CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - 3+ HOURS of CHILLING r/nosleep Horror Stories

Episode Date: February 15, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORIES-►0:00​ "I grew up in a Cult. Here's how I left" Creepypasta►15:33​ "My brother captured a mermaid, and now I have a serious problem" Creepypasta►37:07​ "I stole a sheep from the Baba Yaga. I have been punished accordingly" Creepypasta►57:29​ "I tried astral projection. Something followed me back" Creepypasta►1:23:02​ "Stay Out, Stay Alive" Creepypasta (Pictures included)►1:54:22​ "I work as a medical examiner. I just found a USB drive inside a body" Creepypasta►2:13:02​ "Screw Valentine's Day" Creepypasta►2:23:48​ "If you find The Crimson Carnival, don't stay past sunrise" 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...​SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...​►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...​►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...​►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...​FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta​►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/​►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta​►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPasta​CREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic​ ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic​ ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt​ ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM​ ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only-

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bio-Cure Macshot liquid. Foodings Supplement forc-mire by the apoteer. My mother sat across from me, leaning forward onto the old oak desk in her office. That's what she called it, her office.

Even though it was just that desk, a stack of all papers, and her chair in a room no bigger than a walking closet. I remember there was an insect flying around the overhead light, clanking into the bulb every so often. That would draw my attention away from my mother's words until she would snap her fingers that draw me back in. Eventually, she told me to listen up, or as the consequence, would be huge. The insect was of no fascination to me anymore. My older brother and I were homeschooled. She was our teacher, and she took a job seriously. She was questioning me in regard to my brother's absence from class that morning. I said I didn't know where he was. That was the truth, for the most part. She insisted that because we share a room, I must have known something

about his whereabouts. Again, I said I didn't know where he was. for perhaps the first time in my life I noticed my mother's age her face sagged as if the weight of iron bars was bringing her skin down whether it was due to stress or a lack of sleep or any other reason in the world she looked far older than I'd ever noticed before after a while of her sitting there staring at me with those burdening eyes both of her arms folded across the edge of the desk I finally suggested that we go looking for him

and just where do you suppose we could find him? She asked. The woods, maybe. You know we aren't to go into the woods. I don't think you would have made it far anyway. Somebody surely could have stopped him in time. I don't know then. I don't know where he is.

She stared at me for another infinite moment. Finally, the tension in her eyes broke. Well, then, you'll just have to go to your room and don't come out. So I did I trotted back to my room It was only a few steps away from her office But tears had already begun to well in my eyes Because I knew where my brother was

He did go into the woods And I knew the exact path he told me he was going to take Like my brother I wanted to leave Unlike my brother I was too afraid at the time to face the unknown After all I'd never been in those woods Nor had I ever seen what sort of wood

existed beyond them, if any for all I knew. I woke up that next morning to my mother, banging on my bedroom door. Every morning, it seemed to be only one more beating away from falling off the hinges. I often wished it would. Just so I wouldn't have to listen to that beating at 6.30 every morning. Come on, come on, come on, come on, come on, don't be late for class, she yelled. She would repeat this constantly until I told her I was up and getting ready. My classroom was just the main room of the house.

I sat on a chair. She sat beside me. A desk was in between us in case either of us needed to write something down. I remember that morning. I remember how my mother looked. Hollow. Perhaps she looked like exactly what she was. A mother grieving her missing son,

struggling to accept that there are far more important things in life, things for the future. I suspected that she had went and had been insulted my father that previous night. That's what she usually would do in a crisis. He always reassured her that good things will come. I said my pledge before sitting down. I was to always open the curtains and look at the middle house on the property as I said it.

It went like this. To my father, thank you. Through you, the seeds of my life was sown. I will give my all to you. Until there is none left to give, I am with you, and with you I will always be. I sat down beside my mother. She wasted no time telling me the story of a boy that ran away from home decades ago. That boy, just a teenager at the time, was called upon by God to leave the horrors of society behind

and to organise a group of good, faithful individuals, people that would act as God's replacement to society after its collapse. The man changed his name to Gabriel King before forming a community with a dozen women. Each woman was the bear two of his children. He warned the women that their community is not immune and that one day a child will fall victim to Satan's temptations. That child will leave the community with the intention of bringing shame upon it. He also warned that following the first departure,

another child will be granted, by God, the freedom of choice, either to stay and render his will or leave and have the eternal horrors of Satan's doing bestowed upon him. That is the prophecy, my mother stated. You, based on clear evidence according to your father, are the one granted that right to choose. Not to swear your opinion, but I must ask, do you choose mortality, comfort and our goodwill?

Or do you choose immortality and a diseased, evil likelihood? She walked toward the door, careful not to let a black skirt drag the floor and opened it. If you choose to leave, she continued, I will not stop you. It would be an interference with God's will. A cool breeze flowed into the room. I sat in silence for a moment, contemplating, twiddling a button on my shirt. I'll...

Stay, I muttered. I had no real intentions of staying, and I knew that. Truthfully, I was afraid of the possibility that she was right, that I was choosing the will of Satan and turning my back on all that is good. My mind was made up, but I couldn't bring myself to admit my true feeling. good my mother said then went directly into a new lesson days and days went by until finally on a night of no other significance and worked up the courage to follow my brother's footsteps almost literally and never see the stale dusty foul-smelling shack that i had called home for all my years there was nothing to my plan just walk out the front door and leave that simple only

It wasn't that simple, not in practice. Sure, I wouldn't have to worry about things the way my brother did. Everybody by this point had probably heard the prophecy, and they would let me go. The issue was that my struggle was internal. Every day for years, I had given my allegiance to one man, to one lifestyle. And like everybody else around me, I held on to my faith without question. I believed in his sayings more than his doings, and I suppose that a part of me was not ready to let him.

that go. I had been educated only by the standards of my own small world. The idea that something bigger may be out there, ready to prove me insignificant. It was terrifying. Leaving home for the first time was a wager on reality itself. Leaving and staying were both dreadful. My mind was juggling spheres of different colours and I realized that I was pulling my own hair. That's it. That's enough thinking, I thought. It's time for me to go. I walked straight into the woods. I wondered how many other people in these small homes

had considered doing what I was doing. I could barely do it myself. So I just kept on walking. The woods are loud at night. Bugs and frogs and birds all chimed into some horrifying harmony. Wals and coyotes made their noises heard on occasion as well. I couldn't begin to know what else was out there. Sometimes it sounded like something was behind me.

I'd look, but of course, nothing was there. I was sure that I was siking myself out, but the sense of something behind me remained throughout the entirety of the night. I was sure that I heard somebody screaming for help. My brother, oh dear God, my brother is still in the woods, crying, screaming, pleading for help.

I turned left towards the screams. They sounded farther away. I turned right and they were farther away again. I moved forward again, Bliss screams, his begging, never sounded any closer. I couldn't turn back. Oh, no, no, no, I couldn't turn back.

By that point, I'd been walking forever, listening to his pleading, stabbed my ears, always sounding the same distance away, no matter how much I walked. I threw up a prayer to whatever entity wanted to listen. I didn't care at that point, to please let it all be in my head. I'd rather be going crazy,

then have to listen to my poor, innocent brother scream for help when there's nothing I can seem to do about it. I kept moving, not even willing to stop when the pain of the rocks and needles and twigs on the ground made my feet bleed and sting. At some point the sky lightened up. Many of the noises, including the screaming, subsided. The birds sang much more lovely music.

Finally, I came to the edge of the woods and everything was calm. The edge of the woods was nothing more than a long, narrow clearing before the trees began again. A trail of a fading black rock made a seam straight through it, yellow and white lines round the middle and edges of it. Now I know that was a road. At the time, I had never seen one. It never came up during schoolroom discussions. My legs were excruciatingly sore, my feet had moved past the point of pain and were now numb lumps of

meat shelled in mud and blood. I didn't know what to do, where to go, or who to meet. In fact, I was afraid of seeing anybody. Soon enough, I felt the ground rumble just a tiny bit and heard a dull whistling. I turned my head and waited. When I saw it, I knew what it was. In school, my mother had explained that a vehicle is a machine that can transport people faster than God had ever intended humans to travel. If we were meant to move that fast, she'd say,

God would have made our legs go that fast. Funny how she said all that, and didn't bother to mention the roads they drive on. It was a big vehicle with an open box attached to the back. I didn't expect vehicles to look like that. It slowed down and stopped on the grass beside the road. The driver hopped out and ran to me. I considered running back into the woods.

This man is going to snatch me and commit unspeakable. was sins against me. Surely that's what he's going to do, I thought. I felt paralyzed and couldn't run away, even if I wanted to. The man stopped before me. He was mostly normal looking, a bit bigger than most people I'd ever seen. There was hair on his face, something I'd never seen before. Jesus Christ, son, he said, I ain't even going to worry about asking you no questions.

Get in, I need to take you to the police. He finished off his face. sentence by taking off his hat, scratching his thinning head of hair, and carefully replacing the hat. I followed him back into his truck, half trusting him and half afraid of what might happen if I didn't. The first time I saw police chief Richards, he was leaned back in his office chair with his feet on his desk. When he saw me, he promptly dropped his feet and leaned forward. His eyes appeared to widen to the size of apples. He motioned for me to come forward and have a seat. The chief calmly did another visual scan over me,

then looked back at the man who walked me into the office. calmly, he looked at the man and said, "'Gee's, Leonard, I've seen some things in my day, but nothing like this. What's the story?' A guy found him on the side of the road, brought him straight here. That's it. I think the kid says he doesn't have a name, but I can barely understand him. Well, boy, the chief looked back at me.

Come take a seat, and police chief Richards, by the way. You don't have a name, I suppose. How old are you? Do you know where you're from? I'm 14. You're not going to hurt me, are you? I asked. Chief Richards kept his right here toward me as I taught. He shifted his eyes to continue looking at me.

He listened carefully and intently. You're asking if we'd hurt you. Now why on earth would we do that? No, we ain't here to hurt you. We want to help you, because you look like you sure could use some of it. Now, where are you from? He spoke softly and smiled again at the end of his sentences. The woods, I told him, in order to keep it short and understandable.

I'm looking for my brother. Have you seen him? Looking for your mother? Leonard, shut the door behind you and take some notes, would you? Son, I'll be happy to talk about your mother and see what we can do. I need some basic information first. Do you know where at in the woods you come from? No, brother, I said. I even drew a B and an R in the air, so he'd understand.

Oh, your brother, Leonard, and this boy a shoo paper and a pen. It'd be a lot easier if you could write this stuff down for us, okay? I wrote down all the information I could give him. I wrote that I was 14, looking for my brother, and I'm from a community in the woods, but I have no idea where at in the woods. Okay, how many people are in the community? 35, now my brother and I are gone, I wrote. Okay, son, we'll send some people out there to find this place.

They must be the ones that did this to you, right? He pointed towards my arm and my face. I sat in silence for a moment. I didn't know what to do or say. I took my sheet of paper and wrote the truth. It was an awkward moment of writing, but I did it. Father would make all his children dedicate themselves to him one piece at a time. For me, it was my arm, an eye, an ear, and my lips.

For my brother, it was much more, much, much more. He was close to being fully dedicated. Some tears smudged the ink as they fell onto the paper. It hadn't occurred to me beforehand how much like a monster I must look to these people. the boy with a missing arm, an empty eye socket, just a plain hole for a ear, not even any lips, just exposed gums and rotting teeth. I felt disgusting. Chief was pale. And your brother, he asked, I suppose he must have crawled out of that place.

I nodded, and tears continued to fall. After a long moment of silence, the chief looked at me and said, you know son we're all born into some kind of cult or another but i'm glad you got out of yours i want to preface this by saying i've never been a superstitious person i grew up next to the ocean where is particularly unimportant but anyone who grew up in a seaside town can attest to the amount of insane things your brother's girlfriend's dad once or while out on his boat i had a best friend in high school who used to swear on his life at once when he was nine. He and his entire family had seen some sort of shapeless blob slowly rise until the shadow of it

beneath the water far outsized their small fishing vessel. I used to laugh in his face at that story. Along with the hundreds of others I've heard over the years of encounters with various scary ocean monster-based anomalies. After today,

I don't feel like laughing anymore. It started when my brother called me this morning. I remember thinking how glad I was that it was the same day my unemployment hit and my first thought when my phone aroused me was Yes, money Followed immediately by

Damn, Dempsey's call me which means only one thing Hey Rip, you ready to do the damn thing No, never ever was ready to do the damn thing The damn thing being fishing Which I absolutely despise Dempsey My older brother of barely two years years, definitely, has always known this about me.

Unfortunately, he's one of those people who is endlessly positive. Luzy Sharp due to massive layoffs. Don't worry, Rip, you wanted to look for something better anyway. I can help. Marriage crumbles into shambles. Mom, you and dad are great people. You will both only be better separate. I know you would never make any choice you didn't think was best.

Your favorite character dies on a TV show. Don't worry, we can always watch it over once we finish and enjoy them all over again. You get the idea. Dempsey is one of those people who makes you feel bad just by being himself. As a categorically miserable person, it has always made me want to vomit.

I love my brother, but the exact things everyone loves about Dempsey and I find annoying. Women love his sandy blonde, somehow perfectly disheveled hair, forest green eyes and boyish grin. Women and men alike love his athletic talent

and charismatic personality. then the guy has a nerve to become a semi-professional surfer. A surfer! He's a giant parody of himself and doesn't even realise it. Ripley? I joked involuntarily at the sound of his voice in my ear. I'd apparently fallen in asleep, contemplating the ways I could get out of fishing with him. I'm here.

Are we taking Dad's boat? I didn't want to go in any boat, but at least Dad's boat is big and relatively comfortable. Don't bother to comment and ask me what kind. As someone with no interest in boating outside of what my family has wrote to me into over the years, I couldn't tell you. It's big, it's comfortable. My dad likes the deep sea fish, so he bought the boat. I can say it's fairly expensive, as it not only costs what he paid for the boat,

but also the alimony he pays my mom after she filed for divorce, catching him on it with the Lady of the Evening. Yes, in case you're curious, Dempsey really did tell my mom my dad, was a great person. The same day, she had found out he had been sleeping around on her. My boy said when God called to line up for brains, Dempsey got into the looks line again by mistake.

Ripley, are you coming out on Dad's boat with me to fish for Marlon or not? Don't put me off again. He promised me last week that you would definitely come this time. I had fallen asleep again. Fine, pick me up in 20 minutes. So he did. The ride there was uneventful. I sat, arms crossed, staring at the window,

clearly salking after being morally guilted into coming along on this super fun sibling day. Not my words, Dempsey literally labelled the day as such as soon as I got into his diesel Duremex truck. My sour mood had not deter my brother, who happily sang country along with the radio, and drove so fast that I was convinced if Dad saw us, he would call the police and report the boat we were towing stolen.

Dempsey's bronzed, slightly sun-freckled hand, suddenly turned down Dave Alan Coes who never even called me by my name. I've been thinking about David. It felt like a dagger into my heart, twisting tight in the silence we let hang for a few moments. I knew he was being a good brother.

A good brother mentions how your dead fiancé has been on his mind, especially coming up on the three-year anniversary of his death. To let you know that person you love so much, more than you ever thought you could love a person wasn't forgotten to him. Dempsey was only being a good brother, and I hated him for it.

I think about David every single day. I sped back at him, regretting it almost immediately. He was only trying to be nice, typical of his usual MO. But it was too late. I'd backed myself into a dark little corner and I refused to come back out.

Every single day. Yes, Ripley, doubled down, I remember thinking sarcastically to myself. Dempsey acted like he hadn't even heard the venom in my tone and continued. That was his superpower, ignoring my venom. David loved to come deep sea fishing with me. The knife twisted again, almost making it hard to breathe.

My brother did miss David, with his dark hair and smiling blue eyes reflecting the ocean when he would laugh at Dempsey's stupid jokes. I could hear it in his voice and see it in the tight way he gripped the wheel of the truck. I didn't know what to say to that, because they had loved it. Both of them, to a degree, that almost made me jealous. I twisted the simple diamond ring at my finger. I hadn't been able to bring myself to get rid of it, or even remove it. We rode the rest of the way to the pier in silence.

Dempsey never even bothered to turn the radio back up. Dempsey had to get a man of the pier to help him back the boating and get it unhitched or whatever. It was something he and dad not. normally did while me and mom watched. So, after two attempts by me to help him back it in straight, he laughed good-naturedly and asked the man unloading his own boat if he would help. I could see both of them having a good laugh at me as they worked together while I fumed. Shortly after Dempsey helped me into the boat, we were off and I held my sunglasses onto my face and another hand tied to a support bar as he opened the boat off. I wanted to ask him what his hurry was, but the wind was loud,

and after a while I judged by the look in his face that he was simply enjoying the feeling of the boat slicing through the water as it took us further and further from the pier where we started. After what felt like forever, he pulled back on the throttle and brought our vessel to a crawl.

I glanced around and there was nothing. Open water as far as I could see in every direction. I had been distracted by not trying to feel nauseated for a portion of our journey and had my eyes closed to try and combat it. I was shocked he had brought us out so far.

Usually we went far, but the pier would still be visible, albeit very small in the distance. You trying to catch a sea monster? I asked cynically to the back of Demp's head and felt awkward when he didn't respond right away with something typical of him. You had been no help if I was catching a sea monster. You probably wouldn't even touch it.

Something lame along those lines. When he turned to face me, his face was eerily calm and yet hyper-aware at the same time. I'd never seen him look that way. Demps? What is it? David and I used to come here. The dagger was back. The tip of it pressed against the wall of my heart, primed and ready. The peculiar expression on his face kept me grounded in the strangeness of the moment.

Okay. My voice was smaller than I wanted it to be, but I'd never seen my brother act so... Mysterious. He always said what was on his mind. Every real job he ever had described him in references as honest to a fault. It was just for fun at first. His voice sounded more normal than his face looked, and somehow that made me even more uneasy. David told me about a book his grandfather had.

I'd let him read. It was just an old book full of sailor's tales. David's grandfather had been a sailor and professional fisherman for many years, so this far into Demp's weird account, I was following him. The book made sense. He told me one of the stories in there was instructions. On how to catch a mermaid. So much for this mess making sense.

I opened my mouth to interrupt him, complain about being dragged out this close to dark, to hear about some damn story that David had told him about. He raised the hand to silence me, which normally would have done bugger all. But something about the callous way he did it had the exact reaction he wanted, and, I closed my mouth,

officially creeped all the way out. I've been thinking about it a lot since David died, and I think I figured out the reason it never worked for us. Worked for you? You mean you guys were out trying to catch... It was the bait. it never had any power. I was creeped into silence again at this point.

What did the story say, Dempsey? My small voice was gone, and instead, I remember sounding cold and empty when I asked him this. Maybe out of aggravation over a lack of answers, maybe out of disbelief. They loved trinkets.

