CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - 2+ Hours of Scary r/Nosleep Reddit Horror Stories to warm up to because it's a bit chilly now

Episode Date: August 30, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORIES-►0:00 "If you see this man on the side of the road, DON'T drive home" Creepypasta►15:20 "The ocean sings to me, I hear the song in my dreams and see them in the waves" Creepypasta►49:18 "When you go to heaven, STAY AWAY from the angels" Creepypasta►1:19:12 "NEVER Try Overexposure Therapy" Creepypasta►1:39:00 "My New Job Has Only One Rule; Don't Die" 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► https://twitter.com/esuthio/status/12...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/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-

Oh, young, that I'm in three days. I'm all moor as I'm not more on think. Oh, that to seeer that morning off must. I'm all mooh as I'm just on tomorrow. Oh, this is I'm all moor as I'm on thinking. Have you it mollick at home to come? Give you yourself then a boost. With biocure, Maxhot Liquid.

Three up-puppendant plants. Magnesium, Izer. An energy booster, to get in right again to can clallon. Bio-Cure Max-Shot Liquid. Foodingsupplement, We have this urban legend in my city called the Wrong Wayman. Supposedly, you might seem standing on the side of the road when you're driving.

Some say it's always when you're on your way home. I've seen pictures of the wrong way man. They circulate among us by text message. They circulate among students, workers, friends and family here. Oddly, I've never seen any of those photos posted online. I'm not sure if it's because of fear, because those who've taken the pictures want to perpetuate the mystique of a local urban legend, or because of something else. I was pretty sure those pictures had been a hoax, just someone dressed up as the wrong way man. Maybe it was the same person every time.

As far as what the wrong way man looks like, he wears his tattered clothing backwards, usually a flannel shirt and jeans. His painted smiling face looks eerily realistic until he turns to the side and you can see it's a smooth surface It seems that he shaves his hair off Paints a face over the back of his head and puts a shoulder-length wig that covers up his real face Those who have met who claim to have spotted the wrong way man Say they waited a week before driving home Staying over at a friend's house or a hotel and not even bothering to go home to pack a suitcase

I've also heard, though, that you need to wait a month. The common consensus seems to be, if you see him while driving home, don't finish the drive home. Turn around and go somewhere else and wait for at least a week. I thought it was a bunch of nonsense until my date and I saw the wrong way man when we were going back to my house from the movies. It was Katie who spotted him. Slow down, she said. I think I see that wrong way man you told me about Katie had only lived in my city

for half a year So one of the things I told her On my quest to share with her As many interesting things as I could Had been a local urban legend About the wrong way man Was it a coincidence That we had just been talking about him a few days before

I'd never seen someone dressed as the wrong way man in person Pictures sure But never in person My foot was shaking as I eased up on the gas. It was dark, near him midnight dark, and there were either no streetlights or they were off. My car's headlights lit him up. On the other side of the road, he was facing us.

Actually, he had his back to us. The painted face was facing us. The jeans and flannel shirt and wig were all turned our way as well. His arms and legs looked wrong. wrong. They were shoved down in his clothing the opposite way. I wanted to be amused, but I was alarmed. When we got to be about ten feet away in my car, he turned his painted head towards us. Those painted eyes, realistic, but forever held too wide, seemed to be staring right into mine. As we drove by, I waved to him and laughed to try ease some of the tension.

He did not wave back. I looked at Katie. She was waving too, but she wasn't laughing. I glanced back in time to see the slick side of the person's shaved, painted head, and the optical illusion of a real face being there was shattered. Shattered, but somehow worse for us. Also, when I peered into the rearview mirror as we increased our distance, I thought I saw something glinting beneath the shoulder-length wig he wore.

Then, he was gone, lost to the darkness. I picked up speed. He hadn't been walking, but somehow I was worried he would come after us too quickly. So, what do we do now? Katie said. We can't go to your home or mine. I glanced at her, and soon we both started laughing. Well, I said, after midnight, we'll be able to tell everyone around that we saw the wrong.

way man and went immediately home. I wonder who was pretending to be the wrong way man, Katie said. I wonder why they were doing it. Do you think we should turn back around and try to talk to them? I'd rather we didn't, I said. They could be dangerous, but I'm sure it's just someone looking to keep the urban legend alive. It's your car, Katie said, but if it was mine.

All right, I said, we'll turn back around. My grandpa used to say, if you're in doubt, which turn to make, you can always make a U-turn until you figure things out. You use that as a metaphor in life. But, as I did my U-turn, my heart was thrashing in my chest. We drove down the entirety of that dark street without seeing that person again. It was a couple of miles long in that direction, so there was no way they could have walked or run the distance so quickly.

Katie and I decided that the person dressed as the wrong way man must have left the shoulder the road for the surrounding woods. The idea of them hiding the woods as we drove by again made me feel like I had spiders crawling over my flesh. We did another U-turn, and during that whole time, I kept glancing around

in case that person jumped at us from out of nowhere. But soon, we were heading back in the direction of my house with no second look at the wrong way, man. Katie and I tried to laugh it out, and we tried talking about other things,

but both of us were pretty scared. We couldn't stop chatting about everything and nothing or glancing out the windows or into our side mirrors. We turned into my subdivision, then we turned onto my street, and everything changed. As soon as we turned onto my street, we started to go backwards instead of forwards.

Did you putted in reverse? Katie said. Her hand was gripping my arm. It was as cold as ice. I stopped the car. Both of us were looking down. The car was in drive. I took my foot off the brake and put it onto the gas pedal again. The houses, familiar houses, I saw every day when coming home, were moving away from us. Maybe something's wrong with my car, I said. But when I tried driving forward again, I looked to the side and then in the rearview mirror. We were not moving.

not according to those views In front of us The houses receded Every time I put my foot on the gas But from the side and rear It appeared that we were standing still On my street Everything was well lit

There were tons of streetlights So we couldn't argue it away As if it had anything to do with limited visibility Let's get out of here Katie said Her voice was almost a whisper Yeah I said in a similar way

But how are we going to leave? Put it in reverse. When I put my car in reverse and tried that, we actually moved forward. But to the side and rear, once again, we seemed to have not moved, like we were caught just past the entrance to my neighbourhood. It was when Katie and I stopped the car

and were debating getting out, but we spotted someone coming towards us on the sidewalk. They were approaching us from the front of the vehicle, so I'm not sure how accurate the distance was. It seemed like they were already about 20 feet away. I don't know why it took me so long to realise this. Maybe it was because I didn't want to, but I recognised my neighbour by the back of his head

and by his body shape, which was somewhat atypical. I'd seen him often stooped, working in his garden while I was driving by. He was walking backwards towards us. when he got closer he stopped then he began shouting Emple Emple over and over again

standing stock still is back to us only later I would realise he'd been saying help me in reverse I rode down the window Mr Nelson I said what's the matter he stopped shouting

now that my window is down I could hear his body creak and snap. Blood poured out seizures as the joints of his arms and legs changed drastically. When Mr Nelson's head twisted all the way around towards us, I was sure I saw the light go out of his eyes. Then, whatever had taken over Mr. Nelson made a step forward with a new architecture of his body. Katie and I both began to scream at the first step. I rolled up the window as Mr. Nelson Lopped around on strange inhuman legs His kneecapped in elbows

It becomes stretched and exaggerated from being reversed I put my foot on the gas With the car still in reverse And through the front windows We seemed to be careening forward Even though a glance out of the sides or rearview Showed us to still be stationary We slammed into Mr Nelson

Blood slashed across the windscreen The car rose and fell as we went over his body To the side and rear There was no indication of the car rising and falling. I did not see a lump appear behind us. I get my foot on the gas, still going forward in reverse. I saw a window of a neighbour's house shatter.

A couple, I barely recognised, crawled out like baby spiders out of eggs, leaking blood and more blood as they scraped themselves against the shards of the window frame. I don't think it was that they didn't know how to open windows. When the wife paused in the window, she smiled. She intentionally rubbed her scalp against a particularly sharp-looking piece of glass. Meat and blood came away. I think I could see the white of her skull. By then, her husband was already in the ground running towards us.

I sped forward. They and their house vanished in the sides of the rear of the vehicle, which were, again, still stuck near the street's entrance. More people were coming out of the homes. They came out all twisted and broken, damaging themselves further as they exited. They ran towards us on backwards legs, churning their backwards arms. Everything about them was the wrong way.

Before long, I found myself slamming on the brakes. Keep going, Katie yelled. They're going to catch up with us. Ahead, I saw my own driveway. Someone that looked like me was talking to another person. With a painted face. The painted face nodded. Up and down it nodded like a real face would do

Then when I saw the wig shuffle and move seemingly on its own I realised that the true face under that wig was talking Moving its lips Breathing The wrong way man was talking to me Or someone who looked like me At the same time Katie was reaching over me

Trying desperately to put a foot on the gas A couple of twisted pieces of bone and meat collided with the windshield. Two faces with bunched up folds of necks lured at me out of glazed eyes. These were faces I should have recognized. The twisted arms continued to beat at the window, even though the rise told me that no one was home. A spider's web of cracks spread across the windshield. Its grooves caught blood. I slammed my foot on the gas while helping to steady cape back into a seat.

We flung those two off, and right after we ran over an entire family in quick succession. I didn't have time to feel guilty. These were not my neighbours. These were not my neighbours. These were not... Kate and I both began to change. I heard some of my bones break. I felt it a moment later, like the reverse of lightning before thunder.

Kate and I started screaming, almost in unison, and about in the same tune. It was like a choir of pain and fear, and fear and pain had risen up with us as instruments. Keep your head back, I yelled as I strove to keep my head pinned against my seat. Don't let it twist around. No matter what happens to the rest of our bodies, we can't let it kill us. I know, Katie said. Just get this car out of here, make a U-turn or something. Make a U-turn, I thought.

What was it my grandpa said about life and how if you don't know what to do, you could always make a U-turn. Still, in reverse, yet still going forward, I wheeled the car screeching around. I didn't glance other sides or rear. I gunned it, heading back towards where we had come. The wrong way, man waited. He waited for me at the juncture of my driveway and the street.

His painted mouth grinned forever. His painted eyes were too wide and incapable of blinking. We passed him and drove out of the neighbourhood. Katie and I weren't out of the woods though. I was able to get us to a nearby gas station before my legs and arms, which were partway reversed and leaking blood, completely gave out. We crawled out of the vehicle and under the cold, hard concrete of the gas station. I blacked out almost at once,

but Katie tells me she retained consciousness until the ambulance arrived. I don't envy her. We spent months in the hospital with broken bones and torn ligaments and my I think the only thing that it saved us from permanent damage might have been the seat of our vehicles resisting our changes. We told the doctors we'd been in a car accident. They shook their heads at us and kept asking questions. I did go back home eventually. We both did.

The reason I went home was because one of my neighbours that we had run over with my car came to the hospital to visit me. They seemed completely fine as if nothing had happened, and the wrong way man had never changed them. But damage was done to my vehicle and to Katie and me, both physically and psychologically. And while our bodies are on the mend, I don't think we'll ever be the same. I feel the wrong way.

Inside. Do you charter your boat? I looked up from the boat stern, eyed the two men with lazy smiles and terrible fishing gear, and sighed. clearly tourists and trouble but typically have decent money so I said

Depends where you're looking to go It was still mid-morning Plenty of time for a trip and play host to a few amateur anglers We heard there's a great fish and spot near the oil rig Can you take us there? I shook my head And tried giving them better options

Anywhere other than that place Told them where I'd taken the previous groups that caught huge grouper and chubby amber back. Come on, I heard that oil rigs are the best for shark. That's why we want to go. At that point, I rolled my eyes and pointed at their gear. You really think you're going to catch shark on that pole? One of them laughed, seemingly nervous and admitted,

We're kind of new to this. Of course you are. So listen to a fisherman who's been on these waters for longer than you've been alive. You'll catch nothing good at that place. I turned my attention back to the boat and figured that would be it. They would wonder off like all the others. Maybe look around the rest of the dock for another boat to bother. Instead, the other guy waives a few hundred dollars.

