CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - 3+ Hours of CHILLING r/nosleep Horror Stories to vibe out with before Halloween. Spooky.

Episode Date: November 17, 2024

CREEPYPASTA STORIES-►0:00 "My wife drowned our son in the bathtub. Now I know why." Creepypasta►25:45 "The previous tenant left some unwanted items. Now I know why." Creepypasta►55:07 "The train I usually take has changed its course, it is now headed nowhere..." Creepypasta►01:28:39"Someone Tried to Save me 158 Times" Creepypasta►2:25:17"Family_simulator.EXE" Creepypasta►03:03:27"Participants Needed for Sleep Study! Earn $5,000! No Experience Required" 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"-    • "I wasn't careful enough on the deep ...  ►"Personal Favourites"-    • "I sold my soul for a used dishwasher...  ►"Written by me"-    • "I've been Blind my Whole Life" Creep...  ►"Long Stories"-    • Long Stories  FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter:   / creeps_mcpasta  ►Instagram:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Twitch:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Facebook:   / 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

I remember coming into the house on one cold winter's night. The snow, an icy wind blew through the front door as I stepped into the house, kicking my boots clean. I noticed the strange odor in the place. It almost smelled like stink bugs with notes of copper and bleach. I hated the smell of stink bugs. Hey, honey, I said. Where are you? I'm starving, and by the way, it smells weird. in here. Traffic nearly stopped

for half hour on I-80. I got-damned tractor trailer flipped over the middle of the blizzard and closed down all three lanes. We could only get around by driving in the breakdown lane until cops got there and started. My voice trailed away as I noticed the drops of blood on the floor

leading from the front hallway into the kitchen. I stopped talking immediately, looking around for signs of an intruder. I saw nothing. No smashed windows, no busted doors, no rifle through drawers or cabinets. Oh my God, I whispered, immediately going to the kitchen and grabbing the largest meat clover I could find from the knife block.

Its edges gleamed, freshly sharpened and ready to slice into the hardest of flesh. I made sure not to step on the drops of blood. I didn't want to disturb a crime scene, if indeed it was a crime scene. I stopped thinking of calling 911 but some inner voice urged me on it will take five or six minutes for the police to arrive possibly longer it said and you need to check in your family now

right now sprinting forwards I followed the blood trail down the hall and straight to the first floor bathroom the door stood closed I tried the handle and found it locked. Hello? I said, pounding on the door. Who's in there?

Open up. Isaac? Is that you? A faint voice asked. I recognized the voice of my wife immediately. Open the goddamn door, I screamed. Rising waves of anxiety and adrenaline course through my body, and I immediately knew something was very wrong.

I could hear it in the dead tone of my wife's voice, see it glistening on the floor in crimson droplets, feel it in the air like falling pressure before a thunderstorm. Jenna, open the door. I heard some slight shuffling in the small bathroom, like someone dragging themselves across the floor. Then, I heard a click. I opened the door and found a chamber of nightmares lying beyond the threshold. My only son floated face down in the bathtub. My wife sat back down on the edge of the tub, rocking back and forth, her eyes flat and dead. Why? I whispered, horrified.

Why would you do this? Don't you know? She murmured in a croaking tone. Do you really not know that our son is the Antichrist? Maybe I did have a son. suspicions that something wasn't quite right with Max. It was more than the dead animals I kept finding strewn around the yard and under the house. It was more than the way his eyes seemed to shine in the dark when I wished him good night.

No, it was a feeling, a cold, empty feeling, and seemed to follow him wherever he went. He had no friends at school, and animals avoided him like the plague. Dogs would start barking and howling when he walked down the street and cats would hiss then disappear with a swish of their tail in a flash behind bushes or up trees These things on their own wouldn't be too much evidence of anything But they were far from the only evidence that Max was unusual

A month ago a couple of boys had tried to bully Max at school They ran out of the bathroom where it happened crying and wetting their pants as blood streamed from their noses and ears. They wouldn't tell anyone what happened, and Max just kept smiling and staring at them with his large, dark eyes. The school called an ambulance,

and the doctors were baffled. They had to sit in the emergency room for three hours before the blood stopped pouring out of their bodies. They were white as sheets by the time it finally clotted, and the doctors had no idea of the course. The two boys went missing a few days later. The case ended up drawing media attention. The FBI came in, where they found absolutely nothing.

It seemed like the boys just disappeared out of their windows, and then the trail immediately went cold. Tracking dogs couldn't find a hint of a trail. It was as if they had teleported from their bedrooms. Moreover, no neighbours had seen a thing. A couple months later, a few hikers found the boys' fingers growing out of a tree on the Appalachian Trail, over 50 miles away. The FBI swooped in and used DNA testing to determine that these fingers belonged to the missing boys from Max's school. No one ever explained how the rotting fingers had become quite literally fused into the tree, however.

No one ever tried to bully Max again after that. In fact, the other kids gave him as much distance as possible. I tried to watch Max when he didn't know I was looking. He was only an 80-year-old boy, but he could put on masks like a psychopath and charm nearly anyone he met. As soon as they turned away, though, he would scowl and narrow his eyes as if he wanted to stab them in the back. But this was my son, after all. I loved him and I think he loved me

in his own strange way Even my wife said she loved him And she claims That's why she had to kill him A strange kind of love I admit But I don't think she's lying I think she did love him And she feared what would happen

When his ascension had finished And he sat on a throne of bones Crushing out the lives of millions of people With an iron heart She feared the consequences for him, she said. Only for him, and she loved him. And so she had to kill him and stop it now before it grew into a grinding juggernaut that devoured his soul and sent him to hell.

Are you my true father? Max had asked me that morning as I sat at the kitchen table. I put down my coffee cups slowly, with shaking hands, then turned the look at my son. Yeah, of course, I said with a trembling voice, why would you ask such a crazy question? He stared at me for a long moment, his eyes so dark they looked black.

They blazed with an inner light. His pale white skin looked as smooth as a statue's and dark hair fell over his chiseled features. If it weren't for his aloofness and cruelty, it would have been a very beautiful boy. Instead, he radiated a coldness like the moon, an aura that gave light but no heat, a kind of reptilian psychopath detachment that extended to everything he did. He would laugh when he saw fatal car accidents on the highway or heard news reports about

wars and murders. I don't think you are my true father, Max said, still staring at me, reading me like a book. I felt myself begin to sweat. Max, that's ridiculous, I said. Your mother and I have been married. Then where does my power come from? He asked. Why do I possess what you will never?

I know I'm related to mother. He spat out the word as if it were a filthy thing. Mother. But you, I know not where my divinity comes from. You seem weak and foolish. to me. At least mother has the courage to admit that she hates me. You grovel and pretend

and then, when my back is turned, you sneer at me in my ascension. I know you do. You are a last man like many others. Your kind is irredictible as fleas, hopping all over the world without meaning or the will to power. You can never understand someone like me.

Not in a million years. I don't understand what all this business about ascension is, I said. I think you're living in a fantasy world. If it were a fantasy world, he said, then the fruit would not be revealed, but it will be. Soon everyone will see, including you. I'll be with my true father and become the absolute king of this world. Small men like you will grovel like worms. They'll be crushed under my feet as I rise to heights,

previously undreamed of as part of my becoming. My greatness will shine like the second sun. People will remember my name with awe and terror for a thousand years. He spoke like a much older boy. I gawked at him with an open mouth. He had a faraway look in his eyes, a fanatical gleam that sharpened his cold features. I remembered when Max was just a little boy. Did I know it back then when I watched him play with his toys?

Did I know what he was? I think I would have run screaming from the room if I had. Max turned and left the room, grabbing his backpack as the school bus pulled up in front of the house. I watched him go. He walked with a confidence and straight back of a soldier. And yet, I thought I saw an aura of swirling black shadows around him. I blinked, and like mist under the hot summer sun, it dissolved into the air.

I looked away, sweating and shaking. With trembling hands, I tried to pick up the coffee. It immediately fell to the floor in my nervous fingers and shattered. Fifty minutes later, I was working from home, and the first of the ambulances and police cars raced by, heading to Max's school. My neighbour, a teacher at the school who the kids called Mr. Hallen, told me the story from his viewpoint later that day. I don't know how much I believed.

At the time, maybe none of it. Now, all of it. The day he started normally enough, Mr. Hallen said, pushing his oversized classes up on his long, nerdy face. The kid started streaming in for homeroom, then the bell rang. rang. I started preparing my lecture notes for the first period. That was when the screaming started down the hallway. It sounded like a girl being murdered. Just an endless, pain shrieking that went on and on and on. Abruptly it cut off, and everything went deathly silent. The students all looked at each other, nervous. A hissing voice came over the intercom, a reptilian voice that made my

skin crawl. It started talking and I immediately knew it wasn't human, and yet it sounded just like Max. I mean, he's been in my class for years. Isn't that weird? It was like someone had taken his voice and ran it through a synthesizer to deepen it and slow it down. I heard weird hissing breaths as he spoke. Hello friends, the voice whispered, but the words boomed through every classroom and hallway. We have a very special day planned for you. The activities are already prepared and the festivities will now begin. Don't try to escape now. That breaks the rules. The first of the sheep have already been slaughtered. Good luck. I figured some hudlam had snuck into the office and somehow used the intercom while the secretary was out getting a cup of coffee or

using the bathroom. I put my hand up as the class began to chatter, trying to calm them down. Kids, kids, I said, it's clearly just the prank. Please calm down. Then the classroom door flew open and a girl came running inside. She was covered in blood from head to toe. She had deep slices across the back of her head, her forehead, her right cheek and right arm. Large fetid drops of blood fell behind her as she ran, as if leaving breadcrumbs to find her way back. The wounds on her body changed colours in front of her eyes, turning purple, then black. Necrotic tissue began to spread and die within moments. Black blood streamed from the wounds, her mouth opened in a silent scream, but only her choked

gasping came out. Something had infested the girl, and I could see it. I quickly backed away, feeling her. like it was a dream. Please, oh God, please help, she whispered, whimpering, her legs buckling. She fell to her knees. The kids in the classroom began to scream, please, someone help me. Her voice grew louder, her skin paler as the purplish, dying patches of tissue spread. She opened her mouth and began to vomit some foul, oily sludge. It hurts, it hurts, she moaned, falling into the puddle of vomit.

