CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - 3+ Hours of SCARY r/Nosleep Creepypastas that'll warm you up for the winter months

Episode Date: November 27, 2024

CREEPYPASTA STORIES-►0:00 "I explored an abandoned wing of hell" Creepypasta►54:15 "If someone offers for you to try Stepminding, don't do it." Creepypasta►1:27:01 "I'm an Astronaut aboard the ISS, and the Stars Are Whispering My Name" Creepypasta►2:01:17 "This App Promised to Show My Future. Now I’m Terrified of What I’ve Seen" Creepypasta►2:24:14 "I'm an Uber driver for one client, but he pays well" Creepypasta►2:46:59 "My GPS took me to an alternative route. I barely survived" CreepypastaCreepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"-    • "I wasn't careful enough on the deep ...  ►"Personal Favourites"-    • "I sold my soul for a used dishwasher...  ►"Written by me"-    • "I've been Blind my Whole Life" Creep...  ►"Long Stories"-    • Long Stories  FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter:   / creeps_mcpasta  ►Instagram:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Twitch:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Facebook:   / creepsmcpasta  CREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only

Whoever had carved the door relished in the anatomy of suffering. It was a two-story tall slab of copper set directly next to a cavern wall. Its surface carved with a vast and complex bas-relief that worried the eye. A clawing, confusing mix of human bodies sprawling upwards in a mound of flesh. Many glancing horrified over their shoulders while fleeing something out of frame and out of sight. thousands of them starved and wretched with gaunt faces and sunken eyes jutting ribs and distended bellies

there were rumours that they moved but only when you weren't looking less than a week after its discovery they brought it down with explosives we didn't really know what we'd found at that point although I'm sure a few of us particularly the religious had their suspicions The door was wrong, all wrong.

It just shouldn't have been there. Natural caverns don't go that deep in Britain, not a thousand metres. As scientists, we should have been excited, but we all agreed the door was repulsive. Staring at it too long induced a powerful urge to flee. An ancestral memory, maybe. The same way our bodies know to avoid. avoid things that crawl and slither, things that rot and buzz and stink of death and decay. They never told us how or why they found it, nor why the project was classified, only that

we had to figure out what was on the other side. When the charges finally blew, they went off like giant firecrackers, a string of them that ran down the gateway. by one, deafening booms that shook the entire cavern. I was left blinking dust out of my eyes as great machines lowered the door, now free of its couplings to the ground. Looking back, some details come easier than others. The air that wafted out was hot and dry, and I was not surprised.

That seemed intuitively correct. Whether I'd admit it to myself or not, the fact was I'd been thinking of the door as a gateway to hell pretty much since I'd first laid eyes on it, and my mental image of hell was oddly medieval. I expected some great big stones, something reminiscent of an ancient castle, rattling chains, the wailing of the damned, the stench of sulfur. God, even little red devils with horns and pores. pointy tales, but I hadn't expected shelves and books. That was the first real thing we saw.

Shelves lining the walls that had been dug directly into the same rock as the cavern. Shelves that rose far above our lights so that when we looked up there was only darkness and dust, but no limits to the endless row and row of shelving. every last inch covered in books. There were no gaps, just dust and tattered spines of random sizes, leather, fabric, paperback, faded pastels and gold leaf letters in alphabets both familiar and strange. And it wasn't just the walls. The floor was littered with random head-high piles of books,

all stacked up like some tired librarian had gotten fed up. of finding room for them. They made a labyrinth of the place, obscuring corners and doors, and the forward team, myself included, progressed carefully along the stone passageway, listening and looking carefully for some signs that would make sense of the place. There must have been thousands of books, and that was just in the first hallway we explored. Whenever we took one out, we found paper so thin it was nearly translucent and often inked with strange shapes and letters I couldn't recognize. Otherwise, it was gibberish, not that we studied them too long that first day. Whenever I took one,

I returned it quickly. Lifting them up, I always had the strangest sensation that I was doing something wrong, something inappropriate, and I didn't like the space they left behind on the shelves. A gap like a missing tooth. The darkness within swirling like deep waters. Safety in that place felt like an illusion, and touching the books was at risk of shattering it. I don't know how else to put it, except I didn't want to do anything that might draw attention to me.

It was as if we were extremely conspicuous. There were no sounds but those we made, our own breath, our own footfalls, the shuffle and scuffle of our every movement. We could even hear each other's heartbeats, the discordant but bump of several people's chests being beaten like a broken drum set. And every now and again, a racing. A steady increase in the beat's cadence as we turned a blind corner

or lifted a book just to see what it contained, or looked up at the shadows above us. Each of us kept having false starts because there was always this expectation that you were going to see something. Soon, any second now, squeezed between two books or dangling overhead. It took more than six hours before that corridor opened up, and when it did, we were dumbfounded. We emerged into a vast and terrifying mezzanine made of ancient rock, Overlooking a chasm with no visible bottom, just floor after floor filled with shelves filled with books, millions, billions, and all along those distant walls and stories were little openings that led to more corridors like the one we just emerged from, so many that it was like staring at a roughshod beehive. To look up or down or anywhere was to be faced with more. books than anyone could read in their entire lifetime. We took our first break on

that mezzanine. While radios didn't go very far in that place, we'd had the sense to carry enough wire to allow for a hard connection and while using that we contacted the main research site and updated them on the situation. We were to keep going for another six hours and turn around. A day no more was the plan. Even that felt like too long. I wanted to leave. I wanted to confirm that somewhere was a doorway that would lead back to reality, because, ever since I'd entered that place, it felt like I'd entered a nightmare.

A place where reality was plastic. I told myself it was simply the scale of it all, the weirdness. But it was more than that. The very air down there felt. There were six of us, three scientists and three soldiers. The soldiers responded to the situation with silence and an alertness that bordered on paranoia, constantly scanning the dark with their rifle-mounted lights, flicking the beam from one high-up shelf to another, fidgeting, exchanging dark looks.

In a way I was thankful, but it put me on edge too. And I couldn't relax at all for the first half of our little break. I guess it was natural that the scientists got talking. This was partly to fill the quiet, but also partly to try and convince ourselves. We were excited about the implications of this find, whatever those may be. Rewriting history, archaeology on a new level, that kind of thing. It didn't take long before we convinced. ourselves to take a closer look at those books.

I'll admit, it didn't come easy, but we did a pretty good job of convincing ourselves that we weren't really afraid. We started slowly, taking one book down, opening and then quickly replacing it. But then, with false bravery, we took more, and more came down, until each of us was sat cross-legged with several books stacked up on either side, waiting to be read. I remember at some point I must have grown tired and looked up from my own pile, because I noticed Dr. Ashling muttering quietly as she traced some words with her fingers. What have you found?

It's Latin alphabet, she said. First one I actually recognize the letters for. German maybe? None of us were linguists, so we were simply doing our best. But upon hearing bay mentioned German, one of the soldiers came over and looked at the open page. Germanic, but not German, he said. You speak it? He nodded.

My father is German, and I don't know what that is, but it isn't German. Is any of it familiar, Beyer asked, while handing the book to him? After a brief nod from his CEO, Lieutenant Michael, he took it and began flicking through the pages. I think this is the word for death. A sort of rough misspelling maybe. This one is... I guess it's a bit like wanting, desire. I don't know. Not all the words seem like they're in the right context either. So, there are a variety of languages and alphabets. But, as of yet, nothing we can make sense of.

What about you? Any luck? Bayer asked me. And I looked down at the book currently open in my hands. Some kind of sibilic, maybe, I shrugged. I'm no linguist. We definitely need Dr. Sellers on the next expedition. I'm sure he could offer some insight. What about you, Dr. Rosenstein?

The third doctor in our group, a little bald man, had been sitting quietly the entire time we spoke. The third scientist in our group, a little bold man had been sitting quietly the entire time we spoke, frowning at one of several books that lay open before him. I assume he was just curious, like Bayer and I.

Grant, I said, trying to get his attention. Hey, Grant, have you found anything? His silence unnerved me. He wasn't just captivated. Sweat was prickling his forehead, and veins bulged along his temple. He had gone pale, and his eyes were wide, and his lips cracked and dry. The soldiers, picking up on the same strange signals I had, stood a little more upright. Dr. Rosenstein?

One of them asked nervously. Doctor, can you hear us? The nearest soldier reached out and placed a hand on Grant's show. order, and the little man looked up at us like he hadn't even realized we existed until that moment. At first, I thought he was relieved, the way he was staring at each of us with a dumb grin on his face. But I soon realized something wasn't quite right.

Oh, he said with an anxious laugh. Oh, right, of course. His eyes started between us. Of course, sorry, I didn't mean to alarm you. Right, I said. Well, we were just talking about the books. Beathings hers might be in a kind of German or Germanic language. He nodded like this made perfect sense.

Yes, I imagine so. He replied, while looking around the shelves that towered over us. Lots of languages, I'd say. And then, without really missing a beat, he added, They are sins. group fell into silence as each of us tried to make sense of what he just said

in the meantime he stood up and stretched like it was the most natural thing in the world what are you on about I said once it became clear he wasn't going to elaborate it's fairly obvious where we are he said while leaning forward

and eyeing us darkly and these books are a list of all our sins one for each of us. So there will be books in German, both contemporary and historic German, like the one you found, Dr. Ashling. But there will also be books in Russian and French and Arabic and Chinese,

not just contemporary tongues either. Ancient Egyptian, Phoenician, Babylonian, Aramaic, Latin, and of course, lost languages, ones that we never found but existed anyway. all of them all the transgressions of the world are right here recorded in the sinner's original tongue by now the soldiers had stepped a little closer and bier and i were sharing deeply worried looks grant seemed to be in the middle of breaking down speaking frantically and anxiously convinced of his own meaning were not really saying anything of sense grant i think we need to go back The real fun thing is that I think you'll find books in languages that don't exist yet.

He blurted, this isn't just a record of sins in the past, but all of them, every last one, even the ones we haven't committed yet. Grant, I'm going to have one of the men go back with you, if that's okay. I think you might not.

These are mine, he said, or gesturing to a book in his hand. All of them. He laughed. Not just the things I did. Petty transgressions. All recorded with names and places and even little diagrams. But there are even sins I only ever thought.

Things I... Wanted to do. And... He added, while giggling hysterically, since I've yet to commit. He flicked through the pages at random and giggled maniacly at something only he could. could see. Although there aren't many, he cackled as he turned to the final page, tears welling in his eyes. Just one, actually. The last one. The last sin I'll ever commit. Grant, I said, I think you

before any of us could react, he dropped the book and took a running leap over the nearest edge. This is the way we came, right? Bea stood at the threshold of a corridor, a light tracking wire that snaked into the darkness. That's the cable we carried in here with us, one of the soldiers said. But the young man looked over to his CEO, Lieutenant Michael, who had a compass in hand and didn't look happy. It's not the direction we came, the older man said. We came south, so we need to head north. That would be this doorway.

He nodded at his second corridor, embedded in the rock wall. This has to be the way, Bea said. I trust this cable a hell of a lot more than I do a compass. Anything could be interfering with that thing. Besides, we know the cable leads to HQ because it's working. We spoke to them only a few minutes ago via this wire. It has to lead out of here. That makes sense, I added.

But I marked the way we left with a piece of chalk. and that mark is over here. I pointed to a third doorway. Damn, Michael muttered. Regardless, I vote wire, Bear said. I trust it the most. It's a physical connection. I guess I vote wire too, Michael added.

Me too. But what do we do if we're wrong? I asked. What does that even mean? Did something move the wire? or the door. We all went silent for a few moments as we contemplated this. When nobody offered up an answer, I eventually grabbed my backpack and hauled it up.

I guess we don't have much of a choice either way, I said. Do you really think there's a book in here for everyone? he asked, and it was the first any of us had spoken in a few hours. So far, we had all been walking. fixated on the gloom ahead and behind us, watching carefully for some sign that our fevered imaginations were right to suspect something lurking in the dark. Grant seemed to think so, I said. Then what are the odds he picked out his own book?

I mean, if he's right that there are, what, a hundred billion bucks or so? More, I replied. If he's right about the library containing future sins, as well as passed. Pretty slim odds then, she added. What are you thinking? If he did find it here, I don't think it was a coincidence,

she said. Up ahead, one of the soldiers came to a sudden stop. Fist raised as he muttered something to the others who knelt and lifted their rifles, aiming at the dark. What is it? I asked. You don't hear it?

Michael called back. All of us stopped and listened carefully, straining to pick out some meaningful sound from the white noise of blood, rushing through our ears and the thumping of our own hearts. Sure enough, it was there. A gentle rustling. Without speaking, all of us moved as quietly as we could along the corridor until we came to the source of the strange noise. door, one that hadn't been there on our way in, left ever so slightly ajar.

Rifle raised, one of the soldiers used the barrel to nudge it open a little further. Oh, damn, he said, his voice loud enough to send echoes down the hall. The sound came as a shock, and Michael pulled him back, ready to admonish. When we all saw what had been waiting on the other side, another carer. corridor, only this one had shelves, lined not with books, but severed heads, desiccated, pale and gaunt, row after row, all sitting neatly next to one another, evenly spaced, their skin paper-white in the harsh glare of our lights, and all of them with cloudy eyes, and they were speaking. Sotavoce, little whispers.

They muttered in a discord of wet lips, no breath, no lungs, only the action of robbery jaws to sound out syllables and consonants that were lost in the rustling cacophony. The sound was horrific, wet and dry and deeply unsettling, as it worked as way under my skin until I felt the strangest urge to lash out at the heads. But curiosity overrode disgust, and I approached one, winceing briefly when it fixed me with its cloudy eyes. But I didn't stop. I got close enough to see every detail of its flaking skin, its roomy eyes glaring at me with such strange emotion.