Okay, so apparently, I was going to get a synopsis of the story. Fine by me. all kinds, but it's not like what you see in the little mermaid, you know. My face must have been confirmation that I indeed did not know, because we were talking about damn mermaids. They love trinkets that have been imbued, pained suffering and bues energy into objects,

so we figured pawn store jewelry might work. People are usually upset pawning grandma's heirlooms to pay their rent, right? I mean, you would figure that would leave some sort of bad juju on it. I still wasn't following him. So, you and David used to come out here every single month to fish for mermaid? That's what you expect me to believe? But watching you carry that ring around after David died, the way you cherish it so much, like it's him.

I see you touch it when you feel upset, almost like it makes you closer to him. That's what made me realize that loving energy is probably so much stronger. I feel like I was slowly being dipped into ice-cold water, starting at my feet. The realization of what was going on dawned me. Dempsey, there's no damn what... Then, it went dark. When I opened my eyes again, my entire body felt tight, like I had run a very long distance in a very short time.

There was a throbbing pain right around the area of my left hip. You tased me? I could barely talk. My mouth felt like it didn't want to work correctly, and I could tell my words were slurred. That was mostly because my face was still pressed against the boat deck. It tasted like salt. Dempsey had his back to me, standing at the edge of the boat.

I could tell he was holding a very large fishing pole, mostly because of the angle of his body. I had to rip. You had to? Slowly, I was able to force myself up off the deck to a sitting position. It was still daylight, though not by much. so I couldn't have been out for long. I had a feeling a good majority of the pain I was in

was from dropping to the deck the way I had. My head felt like it had been hit with a hammer and when I reached up I could only feel my thick, open hair sticking out like mad after the boat's ride and faceplant. No blood, thank goodness. Yes, I had to. You never would have given me the ring.

You're damn right I would never have given you the ring. I was managing to get to my feet, pulling on one of the mounted boat chairs to assist me. To do what? Tie it to a line and cast it out hoping to catch a goddamn mermaid? What the hell is wrong with you, Dempsey? You don't understand. Insanity.

Insanity? You're right, I don't understand insanity. Because this is insane. You can't hear it, Ripley. For the first time, since I'd regained consciousness, he glanced back over his shoulder at me, and I was horrified to find he looked stricken. His handsome face, drawn with sorrow and longing, his boyish hair limp on his forehead, lifeless, just like his eyes.

I took a step back, frightened of this hollow thing that almost looked like my brother. The small voice was back. Here, what? He didn't answer, his face whipping back around as the line suddenly started to hiss away, the reel spinning rapidly. I knew it would work. If I hadn't stumbled over closer to the edge of the boat, I wouldn't have even heard this. It seemed like something he was saying to himself. Dempsey grabbed the spinning reel and stopped it dead, causing the line to zing as it became tight and popped up out of the water.

Immediately I could tell what was on the other end of the line was strong, as Dempsey almost stumbled and the muscles in his arms bulged under the effort. His face was a solid rock of concentration. It seemed like a scene that should be happening against the rage. storm, with rain dropping in buckets as he tried to wrangle whatever he had captured into the boat for reasons I can't begin to tell you. But the water was soft and smooth. Ocean birds called in the distance and the slowly descending sun caused watercrests to burn like tiny crescent suns of their own. It was beautiful and Dems' sounds of exertion echoed across the water.

It took a very short amount of time before I realized not only could he not do it without my help, but whatever he was trying to reel in was going to pull him off the side of the boat and Dempsey was going to let it Demp's let go I sounded to myself how I did at 5 when Dempsey grabbed the collar of a big dog trying to get to our cat

and it dragged him all around the yard for two minutes before Mom noticed I'd wanted to yell then too Dempsey let go help me he roared back the force of his conviction causing me to run over and grab him around the race despite my better judgment.

Better judgment would have been to demand he released the rod before I helped him. But hindsight is 2020. It felt like trying to help a tree. His waist was so solid in my clinched arms. I wasn't sure if I was even helping. In tandem, we both stepped back a few times, we were using a few inches of ground every so often

to whatever furious thing he had managed to snag. Then, in a loud splash, it was over. When I look back now, I'm almost 100% positive that she launched herself into the boat intentionally, because there was no way that two of us could ever have reeled her up. With no warning, the tension on the line was gone when she burst from the water and over the safety rails on the boat. She landed next to us with a disgusting wet plop as we fell over. Dempsey's full 180 pounds fell on top of me, and for two seconds I couldn't breathe. The two seconds of breathlessness dragged into what seemed to be an eternity as I turned my face to see the creature laying on the deck with us.

My brother had been right. It wasn't like the little mermaid. Her body was a listless grey-green, robbery. She had no scales, and at first glance I almost thought she was a horribly disfigured dolphin, until I saw that she clearly had arms, hands, a head and a face, if you could call it a face. Her eyes were small and black, again reminding me of a dolphin, her forehead bulbous and vastly oversized, with no hair to distract from how oddly shaped her head was. No lips could be seen, so nothing concealed in mouth full of double-road serrated teeth. I only knew she was female because her chest had a strangely feminine shape.

I know she wasn't dead because she pushed herself up onto her arms, the most human-looking thing she possessed, and looked directly at. me, a look that can only be described as primal hatred. I was frozen, my entire body comprised of a solid block of ice. Dempsey had barely been able to dislodge his body off the top of mine in the time it took me to take in the mermaid and feel the full force of a gaze. This is what the single antelope feels, knowing Linus's, have cut it off from its herd. My heart felt like a drum, pounding out a signal that only she could understand. I felt disgusted by her, her rubbery flesh making a squeaking sound as she dragged herself half an arm's distance towards me.

But, at the same time, there was something about her. Something... Alluring. She's... Beautiful. Dems's voice cracked through my ice form like a whip, and I felt it dissolve. Once I had half a second to click myself, I realised it wasn't because he had spoken. but because her face had cut towards him with unnatural speed once he spoke.

Her expression changed, and I could see Dempsey's body relaxed as a face honed in on him. He had climbed off me now and seemed like he would reach the water. Dempsey, don't. Tiny voice reigned supreme. Dempsey, don't you hear it, Ripley, he continued to reach, his face entranced. I still don't know why I didn't. grab him, stop him. I was so horrified by what was happening in front of me that it was like being outside of my body, watching it happening, screaming at myself to do something, screaming at

myself to make my limbs work, make my hands grab him and stop him. I don't hear anything, was all I managed to squeak out. I can only describe what happened next as. Have you ever seen an alligator attack on a nature movie? The unbelievable way they burst out of the water and grab their prey? the supernatural speed they seemed to be able to execute that moment when their dinner is just close enough to execute a killing strike. That was what it was like. It was like watching an alligator attack my brother with more speed and strength than I could have ever imagined.

She lunged him with such force that it propelled her off the deck and straight into his chest, knocking him back over on top of me. The sound she made, while razor-shout teeth and claws, made short work of my handsome brother's dashing looks were unlike anything I think any person has ever heard unlike a human or an animal I had never gotten up

and when she launched herself into him he was propelled back off me but a length of a body pinned me down as she ravished him but more horrifying than any of the sound she made and then the feeling of a body writhing on top of me as she killed him was the sound Dempsey made

he managed to say it three times before she had completely dismantled his face and throat, and he made no more sound. She's... Beautiful. I never even realised Dad, kept a laptop on the boat. I found it on accident, actually, trying to find the rudimentary med kit that I faintly remembered being on the boat somewhere.

I don't even know why I bothered looking for the kit. I knew Dempsey was dead before she had slithered off the top of him, over the railing and back into the sea. I knew I couldn't find the kit but I found Dad's laptop and my phone has local hotspot I have great service here actually

I'm stunned I almost called the police but what do I tell them when my brother captured a damn mermaid and she ate his face and ripped out his throat before jumping back into the ocean they will never believe that I'm soaked in his blood

from trying to help him you can all imagine what this looks like. What do you guys think I should do? From world-wide topmerken, to entrepreneurs that just begin, million-verts control on Shopify, Vercoop online, in your winkel, on Instagram, TikTok, and more.

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know your gratis proof period on Shopify.b. That is Shopify.b. For years, my soul has been heavy with guilt and fear. For countless nights, I've stayed dreamless, questioning whether my transgression could ever be forgiven. I've spoken to the village priest. I have kneeled down in the confessional, yet whenever the time for me to ask forgiveness from God comes.

I cannot speak. I cannot verbalize the nature of my sin. So instead, I come here to this corner of the world made of wire and screens. Perhaps by sharing my story with the faceless choir of the internet, I will be able to find some amount of respite. I sincerely hope that by confessing to the masses, I will be able to rid myself of some of the guilt. But I know that even if I forgive myself for what I have done, the fear of what I have brought into the world will never let me leave. I have stolen a sheep from the Baba Yaga And I've been punished accordingly

For most of my adult life I was employed as a construction worker in Austria The pay was better than anything I could get back in the village Work came in manageable bursts And during the winters I could rest back in eastern Slovakia with my wife We were trying for a child We were hopeful for the future One misplaced steel beam skewed all of that

After the surgeries and after the recuperation, I could work, but no construction would hire a cripple. There were our jobs around the village, and my wife had taken to sell in woolen hats on the internet, but most folk in rural Slovakia are handy with a hammer, and one cannot feed a family with hats. Our savings got us through the first winter, and the charity of our neighbours made sure we never went hungry. But time was running out. A second winter approached, and our neighbour's graces wasn't infinite. Every moment of my life, an alarm clock counted down above my head, steadily leaking dread. It is with that invisible clock, just a couple ticks away from my family going hungry,

that I met the sheep. I was hobbling in the forest when I found it. Perhaps I was there to clear my mind, or maybe I was convinced that with enough walking I could cure myself. But, regardless of what thoughts were drifting through my mind, as soon as I saw the sheep, my attention was singular. The animal stood opposite me on the dirt path A judoff road dangled off his neck And its eyes are as dumb as those of any other barnyard animal

But there was something about the sheep's wool That made the rest of the forest disappear Without a second thought I made my way up to the creature And stroked its fur Like a soft summer wind The wool caressed my palm Somewhere in the cozy embrace of the comfort

The thought started to manifest My wife could do wonders with this wall. Baa, the sheep said, as if agreeing with me. I looked around. We were alone in the forest. There were no witnesses. Yet, before my mind stumbled down that dark path, my eyes drifted to all the rope around the sheep's neck.

Someone had the sheep tied up. Someone owned the sheep, and the animal had simply run away. I bit down on my morals, grabbed one end to the rope, and led the sheep down the path. path to where it came from. I convinced myself that its owners would be happy that I brought the animal back and might even provide a reward. I convinced myself that I was doing the right thing. As we walked, however, I couldn't help but look at the sheep's ears. Neither of them was marked. The sheep did not have an owner, not legally at least.

Bah, the sheep said as if agreeing with me. The way from which the sheep had came was not a need. easy one to walk. The path turned jagged and steep, and for a moment I feared that my leg couldn't handle it, but I pushed on regardless. A voice deep in my mind demanded I'd do the right thing. After a painful climb, I reached the clearing on the top of the hill. Before the sheep and me stood the queerest cottage I'd ever seen. It was built of tile and logs, just like any other home one could see in the village. But the cottage had no front door, no door and stood a couple meters off the ground on top of what looked like a giant chicken leg.

In lieu of an entrance, there was a ladder that led up to the base of the home. A rope chewed down to a stub hung from one of the steps. My healthy leg went numb, thinking of how painful the journey up the ladder would be. Is anyone home? I yelled at the cottage in the sky. I found your sheep. I waited and waited, but there was no response. The rope was beyond. repair and wolves were known to stalk the woods. I figured that the sheep would be safer with me.

I convinced myself that taking the sheep back home was the right thing to do. Bah, the sheep said, as if agreeing with me. When I walked inside our cottage, I took the sheep with me. We had no barn to house the animal in, and I feared that if someone saw the sheep tied up in front of the cottage, they might take us for thieves. hiding the animal in the hallway I went to prepare my wife for our new house guest When I entered she was ecstatic

While I was out hobbling in the woods My wife found an antique set of porcelain while cleaning out the attic After a cursory glance online She tracked down a collector that was willing to part With a hefty sum for the cups I was excited about her money-making opportunity But she was not excited about mine When I opened the door to reveal the animal in the hallway

my wife was furious. She told me that I should have left the sheep where it belonged, that I should have stayed away from the strange cottage, that I should have kept to my own business. Yet, when I convinced her to touch the sheep, when she truly understood the softness of its wool, my wife relented. From those clouds of white,

she could make hats fit for a lord, combined with the porcelain money, we could comfortably scrape by through the coming winter. Bha, the sheep said, said, as if celebrating with us. For a while, we simply ran our hands through the sheep's wool, bathing in our good fortune. But soon enough, a question slithered into the room. I do not know if it was I or her that verbalised the sentiment, but it was in the air long

before it was said. How much can you sell a sheep for? Bah, the sheep said, as if it too found the question interesting. At first, my wife and me simply guessed. We fantasised about what we could do with a sudden influx of money. Soon enough, however, the yearning for the potential money galvanised into a concrete need. With the hat and porcelain profits, we could scrape by. But if we sold the sheep, we could prosper.

That evening, I left my wife alone with our soft house guest and made my way to the pub. Halshan, the portly general store owner, was quick with a pre-house. price estimate, but he was even quicker to ask about the sheep. At first, I avoided the topic and told him I was merely curious about the economics of animal husbandry, but, with a couple of plenker shots, he loosened my tongue. Ah, Furko, you scoundrel. Houshan laughed as I finished whispering my tail, and you say that the sheep isn't marked? I nodded.

Well, aren't you lucky that I have a cousin with a stamping machine? It would be more than happy to help the sheep find a home. if a small finest fee would be involved, that is. How much? I asked. Five euros, he said. Nothing steep. It has been a hard year. All I'm looking for is a symbolic price. We'll even help you find a buyer.

With a handshake, he was settled. With a handshake, I'd crossed the line from a reluctant good Samaritan to a thief. After a couple shots of Polenka, we sat down with the woodsman. His wife had started raising sheep just a couple months prior. after a couple more shots we had a buyer. The barkeep kept the Planker shots coming and the closing time of the pub dragged along into the night. By the time we were finally asked to leave,

all the road lights had been extinguished. With borrowed flashlights, our ethanol-cented crowd started to stagger its way back home. Even in its drunkenness, the group moved far too fast for my hobbled walk. Soon enough, the other beams of light disappeared. soon enough it was just me, the village road and the dark forest beyond. After months of worry, I finally found a moment of respite.

In the euphoria of alcohol and sudden financial gain, I found myself happy. Peasant, have you by any chance seen a sheep come through here? The voice of an old woman creaked out of the darkness. That damn animal chewed to the rope that held it. I sensed that it might have come through it. It was a gentleness in a tone, as if she wasn't calling me a peasant as an insult, but rather as a means of stating a fact. I spun my flashlight searching for the stranger, but found only more darkness. Are you deaf or are you a dumb peasant?

The voice asked, its kindness crackling. Have you seen a sheep come through here? I wanted to say the truth. I wanted to do the right thing and return the stolen sheep. but the alcohol in my breath had different plans. No, I said. I haven't seen any sheep. You must be mistaken.

A pinch? Out of nowhere, I've found my arms clasped between two rough fingers. Liar! She hissed as she squeezed my skin. When my flashlight caught her, I saw her face so grotesque it gave me a fright. Her face was old, desperately old. Her skin sagged like that of a melted sculpture. And the thin wisps of white on a scalp seemed like nothing but a memory of hair,

but it was her eyebrows that truly terrified me. On the wrinkled pale face, they stood sharp and red and defiant. I know you stole my sheep peasant, the hag said, smiling with a few teeth she had left. There is no need to lie to me. I know all and I forgive all. For a price. The hag cackled. each rasping breath of air shaking her stout body

Even though the flashlight was bright when I left the pub It started to flicker It was as if it refused to be part of the bargain As if the business of the sheep Was purely concerning me and the darkness beyond What is the price? I asked cautiously Oh peasant

The price Is a single kiss I am but an old woman Who misses the affections of hand and men, I will happily trade the animal for a memory of the past. I took a step back. My leg groaned the same way it did before a thunderstorm. No, I said. I have not seen a sheep and I will not kiss you. I wish you a good night, auntie. I moved away from the mad hag as fast as I could, but a voice continued to creak through

the darkness. Silly peasant, she said, a voice turning cold. A lie has short legs. but the punishment for one does not. You may never forget your transgression. May you never forget that you are a liar and a thief? May you never forgive yourself for rejecting my advances. I curse you, peasant. I curse you and everyone that you care for. May the whole village suffer for your misdeeds.

The hag's voice echoed through my head all the way to my front door. Yet, when I came home, I did not tell my wife. The hag's disfigured face, the strange eyebrows, her cruel words. It was all still sitting in my mind, and I could not bring myself to verbalise my worries. I also didn't want to worry her. The potential of the antique porcelain and the wall and the money from the sheep. It all made her so happy, so hopeful. I did not want to take that hope away.

She tried to lure me in the bedroom with soft whispers, but my mind was far too scattered for romance and my body was in no shape for love. Instead of joining my wife in bed, I stayed in the living. room with our stolen, woolen house guest, and the antique porcelain. It had been a long day, and there was plenty to consider. Yet, as I sat there, with nothing but the crackling of the fireplace to keep me company, I started to relax. I'd woken up that morning as a man who feared the inevitable hunger that comes with poverty,

but, through a cascade of circumstance, I knew that the ticking clock above my head had been pushed back. With the antique porcelain, we would be able to put food on the table. table, and if I never told anyone about the hag, the sheep could still be sold to the woodsman. My life had taken an absurd turn, but sitting there in the dim light of my cottage, I knew things would get better. Bah, the sheep said, as if, disagreeing with me, the creature was staring straight at me, but the barnyard dumbness in his eyes had drifted off and given way for a wholly different look.

It was only through the flickers of the fireplace that I could see the sheep, but the emotion in its eyes was unmistakable. Behind the animal's slitted eyes, there was a raging, never-ending source of hatred. The sheep screamed as it started to lumber towards me. The animal no longer trotted like it did on the forest path. Its legs moved clumsily on the wooden floor, as if they were foreign to the animal. With a gust of light from the fireplace, I realized. they were. The sheep was no longer standing on its whole sheep legs.

Instead, the animal's woolen body was balancing on a steadily growing set of fleshy slit. Baa! The sheep screamed, revealing a set of dull teeth and a dark rolling tongue. With eyes in my veins, I simply rolled off the couch and

moved towards the back door. What I was looking at was no longer a sheep. What was looking back at me meant me harm. Yet somewhere in my terrified mind, I hoped that if I opened the door, if I allow the creature to escape, that I would be left unharmed. The outside world breezed in through the open door. The stumbling beast stopped and regarded the forest beyond the cottage.

