look at him and saw he was looking down the stairs. Something was mixing with the sound of rain drops and thunder. It was a low chirping noise, like someone was making a cicada noise with a broken throat. I looked down towards a darkness. I couldn't see a thing until a crack of lightning illuminated the space around us. It was for a brief moment, but I saw at the foot of the stairwell a glimpse of a dark figure looking towards us. It was thin and naked with dark cracked skin.

It stood there with its legs bent awkwardly and its neck tilted to one side. Its hair was long and wild, reaching their waist. It had one long arm hanging down while the other was clutching something to its chest. I was so afraid. I didn't know who this person was or how they got inside, but I called out to my grandpa. Grandpa, grandpa, please, we have to come up, I yelled,

but I was just frozen in place. I felt his hand sweat and shaking my grasp. Lightning struck again, and as the room lit up, the figure had gotten a step closer. It was on the stairwell. I let out a scream as I took both hands to try and put my grandpa up the stairs with me. The rain continued to come down, with that chirping sound, that disgusting low thrum had gotten louder. Another flash of lightning, and again it got closer.

This time I could see that it was a woman. The woman was burned, head to toe. I could see bits of a charred flesh crack as she began to step closer and closer to us. I was just too small, too weak to put my grandpa away from her. Suddenly, the lights began to flicker on and off, and I could see what the burnt woman was holding. It was small in a charcoal arms, a melted fleshy mass that looked towards me with two white sockets of darkness rise, and what appeared to be a toothless open mouth. The noise was coming from the small thing.

my grandfather let go of my hand and just stood there before them in a daze I cried out to him again but my earls had drowned out by a scream it wasn't just one scream it was sounded as if dozens of people were crying out in pain the lights flickered wildly

like a strobe light in the room slowly but surely the woman pushed my grandpa down under the steps of the stairs she began to clamour onto him and I heard him scream as I heard his old bones break on impact. Her burnt body was on top of my grandfather, the small melted thing being squished into my grandpa's chest and crawled towards his mouth. I sat there in awe as a small thing

took its little hands and began to put them into my grandpa's mouth, going deeper into him. My grandpa tried to resist, but the burnt woman grabbed both of his arms and slammed them onto the stairs. I heard another nauseating crack of his bones, and he let out a muffled cry of agony, My grandpa began to choke and gag as the fleshy being began to dig inside of him through his throat from his open mouth. I let out another cry, pleading with him to make it stop, until the little monster began to pull something out of my grandpa. It began to break open his mouth to carefully and meticulously pull out a beating red heart from his chest, up to his throat, out of his damn mouth.

The woman slowly reached out to the thumping heart. and grabbed it. It began to look at me with one eye through its long black hair. It pulled the heart towards its lips, and it opened its mouth wider and wider. It revealed sharp black teeth within the void of its mouth, and sank them into the heart. It chewed and the blood from it spilled onto the flesh baby. Its chirping turned into hyper squeals of delight as it revelled in the falling blood. it finished chewing and devouring my poor grandpa's heart.

It looked at me and licked the blood off of his cracked lips. She picked up the baby and slowly got up. The lights finally flickering off and I stood there in pitch blackness. I heard something roll and thud down the stairs and with another crack of lightning the room illuminated to reveal my grandfather, blooded and broken at the bottom of the stairs. I fell backwards onto my butt.

and I sat there in the middle of the stairwell, covered in tears and snot. I just sat there staring at the lifeless corpse my grandpa for hours until the rain finally stopped. My mother came and found the state that we were in. She released such a blood-curdling scream, but it didn't shake me. I just stood there. The diagnosis was that my grandpa had a heart attack and fell down the stairs. Needless to say, it took a lot of therapy to deal with what happened that night. It took years and years, but slowly, I was able to, at the very least, cope with it.

Whenever it rains, I turn into a frantic mess as I try my best to hide from. Something. My mom just couldn't stop worrying about me. She pushed everything aside to stick with me through all of it. Then I became a young man. Now I'm in my late twenties, and I'm just trying to. trying to make sense of what I saw that rainy night. It really messed me up.

Even now, I have to skip work if it rains. I dashed to the bathroom stall or something and lock myself in. I got some news the other day. Apparently, my father had been found in the middle of the street across the country. It was raining when he had a heart attack, and he ran in front of a car. I'm not sure what to do next, but hopefully, those things won't find. me. It began to sprinkle the other day, and I saw something creeping outside my window. Whatever it is, it's not done. It won't be done until it takes all of my grandpa's men.

I'm so afraid to end up like them. I'm terrified to see those things again. I'm so terrified. I'm so afraid. Of the rain. Marius's most intriguing trait. was that he was able to mend everything. If it's a car, a toy, home goods or electronics, it didn't matter to him. Good old Marius could solve everything. When something was fixed by him, it was just as good as new, or even better. Marius was intriguing as a person as well. I remember the first time I spoke to him, it was when my father gave me a farm tool for Marius to repair.

I didn't even know what it did, but the tool was rusted. and the gears were all intertwined and broken. So, naturally, it was given to Marius. He told me to come back tomorrow morning and the tool would be fixed. When I returned to the workshop the next day, the tool was completely fixed. When he handed the tool, it looked completely different and I thought he was brand new.

He instructed me to tell my father to make sure that it's oiled enough to prevent it from happening again. I thanked him and asked how he could possibly repair anything so broken. Since I was young, I was fascinated by machinery and how the world works. In a way, you could say that Marius had become a sort of holy grail of information. He began to explain. It's easy. Each mechanism, machine or tool, consist of select components. He took a little wind-up toy on the workbench and showed me the gear system.

No matter what it is, it does not matter. The more complicated it is, the more components there are. But at the end, the same concept is always the same. He opened the back of the toy and showed its inner functions. The different gears, springs and other pieces he pulled out to show me. See which of them is broken, damaged or producing difficulties. Take this here. He held up a bent gear and told me,

now you must mend it or substitute it or put it back together. Marius replaced the gear with a new one and carefully put the toy back. It felt like I found the Holy Grail and before me was revealed the greatest information in the whole universe. I spent a lot of time at Marius's shop from that day onwards. With luck I could learn something or two. As I spent more time with Marius, I found that he was not only knowledgeable in mechanics, but he knew a lot about a range of other subjects. His workshop was filled with old and odd books.

Most of them were about mathematics, sciences, biology, history and physics. I adored them and spent every minute pouring over their words. One day, Maris's workshop was visited by a farmer with his dog in his arms. He cried out and stated that his dog was injured from being trampled by cattle, and he knew nothing about how to help it. He was a kind man, Marius. He nodded and told the farmer, all was okay. He would look after it.

And in a few days, the farmer ought to return. What will you do with this? Once the farmer had gone, I questioned Marius. Will you take it to a hospital or call the animal doctor? Marius left and looked towards me. He said, in his ever joyful and eccentric manner, no need for a hospital. I can fix.

Marius, what are you talking about? I gazed at him, asking about what he had just said. What I told you earlier, remember? Is it all composed of parts? I nodded hesitantly, and was still confused. Well, animals are the same as well. Only its biology, huge, complex machinery. The broken components are found, fixed, and again they will be good.

but animals have blood and organs, not gears and springs, I said in protest. Well, wait, my dear boy, and you'll see. He grabbed in his hands the injured dog and went to the entrance at the rear of the workshop. He disappeared behind the door with the dog, and a few seconds later, he returned without the dog. What have you done? I placed it somewhere secure, somewhere safe where he can be fixed, Marius replied back. Can I see? I asked him and went to see it for myself.

In front of me, Marius put out his muscular arm. No, too young to see. For a long time, I pored and moaned, but Marius would not give in. Finally, the remainder of the afternoon, I spent assisting him in fixing random things around the workshop. And, at sunset, I bid him farewell and went home. I asked my parents how you would fix animals that night over the night over the same. supper. They chuckled and told me in true Eastern Orthodox Christian fashion that it was impossible. Once one has died, the soul will go to heaven and there was no chance of resurrection, except for

Jesus, of course. The next morning, I couldn't believe my eyes when I visited Maris's workshop. As I walked through the door, a dog ran up to me and began licking my face. To my amazement, he was the same dog from yesterday. It seemed the dog was all right, and all the remnants of injury were gone. I soon noticed Marius in the corner of the workshop, laughing at my amazement. What did you do, Marcus? I repaired the damaged pieces, just the way I said to you. At a short reply, I formed a nasty expression, but Marius disregarded it.

Soon, shouted cries of excitement filled the room when the farmer came over. He seemed to rejoice in seeing his companion. Marcus was thanked by the farmer for saving the dog and it seemed from that day on Marius could fix ill animals as well Marius truly seemed to be able to mend anything and in no time a sick or injured animal would be healthy and full of life I was at the workshop much more regularly during this period than previously it was an enjoyable time since animals would always be present to play with

However, Marius still never revealed what it was in the room at the back of the workshop where he took the animals. I didn't know what he was doing with them precisely in there, or how he was mending them. All I knew was that they entered on the verge of death and left full of life. My youthful mind lingered for a long time, thinking about how Marius performed all the things he did and why he did not reveal it to me. Did he have something to hide? I tried to sneak in the room more than occasionally, but either I discovered the door locked or Marius found me at the door. I accepted it in due, of course, as things should be. There was no way into the room, and it would remain a mystery.

In the middle of spring, my concerns regarding Marius were revived. It was then that Marius performed something I knew was entirely and totally impossible, something that divide everything I knew again. I was in Marius's workshop fiddling with a toy Marius had given me to fix, and once everything was done, he promised to teach me a little more about physics. But soon, my attention was on yelling from outside as I tried to figure out what it was. A weeping woman ran into the workshop. The woman went immediately in the direction of Marius.