For my own sanity, I reached out. and picked it up, noting with disgust how the stump of his neck left mottled brown fluid on the shelf behind. I guess I just wanted to know if it was fake,

but its skin was cold and his brow furrowed with anger at my touch, and as soon as it was in the air, every other head stopped their muttering and fixed me with such foul expressions, I quickly put it back down again, relieved, when the murmuring resumed.

Still, its eyes did not leave me. What the hell? B whispered. What is this? Michael asked as he scanned the upper shelves with his torch. On and on they went, as far as we could see. What the actual hell is this? Slowly. A strange thought began to form in my head.

Blink, if you can understand, understand me, I said, while kneeling down to look at the head I'd picked up. Everyone else in the group suddenly stopped what they were doing and turned to see the result of my little experiment. Blink. Okay, okay, okay, I repeated while trying to calm myself down. Right, once for no, twice for yes. Do you understand?

Blink, blink. right okay uh i looked to the others for suggestions when b piped up instead are these books a list of all our sins blink blink blink one book for one person blink blink blink so what are you she asked and this elicited a scathing look from the severed head Yes or no questions, I told her. One of the soldiers, the youngest one, the one who helped translate the German, stepped up and spoke. Is this hell? he asked. Blink, blink. Is this your punishment?

He added. Blink. If this isn't the punishment, he said, what is? All the heads stopped their muttering and began to emit the strangest noise. Their faces twisting upwards and warping into grotesque parodies of joy while their mouths moved up and down in a particular sort of rhythm. When I realized what they were doing, I felt a terrible sensation of cold dread creeping down my entire body.

They were laughing at us. There was no door. The wire slipped through a tiny hole at the base of a wall, that blocked off the corridor. All of us were stunned into silence for minutes, until at last Lieutenant Michael shook himself free from the shock and issued an order. Davis, get HQ on the line. One of the soldiers knelt down and began to remove the communication set from his backpack. Within a few seconds it was set up and he was speaking into the headset. HQ, can you read me? Over?

Uh, I can read you? Well, I guess the wire still leads to HQ, I said. Try checking the wall for seams, Michael told me. See if it moves, hidden hinges or something, I don't know. Then turning back to the soldier with a headset. Tell them we've encountered an obstacle and we want them to send another team in to get us. Oh, and tell them to bring excitement. If this thing opens, I said while running my hand along the edges, I can't see how. It's pretty

solid. Unlike every other wall we'd seen so far, this one was made of red bricks, but that didn't mean it was somehow mobile either. It seemed as sturdy as any brick wall I'd come across. Well, it came from somewhere, B cried, while trying to peer through the, but it was to peer through the hole the wire disappeared through. Damn it, I can't see anything. HQ, the soldier said. We're going to need some assistance. There's an obstacle, over.

Roger that. What's the obstacle? Uh, a wall, he replied. Tell the next team to bring explosives. Over. A wall? Just send the team ASAP. The soldier cried.

our way out is blocked, over? Well, I can confirm we are en route to your position. Just one question, HQ replied. What's that, over? The young man replied. Why do you keep saying over? Suddenly, the voice changed. It began to titter and giggle.

At first, quietly, then louder and louder, like a mean kid laughing at a prank. The cruelty and his high-pitched voice made my skin crawl, and I was about to snatch the handset myself and begin demanding answers when there was the strangest sound. A heavy grinding, like stone turning against stone. Before I could even ask what it was, B fell backwards from where she crouched and quickly leaped up into a standing position and ran off into the dark like a maniac. The effect on the group was chilling, and I stared back at the wall, desperately trying to understand what I'd seen.

Williams, go get her, he barked at one of the soldiers before turning at me and crying, What the hell is her problem? I don't know, I stammered. Christ, Michael hissed, before snatching the handset off the confused young soldier. Listen, he growled into it. I don't know who you really are, but you need to get someone in charge, right? And sound again, loud and heavy. The grinding of heavy rocks being moved, and tiny stones came raining down in a cloud of dust.

Something up there had disturbed them, and we all stood in silence as they plinked off our helmets. Is it just a little? me, Michael said, while looking towards the wall, or is it somehow closer? Hard to say, I replied, I don't... The wall moved. A sudden and terrifying lurch forwards, one that startled us all and made me trip over my own feet. Terrified, I scrambled backwards from it as fast as I could, while the handset continued

to radiate that malicious laughter. I think we need to go, I said, in as calm a voice as I could manage. The wall moved again, and this time it did not stop. The young soldier with a handset did not react fast enough. It came forward so quickly that it had him within seconds and knocked him to the floor with a heavy thump. And then it rolled over him as it was. Well, if you're anything like me, as a child, you might have wondered what happened to someone

who got caught in an escalator at the very top. I'm sure you know what I mean. Light was so poor, so I still don't really understand what happened, only that there was a lot of blood. And while it was quick, it was not quick enough,

because when the wall was about halfway up his spine, I could still see the pain registering in his eyes. and that was the last impression I had before Michael grabbed me by the collar and practically threw me back the way we came and we ran plodding one foot after another I don't know how long it went on for

but it was as if time seemed to stretch on in the way that only pain and tedium can induce there were moments where as I struggled to force one foot in front of the other I wondered if I'd actually be been running for days, not hours. There was no real way to mark the passage of time, only monotony. Books went by in a blur.

The floor was featureless stone. The rhythmic sound of my feet lost all meaning. And behind me, the wall, ever advancing with a horrible sound of grinding rocks, promising pain and nothing else. The only thing I could actually focus on was the again. exhaustion, and that was self-defeating. More than a few times, I wondered if I should just give up, and to this day, I still have nightmares where I'm being chased down that corridor.

It wasn't a quick pace, but it was quick enough, and there were no other routes except forward, and therein lay the torture of it. Behind me was death, moving at a brisk jog, and ahead of me, was nothing, just darkness broken by erratic motion of a torch, and the entire time, which I would later realize was a good two hours, the only thing I could think was when am I going to lose this fight, when am I going to collapse, or give up. Imagine my relief when, up ahead, I heard a familiar voice cry out. What is your problem, lady? And when I saw them, The young man held B by her shoulders while she tried to drag him through an open door. That was when I remembered the little corridor with a severed head. Not exactly the kind of salvation I was hoping for, but it'd have to do.

Together, Michael and I grabbed both of them and threw us all through the opening. Seconds later, far too close for comfort. The entire corridor we'd been running through went pitch black. The wall overtook our positions And we were left panting and exhausted on the floor Where thousands of severed heads looked at us in annoyance When we looked back the way we came We saw that nothing but pulsating flesh

A wall of it Hot and sticky And threaded with sickly blue veins I don't know what the wall was But something about the meat behind the stone made me think of hungry coral. It was a trap, Michael hissed as he inspected the horrible mass. I don't know how, but we were led down the wrong path.

It swapped the cables or something. I don't know, but we were lowered down there like rats. Where's Davies? The other soldier asked. He's gone, Michael said. What? The older man gestured to the wall of meat behind us. Whatever the hell that thing is, it got him.

It looked like a wall, but it could move, and it just steamrolled him. Thanks for the warning, by the way, he growled at B. But she showed no sign of understanding him. Instead, she was sat on the floor and shaking, clearly in a state of shock. Where now, sir, the remaining soldier asked, and Michael grimaced. where do you think he spat before gesturing at the route forward the only direction that's available the heads made for strange companions they followed us with their eyes but did not stop their muttering it was grating to say the least a noise you could ignore for maybe an hour or so but pretty soon

the papery rustle of their ancient lips was the only thing you could focus on no matter how hard you tried to push it out of your head. At least navigation was simple. Forward. The only way to go. We walked for about six hours before we took our first break. The corridor was wide, but we stayed away from the heads and slept in a row, head to feet, while two of us stayed on watch.

Six hours each. I decided to stay up along with Michael and B., and the other soldier tried to try to to rest. B. had barely come out of shock during the journey, speaking a little towards the very end. She told us in a broken way what she'd seen while kneeling by the wall. Teeth, she said, and a face, although she wouldn't or couldn't elaborate on those two statements. I was left with a sense that she had seen something that had come down close to leaving her completely insane. Even as it was, I doubted she had a full recovery in her. She almost looked like a different woman, baggy-eyed, thinning hair. Or maybe it was just the conditions down here.

Michael didn't look too great either. I had to assume I looked pretty rough too, especially after that run. It had exhausted me, broken me, not just the physical exertion, but the nightmare of it. The reason I'd elected to stay and watch first was because I didn't want to sleep. A part of me was worried I'd just dream about being back in that hallway, running from the moving wall, and I didn't want to revisit that place ever again, not even as a dream. There were moments where I came so close to just giving up. I don't think I'd ever really experienced despair like that before. Not the kind where you feel your knees buckling and your neck turned to rubber as your head bows. It must be what people stranded at Seafil when they

lose their strength to keep treading water. So instead, I stayed up and tried to ignore the muttering of the heads. He even tried talking to Michael, but he didn't have much to say. I could tell losing Davis back in the corridor had bothered him. Hell, it bothered me, and I hadn't even known the guy. But I swear to this day, I can still see the look on his face as Rock met flesh, and his legs and hips just disappeared. In the end, I had only these kinds of thoughts for company, and lots, and lots of time. So, it probably shouldn't come as too much of a surprise.

that I eventually fell asleep. It wasn't for long, ten minutes at most. But it was enough time for me to wake up and see something drag the sleeping soldier's body into the darkness of the nearby shelf, his head lolling unnaturally to one side. The movement was gentle, quiet, but clumsy too, like a child pulling a rag dollily out of a box.

I looked over to Michael and saw he'd fallen asleep as well, so I nudged him with my foot, and he woke up with a sort of lazy start. Only when he looked at me, confused for a few short seconds, before slowly registering the look of terror on my face, that he seemed to realize what was happening. I'm not sure what I expected him to do, really, but he was the leader and well-armed, and I didn't want to be the one who had to figure out what to do next. Possibly because there was a part of me tempted to just sneak off. To leave the young man to his fate, maybe even be,

if it just meant I could survive a little bit longer. In truth, I was relieved when Michael leapt into action immediately. I didn't want to be a coward. He jumped up and grabbed the young man's foot and I ran over and grabbed the other leg. And together, we tried to pull him back. I didn't mention it to Michael, but the way the soldier's body felt when I grabbed it, the muscles were too relaxed, too heavy.

I don't know how to explain it, but if you ever end up in the unfortunate situation of moving a corpse, you might know what I mean. A living body supports itself, a dead one. It's just meat and water. her and somehow feels so much heavier for it. He was dead. Still, we fought on. At some point, B must have woken up, realising what was happening and joined in.

I remember her trying to reach into the shelf to grab hold of the dead man's arm when she suddenly flew backwards, landing with a hefty thud against the shelf behind her, and knocking a few of the severed heads on their little stumps. Whatever was in the dark was clearly frustrated. It wanted its next meal and it wasn't going to let us stop it. Slowly a long inhuman arm reached out and took a hold of the body's groin. Its strange hand had fingers that split at the knuckle one, two, three times. A terrifying effect, especially given how much each one moved on its own.

A dinner plate monster of a hand attached to a lithe and muscular forearm devoid of hair. The second I saw it reach out in my general direction, I let go of the leg and fell backwards. Michael continued struggling for a while, even taking out his pistol and firing a few shots into the dark. But in doing so, he left only a hand to cling onto his comrade's corpse and lost his grip. With almost no effort, the body disappeared into the shawl. and we were suddenly down to three. What the hell? What the hell?

What the hell? He screamed. I wanted to say something, maybe even something to comfort him, or maybe an apology for falling asleep. But then again, he'd fallen in asleep too. I didn't know what I was meant to do. I was in shock and it was settling deep into me. When B said something from where she remained on the floor, her voice quiet but oddly insistent.

It isn't over. That hand re-emerged, carefully, deliberately. It placed itself on the floor, revealing more of the pale flesh that powered it, and then came another and another. And then its head emerged slowly from the dark and fixed me with eyes both black,

bulbous, and far too numerous for anything there can be called human. And his mouth, a beard made of dirty fingers, grey and bluish, long rancid nails, hundreds of them squirming like mandibles of a hungry spider. Michael opened fire, but he might as well have been shooting hay for all the effect it had had. The bullet struck with a wet thwap, but no actual damage. The creature knocked him aside with pure contempt and pulled the rest of itself out into the corridor

where I saw it had no legs but instead relied on several long arms to suspend itself between the walls of the corridor like a kind of spider. One of these arms reached out and grabbed B and by the time she started screaming it was already too late. Blood trickled from her ears and there was a sound like a branch snapping

Her entire body went limp, and the monster dropped her where she fell to the ground. A grotesque, misshaping face, glaring at me with accusatory eyes. The lieutenant screamed as he fired yet again. But then that thing seized him like it was nothing but a doll, and lifted him, squeezing so tightly he dropped everything he held. His gun and torch hitting the ground with a loud rattle. Help me! He screamed while reaching out for me to grab him. Jeez, shoot the thing!

I ran forward, crouching down in the hope of avoiding its many arms. Already, Michael was being squeezed so tight that blood splurted from his mouth, and I could tell that the monster was having fun, reveling in his torment. I reached out and picked the gun up from the floor as Michael let out another desperate wet cry for help. But for some reason, my hand stopped. stopped mere inches away, I hesitated. Michael's blood was dripping down. I could hear the crunching of his ribs.

