CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - 3+ SCARY Reddit Horror Stories to listen to if you are a Maidenless Tarnished (like me)

Episode Date: April 1, 2022

CREEPYPASTA STORIES-►0:00 "If You See a Giant Owl Statue in the Forest- RUN" Creepypasta►22:53 "ESCAPE ROOM." Creepypasta►49:59 "I Discovered Earth's Twin. We Must NEVER Make Contact" Creepypasta►1:06:01 "Every 20 years an alarm goes off in my town" Creepypasta►1:41:20 "I Attended One Faith Healing and Now My Life Is Changed Forever" Creepypasta►1:56:48 "We're on the hunt for the 'Spindly Man' in the deepest part of the forest" Creepypasta►2:13:43 "I’m a ranger with one simple job- Do not allow anything to escape the hole" Creepypasta►2:36:07 "I saw myself die" Creepypasta►2:58:42"After months of prep, I am finally ready to tackle the 'Roadworks game'" CreepypastaCreepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...CREEPY THUMBNAIL ART BY►Cory Trego-Erdner: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/8w...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPastaCREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only-

This all happened about five years ago. Still, the memories of it linger and the nightmares persist. The details of everything are so clear in my mind. The sights, the smells, the feeling of my pounding heart as I run for my life, terrified. I've never spoken about this to anyone. Until now. So, here goes. The Pacific Ocean was at my back and the sound of crashing waves.

could be heard receding behind me as I trudged along the uphill path through the trees. The air smelled like saltwater, kelp and pine needles. You're not going to believe this place, Gilbert said, walking a few paces ahead of me up the trail. He was wearing well-worned fisherman's overalls and thick rubber boots which went up to his thighs. I don't want to oversell it, but I promise you, you won't see anything like this again in your life. I didn't realize at the time what he meant by that, but I'd find out soon enough. When we came into a clearing, I saw a beautiful freshwater bay.

The lake was clear and aqua-blue, peaceful and utterly silent, aside from our echoing voices and the occasional call of birds in the distance. A bald eagle was perched on a nearby tree watching us from above. Mountains stood on the horizon, their peaks hallowed with. with mist, making the place look picturesque and stunning. My trip to British Columbia had revealed many of the most beautiful views I've ever seen, and this one topped them all. It's beautiful, I said to Gilbert, awestruck.

I can't believe how clear the water is, and how blue. It really is amazing, you see all those cottages over there? He asked in his thick French-Canadian accent. I looked around and saw several of the waterside houses, although I wouldn't call these monstrosities cottages. They were more like mansions. Most were well hidden among the trees, despite their size, with impressive decks and landscaping. Large boats sat in the water, bobbing up and down in the waves.

Wow, the people on this lake must be rich. I thought you were all alone here, so far out in the middle of nowhere. Gilbert was a former chef who lived in a float house in an ocean harbour, which was only accessible by boat and prop plane. It took us three hours to get there on this boat the day prior, but it had been worth it. He had an incredible setup that allowed him to live almost entirely self-sustainably, with prawn traps set everywhere, oysters galore,

and some of the best fishing I'd ever seen. It was a seafood lover's paradise. He even went scuba diving for scallops. But this lake was the hidden jewel of his location, he said. These are summer houses for a lot of wealthy politicians and celebrities actually. Believe it or not, they're emptying 90% of the time. But every once in a while, someone drops in by prop plane or helicopter and spends a week on the lake.

It's off-season though, so nobody's out here right now. I'm taking care of the properties on the lake, and anybody who's coming in calls ahead so I can get it ready for them. Stock in the place with firewood, making sure the gas is on. You know, whatever needs to be done. I let out a soft whistle. That meant he had access to every one of these huge mansions and basically had free reign of their amenities for the majority of the year.

Wow, this place is something else. The lake was one of the most beautiful I'd ever seen and I could understand why rich people would flock to it from afar. Mist was rising off the surface of the water and, despite the grey, overcast day, I was excited by the location, which was so unlike any I had seen. It looked like it was a picture from a calendar or a screensaver. Just wait until you see the fishing, he told me with a smile.

We got to his small aluminium boat and he pulled the cord on the outboard motor. It rumbled to life and it began to steer us out into the heart of the lake. It was larger than expected, extending several kilometres into the distance. distance. There were also islands in the middle of the water, which had a couple of different summer homes built on them. I asked Gilbert who the houses belonged to, but the motor was roaring so loud he didn't hear me, or pretended like he didn't. He slowed down at a strange place in the water. I realized, as we were getting closer, there was something off about it. The water was bubbling and moving, as if being disturbed from underneath.

A stretch of about 50 square yards was all affected in the same way. See that, Gilbert asked, pointing at the section of water with a strange disturbance. Yeah, what is it? It looks like the water is boiling. This is what we came out here for, he said, pulling out his fishing rod. That's what I call a trout-feeding frenzy. He handed me a line and I was about to cast it out. but then I noticed there was no bait on it

can I get a worm or something I asked he just shook his head smiling a motion for me to put the line out into the water there was an immediate hit and I began to fight with a fish that had been hooked wow he don't even need bait I reeled in one after another until we had more than enough for dinner

he told me it was like this all the time on the last lake, the best freshwater fishing location he'd ever seen in his life, and it was full of rainbow trout as well, which made it all the better. The rich people used to come up here, used to pay to have the lake stocked with rainbow trout, but nobody really fishes it but me, so they got a bit out of control. There's a multitude of them now. You'd think that fishing without any challenge would get boring fast, but it doesn't. Still, there's only so many you can catch. before you get tired and start to feel like there's no possible way you could ever eat so many. Gilbert reassured me, saying he can't whatever excess he caught.

We were about to turn back when I looked over at a nearby island. To my surprise, I saw something looking back at me. I gasped in surprise at the strange sight. There was a massive owlhead poking up out of the trees, staring at me, unmoving. I actually screamed when I saw it, and Gilbert followed my gaze and turned to look as well. What the hell?

What is that thing? Is it real? It was terrifying, whatever it was. The face was staring at us with a lifelike expression. It's not moving. Is it a statue? Have you never noticed that before? I asked. I knew out here all the time.

He shook his head. I don't remember ever seeing that before. Whatever it is, it's big. That's got to be 50 feet tall. Gilbert started the engine. Let's go take a look. Maybe it's an old indigenous statue or something like that. I hesitated, feeling slightly irked for some reason.

Okay, but just, let's turn around if anything feels off, okay? Unsure, what exactly I was scared of? It began heading towards the island. The small outboard motor, kicking up a cool mist which splashed my face and wet my hands. My heart started pounding faster in my chest, and in my throat as we near the strange pair of eyes overlooking the top of the tree line.

Eventually it disappeared into the boughs and leaves again, and I was left with the eerie after image of it in my mind, those eyes staring menacingly outward, that face too large to be real. As we came close to the shoreline, I realized how completely alone I was. Gilbert seemed nice enough, but I barely knew him. I had met him through my cousin, who was visiting, and who had flown across the country to sea. She had arranged for me to stay with him in his float house on a whim, since she was called into work last minute, and he was in town on a supply run.

She told me it would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Of course, now I was wondering how well she actually knew Gilbert, as it would turn out. Not very well at all. Something about this didn't feel right, I was slowly realising. Something about Gilbert's overall vibe was making me uneasy, as he helped me off the boat just a little too eagerly. There used to be tribes of indigenous people who lived off land and fished in this region. I bet it's an old totem pole or something like that. This could be a huge discovery.

Good eye noticing it. The noise at the engine was gone now, and we were left in complete silence again as he tried to lead me away from the boat towards what appeared to be a path into the forest. Hey, maybe... Can we go back? I'm not feeling well.

I lied. My stomach is upset. Don't be silly. Come on, it'll just take a minute. It looked like it was just up the hill here. I tried to do. shake off the feeling of paranoia and half succeeded, then began to follow after him. I looked back over my shoulder at the boat and thought I could always run back to it and use

it to escape if I needed to. This path looks pretty well worn, I said, catching up to him. Maybe the folks who lived in those summer houses know something about the statue. Yeah, there could be. I'll have to call up a couple people and see if we're the only ones to have found this place. it was pretty visible from the water, but maybe just from that one angle. At one spot that you chose the fish, I thought to say, but didn't. We came over a ridge, and sure enough, there it was again,

only this time we could see the whole thing. Up ahead of us, in a clearing, was a massive, tiring statue of an owl. It had to be at least 50 feet tall, maybe more. It was difficult to judge, but this was no totem pole. It was as wide as a house at its base, standing imposing and impossibly way out here in the middle of nowhere. At the base of the huge, terrifying owl statue

was what appeared to be a dais, pulpit, pews, and an altar off to the side of the lectern. That was when I noticed. There were people watching us from near the statue. Their clothing blending in with a bark of the trees. I saw several figures in brown-hudded robes. Their faces shrouded in darkness. Moving slowly and deliberately,

they produced long, sickle-shaped knives from their deep pockets and began to march towards me. I looked, horrified, towards Gilbert's face. He was wearing a knowing look, saying that I had been right to not trust him. He didn't appear surprised to see any of this, and he didn't even bother to try and stop me when I ran, screaming. Instead, his head just turned on a slow swivel, watching me go.

I turned and bolted back towards the motorboat. My shoes crunched the dry leaves and pine needles under my feet. I nearly slipped in a mud puddle as I sprinted as fast as I could, too terrified to look back and see if Gilbert was chasing me. I just assumed he was. But by the time I got back to the boat and ventured to look back. I realized that he wasn't close behind me. However, that didn't mean he wasn't still following me and hiding in the trees.