She wept. Her face streamed down with tears. you must save her. Marius, his face steeped in confusion, walked towards her. What is it? The woman kept talking with him, but much of it I couldn't make out. I heard the phrases accident and tracked her, and the rest I didn't comprehend. Marius told her to stay calm.

Then the father ran into the workshop with a small girl in his arms. I heard the man remark, She was crushed approximately five minutes ago. so much blood was on the girl. He was all around and soaked the girl's clothes. I gazed, wide-eyed, and I was astonished. Her body hung limp in his arms and she hadn't moved once. I glimpsed the face for a minute and her eyes were wide open, totally vacant.

Go home, boy, Marius yelled as he grabbed the girl from the father's arms. What was happening, I didn't comprehend. And out of morbid curiosity, I wanted to remain. and I began to follow them. After a couple of seconds, Marius spotted me, and he seemed furious at me for the first time ever. Boy, he yelled at me. I told you to go back home.

His voice was loud and serious, even a bit scary. I was out of the door and down the street in an instant. I didn't understand how he was going to accomplish it, but I knew what was going to happen immediately. Then I said it was dumb. They had to contact a hospital or a doctor. I told my parents what occurred when I arrived home, but they just nodded and did not listen.

Later on, the story of the girl reached around the village. While working on the farm with her parents, she was tending to the barn, and, as a family drove the tractor into the barn for the night, there was no time for a father to see her, and she was crushed between the tractor and the barn wall. It was said her parents knew the girl was dead immediately. So, as a last resort, they took her to Marius.

The following day, I went to Marius' workshop. My skin began to crawl. As I walked in, a small girl sat in the front of the shop on the bench, grinning at me as I approached. For a minute, I looked at her, wide-eyed. Hi, she said with a huge smile. I recalled her face, and I stood in front of her. It was the same girl that had been dead and blooded yesterday. I was uncertain what to say.

What can one say to a girl who had been dead? Marius, who saw me, beckoned me over before I spoke again. It's crucial, boy. Don't speak to her about what you witnessed the other day. Okay? Why? It's better she didn't know she died. I nodded, but it didn't make me feel as if it were the true cause.

What have you been doing to her? Have you healed her? What have you done? Marius grinned. He gave the same reply he'd been given me so long previously. You just have to locate and fix those components that are damaged. Even at my age, I understood that it wasn't as easy as he said it was. But it doesn't work like that. By repairing the components, you can't bring someone back to life.

A kind and slightly melancholy grin turned Marius. his face. Boy, there is no easy way to remedy things sometimes. Sometimes all the irreparable pieces must be replaced. At the time, I didn't realize what he was talking about. He still spoke of people, or was he speaking again of machines? I was greatly confused. To find anything to explain the happenings, I decided it was time, and I began running for the door to the locked room. I pressed a handle and the door opened with a loud bang that amazed me. It was my lucky day. The door was finally unlocked.

What are you doing? Marius yelled to me. I stopped immediately, for what I was witnessing, I had no idea. I don't know exactly to this day what the place I saw was at the time. The walls were lined with cabinets and glass jars. The space contrasted sharply with the other shop of Marius. This place was spotless, fresh, nearly antiseptic, and a world away from the chaos of the workshop. A big table was in the centre of the room. There was something there, covered with a huge piece of white fabric.

Marius came to me, pulled me away, and drove me out of the room. But I didn't hear anything he was shouting at me, for as I was rushing away, I saw an arm under the cloth, and when we left the room, I addressed Marius after I'd composed myself. Why is she there? Isn't she outside? The expression of Marius had again altered. The rage was gone, and once again his face was sorrowful.

If anything is breaking beyond repair, what do you do? I wasn't even able to think of a reply. You have to replace the entire object, he added. This comment terrified me, since I understand. understood what he meant. The young girl was not the same as the one outside the door, for the one outside was a substitute. For the remainder of spring, her pleasant yet hollow grin plagued me. I never returned to Maris's workshop after that day. The building was unnatural. I never discovered what Markets did precisely, but I knew it wasn't natural. Over the years, I've listened a lot more

to Marius's ordeals and shenanigans. There have been additional stories he has altered other people and everything seems so strange, so otherworldly. I mean, Marius never did anything wrong to anyone. He gave help to all those who walked into his door,

giving them everything and asking for nothing in return. But yet, I felt something was wrong with what he did. I inform my parents about what I saw, but they laughed it off. They didn't believe me, and said that I wasn't supposed to make up such tales.

The more I pleaded with them, the more they disregarded me and assured me that it was all a figment of my childish imagination. I left the village just after finishing school. I haven't been able to remain there anymore. I visited my parents recently. We've chatted a lot about past recollections and have been through a few school photo albums for nostalgia. I decided to look at a few of my older albums later that night

after my parents had already gone to bed. I recalled that for every year of my life, my parents produced numerous photos, all compiled in a photo album. As I looked, I saw an irregularity. I saw that one album was slimmer than the others. It was one when I was 11 years old, but yet there remained few pictures of me.

The next day with the album, I questioned my mother about it. She informed me I was on, well all year with the measles and remained for a while in the hospital. She was deceived by her eyes. She's never lied well and immediately I detected it. I attempted to think back. I was trying to think back to that year.

Had I actually been to a hospital at any time that year? As I tried to think, I couldn't recall. I was thinking back to my days in school. For some reason, this time or something pretty, previously, I couldn't figure out a lot about it. I saw the album from a year before and saw myself on the first day of high school. However, to my horror, I couldn't remember anything in those years between, even though I tried my hardest. I missed all my recollections.

Did I have a brain problem? Are all my memories lost? It was when I looked at one photo, that it all clicked. The scent of oil and grease, the droning sound of machinery and instruments. In the photo, I was sitting on a bench. Then it hit me. The bench on which I sat. It's exactly the same as the girl who sat outside Marius's.

It was the same picture, except I was sitting there, waiting on the same bench. Soon it came to me, long before that small girl was fixed by Marius. he had also fixed me you better get your ass down here quick Dave it sounds like there's a damn drumming troop trapped inside unit 5 the frantic voice belonged to Adam the new security guard that was hired a few weeks ago

I tied to the grip on the receiver and close my eyes and could feel the onset of a headache are you absolutely sure I asked him knowing very well what the answer was yes I'm damn sure Dave Do you think I would joke about such a thing? This morgue is creepy enough as it is without me making up things like this.

I exhaled and could hear the noises he was referring to in the background. It was the sound of desperate clenched hands hammering on the thin metal walls of the locker units inside the morgue. The locker units where all the dead people were placed

after they were brought to us. And apparently, we had another riser on our hands. A person who had been declared dead before arriving at the morgue, but who had somehow woken up after being placed inside one of the industrial-sized units. Okay, okay, I'll be over there right away. Just stay putt and don't touch anything at all.

I paused for a few moments, then told Adam the most important thing of all. And whatever you do, do not, under any circumstances. Open the locker. The silence that followed seemed to go on forever. and I could hear Adam's heavy breathing momentarily stop. Are you kidding me, Dave? I would never in a million years open that thing. I'd rather scale the Empire State building

but at a safety harness on a windy day. Now just haul your ass over here, ASAP, before I started to lose my mind, okay? This was followed by the familiar metallic clink that told me that the conversation was over. I opened my eyes and slowly placed the receiver back in his cradle. Then I took a deep breath and rub my face with both hands.

I was just going to say don't open the locker if the person starts to talk, that's all. I uttered the word slowly to myself, and even had to admit that it sounded completely nuts. Only, it wasn't. The dead bodies that were stored there and who started banging on the walls sometimes tried to start conversations with the security guards. It had happened on several occasions, and most of the times, the guards had found. the guards had followed my instructions and ignored it. But on a handful of occasions, they hadn't, and on those occasions.

I brushed the thoughts aside and told myself that Adam was no dummy. Besides, he was probably under the table in the office, ready to crap his pants. I walked over to the medical cabinet in the corner and got a vial of potassium chloride and an unused syringed wrapped in a see-through plastic sleeve. Then I got the tranquilizer gun from the bottom drawer under the desk and placed it all in my briefcase. Before I left, I looked at my wristwatch. It was 3.30 in the morning. It was funny how they always woke up during the middle of the night, I thought, as I grabbed my car keys and headed outside.

Why don't they ever wake up during the day? The area where the morgue was located was in a heavily industrialized section of the city, and subsequently it was bordering several low socio-economic areas. That fact was not lost to me as I got out of the car and began walking toward the double doors at the front of the building. On the other side of the road, I could see several homeless people huddled around an oil drum spewing flames out of his base,

and a little farther down the street, to the east, I could see two men arguing loudly over some debt that hadn't been repaid. I quickened my pace, got my key card out, and quickly slipped inside. and wondered where I'd rather be, inside the morgue or out there in the jungle. The hallway was dimly lit, and I started walking down its tiled floor, past the empty desk where the receptionist sat during normal working hours, but which now was empty. My shoes made loud, hollow clunks every time they hit the green tile, and an eerie echo was

created as the sound bounced off the green painted concrete walls, and like on all other previous occasions that had arrived here late at night, I involuntarily shuddered as I thought about all the dead people that were temporarily housed down in the basement. But just as quickly, I reminded myself that the dead people weren't anything to worry about. Well, at least that went for the vast majority of them. I reached the end of the corridor and opened the thick steel door leading down to the morgue and heard the rusty hinges let out a loud wail. A light chill ran down my spine, And then I started descending the long, narrow staircase. Hopefully everything would run smoothly tonight too.