In my most shameful moment, I grabbed the torch and ran. And Michael's cries followed me, screaming, screeching, whimpering, sounds of breaking bones and tearing paper, sounds of torture and torment that somehow seemed to last forever. I emerged from the corridor, alone. It took me a few seconds of stumbling on my failing legs to realize that the monster had given up on the pursuit. And then a few seconds more for me to recognize I was back on the mezzanine. Terrified and exhausted, and contemplating if it was worth trying to escape if it meant having to spend another second alive in that place, I fell to the floor and began to sob.

Maybe, I thought, it was time to take a dive off that ledge, just like Grant had. What on earth are you doing here? I whipped around to see an old man in robes staring at me like an impolite intruder. Without meaning to, I began to laugh. My sanity, it was fair to say, was on its final. legs. Hmm, he said, while leaning aside to get a look down the long corridor behind. Now, why did you go down there?

I wanted to answer, but couldn't quite bring myself to do anything except a laugh and gasp for air. I think you really ought to go home, he said like a teacher, admonishing a child. This place is hell, I cried while rocking back and forth my knees. "'Yes,' he nodded. "'Yes, good for you. "'This is a small part of hell, "'one that has a slight overlap with Earth, if I remember. "'I'm assuming that's how you got down here.

"'The door. "'What happened to your friends anyway?' he added. "'I looked back the way I came and pointed. "'Oh,' he sighed. "'You know, I left your books out specifically "'so you'd find them and figure it out. And I know that bold fellow worked it out. So once you knew this place was hell,

why did you waste another second sticking around? I shrugged. Not quite sure what I was meant to say to that kind of thing. We got way laid, I gasped, misled. Fair enough, he replied. Probably you should have done more to make sure you got home safely. That's partly my fault, although I won't apologize. You went to this place.

Didn't you see the door? What part of that was inviting? You have to take some of the blame. I wanted to mount a defense, but I didn't really have one. When it became clear, the only thing I could do was sob and mutter. The old man's body language softened,

and he reached the hand out. Come on, I'll take you back. What about the demons? I asked. The old man frowned. Those weren't demons, he snapped. This place is defunct. Mortal souls were meant to demonstrate repentance by wondering the near-eternal halls in search of their book.

Only when they found it were they allowed to move on. The whole thing didn't quite work out. 86 quadrillion books. Takes a tad too long for the average person to find theirs. So this entire wing was abandoned. And now there are only sinners left behind. That thing was never human, I cried, while pointing at the corridor I'd emerged from. Nobody's soul looks human, he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Least of all, the sort of person who gets sent to hell. This isn't the place for people who eat meat on Friday or cover their neighbor's ox. It's for the cruel and the malicious, cowards and opportunists. A lot of people in this place have souls that have more in common with anglerfish and trapped door spiders than their fellow man, and it's not a condition that gets better after several thousand years either. The soul changes, twists, and so do their physical forms. And what about you? I said, as I reached up and took his hand, why do you look so normal? Oh, he said as he helped me up. That's because I built this place. And the last thing I can remember,

As he gripped me by the shoulder was the sudden and painful sensation. Of heat, we woke up in our respective quarters. We, all six of us. I still don't fully understand the mechanics. I tried asking the others how they made it back, but they weren't in a state to answer questions. B was catatonic, screaming and clutching her head in the hospital. like she still remembered the way that thing crushed a skull like a grapefruit. The soldier who fell to the wall was left paraplegic,

even though medical tests couldn't identify a single reason why. Psychological, they said. The other soldier, the one who'd been dragged into the shelves was comatose. I don't know if he recovered, but he was alive. And Grant was left in a permanent psychotic state. compelled to write on any surface he could over and over again, sin after sin, desperately trying to rewrite the very book

that had driven him to madness in the first place. Michael tried very hard to kill me. He had clear memories of being left to die in the dark. I'm glad they caught him before he managed to wring the life out of me with his bare hands. I never found out what happened to him after several men managed to pry his hands from around my throat. Despite everything, I hope he managed some kind of recovery. The door disappeared. Thankfully, with no one on the other side.

I know they were planning future expeditions. It is for the best, that kind of thing can't happen again. They have no idea what's waiting for them. In a way, I probably could have convinced myself the expedition never happened. Some days, even now, that's what I sincerely hope can happen. There was no physical evidence, nothing. We appeared in our beds completely nude, save for a note stuck to my chest. And is this final little touch that stood out to me a stern confirmation of everything I'd

experienced. Return to Sender. Six mortals. Five were damaged in transit. Bodies were repaired to the best of my ability, but I was never good of that kind of thing. Mines are another matter entirely. Could not help myself in one case. Left fellow mortal to die in the dark, didn't seem very sporting.

Don't let anyone say a lack a sense of humour. Otherwise, no harm, no foul. foul. Best wishes. Me, my heart sank when I heard them read it to me. It confirmed my deepest worries. No one had been very honest with me since I'd arrived at the hospital. They'd kept me bandaged up, so it wasn't easy to tell. But after I heard that note, I finally found the courage to reach up and remove the thick wads of fabric. Then, with shaking fingers, I finally touched my eyes, or rather, the empty sockets, where they used to be. A couple of years ago, I was dating a woman named Lynn.

She was deeply enthusiastic about alternative medicine. It was such a strange obsession. In every other aspect, she was insightful and critical. hell, she was a paralegal. She just had this one blind spot that I could never figure out, and it was a big part of a life. We were together for two years. During that time, she had me try all kinds of strange treatments and experiences. Things like acupuncture, spirit healing, crystals, Reiki, rolfing, and even a seance.

I may or may not have been asked to do ayahuasca. I went along with it because I cared deeply for her but the cracks in our relationship had started to show turned out we wouldn't last in the long run but I don't want to talk about that relationship I want to talk about this one treatment she took me to and how it has shaped the life I'm living today it's a bit complicated

I'm gonna talk about step-minding it was an early Minnesota morning and the last session that Lynn and I would attend as a couple we pulled into a non-descript parking lot and Lynn led me by the hand we had an insane fight that morning about something I can barely remember

I think it was the order you put in your yogurt when eating musley of course you put musley in first right it's like cereal We entered a stale waiting room. The AC must have been off for days. I could taste the air. The only other person there was a short, balding man

who spoke to us in a vaguely European accent, barely looking up from his iPad. Stevenson's, he asked. Over exposure is room for. No, uh, that's not us, I said. We're... Right, right, sorry. He sighed, wrong day.

He tapped the screen a couple of times and nodded. Step minding, couple's treatment. Still room four. Thank you. He wondered off, and I noticed he didn't have any shoes on. I pointed it out to Lynn, who elbowed me. She thought I was being judgmental. I just thought it was strange.

I didn't want to start anything. She vehemently disagreed with my self. assessment, as always. We walked up to room four. The door was already open. It was a plain windowless room with a small coffee table surrounded by four basic office chairs. There was a vase with a single blue flower. There was a naked light bulb overhead with nothing covering it. The floor was covered in a plain grey carpet. There was a little note on the door that urged us to take off our shoes. Lynn just smiled at me, as if this explained everything.

I rolled my eyes. We sat down across from one another and waited. It didn't take that long before a woman wandered in. She was in a forties, wearing a sort of knitted white wool cafton. She had a combed back flat, Ilvera-looking hairdo, and covered herself in rings, chains and bangles. She took her hands, smiling widely. I'm Dr. Bogan, she assured us.

But please, call me Jane. I wasn't feeling all too confident about what we were about to do. Jane described the procedure. Step-minding was a way to connect to one another in a new way, giving a better understanding of what it was like to walk a mile in their shoes. There are a couple of rules to remember. before we started. For example, once the treatment started,

we couldn't get up from our chairs. If we did, we'd get horribly nauseous. Also, we had a sort of safety noise. If someone were to snap their fingers three times in a sequence, that'd trigger a failsafe that broads us right back. All in all, it seemed odd, but not like nefarious.

Then we began. Jane rhythmically snapped her fingers like someone tapping their feet to a slow song. She spoke in a monotone voice asking us to look down. Look at your feet, she said. Imagine the feeling of walking, the way your muscles contract and your knees bend. Think of how it makes you feel and imagine the sound you think your body must. makes. I don't remember the exact wording of what she told us next, but I remember how it made me feel. Without moving, we were supposed to imagine standing up, stepping across and through the coffee table,

and sitting down on the chair of the person on the other side, our spirit passing through them, occupying the same space. We were to imagine looking at ourselves through the eyes of the other. There was a breathing exercise following the rhythm of a finger snapping. We joined our breaths and Jane made us focus on each part of our body, leading from our toes up to the top of our heads. She called it materializing. We kept our eyes on our feet, except slowly. They weren't my feet anymore.

Now look, Jane said, look at yourself. I was looking down at Lynn's feet, but not through my eyes. I have a hard time describing the first sensation of step-minding. Jane's finger snapping stopped, and all of a sudden, I was looking up at, well, myself.

I was sitting in Lynn's chair. I was, for all intents and purposes, experiencing the world as Lynn. I was Lynn. My hands were smaller, more delicate. I was colder and my clothes were uncomfortable. Smell and taste felt different and I had this gnawing hunger in the back my stomach.

My back ached and I could feel my long hair reaching halfway down my back. I was Lynn. I can barely remember what I did. We talked and touched each other's hands, reassuring one another that we were actually experiencing this. Lynn was repeating the same thing over and over. That's me, she said. I'm looking at me.

You're me. I'm you. We had a long discussion. I could feel air reverberating through my throat in a strange way. I spoke in Lynn's voice and it made my neck strain. I had to settle myself in her body, and there were so many details that just didn't click. It was so hard to focus on what was being said, and all I could think about was the way my earrings swung back and forth when I moved my head.

But after about an hour, Jane snapped her fingers three times, and I was back in my chair in the blink of an eye. This is how I realized I was short-sighted. Lynn's vision had been perfect. I also felt bigger, heavier. Her world felt so different from mine, and while it didn't explain our disagreements, it gave me some insights into just how different we really were. And I made a note to get new glasses.

Still reeling from the experience, Lynn and I thanked Dr. Bogan and stepped out. He had a strange, disoriented talk in the parking lot, and broke up. It was oddly amicable, as if we both understood that we were fundamentally incompatible. That was it. No drama, just... That's it? I thought about that day for weeks. It was so surreal.

I mean, how do you go from a literal, out-of-body experience? and back to work on Monday morning. You can't pretend nothing happened. I wanted to understand it, like really understand it. I'd been to countless nonsensical treatments with Lynn, but this one had been the real deal. There was no denying it, even though I desperately tried to.

A couple of weeks later, I returned to Dr. Bogan on my own. I wanted to talk to her about it, The science behind it, how it functioned, how it was performed, anything. And of course, how I had never heard of step-minding before. I met her on a rainy Wednesday afternoon. She sat me down and had her assistant offer me a cup of coffee. She explained it as calmly as she could. It was complicated, but essentially, she explained it as something based on raskin identity.

Entity theory, the transfer of thought pattern through vocal meditation, exchanging vibrations and adapting electrical patterns in the brain. Every word sounded like nonsensical pseudoscience, but it didn't change the fact of what I'd experienced. And at the end of the day, that was the only thing that really mattered. I have to see it again, I said, I need to understand this. Funny you should say that, she smiled. I think we can work something out. Jane offered me a quid pro quo. She had a couple of patients who could benefit from a step mining session,

but she needed a neutral third party to act as the recipient. I seemed to be a good fit. I was skeptical, but she had a little bonus to sweeten the deal. She'd pay me a handsome sum of cash for each session, as a kind of consultation fee. I was a bit hesitant, but I agreed. One week later, I was sat on a session with Jane and one other patients. The patient had a dissociative issue

and needed a step-minding session to alleviate a strange obsession she seemed to have with what sounded like a house plant. I didn't pay too much attention. I was nervous. I couldn't figure out why. Maybe it was the thought that what I'd experienced was real and how that would force me to change the way I viewed the world. If a thing like step-minding exists,

who's to say there aren't ghosts or wizards? So I sat down with a stranger and Jane started snapping her fingers. Now look, she began. Look? At yourself. Jane used the same words, the same sequence, the same rhythm, stepping out of my body and into another. But the difference was palpable this time.

Lynn had been calm and collected, but this woman was the opposite. Sitting in a body, my pulse was higher, my legs were shaking and my breathing was shallow. I was physically exhausted, but mentally wired. thoughts rushing a hundred different ways at once, and I didn't even know why. A single second in that body, looking across my table back at myself, and I could tell they were a troubled person. I was to sit there for a while, as Jane had a discussion with the other patient. Instinctively, I stood up to leave the room, to give them privacy, but I had to sit back down. My head started spinning as all these unfamiliar muscles reacted to my input, and I couldn't get very far.

Perhaps the sitting down rule was there for a good reason. I sat there trying to calm down while the two of them had a discussion. I was asked to put on headphones for a bit, and I didn't mind. It was hard hearing anything through my pounding pulse anyway. as the session came to an end, Jane snapped her fingers and I was back in my chair. My heart rate was slower. I wasn't shaking. I was nervous, but compared to the other patient, I was an obelisk of relaxation.

For a moment, looking across the table, I could see her taking a deep breath. She was still shaking, but not as much as when we started. Perhaps that session gave her a new perspective on things. As the patient left, I got a moment to talk to Jane alone. I explained to her that if we had wheelchairs instead, the other patient could be rolled out during the session. That'd be more effective than using headphones. She really liked that idea and suggested we'd try it at the next session,

which inadvertently answered my next question. There was going to be more sessions. I worked on and off with Dr. Bogan for a couple of months. I usually did about three to five sessions per month, netting me a bonus income of about $400 per session. Jane ended up getting two wheelchairs and having her assistant, Jonathan, wheel me out while she had a conversation with the other patient.

