CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - 2 HOURS of SCARY r/Nosleep Horror Stories to count down to the spooky day the end of October

Episode Date: October 18, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORIES-►0:00 "The Reason Why You Might Hear Laughing In The Woods" Creepypasta►15:53 "Someone left a charcoal X on my door. I've been marked" Creepypasta►34:52 "I'm a Teacher and My Favorite Student's Guardian is Different" Creepypasta►1:02:09 "I Run An Airport That Caters To A Special Kind Of Clientele" Creepypasta►1:29:25 "1992" CreepypastaCreepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...CREEPY THUMBNAIL ART BY►Ian Llanas: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/P5v4LSUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPastaCREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only-

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combe. The only time I went hunting was with my father when I was 11. My mother didn't work, so it was up to him to provide for us. My entire life, he worked more than he was home. When he did come home, he drank in front of the TV, too exhausted to do anything. The years crept up on him, and he finally noticed how old I'd gotten, and how I was already shaping up to be a disappointment in his eyes. I was small from my age.

I stayed inside to read instead of playing sports. My body's so frail, I got sick often. When he finally, truly looked at me for the first time, he didn't recognise the son that lived in his house. He thought hunting would be the answer. If I would man up and shoot something, maybe I might grow into the person he wanted. We never really spent any time together.

Out, hunting with my father, felt like being stuck inside the forest with a stranger. What kind of person even enjoys camping? Was I missing something? I nearly got eaten alive by bugs. The humid and cloudy weather didn't keep them away, only making me even more miserable. My father kept sipping away at a steel water bottle

I knew didn't have water inside. Without it, he never would have lasted the day. We caught no fish at the lake for lunch the first day. Trying out luck, we went into the forest trying to shoot something for dinner. We packed something to eat, but not much. My father worked hard However, he was supporting all three of us on his own I knew he would be four of us soon

My mother hadn't told him yet And I wasn't sure how he would take it I really prayed she would leave him As heartless as that was the hope for We could go to my auntie's house So my father could be alone Maybe retire in a few years Without having to worry about supporting her family

Even as a child I could see how much his job broke his body a little more every day. In my mind, my mother didn't have any kind of feelings for the stranger. Instead of going outside and playing with neighbourhood friends, I worried about my family's future. In the woods, hunkered down, my father waited for something to come into his sight.

For the first time, he made an attempt to talk with me and teach me things. After a while, when he thought I could be trusted, he placed a rifle into my hands and let me get into position. It was far too big for my short arms and little hands. I feared if I fired the recoil would break my shoulder. I didn't know the first thing about guns. In the movies, I'd seen they always had powerful recall. Line it up, our dinner is over there.

My father whispered in my ear. While I worried and fretted, a rabbit came into the clearing. He spotted it first. Looking through the sight, I went through everything I'd just learned. I only needed to pull the trigger. Such a simple little thing. My father would teach me more things patiently and be proud of me.

The first hunting trip with his son would become a cherished memory. It did not go like that. I froze up. I just couldn't shoot the rabbit. Aside from not wanting to kill another living creature, I felt like if I shot it, I would be living a lie. My father would try his best to act like the person he should be, teaching me had to skin the rabbit and had to cook it, but he would not actually

care about me. He never did. This trip would never turn into a family relationship he wanted. The small rabbit jumped off and out of sight to become a meal for something else. I eased the grip on the rifle the moment before it snatched on my hands. My father shot at the rabbit, now hidden in the bush, face and a rage. Why didn't you shoot it? he hissed at me.

When he got angry, his voice got low. He was never the type to yell and scream. I wondered if he did shout at me, I might be less scared of him. Whenever I had a nightmare, it was always the same. My father sitting in the living room in the dark, staring at the TV. I stood in the doorway, looking at him, just waiting. The waiting crept dread into my bones. I hated waiting.

I wished he would just finally scream at me. I couldn't stand his silent rage any longer. Go back to camp, you're worthless. Those words should have done nothing to me. After all, this man wasn't my father. Not really. He was a stranger. And yet, I found my face reddened in shame.

I still didn't entirely regret not shooting the rabbit. I went back to camp trying to make myself useful. I collected firewood. I tied it up and did anything else I thought might make my father. I heard a sound of a truck. We parked pretty close by and my stomach sank at the thought of him just leaving me here. But our gear cost a lot of money. He would leave his son in the woods, but not things he worked hard for.

For hours I was alone in the tent. I brought a book along. I'd nearly finished it by the time my father returned. He smelled drunk and like fast food. I knew he'd gone into town for supper and a few drinks alone. I'd eaten a hot dog and a handful of marshmallows. The arrangement was fine by me. The rest of the night he spent by the fire, silently drinking his not so hidden vodka stash.

The scene identical to how he spent time at home. So silent, just looking forward, yet not taking anything in. He stayed outside, even after night fell. I went into our tent trying to sleep, finding it impossible. I thought about how things were to sleep. I thought about how things would change when my new sibling came, if they ever made it to that point. I feared my father may make certain he would not have another mouth to feed.

I wanted nothing more than to get away from that man, even though, in a way, he had never done anything to me. That nothing scared me, that nothing made me feel as if something was coming. At some point I'd fallen asleep. Rustling outside worked me up. In my drowsy state, I sat up, hearing my drowsy state, I sat up, hearing my father's voice outside.

Take him, please, not me. He was crying. The man I didn't know a thing about was crying. His voice was faint as if far away. More begging and bleeding until I heard something that made me scramble into the corner of the tent. He finally broke the silence

and the noise I've always dreaded came. He screamed. And just kept screaming as if his life depended on it. Clutching my knees to my chest, tears came to my eyes, as I could do nothing but listen. Cracks from the rifle came. Whatever he was firing at, he missed, or it didn't care. The entire exchange only took a few minutes that felt like years.

Finally, his voice drifted away, as if he was being dragged at a fast pace. At first, I wanted to stay inside the tent until morning. I sobbed hard until my throat felt raw and eyes hurt. When my crying spell stopped, I decided to see if he dropped the rifle. I would need a weapon until I could leave when dawn came. I unsit the tent only enough to peek outside. The dying fire did not give enough light to see by. I needed to go outside.

Finding a flashlight, I carefully got out of the tent, hyper aware of every sound around me. Scanning the ground, I saw the hot dogs was still where I left them. If my father was attacked by a wild animal, why didn't they take these as well? Did the smell attract something and it decided a full-grown man would be a better meal? I saw no sign of the rifle, only tracks in the dirt where my father made his last stand. I felt sick because I realised he was coming towards the camp instead of the truck when he got snatched away. He either tried to save me or wanted to use me as bait. Neither idea made me feel better.

Thinking the truck would be a better place to wait until morning, I started to look around, trying to find the trail towards it. I stopped when I heard a voice. Please, not me. Help. It sounded so hurt and awful. The last word was choked out, making it hard to hear. But I knew that was my father calling out.

For the first time in my life, He was trying to reach me. Abandoning the idea of the truck, I foolishly turned away and towards the voice. For hours, I walked in those woods, getting hopelessly lost. I felt sick with fear. Anything could be in the dark, and I only had a small flashlight to protect myself. Whatever took my father, easily overpowered a full-grown man. I did not have a chance if it came across me.

I'd let my emotions take over, and it might get me killed. Then again, I was only a child back then, and really shouldn't be too hard on myself. Please. The voice came from close by, very low and raspy, but still my father's voice. I'd been walking for hours at that point. My small body wasn't meant to move this much in the cold, wet darkness. I felt a fever already coming, and I wasn't thinking clearly as I walked towards the voice. I didn't even consider it may be someone else aside from who I wanted to fly.

find. Coming into a clearing, I started to look around frantically with my flashlight. The small beam of light landed on something that made me choke on air. Someone killed a deer, skinned it and hung it from a tree. In the darkness, that was what it looked like. I knew what a skinned deer looked like. It was what my mind wanted to see. The kill was so fresh, but it still dripped down into the grass. I couldn't start myself from starting to take shorter and shorter breaths, when a whisper of a thought came to my mind, that the body wasn't a deer. That's not him, I said out loud only to myself.

It's not him, it's not him. It's a deer. It's a small, deformed deer, with a small legs. Unable to stop myself, I suddenly hunched over and threw up my meagre meal from hours before. Mostly bile that stung my throat. Seeing such a ghastly sight in the dark Made me completely snap

Instead of screaming I started to laugh On my knees alone Lost and scared beyond words I'd started to laugh Weak chuckles at first that turned into a stroke cackling It soon turned into heavy sobs that locked up my chest It's not him, it's

I was sobbing, holding myself Not being able to look at the body in front of me. After gaining another few glances between tears, I saw how different the legs were compared to what deer legs should look like. I only held under some hope it wasn't my father skinned and hanged from a tree because I'd heard him a few minutes before entering the clearing. The kill was fresh, but skinning took a while, even if he knew what you were doing. In the next few moments, I saw why my hope was unfounded. I forced myself to stop crying when I saw a pale face in the dark on the other end of the clearing.

The face looked at me through the trees, just beyond the skin body. I opened my mouth to ask for help, but nothing came out, aside from a croak. To my horror, the face came out of the trees with the rest of its terrible body. I didn't understand what I was seeing, even though the pale creature stood out in the darkness. I wanted to believe I was still in my tent, dreaming this entire thing. The monster was the thing of nightmares. It was skinny, so much so I could see every bone in its body. It had arms so long he walked on his elbows,

the rest of its arms folding backwards, sticking up above its head. The same was for its legs. It crawled down its knees, legs pointing up towards the sky. The pale thing saw me, inhuman sunken eyes and a flat human-shaped face. Standing up, I thought I could run. It was still a few feet away, and judging from how deformed his body was,

I doubted it could move very fast. I only got to take a single step back when it raised an arm. The rest of his arms snapped forward easily, covering the distance of the clearing. I'd assumed it couldn't reach forward with his entire arm because it was bent back, but I was mistaken.

Twisted fingers grasped the front of my shirt. I was dragged forward, two-inch shock to do anything. Raising me up, I met those horrible black eyes. The smell of rotted breath nearly made me pass out. I was so small and frail, I could do nothing to fight against the monster. Most likely, my father was dead. It would skin and eat me.

