CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - 3 Hours of SCARY Horror Stories to drink coffee to, but no caffeine because it's late

Episode Date: March 7, 2022

CREEPYPASTA STORIES-►0:00 "I’m an Evaluation Officer that enforces the ‘Rules’" Creepypasta►28:57 "I was on an archaeological dig. We unearthed horrors not seen for a thousand years" Creepypasta►45:15 "I stumbled upon a dead language" Creepypasta►1:13:07 "They Stand Outside" Creepypasta►1:32:08 "I'm the only worker at an abandoned theme park" Creepypasta►2:02:35 "DON'T go near the Ball-Pit" Creepypasta►2:22:47 "Each month I get a random item from Amazon" Creepypasta►2:51:07 "ZIP Code- 00666" CreepypastaCreepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...CREEPY THUMBNAIL ART BY►Dave-Kendall: https://www.deviantart.com/dave-kenda...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPastaCREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only-

With how severe the punishment is for breaking the rules, you'd think no one will be dumb enough to break them. Yet there are those who think they're the exemption. The special ones. They think they're smart enough to get around the rules. Rarely does this happen. But when it does, I'm the one they bother. Which explains the high-speed pursuit I'm currently having in the Appalachian Mountains. The creature's spindly legs dart desperately above the thick canopies of the woods.

her flailing arms breaking every branch with each stride. For a brief moment, she glances back, causing her eyes to meet, which was the only thing I needed. The confusion was evident on a Rackness face, as I suddenly disappeared from her view and reappeared behind her, kneeling on her back with a black sword buried between a shoulder blades. Her twelve legs buckled under the pressure and lost balance, sending her crashing fifty feet down, her ribs shattered.

my boots pressed on her neck for extra precaution. I pulled out my tablet and opened a document file. Annabella Contessa. All over eight eyes shifted to my gaze, but a head can't move due to the way to my boots. Her gasping breath visible in the cold air. You broke the rules and performed actions outside your designated mode of operation. Sir, please, her voice training.

I was hungry and... There was a slothold. like crack as I pressed harder on her neck. I twist the sword's handle, slicing upwards in a vertical fashion, splitting her upper body in half. Every single time they keep using the same old excuses. I look at the next schedule and place a venue in my tablet. I made a mental note of the time.

It was 8.47pm, and I'm currently standing outside the gates of a large mansion surrounded by seemingly endless acres of woods. I waited patiently, scanned the area as a pastime. Thirty more minutes had gone by before the one I'm waiting for finally arrived. Gliding in a panic, his foot never touching the ground as he made his way towards me.

I'm very sorry for making you wait this long, sir. The rayth-like creature lowered its head apologetically. Humanoid in shape, he was approximately 12 feet high, covered in a dark hooded cloak of long, ripped black cloth that billowed like smoke. Let's keep this night moving, sure we? I ignored his words and began reading a file in my tablet. You've been alive for more than 10 decades, which makes you eligible for a senior level promotion. From the looks of his trembling figure, he was feeling both excited and nervous. Since this is a promotional exam, I scroll down on my tablet.

there will be some added rules that will make things more difficult for you. I trust that you've already been briefed about this at HQ. Yes, sir, he responded quickly. I was informed a month in advance and had already memorized all the newly added rules. Very well then. We waited for another hour before we saw a car's headlights approaching the property. They're here, I gestured with my head to the car's direction. Your performance evaluation has a few.

officially started. With that as his signal, the wraith dissipates into the air, leaving me alone at the gate's entrance. The car stops just a few feet away from the rusty gate. A guy with messy brown hair steps out of the left rear of the car door. Ah, my ass hurts, he complains, massaging his backside. Did we really have to drive five hours all the way here? This girl would get us millions of views, complain later after we're famous. A girl with dirty blonde hair just pops the trunk open and starts unloading the camera equipment. Jules, help me with this crate. I'm assuming she was referring to the only other female in the group,

the one with cherry blonde hair. Standing barely an arm lents away from where they are, just like most humans, this group is unable to see me. The gate had not a hinge nor lock. It was open on one side, yet was so wide anything could pass. So, despite their tallness and precarious state, it was a simple stroll to the other side.

Kurt, can we start rolling? Jules said with camera on hand. Counting down with his fingers. Three, two, one. What is up? The dark-haired guy called Kurt, suddenly shouted in an unnoxious manner, followed by a couple of hand signs in arm movement.

What the? I look in confusion, not quite sure what I'm seeing. It's me, your boy, Ghost Under 6'9, back again with another video with a squad. The camera pans over to the rest of the group before focusing back to him. Back to you again with another banger. This can't be real, I said under my breath, even though it doesn't matter since they can't hear me. Kurt's animated movement and cartoony face abruptly turned somber as if in mourning

With how quickly the change in demeanour was I knew he was simply putting on an act for the camera Tonight we're at the place where 24 students met their untimely demise He took a deep breath really selling the image that is sympathizing with the pain the family of the victims were going through A grisly murder that left everyone shook to the core with the culprit still remaining at large. This whole case is shrouded with mystery. Kurt took a dramatic step past the gate,

pausing as he looked at the mansion, before slowly turning his head back to the camera. But as always, his previous timina returned for a brief second. Don't forget to hit that like and smash the subscribe button. He then gestured with his hand for Jule to stop recording. Only then did I put my palm on my face in disbelief after they reveal the purpose of their visit.

These people drive all this way to die for likes and views. My thoughts still processing this information. That's it for the intro. Let's call it a day after we set up the equipment inside. Tomorrow's going to be a full day of filming. Kurt said, helping Cole carry the rest of the gear. I watched as they laid everything down in the living room. They discussed the style and direction of the stories.

narrative, figuring out how they're going to make the whole thing entertaining. After having dinner, they decided to sleep in separate rooms. 10.58 p.m. I checked my wristwatch. He should be starting soon. I could sense his presence near the property, but he's not inside the mansion. Observing at a respectable distance to not distract or disrupt his performance, he has taken a more physical and tangible form, standing at six feet tall or more. Dark grey ripped jeans, paired with combat boots and black tight fitted long sleeve that displays his athletic lean physique, other than the fact that he doesn't have any eyes, mouth, ears and nose, he looks completely human.

Interesting choice. While he does something to the car, I open my tablet and review the new added guidelines. My eyes stop at the second one. I squint, making sure I didn't read it wrong. Well, this is quite unreasonable, I thought, as I read the list of rules. Number one, you're only allowed to operate in the hours of 8.50pm until 4.30 a.m. Operating outside this time frame will be considered as a direct violation of the rules. Number two, every action must be performed in a tangible form.

Killings done in the form of a ghost, spectre, wraith, or those that fall under the same category will not be counted in your evaluation points. Violation of this rule will result to imprisonment or further restriction implemented on the offending individual. Now that I start scanning through my own memories, I don't remember that many monsters that's been promoted to senior level. I return my attention back to the examine. He seems to be taken the car apart, but making sure the other. her appearance remains the same. He removed the car's steering wheel and placed it on top of a tree

a hundred yards away from the mansion. The vehicle's fuel was also siphoned inside a red canister. I followed as he went to the shed and placed the canister on one of the shelves. If his goal was to prevent them from escaping, why do something so elaborate? Why not just stab the tires of the car and be done with it? Just keep things simple. I soon got the answer. after I resumed reading. Number three, prey slash victims must be given a chance to escape. Obstacles may be placed on the path, but removing any chance of escape is considered bad sportsmanship, which will lead to heavy penalty in the future.

You've got to be kidding me, I cursed as I finished reading the last sentence. Do they really expect someone to pass this test? I watched as the examinee run around all over the place, making proper. operations, double-checking every contraption he carefully sets on the property grounds. He's fully aware that the odds are stacked against him, yet he didn't let his determination waiver. I checked the time. 6.47 a.m.

Time flew by so quick. I almost didn't see the sun rising from the horizon. The examiner already finished preparing for everything two hours ago. Now he's mentally preparing himself for the task at hand. On the other hand, Kurt and the rest of his crew began filming. Once again, he starts by obnoxiously introducing himself, followed by forcefully making his voice deeper, while narrating the gruesome massacre that took place in this mansion.

In the morning, they explored every room, taking the time as each of them shared their own theories and what really happened to the 24 students. In the afternoon, they went deeper into the woods. The group really putting on a performance to convince the viewers that they feel something supernatural in the area. Kurt then gestured with his hand to stop filming. Okay, so in this scene, Dana will pretend some invisible force grabs her arm. You will then stumble into this soft pushes where Cole will be hiding and drag you away by your feet.

All of us will be like, oh my God, what happened? He explained further details before everyone got into position. Jules read his camera. In three, two, one. The video starts rolling. Rumor has it that there are strong entities roaming in this woods. Kurt started the narration, and we certainly don't want to offend them, so we have to be very respectful of what we...

The camera quickly focused the Dennis scream. She acts like something is pulling her from behind and fell on the bushes, just as planned. But nothing else happens. They waited for five months. seconds, but Cole didn't grab down his feet. Instead, they heard him screaming pain. Kurt, Kurt said, annoyed. Cole, that wasn't on the script. Cole shrieked, his voice echoing in the woods, getting further and further, like he's getting

dragged away. Everyone froze, looking at each other, not sure if this was still part of the video. They remained motionless, still listening to the screams, the voice getting fainter. Everyone drops everything and rushes to the screams direction. At this point, no one was sure what's going on. Maybe at the back of their mind, they're secretly hoping one of them was pulling a prank on the rest of the group. But after catching up to Cole, that wishful thinking was put to rest. What the hell? Kurtz exclaimed, sharing the same look of shock as everyone else.

Cole was hanging upside down on a tree. His nose busted and bleeding, probably from hitting his face on the ground after his leg got caught in a snare trap. The others scrambled around in a panic, trying to find a way to get him down. While standing just a few feet away, the examines stood perfectly still, hitting among the foliage.

His body remained unmoving, like the trees around him. Right, I remembered. Rule number one, he's only allowed to operate starting at 8.50pm. The time in my watch says 7.43pm. Laying these traps in advance

gives him at least some form of minor advantage. It didn't take long for them to lower cold down. He might have sprained his ankle as he was limping and needed assistance to walk. Do you think some hunters could have left that trap Dana asked. Who cares? Let's go back inside.

Cole rubs the side of his chest. Some of the ribs might have been fractured. Another half an hour passed as they take their time, carefully walking back the way they came from, making sure not to stray from the path and possibly trigger any more traps. Huh? Jewel stares at the string under her shoes.

Kurt didn't feel the pain at first, only the sound of something swishing through the air registered in their ears. The group's reactions were delayed. Already seeing what happened in front of them, yet their minds still having a hard time processing the information. It started with Dana and Jules. Their screams in sync like an orchestra symphony. With no longer having curt support,

Cole fell to the ground and Winston Payne as rocks hit his knees. The bolt of arrows lodged to. on his neck felt cold as a metallic tips touched the back of his throat. Kurt collapsed with a hard thud, his back hit in the ground hard. The blood didn't gush in a constant flow, but matching the rhythm of his beating heart. It first came thick and strong, flowing through Dana's trembling fingers as trying to stop the bleeding in vain. Then, it happened.

The intimate sound of metal tearing through flesh and crushing bones. The rise all fell at the large hook that attached itself inside Cole's left shoulder, a sharp curved end exiting through his collarbone. The screams he lit out that day was one of pure fear and desperation. Pain so mind-numbing, he can't choose the faint and barely had the mental strength to stay awake. That same helpless feeling was about to be shared as the metal chain at the end of the hook was slowly getting pulled. Everyone felt ice roll down their spine as they saw the one pulling on the other side of the chain.

I checked my watch again. 8.51 p.m. The faceless entity didn't break eye contact with his prey as he pulled Cole closer and closer. Help! Cole's shrill voice lathered in fear. There was no need to think. No votes were made.

because even if their minds froze, their own body made the choice for them. Like rats, when you turn on the kitchen lights, they all scattered. Only thinking of their own survival, they all ran in different directions. Cole's heart sank as he saw his friends left him to die. In a last it effort, he started throwing rocks at the killer, even though he felt the flesh in his shoulder started to separate from his torso as the trains got yanked violently. Screw you. His words cut short as two hands plunge inside his mouth,

clutching tight on the upper and lower part. It took relatively no effort as the muscles connecting his jaws were ripped apart in opposite directions. His lifeless body discarded to the side without a second glance. Already on the verge of death, the examiner wasn't taking any chances and delivered the killing blow. With his hands wrapped tightly around,

Kurt's neck, he snapped them in half. I was taken aback when he suddenly left my field of vision. I was about the deductor point in his evaluation for thinking he broke the second rule, but I stopped. My gaze shifting to the mansion's direction. Oh, I thought, as I realized, he didn't shift back into his original form. He teleported, so I followed suit. Upon arriving to their destination, I was greeted by the frantic screams from one of the women as the other scrambles to her feet. Jewels, I think her name was. Her leg got caught in the bear trap that was covered with leaves next to the porch. The examiner walks towards her very slowly, too slow, in fact.

It's almost intentional. I didn't get to think too much about it because of what happens next. A roar akin to thunder reverberated in the air As the bullet exited the gun sparrow Sending the examines staggering to the ground No blood but a gaping hole was still present on his chest What the hell? Jules exclaimed watching Dana pry the bear trap open with a bare hands Adrenaline must be pumping through her veins right now

Why the hell do you have a gun I'm American Dana replied casually We're in Canada Jules rebuted. Dana lifted Jules off her feet and ran inside the house. Wow, you work out, Jules asked as she was being laid down in bed. Hey, where are you going? She grabbed Dana's arm, seeing she was about to leave the room.

Don't worry, I'll get us out of here. You'll be safe as long as you don't leave this room. That thing can't enter numbered rooms. What? Jules looks confused. An expression that we currently both share. What did she just say? I watched the examinee walking inside the house and stood motionless outside the door

with the number eight sign where the injured woman is hiding, his hand just hovering above the doorknob, unable to touch it. I immediately scroll down my tablet, scanning through the list of rules, and there it was. Number 17, you cannot enter numbered rooms. Newly attached numbers to the door does not count

and can be entered. The number must have already been present in less than a year the house slash building was established. How does she know this? I stared blankly into my tablet. Just trust me, Danny yelled, quickly climbing down the window. Don't leave the room.

I can't get inside. Jules, please, she pleaded for a friend's sake. Jules takes a deep breath before slapping herself hard on both cheeks. Okay. Fine, she yelled. But you know, I'm haunting you first if you get turned into a ghost, right? Clearly, she was trying to hide her fear with humour.

Dana chuckled. Yeah, she tied her hair into a bun. I got this. This time, my attention was solely on this woman. Clearly, there was something strange going on here. What was it? Which part? She was mumbling to herself or dashing through the woods.

I got it. She exclaimed, as if remembering something. Rule 24. What? No, she can't possibly... I look at the rules, but there's no Rule 24. The list ends at Rule 19. So what Rule 24 is she referring to?

She makes an abrupt stop and starts climbing the tree. The same tree where the steering wheel was hidden. What is happening right now? I asked no one in particular. Taking a quick detour, she returns at the scene where the first kill happened. She kneels next of the corpses and grabs something before putting it in a pocket. Wasting no time, she rushes back, this time mumbling more words to herself. Instead of going straight for the car, she runs towards the shed located on the right side of the mansion.

Only taking a few seconds to come out with a red canister filled with a fuel that was taken from their car. Dana, behind you, Jules yells from the window. But there was no trace of fear or any concern in Dana's face. Only confidence. She didn't stop pouring the fuel in the car until the canister was completely empty. Run, he's getting closer, Jules screamed. This time, even more desperate. Don't worry, she smiled, attaching the steering wheel, the last piece they needed.