I grew accustomed to it and started to enjoy the sensation. It's sort of a pleasant ego death. You feel more connected to the world. It was becoming a steady source of secondary income. Taking an afternoon off to get paid for something that I ultimately enjoyed. Yeah, not a bad deal. Over the upcoming weeks, I got a couple more opportunities. I joined Jane on a couple of out-of-town sessions,

meeting some clients she was following up on. mostly folks who needed privacy for one reason or another, folks with all kinds of strange afflictions. I could probably write a book about those people alone. Coming back home, Jane contacted me about doing a couple sessions where she wasn't personally involved. I was also asked to be the guide a couple of times, seeing as how I'd step-minded so many times

and could recite the guiding words by heart. The pay was more than double. So, I agreed. I had three guiding sessions on my own. One with a hippie couple who wanted to experience a sort of intimacy. Let's just leave it at that. Another session with two brothers, performing a trust exercise. The third one was a group of college kids who wanted to debunk the whole thing.

And they left sort of befuddled. All in all, things were going well. Then I got a call about being a neutral third party. I was going to perform a switch with a patient, but this time Jane wasn't involved at all. The customer went straight to me. It was a group of people who contacted me. They described it as their dad having a disorder, and they wanted to try step-minding to sort of reset him.

They'd arrange their own guide, so they just needed to just need to be a disorder. they just needed me as a neutral third party, someone who wouldn't freak out about the process, as it might take a couple of hours to get through to him. It would be my longest session yet, but the pay was good, and I tried a lot of things up until that point. I was ready. I met the client, Harold, at his home in Southern St. Cloud. Big place, three floors, gated property with both a pool and a tennis court,

modern architecture and heated floor tiles. The guide for the evening was a cheery woman in a forties. She gave off a bit of a college professor kind of vibe. Apart from the client himself, there was a group of four other people who seemed to be close relatives. And of course, there was Harold himself. the man I was supposed to work with. Harold was surprisingly upbeat. I couldn't see anything obviously wrong with him, which surprised me.

From what I understood, he was in dire need of this treatment. He was a man in his early 60s, but could easily pass for 50. Hell, the man had better thief than me. I could tell he must have been a salesman at some point. you can tell by the smile I was introduced to the others who introduced themselves as friends and family we hurried to the living room

where a space had been prepared we were all seated as a group the guide had prepared everything and offered me a reassuring smile she took her hands something that Jane usually didn't do I just want to make sure we're all feeling good about this

She said, We good? We good, I nodded. We're good, Harold agreed. And with that, the session was on. The guide snapped her fingers, load a voice, and took us down the mental road

and across the table. By then, I knew the process. The right words were the right cadence at the right time. I sunk back in my chair, looking at my feet, and felt the world shift. After a while, my shoes looked different.

They were nicer and my pants fit me better. Slowly, I started to feel the reality of my borrowed body, the various aches and pains, the thinning hair, the wrinkles on my cheek when I blinked. I'd aged about 30 years in a couple of minutes and it would take some time adjusting. Looking up and seeing myself in the opposite chair, I got this anxious sting in my chest. The thought crossed my mind.

What if I never returned? The guide excused herself and left. She'd done her job. The rest was up to Harold and his associates. But as soon as I heard the front door close, the air in the room shifted. Harold was sitting there, looking like me, stretching his arms. The others joined us, making a circle. One of Harold's associates, a young woman who'd introduced us of as Hope, spoke to the both of us.

She could easily have been his daughter. How are you feeling? she asked. Everyone okay? Yeah, I nodded. You do what you got to do. So this works, Harold asked. This, this is it. It's done. It's done, Hope smiled.

Harold pulled out a gun, a well-polished revolver. I was the only one who reacted, flinching at the sight of it. The others didn't seem to care. I didn't know what to do. Should I be scared? If so, why was no one reacting? So then, we just cut the cord then, he said, and we're good to go. Wait, what are you?

They were tricking me. They put me in that old body and had no intention of putting me back. I held up my hand and snapped my finger two times. But before the third snap, I had a gun pushed against the back of my head. That won't help, Hope said. We'll just kill you when you're... You again. It's hard to describe what I felt in that moment. The fear was real, but there was also a longing to go back. Being out of your own body is like sleeping outside. You feel exposed and maladjusted. If you know it's for a while, it's not that bad, but if there's a chance you can't go back, it becomes terrifying, like getting lost in the woods. That's not even counting for the primal terror you feel from having a gun pointed at you.

Harold seemed a bit confused, which made me realize that no one had explained the rules to him, that we couldn't get up and that three snaps of a finger would cancel the effect. I got the impression that he thought this was somehow permanent. Looking at him, I could see a worry spread across his face. My face. You said this was permanent, he said, looking at hope. It is, as long as you don't do three finger snaps. How's that going to work when we cut him off?

You're going to have to make sure you're never around someone who snaps their fingers, Harold. She smiled. That's not too much, is it? Do I have to remind you that I got the tapes to put you away? Harold snarled back. And that, if anything were to happen to me, you're done. Nothing's going to happen, Harold. Hope chuckled. Look, you're right there, safe and sound.

She pointed at me. It was as if a light turned on in Harold's eyes. He was being double-crossed, just like me. In a desperate moment, he raised his handgun at me. I recalled so hard that I fell out of my chair, feeling my heart skip a beat. Cold sweat spread across my arms, clinging to the thin, in a fabric of Harold's expensive blazer, but there was no gunshot, just a click. His gun was empty.

That click was the loudest sound I'd ever heard. I came crumbling down to the floor, feeling the effects of the first rule. Don't get up. I was immediately nauseous. I felt like a bobblehead as my head went one way and my body another. A collapse in a pile, trying to find the magic number of blinks to make the world stop spinning. You'll never get past the safety checks, Howard screened. You'll never get the backups, you...

It's all fingerprinted, hope-side. Fingerprinted, bio-coded, voice-checked. Sorry. A man raised his arm. There was no second click. Instead, there was a bang. I looked up with my ears ringing. watching a reflection of my dead self on the other side of the coffee table.

Bullet to the brain. Nothing but blank eyes looking back at me. My face didn't look dead. It just looks sort of... Tired. Like I was sleepy. I was expecting that face to blink, but that blink never came. Blood pulled at the corner of the mouth,

running down from the open wound at the temple. They pulled me up and dragged me over to Harold's workstation. They used my hand to log in. I had to do a voice recognition check as Hope's associates went through two laptops and a smartphone. While they did, Hope sat down across from me. My head was still swimming. We're going to need you, she said.

And as long as you play along, you'll be fine. But if you mess with me. She snapped her fingers twice. Ice filled my veins as I gripped my seat. I can't imagine something good would happen if we tried this, she said, blowing her voice. So how about we just really, really pay attention? She explained it to me.

I was done for. Anyone in her crew could snap their fingers three times and I'd be done. This also meant I couldn't perform step-minding again, as you need arithmetic finger-snapping as part of the process. She explained the plan. They needed Harold Alive to slowly transfer his company shares to someone else without it looking all too suspicious.

They needed access to his files, both immediate and over a long term. They explained that they needed me around to make it a bit of, appear that everything was fine. In return, I get to live in this amazing place with whatever comforts I could ask for, for the rest of my days. But if I slipped up, snap, snap, snap, done, fade to black. It was so surreal, watching them wrap up my own body in black plastic. men in tailored blazers scrubbing the floors and walls with bleach, Hope sitting across from me, rubbing her fingers together. Where do you think you'll go? she asked.

If I snap my fingers, where do you think you'll go? I don't know, I stuttered. I don't. Maybe you'll be fine, she shrugged. Maybe there's something nice and warm. warm on the other side. Or maybe the snapping doesn't even work anymore. Want to try?

No. No? She smiled. No, you don't. You're smarter than that. And maybe you're not the gambling type. She tapped the barrel of the gun on Howard's mahogany desk. You can have all the parties you want.

You got a big bank account. She sighed. But maybe. be careful about inviting musical people, those who stump their feet or snapped their fingers, and that was that. I was left there. I had keys to a place I didn't know, a phone full of numbers I didn't recognize. I just stood there in the chlorine-smelling house of a stranger.

I didn't know what to feel. Ever since I started step-minding, I had never considered this. It was unreal. I remember looking down at my own hand, not being sure if I could snap myself out of it. What would happen? Over time, I got used to the nausea. Nowadays, it's gone. I can walk around like anyone else, but I have to avoid crowds.

I can't risk hearing those three snaps. I watch videos with the sound off and subtitles on. I only watch movies after checking the soundtrack, making sure there are no snapping in the songs. Radio is out of the question. You never know what you might hear. And even if you do, does it work hearing it through a TV or in a song?

Would you risk it? I won't. I can't. I don't think I can ever adjust. I've thought about contacting people from my old life, but I wouldn't know where to begin. How do you explain this? I have to be careful not to draw any attention to myself

or hope and a cronies might return. And if they do, well, I don't know how far I could push my luck. I mean, I'm comfortable. Harold made close to six figures a month on passive income. I've learned most things about his life. He never married, he has no children, and most of his contacts are passing acquaintances at best.

He was a lonely man, and now, that's me. I spend most of my days considering my options. I've thought about destroying my hearing as a safety measure. Yes, going deaf is awful. But you have no idea what it's like, living with the thought that a sound that can be done at any time, by anyone, can kill you. It's exhausting, and you end up isolating yourself. I'm Harold now, screaming into the void that I used to be someone else. I'm sipping on a drink from a glass with my initials on it.

And when I go to bed at night, I will do the same thing I do every night. I will take a long look at myself. I got better vision now. Harold isn't short-sighted. But I can't look at myself. I'm not there anymore. It's just Harold.

Floated through the narrow corridor of the ISS. The harm of machinery reminding me of the delicate job of keeping us alive. I'm the communications officer on this mission. My job is to monitor and interpret the data flowing in from our new array of radio telescopes. These telescopes, bolted to the exterior of the station, are designed to pick up the faint signals of the cosmos, the distant pulsars that might reveal secrets of the universe. Life on the ISS is a dance of precision and routine. Each night I'd strap myself into my sleeping bag, floating gently in my small sleeping quarters.

The weightlessness was a constant reminder that earth and its gravity were hundreds of kilometres below. Breakfast was always a rehydrated meal, eaten quickly before the day's tasks began. My crewmates and I moved through our routines with efficiency. Every action measured to conserve any. energy and resources. Becoming part of the ISS crew was driven by a need to feel something beyond in my life. The raw, unfiltered experiences of space offered an escape I craved. In the vast silence of the cosmos, I found temporary solace, a way to immerse myself

in something greater than me. Every day I would float to the cupola, the observation module. favorite spot on the ISS. The panoramic view of Earth below, rotating slowly, made me reflect on the life I had left behind. The new telescopes were my primary focus, and I spent countless hours analyzing the data they captured. The telescopes were sophisticated pieces of technology, designed to detect the rhythmic pulses of neutron stars, pulsars. These dying stars emitted beams of radiation that could be detected across vast distances.

My role was to interpret these signals, to sift through the data and find meaning in the chaos. The ISS's communication systems were our lifeline, relaying back data to mission control and ensuring we remain connected to Earth. Our communication relied heavily on the TDRS, tracking and data. to relay satellites network, a constellation of geostationary satellites that allowed almost continuous communication with Earth. Any interruption in this network could mean delayed transmissions, which is why we meticulously monitored our systems.

Working so far away from safety meant every task was a balance of precision and improvisation. tasks range from routine system checks to unexpected repairs. One day I assisted the engineer, Mia, in repairing a malfunctioning oxygen generator. Floating beside her, tools tethered to our belts, we worked in silent coordination. Mia's calm, methodical approach was reassuring, her hands steady as she adjusted the delicate components. oxygen generator, part of the environmental control and life support system, or ECLSS for short, was crucial for converting exhaled carbon dioxide back into breathable oxygen, using a process

called electrolysis. A malfunction here could mean a critical situation, but Mears' expertise kept us safe. In addition to monitoring radio telescopes, I also managed the station's Kuban communication system. This system provided high-speed data links to Earth, essential for transmitting the vast amounts of scientific data we collected daily. Any anomalies in these systems required immediate attention to avoid data loss and ensure continuous communication with mission control. In the evenings, we gathered in the small communal area, a makeshift living room where we shared meals and stories. where Captain, Jess, would recount her early days in the space program,

a voice filled with the passion that had driven her here. Daniel, our scientist, often discussed his latest experiments, his enthusiasm for microgravity research infectious. These moments of camaraderie were precious, reminders that we were not just colleagues, but a team bound by a mission in isolation. However, despite the camaraderie, the solitude of space had a way of creeping in. Late at night, I'd find myself alone in the observation module, staring out at the infinite expense.

The silence was profound, the stars unblinking in the darkness. It was during these quiet moments that I felt the weight of my own isolation most acutely, a contrast to the bustling life I had left behind on Earth. The work on the ISS was demanding, but it provided a structure that helped. Each task, each experiment, was a step towards understanding the universe and my place within it. The telescopes with their promise of discovery were both a challenge and a refuge. They allowed me to lose myself in the vastness of space, to focus on something beyond the confines of my own mind.

Each day began with a gentle nudge from my watch, signaling the start of my shift. I floated through the narrow corridor of the communications module where the day's data from a new array of radio telescopes awaited. I started by downloading the latest batch of data. The telescopes equipped with ultra-sensitive receivers, captured the rhythmic pulses of distant neutron stars. The data streamed through the ISS's S-band and C-Ban communication links ready for analysis.