And hopefully, Adam wasn't freaked out to the point that he wouldn't be able to assist me. When I arrived at the bottom of the staircase, I walked over to the penultimate door, opened it and stepped inside the morgue. Hello? I called out. Adam, are you in here, buddy? There was no reply. Only the low buzz coming from the two air-conditioners up on the wall that were running up full throttle.

I frowned and went over to one of the metal tables where the pathologist performed their autopsies during the day and placed my briefcase on top of it. Maybe Adam had returned to his office and was waiting for me there. It wasn't all that strange given what he just witnessed. So I turned around to walk back outside and continued to the end of the corridor and open the last door to the left. But when I stuck my head through, I saw that the office was empty.

I frowned and studied the little room. The wall of monitors behind the desk were all displaying live footage from various parts of the building. And on the desk near the computer keyboard was a half-empty cup of coffee and next to it a paperback novel. I walked inside

and studied the monitors for a few moments but I couldn't see Adam on any of them. That was odd, I thought, because there was really no other place the cards to hang out. In fact, they all moaned about how boring it was to be stuck in the office for ten hours a day. I walked over to the radio, picked up the microphone and flicked all the switches to the on position, ensuring that my message would be heard in every single room of the building.

Adam, I've just arrived and I'm currently in your office. Could you please make your way over here so we can do what we have to do? I clipped the microphone back on the radio, then parked myself in the swivel chair. and studied the monitors. But when I hadn't seen Adam after a minute had passed, I started to worry. Where the hell was the guy? And why didn't he call me back on the phone?

I quickly repeated my message, but with the same result, and that's when I started to get really worried. And for the first time, I began thinking about the unthinkable. Had Adam tried to open that locker? I catapulted out of the chair and got up on feet that weren't quite steady and placed a hand over my mouth. And all of a sudden, the feeling that we were going to sort this thing out vanished like water droplets on a hot stove.

Then, for the briefest of moments, I looked down at the phone on the desk and wondered if I should call the cops. But of course, I quickly rejected this idea, because what the hell was I going to tell them? though we had a person that had risen from the dead in the morgue and that he should be considered armed and dangerous. I took a deep breath and realized how preposterous the idea was. Of course, I couldn't call them. This was something I had to contend with myself. Then, another thing occurred to me.

I had left the briefcase on the table in the morgue. Damn it! I could have really done with that tranquilizer gun now. How could I have been so stupid? That gun should never have left my side. Well, there was nothing I could do about it now. I wiped this sweat from my forehead and psyched myself up for what I had to do next. Reluctantly, I walked over to the door, put my hand in the doorknob, and exiled slowly.

Then I found myself walking back toward the cursed morgue. And that's when it hit me. There hadn't been any banging coming from the locker. when I first arrived. And that was strange, because when I'd been on the phone with Adam, I had heard the commotion quite clearly. Hell, how the heck could I have missed that one?

I stopped outside the door and opened it a few inches and carefully stuck my head forward. And through the gap, I could see the briefcase was still on the table where I'd left it. I pulled my head back and momentarily closed my eyes. Thank God. Then I opened my eyes again and studied the room. There didn't appear to be anyone else in there,

but that of course didn't mean anything. There were lots of tables and desks to hide behind, and there were also lots of razor-sharp cutting tools storing various cabinets that could cause tremendous damage to the human body. But I knew that I had to go in there and check the locker and see for myself what had happened. Even though that was the last thing I wanted to do, So, I placed a trembling hand on the door, and counted the three and flung it open.

Then I ran as fast as I could to the table, threw open the lid of the briefcase and snatched the gun. And, as soon as I had it in my hands, I raised it and spun around, covering all angles. I was convinced that someone was running toward me and was about to jump me. But there was no one there. The relief I felt was enormous, and I had to lean forward and steady myself. by placing my hand on the table. Thank you, I muttered under my breath as I tried to slow down my runaway pulse.

But I couldn't afford myself the luxury of relaxing, and I quickly grabbed one of the darts and loaded the gun. I then took the violin and the syringe and placed them in my pocket. When that was done, I turned around and stared at the unit at the far end of the room. That's where I had to be, and that's where I'd find my answers. The sweat was trickling down my forehead and into my eyes now, and I wiped it away with a sleeve of my jacket.

Then I raised a hand holding the gun and held it out in front of me, index finger on the trigger. I panned it from side to side as I began moving toward the dreaded units. The silence was stifling, and I had an ominous premonition about what I would find there. My entire body was shaking, and it felt like I was trapped in a movie where everything happens in slow motion. My temples were pulsating and my heart was pounding in my chest like a bass drum, and the drone from the air-conditioners on the wall filled my head and prevented me from thinking any coherent thoughts. I kept walking, dragging my feet, and, after what seemed like an eternity,

I was finally standing in front of Unit 5. I closed my eyes and opened them, and when I lowered my gaze, I could see my hand wrap itself around the thick metal handle of the locker. and pull the thing toward me. I gave it a quick pull and stepped aside as the locket slid the rest of the way out. An involuntary gasp escaped my lips, and I aimed the gun at the shape that was lying there under the white sheet. My trigger finger was itching,

and I was tempted to discharge the weapon and wait for the sedative to do its work, but I managed to restrain myself. Instead, I took a step forward and carefully grabbed hold of one corner of the sheet with my thumb and index finger. I then took a few more deep breaths and pulled the sheet aside with a hand that was shaking noticeably. I swore loudly

and felt my heart sink into my stomach. It was Adam. His dead eyes were looking straight up at the ceiling. His mouth was agape like a fish out of water and he had a big incision that went from one side of his throat to the other. I stood there looking at him without blinking

and didn't notice the tranquilizer gun slipping out of my hand and hitting the floor. Ten minutes later and I was back in the office rewining the video footage from the morgue and as I had expected, the guy inside the unit must have started the talk. At first Adam had walked over to the locker and shouted something. He had then used the flat of his fist and slammed it against the front panel. But then, a few minutes later, Adam had done the unthinkable.

He had, for some inexplicable reason, opened the locker. And before he was all the way out, a hand had grabbed him by the lapel, and another had slit his throat with what I assumed was a scalpel. I turned away from the screen when it happened, and fast-forwarded the rest of the footage before deleting it. There was no way that anyone could be allowed to see this. I couldn't let them see how a dead man inside one of those lockers had killed a security guard, taking his clothes and then placed him where he himself had been only minutes earlier.

Nor could anyone be allowed to see how the supposedly dead person, who was now dressed in a security uniform that was slightly too big for him, walk out of the building and disappear into the night. I returned to the morgue and the locker where Adam was lying. Then I quickly closed his eyes and mouth before Rigamortis made that an impossibility. After that was taken care of, I sat down with the body. paperwork and made the necessary changes. No one would ever find out about this incident, nor the fact that dead people woke up 10

times per year and one of the biggest morgues in the city. Nor would they ever find out that we tranquilize these risers, then injected them with potassium chloride too, put them back to sleep again to avoid any uncomfortable questions. Every now and again, one or two would get away. But who would believe their stories? And whether these individuals even willing to share them with others. No one had come forward so far, and I hoped that wouldn't change. Then I put the file back in the filing cabinet and closed the door behind me. It was time to hit the nearest bar and calm my nerves with some much-needed alcohol.

How dare you, I grumble, then a little louder. How dare you? My voice echoes around the concrete tunnels of the complex. The intern flinches, but holds his glare, defiant. I don't think he was expecting me to shout back at him. Politicians don't shout at members of the public. Well, I do down here, I think grimly to myself. This all plays his top secret, so no cameras, no reporters, no stories that sell to the local press.

What's your name, son? I ask him angrily. He hesitates, then stutters his response. "'A... "'Aren?' "'I jab a finger into his face. "'It's a rude and antagonistic gesture, "'and I'm well aware of how irritating it is. "'Don't ever talk to me in such a way, Aaron.

"'You may not like politics, but I'm still a human being, damn it. "'I know your type. "'You pretend to be compassionate and caring, "'but then you spout your bile at every available opportunity. "'I may not be a familiar face down here, "'and you may not like my party, "'but I am your boss, after all, "'so hold your tongue and get back.

to work. Pathetic. The intern flushes with rage and embarrassment, and the corner of his mouth twitches into a snarl. But he says nothing further. Humiliated, he rejoins the group he was walking with. Some scientists in training, some low-level guards, and awkwardly and quietly they head on the way down one of the adjacent tunnels of concrete. I turned back to my guide.

Reese is the man's name. He adjusts his glasses and frowns at me. "'Was there really any need for that, Mr. Pritchard?' he asks. "'Not my real name, of course. "'One must protect their identity, especially in this line of work. "'I won't stand for such disrespect,' I reply coolly, "'escially not down here.' "'I fixed the cuffs of my shirt,

"'but I do apologise for the interruption. "'I gesture for him to continue leading the way, "'as you were.' Reese sighs, but after a moment he turns and continues on down the tunnel. His footsteps clack and echo around the walls, illuminated and faint, wardrobe blue-green light. We pass by plexiglass windows, thick and wide and built into the walls. Some of the rooms are tiny.

Some of them are more like great halls. Some have goggled and suited scientists inside. Some are empty. Empty before their primary occupant. encased and closed So, Reese continues as we walk, the subject of your visit Object 16 Object 16 was recovered two nights ago, Mr Pritchard

Much to our great and enduring relief It has been moved safely into its new containment The only object now missing from the agency's position Is object four, the dice The only object missing that we know of, Reese, surely, I reply He glances back at me. Quite right, of course, that we know of. And what about the Falklands incident?