Isn't someone going to help me? I ran to a side. I didn't know this girl. She wasn't in any of my classes, you see. But I knew she needed medical attention immediately. What happened? I asked, who did this? She got close to my ear and whispered, There's things in the hallways that shouldn't exist.

She said, still whimpering. She coughed up more blood and black fluid, rolling onto her back afterwards and breathing hard. Her eyelids fluttered and her skin went pale. I thought she was losing consciousness until her eyes rolled back in her head and she sat up, grinning. Flaws began to rip out of her fingers.

Black tears streamed down her face and that dark sludge dripped from her mouth like a diseased drops of saliva. A body lengthened and her arms and legs broke and twisted. I could hear the bones snapping like tree branches during a winter storm. I watched the transformation in horror, backing away. The other kids were all screaming and streaming to the back of the classroom. The girl hissed as black veins appeared all around her face and neck.

She rose and walked towards the scared kids in the back. Her movements as smooth as a synchronized dancer's jerky and twisted, nightmarish in their own way. But what came next was far worse. Her body grew taller, thinner, and more emaciated as it stretched up to the ceiling, towering over every other kid in the classroom. She must have grown to at least seven feet by that point. Her arms reached out, the bone-white claws sharpening as she struck out at the screaming

row of children in front. I saw drops of blood splash against the back wall, and a couple boys were stumbled forwards, their throats slashed wide open. The panic-stricken faces grew pale and bloodless as they choked and tried to scream, but only bubbling gasps came out. I saw the window was open and I was on the first floor. I decided to run to try get help. I knew we needed policemen and medics at the scene and I couldn't do anything to save the kids.

Well, to be honest, I feel terrible about it. I did run. As the screams followed me from the back of the classroom, I jumped right out the window and ran across the playground and scaled the fence. But as I went, I heard a strange, shrill laughter coming from the intercom. And you know what? I'm positive. The voice sounded just like Max.

Max came home early from school that day, grinning and laughing. He was in a fine mood I don't know what happened after the teacher left Or how many people died in that building of horrors But I know that Max caused it all The first priding steps in the path of his ascension The foundational layer to his throne of bones Mr. Allen had talked to Jenna early that morning

Immediately after running home from that den of nightmares And she had already put a plan into motion When Max got home from school, she gave him a caterade with a large amount of fentanyl she had purchased from a random drug dealer in the inner city dissolved inside. She added some more sugar to mask it any slight bitterness and gave it to the grinning boy with large black pupils like smoldering coals. He drank it quickly, looking out of the whole time with his dilated eyes. He smiled and got up, but soon afterwards collapsed. Jenna found him unconscious in his bedroom and dragged him to the bathroom. She filled it up and held Max underwater until the bubbles stopped.

As my wife explained it all to me, a sense of loss and horror came over me. I didn't know if I missed Max or not. His swollen blue face showed without a doubt that he was dead. I took my wife outside and sat her down at the table, debating whether I should call the police. No one had ever told me what to do in this situation, and I felt like I was flying blind. I got up pacing. I went to the oven and started brewing some instant coffee. Soft footsteps rustled behind me. I turned around to see Max, seemingly alive and well, but also changed in some fundamentally disturbing way. His eyes had now turned fully black,

He hovered inches above the ground behind my wife, smiling at me. His teeth seemed much sharper and longer than before. A feeling of electricity sizzled in the air. I could see some sort of expansive black aura rippling around his pale skin, dark and cold as empty space. Goose bumps rose on my body just from being near that sickly aura. The water pot began to boil behind me. Behind Max, I saw the strange mutated children from the school creep out from the front hallway.

Four or five of them skittered about with emaciated, twisted legs bending in ways no human legs should bend. Their heads nearly scraped the lower kitchen ceiling. The pale broken arms reached down to their knees, jointed in myriad areas. I could hear the soft cracking of bones now as they slowly moved forwards. forwards, a light snapping sound like small twigs broken underfoot. Their blank, white eyes constantly dribbled ebony tears that stain their bleached, bloodless skin. Mother, Mother, Mack said condescendingly, sounding like a disappointed parent. You should have known that you cannot kill me except by decapitation or by burning my body.

Do you really think my true father would let a worthless louse like you? yourself kill me before my ascension to the throne, I hear that foolish and blind? Jenna began to cry, refusing to look at her son. But I respect your courage and action. For that, I will give you a quick death. He looks straight at me, which is something you'll not receive, fake father. You're a weak, worth us coward, and you deserve to die slowly, screaming yourself hoarse and pleading for release.

But so do the screams of the week sound as a beautiful symphony to the ears of my true father and myself. The deaths of the week will pave the road to a new world. Emotion to the mutated children behind him. The bodies

had become so twisted and contorted but I couldn't tell whether they'd been boys or girls. They looked only like monsters now. Like walking corpses. In a blur one of them ran forward and grabbed my wife's head. A scream bubbled in my throat as I watched.

But it was over before I even knew what was happening. The thing used this crooked, clawed fingers to twist the head, snapping her neck in a second. Jenna's face was now looking straight behind her, the skin on her neck spiraling around in sickly folds. On a broken flesh, I saw burst blood vessels and rapidly spreading purple bruises. She gave a death grasp, releasing an endless, choking breath, her eyelids fluttering and fingers twitching.

Then she was still. Max gave a slow, deep laugh, a grating sound that seemed to rise up from the depths of his withered soul. His black eyes flashed with amusement and pleasure. Max grinned his vampiric teeth shining and white, reflecting the cold winter sunlight streaming in from the water. window. The water pot began to whistle as increasing torrents of steam poured out of it. Without hesitation, I spun and grabbed it, flicking open the spout by pressing the button on the handle, and I flung it at Max, the boiling hot water flying out in a spiraling stream as the metal water pots circled through the air. It all seemed to happen as if in slow motion. I saw Max's

look of triumph and amusement morph into a scalding. of hatred and anger, with emotion had been so quick and accurate that he couldn't have moved in time. The heavy metal pot smacked him in the face, spilling scalding hot water all over his face and neck. He screamed and fell back, knocking over the mutated bodies of the children he had turned into his mindless followers. I sprinted towards the door without looking back, heading outside. The constant stream of police and ambulance sirens heading to the school had stopped. Now, dozens of black SUVs streamed into town. Men in dark suits and mirrored sunglasses stepped out. I looked back to the house and saw a few of the new arrivals running in with automatic rifles.

Others headed to the neighbor's houses, breaking down doors and entering without knocking. I heard rifles firing and hoarse gurgled screams. The mutated children ran out to my house. The bodies riddled with bullets. They slowly lost energy as black blood streamed out of multiple giant exit wounds eaten into their bodies. They eventually fell down in the streets and died with a lasp, rasping breath. But they never found Max.

They quarantined their town. and went from house to house and building to building, searching for the source of all this death and evil. But he had somehow escaped. He killed all the mutated fanatics they could find, but the bodies of many children from the school seemed unaccounted for. I knew where they had gone. They had followed Max, fanatical soldiers for his new army, fearless of death and committed to the leader and his new world of. order. I don't know where Max went or where he'll show up next, but I know he's moving towards his ascension, and the next time I see him, he will arrive in power and glory and crush out the

lives of millions of people under his feet. I got a job right out of college and had to find a new place at short notice. Using my socials, I got in contact with a landlord. through a mutual contact. They had a spare apartment that was just made available. The previous tenant had been evicted a couple of weeks prior because of unpaid rent, so the apartment hadn't even been advertised yet. The apartment was nice enough,

but all my attention was on my new job. I pretty much just brought a bed and a desktop computer, leaving two of my three rooms empty for the time being. I was uncertain if I was going to stay there long term or not, but I figured time would decide. I ended up staying there several years. I settled into my job, furnished the place up, and made it into a proper home. Those first few stressful weeks became nothing but a distant memory. About three years after moving in, I had to stash some furniture.

I contacted my landlord to say. see if there was some storage space I could use. He reminded me that there was storage on the bottom floor that I hadn't used. I didn't even know it was there. Not that surprising, seeing as I was really stressed out when I first moved in. Apparently, the space had been used by the previous tenant who might have left some items there. I hadn't had any use for such a space before, so I hadn't thought about asking. So, imagine my surprise when I get to the storage, only to see a crash test dummy.

Using a key I got from the landlord, I unlocked the padlock and got a close look. It was a white, life-size crash test dummy, with a hastily scribbled Mr. Mayhem written on the back of its head with a black sharpie. The dummy was scuffed and worn. but still had a plastic smile on its face. Its eyes were these little painted black dots. It looked like it had been through hell and a half. I asked the landlord about it. Turns out the previous tenant and used it as a sort of mascot.

They brought it out for fun, for parties, pranks, that kind of thing. I saw a muse at the cheetah carpool lane once, my landlord shared. It was just this funny thing he'd gotten from his job when they upgraded to newer dummies. It was probably more than 40 years old. I cleaned out the storage and stashed away my furniture. I thought about what to do with Mr. Mayhem and figured it'd be a fun piece for my upcoming Halloween party. I could dress it up in something and keep it by the entrance. It'd be the talk of the town, still.