The software hummed as it processed the information, filtering out cosmic noise and highlighting significant patterns. With the data processing underway, I moved on to the daily system checks. The communication system always needed to be in top condition to make. maintain our link with Earth. I ran diagnostics on the antennas, ensuring they were precisely aligned with the target pulsars. Each day followed her similar pattern. I'd float into the communications module,

download the data, and begin the analysis. I logged the observations, noting any minor deviations. In the afternoon, I joined MIR to check in the environmental control and life support system. We worked in silent coordination. The oxygen generator was operating flawlessly. Another day, another batch of data. As I downloaded the latest transmissions, I noticed the faint, almost imperceptible anomaly. Easy to dismiss as background noise. Space is filled with various sources of electromagnetic interference after all. I logged it as such and continued with my routine.

The analytical software filtered through the data, isolating the pulsar signals. During the midday system checks, I recalibrated the antennas. It was meticulous work, but necessary to maintain the integrity of our data. The faint anomaly lingered in my mind, but I set it aside, focusing at the tax. at hand. That evening during our briefing, I considered mentioning the anomaly, but decided against it. It was too vague to source, and the crew had enough to worry about. It seemed too insignificant to warrant their attention. It was just a minor blip in the data, nothing to be concerned about. The day after began like the others. I floated to the communications module, downloaded the

data and began my checks. However, the faint anomaly was still there. A persistent whisper among the rhythmic pulses. I decided to amplify the gain on the receiver, curious to see if the pattern would become clearer. The signal grew more distinct, its rhythmic quality more pronounced. I ran it through the software again, hoping to identify its source and set off the data package. However, the next day, the anomaly was slightly more pronounced. It was still faint, but its consistent presence made me uneasy. I amplified it further and listened closely. What I heard sent a chill down my spine.

It was a subtle change, but amidst the cosmic noise, the anomaly seemed almost deliberate. I checked the equipment for faults, running diving. agnostics on the receivers and data processes. Everything was functioning within normal parameters. I recalibrated the antennas again, ensuring they were precisely aligned, but the anomaly persisted. The spectral analysis revealed slight modulations in the signal that suggested it wasn't entirely random. There were hints of structure, though the details were too vague to decipher. I captured a segment of the data and ran it through a pattern recognition algorithm, hoping to decode it, but the results were inconclusive.

Despite the anomaly's persistent presence, it didn't seem important enough to report just yet, just enough to document. The data was too ambiguous, and I needed more of a sample size to finalize a pattern. It also could have easily been a false positive or a technical issue. Still, it gnawed at the back of my mind, a tiny splinter of unease that I couldn't quite shake. As the days passed, I found myself thinking about the anomaly more and more. Late at night, I would do my routine of floating alone in the observation module. The stars, once a source of wonder, now seemed indifferent. Their silence, amplifying thoughts of the anomaly that echoed in my mind.

No matter what I did, the anomaly persisted, its presence gnawing at the edges of my thoughts. It kept happening each time I pulled readings, and Mission Control did not contact us about it. Determined to understand it, I used the ISS's analytical software to delve deeper. now that I had enough samples to try extract a pattern. The software, designed for filtering out cosmic noise and identifying significant patterns, now took on a new level of importance. I ran the anomaly through more complex analyses. I began to notice patterns that were disturbingly intricate.

As I was analysing the data, I noticed the anomaly coincided with minor electrical disturbances on the ISS. The lights flickered and the ventilation system momentarily spotted. I initially thought these were a possible cause for the anomaly, but when the pattern repeated, it was impossible to ignore. I documented these incidents meticulously, noting the exact times and conditions under which they occurred. During one analysis session, the signals modulation suggested intelligence, structured, deliberate, almost like a coded message. I captured the data and ran it through advanced decryption algorithms, but the results were baffling. The patterns hinted at a form of communication, a concept both thrilling and terrifying.

I hesitated before to share my findings with the crew, but I felt I had enough to present with the group. When I finally did, the reception was less than enthusiastic. The captain, Jess, listened patiently but remained skeptical. It's probably interference from another satellite, she suggested. Mia, ever the pragmatist, ran diagnostics on the station systems, attributing the disturbances to possible minor equipment malfunctions. Daniel was the most intrigued, but still cautious. It could be a new type of cosmic phenomenon, he theorised, though he wasn't convinced it was

anything more than an unknown natural occurrence. Days passed and the anomaly continued to manifest. I monitored it closely, noting every fluctuation and pattern. The crew's skepticism began to wear on me. Each time I mentioned the anomaly, I saw the doubt in the rise, and it made me question my own sanity about all of this. Then, while running a routine check, the anomaly coincided with a more significant power surge. The lights flickered violently, and the ISS's communication systems briefly went offline.

When the systems came back up, I noticed something new. A more pronounced modulation in the signal, almost like a sound trying to break. through. While I was analysing the batch of data, the power search happened again. This time, the anomaly was unmistakably deliberate. I amplified the signal and listened intently. The modulation was clearer, almost forming sounds, though they were still too distorted to understand. As I was documenting this, Mia called out from another module.

Alex, are you hearing this? She asked, her voice tinged with confusion. I floated over to a workstation where she had isolated her similar signal on her equipment. It was different from what I'd been monitoring, yet eerily similar in its rhythmic structure. The crew gathered around as we play the recordings side by side. The similarities were undeniable.

but the source remained a mystery. Jess frowned, her skepticism all but gone, replaced with concern. That evening, during our briefing, the mood was tense. We discussed the anomalies in detail, debating their significance and possible causes. Daniel suggested we run a coordinated analysis, combining data from all our systems to see if we could triangulate the source. We tried it, and the coordinated effort revealed even more disturbing patterns. The anomalies were not just random interference. They were consistent and seemed to be increasing in frequency and intensity.

We decided to send a detailed report to mission control, hoping for some clarification or guidance. At night, as I floated in the observation module, the lights, flickered again, more violently than ever. The entire station shuddered as if hit by an external force. My heart raced as I made my way to the communications module. The anomaly was now a deafening signal, almost forming coherent words. Suddenly, Mia's voice crackled over the intercom filled with panic. I... I saw myself outside, she gasped.

without a suit? Her words sent a chill. Panic spread quickly among the crew. It wasn't just affecting the ship. It was affecting us. If Mere's hallucination was linked to the anomaly, this posed a serious threat to all of us. The atmosphere aboard the ISS immediately shifted

from skeptical curiosity to palpable fear. And things. Only got worse. The signals began to invade my dreams. At first, they were vague, unsettling images of the stars. But soon they grew more vivid and disturbing. I saw visions of my past, reliving moments of loneliness and loss. The dreams then twisted into dark, violent scenarios,

where the ISS was overrun by an unknown force. Shadowy figures floated through the station. whispering my name, their faces indistinguishable with their presence suffocating. I woke up in cold sweats. Reality was blurring. I heard the whispers in the quiet hum of the station, in the white noise of the ventilation system. My grip and my sanity began to slip. Simple tasks became monumental challenges as I struggle to focus. My mind constantly, drifting. The crew noticed my deteriorating state.

You need to rest, Jess urged her concern evident. Yet she also showed signs of mental decay. You're pushing yourself too hard, but rest was impossible. The whispers had become a constant companion, invading the time I set aside to try recover, their presence growing stronger, more invasive. One particular night, I dreamt that the ISS was falling apart. The walls cracked and the station's structural integrity failed. As I floated helplessly through the disintegrating module, the whispers grew deafening,

a cacophony of voices screaming my name. I woke up gasping for breath, the vividness of the dream lingering like a shadow over my consciousness. The boundaries between my waking life and my dreams continue to blur. Each day felt like a descent further into madness. The anomaly at the centre of my unraveling psyche. No matter how much I wanted to stay away, I had to keep logging data. This needed to be studied.

I was caught in a web of fear and an insatiable need to understand the signal that seemed to hold my very sanity in its grasp. The anomaly grew ever-present. The electrical disturbances and unsettling dreams have become a constant, gnawing at my sanity, and the ship. One night, while analysing more data, trying to figure everything out, I intercepted a clear and direct message

through the ISS's communication system. The words were distorted. But unmistakable, we were here before you. You don't belong, outraced as I replayed the message, trying to make sense of it. The modulation of the signal was complex, layered with patterns that suggested intelligence far beyond our understanding. As I focused on the message, vivid hallucinations began to flood my mind. I saw a different world, one that existed long before human, as adventured into space, and eyes, many eyes.

In these visions, I witnessed colossal structures floating through the void, inhabited by entities whose forms defied comprehension. Everything watching me, sentient or not. Their technology looked ancient yet advanced, blending seamlessly with the fabric of space itself. Entities communicated to the same rhythmic pulses that have been haunting me. The messages are chilling warning of a forgotten past and an imminent threat. The ISS felt like a fragile bubble in the vastness of space, surrounded by the remnants of a civilization that once dominated the solar system.

The message echoed in my mind, reinforcing the sense of impending doom. You don't belong. The ISS systems began to fail catastrophically. The lights flickered violently, casting eerie shadows that danced along the walls. The life support systems, which are crucial for maintaining breathable air and stable temperature, started to malfunction. The oxygen levels fluctuated, and the CO2 scrubbers struggled to keep up. As I floated to the station, all hands on deck. I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

Eyes on me from behind, no matter how I turned. The telescopes, once instruments of discovery, now seem like beacons drawing in an unseen force. The comm system crackled with static, punctuated by whispers that grew louder and more insistent. I saw shadowy figures in the corner of my vision, their forms flickering like faulty holograms. They whispered to me, their voice is blending with the rhythmic pulses of the anomaly.

The boundary between reality and hallucination dissolved, leaving me in a state of perpetual terror. I sped toward the life support module, hoping to stabilize the systems. The console displayed erratic readings, fluctuating oxygen levels, spikes in CO2, and temperatures swinging wildly. I initiated emergency protocols, overriding the automatic controls to manually regulate the life support systems. My fingers flew all over the interface, adjusting parameters in a desperate attempt to restore stability. Despite my efforts, the whispers persisted, growing more aggressive. I felt their presence closing in, urging me to open the airlock and let them in. The airlock controls, normally unresponsive without a deliberate command, flickered ominously,

ready to be used without any of the routine procedures. I backed away, the urge to comply with the whispers warring with my instincts for self-preservation. I floated to the observation module to see if anything was actually outside, or if this was all just in my head, or worse, in the... ship. The view of the earth below, usually a source of comfort, now felt like a reminder of our isolation from safety. No help would come, or could come if we asked. The stars outside seemed to pulse with a malevolent light, the silence mocking my isolation. As I stared out into the void, the hallucinations intensified. I saw the ancient entity.

their forms looming of the ISS, their technology intertwining with ours. They reached out with ten jaws of energy probing the station's defenses. I could feel their intent, a dark curiosity mixed with a sense of territoriality. The communication system flared to life again, broadcasting the same chilling message. We were here before you. You don't belong." The words reverberated through the station, each repetition driving me further into madness. The shadows whispered suggestively, urging me to surrender, to open the airlock and let them

in. I knew I was losing my grip on reality. The once familiar environment of the ISS had become a nightmarish labyrinth, filled with ghostly figures and sinister whispers. The station's systems continued to fail, each malfunction reinforcing the sense of impending catastrophe. The shadows closed in around me, the whispers grew louder, more insistent, filling my mind with a relentless chant.

You don't belong, you don't belong. My willpower waned, the urge to open the airlock, becoming almost irresistible. It all had reached a depth. an opening crescendo pushing me to the edge. In a desperate bit to end the torment, I floated to the communications module, my mind racing with a single, desperate plan. Disconnect the telescopes. I hesitated for a moment, my fingers hovering over the console.

Disconnecting the telescopes would mean losing valuable data, potentially cutting off a significant part of our mission. but the station was falling apart and the crew's lives were at stake. I had no other choice. Jess, I need to disconnect the telescopes, I said, my voice trembling. She looked at me and makes a fear and confusion in her eyes. Are you sure there will stop this? It's our only shot.

Jess paused in thought, but knew it was our only desperate. attempt. She reluctantly nodded. I initiated the sequence to power down the telescopes. The system protested with error messages and warnings about the loss of critical data. I overrode each of them, my hands shaking as I worked through the steps. As I reached the final command, the whispers grew frantic, as if they were trying to stop me. Here goes nothing, I whispered to myself. and disconnected the final telescope. The silence was immediate and profound. The whispers ceased instantly,

and the station systems, which had been on the brink of total failure, began to stabilize. The light stopped flickering, and the life support systems returned to normal parameters, and the communication systems hummed back to life with a steady, reassuring tone. Our shoulders rolled like immense weight had been lifted.

The crew, though shaken, began to regain control. Mia worked to reset the environmental controls, or Jess and Daniel checked the communication links to mission control. The pervasive sense of doom lifted, replaced by a cautious optimism. We filed a detailed incident report to mission control, outlining the strange anomalies and the subsequent system failures. The response was swift, but cryptic. The incident was to remain classified.

No further details were to be shared, even among ourselves. The message was clear. What happened on the ISS would remain a mystery, shrouded in secrecy, back. to my normal routine, I found myself drawn to the observation module, a habit that was ingrained in me. The stars outside that relaxed me before now seemed to pulse with a malevolent light, a stark reminder of the ordeal we had just survived. As I floated there, staring out into the infinite expanse of space, a deep, unsettling fear settled into my bones. The silence was almost too perfect, the calm after a storm filled with an eerie sense of anticipation.

The crew tried to return to their routines, but the experience had left us all deeply affected. Jess maintained a stoic front, but I could see the haunted look in her eyes. Mia threw herself into her work, her hands never quite as steady as before. before, Daniel's enthusiasm had dimmed, replaced by a quiet, contemplative demeanour. As for me, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched. The stars, once a source of wonder and inspiration, now seem like silent sentinels, waiting. The message we had intercepted, We were here before you. don't belong, echoed in my mind. A chilling reminder of our encounter. I was filled with the weight

of unanswered questions and unresolved fears. I was constantly on edge, always feeling like the whispers could return at any moment, perhaps with even greater force. The uncertainty of what lay beyond the veil of space left us with a gnawing sense of dread. I stared out to the cosmos, my mind replaying the events over and over, searching for clues or signs that we had missed. The ISS, once a beacon of human achievement, now felt like a fragile outpost on the edge of an abyss, the first point of contact, if anything, were to come. Ultimately, I couldn't escape the haunting feeling that we had merely glimpsed the surface of a far greater mystery.