A sigh of discomfort rattles out from the back of Reese's throat. The incident, whilst terrible, of course, does not really fall under my jurisdiction, to be frank. The less said about the whole series of events, the better. If I might be so bold, I personally think it's well within the government's best interest to just leave that one be. Hmm, I reply. Perhaps, Rees replies diplomatically. Perhaps.

There is another uncomfortable silence. We pass round a corner. Our footsteps and the low buzzer the lights are the only real sounds. To the left, the plexiglass window is stamped with a metal-worked placard, one that denotes a thing through the glass as object 21. The room beyond is dark. A single pedestal stand in the middle, lit from two angles in dim orange light from the overhead spotlights. A stuffed lion sits atop its pedestal, a child's toy.

One of its eyes looks scratched, its mane is tangled, and the label attached to his foot is torn. And as I stride down the length of the corridor, the lion's head slowly turns to watch me pass it by. I repress a shiver. I've always hated this place. There's a reason I never come down, unless directly ordered by my superiors. Looking now to the right, the window in the wall reveals a bare concrete room beyond, housing a softly rumbling engine in its very centre. Object 10, the sign says.

The words of this engine grow louder as we approach, and after a beat, a small, shiny mirror unfolds from the gears and pipes in the contraption's side, seemingly of its own volition. I see myself in the mirror's glass, walking along next to Reese, but I turn away once I realize that the reflections looking back at us are younger than they should be, far too young, by 20 years or more by my reckoning. The engine grumbles and angrily hisses, but I do not look back. A little further ahead, the wall is marked with a border of yellow and black.

The window is long and reveals two separate rooms, the small. occupied by scientists crowded around some glowing screens. Larger the rooms, houses are murky, pun-like environment. Something you'd see in a zoo, maybe. Object 3 states the sign. Besides a, do not tuck glass warning. Reese pauses here to look to the window, an eye to the same. We watch as the dark, near black pond water, stirs and ripples of its own accord.

The reeds around the water's edge fall back. at inconsistent angles and the pond rises. I take involuntary step back, heart pounding as the water spills upwards, as if filling an invisible container, and it forms into the shape of an alligator, a large one at that. The water flows around the alligator's liquid body, and it raises a disturbingly human hand to press against the barrier to the room, housing the scientists. The second, it connects with the wall. The alligator's shape is lost, however, and the reptile is gone.

solves back into simple water, sending up dark splashes as it returns to the pond. I've never been this far into the complex before, and I'm far too busy back on the surface to give the far as I've been sent any more than a perfunctory skim. From what little I have read, however, my surroundings now give those words disturbing and unsettling life. Not wanting to dredge up any of the passages that might have been locked in my deep memory. Ignorance is bliss. I turn my thoughts back to Object 16. It is only Object 16 that concerns me this evening. None of these other monstrosities.

Object 16 and its power. The power. Of sight. Object 16, if the vars have familiarized myself with a correct, gives the recipients of its bite the power to see possible futures. That's what I've read, what I've been told, to see paths and potentials that others cannot.

Roots to take, places to go and things to say to find strength. A politician can make excellent use of such power. Excellent use, indeed. I think on what Rees said earlier as we resume walking. It has been moved safely into its new containment. I ponder this. You mentioned new containment for Object 16, Rees, I say to the man.

Why is that? Why new containment? Yes, Reesays, adjusting his glasses once again. Object 16. It's changed, Mr. Pritchard. It has undergone some kind of metamorphosis since we last held it in our possession. One was still studying. This sudden metamorphosis is likely how it escaped in the first place.

He paused to speak to a security guard and a buzzer sounds. A door opens in the wall and we pass on through. It seals behind us with the country. click. The light is paler in this section of the complex. Changed? In what way? I asked. In the way that a caterpillar becomes a butterfly. I am about to query this when the corridor comes to an abrupt end. The walls part and the concrete falls back into metal railings. Ahead lies a narrow bridge, scarcely big enough for two men side by side, and it crosses a great and dark chasm. The start

an end of the bridge are marked with blinking red lights in the gloom and stand a good 20 metres apart. It connects to a platform on the opposite side, one with an open doorway that leads into, by the looks of it, more corridors. A low hum reverberates through the air, and I shiver. Though it's not particularly cold, I'm aware of restraining his posture and smoothing the sides of his coat down his legs. object too he says quietly and solemnly and knots to the left i turn and look down into the shadows far below peering over the bridge's side and i am met with a tremor of fear and a sickening sensation of smallness of unimportance and uncertainty a sense that my entire life and everything i know and understand is built of one little more than a thin membrane one riddled with holes in and tears and stretched across a swirling void, thick with terror and monsters. Monsters in the dark, churning in an ocean unseen. Object too is, to put it lightly, colossal.

Far below us, it is captured in a series of spotlights fixed at the chasm walls. It has the appearance of an enormous skull, the back half of which is buried deep in rock and shadow. Cracks run down from its eye sockets through the great. holes where its nose would be, and down to its teeth. It looks almost human. Almost, but not quite. There's something off about it. Aside from its size, of course, but there is something else, something in the shape,

perhaps, or the angles. Object two, as I stare, brutally mesmerized, shimmers through a series of colors, like an oil spill caught in the light of an evening sun, only less bright. and far less vibrant, white and grey and brown, cream and bone, faint teal, pale purple and off-yellow. The skull cycles through these colours and more at varying speeds, and I feel my stomach lurching complaint. Between the cracks and gaps and holes of the skull, long and creeping vines of thorned, blood-red roses are wound and woven and interlocked. Two thick vines, rich with these roses, streaked down from its eye sockets, and,

over its cheekbones, like two striking streams of scarlet tears. The skull has no eyes, obviously, but I get the sensation that it is looking up at me, looking right into me through those massive sockets. The object starts the grin. Its bones crack impossibly into a twisted smile, and I recall in horror, blinking and gasping. But the skull is not moved. There is no grin. I rub my eyes and realize that Reese is halfway across the bridge.

The school remains as it was, slowly shifting through colours. Mr. Pritchard, he calls back. My apologies. Try not to look at it for too long. And please, try not to think of the object's implications. It's still, as ever, under study. I grimace and swallow, striding across the bridge, paled and weakened. I am well aware of the terrible school down beneath me as a walk, watching me in my peripheral vision.

I think about whether I've read anything about object too, then, realizing that I'd rather not know, tried to push the thoughts from my head, focusing resolutely on the red light at the end of the bridge, drawing steadily and welcomingly closer. Upon reaching it, I find that I've been holding my breath and allow an inhale of rather stale, but still quite cool complex air. We leave the bridge behind us and step into the new corridor. So, Object 16, I manage weekly. I remember what I read about it in the fact file.

The image stills are requested. My ticket to a better life, the ultimate career enhancer. Scarcely more than a little worm, with a pin brick of a blade-like tooth at either end, it was housed in a wide and open-top tank and kept under strict observation. Not that strict, clearly, I think to myself, or it wouldn't have escaped. Yes, Object 16, its containment has, as I was telling you, changed. Reese replies as we walk. Post-recovery, we found that it was necessary to alter its environment.

I ask Reese to describe the new containment procedures to me. Object 16 is more mobile post-acoverry, Mr Pritchard. DNA analysis confirms that it is indeed the same specimen, but it now has the appearance of a wide-winged moth, scarlet and black. One of its fangs has been sharpened into a wasp-like sting. The other has multiplied into a set of fang-like jaws. Jesus, I mutter, mulling this over. My plan will be harder to implement if the thing flies now.

How big is it? Its wingspan is about 8 centimetres when in flight. Eight centimeters? Oh, is that all? That's tiny. It's larger than you would think, Mr. Pritchard. You'll agree when you see it, I'm sure. Anything else I should know?

We round a corner, passing a group of scientists huddled around a window to a dusty, hammer-like room. Object 20, the sign says. But beyond the glass and in the center of the room is not. nothing more than a stone staircase, descending down into the hole in the ground, pitch black, and almost liquid darkness. The scientists are briefing a man in a hazmat suit connected to a series of cables, but Reese does not slow his pace, and the little gathering is quickly lost behind another corner. I consider asking what's down there, but decide against it.

Yes, says Reese, there is more for you to know, but you will see for your yourself in a moment. He comes to a sudden an abrupt stop, staring straight ahead, and I step up beside him, following his gaze. Object 16, he says at last,

and I peer through the glass. A monstrous insect flies around the barren room, bordered by a kind of spherical netting, creating an enclosure roughly ball-shaped in appearance. Eight centimeters is indeed larger than I'd expected.

The human mind is an understanding and acceptance of relativity. An 8-centimeter ruler or an 8-centimeter phone or banana. Or hell, I don't know, any number of sayings are all bloody tiny. But an insect with a wingspan of 8 centimetres is damn enormous. It makes my skin crawl just a look at it. I imagine such an insect flying around my house and clench my jaw in disgust. It appears pretty much as Reese described it. Scarlet and black,

Pins-like jaws at one end, a stinger at the other. Though I would call it more hornet-like than moth-like personally. I swear I can almost hear it buzz through the glass, though that could be the electrics, or just my imagination. I feel myself start to sweat as I am forced to reconsider my plan. I was going to let Object 16 bite me. as I'm sure you've induced by now.