He's not allowed to run. With those words, my eyes ran through the list again. Number 12. During an active pursuit, you must maintain a steady pace of a normal walk. Running, sprinting, or anything of the same nature will be crowns for punishment. My grip are my tablet titans, nearly threatening to crush it as my glare aims at Dana like a sniper rifle. She gives some kind of hand signal to a friend before lowering the examine at the back of the mansion. I see, I observe as their teamwork functions like a well-oiled machine.

While Dana laws the threat away, Jules, despite having an injured leg, will still have time to limp away to the car. And it didn't take no time at all. Dana, Jules yelled, already turning the car around, the engine roaring, ready to leave at any second. Taring through the corner of the mansion as if on cue, Dana appears. with blood dripping down her shoulder, a knife buried on the top of the wound. She was running at full speed, but stopped shortly a few feet away from the car. Let's go, Jewel screams, her sweaty palm gripping the steering wheel. What are you waiting for?

The examiner was almost an arm's reach away from her, but before she could take another step, she grabs something from her pocket and tosses it on the ground. I look at the dark substance she scattered at the examines' feet. Soil, I surmised, probably the thing she took earlier and put in a pocket. But why? Got you now, Dana's fist connected to the examiner's jaw. It didn't knock him out. He simply remained in place.

In fact, he didn't move at all. At this distance, he should be able to grab her so easily. So why is he just standing there? Dana pressed a face even closer, her nose only a few inches away from the faceless killer. She spreads her arms wide in a taunting position, challenging him to do something. But he remained unmoving like a statue.

Yeah, what? Dana daunted even more, thrusting her hips and pelvis in the air. Yeah, that's right, she shouted triumphantly, landing another punch to his face. Rule 27, asshole. In a final act, she spit on his face, before finally jumping in the car. And just like that, only the smoke left from the tires served as proof that they were actually here.

I just stood there for a moment, looking for words to say. What happened? I revealed my presence to the examiner. How did she know that? The examiner asks in a dejected tone. Even I forgot about that one, until today. What exactly did she do? I'm still trying to make sense of all this.

One of the ways that temporarily stopped my kind, he spoke as if he had just been violated. Soil drenched from the blood of her first kill of the day. This has gotten quite complicated. But we must continue. Sadly, I'm sorry, I'm. must inform you that you avail the exam. He slowly morphs back to his original form.

The wraith-like figure floats steadily in front of me. His head lowered and eyes facing the ground. I see. In sorrow. But his tone was in full acceptance of the result. I understand. His skeleton hands emanating dark smoke clasped together. Clearly, he was disappointed.

in the results, but more likely, he was disappointed in himself. However, I cleared my throat, there are some irregularities in this situation, which may have caused the negative results in your test, which is why I'm sending a request to allow you to retake the promotional exam. He couldn't hide his excitement, as dark flames billows from his cloak. Thank you, thank you very much, sir. His gaze still on the ground, afraid to make eye contact. Someone from the company will contact you if the request gets approved by the board.

I took a quick glance at my watch. Until then, continue on with your daily life. Kill people with the rules and parameters you've been assigned with. Saying what I needed to say, I teleported back to the main headquarters. Damon? A woman wearing a secretary uniform with long dark hair and pitch black eyes scans me from head to toe with her eldridge gaze. You're not one for casual talks. What brings you to my office?

My reposer, we have a problem. Define problem. She smirks, returning her focus back to the papers she's reading. With Azathos' offspring threatening to breach our dimension every week and the unchecked backrooms manifesting in every corner. of the globe, you're going to have to be more specific. Someone is leaking the rules to the public. All of her eight pitch black eyes shot open. A playful demeanor now gone.

Black tentacles with green bioluminescent suction cups appeared seemingly out of nowhere, filling half of the room. Abyssal cracks appeared on the walls with eldritch eyes peering from the other side. The corners of the wall transforming into a fleshy, more as rows of sharp teeth emerge from the ceiling. What? A voice calm and controlled, but behind it, I could feel a tempest growing. Do you know what I hated about my job?

The cold, the biting, incessant cold which cut through, no matter how many layers I wore, making it feel like the marrow of my bones was aching. There was the fact I spent hours on end crouched over. Scrabbling about in the dark. The food was another gripe. The mush which we heated over portable stoves that all tasted the same no matter what it said on the tin. I hated sleeping on a thin mattress in a tent as well.

Though sleeping is the last thing I could manage with the pins and needles in my skin left by the cold and my guts churning from whatever processed stew I had forced down. Apart from that, my job was great. I was an archaeologist. I gained my degree, was working towards post-grad qualifications, I was on my first dig as a professional, rather than an enthusiastic student. We'd flown to the site a few days before.

This was a long, skeleton rattling journey that had eventually arrived late afternoon. As we had hurried to put our tents up, the desolate landscape which stretched out around us as far as I could see made me feel like we're on an alien planet, rather than in the far north of our country. The Alaskan border bled into the vast expanse of the Arctic less than a hundred miles away. When the small plane that had brought us here departed, escaping before darkness fell, I felt a momentary flash of fear. I'd never felt cut off from the world like this before.

Checking my mobile did not help. This was clearly the land the internet had. had not yet reached. Then I'd given myself a mental kick up the backside. This tent wasn't going to put itself up. I'd spent the next hour trying to work out where all the damp holes were meant to go. There were four of us on the dig. I was the youngest.

Max was around ten years my senior, but junior to me in the setup. I did not know why his career appeared to have stalled, but it was clear Max had an attitude problem. In the short time we'd worked together He was constantly criticising me To my face and openly to the others I hoped to chill out as the team bonded on site Then there was Julia She was a research fellow

Maybe late 20s She was very quiet and seemed totally focused on the job at hand Which I admired And I figured I could learn a lot from her The boss was Professor Mitchell Mitch, as he insisted we called him, in a kind of Nathway. He was not a star in the academic world, but he had a reputation as someone who got things done. Although we all had links with different universities, the funder for this expedition was actually a major corporation.

We were one of the good causes being supported through its philanthropic program. We all had glossy brochures about this in our kit, but certainly hadn't read it. and I doubted very much the others had. We had no time for such things. We were working inwards, towards the centre point of the excavation area, painstakingly clearing away the frozen soil a few inches at a time.

We'd been led here by satellite images that showed the outline of a structure. The oral history of the area told of a race which lived here around a thousand years ago, one which had developed a relatively complex form a civilization, but there are no physical artifacts proving their existence. We were determined to change that. My nose was almost touching the soil I was clearing as I tried to decide if I was looking

at a man-made fragment or just another pebble. When I heard Max exclaim, Yes! I looked up to seem fist pumping the air. The macho effect of this was spored slightly by the fact that he was still holding his trowel. He looked like he was scooping air rather than celebrating. Still, he seemed very excited, so I stood up, slapping my legs on the way as I tried to force some feeling back into them, and went to see what was going on. Julia and Professor Mitchell did the same.

What you got there? Mitch asked amiably, as the three of us gathered around Max. He had something in the palm of his free hand and was staring at it, like it was hypnotized. It appeared to me to be some kind of coin. Hints of a gold-colored surface showed to a layer of dirt, and it was maybe two inches in diameter. I tried to keep my professional detachment and failed. Wow, I said, that's amazing.

It certainly is. Can you pass me the artefact, please, Max? Asked Mitch and held out his hand. Max did so, but I noticed the reluctance. on his face, almost as if he did not want to share his discovery with anyone else, and I caught a knowing glance between Mitch and Julia. Perhaps I wasn't the only one who had issues with Max's attitude. Mitch took a small brush out of his pocket and began to gently clear away the dirt. Wow, I said again as the coin was revealed. The gold collar was dull but brilliant. However, that was

not what was enthralling me. It was the markings on the coin, which showed a face in profile, as on many coins. Only this face was crying out in terror. There was no mistaking the expression that had been rendered. Fascinating, Mitch muttered as he turned the coin over and methodically continued to clean it. A new face appeared, this time looking out from the coin. The eyes of the face were crossed out with X's. It's almost like they've been scarred out so that the person depicted cannot see, Julia commented.

Not see what? I asked. Mitch looked at me and said, whatever had scared the life out of the poor devil on the other side of the coin, presumably. His tone was light, but I could tell he was as excited as the rest of us. Meanwhile, Max's attention had returned to the ground

and I saw he was looking. loosening another coin, and that there were more lying close to the surface. Dozens of them. Mitch clapped his hands together. Okay, team, he said, let's bag him and tag him. I think we've made a major discovery here, but we need to let the artefacts do the talking and not expose our expectations on him. Julia nodded enthusiastically, as did I.

Max had not taken his eyes off the coins. Over the hours that followed, I almost forgot about the cold, even though the wind had got noticeably stronger and the temperatures were dropping. When we finally all headed to the main tent, which we were using as our storage and study center, it was a struggle to walk upright. Our four individual tents were lined up each a dozen feet apart and facing the entrance to the main tent. Inside this, supplies were piled up against the sides, food and food.

first aid kit, cons equipment, which so far had stubbornly refused the work in the freezing conditions and a pistol to be used to scare off any inquisitive large wildlife that might come our way. Supervised by Mitch, Julia laid the coins out on a clear plastic sheet and began to photograph both sides of each. I then weighed them and designated individual serial numbers. There were 32 coins with a range of truly remarkable and bizarre. markings. In addition to the screaming and blinded faces, there were coins which showed groups of figures fleeing something unseen. There were bones, wide-eyed schools and root cages. There were bodies, the representations of dead bodies we

believed, piled on top of each other. And some of the coins, flames rose from the bodies to depict a bonfire of cadavers. I finished noting down the last serial number, turned to Mitch and asked, What do you think the designs of the designs on the coins represent. The professor's attention remained on the coins as he replied. Possibly that the people living here a millennia ago

suffered a cataclysmic event. This could have been a violent disease hence the destruction of the bodies to try and prevent the spread. Or they could have been attacked by another race that were not native to this area and tried to flee from this threat. These are speculations on my part

and we have a long way to go before we can prevent robust theories. Whatever happened, Julia added, the artisans who created these coins were inspired by something truly terrifying. A moment of silence followed. I guess we're all lost in our own thoughts. Then, Max said, I think, they're beautiful. The silence that followed this felt quite uncomfortable. Finally, Mitch cleared his throat and said,

Well, quite. now it's been a long day so I suggest we try and get some sleep I welcome this suggestion maybe tonight I might even get some sleep I thought night all I said good night James Mitch replied don't let the bed bugs bite

Julia said with a smile we made a way towards the tent door Max showed no signs of moving is there a problem Max Mitch asked he didn't answer it First, the rapt expression I'd first noticed when he held the coin in his hand seemed to fix on his face. Max, Mitch repeated, his tone firmer this time.

Max's reply when it came, shocked me. I will stay here and guard the coins, he said. Mitch looked puzzled. The only people here for a thousand miles are us, he said, and we're not going to do anything with the coins other than. study them. At this, Max's face darkened. You idiot, he said, these coins will transform

the life of the academic who claims the discovery, and you think that's going to be you, Professor, don't you? As he spoke, Max had been moving towards Mitch, and he virtually spat these last words in his face. Mitch flinched. Please, Max, Julia said, you need to calm

down. She reached out to place a hand on his shoulder. Max lashed out, striking her arm. She winced in pain and held her arm to her chest. That's enough, Mitch yelled and turned to Julia and gently led her out of the tent. Jeez, man, I said to Max, you're out of order. He glared at me with what I can only describe as pure hatred in his eyes. I wanted to say more, but decided it was better to back off.

There was clearly no reasoning with him. Back in my tent I could not stop shivering The short walk from the main tent Had taken only minutes But the weather's swift deterioration Continued at pace And its effect my body were vicious

I glanced out a few times In the long hours that followed And knew I would need to wait for the weather To improve I had a small burner stove And some leftovers which I could reheat I rationed myself and tried to be patient It was hard to keep track of time.

The only measure I really had was the increasing hunger once I finished the meager rations. Eventually, I decided I had no choice. I needed to leave my tent to get food and hugged back up with Mitch and Julia. As for Max, I could only hope he'd come to his senses. I stepped out of my tent and was stopped in my tracks.

by the horrific sight of blood, staining the icy ground. Two lines of red ran from Mitch's and Julia's tents into the main tent. I swallowed down bile and hurried forwards. If they were hurt, I needed to try and help them. I pushed my way through the entrance flap. A scream formed inside me. A hideous creature was crouched over Mitch and Julia, who lay unmoving in a congealing pool of blood.

the creature was ripping at the flesh of Mitch's cheek. It was a corruption of the human form of a man that had once been called Max. I could recognize traces of his features in its sickening visage. Its eyes were sunken pits of darkness, its skin was taught over bones that jutted out. Terror gripped me, a coldness stoked by fear, worse than any I'd felt from nature, penetrated. me. I stood, staring as the creature, alerted by my presence, looked up from its obscene butchery. Then, it spoke. Its words were halting, as if the act of speaking was one that was being remembered,

an act that used to come naturally before it changed. Look at you, it said. So afraid, so pathetic. Are you going to run away from me and save yourself? I looked down at the bodies of Mitch and Julia, now forever still in their blooded resting places. I knew with heartbreaking certainty. Then it continued, or are you going to burn the corpses like they did a thousand years ago

to try and save them from being consumed? It said, then smiled I would welcome that I liked cooked meat Then it placed a wad of the gore It had torn from Mitch into its mouth I realised with a sudden clarity

That felt like a physical blow That I would be next It would kill me, feast on me All mine It muttered My coins, my blooded drink And bones the crunch all mine.

As it did so, I took the one chance I had. I threw myself at where the pistol lay, grabbed it and emptied the gun at close range into the creature. It howled in agony and fell to its knees. It was badly hurt, but I had not killed it. It looked up at me, insanity flared in its eyes, and it dragged itself from the tent, its own blood marking its progress.

I stood, breathing heavily, and then began to weep. I was alone in a nightmare from which there was no waking. Five days have passed since then. I buried Mitch and Julia as best I could in the frozen ground. But the next morning, the graves had been desecrated and their bodies removed. The creature had its feast after all. It has not come for the coins yet. I have the reloaded pistol ready to use.

when it does dry. Until then, I will hide this journal in the hope that someone finds it, if I do not survive the horrors of this cold, desolate place. As part of my doctorate, I was hired as a lab assistant working with pediatric treatment. We were working on a paper measuring the exposure effect of a potential contaminant. While my colleagues were working on the measured effects on adults and the elderly, my team would work with children. The potential potential disruption to developing adolescents was deemed important enough to have a separate set of experiments and measurements. The study garnered unilateral attention and funding of not only one but four different pharmaceutical companies, Hatcher Pharmaceuticals being the main contributor.

I was hired pretty late in the process. I wasn't even sure what the contaminant was, as it was just designated as the contaminant. Apparently it was something that resided just under the top soil in a large residential area To not taint our measurements My colleagues and I were given minimum information About the symptoms to look for And what to expect

Instead we were provided a set of experiments And willing participants It was all fast and haphazard Most of us started on Monday And Tuesday the following week Was the day of our first experiment Little time to prepare, get settled or even understand. Still, this could be big, big enough to launch a career.

The experiment described as cognition and ocular development assessment, CODA, was to be performed with full consent and supervision of the parental guardians. All children were between six to ten years old, and none of them had any observed deformities or illnesses. We were given limited access to certain medical records to make sure our study didn't have the potential to cause any harm. Then again, I'd read the experiment checklist and there was nothing that could damage anyone. If anything, I argued the results would be pretty much useless. As Tuesday came around,

me and my two colleagues had prepared as best we could. The three of us would put one participant each through a series of tests. The coda was three tests over the total of three hours. The parents were to be asked for consent before and after each step in giving the ability to stop any test at any given time. The experiment overall was surprisingly simple. It was supposed to be a measurement of cognitive and emotional development, mostly tested through facial and spatial recognition.