The stars, with a silent pulsing light, seemed to mock my attempts to understand. The whispers had ceased, but their presence lingered, a shadow over my thoughts. In the end, I was left with the unsettling realization that our place in the universe was far from secure. The entities we had encountered, whether real or imagined, had made their point clear. We were intruders in a realm beyond our understanding, and I carried a fear that they might return with greater force and clearer intent. The ISS returned to normal operations, but I knew that things would never be the same. The experience had left an indelible mark on all of us, and I couldn't help but wonder what else lay hidden in the vast, uncharted depths of space.

face, waiting for us to find it, or for it to find us. The cafeteria was alive with the soundscape of youth, laughter, chatter, and the clattering of trays. I sat alone, eyes fixed on my phone, doom-scrolling endless social media feeds. It was a routine I had ingrained in me, an escape from high school life. I was a high school junior, and I liked to think of myself as a bright quiet kid who chose not to socialize to keep a mysterious facade. However, that wasn't the case in reality. My introverted nature often kept me in the shadows, crippling me in the few chances I had to prove my status in the social hierarchy. My hobbies and interests didn't help.

Rather than sports or pop culture, I was passionate about technology, coding and niche simulation games. I felt like a ghost slipping between the social cracks, and time was ticking on making lasting connections that would span a lifetime. The cafeteria being the microcosm of high school society, everyone was grouped into their familiar cliques. The athletes in one section, loud as always. The other side house the theatre kids, animatively discussing their latest production. And there I was, a lone figure amidst the people having fun.

My phone, a comforting barrier between me and the world. I wished I could be like them. But self-doubt clung to me like a shadow and oozed out of me when I tried. I couldn't help comparing myself to the others, measuring my worth against them. It was a constant habit that reminded myself of my status. As I scrolled through my feed, half listening to the conversations around me, something caught my attention. A group of students at the next table over were animatedly discussing some new app.

It shows you, but from the future, one of them, said, her voice bubbling with excitement. It's like looking into a crystal ball. Another chimed in. I saw myself in Paris working at some big fashion company. I mean, it's probably nonsense, but it's fun, right? Their words piqued my interest. An app that could show the future.

It sounded crazy, but also fun. The future was something that I often fantasized about. knowing how much I hate at the present. A hope, maybe, of better times ahead. It was what I needed to cope with how things were, a glimpse of a successful future, something to hold on to amidst uncertainty. The thought lingered throughout the day,

a tempting whisper that refused to fade. As the final bell rang and the corridors emptied, I found myself excited to go home, and try it. Even if it turned out to be some benign prediction, it could inspire some hope that I desperately needed. And luckily for me, I caught the name of it from when I heard those girls talking about it. Mirror me.

Later that evening, as the sun dipped, I sat at my bed, staring at the app store on my phone. There it was. mirror me. The icon glowed, a simple mirror with an infinity symbol etched in the center. The reviews were glowing, filled with people claiming it had changed their lives. It seemed like an exaggeration, but the prospect was too tempting. A siren call to a future I desperately wanted to believe. My thumb hovered over the download button, excitement mingling with a

anticipation. Taking a deep breath, I tapped the screen and watched as the app downloaded. Downloading the app, my mind jumped into a realm of possibilities, and yet I still carried a sense of skepticism. It promised to show an accurate prediction of my future self that updated in real time. But the realist in me was always grounded to my true expectations. The description was futuristic, almost too good to be true, and the reviews were overwhelmingly positive. People claimed it had given them a glimpse into the future, some miraculous peak that had changed their lives. However, it's not hard to question the intelligence of the general populace. I took a deep breath, a bit more dramatic than I'd liked, and opened the app.

The screen flickered to life, the loading icon spinning for a moment, before asking if I'd allow the app to use my camera, which I of course accepted. When it came on, it snapped a picture of me, then revealed an image of what looked like me, but different. I blinked, and there I was. It looked like I was a successful software developer,

standing in a sleek, modern office, wearing a tailored suit that exuded confidence. My future self looked assured and happy, a stark contrast to how I'd often felt. My heart raced with excitement and disbelief. Is this really me? I whispered, reaching out to touch the screen, half expecting the image to vanish like a mirage.

But it remained, solid and enticing, a vision of a life I desperately wanted to believe was possible. This vision filled me with a search of motivation I hadn't felt in a long time. The next day, I walked into school with renewed energy, eager to take small steps towards making that future a reality. I raised my hand in class, giving answers confidently, feeling a thrill every time I contributed, I even joined the school's coding club, something I'd always wanted to do, but had never had the courage to try. My parents noticed the change almost immediately. At dinner, my mom smiled at me, a glint of pride in her eyes.

You've been really engaged lately, she remarked. It's great to see you out of your shell. I couldn't help but beam with pride, feeling for the first time that my future might indeed be as bright and promising as I'd imagined. The app had given me a glimpse of a life I wanted, and I was determined to work toward it, each day bringing me a step closer to that vision. It was as if the world had shifted, opening up new possibilities I'd never dare to dream of. I finally understood the hype of this app.

The doubt that had lingered before was fading, replaced by the world. a newfound belief in my potential. The initial excitement from using the Miramie app started to become a routine. Every morning I would check it to see if my future self had changed, hoping to catch some new info on the life I was working toward. For the most part, the image remained mostly the same. Me, successful and confident, socially navigating a world I had only dreamed of. soon, I began to notice

small discrepancies in the reflections. It started subtly, a small bruise in my future self's arm that I didn't remember having. I shrugged it off, thinking it was just adding details to create a narrative. In the following days, however,

the discrepancies became harder to ignore. A faint scratch appeared in my future self's cheek, then another bruise, this time more pronounced. I felt a knot of anxiety seeing this unfold. I tried to shake off the feeling, thinking it was just an error. But the nagging sense that something was wrong wouldn't leave me. During a coding club meeting, I was working on some hardware, swapping around some parts. The edges of an I.O. shield are quite sharp.

and while shifting something around, I caught my hand on it. It was a minor injury, nothing more than a sting and a bit of blood. This comes with the territory, so I thought nothing of it. However, later that night, I checked the app like I usually did. And there it was. The same cut mirrored on my future self's hand. Panic set in. I stared at the cut in my hand, feeling a cold dread rising in me.

I was simply using the app for a boosting confidence, but this bled the fantasy into the realm of reality. The thoughts of this sent my mind spiraling. If the app was accurately predicting these events, then what else could it foresee? I mustered as much doubt as I could, but I still became anxious, unable to do. shake the feeling that the future was closing in on me, as if it was already written and waiting to unfold. I became obsessed with finding answers and checked the app constantly, my fingers itching to unlock the screen every spare moment. Every so often, a new scar or injury would appear on my future visage, and each time this happened, my mind raced, trying to figure out how

to prevent these future misaps. Sleepless nights became routine as I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying every decision I'd made each day. I grew more paranoid about each decision I'd make. Though the road is clear, should I cross? I need to reach something off a top shelf, but is it safe? Is what I'm eating within date? The app wants a lifeline.

was now a tormentor, a mirror reflecting my fears, a ticking clock to a future I couldn't ignore. In quiet moments, alone with my thoughts, I began to realise the cost of seeing the future. The blissful ignorance gone as I spiraled in panic, trying to avoid this future, I was getting darker and darker by the day. But I was still hooked, addicted to trying to write the wrongs that came in droves. As the days turned into weeks, my obsession with the mirror-me app grew, and it started to take a toll on my life. After every decision I'd make during the day, I would check to see if the future image got better or worse. Sometimes I'd do something which improved it slightly, but it always seemed to be on a slow decline. The confident, accomplished man, which inspired me, was debilitating.

I found myself withdrawing from my friends and family. Each interaction tinged with a silent fear that something might happen to me because of it. The idea of causing some unseen ripple effect terrified me. Social gatherings became minefields of potential disasters. Would starting a friendship with someone be the catalyst for disaster? Would cutting ties with someone save me? These thoughts plagued my mind each time I interacted with someone. I started cancelling plans, making excuses to avoid any outings.

I told myself it was for my future that I needed to focus on my studies and success to try get the image back on track. But deep down, I knew it was because I feared what the app might reveal next. Sitting alone at lunch, I watched my friends or future acquaintances from afar, feeling a pang of longing

as they laughed and joked together. I wanted to join them, but untoward fear held me back. I'm doing this for my future, I reminded myself, Like a mantra, though the loneliness hung around my shoulders like a heavy cloak. I buried myself in my schoolwork, hoping that academic success would somehow counterbalance the growing isolation. But no matter how well I performed in class, the app continued to show me visions of a future that seemed increasingly bleak.

What made things worse was that sometimes I'd be delivered a glimmering. of hope, drip-fed improvement in the picture. Yet it was always hard to pinpoint what exactly made the change. Was it something I ate, something I said, or was it a thought that would inspire improvement in the far future? It was near impossible to tell. But these moments were far and few between. Despite coping with the few times I saw things improve, there was no doubt that it was always in a steady decline. Slowly, my future self looked increasingly isolated

and unhappy. The cheerful surroundings around him dwindling. The once confident figure now appeared hollow. Eyes shaded with the weight of solitude. My heart sank

each time I saw this, feeling the walls closing in around me. The image of my future success felt like a cruel joke now. A taunting specter of what I was sacrificing everything for. I was becoming a prisoner of my own ambition,

stuck in a cycle that spiraled downward, getting worse no matter what I did. Desperate to change this grim future, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I began spending hours trying to reverse engineer the app, hoping to find a way to alter the predictions. I scoured online forums, downloaded tools and immersed myself in lines of code,

convinced that if I could understand how the app worked, I could somehow change its course. But the deeper I delved, the more elusive the solution became, surrounded by error messages and unyielding lines of code. I felt a creeping sense of futility. This was beyond my capability. I was losing myself in this, feeling more lost than ever. Each failed attempt to crack the app's secrets only heightened my paranoia and fed my obsession.

The line between past, present and future blurred, leaving me trapped in a cycle of endless uncertainty, fueled by the image still degrading, even when I changed my tact. It was well and truly. truly a curse. But... I couldn't bring myself... To stop. The day came when I could no longer ignore this cycle of doom I was in.

I spent too many sleepless nights trying to untangle the mystery. Too many days lost in anxiety. Yet I still came crawling back. In desperation, I opened the app. Always hoping it would be the last time, looking for a glimmer of hope or some reassurance that the future wasn't as bleak as it predicted. As the uploaded, I braced myself for what might appear. The screen flickered, and my heart sank. There I was, a future version of myself, sitting alone in a dimly lit room.

The walls were lined with old tech equipment. screens casting an eerie glow over piles of empty takeout containers. The air seemed heavy, stagnant with a weight of solitude. My future self looked utterly defeated, eyes hollow and filled with a quiet despair. I could feel the loneliness emanating from the screen. Tears welled up in my eyes as I stared. regret and sorrow washed over me. The app showed me the consequences of my obsession.

A future stripped of joy. All my attempts to control the future, to shape it into something I thought I wanted, had only led me down a path of isolation. I had sacrificed friendships, family and happiness in pursuit of a vision that had slowly become a nightmare. Overwhelmed by the weight of this understanding, I knew what I had to do. With a trembling hand, I hovered over the app icon on my phone, hesitating for just a moment.

Checking the app was an addiction, one that was hard to shake. I had tried to control my time looking at it to no avail, so this was the ultimate solution I could think of. Erasing it permanently. As the app vanished from my screen, I felt a mixture of relief and fear. What now? I wondered. I felt blind now,

stepping into the unknown without the app's guidance. It was terrifying and liberating all at once, a strange mix of emotions. The future. now a blank slate, open to possibilities I couldn't see. I was free from the app's predictions, but faced with the daunting task of rebuilding my life from the fragments I had left behind. Slowly, I began to reconnect with the world I had pushed away. I reached out to friends, rejoining their conversations and gatherings with a tentative hope that things could be different.

I feared that my road to isolation was one I'd manifested forever to follow me to all relationships. But, to my surprise, I was met with warmth and acceptance, the bonds of friendship slowly mending. I've missed this, I admitted during lunch with friends, the word spilling out with unexpected ease. They nodded, smiling, and I felt a spark of joy that I'd almost forgotten.

I also re-engage with my hobbies, picking up interests I had long neglected in my pursuit of the future. I spent hours tinkering with code, not out of desperation for success, but from a genuine love for creating. The passion that had once been clouded by anxiety now felt pure and unencumbered. Reconnecting with my family was harder, but each conversation brought a sense of relief and healing. The world seemed brighter now. It felt as if I pulled my head out of a barrel of water, suffocating in a world I'd trapped myself in. But losing the visions of the future, I realized I was able to create new ones. Reflecting my journey, I felt a sense of purpose.

us. I realized I didn't need to see the future to know what was important. I found myself staring into a mirror, a real mirror, not muddled with technology. I smiled at my reflection, seeing myself for who I was, not for what I was forcing myself to be. Over time, I even found an appreciation for the app, though it was a cause for so many. issues, it instilled a sense of appreciation for the now, living in the present, not the past or future. And for that, I left a five-star glowing review on the app page. Most Uber drivers serve a wide variety of customers.