Bite me or sting me or whatever. Whatever is required for the power, for the sight. But this is another story. I'm not sure I have the nerve to allow such a monstrosity to sting me. A flying, violent-looking behemoth behind the glass. Hmm? Nothing, I mutter, robbing my forehead and looking around.

This section of corridor is crawling with scientists, security guards. I sigh and rub my chin as I look back at Object 16. It was a pipe dream, really. A dumb fantasy. Hell, I'm not letting that thing anywhere near me. Couldn't get close even if I wanted to. So the repercussions of Object 16's metamorphosis are immense, Mr. Pritchard, Rees says. I'll take you through some of the intricacies of the change,

and perhaps we can discuss eruptions. More funding for this area, as you've probably guessed, would request, but I really must stress the significance of this sudden change, and to be quite frank, I think that, given enough time for proper study, this object is a genuine candidate for controlled elimination. Reese does not get the opportunity to finish his thought. A light begins to flash at the corridor's end on the ceiling, sending great but silent waves of orange light out and across the hall's inhabitants. Conversations are lulled to a quick death, and for a moment there is no sound but the faint buzzing of the complex's electrics.

And then this silence is cut through with a siren, wailing in time to the flashes of light. A voice blares out through a series of speakers. Object 3 is unconfirmed. Containment procedure alpha and evacuation procedure 1 are now in effect. This is not a test. Object 3 is unconfirmed. Containment procedure alpha and evacuation procedure 1 are now in effect. This is not a test.

Jesus Christ, Rees splutters to his teeth. A woman nearby shoves past us as she reaches for a phone affixed to the wall. A handful of security guards sprint back towards the bridge, whilst most others turn tail to run in the opposite direction. Papers drift through the air as they had grabbed up in their piles and clutched to the white coat-clad chests of their writers. What the hell is happening? I call out, demeanour forced into calm, but my heart beating hard.

Object 3, what is Object 3? But I already know what Object 3 is. The memory comes back quick. The shadowy alligator in its concrete cave swamp. The living water, dark and unnatural. I see it pressing its hand against the glass in my mind's eye. I think of that terrible thing loose in the complex and my jaw clenches in fear. Impossible, Reese murmurs,

staring into space. Impossible. Containment procedure, Alpha. They've never used that before. Never. Alpha means there are potential hostiles in the complex. There's no way Object 3 could have gotten out by itself. Hostiles. I put two and two together.

Hostiles, as in people working against us. So it was released then. Someone released Object 3 deliberately, I say. Deliberately. Rees looks at me in horror. but the pieces are connecting in his head. I can see it. The alarm blares.

There's... There's no way. Why would someone do something like this? The damage that thing is capable of. What cause could they have? I can think of a cause, I mutter. I think back to the intern I shouted at in front of everyone. The scientist in training,

or perhaps a low-level guard. It makes no matter. The activist. The things that these people will do in the name of their cause. Terrist is what they are. Would he have still released the object had I ignored his little comment, or was it his plan all along, knowing that I would be down here? I don't suppose it matters much at this point. Object 3 is unconfirmed. Containment procedure alpha and evacuation procedure 1 are now in effect. This is not a test. I grab Reese by the shoulders. We have to go,

we have to get outright. Are you involved in the containment procedure? Reese shakes his head. No, no, that's not my jurisdiction. Then let's evacuate, right? Go, man, go. Which way? Reese nods and makes a break for it. Come on, he shouts over the siren, and I make to run with him.

But, as I do so, something bids me to slow. And instead of running alongside my guide, I instead come to a subtle stop and watch him round the corner and disappear out of sight. As if caught in the throats of my spell, I turned my head and look into the window of Object 16. At the insect that buzzes angrily around and around in its spherical netted enclosure, at its potential. The place is deserted, and the object is unguarded. Am I a fool? A fool for seizing a sudden and unexpected, impulsive chance.

Spurred by the incredulity of the release of object. 3, a dangerous creature, designed to make me look incompetent at best, and one designed to cause me or other's serious harm at worst. The power of Object 16, I would not have to fear such acts of hostility. I would not have to face them, ever, with the power of the object's sight. And I find myself pushing to the door and into the room adjacent to the object's enclosure. I look down at the screens and panels and buttons and wires. I know the procedure. I learned it during a previous visit.

The control panel was not quite the same, but it was similar enough. The sliding panels through the walls that Object 16 are opened with a simple turn of a switch and a manual turn of the door's circular lock. I do not consider until later the implications of the blinking yellow warning light

on the dashboard, the one accompanied by a message across the bottom of the nearest screen. Incapacitation protocol not initiated, object unsubdued, proceed with extreme caution. There was too much going on. The little yellow blink was lost beneath the thrum of the far more powerful orange.

My adrenaline had surged and I could feel myself shaking with excitement and fear all mixed together. But I had to act. I had to act lest I missed this golden chance. And so I stepped into the inclusion. closure of object 16. My shadow thrown intermittently up

across the walls. I fumbled desperately with a spherical netting trying to find a catch or release. There were several thick plastic clasps and grids spaced out across the net. My trembling fingers tried to crack them open and I succeeded.

It's possible whilst doing this that I hear a voice call my name from all the way down the corridor but I pay it no mind. The netting falls over. and in the very same instance, the terrible insect flies right past my head. Its eyes is distorted in the flashing light and becomes one with its shadows. The sound of its buzzing is immediate and terrible, and instinctually I battered away in alarm.

My hand connects with the creature that feels far heavier than it looks, and I find myself sweating and panicked. I reach out a hand blindly into the myriad of shadows for the creature. If I can just grab it around the middle and keep my nerves, resisting its squirming and terrible buzzing and scratching legs. I find it again in the orange darkness, but for the second time I am unable to prevent an instinctive recoil. I become tangled in the now loosened netting, and I cry out, and I feel a sudden sharp sting right into my hand.

I feel the weight of the creature crawling over my fingers, and I shake it away in disgust and horror. A sensation like fire spreads through my veins, and my hand at once begins. the cramp. Object 16 flies right past my face. I feel it on my neck and I try to swat it away. But again, it strikes. There is that sharp sensation again, this time just below my jaw. I clutch at the pain and finally free myself from the infernal netting. I stagger back and away and into the side room and draw the doors to a swift close. My injured hand throbs, then seizes

up entirely as the pain starts to flush down from my neck and through the connected shoulder. There is too much noise, too much noise and too much blood rushing in my head. I cannot tell if Object 16 was locked inside or if it escaped for the second time. Object 3 is still loose in the complex. I think to myself as I collapse into the corridor, my breathing ragged. Screw this, screw this awful, awful place. My hand feels like a great dead weight, one that is pouring molten lead down into my arm. I allow myself a scream, by its clenched tight shut, and yet still, blurily, I catch glimpses of the ceiling, of the corridor walls, of Reese rounding the corner again in search of me.

How is this possible? I can still see. Mr. Pritchard, he cries out and sprints to me, crouching down beside my body. I watch him recall in horror. I opened my eyes. Mr. Pritchard, he says again, mouth agape. What have you done? He was a good man, Reese. I thought him weak, but it took courage to come back for me.

I rate him for that. I don't know what became of him when I left him behind. He tried to help me evacuate, of course, but I knew a better way. I saw a better way. even through my pain and confusion, and I followed it. My lips stretch and crack into a grin as they sprint across the fields, relishing the sickly warmth of the autumn sun. It's funny, you know, the way that Object 16 grants sight, or at least the way it grants sight now, following its metamorphosis. I look down at the eye that is formed near the centre of my palm, and as I do, I look back up into my own face.

It itched like hell, you know, in the first few hours during its formation. Its sight became less blurry, more focused as it gradually pushed aside the skin with little rivers of pus and thin, semi-clear blood. The second eye, or the fourth, I suppose, formed itself on the side of my neck. It's tricky having to deal with so much more lines of sight to have such an expanded vision is a curse, and yet a blessing. because through these eyes, if I focus my train of thought, I can see the paths that stretch out before me, I can see the ways that I should follow.

I have left politics behind for now, of course. Such trivial, pathetic, and inconsequential nonsense. Such nonsense compared to the things that I've glimpsed through my wondrous new eyes. And the objects, these objects that we have recovered, are we so proudly and arrogantly keep locked below. They are but the tips of the iceberg. They are nothing compared to the wonders and terrors that lie beyond out there in the world. Wonders and terrors.