The day of the experiment, I first met Logan. an eight-year-old kids sporting a baseball cap and a brand new Pokemon t-shirt. His mom was a bit anxious, but from what I've been told, she had been generously compensated. As I met them in the parking lot and led them inside,

I promised her we'd go through the specifics. Don't worry, I said, we're mostly going to look at pictures. Doesn't sound too bad, huh? He shook his head, but I'd yet to see him smile. Maybe his mom's anxiety rubbed off on him. The testing room was somewhat small and made entirely out of concrete. There was a pair of opposite two-way mirrors on each

side of the room. The walls were painted this sickly mint-green color, a color so neutral it hurt to look at. The first test was all about emotional intelligence. In sets of six pictures each, I was to show Logan various expressions and ask him which mostly correlated to an emotion. If they answered objectively wrong, according to a chart, we were supposed to ask them to explain their choice. Simple enough, I'd done something similar before. But this is where I first realized that Logan wasn't some ordinary kid. As I laid out the first image set, I asked him to identify the happiest face. Clearly, it was card number three,

and Logan answered as much without hesitation. In the second image set, he was asked which one was the saddest. Again, it was number three. He answered correctly again. In the third picture, the six pictures were a wild mix, some sad, some happy. One guy was sleeping in the corner. Which one is the angriest? I asked.

There was a correct answer. Number four. A woman following her brow and exposing her teeth. Yet Logan looked at them all for a long time. Number six, he said finally, pointing at the sleeping man. How come? I asked following protocol. It's complicated. They almost killed his mom.

The kid seemed almost distant, staring at the picture. What the hell? He answered the rest of the questions flawlessly, but that answer stuck with me. Such a strange reaction. Not only did he answer wrong to an obvious question, but it was also such an odd explanation. Logan himself seemed to have trouble finding the right word for it. The second test was similar, but there were new cards. In sets of three, Logan was supposed to explain each emotion presented by the people in the pictures.

Happy, sad, angry, scared. It was similar to the first test, but much more detailed. For every image, there would be a description and a short explanation given by the participant. We pressed forward. First three cards, no problem. Happy, happy, sad. Easy explanations. Second set of cards.

Same result. Surprised, sad, sad. But when the third image set came along, I didn't know what to say. Three people, or completely neutral, not a single emotion on their face. They looked almost computer generated. Logan didn't skip a beat though.

She's scared, he said. She doesn't. doesn't know why she's doing this. And, uh, what about this one? Oh, he's hungry. He just doesn't show it. Hungry? Is that an emotion? Yes, he's really hungry, dangerous. And the third one.

Logan took a long, hard look. After a few seconds, he looked up at me. Almost like he forgot about the picture for a while. Okay, he... He, uh, he's, I think he's Obstyn. Obstyn? Yeah, Obstyn. What do you mean?

That's what he is. I don't know a better word for it. So why is he? Uh, Obstyn. He saw something he shouldn't have. We continued with several more image sets, and Logan gave mostly ordinary answers. But every now and then,

he'd throw in something absurd sounding. Obstyn was the first, but there was also Adder, Gald and Srid. The descriptions were outlandish and frankly nonsensical. Adder, he stared too long into the light. Gald, he didn't go swimming, but his feet are still wet.

Surritt, he fell between the cracks. By the time I was about to start the third experiment. I had a few moments alone with Logan's mom. Still, anxious, she held her arms close to herself and didn't meet my eyes. We'll be done in a bit, I said. He's doing great. He's such an imaginative child, you know, she nodded. He makes up things all the time.

You should see his drawings. Does he have any trouble at school? No, not really. No, she smiled. Well, mostly not. Some of the other kids can get a bit creeped out when he starts to. making things up. I checked the clock.

It was time to start the final experiment. All kids have a quirk or two, I smiled back. That's what makes them kids. The final experiment was about recognising places rather than people. One by one, I was to show Logan pictures of various places, ordinary places like supermarkets, playgrounds and factories. They were pretty easy to recognize. First, I'd show him the pictures, then I'd ask him to describe the scene. Logan didn't seem to mind.

The pictures themselves were easy for Logan to recognise. One by one, he explained what he saw. Factories with lots of cars parked outside, empty playgrounds. But as we got to a park, he sort of stopped. His expression shifted. That's a graveyard, he said. I had to stop myself from correcting him. It was obviously not a graveyard.

Can you describe it? I asked. I... I really don't want to. There's a lot of people there. What kind of people? I was going off script, but I was just too curious. Logan leaned in to look closer at the picture. There's a lot of strange colours, he said.

The people who used to be able to... be there, are gone. I couldn't tell what he was seeing. The picture was empty. As we finished up, Logan went to the bathroom. I got some time to talk to his mom on her own, and I brought out the picture of the park. Do you have any idea what he sees here? I asked. No, she said, shaking her head.

Could be anything. It's just strange. I said, usually kids make up stories about dragons, lasers, wizards, that kind of stuff, not graveyards in parks. Are you calling my son strange? I lost my train of thought. As Logan came back, she grabbed him by the arm to leave. Before they did, I caught up to them.

I had to try something. Logan, I said, just a minute. They stopped and his mom gave me a tired. look. I was thinking of buying this house, I said, bringing up a photo of a place I'd been checking out a few times. What do you think? He just stared at me, as if he didn't understand. He took off his baseball cap and scratched his ear. Looks dirty, he said. A lot of ra, right there in the, come on, Logan, his mother took his arm, and he was almost dragged down the hall. turning back to me one last time he yelled back

he looked up and then he didn't I didn't lie when I said I was thinking about buying that house there was an open viewing the next day and I decided to drop by on my lunch break there were about eight other people there or couples I kind of disappeared among them maybe I wasn't being considered as a serious buyer The place was a bit too large for me after all.

As the realtor ran off to speak to a pregnant couple, I stopped in the foyer. I had this strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. Ro, I whispered to myself, right here. Just saying it out loud almost made me feel it. It was something so specific, so unique. It wasn't an emotion, as much as it was an experience. a story. I could imagine myself lying on the floor, looking up at the wood-brown ceiling. I could feel my back grown stiff, as if I'd been lying down for too long.

I could feel my eyes grown thick, like blinking through mud. Every breath, a conscious effort, arms unresponsive, a prayer for my heart to keep beating. Then, nothing. Rowe, to look up and then to night. I hate this strange understanding, like I'd seen something I wasn't supposed to. Didn't the kid have a word for that too? God, I felt sick. Everyone was gathered around the realtor in the living room.

I don't know what gave me the courage to confront him, but I just blurted out. Did the previous owner die here? I asked. In the foyer. No, uh, no, they didn't. He answered. You have to tell us that they did, one of the couple said. Another couple agreed. Okay, yeah. I mean, no one has died here. That much is true. No one did. But yes, they were found unresponsive in the foyer. They were loud sighs. A couple immediately left. Another left shortly afterwards.

There was a cue to talk to the realtor, and within ten minutes, I was the only one left. grow or not I got the place too cheap to care this made me curious as to the words the kid had used that described the various places and emotions over the following days as I transcribed our findings

I started thinking about them a lot more staring into the light too long to get wet feet without swimming it was all just cryptic nonsense but what I'd felt the first night in my new house that was Roe

I could feel it it was the right way to describe it one night as I stood in the bathroom I thought about the word Adder It was what Logan had used to describe staring into the light for too long It felt fitting

But I didn't know if I'd experienced it I tried looking up into the back bathroom light and just saying it out loud. But I didn't get the same feeling as when I'd said Roe in the foyer. This wasn't it. This wasn't Ador. I sort of gave up on it after a while, but as I was watching TV, the thought came creeping back to me. There was a new segment about a patient with severe brain damage, a woman who couldn't breathe on her own or speak. She was aware in a sense, but completely imprisoned in a body. The segment focused on how a family was caring for her, but I just leaned in closer and looked

at her. Adder, I whispered to myself, that's it. And it was, no question about it. She was Adder. I'm staring into the light too long. I could feel it, understand it. Over the next couple of days, I started chasing Gould. The word meant someone whose feet was wet, despite not swimming.

It took me a while to get this one, but I finally found it in a newspaper article online. I felt Gould from reading about a man who had died from an overdose down at the beach. His body had apparently choked itself, causing him to sweat to death. as he was homeless and living close to the beach he'd been found by a couple of teenagers building a sandcastle but that feeling of drowning on dry land next to the ocean that was galled

with the right word I could feel it I could empathise in my mind I could be there with him but the final word I noted Surit that It was a difficult one. Over several days, I looked all over the internet.

I searched forums, read obscure articles ranging back to the 90s. But I just couldn't shoot blindly into the web and hope for the best. I had to find out more, get something substantial. That thought made me take a step back. What about the photos? The photos we had shown Logan in the first place. Who were the people in the photos? I checked the inventory list for the experiment.

Most of the cards were just mentioned as a number and an emotion, but I noticed that some of the faces were repeated with the same actors. All the cards which Logan had gotten right were repeated at least once. But the weird ones, those were unique faces. The lighting was different. They didn't show any peculiar emotions. They were just strange people, a bit off. I took a few photos with my phone and tried to do an image search.

I couldn't get a single hit. These pictures simply weren't available anywhere online. The ordinary emotions displayed could be found on various stock image sites, but other strange ones that Logan pointed out. Finally, after a few hours and dozens of pages clicked through, I did find a picture that looked like one of the models, but in a completely different setting. And this was just weird.

The picture I found online was from a social media profile. The profile, in turn, betrayed the user page of the very same homeless man that had drowned in his own sweat from an overdose. The same one I'd read an article of, but the article was written just a few days prior. and the picture must have been taken at least weeks ago. Listen, I don't know if you can get this. What Logan did was to perfectly describe,

using one of his made-up words, was exactly what was about to happen to that man. The man who gulled, who overdosed on the beach. I mulled the whole thing over in my head, countless times. And finally, I just gave up. I had to talk to Logan again. I did the creepiest thing I've ever done. I tracked down the kid at his school.

The following day, as he was about to get on the bus back home, I waved at him from across the parking lot. He was surprised to see me, and couldn't place me at first. Then I could see him recognise me, like something lit up in his mind. Hey, he called out, Science Man. Hey, Logan, I called back. How's it been? Good, he said.

You're not here for more tests, are you? He stopped a few feet ahead of me. Actually, I'm just here to ask you about that language of yours. Those strange words you use. How do you come up with them? That's easy, he said. Once you start talking it, you kind of don't stop. After a while, you just feel them, you know.

So where did you learn it? I asked. Anywhere special? I think I always know, he shrogged. Like, it's weird, like listening, but not to a sound, but like a colour. It's sort of just there, inside. So you can always see it, because sometimes you said people in the pictures were just happy or sad, ordinary things. Well, sometimes those things are easier to see.

You said I should answer fast, not, you know, accurately. So you can see it now, I chuckled. Anywhere, here with me. Sure, he smiled. Just stand still for a bit. Logan looked at me for a while. As I met his eyes, I could feel something. There was that feeling again.

Hobsden To see something I shouldn't have Right there in that kid's eyes He knew something Strangly enough It wasn't him that broke the silence It was me Hathos

I said I didn't know why I said it But it took Logan by surprise Ah The one who shouts until they listen He said That's what it means right I think that's me.

I don't know, I said. I'm sorry, Logan. I don't know why I said that. Did you see it? He asked, almost excited. Do you see it now? I want to say that I didn't. I want to say that I saw nothing.

But that'd be a lie. A million little words crept into my mind. And as I stared into that kid's eye, I saw something I shouldn't have. Now it was all becoming clearer. The more words I knew, the better I understood. The word I looked for, so it was a lot more complex than Logan had made it out to be

with human words. It was contextual. The man had died in an earthquake. He fell between the cracks. No, he hadn't. He was going to. It was describing events destined to unfold. but it was also describing something that had happened.

Was it both? Neither? I see it, I admitted. Right there, I could feel the parking lot falling away in insignificance. With a single spoken word, we could tell each other infinite things. These mundane expressions were just the tip of the iceberg, a dumbedown shadow of what was truly being said. The words told us of a.

of things that were, things that could be, and things there currently was. And, in that moment of silence, of understanding, I heard the vibrant colours so clearly, I can almost see them. They were piercing into my mind, forcing themselves into my understanding, screaming to me, then once you understand something, you can't unlearn it. I forgot to breathe, as to not accidentally say something I shouldn't. You weren't talking about the pictures I held up in the test You were looking at me

I said with nothing but shadow breath I'm obstin You didn't even look at the picture He didn't have to answer I knew it was true It was written into the word itself that my realisation would come Then as possibilities came rushing towards me I could feel an enormous weight come down

down on me. My mind couldn't take it. My body was shutting down as I fell to my knees, screaming until my neck felt raw. The world started to fade as my heartbeat swallowed my hearing. I have a hard time describing what happened next. When I closed my eyes, I'd see millions of possibilities, mostly pain, suffering, and terror. My own thoughts and emotions multiplied like a torch in a hall of mirrors. I'd see myself waking up in my bed, only to get murdered by a thousand different weapons. I'd see myself drowning in my bathtub, breaking my neck, falling down the stairs. Death. So much death. And then, in the blink of an eye, I'd be in the back of an ambulance, feeling the residual effect of a defibrillator in my chest. As I blinked, the ambulance

burst into flames. The driver crashed into a tree, someone carving their initials into my chest with a scalpel. None of it was real, but I couldn't tell anymore. Different words, with nothing but a well-placed syllable. All the while, I was just spitting out seemingly random words. My eyes lost focus, and as a lost grip of reality, my body shut itself down in self-defense. Thank God This was back in January of 2019 Logan was born with this language

Already stored in the back of his mind Some kind of residual effect from this contamination But for people like you and me We can't take it all at once So over the years With intense therapy to back me up I've settled and trying to learn one single word I'm going to find out as much as I can about just what it means to be

Hobsden, the word describing me. There was so much to that one word that you could fill a lifetime with it. In a way, maybe that was the point. A god language meant to fit all of our very beings into simple expressions, like compressing a folder into a zip file. But that's just the thing. to learn what it really means to be obstin, to be my word. I can't really do anything else but to live and see what happens next,

unless I want to go back to where my mind wandered off to. Still, sometimes I could feel something creeping back into my mind, little tingles, syllables and sounds, reminding me of all the knowledge I still have stored away somewhere in my inner madness. Little words with galactic proportions. It is easy to slip back into that mind, just inches away from the edge of what my physical brain can hold.

I sometimes wonder what all your words are. I sometimes wonder what they mean. I'll really, really try not to think about it. I live in a small home in the middle of a nice neighbourhood alongside my wife of ten years and our daughter who just turned five. My wife and I have lived in this home for eight years. Nothing has ever happened here. Nothing at all for all the years we've lived there.

Now, I can barely sleep. I don't want to breathe too loudly at night because I can hear something move. I'm constantly checking to make sure that every door and window is locked tight. I don't feel safe anymore. This was started in a better time. Only a few months ago, they now feel so far away. I was in the front yard cutting the grass with my cheap push mower while my daughter was playing with one of our neighbours' grandkids. Dan is an older Vietnamese gentleman who lives in the

house in front of mine. His wife passed away last year, so his son brings his kids over to keep in company. It was a normal sunny day when Dan and his son came walking over towards me. Hey guys, is everything all right? I yelled as I cut the Moe's engine to a halt.

Dan had a grim look on his face and his son Stephen spoke. Hey, sorry to bother you? His voice began to trail off as he tried to search for his words. Um, well a couple of weeks ago,

I installed a security system at Dad's place just to be safe. The tone of his voice made me feel uneasy as he continued. Well, Dad said he thought he saw something last night. Now he had my attention. This neighbourhood had always been the epitome of quiet and safe. I couldn't imagine the thought of someone trying to break into Dan's home. Stephen had his phone gripped into his hand, lifting it towards me so I could grab it. I took his phone to see a still, black-white image of my house on the screen.