There was something unnerving about it. The way its joints creaked and cracked, that frozen painted on grin. The sloppy joints rattling haphazardly with every little movement. My yearly Halloween party is nothing extravagant. I get a couple of friends together and we dress up. Then we hit one of the local clubs for a costume party. It's like a pre-party, only with about 18 people,

people or so. I dressed up Mr. Mayhem in a cheap pirate costume and had his stand by the door with a tray of snacks. I went as the penguin, but everyone mistook me for the Monopoly man. People came around at around seven. Mr. Mayhem was a big hit. There's just something about dummies and dolls that rub people the wrong way. It's the uncanny valley thing of it, I guess. It was the centerpiece for a lot of selfies that night. As the punch bowl got emptier and the night got darker, we all left for the club, leaving Mr. Mayhem by the door. I had a lot of fun, a few drinks too many. There was a bit of drama with two friends of mine having an argument, but all in all, it was a good night.

An acquaintance of mine won the costume contest with a sort of bioluminescent fish thing. It was insane. If you got a costume that you got to charge batteries for, you've taken it to another level. In the moment, I couldn't tell anything was wrong. But if I'd listened a little closer, I would have heard a thing or two. Cracking and creaking heard from the alley out back as something moved. The bouncer mentioned a guy dressed as a crash test on me. A dark silhouette just outside the frosted glass of the bathroom window. By the end of the night, I made my way home and slid the keys into my door, only to notice that it was already unlocked.

I could have sworn I locked it, but figured I must have missed it in all the commotion. I did a drunken half-check around the apartment to see that nothing was stolen. There wasn't. I didn't even think about checking for missed mayhem. If I had, I would have noticed there was nothing standing by the door, waiting for me with snacks. I would have noticed the bowl having rolled off to the side, spilling wrapped toffies and butter caramels across the carpet. But no, my face planted into my bed and waited for another day. It wasn't until the next morning that I noticed it was missing.

I sent a couple of texts to the others of the party, asking if they did something to it. All I got was a resounding no in response. If anything, they just thought it had been a fun prop. I checked all over the apartment and the storage. I even asked my next door neighbor if they'd seen anything. Nothing. Mr. Mayhem was just gone. It wasn't a big loss or anything,

but I didn't like the idea of someone being in my apartment for no good reason. Things just don't disappear for nothing. If someone wanted a crash test dummy, I could have sold it for a quick hundred or so. Instead, I found myself running back and forth, growing increasingly anxious about someone being in my space. I even call the landlord, about having the locks changed.

The following Monday, Mr. Mayhem was still missing. While it was still on my mind, I had a hundred more pressing matters at hand. It had started raining and absentmindedly wandered across the parking lot. I was almost at the front door when something in the back of my mind asked me to stop, like a certain feeling of unease. It's hard to explain. a challenge to look a little closer. So I did, turning around and looking up,

I could see Mr. Mayhem. It was on the roof of my apartment building with his head a line straight forward. Someone must have dragged it up there as a joke. It looked like someone about to jump off a building. I was going to have to bring it down. I didn't want anyone to be accidentally traumatized. I headed straight for the door to the stairwell, covering my head with a file folder.

The rain was relentless. Something smashed into the pavement right in front of me. A loud plastic bang, as Mr. Mayhem hit the ground. A couple of feet further, and I'd have been crushed. I just stood there for a moment, hearing the rain tapping against my file folder on my head. Mr. Mayhem was intact, but the body was just mangled. Every single extremity bent at an unnatural angle, but that didn't hamper that eerie painted on smile.

I was a bit hesitant to touch it. My heart was racing. That thing was heavy, and it had fallen far enough to do some serious damage had it hit me, which it almost did. I dragged it back down into the basement storage. I had to shuffle around some furniture and ended up tossing it on top of an old sofa. I locked the storage of the padlock, turned off the lights and closed the door behind me.

I'd get rid of that thing soon enough. I went to bed early that night. I kept getting shakes and twitches, as if my body was still recoiling from having Mr. Mayhem crash into the pavement right in front of me. I felt twitchy as if I hadn't slowed down yet. I was stuck in high gear, and it carried over into the next morning. I stressed cleaned my kitchen and bedroom before I even got breakfast. As I was cleaning in and around the fridge, I scooped out what looked like an old, fainted note,

and posed it that must have been stuck to the fridge by the previous tenant. Don't let it out. I stood there, staring at the note for a good few minutes, letting my paranoia run rampant. I tried to explain it away, but every thought came circling back around to one point. There must have been a reason for Mr. Mayhem being left behind. And what happened to the previous tenant? Over the next few days, I considered how to get rid of it. I thought about just driving it to the garbage dump and dropping it off somewhere, but I didn't like the idea of it being let out.

I could burn it, but I had to get a good space to do it. I could just sell it, of course. That didn't feel responsible either. I was running out of patience and ideas, so I finally decided on soaring it up and dropping it into the river. I prepped a backpack with a saw, duct tape, a hammer and garbage bags. The following night, I got to work. I dragged Mr. Mayama out to my car and stuffed it into the trunk. I didn't want to do it in the daylight, as the thing still looked like a person,

and I didn't want to have to explain myself. I was going to drive down to a clear spot near the river and get to work. It wasn't far but I had to cross the highway It was a short drive But it was tense It felt like I was doing something wrong Like Mr Mayhem was a person rather than a dummy As I closed the trunk and got behind the wheel

I staled myself The moment I put the keys in I got this strange impulse That I should have duct tape its hands and feet Then again, why should I? It was just a dummy. I got stuck waiting at two separate left turns. Each time I just sat there listening to the hum of the engine,

expecting to hear a thumping or smacking, something coming from the trunk. I was expecting the thing to do something. It wasn't a rational thing to listen for, but I couldn't help it. And yet, Nothing came. I crossed the highway, made my way down the river, and found a spot by a clearing where I wouldn't bother anyone. I parked my car, got out, and held my breath as I opened the trunk.

For a second, I could imagine someone lying there, a living person screaming, pleading for help. I blinked it away as the trunk. Revealed Mr. Mayhem in all his inanimate splendor. There was nothing here to fear. Still, just chopping up something with the shape of a person was going to be uncomfortable. I dragged it out to the bank of the river, laid out my tools, and took a good look at it. I reached for the hammer first to break the joints. That would make it easier to saw.

The thing was made to withstand serious punishment. Breaking it wouldn't be easy. I started with the left hand as a sort of test run. I whacked out the joints and brought out the sore. I got this sick feeling in my stomach with every crack. I never heard bone breaking, but I imagined that was it. I felt like a butcher and those eyes. Those plain-looking painted on eyes.

Just little dots, but I felt them boring into my mind. A cheap human imitation, but human nonetheless. I skipped ahead a few steps and aimed the hammer directly at its face. I brought the hammer down, smack after smack after smack, until the dummy cracked. The nose buckled inwards and the cheeks split into butterfly. shaped shards. I picked out pieces with my nails. I shuddered. There was some sort of padding on the inside that just made my skin crawl. There was something about the texture. I paused. There was a

small white growth. A tooth. I stepped back, looking down at the broken dummy. Just beneath the crack surface, embedded inside, was a dead man, mummified and dried within the confines of the plastic shell. I couldn't breathe. It had been there all along, hidden in plain sight. There were so many things to do that I couldn't begin to form a coherent thought. Who do I call? What do I do? Could I possibly be liable for some kind of damage? Who was the person inside? Were they missing? I stepped back, dropping the hammer. I covered my mouth and took these little micro breaths, repeating, oh my God, to myself over and over, as if the rocking motion would somehow dislodge a good idea from the back of my mind.

I decided I'd get back to my car and call the police. I hurried back, got into the driver's seat and closed the door. I took a cell phone dial the emergency services and then heard a click I looked to the left something fast moved my way and then the world turned upside down in a sudden shock of pain

I drifted in and out of consciousness I saw where dark and cramped it must have taken me at least ten minutes just to realize I was in the trunk of my car and the car was moving. I could hear the radio, albeit turned down. I had a swelling over my nose and my left eye, and I could feel my sense of balance being shaky at best. I reached for my cell phone, but it was still in the passenger seat. I never managed to call the emergency services. At some point the car came to a stop. I had the door.

on the driver's side open and close, than the sound of someone walking away. There was a slight echo to it, suggesting we were parked somewhere inside, possibly a large space. I didn't waste any time. Instead of trying to open the trunk, I wriggled and crawled my way into the back seat. From there, I contorted myself into the driver's seat, opened the doors and fumbled around for my cell phone. Looking up intermittently, I could see that I was in some kind of storage facility. It was hard to tell. The lights were off.

As soon as I felt the cold metal of the phone, I picked it up, unlocked it, and dialed the emergency surfaces. It didn't take long for a voice to come in on the other end. I've been kidnapped, I stuttered. I don't know where I am, but... If I hadn't... And talked so loud I might have heard the footsteps coming back. If I'd been more attentive, I could have seen it in the rearview mirror. But I was both loud and inattentive, and it came at a great cost.

Because, as the operator asked me about my name and location, the driver's side window was shattered into a thousand pieces. Something grabbed me by the neck and shoulder. A second later I was flung through the window and out onto the cold pavement, about eight feet or so. The cell phone tumbled to the ground as a white plastic foot crushed it. Looking up, I saw it in full view. Mr. Mayhem, now revealing a death's head grin, I ran. I got to my feet and just took off.

I could hear thumping plastic noises behind me as Mr. Mayhem followed. I ran straight through an abandoned workshop and a lunchroom. Finally, I slammed the door open to an unmarked space, hoping against hope it will be something useful. A small room packed to the brim with crash test dummies. At least 50 standing shoulder to shoulder. All those painted smiles and duck-like eyes. or walking my way, I didn't have time to see if they were like Mr. Mayhem or not, so instead of turning back, which would be a certain end, I pressed forward.