I tried to start the engine and realized why he hadn't bothered to put much effort into stopping me. The outboard motor's pull cord was missing. Without it, there was no way to start the engine. Gilbert, a sly asshole, had customized the motor with a clip on starter cord that he could easily remove without it even. being noticed. There were no oars in the boat either, which meant I was stuck, unless of course I could swim across the lake, which I didn't think I was capable of. I'm not a strong swimmer by any stretch, and it was at least a kilometer to the other side, if not more. The sun was beginning to set, I noticed, and I looked around the lake to see if there was some other way to escape.

That was when I saw all the figures standing on the shoreline. across the water. In front of each summer house, there was a dark silhouette looking out at me across the lake. Dozens of them were staring at me in the waning light of the evening. The sounds of motorboats being started up at the same time echoed across the still surface of the lake

and each of them moved in unison towards their vessels. I knew without a second thought, whoever these people were, they were coming for me. That altar beneath the giant owl statue, that was meant for me. I was going to be their sacrifice. You picked the wrong week to come visit. Sorry, Gilbert said behind me in his thick accent.

Once a year they all come here for their meeting. I get a bonus if I can find someone for this ceremony. Your cousin didn't know, to her credit. I'll have to tell her there was a boating accident. Something like that. The chubby red-head man in her rules laughed. his gut bouncing up and down. He didn't look at the least bit sorry.

A moment later, they arrived. I saw at least a dozen at first, maybe more. They pulled their boats into the shallows around the island and got out in hip waders, similar to what Gilbert was wearing. I couldn't believe the faces of the ultra-famous people who came towards me from the water's edge. Celebrities, politicians, musicians and pundits, people you wouldn't believe if I'd.

told you, all of them in brown, hooded robes. I turned and ran, dodging Gilbert's grasp as he reached out to stop me. You won't get away, he said after me. He called after me, cackling. They're all over the island by now. There's nowhere to run. Ignoring him, I raced down the path through the woods. Stumbling, I landed in a puddle of mud, with leaves floating in and pull myself up quickly,

continuing back towards the other end of the island. towards more certain death. I didn't know what I'd hoped to achieve. Gilbert was right. I was doomed. Looking back, I saw the group was not far behind. Running up the steep hill, I hoped maybe I could lose them once I reached the top

by veering off into the trees for cover. That would be my only hope. Darkness was settling on the island, and it was becoming more difficult to see my way as I tripped over roots and ruts in the ground. Finally, I reached the top of the hill and immediately ducked into the trees to the right, hoping to lose them in the twilight darkness of the trees. The sounds of voices coming after me made me run faster than I should have, and I suddenly

found myself tomling over the edge of the precipice I hadn't noticed up ahead. I landed hard, hitting my head on a rock. Instantly, everything went black. I woke up, tired of a slab of rock. cold beneath my back. My wrists and ankles were bound tightly and I couldn't move as someone spoke loudly nearby, sounding as if they were

mid-sermen, speaking some dark prayer in a demented church service. Craning my aching head upwards, I looked around to see I was now directly beneath a giant owl statue tied to the altar which I was laid out on top of. A man in a brown robe was on the dais

speaking loudly to the assembled crowd watching from the woods. Each audience member held a torch which flickered and cast them in a warm glow. Through the trees I saw the moon hovering just above the horizon, bloated and crimson. The priest who had been speaking to the crowd finished his dark sermon, and the congregation began to cluck their tongues in response. It was the most unsettling thing I had ever heard. There were hundreds of them, all watching me, clucking their tongues inhumanely as they held can. handles and observed the priest.

Sweat was pointing from my brow and into my eyes as I darted my gaze around the forest, looking for any possible way to escape. I pulled on the bonds holding me to test them, but they were fastened tightly in place. Disciples of Moloch,

we have gathered here under the blood-moon to give us sanguine sacrifice to him. May our offering please him and give us favor in his eyes. The crowd responded, chanting something in reply. which was indiscernible, since their muttering voices all mingled together. I realized they were ramping up to killing me,

and if I was going to escape it, it would have to be soon. All eyes were still focused on the priest and the dais, and it would be my only chance to get away. I felt something tugging at the ropes on my wrist and heard a sound coming from behind me. I realized it was the sound of a saw cutting through the bindings, Stay still, act like a nod here, I've always said from behind me. If they catch me, they'll kill both of us.

Despite the man's words, I couldn't help looking back and seeing his face. He was wearing a brown robe like the others. Are you one of them? I asked. Why are you helping me? I'm not really one of them, he said, finishing the rope on my right hand and moving to the other. I'm a reporter. I've been working for years to infiltrate this place and finally did it. I was filming this whole ceremony, but I had to stop to save you. I couldn't just let them kill you.

Thank you, I said, overwhelmed with relief. Really, I mean it. I'll pay you back with this somehow, once we get out of here. If we get out of here, he said, finishing cutting the bond holding my wrist. Okay, here's the tricky part, the boy said from the shadows behind the altar. As soon as we start cutting those ropes on your legs, they're going to see us doing it. I realized he was right. From the dark place behind me, he'd cut the ropes holding my wrist,

but my feet were facing the crowd. Everyone would see him if he ventured into the front of the altar to cut the ropes. So, what do we do? An explosion suddenly boomed in the distance, and the orange glow of a fireball bursting into the air caught everyone's attention. We'll need a distraction, he said, moving down to my legs, sticking close to the altar to a little. avoid detection. Like that one, tried to get the rope free from the other leg, quick.

I sat up and started working on the ropes, finding them tight, tight in knots like I'd never seen. Luckily, the whole audience and the priest at the front was still distracted by the giant cloud of smoke rising in the distance. The last thing people like these wanted was to be seen, and even as far from civilization as we were, an explosion like that could attract attention. The priest was shouting at his accolades to find out who was responsible for the blast. But suddenly, someone noticed us. A voice began to shout from the audience. Someone is trying to free him, a traitor!

Murmuring and cries of outrage rang through the trees. And suddenly, the huge crowd of people were racing down towards us through the woods like an evil mob, torches in hand. The priest turned from his place on the stage and pulled out a long knife from a sheet. feet round his waist. He walked in our direction, just as the ropes gave way, and I rolled off the side of the altar. Run, shouted the man who had cut me loose. He bolted off to the trees, and I followed after him. We ran through the trees towards the shoreline, where a boat was waiting, already running. Another figure could be seen moving along the shore towards the boat, and I realized they looked familiar. As we got closer, I saw he was my cousin.

It was her who had set off the explosion. Grace, what the hell are you doing here? There's no time, get in the boat. We all jumped in and she steered the boat towards the other end of the lake. I was surprised they see nobody following after us and we managed to get to the ocean before anyone found us.

It turned out Grace had sabotaged the expensive boats, which would have easily outrun us, as well as having blown up one of the larger vessels with a homemade bomb. What the hell was that? I asked my cousin after we were safely away from the ceremony. How could you leave me there with that maniac? It turned out Gilbert and the cult who had tried to kill me

weren't the only monsters that day. My own cousin set me up just for a story. She knew what was happening on the lake and used me as bait to see if they really would go through with killing a human sacrifice. If it hadn't been for a partner, I would have died. but he couldn't go through with it.

I live in fear now, wondering when exactly the powerful people who try to kill me will come to find me. I'm sure it won't take long once this is out. After all, I saw their faces. I know what all of them are capable of. They like to live in the shadows. They don't want you to know what they do when you're not watching.

But I've... I've seen everything. I awaken in a room with teal blue peeling walls. Directly above my head and attached to the ceiling are two electrical bulbs. No lampshades, just two bulbs side by side and jutting out from the plaster. The bulb on the right is switched off. Dull and green and lightless. The bulb on the left is switched on.

A light in bright red. It hums softly. Besides my breathing, it is the room's only sound. I rub my head and grugly sit up in bed. If you can even call it a bed. There are no sheets or anything. It's just a rough, flat mattress. What the hell? Where am I exactly?

Squinting, I turned to look around. The room is perfectly square. Its four walls are all that same faint, peeling blue teal, and each of them has a near identical door built into it. into it. Heavy wood by the looks of them. And I say near identical, as only two of these doors are blank. The other two have words scrawled across them in white paint. One of them says, exit. And the other says exit. The same word, just in all caps. Same white paint. Two exits. White two. Is one of them fake, perhaps? I blink and peer across the walls.

They are adorned with a series of grainy framed photographs. They appear to depict oceanic scenes from the bottom of the sea and many feature colourful coral reefs. I noticed one that shows a shark. I closed my eyes and rub my hands across my face. Where the hell am I? Am I seeing things? I try again. I open them up. Nope. Same view. Resisting the rising, cold urge to panic, I instead consider each of the individual walls,

an attempt to focus to properly assess my surroundings. I turn my head, the wall behind me is bare, except for a mirror in a rough centre. The door is to the mirrors left, and like the others, is closed. The next wall going round has a few of those framed pictures of fish swimming in the sea hung across it, and between them in the walls' middle is what looks like a high, hard plastic button, a button in the crude shape of a fish, on a little panel protruding out from the wall. There is also another door. This is the one that says exit. Ocean pictures, button, door. On the opposite wall to my current position is something I mistook at first glance

for a window. But closer inspection reveals that it's merely a poster depicting a window, and the view beyond. The view appears to be from a hotel room on some beach, overlooking the sea. Beside the poster is a second mirror, directly opposite the one behind me, and beneath it is another one of these panels and another plastic fish-shaped button, this one in blue. The wall has a similar looking door to all the others. Poster, mirror, button, door.

Between myself, and these features are two curious objects rising up from the floor. About waist height they look like little pedestals, placed a fair distance apart. One further out to the left and one further out to the right. They kind of resemble towering rocks, I guess, undersea eroded towers of stone. There's clearly a theme here. And finally, on the last wall, is one more framed picture of the ocean. There is another button, this one orange, and there is also a screen.