I looked back up at him and he insisted I look again. Upon closer inspection, I saw something in the corner of the picture. There was a dark and blurry shape standing just outside the camera's view. I looked back up to the men in front of me, and both their faces were locked in an expression of anticipation, as if I could give them an answer to what we were seeing. I returned the phone to Stephen and let out a tired sigh. I, thanks, not really sure what to make of this.

Steven's face sank a bit. Then he told me that after seeing this, his dad had opened the window to see someone standing in front of my window. I wasn't sure what to make of this, so I thanked them for their concern and reassured them that they were obviously okay. Dan couldn't speak English very well, so he was speaking to Stephen, who translated for me.

My dad says that he swears that there was someone standing right there. They were swaying back and forth, just looking at your home. Stephen began to get embarrassed as he translated his dad's next words. Dad says that, uh, something is trying to get into your home. I stood there, shocked at what he just told me. I thought back to the previous night and couldn't recall hearing or seeing anything out of the ordinary. Dan gripped my hands.

I could feel that he was shaking as he said something to me. Ma? Stephen patted his dad's shoulder and looked back to me. Dad insisted that we come over and tell you so. I'll tell him not to worry about it. Sorry for the trouble. They started to walk away, Stephen calling to his kids as they returned back to Dan's home. I felt my daughter pat my hand to get my attention.

She wanted to go back inside for some juice. I gave her a smile and agreed to take a little break. I lifted her into my arms, and I saw Dan peering towards us through his window. I could feel his gaze on my back as we went back into our little home. The next couple of hours were of course normal. My daughter played in a room. My wife came from work and we cooked dinner together. Later that night, after putting our daughter down for bed,

I told my wife what had happened with Dan and Stephen. Her reaction was a mix of surprise and concern. Hmm, do you think he's doing all right? It's only been a year since his wife passed. I'm not really sure, but the look on his face. He was genuinely sad, I told her as the image of him peering through his window at me was burned into my memory. We both sat on the couch and I wrapped an arm around her. He called me a name too, ma, or something like that.

She chuckled a bit. Sorry, sorry, I just imagine your reaction to him calling you mom. I wrought my eyes at her and pulled her in for a little hug. Dan had always been her neighbour since we moved here He and his wife would always bring us little dishes that she had made My heart ached for him as I thought about how lonely he must be feeling I thought maybe I should put some effort into keeping him some company I rested my head on top of my wife's head and closed my eyes

Dun dun dun My eyes shot open and locked around Honey, what's up? My wife asked. Dun, dun, done, done. I cocked my head back and forth trying to... Don't you hear that? I asked my wife as I rose from the couch.

We both froze as we tried to listen. Dun, dun, done, done. I shot a glance at my wife. There, you hear that? Yeah, what is that? I slowly stepped around. the living room trying to trace the sound of the noise. It was a light tapping noise.

Three very faint rhythmic taps, followed by a three second pause. Then tapping again. I walked around almost tiptoeing around the room until I realized where it was coming from. Whatever the tapping noise was, it was coming from down the hall towards my daughter's bedroom. I sped up my pace and headed down the hall. Our daughter's room was right next to ours. I grabbed my hand on the door handle and slowly open the door. The room was dimly lit by a small nightlight plugged into the wall by a bed.

The bed was empty with the blankets and pillows strewn across the floor. My daughter was in a pink pyjamas, her back towards me and facing the window. Her arms were stiff at her side. She pulled her head back slightly and began to touch her head on the window. I'm done. Jeez, I shouted as I rushed a scuba into my arms. I looked at her face and her eyes were closed. Her breathing was steady and she was lying limp in my arms.

My wife was behind me and took her from me, squeezing her tightly to her chest. My daughter began to stir a bit, but she ended up staying asleep. We looked at each other with pure shock on her faces. Our daughter had never done that. that before. We took our little girl back into a bed and slowly closed the door behind us. In our bedroom, we ended up talking about how creepy that was. Our daughter has never walked in asleep before, but it happened to other kids, right? We both rationalised it at that, just normal sleepwalking, but something didn't sit well with me. My wife eventually fell asleep.

but for some reason my heart hadn't calmed down. I kept thinking about the image of something outside of my home and my daughter's window leading straight to the front yard. I ended up staying up for a while longer until at some point I fell asleep. A couple of hours later my wife's hands were shaking me awake. I was groggy and didn't know what was going on. But when I looked over to her, she had tears streaming down her face.

Outside of her home was an ambulance and police cars. The rest of her neighbours were standing in the yard trying to catch a glimpse of what happened. Stephen was on the sidewalk as Dan's body was being transported away in a cadaver bag. The police eventually came over to ask us a few questions, but we had no answers for them. At some point in the middle of the night Dan had left his house and passed away in the centre of the street.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. It was just yesterday when I talked to him. Dan was an old man so the police just thought he had a heart attack but the strangest thing was that he had a hammer gripped in his right hand. After the officer out, asked their questions, they packed up and went off.

I tried to talk to Stephen, but he was nowhere to be seen after all of that. I spent the rest of the day just thinking about Dan and his last word to me. Ma, the rest of the day was a blur and night eventually came. I was sitting in the living room alone as my wife and daughter slept. They were shaking up by what happened that morning. While the TV was playing some show in the background, I got on my phone and looked up what Dan had said to me. After a quick search for Vietnamese Ma,

I found out what the word had meant. Ma translated to the word, Ghost. I let that set in for a moment. Dan had thought that a ghost was trying to get into my house. Was this a delusion of an old man? Dan had always been cognizant and healthy. I didn't want to believe that he had gone crazy or something.

The concept of ghosts was something that had never crossed my mind. But Dan and the expression on his face, he was the truly believed that a ghost was coming to get us. Not only that, was he trying to fend something off with a hammer. I'm not sure what compel me to do this in the middle of the night but I just wanted to try and see what Dan was seeing. I got up from my couch and stepped to the front door towards the centre of the street where Dan was found. I just stood there in front of my home.

The air was warm and the light chirping of crickets could be heard. I stared at the home that my wife and I worked so hard into getting. Sir, can you help us? A small child's voice broke through the night air. I looked over to see two boys on the sidewalk in front of my home staring at me. I'd never seen those boys around the neighbourhood before. One boy was standing in front, who must have been a couple of years older than my daughter, and her teenage boy, probably his older brother, stood right behind him.

They were both dressed in jeans and dark grey jackets with the huts over their blonde heads Even in the dark of night, I noticed how pale the skin was. The small boy spoke out again. Sir, can you help us? I'm not sure why, but I was being hit by waves of pure terror. I started the sweat. My heart was drumming within my chest, and I felt that I was going to cry. The boy, yet again, asked the same question, but his voice was,

was so robotic. It didn't sound normal. The two boys took a step towards me, but they moved in unison. But something about it looked so unnatural. I opened my mouth to tell them, No, go away. That was what I wanted to say,

but a jumble of incoherent noise came out of my throat. The teenage boy then spoke. Rather, I saw his lips move But the voice was still the same tone and cadence of the little boy. Sir, we are lost and would like to come inside to use your phone. No, get out of here! Was what I was screaming in my head, but the words wouldn't come out.

I felt something warm run down my nose, and I took a quaking hand to wipe it. I looked to see my hand filled with blood. What was wrong with me? There was something wrong with the situation and these kids were causing this. I forced my feet to move. It felt as if a hundred pounds were latched onto my legs. I slowly stepped back towards my house

in a futile attempt to escape these monsters. The kids took another step towards me. I wasn't looking at them, but I could feel them move closer. It felt like ages, but I was finally able to at least step onto my property. It was dead silent. The sound of the night and crickets chirping were now absent.

I wanted to turn around to check to see where those kids were, but I was honestly too afraid to do so. I was getting close to the front door. When I suddenly heard a noise, done, done, done. I looked over to see my little girl at the window of a room. Her eyes were wide open and she was staring straight ahead while tapping her head on the glass. Dun, dun, dun, the voice. A disgusting voice felt as though it was

right at my neck. Sir, let us in. It didn't sound like just one voice, it didn't even sound like two voices. That demand was spoken with dozens. I gripped my hand onto the handle of my front door and I pray that whatever was behind me wouldn't follow me inside. I opened the door just barely enough for me to slide through and I collapsed onto the floor. I turned and hurriedly used my feet to slam the door shut. It was as if a spell was broken. I was fully able to move normally. I took my hands and wiped my face from all the blood that had dripped down. I heard my wife rushing towards me, and she emerged from the hallway with our daughter clutch tightly to her chest.

She saw the state I was in and was about to scream until I gave a quick. Shh! We were all completely motionless. Everything was so damn quiet that we could hear our hearts beating. In the silence, I felt an ounce of relief and safety. until Sir, we are lost, let us in, my wife whispered,

What the hell is that? I looked through the frosted glass of our front door to see the two boys pressed against it, their hands were on the glass as they called out again. Sir, let us in. Despite the darkness of the night, I could see their faces, and not only that, I could see their eyes.

Staring at us with four orbs of absolute darkness. Their eyes were just abysmal and black. My daughter suddenly started to shuffle in my wife's arms and let out a screech. My friends are lost, let them in, my daughters screamed. I didn't know what the hell was going on anymore. These things weren't kids, and are not. I'm not even sure if you can count them as ghosts. The only thing I could do was get up, grab my family and lock us in our bedroom.

The rest of the night, no one talked. I just sat there propped up against my locked bedroom door as my family looked towards me in horror. At the back of my head, I could still hear the boys calling out to me. For days we didn't talk about what happened that night. It was horrifying for me to recount, and I felt nauseous every time my wife would attempt to bring it up. My daughter was angry that we didn't let her friends in, and when I asked her who they were, she would say that she saw them in her dreams.

I tried to tell her that whatever those things were, they weren't friends. Days and days had passed, and I swear that every night I could hear them shuffling around outside. I even called the cops. They sent an officer to stay outside my home, but they didn't see them. But I could still hear them. A week later, I was sitting in my living room, and when I looked over at the front door, I saw them again. They were peering into the house with their dark eyes. God, it's been months now and I just don't know what to do anymore These days

I've stopped thinking about how this started But when They will come back When I clock in The machine is old and archaic Covered in layers of dust My opening routine is simple I enter the main gate

I ignore Dave Who's always standing outside the premises when I enter I make my way to the employee area and change into my uniform at the lockers. It sounds rather mundane, but once the shift starts, the craziness begins. Back when there was a team, we'd call every day a snowflake shift, because no two days were ever the same. There's a long list of duties and almost never the same task. On top of that, there's no set schedule for when something will need to be done, creating

near infinite possibilities of combinations a night. Most of the tasks are pretty simple, but the issue is that one small slip-up could cost you dearly. And there's no manual for the job. Survival comes from a mixture of past-known experiences and dumb luck. And since there's not always a set answer, the best I can do is recall some stories from my time here. This way any newcomer can calibrate their mode of thinking

similar to mine since I've been the most successful employee to date. Before learning about the shift, it's good to brush up on the area's history. The scenic land was bartered from locals many decades ago and swallowed into the site's growth. It used to be a small village with a few water spots, with solid land for foundations and robust roads. The issue was commerce. The sustainability of the village was ever sinking, so some tycoons bowled up and swallowed the whole village with sweet deals. The idea was simple.

Own all the land and develop it more than a pile of filthy peasants could do. Only one stood in the way, a middle-aged local born and raised on the lands and refused the budge. Sadly, the records are shoddy, so no one knows what happened, but they eventually got all the land, so he must have settled on a significant sense. settlement or something. A few decades went by and the project was stagnant. There was no clear goal with land. They searched for gold, oil, but there was no magically profitable resource to be found. Just an impulse of greed that was a product of the time. That was until good old Walt came along and innovated the entertainment space. By this point, money was already drying up for the

old crones, they took the business model of what Walt revolutionized and blasted out a construction on a fraction of the budget. To say the project was a mess is an understatement. Corners weren't just cut, they were sliced off entirely. They had themed areas that branched from the central hub zone, a water park, a ride area, small games, food and entertainment. Everything was slathered in a thin layer of pirate theme. And so, the Bandit Cove theme park was born.

Immediately the place was riddled with problems, problems that became vastly apparent when an influx of guests came in. Many kids were injured at the minor attractions. There were an obscene amount of fatalities at the major attractions before tape was put around the whole thing. Millions were spent to get the land, millions were spent to build it, and millions were given to pay off the lawsuits that followed. The place had no chance to continue.

But why is it that a small fraction of employees were kept on, and they were tasked with hiring more, and they then brought in more help? The park was closed with no hope of reopening. The park was eternally falling into disrepair. Yet there was a small team of staff on hand attending to the park. The answer is, I don't know. the actual answer was lost over time, or the original staff knew the severity of the situation were the tasks left unattended. I've only managed to develop theories based on the tasks that

have been upheld. So, about those stories. Each area has its own unique tasks and challenges. My least favourite is the taming cages. During the brief time the park was open, a prominent attraction was the taming cages. Back then, foreign animals were a commodity, something people still flocked from miles around the sea. The pirate theme was in full effect here, but it was mixed with a circus aesthetic, a mix that could not look more cursed. Imagine people in full bandit gear were with odd bits of colours and full face paint. It was a free roller coaster down the uncanny valley.

The small cages housed many oddities from around the world, but the taming cells were way too small to house any kind of large predator. However, that didn't stop them from trying. Knowing the full extent of what a lion can do, it's pitiful how poor the entrapment was to keep them in. Every few days, I have one of the few tasks done outside the park. Periodically, I have to visit a butcher in the nearby town. The young ones there seem to serve me with confusion, but the older The older gentleman regards me as if he knows more than he lets on. Despite this, I can never get a peep out of him. The one thing that turns heads is that I've never paid with money.

I inherited a beat-up old card that I just show them, a silhouette of the park's mascot on the front. They don't scan it or take any information from it. They just look at it and give me the same item each time. a strange bag of meat. I've never tried to identify the cuts. I neither have the knowledge of meat, nor do I want to push my luck.

I very quickly learned what happened to curious cats in this job. All I know is that it never smells fresh. I'm always followed with a horrendous pungent smell. When it's time, I make my rounds around the taming cages. The smaller cages house hunched over silhouettes. I leave a slab of meat just within reach of the cell Only when I'm safely away

Did they scuttle over to eat But it's the taming cells that I hate Because I can't just leave them meat there I have to dig my hand in Grab a meaty handful And throw it The sound it makes isn't pleasant But is what follows that I hate

The small plastic cave at the back stirs I hear the grunts and sniffing as something emerges from the hole. There's a dragging sound as it slowly meanders out of its confines and slowly makes its way towards the meat. When it does, it goes to the same formality. It sniffs it as if appreciating the scent. Slowly it picks it up, and only when it makes eye contact with me. Does it eat?

I have to watch the painted face of what was once a purport. person, slowly guzzle down the hunger flesh. His bandit clothes have long since been stained by years of red drippings. I have to make sure it eats, and it wants me to know who's truly in control. Because, like I mentioned, its routine is only a formality. He could hop the fence with his opposable thumbs and strangely strung limbs, if it wished to. But it doesn't, and seemingly self-contains itself to save the trouble. As long as it's pleased, it causes no problems. On my way back, I see them.

Now in the little barriers of the front of the cages, chewing down the red cuts. Pirates, bandits and thieves, their faces are still marked with the paint of their uniform. Some days you just know what you're doing for the whole night. The prime example of this is when the screams start. When entering the main gate, a good idea is to just stand in the hub area and wait. Silence is golden. A quiet start usually means a calm shift, so when you hear screams coming from straight ahead, it's a good idea to brace yourself for a long night.