We're willing to pay right now, 300. That's it, I charged 300 ahead for the day. I was bluffing, but figured that would be more than enough to send them packing. We can do that. I should have told them to get lost. Instead, I was curious and suspicious. Is this really about sharks? Not a single soul I know would ever be that determined to pay so much for a humble fishing vessel.

My boat was well taken care of, sure, but it certainly wasn't anything to ride home about in terms of luxury. A pause, then the one offering the money says, We're looking for a specific fish. which is spit it out Finally the more nervous of the two gives me an honest answer We've heard rumors of a huge fish

A shark of some sort The details were fuzzy bun It was big There's a reward for it Surely you've heard something about it I had at the bar Most likely where these two heard as well The bounty was a good one

And had some hotspot tourists Eager to try for it Over two grand in cold cash. But I saw the state of the boat, the endless blue it was called, that supposedly caught the thing first. The hull had scratches in it that were difficult to describe. It barely made it back to shore and the captain refused a step foot on another boat. Instead, he worked at the local fish shack and drank heavily the moment the day was done. He lost his best friend to the sea and couldn't really describe what they caught out there.

only ever saying it was large with sharp teeth. They managed to haul it on the boat, but couldn't keep it. It killed the captain's best friend before escaping back into the water. Shark was the first thing that came to mind, but I really wasn't sure about that. There isn't any shark I know of that's capable of scarring a boat like that, literally peeling off long strips of paint and wood. And you somehow think you're going to catch a big fish with those rarrow. rods? The fishing poles in their hands looked maybe good enough to handle a decent size red snapper.

Nah, these were just the past the time. We've got a real rod in here. The more cocky man holds up a large case and admits we wanted something else to pass the time while hoping for the big guy. I folded my arms, thinking, then said, and you think two newbies like yourselves can catch something that a skilled angler couldn't? Hey, what's the harm in trying? The reward money is insane. So, what do you say? I was about to say no, but he kept going.

600 bucks right now to take a few guys out in the water. And if we only catch small stuff, then it is what it is. It was difficult to deny. So, foolishly, I agreed. The attack happened in the late evening, so I figured it would be an easy day's work. I had the guys help me load the boat with fresh bait and made sure that there was enough fishing line and hooks.

As we worked, I learned their names and gave them mine. The more nervous one was Liam. The other was Grayson, who was a little too relaxed for my liking. Nonetheless, I gave them the rundown on how to act to my boat and that they needed to listen to me no matter what. Is it just you who runs the whole boat, Mr. Blackburn? Liam asked as I filled up the cooler with our own. ice. I nodded and checked about the stern one last time to make sure that everything was in place.

After that, I showed the two the cabin so they could relax or sleep until it was time to fish and said, On occasion, I'll hire one of the younger guys if I'm taking out a large group. But other than that, just me. That sounds like a nice gig. You know, I'd like a boat someday. I glanced over to Grayson before moving back to the doorway. thinking to make sure we had everything before replying. You better enjoy the water if you do that. Sit tight.

It's going to be a few hours before we get near the rig. If you need anything, I'll be in the captain's chair. I ended the ropes tying the boat and got behind the helm, readying myself for a long day. The ride out of the oil rig was thankfully quiet. The calls from the other boat is drifting away. The annoying cries of seagulls left behind and all that was left was the ocean and it sounds.

In the far distance I could see the oil rig But knew it would take a few hours to get close Neither men were terrible passengers Both stayed in the cabin for the most part Though Liam sometimes wandered up to ask random questions About being a fisherman I'd humor him for a while Until he eventually got bored and went off to the cabin again

The sun was high in the sky when I pulled up close to the rig The sight of it had me feeling uneasy even with a sunny afternoon, but I cut the engine after moving the boat to a safe distance away. On the sonar, it seemed that a decent amount of fish were hanging about,

but not quite as many as I expected. Still, I moved out onto the front of the boat and dropped the anchor to ensure the waves wouldn't push us around. Are we finally here? Liam asked, looking about, gripping the edges of the cabin door to keep balance. Yeah,

let you put in no. I busy myself, adding weights to the lines and baiting them, putting one on each side to hopefully avoid lines being tangled. Grayson grinned and put on sunglasses the moment he stepped onto the deck. I'm so ready for this. We're going to be here for a while. Vision takes time and we may not catch a thing. In a way, I hoped that would be the case.

The biggest thing I wanted to catch was a grouper or a snapper. easy and simple to deal with. At first, nothing but a few small fish, but not anything that could be kept. The small rods had nibbles or small bites, but the rod meant for true deep-sea fishing wouldn't move beyond the natural pull from the waves. I asked if they wanted to move on, but Grayson insisted that we stay close to the oarig, so I moved the boat to the other side.

How come this isn't in use anymore? Do you know? Liam asked as I helped him bait the oil rig. hook, showing him how to pierce the squid so that it would stop falling off. Couldn't say for sure, but supposedly there were issues of the pipes. They got the rig in place, but could never get the pipes right. The a yawyer rig stood beside us, casting a shadow over the water and eerie in its silence. There were no sounds of work as milling about, just an abandoned structure that had no use anymore.

It had been a huge bust, I record from the papers. Talks about how it cost millions to make and float the thing out to sea and sink it under the ocean floor. The amount of piping flown and tugged out was insanely expensive as well, only for it to be for nothing. The company couldn't get it to work. Constant breakdowns, industrial accidents, workers refused to work until finally it was left alone. Grayson huffed, his mood steadily souring with each empty hook or small fish caught. Pipes, that's it? So what?

They've just left it out here to rust? You could say that, yeah. Some companies talk about trying to salvage it, but nothing really came of it. Nowadays, nobody goes near the thing. That had Liam asking if I heard the rumours surrounding the structure, and I shrugged. As in everyone,

once the Salvation Company's backed off or left the contracts, everyone started talking about what it's really used for. I heard someone mentioning criminals use it for hiding illegal stuff or that the government is doing experiments there Liam glanced over to me and continued Have you heard anything weird going on here? I had to roll my eyes at that one and said You're here in town for fun, aren't you?

Stop listening to the old anglers and gossipers and be a real tourist like your friend. That got a sharp response from Grayson that I ignored instead looking up at the oarig and told him A few people say it's haunted There were some accidents of men drowning Or suddenly go missing during the night The missing men I'm not sure about

But people did drown out here Haunted, seriously Grayson rolled his eyes as he tugged at his rod Leaning against the side of the boat Well, what do you think? I looked away from the structure And watched Liam cast out his line truth be told

I had no real reason to dislike it other than a bad feeling more than enough for an experienced sailor as I said as much and I said as much doesn't matter what I think I don't like the thing so I stay away from it

unless money's involved the guy's tone was too cocky but still it did ring true my reply was still scathing maybe but I don't expect us to catch a damn thing out here, so this will be your loss, not mine. Silence fell over us at that point, both men trying and failing to catch anything worthwhile.

Eventually, Liam gave up. I'm done for the day. Gray, I don't think we're going to get anything. Let's just call it. By then, the sun was starting to fall from the sky, so I warned them. Another hour is all we can afford, any longer, and we'll be docking in the complete dark. All I get is three hours of actual fishing. That's a waste of six hundred bucks.

I shrugged, unwilling to budge. Fine, whatever. You're the one that refused to move from this spot. We could have easily went somewhere else, but you insisted on staying here. Don't blame me. I should have known better than to feel relieved, but I couldn't help it.

Knowing that I would be away from the oil rig in less than an hour had been feeling better, even a bit giddy. An easy day with a good payout, more than enough to pay the rest of the bills for the month. We baited the large rod and pulled the other lines in. I felt a bit bad with how disappointed Grayson clearly was. His cockiness nowhere to be found, and instead he stood near the line, staring out into the water with a frown and slumped shoulders. On the other hand, his friend seemed far more relieved with the idea of getting back to dry land,

already in the cabin and mentioning to wake him once we're docked. I offered to chum the water for the last half hour, figuring it wouldn't hurt to try entice something big enough for us to bring in. At least then, the two could say they caught a nice amberjack or even a shark. There was much bait left anyway, and I'd rather feed the fish than the gulls or pelicans that crowded the docks. Blood, sardines and bits of squid swirled around in the water as I tossed the bait near the fishing line.

Not a lot, just enough to hopefully catch something's attention before I left the last few pieces for the hook. I'm going to look at the sonar, see if anything is nearby. Grayson nodded as he took the pole, reeling in the line to bait it again, then cast out. I watched him for a moment before heading to the captain's seat and examined the sonar. There wasn't much. It seemed that most of the fish earlier in the day had left. I watched it for a few minutes. Then glanced at my watch and sighed at the time of almost 4.30. We would be docking around 7 at this point, but at least it wouldn't be completely dark.

Hey, I think I got something. That had me looking at the sonar again. I'd be confused since nothing had showed up, but I didn't dwell on it for long. I walked back to the deck, curious to see what fish Grayson hooked, and saw the way he was struggling with the weight. He would reel for a few seconds and pull at the rod, arms trembling, and I quickly guided him to the fishing chair. Sit down before you lose the pole. I helped him put the pole into the metal holder and motion for him to continue.

The rod was bending pretty good, so I warned him. Probably a shark. It might cut the line. I hope not. This is what I've been waiting for. He laughed and tried calling for Liam and responded with a simple, good luck, I'm too tired, and nothing else. Get up here, man, you're going to miss the catch of a lifetime.

There was no response this time, and Grayson hoffed, then turned his focus onto getting the fish to the surface. I reminded him that it was fine if the fish decided to take off, cautioned him that trying for brute strength would only exhaust him faster. If he wants to run, let it run. You're not going to win a fight like that. Rest, then keep going. It was a long fight, a fight that I left briefly to poke my head into the cabin to see how Liam was doing. He was laid out in one of the booths with an arm over his face. You were right?

Yeah, I've never really been on the ocean before and I think the sun's starting to get to me. He looked over at me, a bit dazed in his eyes, and I frowned, going to the small fridge and grabbing some water. You weren't drinking much water out there, that'll help you feeling terrible. Here. He sat up, slumping in his seat, but at least took the bottle, sipping on it.

Mr. Blackburn, do you hear things out here? That was an odd question, and one that had been raising an eyebrow. Sometimes, the ocean has a lot of things in it, and not all of them sound right in a boat. What did you hear? He hesitated, twisting the cap on and off the water bottle, then said, I... I... Don't know.

It was weird, like a hum, or a vibration? Well, songs, probably. They sound different in a boat, since we're in the water with them. That makes sense. I was just wondering. I'm going to sleep some more. Is that okay? He drank a bit more from the bottle,

then put it next to his head, already laying back down. Sure, we'll be heading back soon. He nodded at that, and I already seemed to be dozing off. I went back to see how Grayson was doing and peered out into the water, looking for signs of the fish. It took another five or so minutes

until the gray skin of a shark became visible on the surface. Certainly not the biggest I'd seen, but nice-sized. Yeah, Grayson yelled, laughing as he stood up to look at the prize he'd brought up from the depths. I put on some thick gloves

a motion for him to keep on reeling. His still doesn't fight left. Sure enough, the shark took back off towards the ocean floor, disappearing from my sight. I grabbed the harpoon, ready myself for when it reached the surface again. The line kept going, the reel loud, and I glanced back to see that it was going oddly fast before it stopped. Grayson gritted his teeth and pulled at the pole, tried his damnedest to reel, but the wheel of the rod wouldn't turn.

Did he get stuck? He kept at it, arms shaking with the effort, and reached out of the end up. to touch the line. It was tight, no slack at all, and I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. There weren't any wrecks as far as I knew for the shark to hide or take sheltering, and most fish don't get a second wind like that. I put the harpoon down and grabbed the line with both hands to pull. Still, no give, but I felt something on the line, a tiny bit of movement, and it had me letting go.

The shark was still there. but it didn't feel right. My cut was telling me to let the fish go and get the hell away from that spot. An instinct I was going to listen to. I took out a pocket knife and unfolded the blade. Grayson jumped up and protested. Don't cut the line.