The screen, for now, is dead and dark. Ocean, button, screen, door. The door on this wall is slightly different to the others. It has the all caps exit written across it in white. But what draws my attention are the four locks, stacked on top of each other beneath the door's handle. I glance around to the other three doors, though none of them have any visible. locks or places to enter keys. This is insane.

Where the hell am I? What is happening? It feels like I'm in some kind of bizarre purgatory. The poster of the window is particularly unsettling. I dropped my eyes to the floor, scanning it, and I realized that what I mistook for soft, blue-wash, yellow carpet is in fact a thin layer of what appears to be fine sand. It's all so surreal.

All right, enough of this. cautiously I clamber off the mattress. The second that my bare and shoeless feet touched the sandy floor, however, the screen to my right makes an abrupt beeping sound. I stare at it as the pixels flicker into life. My heart suddenly hammering, senses primed as my drowsiness evaporates into the stale surrounding air. Sixty minutes until doors lock permanently, it reads,

and then the timer starts ticking down. 59, 59, 59, 58, 5957. Damn, I start to panic. Lock permanently. I jumped to the right and tried the door beside the bed. It doesn't budge. I rush across the room to try the next, the one offering greater potential with its marked exit promise.

Though, as I do so, a series of sharp pain spikes suddenly up into my feet. Ah, jeez! I flinch and pause, shooting a look down to the ground. Orgidly, I stand on one leg and lift one of my feet a little closer, allowing myself to inspect it. To my dismay, I appear to have been cut, and upon peering closer still, I spy the culprit. Horrified, casting my eyes out over the floor, I finally see that hidden in the sand, amongst the grains, is a tide of broken glass. Once you see it, you can't unsee it. The ground beneath my feet is positively littered with the stuff.

What the hell is this? I murmur. Then I throw out my hands and look up to the ceiling. Hello? Hello, is anyone there? What the hell is going on? There is no response. I grimace and tiptoe as carefully as I can to the second door, do my best to avoid the glass.

But I still take a few painful glasses. take a few painful cuts across the toes in the process. This door, too, is locked up tight. All right, think. Think, think, think. I scan the room for something that can help me. A pair of shoes would be a good start, or even socks. But, there is nothing.

Screw it. I race across the room to Door 3, wincing in pain, rattling the handle and slamming against the hardwood. Hello? Hello? please can someone let me out? I hopped to the final door, feeling the weight of something jingling against my chest as I do so.

I flinch and curse as I step through the glass, trying the handle of door four as I reach up under my shirt to discern the source of the weight. My heart jumps momentarily as I realize that it's a key. A key hung on a piece of string and tied around my neck. I fumble with a thing as I draw it up over my head, turning it over in my hands to get a good luck at it. It has the silhouette of an octopus carved into its base,

and it twinkles dimly in the overhead light. The thing is otherwise unremarkable. All right, I mutter. Come on you, let's get out of here. And I try it in the first lock. To my utter amazement, it turns all the way, and elation springs forth. Could it be that easy, perhaps?

I try the handle again, but still, no dice. The door does not budge. I roll my shoulders and try to force myself to remain calm. Alright, no pressure, no pressure, maybe I just need to unlock them all. I withdraw the key and try it in the second lock. It too goes all the way round, but the handle does not budge. Same story for the third lock. Then, after turning the key round in lock four, I mutter a quick prayer before attempting the handle.

I'm not a religious guy, but I think perhaps that it might help. It does not. Damn it! I shout as I rattle the handle, slamming and kicking against the door. Let me out! Let me the hell out! The key does fit the locks? Maybe there are just more of them. Maybe there are four keys in here I know. to find. But where would they be hidden? I glance around. The room is pretty bare. There is a bed frame

and a narrow mattress across it, but no sheets or pillows. There are no cabinets or drawers, no chairs. The only furniture are the two bizarre, rock-like pedestals in front of the poster. First things first, what am I going to do about the glass? I glance to the timer. Fifty-four minutes, 15 seconds. I make a quick plan and execute. Removing my t-shirt, I tear it with a grunt into two rough halves, which I then do my best to wrap around my feet. They don't make particularly great shoes, but they'll help for now. The spots of blood are also serving grimly to keep my shirt stuck to my skin. Why is this happening to me? I wonder bitterly as I tread my way across the room. I'm a good person and I don't deserve this. Was I kidnapped? What the hell

was I doing last night? The memories for now elude me. My focus is on escape, on getting out. I'll have a better time to think later. I begin by scabbling about in the sand, pushing it aside and wincing with every cut across my fingers as I do so. I take the opportunity to try and push as much of the stuff to the sides of the room as I can. But the room is large, and there's a frustrating amount of glass, particularly difficult to see among the grains of sand. I check onto the bed, I check the mattress, though it is securely fastened to the bed frame. The bed frame likewise does not budge.

My desperation rises. I check behind each of the ocean pictures on the wall. I smash them to see if there's anything hiding behind the photographs, succeeding only in adding yet more shards of glass to the ground. The time ticks ever down. 4702, 4701, 4759. Sweating and swearing, I try hitting the coloured buttons. No response from any of them.

I look for clues in the pictures to see if I'm supposed to tap them in a certain combination. It hurts they keep crossing the floor, treading through the sandy shards as I move from one of the buttons to the next. next. But it's all pointless. They don't do a damn thing. I tear down the poster of the window. Nothing. I inspect the mirror. I stare back into my own face. Then turns a look behind me. The mirror is exactly opposite the one on the back wall. They create the illusion of the never-ending tunnel when you look into them. Moving hastily on, I approach one of the two pedestals, inspecting it thoroughly

I realise with a spark of hope that there's a little button in the groove around the pedestal's upper surface I reach down and press my thumb against it I hear a little beep from the screen and I look over something has changed beneath the timer is something new

0.3% complete it says above a thin blue line of pixels 0.3% complete. I consider this, tapping the button again, and again, and again, and again. But it does nothing further. I wince and tiptoe across the floor to the second pedestal, searching to see if it has an equivalent button of its own. I find to my relief that it does.

I tried tapping it, and the little blue line of pixels grows slightly longer. 0.6% complete, it now reads. My heart jumps. Okay, okay, I think I get this. I tried tapping the button a few more times to confirm, but, as expected, it does nothing. I have to return across the floor, back across the glass to pedestal one to press the button there.

The line of pixels, which I realise can surely be only a progress bar, grows ever so slightly longer. 1% complete, it reads. Right, progress. My going is slow to begin with, minimizing the pain of the glass. I tiptoe, I push as much of it aside as I can as I go back and forth, back and forth. But, no matter how carefully I try to clear the route, there always seems to be a piece that I've missed. Conscious of the time, however, I am forced to pick up speed.

Slowly, but surely, exhausting myself, as I'm not. I race relentlessly between the two pedestals. 12.3% complete, 12.6%, 13% complete. In my haste, my foot slams down hard onto a particularly painful shard of glass. I cry out and frustration, and swear as I reach down to dislodge it from the skin. Blood starts flowing immediately,

and as I'm forced to continue my back and forth, a series of bright, bloody footprints are left across the ground. I shoot a look at the time 42 minutes 30 seconds The pain is just too much I have to take a few minutes to thoroughly clear the route between the pedestals So that's what I do Grouching down, brushing and pushing every last trace of glass and sand to the side

Further cutting my fingers in the process God damn it, God damn I swear beneath my breath as I push it all the way my finger's shaking and once I'm satisfied that the path is now safe I return to the task at hand running between the pedestals my feet still stinging with every step the timer ticks on the progress bar moves its way along the screen my breathing becomes shallower and the sweat begins the bud across my back my body heat rises with a tightening tension in the room 39.6% complete, 40% complete, 40.3% complete.

As I run, I try to think of what I might have done wrong to deserve this fate, to find myself trapped in so sick and hateful a place as this. I would do such a thing. Lock me up here all alone, make me play these games. Am I being watched? I wonder, beginning to pant with the exertion. Is someone getting a thrill out of watching me push myself like this? back and forth like a rat in a lab.

Is this all punishment? For something, but for what? I do not know. So, back and forth I go, slipping occasionally in the trails of blood that I am leaving behind. My feet intermittently numb and then sharp with pain. With every single step I wince, not just with a feel of my injured feet upon the ground,

but in anxious anticipation, waiting, tensed in preparation to step down, onto a shard I might have missed. This expected shard does not find my feet until I am red in the face at 84.6% complete. It strikes up thin and sharp between my toes. I scream out loud in pain and hobble,

knocking sideways into the pedestal and using it to balance myself. Screw this, I shout out loud as I pull the shard from the soft flesh my foot. The T-shirt socks have just about worn through now. I held the shard across the room What do you want from me? Why are you doing this?

But there is no response. I am answered by nothing but the gentle buzz of the lights. The shard strikes the far wall and lands on the mattress directly beneath the glowing red bulb overhead. It twinkles scarlet in the light.

Fine, fine, I can play your game. I mutter bitterly, catching my breath and do my best to get it over with. Back and forth. forth, pressing those buttons again and again and again. 2329 reads the timer. 2328, 2327.

But the progress bar now stretches the length of the screen. It's nearly there. 99.3%, 99.6. 100. I let out a gasp of relief as the screen flickers, and my heart pounds as I rest against the pedestal. I wipe some sweat from my forehead. glancing between the doors.

Is one of them going to unlock, am I going to be given the keys? For a moment, nothing happens. Then the screen cuts the black, and a new message is displayed across it. Round two is all it says, and a picture of a yellow fish appears on screen. Round two? I stifle a sob of distress. Another round? I don't know if I have this strength for another round.

I wasn't even rewarded with a damn key. I need to get out. I need to get out now. I try all the doors again, swearing and kicking out clouds of glass as I run. But of course, each door remains locked uptight. I glanced back to the timer. 2121, until doors lock permanently.