The rides are straight ahead from the hub area, rickety old monoliths of ancient theme park technology. During the period these were built, they were relatively inefficient and downright dangerous. Even the upper echelon of rides from this era was marred with issues. You'd be hard pressed to find rides from this era that hold up since they either don't last the test of time or parks work to modernize outdated rides. It's a miracle in and of itself that they still stand. So it's always a terrifying prospect that I sometimes have to operate them. Shrew screams light up the night

and you have to follow the source when they start. It takes a while. Sound bounces strangely in the park so it's easy to get led in circles when the source is in reality nearby. And it's a nightmare when you find one. Sometimes they're hidden in the overgrown foliage so I often jump at the start

when a gentle rustling rises from near me. when on the hunt. It starts slow, but winds up until it stands upright. And slowly, it emerges. The rotted, beat up remains of a child. Their skin is wrung raw all over. The direction of scraping differs from many angles. They join to click and pop with each motion.

Yet, they still move with slow efficiency. When they see you, they will not stop following you. This is what you want. Once I get the attention of one, I work my way to a ride, which is essential. I make sure I get far enough ahead that I can get to work. You don't have to worry about losing them. They always seem to find you, and the screams tips you off if it's close. Another staff member made that mistake.

They darted off and hid, hoping to just wait them out. But it doesn't work like that. They were found where they hid. No footprints leading in, but slow, deliberate, red footsteps leading away from the body. It takes a few times the Kickstarter ride, but they all somehow still function, if just barely. Once it's set up, I sit down on a car seat and wait. Now comes the worst part. I have to wait, but pay attention.

to when the child shows up. They'll slowly come over and one of two things will happen. Either they sit down on the cart next to me, or they keep walking. If they keep moving, this means that they're not in the mood for that particular ride, and you have to get up as fast as possible before they reach you and run to another ride. The night will consist of doing this until you find the right one for the night. Often it takes two times too much. Often it takes two or three attempts, and though I've been lucky enough to get it in one,

sometimes I'm unlucky and go through several cycles of each until they finally stop. When they eventually do settle down, you need to make your way around back to the controls, and hit go. It's a horrible feeling when you know what comes next. The ride grinds the life, the mechanical whirring chokes and sputters. it picks up speed and the joyous yells start. It's the most innocent childlike sound it'll make. This doesn't last long.

It will happen whether it's on the first turn or final bend, but it's inevitable. Something will go wrong, and the cycle repeats over. The child will be flung from a great height and will be lost in a random direction. It is destined to crash, and settle somewhere until it stirs awake and screams starting the whole cycle once more.

It's always somber when the task is over. The screams fill up so much of the night that the silence can be deafening. Only the mild purrs of the machine remain, which needs to be shut down. Let me tell you about Dave. I mentioned earlier that my routine starts with entering through the main gate, ignoring Dave, and making my way inside. That isn't an exaggeration. Always ignore Dave. Back in the day, we tried the time when he arrived. Every shift, he'll be standing in front of the gate like he's the first in line to get in.

And so, we tried to find a time he wasn't there. We tried arriving half an hour earlier to the shift, then an hour, then more. no matter how obscenely early we showed up, he'd be there. Yet, he wasn't there when we'd leave. He has the image of the most passive man you'll ever meet. A simple, middle-aged white-bred person, sweater vest over a clean press shirt, khaki trousers, and some comfy-looking loafers. Dave is the most unassuming man you can imagine. But I think that's what makes him passively terrifying.

His clean demeanour stands out from the juxtaposition of the rundown and abandoned park. His polite tones don't match the grim nature of the job. His words are smooth and persuasive. But you must never listen to him. Often when you enter, he'll try to ask you questions about the park. When is it opening if you could come inside, whether a particular ride or attraction was open? Some have tried to answer his questions to get him to leave. But this often proves to be a mistake.

It's better to just walk by as sternly as possible and get away from the gate. But sometimes you can't. There are days when you have to sort something at the ticket kiosks or return to the hub area. This is where it takes full advantage of your presence. He'll offer help with whatever you're doing. Tell you he knows secrets unknown about the park that he can save him. you from every threat you come across, and all you have to do is go back outside. It sounds easy to avoid.

You'd think this is the easiest of tasks, but as far as I'm aware, he has the highest body count of all the dangers. He isn't dangerous on his own. He uses present danger as a means of persuasion. When you are chased by an escaped bandit clown hungry for meat that you no longer have, would you rather face them or friendly or Dave? Despite knowing how dangerous he is, it always seems like the best option in a dangerous situation.

His tongue is smooth and his wit is sharp. He knows just the right things to say to get your attention even without danger present. So, in a make-or-break moment, he's scarily good at tipping things in his favour. One of the number one rules of the job is never to leave the gates when Dave is still around. He'll never try to hide or trick you.

He won't change the clocks to get you to come out prematurely. He only ever wants to get you out of his own accord. He can be great for conversation though. Over the years, I've had quiet nights when we just talked about life. He's given me solid relationship advice, helped motivate me in personal projects. He even helped with some of my coursework back when I was in conversation. college. He'll always try to turn things to get you outside despite the pleasant interactions,

and every time I have to politely decline. Dave doesn't seem to age, no matter how long it's been, but this might be something only I've noticed since I've been here the longest. At the end of the shift, he's never there. This is a good indication that it's time to leave. His absence tends to signify that all dangers have ended. But this added to the enigma of him always being there when we arrived. So years ago, a colleague challenged this paradox. His goal was simple. Stick around at the end of a shift and see when Dave comes.

We all told him not to. We were pushing our luck every night. Why push it further? But no, he was adamant about to. solving at least one mystery, we never saw him again. We chalked this up to another body count for Dave, and noted to never try that stunt for future employees. If you want to know the worst place to be during a shift, it's the water park.

Built over the small natural lake of the old village, it was supposed to be the namesake of the pirate theme they were going for. The area was called Treasure Lagoon. It had a mix of attractions for both older and younger generations. Pools and slides twisted around the outer regions, whilst the main attraction, the pirate's flute, stands tall in the centre. But there's a reason why most water attractions aren't built on natural water sources. The safety measures were shoddy at best, and due to depth disparities,

kids were quickly lost to the depths of the water. They built protective grates over the particularly deeper parts, but somehow kids slipped through and got trapped. The worst were the kids who got caught on sharp cuts and metal that jotted out from the grate sides. All it took was a barbed hug to latch onto a kid's swimsuit, a quick panic, and they lose their breath and disappear below the depths. There were eight reported deaths,

though I feel that they only reported bodies found, not disappearances. Many tears are shed here, and they still haven't stopped. When you hear crying, you know it's time to attend the water park. At first, the sound of water is almost soothing. It flows around in the loop of the layout. But it'll be there, the faint cries of children. There will be a lifeguard station and in there are numerous long poles with reinforced metal ends. I have no idea who supplies them, but there's never an excuse not to have one.

Follow the sobs around the base. An important detail is never to stand at the edge. You may be tempted to approach the streams to hear better, maybe even to take a peek. has cost us many members of the team. The sobs are quiet, almost inaudible, but keep walking along and eventually you'll find a source. Now you wait. Eventually they'll reach out.

Arms pale blue and slimy, dark veins streaking all over them, the voices will wail in agony as they thrash around the edge. Do not let them touch you. though they are small and childlike in size, they are powerful. You will eventually become desensitized to the next part. Slowly approach the edge, raise the pole and gently push them back down. The trick is to estimate where a head should be. The whales will soon peter down into a sob before bubbling away into the depths.

I lied about becoming desensitized. It hurts me every time. For how long it takes for the sobs to stop, you have to keep circling the waters doing this. An easy night should end after a while. However, sometimes, the moans lead all the way to the pirate flute ride in the centre. If this happens, it's just easier to run. There used to be a staff member who knew what to do when this started.

but that knowledge is now lost. If you stick around too long, you'll see the sea of arms. No one knows the consequences of letting them run loose for a night, but is the only option we have right now. A lot of what happens in the park runs off sound cues. Dave's soothing voice cooing you to come outside, the screams from the rides, the cries from the water park, but the loudest by far is the sirens.

You have to remember, the park was inspired by Walt Disney's original Magic Kingdom, built in 1955. That's only ten years after the end of the war. Tensions were still high for some people. This rang true with the owners. It must have been paranoid with the number of sirens they placed around. They look and sound like air raid sirens, so it's only a theory that they were actually. about the war.

They're practically at every corner, ready to fire off at a moment's notice. There's no mistaking when they go off. The whole park lights up with sound. I once saw someone's ears bleed because of them. The first time I witnessed it, I was doing the roller coaster chase. But as soon as they went off,

the child thing just slinked back into the bushes. Even the creatures that roam the place know when it's still, time to hide away. They don't blare at full volume for long, just long enough to make its announcement known. Then Peter's off sufficient for you to start running. Even when you're going at full force, you can hear it. There's no doubt that it's coming.

The cracking of small shacks splintering in the distance, the slamming of body parts heavier than anything known in the wild. The behemoth of the park rarer. It breaks its way in, wildly flailing about in agony. When the siren start, you have a small window of time to run. Take any head start you can, because it's the only reprieve you'll get. The creature slinks on many limbs, fleshy tendrils that slap about wildly. You can outrun it on paper.

It's fast, but it lacks direction. My theory is that it can't see. to feel around. That's why he thrashes about so much. But it's shown bursts of high intelligence at times. So take what I say with a grain of salt. The problem with running is endurance. You have to evade it for a long time, sometimes all night. Therefore, finding a sustainable way to escape is vital. You get desperate for escape. I've even been tempted to run out to Dave. He promises so much when you're desperate, and when he offers a reprieve from the behemoth, it sounds like a fresh of breath air.

Though, after hearing of someone once taken that option, I intently prefer the behemoth over him. What makes things complicated is that sometimes the same thing won't work twice. Gary was adamant. He had the perfect spot. He claimed it worked every time. I was on shift with him. a siren player happened. At the end of the shift, I went up to his spot, a little reinforced stall that was designed

for pellet gun shooting. Gary was just a smear of red pace when I arrived. I talked about all the destruction it brings about. What always baffles me is when I come back the day after, everything is as it should be. Not in a pristine brand new way, always the same condition things were before it raised. rages through the park. This isn't even the most confusing thing to me about the park. I have way too many questions and not a shred of answers.

I've mentioned the branching paths from the hub area. Each has its challenges and events, many that I've still not spoken about, and probably more than I've not even seen myself. But there's an event that starts in the center area of the hub. From the Ferris wheel. It's constantly spinning for a start Even if all the power goes out because of the Goliathiels Or when we knock off the generators

It's always running It's a very passive danger compared to most The only time it's claimed someone Was when a new hire decided he wanted to ride it We waited at the base Keeping an eye on his cabin When it came back around He was gone

Never to be seen again But that's not what I wanted to talk about. See, there's a rare event. It's only happened twice for me in the ten years I've been here. It signalled by a light coming on in one of the cabins. It's a good idea to glance at the wheel every so often, just in case it comes on when you're not ready. But when it does come on, it signifies the arrival of the backwards man.

The backwards man is a figure that walks Well backwards Not only that He talks, moves and interacts with everything in reverse He's very passive and friendly sounding Granted, you can't understand what he's saying But this only lasts as long as he's not mad It's not what you do that makes him mad

You can poke him, run from him Ignore him, that doesn't set him off. The thing that aggravates him is when he sees something not in reverse. Well, I guess to him, we're the ones in reverse. And when he sees something not right, he goes after it with full force. This raid is simple. Just walk backwards, don't talk, and keep things simple. You can pick something up, put it down and that's okay.

But don't you dare drop it. It's hard to fake reverse gravity. He'll come after you for that one. If you pull your phone out your pocket, that's fine. But if you try, say, record him to reverse the footage later, well, you're pressing record. Then the video captures. That's backwards to him.

That's a no-no. The force he exerts is beyond this world. The air crackles with electricity from how fast he snaps towards you. Whenever he hits you, you'll be lucky if any part of it remains. A slap on the wrist would literally put half your body against the wall several feet away. His methods are rather gruesome compared to most of the other threats here. Personally, I'd just like to wave, smile, and then walk away. The whole Occam's razor about the simplest solution, often being the best,

reign supreme here. I make the job sound like it's a mess, and in some ways it is. Days are inconsistent. I currently work seven days a week. My social life has been in ruin. But the pay is good. You're heavily looked after.

Though I'm still not sure by whom... But right now, I need help. It's getting exhausting, because I'm the last one left. I'm doing everything And in this job Tiredness kills

So if anyone's interested in a night shift job With great benefits It doesn't matter where you are I'm pretty sure they're so desperate They'll ship someone in from across the world Just please I need help I'm exhausted

And if something happens to me The next generation will have no guidance and I dread to think what'll happen if there's too many slip-ups here we can't afford anything getting out young Max stood at the entrance of the playroom before him was an entire area

full of loud, belligerent children running and screaming in every direction some of them went up and down a plastic slide connected to a larger jungle gym giggles of joy came from all over the room but they occurred most of all in the ball pit. The ball pit was a rather large tub full of multi-coloured plaster gaubs cluttered with children splashing around. Max didn't particularly like the other children, but his mother told him to make some friends.

Max slowly descended into the pit with a frown on his pale little face. Almost immediately after entering, a small boy tossed himself onto Max and sent him tumbling into the centre of the arena. Max resurfaced with a skull painted on his lips. It wasn't long after the initial accident that more kids fell back into Sam. He placed his arms over his face but to no avail. He felt the children fall onto him, shoving him further and further down.

Max was frantically squirming at this point. He attended the scream, but all that exited his lips was a soft groan as the ball pit and children samaged them together. He felt his face. strain and his muscles tightened due to the lack of oxygen he was getting. Max was shoving and clawing at the pile above him now. The weight of the kids combined began to take its toll as an insurmountable pressure was forced onto Max. His body began to stop fighting the pressure

as Max's arms and legs went limp. Their weight and the sheer number of rubber balls in the pit was preventing him from breathing. And he felt some kids knee and elbow him in the face. He could feel himself losing consciousness He could feel himself drowning His eyes fluttered before he completely blacked out A strange sensation shot through Max's body As he woke up His head was pounding and a high-pitched ringing sound filled his ears

He soon rubbed his head and regained his composure Happy to be able to breathe again He allowed his fingers to run across the surface below He seemed to be on a moving point platform of sorts. Max sat up in a daze and looked around, confused by what he saw. He wasn't sure how long he'd been unconscious. He yawned and stretch his arms out before grabbing the rail next to him. He was on an escalator, slowly moving downward. The surrounding area was different than anything Max had ever seen before. The sky was lined with purple clouds

in a pink hue. The sky was brightly lit, but there appeared to be no sun. Yet, there were stars, but with no moon. Max looked downward where the escalators were heading. He seemed to pass through a thin layer of clouds, and below those, he saw a platform. He saw colourful carnivals on it, and beautiful birds and butterflies fluttered to the air quite majestically. Before he knew it, Max's feet touched down onto the ground, and he stood before the gigantic place. Everywhere he looked, his eyes were met with an abundance of beauty. Lush gardens full of pure white flowers and trees made of a cotton candy substance filled his vision.

Max pranced along the perimeter of the platform, taking in all the sights. Then he stepped onto a path made from the whitest marble he had ever seen. It wasn't long after he started skipping down the path that he came to. into contact with the owner of the mysterious and wonderful land. He was a rather tall man, and his skin was pale and smooth. He opened his mouth to reveal a toothy grin, made above teeth treated with the most proper of hygienic care. And the sight of the man caused Max to smile as well. He wore a red suit, decorated with blue, purple and yellow polka dots.

It was tacky, but Max looked past that and stared in all. at the man. Happiness and joy seemed to radiate off the man and spread in every direction. Hello, child, would you like a balloon? Max smiled and nodded his head politely. His mom would always give him a balloon on his birthday, and it brought back fun memories. The man smiled and held out his hand.