Its legs continued to grow, but the animal didn't take another step. Baa! it screamed, and then it craned its neck towards the open door. For a moment, the animal simply shook, its woolen body heaving with effort. but as the beast continued to strain its neck, its body once again started to change. At first, the growth came in small, staggered bursts, as if the sheep's neck was a tangled rope being pulled out of a well. But soon enough, the stretching of the neck became constant. The beast's malformed body were starting to press up against the ceiling of the cottage,

yet its horrible moor was hanging out of the back door. Bra, the creature screamed out into the dark forest. I backed up against the hallway, eager to make my escape. Yet, as soon as I touched the door, the creature before me bucked. For a split second, I registered the sound of broken porcelain, but that tragedy became quickly irrelevant. The tall-legged beast stood directly in front of me. Its horrible jowls descended towards me.

The lock in the animal's eyes was unmistakable. It wanted me. Dead. Bah! The creature roared, sending out a torrent of spit that smelled of infection. The beast's entire body shivered with murderous anticipation. The fluffy woolen coat that had once brought me such comfort had transformed into clumps of mucus-covered hair. The creature dipped onto the wooden floor as it lumbered towards me.

Baa! I knew he couldn't run. I knew that my crippled leg wouldn't carry me if I were to attempt to escape from the long-legged beast. So instead, I chose the heart of the heart of the beast. hide. Like a terrified child I ducked beneath the table and like a naive infant I desperately hoped that the beast would simply

leave. For a moment among the broken porcelain and ill-smelling detritus I almost believed I would be safe. But, I wasn't. The long-necked beast swooped his head down below the table and with one swift motion

overturned the piece of furniture. I was lying on the floor in front of the beast that looked like it belonged in hell itself. The skeletal limbs of the creature braced for attack, its pale grey skin shed the rest of its woolen coat. I was about to be killed by a nightmare made of flesh. Bah! The creature roared, readying its jaws for murder.

The universe nearly came to a halt. Before me, I could see the spite-filled eyes of the beast. I could see the wet teeth that were about to tear into my skin. But I could also see something else. the bristles of a broom I watched as the rough strands of the tool scratched against the beast's wet cruel eyes Ah

The Grisha yelled as it wretched his head My wife hid it with a broom again She swung away at it screaming demanding that the monstrosity leave her home In a state of pure shock and blindness The Grisha stumbled toward the door Smashed into the wall and then ran out into the wilderness For a moment

all we could do was stare out into the forest beyond. Then, my wife closed the door. Our once promised sources of wealth lay in the floor, broken and sticky. For a while we mourn the loss of a newfound wealth. For a while we tried to make sense of the madness. But eventually, we stopped talking. There was nothing left to be said. I had brought sin into our home, and we had been punished.

My wife grabbed a broom, grabbed a rag, and we cleaned our floor of any trace of the stolen animal or antique porcelain. Neither of us slept that night. Sleep in general has not been the same since that night. It has been two years since I stole the sheep from that chicken-legged cottage in the woods. Yet I still cannot bring myself the talk about it. I want to let go of the guilt. I want to carry on. But my transgression was not as simple as theft.

If I had simply stolen something, I would seek atonement with the priest. Yet the nature of my sin not only lie in breaking one on the commandments. That raving horror, the monstrosity which ruin my home, it is a being of pure evil, a being I am responsible for bringing into existence. For years my soul has been heavy with guilt and fear. For years I've searched for forgiveness. Yet I know that I will never truly find it. My theft might have been forgotten

And the long-neck creature may have been driven away from the village But I know that somewhere out in the Magura forest The long-legged beast still walks Until it is dead Until I can be sure that it can no longer bring harm to anyone I will never sleep easy I only met Aaron Gault once I was called in to do a forensic interview of the girl

As part of a 72-hour observable preservation period before she was turned over to juvenile justice and sent to a detention centre based on the warrants that had been taken the day before. Stepping into a room with her, I felt a wave of sadness and confusion wash over me. Erin was 16 and small for her age. A char potter at 5'4 and just over 90 pounds. And when she looked up, her expression wasn't that of a hardened killer or a deranged monster. It was that of a frightened and fragile young girl. flinching at the sharp edges of a hostile world.

And yet, according to what I've been told, two days before, she had butchered her entire family. This had happened at the home, a two-story house in a pleasant neighbourhood outside the city. The yard was always cut, the family was well liked and well thought of,

and, even as I sat down across from her, I'd learned of no hint of trouble within this family prior to their deaths. No domestic calls, no report to the children acting out at school, nothing other than a break in a couple of years earlier. I didn't rule out abuse, of course. An abuse was a common catalyst in these kinds of scenarios, but only one of many.

My hope was, through talking to Erin, I can learn why she had done those terrible, terrible things. I introduced myself, explained that while this interview was part of an observation period for her safety, it was also part of the ongoing investigation, that while I wasn't law enforcement, anything we talked about wouldn't be privileged and might be used against her later on.

She nodded and said that was fine, that she'd talked to her appointed lawyer and guardian about it already, and she was ready to answer any questions I had. We went through the initial rapport building and introductory questions, an erring was cooperative enough. She was still skittish acting, her eyes frequently darting to the walls before lighting back on me for a few moments

as I asked my next question. But she seemed happy to have someone to talk to, even if it was a stranger. I took her through initial questions about a family, who they had been, where they worked, how she had gotten along with them. Erin grew very sad during this part, sniffling and pausing frequently

without ever shutting down or refusing to answer. I had this idea of her carefully threading away through a canyon of guilt and pain and bad memories. though whether she was recalling the murders themselves or something I precipitated them, I couldn't say. Still, when I asked the opening, non-suggestive questions related to any kind of abuse, there was no indication of reluctance or defensiveness or lying. Just the soft no, nothing like that. No one has ever hurt me like that.

I could be wrong, but I believed her. So, I decided to try a different approach, rather than drill down into the murders themselves, What she remembered, could she explain what had happened and why? I simply asked what else she wanted to tell me. The transcript that follows details that portion of my conversation with Erin Golt. So, Erin, part of my job is gaining answers to certain questions, but I also want to know what you have to say. So let's take a break from me quizzing you, okay?

What do you want to tell me? Anything at all about whatever you like, something that's on your mind or important, or that you think I need to know. This won't be your only chance to tell me stuff during our interview, of course. But I'm interested in hearing what you want to talk about. I'm going to grab a drink while you think about it. You want anything?

Um, no, thank you. Okay, honey, I'll be right back. That's better. Any thoughts on what you'd like to tell me? Yeah, yeah, I know what I need to tell you. It probably won't help you understand, but it's true, and I need to tell somebody. if you'll listen. Of course I will.

Go ahead. I've never tried astral projection before. I'd heard of it, sure. Watch videos about it when I was bored, that kind of thing. But my friend, Hugo, he was always the one really into that stuff. He would try to do seances, had red books and trances and ESP. He even tried to do a spell a couple of times. I went along with some of it, sure.

But I never believed any of it. It was just to make him happy because, You know, he was my friend. Sure, sure. And did he get you to try astral projection? Yeah, this was like a month ago. We were up in his room. His mom wasn't home,

which is the only reason we could be up there like that. Not that we weren't hooking up or anything. I think maybe he likes me a little, but we aren't like that. I don't like him like that. Okay, I understand. But he's my friend. And when he told me about this new, book he'd read on astral projection. It sounded kind of cool, almost just like meditation or something,

right? Something real instead of the ghost stuff he was usually into. And when he asked me if I try it with him, I said yes. So, we laid down on the floor of his room, side by side, but not touching. And he talked to me, told me what to picture, what words to repeat in my head, said that I didn't need to concentrate, that the book said it wasn't about holding on. It was about letting go. It was about letting go. At first, I just felt sleepy, but then I felt something kind of shift. Like my brain wasn't my brain anymore, or like it wasn't made of meat anymore. It was just steam, floating around, thinking my thoughts as I went down. Because that was the thing.

It wasn't like a lot of those videos I'd watched or things Hugo had told me. I wasn't floating above my body or flying through the ceiling to go travel somewhere. I was going down, deeper inside myself. Oh, that's what it felt like. It, it was like the waking me was a door, okay? And I'd somehow opened the door and found a house on the other side. Some huge, secret house that was built up like a regular house. Like, my family's house.

It was built down, and it went on for a long, long way. So, I started to go down, and I could see it in my head as I went, though it was weird. kind of like seeing it but kind of like feeling it too maybe like how bats feel stuff with their sonar I don't know but I could tell I was going downstairs to a lower floor and then another and then another the rooms were all empty and dark

but I could still see and I wasn't scared just curious and excited because I could tell this wasn't just my imagination I was really doing something really going somewhere I went down and down and the rooms started to get weirder. The walls were wrong-shaped, and the floors would seem longer or shorter than they should be.

I started to find doors that were closed, where they'd all been open, and it got harder and harder to push through. Still, I was determined. This was all really cool and special, and it made me feel really happy because it made me feel special, too. I know this all sounds dumb, but I'm telling the truth. I trust you, Erin. I don't think it's dumb at all.

Go on, please. Okay, thanks. Um, so I get to the point where the rooms are moving some. Like, the walls change places and corners don't stay where they were. And sometimes it feels like I'm in something alive, like the rooms are breathing around me. It's a bit spooky, but I don't want to give up. I have this idea that I'm close to finding something really important. So, I keep going.

That's when I find the green door. Everything else had been kind of grey, like an old movie or something. No colours. Or maybe, it was just because it was all so dark. But that door wasn't dark. I could see it from across the room when I came down the stairs. A little bit of glowing green like an emerald. Winking at me, saying, come here, come here.

So I went. The door was different than the others. They all had been plain. They reminded me of the doors in our house, I guess. Just regular doors. But this one was all carved and polished, with a big brass knob, and in the middle of the door was a picture. It was carved into the wood, and it kept changing as I watched. I don't remember what it was.

It was so many things, and I can't keep them in my head. But I know it made me happy and afraid at the same time. And when I grabbed the knob, it was hot on my hand. Hot enough, I was afraid it might burn me if I wasn't quick. So I turned it. The door opened, and I went on through. I wasn't in the house now. The floor was rock, and I couldn't see any walls to the side or in front of me.

Maybe it was a cave? I don't know. It went on for a long time. It felt like I'd been walking for hours by then, but I wasn't tired, and I wanted to see what was next. I started to see light ahead. I was close to... I think it was a field? A field that was bright and blue with red grass and white trees that grew in every direction,

up and down side to side, weaving through each other as they went. Except they weren't just trees. They were buildings. This was some huge, beautiful city, some kind of impossible place, like where fairies might live. I felt this pure kind of... This sounds cheesy, but it was joy. Joy and like longing. like I had finally found something really special and true.

I was about to start running toward it when I stopped. There was a noise behind me. Something had moved somewhere in the dark. I could feel myself starting to panic as I turned around. Its eyes were on me. Six glowing golden eyes like spinning coins, drawing me in, draining me of that happiness and hope. I couldn't move, but the darkness moved around me,

shifting the light of that bright living city behind me. The gloom of that thing was now blocking my way. I didn't know what it was, but I kind of did too. I think it's like this little dog we used to have, puppers. He'd never been out in a bad storm, but he still knew to be afraid of them, like he could smell how dangerous it was.

I could tell how bad this thing was. So, I ran. Running there was night real running. I made my way back, fast. than I went down. Too fast, and I could feel that thing behind me. I should have taken more time. I should have made sure I shut the doors behind me. But I was scared, so scared, and then... Do you need to take a break? No, I want to finish it, so you understand. I went all the way back up, and when I opened my eyes, I was back in Hugo's bedroom. He was sitting on his bed with a worried lock on his face. He told me that the Astral projection stuff hadn't worked for him. He tried it for a few minutes before giving up,

but I'd been laying there for nearly two hours. At first, he thought I'd just gone to sleep. But when he couldn't wake me, he'd gotten scared, but was always so worried about waking me up if I really was doing it. Said he was giving me a few more minutes, and then he was going to try wake me again before calling someone for help. He laughed when he said that last bit, but he wasn't joking, not about any of it.

He asked me what had happened. what I had seen, but I told him I needed to think about it first, and then we could talk. Hugo didn't push it, though I could tell he wanted to. Now that he saw I was okay, he was getting more excited again, and he was disappointed when I told him, I needed to head home, because I wasn't okay. I remembered all that I just told you, and my heart was still beating like I was being chased by that thing with a glittering eyes. It was two days before I got any sleep And even then it was never good rest

Hugo kept texting to check on me And see if I was willing to share what had happened yet I lied telling him I was fine After a week I changed my mind about telling him about it too I just lied and said I didn't remember anything That I must have just fallen asleep Was there any reason in particular that you chose not to tell Hugo What you'd seen

Yeah, I started to see holes in the walls Just little things at first Little red, rotten spots Like a cold sore or an ingrown hair But on the wall Not a particular wall It might be at school, in the locker Or on the side of my house

Or in my bedroom But it would be there This little raw, bumpy hole That I could tell no one else could see or touch And every day It got bigger What was it? I don't know for sure

But after a month I saw the hole somewhere Almost everywhere I went Not always in the same spot But always somewhere around It was following me And it was getting bigger The edges of it looked black now

Like it was burned or dying And there were little bubbles of white All along that rotten part That would move a little Not like the way the rooms breathed This was a wrong feeling A little sick shudder they made my brain hurt when I saw those pusbags or whatever start to shift.

It got to a point. I was afraid to look around much, and I was so tired by that point, I found myself falling asleep randomly, losing time. She looked up from the table, her eyes red, and her lips pressed thin as she made my gaze. And then one night, I woke up, covered in blood. My parents is blood, Jake's blood. Her face began to crumble. I think I'm done now.

nodding silently, I reached out and patted her arm. I wanted to comfort her. Her story wasn't true, of course. Some fantasy she had constructed to cope with the horrors of what she had done and experienced. But I had little doubt that she believed it herself. Whatever crime she had committed, she was a very disturbed girl who needed treatment. And when I left the interview room, I was determined to help her get it. The next day I got the call.

That she had killed herself. That was nearly three years ago. A day hasn't gone by that I don't think about Aaron and feel a measure of guilt, questioning if I could have done something different that might have helped more, wondering if there was some missing puzzle piece that would give the whole thing shape and make more sense. Then I got a call from Bill Burke. Bill had been the primary investigator on the gault case. He was a good cop and a good man, and having worked with him on several cases over the years,

I had a sense of how deeply disturbed he was by everything that had turned out with Aaron. It had been over a year since we'd last talked, and when he called, I assumed it was about a new case. No, nothing like that. I actually retired last week. In fact, that's why I'm calling you now. I wanted to call before, but I told myself there was no sense in putting my job at risk. No one here wanted to hear what I had to say. and I worried that telling you might only stir things back up again.

I knew what he was talking about without him saying, This is about Aaron Golt, isn't it? I could feel his weariness as he sighed into the phone. Yeah, I... Well, I know I told you some details of what happened before you went into the interview with her, but I had some more ideas I kept to myself. Some of that was confirmed the next week

when we got the autopsy reports back. Okay, well, I could. what? He glared his throat uncomfortably. Like only one of the goats was killed in their sleep. A little brother Jake had his throat slit. And based on the injury, the arterial spray in the room and the lack of defensive wounds, it's likely he never woke up. Damn, well, I guess that's better than the alternative. Yeah, I guess it is. But the doctor also said that both of the parents had been stabbed multiple times in the neck and chest, with additional defensive wounds in their hands and arms.

The dad died in the hallway, the mom in the master bedroom behind the locked door that had been broken in. Oh God. I know, but that's not all. The blood spray on the walls. A crime scene guy thinks that they were standing up when they were trying to fight her off, and were still standing when they started getting stabbed. Okay.

The significance of this to me is that the stab wounds were wrong. at a downward angle. Now Rex Gaunt was a six-foot tall, 250-pound man. Clarice Gaunt was 5'7 and weighed about 150. Yet somehow, this little 90-pound girl that was barely 4'5 managed to not only overpower them when they were fighting, but stabbed them like she was taller than they were. I felt my mouth going dry.

Oh no. So you think she didn't do it? Someone else was in the house? I felt tears in the corner of my eyes. Damn, their poor girl, she... No, I think she did it, at least in a manner of speaking. She was covered in their blood. The two knives only had her fingerprints,

and there's no trace of any other person being in that house. Yeah, maybe so, but if what you're saying is true, how could she possibly... I know, I thought the same thing, even after she... Well, after Erin was dead, I still went through all the evidence, went back to the crime scene, subpoenaed phone records, the whole nine yards.

I was already getting static for wasting resources on a closed case, but I didn't care. I was half convinced from the autopsy report that someone else had done the killings, and I wasn't about to let it go until I was sure one way or the other. Its voice had grown rough with emotion.

It took a few days, but I finally got a disc in the mail with cloud video from the gaunt streaming security cameras. They'd put two outside and one inside after a break in a couple of years earlier, and my hope was that it would give me the proof I needed to show what really happened the night of the murders.

Did it? You tell me. I just sent you a link to the cloud folder I uploaded it to. Can't you just tell me? I don't know if I want to watch it and I won't even know what I'm looking for. You'll know. I showed it to my boss and those assholes saw it too.

They just don't want to admit it or deal with it. Told me to turn over everything and get back to work on my active cases. I did. But I kept a copy too. Maybe just so I could do this. Share it with you, so I wasn't the only guy who knew what happened that night. Just go check your email, Paul.

I went to say more, but he had already hung up. I've recorded this account for my own records and to put my own thoughts down, but also so it can be shared someday. I've tried to recall everything accurately, and I think for the most part I've done a good job. My memory of the video, which I've not. now watched dozens of times is perhaps the clearest of my memories, and yet it is also the one clouded with emotions, confusion, sadness, and most of all, fear. So, I'll end this account with my

summary of what I observed in that video, free of any editing or follow-up commentary. I've had no luck reaching bill again, and my own speculations are just that, the flailings of a desperate mind, wanting to apply reason to the impossible, trying to shut the door. that have already been left open far too long. So, I'll leave it to you, the listener, to draw your own conclusions for what I'm about to describe. The video is from the interior security camera, which has apparently been positioned in a high corner

of what looks like the gaunt's living room. The living room is dark, but the house has an open fall plan, and the camera also shows a large kitchen lit by a single light over the sink. No people are visible at first. and overall the scene is still. Then Erin enters from the right, wearing a white t-shirt and blue shorts. She enters from the dark of the living room, so at first it's hard to notice how strange she seems.