Could it be true? Could I really be locked in here forever? Surely not, right? Right? Hell, I can't afford to risk it, so I allow myself a scream of frustration. I brace, and I get ready to play round two of this twisted game.

The screen shows a yellow fish, and so my next move seems simple enough. I reach behind me and slam a hand up against the hard plastic of the yellow fish button. This time, there is a reaction. The button glows for a split second, and the same progress bar appears on screen. I'm treated to a 0.3% and the fish on screen changes from yellow to blue. I am exhausted, but fuelled with adrenaline, and have little choice but to play along.

Fine, I mutter, spitting onto the ground. Let's do this. I creep over the floor, wincing until I've arrived at the blue button on the opposite wall. I press it and the progress bar jumps to 0.6%. The fish changes to orange. And so it goes. As the timer ticks steadily on, I'm forced to cross the floor again and again, right through the glass that I pushed aside earlier from the trail between the pedestals.

Blood is streaked across the ground and the pain only grows. It becomes difficult to move, to take even a single step onto the glass-free space, sends chutes of pain racing up my lower legs. But I play. I play their game. Blue to orange, to yellow, to orange, to blue, back to orange, back to yellow. At 54% I make a critical error. Wired and angry and stress beyond measure.

I mistake the yellowfish for the orange one. I press my hand against the button. And the progress bar cuts back to zero. The timer, however, continues ticking down. I am forced to increase my speed yet again. All pretence of caution and care when it comes to crossing the floor are abandoned as I run from place to place, smacking the buttons as quickly as possible as they appear on screen. The pain is excruciating.

I can feel the little shards of glass stick to my skin, and I simply do not have the time to do anything about it. In that moment before my foot lands on the ground, that brief anticipation of the incoming pain, it is almost worse than the pain itself. But I do my best. Orange, blue, yellow, blue, orange, yellow. Over and over. And as the timer ticks down to five minutes, I just have to pray that there is no round three. There will not be time.

I am still yet to receive any more keys. With a cry of bitter determination, I slap my hand down on what should be the final button, gritting my teeth through the waves of constant pain throwing up from my feet. The progress bar hits 100% for the second time, and once again disappears as the screen flickers. Come on, the mutter through raspy breaths. Come on! And, with a little beep, the screen changes. to.

Congratulations. I wait, tense and afraid, as a screen holds this phrase for a moment more. 322, 321, 320. And then the message changes. You have successfully completed the room. You are free to leave. Two doors will now unlock. Audible click sound from two of the doors,

the one beside the opposite mission. and the one labeled exit in lowercase. You may only open one door, the act of opening the door will permanently lock the other. Please make your choice. I wonder if this is some kind of trap. I hesitate, but then after taking a step toward the exit door, the mirror besides the torn poster suddenly changes. In one second, there stands my reflection, and then in the next, the mirror of the

effect has entirely vanished. Where once there was a mirror, there is now a window. Though it does not show me a view of the beach or any kind of view to the outside world. I stepped towards it, heart beating, winting with every movement, and I bring my face in for a closer look through. The window shows me another room, a room, in fact, identical to mine. I can see a copy of the same screen. I see the poster of the beach through the hotel window.

I can see the coloured buttons and the framed pictures of the ocean. I can see three doors from this position. And I realised, quickly, that the fourth must be the one that connects to my own room. I see a floor covered in sand, and catching in the light amongst it are little shards of clustered glass. And I see something else, too. Or someone else, I suppose I should say, as my heart hammers in my chest. They're asleep on a thin, rough mattress identical to my own. The hands are crossed over their chest, rising and falling,

and directly above them are two bulbs, both glowing in their respective colours, one red and one green. The hell, I mutter out loud. I look back to the screen, eyes wide, One minute, four seconds, one minute three, one minute two. You may only open one door, the act of opening a door will permanently lock the other. Please make your choice. What the hell kind of choice is that?

I shout out loud. Escape or put myself through all that again. As if, in response, a series of sharp stings echo across my feet. The cuts across my fingers and hands ache and throb. I shake my head. It's no choice at all, surely. But I think about the games I was forced to play, about what I went through alone. A memory from the beginning returns to me.

One of my own thoughts. I'm a good person, and I don't deserve this. I'm a good person. With jaw clenched, I turned back to the screen. You may only open one door. Twelve seconds. Eleven. Ten.

I release a guilty, sad sigh, and wipe for the hundredth time a sickly layer of sweat from my forehead, streaking it a little with blood as I do so. I'm sorry, mate, I murmur through the window as I head to the door, marked exit. My knuckles white on the handle. I mentally prepare myself. And I turn it. It relents and the door creaks open. Beyond is a long hotel hallway, narrow and leading away into the unknown.

I shoot one less look back behind me. I can still see the window. I can see the sleeping man on the mattress, and I can see the bulbs above his head. The green one has now gone out, and only the red light shines in the shadow. I'm sorry, I whisper one last time, as I take my leave. and close the door tight shut behind me. My eyes stung with dry pain and I rubbed them with my palms,

trying to massage the last bit of moisture into them from the insides of my eyelids. Like bringing out a sponge that's been sitting in the desert sun, there was little benefit. Still, I continued to stare at the computer screen in my home office, waiting for the final calculations to finish. If I was right about this, the dark silhouette of a planet I'd been staring at for the last two days really was capable of harboring life, maybe even intelligent life. The thought seems surreal and dreamlike. Further evidence of my exhausted state, it couldn't really be happening.

It just wasn't possible. Was it? A second later and the status bar showed complete and the calculations were finally done I began to read through the results, showing temperature variations and percentages of various compounds. Reading down from the top, my heart began to hammer faster and faster in my chest. Nitrogen, 78%, oxygen 20.9%. Argon, 0.9%, carbon dioxide, 0.03%. Additional gases, see further breakdown below, 0.17%.

Median temperature, 58.43 degrees Fahrenheit. It was impossible. The composition of the atmosphere, the temperature, the size of the planet and its proximity to its star, which just so happened to be a G-type yellow dwarf main sequence star. All of these features, they're identical to Earth, which meant I discovered the one planet every astronomer had dreamed of finding, the unicorn, the Goldilocks, the twin to our one-of-a-kind blue speck in the middle of the impossibly vast ocean that is space. If there was one place among the stars that could harbor intelligent life, this was it.

I sent an email to my superiors, telling them what I discovered, but it bounced back, saying undeliverable. After several more attempts, I tried calling, but the line was always busy. no matter who I dialed. Frustrated and exhausted, I decided to wait until morning. The self-service in the area of Hawaii was notoriously terrible, so I'd try from a landline the next day. I hadn't slept in 48 hours, and it was all catching up with me at once, as my eyelids grew heavy, and I wandered into the bedroom, collapsing onto the mattress.

I fell asleep a second after my head hit the pillow. and I drifted into a deep sleep, filled with mysterious dreams of lost stars and hidden planets. I awoke to the sight of a bright, bluish-white light. It glared at me from the end of my bed, an opening like a giant mouth. A silhouette emerged from the light, and then another. Just like the planet I had been watching through the telescope for so long, the figures blocked out a portion of that light, but only momentarily. And then there were hands roughly grabbing me and yanking me up from the warmth of my bed,

pulling me across the floor with my feet, dragging abrasively along the rough carpeting. Hey, what are you doing? Where are you taking me? I shouted, thrashing as I came back to alert wakefulness. They said nothing, only gripping me tighter as we drew closer to the blue swirling vortex of glowing light. We went into the portal and I felt extremely warm. then extremely cold, but only for a brief moment until we came out the other side. Two robed figures stood before me, and I saw that we were on a rooftop overlooking a vast city. The buildings were tarren, the features angular and sharp, their highly reflective services were tinged pink and blue,

and I suddenly realized why they looked so bizarre. We're there, aren't we, on the planet I just discovered. The figure standing before me didn't say anything. They only stared blankly at me. As I observed the foreign planet in wonderment, I saw that the aliens who lived here were far more advanced than humans on Earth. This looked like a city from Star Wars. Floating spacecrafts docked and took off from ports built into massive skyscrapers.

These gigantic tons extended thousands of feet into the air, disappearing into the clouds above. floating spacecraft of all sizes and shapes were travelling throughout the city, alighting on these docks like bees pollinating flowers. How did you know I found you? I asked. Can you even understand me? They didn't answer. You must be able to understand me if you could read my emails and intercept them. Why didn't you want my superiors to know about this place? Without responding, the taller of the two hooded figures knotted down to the streets far below. us. I looked over the precipice and saw activity beneath us, a city full of life and aliens

going about their day-to-day business. I couldn't make out much detail through the haze of the smog, but it looked dim and dreary down below. There was a noise and a flash of light, and we were suddenly standing there at street level. The aliens had advanced technology that allowed us to teleport through space in an instant. and they deployed it readily, it seemed. No walking around for these creatures, no elevators or stairs either. Vehicles which hovered above the ground at various levels

packed the open air above the street. I looked up and saw that despite the added third dimension being employed to ease congestion, that traffic jams were still occurring. Each level of flying cars was honking and there were creatures leaning out of the windows of the vehicles, barking in an alien tongue and gesturing with tentacles covered in fish-hook claws on one side.

Street vendors were selling paper plates filled with foul-smelling meat to customers who had lined up to purchase lunch. A dozen of more were standing near us, and I was careful to stay close to the hooded figures who were acting as my guides. The creatures of this planet were tall, wide and gelatinous. They had proboscis instead of mouths and tentacles instead of arms and legs. which they used to propel themselves, similar to how octopuses move in a myriad of different ways. Some of them walked in their back tentacles, almost like bipedal humans, while others

slithered and moved snake-like across the pavement. They also changed colours, I noticed, depending on the background behind them. Surprisingly, none of them seemed to notice as the three of us stood, watching them silently from a shaded spot near a building. The hooded figure standing next to me raised an extremity which was shrouded in robes. I looked where they were pointing and saw something very odd. A man was coming out of the sewer grate in the middle of the street. Hovering cars were honking at him and splashing him with mud as they sped past. He seemed to not notice.