Max took it, and together they galloped along the path and towards the center of the carnival. A small carousel seemed to stand directly in the centre, and so the two of them got on. Little Max had trouble at first, but the man helped lift him up under the porcelain horse. But something was bothering Max, and although he didn't want to be rude, he also wanted to know when he would be getting his balloon. Hey, mister, is it okay if I have my balloon now? The man turned his head towards Max and smiled.

His elongated fingers curled around the brass pole sticking out of the horse's head and he smirked before placing his hand on top of one of the polka dots aligning his suit In an instant he pulled the yellow polka dot out of place and blew into it inflating the rubber into a full-size balloon There kid you got a two-for-one deal

I did a magic trick and made you a balloon Now if you behave and had tons of fun you can get even more prizes. Max's eyes shifted towards the man and his eyes fluttered in surprise. More presents and gifts. His mom never got him anything except for on Christmas and on his birthday.

Like, what, sir? Max asked the man politely. Oh, like, I don't know. How about ice cream, Max? Do you like ice cream? All Max could do was not his head yes. This place was only getting better and better for him. First he got a balloon and carnival rides, and now he was getting ice cream.

What more could he ask for? Really? Ice cream? Yes, sir, thank you for this. Max knew his mom wouldn't be proud of him for listening to strangers. It was one of the things she told him to never do, after all. Still, this was a nice stranger. Max didn't think he was a bad guy trying to hurt him. Perhaps if Max was older, he would understand that looks can be incredibly deceiving.

But the pull of the carnival and the promise of sweet made him forget about his mother's warning. And so he followed the man hand in hand deeper into the carnival. Excuse me, mister. Is it okay if I ask you a question? Sure, Max, anything at all? The man said with a toothy grin on his face. How is this place so sure? huge and colorful, Max asked. Although he was just a small boy, he was still curious as to how something so impossible

could be real. It was hard for him to wrap his head around the perfection before him, and he needed an answer, not out of suspicion, but out of confusion. You see, Sam, this place is always so bright and happy, because it's fueled by the happiness and joy of the world. That joy acts like a battery. here, and soon you can help this world be even more brighter and more perfect. I can tell you're a good child, Max.

I know for a fact that the rest of the children would be excited to have your joy help fuel theirs. Max stopped for a moment. Other children? He hadn't seen any other kids since he stepped into the carnival. No, he hadn't seen anyone but the man. What do you mean by other children? children, sir, Max inquired. Oh, the children in the ball pit, of course.

All the ballpits in the world, in fact. This place is solely responsible for. Well, making them fun, you could say. Max nodded his head and proceeded with a man towards a tall building. He could see things poking out of the roof of the building and heading upwards. They looked to be tubes of some sort, with strange things in them. colors appearing to be flowing through the tubes Max couldn't tell whether they were liquid or gas

but he didn't mind as long as he would get his ice cream he would be pleased as the man led Max into the building the first thing Max noticed was that the entire room they had entered was completely empty no furniture no paintings no television

well maybe it hadn't been empty upon second inspection Max saw what appeared to be exactly what he was hoping for. An ice cream machine was in the corner of the room. It was a soft-serve machine. The man motioned for Max to approach the machine and gave him a plastic cup and a spoon to hold the delicious frozen treatin. Max was in front of the machine and stared at the dials and buttons of it.

He reached towards it and then stopped. Something washed over him that prevented him from pouring the ice cream into his cup. Something deep within him told him to drop the cup and run far, far away. It was because, at that moment, he felt an overbearing sense of dread. The entire time he'd been in the joyful world, he felt safe and happy. But something about the man and the ice cream and that moment was different from the rest of the world. He didn't know how to describe it other than a change in atmosphere. It felt as if in the world and happiness and joy he was currently in.

There was malicious intent within the man and the delicious sweet before him. Max turned back and saw the man behind him. His toothy grin was now replaced with a slightly annoyed look as he told Max to fill the cup. Come on, Max, I thought you liked ice cream. That's why we're here right, to enjoy ourselves and have fun. Max, it wouldn't budge.

There was no way he was going to eat the ice cream. His arm started to quiver and he withdrew from the machine. The man's expression changed again. This time, however, it was one of frustration. He placed one hand on Max's shoulder and used the other to grab his arm. He squeezed tightly and his voice was different.

The previous cheerful tone he once held was replaced with angrily. His teeth were clenched, his veins were starting to become more noticeable through his head. Listen here, Max, listen when I'm speaking to you. Do you want the rest of the kids in the ball pit to have a bad time just because you wouldn't eat ice cream? I'm trying to help you enjoy yourself, and as a result, you'll help the kids up there have the time of the lives. But no, you'd rather be a loser. Do you want to be known for being a disappointment, Max?

Do you want to be known as a loser? Tears began to roll down Max's face as the man squeezed harder on his arm. A red imprint began to form on his forearm as Tears continued to roll down the young boy's face. He tried to yank himself away from the man, but with each pull, his grip only tightened. After using his small size to wiggle free from the man's grasp, he ran towards the doors he entered the building from. He pulled on them, only to find the doors locked. Max looked back to the man He stood there laughing at Max as he screamed and pleaded

His efforts were futile though And the man began making his way towards him Max scanned the room through his tear-drenched eyes And saw it In the opposite corner of the room Was a door Getting to his feet He made a mad dash past the man and up towards the door

The man made no attempt to start him as he burst through the door and into the room and upon entering it the young boy led out a scream that echo throughout the whole carnival. Max saw their bodies dangling in the air loosely. Children, dozens, maybe hundreds of them hung by wires and tubes strapped to various parts of their bodies. Their bodies were colourless, grey leathery skin covered them and their malnourishment reached the point where the ribs protruded and pushed their skin near breaking point. The life was drained out of their eyes. And yet, their chests sunk in and out.

They were alive, although they were better off dead. Max could feel his heart smashing against his ribs, and for a second he felt as if he were going to burst through them. Turning around, he saw the man at the door. His toothy grin was back, but this time it was for different reasons. Max stepped backward and into the entanglement of kids who swung from the ceiling.

The man followed after him and they both made their way through the great children. The man hot on his trail. Max could hear the man only ten or so feet behind him. He was stronger and faster than Max moving through the bodies with ease. Max knew he had to do something fast. Thoughts raced through his mind.

In his panic, he saw, somehow found a moment of clarity to think. The children's feet were only a foot above the floor, and with Max's height, he could drop down and view the surrounding area. He got down on his stomach and saw the man's feet moving towards his direction. He silently crawled in the opposite direction, and did a loop around the man before staring back at his feet. He made his way towards the door he'd entered the room from.

He knew that if he could exit and make his way towards the escalators, that he would be safe. And so he waded through the bodies and towards the door. He ran through it and was soon in the ice cream room again. The door that was locked was made of glass, and although he didn't have time to break through it before, perhaps the man's wild goose hunt would buy him time. Max began to kick the glass of the door harder and harder

as a glass cracked inch by inch. He knew the man had heard him because the sound of footsteps was now coming in his direction. He kicked and kicked and soon the glass was almost shattered The sound of footsteps was at the door across the room now And with one last attempt Max kicked through the glass

And climbed through the small opening He started running away from the building Only looking back once he was about 50 yards away He saw the man bend And contort his body to fit himself To the child-sized hole in the door Even from a long distance away Max could hear the cracking of bones and the twisting of joints.

They almost seemed to echo through the world he was in. The man was chasing after him now. His long legs travelling faster and farther than little Max's legs were capable of carrying him. Max looked up with the sky. The once purplish clouds now turned grey. The whole landscape was having its colour sucked out of it and replaced, the same grey as the children he had seen. Carnival rides and.

decorations crumbled into dust as the man yelled from behind Max. This is what the world turns into when a child's joy isn't put to good use. Is this really what you want, Max? Do you want this world to burn? Max didn't look back. He just kept running. To think that all the ballpits in the world were fueled by this place. It was spread out just enough to take children away, but not so widespread that it would cause a closure of restaurants, play areas and other places with the pits. The ferris wheel fell off its hinges and crashed down onto the ground below.

The carousel horses were charred black as if they had burned. And the rides ceased movement. The air was filthy and filled with smog, and the flowerbeds and gardens died, leaving behind withering vegetation and chipped wooden fences, rather than the painted ones Max had seen upon entering. But Max held on to hope because in the distance he could see the escalator, and he heard the kit in the sky. playing in the pit.

The man was gaining on Max, and with every step, Max grew more and more tired. What started out as a 50-yard head start was now only a 20-foot distance, but Max was determined to avoid the fate the other kids met. He only had 10 more yards

until it was upon the escalator. He was so close to the railing that he could extend his arm out and touch it. He felt the hot breath of the man in the suit behind him, and with that, Max lunged onto the escalator. He felt the man's lanky fingers

wrap around his ankle and pull. Max looked back and saw the man. His entire appearance had changed. His suit was stained and tattered and the previously bright colors were dull. His hair was neat before, but now a greasy mess of white. His skin was deteriorating on rotting

and he smelled of death and disease. He was shown Max what the world would look like without the joy and creativity of children, how it fell apart and plunged into darkness and decay. Max was more determined than ever to get back to his world. He reared up his other foot and stomp down on the man's head, crushing it between his shoe and the hard metal escalator step. The man screamed out in pain and looked up in Max,

his face full of hunger and malice. You can't escape, Max. I'll have your spirit and your energy, and you'll help fuel this world, just like the rest of the kids. Max reared up his foot and kicked the man directly in the eye, sending him tumbling down the steps and into the world below. In a hurry, Max raced at the steps and towards the heavens. He only looked down when he was near the top of the escalator,

only to see the man at the very bottom. The world was back to its usual, colourful look, and the man waved at Max from below. Although he wasn't sure, Max knew that the man had the same toothy grin as he always had. Looking back over the sky, he ascended past the clouds and felt the texture of the plastic orbs. He heard the sound of kids playing in the pit, and he made his way upwards towards the top. Max felt the edge of the ball pit and climbed out, absolutely exhausted. He watched all the swarming in the pit like a bunch of animals.

ignorant of what lies below and as he watched the kids playing the pit he did notice one thing in particular the pit seemed different than it had before he didn't know what it was something about the color of the balls seemed more vibrant since he last saw them it all began a couple of years ago but only now I'm able to understand the horrible truth behind the mysterious event of my life. But let me start from the very beginning and not rush the events here. One day, in March 2020, I was going to do a regular grocery store trip, so I took my jacket and stepped outside the front door, and I almost tripped.

There was a small cardboard box lying on my porch with a typical Amazon tape covering the joint on top. Did the delivery guy mess up, was my first thought. I looked left and right instinctively, looking for a delivery van or any sign of a mailman, and of course nobody was around. So I picked up the box and checked the sticker. That's strange, I said to myself, as my eyes went over the address and name of the package. I was stated as the receiver.

But I was pretty sure that I didn't order anything from them ever since I bought all the Christmas presents back in mid-November. The box was very light, as if nothing was inside. It could have been a prank or a delivery system failure. Who knows? Maybe some computer had sorting factory malfunctioned, and I've been awarded with an empty box sent to my door. So my grocery plans got delayed a bit. I walked back to the house, picked up the kitchen knife from the rack,

and carefully opened the box. No chaotic movements, as I still thought that this was some sort of mistake and at some point the thing should be returned to the respective owner. Cautiously opening the box and getting through all the package pieces inside of it, I finally discovered the content of the package. Deep in the brown craft paper, a small plastic knife was buried. You know the type, the one they gave out in school canteens

to smear the butter from those small plastic capsules. This one was purple and absolutely brand new. I haven't chuckled at that point that this was the least expected item I could ever imagine to receive and I was worried that I could get somebody's stuff Anyway, to be extra sure I logged onto my Amazon account

and checked the order history Everything was as it should be The last thing I got to be precise Was a set of fancy shot glasses for my friend, Matt Who was a wannabe bartender And probably on his first step to a ladder called alcoholism It was there I double-checked my billing pages

checked the inbox just in case there was some sort of giveaway or anything nothing well I thought nobody will be too upset because of a missing plastic knife so I put the box into the garage just in case

maybe next day somebody would notice the mistake and asked to return the precious possession but nobody came the next day or even next week No emails from the company, no nothing. By the end of the month, I had completely forgotten about this incident. April came around, chirping birds, juicy greens all around, spring at its finest. Not that March was still winter, but it didn't feel as revitalising as his following brother.

Life was beautiful, and even with the grim news from around the world, it felt really good after a long snowy season. One day, the sun was shining extra bright, so I decided it would be a crime not to go outside. I picked up the keys and stepped through the front door into the vast warmth. Imagine my surprise when my eyes stumbled upon another mysterious box lying on a walkway next to my house. Okay, this can't be a coincidence. I quickly checked my surroundings. What if it really was a prank? And right now, somebody's following me, so that the next day I can type of.

in, boom against surprise mail, prank 100% laugh in YouTube and check myself in HD. But no, nobody was there. Or, let's be honest, I was unable to notice anything suspicious. I picked up the box. It was not that light this time, probably a couple of pounds, maybe more. The sticker with my name and address was there again, right on top of the printed Amazon logo. This time I took it a bit more serious.

First thing, check in my accounts. Nothing suspicious on Amazon. No extra bills in my banking app. Next thing I did, I tried to call Amazon support. After 30 numbing minutes of waiting, some guy with a thick accent of an unknown origin picked up. I made him go through this distance twice, but he assured me that they didn't send anything to my address

neither last month nor this. I thanked him and hung up with a swam of thoughts in my mind. No, I was not worried or anything. It was just so awkward, strange and stupid at the same time. I decided to look inside the thing. This time, it was a CD player. It was an ancient Sony Walkman. They used a couple of batteries and was considered hip and cool back in the days.

This made absolutely no sense. It was brand new in original box, but I was pretty sure it was some sort of collector's reissue. You know the thing nowadays, capitalism and the urge of feeling nostalgia. I even checked inside to see if any sort of CD was included, still hoping that this was some sort of prank and my friend would burn there. Ha ha! We really wish we saw your face when you saw the box jack,

over the CD to freak me out and have a good laugh. But no. Again, I was left clueless with the item that I couldn't explain how to do with me. Next month, it was a pack of peanuts, month after, a sketchbook, and in July I got a PSP. When August came in a box with what happened to be a pair of brand new red converse shoes in it appeared. I lost my nerve. I went to the police station and spent a couple of hours waiting for the officer on duty to register my complaint and then explaining the weirdness of the situation. By the look on his face, he was not really amused by my story.

I wish I was at your place, to be honest. Free stuff every month, who cares? Most probably, it's a bureaucratic mistake. You know, things like this happen all the time. Just for example, last year someone misplaced a zero in a form so the paper company delivered to us 10,000 packs instead of the requested thousand. See, no big deal. If I were you, I'd give a call to Amazon and make them double-check the stuff.

Yes, I know you said you did it before. Maybe that guy had a bad day, I don't know. Don't hesitate to contact me if something serious happens. That was everything I heard from him by the time I finished my explanation. With no support from the local authorities, I had to care about my comfort all by myself. So, that meant war. At first I moved my working desk to the window in the hall So I could have a good sight of people coming to my front door at all times

And since we still had unions and human rights I was pretty sure that deliveries were made during normal working hours This approach failed I must have been in one of the work calls and missed the September delivery A pair of sunglasses Then I took a webcam a couple of apps and placed it in the course corner of the window so that the walkway was recorded 24-7. The app would start recording as soon as any motion would be detected.