Parts of her body are blocked by furniture and shadow, and it isn't until she passes into the kitchen that I can see her head is lolling to one side, as though she's asleep unconscious. Despite this, she makes a way over to the kitchen counter and pulls two large, knives from the butcher's block. Blade pointed down in each upheld hand, her silhouette looks like a drowsing, praying mantis, as she glides back toward the right on a path to exit the kitchen for some other room or hallway. It's at this point that I notice the smoothness of emotion, and a moment later that I am able to see her lower legs and feet for the first time. My panic thought is that she is somehow walking on tiptoe, like a ballerina, but I pause and rewind it several times. and no

her feet aren't touching the ground at all judging from the height of things around her and her own shadow she looks to be floating about a foot off the ground her motion forward smooth and seamless even as her head rolls and her arms lift and sway in a strange

almost boneless fashion it was that incongruity that caught my attention after the initial shock and fear wore off that was what led me to have the video cleaned up further by a friend of mine. She complimented whoever had done the special effects

said that even after studying it she wasn't sure how they'd done it. I just thanked her and hung up the phone. The enhanced video was clearer, but no less disturbing. I could see finer detail now, like how Erin's eyes were closed and a face turned

toward the camera, or how the floor creaked softly at times, despite the girl's feet being free off the floor, or the slight rustle of a shirt's fabric and compression of a skin in a dozen places, along her arms and legs and torso. As though she was being carried along by some unseen thing. Her limbs worked like a marionette as she drifted toward the night that would end her family,

her joy and her life. I paused the video in that moment, just a second before she passed into the dark, and I studied it for a long time, looking for some hint of the thing that caught her and was using her so cruelly. Aside from the carry marks, at first I saw nothing. and then there was something new, a motion on the frozen frame. Two lines of twinkling gold turned toward me, looking out from that captured moment of that terrible night. I wanted to believe it was a glitch of my computer or my fraying imagination, but I knew

better. I know I intend this to be an objective observation, but I know what I saw and felt. Those golden lights, those eyes hadn't. been there before. They were just looking toward the camera. They were looking at me. I don't understand any of this, and I want no further part. I've erased my versions of the video, but I now realize it's not enough. This thing wanted to be seen and known. Otherwise, it wouldn't have been, and if I can't show others what I've seen, telling them we'll have to do. So perhaps this is enough

and perhaps you feel tricked as you reach the end I did tell you I would end this with my description of the video after all unembellished by my own conclusions my own sleepless terrors and I am sorry for that deception I truly am

but my hope is that if I satisfy it it will leave me alone because I've started losing time waking up places I don't remember going and sometimes, more frequently in the last few days, I've started seeing them, Erin's holes, or maybe it's all just one hole,

a rotting necrosis in the skin of the world as something pushes its way through. I'm watching it as I tell you this, and it's getting bigger. I tell everyone that asks to embrace the motto, stay out, stay alive. It is no joke. You're tempting fate each time you wriggle into an abandoned mine,

especially without proper preparation and knowledge. Trespassing charges, cave-ins, and noxious gases are all dangers you face when venturing underground. But they're not the worst, far from it. Many other things lurking minds too, and I learned that the hard way. My friend and I ignore the signs, and I hope you can learn from my mistakes.

Also, please note that the images scattered throughout the story are screenshots of a video. No matter how much anyone pleads, I will never post a video online. Ever. During our freshman year in college, my roommate, Ben, and I stupily began exploring abandoned mines for fun, and it soon turned into a hobby. We were both new to Southern Ohio, where adits and shafts dotted the forest and hills, like blemishes and unkempt face. The long abandoned mines were easy to go.

come across and hard to stay out of if you were curious. And dumb. Unfortunately, we were both. We discovered the thrill entirely by accident while on a hiking trip early on the fourth semester. I'd heard from a local guy about a ghost town hidden in the national forest surrounding our campus and I asked Ben to help me find it.

He obliged and we went out hiking one weekend in search of it. I will not share the town's name here. But we successfully found the small community's remains. However, we were disappointed to see that only a few crumbled foundations were all that still stood, scattered about in the valley between two steep hills. There were no buildings left at all, nor the remnants of any roads. The forest had swallowed up the town almost entirely. We fell let down and were about to begin the long hike back to the car,

when Ben stopped me and pointed out to the entrance to what he thought was a small, cave. It was tucked at the base of one of the hills, about 100 yards off from the nearest foundation, and almost entirely obscured by the forest thick vegetation. Only when we slipped inside it, we realized that we had entered a crudely sealed coal mine. While the town above had rotted away to the point of obscurity, its former lifeblood had remained remarkably well preserved. The timbering, supporting the roof, still bore the sut marks from the miners' carbide lamps.

A train of mine cart stood idle in the tunnel ahead of the river. of us, and we went to explore it with only cell phone flashlights. I found one of them filled with extra hardware and snagged an interesting looking hinge that I still begrudgingly own. We only explored a bit further than the end of the mine train before deciding to head out. We agreed to come back some other time, more prepared, but I knew that wouldn't be long. That first mine thoroughly teased my appetite for exploration, and I wanted more. Back in my dorm, I started to read up a mine exploration.

It turns out many others shed my new interest. There was a whole community in fact, and I must admit, free information from other explorers was abundant online, and the supplies they used weren't too expensive. I thought I could become a mine explorer also and coddle myself with vague snippets of mine safety. I naively thought collapses and black damp were all I had to look out for. I hadn't given myself time to become aware of my own ignorance

before I ordered oxygen detectors, hard hats and high-power flashlights thinking they were all we needed to go below the ground safety. I also found a public database created by the state government a compilation of all their information on current and past mining operations. One of the database's most convenient tools plotted the extent of every mine in the state and an easy-to-use map. Its purpose was to help homeowners determine if their properties were susceptible to subsidence, but I exploited it.

The map gave precise coordinates of mine entrances and the corresponding underground maps, so I started a list of places to explore. It also kept track of which mine entries were inaccessible and which were still wide open. Even better was most of these mines were on public land, deep in the national forest and away from people. The likelihood of getting caught by rangers out there was near Zilch. The Forest Service had a plan for sealing abandoned mines, but with hundreds of openings to deal with,

it was impossibly expensive for them to patrol them all, much less seal them. This, combined with the information I cleaned from the internet, meant Ben and I had a backlog of locations to explore and no chance of incurring trespassing charges. And, explore we did. The thrill of it continued to grow each, time we checked another mine off the list, and we soon became bolder and more foolish.

We were a couple of idiots, but hunting down the mines was no more challenging than searching for a public park online. The only difficulty we had was finding the overgrown entrances. It was like the ultimate form of geocassion, and we started to have too much fun with it, entering any mine works we found open, regardless of their condition. Then, one day, towards the end of the four semester, it came to a head, and we unknowingly hunted down the last mine we would ever explore. This mine had a name, but I've decided to rename it the Peytonville mine for this story. I don't want anyone to discover its precise location, at least not as easily as I did. Even if someone pieced it together, they would no longer be able to enter this mine anyway, so I feel safe post.

according to the maps and information there was nothing too remarkable about the Peytonville mine other than its size it operated for the better half of a century before closing down in the mid 1950s by then it had accumulated a maze of tunnels over the decades from mining both coal and iron as such it had a much grander entrance than anything we had ever explored nearly 10 feet tall and reinforced with brick, like the entrance to a fancy train tunnel. However, a handful of monolithic concrete blocks impeded our passage into the mine. They were the kind of blocks used to construct a seawall or highway media.

They looked new. A sign, warning of trespassing charges also stood out front. It bore the US Forest Service logo and Smokey Bear's image, waving a finger saying, Stay out, stay alive. The sign also looked relatively. knew, and we guessed that the Forest Service must have put them there in an attempt to seal the mine. These new signs and barriers worried me. The mine was most likely dangerous in some way. Remember, the Forest Service's budget only allowed them to seal a few dozen each year,

and I knew that they prioritized based on the condition of any given mine. Plus, this mine was far away from any roads or well-traveled trails, but we didn't heed these warnings. Ben pointed to a small hole between two of the blocks, about six feet off the ground. I knew that I was ignoring my gut, but I soon found myself climbing up the barricade and shimmying through the narrow opening behind him. Once inside, I dropped back down to the floor and turn on my flashlight. This mine was nothing like any of the others we had entered. It was much more elaborate. I shone my light along the empty cart tracks and could not see the end.

The miners had taken the time to line this tunnel with brick, continuing it from the entrance to form an arched passageway that served to prevent the main haulage tunnel from collapsing. It was also reminiscent of a small train tunnel. I felt safe in here. The tunnel's condition seemed better than anything we'd seen before. I wondered why they took the time to try seal this one. We started down the empty tunnel and continued for several hundred yards.

Usually, the mines would have branched out into a grid, by this point, but this one continued in a straight, brick-lined passageway for as far out as the lights with shine. Ben suggested that the face of the mine might be miles back after years of operation. I agreed. He was probably right. The only deviations from the straight tunnel were the small, evenly space setbacks that I thought once allowed miners to step out of the way of passing ore carts. They were nothing of interest, until we arrived at one with some unusual graffiti. Markings left by miners to alert each other to dangers and exit routes were not uncommon to find,

but this piece of graffiti was different. There was a crudely drawn outline of a humanoid figure and lacked any other features, aside from two red-painted eyes and the faint outline of a set of wings. Where the outline of the chest should have been, there was a hole passing through the tunnel's brick wall. I took a picture and then shy my light through the hole to see what lay beyond. I could see that another part of the mine laid behind the wall, running off perpendicular to the main tunnel. Another added.

I hypothesized that the other setbacks we walked must have also been long-sealed at it. From what I read online, it was not uncommon for mine as the seal off disused portions of their mines to improve air circulation. So this was not too weird of a fine for me. I paid little attention to the graffiti. The small hole at its centre interested me more. It was similar in size to the one we squeezed. through at the mine's entrance, but something had chiseled through the block to form this one. Ben started to push through before I could stop him, and I knew I had to go with him.

He weren't stupid enough to ditch the body system. I bit my lips and followed him into the chest of the outline. Once through the wall, the construction of the tunnel changed entirely. No longer was the tunnel lined with brick, but instead was supported haphazardly by timbers. The ceiling was also much lower in there. and neither of us could stand up completely. This area looked much more like the other mines we had explored, and much closer to caving in.

As we continued in this new direction, my trepidation increased as the ceiling quality decreased. Soon we were walking across car-sized heaps of rock that had fallen from above. I suggested the bend that we head back to the other tunnel, but he brushed off my worries and still wanted to explore this new one further since we had no map of it.

I continued to follow him, pleading about the mind's condition, and reminding him that a cave-in would be the end of us. I knew this was not safe, but I could not leave him alone. Getting separated was the worst possible thing to happen underground. Eventually, we got to a point where the adit split into three different directions. Again, I told Ben we should head back. The fork was likely an indication that the edit branched out into a grid ahead of us. I didn't want to add my list of worries.

with the thought of getting lost underground. I pleaded with Ben that we were risking both a cave-in and becoming lost, but he still ignored me. I turned back and started towards the hole, hoping he wouldn't be likely to go far without me. I waited for the sound of him scrambling to catch back up with me, but it never came. Instead, he trained his flashlight on something in the distance

and started towards it. He beckoned me over and I tried denying him, but he was adamant that it comes to him. see what he had found. I shook my head in regard and started climbing over the fallen rock to catch up with him. I stood next to him and shy my light at his discovery. For a moment, we stood there, trying to discern what our beams of light had illuminated. Something had dug out a divot into the gravel floor forming a nest of sorts. In it laid a mess of shredded cloth, bedding, I assumed. Ben thought we had found a large rat's nest, but I disagreed.

This was too large to have been made by rats, and I had no idea where the cloth would have come from. We were nearly a quarter of a mile from the mine's entrance. This was too deep, even for a rat to drag something this far. Even if someone tossed the bag of clothes right at the entrance, this was still too far. I started to feel uncomfortable. To my dismay, Ben stuck his hand into the pile of tattered cloth and dug around. He pulled out a soft-shelled air. almost as large of that as an ostrich and looked up at me in horror.

The egg was somewhat translucent, and as he held his light up to it, we could see something moving inside the semi-translucent shell. My curiosity overtook me at this point as well, and I went and pulled the cloth from the nest while Ben stood inspecting his egg. As I flung the foul-smelling material from the roost, I realized that the nest contained a whole clutch of these eggs, dozens of them. All of the little creatures inside squirmed as my light hit them.

I had never seen anything like this, and I stumbled backwards and tripped over some of the rocks. Ben, still holding his egg, looked over to see what I had discovered. He seemed just as unsettled as I was. I don't think either of us had any clue as to what we were looking at. As we looked waringly at each other, we heard something rustling the darkness in front of us. Ben scanned around the tunnels with his light

And its beam came to a rest on a pair of red reflective eyes Further back in the darkness And he almost dropped the flashlight Alamed at the sight before us I am my flashlight in the same direction And was horrified to illuminate the outline Of another person standing in the tunnel

Watching us Wearing what I thought was a trench coat Although humanoid in form And standing on two legs We soon learned this creature was not another human being. What I mistook for a coat wrapped around the creature's body,

unfurled into a pair of bat-like wings with a span of a dozen feet at least. I almost touched the size of the adit. Both Ben and I screamed. Ben through the egg in his hand to the floor with a loud splat and ran past me. I picked myself up and ran after him, occasionally aiming my flashlight

into the darkness behind us to check where the creature was. The last I saw, it was atop its nest, seeming to inspect the clutch of eggs for damage. An ear piercing howl erupted through the cavernous space and a rush to cover my ears in response to the painful sound. You must have found the egg bent through.

I couldn't stop running. I knew my safety depended on it. I dropped my hands and continued down the tunnel. Another whale ripped through the air and I heard something shovel on the rocks behind me. I knew that the creature was chasing after us. I did not need to turn around for confirmation. The sounds told me it was close.

I ran like hell, kicking and stumbling my way down the tunnel. When I got to the hole, Ben was already halfway through. I could hear the creature approaching me, and I shoved Ben's legs the rest of the way through the void as I followed right behind him. I fell to the floor on the other side of the wall and scrambled back to my feet. I made my flashlight back at the hole, I realized what the humanoid graffiti around it meant. It was another overlooked warning. The outline represented the creature on the other side,

but I had little time to ponder this as a pair of gnarled, claw-like hands, started to push through the outline's chest. The creature stumbled through the hole before shaking itself off and wailing again. Ben and I continued down the tunnel towards the mine's entrance. We ran like hell in the freedom of the larger tunnel, free of debris. Unfortunately, this freedom also applied to the creature. I heard its wings unfurl, and I could feel the wind as it began to flap in the enclosed space of the tunnel. I ducked as the creature flew past me and towards Ben.

He didn't have the time to dodge, but instead managed to get one good blow on the thing's head with his flashlight as it swooped in on him. The creature fell to the floor in a heap, and its wings stopped moving. I wasted no time in jumping over the pacified beast and passed my stunned roommate. I was determined to squeeze through the mind's exit first, and I was determined to squeeze through the mind's exit first. and did not want to be the last one in the mind with that thing. I'm aware that sounds selfish, but those are the decisions you have to make when it's life or death. The final 100 yards of the tunnel felt like the longest distance I had ever run.

I could see the light peeking through between the cracks of the barricade entrance, but my adrenaline slowed time to a crawl. I kept waiting for that creatures to come at me from behind, but I got to the exit before that happened. I climbed at the barricade and started to squeeze through the hole, delighted to see the sunlit forest on the other side. I squirmed the rest of the way through, while Ben screamed at me to hurry. He said the creature was waking up and started to push on my feet in an attempt to speed me up. I fell the full six feet to the ground on the other side, landing on my head.

I remember lying there, dazed, watching as Ben began to squeeze his way through. Ben started screaming again, this time that the creature had his feet, and I sprung back up and grabbed his arms. I pulled as hard as I could. He wasn't budging. I told him to start kicking, which allowed me to get some headway. But I could hear the creature whaling in the tunnel behind him, still playing a fierce game of tug-of-war. As I fought to free Ben, I noticed that the creature seemed to be avoiding the beams of light that made it past Ben. After what seemed like an hour, but was likely only a minute, I won the battle and again fell back to the ground, this time with my roommate landing directly on top of me.

I pushed into the side, and we both lay there panting. We heard the monster moaning from inside the tunnel, but it didn't try and chase after us anymore. I was almost certain that if it weren't for the daylight, we'd be dead. I got up and started to dust myself off, and watched as Ben tried to do the same. However, as he tried to stand, he kept falling back.

I looked down at his legs and yelled at him to stay in the ground. His right leg was mangled and looked broken. There was no way he could walk out on an injury inflicted by the creature. There was little chance of getting any reception this far into the forest, but we still tried. Neither of us had a single bar. We were too far away from the highway, which was the only area in the national.

forest with consistent coverage. We had to formulate another plan. I was dizzy from hitting my head, but came to realize that I would have to hike out alone and bring back help. A ranger outpost was about five miles away, but I'd parked the car five miles in the opposite direction. My roommate urged me to get help and leave him behind. I was apprehensive, but agreed that it was our only option, gave him my pocket knife,

and started towards the station. Thankfully, GPS worked just fine without service and I wasn't worried about getting lost. I was worried that the thing for the mine would emerge and come after my roommate before I could come back with help. After all, the sunset was only a few short hours away. The hike was grueling and I felt disoriented, but I trusted my phone's directions

and eventually arrived at the small station almost two hours later, now with less than an hour till sunset. Luckily, I saw a ranger's utility vehicle parked out front, and I ran to the station's door and started banging. A young man, how much older than me, opened the door and brought me inside, introducing himself and asking why I needed help. For the sake of privacy, I'll call him Rick. I wasted no time, telling Rick that my friend was injured and unable to hike out, but I reserve the details about entering the mine or the creature chasing us. Instead, I told him that Ben had fallen down a ravine near by the mine. Rick grabbed his radio and asked if I knew my roommate's exact location.

I told him we were hiking near one of the nearby creeks, which wasn't a complete lie, and gave him the coordinates for the mine's entrance, hoping he wouldn't catch on to our trip's real purpose. Rick shook his head as he looked at the cold dust smeared across my shirt. He knew the truth. I clearly remember what he said on the radio. This is Rick from the Athens unit. I have an injury outside the Patonville mine.