His face was calm and passive and there was a collar around his neck, covered in blinking lights. What the hell? I muttered, watching him go about his duties, but was bringing buckets of brown, slimy muck up from the sewers. His face and clothing was smeared with it, and I could smell the disgusting stench from where we stood, at least 30 yards away. Why is there a person here?

I asked the huddled figures. There can't be a person here. We're further away from Earth than any spacecraft is capable of travelling, assuming we are where I think we are. Then, a moment of the world. later, we teleported again. We were no longer on street level, but instead we were far below the ground, in a dark mine.

The sound of pickaxes, chisels and hammers could be heard over the cacophony of voices and mine carts which travelled across nearby rails. The voices were human, I realised, and we drew closer to see a group of men working at the walls with crude tools. Each one had that same collar covered in blinking lights snugly secured around the necks.

They were the same collars as the one I'd seen the man wearing up on street level. Their faces were calm and passive, none of them looking angry upset. Instead, they wore no expression at all. As they loaded up my carts full of rock material, I saw that once they were full, they would send them off down the tracks. More carts would come to take their place and they would fill those up, sending them off down the track as well and a never-ending monotony of movements. The men and women worked tirelessly, and none of them stopped for an instant to rest.

I looked at my guides, beginning to grow angry. What is this place? What are you doing to these people? The hooded figures looked at each other and nodded, then turned back to me and reveal their faces. My guides were human, but they looked different. battle-scarred and branded with strange numeric tattoos and barcodes which covered their skin. The one on the left was a man, the other a woman.

Both had shaved heads and brown eyes. We needed to show you what would happen if you contact your superiors about this planet. If we didn't, then this timeline would become prime. Trust me, you don't want that. I looked back and forth between their unreadable faces. then again at the hordes of human servants being forced by giant aliens into servitude. I was terrified, for the scientist in me needed to know what all of this meant. And I'll admit, looking back, my pride was badly wounded, just thinking about denounced my findings.

They were huge. I discovered another planet capable of supporting life in the most optimal conditions imaginable. not only that, but there actually was life on this planet. What are you saying? I can't tell anyone about my findings or else this will happen? Let me guess. This is a simulation or a hallucination or something like that, right? This isn't even real?

This is very real. This is the future if you choose to continue on the path you have chosen. Despite what you may think, this will come to pass within your lifetime if you do not follow what we tell you. I thought about this for a minute. I can't keep this discovery to myself. I just can't. I live by a code as a scientist, and I cannot break that code.

I can't just keep something like this a secret. But don't worry. We won't try to contact this other planet. We'll just observe it. I'll be sure of that. The man turned to look at the woman. You were right. He's too stupid to save.

No matter what we do, he'll tell them what he found. She sighed. I regret to say that you're right. We'll have to leave him here. She snapped her fingers, and I noticed that a slight hissing sound which had been surrounding me without my notice was suddenly gone.

Like when the power goes out and you realize how quiet it is without the fridge running. The aliens and all of the humans nearby turned to look at me, and I realized they could see me now. He's trying to escape, one of the men nearby said,

blandly, with no. emotion. His collar blinked yellow, then green, making a pleasant chiming noise. His eyes roared back in his head as if he had just received a boost of dopamine to his brain. I'll stop him, a woman near me said, reaching out to grab hold of me. He is tall and looks strong. He'll be a good worker for the minds. I pulled away from her and several others started moving in towards me from all around. help please I won't say anything just let me go back I want to go back I screamed trying to get back into the faint hazy blue bubble surrounding my host the people who had brought me to this place could no longer be seen inside but I imagine them shaking their heads I'll tell them that this planet is a wasteland

uninhabitable please just let me go back they seem to consider this after a few long moments just as the dirty hands of the mining prisoners all around me who were about to grab a hold in me, they pulled me back into the protective bubble of invisibility. Once I was back inside, they looked to me sternly, and the woman began to speak. We are from the future, even past this one, when humans stand up against their captive overlords and begin to fight back. Unfortunately, we are outnumbered and outgunned. However, we have managed to gain one advantage, a mission to capture several pieces of enemy technology allowed us this one opportunity, this one chance to go back in time and

fix things. Now that you have seen it firsthand, you must understand why you cannot share your findings about this planet with anyone for as long as you live. You must keep this place a secret, the man said gravely. I will. I can see now that this is real and that you're trying to protect us from contacting these creatures for a reason, I said, too terrified to argue with them. We all talked about this possibility amongst each other in the break room, in the lab, around the computers while looking at images of planets we discovered. The question was on all our minds. What if we find intelligent life?

But it turns out they're much more advanced. What if they're a super predator? And they don't want to share this universe with anyone else? That is exactly why you must keep this a secret. I repeat, you cannot tell anyone about your discovery. If you do, this is what will come of the human race. we will live in chains for a hundred years and perhaps much longer. He snapped his fingers and I woke up to find myself back in bed in my home once again.

It was morning and birds were chirping outside my window. The possibility occurred to me that all of this could have been a nightmare. It felt so real, I thought to myself. But still, my discovery was too big to ignore. I couldn't just let it go to waste I went over to my desk again and looked at the unsent email from the night prior which I tried to send to my boss

the coordinates of the planet and the makeup of his atmosphere so similar to Earth it was all right there waiting to be seen I couldn't help myself I hit the send button I know some of you will be upset with me

But you don't understand. This discovery is going to be huge. It's going to change the world. It's going to change everything. Every place has its own strange traditions. Customs that seem normal when you're there, but completely outrageous or downright bizarre to anyone outside the circle. But when bonding with others from small provinces,

my village always tops the conversation. My trump card for this. is the alarm that sounds every 20 years. We were never outright told not to tell anyone, but it was heavily implied. A sort of silent agreement that this stays within the confines of our little village of Pendleton. But it's too good a story not to tell. I was young when I first witnessed one, about three years old.

All I remember is the bustle of the village as we all entered an underground lock-in. Despite how thick the walls and doors were, we could all still hear it faintly. The blaring of the claxons echoed around the village. Growing up, I'd see them. Tall poles with conical shapes on the end, facing various directions. There were no visible wires which made you assume they were hidden inside, but there was also no opening for maintenance.

Despite this, they functioned perfectly every time they went off. There was no department for them. No one knows what grid they were wired to. They're just there and they exist. It was just the fact that everyone accepted. Though what wasn't accepted was a common consensus for why. For the next 20 years, I'd occasionally bring it up and what people felt and knew drastically shifted from person to person.

When I started high school, I'd walked a school every day. Driving wasn't and still isn't a common commodity in the area. Pendleton was small enough for driving to be more of a flakes than a necessity, so a regular routine for many kids was to meet up with others on the same route and the group built up as we near the school. By the time they reached my house, there'd usually be four to five kids already built up, ready for me to add to the number.

For the most part, the route was always the same. same. But due to the swings in weather, it was sometimes better to go down alternate paths. The tighter alleyways would provide cover from particularly harsh winds that plague the winter months, and when he went this way, we'd sometimes see the church of many. This wasn't some grand cathedral. It was a function room where many middle-aged men would meet for a few beers. Drinking early in the day is universally seen as inappropriate. But they always argued it was for religious reasons, and somehow they always got away with it. We sometimes peeked through the windows out of curiosity.

We'd only heard rumors about the place, so we knew very little. However, we knew that the whole organisation was based on the alarm, which sounded every 20 years. They were known for holding public events around the village. It honestly felt more like a themed community centre than a really. religion, something that gave our little area and identity. But you can never say this to them. If you bring up their so-called relaxed worship, they'd argue you out the room about the importance of the organisation.

They would even go as far as to make you thank them for saving the town every 20 years, claiming it was their doing that things weren't worse when the alarms went off. As you can imagine, it's not impossible to prove their claim. but equally impossible to prove otherwise. Quite honestly, the whole thing would be forgotten about for long periods. Something that happens every 20 years doesn't exactly bring about a sense of urgency. But sometimes, in school, a kid would bring it up and talks would start all over again. There'd be a new theory thrown in and jokes around the room each time.

But this is where Isaac always stood out. If you ever brought up the alarm with him around, he'd say the same thing. The alarm is a hoax. Something to understand. Our town isn't exactly 100% on the grid. It's known about by the government, but so disregarded that we've managed to uphold a sort of autonomous zone, separate from outside influence. Because of this, we still have some kind of royal family.

but to actually call them that is an overstatement. They're just a lineage of the founders that have passed down power through each generation. They claim they know the secrets of the alarm, but say it's kept from the public for the village's safety. This is another point of contention, but we'll save it for now. Just know that this family has a lot of power in this village, but for the most part, they're well liked, since they're very involved. with the growth and development of the land.

This doesn't stop the rumours, though. Isaac had one thought when it came to the alarm. A hoax. His theory goes that it's done to subjugate the population. Every 20 years, they assert their dominance by sounding the alarms and seeing who obeys. A simple routine that lets everyone know who's in charge. You see,

Anyone who doesn't seek shelter in the town's bunker is never seen again. During my later years in school, I met a girl named Edna. She was sweet. The village was small, so meeting new people was rare after a certain point. People exaggerate when they say a place is so small that everyone knows each other, but some of the more busy people might literally have done that. I met her during a school outing.

The years in school were split. She was in the year below, and this particular trip was mixed with a few years. By the end, we were inseparable, and this carried on after the trip ended. I very quickly met a family, and we all got on well. But one moment really stood out to me, and that's when the alarm was brought up.