Can you pull the fish in or not? He glared but sat back, gripping the pole until his knuckles went white and really did put his all into it. Nothing. The line wouldn't give. The pole bent underneath his attempts, but it wouldn't move an inch. What is wrong with this thing?

He grunted and strained his back. I turned my eyes toward the water, but the ocean was silent. I'm calling it. We need to get going. It'll be dark soon, I said, and put the knife against the line. No, give me a chance. You can't reel it in. You've been trying, and it's not moving. Grayson snapped right back. I paid you, didn't I, so let me try again. He kept trying to move the reel and began complaining that there was something wrong with the rod.

The reel was broken. I shook my head because his gear was more than adequate for a shark of decent size. I put the knife out again and ignored the protest and curses flung at me. Don't do it! Just as I grabbed the line to hold it steady, it slackened and Grayson reeled away. I barely had enough time to snatch my hand back. Told you, I get it.

The way he was reeling wasn't right if the fish were still there. The line was coming in too fast. Rather than pointing that out, I kept my mouth shut and waited until something emerged from the depths. The shark, or rather the head, hung from the end of the rod, and I couldn't stop the shiver down my spine. Whatever, had eaten the rest of it, had sharp teeth, that's for sure.

But it looked wrong, not like a single bite from a large predator. It seemed that there were small bites taken at a time, bits of flesh dangling and blood dripping onto the deck. The sides of the head had long scratches down it, gorging out both eyes and exposing jaw tissue. I got the hook out of the mouth and showed the head to Grayson, who looked surprise, then excited. Whoa, we should keep at it. See if we can get the shark that did this. It's got to be the one with a bounty. Not the response I wanted.

And when I scald up, we're done for the day. If you want to come back out with another boat, you do that. Come on, imagine being the guy that brought in a huge monster shark or something. You're really going to make us go back? Yes, I am. Dropping the shark's head back into the water. I grabbed the pole.

and put it with the others. This is my boat and is getting dark. I didn't sign up for night fishing. I ignored the complaining and went to the anchor, eager to be done for the day. The windlass to bring the anchor into the boat well to life, motor chugging along for a few moments before it shuddered and stopped.

With a curse, then a sigh, I fired it back up a few times. But it refused a budge. The motor whine louder, and I stopped it. The idea of it being stuck seemed unlikely. The seabed below was muddy and sandy, not a lot of rocks or things for it to get caught on. Still, I reached over and tugged on the rope myself. It was taught, intense, unwilling to give.

With a curse, I led up more slack than tried again, only for it to be worse than before. And an uneasy feeling settled over me once again. It was just like the fishing line. Then, slowly, the boat began to move. At first, bit by bit, but yanked forward, and Grayson and Liam shouted at me. Only, I wasn't doing anything. All I could do was hold under the bow's railing

and try not to be flung overboard. My heart hammered away in my chest. I was frozen until a particularly hard pull had me retching from a knife and soaring into the thick rope holding the anchor. It wasn't easy cutting through it. The boat must have a round looped the oil rig before the rope gave way,

snapping and disappearing into the waves. The boat rocked violently, then settled down, but I wasn't taking any chances. I was on my shaking legs and rushed to the helm. What the, get in the cabin or sit down, I snapped at Grayson, turning on the motor to full power and steering back towards land. He actually did, sat on the floor and looked pale,

the sunglasses falling from his nose and onto his chest. You... You weren't driving earlier? How were we moving? Something had the anchor and wouldn't let go. What would do that? For once, a question from him, that was a good one, but one I had no answer to. I hesitated, then simply said, we're getting out of here.

Hey, guys, do you hear the singing? I glanced back. confused, and saw a Liam swaying back and forth, cheeks red and eyes glazed. Grayson was the one to ask what he meant, and he elaborated. In the cabin, I can hear someone singing. Does it sound like either of us are in a good time? What's with you? You don't look so good. Grayson got up and reached for his friend's shoulder, shaking him a bit.

Sit tight, we'll be back at the hotel soon. Okay. Hey, I'm going to get some fresh air. He wandered away, stumbling a bit, though I wasn't sure if it was from the choppy water, or from a sudden bout of seasickness. Grayson glanced at me, and look at concern on his face, and I waved him away with my hand. I wouldn't let him be on the deck by himself. Rather than a snappy reply or comment, he left without a word,

and I tear my attention on getting back to shore. I was focused, trying to calculate how long it would be until we were back to porch, when Grayson screamed. Stop the boat! He rushed to me, eyes huge and spit out. Stop the damn boat, gleams in the water! That had been thrown the boat into neutral and using the momentum to turn around. Peering through the window, I looked out for him and saw his orange shirt,

taking care to approach slowly, so I wouldn't miss, or worse, hit him. Grayson rushed out into the bow, leaning over and I shouted at him. Don't you fall in two. I watched as he tried to grab his friend, failing, then trying again. Come on, Liam, Liam! I couldn't see the kid, but I could hear the desperation and pleading in Grayson's voice. What's with you? Just take my hand! It was a risk, but I killed the motor and quickly got into the bow as well,

but stopped when I saw the look on his face. His eyes were open, pale face, and he was staring up at us. But he wasn't seeing us. His arms floated uselessly around him and the water began to cloud. Slowly, then quicker and quicker. Turning red, I leaned down, hands twisting into the shirt and grunting with the effort of hauling up 200 pounds of dead weight. Grayson, help me! Another set of hands joined mine.

and after a minute of struggling we pulled him onto the boat blood and water poured around Liam I had to keep my jaw shut tight to keep me from vomiting at the sight of his legs he'd only been in the water for maybe five minutes but there was hardly anything left from the thighs down

bits of muscle twitched the bones red and exposed the air the skin and most of the flesh completely gone Liam Grayson sobbed shaking his friend who offered no response Oh, he's staring off into the sky.

I took up his belt and wrapped it hard around a bit of the good leg left, snapping at Grayson to do the same. His hands were shaky, but he managed to take off his own belt and copy my movement for the other leg, tears falling down his face. It was useless, looking back. I knew at the time it was pointless. He was clearly gone,

but I felt I had to stem the bleeding. It took both of us to get him back onto the boat. Graysom sat with him. insisting that he was going to be okay. I opened my mouth. When the singing began, sort of wobbling and faint, coming from the ocean.

White eyes looked at me, and I looked right back, not sure what to tell him. Before either of us could speak, Liam began shifting, blinking and suddenly back with us. It's so pretty. Can't you hear it?

He smiled then, eyes glazed and began humming along, at times, mouthing words. Get us out of here, Grayson whispered, then looked at his friend and tried comforting him. You can't move, buddy. Don't listen to that, okay? You're going to be all right, we'll get you fixed up. He had to hold him down. It was the only way to keep him from sitting up, or worse, trying to stand on what was left of his legs. I crept back to the controls of the boat, practically crawled across the bloody deck and slowly pull myself up to sit in the chair. In the light of the dying sun, I could make out figures in the ocean. What they were exactly, I couldn't say. But there were many of them.

Dark shadows in the ocean with long bodies. I focused on the boat controls, refusing to look up and reach for the radio. It was difficult, putting into words. what happened when asked what the emergency was, other than, there was an accident I have an injured passenger on board. All I could offer to the coast guard when asked how hurt the patient was, it was very. The singing followed us, and Grayson stumbled next to me, staring out into the water, and said, I think he's dead. We're going as fast as we can. Should I just push him into the water? That's what they want, right?

I looked over to us, alarmed at the way his eyes looked glassy. Neither of us are doctors. We don't know that. I hesitated and patted the seat next to me. Sit for a bit. Grayson stood for a moment too long, but then finally did so and stared off into the ocean with a wide-eyed look. You know, they do sound kind of pretty. Don't listen to them.

I reached over and took my fingers into it. his shoulder. Listen to them and you're going to end up like Liam. Even though he nodded his head and murmured some kind of agreement, I don't think he actually heard me. Throughout the ride, he talked to the song, at times standing up and peering intently out the window, eyes blank and seeing something I couldn't. I wonder what it would be like to swim with them? What do you think they are? Stop talking, Grayson. We'll be docked in an hour. Thankfully, the singing ceased after another 30 minutes, but I couldn't shake the bad feeling welling up inside.

Not even the sight of land was enough to make me feel better, carefully docking into the harbour when ambulance was waiting. The paramedics didn't know what to say once they saw the state of Liam. They quickly loaded him up and whisked him away. I had little answers for the Coast Guard, only able to tell them we were fishing by the ore rig. Don't go out there anymore. That was the only advice they gave and wrote down something in a report before asking Grayson a few questions.

He barely responded, beyond, that he and Liam paid for a fishing trip, hoping to find the shark that wrecked the endless blue fishing boat. After that, the Coast Guardsman led us be. Grayson continued looking out to see, a wistful look on his face, an expression I didn't like, so I nudged him and offered. Do you want a cab? He said nothing for a moment, and only when I asked him again, did he finally respond? No, I'm okay.

I think I'll take a walk on the beach, actually. I hope the ocean is nice at night. I protested and attempted everything I could think of to convince him otherwise, but he simply waved me off. I'll be all right. Thanks for the trip, Mr. Blackburn. See you in the water.

His last words still echo in my head. William Ackers was dead upon arriving to the hospital. The officials calling his death a freak fishing accident and wouldn't give out any true details. Grayson Seva was reported missing the same night by his girlfriend, citing that he never returned from his fishing trip with his good friend. When the police turned up on my door, all I could give them was that Grayson went for a walk on the beach

and the dock was the last place I saw him. They didn't bother me after that. I haven't been on the water since that day. Months ago at this point, some of my fishing buddies and fellow captains pesting me about it, reassuring me that whatever happened to Liam wasn't my fault. I pretend that's the reason why I don't go out anymore. At night.

I can hear them. The singing. It echoes in my head and follows me to sleep. The captain of the evening. Endos blue approached me one night at the bar, sitting next to me and asked quietly. You hear them too, don't you? I couldn't even play dumb. He saw the look on my face and nodded his head, looking far more relieved than he had any

right to. I'm glad I'm not the only one. Does it get any better? No. It gets worse if you're away from the water. Don't go out again unless you want to end up like that. the others. We've avoided talking to each other since that talk, going our separate ways, and pretending like losing our passengers had caused that dislike of the ocean. I sold my boat

and now use my experience to help young anglers fish off piers or the beaches. I don't dare touch the water. Sometimes I find myself staring off into the waves and I can see long-moving shapes with glittering scales. They sing to me, call for me. Sometimes, Sometimes laugh at me. So far, I've managed to resist them. For how long I'll be able to, though? I don't know. I was a bloody mess.

After the 12-car pile-up on the freeway, it was a miracle I was even conscious, albeit just barely. There was only one hospital within a 30-mile radius, so all of us were sent there, some via ambulance, others by helicopter. overwhelmed with the influx of patients, the staff scattered all over us.

I was in a bed normally reserved for the lesser injured out in the foyer, as were some of the others involved in the crash. We were separated only by thin curtains, as surgical team struggled to keep us breathing. If I'm being honest, at the time, I couldn't even remember my own name, let alone what had happened. It all felt so surreal like a dream I couldn't wake up from. We're losing her.

Those were the first three words I comprehended since arriving at the hospital. They came from a doctor operating on a young girl in the bed to my left. Through blood vision and a small gap in the curtains, I could just make out of features. She was maybe six years old with long blonde hair, blooded and in critical condition. She looked so familiar, but I couldn't figure out why. as I stared and came to me, my daughter. Yes, my daughter, she looks just like her. That was it.

She reminded me of my daughter, Leslie. I smiled, but then I remembered last time I saw her. She was in her casket, as she and my wife were both lowered into the earth, victims of a car accident themselves. Did I cause this? Was I trying to kill myself? As the pieces were coming back to me, I remembered the accident, though I couldn't quite place how it all started. Still, it posed the question. Did I do this to be with them?