And I couldn't do a damn thing about it. The whole situation was so bleak, I surprised myself over what I did next. I started to laugh again. The monster's features twisted in one of confusion. I still laughed until tears came back to my eyes. and that thing, whatever it was, copied me. It laughed my own voice back towards me. We both laughed until I physically couldn't any longer.

I wish I had an explanation of how I escaped from that creature. The memories end in darkness at that point. I was told later that I had been found on a hiking trail a week later, nearly starved a death. Even after my body recovered, my mind did not. Everyone assumed I killed my father in those woods And the event just broke me I would like to believe that And the creature I'd seen wasn't real

I didn't remember the two years after I'd been found I ate and slept not doing much else One day I weakly laughed at a joke I'd overheard When the doctors found out I would react to any kind of comedy They were able to get me to laugh myself back to a new normal I remembered seeing that monster in the woods. Then I was with my mother and my little sister, no memories in between. I haven't yet told her about that creature.

They found some rope with my father's blood on it. However, they didn't know where his body was, or even how I got up into the tree to tie up that rope to start with. The case was still open and would be for the rest of my life. I still want to warn people about that thing in the woods. I'm certain it's still out there, waiting. I don't know why you let me go. Maybe it was thankful I'd given it the perfect voice to learn others towards it.

So, if you hear a child laughing in the middle of the woods, don't go towards it. That's the time to leave. A few months ago, I was at a bachelor party. All my friends had gathered, and we had this big night owl. I'll be the first to admit I had a few shots too many Still I'm a responsible driver And I didn't live all that far away So I took the sobering walk back home

I used the shortcut by the lake Try my best not to step on any frogs in the way Most buggers are everywhere I was about halfway home When I noticed something further down the road Someone was coming my way And they were dragging a large garbage back behind them he stopped about 20 metres from another

and I got a good look at him he was wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and he had this wild stare like an animal his eyes were so large they were practically round he had several deep cuts in his skin as if sliced by a knife but there was no blood coming out

he just stood there staring at me look the other way he said just look away I don't know why I did as he asked Maybe it was just me being stupid and drunk Still, it feels like there was something more to it I honestly didn't want to know what I was walking into

So I looked away And I heard him shuffle past me With his garbage bag in tow Good, he coughed You did good I didn't report it to the police I was barely conscious by the time I got home And I wasn't sure if

I had dreamt it all. I was too busy nursing my hangover to consider what it really happened. It wasn't until a few days later, when I started noticing the missing posters for Councilwoman Leslie Bolin that I started getting suspicious. Still, I did nothing. I had no part in this. I wasn't even sure what I'd seen. About a week later, they reported Leslie Bolin had been found. There weren't any details released to the public, except, that there was suspicion of murder. I couldn't help shake the feeling that I'd seen something that night.

I hadn't told anyone, not even my girlfriend. I laid awake at night, thinking about what to do. Then, on morning, there was a mark on my door, a large X made with charcoal. I washed it off immediately,

but the thing spooked me. I'm a very private person, and there was no way I could take this in any other way, then as a threat. If it was supposed to intimidate me, they failed. Instead, I told my girlfriend about it, all of it, the man I'd seen, my suspicions, everything. She didn't seem too bothered.

Maybe she thought I made it up to scare her, not that I have a history of doing so. Even then, it's been hard getting her to focus on anything for the garden lately. But that's not here nor there. So, I went to the police. I explained what I'd seen, where I'd seen it, and when. I tried to describe the man, the garbage bag, and his general expression. They didn't seem all too interested. I'd been blackout drunk.

It'd been over a week ago, and they'd already arranged the search in that area a few days prior. I wasn't a reliable witness. Even if they believed me, they couldn't send out a dive team to Frog Lake on nothing but this testimony. They needed something more. I just washed my hands of the entire thing. I was done. I tried to help, but no one seemed to take me seriously. For a while, I thought I was just being paranoid.

Then, I started getting dry eyes. I know, it doesn't sound very interesting. You'll get them from time to time. But I never had that before. The skin was red and irritated, and at the same, At times, I could barely keep them open. I tried creams and salts, but it was all just temporary pain relief. The problem persisted for days, and it started to affect my personal life.

I no longer felt comfortable driving, and seeing myself in the bathroom mirror was just uncomfortable. But there were other things. I noticed the charcoal X marker around town, on the side of the water tower in alleyways, on the sign to the quarry, next to the church Melbourne. box. They were small, but all over. How hadn't I seen these before? Looking back at it, I'm pretty sure these spots were marked before. I started patrolling my house, looking for these marks. I didn't see any nearby, but I did see one by the neighbor's house,

on those fabricated houses from the 70s, right there on a tree with a swing, clear as day, another charcoal X. I lived like that for a while, and I adapted as best as I could. I set up a doctor's appointment. Nothing came of it. More creams and salves. As I was grocery shopping at the supermarket, I had some sort of seizure. It wasn't for long, but it was the most intense thing I'd ever felt.

Like a light show under my eyelids. I'd see these shades of orange and red, like sharp tans of white. It would show up out of nowhere, and my eyes forced themselves shut. The swelling made it hard to open them. One of the cashiers rushed over to help. I washed my face, forced them open, and the lights were gone. But not entirely. Over the next few days, I could sense those colours whenever I closed my eyes.

I'd see them swirling and twisting, forming and dissolving into shapes, seemingly at random. It was like watching clouds in the inside of your head. I could barely get any sleep. It was ever present. A second doctor's appointment later, and I was told most of my symptoms matched that of a powerful migraine. Now, next to my creams and solves, I got some migraine medication. It didn't take me long to realize. They didn't really do anything.

I started taking the bus to and from work. Sure, I could have someone drive me, but I didn't want to be a bother. At first, it was hell. Forcing my eyes open made them go drier even faster. but closing them gave me the swirling shapes of red, orange and white. There was no rest, no getting away. You can't run from your own body. One time, as the bus came to a stop by a red light, I closed my eyes.

Then, in the middle of those swirling colours, was a large egg-shaped void. Darkness. It was set in a specific spot. Whenever I turned my head, it'd go away. I managed to pinpoint the spot. in real life when I locked in a certain direction. When I opened my eyes. I saw him.

The same man who dragged that garbage bag that night. He was crossing the road by the red light. I'd never have noticed him if it wasn't for the X I saw as I closed my eyes. The X followed him. It marked him. For a moment, our eyes met. And I think he saw something in me too. He smiled.

Late to that day, as I was waiting for the bus back home, I noticed someone sitting down on a bench next to me. Even with my eyes closed, I could figure out who it was. X marks the spot. I looked up and got a better view of him. Mid-30s, early 40s, tall, skinny, muscular, short black hair, goatey, and the most intimidating eyes I'd ever seen. There were these pale white orbs with just a spot of black.

He held a pair of sunglasses in his hands, even though the sun had already set. He wears sunglasses in the dark. Rough day, he asked. Yeah, I nodded. It'll get better, he comforted. It always does. I didn't answer. There was something odd about his voice, like he was talking to someone he knew, rather than a complete stranger.

Just look ahead, he said. Look closely. He got up from the bench and started walking. I waved at him. Aren't you taking the bus? I prefer a long walk. Step by step, he disappeared down the street. That night, as I sat in my bedroom, I closed my eyes.

I shut them as hard as I could, was straight at other colours in the discomfort. And for a brief second, I noticed something in front of me. Just this tiny black spot. It was just like in the bus, a dark void, breath of colour. I didn't realise I was looking straight ahead at a reflection in the bedroom mirror. Again, I closed my eyes and stepped forward. The spark grew larger and came into focus.

There, in the equivalent of where my forehead was reflected, was a black X. I was marked. I started having horrible nightmares. The colours in the back of my eyes started shaping into violent images. The red and orange turned into blood, skin and innards. The tangs of sharp white turned into bone. Closing my eyes was like looking up from under a pile of broken bodies.

It was disorienting and it made me sick. The migraine pills did nothing. I found myself sleeping with my eyes open. In the morning my eyes were so badly crudely. I couldn't see without thoroughly washing them. Still, the creams and salves did nothing. My girlfriend was getting worried, not only because of my eyes,

but because she said something had changed with me. I wasn't listening, nor paying any attention. I was constantly distracted, and I wasn't talking as much. I didn't even notice it myself, but she was right. Usually that had bothered me greatly. I consider myself an active listener, But lately, I just didn't care. Maybe I changed more than I realized.

Things were getting worse. Every time I close my eyes, a new horror would morph into view. Hellish landscapes, laughing skulls are sky full of eyes. Or in shades of orange, red and yellow. A nightmare with every blink of an eye. I tried to force myself just to not blink, with a swelling made in impossible. Sometimes the visions would be so.

so bad, I audibly gasped or screamed. I was sent home from work on sick leave. At best, I was a distraction. At worst, I was scaring the other workers. I locked myself in the bathroom that night and turn off the lights. It was easier to keep my eyes open in the dark. There, as I blinked, I noticed a reflective X in the mirror. It was larger.

My mark was larger. I stepped up close, thinking about what the man was. from the bus stop had said. Rock closer, I muttered. I pressed my face against the bathroom mirror. The X covered my entire field of view. And finally, close my eyes just gave me darkness. No colors.

It was all just darkness. The relief was so enormous that I cried. Then. A hand. Something reached out of the mirror, stroking my hair. a rumbling voice as if whispered from underwater. Hello. I started closing my eyes more.

I started making sense of things. In the landscapes of horrors, I noticed patterns corresponding to my surroundings. What looked like a school could be my bed, morphing as I moved back and forth, an enormous disembowed tongue could be where my hallway carpet was. It was like seeing the world shaped through a constant morphing, etcher sketch from hell,

like staring at a moving painting. Colours never settling. I found myself walking around for hours, eyes closed. I could navigate my space better and better. All I had to do was look closer. I could even type on my phone and keyboard. I could cook. I could take walks.

And step by step, hour by hour, the horrors that had first shocked me started to seem normal. This was just the way the world looked now. I can't say my girlfriend was pleased. She was so bothered by all of this. We had this huge fight, and I couldn't care less about her emotions. It all just seemed so superficial. How can you honestly say, what about me, to someone who might be losing their eyesight? That, if anything, is short-sighted.