Sounded like a solid plan at the time. I was somewhat proud of that technical solution. Imagine my frustration when it failed. That month, I got a pair of black suspenders. I rushed to my laptop and went through the logs. Nothing. I mean, there were a couple of videos, my neighbors were walking by my house, some guy with a dog, even a stray cat sneaking, but no sign

of a person who delivered the thing. Should I say that by that time, every single employee of Amazon customer support knew me by name, I guess. In the end, there was still no results. Nobody saw no errors in the software. There was no bureaucratic mistakes. The parcels just appeared from thin air. That was it. I was just. getting a top-tier CCTV. The situation had started getting on my nerves. Money could solve a lot of problems and for sure they can speed up stuff. No later than three days after I got the suspenders, the cameras were up and running. I got a four-pack so that every single inch of my front yard, door and walkway were covered by unsettling eyes of modern technology.

A ladybug couldn't sneeze in my lawn without the system noticing. Guess what? The plan messed up royally. With November arrived the chill-filled air, and sitting on frostbitten planks on my porch, the next box awaited. It was a zipper lighter, plain one. No decor, no engravings, no clues whatsoever. I've checked the camera logs twice, no, three times, and couldn't believe my eyes. The box just dropped down.

from thin air. Wait, what, was my thought. Did the person notice my cameras and climbed on the roof to stay undetected? I went to the police again, this time with a copy of the video with a little to no result. They said that since no harm was done, and I've received no threats whatsoever, they can't do anything about it. I wouldn't say I was losing my mind at the time, or scared to the bones, no. But what's for sure?

was that I was really frustrated and really annoyed. Further months were all the same. I've tracked, I waited, I've ambushed, I've called, I've visited, I've complained and argued, everything with little to no result. Little, as in, oh, it's you again, sorry, we don't have anything to add at this point, have a nice day, and nothing as in no sign of the person who delivered the boxes. I went as serious as the contact. to the higher regional management of Amazon.

I, with the help of the higher power, whom I think was making that move just to get rid of me and bring peace and quiet to his support team, try to track where exactly the labels with my name and address were printed. Imagine that. We've tried to locate the exact printer machine, but that was like searching for a needle in a haystack.

In the end, the whole idea failed. I called some people names, and I think I got into a custom splight list or something. I lost my job at some point. My search for truth started to take way too much time. I had to sell my CCTV and some personal stuff to raise some money, so I had something to eat and pay for communications. Months passed, the pile of random stuff grew bigger.

I became a proud owner of a sweater, backpack, can of vanilla-flavored soda, a pen, t-shirt with a skull painted on it, skateboard, pregnancy test, and a couple more things I can't record. at this time. Last drop was a book that arrived in October. It was a copy of Fight Club. I'd had enough. That evening I got drunk and as you know, we tend to get the best ideas when booze kicks in. So at some point in my delirium I thought, screw it all, I'll just move to a new place.

Screw that guy. Surprisingly, after waking up with disgusting taste in my mouth and a pounding pain in my temple, the idea remained and still sounded like a good plan. I never claimed to be the toughest guy around, and I did what I could to solve the problem. It didn't work. I had two options now. Continue my struggle and wait till I get completely miserable and insane. I'll move to another place and start anew. After a couple of phone calls to the landlord, who was a really sweet lady and telling her that I needed to move out ASAP, as I'll be taking care of a disabled relative from now on. And I'm not really proud of this lie.

I was able to terminate the contract by losing my initial deposit. Who cared? I also called my good old friend Matt and asked him for his help with moving out. You would wonder, why not just order a truck from a moving company? And I would answer, you must have missed the part where I lost my job. Anyway, Matt gladly agreed to help

and promised to keep his pickup truck ready for my next phone call. That guy. I knew him all my life, but you know how adult life makes you separated as you get your own jobs, families and duties. Not that any of us had a family at that point. I didn't meet the missus yet, and Matt was already divorced.

Anyway, point is, we were still good friends, and if something happened, we were always there to back each other up. I found a new career pretty easy. easily. It was not that far away from my current one and the rent was quite affordable, especially in my financial situation. So after signing the papers and being handed the keys, I gave my friend a call. A couple of hours later, we were carrying my humble belongings to the back of his truck. There wasn't too much to be honest. As I was settling one of the boxes

firmly in the car, I heard Matt giggle. Dude, what the hell? What's with all this stuff? Are you back in your punk phase or something? Wait, did that age crisis kick in? What do you mean? The converse shoes, the tea, the board? Damn, you look like a dick at in high school.

You laughed. Well, did you see yourself back then, with all the hair and eyeliner? I replied, yeah, those other days. Wait, whoa, where do you get this? He held the Walkman towards me. It's a long story. Don't bother, I sighed. This thing really reminds me of Brandon. Do you remember Brandon?

That quiet guy who always had this stupid walkman with him. I mean, everybody around used MVP3 sticks already. Just not that guy. Oh wait, what the actual hell man? What? I couldn't understand his interest. I'm pretty sure these are suspenders, just as the ones Mikey always wore. And this bag of peanuts?

Remember Gina? The one who was really fat and couldn't good. down at snacks so the doctors told her to substitute M&Ms with plain peanuts. Did you like start a museum of your childhood or something? These memories never came to mind. Both me and Matt finished school more than 20 years ago and as a kid I was always pretending I was on my own like a lone wolf to look cool and hip as we laid back in the days.

Well technically not the truth as I had Matt and Corey and Barb but you know how it could be. I mean, yeah, sure, I could tell you that my balding friend here had massive hair when he was young, and you couldn't imagine him wearing anything but black, pretending he just crawled out to the cemetery or whatever goth kids did those days. But such details about other classmates? Well, at least not on the surface of my dome. Anyway, Matt uncovered the ugly truth.

Somebody was sending me stuff, each one of which resembled one of our classmates. That was getting scary. I quickly explained to Matt where I got all the things and the mysterious way they have arrived at my front door. I also told him the reason I decided to move in the first place. Matt listened carefully and I noticed that slight glimpse of fear flashed somewhere deep in his eyes. By the end of the day we moved everything to my new place

and sat at the kitchen table with all the objects in front of us, trying to remember and identify each one of them and who they belong to. Do you have a yearbook? asked Matt. No, I don't think so. I'm pretty sure I didn't even pick up the copy when they were handed out, I replied. Neither do I. But wait, I'm pretty sure Chloe still has one. Remember Chloe, the one with the pig tails?

She was dating... I don't remember. Anyway, she lives nearby. We could pay her a visit tomorrow. That was the plan where we said goodbyes and Matt went back to his place. Next morning he dropped by and we went to uncover the mystery. Chloe Jacobs lived in a small villa with a family on the opposite side of town. It still looked tidy and simple as if somebody's caring hand took care at every detail.

Without hesitation we knocked and put our best smile. A grim man opened and stared at us. must have been the husband we briefly explained who we were and asked if we could have a word with Chloe what we heard shocked us

Chloe was no longer with us she accidentally drowned in the communal pool a couple months before that was the most unfortunate time we could get to visit this grieving man I'm not really proud of what I did next but I guess it had to be done

I faked and lied. I played my most upset mime and almost burst into tears telling him a tale of how we were visiting all our classmates after 25 years from our graduation and that it would be an honor to get something to remember her by

a yearbook would do. I swear if that didn't work I'd also drop that I was dying from cancer or some other nonsense. I don't tend to think that I'm a horrible person but this Amazon anomaly pushed me really hard beneath my limits. We left the house with a book in my firm grasp. Back at my place, we sat down and checked the photos.

Purple Butterknife belonged to Martin. Now I remember he told us a story about it and why it means so much to him, but I can't recall what exactly he was about. Black T-shirt was unsurely. Right there in the book. The pen, as we remembered, looking at the photo, belonged to Christian. He always said he would become a writer

and always carried a pen spinning it in his fingers, and so on and so on. Though, there was something strange with the book. The big group photo where all the class were posing together was missing from it, as if Chloe had cut it off

with a scalpel or similar tool. I wondered why. Due to our calculation, there were just four items missing from the collection. I had 20 in my possession, and according to the memories, we were a class of 24 people. So it was Matt, me, Liam, and Hannah. Matt asked millions of questions.

When and how those boxes arrived? Had I ever saw the van, the guy? What was the weather outside? A couple of times I had to retell the whole thing anew. By the end of the day, I felt devastated. but I couldn't sleep that night and the night after I was thinking about who

and why they would do this to us Matt promised to keep an eye on my previous house the asshole won't expect somebody else tracking him so this sounded as if we had a chance November came silently with no news at this point Matt was sitting in his pickup by the house for I don't really know how many days straight He turned his car into a mobile base,

which sounds better than it smells. Trust me. We waited. I think it was November 15th or 16th when somebody knocked at my door. To clarify, I rented an apartment this time, so it could have been some neighbour asking for a couple of eggs or maybe Matt finally returning from his duty.

I cracked open the door. And damn it. There was a cardboard box. I quickly grouted it and tore it apart. It was light as a feather. Inside laid hidden, and I almost broke it with my rough actions. An eyeliner pencil, black one, with some stupid name like Children of the Night or Nosphoratine. I can't recall now, as the only thought that flashed my mind was...

Matt. I gave him a call. No result Another No result Was he asleep After all his surveillance or something I rushed to my old place

There he was That's his truck And that's him sitting at the wheel Is he asleep? Yeah I bet The guy took too much on his shoulders And now you'll need a horn to wake him up I thought

I came closer and leaned to a window Gave a gentle knock No response His head leaned towards the wheel as if it was in a deep sleep, drooling all over. Then I noticed the engine was running. This was not funny. I knocked harder, shouting his name.

Some lights blinked in the neighbouring houses. I saw silhouettes in the windows watching me. I didn't care. I was sending punches and kicks to the door. Matt was not waking up. Finally, I found a stone nearby, and on the third attempt, managed to break the window. He wasn't breathing.

Their inside made me dizzy. I will save you the time. He didn't make it. A visual conclusion. Accidental death due to air exhaustion malfunction. They said that his truck was not maintained properly, so there was a leak and the gas made it inside. And since the windows were closed,

I was devastated. I was at the brink. I didn't go to his funeral. It was a bit too much for me. There were three of us left. Next month I received a hair comb. Hannah. Month after, walking cane.

The one just like Liam had. My sanity was dancing on the tip of a knife. I became a ruin of a man. I didn't understand who. Why? What was happening? After January's package, I headed towards the bus station

and took the first bus departing. Even I didn't know where I would end Yesterday I was staying in this motel In the middle of nowhere When somebody knocked to my door With trembling legs And holding my breath I stopped in front of it

There was no people on the door So, as confident as I could in this state I asked Who is it? Of course there was no response I froze, wait An envelope with an Amazon logo on it slipped under my door and I heard the steps moving away from my room. I quickly grabbed the envelope and tore it open.

Inside, there was just a small piece of paper, or a photo to be precise. A photo cut of our class. All 24 of us, except everybody except me had an X crossing their faces. Another detail caught my attention. One guy had his face heavily covered with ink, as if somebody tried to erase it with paint. Who was that? I rapidly recounted the people in the photo.

25. It couldn't be. I counted again. 25, including me, the guy whose face was not covered. I reached the lock and threw the door open. at the light spot in the distance of the shaded parking lot stood a guy smiling

and suddenly I remembered when we were kids there was a wimpy kid in our class he was a weirdo everybody hated him I think his name was Gerald or Jeffrey something like that

he was mean he was gross the kind of guy who had hide in the girl's bathroom to creep them out the kind of guy who would eat his buggers and draw all over the place he ruined so many field trips when we were kids he was the reason we didn't show good resorts in local ratings every single person hated him even the teachers but we couldn't just make him disappear so yes he was bullied all the time

but he didn't seem to care about all the kicks and names who gave him up to a point when these The prank took place. After another failure that resulted in regional humiliation, some boys of our class designed a prank. They asked Hannah to write that Gerald Guy a note, saying she's willing to give him a kiss if he was at his locker by the lunch break. The guys brought a crap ton of fireworks.

We were young and stupid. The school was evacuated and the smoke was flooding from the single locker with the screams and shrieks spread. Nobody stopped it from happening. Everybody was laughing at first when the guy cried for help. As a result, some people were fired, but none of us got suspended or punished.

Everybody knew the guy was a failure, and it could totally be his fault. I think he lost a last dignity that day, as he never pointed a finger to those who did it to him. We never saw him since that day. I've heard he was transferred to homeschooling after he got out of hospital without his family moved somewhere. Who cared?

Right now, in front of me, I saw not a boy, but a man smiling widely, waving at me. That moment, I understood everything, that we were the real culprits, that consequence of actions can cause even bigger consequence of actions. That, what I thought, was a thick accent of unknown origin, sounded exactly like somebody with a mutilated face, was speaking. I finally understood the meaning of revenge.

I got less than ten days left. February comes real soon. I gotta hide. I have to disappear. I'll do my best to survive, but my hopes are not high. as it seems this guy is really persistent. I'm being held prisoner illegally. I have attempted to smuggle information about my plight out.

My voice has never been heard. I can only hope that this time is different. I was taken while I was at a small petrol station on the outskirts of my hometown. I was checking the air pressure in my tyres when three armed men surrounded me and demanded I dropped to the floor. They wore uniforms. Confused and scared, I thought they were police officers. I guess the people who witnessed what happened thought this as well.

I know now that they were not. These men, who shouted at me, pointed their guns, as one of them cuffed me and dragged me towards a car. I was manhandled in the backseat and driven away. Signs, advertising great deals and credit available, at a car dealership flashed by the window, a hawk hovered in a clear blue sky. These were my last glimpses of freedom. I had no idea then that they would be.

I was trying to speak to the men who had taken me. One next to me who had a shaving cut on his left cheek and the two up front. The car smelled of sweat and cigarettes. What have I done wrong? I pled. Why have you arrested me? Cut Cheek smiled at this. We haven't arrested you, he said. So, why?

I began to protest. He cut me off with a gut punch. I crumpled, gasped for air. There's plenty more of that available, Cutcheek said, if you keep up with your noise. One of the men up front chuckled. The driver, the man in the passenger seat said, Mask him.

From somewhere, Cutcheek produced a black piece of I pulled it down over my head. I started to struggle. I second punch to my stomach and did that. Blind now, only able to tell we were still moving by the motion of the car, I tried to think. I told myself that this was all a horrible mistake, that I would be taken to a police station,

and there I would be able to speak to a lawyer, and this hideous error would be cleared up. I wouldn't even press charges for the assault of me that had taken place. I just wanted to get on with a police. my life. I was 20, and it wasn't much of a life I had, but I was ambitious and hardworking and believed in the National Dream. I was going to do great things, make big bucks, and sleep with a lot of beautiful women, which was my version of the National Dream. Until then, I was working nights at a convenience store and taking college classes in the day. I changed courses a few

times. I just couldn't seem to settle on a subject that was right for me. But that was fine. I'd get there? I'd already overcome a number of challenges to get this far. My mom and dad were killed in an automobile accident when I was nine. My grandmother had picked up the reins with me then, as best she could. She had passed away the fall before, and I still miss her. More, I think, than my parents, who, in a mixed-up way of such things, I blamed for not being there, as if they'd chosen to drive into the back of a broken-down truck in freezing fog. in the back of the car that day, I thought about my family, about a girl in my college class who was so hot she made me feel faint, about my car. Would it get towed? Would it be charged for that?

Could I claim the money back when this misunderstanding was cleared up? Disjointed, frantic thoughts. I noticed we were slowing down, coming to a halt. I heard one of the car's doors opening, and then my arm was being pulled as I was hauled out. My hand still cuffed, still hudded, I was half dragged, half carried along, for what felt like a long time. I heard buzzers, doors banging shut, muffled voices. I started to shiver and feel too hot all at once. I'm going to be sick, I said. Someone next to me cursed.

A moment later, my hood was lifted, just in time. I threw up. There was a light overhead. After the darkness, its brightness hurt my eyes. I tried to turn away. but someone grabbed the back of my scalp and forced me to look upwards. Why are you doing this to me? I yelled. One of the men, I could not see which one.