Did I want to die the same way they did? No, no, I can't be. I would never purposefully harm others. Unless I was intoxicated. I could now taste it, a faint leftover residue of alcohol on my tongue. Oh God, no, please no, what have I done? Just then, the sound of a flatline rang through the hospital. It was her, the young girl.

She was dying. A slew of doctors rushed over, including some of my own. There were chest compressions, the kiss of life, and a few shocks from the paddles. But it was no use. I watched in horror as her head tilted to face me, lifeless and cold. Something happened when I saw this girl die. Something I can't quite explain. Whether it was a result of my trauma or the medicine I was administered.

I can't be sure. I only know that I cracked. Leslie, no, my little girl, please no, you have to save her. My heart broke and my sanity along with it. All I could see was Leslie, lying on a stretcher and away to the ER, lying on that slab in the morgue, and finally, lying in a car. laughing at the funeral.

Some staff ran over and held me down as I stood up in an attempt to run to the girl's aid. They were about to inject me with a sedative, but it was too late. I was in pretty bad shape, just barely hanging on. This sudden burst of movement did me in once and for all, and my flat line was the next sound echoing through the halls.

My time was up. And that was that? Fade to black, lights out. It was all over. At least I could finally see my family again. Little did I know. Things would not be that simple. It was instantaneous.

There was no tunnel and no light at the end of it. No portal to walk through or pearly white gates to enter. They simply opened my eyes. And I was there. It looked like an ordinary room, covered from corner to corner, in a lavish white overlay. It wasn't what I would call vast, but it certainly was large,

approximately an acre of coverage, if my depth perception could be trusted. After a moment or so, a man appeared before me, late 50s maybe, grey hair, grey moustache, tone of the century attire. I took a step back,

startled by sudden arrival. Don't be frightened, we never could get the hang of subtle entrances, sorry about that. I remained silent, unsure of how to respond. Well, I'm sure you have your questions. Fire away. He was right, I did.

Where are we? Who are you? He smiled. Ah, yes, the usual query is, this, my dear friend, is heaven, and I am an angel, here to transition you through the process. Process?

I asked. Yes, the process of death. It was coming back to me, the accident, the hospital, and that poor little girl. So I didn't make it? He bore a look of concern. I'm sorry to say, no, you did not. But please, if you will accompany me on a little tour, I can show you to your room. You may have died.

But this is the best place you could have ended up, I assure you. He started walking to the opposite side of the room. I followed, but continued, asking questions. So, this is the heaven. I made it here. But didn't I cause that terrible accident? He chuckled. Cause it?

No, Jack. Even in your drunken state, you were trying to stop it from the side of the road, yelling over to that lunatic swerving all over the place. The memory was coming into focus. I wasn't driving. I was walking along the freeway with a bottle of whiskey in hand, making the trick to my wife and daughter's crosses

where they died years ago. Innipeated, I couldn't run away fast enough when the cars finally collided, caught in the wreckage as soon as the fireworks began. The man watched as the revelation washed over me. Remember now, Jack?

I nodded, relieved that I wasn't the reason those people were hurt. But that, that was the reason. brought me to my next question, a more pressing matter. My wife and daughter, are they here? Can I see them? The man offered me an apologetic look. I'm sorry, Jack. They've already transitioned.

Charlotte and Leslie are no longer with us. My heart sank. For an instant, I had hoped I could see them again. Knowing the truth crushed me. I had to know more, to know that they were okay. When you say transitioned, what does that entail exactly? Does that mean they moved on, that they're at peace? We reached the end of the room where there was a single red door. The man grabbed the handle and opened it, gesturing for me to enter. Well, let me show you.

Without any other options at my disposal, I hesitantly walked past the threshold of the doorframe, and the man followed, shutting the door behind us. He then walked ahead and turned back to me with his arms outstretched. Welcome to our Hall of Operations. There was a tinge of pride in his voice as he said this. Hall of operations? I asked, confused. Please, right this way.

We walked down the corridor and he pointed out the various rooms along the way, all identical to one another. I looked through the small windows of the doors and saw people. Some of which I recognised from the crash, lying on the tables within, unconscious. There were others in the rooms with them. The hands held over the bodies as a steady stream of blue glowing particles was extracted and absorbed from what I could tell. I don't understand. What is this? The man was now grinning from ear to ear.

This is where the magic happens. A mutually beneficial transaction between angels. and human, we fulfill your wildest dreams, and in return, you give us a peace of your soul. For the first time since arriving in heaven, I was now worried. You want a piece of my soul? Am I hearing this right? He put a hand on my shoulder, undoubtedly in an effort to calm my nerves. Don't worry, Jack. It's a mostly harmless procedure. You won't feel a thing. Mostly?

I pushed his hand away and took a few steps back, scared of what I'd gotten myself into. Jack, please, listen to me. As angels, we require the essence of human souls to sustain our life force. From birth, as a measure of evolution, a piece of your soul is sectioned off from the rest. You technically don't even need it. It was always meant to be passed along to us in the hereafter. It's the only part of you we can access. His explanation seemed genuine.

I stood still and lent him an open mind as he continued. While we extract this piece, you'll be locked away in your own mind. We can create for you your own personal heaven, anything or any place you want, and it's yours. And even trade, if there ever was one. Upon hearing this, I gathered my composure and asked the question, so you could reunite me with my family? If that's what you want, then yes. Just know, they won't actually be them.

It's all a fabrication of the mind, a very powerful one, but a fabrication nonetheless. I was vulnerable. My wife and child were gone. I had just died myself, and I had no idea what was going on. That's why, in this moment, his honesty was enough to earn in my trust. That and the promise of what he offered.

I don't care. I just want to see them again. He nodded in agreement. Very well. Follow me to your room and we will begin the process. We walked past at least another hundred doors or so, and that's when I noticed her through one of the windows. It was the girl, the one who had died next to me in the hospital. She was standing in a corner as an angel closed in on her. my prendal instant kicked in and I burst into the room without any hesitation. What's going on? I demanded.

The angel looked to the man behind me. It's all right, Lucian. He knows her. Lucian turned his eyes to me and explained, She's frightened, that's all. I was trying to help her. The young girl continued to car in the corner, probably scared and confused with no idea where she was or what was. happening to her. I took a deep breath and reeled back my initial aggression, now knowing what it was she was going through. I walked over and kneeled down in front of her. It's okay. What's your name? There was silence at first, but eventually she spoke up. Abigail, you can call me Abby.

It's lovely to meet you, Abby. I'm Jack. She was still nervous, but I could see the apple. apprehension leaving her eyes as I continued to comfort her. You know, Abby, I have a daughter around your age. Her name is Leslie. You look a lot like her. Her face grew curious. Really? She asked.

Yes, really. You're the spitting image of her. If I didn't know any better, I would say you were twins. She laughed and I with her. Abby, I made a promise to Leslie. I told her. time and time again, I would never let anything bad happen to her. Tears forced their way out and down my face.

Why are you crying, Mr. Jack? I wipe my tears away and did my best to fake a smile. I'm going to make the same promise to you, okay? These men might seem scary, but they're not here to hurt you. They're just going to put you to sleep and give you the happiest of dreams. It's confusing, I know, but you have to trust me. I won't let anything bad happen to you. She looked up at me and stared with an intensely serious look, painted on a face,

as serious as a six-year-old could look. You promise, right? Another tear rolled down my face. I may have broken the promise I made to Leslie, but I could make up for it now, at least in some small way. Yes, Abby, I promise. With that, Abigail was no longer scared. and the man and I left the room and continued down the hall.

She's not going to feel any pain at all, right? The man answered while continuing his march forward. No pain at all, you have my word. A few moments later, he stopped in his tracks. All right, Jack, this is it. We were at my room. It was the same as the rest in every way, but he somehow felt tied to me.

Perhaps I was just projecting. After all, this was to be my final resting place. Or was it, I wondered. Say, what happens after the procedure is complete? The man looked at me, puzzled. When it's complete. Yeah, what happens then? Do I stay in my dream world?

His eyes rolled a bit, and his lips scrunched up in contemplation. Is that what you want, Jack? I thought it over for a moment, but the answer was clear. Having an imaginary Charlotte and Leslie was better than not having them at all. Yeah, that is very much what I want. He smiled. Then it settled. Now please, lie down on the table.

I did as instructed. So, who will be? be my angel. He pulled over a cart of utensils in preparation. You're looking at him, Jack. We're all assigned specific souls. You're one of mine. I took a closer look at the utensils, though knives, scalples, scissors, and something that looked akin to an oversized nutcracker. What is all that? I asked, growing worried again. It's okay, Jack. While we do have access to this particular piece of your soul, it's still difficult to get. too. In the later stages of the extraction, we'll need to clear off some of the skin and bone

for easier retrieval. His words were no comfort, and he could tell. Relaxed Jack, like I said earlier, you won't feel a thing. Soon you'll be with your wife and daughter again, as happy as you can be. He placed his hand over me to begin, and I try my best to forget about the strange tools next to my head. Before he could put me to sleep, another angel walked. walked in unannounced. Sir, the fragmentor is full. What do we do with the solace while it's being emptied? Hearing this, I sat straight up on the table.

Fragmenta? Is that where I'm going after this is done? The man sighed and looked over at the angel who had barged in. You bumbling idiot. This one's still awake. We almost had him. Oh no, that means. Abigail.

I'm sorry, sir, I didn't know. The angel rushed off. I followed suit and stood up to make a run for the door. The man was too fast. He lifted me up and pushed me against the wall with incredible strength. Not so fast, Jack. You're not going anywhere. I'll rip that soulpiece out with or without your cooperation.

His eyes, they turned a dark shade of red, and his teeth. They became razor sharp as his mouth opened wider than any humans could. my eyes started down at the table by his side he was almost within reach you're lucky jack not many people have seen an angel's true form I managed to slip my arm out of his grip and grab one of the knives

without a second thought I lodged it as deeply as I could into his leg all at once his face reverted to normal and he began writhing in pain letting go of me and falling backwards in the process I immediately ran out of the door and down the hall as fast as I could. The promise I made to Abigail replaying in my mind every step of the way. I couldn't save my family from this terrible fate, but I could at least save her.

In the distance, I heard the man stumble out of the room and shout to command. Get him! Doors opened and dozens of angels left their post to chase after me. Luckily, my head start was enough to escape their grasp. I was able to reach Abbey's room with just enough time to open the door and shut it behind me before the stampede of celestial beings reached my position. Once inside, I looked to the centre of the room. Abigail was on the table, awake.

That meant the extraction hadn't started yet. Lucian was standing at his side with a cart of utensils now looking over at me, baffled. What's going on? he asked. I didn't offer him any answers. I simply ran over, picked up Abigail, and grabbed another knife from the cart. I then stood in the corner in a frightened stance, ready to fend off any would-be attackers. Mr Jack, what are you doing? I looked at Abigail with a half-smile.

Abby, I made you a promise. I intend to keep it. She looked so confused. But you said, I interjected. I was wrong, Abby. These are not good men. don't worry, I won't let them hurt you. Close your eyes and look away, sweetie.

She hung her head over my shoulder and hugged me tight. I didn't know what I could realistically do to help her, but I would be damned if I didn't try. Just then, the man burst into the room, limping with a flood of angels following behind. Jack put her down. She is of no consequence to you. My blood was now boiling.

Like hell she isn't. You will not touch a her in a head, not if I have anything to say about it. Lucian made a move towards me. I read it myself. Lucian, don't. It's all right. I can handle it. Lucian backed off and the man limped forward.

I stood my ground. Jack, what do you plan to do exactly? Fight off all of heaven's angels with one silver blade. I pointed down at his leg with a knife. It hurts, doesn't it? With this, I can hurt you. Him and the other angels in the room laughed. Of course it hurts, Jack, but allow me to show you something.

Watch closely. He snapped his fingers, and the wound was gone. No tear in his clothing, no more blood dripping from his leg. He even walked about in a circle to show me it had truly healed. You see, Jack, we can do it. do anything we want, even this. He held his arm forward, and the knife was pulled through the air by an unseen force landing in his hand. I was now defenseless.