When she demanded a break, I didn't fight back. I normalized my world with a hellish vision. It was all just a different way of seeing things. I tried watching the world with my eyes open. But they were just too dry. I couldn't be bothered. It all seemed so bland in comparison. If I'm really honest, I miss seeing the orange and red when I opened my eyes.

So, I've just kept them closed. It wasn't too long when I noticed several dark spots outside my house. At least 12. Moving with my eyes closed, I stepped out, surrounded by landscapes of orange and red. I opened the front door. There are at least twelve X's tall and dark. I'm not a small person, but these are all taller than me. Looking up, I noticed at least four or five of them circling overhead,

not flying or flapping any wings, just hanging there, suspended, symbols. You're looking closer, said a familiar voice with a cough. You did good. Please tell me. What's happening? I told everyone about you, the voice continued. They were eager to reward you. This is a reward?

Can't grow new muscles without some tension and pain, the voice chuckled. All this discomfort will pass. Then what? Then we can move forward and see things together. Enough of this. I was annoyed. I hated this unclear, puzzling crap. I wanted answers, and I wanted them now.

I stepped up to the X in front of me and forced my eyes open with my fingers. Only to realize, they were already open. Orange sands, blood red skies, bone white mountains, rivers of fire. In front of me, nothing but a dark X, suspended in midair. I tried to blink it away, closing and opening my eyes.

But nothing helped. This was real. This was happening. My mind snapped as I fell to the ground. You won't regret it, the voice said. I promise. I crawled backwards. I could feel the gravel for my driveway under my fingers,

and within seconds I could feel my front door behind me. I couldn't take my eyes off the floating figures. Don't leave, it said. Please, don't leave. I looked to the sides. Corpses floating down a river of fire. Worm-shaped tunnels boring into the side of ribcage mountain sides, countless egg-shaped spots, all waiting to speak to me.

They were floating overhead, drifting underneath. I could feel them, far off, closing in. No, I stammered. I can't. Please, it pleaded. Please. I crawled backwards, I felt the front door opened behind me. Then I was back, I kept my eyes open.

With every blink I was back in that hellscape, but now I heard them. They were screaming at me, coming for me. With every blink of an eye I could feel them closing in. I was being torn between two places at once, and that other place. They didn't want to leave any witnesses behind. I was seconds away from being picked apart, tossed down the river of flame. My dry eyes screamed to me to blink, to close my eyes, to surrender. I counted the seconds.

I stumbled into my home office, feeling them closing in. I found my solution in one of the drawers. I stapled my eyelids open. Since then, I haven't blinked. I sleep with my eyes open. I know what waits for me, just a few blinks away. I can't live like this for long. I can't protect my eyes with goggles, and I go through at least a bottle of eye drops a day.

I've cleaned my wounds to make sure they don't get infected, and now they've healed off. I couldn't close my eyes if I wanted to. I don't know who these people were, or what they want from me. I don't know if it's too late to accept the rougher, or what that would entail. I guess they want to tell me as little as possible to test my faith. I don't know. Sometimes I lean against the mirror, hoping that hand will comfort me again. I'm so tired of my dry eyes. From worldwide topmerken, to entrepreneurs who just begin.

Milliooning, vertrawe on-line, in your winkel, on Instagram, TikTok and more. Allers from out one platform. Behear your products, bestellings and betalinger, safe and easyvout. Shopify grew with you with you with every step of the way. Start today your gratis proof period on Shopify.b.E. That is Shopify.b. I work as a teacher in an exceptionally average public school, one that suffers from the same issues most districts do.

Some families have difficulties paying for lunches, and most teachers are forced to buy the majority of her own supplies, both for the classroom itself and for the less fortunate students. I do my best to provide whatever misdeme. as I can to ensure each student has an equal shot at an education, regardless of their income status. Like most teachers, even the more overworked and slightly jaded ones, I love all my students, I want the very best for them. As I stayed late after class one day, grading papers and planning for the next day's class, my mind slowly began to wander. Eventually, my train of thought arrived at the topic of parents.

As much as I love my students, their parents were a different story. I started to think back a few years prior, when I encountered the downright strangest parent I have ever met, one I hoped to never meet again. I have dealt with more than my fair share of Karen mothers, as well as overbearing fathers trying to push their sons into sports. Regardless of what their child might want, parents tend to think they know best.

After a while, all these encounters began to blend together. You don't really remember specific parents, unless they're really strange, or have exhibited some sort of harmful behaviour towards their children. A few years ago, I was filling in teaching kids around the 8 to 10-year-old range. I normally taught high school, but found I fell into the position pretty easily. I tried my best to give up a cool and almost aloof demeanour, but sometimes my resolve broke because my students were just too darn cute

Christmas break was coming up soon and I caught a few sneaky glances of them all working away making me a giant card big enough for them to sign in their adorable childish scroll as kids often not aware of how horrible they are at keeping secrets or being stealthy

they thought they were doing an amazing job hiding the card as a surprise for me I couldn't help but find myself appreciating how long lucky I was to get such a thoughtful and charming bunch. One chart stood out among the rest though. Little Milo Wash. At the start of the year, he had been very withdrawn.

I suspected abuse in his past. As a teacher, you become very attuned to possible signs of abuse or mistreatment. I asked around about him, trying to see if there was any way I could make his school life a little better in an attempt to balance out a potentially less than ideal home life. He had been pulled out of school when he was seven after his father passed away. Recently, his mother had also passed away from unspecific causes. I wasn't sure if another family member took him in or if he was in a foster system. His guardian had a different last name.

Perhaps an uncle had adopted him. I worried about the poor thing coming back to school so soon after losing both parents. That would be a crushing blow for most adults, let alone an eight-year-old child. I kept an eye on him, and to my great relief, he started to open up. I watched for the sense of deep satisfaction as over the course of a few months, this sullen, anxious child slowly became surrounded by classmates and friends. He was still a bit on the quiet side, but he was always on good terms with his classmates. He was a thoughtful and kind boy in a way that wasn't seeking approval.

He discovered a girl in his class that never seemed to bring a deep, decent lunch. She had a sad excuse for a sandwich some days, a piece of round mystery meat between two slices of white bread, only an apple, often bruised and looking rather unappetising. He noticed and discreetly started to share part of his lunch with her. After a while, he was bringing an entire second lunch for her. The school had a parent-teacher meeting once a month. Parents could come in and ask about grades, any upcoming events or things of that nature. It was done in a group's setting, but I was fine meeting them one and one after if they had pressing questions.

I'd never met Milo's guardian, only spoke to him on the phone. That wasn't a cause for concern, as I had met a lot of the parents. The meetings were optional, and he was quite common for both parents to work to support their family, if, that is, the family had both parents. Others just did not deign to attend something of this sort. That level of involvement in the child's life quite low on their list of priorities. It's with that information in mind that when Milo's guardian called trying to set to my meeting, I was caught a little of guard.

He had mentioned he'd wanted to attend the meetings, but his demanding work kept him from doing so. He wanted to go over any days I had available to discuss Milo's progress in depth, but our schedules just never seemed to line up. We finally decided on a Friday. I had made the offer to stay late until around 6pm. long after the other teachers have retired for the day. To be honest, I was a little curious about this man

and his role in Milo's home life. The boy seemed happy, but no one knew who exactly was raising him. That Friday, as promised, I stayed in my classroom doing some work, grading papers and getting a start on worksheets for the next week. I welcome the opportunity to get ahead. If I finished the majority of my workload that night, I would have some spare time for myself on the weekend. I quickly breeze through my tasks, having no distractions, clearly a great boon to my productivity.

I entertained the thought of staying behind to catch upon work at the empty school more often. By the time I looked up from my mounting of classwork, I realised I had worked nearly until the meeting time. I knew I was alone in the building. The lights had been turned off in the hallway and the other classrooms. I'd asked the janitor to leave one of the front doors unlocked, assuring them I would lock it when I left the building after I'd gotten done with my meeting. When I heard a clattering noise from down the hallway, I had no initial cause for concern,

assuming it was Myler's guardian arriving. As a result of our sparse contact, I was having trouble remembering his name. I had written it down, so I discreetly glanced at the post-it note that bore his name and peeked out of my classroom into the empty hallway. Mr. Ryland? I called out. I voiced wavering slightly as it echoed down the empty hallway.

I figured I was just hearing things, siking myself out with thoughts of being alone in such a large, empty building. I waited for a few more moments and started to turn away and back to my classroom. When I heard it again, a clattering sound of something being knocked over, followed by hushed whispering. It was muffled, yet I could tell it had come from one of the other rooms close by. Fear washed over my body in a warm, prickly. wave. I mentally brushed it off. Perhaps he didn't know which classroom I was in and accidentally went into the wrong one. I went down the hallway, peeking into different classrooms and being greeted with a normal sight of stacked chairs and empty desks. I made my way to the science lab a few doors down.

When I looked inside, my gaze was immediately drawn to an open window. I came up with a perfectly reasonable and rational explanation. Someone had just forgotten to close it. it and some small animal got inside looking for warmth. I resolved to go inside and close the window. If I saw some sort of animal, I would simply close the door and call someone to deal with it. When I opened the door and turned on the lights, I was immediately greeted with a large, calloused hand grabbing my wrist. My arm was painfully twisted around and forced behind my back. I choked out a cry of pain as I felt myself being forced down roughly on one of the desks.

My arm still held twisted behind me. I raised my head trying to see what was going on. In a fit of self-consciousness, I rude the fact that I allowed myself to become the prime example of a nerdy teacher. Thing with thick hornroom glasses. Hell, I even wore Argyll's sweater vest on occasion. It didn't take much to overpower me.

A shadow-clad figure stood up from behind the teacher's desk. I couldn't quite make out his face, cowled beneath his black hood. He hoisted a duffer bag onto the desk and began rifling through the supply cabinets. Judging by how he was looking at them curiously before tossing them into his bag, he didn't appear to actually know what he was looking for,

though I was certainly in pain. I was mostly confused. This was an elementary school science room. What on earth did they think we had? Dead frogs and old magic school bus VHSs were not particularly worth selling. The figure in the other side of the room spoke. We can't even rattan us out.