There is so much out there, so, so much. Monsters and places, anomalies and artefacts beyond any mortal comprehension. I can see their shadows, their reflections, the glints of light that shine from their edges. They are mine for the taking. One just has to know where to look. One wrong turn. That's all it took for us to come across the wretched scene

I'll be attempting to put into words. Even though the memory of it all is still fresh in my mind, considering not a month has passed since then, I feel like I've come to terms with the fact that there's no real explanation for what we witnessed. And even if there was one, I don't think I want to know. Say whatever you want about curiosity,

but when you witness something in the flesh that you know can't and shouldn't be happening, well, let's just say it's not easy for our brains to just ignore events and defy all logic. You'll find yourself desperately coming up with all sorts of excuses, just as I have, to prevent certain parts of your mind from being irreparably broken. It's easier to chalk it up to a dozen different things than to just admit to yourself that there are certain events, situations, things of a different kind of nature, that we're just not equipped to process and accept. A part of me has made peace with it, knowing full well that this isn't something I will ever forget or shake off. It will always be there, like a smudge that can't

be washed off or a floater in the corner of your eye. The other part, however, has brought me here, to you. I don't consider myself a very bright person, but I'm not to not to be. I'm not to dumb enough to start pursuing something I can't even make sense of. I'm not the kind of guy to just round up a bunch of people, grab some Ouija boards from the dollar shop, and hit the road in search for answers. Because that's how people get killed, if they're lucky. There's worse things out there, that much I'm sure of. And it always fills me with anxiety and dread when the realization hits that I don't know

the extent of how bad they can truly be. So, while I might not be dumb enough when it comes to certain things, I think it would do more harm than good if I just assumed from the get-go that there isn't a single soul out there that might have some answers, clues, anything that could help, no matter how small and insignificant. Perhaps it is an unwise thing for me to do, but I've recorded all this so far, and I don't feel like stopping now. Earlier that day, I attended a housewarming party for a relative. My uncle, who also attended, offered to give me a lift when we were. left. It was the first time either of us had been to that town, and coupled with the fact that we hadn't talked or seen each other in a long time. Well, one thing led to another, and after a distraction here and another one there, it's, as I said in the beginning,

all it takes is one wrong turn. Attempts to reroute and find the right path were fruitless, as the devices we put so much blind trust into, decided to fail at the worst possible time, as they often do. Despite the empty road and the woods that surrounded us on both sides, we were really concerned about our predicament. It was the middle of the afternoon. The sun was out and we had a full tank of gas. At worst, we'd drive for a little more than we intended to.

Oh, so we thought. My uncle, Thomas, slowed down as soon as we turned a corner and saw an ambulance in the distance, parked on the right side of the road, the same lane we were in. He hit the brakes before we even came close to it when we noticed the first body bag. The thought of it alone still unnerves me. This body bag with someone or something clearly in it, just there in the middle of the road.

And at a considerable distance from the ambulance parked up ahead, you might be thinking to yourself that there isn't much to this up to this point. After all, driving by a minor has severe accident while on the road is something I'm sure we've all witnessed at some point. as well as seeing EMTs doing their work. It's an everyday occurrence, like so many other things. The thing is, as soon as my uncle stopped the car to better assess the situation we ran into, we realized a couple of things almost immediately.

One, despite the evidence so far that there had been some sort of incident, meaning the body bag on the road, as well as evidence to support the fact that some sort of help had been dispatched, which would be the ambulance in this case. there just weren't any signs whatsoever of anyone being anywhere near the scene. Two, even from a distance, we could see that the ambulance's doors were left flung open and all sorts of items and equipment appeared to be scattered about on the ground right next to them. If only there had been someone there to reassure us and just tell us where to go,

to just let us know it was all under control. But there wasn't. And for some weird reason, it started to make me feel like I well we had some kind of application to do I don't know something about it

maybe it was something to do with there being a literal dead body on the road and my uncle and I seemingly being the only living souls in the vicinity like we had to take charge or something you know which I know probably sounds dumb but what would you have done

I'm not saying I wanted to do something about it but I remember thinking about it and feeling very odd at the same time, almost as if the thought alone was being forced on me. Perhaps that's what the body bag in the middle of the road was. Some kind of bait to elicit pity and empathy, respecting the dead and such. I asked my uncle what we should do. Without taking his eyes off the road, he turned the ignition back on and drove the car

as slowly as he could towards the ambulance. He moved around the body bag in a way that it could only be observed from the driver's side. my uncle stopped the car once again for a brief period of time as he rolled down the window and took a better look at the body bag now a mere few feet away from us he remained like that for what felt like a really uncomfortable amount of time just staring out of his window while I stared at the back of his head trying desperately to get some sort of reading on him

something's wrong he finally said as he resumed his driving I'm going to pull over next to the ambulance. You might be thinking, if that were me, I would have just kept going. Or perhaps you would have told him, had you been in my shoes, that the situation did not concern us in the least, and that there was no valid reason for us to hang around. For the record, I did not want to be there at all.

Every time my brain went over the information that there was a body bag with a body in it in the middle of nowhere, the more rattled I'd become. But the thing is, my heart. uncle used to work as an EMT. He's never discussed it with me at length, but I've heard some stories here and there from my parents. He always knew how to remain calm and compose during the hardest of situations, and I could see how quickly he shifted to serious mode when he said he'd be pulling over. I trusted his judgment. The other thing I'd also like you to take into account

is that my uncle knew a fair deal of co-workers, even friends in some cases that couldn't quite manage to cope with some of the things they'd seen on the job, from depression and mental breakdowns, all the way to ending their own life, he'd lost several people over the years when he worked as an EMT. I believe that might have gotten to him more than anything else, so it wouldn't really surprise me if seeing the state the ambulance was in is what triggered something in him. Had this been a normal scene, with police and EMTs in the area, he wouldn't have battered an eye and would have let others do their work. Whatever we got ourselves into, however, told a much different story,

and the first thing that crossed my uncle's mind was, without a doubt, they might need help. I hope you understand where he was coming from, because that's what he'd always been like all the time, thinking of the well-being of others above all else. Our slow but steady approach towards the ambulance had me on the edge of my seat the whole way through, as much as I tried to hide it,

Distancing ourselves from the body bag on the road did not bring me any comfort as we got closer to the seemingly abandoned and recently rummaged through ambulance. Either of those things were as eagerly perplexing and unnerving. When my uncle finally positioned the car side by side with the ambulance, a couple of other cars immediately came into view, which we hadn't been able to see until then. A red car parked in front of the ambulance and a police car parked in front of it at a rather odd angle. For a brief moment, I felt her sense of relief. Not only was the police on the scene, this was also an indication that there had to be more people around. We were definitely not alone. My hopes were almost instantly dashed when we realized that both of those vehicles were in pretty much identical state to the ambulances.

Doors wide open with all sorts of items scattered about. No one in sight, not in any vehicle, or on either side of the road. my uncle switched the engine off and turned to me if you want to step out of the car you need to promise to do as I say I nodded and we both stepped out

I stayed next to our car while my uncle went around checking the other vehicles he didn't touch them or step inside them in any way he merely observed them from the outside he returned after a couple of minutes I asked him if maybe this was a prank of some sort of He shook his head. Don't think so.

I found some shell casings in this of the cop car, shot recently. I proposed the idea of a robbery that had gone wrong or something similar. He once again shook his head and frowned, appearing to be slightly confused. No, I don't think so. There's valuables in both cars still, phones and wallets and such. Also, no real signs of struggle. I asked him of other shell cases. and the items that littered the road surrounding the three vehicles we found,

and whether those would constitute, quote, signs of struggle. He scratched his head. I'm not sure, he said. There doesn't seem to be any blood or signs of a real struggle. As for some of the stuff on the ground, most of it seems to have been torn and broken intentionally. Not something you do in the middle of a fight or a shootout, but that's just my guess.

We also discussed the possibility of an animal attack, but there wasn't any damage to the outside or inside of their cars, like scratches or dents, or signs that something or someone had been dragged to the earth on the side of the road that led into the woods. The more we tried to make sense of it, the less sense it seemed to make. When I turned to face the way we had come from and saw the body bag, I turned to my uncle and asked if he could possibly tell us something. He promptly replied, no, which made me recall how some minutes before he'd been transfixed by it, right before declaring that something was wrong.

When I inquired about it, he looked at me with a very serious and stern look, his gaze jumping from me from the body bag all the way back. It almost felt as if he was intentionally debating whether to answer me or not. Ambulances don't carry body bags, and neither does the police. Well, some do sometimes. but that? He pointed at it. That's not a normal-looking one.

Whatever that's supposed to be, I could tell from a glance that it's definitely not something any actual workers in the field would use. The washed-off color, the uneven placement of the zippers, that smell. The face I must have made

prompted my uncle to say the following in response. No, it didn't smell dead. Trust me, I would know. I'm not even sure there's a body in there. But whatever it is, it has to be in some kind of other state. We're not going anywhere near it without knowing what it is. I'm sure it wasn't intentional. But my uncle's reasonings only made me grow more curious in regards to the content of the bag.

After all, a body in a bag, especially in such a setting, almost feels like a mystery that's begging to be literally unraveled. Is it a man or perhaps a woman? Have they passed recently or long ago? Would I even be able to tell? What about the cause of death? Natural, self-inflicted, an accident, or perhaps even murder? Would an average guy such as myself be able to pick up on those clues with a naked eye? And if I did, would I perhaps be the one to crack the case, so to speak,

figuring out what happened to them and thus why they ended up there in that state? A loud pop brought me back down to earth, quite literally in fact, as my uncle pinned me down behind her car almost instantly. Jesus, he said, that was a goddamn gunshot right now. A chill ran through me. Another gunshot followed right after. I'd never been in a situation anything close to it, but I could still tell that we weren't being fired at.

The sound was coming from the woods, but it seemed to have stopped after the second one. I asked my uncle what we should do next. He hesitated, and I'm sure he considered just getting back into a car and floor it out of there. But that didn't end up being his call. Not this time. I need you to stay put, he said. I told him no.

Listen, I've got a license to carry. I yelled no, angry that he'd be willing to put himself at risk for who knows what, and angry at myself and knowing that there was no helping it. That's just how he was. I said I come along with him, not because I wanted to. but because I hoped that I'd be forcing his hand and make him stay and just drive the two of us out of there. Hell, I would have done it myself if I knew how to drive. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed when he finally agreed to have me come with him,

although I'd like to think it just showed how willing he was to trust me in having his back. He retrieved the sick shooter from the car, and we cautiously entered the woods as we made our way towards the source of the gunshots. My uncle walked in front and I clung to him almost like a shadow. We didn't speak a word to each other from the moment we stepped into the wooded area as we didn't want to alert anyone that might wish us harm, but also because we had to be extremely alert to any unusual sound cues. There came a moment where he stopped and I almost bumped into him.