I held on to Abigail as tightly as I could. You can't beat us, Jack. You're ours now. He stepped forward. I looked over at the scared girl in my arms and thought to my little Leslie. I remember the fun memories I had with her and my wife, as well, as the horrific aftermath of losing them. A specific memory bubbled to the surface

and stood out above the rest. It was one of the many times I visited those crosses on the side of the freeway. It was dark, well past midnight and Christmas Eve of last year. There were no cars on the road, not a single one. Everyone was with their families for the holidays,

rejoicing and partaking the festivities. And here I was, on the side of the road, paying my respect to the family I no longer had. There would be no more holidays for us, no more anything at all. I looked down at the unopened bottle of whiskey in my hand. I was five years sober up to that point,

didn't even drink the night they died. It wasn't how they would have wanted things to go. At least that's what I told myself, and I believed it. I believe they were still out there somewhere, looking down on me, and that kept me holding the wheel steady. but I realized in this instance darkness all around me not a single soul in sight that I was truly and utterly alone.

They weren't with me. They couldn't be. They were gone. They're dead jack. These words, now truer than they had ever been before, repeated in my mind as I stared down at the whiskey. It was as if the bottle itself was speaking them, taunting me to put it to my lips and drink. away my misery. And, you know what? I did just that. Half the bottle was gone in mere seconds. I swear I didn't even feel the burn as it swam down my throat. Or maybe it was just dull in comparison to

the immense anguish I already felt. Either way, the guilt broke through and came through in waves, bringing me to my knees directly in front of the wooden markers that memorialized my loss. Charlotte, Leslie, I'm so sorry. My face and neck were soaked in tears and whiskey drool. I'm sorry that I'm so weak. I can't do this without you. It should have been me instead. I wish it had been me.

I leaned against the crosses and sobbed louder than I ever had before. Leslie, I couldn't protect you. My little girl. That was my lowest moment. A reminder of my failure as a parent. There was nothing I could have done to prevent their accident, but that didn't stop me from blaming myself. I took one more look at Abigail,

as the man took his final step in our direction. Wait, please, wait. To my surprise, he thought. What now, Jack, going to gravel for your lives? No, I said. I want to make a deal. The angels laughed again, louder this time. Oh, Jack, what could you possibly have to bargain with?

My soul, I stated plainly. We already have access to both your soul pieces. You'll have to do better than that. I quietly prepared myself from my final offering. I would be handing over everything to these foul creatures, as much as I didn't want to. It was all I could think to do. No, my entire soul, the whole damn thing. Send her back to earth, intact, and when she eventually dies, she's off-limits.

Agreed to these terms and my soul is yours. An angel chimed in from the room's entrance. That's not even possible. We can't take more than a piece. The man spoke up. Actually, it is. The other angels now adorn looks of astonishment. It was clear that the man knew far more than them, things that were apparently above their pay grade. We can take an entire soul, but only at the full consent of its vessel.

Even then is a difficult surgery. Still, I'm willing to give it a go. The benefits are weigh the risk. Jack, are you sure you want to do this? It'll be no walk in the park. You have to be absolutely sure. It won't work unless you give in completely. I nodded.

Yes, save the girl. And I'm yours. A grin I can only describe as being sinister stretched across his face. Very well, Jack. You have a deal. Without warning, I became lightheaded. I saw the man and the angels standing there, but they were now blurred, out of focus.

I quickly put Abigail down before succumbing to the dizzy spell and ultimately collapsing to the floor. Oh my God, his breathing, he's back with us. My vision was still foggy. I could only make out the faint silhouettes of individuals huddled around me as a wavered in and out of consciousness. He needs oxygen, stat. After a minute or so, I passed out altogether.

The next thing I knew, I was waking in hospital bed, a nurse swapping out fluid on my IV. Oh no, I'm alive. But Abby. Oh, you're awake. Glad to see you back in the land of the living. Things were really dicey there for a while. I had to know.

That girl who was next to me. Is she okay? What happened? She looked concerned. I don't know, sir. Please calm down. Any sudden movements could break a stitch in. It was my fear that they revived me before the deal could be struck, before Abigail could be saved.

God, I hope she's okay, wherever she is. Can you find out for me? Please, her name's Abigail. Before she could respond, another nurse showed up at the entrance of my room, holding the hand of a young girl. It was Abby. That's him. That's the man. She ran over and hugged me.

The nurse with her chimed in. I'm sorry. She just insisted on seeing you. Say as he helped her in the crash. Abigail turned around. Not the crash. In heaven. The nurse laughed a little.

Oh yes, my apologies. In heaven. Abigail looked back at me and smiled, the same way Leslie used to. Thank you for saving me, Mr. Jack. She dislocated and she went off with the nurse. A tear fell from my eye as I watched the leave. Not one of sadness, but of joy.

Abigail was safe. The only conclusion I can draw is that the angels made good on their teal just as I was being revived. With that said, they will more than likely show up at some point to collect on it. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow, who knows? whether I like it or not those are the terms I agree to I've been through some serious hell in my life

with a loss of my wife and daughter and now I'll have to go through even worse when my soul is removed I'm sure of it like the man said it won't be a walk in the park still seeing that smile something that wouldn't have been possible

a short time ago I would do it all again I would relive every second of pain every second of pain I've ever felt and still make the decision to go through more just to see her safe. It's all they would have wanted. I've had a fear of rats for as long as I can remember. I don't know exactly what it is about them that scares me. It's not just the tail or the way they move or how they sound.

It is everything and it is nothing. To me, rats have always been synonymous with unconditional terror. It all comes from a childhood trauma. A large rat chased me up a hill where I had to hide in a toolshed. The thing seemed rabid and I had to sit in there for at least an hour listening to the squeals and cries of the desperate thing that wanted to eat me. It was an unusually big rat, larger than some cats I've seen. It's called Mossophobia, and up until recently, it hasn't really been an issue.

I mean sure, I can get panic attacks. and a flight reaction by just seeing one, but I've been able to keep them out of my life more often than not. Sure, now that I'm a parent, I won't let my two kids have a hamster, but I'm pretty sure the Yorkshire Terrier we have keeps them busy. My phobia became an issue not too long ago. I was driving the kids home from school. Traffic was being rerouted for maintenance,

so I had to take a small dirt road instead of staying on Maine. It wasn't far and there was barely any traffic. The road goes by a set of fishing cabins, set up around the lake, but was extended to lead back to the main road further up ahead. Usually there's nothing but frogs there. As I drove by, a small family of six rats ran straight across the road. This had never happened to me before. My body spasmed and my mind blanked.

I panicked and turned the car straight into a road. pine tree. It was such a strange feeling. I heard this loud scream and tried to cover my ears, only to realize I was the one screaming. My oldest daughter managed to call 911. My reaction was far scary to them than the crash itself. We were fine. I was driving slowly and everyone turned out okay.

Even the car was okay after some light body work. However, my wife insisted. I started going to therapy to deal with this fear once and for all. I couldn't say no. Not again. There aren't many mental health professionals in the nearby area, so the list of available therapists wasn't long. I could go for two sessions a week if it wasn't too far away.

I was looking for assisted exposure therapy, and truth be told, I was a bit on edge about the whole thing. My wife was the driving force behind this decision, so she pretty much just pointed me where to go. She chose to sign me up for a session with Dr Jane Bogan. Dr. Jane was excited to see me. She was in her 40s and had this combed-back Elvira-looking hairdo, but without the volume.

At first sight, you might mistake her for a medium or a psychic. It wasn't the best first impression, but her credentials checked out. We shook hands, her wrist rattling with jewelry and chains. She insisted I call her Jane. The office was kind of murky, dark grey wallpaper with matching carpet, plenty of bookshelves with a desk set up by the corner, and of course, fancy leather lounge chairs,

the kind you can straighten out to lie down in. Her office assistant, Jeremy, offered me a coffee and a doughnut before returning to an adjacent room. Apparently, he helped all four officers in the building with their scheduling, but Jane was the only one working today. Jeremy was a short, balding man with a tired look. He had some kind of accent, but I couldn't put my finger on what? European, I think. Today, he's all ours, Jane joked.

Jeremy didn't laugh. Jane and I had a long talk about my phobia. I told her about the toolshed on the top of that grassy hill and the screeching sounds of the rabid rat. The desperate scratching trying to make the dent in the front door. I told her by the car crash and how my body just seized up and refused to let me act.

Jane was a very good listener, asking follow-up questions and making notes along the way. She nodded, making eye contact, and seemed very attentive. She was good, and just talking openly about my fear was refreshing.

At the end of the first session, Jane explained her thoughts to me. Until next time, I'll present a treatment plan, but I'll present a treatment plan, but I I can already say you're a prime candidate for overexposure therapy. Do you mean exposure therapy? I asked. No, this is different, she smiled and touched my hand.

Overexposure therapy is slightly different, but far more effective in the long run. It also doesn't require you to actually meet or touch any rats. It can be done right here in the office. Really? I've never heard of it. I'm licensed to perform it. and stood up. She pointed out a diploma next to a desk. Right there

underneath a degree from Minnesota State was a license from the Board of Behavioral Health and Therapy, BBHT. It looked official enough, and I didn't have reason to distrust her. I agreed to discuss it with my wife.

Of course, it wasn't much of a discussion. I didn't mind trying something new, and my wife was overjoyed to see me progress We tried looking up over-exposure therapy, but it didn't give us anything. Most things were just explaining how regular exposure therapy works. I didn't like the idea of facing my fear, but with the guidance of Dr. Jane, it felt a bit easier. She was a professional, after all.

I called her and agreed to the treatment. She explained it would be best to set aside a full day for it. We booked the upcoming Saturday. It wouldn't be cheap, but she guaranteed a breakthrough. I'd wager my reputation on it, she laughed. The next Saturday I kissed my wife goodbye and left to see Dr. Jane. I was nervous, but seeing my girls wave goodbye as I pulled out of the driveway, calmed my heart. They were so worried about me.

I had to get better. When I got to Dr. Jane's office, she was waiting for me in the parking lot. Jeremy was there as well, despite it being a Saturday. My car was the only one in the parking lot, making me wonder if Jane lived nearby and walked to work. As I got out of the car, I noticed Jeremy holding a cup of coffee and a donut. We hadn't even stepped inside yet. He didn't blink much.

Glad you can make it, Jane said. It's going to be a long day. Jeremy handed me the coffee and donut, and we entered the office. One of the lounge chairs was set up so I could lie down. I noticed how Jeremy lingered in the room until Jane stared in down. Then she turned her attention to me.

It felt like staring into a furnace. Have a seat. I lay down as she dimmed the lights. Close your eyes and don't be alarmed, she continued. What are you? I didn't have time to say anything else. Jane touched her thoughts. thumb to my forehead, and my mind was set on fire.

That's the only way I can explain the sensation. My mind flared, and there was an intense heat. Wave after wave, fanning out for the point in my forehead she touched. Heat, then freezing cold. There was a taste of metal and a smell of burning rubber, like getting a tattoo on my brain. I couldn't open my eyes, and I couldn't feel my hands or feet. It felt like I was sinking into the chair, deeper and deeper. Relax, a disembodied voice demanded.

I felt my breathing stop, my heart slowing, fire turned to ice. I could have sworn I was dying, but my body didn't respond. I was losing control. Then my eyes burst open. It felt like breaching the surface after diving too deep. My ball was shot through my body like an automatic rifle. I was shaking and my eyes teared up. To call it disorienting would be an understatement.

I was still in the office, but it was night. I'd arrived at 10 in the morning. Now it was close to midnight. Jane was gone. Jeremy too. My pockets were empty. I called out, but there was no response. I was alone.

I opened the office door and stepped out into the parking lot, only to realize I was, actually, far from alone. There was Jeremy. His eyes were wide open and seemed larger than usual. The pupils were of different sizes. His mouth was open like a panting dog, revealing a tongue long enough to reach his belly button. He was completely nude and covered in deep, bloodless cuts.