All armed and available personnel, please respond. Sunset in 45. Rick grabbed his rifle and some ammunition before ushering me out to his side by side. He loaded the gun and placed it in the back seat. I was scared witless at this point and worried about Ben. But Rick looked me in the eyes

and told me to calm down and tell him what had happened. Honestly. He seemed both angry and intensely worried. I didn't lie about being in the mine and rambled off the story, sharing random details as I could remember them,

including the nest, the outline warning, and the wings. I'll never forget those wings. I thought my story came out entirely incoherent, but Rick started up the engine and told me, now, that story sounds about right. I wasn't sure why he believed my crazy story, and his next question only confused me further. He asked me if I knew

whether federal government had designated this land at National Forest. I had no idea what the question had to do with that creature or the injury been sustained from it. Over the engines roaring and while navigating rugged trails, Rick began to give an impressive monologue,

one that I'll never forget. Uncontrolled industry results in unforeseen consequences. That's just the fact of human nature. So, it's unsurprising that people mined and deforested these lands into a veritable wasteland within a couple of generations of European settlement. And this happened, not just here, but across the country. In response, the federal government created the Forest Service and National Park System to restore that damage and preserve our country's natural resources for future generations. Although, to tell the truth, it's only part of what we do. We've always known that protecting the forest meant more than just wildfire prevention.

and tree planting. There are extreme dangers here too, things that most people don't believe in. We prefer to handle some things in secrecy, and it's like that around any national forest or park. You see, there are places in this world, like here in this forest, where hell is a bit closer to the service. And when the mines started going deeper, they uncovered things that should have stayed buried. Supernatural might be a good word. But the point is, we've got to protect people from threats they don't even know. exist. What you saw today is one of the things that our rangers work hard to keep on the ground all across the continent. The miners before us knew this too, and did what they could to keep things calm as well. That outline on the sealed tunnel you told me about was a warning to other

miners not to unleash what hit behind the wall. If I had to guess, they knew what was in there. Us rangers are just the latest in a long line of stewards of the lands like this. The miners before us and the Native Americans before them didn't doubt the supernatural and they accepted the dangers that lurked around them. Nowadays, people don't believe in anything like this, but it's still real, so we

just do our work in secret. Besides, I don't think today's society could handle the truth anymore. This information stunned me, to say the least, and I wasn't sure how to respond. For a second, I believe that Rick was joking with me

for interrupting his evening, especially since my roommate's injury occurred and had abandoned mine that was very much off-limits. I must have looked confused and skeptical of his story, because Rick said to me, your story was quite fantastical too. I guess we'll just have to believe one another. He tapped the loaded rifle in the seat behind him, and I knew he wasn't joking either. As we sped through the dirt roads and trails, back towards where I'd left my roommate, Rick told me more about the Rangers' additional duties.

He said they've been having problems with the Patentville mine for years, ever since it closed and the mine had stopped maintaining the walls within the mine. Creatures would break out every so often and the Forest Service had to hunt them down before they came across the public. Years ago in the 1960s, Rick said one of the creatures, similar to what Ben and I saw, escaped from some of the mines a few states over. The beast wreaked havoc for several nights before the Forest Service could hunted down and put a bullet through it.

Although, enough people claim to have seen it, that the creature becomes cemented in Appalachian folklore in the year since then. Rick thought I'd seen the same beast, and he didn't want another escape to occur. As we neared the mine entrance, Rick asked me again if I was sure that we came across

the nest with eggs while we were underground. I told him I was positive, and reminded him that the creature revealed itself after my roommate picked up one of the eggs, and only chased after us after he threw the egg. Rick bit his lip and seemed worried about this detail. He said that the creature was going to be vengeful for screwing with his nest. I looked up at the sun low in the sky and then back to Rick

and knew we didn't have a moment to waste. As we came around the final curve into the trail leading to the mine, I could see Ben still lying where I'd left him nearly two hours earlier. He shouted and waved his hands, screaming that I'd taken too long. He said the creature had been wailing and taunting him since we left. While Rick and I helped Ben into the bed of the utility vehicle, we heard another wail emanate from the adit, and Rick rushed for his rifle.

He told us that the sun will be down soon, and they needed to solve the problem by then. He gone on his radio and asked when the other rangers would arrive. I heard the garboured voices of several others' reply there were only several minutes out. With Ben lying safe in the back of the utility vehicle, Rick headed to walk. was the mine with his rifle copped. He shouted for me to stay back while he'd train his rifle at the singular hole leading into the otherwise barricaded at it. I'm guarding this till backup arrives.

A couple of minutes later, one of the other rangers showed up in a four-wheeler with a crate strapped to the back. He pulled up beside Rick and quickly hopped off to rummage to the rear of the ATV, eventually producing what appeared to be several sticks of dynamite. Rick seemed to discuss the situation for a minute with his cohort, while he stood with his rifle trained in the small, dark hole. Eventually, he yelled back to us to prepare for a boom and said they planned to collapse to the entrance

to seal him both the creature and his offspring. We've got to get this closed up before dark. That thing will emerge with a vengeance. The other ranger finished taping the sticks together and moved closer to the entrance. He looked up to the hole and then to the explosives in his hand. He seemed nervous. Rick cheered him on and yelled it him to climb up.

the barricade and toss it in. The ranger slowly climbed the concrete blocks to the small hole level and reached for a lighter from his pocket. He balanced on a small ledge as he lit the explosives long fuse, but as he threw the bundle into the orifice of the mine, a clawed arm reached out from within and grabbed a hold of the ranger's arm. The creature's skin started to smoke in the sunlight, but I don't think it cared. He then pulled the ranger into the mine, lit explosives and all, with one powerful movement. The man went quiet, only having time for a slight gasp of surprise, before entirely disappearing into the mine.

Rick lowered his weapon with a stunned look in his face, and ran away from the added entrance, taken cover behind a fallen tree. He screamed for us to duck and cover, but I couldn't peel my eyes out. I watched, in horror, as the creature's wings pushed through the hole as it attempted to escape the bomb it had just brought inside its layer. right when its hellish face poked through, the dynamite went off and blew it a bit, collapsing the mine entrance in the process.

The explosion was incredible. As the debris and thus settled, I could tell the patent-filled mine entrance was utterly obliterated, well and truly sealed. The hazard sign placed out front by the forest service still stood, but bent and tattered,

its purpose now redundant. Nothing would ever get in or out of that mine, ever again, or so I hoped. Three other Rangers arrived only minutes after the explosion and ran to Rick, who was still lying on the ground, clutching his rifle. One of them yelled at Rick, demanding to know what it just happened and where the missing Ranger was. Rick pointed towards the collapsed at it and said,

It took him in with the dynamite. Ben got away with a broken leg, and I only sustained a few bruises. But dealing with the situation's trauma was much worse. The Forest Service never made any public announcement about the Ranger killed in the blast and they wrote it off as an accident. No one other than the Rangers believed our story and even still they have publicly denied the events I'm telling you about. But I understand their decision in a way.

The public wouldn't believe them even if they told the truth and people ridicule what they don't understand. However, I still hope some of you will believe my story and heed my warning to tell you. stay out of abandoned minds. And just remember, there are people out there, like the forest rangers,

who work in the shadows to protect us from things we can't understand, and they do it all without the expectation of glory or recognition. Try and respect everyone, because you never know who the hidden heroes are. I work at a medical examiners office

in a large metropolitan area in the United States. You will have to excuse the vagueness, but I value my job and safety. My safety is also the reason why I'm recording my recounting of what happened in the first place. I'm not sure what to do next, or who may be coming for me, and my hope is that having some evidence, even if it's only my word at this point, may help me stay alive. Given what I know, it's a very small hope. Yesterday, a body came into the lab, badly burned. It had been found in a shallow grave out in the middle of nowhere woods.

The only reason it was found at all was because the fire burning the body had spread to a nearby tree and then burned several acres before forestry got the call. It took two days to stop the fire spread, and it wasn't until they were investigating the source that they found the twisted remains of a man, legs and arms broken and bound by barbed wire that had melted into his flesh after he was set ablaze. Identifying the corpse was going to be difficult. any idea of facial recognition or fingerprints was out of the window and whatever blunt instrument had been used that break his limbs

had also been used on his teeth. Still, his torso was partially intact and, after taking the initial round of external photos, I assisted the senior ME in conducting the autopsy. Fire and heat changed the body in a variety of ways, and because of all the variables, weather, clothing, ignition catalysts, body shape and mass, plus the inherent fickleness of fire,

you never can be sure what you're going to find during a burn autopsy. That being said, it still seemed odd that the internal organs were as intact as they were when we opened our chondow up last night. A person, terrible as it may sound, cooks just like any other animal or lump of meat. As the outside grows hotter, that temperature change pushes deeper and deeper into the center of the body,

cooking the organs and muscle of fat and bones from the outside in, With some variants, you'll see that pattern replicated on any part of the body, though different materials obviously changed due to heat at different rates. Yet, even with the variances accounted for, this body had burned strange. The bones, which are more resistant than soft tissue, should still have had some damage at the extremities, where there was less buffer between them and the fire, fingers and toes, for instance, or even at the wrists, ankles and neck.

But no. There was no real sign of any damage to the bones other than where they'd been intentionally broken. And, while the muscle and fatty tissue had melted with unexpected parameters, the internal organs were almost unblemished. As we began excavating and wane them, I asked my boss if he noticed it too, and he said he did. He's a reserved guy that doesn't speculate on much, but I could tell he was as confused as I was.

I asked him if it was possible someone had set him on fire, then put him back out before he could do more damage to the bones and organs. But he began to shake his head slowly before I was even done speaking. Told me if that was the case, we'd see signs of it on the burned tissue, irregular patterns where part of the body was cooled off suddenly or melted residue from whatever was used to put the fire out. Besides, he said, as he met my eyes, he'd heard the ranger that found the body

said it was still burning when he found it. I felt my mouth drop open a bit. How was that possible? If it was the source of the fire, it would have been set of flame days earlier. Fire had to have fuel, and the body would have been consumed well before then if it was burning the entire time. I could tell he was thinking the same thing I was, but before I could voice it, he began taking off his gloves. He had a few calls to make before we went any further, finished cataloging the items we'd already. removed and then put the body in the freezer for the time being.

He takes me in an hour or two when he was ready to get started again. All of this seems strange. His demeanour, talking about calling someone to ask about the body, everything. But he was already leaving the examination room, and I still had to weigh the perfectly healthy looking and unburned intestines we'd just removed. It was as I was transferring them from the extraction bin to the sealed bag that I was felt something hard and irregular inside. My first instinct

was just set it aside until we started back, but touching the bulge again, I reconsidered it. It wasn't a natural shape, hard and rectangular. I felt along the length of the intestine above and below it, until I had a good sense of its dimensions

and began to get an idea of what it might be. A USB drive. I glanced up at the clock. I had plenty of to make a small incision and extract whatever it was. If it was important, I would certainly be better than leaving it in rotten guts to get damaged through another couple of hours of purification.

Swallowing, I grabbed a scalpel. Five minutes later, I was holding a small, black USB drive in my hand. After its interrupted journey through the body, there was no chance of any fingerprints or other viable trace evidence, so I made the decision to clean it off. After that, it wasn't long before I started debating whether to plug it into my laptop or not. It was stupid. According to protocols, it should be bagged and sealed, deposited in the evidence lockbox and examined forensically by someone in the computer forensics department.

I knew that, but I felt this growing, an irresistible urge, to look at it anyway. At first, I choked it up to curiosity. But, as the impulse took hold, I sensed it was something more. I was afraid. More afraid than could be explained by the strangeness of the body, or finding the USB drive. And, for whatever reason, I had the good feeling that looking at what was on it was the key to understanding why. So, I plugged it in, running virus software on it, before opening the one folder that popped up. It was supposedly clean, and the folder's name was normal enough.

It just said, song. Clicking on the folder, I saw there were seven empty three files inside, numbered one through seven without any other description. Dialing my laptop speakers down to 15, I selected the first one and hit play. A low, echoing thrum filled the examination room. It wasn't coming from my laptop, or if it was, it wasn't coming from just there. Waves of softly booming sound made the air tremble like distant thunder. and when I looked around I could see the instruments near the exam table

jumping slightly in time with a pulsing noise and not just randomly they were all hopping and rolling in the same direction away from the body standing up I started back toward the corpse on the table somehow that sound was coming from the body how was that possible

I had the image of someone stuffing a small sub-waffe into the man chest, but that was absurd. And even if someone had, why would it activate when I hit play on my unconnected laptop? I looked back on my computer, just as the player switched to the second file. The thrum was suddenly gone, replaced by the sharply sweet sound of violin, or something that reminded me of a stringed instrument. The room was stiller now, almost frozen in the delicate, crystalline trance of the winding melody, something familiar and melancholy and and terrible. I found myself shudder as it began to coil inside my head, like something dark

and venomous. Winsing, I forced myself closer to the body. The new music was coming from there as well. But how? It had to be a hidden speaker, didn't it? I didn't know how it was playing off my laptop, but that was the only logical answer. Bending down, I put my ear near the ruined charred torso. Yes. It was definitely coming from the body, but I couldn't identify a particular location. It was almost as if the entire corpse was a tuning fork vibrating with whatever this awful song was. I felt myself growing queasy. I needed to turn it off. I had to stop it before it got worse. I needed to... That's when I first heard the new noises from the body. It was a wet, sucking sound at

first, rhythmic in its own way. It seemed to keep time with a razor mess. melody digging into my brain. Buried underneath it, are entwined with those strings. Standing up, I looked down at the body. The organs we had removed. We're growing back.

Staggering backward, I ran for the door, even as the music shifted again. Now it was a chorus of some kind, whispering, sing-song voices, utterly sibilant phrases I didn't understand, but still made my skin crawl. Reaching the hallway,

I looked back through the, door at the body, sucking in a breath as its broken limbs began to reset. Turning away, I ran down the hall toward her office. If you were still in there, I would get him. If not, I'd head out and get in my car, call the cops from there. The hallway lurched as I turned the corner. The sound was still here. It was everywhere.

And, as it shifted from that singing whisper to a jangle of tinny bells, I felt my stomach begin to loosen as my limbs grew heavy. I had to make it to the office. I could lock the door, and even if my boss wasn't there, I could call for help. I... The senior Emmy was lying on the floor outside the door to the office. Unconscious, his body shuddering in some kind of small seizure that echoed the ringing of the bells. Dropping to my knees, I felt my own limbs spasming as I crawled toward the door.

If I could just get inside, if I could just make it inside. And then, everything went dark. When I woke up, my phone said that about ten minutes had passed. Pushing myself up, I saw that I'd almost made it to the door and the unconscious man next to it. I checked his pulse and breathing. Both were fine. He was unconscious, but stable. And as I dialed 911, I realised that the music had stopped.

Everything was quiet. They said emergency services would be there in less than five minutes, and my first thought was to just stay. with a senior M.E. until they arrived. But then, what I'd seen in the exam room came back to me. I had to have imagined it, that body making itself whole. That wasn't possible. The music had some kind of hallucinatory effect. Maybe it was some secret military stuff. Who knew? But dead bodies didn't heal themselves, and I needed to get my head straight before the cops got here and I started talking crazy. So, I forced myself to go back down to the exam room.

my heart fighting to get loose as I pushed open the door. I just had to see that the body was still there, unplugged the USB drive from my computer, and then I'd go back to the office. The body was gone. Sucking in a breath, I looked all around the room, but there was no sign of anything out of place. I shot a lookout at the hallway behind me,

but there was nothing there. Head pounding, I stepped inside. walking quickly across my computer and reaching for the USB stick when I saw the player changed. Now playing 7.mp3. And then I heard my own voice echoing through the room. I work at a medical examiner's office in a large metropolitan area in the United States. You'll have to excuse the vagueness, but I value my job and safety. My safety is also the reason why I'm recording my recounting of what I'm.

happened in the first place. I'm not sure. Snatching the USB from the laptop, I threw it into the seal container we used for biohazard disposal. I was done, done with all of this. I was going to make sure that my boss was okay, and then I was leaving. They could check the cameras in the hall to find out who had stolen the body or, however it had gotten out of here. I was going to play ignorant, forget about the USB and the music, the healing corpse, and hearing my voice say words I didn't remember ever saying on a recording I'd never made. It all went smoothly enough.

The EMTs arrived first and the senior ME woke up at the first sniff of the smelling salts, looking confused, but no worse for where. It still took hours until we were able to leave, but the cops had seemed momentarily satisfied that someone had knocked us out

and taken the burned body that had come in that evening. There were no cameras in the exam room, so they couldn't know the rest until I told them, particularly when my boss seemed to remember little after us first receiving the body. It was well after midnight before I made it home, and, after a long shower, I climbed into bed with little hope of actually falling asleep. It would have helped if I turned off the light, but I wasn't quite able to. I woke up to the sound of something sliding out from underneath my bed,

letting out a small scream. I saw myself. Tufts of hair growing back in, among other patches of black and red scalp. The eyes were bloodshot and sunken, but healed enough that they could focus on me clearly, as this other me began to smile. A broken, bloody smile, full of new teeth, slowly pushing past the gums and the broken ruins that had been there before. Pale white tombstones in red earth that's gone sour. Screaming louder, I tried to back away, but it's too fast and strong.

It pulls his earth up onto the bed. and pushes me down, digging its grey finger nails into my cheeks as I struggle and squeal. It's still nude, but there are only traces of the fire now, and down its centre I could barely make out the pink ghost of my incision a few hours before. My mind is teetering now, balanced between self-preservation and buckling to the growing weight of madness as the air is forced from my lungs by his weight on me. In the end, it doesn't matter. It may look like me, but it's far stronger.

And, in a matter of moment, I'm bound to the bed with bedsheets and is placidly picking through my clothes before selecting something to wear. When it leaves the bedroom, I have hope it will just go away and leave me alone. But no, it's in the other room, talking, using my voice, saying the words I heard on the seventh file and then going on, telling about last night and all that happened, even going into what is happening now while I struggle to get free, using my thoughts, my words, though I've never spoken them out loud. And then it stops for a moment and comes back into the bedroom,

smiling, a whole smile, smirking down at me as I cry with fear, begging for it to let me go. Instead, it just laughs and starts narrating again, telling the recorder, my recorder I use during autopses, what will happen next? He will take me out into the woods,

and there he will dig a shallow grave. The place is near an old cattle fence and it only takes a few minutes for him to strip off a line of rusted barbed wire to swaddle me in. A patch of my chest will stay free from sharp metal because that's where he'll sit and grab my cheeks and try to pry my mouth open. When I resist, he doesn't miss a beat. He just picks up a rock and breaks in my teeth until it doesn't matter if I fight.

He can still fit the USB stick in, sliding it down my throat until I swallow. Then he'll wait a while, just watching me cry and snot and mess myself as he hums along with the gentle music of some unseen star. It's night, and by the time I can smell the gasoline his siphon from my truck. It's cold on my skin as it splashes over me,

making me struggle and scream when I thought I didn't have any fight or noise left. I beg again at the end, mind half gone, trying to explain to him that this can't be happening. He is dead, which means he can't be alive, and all this has already happened, which means it can't happen again. And he's me, but that can't be.

There can't be two of us, can there? When he pops the match in the night of the woods, his face is terrible and whole and familiar. If not for the past two days and the cruel look on his face, I'd think I was looking into a mirror. A recoil as he draws closer, and not just from the flames. He's smiling, but there is a coldness there

that is somehow worse than the blazing heat I know is about to come. You're right, you know. I feel a moment of uncertain hope. Maybe I've misunderstood something. But no, I know what is coming, because he's already told me, line for line, thought for thought, word for word.