I pushed my way past plastic arms, hands and torsos. Most were just empty shells, ready to be filled and used. Others were fully functional. I could have sworn a couple of heads turned my way, but I didn't stop to check. I could hear the footsteps that followed me slow, and as I turned around, I realized I had no idea where it had went. Just the sea of white, featureless creatures, and one of them was something else. I was afraid to move.

I could be brushing up against that thing without even knowing. It was a sharp noise. There's what sounded like broken glass being shuffled around on the floor. One clear sound of a shard being lifted. I tried to make my way to the back of the room so I could circle back. Every now and then I'd look at the dummies, only to notice more of them with scribbles on the back of their head. Miss Waters, Mr. Callone, all made with hasty scribbles. A stray thought crossed my mind

Maybe it wasn't Mr Mayhem But Mr Mayhew It had been kind of hard to tell I had yet to run into it As I began circling the dark corners of the room Making my way back the way I came I had the sound of glass scraping against plastic As something was coming closer

I had to keep myself from panicking. There was no telling what would happen if I were to stumble in there. Instead, I kept a steady pace trying to count my breaths. One, two, brushing up against another dummy. I stopped. Something was strange. It didn't have a left hand. It slowly turned my way, revealing a dead man's face.

Mr. Mayhem, an impromptu glass shank sliced at me, scraping the edge of my jacket, and shattering against the wall. A handless left arm reached for me, but I pushed it aside. I bowled over the lifeless dummies and headed straight for the door. Reaching it and leaving the dummies behind me, I slammed the door shut. I hastily looked to see if there was a lock, but there wasn't. Before I could make a plan, the door came off its hinges and tumbled to the ground like a cracked bowling pin. Mr. Mayhem twitched forward. Every movement sudden and painful.

Making my way back to the workshop, I realized that there was no way I could outrun it. Mr. Mayhem was both faster and more resilient. I was grasping at straws. There had to be something, anything. My daughter's chain coming down from the ceiling and kept going towards the back, only the stop. That chain, I could use it. It was connected to a winch in the middle of the factory floor, probably used the hoist and move equipment.

It would have to do. The timing had to be perfect. if I went too soon or too late I'd be done for. I saw Mr. Mayhem approaching step by step, unblinking painted eyes replaced with hollow sockets. Then I pulled at the winch as hard as I could, hoping against hope, the effect was immediate. I hadn't seen the hook at the end. It shot straight up, impaling Mr. Mayhem's lower jaw. The chain was still slack, and it was getting closer.

But it couldn't quite get to me anymore. Instead, I kept pulling and pulling and pulling. Every rattle on the chain, bringing it higher and higher into the air, like hoisting a flag. As the chain clicked into a lock, Mr. Mayhem was dangling 15 feet or so. in the air. It stopped moving. Even though it couldn't move its face, I could feel it looking at me, flotting. This wasn't going to be the end of it. I made my way back to the car, calling the

emergency surfaces as I wiped the broken glass from the driver's seat. As I was asked for a location, I noticed something on the far walls. A series of overalls hanging at the edge of the door. Three, to be exact. One for Patti Waters and another for John Callone. And the final one, for Samson Mayhew. Eventually, the police came. I'd gone outside and collapsed against the wall,

crushing a handful of overgrown wildflowers on my way down. I just sat there, picking the petals of a blue. blue sunflower, when the officers came around to ask me questions. I tried to explain that I'd been kidnapped and assaulted, but there was no way for me to tell them that the crash test dummy had done it. Instead, I had to lie through my teeth. I had to say that my mystery attacker had hoisted that dummy up into the air. It didn't take long for the police to find not one with three bodies. Three workers at the abandoned factory.

All presumed dead and missing. Stuffed within the framing of the crash test dummies they themselves had made decades ago. This was about two years ago, somewhere in that ballpark. I haven't seen or heard anything about those dummies since. I think they cleared out the storage and I think they had some kind of forensic specialist on site.

But there was no public announcement or accusation. I was only called in once to make a basic statement, but there was no follow-up. I've been imagining those three dummies, sitting locked up in some storage, just biding their time, that dead face waiting to look my way again. Now, the reason why write this

is because of something I read the other month There was an article about a breaking at the county evidence locker resulting in one wounded officer and a handful of pieces of evidence go missing These salents were described as two men and a woman They were described as bald and wearing plain white clothes If I was a betting man I'd say there isn't much time

Before we start seeing more than three of these misters and misses If I hadn't gotten out of there I'm pretty sure there was an empty casing that would In time Have my name on it And maybe There still is The gentle sway of the train car

Had always been soothing to me As a regional sales manager for a large pharmaceutical company, I spent more time on railways than I did in my own bed. The rhythmic clack of the wheels on the tracks was my lullaby. The ever-changing landscape outside my window, a constant companion. This particular Tuesday evening found me on yet another overnight train, heading from Chicago to New York for a critical meeting. I settled into my usual routine. top out, spreadsheets open, a cup of mediocre coffee cooling on the fall-down tray. The first sign that something was amiss came about three hours into a journey.

I glanced at my watch, frowning slightly. We should have reached Cleveland by now, but the cityscape outside remained stubbornly rural. Fields and forests rolled by, bathed in the eerie glow of a full moon. I flagged down a passing attendant, a middle-aged woman with greying hair and a pinched expression. Excuse me, I said, but shouldn't we have reached Cleveland by now? She gave me a strange look, her eyes slightly unfocused. Cleveland? I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not familiar with that stop. Perhaps you're thinking of a different route?

Before I could respond, she hurried away, disappearing into the next car. I sat back, puzzled. How could she not know Cleveland? It was a major stop on this line. I shook my head, chalking it up to a new employee's confusion and returned to my work. As the hours ticked by, my unease grew. The landscape outside never changed. an endless loop of moonlit fields and shadowy forests.

My phone had lost signal long ago, and my watch seemed to be malfunctioning, its hands spinning wildly before stopping altogether. I decided to stretch my legs, hoping a walk through the train might clear my head. As I made my way through the cars, I noticed how eerily quiet it was. The few passengers I saw sat motionless in their seats,

staring blankly ahead around the windows. In the dining car, I found an elderly man hunched over a cup of coffee. His wrinkled hands trembled slightly as he lifted the mug to his lips. Excuse me, I said, sliding into the seat across from him.

I don't mean to bother you, but have you noticed anything strange about this journey? The old man's roomy eyes focused on me, a flicker of recognition passing across his face. You're new, aren't you? He said, his voice a dry whisper. First time on this line? I nodded, a chill running down my spine.

What do you mean this line? This is just a regular Chicago to New York route, isn't it? He let out a wheezing laugh that turned into a cough. Oh, my boy, he said, shaking. his head. This ain't no regular route. This here's the last line. Ain't no New York where we're headed. I don't understand, I said, my heart beginning to race. Where are we going then? The old man leaned in close, the smell of stale coffee on his breath. Nowhere, he whispered, everywhere. This train don't stop, son. It just keeps going.

round and round, worlds without end. I joked back, convinced I was dealing with the madman. That's impossible, I said. Every train has to stop eventually. He just smiled a sad, knowing expression. You go on believing that if it makes you feel better. But mark my words, you'll see. We'll figure it out sooner or later.

I stood off abruptly. nearly knocking over my chair. You're crazy, I muttered, backing away. This is just a normal train. We'll be in New York by morning. As I turned to leave, the old man called out, What's your name, son? I hesitated for a moment before answering.

Jack, Jack Thurston, he nodded slowly. Well, Jack Thurston, I'm Howard. I'll be seeing you around. we've got all the time in the world after all. I hurried back to my seat, Howard's words echoing in my mind. It was nonsense, of course. Trains didn't just go on forever. There had to be a rational explanation for the delays and strange behavior of the staff.

As I sank into my seat, I noticed a young woman across the aisle, furiously scribbling in a notebook. A long dark hair fell in a curtain around her face, and a leg bounced with nervous energy. Excuse me, I said, leaning towards her. I don't suppose you know when we're due to arrive in New York, do you? She looked up, her eyes wide and slightly manic. New York, she repeated, letting out a hysterical giggle.

Oh, honey, there is no New York, not anymore. There's only the train. I felt my blood run cold. What are you talking about? She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a whisper. I've been on this train for, I don't know how long. Days, weeks. It all blurs together.

But I figured it out. We're not going anywhere. We're stuck in a loop, a never-ending journey to nowhere. I shook my head, refusing to believe it. That's impossible. You're just confused. Maybe you fell asleep and missed your stop. She laughed again, a sound devoid of humour. Oh, I wish it were that simple. Look around you. Have you seen anyone get off? Have we stopped at any stations?

This isn't a normal train jack. This is something else entirely. I started at the sound of my name. How did you know my name? She smiled a sad, knowing expression. I heard you talking to old Howard in the dining car. I'm Lisa, by the way. Welcome aboard the Eternal Express. I stood up abruptly, my head spinning.

This is insane. All of you are insane. I'm going to find the conductor and get some answers. As I stormed off towards the front of the train, I heard Lisa call out behind me. Good luck with that. but don't say I didn't warn you. I made my way through car after car,

each one identical to the last. The same faded blue seats, the same flickering overhead lights, the same blank-faced passengers staring into nothingness. How long had I been walking? It felt like hours. But that was impossible in a train of normal length. Finally, I reached what should have been the engine car,

But instead of a locomotive, I found myself in another passenger car, exactly like all the others. I spun around, disoriented. How could this be? A hand on my shoulder made me jump. I turned to find the attendant from earlier. Her pinched face now twisted into an unnaturally wild smile. Can I help you, sir? she asked her voice sickly sweet i need to speak to the conductor i said trying to keep the panic out of my voice there's been some kind of mistake this train should have reached new york by now

her smile never wavered i'm sorry sir but there is no conductor and there is no mistake you're exactly where you're supposed to be i backed away from her my heart pounding what is this place? What's happening? She tilted her head. Her eyes suddenly black and empty. This is the last line, Mr. Thurston. The train that never stops, never ends. You bought a ticket, and now you're on the ride of eternity. I turned and ran, pushing past confused passengers, my breath coming in ragged gasps. This couldn't be happening. It had to be a dream, a hallucination. Anything but reality. I burst into the space between cars, the cold night air hitting me like a slap. The door next to the car was just a few feet away.