He stood in the middle of the parking lot under the single working light post. He seemed taller Like stretched, soft plastic We locked eyes His mouth curled into a smile Never blinking, never closing His mouth And now

He was sprinting towards me With complete abandon Naked feet slapped against the concrete He almost tripped as he stumbled across the curb I slammed the door shut Jeremy's entire body weight slammed against the door With a deep splat

The door buckled but held. Jeremy was screaming. It was a pained primal shriek, like someone being set on fire. All enveloping pain, expressed in a rasping and dried voice. I hurried back into the office. One of the bookshelves looked loose,

so with enough force I was able to tip it. I had to try. The bookshelf itself wasn't heavy, but the over 100 books on psychology held it down. I summoned all my strength and tipped the whole thing in front of the door. I sat back down, back to the bookshelf. I noticed I was screaming too, yelling at him to stop and leave me alone. It wasn't a conscious decision.

It just happened. I was so disoriented. It seemed like time was standing still. As Jeremy broke through the door leading in from the parking lot, I braced myself. He flung himself against the office door, but the added way to the bookshelf and myself was enough to keep it shut. Stop! I heard myself scream. Please, just stop!

I scrambled to holding back, cutting my thumb open on a splinter. I didn't even notice it until my hand started slipping from my blood. As I stared across the room, I could see the full moon outside the office window. Slowly, the face appeared on the other side of the glass, stepping out from the dark. A woman I'd never seen before. Hairless, also with deep cuts across her skin. Eyes wide, pupils differently sized. Her mouth wide open.

Her long tongue pressed against the glass like a dying heel. No, I heard myself sigh. Please, just no. She nodded as her mouth turned into a sinister smile. Using her arms and face, she started to break herself against the glass. She didn't even bleed from the cuts I didn't know what to do until the glass shattered

I bolted to the left through the side door to the hallway I followed the corridor to the right as the office door broke behind me Jeremy was through I could hear the two of them panting as they chased me I saw two options get out through a window

or lock myself in the bathroom I refused to corn myself so I chose the window I smashed it with my elbow climbed out, building cold fingers brush against my neck. It was cold outside and dark. I just ran, hearing the panting behind me. I followed a path into a pine forest,

getting scratches from the trees across my face. It is nothing short of a miracle that I didn't trip. I paid no attention to my feet. As the ground turned upwards to a hill, I lost my breath. I knew this hill, and this couldn't be here. It was the same hill where I'd been chased into a tool shed as a kid. And there it was. There was nowhere else for me to go.

They were fast and I had to find cover. This was impossible. I'd done this once before and now I was doing it again. I ran up the hill, flung the old wooden door open and shut it behind me. The door had a sidebolt, so I locked it. There were no windows. but the entire shed was flimsy at best. I cursed myself.

This was just another dead end. For minutes. It was quiet. Maybe they hadn't followed me. Maybe they took a different path. I relaxed my breath, feeling blood returned to my fingers and toes. Then they came. They smashed themselves against the door.

They tore at the frail planks. The pain screams exploded. and echoed across the hillside. I could hear myself think. I looked where to go next, but I was cornered. It can't end like this, I panted. It can't.

It won't. Not like this. I cried, I pleaded. There were more of them now, at least six. One of the planks on the left side broke off, and five arms reached for me. Pale arms, with deep, bloodless cuts. The foreman reflected unblinking eyes

and long slithering tongues. Not like this. The slide bolt had lost two screws. It was a matter of seconds. No. I arm myself with a claw hammer as the door burst open. Jeremy was the first thin, but I didn't get the chance to attack.

Three different arms grabbed me, disarmed me and pushed me onto the floor. Cold flesh pressed against me. Countless, eager faces drooled with delight, as teeth pierced my name. neck. Then, I woke up. The clerk showed 20 minutes past five in the afternoon. I was on the floor of Dr. Jane's office, curled up in a fetal position. There was a cold towel on my head, and Dr. Jane was calmly stroking my shoulder. My head was warm, and my headache was subsiding.

Jeremy was nowhere around. There we go, she whispered, you're fine, you're fine. I couldn't speak. I was shaking like a leaf. Jane helped me back up in the seat. That was the end of the treatment, she smiled. You're done. What, what was? I had completely forgotten why I was there in the first place. Jane reached for something. Hold out your hands, she said. I did as she asked. A second later, a small white mouse was placed in my palms. A confused little thing just sniffed me and stood on his hind legs. I didn't react. In my mind, I was about to be eaten alive just seconds ago.

You seem to be cured, Jane smiled. Treatment successful. You can give him back now if you want. I wouldn't mind holding him for a bit. I really didn't. I wanted the little mouse to stay. It was a tiny comfort. A living creature I could feel meant me not.

no harm. Good, nodded Jane. So, what did? I mean, what happened? You were over-exposed, said Jane, filling out some paperwork. An extreme stress reaction dampens all other reactions. I don't understand. Say you have an oven with four settings, she continued, four being the higher setting, that's where you were with your fear of rats, maximum power, strength four. She handed the paper over to me. It was a bill for the day. I changed your maximum setting to ten. Suddenly, a four doesn't seem so bad. But how? She sat down across from me and locked her eyes to mine. There was something dark in there, a hint of red. I'm very good at what I do. She took my hand and turned it over.

That's when I noticed the cut along my thumb. I was allowed to keep the mouse. I bought him a little cage, some toys and plenty of food. When I got home that night, my wife couldn't believe her eyes. My girls named the mouse Kenny, and he was gently played with late into the night, much to why York his dismay. My wife called it a miracle.

But I didn't know what to call it. My mind was still in a daze. I find myself thinking back to that day. It wasn't a dream or a vision. It was real. It had to be. Thumbs don't cut themselves on imaginary splinters. Sometimes I find myself staring into the mirror,

seeing my pupils dilate into different sizes. It feels like my tongue has grown longer. Hell, my forehead seems to have a slight magnetic pull where Dr. Jane touched me. It's a very unusual kind of headache. There was also an incident, just a few days ago, where I cut my finger dicing potatoes. Not a drop of blood came out.

I barely even felt it. I can't bring myself to go back to Dr. Jane. If there is even a slight chance you'll put me back on that hill, I won't ever talk to her or see her again. I might have had the fear of rats scared out of me, but it has been replaced by this deep, existential dread for what Dr Jane could do to me if she wanted to. What has she done to me?

And why can't I bleed? So is there like a list of weird rules I have to follow or something? I asked, because I can be kind of a smarter sometimes. Only one rule on the job, kid, Stanley said. Don't die. He wasn't joking. Stanley handed me a heavy three-cell maglite and wished me luck, before pulling the security gate down over the abandoned hospital's entrance and locking it. Listen, he said before turning away.

It's not a rule, just some good advice. Try to stick to the upper floors. The hallways are narrower and the ceilings are lower. That'll give you a bit of an edge. What? What's that supposed to mean? I asked. But he was already hobbling down the hobbling down the hospital.

hospital's front steps to the company truck idling at the curb. You'll be okay, he called over his shoulder. I got a good feeling about you. I didn't want this job. Fact is, I don't want any job. My father says I'm shiftless and lack ambition. He never says that to my face, but he never bothers to check the room to see if I can overhear him either.

Mom claims that I just haven't found the right spirit guide to illuminate my life path. She's really into all that new age stuff. My girlfriend, I should probably say X, since she's been ghost to me for the past five days, thinks I'm depressed. I used to work in the mailroom at an investment firm downtown. To me, it was just a job, not a career. I was pretty ambivalent towards stocks and bonds, the market, and getting promoted to an office upstairs. While the other mailroom employees were networking, building relationships, and going to work with.

and going the extra mile to get noticed. I just dropped envelopes off at people's desks. A smile and a nod was pretty much all the social interaction I could handle. Then the pandemic hit, and I was laid off. My roommates made the most of it. Anita delivered grub up and learned to play guitar online. Sanjay worked from home. He actually wore pants to his Zoom meetings.

Me? I sat in my room, listening to creepy bust narrations on YouTube. which is where I got the idea for the weird rules joke that Stanley didn't get. And every once in a while, when I was feeling particularly motivated, I play a couple of levels of Candy Crush saga. I never wore pants. If it weren't for the home screen of my phone, I wouldn't have ever known what month it was,

alone what day of the week. I didn't want anything. I didn't care about anything. I didn't do anything. Sometimes I'll check my own pulse, just to see if I was still alive. The only way the level of substitude in my existence could increase

was if I had to move back in with my parents. That became a real possibility when they started lifting the pandemic restrictions and my unemployment benefits ran out. I didn't get my old job back when the firm reopened. HR sent me a text telling me they were downsizing the mailroom.

I was too busy, wallowing in inertia, to care, but my roommates didn't take the news well. The first time I couldn't come up with my share of the rent, Anita and Sanjay gave me an ultimatum. Find a job and kicking by the time the next month's rent was due, or get out. They were not amused when I told them that I expected my investment in scratch-off tickets to pay off big any day now. Like I said, kind of a smart ass. The prospect of moving back in with my parents, living with my father's disappointment and my mum's pity,

was what finally got me off my ass. Of course, I start. with Craig's list. The night watchman gig seemed ideal, low effort with no education or experience necessary, perfect for a low energy, uneducated, inexperienced type like me. And they had an immediate opening. I figured I'd be sitting in a booth somewhere, playing around my phone all night and getting paid for it. I called the number and was asked to come down for an interview immediately.

So I shouted for the first time in days and threw in some semi-clean pants. pants. They even sent an Uber. The company was a storefront. There was a sign in the window. You know, the old-fashioned kind where they painted backwards on the inside of the glass. The innate script was chipped and faded, but it wasn't sharpy scrawled on cardboard, so I figured it must be legit. Inside, I was met with a man who looked to be in his 50s, with receding hair and a good start on a pot belly. He introduced himself as Stanley.

Walking with a pronounced limp, he led me to his office and motioned me to a chair. The interview wasn't at all what I expected. He didn't seem to care about where I went to school, my job history, or what qualifications I might have. Mostly, he wanted to know about my situation. Was I close to my family? Not really. Did I have a lot of friends? No.

Was I dating anyone? It's complicated, but probably not. stuff like that it threw me off a little his line of questioning but then he asked about my size I told him I was 5,5 and 130 pounds he smart big

clapped his hands together and said excellent so yeah that was pretty weird one last question he said are you a good runner runner

I asked not sure what he was getting at you know running he bumped his arms at decide, miming a jogger. Are you fast? Got any endurance? I shrugged. I lettered in Cross County in high school, but that was five years

ago. It'll do, he said, scribbling an address on a post-it note and handing it to me. Meet me here, no later than 1045 tonight. Aren't we going to discuss paying benefits? Stuff like that? Let's see how things go tonight.

If you still want the job in the morning, we'll talk about paying benefits then. He walked me to the door, smiling ear to ear. I got a good feeling about you, kid, he said, shaking my hand. You know what you're thinking. You're thinking that I was about to be kidnapped by some weirdo with a fetish for chasing short people. I know, because I was thinking the exact same thing. At 1025, my Uber showed up for the ride across town.

I almost didn't go. But the thought of moving back into my parents' basement convinced me to take the chance. Besides, even five years after my last cross-county meet, I was pretty sure I could run faster scared and Stanley could run horny. Fifteen minutes later, I was dropped off in front of St. Luke's Memorial Hospital. You'd think that a creepy abandoned hospital would have some stories floating about, but I didn't even know the place existed until the car pulled up in front of the building. The hospital set back from the street a hundred feet or so,

where the semicircular drive leading to the entrance. was in a neighbourhood of walk-ups and a few ground-level storefronts. Stanley sat in a company pickup truck by the front steps. The building itself had two wings, one on either side of the main entrance. It was five stories tall with a flat roof, and was constructed of poured concrete with yellow brick accents around the windows. You know, like those ugly, old high schools from the 70s that you see in your parents' yearbook photos.