It's your turn. You do it. But he didn't even look up from his perusal of random cleaning chemicals as he granted his companion permission to kill me. The gravity of this situation didn't fully register with me until I felt the weight of the second person press hard into my back, followed by a long knife slamming into the wooden desk, mere millimeters from my left cheek.

Can I make it messy? The crushing weight holding me down, inquired. They made no effort to hide. hide the giddiness in their voice. It made my blood run cold. He was enjoying this. No, dumbass, choke him out or something. The other figure scoffed in reply.

I won't tell, I managed to croak out. My throat was parched, the fear making it nearly impossible to speak. I didn't understand how this was happening. Just a minute or two beforehand, I'd been grading papers, oblivious to the drastic turn my life was about to take. I didn't need to die. I hadn't seen their faces. And even if I had, nothing in this room was worth my life.

At that moment, I utterly thought of Milo. I wasn't upset over how waiting to meet his guardian put me in the situation. But rather, I was worried how he would react if he heard his teacher have been killed. I didn't want that child to go through any more hardship, especially not when he may feel responsible for it. He had already lost two parents. he was only just now beginning to open up and become happy. I don't know if he would recover if he blamed himself for my death.

I was in such a state of shock and frozen with fear that struggling for my life hadn't even occurred to me until I heard another noise coming from near the door. Do you need some help? It was a moment before I realized that I recognised that voice. It was Milo's guardian. He must have been walking past the door on his way to my classroom. peeking in when he noticed it was ajar.

But who in their right mind would see a situation like this and ask such an innocuous question in such a calm voice? Damn, the man across the room cursed when he heard another person come into the room. He joked away from what he was doing and knocked over an array of glass speakers. The sound of shattering glass finally roused me from my stupor. I reached my head back,

connecting with what felt like the man's nose. I gipped back with all my strength, aiming for his knee. And by some miracle, I managed to trip the one that was holding me down. The knife remained embedded in the desk. If I'd had the presence of mind, I'd have grabbed it. My focus was primarily on my arm, which throbbed violently from being held at such an unnatural angle for so long. I opened my mouth to yell at Mr. Ryland to run.

A strangled squeak, the only thing had escaped. He stood in the doorway, a friendly smile plastered on his face, as if all of this was perfectly normal. I heard another pop and thought it might be glass-breaking. It happened so fast my mind didn't fully process what had happened. The sound was followed by a jagged hole appearing on Mr. Ryland's cheek. He turned on his heel as if someone had just punched him in their face. His smile never faltered. Before he fell, I heard three more pops, followed by three holes blooming across his chest.

I felt a scream brewing within my mind. chest as I was tackled and wrestled to the ground. The one who threatened me with a knife, so eager to paint the walls of my blood, was merely a teenager. He appeared to be in some sort of stimulant drug, his massive pupils rimmed with a sliver of hazel iris, and his gaunt-faced marred with a multitude of scabs in varying stages of healing. I felt the air being forced from my lungs. I attempted to recover, but the boy sat in my chest, clasping both hands around my neck and proceeding to tighten with a vice-like grip. I thrashed with all my might.

I ineffectively clawed at his hands, cursing my bad habit of chew my nails to nubs. I really thought I was going to die at that moment, and yet I wished it had only been me, that Marlow's guardian hadn't shown up that night. Both of my parents were in a retirement home, and they didn't know who I was half of the time. I wasn't a single person to miss me, aside from my current class of kids. I wanted to fight for them. I needed to. but I was too weak.

Any fight I had in me had long since been exhausted. As my vision started to fade, my head pounded with every beat in my panicked heart. I was certain these next few seconds would be my last. Much to my relief,

my attacker was unceremoniously thrown off of me. I coughed and gasped, my lungs burning for air. While I was slowly recovering, I was still quite disoriented and far too weak to see who would come to my rest, You.

Weezing, my neck, likely already wearing a necklace of finger-shaped bruises, I finally managed to sit up, cautiously scanning my surroundings to make sense of what was going on. My attacker was slumped on the floor. Dust drifted down like snowflakes from the dent his body made in the drywall. He wasn't moving, decidedly no longer a threat. So I allowed myself to look away and tried to find the second person, the one I knew had a gun. To my immense confusion, my eyes landed upon Mr. Ryland, forcing the man in the hoodie against the desk, their faces inches away, and what at first glance might seem like an intimate

moment. Aside from the fact, I knew I had seen the man shot several times, I sensed something sinister in the air around them. For a few seconds, I had seen him. Mr. Ryland looked almost like in 1950's father. Black, neatly trimmed hair, and even spoke with that old-fashioned transatlantic accent. Staring at it now, I felt like his face was just... Wrong. His smile took the corners of his mouth much too far, nearly to his ears. His eyes were far too bright, a glowing white light emanating from within that could not be explained away as merely a reflection of flight from the room. His teeth looked a bit too large and a bit too sharp. I could see a wave like distortion radiating from his mouth, almost too faint to notice.

From how the hooded man was sweating, I realized it was heat. Oh, you insolent, moronic soul, we had been tracking you after the trouble you caused, rubbing that gas station and killing that poor, innocent clerk. The boss was not too pleased about that, but you were both so low on our list. You had at least a week left of your worthless life before I came to find you. What was your plan? Rubbed the school, Cook Meth, run from this city? You watch far too much television, boy.

Mr. Rylans' voice remained steady, up until the last word, twisting into a demonic snarl that made my heart leap into my throat. I watched a deep sense of foreboding weighing heavily in my stomach, like a stone as Mr. Rylans' face grew increasingly monstrous. The longer he spoke, the less human he looked. His voice dropped several registers, now low and rasping. In a matter of seconds, Mr. Ryland was tearing over the man, grasping him with newly clawed hands. I wanted to look away from that terrible face.

Her face now elongated, forming a snout that made him look wolf-like. Thick ropes of saliva were freely dripping from his fanged moor directly under the other man's face, now frozen in terror. That would soon prove to be the least of his worries. I felt myself start to shake. I couldn't help it. Everything was just too surreal for me to handle. I swayed in my feet, unsure if I would be able to remain conscious. The movement made the monster, formerly known as Mr. Island, raise its head.

The last thing I recalled, before everything faded to black as I lost consciousness, was a soulless eyes boring into me. From across the room, when I woke up, I was on my classroom floor beside my desk. A coat had been placed under my head as a makeshift pillow. My throat was sore, as expected. I felt a hand very gently tapped the side of my face, and I saw not only Milo, but Mr. Ryland looking down on me, the concern visible on both her faces.

Are you all right? I came for a meeting and found you passed out, Mr. Ryland explained as I slowly sat up. I really wanted to believe it had all been a dream, just a horrible dream. But I couldn't. My throat still hurt, and I knew it was bruised. And, most curiously, Mr. Ryland still had bullet holes in his shirt.

Your shirt, I said, barely able to speak. I saw Mr. Ryland's face darken. He still had a smile on his face, but it now meant something else. We both knew it. I knew that he wasn't human, and I shuffled in front of Milo. protecting him. Did you do something to my teacher? Milo cried.

His guardian cast his eyes downward bashfully. Do we have to move now? I don't want to change schools again. The boy sounded so crushed. It sounded like his worst fear had come true. Milo, how about you go outside and play for a bit? I doubt we'll need to move, but I still need to speak with your teacher for a moment.

Milo gave him as withering of a glare as an eight-year-old boy could possibly muster. He carefully stepped out from behind me and walked over, giving Mr. Brown a swift kick to his side. It didn't look like he held back. Don't be mean to him. With that final order, the boy left. I was very impressed by him standing up to whatever creature was raising him. Now, I suppose you're going to have some questions. Mr. Ryland started.

He let me cloke my thoughts. I stood up and found my water bottle on my desk, taking a few sips before attempting to speak. Is, is Milo human? Is he safe with you? And what about those men that attacked us? I asked, my voice hoarse. Mr. Ryland brightened up.

His smile was so kind and fatherly, I almost forgot what he truly looked like. Milo is safe with me. I would never harm him. As for those two, let's just say they won't be found. I put them away for later, and you won't be questioned about the break-in.

I'll take care of it. His kind smile had dropped, and the horrible white smile returned. Unable to stop himself, his face distorted a bit, and he drooled a little, thinking about whatever he had planned for the two he had taken. Realising he let his human mask slip,

he forced his face back to a number, normal one, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with his shirt sleeve. He muttered an apology. What are you? I asked, I'm sure if I even wanted an answer. I cannot tell you. Names have power, words of power, but you've been so kind to Milo, so I shall grant you some information. I am currently engaged in a contract with a very powerful man of the city. He's in charge of most the shady dealings in the area. Think of myself as the hitman for the mob. Instead of being paid in money for my tasks, I demand certain other things. That's how I came across

my little Milo. His words made my skin crawl, but I let him keep talking. I was worried about the boy, wondering if living with this creature was really the best thing for him. Milo was sold to our organisation for drug money by his own mother. She had overdosed shortly after. I am unaware of how his father died, likely an overdose as well. I'm a fickle thing, and don't often know what to ask for as reward for my tasks. I have no useful money, after all.

At times, I would like some humans with certain... Well, let's just call them talents. And at other times, I'm content with a tasty morsel. Because no one is ever certain of what I want as payment for my work, Milo was put in front of me. I picked him up, fully planning on letting him age like fine wine until he would taste the most tender. But, he trailed off, looking around the room as if the educational posters and quirky motivational sayings was suddenly very interesting. I waited, not wanting to derail his train of thought.

How strange it was for a creature such as myself to scoop up a child. I've lived for a long time, a very, very long time. I've watched humans build up cities and tear them down again. I've had so many different cities of my own, encountered so many different humans, done everything there is to be done. I've had countless lovers and eaten countless humans. I've drifted through history as a hidden darkness enjoying myself, content with a cycle of job and reward.

That smile came back, his face stretched him back, looking like he was unable to contain his glee from past exploits. I backed against my desk, trying to put as much distance possible between myself and this creature. I feared I would be the next human he ate, judging by the drool collecting in the corners of his mouth and his rapidly elongated gleaming sharp teeth. Orba, just as I considered running, a more human look came back to his face. But when I saw Milo, that changed. I don't understand why.