If I could just reach it, maybe I could find a way off this nightmare train. But, as I stepped forward, the gap between the car seemed to stretch. The next door moved further and further away, no matter how fast I ran. The wind howled around me, drowning out my screams of frustration and fear. Suddenly, I hadn't grabbed my arm, yanking me back into the car. I fell to the floor, gasping for breath. Lisa stood over me, her face pale in the flickering light. Are you crazy? she hissed.

You can't come out there. Between the cars, that's... That's where it gets you. Where what gets you? I asked, my voice shaking. She helped me to my feet, glancing nervously at the door. The thing that runs this train, the thing that brought us all here. Trust me, you don't want to meet it.

As if on cue, a low, rumbling sound echoed through the car. Feels like nothing I'd ever heard before. Part machine, part animal, all wrong. The lights flickered more intensely, and for a moment I could have sworn I saw something massive moving in the shadows between the cars. Lisa pulled me back to our seats, a grip on my arm almost painful. Listen to me, she said urgently. I know this is hard to accept. God knows I fought against it for, I don't even know how long, but fighting only makes it worse.

you have to accept where you are or you'll go mad we slumped in my seat my mind reeling but why why is this happening what is this place she shook her head

I don't know none of us do all we know is that we're here on this never-ending journey some think it's hell others purgatory old Howard thinks it's some kind of cosmic mistake me

I think it's just the universe's way of saying, Tough luck, kiddo. I looked out the window, watching the same moonlit landscape roll by. How many times had I seen those same fields, those same trees? How long would I continue to see them? So, what do we do? I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

Lisa gave me a sad smile. We ride, we talk, we try to stay sane, and we hope that maybe, just maybe, one day we'll reach the last stop. As the train rolled into the endless night, I realized with a sinking heart that my journey had only just begun. And the destination? That remained a terrifying mystery. days blended into nights and nights into days. The monotonous rhythm of the train became the backdrop to my existence. I lost count of how many times I'd watched the same scenery roll by,

how many times I walked the length of the train hoping to find something, anything different. Lisa became my anchor in the sea of madness. We spent hours talking, sharing something. stories of our lives before the train. She'd been a journalist, always chasing the next big story. Guess I found it, she would say with a bitter laugh, gesturing at our surroundings. Old Howard joined us often, his weathered face, a map of the time he'd spent on this hellest journey.

Been riding this rail for longer than I can remember, he'd say his rummy eyes distant, seen folks come and go. Some just disappear. Others. He trailed off, shaking his head. I learned to fear the spaces between the cars. Sometimes, late at night, when the train's rhythm seemed to falter. We'd hear...

Things. Scraping, slithering sounds. Once I caught a glimpse of something massive and dark, undulating past the windows. Lisa pulled me away before I could get a better look. Trust me, she said, her face pale. You don't want to know. The other passengers were a mix of the resigned and the mad. Some like us tried to maintain some semblance of normalcy.

Others had given in to despair, sitting in the same spots day after day, staring blankly at nothing. And then there were those who'd lost. their minds entirely, prowling the cars with wild eyes and incoherent ramblings. One such soul was a man we called the preacher. Tall and menacing, with a tangled beard and eyes that burned with fanatical fervor. He would roam the train shouting about sin and redemption.

We're all here for a reason, he bellow, spittle flying from his lips. This is our punishment, our penit. repentance, repent and maybe, just maybe, you'll find your way off this damn train. Most ignored him, but some listened. I watched as he gathered a small following, passengers desperate for any explanation, any hope of escape. It was on what I guessed to be my hundredth day on the train, that things took a darker turn. I was jolted awake by screams.

coming from the front of the car. Lisa was already on her feet, her face and mask of terror. They've done it, she whispered. They've actually done it. I followed a gaze to see a group of the preacher's followers dragging a struggling passenger

towards the door between cars. The preacher stood by, his arms raised, chanting something I couldn't make out over the victim's screams. What are they doing? I asked, though part of me already knew the answer. A sacrifice, old Howard said, his voice grim. Fools think they can appease whatever's running this train by their way off with blood. I started to move towards them, but Lisa held me back.

Don't, she hissed. There's nothing we can do, just don't watch. But I couldn't look away. The group reached the door, and with a final, triumphant cry from the preacher, they shoved their victim out into the space between cars. For a moment. Nothing happened, then came a sound. A wet, tearing noise that would haunt my nightmares for days to come. The door slammed shut, cutting off the screams.

The preacher turned to face the rest of us, his eyes wild with excitement. It is done, he shouted. The unworthy has been cast out. Soon we shall reach our final destination. But the train rolled on, unchanged. Hours passed, than days. No final stop.

No salvation. Just the endless journey and the growing madness of the preacher and his flock. More sacrifices followed. The train's population dwindled as passenger after passenger was thrown to whatever lurked between the cars. Those of us who refused to join the preacher's cult banded together, watching each other's backs, sleeping in shifts. It was during one of my watch shifts, but I first saw her. A little girl, no more than seven or eight, wandering alone through the car.

A pink dress was pristine, a blonde hair neatly braided. She looked so out of place in this nightmare that for a moment I thought I was hallucinating. Hello? I said softly, not wanting to scare her. Are you lost? She turned to me and I had to stifle a gasp. Her eyes were completely black like empty voids in a small face.

When she spoke, her voice was old, ancient even. Lost, she repeated, tilting her head. No, I don't think so. I know exactly where I am. Do you? I felt a chill run down my spine. What are you? I whispered.

She smiled, revealing teeth. I were just a bit too sharp. I'm a passenger, just like you. We're all passengers here, Jack. All of us, riding the rails to eternity. How do you know my name? I asked, though I dreaded the answer. I know everyone's name, she said,

her black eyes boring into mine. I know why they're here. I know their sins, their fears. their deepest, darkest secrets. She took a step closer. Would you like to know yours, Jack? I backed away, my heart pounding. Stay away from me, I said, my voice shaking.

She laughed. The sound like breaking glass. Oh, Jack, you can't run from any of this. You bought your ticket. Now, you have to ride. I blinked And she was gone Just vanished

As if she'd never been there at all I slumped in my seat My mind reeling Was I losing it Had I finally snapped Like so many others on this godforsaken train I must have dozed off Because the next thing I knew

Lisa was shaking me awake Her face was pale Her eyes wide with fear Jack, she said urgently, something's happening, the train. It's slowing down, I sat up, suddenly alert. She was right. For the first time since this nightmare began, I could feel the train decelerating. The familiar clack of wheels on tracks were slowing, becoming more distinct.

Passengers were stirring, looking around in confusion and hope. Even the preacher and his followers had stopped their mad ranting, staring out the windows with a mix of fear and anticipation. Are we stopping? I asked, hardly daring to believe it. Old Howard shook his head, his expression grim. Don't get your hopes up, son. In all my time here, I've never known this trying to stop. Whatever's happening, it ain't going to be good. As if to punctuate his words, the lights in the car began to flicker more intensely than ever before. The temperature dropped rapidly, our breath fogging in a suddenly frigid air.

And then, with a great screeching of metal and metal, the train ground to a halt. For a moment, there was absolute silence. We all held her breath, waiting, humping. Fearing, then, with a hiss of hydrolyx, the door slid open. Finally, the breacher cried, pushing his way towards the exit. Our salvation is at hand. Come, brothers and sisters, let us... His words were cut off by a scream of pure terror.

As he stepped off the train, something grabbed him, something huge and dark and impossible. In the blink of an eye. He was gone, leaving nothing behind but a spreading pool of blood on the platform. Chaos erupted. Passengers pushed and shoved, some trying to get off the train, others desperately attempting to close the doors. I lost sight of Lisa in the pandemonium, and through it all. I heard laughter. The same glass-like sound from before.

I turned to see the little girl with a black eyes standing calmly in the middle of the mayhem. Welcome to the last stop, Jack, she said, her voice cutting through the screams and cries. Are you ready to get off? As I stared into those bottomless black eyes, I realized with dawning horror that our endless journey had only been the beginning. The real nightmare was just starting. And somewhere in the distance I heard the sound of a train whistle signaling the departure to our next unknown destination. The chaos around me faded into a dull roar as I stared into the little girl's black eyes. Time seemed to slow. And in that moment, I had a sudden, crystal clear realization.

This was a test. The endless train ride, the maddening repetition. petition the horrors would witness. It had all been leading to this moment of choice. No, I said, my voice surprisingly steady. I'm not getting off, not here, not like this. The girl's smile faltered for a split second, a crack in her otherworldly composure. You don't have a choice, Jack. Everyone has to get off eventually. I stood my ground, even as I heard more screams from the platform or passengers being dragged into the darkness.

There's always a choice. He told me I bought a ticket for this ride. Well, I'm not ready for it to end. Her eyes narrowed. You can't stay on the train forever, Jack. It doesn't work like that. Watch me. I growled, turning away from her

and pushing through the panicked crowd. I had to find Lisa and Howard. We'd survive this long together. I wasn't about to leave them behind now. I spotted Howard first, huddled in a corner, his eyes wide with terror. Come on, I said, grabbing his arm. We need to move. Where?