The windows were all covered by ornate, iron bars, a high brick wall topped with spikes with the same style as the window bars, hid the rest of the grounds. So, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here? I asked, as he ushered me up the front steps. You just stay inside and keep an eyeing things until 7 a.m. The water is still on in the main building, in case you need a drink or to use the bathroom. But there's no power. Okay, but what do I do if somebody tries to break in or something? Call the police? Your phone won't work inside

All the rebound in the concrete blocks the signal But don't worry Nobody ever tries to break in Just do what you need to do to get through the night I'll be back at 7 There were red flags popping up all over the place But instead of paying attention to them I was too busy being disappointed

That I wouldn't be able to watch YouTube That's when I decided to be Captain Smartass And ask about weird rules The first couple of hours were uneventful. I spent them wandering around the hospital, shining my flashlight into dusty exam rooms and empty offices. The main part of the building was a drab square, its floors covered with murky grey linoleum tiles,

the walls and neutral beige. Even without the years of crime and dust coating every surface, this place would have been lifeless. It occurred to me that if my existence could be translated into architecture, It would look a lot like this. A hallway beside the reception desk led deeper into the building. Beyond, a defunct pair of elevators and the central stairs was a cafeteria, kitchen, a couple of administration offices and a waiting room.

Most of the furniture and equipment had been removed, but there were still some odd ends lying around, empty desks, filing cabinets, and a few office chairs. You know, stuff like that. In the waiting room, I found out of the waiting room, I found out of the building. what looked like an upside-down traffic cone made of brushed aluminium. I had no idea what they were

until I took a closer look and saw they were filled with sand and cigarette butts. This place must have been closed before I was born because I can't ever remember a time when people could smoke in hospitals. The wings on either side of the main building had a central hall with emergency stairs at each end.

The halls were lined with doors to offices, probably for all the doctors that had worked here. The doors were all open and the glow from the streetlights outside filtered through the crimy windows. It was enough that I could make my way around without the flashlight, but I used it anyway.

Something I should have noticed much sooner was the lack of vandalism. No one had tagged the walls with graffiti or smashed the windows. Though no crushed beer cans or empty mad dog bottles, no used needles or busted meth pipes. I did find a couple of rooms

where it looked like someone had kicked the doors off the hinges. inside each were broken furniture and deep gashes in the plaster, more red flags that I ignored. By about 2.30 in the morning, I was actually starting to get into the job. For the first time in recent memory, I was actually engaged with the world around me instead of being lost in my phone screen. There was this low-grade buzz in the back of my head.

It kind of reminded me of the way I felt running a new cross-county course at a no-way meet, or going on a first date. when everything is new and fresh, and maybe a little bit scary. Describing a hospital that's been abandoned longer than I've been alive as new and fresh is crazy, I know, but that's how it felt. Then, I heard the crash. It was far away and faint, but noise carried on the dead air hanging in the corridors.

It sounded like it came from below. I'd seen a sign for the basement back in the central stairway. A diagonal arrow pointing downward with a word laundry, storage, boiler and morgue beside it. But I hadn't been down there. As much as I was digging the hole, explore and abandon the hospital vibe, I wasn't ready to go poking around in an old morgue yet. Just about the time I had myself convinced that a stack of junk somewhere had finally lost this battle with gravity and toppled over.

I heard more noises. Thunks, bangs and scrapes. I was standing in the corridor of the north wing. maybe 20 feet from the junction with the main building. Past the entrance lobby and the reception desk and around the corner with essential stairs and basement access that I had seen earlier. That's where the noises seem to be coming from. Stanley? That you? I called out into the darkness.

My voice was a weak, dry croak. The beam of my flashlight trembled. Ising the new employee, huh? And the far reaches my flashlight beam. Spindly fingers, like the legs of an enormous spider, curled around the corner of the hallway beside the reception desk. Slowly, a head emerged into view, high enough above the ground that it nearly brushed the ceiling. It was elongated, with skin the colour of mouldering leather stretched tight over skull-like features. Stringy hair, dark and tangled, hung from its scalp like diseased Spanish moss.

Its eyes were two coins of the bottom of a stagnant well, reflecting dull, silver in the beam of my flashlight. Then, it smiled, revealing row upon row of jagged, surrated teeth. Jesus! I screamed as I turned to flee. I remember that distinctly.

Weird, the stuff that sticks in your mind when you're terrified. I ran in a blind panic, with no plan or purpose, other than to put as much distance between me and that monstrosity as possible. It pursued, of course, because why wouldn't it? That's what monsters do.

They pursue people and then kill them, usually in the most horrible and painful way possible. I could hear the staccato clacking of its talons or claws or whatever nightmarous appendage it had for feet on the linoleum tiles behind me. The sound grew louder, but I didn't dare turn to look. At the end of the hall, I slammed through a door

and found myself in the emergency stairs. There was no place to go but up. By the time I reached the first landing, marked by a sign reading, surgery, the thing crashed to the access door below. I flung myself into the second floor hallway, dodging a few wheelchairs and kernies that had been left behind as I bolted back towards the main building. Halfway along the corridor was a nurse's station. I dove under the counter and turned my flashlight off, just as I heard the creature burst

through the stairwell door. The sound of the creature's pursuit slowed. claws or talons still clacking against the linoleum, but at a deliberate, more measured pace. Street lights shine dimly through the dirty windows, casting the creature's shadow in soft relief on the cabinets and decaying corgboards behind the nurse's station as it approached. It stopped, just on the other side of the counter from me.

Only a thin sheet of near-covered plywood separated us. Its spider-like fingers curled around the edge of the chipped, forming a worktop, spike tips tapping impatiently on the underside of the counter just inches from my face. My skin tingled and I could feel the blood coursing through my veins. I covered my mouth with my hand. It sounds insane, but I wasn't sure if I was going to scream or start giggling. Before I could lose control and find out which noise was building inside my chest, the creature snorted and moved off along the hallway.

when the sounds of his feet and the tile grew fainter, I chanced the peak around the edge of the counter. The creature had moved down the hall, almost to the juncture with the main building. It was vaguely human in shape, and so gaunt that its bone structure stood out in knobs and chags beneath its skin, and it was enormous, at least ten or twelve feet tall. It was bent, almost doubling, shuffling, awkwardly,

to negotiate the hallway, and all the abandoned clutter. Now, I understand his advice about sticking to the upper floors with a narrow corridor's and low ceiling. If that thing had been able to stretch out and run, I wouldn't have made it two steps. As I slipped out from behind the counter to sneak off in the other direction, the maglite in my hand bumped into the wall with a soft clunk.

It wasn't much of a noise, but it was enough. The creature whirled, spotting me, shrieking as it charged. I sprinted back to the stairwell. It was my only choice. Taking the stairs two at a time, I ran through the door marked Patient Ward, and into the third-floor hallway, ducking into the first open room. It was empty, except for two bed frames and a dusty final privacy curtain hanging between them. There was a window over each bed, but both were barred.

behind me I could hear the monster's heavy footfalls coming up the stairs there was nowhere to run no time to barricade the door and nothing to barricade it with I threw my back against the wall behind the bed frames and wrapped myself in the folds of the curtain like a little kid hiding under the blankets from the buggy man just as soon as the curtain stopped rustling the creature shoved its way into the room

snarling in frustration when it didn't immediately spot me It smashed one of the bed frames And then swiped its stiletto fingertips Through the curtain just above my head Severing it from the rod The curtain crumbled to the floor I crumbled with it While the monster smashed the other bedframe

In a fit of rage I laid very still I didn't move on making noise Even when the endcap came off one of the bedposts And struck me in the temple Hard enough to make me see stars The creature hoffed and snorted for a few months moment, before forcing his way back out into the hall.

I remain in the floor, under the curtain, still and silent, sipping air through my teeth, suppressing the urge to either scream or giggle. I stayed under the curtain until I was sure the creature had gone away. For all I knew, it could be lying in ambush somewhere out in the hallway, but I needed to move. My body was literally throwing of energy, and I wasn't sure how much longer I could stay still. I needed to find some place to hide until morning Or better yet Maybe I could get to the roof

Above the concrete and rebar That was blocking my phone signal And call for help The glow of the streetlights filtering through the windows Was dimmer up on the third floor But still bright enough That I could make my way

Without bumping or tripping over anything The stairwell however was pitch black I had to use my flashlight But I hesitated Sure that as soon as I turned it on I would see those dull, silver eyes reflecting in the beam. Taking a deep breath and holding it, muscles called to bolt in any direction. I clicked the button.

The stairwell was empty, nothing above or below. I made my way upstairs, creeping past the fourth or fifth floors. At the top of the stairs, I found the roof access. The door was chained and padlocked. I checked my phone. Still no reception. There was nothing to do, but go back down. About five steps below the fifth floor landing,

I heard it, a soft scrape, the sound of clawed feet brushing against a concrete stare coming from the darkness beneath me. I shine my light over the railing, two floors down, those dull silver eyes fixed on me. The creature made a ticking growl and sounded almost like laughter, then scrambled up the stairs.

I tripped twice and the five steps it took to reach the fifth floor hallway. I didn't need any signs to tell me. This had been the mental ward. Most of the rooms were padded, and I even saw one with what I'm pretty sure was an electroshock machine. Again, so weird that things are sticking your head when you're running for your life. I sprinted down the corridor, heart-bashing against my ribs, and into the main building, as the sounds of the monster's pursuit got louder and louder behind me. I was headed for the central stairs.

but even in my frenzy to escape, I realised that was a bad idea. If it was gaining on me running hunched over in the narrow hallway, I wouldn't last long in the open stairwell. I ducked into the first room I saw with a sturdy looking door and slammed it behind me.

It was the only choice I had. There was a dead bolt just above the knob. I threw it. It must have been the janitor's closet. The shelves lining the walls were empty. There was a galvanized mop bucket with a ringer, and a couple of push brooms in the corner.

A launcher cart sat against the back wall. None of it was of any use to me. The boom of the creature's first impact against the door was deafening in the small room. Bitter plaster sprinkled down from around the frame. Another boom. And I thought I heard the crack of splintering wood. I grabbed the mop bucket, brooms and launcher cart

and shove them all against the door. I tried to pull the shelves down too, but they were bolted to the wall. The sound of cracking wood was unmistakable on the third impact. I didn't have much longer. I cast the beam of my flashlight desperately around the room, looking for something, anything. And that's when I spotted it.

A sliding panel on the back wall, maybe two feet square. I grabbed the handle and yanked it up. It was a laundry chute. Behind me, the closet door burst inward, smashing the car, brooms and the bucket against the wall. I dove into the chute head first. About six feet down, I stopped abruptly, then started to rise. Shining the flashlight between my knees, I saw the creature's arm.

It had reached into the chute, up to its shoulder, and managed to snag me by the heel of my sneaker. I wedged my back and arms against the walls, trying to push away, but it was too strong. No matter how hard I thought, I was dragged upwards, my sweaty hands and arms squeaking against the metal sheet of the shoot. Curling my shoulders inward and tucking my chin to my chest, I was just able to grab my dangling shoelace with my fingertips and pull. It came untied. My foot slipped out of my shoe and I plummeted downward. I managed to slow my descent a little by pressing my hands and feet to the walls,

but not by much. When I hit the unyielding floor of the laundry room, five floors below, I hit it hard. The world went black. When I came to, I found myself at the far end of the large, rectangular room. The walls on either side were lined with industrial-sized washers and dryers. The door at the other end was open to the rest of the basement. From the darkness beyond, I could hear the creature prowling around coming closer.

I was trapped again. My only choice was to hide. Pulling open the door to one of the front-loading dryers, I saw that the basket was big enough for me to crawl into. The door itself was glass. The washers were the same, and I had no doubt that those dull, silver eyes could see just fine in the dark.