I only brought it up off-handedly at the dinner table. I mentioned that someone at school was talking about the church of many, being caught, being drunk and disorderly again, and started raving about the alarm like it was urgent, and the table sort of grew somber. Her parents didn't seem to want to say anything, but Edna put the silence out of his misery by explaining their side of things.

Apparently, she had an older brother, James. James had heard a rumour about the alarm, that was still around. The idea is this. If you stayed out during the alarm, you were met by the spirits of the village. If you went to them with a wish in your heart so strong, it'd be granted.

James had a wish, something he never shared with his family. Well, James snuck away when the evacuations were happening. Edna's family couldn't find him, but it was too late to go searching, so they had to hope James was okay when the alarms were going off. They searched and searched afterwards. The whole town had gotten involved,

but James was nowhere to be found. The idea of something supernatural happening during the alarms wasn't a foreign idea to people, but Edna's family had their thoughts. James would never have wished to be away from his family, so if he stayed out to make a wish, and was gone, the spirits could never be good. They were evil and had to be hidden from.

I once talked to my dad about the alarms. My dad was run-of-the-mill handyman. If you needed something done, he'd either be able to do it or figure it out. He was able to figure out any practical issue if you gave him enough time. My dad was sometimes sought for his advice. His practical thinking translated well to other areas, and he became a sort of counsellor for some. No one had degrees in the village. Knowledge was brought him from outside sources, but no one really left Pendleton for qualifications.

Besides, there would be no need. Around here, qualification came from already being able to do the job or apprenticing with someone until you could. This is to say, he isn't. stupid. You can imagine education in a place like this isn't of the highest calibre, but he had a head on his shoulders. When I was younger, he'd tell me the same thing. Every 20 years, there was a monster that would emerge and gobble up any kids who wondered out while the alarms went off. This was a common story told the kids to keep them in check. A lot of people in my school were told that, and I imagine my parents were told that when they were kids and so on. Even when I hit high school, he persisted

with this story, but with some added details. I imagine that the gruesome notes were to keep me in check when the childish version lost its luster. A fear some parents had was if the alarms went off when the teens were in the woods drinking. If they were too far out, they'd never make it back in time. This isn't to say they were strict to a harsh degree, but they were often overbearing when nearing the due date. This was because there was no set day. Sure, it was known to happen every 20 years, but there was a wide variance of possible days.

People tried lining up the dates toward calendars, ancient time measuring devices, even alternate religious texts, but nothing could predict the exact time and date. So, often, we all became especially cautious when we knew the day was coming up. I was nearly 23 and was a few years into my career when we were nearing the date for the next alarm. By village standard, I was considered a man.

So, I faintly confronted my dad to tell me what he thought the alarm was. He told me what he thought. It's a monster. I resign myself to hearing the same story again. But this time, he went into much more detail than before. He explained that every 20 years a monster came through and ain't anyone who was found. This was much of what I'd heard before. But he went on to tell me of some of the things he'd heard.

Claw marks and doors where pets were left, giant footprint on the outskirts. He said that you'd just get laughed out when these things were brought up, but a small group of people were really invested in this theory. The final point he had was a little point he had was a little bit of. about all the rumors. He brought up one I'd heard before, that wishes were granted to anyone who went out into the alarm. My dad said that the head family knew of the secret and had actually started the rumors. He proposed this, ideas of wishes, power and new life, all designed to get you outside during the ominous day. He had a simple answer when I asked him why they do this.

Every 20 years, it gets hungry and needs to eat. I mention the pundits that have casual meetups and run the community events, but during the year leading up to the big day, the members of the church of many go into full force. The nice family-friendly events either wind down or are tricks to preach their word. It's almost like the cliche of a timeshare getaway. I was looking for a nice day out with my girlfriend of three years Though we went to the same school

We met a few years after Things were well So I wanted to splash out on something nice My usual nice day out was to go to the steakhouse and get something fancy from the evening menu The guy running the place was really nice And if he knew it was a special day He'd treat you right He made a lot of business from being known as the place to go

during his special day, though you should never lie to him. If he found out you lied about your birthday or anniversary just to get some preferential treatment, you'd never get that privilege again. Like I said, everyone knew everyone, and if word travelled enough, you could have a rough time in the village for a few years until you got your reputation back. Wendy and I were up for the same routine, but I saw a poster on the village. board about a pop-up food place on my way to work. It promised foreign food and foreign entertainment.

I'm sure it's normal for you to treat yourself to a Chinese at the end of a night of drinking. But here, that was a luxury. To have tasted outside food was something you could talk about for many years with a heated interest of many. You'd have people lying about trying things just to gain a foothold on the social ladder. so when word of a travelling Vietnamese diner was put up I immediately put in for it Not many people got in

But I aggressively brought up my special day And just about squeezed in It was the talk of the town And I found out a lot of people that I knew were going All seemed to be about my age Even though I wanted this to be about Wendy I asked my parents if they wanted to go too But it was strange.

Even though they were on the camp, I've always wanted to try something foreign. They quickly refused. Wendy's parents did the same. We should have picked up and how strange this was. But we couldn't piece together a good reason. The day came and everyone was tense. We were seated in a small auditorium with tables and chairs arranged so that you could see the stage. We all assumed this was the sea of the entertainment, which we awaited eagerly.

The lights dropped and spots were shown on the stage. We were introduced to the head chef, a man with a complexion that was unlike anything we'd ever seen, a very distinct eye shape and jet black hair. He was the real deal. But then he was joined with the others, and it was clear what we'd fallen for. Beside him were two pundits from the church of many.

They introduced the chef and the itinerary of the evening. Some people were looking around, seeing if they could get out in time, but it was too late. The lights came on and around us were the other members of the church. They were dressed in flares of abnormal red clothes. The faces were rubbed with a tinge of yellowed powder, and they had taped their eyes on the sides to be more narrow. a caricature of the man on the stage. The head chef seemed very displeased at this, but must have been heavily compensated

to put up with our small village shenanigans. The chef was led to the back, and the evening commenced. The heavy propaganda that ran the whole night drowned out the smells of exciting spices. Members of the church came up and had many segments throughout the night. They ran many festaments,

divorce that celebrated local culture. One segment was about their contribution to the growth of the town. Raising a family here was very prospective due to the many great events they organized. This appealed to the family-oriented people of the crowd. They also ran events highlighting local made produce that praised local craftsmen. Furniture, artisan alcohols, fresh foods. It was common to have a personal skill on top of your primary career. So to be part of their growth really appeal to the hard workers.

If you ever needed help, the church of many were there. One woman had an accident in which a heavy piece of furniture was dropped and crushed a leg. Her career died that day, along with her dreams of dancing. So the church ran a fundraiser for her to receive outside help, and with the help of a hospital many miles away, she managed to regain some of her leg function. To this day, she still leads a healthy life. They hit all the checkboxes.

Despite the deceptive nature of the event, they didn't sound too bad. Then they had a segment appealing to the less active people of the crowd. You can drink in the morning during the meetings three days a week if you join. It was allowed on workdays due to religious reasons as sanctioned by the head family. The rule of thumb was to not get belligerent. but anything before that is open game. Again, this turned some heads. It had people thinking,

maybe it's not as bad as some said. Fear of the unknown is big and circulates predominantly in talkative circles. The church of many always had an odd reputation where you never knew where their true intentions lay. Their nature was very relaxed, but they had some serious and unknown religious practices. It seemed you only got full details if you were in, and even then you had to be a long-time member before you got any critical information.

This caused a lot of distrust from the more opposed members of the public. The food came out, and it was divine. I don't even remember what it was called, nor do I fully remember even what meat it was. It was a blast of spices and sauces mixed in a way utterly alien to our meat-meat. Potato's culture. The reaction was visceral and how shocking it was. Some people cried tears of joy and

having had such an experience. But after this it was only downhill from there. They had more segments on stage. We were receptive to such a fantastic meal and very persuasive points. But this is where it started to get a bit crazy.

They raved about the truth of it all, how we could be free from our mental prisons. They put down the common man as being ignorant to the higher truths. Simple salvation could be had if you joined. The eldest of the group came out. Old man Ezekiel. He had lived through four alarms, the most out of anyone in the village. His beard hung low, giving him a sage appearance. He wore garb far outdated to the modern times of our province. Old man Ezekiel went on to come out with something that divided the room. He claimed he survived being outside during an alarm.

He explained it was when he was but four years old having been left by his mother by accident. Ezekiel claimed what he saw led him to revolutionizing the inner circle of the church of many, but these secrets were too much for someone uninitiated. The only way to receive the blessed knowledge was to pledge your life to the church Work hard and earn the highest of trust This immediately had the room in whispers Some had family taken because of the alarm

While others had their biases and theories challenged by the notion of someone surviving He was heckled with questions If he survived one Why had he hidden for the others Was anyone around who could challenge such a claim? If he had this knowledge, why hasn't he tried to stop it? He simply stood there with an all-knowing expression. And only when the commotion died down, did he simply walk off stage?

We received no more words. The ball was in our court. By the end, some left and a half, having felt insulted by the ridiculous claim. Others were already fanatical about the cause, already trying to garner more interest in the divided members of the crowd. In the end, Wendy and I left. We weren't 100% opposed to the church, but we hadn't had to try to seek more direct answers.

When we got home, my dad was there to greet me. He asked me how the food was, but I knew he knew what it was about. He explained what the whole thing was. Every 20 years, they did to meet. something like this. They'd run a highly desirable event that garners vast amount of interest, and it's all to push for new members. Those who went to a previous one, or knew about it, were forbidden to warn the newer generation. And so he had to sit there and let us go,

along with the others who we told. Nearing the coming day, you can feel it coming. There's an electricity in the air. Less and less events happen the longer the 20th year goes on. People know to keep their schedules open in case they're caught unaware. Even the church quietens down their excursions and fear of accidentally getting people trapped outside when it happens. But even still, there are the parties. Some parties and meetups happen close to the bunker during the coming months. These events have strict rules. to keep running. It sounds weird, but it's encouraged by the head family.