I've seen so many humans, and yet this one made me feel like I needed to be there for him, to not harm him, to protect this tiny, delicate thing. I've never felt like that towards anything before, and I doubt I will again. You're his teacher. I'm sure you must understand how special he is. That boy is so selfless and kind. For the first time in my long life, I felt proud for another. I have all his assignments in the fridge.

Did you know that? And all his drawings. It warms my heart when he talks about school and all his friends. I wanted to meet you because Milo speaks so highly of you. Think about that. Me, wanted to meet a human. I rushed through work to get here, and I didn't even save it because I knew you were waiting. Mr. Ryland was now animated, cheerfully gabbing away.

After seeing such a terrible expression on his face, the one holding such pride made him look like a completely different person. person. He just looked so human. My fear had faded and even felt a small blush of embarrassment come, but remembering that drooling smile made it dry up very fast. It, uh, sounds like you really love him, I spluttered, not knowing what else to say. I suppose I do. His face was so bright and kind, I almost wasn't afraid of him. almost. Somehow, he got me talking about Milo's grades and we managed to have a somewhat normal parent-teacher meeting. My hand still trembled slightly and he was careful not to get too close to me.

Milo came back into the room. It occurred to me then that he shouldn't have been here at all. I couldn't get a sitter, so I brought him with me for the meeting, Mr. Ryland explained, clearly reading the confusion in my face. He had Milo in his arms and they looked like a perfect family. Even after what I'd seen, I knew this man should be the one taking care of the boy. Sure, he may be a man-eating nightmare monster, but he was doing right by the child he adopted. He honestly was doing a better job, and he looked like he loved his little boy more than some parents I came across. After I'm eating, Rallan watched over me as I shut off the lights and computers in my room, and made sure I got safely to my car.

It felt very awkward I was still scared of what I had seen and what I knew the man to be Either not noticing my discomfort Or being too polite to mention it He just kept a friendly smile on his face Oh Thanks for saving me

I don't think I've said that yet Anything for Milo's favourite teacher The rest of the year with Milo in my class Went as normal as it could I didn't see Mr. Rowland again We never spoke of that parent-teacher meeting and another wasn't suggested. True to his word, the break-in was never discovered.

The whole thing gave me such vivid night terrors I had to resort to taking sleeping pills just to knock me out for a few hours so I could function at work. I do miss Milo though. He was such a good kid. Because I teach high school now and he's getting older,

there's a chance we can meet again in a few years. I'll be glad to have him as a student. That said, I would only have another meeting with Mr. Ryland during school hours and with other people around. When my wife of 17 years decided to leave me for some guys she met online, moved to some nowhere town in Tennessee to be with him, and laughingly threw divorce papers in my face when she left. I thought my life was over. Now, during the divorce hearings, which my wife, or ex-wife, had to drive from Tennessee to attend, The topic of alimony came up.

At that time, I only made a little over $1,200 a month, after taxes, as a janitor and baggage handler at the local airport in town. It was a very small airport. There was just me and another guy, as well as the owner that worked there at the time. Actually, it was categorized by the FAA, you know, the Federal Aviation Administration, as a basic airport. We just called it local. Anyway, we house small propeller planes like crop dusters, personal use planes, things like that. The terminal was actually a double-wide trailer. Well, a modular home, if you want to be politically correct.

Which I don't. I haven't been politically correct my whole life, so I'm not about to start now. Anyway, it was a three-bedroom trailer. One room was Mr. Reynolds' office. The second room was for storage. The third room. Well, it didn't have a purpose. It was completely empty.

The waiting area was what would have been the living room. The kitchen was a little snack and drink station. And of course, there was the bathroom. Now, back to the divorce hearings. Wouldn't you know, my wife, or ex-wife, was kind enough to take half of that $1,200 for alimony, claiming she was single and unable to work to support herself, due to severe IBS, you know, irritable bowel syndrome.

She was lying, but the judge believed her anyway. The court system in this country is screwed up. Now, after the divorce was finalised, I had to move out of the house we were renting, simply because, without having another income coming in, I couldn't afford it anymore. The rent alone was 8.50. That was more than I even brought her a month after the alimony payment. I left almost everything behind Most of it was hers anyway

And I sure as hell didn't want it Anyway, I packed an old duffel bag With my work uniforms A couple pairs of socks and underwear Some t-shirts and a couple pairs of jeans As well as my phone charger, my toothbrush, toothpaste, razor and shaving cream I put all my CDs, my DVDs and the DVD player In a large Scots paper towel box

That I got from a creepy old grocery store in town I then through the duffer bag in the trunk and generally placed the box in the front seat of my car. After I moved out, I slept in the car for about a week or so, in the parking lot of the airport, and took an Amish bath in the bathroom every morning. Don't judge. The morning after last night, I slept in my car, which was a Friday morning. I was mopping the floor in the waiting area, when the owner of the airport, Mr. Reynolds came up to me.

Mr Reynolds is an older gentleman In mid to late 60s Married with three grown children And a really nice guy He's the reason I stayed working here Anyway, he came up to me and said Hey Richie That's my name, Richie

Well, Ernest Richundo really But I don't like people calling me Ernest It reminds me of all those Hayburn commercials Back in the 80s You know, that Jim Barney character Ernest Puyrell I figured the company there before Anyway, I love the Ernest movies though

Ernest goes to camp Ernest scared straight, slam dunk Ernest, just to name a few They're hilarious I have them all on DVD Now, like I was saying The owner walked up to me and said Hey Richie

I know it's not in my business I'm just worried about you son But Were you sleeping in your car this morning When I came in I was a little embarrassed to answer, but I finally did. Yes, sir, I said, and hung my head, feeling small. He just stood there.

It's a long story, sir, I said, still hanging my head. Come back to my office, Richie. Let's talk about it, if you don't mind. This floor can wait, he said. I told you, it was a nice guy. Anyway, I put the mop in the bucket, pushed it over into the corner, then followed him back to his office. He opened the door, walked in and said,

Have a seat, Richie. So, I did. That was the first time that I'd ever been in his office. It was your normal, outdated office. There was a huge grey metal desk in the middle of the room with my little pony stickers in front of it. I don't want to know why those were there. On top of the desk sat an old Radio Shag TRS-80 computer

on the front right corner, a framed picture of his wife next to it, a desktop calendar in the middle, a coffee cup with pens in it, and a microcom radio. At least that's what I call it. I'm sure there's a real name for it. I just don't know what it is.

It's basically a high-frequency radio used to communicate between planes and the terminal. Anyway, they both sat on the left side of his desk. There were three filing cabinets in the right corner of the room, with a coffee pot and the top right first one. A file sorter full of files on top of the second one, and a small oscillating fan on the top of the third, tan carpet on the floor, wood panelling on the walls, and a white hard foam ceiling where you would find in any mobile home. A large fake plastic plant sat in the left corner of the room,

with 8 by 10 pictures of vintage airplanes on the walls surrounding it, as well as a large picture window directly behind the desk, giving a clear view of the only runway. Anyway, he sat down in his big brown leather chair, cupped his hands together, leaned forward on his desk and said, I can see you're upset, and I don't mean to cry, but... What's going on? I took a deep breath, let it out, and replied, Well, sir, um, my wife left me, took half my check for alimony.

I can't afford the place anymore, so I've been sleeping in my car, sir. He just looked at me with an oh my God look on his face He then sat back in his chair Richie he said How long have you been working here Over 15 years sir I replied Fifteen years

That's a long time Even longer than I've been here You never complain about anything You never call out and you do everything I ask In my book that grants you a little privilege He said Privilege sir I questioned

No, it's not much, but it's better than your car, he said. There's an old tool shed out back that the groundskeepers used to use. It's a pretty good size shed. It's got electric and a linoonium floor. There may be some old tools in there. I think there's a folding cot out there as well. If not, I'll find you one. Why would there be a folding cut in the tool shed?

I thought. It's all yours for as long as you need it. A week, a month, a year, ten years, even. If you wanted that is, he finished saying. Oh, yes, sir. Thank you. I really appreciate it. That backseat is killing my back, I replied excitedly. Come on, I'll show you where it is, he said, standing up, and motioning for me to come with him. As I got up, the microcom began to make a loud, sharp, staticky sound. A few times, then stopped.

It scared the hell out of me. I jumped. It does that sometimes, Mr. Reynolds said dismissively. Come on. I just stared at the microcom with a what the hell look on my face. After a few seconds, I snapped back to reality. With all my years of working here, I've never seen a tool shut out back, I thought. We walked out to the office, out the back door, down the steps and toward the runway. After about ten minutes of walking, I saw it.

Now, when you think of the words, tool, and shed, you think of a small little four-foot by seven-foot structure, right? Well, this thing was almost as big as the terminal. It was eight feet in width and 17 feet in length. And yes, I measured it. It was huge, as far as toolshed to go, that is. It had wood panelling all the way around it. Not that mobile home panelling, like what was Mr. Reynolds' office.

No, they don't finish wood panelling. like you get at Lowe's. Someone had painted it white and trimmed it with one by fours painted black. The doors were the same way. It was sharp looking. There were two small windows with sliding panels

so you could open them on either side of the door which were directly in the middle of the front of it and opened outward to either side. There were two more windows, one on each side of the shed and two more in the back.

And get this, it actually had to be a real roof. It was a peaked roof with real roof shingles like you would see on an actual house. Now, I had actually seen that thing before, but I didn't think it was a tool shed. I thought it was one of its little houses you see on TV, and that someone was actually living in it. It was that nice. Here you go, Richie. It's all yours, Mr. Reynolds said, patting me on the back. Go ahead, check it out. I opened the doors to see that the interior. the interior of the shed was completely dry-walled and even painted white, even the ceiling,

with several electric sockets on the bottom of each wall. There was an old rusty saw, an eight-foot ladder, and a few saw-horses in the far back right corner. And yes, there was a small folding cot leaned up against the wall in the front left corner. Oh my God, I said, completely amazed. It's like a little studio apartment. How much do you want for it, sir? I asked.