That's when I noticed the space between the wall and the back of the machines, just wide enough for someone to squeeze in to service the water hookups and dry events. I clicked the flashlight off and settled in behind the dryers. It wasn't long before the monster showed up. The first thing it did was yank open the doors

of each washer and dryer, peering into the box. baskets. I would have silently congratulated myself from my own foresight, but at the time I was busy pinching my nostrils shut. The dust and lint was tickling my nose and I felt a sneeze building in the back of my sinuses. Hiding behind the washers would have been the better choice. The creature reached the end of the row and seemed to deliberate for a long moment while I stood holding my nose, unable to even breathe. About the time my chest started to spasm, the thing snarled and stunt off, backhanding washes and dries as it went. It smacked the dry I stood

with enough force to send its upper edge crashing into the wall. If I hadn't ducked in time, it would have crushed my skull. Working my way out was tough. Doing it quietly was even tougher. Some of the tries were still tilted back against the wall from the impacts, and I had to get down and crawl underneath my side to get past them. By the time I reached the end of the row, I was completely covered in dust and lint. Judging by the sounds coming out of the darkness, the creature had left the laundry and gone off to the right. I went left.

Another mistake in a night filled with them. The hallway dead ended at a door. Even before I covered the flashlight lens with my hand, clicked it on and had a slither of light slipped between my fingers. I knew what the sign would say. Morg. It was the last place I wanted to do. to be. And when I sneezed, it became the last place I was most likely ever going to be.

Some dust or lint must have drifted up from my shirt. The sneeze came so suddenly that I didn't even have a chance to try and stifle it, and, of course, it was loud, because that's just how my night was going. Off in the darkness, the Grie just snorted and charged back in my direction. There were no low ceilings or narrow hallways to slow it down. I yanked open the door to the morgue and ducked inside. I had no other choice. I've watched enough crime scene shows to recognize an autopsy room when I see one.

There were three stain of steel tables evenly spaced in the middle of the room. Above each was the dish of an examination light, hung from the ceiling on an armature, all of them dripping cobwebs. Behind the tables, the walls were lined with cabinets and worktops,

still cluttered with all the tools necessary to carve somebody open and figure out what killed them. What I had never? never seen in a crime show morgue was a half dozen human schools, decoratively arranged on the work tables like trophies. I had to blink just to make sure I wasn't imagining it, but the one in the middle had a samurai sword shoved through its temple with the ends bent upwards like rabbit ears.

Oh, this is bad, I moaned. At the back of the room, another door, thick and insulated, stood open. It led to the walk-in freezer, a dead end to the dead end. The sound of the creature's approach were getting louder, and there was no place else to go. Once I stepped inside, I realized that I had just jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire. In the back corner, across from a wall of storage straws for bodies, was an enormous pile of fiber-filled and shredded foam. The thing must have dragged every mattress left in the old hospital down here and torn them apart to make a pile that big. In the center was the depression, which I knew intuitively, or was just the wrong.

right size for the monster to curl up in. This was its nest, or den, or there, or whatever the hell you want to call it. I was trapped in its bedroom. My heart pounded in my chest. No need to check my pulse to see if I was still alive. I could feel the blood coursing fast and hot through my veins. Running out of time, I gave the freezer door a quick glance. It had no lock and opened outward, so there was no way to bar it.

I yanked on the handles of a couple of the body drawers, but they wouldn't budge. Whether there was some kind of catch that I didn't see, or they were rusted shut, I don't know. I spun in a frantic circle, waving my flashlight beam around the room. There were no counters to hide behind, no privacy curtains to carry under, no laundry shoes to dive into. I was well and truly screwed. I don't remember when or how the idea occurred to me. I don't even remember thinking about it. I just did it.

I dove into the fibre fill where it lay piled against the wall and borrowed as far back as I could. The stench was awful. I had to grip my teeth against my gag reflex. Just as soon as I clicked my flashed out off, the creature announced itself with a low growl and the clack of its claws on the tile floor.

It paced for several seconds, breathing heavily before I heard the sound of screeching metal. It was ripping open the body drawers looking for me. That went on for several moments before its footsteps retreated back to the autopsy room. Even under all the shredded mattress stuffing, I could hear it rummaging around, making frustrated chuffs and snorts.

The rummaging sounds didn't last long. It really wasn't a lot to rummage throughout there, and the creature returned to the cold storage room. It paced for a while, the ticking of its claws on the tarred floor, almost becoming monotonous. Then, I actually heard it yawn. A moment later, I could feel the mattress stuffing being displaced by the weight of the monster

as it crawled into its nest, fluffing and tamping the fibers until it got comfortable. Soon, it was snoring. I'm the thing under the monster's bed, I thought, and came dangerously close to bursting out in laughter. I waited, biting my knuckle, still fighting that insane urge to giggle. My heartbeat roared in my ears. Muscles recalled under my skin, ready to explode with kinetic energy. My whole being was energized to fight or flee.

Inch by inch, I dug my way out from under the mattress stuffing. Once free, I looked back over my shoulder toward the sound of low buzzing the creature made as it snored. There were no windows in the room, and there was no way I was going to turn on the flashlight. so other than glimpses I caught running away from it, I never did get a good look at the monster. Crawling on my hands and knees, carefully sweeping the floor in front of me with my fingertips for obstructions,

I made my way out of the cold storage, through the autopsy room and back into the basement hall. With a door to the morgue quietly close behind me, I finally felt safe enough to turn on my flashlight. By now, the batteries were getting weak, but they lasted long enough for me to find the central stage, and make it up the corridor leading to the main entrance. The first rays of the rising sun was streaming through the windows

as I jog past the reception desk and through the lobby. When I yanked open the frosted glass front doors, I came face to face with Stanley. In one hand, he held a cardboard tray with two styroframed cups and a paper bag. With the other, he lifted the security grate barring the entrance. Rough night, huh? He quit, looking me up and down. What happened to your shoe?

I swung the blunt end of the three-cell maglite at his head. He deftly blocked the blow. I brought coffee in doughnuts, he said, holding up the cardboard tray. I swung the flashlight again. He plucked it again, this time twisting it out of my grasp and stuffing it in his back pocket. Stop that, he scurled. You'll make me spill the coffee. I screamed an incoherent string of obscenities in his face.

My voice echoed in the empty building behind me, and I suddenly realized. how much noise I was making. I scrambled out the door and around Stanley, only stopping to look back when I was halfway down the steps. Oh, don't worry. It's asleep by now, he said, pulling down the security gate and locking it.

You know, sometimes, it doesn't come out for his nest for days, even weeks, but you got your cherry-busted on your first night and survived. Good job. I had a good feeling about you. What the hell, dude?

You know about the monster? Well, yeah, that's kind of my job, finding people to keep it occupied. You mean to feed it? Stanley limped his way down to where I stood on the steps, handing me a coffee and sat down, motioning for me to join him. Not knowing what else to do, I did. There's cream and sugar if you want. They only had glazed donuts.

I hope that's okay. I gave him a hard glare as I poured four creams and six sugars into my cup with trembling hands. I've never been a coffee drinker, so I didn't really know what I was doing. Stanley just watched with raised eyebrows. What? I asked. Nothing, he grinned. Take as much as you want. I drink mine black.

The first sip of my coffee was disgusting. The second was delicious. I grabbed a donut out of the bag and stuffed half of it in my mouth. Stanley sipped his coffee, grimacing at the taste. We're not so much feeling. feeding it as keeping it entertained, he said. I mean, yeah, sure, every once in a while somebody gets killed, but we try to avoid that. The goal is to keep it occupied.

Somebody has to be in there every night just in case the creature wakes up. So it has someone to chase around. Otherwise it gets bored and starts looking for a way out. That's a bad thing if it gets out. We've got a regular crew to run the halls as we call it. Rousseau had an unfortunate accident that left a last-minute vacancy on the schedule, and I had to find a replacement. By unfortunate accident, you mean got eaten? Nah, she got ate by a car, broke a pelvis.

And you just grabbed the first idiot that walked through your door and applied for a job? He shook his head. There were three other applicants. I picked you because I thought you had the best chance of survival. And if things didn't work out, you'd be the least likely to be missed. missed. Hey, I got parents. I got roommates. If I disappeared, they wouldn't notice. Yeah, sure, but they miss you. He had me there. You could at least be a bit more specific in your help-wanted ads. Stanley snorted at that, almost shooting coffee out of his nose. Yeah, right. He held up his hands as

as if framing a newspaper headline. Help-wanted, monster bait, competitive pay and benefits. No experience. it's necessary. I shrugged and ate another donut. I guess he had a point. What happens? I asked around a mouthful of sugar and carbs. If it gets out, I mean. You ever hear of the Mill Street Massacre?

It sounded familiar. Something that happened when I was in middle school, or maybe my freshman year, but I had only vague memories of the incident. Wasn't that when a drug cartel hacked a bunch of people up with machetes in some kind of turf war or something, I asked. That's the story the paper's got,

but it wasn't a cartel and it wasn't machetes. Stanley said, nodding towards the hospital entrance with his chin. So, if this thing is that dangerous, why doesn't somebody just kill it? I asked. Oh, people have tried. Guns, fire, electricity,

crossbow bolts dipped in holy water, you name it. Never turns out well. Last one was a guy named Dwayne. He'd been running the horse for about six months. Showed up with a samurai sword one night. A samurai sword. Can you believe that? I tried to talk him out of it, but he was in no mood to listen.

Never saw him again. Usually when the creature gets someone, you find bits and pieces in the morning. Not with Dwayne. Always wondered what happened to him. I opened my mouth to tell him about the skull I'd seen in the autopsy room, but decided against it. Instead, I grabbed another donut, my third. and tore a chunk out of the ring with my teeth. Nobody knows how to kill it.

We don't even know what it is. Stanley spoke, staring off into the distance. Some say it's a demon, others a genetic aberration. I think it's the physical manifestation of negative energy. That's the only explanation that makes any sense to me, but I can't claim it's better than anyone else is. What we do know is that it's been around for the better part of 150 years. The earliest reports come from just after the same.

Civil War. You also know that destroying its nest is a bad idea. It just moves somewhere else and a lot of people get killed before we track it down and find a way to keep it occupied again. Then why don't you? Stanley held up his hand and shook his head. Trust me, kid, we've been doing this a long time, longer than I've been around, and I've been around for a while. Everything you're going to think of on how to do things better has already been tried. We do it the way we do it, because that's the way that works. Stanley paused the sip and grimace before continuing. The job pays two grand a week, full benefits,

and we match contributions to your 401k. You'll work two to three times a week. I don't like to schedule people to run two nights in a row, so I won't need you back here until Thursday. Are you insane? No way in hell I'm going back in there. You need somebody else to play hiding sequel the monster. Do it yourself.

Are you too scared? I ran those halls for eight years, kid. He reached down and pulled up the cuff of his chinos, revealing the titanium shaft of a prosthetic leg. Things went sideways one night. Oh, sorry, I muttered. Stanley shrugged. The company promoted me to supervisor.

We tried to take care of our people. It's not nearly as exciting. It doesn't pay as much. And yes, occasionally, I have to send people to their deaths. It sucks, but somebody's got to do it. We sat quietly, me shoving clay's dough into my mouth while Stanley sipped and made faces. I was starting to suspect that he didn't really take his coffee black. After a few minutes, he checked his watch and stood, limping down the remaining steps before turning to face me.

Well, I gotta get to the office. Paperwork, you know. I'll see a Thursday night, 10.45. Don't be late. I shook my head in disbelief. Dude, I'm not coming within 10 miles of this place ever again. Jane. You'll be here, Stanley chuckled. I got a feeling about you. What feeling? What feeling do you have about me? You liked it. First time you felt really, truly alive in years. Tell me I'm wrong. I wanted to. But I couldn't. God help me, I couldn't. Welcome to the crew. See you Thursday, he said, before wrestling himself into his truck and pulling away in a cloud of blue tinge exhaust.

I've been thinking about it a lot these last two days. Maybe I'm an adrenaline junkie and never realised it or one of those people who gets off from being terrified. Maybe it's just that, for the first time in my adult life, I have a sense of purpose. I don't know and I don't care. I've hardly touched my phone. I'm spending time out of the apartment

and I don't need to check in my pulse anymore. Seems I've found that spirit guide to light my path that Mom always talked about and is a 12-foot monstrosity that shoves samurai swords through people's skulls. It's 10.15 on Thursday night. I'm waiting in front of my building for the Uber to tame to St. Luke's as I post this.

I guess Stanley's feeling about me was right after all. Wish me luck.