I reckon is to keep our small economy stimulated. If not enough people spend, money gets held up and bottlenecked. They can be music, and musicians are hired, but it can't be too loud. You can drink with no hard liquor, and there's an unwritten rule to never get belligerently drunk. In the past, there have been those reporters. to have drunkenly slept through an alarm and went missing from not getting in the bunker. Though there's a somber air to these meetups, it's still a much-needed social energy. It can feel like months of waiting, so going that long without any stimulation can drive one stir crazy.

It's normal to keep your circle of friends from school well after school has ended, which was the case for me. Every time I went to one of these events I'd see familiar faces Edna who I mentioned before Kyle who's in my form Watson who's often on my walk to work and Stegg whom I'd known since kindergarten

Up until then Talk about the alarm had dried up Everyone had said their peace many times And there was never any new information to spark more ideas But when we knew the day was coming it had creeped back into conversation like old times. Being more mature, our conversations dropped from wild notions to more talking about getting past it.

We knew the consequences of not following the rules. Other than Ezekiel, no one had ever survived being outside during the alarm, and even then, his claim was heavily scrutinized. We all agreed to just behave until then, keep a low profile and get past it. Simple, right? It turns out Kyle had other ideas. When the date was getting close,

he started bringing up some of the old theories from school. He'd bring up a few, but always circle back to one, that you could make a wish if you survived. Edna immediately flipped out about this. By then, it was known what had had had. happened to James, so it was already a bad move to bring up the alarm, but bringing up the rumour that got him killed was not cool. One time, Steg went off on him for always bringing

it up. We couldn't figure out what he was thinking. Kyle would try to soothe the idea that it was worth a shot, that he wanted it to be true, but Steg would have none of it. It was during one of his put-downs that Kyle spoke up. He screamed so loud, the pub, quietly quietened down. All he said was, but it could bring her back. We all knew what this meant. When Kyle was eight, his mother fell ill. It wasn't immediate, so for three years he'd rush home from school every day to be with her. They were really close, so losing her really took a part of him with her. So the idea of a way to bring her back no matter how obscene was romanticised to him. Even though we all felt for him, we took an opposing stance.

We knew it was a bad idea. To Kyle, though, the prospect of the alarm only coming every 20 years meant it was now or never. So, looking back, I think there was no talking him out of it. He only told me. I was often the one to talk to him after. and empathize with the situation. I did this to make him feel better after a harsh berating from Stegg,

so I think this made me his confidant. So one day, after a late night gathering, he took me somewhere, a small reinforced hut near the outskirts of the village. Over the years, he built it. He apprenticed as a builder after finishing school, so to think he chose,

chose that career just for this was an absurd idea to me, but at this point I wouldn't put it past him. I never said anything. I just listened. He went on to explain the rigidity of the thing. It was strong enough to withstand a bomb. The only opening was small enough to keep up the strength of the structure, and on it was a small portal to look outside.

His thinking was that he had to see and talk to whatever came to make the wish. Inside was some food and water, but not too much, since it would only need to last for one night. By his design, it couldn't be locked from the outside. This is to allow fast access when the time comes. Trust was common in the village, so locks were often not needed. However, it could be locked from the inside, and it was a rigid lock. He let me test it, and, When it was bolted, my full force barely shook the thing.

To say that it was solid was an understatement. Then, the day came. When it was time, you knew. The alarms made a winding up sound like they were warming up. This was your cue to get to the bunker as soon as possible. I saw everyone moving in unison, all making the way calmly but hastily. to the one place drilled into us from birth. But while making my way there,

I noticed him, and only because I knew to look out for him. But there he was. Kyle, slinking away in the opposite direction. I knew where he was going, and looking back, I could have stopped him. Sure, he could have still escaped if we went after him, but he trusted me when he confided in me his idea.

To break that would have challenged my honour of being a friend, something a lot of people took seriously. So, I just gave him a subtle nod and wished him godspeed. The mood in the bunker is something you can't explain. Only when you experience it does it fully sink in what's truly happening. An alarm is going off, or the whole population is hunkered together. But something they never tell you. is the commotions that inevitably start. A couple started raving that they had left their pet.

They were causing a commotion by the door, begging to be let out while the alarms were still just winding. But they were obviously refused to exit. Then a woman started screaming. She met up with the kids brought him from the school, but couldn't find her son. The teacher explained that he had just slipped away from the class. It was protocol to not go back.

There were too many examples of losing a teacher along with a kid when this happened. So it was drilled into them to never go back. This sounds pragmatic on paper, but seeing the pain from a screaming parent berate them will forever stay with me. At first, when I saw the burly crew that operated the doors, I was intimidated by their presence. They were the leading team of the local police force. Crime wasn't a common thing in the village, and when there was an incident, it was often just a civil case that was resolved with words, not action.

So, when you had a small team constantly trained in physical combat, it was rumoured that it was just for this instance. The manning of the door joined the alarm. It's easy to think it just a precaution, but witnessing it in person I was thankful for the time they put in to sculpting their life for this very moment

holding down one or two people is easy for someone strong but when the parents curled the other parents into their cause to get out and rescue their kid to see the efficiency of the coup being put down was like a well-oiled machine you'd think

they'd be at the limit when it was nearly two and one per bouncer but the number grew when another incident happened that they never warned you about. The knocks, the alarm started, and they were loud. You had to talk just below a shout to be heard. So, when you heard faint knocking from the door, you knew they were hitting hard. Only when you listened closely could you hear them.

People left outside, having not made it in time, just outside the door. though you couldn't hear the words, you could hear the pleading in their voice, begging to be let in. Terms of desperation screamed as loud as they could. Obviously, the humanitarian of the bunch raised a commotion about this. They yelled at the bouncers to quickly open the door and let them in. It'd only be for a few seconds if they were fast.

Still, subjugating the writing parents, it was amazing to see how they could still overpower this. new group causing an uprising. All the while, seeing how serious they were taking things in the bunker, all I could think of was Kyle. At first I didn't realize it, but eventually the screaming and bashing outside stopped. Not just petered off, it just stopped. Yet the alarm still rang. They rang for a solid hour before slowing down back into his wind-up sound. then died down entirely. We all stood there in silence for a moment,

taking everything in, almost in disbelief that it was over. Twenty years of build-up, just for that one hour. But there'd been no reports in the past of a false end or a double alarm, so not long after, the doors were opened, and we were free to leave.

The held-down rumbunctious lot were let go with no warning or punishment. It seemed understandable that it was to happen, almost inevitable. A high point of emotion, but not held against them. Though scratched up and bruised, they left without a whisper. Elders from the church of many loudly raved celebratory words of another successful alarm, though they were largely ignored. Most went back to the daily routine,

but I slipped away with one place in mind. I got to Kyle's bunker and knocked as much as I could. I berated with questions. If he was in there, if he was okay, to just make a sound, anything. But I heard nothing. I peeked inside through the tiny porthole to try and see him. The porthole offered a wide view of the small room. room. If he was in there, I'd see him. Then I tried the last thing I could. I pushed the door

to open it, and it was locked. I told my friends I was going to Berlin on a mission trip. I sounded a lot better then. My dad became obsessed with this crazy preacher and is moving us halfway around the world to join some kind of cult. I did my best to talk about nightclubs and castles and apple strusels, but the truth is that, I was terrified. Most people in my tiny Kentucky hometown had never been outside the state, much less the country, and I was no exception. At least I had my twin brother Lee for company, but he didn't understand what was going on any better than I did. The two of us had just gotten home from school when Lee heard voices coming from Daddy's study, which was already strange since Dad never did business at home. I mean, I don't even really know what he

does for a living. But when Lee gave me that look, I knew right away I needed to keep quiet. I closed the screen door gently, trying to keep the rusty hinges from shrieking, and we crept down the hallway until we were within earshot of a bizarre conversation. A baritone voice with a thick southern accent was lecturing our father. "'Your sins are not weakness,' the voice drawled. "'Your sins are why you've been chosen.' "'But you're sure you can fix it,' my dad, Andy Alderman whispered. "'You can fix me?'

"'All those who prove themselves worthy are healed. "'Are you ready to prove yourself worthy, Andy?' "'The next morning, Dad told us that we were going to Berlin. "'It didn't make any sense. Dad's whole life was here He'd done everything he could To make us feel like we were good kids From a good family growing up in a good town

And now he was just going to throw it all away for The Hand of God Evangelical Mission Read the intro on the screen That had pulled up a video on the living room TV A big middle-aged man With a blonde flat-top haircut And a white suit stood in front of a windlass brick room Surrounded by a noisy crowd

That's Reverend Bledsoe, Dad told us. He sounded almost proud. He operates a mission in Berlin, feeding the hungry, sheltering the homeless, counselling the lost, and healing the sick. A faith healer, I thought. Great, another fraud, just like the rest of them. I'd seen videos like this in church before. They were always the same. The shaky camera, the gibbering and wailing and speaking in tongues.

They always looked fake to me, and I couldn't see what made this one any different. We and I looked at each other, and I knew we were both thinking the same thing. What does Dad need fixed about himself? Why this guy? Why Berlin? And why now? Look, ah, Dad sighed. I know I've been away a lot with...

Work. You know, it's like I blinked and you two were teenagers. He tried to laugh, but this is going to be a fresh start for us as a family, a chance to find God and find each other. Andy Haldeman wasn't a man who let himself look vulnerable often, but he sure did then. Come on, bring it in.