It's been recorded hours before as I listened. Despite myself, I can't help, but say the lines he told me I'd say. Right, about what? This can't be real. It's all a bad dream. He lets out a chuckle. The flame is to his fingertips now.

But he doesn't seem to notice or care. No, no, the other part. Leaning down next to my face, he said my cheek on fire, as he whispers in my ear. There can only be one of us. I graduated from high school a few years back. I still live with my parents, but I'm using this time to my advantage. They're kind enough to not charge rent, and that allows me the ability to save up almost every penny I make.

The hope is that I can one day start up a small, but legitimate business, and move into my own apartment. You know, the American dream. You see, much to my parents' dismay, I don't have a steady job. I prefer to take a DIY approach and be my mind. own boss. I buy and resell things online and take up our jobs here and there to supplement my income. With the help of social media and Craigslist, I'm able to regularly mow lawns

in spring and summer, rake leaves in autumn and shovel driveways in winter. Eventually, I'll have enough to buy a decent car and reach clients outside of town, and maybe even higher a few lackeys. What I'm here to share with you, however, is an incident that occurred almost two years ago. One that keeps me on edge to this day. In my first year of business, I introduced a flower delivery service. Depending on the season,

I'd either pick flowers from around town or buy them from a local florist, then deliver them to a person of my client's choosing. Though it wasn't my most popular service, it did bring in some good money. You'd be surprised at how much folks are willing to pay to will a loved one with plants. In all the time that I biked

flowers back and forth from person to person, I only ever picked up one regular. His name was red, and he was absolutely infatuated with his girlfriend, Clara. Once a month, I would deliver a dozen roses to the local hotel where she worked. No matter how many times I went over there with the same bouquet, she always acted surprised and delighted to no end. They really did have something special, and I was happy to be a part of their lives, at least in some small way. But then, February rolled around.

Albeit my least popular odd job, I do gain a little traction during Valentine's season. Along with the additional customers, Red goes all out and has me deliver three bouquets on the week leading up to the holiday. Between these deliveries and keeping up with my usual services, February beats the hell out of me. This particular Valentine's week was a little different. It was getting close to the big day, and I had my own. received a single order from Red. I usually don't get attached to my clients, but I was quite fun of Red and Clara. Because of this, I decided to reach out to him.

I tried calling him. No dice. Nothing but dial tones and voicemail. I thought about riding over to the hotel to ask Clara about it, but I were cut into the rest of the work I'd lined up for the day. With no viable options available to me, I simply went about my day and kept a positive mindset. Something felt off, but I was sure there was nothing to worry about.

The next day, Red called me back. He was fine, but there was something he wanted to discuss with me. Of all the phone conversations I've ever had, this one tops the list for the most bizarre. Red hadn't ordered any flowers because he was getting ready to pop the question to Clara. He wanted the lack of gifts that week to leave her confused and then catch a completely off-guard on V-day. by asking her for a hand in marriage. I was happy for them, but that's when the conversation took an unexpected turn.

Red didn't have a ring. He was wealthy and could afford whatever jewelry he wanted, but not just any engagement ring would suffice. He wanted his mother's ring, the one his father proposed with. It was the only one he felt was fitting, the only one worth enough to be wrapped around a finger. There was just one problem.

His mother was buried with it. And then came the weird part. Red offered me $10,000 in cash to dig up his mother's grave and retrieve the ring from a dead finger. He said that he would do it himself, but he didn't have the nerve. He couldn't bring himself to defal her grave site like that. He wasn't exactly comfortable with me doing it either, but he truly felt this was the only way he could propose to his one true love. I pleaded with the guy.

I really did. I told him to go to Jared's. I mean, women love rings from Jared's, seriously. But alas, he wouldn't budge on the matter. And whether it was the allure of money that I could use to expand my business or the desire to help out a desperate friend in need, I begrudgingly accepted the job.

I'm not going to make any excuses here. I know you think I'm crazy for doing it. And yes, I most certainly was. I know this now. Hell, I knew it then too. But, have you ever looked back on something you did in your past and wondered, What the hell was I thinking? Well, this was one of those moments for me.

And, tries one might, you can't go back and change the stupid stuff you've done. This is something I'll just have to live with. Under the light of a full moon, I biked over to the cemetery. As conspicuous as the shovel protruding from my backpack looked, I managed to make it the whole way there without any trouble. After passing the black entrance gates, I laid my bike down and set out on foot. The graveyard was consumed by a late winter chill and an uneasy silence. My footsteps cut through the crisp night air, creating echoes that dance from headstone to headstone.

I turned back from time to time and told myself it was the check for passing cars. But really, I was afraid of ghosts lurking in the shadows. I never really believed in them. but being surrounded by hundreds of buried corpses in the middle of the night can do a number on your psyche. Growing more nervous with each passing moment I trotted to the back of the cemetery in haste. My hurried pace was soon impeded by a fresh pile of white marble

upon which was etched the name Abigail Grovewood and stunningly elegant font. This was it. This was Red's mother, right where he said she'd be. It was time to get down to be. business. In the hopes of saving at least a little bit of face, I will say that in this moment, what I was doing did feel deeply wrong on a moral level.

I was about to vandalize and rubbed the grave of a deceased stranger. She didn't deserve this, and I very well knew it. How would I live with myself, knowing that I disturbed her peaceful slumber? That question had a simple answer. With $10,000 in my pocket, that's how. I had come too far to turn back, and I foolishly felt that this was the best way to further my financial endeavours. May God have mercy of my soul. The whole process only took about six and a half hours, a little less time than I expected.

I suppose shoveling driveways every year prepared me for this pivotal yet strange moment in my life. After all we're said and done, I looked at the coffin below and panted profusely. Despite being utterly exhausted, I had no time to waste. Daylight was on its way, and I had to get the hell out of Dodge before it shrouded the land of the dead. With how narrow the hole was, there was no way I could open up the coffin by conventional means. Adding insult to injury for poor Abigail, I had to use my shovel to break through the confines of a deathbed. Eventually, I desecrated the entire cover, allowing me ample room to retrieve the ring, no matter which hand it was on. Victory was within reach.

Before taking my prize, I looked at the woman I was about to steal from. The sight of a corpse was a grotesque one. She'd only been buried for about a year, so her flesh had not fully decayed yet. It sat on a skin like batter and an undercooked drumstick. To top it off, maggots crawled around every inch of her. It was sickening. Just as I was about to reach past the flesh-eating bugs and grab Abigail's hand. something crazy happened

it was dark that's for sure but I swear I saw it begin to sit up in a grave the movement was subtle but it was enough for me to take notice I was startled but it took a few seconds for the gravity of the situation to sink in

when it did I became so spooked that I hightailed it out of there without a second thought and that was the gist of my late-night adventure Pretty lame, right? I went through all that grief, just a chicken out at the last minute.

Pathetic, I know. But you weren't there to experience it. As I climbed out of the hole, I thought I felt something brush against my ankle. Perhaps Abigail's brittle hands attempting to pull me to my death. As I ran to my bike, I pictured her crawling up from her earthly tomb and chasing me down the road until I was inevitably captured. This was the single most frightening night of my life. I was scared witless and didn't give a damn about red or the $10,000. I just wanted to get the hell out of there.

Of course, upon arriving home, logic set in, and I realized the error of my ways. It was entirely possible that Abigail was still a stone and I only thought I saw a move. What I felt against my ankle was more likely maggots crawling up my pant leg. I had let the eerie atmosphere of the cemetery get the better of me and was now out ten grand and a good friend Just my goddamn luck I almost went back But the sun was beginning to rise

I couldn't risk being spotted and going to jail Though that was a likely outcome regardless Instead I wallowed in self-pity And ignored Red's calls for a couple of days Soon enough my failed grave robbery was all over the news But here's the thing When the police discovered my handiwork Something was profoundly amiss

Abigail's casket Was empty I had read the list of instructions Thousands of Times The Crimson Carnival can only be found by following a series of specific directions As outlined by those who were successfully ventured there in the past Just as described by the moderators of the private online forum I found it at 353 a.m.

On a Friday the 13th, out in the countryside, after a series of meandering twists and turns that I had followed meticulously, as outlined by those who had journeyed to the carnival before me. The detailed instructions were specific, and required pain and personal sacrifice, but I was willing to do what I had to. My palms still stung from where the blade had pierced it, and I had intentionally left the wound undressed. Again, another necessary part of the journey. blood poured from it all over the steering wheel. This seemed distant and unimportant now. I had found the place.

After years of hearing about it, reading about it, researching and building up the courage, I had actually found it. I turned off the engine and got out of the car, the cool night air crisp and fresh as I breathed in. Walking towards the engines of the fairgrounds, I saw no one else around. The outside of the place was empty and devouted.

void of visitors, forsaken. The moon was a sliver in the dark night sky above. Sounds of activity could be heard from within the fair. Carnival barkers and rides, the loud ding, ding, ding, of someone winning a prize. Everything that would make you think it was a regular carnival, an ordinary fair. A clown was at the entrance.

His face was painted bright red around the eyes and mouth, his hair and round nose so crimson. He wore yellow pants with a syser. spenders and welcomed me, waving an oversized gloved hand as I approached. Oh, ho, ho, ho. I've got a surprise, it's true. Who found the Crimson Carnival? What a delight it's you. The clown in the yellow pants was there, just like all the reports had said. You found the place, my friend. Get inside and have some fun. Your time now very soon will end. The Crimson death can't be undone.

His face was a toothy grin, all smiles and giggles as recited the welcoming rhyme, all but the last one, which he said in a low growl. Following that, he looked serious and angry. I was taken aback. He was supposed to say, the Crimson Fair leaves with the sun as the final line in the rhyme. He was supposed to be the cheerful welcome clown. No scary stuff yet. Not yet.

But instead, he had said, the crimson death can't be undone in that terrifying low rumble voice and I couldn't help but wonder if I had made some mistake in the ritual his upper lip quivered as he continues to growl at me he was supposed to keep smiling

waving and looking friendly the dark really creepy stuff was further in out by the entrance the carnival was reported to look bright and welcoming it didn't usually reveal its true form until you're well inside the fences I just stood there, sweating, panicking, retracing my efforts. I had made no errors, though, I realised as I went through each part of the instructions in my head

and pictured myself in my memory doing exactly as instructed. Suddenly, I realised I'd been standing there for a while, thinking, and the clown was still staring at me. The reply came to me immediately, after years of study I had not forgotten. They got to my palm still bleeding, I asked the question deliberately and verbathing. word for word as described online all I have is a nickel with that cover the fare I held up the rare coin and it glittered red with my blood like a ruby in the moonlight it lets you in it lets you through the bloody nickel true true true he was smiling again and I let out a sigh of relief just a little different for a second but back on track now nothing to be worried about I walked past him through the turnstiles. Looking back, I saw he was still smiling his wide-toothy grin and took that for a good sign. He waved his white-gloved hand at me, and then was swallowed up by darkness and

fog. At least he stopped growling like a rabid dog after the toll had been offered. Something about that had really terrified me, not that I wasn't already petrified, but when I'd run through this in my mind, approximately a million times, things had always gone to plan. according to the descriptions I had read over and over memorizing them. No one had ever mentioned an alternate ending to the welcome rhyme. Was the place changing, evolving somehow? No, that was impossible. Through all the years and all the visitors, it had stayed the same.

Why would it change now? Sarah would still be there, I told myself. She had to be there, otherwise this was all for nothing. I could handle being scared, as long as it meant getting back to her. I had to get her back. Her absence in my life was like a missing appendage. The memories of her a phantom limb that ached incessantly.

She was there. I could feel her somehow, as unlikely as that sounds. I felt like with every step I got closer. The sounds rose up loudly around me from every direction as I entered the midway. First, one man shouting, step right up, step right up, try your hand of the darts.

You, sir, you look like a man who knows how to win. How about taking a toss at the red balloons? Then, a woman asking, How do you like to win a prize? Get the ball in the barrel and take home the bloody big bear? She pointed up, and I caught myself following her finger and looking at the giant stuffed bear which hung suspended from the ceiling.

Each one had a noose around his neck, with eyes red and bulging. The eyes looked real, though, and I could have sworn I saw one swan, I saw one swollen bear face look down at me, pleading and terrified. Red fluid seeped from their mouths and dripped down onto the counter below. I dropped my gaze and reminded myself not to get distracted. Everything here was meant to steer you from your goal.

Nothing was as it seemed. Keeping my head down, I continued to walk deeper into the midway. Cotton candy, hot dogs. Get your ride tickets here. Ride the Ferris wheel with your true love by your side. a date she'll never forget. I walked past and heard him say quietly from behind me. She will stay here.

Sarah will live and die and live again here. Always here. She will stay here. You will stay here. My heart nearly stopped in my chest. That definitely wasn't supposed to happen. The carnival workers were not supposed to talk out of character to visitors. They were always supposed to stay in character.

I tried to control myself. but ended up running over to him, fighting my anger and hatred and fury, and pushing it down deep, stopping myself somehow from leaping over the counter and grabbing the man. What did you say? His mouth opened and closed like a goldfish, but he said nothing. What the hell did you just say? Ride the salt and pepper shaker. You'll get mixed up until you don't know up from down.

No, Sarah. You said something about Sarah. I'm looking for her. Please, just help me. Tell me where she is. Why, lady, look. She's just around the corner at the spinning wheel of chance. Place your beds there and win your heart's desire.

I nearly screamed at him, but managed to restrain myself. It would serve no purpose other than wasting time. I checked my watch and saw I had already been inside for half an hour. The time was going fast. The man was just another distraction, meant to keep me here longer, to keep me from my goal. To keep me from Sarah. Moving on, I kept my head on a swivel, looking every possible direction, checking every face.

None of them were hers. Far ahead in the distance, I saw the giant red canopy tent at the centre of the fair. I hoped I wouldn't have to go in there. That's where all the horrifying sights were, according to those few who had seen it and escaped. The cannibal killer clowns in their little cars that drove around and stopped randomly, piling out and murdering and subsequently devouring whoever was nearest, and then clambering back in and driving off. Apollo bear on a unicycle that would cause similar damage during its rampages, when it got inevitably bored of riding around.

Chainsaw wielding trapeze artists that swung down unexpectedly and cut you in half before he could even think to run away. And further in, at the very centre, who knew? No one had seen it. Only the most extreme thrill seekers tried for the can. It was reserved for the most dedicated and experienced. I shuddered to think of going in there. I had planned to avoid it at all costs. I checked my watch again. This was taken longer than expected.

The place was drawing out every second of my time. Even the ground beneath my feet was sticky and muddy, and each step forward came with an increasing effort. My eyes darted around, looking in every booth and at every carnival worker. There were no other guests. There were no other guests, so that made it a little bit easier. I walked past more carnival barkers and booths. After walking around a corner, I was confronted by a man shouting in my face.

Tess your strength! He was huge, wearing a leather vest and holding a massive sledgehammer in both hands. Turning around, he swung it and hit the bell, causing the machine to light up and ding incessantly. Turning away from him, I scanned the faces of every car. carnival worker standing behind their counters. A ringtoss booth was just ahead, and I began to walk towards it, thinking the woman inside looked a bit like Sarah,

when I heard the voice of the man behind me. He had silently followed me, and now stood directly behind me with a hammer held high over his head. She is ours. The sledgehammer came down hard, and I ducked out of the way just in time. My heart pounding,

I stumbled to the ground off balance. I rolled away as the second swing of the hammer nearly missed me again. I got up to my feet as quickly as I could and backed away from the man. He was pursuing me still, and I turned and ran. The muddy ground caused me to slip as I turned a corner to get away from him and found myself heading towards the giant canopy at the centre of the fair. I checked my watch, still nearly an hour until sunrise, plenty of time. No, can't think like that.

You've wasted half your time and you still haven't found it yet. that means you're behind. You need to spot it quick and get her the hell out of here. I felt myself struggling to think clearly as adrenaline took over and something else as well. An unfamiliar feeling like the naive recklessness of a young man, which I no longer was. I wanted to live,

and yet I found myself abandoning reason and self-preservation the more time I spent there. And yet, the giant canopy tent drew me in like a moth to a flame, and I went to it, no longer looking at the other carnival workers. Every part of me was saying to go inside. That's as she would be. Looking back, I saw the man with a sledgehammer was no longer pursuing me, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Maybe he was getting reinforcements, though, and that would be trouble. Feeling like a piece of iron filament being drawn towards a powerful magnet, I walked towards the huge crimson-reliven, canopy tent. Up this close, it was obvious how massive the thing was now. Inside will be a space lit up with lights and full of morbid wonders and curiosities. It loomed before me, dwarfing me in size, and I realized I was standing right before the entrance, every part of me saying to go inside, to look and see what could be found within. And then, I heard a voice. Try your look at the spinning wheel, sir.

I stopped in my tracks, afraid to turn and look, afraid it wouldn't really be her, that it would be just some trick again, some attempt to stall me. But then I did, and it was her. It really was her, no mistaking it. She gave a shaky smile and lifted her hand to wave. I walked over to the booth and looked at her,

my eyes filling with tears. I missed you so much. was all I could say. I missed you too. Every day I missed you. And then some of the force took over and a smile widened like it was being pulled at the corners by unseen strings

causing it to show a teeth. Her voice changed and became that of a carnival barker trying to grab your attention as you pass by. Try your look at the spinning wheel, sir. I was stunned and didn't know what to say for a second. Sarah, let's get out of here.

Come on. take my hand. Reaching over the counter, I saw her eyes flashed back to her own for a second, but then they became full of hatred and murder. She hissed at me like a cat, her eyes now crimson red. Then she swiped at me with her nails, scratching my arm badly and leaving four long gashes there. She attacked my face next, flailing at it with quick lashes and succession, leaving me bleeding from her nails.

I recoiled, terrified and in pain. Blood poured from my face and my arms, and I was suddenly having to be. trouble seeing out of one eye. My vision was turning red and then black on that side. Run, she said, her face turning back into her own for an instant. You can't save me. Just run. If you stay past sunrise, you'll be stuck here with the rest of us. And then her eyes flicked back to that crimson red shade and I saw her laughing at me. You can't save her. She's ours now. Other carnival workers were starting to come out from behind their booths and were now stalking towards me. A clown popped his head out from the giant canopy tent nearby, and then, when he

saw me, came running with a duck-wagged stride in his oversized floppy shoes. Following behind him was a man on giant stilts who had a duck to come through the doorway. He was juggling bowling pins that were set ablaze and threw one at me, nearly missing my face with it. Sarah stayed stubbornly put where she was, as if the carnival knew that I wanted her to chase me, to come after me. but no, it had plenty of others to do that. I backed away at the sight of the bloodthirsty carnies approaching, then turned and ran back towards the entrance, my instinct to survive suddenly taking over.