Blinded now by light instead of a mask, laughed harshly and said, You know why, scum. Something sharp connected with the base of my spine. I screamed out in pain, and then they forced me along on a narrow walkway, which seemed to have no end. Until we reached a new door, One constructed of steel bars.

We were buzzed through into a narrow corridor. Cells lined the walls. Small, dark places. The door to one of the cells buzzed open and I was thrown in. Then the men who brought me here walked away. I was alone. I looked around, wiped snot from my nose with my elbow. The cell was about 15 feet square.

The front of the cell, apart from the narrow metal door, was clear glass or some kind of plastic. There was a skinny bed pushed against one wall and a hole in the floor. It was a struggle because of the handcuffs, but I managed to get to my feet. I am six feet tall, and now I was stood up.

The ceiling was only inches above me. I felt a slight ripple of air on the top of my head, paired up and saw a small grill, an air vent, I guessed. I let the cold air trickle over my feet. face. It felt so good that I started to cry. Something flickered to my left. A face appeared in the center of a small screen that was set into the wall. It was a woman. Her hair was tied back and she were a light grey blouse. Make yourself comfortable. Her voice came through a speaker,

which was next to the screen I saw. There's been a mistake, I sputtered. I haven't done anything wrong. she consulted something, a document maybe, then said, you have been conspiring to commit an offence that would have posed the severest level of threat to the national security. This sounded bizarre to me, so wrong that the only thing I could think to say was, I'm only 20 for God's sake. She paid no notice to this and continued,

you will be detained until you are no longer a danger to the good people of this country. The picture failed. did. The screen was once more a dull rectangle in the wall. You can't do this to me, I yelled. You can't. I began to kick out of the screen, lost my balance and ended up back on the floor. You can't, I sobbed and rolled over

onto my side. You can't! I said again and again. Somehow I must have fallen asleep and I woke up with a start. A hatch near the base of the door had opened and something was being slid through. A tray covered with a lid. I could see a man through the clear cell front.

I tried to sit up, my arms cramped, and I hollered. Help me, please. Stand away from the door. The voice that addressed me was cold and sure. I can't get up, I said, hearing now how pathetic I sounded and hating it. Move away from the door, the man repeated. I shuffled backwards on my ass. The door buzzed open and the men came in.

He was older than me with a bus cut and wore a grey shirt and trousers. He reached over me and unlocked the handcuffs, then stepped away. I haven't done anything wrong, I repeated. He ignored me, left the cell and was already walking away as the door buzzed locked. Where am I? I shouted after him. You have to tell me. I have rights. I believed in things back. then. I believed I lived in a free country where we were guaranteed fair treatment, a trial represented

by an attorney in an open court, the right to speak and to be listened to. The only thing I'm certain of now is the darkness which awaits me when the lights of my cell is turned off at night. Left alone by the man who had unlocked the handcuffs, I sat for a while alternating between panic and anger. Eventually, I managed to shrug off the handcuff. handcuffs. My arms and wrists hurt like hell, and I spent a week massaging them, then decided to see what was on the tray. I opened the lid on the hinge to show a plastic cup with watering, and what looked like soup in a plastic bowl. There was no spoon. I wasn't hungry, but my mouth felt very dry, so I lifted the bowl and tried a sip of the soup. It was cold, greasy. I spat it out and took a drink of

the water. It tasted metallic. My stomach spasmed, and, apart from a few drops of the foul-tasting water, I dry heaved. A while later, I can't say how long, the lights went out, and I was left in total darkness. Using my hands to feel the way, I crawled up onto the bed. It was hard, and there was one thin bed sheet. I didn't sleep. I said earlier about the lights being turned off when it's night. I have no idea whether that is true, whether it is night in the world outside when the darkness is imposed, whether the sun will have risen when the lights are turned back on. There was a regularity to this part of the routine though, and had his heard of to try and keep track of things by remembering how many times the lights were turned

off and on. In this way, I could keep a tally of the time I was incarcerated. I was clutching under the flimsiest thread of a place beyond the cell, of an earth that turned on its axis, where people cursed their alarm clocks and worried about the bills, where they had their hearts broken and wondered what it was all about. Alone in my cell, the cycles of light and darkness added up. The only human contact I had was the guards who brought me food and drink on the tray, and, once a week, a bowl of tepid water for me to wash with. The first time I asked for a towel to dry myself, I was told to use the sheet.

Most of the guard said nothing. A few taunted me. When I needed the toilet, I used the hole in the floor and learnt to save up water to try and clean myself with afterwards. Every few weeks, a new bed sheet was brought, and the old one, by then, disgusting, taken away. And, at seemingly random intervals, the door buzzed open and everything in the cell was hurried. hose down, including me. I kept counting when the lights went out and the lights went on, and I never gave up hoping that one day this hideous ordeal would end.

By my reckoning, this lasted for almost five months, and then there was a change. Not to the cycle of abuse that rolled on with sick efficiency, but one day I was no longer alone. I heard the new prisoner before I saw him. before the steel bar door at the end of the corridor, which I could only see in my memory, buzzed and opened, there was the sound of swearing. It was like a tornado of profanities, and it was heading my way. The door sounded, and it got louder, and then I saw a man, who must have been six foot seven, being hauled along by four guards. My first thought then was, being so tall, how would he fit in the cell?

The door in the cell opposite me opened and he was forced inside. The guards kicked his stomach and his groin to get him bent over enough to get through the door. And then they left him, stooped over, but still hurling insults and threats, even though now the guards had gone and there was just the two of us. His face was flushed red and I could see crude tattoos on his cheeks just under his eyes. He was not looking at me. He was still screaming in the direct. the guards had gone. And after months of longing for someone to speak to, I could not think

of a single thing to say. He kept shouting until the lights went out, and for long after. I know how crazy this would sound, but the noise of him lulled me to sleep. Perhaps because the silence of isolation was broken. I woke when the lights came on, sat up and realized he was staring at me. "'Welcome to the zoo,' I said, "'feeling in my enclosure like some dumb animal.' "'He was sitting on his bed. "'He rubbed his face. "'What is this place?' he asked.

"'I shrugged. "'I don't know.' "'He rubbed his face again. "'What did you do to get so banged up?' "'I don't know,' I said again. "'There was no way I was repeating the lies I had been told on my first day.' "'His mouth twisted into a kind of thing. of smile that had nothing to do with happiness.

Yeah, me neither, he said. Then, my name's Mok's. I nodded. Jake, I'd shake your hand, but, you know. Yeah, Mux responded. The sound of a woman's voice interrupted this heart to heart, and Mok's turned a look at the wall beside him. Because of the angle, I couldn't see the face on the screen.

But I could listen as she said to him exactly what she said. had said to me. He listened with what struck me as remarkable calm. Then, when the woman had finished, he surprised me. He burst out laughing. So bad he had to lie down. Well, as much of him as could fit on the bed at any one time. Ah, that's rich, he said. That's a bank vault full of garbage. Me, a threat to national security. He got a little more control over himself, then turned to who once more face me. I spent most of my life in jail, he said. I break into houses and steal whatever I find and take it down to the shop.

That's what I do. I went some schmunks in a weird uniform drew on me in the street yesterday. I thought that's why I was being arrested again. But no. Me had threat to national security. He repeated the phrase, as if it was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. In a way, I guess it was.

I lay back on my own bed and came the closest to a smile of my own in a long time. Shortly after this, a guard came with our trays. Mux watched him sullenly. I caught the man's eye, though. I hadn't seen him before. He did not look much older than me. He put my tray on the floor in front of the cell door. Then he pushed Moxes through the hatch into his cell.

Then he turned back to face me. Everything okay. he asked me in a quiet voice. The first time a guard had ever said anything like this to me and there was something in his eye something that told me he wasn't like the others.

Call it instinct, call it what you will. I started the wonder and made a snap decision to go out on a limb. Oh, you help me, I whispered. He looked to me straight in the eye but did not respond. I went on,

Will you help me get a message out to tell people what is happening here? He was motionless and I thought I was wasting my time. Then, he said, Yes, I'll help. I'm disgusted by what I've seen here. I'll bring you a pen and paper so you can write it all down. My heart began to soar. After all this time, there was a glimmer of hope.

Thank you, I said, my voice breaking. There's one thing, he said. You'll need to be a little. return a dress so the bleeding hearts can write back. I got tightened, his eyes glinted and he said in his sneering tone, How about using zip code zero zero six six six? Because you in hell boy and you going nowhere else. Then he lifted the lid of my tray and urinated on it.

Behind him, Marx, who I don't think would have been able to hear the conversation began to roar. began to tell the guard what he would do with him when he got his hands on him. The guard finished what he was doing, pushed the tray through the hatch with his boot, then left. I moved as far away from the tray as I could, a few lousy feet in that damned cell, and then I began to weep. Mux and I never spoke about what happened,

and a couple of weeks later, by my reckoning, we were joined by two more prisoners, because at the angles of the cell, apart from the brief moments when we saw them being brought in, we could hear but not see them once they had been locked in. Over the course of the days that followed, the four of us began to talk. One of the new men, John, talked a lot.

Like me, he'd never had a run in with the authorities. In a shaky voice, he told us that he was 34 and going through a rough patch. He'd lost his job and become isolated, rarely leaving his apartment. He'd only gone across to the store to spend a few dollars he had on essentials when the armed men came for him. The fourth of us,

imprisoned so unjustly, so obscenely, said he was called Henry. Like the damned king with all the wives, he added. He had a degree in computing and a dope problem and was out on probation after a stretch for fraud. He liked prison, he said, because the dope had been cheaper

and better quality than on the outside. outside. Every time the guards came with our trays, he would ask if they had any of the good stuff. Only the good stuff, he'd say, I don't want nothing that's been cut with baking soda or detergent. The guards blanked him or laughed at him, same as they did with the rest of us. We waited for more arrivals, but that was it. The terror that followed was to be shared between the four of us. The calendar in my head told me that we were in the new year when it began.

We'd been talking, griping and cracking jokes or describing in graphic detail what we'd do to the people responsible, if only we could get our hands on them, when Henry piped up. Hey, my screen's coming on. Mine as well, John said. I looked over at the screen set into the wall off my cell, and sure enough, there she was. woman with a tied back hair, a light green blouse. She was silent for a moment, maybe to make sure we were all listening. And then she said,

Your lives are to be given purpose. You will be participating in some medical experiment. Some of you will be given a new compound. Some will receive placebo. That is all. Then the screen faded and I heard a click, looked up, saw a faint mist descending slowly from the vent and the ceiling. I watched as it flowed out into the cell.

My instinct was to flee, to try and not let it touch me. But where was there to go? What the hell? I heard one of the others call out, John, I think. Opposite me, Mokks was standing up at the vent in his cell. He rubbed his face as he'd always did when he was thinking. I learned a lot about this man since we'd been in prison together. He'd been beaten by his dad.

and his uncle, but by the time he was a teenager, he was big enough to stand up for himself and had put them both in hospital, then simply walked out the door and lived on the streets. He'd gotten his tattoos the first time he was in prison. They were meant to be teardrops, but the person who'd done them in return for a payment and pills was so high it was lucky Mokx hadn't lost his sight. He might have a kid of his own, he wasn't sure, but he hoped he had, and one day he was determined to speak to them, to tell them to follow a different path in life to the one he'd taken. This man, this big, messed up man, sat there and watched the mist settle on him.

Smells kind of funky, he said and laughed. I don't feel so good. This came from Henry. Try and stay strong, John said. He was opposite to Henry, so unlike Mox and me, could see what was happening to him. Stay strong, John said again in a good. quieter voice. Henry was the first to go.

I wasn't so good with my mental tallying up of the hours as I was for the days, but I'd say a couple of hours had passed when John started to shout. Henry? Henry, man, wake up. What is it? I yelled. Henry's not moving. John called back.

I think, I think he's dead. I could hear that he was starting to cry. John was a gentle soul. gentler than the rest of us. It's going to be okay, I said, trying to reassure him, and thought desperately what I could do. I knew there was no point shouting for the guards to come help. I looked at Mox, hoping together we could come up with something.

But he was leaning forward, still on his bed. His head drooped over his knees and his arms. His hands were shaking slightly. Mox, what is it? I said. What's wrong? He never responded, and shortly afterwards, he died. I know this because his bowels and his bladder let go, and after that there was a terrible stillness to him. I hoped he had found peace.

I vowed revenge on those who had killed him and Henry. I waited and listened to my heart raising in my chest and wondered when I would join them. I wasn't next though. John had been crying all the while, and suddenly he shouted, No, not! And then he was silent. And once more, I was on my own. The lights went out.

Still, the guards did not come. There were three dead men lying in their cells. Were the guards going to leave them there all night? I sat in the darkness. I felt an unbearable sadness and an anger. I was possessed. by both. When the lights came back on, my chest still moved with each breath. I was somehow still alive. I had had the placebo. I looked over at Mox. His corpse was a pale shape in his cell.

It was like death had frozen it in place. Good-bye, friend, I whispered. And then I saw. His hand twitched, his right hand. I shot to my feet, cried out, "'Mox, Mawks, you're alive!' At the sound of my voice, his head slowly raised, turned to face me, and when I saw his eyes, saw the emptiness in him,

an icy coldness spread through my body. His mouth opened. He looked like he was trying to speak. I stood, paralyzed by fear, and stared. He was trying to speak, but no other words came out. His hands full. He began to stand.

His frame, too tall by far for the cell, was soon twisted, stooping, and still his lips moved. Then the silence was broken. I could hear something being slammed against the walls of the cells that were out of sight. Had John and Henry risen as well? Had death not been the final act in their tortured existence? Across from me, the thing that had been mocks began to tap on a clear cell front. Tap, tap, tap, tap, then slam. His fist connected with it, then his other, again and again.

The noise of the three of them built around me like a storm. I have talked about how I've been so careful to keep track of time, how it was a way of clinging onto a life I used to have. One in which I could walk down the street, go for a coffee, think about going for a coffee, but decide I could not be bothered. stupid things that are precious beyond words to me, precious because they are lost. But my reckoning, five years have passed

since the mist descended from the vents, and mocks John and Henry died, and then became... I know there's a word for this, but I don't want to use it, really don't want to use it. I was closer to those three men than anyone else, save my grandmother who raised me.

Three men who became... no longer recognizable as human. After the mist, after they died and rose, their bodies decayed, their skin fell away, their flesh and their muscles and their organs beneath rotted. And still, they raged, throwing themselves against the walls of the cells, mucks punching and thrashing and silently screaming.

The guards did come eventually in the days after the mist descended, but pretty soon they retreated. and stayed behind the steel bar door at the end of the corridor. The door of my cell was buzzed open for a good while later. Five years on, and I collect my food and drink now from the guards to the steel bar door. I can see the disgust on the faces of the guard. I am numb now to the nauseating stench coming from the cells, but they clearly are not. I don't think it's just disgust at the smell.

I think they are revolted by what has been done here. Through rushed, murmured conversations, one of the guards has even agreed to take my testimony, this testimony to the outside world. I've no guarantee. I can only hope there is enough decency in the man I'm trusting. I will finish writing soon and hand it over. But first, I walk for one more time past the cells, the small, dark places. John and Henry, who only glimpsed briefly when they were alive,

as they were dragged into the cells are little more than masses of ranted flesh and bone that writhe around on the floor. They are dead, forever, and will never be at peace, always struggling, always moving. Mok's is further gone than the other two. His body is so badly reduced

I can see individual teeth, strands of hair, all caught in the putrid gathering of what his corpse had become. And there is more. In the last few days, I've seen a dust rising from his remains. Elements of him that are now finer than a strand of hair, a fragment of an individual tooth, elements of him that is still animated with a force that makes a dead man move.

And I stand and watch as the dust continues to rise, swirling and rising. And I look up to where the vent is in the ceiling and think, keep going mocks because if the dust reaches the vent and goes through and leaves the cell then a part of you has escaped a part of you is free