Some probably have never seen the same person more than once. I've been serving the same person for almost a year now. At first, it was a coincidence. He lived relatively close to me, so when I accepted the ride and picked him up, he, for some reason, seemed relieved that someone had come. Then, I saw why. His route was a four-hour ride all the way to the nearby seaside town, a town of often visited in the summer months, but he was heading there in late autumn.

I figured people cancelled on him once they saw the route, so my accepting it gratified him. I needed the money, so I figured it was worth the time. He was quiet the whole car ride and never spoke as he left, not even a thank you for making this absurd trip. And being new to Uber, I started to realise why I started to realise why I was. I experienced riders would decline such a route. I was stuck in the town, with barely anyone doing anything since it was outside of peak activity. I made a few routes for some locals, trying to scrape some extra cash before heading back,

but it was nowhere near the rates of the city where I lived. Dejected, I was ready to head back, when I saw a ding near where I dropped the guy off. I accepted, and to my surprise, it was him. The route was the taken back home, another four-hour ride, which would make the day's profits far higher than if I'd done a whole day in the city. Ecstatic at the thought, I drove him back again in complete silence until I dropped him off and called it a day. Overall, it was a strange sequence of events,

and at the time one I did not want to repeat. Until I saw the tip. He had left a hefty 30% tip on top of the already expensive ride both ways. For someone struggling for money, this was a godsend. When I accepted a route the next day and went to the location, I was surprised to see that it was him again. The route was readying for a four-hour. ride back to the seaside town.

It was obviously strange that he would go so far yet again, two days in a row. But, knowing what he was paying, I accepted again. This time, I didn't even bother doing any of the local routes there. I just hung around and grabbed a drink with the app open, the map hovering where I dropped him off. And, like clockwork, around two hours later, a ding-pop. I quickly finished the drink and accepted the ride, and it was him, ready to go home. I relaxed when I finished my shift and lit up when I saw that yet again he dropped a 30% bonus on top.

The next day, when I started my routine of checking the app, I was doubtful that he would want to go there again. It was preposterous that he even went twice like that, but a lingering hope in the back of my head made me to check if there were any roots around where I picked him up. And my jaw dropped when I saw one there, exactly where I usually picked him up. This set my routine for the next few months. Every weekday, I would start up my app at around 8 a.m., driving to the town, wait around two hours, and then driving back, each time getting a juicy 30% tip on top. God knows if he did this on the weekend with someone else, but I was not going to do this seven days a week.

I'm not a very talkative person, but I sometimes tried to start a conversation, but I'm just met with silence. I even tried to offer my personal number, in case he wanted to do this outside of Uber, so they wouldn't scrape their fees from the payment and make it cheaper for him. But no, he would just look out the window and watch. Watched the roadside, eyes glazed over, lost in thought. So when he finally spoke, I nearly jumped. The town means a lot to me, he said. His voice sounded like someone who had just woken up, making me wonder if this was the first

time he'd spoken to anyone in a long time. I froze, but didn't want to pass up the opportunity of knowing more. So, I asked why. He opened up about his connection to the place, that he used to go there often, and now that he was no longer working, just wanted to spend his days there. I asked him if he was retired.

He said that he wasn't, but that he lived off of passive income that supported his lifestyle. It was intriguing, learning about his unique circumstances, and despite the long ride, we soon neared the location, And he quietened up. On the way home, he talked about the things he liked there, the local ice cream shop that made their own flavors,

the bike rentals that let you see the scenes in good time. The corpse I shopped around was suddenly animated a life with nostalgia, even recommended places for me to go, somehow knowing that I now waited for his ride back. I dropped him off with a smile, excited to learn more the day after. When I got home, my eyes widened when I checked the Uber app. He slammed me with a 50% tip, far exceeding what he had tipped before.

I almost wanted to return it, but I didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth. It helped me so much with my financial issues, and he seemed to have an endless source of income to have supported this strange lifestyle. The day after, I tried asking him more questions. I was curious about more of the local experiences and his connection to them. Despite having been there so much, I knew next to nothing about the place. But I was only met with stone cold silence. It was like he had reverted back to how he was,

just solemnly looking out the window the whole ride. The way back was all the same. It seemed he had expended his burst of social energy and fell back into his usual routine. I tried again the day after and was met with more silence. The tips reverted back to 30%. Nothing to scoff at, but short of the big payday I was after. A while went by like this. A silent ride there, a silent ride back.

sandwich between visiting the few spots he recommended, which were just as good as he had hyped them up to be. Yet, despite visiting all the places he mentioned, he would never be there. Maybe it was a coincidence. We would always miss each other, having gone to different spots. The time only allowed me to see one, maybe two, depending on where I went. But after weeks of this, surely we would have lined up.

at least once. I was jolted again in the middle of a midweek drive. He broke the silence with another nugget of information. I go there to see my wife, he said bluntly. This answer raised so many questions. Long distance is often almost entirely reserved for young people or people who cannot afford to move in together, but he was neither of those. Before I could ask him about it, he went on. He spoke of how much he loved seeing her, describing how she looked, middle-aged, full blonde hair with a button nose, slender but not too slim. He was infatuated, glowing as he spoke,

not only animated, but happy, a sharp contrast to how he usually seemed, so much so that I didn't want to interrupt him with my curious yet benign questions. Sadly, he only started talking near the end of the trip, so by the time an opportunity came up to ask him my questions, we were pulling up to his stop. I waited around, too curious to do much in the town, only grabbing some food and waiting with excitement.

After spending so much time with him, I was invested in his house. his story, only drip-fed to me in rare times. When I got the ping, I hurriedly picked him up, my mouth bursting with the questions I had bottled up. I tried to broach the topics calmly. I asked him why they lived apart, why he didn't just live in the town, and why they only see each other for such a small window each day. I did so as politely as possible, but was only met with a silence I was all too familiar with when I got home. I had two amounts for the trips. A 50% tip on the way there and only 30% for the way back. A curious hint about how he wanted things.

On the plus side, I was able to start living how I wanted. The first thing I reinvested in was a new car. I was spending so much on fuel so to get something more of the more. economical was basically an investment, though the luxury extras were me treating myself. Then I felt too scruffy to be seen in the thing, so I even got some nice new clothes, standout brands that would make it look like I didn't just steal the car from the lot. It took a good few months before he spoke again. I was scared my probing questions that offended him. But when he spoke, he dropped some heavy,

information, answering my questions as if I'd only just ask them. The reason we don't live together is because she died. He said, dejectedly, my heart sank. This answered a surprising amount of my questions. The whole bizarre routine started to make more sense. It was a saddening twist of the tale that was being drip-fed to me. He told me stories of their time together, that she was with him from rags to riches, and that despite making something out of himself, he said that he cannot share the fruits of their labour together.

This explained why he previously spent on Uber's every weekday just to keep up this ritual. This time, he talked almost the entire four-hour ride there. He shared personal details about the relationship, the ups and downs, the things he didn't realize he'd miss until she was gone. It was touching and really progressed me emotionally, for when I finally meet someone worth sharing my life with. When he exited the car, he shared one piece of final wisdom. It's the routines that matter.

Make sure you keep up a good routine. This way, you never forget what happened. It was cryptic enough to apply to many things. I chose to hold onto it and to hopefully fully know the meaning of this proverb. The ride back was silent, but in a good way, resting in the good energy of openness. I got home to a 50% tip both ways, and I felt content that we finally had a rapport. The day after, I asked him more questions about his wife. He seemed more animated and alive when talking about her,

so I hoped that I could breathe some new sense of purpose for him. Even if it meant I would lose out on this amazing Uber gig, I would feel content to see him relive his life. However, when I looked back in the rearview mirror, he was looking out the window, silent like before. I tried to probe once more, but we were back to our usual routine. The following weeks were the same.

Each time I thought I had made enough progress to get to know him, he closed up. It was only when I tried to start conversation, so I noted that it always had to be him. No exception. So I waited. And eventually, the day came when the silence was once again broken. one week from now. We'll be the anniversary, he muttered.

My heart sank, but this was just the beginning of the heart-wrenching details. He told me how things happened from his perspective. He said they went to the seaside town for a few days, booked a nice hotel, and planned to spend a few days there just to relax. It was the start of autumn, but it was also their anniversary. They didn't care that it would be cold and that it would basically be a ghost town. They just wanted to share their special day together in the place that meant the most to them. This touching scenario was ripped from my gut as he explained what actually happened.

They were walking near the pier. It was early afternoon, broad daylight, when he lost sight of her while distracted for only a moment. There weren't many people around, and not many places she could have gone. Yet despite this, he couldn't find her afterwards. He looked nearby, and when that didn't work, he checked places they usually went to. He even went back to the hotel to see if she had maybe forgotten something and went back. Empty. He couldn't believe she had just vanished, so he waited around spots they frequented,

occasionally switching locations to see if she'd be there. When it started getting dark, he reluctantly called the police to file a report. He was assured she was probably lost, not being local on all, and that this happened often. So they sent out a few search parties to check around, but days went by and nothing was found.

It was only after a week that she was found. and hearing it was like a punch in the gut. She was found floating below the pier. Despite the scenario that she had maybe fallen in, evidence showed she was abducted and brought back there. Fowl play was immediately ruled in. The sea washed away all forensics, so it was already a cold case.

I was devastated hearing this. yet despite this he held a hopeful smile maybe clinging on to the cherished memories rather than the grim ending for this story was followed by a request the next Wednesday was going to be their anniversary date he asked that I'd be around to make sure I could take him to the seaside town without hesitation I wholeheartedly agreed

I even offered my personal number in case something happened, but he politely declined. The ride home was silent, but with an air of solemn optimism. A hope lingered in the air. No words were exchanged, nor did they need to be. I now felt I was doing something bigger than myself, a duty to the calmer of the universe. When I got home, I checked the app and was hit with an 80% tip both ways. A hint that said to make sure I was ready on Wednesday, and I was. When I picked him up, I was surprised.

From the cocoon of a dreary middle-aged man emerged a dapper gentleman. He wore an elegant long black peacoat over a suit that wasn't too form. but definitely stood out. The day was chilly, so his hands sat in nice fur-lined leather gloves. This was the sharpest contrast from what I'd seen in the many months I'd been with him. I felt like an underdressed chauffeur rather than an Uber driver. I smiled without a chauffeur hat to tip and proceeded to the town. The silence was pleasant this time around, lingering with a sense of

of hope and wonder. I fully believed that he was there to enjoy the memories of his time with his departed wife, and I smiled the whole ride, hoping he got what he wanted from this endeavor. This time, he spoke on the way back. I did it. It was exactly like before, he yelled animatedly. He described doing everything like he remembered, that it was just like before. and that he felt a strong connection to her. Even said he might be able to move on, which stung a little, the thought that this routine could come to an end.

But he topped it off with a feeling that this routine made him too happy and that for the foreseeable future, this will continue. When I got home, I was met with his biggest tip yet. 100%. I was happy, he was happy.

It was the best day of my life, living it vicariously through this interesting man I'd became acquainted with. The rest of the week was silent bliss. Each day he'd tip 100% both ways, his new standard for my dedication to his routine. I relaxed on the weekend, sitting back in a nice restaurant, a multiple course meal lined up, a far cry from the ramen I had become accustomed to many months ago. I had started living my life, not just because of the generous source of income, but to strive to be more like my inspirational passenger until my phone dinged with a notification.

It was the weekend, so it couldn't be Uber, and when I checked, I saw it was a news notification. I'd spent so much time in the seaside town that I sometimes got news notifications from the area, my phone's location thinking I reside there. It was an emergency notification about a missing person. The picture looked familiar, yet it was someone I'd never seen before. Middle-aged, full blonde hair and a button nose. Slender, but not too slim. It wasn't someone I'd seen before.

But it was someone I remember having imagined, almost exactly how the man described his late wife. The details chilled me. She went missing in the early afternoon, near the pier. No other details were known, just that they were still currently looking for a whereabouts. My heart sank. He didn't just say the day went well. He said it went exactly like before. It didn't take a genius to piece together what might have happened.

He was a man of routine, and I guess this constituted as his new ritual. But as I looked at the food in front of me, the new car outside, and the nice clothes I could finally afford I couldn't bring myself. To turn him in. "'Barn,' I muttered, tapping the steering wheel nervously. I couldn't miss this. This deal was too important. My boss had claimed this was a make or break for my employment. If I was late to this meeting, I was doomed.

I pulled out the pocket watch that had been gifted to me just this morning. 3.15 p.m. The meeting was supposed to start in 15 minutes, and I was an entire 30 minutes away. Traffic had been at a standstill for what felt like an eternity. The cars in front of me hadn't so much as budged in the last ten minutes. I gripped the pocket watch tightly, subconsciously praying that I'd make it to this meeting. I put the watch back in my pocket and pulled out my phone, checking the GPS for an alternate route just in case. The screen flickered oddly, then refreshed with a newfound route.

A series of some back streets that looked like they cut through the city and would get me there just on time. It looked tight, but it was my only chance by a long shot. However, based on the city's layout, it still seemed impossible to make on time. I eyed the gridlock ahead of me, my stomach clenched with frustration. I had to take the risk. I turned off the highway, and as soon as I did, the drivers behind me started honking their horns angrily. Honestly, I felt a little stupid, hoping that making it on time was possible.

I drove down the suggested exit and saw that I was the only one doing so. The exit led me towards a section of the city I had never been to. I went through a narrow street lined with old brick buildings, looking much older than the modern infrastructure that made up most of the city. The road was oddly quiet. It was the middle of the day, and as far as I was aware, this part of town wasn't known for being busy. I was making good time, but I couldn't get the nagging question of why no other drivers were taking this route. The streets around me were entirely desolate.