Running half-blind through the midway, I saw more carnival workers leaving their booths following after me, their eyes blank and zombie-like. Looking back, I saw dozens of them now in pursuit, breaking into a slow jog, and then running as they followed after me. Increasing my pace, I felt my heart booming in my chest, sweat pouring down my face.

My eyes were wide and terrified, darting around, looking for potential threats everywhere. Candy apple? The elderly woman was wearing a night patch, and, as she threw the boiling hot caramel sauce at me, she smiled. Her teeth rotten and black. Some other liquid sugar hit my face, and I screamed as it burnt me. I knew that would scar me for the rest of my life, but I didn't have time to think about it. I had a moment of pity for the woman, knowing now that she was just another victim of the carnival, the same as Sarah. No one from the online forms had ever considered that the carnies themselves were past visitors who hadn't been able to escape before sunrise.

It was always assumed that they were a part of the carnival itself and had been since the start. My feet slipped in mud and I nearly fell as I race past the man with a sledgehammer. He jumped up and began to chase after me with the others, carrying his heavy mum. mallet in both hands and screaming at me. Up ahead, I saw the turnstiles and picked up my pace, seeing the faint glimmer of a sunrise on the horizon. The clown was there, appearing out of the fog once more, and, as I got closer, I saw he was waiting for me.

He held a small axe in his hand and chuckled when I got near. The crimson glow can't be undone. The crimson glow can't be undone. The crimson glow can't be undone. The voices of the other. drawing closer from behind me, rose in volume, joining his, and I realized they were very close now. I had no choice. I would have to take my chances with the clown. I ran at him full speed, knowing I didn't have much time left. Once the sun came up, I was

stuck here with the rest of them. No one was coming for me. Nobody knew I was here. The only reason I knew where Sarah had disappeared to was because of her obsession with the online forms related to the Crimson Carnival. She had become more and more involved, until completely overtook a life, nearly ruining her relationship in the process. Then one day, she had said that she was going to find the place for herself. She had left in the middle of the night, leaving me a note while I was sleeping. She never came home after that, and I always regretted not going with her. She had even given me the coin, saying that she wanted me to go with her, to experience it

alongside her. She said not to lose it, that there were only a few left out there, and that they were exceedingly rare and valuable. But now I'd lost it, just like I'd lost her. The damn clown had it. I had an idea at the last

second as I ran towards him. The mud slipping beneath my feet made me think of when I was a kid playing soccer, how, after scoring a goal or winning the game on a rainy day, we would slide around on the grass, in the mud, celebrating. diving forward at full speed and landed my belly in the muck it knocked the wind out of me and since I wasn't a kid anymore it hurt like hell but it had the desired effect my forward momentum took me under the turnstiles and I surprised the clown by knocking out his legs from beneath him he went flying into the air his axe spinning and shining in the faint light before landing a few feet away dozens of coins came flying out of his pockets also they landed scattered on the ground in the mud and I grabbed a hand

handful of them before racing off back towards my car. I heard the clown screaming at me, and that his voice cut out suddenly in an instant, as the sun peaked out from behind the horizon. Looking back with my one working eye, I saw that it was gone, and so was the carnival. But in my hand, the blood-red nickels from the past visitors remained. Proof of my visit, same as the long-ridge scratches my arm and in my face. the scars and burns I would wear for the rest of my life. And yet still, staring at the muddy, bloody coins in my palm,

I knew I would be back. I had no choice. When I escaped the Crimson Carnival the first time, I knew I had to go back. It didn't matter that I had almost died, that I had been badly injured, half-blinded and burned. Sarah was there. All these years, I had felt certain,

but had no way to prove it. As it turned out, I had been right all along. She had found the place, and had trapped her there, along with hundreds of others, thousands maybe. The secret ritual needed to get into the place was shared via an online forum, and now I had real suspicions about who had planted those tips. I had the feeling very few other people had actually been there and escaped. The only reason I'd gotten out was that Sarah had seen me and warned me about the truth. nature of the place. Even then, I'd barely made it. It had me in some sort of trance, I realized.

The time had quickly passed at first, but the longer I stayed, the more it sucked me in and consumed me, hypnotized me. I went home and immediately read a sticky page from the moderators at the top of the main page. After scanning it, there was no doubt in my mind, the whole website was a trap being used a lot of people in. Here is what it read. Crimson Carnival moderator tips Don't worry about tracking the time too much Although the Crimson Fair leaves with the sun That doesn't mean you have to find a way back to the exit before that

Most people stay and watch as the carnival evaporates Like smoke at the break of dawn The grand finale of the fair as it were Speaking as someone who has seen it I can tell you it's quite a sight and not to be missed There were plenty of other tips some useful But most were outright dangerous in register The whole thing was just a ploy to get people to go to the place it seemed to trap them there, and it had worked.

Judging by the looks of the midway, filled with entrapped workers, the bait was working and the carnival would continue to grow. Unless someone stopped it. Suddenly, I had a vision, thinking about the giant red canopy tent at the centre of the place. I pictured a massive beating heart in the middle of it, pains and arteries extending out from it, feeding poison to the entire place and everyone trapped there. At the very centre of the canopy, I had no doubt now was the creator of the whole thing, the master of it all,

the one who controlled everything and had caused all this chaos and heartache. How many other families had been torn apart? How many relationships destroyed? Husbands and wives, fathers and sons, brothers and sisters. How many lives have been ruined by the monstrosity that was the crimson carnival. Somehow, I had to stop it.

I was maybe the only one who could. I vowed to return and marked in my calendar the next Friday the 13th, so I would be ready. What I didn't expect was another person to be waiting in the gravel parking lot to visit the carnival. Another thrill seeker, like my wife, I assumed at first. It turned out. They were more like me. You might want to rethink your visit, he said, after rolling down his car window. this place isn't as advertised.

Tell me about it. I barely got out the last time. I wouldn't be here if I had a choice. He raised his eyebrows and looked at me solemnly. Then got out of his car and went around to the trunk. He bowled out a small bag, which he slung over his shoulder. I'm Gary. What's your name, kid? Jordan.

You've always got a choice, Jordan. Don't go back in there. It's no good. It's got me, and it's going to get you too if you keep coming back here. Maybe you can still have a life if you go now and don't come back. I thought about what he said for a few seconds before responding. He looked serious and genuinely worried. Was this some trick of the carnival?

Did its reach extend this far out? I decided probably not, or else the carnival workers would have pursued me to my car the last time I escaped, instead of staying within its boundaries. How many times have you done this? I asked. Maybe we can help each other. Hmm. He rummaged in his trunk and grabbed a larger backpack and slung that over both shoulders

with his blooded hand, leaving red stains everywhere in the process. Next, he withdrew a gun belt, which he put around his waist. He loaded a large revolver with bullets and shoved it down into the holster. Kind of old school, isn't it? I asked, pointing at the pistol with its wooden grip. I knew nothing about guns, and had never fired one myself, but knew they had much more sophisticated weaponry for sale these days. Things that could hold more than six bullets.

Old school doesn't jam. Old school fires straight every time. It's that new junk that doesn't seem to work in there. It almost got me killed the first few times until I figured that out. A thought occurred to me. Wait a second. Those are real people in there. You can't kill them.

This isn't their fault. Listen, kid, there are two types of carnival workers. Those who can be saved. and those who can't. We're here for the ones who can be. Who is it the gut of yours? Girlfriend, I bet. Fiancé, actually.

Well, did you find her? I'm guessing by the look in your eyes you did. So, what did she say? Did she recognise you? Yeah, she did. For a minute, until something else took over. She came back again for a second, told me to run and never come back.

You should have listened. He shook his head, gazed up at the sky. and seemed to think about it for a few seconds. Letting out a deep breath, he admitted. That means she can still be rescued, though, I think, assuming I'm right anyway. How? She attacked me when I tried. I pointed a thumb at my eye patch.

Ha, yeah, I bet she did. Did you see the tubes? What tubes? Think intravenous tubing. It comes up out of the ground and is strolled into the legs. She's hooked up to the thing at the centre of it all, just like the rest of them. Take a look next time, a real close look. The ones who already belong to this place don't have them,

because they're already full of the poison. Like the welcome clown, for instance, or the testy strength guy with a sledgehammer. I recalled with a shudder how that gentleman had nearly murdered me. So that was how they were changing them. The place really was poison. It was taken Sarah's life force and replacing it with some dark toxin and converting her into a minion of the carnival.

A mindless vessel forced to do his bidding until death and beyond. Come on, we're wasting time. You got a nickel? I pulled out the handful of bloody coins I'd stolen the last time after I tackled the clown at the entrance. Holy crap. Maybe I underestimated you, kid.

What did you do, kill the welcome clown or something? No, I... Actually, I sort of tackled him. He let out a short whistle of respect. All right, let's do this. You got a weapon? I showed him what I did. brought with me. He laughed pretty hard at that. Oh damn, you're serious? I nodded and walked

forward, approaching the welcome clown. Ho, ho, ho, ho, I've got a surprise, it's true. Who found the Crimson Carnival? What a delight. It's you. The clown seemed to not remember me. He was jovial and happy again, until the end of the next part of his rhyme, which he said through gritted in a dark and deep voice full of malice and hatred. You found the place, my friend. Get inside and have some fun. Your time now very soon will end. The crimson death can't be under...

Bang! I looked over in surprise to see that Gary had just shot the welcome clown in the head. He was holding the revolver out, and smoke and steam misted from the end of the barrel in the early morning air. He loaded a fresh bullet, inflict a nickel at the dead clown's body. I couldn't help but notice the hatchet the clown held in his hand,

concealed behind his large, baggy pants. I did the same thing as Gary, tossing a nickel from my shaking, bloodied hand. We had both cut our palms before arriving at the place and now began to wrap them in makeshift bandages as we proceeded through the turnstiles. Well, that should make it easy to get past them on the way out, I said, still in shock.

I learned a while back that the world, ones who belong to this place, don't die. It doesn't matter what you do to him. They aren't human anymore. How the hell do you know? What if we can kill the thing responsible for all of this? Maybe we can bring them all back to reality. He opened his mouth to say something. Ben closed it again. It appeared he hadn't thought of that possibility. All right, I'll try not to kill anybody else. He conceded, unless I really, really have to. Thanks. I appreciate it. I appreciate it. I appreciate it. appreciate that. As we got into the carnival,

I looked around in surprise to see that none of the stalls were the same as the first time. It was like we're in a completely different midway. Shoot out the star and win a prize! A man said from a nearby booth where air rifles were set up on stands and positioned to point at crimson red stars drawn on paper. I saw a ring-toss booth,

another one with green glass bottles lined up on the floor, and rides just ahead to the left where previously there had been food stands. What the hell is going on? It's all different. Yeah, the place changes every time. Gary said, pulling something out of his bag. I saw it was a map.

It showed a style with five points, a circle around the outside of it. A pentagram. It's a giant star, where the center of the pentagram is the canopy tent. The circle around the outside is a fence. Every time you come back, it spins around and you get a dinker.

different entrance. The clown stays the same. He never changes, no matter which entrance you come in through. I saw a writing of the map and realized he had put little symbols in places, a ferris wheel, a balloon, each and a different part of the star. This is the section with the rides. See the ferris wheel symbol? He pointed up ahead and saw the giant wheel, lit up and glowing just ahead of us. Do you remember what you saw when you came in last? Let's see. there was the sledgehammer guy. Can't forget about him. And the darts game, where he tried to hear the blooms.

Sarah was at the spinning wheel of fortune near the entrance of the canopy. I remember that. His eyes lit up, and he smiled, looking relieved. Well, ain't that a coincidence. Looks like we're headed to the same place. My partner, Bruce, is over at the ticket counter in that area, so we can stick together if you want. I'll beat each other out.

Sounds good to me, I said. he seemed to have this place pretty well figured out. I wish. Every time I come here, it manages to surprise me. We were walking the whole time as we talked and proceeded past the ferris wheel and the Cracken, the Gravitron, and a mini roller coaster.

My route took us near the entrance to the fun house, and that was where things began to go downhill. Just as we were walking past the stairs leading up to that place, I noticed that the entire carnival had gotten quite suddenly. No one was shouting at us to visit their booths. The riots had all stopped, and so had the music. All I could hear was the sound of our footsteps in the mud, and then others joining in, getting louder as they neared us. Suddenly, there was a dozen kind of a

worker's approaching us from all sides. They walked towards us in unison, silently, their eyes glowing red in the darkness. Damn, they've never done this before. I don't think they like that we're teaming up. I looked back over my shoulder and saw more coming from that direction. The only way to escape was up the stairs and into the fun house. We both went up that way without thinking, and they closed in on us from every direction. Once we got inside, I was immediately disoriented. I felt the reflective walls with my hands and followed after Gary,

trying not to lose track of him. The first section was a maze made of mirrors, and I found myself running headfirst into a few of them, causing my nose to bleed. The shapes of them made everything warped and distorted. My absent left eye was not helping, thanks to my newfound lack of depth perception. Ow, damn! You were right back there, kid? He asked.

Yeah, just great. Are we almost at the exit of this place yet? Not sure, having been in this one before. I heard footsteps in pursuit behind us, and my heart began to hammer with fear again. They were following us closely, and by the sounds of it, they knew this place. a lot better than us. Hurry, they're right behind us, I said, pushing him forward.

Finally, we got out of the disorienting darkness of the house of mirrors and arrived at the next station. The walls and floors were slanted, and I stumbled, trying to walk towards a door that seemed further away than it actually was. The lines on the walls didn't help,

as they seemed to purposely drawn in such a way as to confuse the eyes. As strobe light began to flash, making me feel even more sick and disoriented, as we stumbled along through the wonky space. I saw the corridor was narrower the further along it went, until I was breathing rapidly with increasing panic and claustrophobia. Soon we were on our knees, crawling through a tight space, and then we began to slide without warning downwards, and around bending corners like a spiral

slide in a water park. Only this one had no water, and I found my knees beginning to burn and ache from the friction of movement. We picked up speed and began to go up and down in wave-like motions as the slide became steeper and steeper, faster and faster, until the walls were a blur, and I felt my stomach dropped sicklyly with each rise and fall of the floor. Finally, we reached the bottom, and I felt completely weightless, sailing off a ramp and flying through the air, screaming, to land in a giant ball pit. At first, it was a relief, since I didn't die from the impact of my fall, but then I began to sink and kick, trying to find the bottom.

It wasn't there. Oh no, I don't like this. I looked over and saw Gary panicking as well. The ball pit seemed to have no floor underneath it. You had to actually swim to stay afloat, pushing off against the resistance from below to keep your head above the surface of it. I can't swim, kid, he said desperately.

Help! His head went under and he flailed and kicked and came back up again, his face red and looking deprived of oxygen. Damn, just pretend you're in a bite, Gary. Kick your legs and, I don't know, make kind of like archers in front of you with your hands, okay? You can do it. Just keep kicking and moving your arms. I could see his head going underneath the surface.

I knew if I went to save him, I would be dragged under with him. People drowning usually have a tendency to take other people with them, unfortunately. Come on, Gary, this way, I said, trying to lead him away from the slide and towards solid ground off in the distance. There was a sign marked exit that way as well. We're almost out of here. His eyes became large all of a sudden, and his head disappeared below the surface in an instant, as if something very large and strong

had just grabbed him by the ankle and dragged him below. I took a moment to stare in shock at the space where he'd just been before I heard the sounds from behind me, and my instinct to survive kicked in again. I started to swim out of the ball pit and towards the exit, just as the carnival workers came to. careening down the slide. I saw knives and axes and other weapons glinting in the hands in the dull light. Kicking with my legs as hard as I could, I swam towards solid ground through the

ball pit. My heart was hammering loudly in my ears and my mouth and throat were dry. Music began to blast from speakers above, so I could no longer hear my pursuers. It was the song of the circus, the classic we all know, would have never bothered to look up the name of. Entry of the gladiators is what it's called, if you're interested. The music that blasted from all angles was jarring and disorienting. I felt something sharp, bite into my leg,

and looked back to see a woman with a pierced nose and her hair done up in a bun with a bone stuck through it. She was smiling widely, and her eyes glowed red as she slashed the air and missed me just barely with a knife. Screaming in pain,

I kicked at her face and tried to move away from her towards solid ground, which was still not nearly close enough. Looking in that direction, I saw now there were several clowns holding knives waiting for me there. They stood salivating, the shoes squeaking as they paced back and forth, watching me and waiting for me to get near enough to them. Gary was dead, and with the carnival workers closing in on me and nowhere else to run, I had a feeling I would be next. That was when I felt something gripped my ankle, hard, nails biting into my skin like talons.

it began to pull me down, down, into the darkness below. As I sank down into the darkness below the ball pit, I began to hyperventilate. I was having trouble breathing, feeling suffocated as if I were drowning. My heart pounded faster as my mind raised. All light evaporated from the space around me, and I was cloaked in blackness as I descended further from the surface, feeling increasingly desperate and trapped. The thing gripping my ankle was telling me. strips of flesh from my leg as I struggled and kicked, trying to get away.

I could feel its skin, rough like sandpaper, but it was silent and made no noise as it dragged me downwards. Then it suddenly let go. I fell down through the air and landed on a tile floor. I looked up until the colourful balls floating and dancing above me on the ceiling, defying gravity as there was nothing but air to hold them aloft. I looked around. terrified for the thing that had grabbed my leg and brought me below, but saw nothing.

I was in a dark space with checkaboard patterns all over the walls, floors and low ceilings. Another part of the fun house, I guessed. The creature that had dragged me down there probably lived in the ball pit, and I guessed that its purpose was that bring people down here to this disorienting space below. Gary? No response. There were several doorways, leading different directions, and I started walking towards one of them.

Looking inside, I saw a space that was exactly the same as the one I was in, like a mirror image. Gary? Ho, ho, ho, ho. I spun around as I heard laughter and the sound of feet dropping down to the floor. Somehow, I was unsurprised to see the carnival workers and clowns who had been pursuing me had followed me down below. They spotted me instantly and began to race towards.

me, the large knives held high above their heads, smiles plastered on their red and white-painted faces, the croons and eyes glowing in the dim light. I turned and ran, not knowing where I was going exactly, just ducking through one disoriented doorway and then another and another. Much to my surprise, the third doorway I went through brought me back face-to-face with a clown holding a butcher's cleaver. The doors didn't follow the ordinary laws of physics it would seem, and brought me back to my would-be murderers instead of allowing me to escape them. This was despite the fact that I had run very much in the opposite direction away from them. The jester grinned and laughed.