He raised his hand in the air signaling me to hold. He signalled to me to not say or make a sound and to follow him as he started heading in a different direction. I mouthed, why? To which she answered by pointing at something on the ground. Not twenty feet from where we stood. It was a nearly identical body bag, one that for some weird reason felt extremely out of place the longer I looked at it. My uncle grabbed me by the arm and finally forced me to take those first few steps into our new trajectory.

I don't think five minutes had passed when we started to hear someone's voice, yelling and screaming at weird intervals. although we couldn't quite make out what was being said. The sound led us to a clearing of sorts, and, at its centre, with his back facing us, stood a man unmoving. I could tell even from where we were standing at its clothes were unmistakably those of a policeman.

My uncle, widely sensing that a wave of relief was washing over me upon seeing the policeman, placed a hand over my mouth, no doubt making sure I wouldn't be calling out the man, almost as if by natural impulse. He then made some basic gestures that prompted me to look at the man again and do a double take. He was holding and pointing his handgun at something that appeared to be on the same level as the ground. I nodded to let him know that I understood.

We took cover behind a tree that was thick enough for the both of us. My uncle held me firmly against it as if to say, don't come out and into his line of sight. I agreed to it but gave him a wary look, as I knew. what he'd be doing next. We breathed in, but just before he stepped out from cover to let the other man know of his presence, another gunshot was fired, one which had come undoubtedly from the policeman. No, we heard him shout. No, stay down, stop!

I feared for my life, but I was also more confused than anything. One look at my uncle, and I could tell that we both knew the man was neither firing at or talking to us. After a few more gunshots and unintelligible screaming, we could tell that he had run out of bullets due to the incessant cocking and attempts at firing his empty gun. My uncle decided this was the best opportunity to let his presence, as well as mine, by extension, be known to the man. Even though I knew his gun to be empty,

and he nearly peed myself when he turned around to look at us and took aim without any hesitation. His hair was dishevelled, his clothes dirted, with both earth and pools of sweat, and his eyes, almost bulging out of their sockets, gave him a seriously deranged look. That and so much else made it look like he'd been lost in the woods for days or even longer. I couldn't begin to imagine what could have led to someone breaking down in this manner. He studied us with his unblinking gaze, as if trying to discern whether we were really there or not.

He aimed his gun at my uncle the moment he opened his mouth, trying to reassure him that we were not a threat to him. He mentioned the vacant cars we had come across, the gunshots, and that we had come to see if anyone needed help. The man appeared to lower his gun, if only slightly. You didn't see them, he asked. We didn't see anyone on the road, which we found very hard, my uncle replied. No, he said, that's not true, that's not possible, you didn't look. My uncle paused for a moment before continuing. We looked around.

There was nobody there. Otherwise we wouldn't be here. No, no, look! He yelled, pointing at the ground. You don't see them? My uncle and I were instinctively drawn to look at whatever the man was pointing at. And that's when we finally noticed

certain uneven shapes and patterns on the ground and inert, right next to the man. A half dozen of those same identical body bags. Each one sealed with a humanoid figure within. You? You, said the man.

You didn't look, you didn't see? He started walking towards us. A branch snapped somewhere close to us. You didn't look, you didn't see, he continued, almost in a sorrowful tone. He threw his gun away on his way to us and brought his hands to his face, as if to prepare for an incoming stream of tears. We still didn't have a clue of what this person had been put through, but there was no doubt that they were far from being all right. My uncle didn't move a muscle He stood his ground and opened himself up to the man

Coming our way, arms wide The man holding back his sobbing as much as he could Was receptive to my uncle and hugged him tightly Almost as if he hadn't been in contact with anyone else For a very long period of time My uncle looked at me as he gave the man some words of comfort Letting the two of us know that it'd be all right Another branch snapped around us

Much louder this time The man then grabbed my uncle's head with both hands and whispered something in his ear. Whatever he said made him reacting away I'd never witnessed before. He shoved him back as hard as he could, making him fall straight on his back rather effortlessly. What shocked me the most was in my uncle's unusual display of strength, but rather the horror plastered all over his face.

They don't stay down, the strange man said. still on his back. Make a run for the car, my uncle said to me, without even looking in my direction. This was a mistake. We're getting out of here. More branches snapped all around us. Go, now, yelled. I must have ran like the wind, because the next thing I knew,

I had reached the car and nearly collapsed next to it from the sudden exertion. I looked around after catching my breath and took notice that nothing had changed from the moment we had entered the woods. I couldn't quite tell how much time had passed since I had made it back because the incessant pounding in my head and chest kept me from worrying about anything else. My uncle eventually emerged from the woods, but he didn't seem to be in any hurry whatsoever. Regardless, I got in the car and opened the door for him, urging him to join me so we could get the hell out of there. He sat down and looked straight ahead. His hands rested on his lap.

One of them held his own handgun. I could smell the gunpowder, but I didn't ask about it. I'll be right back, he said. I didn't know what to say, so I kept quiet. He went to the back of the car and popped the trunk open. I didn't know what he could be possibly looking for at such a time, but I was more worried about keeping my eyes on either side of the road just to make sure that nothing was pursuing us.

I kept looking in the rearview mirror, which was a rather pointless thing for me to do, seeing as the trunk of the car prevented me from getting a good look at him. When I finally decided to stick my head out of the window to look back, I yelled out a mixture of shock, horror and surprise. My uncle was walking towards the body bag in the middle of the road at a steady pace.

I knew right away that there was nothing I could do to get me to reach him in time. I still tried. I ran, tripped, fell, got back up and ran again, with whatever strength I still had left. By the second time my legs failed me, my uncle was facing my way as he crouched on top of the body bag,

his free hand reaching for one of the zippers that held it shut. I could see him go through the motions as he unzipped it all the way and slowly uncovered it. He looked at me almost as soon as he did, and even with somewhat of a distance between us, I read it all on his face.

There was an attempt to shake his head, almost like a sudden twitch, but I knew what he meant. No, don't. The very next moment, something came in between us that severed the eye contact that we had momentarily established. The body bag, or whatever was in it, sat up in the blink of an eye, as if to meet my uncle face to face. He then fell backwards, lifelessly, dragging my uncle back down along with it and into it. As hard as it is to describe it, there's no other way for me to put it.

He fell into the... body bag, not out of sight or into the ground or some kind of sinkhole, but into that thing, as if he'd been gobbled up, despite the fact that the volume of the body bag hadn't changed in the least. As far as I could tell, it remained shaped like a singular person, not multiple. I waited for something to happen, anything that could clue me in as to what the hell just happened and what I should do. I lost track of time once more, incapable of being able to properly process what I had just witnessed. After what could have been either five minutes or five hours, the body bag shuffled little to its left and then to its right. It continued to do this for a little

while until it positioned itself sideways. It did this so he could let something out from within. I could tell right away that it wasn't my uncle, but an identical copy of the body bag that had just spit it out, just like all the other ones we come across in the woods. That was the last time any of them moved. Even now, I'm not sure when, or even how I did it, but apparently I got up and started walking at some point. At least that's what the patrol car that picked me up said, that I'd been walking aimlessly on the road. I was interrogated at length by all sorts of different people, always asking the same questions. My uncle has yet to turn up.

Not that I think he will. I told them about the body bags, but they always got real quiet when I brought them up. They did in fact confirm a multitude of things which lets me know that they know I'm not crazy, but more importantly, that I know I'm not crazy. The vehicles were all retrieved, but the EMT personnel are indeed missing, as well as a family of four to whom the red car belonged to and two on-duty officers. And... My uncle, they do not seem to have any answers for me, and I'm not too keen on seeking them out.

Whatever it was that my uncle saw, his regret and terror was instant and abundantly clear the moment we locked eyes. And despite all of that, he still used up what I assumed were his final moments to do what he always did best. And that was, saving others, whichever way he could. Do not come, do not look. one of the investigators did tell me something that I regret hearing to this day when we were discussing the body bags and I was asked to meticulously describe them as best as I could she asked again if I really hadn't seen anyone else out there with the exception of the deranged cop that we briefly interacted with I told her the truth to which she replied

that they did a clean sweep of the entire area over the course of several days and had found that several of the unidentified footprints found both on the inside and outside of the cars. We discovered all over the road and all throughout the woods. There had to have been hundreds of them out there. If not, more. I've been a hunter for a little over two years. I'm somewhat new to the sport, and admittedly don't have a lot of experience when it comes to everything involved. You will oftentimes find me coming ill-prepared, forgetting critical gear, or just generally sucking at sneaking up on a deer in the wilderness. White Tail is my preferred game, and the bow hunt is my preferred method, since I'm completely inept with a rifle. Don't get me wrong, I'm a typical guy. I enjoy my guns. It's just the fact that I can't hit the blind side of a barn when one is in my hands that puts me off of them.