"'Not a thing,' he said. "'Like I said, it's all yours. "'And take the rest of the day and the weekend off, with pay, of course. "'You've had a rough time lately. "'Get some rest, and I'll see you on Monday.' "'Really, really nice guy.' "'Oh, thank you, sir. "'I've got a little more money on me.

"'I'm going to run down to Wallywold and get some sheets and a pillow, sir. "'Thanks again,' I said, excitedly. "'I'll walk back with you,' he said, as he turned around and began to walk towards the terminal. I followed closely behind. We said a goodbyes as he walked in the terminal, and I continued to the parking lot. I got in my car and went to Wally World,

got some twin sheets, a pillow, in a pillow case, like I said, and then made an unplanned stop at my old house. Technically, the month wasn't over yet, and I was paid up until the first, so legally it was still my house. Anyway, I walked in, grabbed the TV, the coffee pot, and all the fixings, a few gallons of spring water, the microwave, some food, the mini fridge we kept in my bedroom, my dresser, a blanket and a little blue table that sat in the hallway. It was my ex-wife's, but screw it, I needed a table, as well as that dolly that was in the laundry room that I used to move my dresser. How did I fit all of that in my car, you ask?

Well, my car was actually a 98 Chevy Blazer. That's how. Anyway, I got back to the airport and loaded my car and put it all in my new place, including my box of DVDs and stuff. Now, pulling the dolly across the grass while walking backwards and trying not to drop the tureso was fun. That's a joke, by the way. I arranged everything the way I wanted it.

I unfolded the cot, I put the sheets on it, and the pillowcase, hook the DVD player up to the TV, laid on the cut and watched the Marathon of Verness movies, thinking, I have everything I need right here in this shed. Well, except for a bathroom, but luckily, it was one of those porta-potty things close by. I don't know why it was there, but I was sure glad it was, especially in the mornings. Wow, I've babbled on for too long. Let me get down to the story. Now, I laid around all weekend, watching movies, all TV shows I record, I recorded, drinking coffee, and eating on occasion.

I called Mr. Reynolds on Saturday to get my schedule, and he had me on all five nights, Monday through Friday. I didn't really care, though. A night shift is easy. There's no one else there. You got to clean up, turn on the runway lights, and listen for pilots to call in and assist them if needed. Easy, right?

You see, I don't care when I work, just as long as I work. Now, I walked to the terminal Monday afternoon, a little before 3 o'clock, punched in and went to work, said hi and bye to the other guy. I think his name is Dave or something. Got my instructions for the night from Mr. Reynolds and said bye to him as well. You see, the terminal is closed between 11pm and 7 a.m. If you fly out or in during those times, you're on your own. Anyway, the night was going good. I turned on the runway lights about 7 o'clock.

No planes had come in, and none had flew out. I was cleaning up Mr. Reynolds' office, per his request. When it happened. It was about 9.30 at the time. The overt light in the office dimmed just a little, then came back to normal. Power search, I thought, and just blew it off. Seconds later, the microcom began to make another loud, sharp, staticy sound. This time, it's a little.

didn't stop. No, it continued. I walked over to the desk and just stared at it. What the hell? I said to myself. I then began to hear very low screams coming from within the static. Not over the static, in the static. I'd never heard anything like that before. It was quite unnerving. The volumes of the screams grew louder with each passing second until they were almost I just had a fever pitch. I covered my ears and screamed to stop as loud as I could. Then, it just stopped. I removed my hands from my ears.

Dead silence. What the hell just happened? I thought, starting to get concerned. Okay, it's a glitch. It's old equipment. Maybe there's a crossed wire somewhere. I said to myself, trying to rationalize what just happened.

I took a deep breath, let it out, and continued cleaning the office, still a little freaked out. I began singing to myself to try and calm my nerves. I forget what song I was singing. Well, it doesn't really matter. I was really getting into it when the microcom started up again. It was a loud popping sound.

Then the o'-ve-head light began to flicker like a strobe light on steroids. Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, I'm declaring an emergency. Clear your runway now. I'm coming in. A very intense mail voice said from the microcom I quickly looked out the window to see nothing but runway lights No planes in approach and none on the runway What the hell I thought

The overhead light went out The runway lights went out as well I was standing there in complete darkness I screamed, pulled my phone out of my pocket Turn on the flashlight and quickly made my way to the door Completely scared out of my mind I was just about to grab the knob when I turned back for some reason, just as this incredibly bright white light filled the entire room.

I threw myself back against the door, closed my eyes, covering them with both my hands, and falling down into a sitting position. Now, we've all had bright light shined in our eyes a few times in our lives, right? We cover her eyes and can always tell when the light was gone, even with your eyes completely covered, right? Well, I sat there with my eyes. completely covered for a good two minutes.

Then the light was gone. I uncovered my eyes and opened them. The overhead light was back on in the office. Now, what I saw standing there behind the desk was unlike anything I had ever seen before. It was what I could only describe as not of this planet. It had pale, grey skin. It was tall, extremely tall.

so tall that he had to lean over so he could fit in the eight-foot-high room. It was completely bald with two big, bulging, jet-black eyes that did not blink. There were two small holes where no should have been, with no mouth and no ears. Its neck was about two feet long, with some kind of knob or button on the right side of it. It was extremely skinny, with legs about six feet long and arms about six feet long as well. It had elongated fingers, and I couldn't see his toes that were behind the death. It had what looked to be two small speakers side by side in the middle of his chest, with a red indicator light under the speaker on the left and a green indicator light under the speaker in the right.

I was completely, absolutely and utterly horrified. I screamed repeatedly, fearing for my life. Please don't kill me, please, don't kill me, I screamed. That thing then tilted his head to the side and began to do. speak as the red light began to flash. Now the language that it spoke sounded like a cat coughing up a hairball. I stopped screaming and listened to it. A sense of calmness fell over me as I rose to my feet and stood there staring at this thing as it stared back at me still speaking. It stopped speaking and just stared at me. I can't understand you, I said,

calmly. It then reached up with his right hand and pressed a button on its neck. Another staticy sound came from his chest. Then it began to speak. This time, I understood every word. Greetings, Earthling. My name is, something I couldn't understand. I am the ruler of the planet Zemphar. I come in peace. I wish you no harm, but make no mistake. I will kill you. if I have to, and said, What do you want? I asked. I and the beings of my planet seek refuge here on planet Earth. Refuge from what? Now, never in my life did I ever imagine that I will be having an intelligent conversation with an extraterrestrial being, but it was happening. From annihilation my planet has become under attack by

those seeking to take the only resource my planet's has. Water. So you all want to come here? Nearly 75% of planet Earth is covered in water, and since I and the beings of my planet are made up of water, we will most certainly survive here. So you're going to kill everyone on this planet and take it over? That is not our intention. We are civilized beings that intend to live among the people of your planet. We are far more advanced than any human here on earth. We possess the power to alter appearance. We can make ourselves look just like you were things.

As I stood there, I watched, whatever its name was, shift into what I can only describe as a human man, fully dressed and wearing glasses. He even waved at me. How the hell, I began to say, as it shifted back. Cool, I stated. you will allow myself and the beings of my planet to come to earth, using this portal, and live amongst you humans, saving the entire population of my planet, I will grant you the ability to achieve all your desires, however big or small they may be."

I thought about it for a while, then said, "'Hell yeah, I'll do it, but you can only come at night. No one will see you then.' "'Agreed,' he replied. He then extended its right arm, extending his finger as well, and slowly moved it towards me. I thought we had a deal, I screamed as his finger touched my chest, and then withdrew. I stood there, trembling uncontrollably. Make a wish, it said. I slowly stopped trembling and said, I want a cup of coffee.

I blinked my eyes, and when I opened them again, there was a cup of fresh. brewed hot coffee with cream and sugar, sitting in an all-white coffee cup on the edge of Mr. Reynolds' desk. I was completely ecstatic. I picked it up and took a drink. It was the best tasting coffee I'd ever had. Satisfied, it said. Mm-hmm, I replied.

Whatever his name was, then shifted back into the man and looked out the office window. I went and stood beside him. As I looked at the window, I saw that the runway line. were back on. I also saw hundreds, if not thousands, of people walking down the runway and heading toward the terminal. There were men, women, teenagers and young children, as well as older men and women, all dressed differently and from different ethnic backgrounds. Are they all from your planet? I asked. They most certainly are. They have all adapted physical traits that will help them blend in amongst the people of your planet. Thank you, my friend, he said sincerely, putting

his left hand on my left shoulder and extending his right hand toward me. I then shook hands with him. This is merely a fraction of the beings on my planet. It will take several months, even years, human time, that is, for all of them to arrive. I trust you will be here to assist them with that. I certainly will, I replied. All the people then walked past the window, some waving, some not, and then they just disappeared. Where did they go to? I asked. To different parts of your planet, he replied. Thank you again, my friend.

And then he disappeared himself. I just stood there. What the actual hell just happened, I thought. I then looked at the coffee cup on my desk and smiled. I finished my shift, locked up and went back to my shed. I had the best night's sleep I had in a long time I got up the next morning and just for a laugh I wish for a 1957 Chevy

I walked out to the parking lot and there it was right where my blazer was parked Now to make an incredibly long story short I went to work that night didn't say anything to Missna Reynolds or to Dave and the same thing happened that night at the same time well except the Mayday call I don't know what that was

about. Anyway, it happened again on Wednesday night and then Thursday night. Friday morning I went to Mr. Reynolds and asked him to put me in the night shift seven days a week for straight pay of course. He was a little confused but he agreed. He cut my hours from 3 till 11 to 5.30 till 11. I was fine with that. As time went on, I used my new gift to get a few things for myself and to help a few people out. Since Mr Reynolds was so nice to me I figured it was about time he retired and spent his remaining years with his wife and family I wished for a million dollars in a brown duffel bag

got it, carried it to his office and made him a deal he couldn't refuse $1 million cash to some of the airport He didn't even hesitate or even question where I got the money from He just opened the top left drawer of his desk pulled out the deed signed it Grab the bag and left He sends me a family photo postcard from different parts of the globe every now and then.