He asked, his voice trembling. There's nowhere to go. It's got us. It's finally got us. I shock him, perhaps more roughly than I intended. Listen to me, this isn't the end. It's just another part of the journey. We have to stick together.

Now, help me find Lisa. Something in my voice must have reached him, because he nodded, stumbling to his feet. We pushed through the crowd, searching desperately for Lisa's familiar face. We found her near the front of the car, trying to pull other passengers back from the door. Lisa, I called out. We have to go. she turned, relief floating her face when she saw us. Go where?

She asked as she reached us. In case you haven't noticed, we're a little shortened options here. He pointed toward the back of the train. We keep going. This thing has to end somewhere, and I don't think it's here. As if, in response to my words, I heard the train whistle again, louder this time. The engine was starting off. It's leaving, Howard said, his eyes wide.

We have to get off now, or we'll be trapped forever. I finished for him. I've got news for you, Howard. We're already trapped. I've been since we first stepped on board. But now we have a chance to find the real way out. Lisa looked at me, understanding, dawning in her eyes. You think this is all part of it, don't you?

The final test. I nodded. It has to be. and I'm not failing it by giving in now. The train lurched, beginning to move. The last of the passengers were either fleeing onto the platform or collapsing in despair. It's now or never, and said,

Are you with me? Lisa grabbed my hand without hesitation. Howard hesitated for a moment, looking longly at the door, but then took Lisa's other hand. All right, he said. Let's see where this crazy train takes it. us. As the train picked up speed, we made our way towards the back, pushing against the tide of

terrified passengers. The little girl appeared again, her face contorted with rage. You can't do this, she shrieked. You have to get off. Everyone gets off. Not today, I told her, pushing past. We reached the final car, just as the platform disappeared from view. through the windows we could see only darkness not the familiar darkness of night but an absolute void empty of all light and substance the train picked up speed rattling and shaking more violently than ever before we huddled together bracing ourselves against the walls of the car what now lisa yelled over the noise we wait i said and we don't let go. The darkness outside seemed to press in on us, seeping through the windows like a living thing. The lights in the car flickered and died, plunging us into blackness. I could feel

Lisa's hand in mine, Howard's presence at my side, but I couldn't see them. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the shaking stopped. The oppressive darkness lifted, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, the train began to slow. Sunlight, real, warm, beautiful sunlight streamed through the windows. I blinked, my eyes not used to the brightness after so long in the train's artificial light. As my vision cleared, I saw that we were pulling into a station, a real station, with people waiting on the platform, going about their daily lives as if nothing was amiss. The train came to a gentle stop,

and the doors opened with a familiar hiss. For a long moment, none of us moved. Afraid that this was just another trick. Another test, Howard let out a whoop of joy and rushed for the door. Lisa and I followed, stepping out onto the platform on shaky legs. The station sign read Grand Central Terminal We were in New York We had made it

As we stood there Breathless and disbelieving I felt a tug on my sleeve I turned to see the little girl with a black eyes But now in the sunlight she looked Different Normal Just a regular kid with brown eyes

And a confused expression Excuse me, she said, her voice high and childish. Is this the train to Chicago? I knelt down to a level, smiling gently. No, sweetheart, this train just came from Chicago. But trust me, you don't want to get on it. She nodded, thanked me, and ran off to find her parents. I watched the go, the weight lifting from my chest.

Lisa squeezed my hand Is it really over? She asked Her voice barely a whisper I looked at her Then at Howard Then at the bustling station around us Yeah

I said Finally allowing myself to believe it I think it is As we made our way out of the station And into the bright New York morning I knew the memories of our endless journey would stay with us forever. But the weird face, the darkness, made our choice, and found our way back to the light.

And if I ever saw a train again, it would be too soon. When tragedy strikes, it unfolds in the most unexpected ways. There were no ominous narrations or suspenseful melodies, no hints that the ordinary will suddenly transform into an extraordinary event. In an instant, a cataclysm can reveal its devastating more, leaving chaos and despair for those left a witness. The air was chilly in November, and amidst the anticipation of a four-day Thanksgiving weekend, the impending doom of the finals loomed, clouding our excitement. At morning, I was in science class, doing my best on the final exam.

too quickly in the blink of an eye. Everything changed. The events that followed were both awe-inspiring and terror-inducing. As I recall, we were finalising the evidence for our report, and my ears popped, as if I had rolled down the window of a speeding car. The jarring rumble shook the classroom, accompanied by a deafening blast that robbed me of breath. The fire alarm wailed as water rained down, drenching us. I sprang up from my desk with an odd adrenal focus. We hastily made our way toward the aisle, abandoning our finals. Surprisingly, we maintained a semblance of order. The fire alarm blared as our teacher guided us out,

and we obeyed in a mix of fear and trust. Like frightened animals, we followed the teacher. We followed the teacher's lead, navigating the corridors to the nearest exit. We had to walk past my mom's classroom, and I wondered if I'd see her getting her kids out. As I turned the corner, her classroom came into full view, and what I beheld was a nightmare made manifest. My heart seemed to stop, yet its frantic pounding was louder than ever. My mother's classroom door torn off its hinges, lay in a shattered heap against the opposite wall. The threshold was consumed by a furious inferno, raging uncontrollably. I was now the one to stand witness to this wake.

I don't know what compelled me to charge into that blazing more. Was it delusion of invincibility, a desperate belief that I could savour like a superhero? Or was it a simple act of need, driven by an unexplainable force? And I cannot say, even now, I pushed through the flames and smoke, and as soon as I crossed the threshold, the fire ceased its anger. Descending the staircase with the grace of a stumbling infant, I hardly registered the loss of footing halfway down. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, dulling the pain as I tumbled, and I regained my balance

on the final steps. And there, at the bottom step, An impossible coldness enveloped me. The chill of the air permeated my senses as I departed the bottom step. Inside the room, obscured by dense smoke, the cries of anguish echoed. Another sweat broke out on my brow as I ventured forward, guided by the sound. The acrid stench of burning in flesh and hair assaulted my senses, threatening to overpower me. Gradually, my eyes adjusted to the darkness, granting me the unwelcome gift of sight.

I wish they had failed me. The horrifying images etched deeply into my psyche. Child bodies strewn across the floor, the limbs twisted and contorted. Some still smouldered, becoming consumed by thin lines of crimson that crawled greedily along their blackening skin, reducing it to ash. The scene was catastrophic. It was repulsive. A nauseating sensation crept up from within. A familiar prelude to vomiting.

I fought to suppress it, driven by an instinct to reach the crying, emanating from an overturned desk in the far corner of the room. That must be my mom. She's still alive, I thought naively. My path was obstructed by the light. lifeless forms of classmates. Deep down, my gut warned me to leave, but I ignored it. Almost reaching the desk, my tension was drawn to yet another body lying in my path. This one was slightly larger than the others.

It took only a moment to realize the unthinkable. This was my mother. Her right side was gruesomely absent. Her eyes clouded with milky white. and a jaw hung slack. She had lost an arm and a leg. Dead. My mother lay lifeless at my feet.

The sound of sobbing erupted again, originating from behind the desk. No discernible words, just heartbroken sobs. Setting aside my grief for the moment, aided by shock, I left my mother's side to reach this person. The true magnitude

of the disaster had not yet fully sunk in, the realization that no one could have survived. The crying grew louder as I approached, echoing not only in my ears, but in my thoughts. It drowned out the clamour of the alarms. It was as if I was ensnared in a waking dream where the cries became my soul focus,

blotting out every other sense. Reaching the desk, I cautiously peered behind it. My eyes drawn to a huddled figure in the corner. His blackened skin mirrored the others, and he possessed little remaining hair. Tremors coursed through his body as he faced the wall. His arms extended limply, wrists hanging from his forearms. Hey, I yelled. Are you okay? Can you move?

I said as I maneuvered around the desk. Looking back on it now, it was incredibly obvious. that he wasn't, no response. Perhaps the explosion had damaged his hearing. Instinctively, I reached out and grasped his hand. The moment our skin made contact, the crying ceased, and the tremor subsided. Slowly, he began to turn his head towards me, his neck moving with jerky, disjointed snaps.

And then, I beheld his face. Leathery skin clunged to his emaciated skull, while his eyes wide, milky grey and white, mirrored my mother's. Through a slackened jaw, brown teeth peaked out, devoid of lips. His broken nose sat withered upon his face. Completely nude, his leathery skin continued down his skeletal frame, with patches peeling off, revealing a putrid yellow fluid oozing from the infected wounds. I stood there in shock, taking in his convulsions and heaves. Suddenly his head rocked like that of a newborn, and he took a ragged, strained breath.

Then he let out a sound, unlike anything I had ever heard. But that's not the right way to describe it. The sound triggered a sensation. within me, a feeling that wasn't entirely my own. I was engulfed by an overwhelming grief, an intense pain that consumes me entirely. Guilt, as I'd never known washed over me, threatening to drown me in its depths. I recoiled from the desk, stumbling backward until I fell into my mother's child remains. A cloud of ash billowed forth, caressing my face as I gasped,

for air. I inadvertently inhaled the plumes in my mother's ash. I threw up on myself, tears streaming uncontrollably. Crawling on my hands and knees, I distanced myself from the nightmare, my existence teetering on the brink. I crawled and then ran once I regained my footing. I ran out of that room, up the stairs, through the engulfing flames, through the school, past my bewildered classmates. I kept running. I ran until my legs could no longer bear the way to my body and my shattering reality. I just kept running.