His rotten yellow teeth and black and gums showing as he chuggled. Hello, little book. You can try and get away, but good luck escaping. Those blood and guts aren't yours. They're ours for the taking. Instead of using the sharp end of the cleaver, as I had imagined he would. He took the backside of it

and whacked me across the forehead, knocking me out cold. As I was unconscious, I had another vision, even more vivid and real than the last. I was standing before the great beating heart at the centre of the Crimson Carnival, exactly the same as last time,

only this time it was bigger. It was the size of a school bus now and had grown large since my last dream. It hung suspended from the ceiling of the great canopy tent at the centre of the fair. He was beating loud and heavy like a massive drum. The muscle contractions were enormous and laboured, terrifying and apocalyptic,

holding it aloft with the veins and arteries which pumped poisonous blood to the inhabitants of the place. The massive heart beat so loudly it pierced my ears, like a jet airliner taking off right next to me, only it was a dull thud that hurt my brain as well. The heart extended to a group of blood vessels towards me, and they enveloped me like vines, wrapping around my arms and legs,

then my midsection and my face. It went to my nose and into my eyes and dug their poisonous tips into my skin, pumping the toxic waste of the carnival into me, making me into one of its minions forever. My eyes snapped open as I awoke and looked up to see I was in the center of a ring like in a circus.

There were empty benches all around, extending up to great dizzy heights above and a spotlight shone down brightly from the ceiling, far up in the distance. I stood and looked around in wonder, realising I was in the very centre of the canopy now. There was no great beating heart, as I had imagined in my dreams,

but it had felt so real. There was a man approaching, his soft footsteps echoing in the enormous space. He was dressed like a ringmaster in a circus and was wearing a red military-style shirt with gold epaulets, embroidery, and buttons down the front, a black top hat and pants. He sauntered forward, and I saw that he carried a whip in his hand.

It was a cat in nine tails, and the tips of it were branched outward like the capillaries of a vein. Welcome, he said, walking towards me. His eyes were crimson red and flickered like fire, showing no emotion. Who are you? I asked. I created this place. It's my home, at least for the last hundred years or so. I always loved carnivals, you see. They might just be the best things you humans ever came up with. They're full of games and gambling, drugs and debauchery, guns and candy,

dizzying rides and delicious deep-fried fatty foods. All it took was a bit of creative design work to make a symbol that could be used for a purpose. For us demons, this is what you call a place of power. That's why I set this whole thing up. I mean, when you live forever, the world can get... sort of boring, and it's tough to find anything interesting to do. So, you're not going to mention the part about you stealing their blood?

What's the purpose of all that exactly? Oh, you've been talking to Gary, haven't you? Son of a gun is going to get it one of these days. All right, enough questions. This isn't a Bond movie. I'm not going to give you all the answers. You've got to at least work for it a little bit. Tammy, teach him some manners.

A massive red tiger with black stripes suddenly jumped out from the shadows and pounced on me, landing in my chest and knocking the wind out of me. I couldn't breathe as it stood on top of me, and its face came closer to mine. Large vangs exposed to withdrawal dripping from its moor. It roared loudly, its mouth opening wide for a second. I was so terrified I nearly lost battle control. The ringmaster cracked his whip, and the tiger retreated off me, doing quick pedigory circles nearby and growling.

at me. Tammy, there's no way to treat our guest. And you are a guest still. It's not quite sunrise yet. You've still got time to get out, Jordan. You can try to make a run for it, you know. I won't stop you. Really? Nope. I started to back away from him. I was about to run away when he finished his thought. Tammy might though. I sighed and slump my shoulders. It looked like, I was going to be trapped with the rest of them. Maybe they would put me in a store close to Sarah, at least. What the hell do you want? Oh, I thought that would be obvious by now.

Your blood. I want your blood, and your body, and your soul. You're mine now, just like the rest of them. It occurred to me that I hadn't checked to see if the clowns it would capture me had taken my weapon from my jacket pocket, not that it would look like much of a weapon to the naked eye. plus I'd put it in my secret pocket I felt around for it

and it was there pulling it out I pointed the little toy water pistol at the demon what if you got there kiddo a water gun what did you fill it up with holy water

guess what and stuff only works in the movies nah I filled it up with gasoline his eyes went wide and he opened his mouth to scream something but was too stunned to speak I shot him several times quickly with it and then pulled out my zippo.

It lit on the first strike and I shot the gasoline through it, catching a light and sending a beam of fire towards the ringmaster. His red coat caught a light and he began to scream and flail his arms. His screeches rose higher and higher until they pierced my ears with a shrillness. He suddenly burst into flames like flashpaper and was gone a second later. Holy crap kid, what did you do? Gary appeared out of nowhere, and I saw the tiger had evaporated in a puff of smoke. Where the hell did you come from?

I hid in the maze when I realised they were going to capture you and then followed you back here, thinking I was going to save your ass. Looks like you didn't need my help after all, though. He looked up to see the entire canopy tent was burning up around us, like paper and fire. It started at the peak where the spotlight had been, and instead of that light, the night sky appeared instead, and the soft glow of the stars and moon. As the canopy tent turned to wash around us, the flakes of it drifting up as embers into the night sky above,

we saw a couple of people standing around looking confused and anxious. Where am I? A woman nearby asked. It seemed that none of them remembered what had happened, and when I told them, they scoffed at me. Is that supposed to be some sort of joke? she asked, sounding angry. I realised the place still had some power over the place. them as we walked away from there towards where Gary suggested Sarah would be. There were a few, not nearly as many as we had seen in the carnival.

Clearly, most of the inhabitants of the place had not been saved by her actions. Most of them had disappeared when the place had burned up, and I hoped that they were at least free now. I imagined their souls drifting up into the night sky with the burnt-up ashes of the place, the embers that drifted away in the wind. That was when I saw her. She looked cold in the chill air, hugging herself and warming her arms. Her round glasses were fogging up and a long pink air blew around her face in the breeze.

Sarah? She saw me and my heart stopped in my chest. I wondered for a moment if she would recognise me or if this place had stolen a memory like it had the others. But she came running towards me and I breathed a sigh of relief at the look of recognition in her eyes. We glided in an enormous painful embrace, hugging and then kissing before she asked me. Where the hell are we? What's happened to me?

I feel so cold. I wish I could say we lived happily ever after, because we did. For the most part. But still, to this day, she seems different at times, colder. I wonder how much of her blood was replaced by that poison and how much it changed her.

Sometimes I wake up in the night to see her standing over me, smiling. She murmurs in the darkness, and I can just make out the words. Spin the wheel of chance, sir. Take a spin and when your heart's desire, in the dim light, it's difficult to make out the colour arise, but I turn on the light just a check. I shake her awake and yell at her, anything to get rid of that dull look of hate and that snowman's grin from her face.

She tells me she's sleepwalking But her eyes tell a different story They used to be blue Before she visited the carnival Now They've turned into a dark purple hue And they're not Changing back

Sometimes life just doesn't work out as you'd planned A lot of us live in the board line Between failure and success Teetering somewhere between the two until death It's a precarious and uncomfortable place to live. I had resigned myself to a life of dissatisfied semi-closure after rescuing Sarah from the Crimson Carnival. Sure, she wasn't quite the same, but we had her good days.

A few cold stairs and some sleepwalk in the night wasn't so bad. Her personality was different. She was less sympathetic and quick to anger, but for the most part, she was the same old Sarah who I had known before she had disappeared. The strangest part was she claimed to remember nothing about the carnival. She said it was like a black space in a memory that she couldn't get back, no matter how hard she tried. I suggested therapy, another way she could unlock the suppressed memories, but she refused,

becoming more and more upset every time the subject was brought up. It got to the point where the mere mention of the carnival was enough to send her into a fury. She would swear and scream, saying I didn't love her anymore. She would throw things in slam doors and cabinets causing me to become worried for her safety at times. She was so upset. It wasn't until she finally let it slip that I realized why she was getting so mad.

It was at the tail end of one of her arguments and she muttered, I don't remember it, but every part of me wants to go back there, wherever there is. It's pulling at me. Do you know what that feels like? To be told you can't have something

when it's all you want in the world? I tried to ask her to explain, fighting back feelings of hurt and betrayal, but she refused to say anything more on the subject. Two days later, I saw her talking on the phone to someone, and she hung up quickly when she saw me coming. I didn't really believe her when she said it was just someone from work calling to ask if she could come in early the next morning.

The look on her face said otherwise. It was no coincidence that Friday the 13th came around once again soon after, and I was awoken that night in the late hours by a phone call. He was Gary. He's gone. I think he's gone back to that place. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and sat up. Looking beside me, I saw that Sarah was gone as well.

Sarah's gone too, I replied. Why would they go back there? We destroyed it. The whole thing burned to the ground. They're just going back to an empty field in the countryside. He was breathing heavily, and I could hear he was running. I'm coming to get you. Don't go anywhere. Just wait for me there. They did the ritual already. I followed them out to the field where the place was, and it's back. The Crimson Carnival is back.

I looked at the clock and saw it was still early enough and realized what he wanted to do. He wanted to go back there, and he wanted me to come along as back up. The four of us have become close since escaping the demons' flare grounds. All the insanity involved in the experience had been too far-fetched to talk to anyone else about when we found ourselves becoming friends after our traumatic near-fatal experiences. Sarah and Bruce became a pair, I noticed,

while Gary and I would talk about things from our perspectives and tried to remind them of what had happened. Bruce's memory had been completely wiped clean of any recollections of the carnival as well. Soon, he began reluctant to talk about the experience as well, getting quick to anger at the mere mention of it, the same as Sarah. Shortly afterwards, the four of us stopped talking as frequently.

Sarah complained that all we ever did was talk about the memories she didn't have access to, and I guess that Bruce felt the same way. Gary pulled up to the curb in his huge Cadillac, and I opened the passenger door to see his hand already blooded, gripping the steering wheel tightly. He held up the blade and told me to follow suit. Something felt very wrong about it, but I had no choice. We had to follow them,

stopped them from going back inside. I couldn't bear to lose her again. It felt like I had just gotten her back. I plunged a blade into my palm and couldn't help but notice the faintest hint of a smile play across Gary's face as I did so. We drove out into the countryside and took the meandering twists and turns that were required.

Gary knew them well from all his previous journeys. The whole time I felt as if I were in a nightmare, but I knew that I was not. I felt like I was no longer in control and struggled to turn and address the man sitting next to me. He looked like Gary, but he was no longer Gary,

I realized now that he'd been taken over by the demon from the carnival. Who knew when it had happened exactly? But I guessed, right after I'd set him on fire and he'd managed to jump into his body through some black magic trick. There was suddenly a banging noise from the trunk, shouting and muffled screams.

My heart began to hammer fast. faster and faster as I struggled to speak. Where's Gary? The demon sitting next to me smiled, ruefully, and shifted the gearstick into fifth. Gary's still in here somewhere, although I can't imagine he'll ever be the same after a few months with me behind the wheel,

controlling his body. The things he's seen, the people I've eaten. Poor guy's hysterical in there. Just keeps screaming and screaming to let him die. It's pathetic. He made one final turn to complete the journey, and I saw the carnival appearing out of the early morning mist in the distance. Its multicolored lights were hazy, becoming more and more distant as we drew near to it. You're really gullible. You know that, Jordan.

I couldn't speak for a moment, stunned as it was. I tried for months to convince Bruce and Sarah to do the ritual again, planting thoughts in their heads, instilling dreams in their minds while they slept, using up all my remaining power. They almost went through with it too They got together a few hours ago And we're going to do the ritual And some of the carnival using the instructions from online But they chickened out

They couldn't go through with it I almost gave up Before realizing I had one last hope You Shaking my head I looked to my bloody palm And knew I'd messed up badly All it took was me telling you

She was there And that we had to save her And whoops You go ahead and do a blood run ritual and summon back the demonic kind of all you just destroyed. Blood has a lot of power, you know. It can keep a demon alive if given willingly. But it has to be giving willingly.

Oh no. Oh yes. And now the four of you are going to be my newest additions. I think I'll make you into clowns, perhaps. We can never have too many of those. Please know, anything but that. I really hate clowns. He pulled into the parking lot and revved the engine.

The car pointed straight at the welcome clown who was reciting his repetitive speech. What's the deal with the whole Friday the 13th thing? At least tell me that much. I was stalling for time now, grasping its straws and hoping for any chance out of this. The demon in a garrie suit thought about it for a second before answering. I like you, Jordan. You've made my life a little bit more interesting for a few months. So, I'll answer that question, and two more.

Friday the 13th is my birthday You could say Demons can only live one birthday at a time Without a blood sacrifice The more blood we get The more powerful we've become Needless to say This place has made me stronger

Than you could possibly imagine And I'll get it all back soon enough Once we're back at the centre In my place of power The old ones tried to trap me here But I used my weakness to my advantage I rearranged it And reconfigured everything to suit my needs

rather than theirs. The carnival that was my prison is now my temple, my power plant. And the nickel to get inside? What about that? Money is more than just money, especially when it's old and hard to come by. When it has passed through many hands

and has been coveted and treasured, you feel so good in your blood, and it just gives me more strength to pull people in. I can only live outside of this place for so long, so I have no choice but to bring others to me. How did they imprison you here? And who is powerful enough to do that to you? He ignored the last questions.

He hit the gas and for reasons I wouldn't understand until later, he drove straight toward the welcome clown. We reached high speeds and I put my arms out in front of me reflexively as I was thrown back by the acceleration. The car slammed into the jester and shut it with the impact of the collision. I heard a loud thud and the clown was up on the hood of the car onto the windshield which cracked as his head banged into it. and then was over the top and gone.

We ploughed to the turnstiles and they went flying into the air as well, aluminium parts breaking and crooning off into the night. I always hated that damn clown. Not wanting to agree with them out loud, I decided to stay silent. The car drove down the aisle through the midway towards the giant red canopy tent at the centre of the fair. As we got closer, I realised I had only a few remaining moments to make a move.

To try and escape and hopefully avoid being trapped in there for the rest of eternity. I had to do something. But what? Up ahead was the carousel, and I realized that I never ventured into this part of the carnival before. It was on another leg of the star, which spun around so that every time you entered, you saw a different section. My mind raced, thinking what to do, and I finally decided on something so stupid, so outright ridiculous, that I figured it would just have to work. I reached over heroically, and with all of my cunning and strength, I unbuckled the demon seatbelt.

He raised his eyebrows. That's your master plan, really. I figured you'd try something, but I mean, come on, what's the point of that? It appeared he was considering leaving it unbuckled, but decided it might be part of some larger effort of my part and began to buckle it back up. But just a moment, he took both hands off the wheel, and took my opportunity. I grabbed a steering wheel and heaved it to the left towards the carousel, just as we were about to go past it. The car veered to the left, and I saw the look of surprise on his face as we slammed into the colourful painted facade below the ride. He hadn't quite managed to buckle his seatbelt back up again.

Gary's face was his own for a second as he registered total shock. His body flew through the air and smashed to the windshield, being thrown from the car and onto the carousel. He landed on a purple horse, which bobbed up and down and spun around in circles of the ride until his limp body fell off to the floor. Since I had my seatbelt on, I managed to avoid most of the damage, but it was also an old car, there were no airbags, and the crash hurt like hell. I remembered Sarah and Bruce in the trunk after recovering my senses and grabbed the keys, limping as I walked around the back of the vehicle. I hoped they were all right after the collision. My hands were trembling as I unlocked the trunk and opened it. Sarah and Bruce were inside.

Unconscious. Shaking her, I tried to wake Sarah up and her eyes flitted open after a few seconds. Sarah, are you hurt? She shook her head and I saw Bruce was waking up as well, lying in the dark depths of the trunk. He began to moan and groan and come to his senses. I helped them both out of the trunk and looked up to see Gary's body, still up on the carousel,

going round around with the horses, dragons and unicorns. Music blasted from the speakers above. We have to get him out of here. If we can keep him out of this place, he'll die. He said it himself. I pointed up to the carousel and the half-dead man up there

who is now coming to, sitting up and spitting blood and teeth. As we started walking towards him, he got to his feet. You can't stop me. I'm too powerful for you mere mortals to control. He was stumbling and spoke like he was half drunk and concussed, but still he was terrifying. As we got near him, I saw that he was probably right.

His eyes flickered with fire, and I guessed if we tried to subdue him, he would probably just kill us. Worse yet, the carnival workers have been drawn towards the sound of the explosion like zombies, and now surrounded us and were closing in. The three of us were up on the carousel as it spun around in circles, and the demons stood on the opposite side of the right, watching us carefully as we approached. To my surprise, the carnival workers climbed up under the carousel and stumbled towards the demon instead of us.

What are you doing? Get them. Not me. Get them! He screamed as they surrounded him and began to attack him. I realized then that he had no power over them any longer, not until he reached the centre of the carnival where he was strongest, where his power was contained. Inside the canopy tent, where he would feed on the blood of his slaves, was where his strength lay. He was a prisoner there, trapped within the pentagram inside the star, using the blood power captured by the crimson carnival to stay alive,

and keep some semblance of strength. No longer. We're going to free you all. Just help us. Strapping to the roof of the car! I screamed, stopping them before they could spill his blood and rip poor Gary to pieces. They did as we asked, and we pulled the semi-conscious demon from the carousel and threw him atop the battered car, which was beat up, but still running.

Using belts and string and any other implements we could find, we tied the demon to the roof of the car as he screamed and laughed, cackling and saying what we did was no use. He said he already had his blood sacrifice, and this was all pointless. But I could hear the worry in his voice.

This is no use. You'll see. This fool gave his blood up willingly and brought this place back from the ashes. Kill him. He's the one to blame. Let go of me. You have no idea who you're messing with.

You... I looked at my watch and saw we would have just enough time if we left immediately. The car was still running, and I heard the metallic squeal and screech, and we backed out to the spot where the Cadillac had crashed into the wooden facade of the carousel. The demon was screaming from the top of the car,

but we just ignored him as I backed up and turned the car around. The carnival workers looked on with hopeful faces as the loose muffler rattled, and the car made its way across the muddy ground towards the exit. We made it out through the wreckage of the turnstiles without incident and pulled over to the side of the road outside the parking lot. The three of us got out of the car to check and make sure Gary's body was still tied to the roof, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw he had not escaped. It seemed whatever blood magic the demon had been using was running low on fuel.

Any last words? I asked the demon in Gary's body as the sun came up over the horizon. I'll be back, he said. You can kill me again and again, but I'll always come back. I'll never stay dead. The brilliant golden glow of the sun hit his face at the moment, and his skin began to smoke and sizzle. He screamed, and I saw the fire leave his eyes

and the green colour that had been Gary's return to them. Bruce looked at him with recognition, and saw he look different as well, more human again. I turned around when I felt Sarah grabbed my hand. She squeezed it tightly, and I looked to see her eyes. eyes were pale blue once again, no longer the muddled purple they had been. The four of us watched silently as the crimson carnival evaporated before our eyes. It looked like an enormous fire

being put out, as if a huge bucket of water had been dumped on it, as its thick black smoke rising up high into the sky, and the flickering embers that had once been those trapped inside floated up into the haze. Free.