I hope he's happy. The new arrivals come every single night now, and have been for quite some time. I shut down the airport, as a business, that is, so I can focus on helping my new friends. I gave Dave a hundred grand when I did, and wished him the best. Come to find out, his real name is Earl. I always thought he was Dave. Anyway, I moved out to the shed and into the terminal. Well, what was the terminal?

I fully furnished it by using my gift. I put a few more sheds out back. 17, to be exact. I had them built, just like the first one. I used them for any of the arrivals that want to stay in town. It looks like a little housing development out there. Now, I don't know how many people I've let come to this planet. Thousands, maybe ten to thousands.

and they all look like us. Maybe your new co-worker is one of them. Maybe the old lady is standing behind you at the grocery store. Maybe the guy or girl you took home from the bar last night. Who knows? I can't tell. Now, remember when I said that I thought my life was over when my ex-wife left me? I was wrong. My wife now has purpose.

Helping others. Oh yeah. Speaking of my ex-wife, she called me a couple days ago. She said that the guy she had left me for left her for some 20-year-old blonde bimbo, and that she was recently diagnosed with severe irritable bowel syndrome, for real this time. Then she started crying and asked if she could come home. I hung up on her.

What? I had nothing to do with it. I swear. From worldwide topmerker, to entrepreneurs who net begin. Millioen vertrawe on Shopify. Vercoop online, in your winkel, Instagram, TikTok and more. Alles from out one platform. Behear your products,

bestelling and bettaling, and betaling and safe and evenvoutish. Shopify grew with you with you, every step of the way. Start today your gratis-proof-perioder on shopify.bify. That is Shopify.b.E. The ceremony was like every other funeral

I've ever been to. People giving table speeches, the sounds of sniffles and sobbing, a closed casket waiting to be buried, I sat in the back row with my head down staring at the grass. After the ceremony, I stuck around for a little longer. I strayed away from the small remaining crowd and had a smoke as I dismissed the messages on my phone. As I put it in my pocket, I could see Casey walking my way.

I gave him a nod and he came and stood by me. How are you holding up, Casey? I said. Better with one of those, he said, pointing at my burning cigarette. I handed him a smoke and gave him a light. It means a lot to me that you hear, Trev. He really takes me back to the good old days seeing your face, you know. Yeah, I know. Hell, it feels like a different lifetime, I said.

And that the truth. How's the misses? He said, exhaling a plume of smoke. Not great, if I'm being honest, I said, as I tapped the ash off of my smoke. I'm sorry to hear that. Don't be. It was for the best, you know. He nodded as he took a drag

For a moment There was in awkward silence Listen Trev I want to show you something He said as he stomped out his half-finished smoke Sure, what's up Come with me He said

I followed him past a small crowd To a table that was placed in front of the casket Before he was lowered It was full of photos and memorabilia of Josh A photo of Josh In case he has babies and matching outfits him grinning with a small baseball batten in his hands and a couple of recent photos that didn't have the same familiarity.

This one, Casey said, as he picked up a small-framed photograph. He handed me a photo that his mom took of Josh, Casey and I standing with our fishing rods at the lake. I examined it for a moment, front and back. The background, Casey said. I shifted my eyes to the background of the photo by the shoreline and paused. It was our friend, Lenny, looking back from the shoreline over his shoulder.

Do you remember Lenny? Casey said. For a moment, I found it difficult to reply. Yeah, Casey, I said the picture down. Yeah, I do. It was 1992, the year I turned 12. It's a year I couldn't forget even if I tried. I remember the summer of 92 being hotter than most summers. It had to have been barely above 90 degrees in the valley on any given day.

But, according to the local radio DJ, every day was a scorcher. The heat did not deter us kids at all. In fact, we thrived in it. We spent our time like any other kids growing up in the 90s, riding our bikes around the neighbourhood, fishing and exploring around the lake, or just goofing around with the best buds. We had fun, and we never knew how good we had it,

until it was gone. The day we met Lenny was a memory I had to think about for a while to recollect, but when I finally remembered, it all came back unusually vivid. We wanted to be at the lake early, before the water got too warm to fish. Case's shoelace got tangled up in his bike chain, so we walked our bikes most of the way there. Looks like it's back to Velcro straps there, huh, Case, Josh said. No, I know how to tie shoes. Velcro's for babies.

Well then, I guess you're a baby then, huh? Josh grinned as he flashed me a glance. We both let out a little chuckle. We'll see who's laughing when I tie your shoes together and watch you fall on your ass, Casey said. We'll see who's laughing when I tell Mom about your language, young man, Josh said as he shook his finger in Casey's face. Josh and I couldn't help but crack up laughing. Casey shrugged it off, unamused.

Hey, who's that kid? Casey interrupted, pointing to the shoreline. Josh and I turned her a turn her to. attention to the shore. There was a kid who looked to be about our age, maybe a year or two older, fishing our favorite spot. What the hell's this kid?

You better not be scaring away all the fish, Josh said. I shrugged and started walking down the bank to the shoreline. Josh and Casey followed quietly. As I made my way down the bank, I couldn't help but think of what my mom told me about the dangers of talking to strangers. People seem nice on the outside,

she would say. I rolled my eyes at this thought and dismissed it. After all, it's just a kid, I thought. As we arrived at the spot, I said what any good fisherman would say. Any luck? The stranger glanced over and pulled his stringer out of the water to reveal four good rainbow trout. Yeah, I would say, the stranger said with a welcoming grin. What are you using? I asked.

Worms on a treble hook. They're going after him like it's good. candy, he giggled. The three of us set our bikes on the shore and took a few steps in his direction. I'm Trevor, that's Josh, and his little brother, Casey. Casey waved in him with a shy grin. Well, nice to meet you fellas. Name's Lenny. My folks and I just moved here from down south.

Well, welcome to town, I said, trying to match his vibrant grin. I'm happy to be here, he replied. Can we fish? with you, Casey said softly. Sure thing, Lazy don't scare the fish away. We won't scare the fish away, but he might scare you away, Josh said, as he pointed at Casey. All of us burst into laughter, even Casey. It didn't take long for Lenny to grow on us. He made it easy. Lenny was an easy-going kind of kid. He made you feel included, important even. He had this smile that made you want to keep seeing it, if that makes sense.

On a walk back home that day, Josh, Casey and I spent the whole walk talking about how cool we thought Lenny was. Hell, it was like we were all in love with him, the way we took turns dishing out compliments behind his back. And I realized what we were feeling was infatuation. What a guy, I thought. And what a guy he turned out to be. For the remainder of that summer, and well into fall, all four of us are inseparable. I don't think there was a single day we weren't at the lake or the surrounding woods. By mid-October, it was strange to think about life before we met Lenny.

It just seemed like he was always there, like he belonged in our gang. We thought we would all be friends forever. As Halloween drew nearer, the town started to come alive. The main street was dressed in the nines in orange and purple lights and nearly every neighbourhood portrait was lined with jackal lanterns and fake cobwebs. or, at the very least, pumpkins. The school week leading up to Halloween was a drag. It seemed as if every day closer to the holiday was slower than the last.

But at last, it was Thursday. Fall break had begun. And in two days, we'll be flying high with sacks full of candy at our disposal. We chatted as we walked our bikes up the hill back home. We need to go to the rich people's houses first, Casey said. They have all the good candy. No, we need to go to Mr. Winger's house. He gave out king-sized candy bars last year.

The man never disappoints, I said. Yeah, but would you rather get one big candy bar or a ton of good candy? Casey replied. I couldn't argue. Guys, I think we're going about this all wrong, Josh interrupted. We turn our attention to him, slightly offended. I mean, aren't we getting kind of hold to trick a treat? He continued.

I think we should get into some spooky stuff. What do you mean? I said. I heard they got a haunted house in the next town over, he replied. Does the haunted house have candy? Casey said. That's exactly what a baby would say, Josh teased. Let's go see what Lenny thinks about it, I said. I had to say something before they started arguing.

All right, we'll see what Lenny thinks. He probably eats candy whenever he wants anyway, being homeschooled and all, Josh said. Yeah, lucky guy, Casey added. After we arrived in our neighbourhood We dropped our backpacks off And hopped on our bikes Headed to the lake to talk to Lenny Lennie

Lennie lived on an old cabin At the far end of the lake As it turns out The fishing spot we met him at Happened to be a near perfect Halfway Point for all of us to meet up We had this routine of meeting up With Lenny after school

To hang out I think we all wish Lennie went to public school It made us feel cool hanging around the older kid Even if he was just for When we arrived at the lake, Lenny was already there trying to skip some rocks. Lenny, Josh shouted. I need you vote on something, Len, he said as we approached the shoreline.

What's up, guys? Lenny said. Halloween is what's up. I'm trying to get these babies to go to a haunted house instead of trick-or-treating, Josh said, nudging Casey with his elbow. Haunted house, Lenny asked. They got one in the next town over, admissions only five bucks ahead. Josh replied. We all watched Lenny

attentively, awaiting his verdict on the matter. Hmm, he paused. I know how he can do something spooky, save our money, and get candy, he said. What are you thinking, Len? I asked. Down in the far end of the lake by my house,

it was a trail that leads up to an abandoned mine. I had some old fisherman talking about it last week before we met up. If we do that just before dawn, when it's still dark, we can still trick-treat later. An abandoned mine? Casey said. Yeah, you know, like where they dig for gold and silver and all that.

You might even find treasure up there. Who knows? Lenny said. Casey's eyes widened. You see, guys, that's what I'm talking about. I know I could count on you, Len. Josh said, as he threw an arm around Lenny's shoulder. Lenny smiled.

So, what do you guys say? Josh said. Casey looked up at me, awaiting my reply. Yeah, I guess that's cool, I said. Yeah, okay, Casey added. Then it's settled. On Halloween, we head up to that abandoned mine, Josh said. We all nodded our heads in agreement.

The following day, we hung out on our own street. Lenny said he had somewhere to go with his parents the night before, leaving the three of us in boredom. Josh was a damn chatterbox that day. He wouldn't shut the hell up about the morning. line. His what if scenarios, an attempt to scare us, was starting to get annoying. You know that a murder happened up there ten years ago, Josh said. You're lying, I know you're just trying to scare us. That's not true, right Trevor?