Eventually, I collapsed in a local park where the police discovered me. The cold, crisp grass cradled my face, leaving damp imprints in unison with my tears. The officer who found me sat silently beside me in the field, offering no words of advice nor encouragement. We both began to shiver as the cold crept into our bones. I laid in that field until I succumbed to exhaustion

and fell into a fitful sleep. I was so utterly exhausted. When the officer drove me home, I awoke to a reality that felt both distant and surreal. The following year slipped away in a haze an amalgamation of twisting memories and blurred moments

I found myself residing in my mother's home under the temporary custody of my aunt and uncle the settlement from the life insurance payout locked away in a conservatorship offered a glimmer of financial security grateful for their decision I thanked my lucky stars and my aunt did not seize the opportunity

to claim the money as her own instead she handed me a substantial sum of cash it was an overwhelming amount for a 17-year-old to possess while grappling with the weight of newfound responsibility in due course I was granted emancipation propelled forward by financial freedom little did I know that this freedom would become a catalyst

for a destructive spiral deepening the void within my soul with every regretful choice the passing months merged as if time itself was nothing more than a fleeting illusion. I was constantly oscillating between moments of heroin-induced intoxication and near-unconsciousness. My days were spent in a perpetual state of chasing a fragile equilibrium, and so, as predictable and anticlimactic as it may sound, I succumbed to the overwhelming grip of a heroin overdose.

I vaguely recall the nature documentary playing in the background as I craved another hit. Preparing the syringe, I found a suitable vein, and the liquid bliss coursed through my veins, flooding my senses. Was it my fifth hit? Sixth? More than I'd ever done before. The rush surged through my body with an intensity I couldn't bear. My balance faltered, and I collapsed onto the couch. my head spinning in a disorienting haze.

I slipped into unconsciousness, unaware of the vomit that spilled forth from my mouth. At that moment, I believed I was on the brink of death. In my haziness, I faintly recall the piercing scream of someone who had entered the front door. I must have appeared as the visual embodiment of the death I had longed for. It was my aunt who discovered, me in that state, a sight she never deserved to see. She was far too good to be exposed

to the wretchedness that had become me. Rehabilitation became an inevitable path I had to tread. My therapist posited that the horrors I witnessed in my mother's classroom were projections of my mind, personifications of the hellish experiences I endured. In the ensuing months, I grappled with a profound sense of worthlessness, despite the earnest efforts of those around me. Weeks continued to bleed into months, and progress toward emotional and mental recovery became a slow, agonizing burn. No matter the tools and coping mechanisms I acquired, no matter the mental acrobatics I performed, I found myself sinking deeper into the abyss.

The insidious cravings for substances clung to my heart with sickening tenacity. By the end of that year, I retreated into seclusion, abandoning my education and embracing a life of isolation. Depression became my constant companion, blurring the days into an indistinguishable haze. I traded one vice for countless others, escaping reality through endless hours of content and video games, despising every fibre of my existence late into the solitary nights. Even in sleep, I found no respite. My nights were tormented by relentless nightmares, unyielding in the pursuit of stealing away what

little rest I had left. And my emotional nadir, I ceased to care for even the most basic needs. My body, an instrument of survival, is now perpetually hunched, bent by the weight of my deteriorating state. I had become a repungent wreck. physical manifestation of the turmoil within my mind. I was a mirror reflecting the distorted image of my shattered mentality. The battle against my demons was slipping through my fingers,

and I was losing myself in the process. In time, my life embarked on a transformative journey, emerging from the shattered remnants of an existence that had unwittingly become my solace. It began with a similiping. simple spark, an eruption of laughter. It was not a mere chuckle or a fleeting smirk. It was a belly deep laugh that reverberated within me. The sound itself was foreign to my ears, stirring confusion and exhilaration.

At that moment, I felt immense pride swell within me. Soon after, I shared my former self, transitioning. from a reanimated corpse to an animated being. My new addiction became growth, and I pursued it with fervor. I constructed a fortress, a barricade to withstand the relentless onslaught of my mind. It tamed the internal chaos that had consumed me, gradually reclaiming control over my destiny. With every restrained step, I crawled a feeble yet indomitable way up,

a treacherous mountain. Knowing I had to venture beyond my child at home to nurture my emotional development, I decided without hesitation. I relinquished my home to my aunt, packed my belongings, and embarked on a journey to Florida. Florida became my homestead. I found refuge in a vacation cabin amidst the serenity of the Everglades. There were no neighbours from miles around,

and the land belonged to a kind couple who were seldom present. The cabin nestled within a dense, humid forest, provided ample opportunity to confront my innermost thoughts, aiding my recovery. Though reclusive, I revelled in the newfound freedom. The forest around me was a testament to nature's magnificence. It thrived with beauty, teeming with life and vibrant hues. birds sang, insects hummed, and the sun set gracefully.

It was a stark contrast to the desolate nights I had once known. Occasionally, I would venture to an ocean-fed creek as stones throw away, indulging in peaceful fishing. With each passing day, I slowly fortified my resolve, gathering the shattered pieces of my courage. The journey ahead remained daunting. But still, a glimmer of hope illuminated the path ahead. I clung to the belief that someday, somehow, I would break free from the clutches of this fear.

It was precisely what I'd yearned for. My life had become my own again. Though the memories still carried pain, they'd become more bearable. I was on the verge of uttering those elusive words. I am happy until the nightly lamentations found me. The anguish cries piercing the silence, a relentless reminder of the entity that haunted my sleep. Sleep became an elusive luxury. For as darkness descended, the wails shattered any chance of rest.

Daylight offered a brief respite. The cries became a force that underwent. least forgotten pain, shattering the barricade I directed. The torment rancour within me stirred, awakening with a vengeance. My inner turmoil returned, engulfing me in a tempest that left me gasping for breath. My resilience crumbled like sand, slipping through trembling fingers. The laughter that once danced upon my lips died in my throat. I broke quickly, so quiet. Then one night I stirred from a nap that had inadvertently consumed me. A strange sensation tugged at my consciousness, rousing me from my slumber.

The room was shrouded in stale silence, the clock displaying at 126 a.m. It was the dead of night, yet mercifully devoid of the haunting cries. With cautious curiosity, I rose from my seat and made my way toward the front door, spurred by newfound audacity. I recall thinking I should step outside, prove to myself that nothing is there, prove the crying is simply in my head. As I approached the door, I envisioned walking outside and wondering where I should go. That night, the air was eerily calm, devoid of the usual bug song. I pressed my face against the small window on the door, peering into the darkness beyond,

fully expecting to find only an indistinct shadow, but to my horror. There it stood, staring back at me with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine. Our faces were separated by a mere fraction of an inch of glass, locked in a macabre face-to-face encounter, A cacophony of screams erupted, shattering the once tranquil air and sending tremors through my home. The glow from the kitchen illuminated his face, etching its haunting contours deep within my mind. His quivering jaw moved erratically, a grotesque dance of opening and closing with each labored breath. Each exhale birthed a clinging mist, smearing the glass with intricate patterns, forming its surface. surface into eerie artistry. His vacant eyes remained fixed ahead, devoid of recognition,

as if ensnared within the clutches of unyielding madness. With unsteady steps, he gradually retreated, his form shrinking into a crouched position, mere feet away from my door. There was no denying the presence before me. Frozen in shock, I stood there, grappling with a maelstrom of emotions. Fear, curiosity, and twisted fascination intertwined, forming a turbulent whirlwind of conflicting impulses. Though an unsettling truth settled within me, there was no denying the raw reality of his existence. This was no figment of my imagination. It was a chilling encounter with a realm beyond my comprehension. My scream tore through the air.

an instinctual response fueled by primal emotions. No coherent thoughts could encapsulate the overwhelming turmoil within me. Anger, fear and frustration merged into a sickening sensation that gnawed at my core. I'd grown tired of sleepless nights in a life that no longer felt like mine. I'd escaped across the country to flee from this. Yet here it was, huddled just feet away. mocking my desperate attempt at solace. It felt like a cruel joke my own mind was playing on me.

Leave me alone, I shouted, my voice cracking as tears streamed down my face. Please just leave me alone! My cries resemble the agonized whales of a wounded and trapped animal, raw and untamed. Outside, the creature continued its relentless screams, rising to its feet again, with a disjointed movement. It approached my door, its contorted posture, resembling the grotesque position

of a late-stage tetanus patient, skin tearing as it leaned. Leave me alone, I yelled again, unleashing a surge of pent-up emotion that had been dormant for far too long. My pleas fell upon rotting ears I could not comprehend or sympathize.

It reached my door. I had rehearsed this moment in my mind. Over and over, I imagined how I'd confront and eradicate this embodiment of my deteriorating sanity. I had chosen this entity as the symbol of my mental decline, the effigy upon which my deserved future lay flayed in a blood-eagull-like fashion, offered to the altar of my current reality. Driven by panic and rage, I grabbed the fire-axe above my table, my body moving mechanically as I propelled myself back toward the barrier that separated us. A wordless scream of terror, revulsion and hatred erupted from deep within me as I crashed through the door.

My clenched teeth unable to contain the overwhelming intensity of my emotions. The creature was struck by the door, its body forcibly pushed backward, eliciting a feral gasp from its throat. Now I was determined to end it. Kill it, kill me, candle, kill. The words reverberated in an unsettling loop within my mind, out of sync with each other, fueling my purpose as I prepared to face the culmination of my anguish. In a whirlwind of uncontrolled movement, I tumbled down the steps,

my body flailing as I crashed onto the ground. Before I could fully process the fall, I found myself my feet instinctively rising without conscious thought. And there it was, face to face with me. Its breath, uncomfortably warm and sticky against my skin. The butrid stench of decay invaded my nostrils, causing me to recoil in demoralized repulsion. I felt my courage waver and my resolve crumble. I realized I was not strong. enough, not capable of facing this.