However, when it comes to bow, specifically a crossbow, I'm pretty damn good. I'm on target roughly 90% of the time shooting open sight, and I've managed to nail a dip. from 100 yards out. This was on my first bow hunt, and I was pretty damn proud of myself hauling out a 250-pound four-point buck in the back of my truck. My favorite location to hunt

is around the alpine loop in Utah. Absolutely stunning location, from the twisting rivers to the shimmering quakees that turned bright gold in the fall. I'll commonly camp there with my girlfriend right when the leaves are starting to turn. It was August,

on the first day of the opening for bow hunting season, season. I got in skunked the year prior and had high hopes for this season. My girlfriend unfortunately couldn't come with me. She had a job interview that she couldn't miss, so I was left on my own for a week. She was supportive, wished me luck, and I was excited to have an opportunity to fill my buck tag. I'd arrived at the location I'd scouted a month prior, commonly seeing small herds of deer wandering down to the streams around here, with several deer trails that led up into the hills. I set up camp, lit myself a small fire, had some hot dogs, and in the early morning, just before the sun crested over the hills, I headed out. I chose one of the deer trails

and began following it deep into the backwards, hoping to catch one of the herds on their way down from deeper in. The walk was peaceful, looking around at the dim and serene scenery as I ducked under branches and walked around rocky patches. The brisk morning wind tickled my ears, sending small spurs of pins and needles down the sides of my neck, making me shiver. The birds were chirping happily, accompanied by the rustling of the quakees, like a rainstick being slowly tipped end over end. The smell of scattered pines only added to the environment, as beautiful as it had ever been.

The sky slowly shifted from a deep navy blue to more gradient shades of sapphire as I twisted my way further up, and after a while I looked down at my watch. It was nearly five in the morning. I'd been hiking for nearly an hour and decided I should probably rest, so I didn't get too tired and couldn't manage to get the deer back to camp. I took off my bow and deer sled for my back, setting them off to the side before grabbing my thermos. It was filled to the brim with dark and strong coffee that I gladly drank,

sitting myself down on a nearby rock as I watched the sunrise. I spent a while there, just take it. in the small noises. It was nice to be removed from the city, away from the bustle and stress of work, away from people, a place where I could breathe. Honestly, even if I didn't come back with my dear, this made the trip worth it. I leaned back against the pine that sat behind me, closing my eyes and breathing deeply, completely relaxed in this place, as I let every little noise and shift of the wind hit my ears.

After a few minutes, my mind threatening to pull me into an unsolicited nap, I heard a soft and rhythmic patter. It was close by, one right after the other, leaves crunching, and it was a twig snapping that in turn snapped me out of my trance. I quickly looked around, sitting up straight as I continued to listen. It was footsteps, coming instead of two, light yet deliberate. It was a deer, and it was heading right for me. I quickly and quietly grabbed my bow, pulling back the drawstring and arming it with a bolt, before sitting back against the tree, waiting patiently. They kept coming closer and closer, and before I knew it, it came into view.

The large animal was only ten yards to my right, taking large steps down the path with his head held high. Even in the dim light, I could tell it was a buck, and about the largest buck I'd ever seen. This guy had to be at least £350, if not more. The rack on this monster stood tall at a non-typical seven points, like the spiky crown adorning its head. As I looked on in awe at this massive silhouette, I could see that bits of felt still hung from parts of his rack, only telling me that somehow this beast was going to grow even larger over time. He'd start to graze at various undergrowth as I raised my bow. It was a beautiful shot, clear sight of its side, and a clean shot to its heart.

I steadied myself, put my sights dead on with the back of his shoulders, breathed out, and placed my finger on the trigger. It was supposed to be a clean shot, the easiest and luckiest shot I'd ever had and would probably ever get. However, fate decided something different. That 10% came back to bite me in the ass as a large gust of wind came right up as I squeezed the trigger and caught the fletching of my arrow by the sails of a boat on the ocean. The sudden wind spooked the buck and he turned away from me right as my arrow reached him. It veered up into the left, the deer turned right, and my tip grazed its upturned tail before slicing across its back and past its head, sticking into a tree in front of him. My stomach came up to my throat as the animal let out a bellow of pain, staggering and stumbling before bolting off up the mountain, his steps falling into the background and fading deeper into the forest. I sat there, and over my mouth, just staring at my arrow that was now buried deep into the trunk of a quakey.

Damn, oh damn, oh damn, I yelled under my hand before slamming my fist into the tree behind me, getting up and bolting after the buck. I can't describe how insurmountably horrible I felt. I'd sliced and split the back of this animal's skin and couldn't even imagine how much pain I'd caused it. I didn't even bother with a sled or retrieving my crossbow bolt. All I cared about was catching up to that buck and putting it out of its misery. I love animals, especially wild ones,

and I was horrified that I could have done this. Killing is one thing, and I always use as much of the animal as possible when I did, so nothing meant to waste. But to wound an animal and leave it? No, not happening. I loved the sport too, but I didn't give a damn about my tag at that point

as I trudged up the mountain as quickly as my legs would carry me. Fortunately, or unfortunately, I was able to track the animal by the drops of blood it had left behind, scattered on the leaves and ground under my feet. I was out of breath by the time I reached the top of the mountain, leaning over my knees to catch my breath. As I looked around, trying to keep track of my trail, my heart suddenly sank.

I'd lost track of the damn trail, and I even went back to retrace my steps to try and find it again. However, it was no use. It made it to the top of the mountain, and then the trail went cold, travelling over the rocks and vanishing somewhere over the other side. I held my head, the image of that poor animal still there.

I'd failed. I'd mortally wounded a beautiful animal in the most horrific way possible, and I'd lost it, unable to correct my stupid mistake. I stood there, leaning against a nearby tree and cursing myself profusely

for what had happened. And then, I heard it. A bellow, a deer call, coming from somewhere close. I quickly looked around, a spark of hope as I realised

that I may not have lost the book after all. However, the call could have come from anywhere. I was at the top of a mountain. It could have come from a hundred yards away and was just echoing off the stone. However, as a dot slowly began to move out from the tree line of the meadow below, I quickly took out my binoculars.

Out of the trees, walking with a grace it shouldn't have had, was a seven-point buck. I was relieved, knowing that I'd found him. However, something wasn't right. He was walking just fine, completely graceful, just like he'd been when he'd first crossed my path, and as the sun finally broke over the hills and bathed a meadow in light, nothing can compare or ever will compare.

To what I saw, the buck's back was cleanly split open. All the movements of his shoulders could be seen as exposed muscle and tendon contracted and moved, like a skin suit that had yet to be zipped up, blood dripping down from the flesh and down his legs to the ground with every movement. I felt sick to my stomach, seeing the exposed meat and bone under his skin. However, that wasn't all. At least ten toe began to walk out as well, and everything about them seemed twisted and wrong.

All of them in the herd looked like they were in the advanced stages of wasting disease. Thin skin stretched impossibly tight over their bones, most of their necks bowing downward unnaturally as their heads pointed forward in painful positions. Their eyes were crazed, some bulging out of their schools, like they were being pushed forward from inside. My pulse quickened, my hand beginning to shake, and yet, I'd look on.

Some of them look scarred from any number of injuries, and one in particular dragged its back leg behind it, blackened and decayed, only hanging onto the joints by a couple of the joints by a couple of stubborn ligaments that just wouldn't let go. Another was covered in masses and tumours, all scabbed and extending from its chest to its face, where it dominated its features,

hardly looking like a dough anymore, almost unrecognisable, aside from its body structure. And then there was the fawn. It came out last, hunched and sickly like the others. However, it dragged behind it what looked like what was left of its twin. All that was there from the congenial twin were its back legs. However, they connected to its stomach, and were covered in an indiscernible amount of mud and grime

from being dragged along the forest floor for God knows how long. It was trailing behind one of the dough. However, it stopped, its legs shaking before it collapsed under its own weight. The dough turned and walked over to it, its crazed eyes locking onto its fawn, before it did something that, to this day, still makes the bile come up to the back of my throat to think about. After no more than a moment, the dough brought its hoof down on its own fawn,

over and over again as the fawn twitched, and, without any hesitation, it leaned down, and began to eat its own young, strip by bloody strip. I quickly covered my mouth, gagging at what I was witnessing and going to look away. However, a noise made me look back. It was the buck, calling out that same bellow, and I try my binoculars on him. He was looking at me. This damn thing was looking at me, dead in the eye through the damp binoculars, standing dead still as puffs of condensation came from his flared nostrils.

He was still, I was still, frozen in fear as I realized what I previously thought were the remains of old felt. it wasn't felt at all, but shredded, old and rotting flesh, hanging from its antlers in red and brown ribbons. It raised its head, his jaw falling broken and uneven as he bellowed at me again, and unable to watch any more of the horror show, I quickly lowered my binoculars, only to find that all of them, every single last member of his herd, was now watching me, all still in the meadow below. With that last horrific image engraved in my mind, I turned and ran, heading down the mountain faster than I thought I could. I left my bow, my gear, even my camping equipment.

I didn't care. All I cared about was getting back to my damn truck and getting the hell out of there as fast as I could. I didn't tell my girlfriend about this. I didn't tell anyone. I wouldn't know where to even start if I tried. What am I supposed to do? Get a counsellor, walk into that office and tell them

I'm traumatised by the herd of demonic deer. I could tell a ranger, but all they'll do is tell me it's wasting disease and not do a damn thing. And God knows I'm not going back up there to clear them out. No, I'm just not going to go back there ever again. Screw that and screw hunting. If my girlfriend wants the camp,

I'll take us somewhere else, anywhere else. Just never even go near the alpine loop again. If she asks about my gear, I'll tell her I sold it, that I'd given up hunting and taken up a new hobby. Maybe fishing would be less terrifying. I know that thing was watching me, though. I knew he could see me.

I don't know how, but I knew he could. No amount of camera gear or deer blinds could hide you from that thing's watch. That was his territory and his herd, and he made damn sure I knew it. And the thing is, I'm pretty sure he doesn't want me back either. I could see him watching me in my rearview mirror, standing in the center of the road, making sure I left.