Casey said. Seriously, Josh, that's enough, I said. Oh, come on. You know I'm just messing with you guys, he replied. Whatever, man, I said, as I looked away. Don't we such a damn baby, Trev. Hell, you might as well be in the fourth grade with old Casey here. Shut up Josh, Casey said. What, it's not my fault Trevor probably peas the bed every night. Shut the hell up, Josh, I shouted. Josh looked at me in shock silence. Casey looked to the ground.

Whatever, man, I'm out of here. See your babies later. He hopped in his bike and peddled away coolly. Don't listen to him, Treve. It's just being done, Casey said. I know, Case. I'm going to go too. though. I see you tomorrow, buddy. I said, okay, I'll see you tomorrow, but. He replied, and then we parted ways. I had trouble falling asleep that night, and when I did, I had a strange dream. The dream felled away that I can't really put into words. I guess what I can say is that it wasn't realistic, because it somehow felt more than real, if that makes any sense.

We were all in a marching band, marching down the street in a big parade. Casey and I had little snare drums that we were beating on in unison. Josh was wielding a big flagstaff that he would hoist in the air and every beat of the bass drum. Lenny was tooting away on a little silver flute.

We were all cheery as could be, marching happily in a row. As a cloud began to cover the sun, the beat gradually got slower. If all that time was slowing gradually, Every beat of the bass drum got deeper and further apart. I noticed the smile in Josh's face began to get larger as a deep boom with the drum echoed ever deeper.

I found my body stiffening like I was trying to walk through a pool of thick mud. The sky turned grey and wet. When I looked back at Josh, I noticed his smile had grown so large he was cutting into what was left of his eyes. Blood trickled down his horribly disfigured lips and dripped off his chin. I couldn't move.

Everything stopped. I couldn't breathe or even blink. I stared at Josh's disfigured face in absolute despair. I felt like pain in its purest form. More painful than my divorce or my mother's death. More painful than watching my wife miscarry twice. I only to get knocked up by some guy to work. I felt like my soul was screaming.

And then, my alarm woke me off. I don't remember getting ready that morning. All I remember is peddling down the street in the last hours of night's darkness in a mental fog. I didn't really process what I was doing until I arrived at the lake to see Josh and Casey already waiting for me. Casey shone his flashlight in my tired face as I approached. Please, who goes there? Casey joked. I winced at the brightness. About time. What did you do? Sleep in?

Josh said. Sorry, guys. I don't know what happened. I set my alarm and everything. What is Lenny? I said, mid-yorn. Guess you're not the only one who slid in. What time is it? Josh said. 5-16, Casey said, glancing at his cheap, digital watch.

He's probably on his way. Let's just head towards his house. I bet we'll run into him on the way, Josh suggested. We mounted her bikes and set off down the road. As we were riding a bikes down the dark wooded road, my brain fog began to clear up. I remember that Josh and I had been a little tense the previous night. As I thought through the events of the previous day, I remember the dream.

I got nauseous and a little dizzy, but we were pretty far down the road already. I felt like there was no turning back. We must have biked for two or so miles, and still there was no sight of Lenny. We all came to a slow stop. I feel like we should have seen him by now. Casey said. I'll bet he's cozed up in his bed still. Come on, let's just go to his house and wake him up.

Josh insisted. Do you even know where Lenny's house is? I asked. I mean, no, but there's only one cabin at the end of the lake as far as I know, he said. I knew exactly the cabin he was talking about. It's also the one I pictured when Lenny told us about where he lived. I've driven past it a handful of times, and I always thought it would be a pretty cool place to live if somebody fixed it up.

I suddenly felt eager to see it in his refurbished glory. Yeah, okay, I agreed. We continued for maybe another half a mile until we reached the cabin. The cabin was on the right side of the street, pulled back from the road a little bit. To get to the lake, all you had to do was cross the street

and walked down the small bank. Like I said, I'd always thought it was a damn cool place, and it seemed fitting that Lenny would be the one to finally live there. We all set up bikes down and looked at the cabin from the road. Now we just had to figure out which room is his, Josh said. What if his parents don't want him out so early?

What if they get mad? Casey asked. Mad at what? And he probably has the coolest parents ever. Besides, we weren't fishing earlier than this all summer, Josh said. Yeah, when he was still light out, I added. Josh rolled his eyes. Come on, it'll be fine.

he said as he started walking up the dirt driveway. Casey and I looked at each other. After a moment of reluctance, we both started up the driveway after him. When we got close to the house, we all stood and looked at it for a moment. There weren't any lights on, which wasn't unusual,

but we also couldn't see any cars parked anywhere. Do you even think they're home? Casey said. Yeah, he went with his parents yesterday. Maybe they haven't come home yet. I added. No, believe me, Lenny wouldn't miss out on this. I'll check the back windows.

You guys go look in the side ones, Josh said, as he started walking to the back of the house. Just before he reached the back, we had a loud holler. We all froze and looked at each other. What the hell was that? Casey said. Shh, wait a minute, listen, Josh said. We all stood still and listened.

We heard another yell from the woods. It sounded like it was closer to the road We all scrambled back down the dirt driveway to the road Trying to find the source of the noise When we got to the road we heard a distinct Hey coming from up the road Did you guys hear that? Sounds like Len Josh said

He took off in the direction of the noise In case you and I ran after him Josh stopped to listen for another yell In case you and I nearly ran into him Guys the distant voice yelled Over here We ran further up the road until we came upon an old overgrown

trailhead. Look, there he is! Josh said, as he looked up the shrubby trail. I looked up to see Lenny about 40 yards up the trail, waving back at us. At that point, he was just barely getting light enough to make out any distinguishable features.

That son of her, and you guys were getting mad at me for playing tricks and you guys, Josh laughed. Wait up for us, he yelled as he went running up the trail. Casey and I looked at each other and shrugged and then started to make an our way up the narrow trail. Josh had now caught up to Lenny

and was standing before him. From further down the trail I heard Lenny murmur something as he put his hand on Josh's shoulder. Suddenly Josh turned back in our direction and started running back. As he ran past us back to the road he didn't say anything or even look at us

but he looked worried. Josh, I yelled, and what's the matter? I said, to no reply. I had a feeling that Lenny might have been injured or in some kind of danger and Josh ran to get help. I thought may have crossed Case's mind too,

because without a word, we both darted up the trail to find Lenny. It was no longer in sight. The dead leaves rustled under our feet as Casey and I ran up the bushy trail. The sky was a deep blue that tinted the landscape and made the cool autumn air seem icier than usual.

The trail began to wind and get steeper, but we kept running until we got to a fork in the trail. We both stopped at the fork and panted for a while. I took a deep breath of my inhaler. Lenny! Lenny? Casey hollered. Lynn, was all I was able to manage, through gasping breaths.

We waited for a moment, trying to quiet our breathing so we could hear better. Help, I heard faintly from up the hill. Guys, hurry, help me. Casey and I hiked slowly of the steep hill, stopping periodically in the loud rustling of the leaves to better hear the direction then his voice was coming from. Trevor, Casey, he cried.

When we reached the top of the steep hill, the trail became more rocky. The direction of the trail had become unapparent. What started as a narrow trail turned into a rocky cove that was too wide open to determine a path. Casey, do you still have your flashlight? I said. Yeah, he said as he fumbled in his small pack. I shined the flashlight around the ground, trying to find where the trail continued.

Lenny! I yelled. Guys, guys, I'm over here, he said. He sounded very close now. We began walking in the direction of the voice as it got clearer. Guys, I'm in here, he said. I shine my light on a big rock wall. At the bottom, there was a small, jagged opening. Leny, Len, are you in there?

I said as Casey and I approached the small hole. Trevor, he said. I shine the flashlight in the hole and saw Lenny trapped beneath the surface. Lenny, are you okay, man? How the hell did he get in there? I said. Please, Trevor, help me out of here, he pleaded. Don't worry, Len, we'll get you out, Casey said. He looked at me.

Come on, Trev. We'll each grab a hand and pull him out. I looked at Lenny's worried, tearful face. I looked into his scared eyes to the small opening. I looked at the opening. The very small opening. Casey began to reach his arm out and into the cave. I looked at Lenny. His arms stretched out, awaiting Casey's grasp.

In his worried face for a split second. I saw a chilling grieve. in. Casey, don't, I said, pushing his arm back towards his body. Trevor, what the? Casey murmured. We watched as the creature that had been Lenny only a moment ago slowly faded deeper into the cave. A deep growling rumble echoed in the darkness as the gaunt, paralysing face sunk slowly into the abyss. I don't remember anything but running after that. When we got back to what we thought was Lenny's house, I stopped to catch my breath. Casey hopped in his bike and left without a word, crying hysterically. I sat down for a moment

longer and hit my inhaler. I was having trouble catching my breath and thought for a second I might pass out. I forced myself to take deep breaths and calm down, afraid of what might happen if I lost consciousness. Finally, I picked on my bike and peddled home as fast as I could. I didn't look back once. I don't know what more I can say about the whole ordeal We told our parents about it And they actually looked into it Hell, they even called the authorities The cops weren't much help though

Nor were they amused All they did was tell us that the cabin we claimed As Lenny's house Had been abandoned for 40 years And basically to not waste their time Josh never came back to school after full break Casey told me a couple months later How different Josh had become

He never really went into detail about it, and I didn't really want to ask. In the spring of 95, Josh and Casey moved away. I didn't see either of their faces again until social media got big nearly 20 years later. I searched both her names out of curiosity, but only found a profile for Casey. We spent the years up until now, liking each other's posts and photos, but not much else, until Josh's death. He sent me a message personally asking me to come. I felt like I knew why, and to be honest, I felt like I needed to. I needed to understand and be understood for once in my life.

I needed to know that I'm not crazy, that what I saw all those years ago actually happened. After Casey showed me that picture at the funeral, we talked for a while. It felt good being able to talk to someone who understood. I wish Josh was there with us, because talking my... might have held him too. I can't say that I got any concrete answers for what happened. I don't think I ever will. I still can't keep myself from wondering sometimes. And after I looked at the small-framed picture, I've been wondering a lot. Before I left the funeral, I took one less look at the photograph, and the writing on the back and faded blue cursive, July 4th, 1990.