The road ahead of me looked endless, an empty street littered with trash and moss. It looked entirely abandoned. It felt like I was all alone. The five minutes I drove felt excruciating, every second passing making me more and more nervous. My phone buzzed, something about losing the GPS signal. I looked down, frowning. The blue dot was frozen on the map.

I smacked my phone in a cartoonish attempt to make it work again and glanced at the buildings at either side of me. Had the road been getting narrower? These back streets were like a maze, one narrow alley stretching for miles and branching paths that looked almost too tight for even a person to squeeze through, let alone a car.

I drove a little farther until I realized that my suspicion was correct. The road was getting narrow, so narrow that it was getting almost too tight for my car. I cursed under my breath. The alley continued, stretching into the distance between towering, dirty brown and grey buildings. I still couldn't see where they ended. The pure vastness of this abandoned section of the town made me wonder how I'd never heard of it before.

At this point, I had already given up on making it to the meeting in time. The alley was getting so narrow that I could hear a slight scraping noise as my wing mirror clashed with the rough surface of the buildings to my sides. I reversed ever so slightly, just enough to be able to get out of the car and planned on surveying the road ahead of me. I turned the engine off, let out a heavy sigh and stepped out of my car. The moment my shoes hid the ground below me, I regretted it. The entire alley felt wrong.

The air was heavy and moist. It smelled like rust, mildew, and something I couldn't recognize. The light above me seemed to dim ever so slightly. There were no clouds in the sky, just the suffocating weight of the buildings crowding in on me on either side. The road ahead did indeed get significantly narrower, so I trudged forward. My car clearly could not pass any further, so I planned on finding the nearest business or anything helpful. I pulled my phone out to try to check the signal. Nothing.

My phone was useless and the GPS app was still in the exact location where it had lost service. I stuffed it back in my pocket and decided to keep walking. I could now see more details of the roads themselves. The walls of the buildings were stained with aged graffiti and trash piled up in every corner. The strange thing was that. all the packaging was faded as if it had been there for quite some time. All the windows were either boarded up or cracked. Rats scurried between the heaps of trash and the air took in an oppressive smell of decay,

increasing in intensity the further I walked. Each footstep I made created a sickening echo through the streets. The weight of my situation was finally sinking in. I... I was going to... to lose my job, which made every single step I took heavier than the last. I would be lying if I said I wasn't already getting concerned. The frustration of the roadblock was fading away and it was getting replaced with my fear

for my future. This was my best paying job ever and I was unsure where to go. I pulled the old pocket watch out again, the one my wife, Alexis, had given me. for good luck she told me with a smile it had been her grandfather's she claimed a family heirloom of sorts her grandfather told her stories of it granting wishes and attributing it to his success in life passed down through generations for god knows how long and she'd insisted that i take it with me to this meeting she said her father gave it to her after he hurt his leg in an accident saying he can't run run like he used to before, which she always thought was an odd reason, maybe an inside joke.

I laughed it off initially and pocketed it mostly out of respect. I didn't have much belief in things like wishes. I mean, just a few moments prior, I'd wished to arrive at the meeting, and now here I was. But now I felt the weight of the watch on my hand, a little heavier than I remember it being. I flipped the watch open, its face cracked, and the hands were frozen. 3.26 p.m. It had been working earlier. I was sure of it. With a heavy sigh, I slipped the watch back into my pocket and continued walking. I glanced back and noticed that my car was now entirely out of sight, given the road's straight nature. That was impossible. I could only imagine that the road had a slight curve to it, so slight that it was barely noticeable on foot. I turned

around and started walking back the way I came, determined to check if my suspicions were correct. What I did not expect was that I would end up walking for what felt like another while with no car and sight. Then, I came to a fork in the road. The alley twisted into two paths. I was sure I hadn't seen a split in the road on my journey. I might have been too lost in my own thoughts about how screwed I was now that I wasn't making it to the meeting, so I assumed I just walked forward without looking at my surroundings. I went left, choosing what I felt was right, and hoped I was correct. As I continued walking, my sense of time was getting distorted, so I wasn't sure how long I walked. The alley wasn't as straight as I thought it was.

Looking in the distance, it winded and curved without any real sense of direction. The buildings looked decrepit, dirty walls, cracked pavement. All the buildings blended together so much that I started to feel like I was walking in circles. yet I kept going, telling myself the road would lead somewhere eventually. I glanced over at the countless buildings that surrounded me. I hadn't seen any sign or markings of a business, not even a restaurant or a bar. The buildings looked entirely deserted, and if they did, for some reason, house someone. I did not want to take my chances and the kind of company they'd hold.

I continued on, but the road just stretched. The shadows grew darker and the alley ever narrower. A while longer, I stopped to catch my breath. I wasn't the most athletic person, but surely I covered quite some distance during this time. This wasn't right at all. Nothing was. By now I should have made it to my car, or at this point, to the other side of the damn city at least. The sun should have been high up in the sky, but instead it was getting darker, as if twilight

came early. The buildings overhead pressed ever so slightly closer. It felt like I was in a dream, another world, one that was shrinking and closing in around me. I rechecked my phone out of desperation. Dead. I couldn't even make a call. I took a deep breath in an attempt to keep. keep calm. I had gotten near of my own accord, so there had to be a way out. I'd cross so much

distance that this couldn't just be an abandoned street or block. It felt like I was in an abandoned city that geologically shouldn't exist. I knew roughly where I was turning off when I took that exit. This place shouldn't be here. I decided to make the arduous trip to retrace my steps. I planned to go back to the first fork in the road and turn right this time and hope it led me to my car. I begrudgingly headed back the way I came and again the path was not the same. I was sure there had been no other forks or turns

on the main road I was on but instead of the curving alley I'd walked so long on there were now three different directions ahead of me none of which looked even remotely familiar. My heart started racing. I turned in a slow circle as panic set in. I picked a direction at random and started walking faster, almost running. My shoes hit the concrete with a sound that reverberated all around me,

but the alley stretched on longer than before. Each step I made seemed to make my surroundings more claustrophobic and everything twisted and turned in ways that made no sense. I had no idea how long I moved like this. Minutes, maybe hours. My legs ached and my throat was dry. I stopped checking my watch on my phone. The time was always frozen at 3.26 anyway.

My head was pounding and a sense of dread and gnawed at me from the inside. The dark alley around me felt alive. That is the only way I can possibly describe it. The walls seemed to shift when I wasn't looking. The turns multiplied and appeared more frequently. The road was now diverging in paths unlike before. I no longer had a straight and narrow road ahead of me, but a path that criss-crossed and intersected within itself,

leading me deeper and deeper into whatever I was being led toward. I could feel it in the air. a primal instinct. This wasn't just some maze of back streets. I started jogging and running. I figured I couldn't go on forever and wanted to be out as soon as possible. But the quicker I moved, the more disoriented I became.

The alley bent in such strange ways that it sent me spiraling. I tumbled to the ground as everything became perfectly quiet, devoid of my echoing footsteps. I kept telling myself I should have been out by now, but every turn led me to a dead end or another unfamiliar stretch of streets. My breath became ragged, quick gasps, and I had to stop for a moment.

I stood up and pressed my hands to my knees in an attempt to recompose. That's when I heard it. The faintest of self. sounds somewhere behind me. A soft shuffle amidst the silence. I stood up straight and my heart thrummed in my chest. I looked behind me.

There was nothing but an empty path. My mind raced. Then it came again from somewhere, closer this time. I worked out that the sound had to be coming from the turn ahead of me. Deep down, I hope some other person had gotten lost there too, possibly led astray by their GPS, who was now in the same situation I was in. I know it sounds malicious to wish someone into my dire circumstance, but at least it meant I wouldn't be alone in this.

I slowly made my way forward, hoping not to scare whoever was approaching. God knows I would hate it if someone sped towards me or riddled with anxiety from this place. The shuffling persisted, undeterred by my approach. It sounded like whoever was around the corner was so exhausted that they were dragging their feet on the ground. I called out to them, telling them that I was friendly and asking if they were also lost like me and that we should look for a way out together. I received no response. In fact, as soon as I spoke, the sound of shuffling ceased entirely.

They must have been hesitant, understandably so. So, I hoped that approaching in a calm manner would settle them, so I gently near the turn. Just as I was about to reach the corner, they seemed to have beaten me to it. But what came round spiked my adrenaline so hard that I spanned in the spot and sprinted away so fast I thought I was leaving burn marks on the floor. All I saw was its hand. A gaunt elongated for simile of a human hand. The proportions exaggerated in a way that told me that whatever was about to turn the corner

was dangerous. Just seeing the hand was enough for a primal part of my brain to tell me a predator was about to turn the corner, and I was its natural prey. The echoing of my footsteps was no longer the only noise in this decrepit place. The air was thick and heavy, as if I were running through. through water. I could hear the shuffling behind me, faster and irrationally persistent. I didn't dare look back. I just ran. My lungs burned and my legs screamed in protest. Each turn I made, the shuffling behind me stayed ever close. The echoing surroundings made it hard to determine

how close it was, which pushed me to keep up a pace that was too much for me. I knew I would soon, but I forced myself to delay that as much as my body would allow. I took turns at random, having no time to deduce her choice and knowing that the alley's layout had no logic. But somehow, I still managed to make the wrong choice. I took a blind turn and hit a dead end. The light from the gaps between the buildings highlighted my doom. I heard the shuffling behind me near the turn.

It was too close to backtrack. In a matter of seconds, it would be upon me, and even thinking about what that meant was painful enough. I ran to one of the gaps between the buildings. I had stuck to the streets and there loved crafty and logic, so God knows what squeezing between the buildings would lead to. And squeeze it was. I doubted I could even fit in,

but I pushed myself in and forced my way through. The shuffling went straight for the gap, but luckily it had the same issue as me, and it slid into the gap to shuffle towards me. The gap narrowed the further I got in. I moved my head, but soon had to commit to a direction. A wash of morbid curiosity came over me, and I took a quick glimpse back.

That was enough for me to keep my head. looking forward for the remainder of the way. It had all the limbs of a human, but the proportions were all wrong. Its arms were almost the entire length of its height, which must have been nearly seven foot tall. Despite being further back, its closest arm reached out towards me, not helping it move, just hovering in my direction, its fingers twitching like it was ready to grab me the moment I was within range.

Its other hand dragged on the floor behind it, creating a familiar shuffling sound. Its skin looked like it had a rough texture and was pale in color. It sounded abrasive on the walls pressing in on us, resistant to any of the pointed defects of the cheap bricks that made up these buildings. A luxury I did not have.

Even the smallest bumps in the walls dug into me, cutting into my suit, and sometimes my skin. But I could not dwell on the minor pains when a major threat was slowly closing in on me. The pursuit continued as I finally wiggled my way to the other side. I had to get back to safety, but I was completely and utterly lost.

Using the gaps of the buildings was a new idea, so I tried to keep up that creative pattern. I had not tried entering any of the buildings yet. I booked it for the building nearest to me and attempted to force the door open. I could hear the rabbit thing behind me, squeezing itself between the same path I had just come from. Putting solid concrete between us sounded like a bastion of safety. But the door refused the budge. The humanoid figure finally exited the tight space with a sickening pop.

Adrenaline kicked back in and I was already in a false spree. above my thumping footsteps and the shuffling in pursuit, I realized there was another sound, a ticking sound. It was faint, barely audible, but it was there, a rhythmic, soft ticking. I yanked the watch once more and stared at the cracked face. The clock hands were moving in a strange way. It read 2-11, all hands pointing in the same direction. I turned the watch, thinking it might have been broken in the tight squeeze,

and the hands all turned in unison. It wasn't telling me the time. It was telling me a direction, akin to that of a compass. I continued running, and the watch adjusted as I made my movements. It was guiding me, trying to tell me something. As I ran in a single direction, the ticking of the watch started getting more frantic, and the sound of the shuffling returned to reach a crescendo. I hurried my pace with a last of my strength, but was no longer running blindly.

I let the soft, steady rhythm guide me through the maze of the alleyways, a sick game of hot and cold. The creature was still behind me, its shuffling echoed in the darkness, but I didn't stop. I couldn't. Eventually, I saw it. A faint red car in the distance. My car. It was still parked in the same spot where I'd left it as if nothing had happened. The moment I saw it, the pocket watch's rhythmic tics turned wild and the creature's pace quickened. All other senses seemed to flee my mind and my sole focus was on running as fast as I could. I reached the car, fumbling with the keys with shaking hands.

The thing was so close now that I could almost feel its damp breath on the back of my neck. I shoved the key into the lock through the door open and jumped inside. I slammed the door shut as the creature reached me. The vehicle shook as the beast collided with it, and I closed my eyes in an attempt to at least grant myself the prayer. of not looking at that thing again. For a moment, everything went perfectly silent. I sat there in disbelief, my breathing still rapid from the long sprint I had to maintain. The heavy breathing must have been too much for me, or the panic finally set in.

Because I passed out, when I woke up, I was parked in my spot at the office building's parking space. I checked my phone out of habit and saw the time. 3.28 p.m. Two minutes before my meeting. Seeing I was on time for the meeting, overtook the shock of remembering my phone had died. I corrected my posture as I raised myself up. I didn't waste any time.

I pushed the car door open and headed towards the meeting room. I still don't quite know what happened or how I got out. but I knew the watch was connected to it. I distinctly remember holding it while stuck in traffic and wishing I could make it to the meeting in time. And lo and behold, I did. I've been back on the same freeway I was stuck on before the meeting, and there isn't an exit where I remember turning off the road.

I pulled over in a layby, and no matter how many times I checked, there was no alternative routes from that spot. it seemed my wish had come true, as my grandfather-in-law had told my wife, but it came at the cost of this chase, and now it finally made sense why it was passed on to her when her father hurt his leg.