I backpedaled until I was pressed against the wall of my house. Then it screamed, convulsed and trembled before me, its milky eyes fixed on an unseen horizon, its hands stretched out, reaching for something beyond my comprehension. scream, a surge of courage and rage flooded my being. It was the same as it had been all those years ago in the school, an overwhelming flood of emotions that were not truly mine to feel. It's difficult to articulate, but I embodied those emotions and allowed them to engulf me, to consume me, kill. The word reverberated relentlessly in my mind. Springing forward with a wild scream, I swung the axe with all my might, the blade sinking deep

into its side. The sensation of bone deflecting the force of my strike is edged into my memory, never to be forgotten. Blood and other fluid sprayed from the wound as it took a few faltering steps to the side, pushed by the momentum of my assault. The creature seized its cries, its tremors, its breath. stood still, and it finally turned to look at me. Fear held me captive under its gaze.

We stared at each other, locked in a moment and felt like an eternity. Vow breath washed over me once more, seeping into my senses. Beyond that, nothing happened. We simply stood there, locked in a silent exchange. I willed my frozen bones to thaw, my mind transitioning from terror and frenzied rage to... Something else. It wasn't pride, but rather a different, indescribable emotion. Yet it carried a sense of triumph, I believe.

Unbeknownst to me, it had reached out and gently grasped my arm, his touch going unnoticed, until it began to speak. I never meant to scare you He rasped his voice torn and ragged Struggling to emerge between shallow breaths I'm sorry this had to It uttered its words filled with agony and desperation Tears welled up in its eyes

A flicker of pain crossing its face As its ragged hand clutched at the axe lodged in his new laceration. Please kill me. He weased, his pleas reverberating in my mind and reaching my ear simultaneously. With its other hand, it gripped the axe and brought the blade to its neck. Kill me, candle, kill now. Final word echoed like an explosion within my head and his hand pressed against my face.

plunged into total darkness for a fragmented moment as I swung the axe. Suddenly, I felt myself hurtling through space, a void engulfing me. The air grew cold and the wind whipped past, intensifying the disorienting descent. I screamed in a frenzy of confusion and terror, my voice lost in the abyss. Downward, I plummeted, faster and faster, the nausea sensation overwhelming me. Did I die? Is this death? I'm dead. Thoughts of my eminent demise gripped my courage, but I resisted, unwilling to accept my fate just yet. In the distance, far below, a growing light pierced through the darkness. Fresh tears streamed down my face, lowering my vision, and making it difficult to gauge the

proximity of the light and how much time remained before I had be halted by the unforgiving ground. But it was rapidly approaching. I squeezed my eyes shut, unleashing a scream that echoed through the void. In the face of imminent death, I summoned every ounce of defiance within me. I want to live, the words echoed in my mind, a fervent plea repeating like a mantra. I curled into a protective ball, bracing myself for the impending impact that would mark my brutal end. Seconds stretched into eternity

as I awaited the inevitable. Then, with a soft and gentle thud, I collided with the ground, the impact akin to falling off the couch. A feeble whimper escaped me, carrying away the remnants of my shattered pride. Slowly, I uncored my limbs and remained still. A mix of confusion and exhaustion paralyzing me.

As this death, why had I somehow managed to survive? At the very least, I was conscious. I reached out with my hands, feeling the texture of the hardwood floor beneath me. I attempted to open my eyes, the darkness engulfed everything, rendering me blind to my surroundings. Rolling onto my back, I extended my arms as far as there would go, searching for walls that eluded my touch,

instead only finding a formless nothingness. A new fear emerged as a creeping suspicion arose. Did I even have a face? With trepidation, I brought my unseen hands towards my face and a sharp sting. shocked me as my dirty, sweaty fingers met my open eyes. It burnt, and a faint chuckle escaped my lips, mingling with tears that continued to cascade

down my face. I released a weak, triumphant sigh, throwing my arm in the air, and darkness claimed me once more, my consciousness slipping away. When I awoke, I found myself in an unfamiliar horse. hallway, illuminated by ethereal torchlight. Glancing around for my position on the floor, I took in the details of my surroundings. The hallway stretched endlessly in both directions. It's warped and aged dark wood floors covered in a thick layer of dust.

On each side of me, two doors stood, adorned with handles clad in aged bronze. The peeling, curling white paint of doors, cast the small shadow that danced in the flickering flames. Ornate red and gold walls framed the hall, extending into the distance without interruption. The air hung still, thin and cold. I pushed myself upright, drawing a reflective breath just to find that my lungs refused to cooperate.

I couldn't draw in the air. An unsettling revelation that further shook my fragile state. yet amidst the disquietude, an unexpected acceptance settled upon me. Maybe I truly am dead, I mused while massaging the space between my eyes. And perhaps this is limbo or some other place beyond the realm of the living. Standing before the doors, I brushed off the accumulated dust as my fingers traced the bronzed knobs. I tempted to turn the knob of the table. door on my right. It remained resolute, refusing to budge with my attempt. I turn my attention to

the door on my left, hoping for a different outcome. Yet, once again, my efforts proved fruitless. The doors remained firmly shot, denying me entry. A sense of resignation settled over me as I contemplated the possibility that I had indeed entered a land of limbo or purgatory where the deceased wondered aimlessly, seeking answers and respite.

If there were lessons to be learned or tasks to be fulfilled, I had yet to discover them. But the absence of purpose, the prospect of eternal nothingness, weighed heavily on my soul. With a deep breath, I made the conscious decision

to venture further into the darkness, forsaking the dwindling light behind me. Hours turned into an indeterminate passage of time as I traversed the corridor, my hand trailing beside me against the cold surface of the wall. Surprisingly, fatigue and hunger alluded me, further reinforcing the notion that I probably died. If this was the extent of my existence, an eternal cycle of my life. of aimless wondering, I yearned for something more. The prospect of mere nothingness, devoid of purpose or meaning, felt like a reality abandoned by the gods long ago.

Determination and desperation mingled within me, urging me to maintain my pace and keep moving forward despite the uncertainty. And then, a sudden burst of light rupture the darkness behind me, catching me off guard. The icy tendrils of fear gripped my chest, causing me to flail and stumble. My yelp swallowed by the darkness. The surprising display of grace, I flopped heavily on my stomach. I clambered to my feet and swiftly turned around, repelled by a sense of desperate longing. I hurtled toward the newfound light, driven by an unspoken fear that it would fade if I didn't reach it in time. Desperation fuelled my actions as I lunged for the handle of the nearest door,

seeking the anchor to halt my momentum. The handle remained steadfast, unyielding, as it abruptly halted my chaotic trajectory. I clutched the doorknob with both hands, pouring every ounce of strength into my attempt to pry it open. I threw my weight against the door, pulled, hit, kicked, and pulled. Pleaded in desperation, but the door remained unafflicted. Exhausted and defeated, I crumpled against the door, collapsing to my knees. I buried my face in my folded arms, tears flowing freely once again as a sense of hopelessness enveloped me.

What was the point? There was nowhere to go, no escape from this damn place. I was trapped, imprisoned with the point. within my own personal purgatory. This was my punishment. Reality began to fracture, my veil of ignorance slowly lifting. Could I truly be dead? The realisation dawned upon me, shattering the feeble illusion of safety and acceptance.

I wasn't okay. I wasn't safe. The weight of my unease bore down upon me. threatening to consume what little resolved remained. In the face of uncertainty, I whispered the truth that echoed within my being. I'm not okay. I rolled onto my side, curling into a tight ball,

clutching my legs close to my chest. I surrendered to the oceans that consumed me. I ceased all efforts, resigned to my fate. Time lost all meaning as I lay there. motionless, accumulating layers of dust upon my immobile body, months or perhaps years passed in this frozen state. I remained frozen, a monument to despair and defeat. The weight of my surrender bore down upon me, and I grew stagnant in body and spirit.

As time passed, a small voice emerged from the depths of my being, offering tiny shards of defiance. It urged me to continue, questioning why I should give up. The relentless nagging of that voice eroded the staleness of my resolve. And so, with great effort, I gave in to the persistent beckoning within. I began to stir, my brittle bones creaking and cracking in response to the tentative movements. Every inch of my being protested, muscles scree-yed. muscles screaming as I defy the platitudes that had held me captive.

The desire for something different, something more ignited within me. It took time, but I managed to rise to a sitting position. My body clung stubbornly to the remnants of my self-imposed stagnation, resisting my will. But I knew I had to move. Just move. I whispered those two simple words to myself, a mantra in the stillness. With each painful twitch and each tear in my flesh, I pressed forward. The blinding light pierced through the darkness, and I quickly shielded my eyes.

The hallway, once shrouded in darkness, was now ablaze with a furious glow of burning candles, illuminating every inch of the endless walls adorned with their white doors. shielding my eyes from the searing exposure, I recoiled from the scorching heat that began to radiate from the flames. I peered through the gaps in my fingers and a sight greeted me that filled my heart with renewed hope.

There, at the end of the hallway, lay an exit. A definite continuation beyond these confines. A rush of motivation caused, through my veins, igniting a fire within my soul. Leaning against the wall for support, I wield my legs to carry me forward, pushing past the pain with each step. The longing to reach their final door consumed me, drowning out the agony. I moved with a shaky shuffle that evolved into a stiff, determined speedwalk. In retrospect, I can only imagine the nightmarish image

represented. But at that moment, all I wanted must have reached the end to embrace the promise it held. With each passing door, I caught glimpses of their numbered plaques. 37, 39, 41, 43, the numbers ascended. I found myself running soon. The blinding light soon seared through my closed eyelids, the symphony of pain. Perhaps I should have gauged the distance to the end, but in my blind pursuit, I collided with the ending wall with a resounding thud. The impact broke my nose, and I tumbled to the floor, disoriented and wounded, as my body sprawled upon the ground. The once illuminated candles in the hallway extinguished one by one, enveloping the space behind me in an impenetrable darkness. Yet, amidst the obscurity, one can,

candle remained defiantly aflame. The candle beside the