Dad's arms, bare strong and about his hairy, pulled us in for a hug. Ever since Mom died, it's just been the three of us, but Dad's never let us down. Dill Ayyad read the license of the cabby who picked us up from Berlin's Brennanburg Airport that chilly early March morning He asked if I was all right

If not kick the back of my seat twice okay There was concern in his dark eyes And I realized how I must have looked A skinny white girl in Walmart clothes Shivering lost with no language skills Traveling with two silent men I'm fine I lied just tired

truth be told Dill looked even more tired than I was When dad told him our destination His worry only deepened Once we got to the neighbourhood I could see why I never seen so much graffiti Or so many boarded up windows

The air smelled like peeing cigarettes Three ghost-pile guys with shaved heads And black huddies watched us hungrily As we unloaded our luggage one of them definitely had a weapon in his pocket but dad didn't even seem to notice his eyes were fixed in a sign at the end of the alley the hand of god evangelical mission i felt something being pressed into my hand dill the driver was giving me his card in case he needed a ride home sometime i knew he was trying to tell me something with that long lock he gave me before he left but i had no idea what it could be. I slipped the card into my jeans

before Dad could see. The taxi's red lights disappeared into the traffic and a big man stepped out of the shadows of the mission to greet us. I recognised Reverend Bledsoe right away, but I was surprised that he knew me.

Welcome, Amber. My hand was swallowed up by his in that two-handed handshake that all preachers seemed to use, and suddenly his electric blue eyes were much, much too close to mine. I felt like the frog we dissected sophomore year, like my skin was peeled open, like he could see everything inside of me.

I'm so glad you could join us. Lee got a handshake as well, and then the reverend was standing in front of Dad. Brother Randy, at last, please come inside. We have so much to discuss. Don't know what they talked about. for two hours. But when Dad left the Reverend's study, we had the keys to a crummy 1970s apartment in the neighbourhood and instructions to meet at the mission at midnight for a special

service. A healing. Well, maybe healing isn't the right word. If it hadn't been for what I saw afterward, I might have thought so. I might even have found God again, or at least thought that I had. Instead, I found something much darker. and harder to explain. It was an eerie feeling, standing in the room from the video I'd seen back in Kentucky, what felt like a lifetime ago. I tried to pay attention during Reverend Plateau's sermon, mostly just to figure out what level of crazy we were dealing with.

But I kept drifting off. The jet lag was hitting me hard. Lee had to nudge me awake with his elbow. Finally, a woman came up to the Reverend's side in the spotlight. When he saw her, my breath caught in my throat. Her skin was... Melted, like candle wax. How could she see or smell or even eat from the left side of her face was beyond me?

You will know, Sister Naima, nods of agreement. When she was just a girl, her father attacked her with acid because he believed, wrongly, that a boy in her class had taken of virtue. tonight that wrong will be made right the crowd around me started moaning and swaying i didn't believe any of this but the tension in the room was so strong i had to grab the sides of my chair to keep from swaying with them dad had his hands in the air are you ready sister naima are you ready to open your eyes Naima nodded. Reverend Bledtoe placed her hand on her awful scars. Then, be healed. It wasn't a trick.

It couldn't be. The Reverend reshaped Naima's mutilated skin slowly, like a sculptor forming clay. When he brought his hand away, all that remained were faint scars and the face of the beautiful young woman who Naima was always destined to be. Just like in the video, the crowd went crazy.

But I noticed something different up close. Reverend Blatot was holding something in his left hand. His fist was curled around it gently, but firmly, like when Lee and I were kids, catching frogs and lizards by the creek. With his right hand, the Reverend shoved open the door to his quarters and left behind the hysterical crowd. We were already outside the mission

when I realized my phone had fallen out of my pocket in the chaos. I begged Dad and Lee to wait, then crept back inside. I just stepped into the windowless meeting hall when I heard a cough. I wasn't alone. I don't know what made me slip behind the curtain. Maybe it was the creepiness of all those rows of empty folding chairs or the strangeness of what I'd just seen. But I pressed my back against the wall.

and waited. Through a gap in the velvet, I saw one of the pale, shaved-headed boys from earlier. He twitched like he could see shadows moving in the corners of the room. Either that, or he was on a lot of drugs. Reverend Bledsoe slipped back into the room,

gently closing the heavy wooden door he'd opened with a single thrust of his palm. The boy started whispering in German. I had no idea what he was saying, but even if I'd been a native speaker I doubt his rambling would have made any sense I cram studied ever since I learned we were coming to Berlin

and that was the only reason I could understand the Reverend's words they cut through the boys' babble clear as a bell you promised me and you failed Reverend Birdsoe brought his left hand to the side of the pale boy's face

just for a flash that hand looked different from the one that I'd shaken earlier that morning. It looked grey, diseased, its fingernails blackened, and in the room filled with the smell of dissolving flesh, the pale boy's shrieked, clawing at the smoke from his melting skin. When he finally clouts on the floor, it was like a mirror image of Nairma's injuries had been seared into him.

I squeezed my mouth shut to hold back my own scream. Reverend Berto looked at the teenager on the floor, and sighed. He stepped over him and strode back into the depths of the mission. The boy groaned on the floor. I didn't dare to move. Something buzzed and shook. My phone, right on the chair where I'd left it.

With one glance at the pale boy, I'd snatched it and ran for my family. As I did, though, I noticed the door to the inner mission was open. Just a crack. Had the reverence seen me? Did he know that I knew? I didn't say anything, but Lee could tell something was wrong. He's like that with twins. Still, I didn't keep him from laying on the top bunk,

reading about Berlin nightlife, while I tried to invent a dinner from the random German cans we'd picked up from the supermarket on the walk home. Honestly, I was glad for the distraction. Dad still had that dreamy, far away. lock in his eyes. That's what the power of belief can do, he commented over dinner. Coming here was the right choice. You'll see. Later, I lay staring up at Lee's bunk with my eyes wide open, trying to believe my father. My twin brother snored, knocked out by the time change.

If only I'd been asleep too. Instead, the door creaked open. I leaned over and looked into the open mouth of the dark hallway. No one seemed to be there. And yet, I suddenly felt very defenceless. I was only wearing a t-shirt and underwear, and there was nothing on the bedside table to use as a weapon. Instinct made me bend over and check under the bed. Nothing.

Then why did I hear movement? I looked up just in time to see a shoe disappearing around the corner of the door. The top corner of the door. the door. A person, or something that looked like a person, had been crawling on the ceiling, watching me. My scream woke up Lee, Dad, and probably half the building. After searching the apartment, Dad tried to convince me I'd had a bad dream, but he couldn't explain away the dirty footprints on my ceiling. When the rest of the family went back to bed, I checked for Dill's card where I'd left it on the nightstand, but it was gone. In its place was a plain white card.

Hebrew 312 it read, My hand shook when I took out the Bible in the nightstand drawer and read the verse by the light of my phone. Take care, brothers, lest there be in any of you an evil, unbelieving heart. Her dad's new hero, this reverend sent something after me. a warning to keep my mouth shut. Tomorrow is my first day as a volunteer. Dad, Lee and I will be unloading vans of donated food, assembling meals, cleaning the shelter, and handing out pamphlets,

in the roughest neighbourhood I'd ever seen. That's the mission's goal, or so we've been told. But here in Berlin, the truth seems hidden beneath the service, or crawling along the ceiling. I don't know what might happen if I tell the truth about what I saw. I don't know what the hand of God promised my father to make him drag us here, or what part were expected to play in all this. All I can do is lay here, staring at the shadows above the half-open door.

I swear there's something up there, a mutilated, black-eyed face that grins down at me and waits for me to fall asleep. The spindly man is said to lurk in the dentist thickest forest of New Hampshire. He flits from tree to tree like a shadow, made a metal, they say.

And if he sees you, then he steals your way, forever. He is particularly fond of children, goes the rumor, though most of the people who go missing in these forests are adults. Hikers and campers

the like. Jen, I murmured to my friend, peering over the wheel to either side of the road, scanning the undergrowth. I don't think we're going to see him. No, just a little further, she says, squinting in the darkness. The headlights of the car are switched on, but they have not been said to their brightest. The engine growls as we trundle along. Alex, I don't know when we're going to be back here, so we have to make the most of it now.

We could come back tomorrow, I suggest. We'll have a few hours in the evening. I see her shake her head in the side of my vision. No, it has to be at night. Night, night, proper darkness. Says who? The forums? She replies, matter-of-factly,

pressing the button to slide down the window so she can get a better look into the wilds. Cool, forest air, thick with a scent of pine, drifts into the car. I sighed. We left the main road about two hours ago, and we left the road that branched off from that about an hour ago. We're maybe 45 minutes deep down a road that hasn't been fixed up or attended to in years.

The last building we saw was a lonely, unmanned gas station way back in the forest, right near the turnoff. I don't think we're going to see him, I mutter, still scanning the forest. We will. This is textbook stuff. Two teenagers out after dark in the woods. If we don't see him, well, then he just doesn't exist. And what are we expecting again of this spindly man?

Come on, Alex, Jen says to me, looking right at me with a huff. I've told you already. He's incredibly thin, hence the name. He looks like he's made of metal sticks, though he moves very quickly and hides in the shadows. And he wants to take his victims away, is that right? Mm-hmm. And what does that entail exactly?

Jennifer giggles. Nobody knows, she whispers in a best spooky voice, and something catches my eye out there in the darkness. I slam on the brakes. The tires screech against the road. Damn! Jen shouts, the tension of the vehicle suddenly taught. What is that? Is it?

No, I interrupt as my heart rate cools right back down. No, it's not the spin. man. But it is something interesting. I peered it from the driver's seat, catching my breath. It's just slightly out of range of the headlights, but it glitters and reflects. It's metal, I tell her. So that's what made me, well, you know, I thought for a second. You really had me going for a moment, Jennifer says with an anxious laugh, rattled. Maybe you were right, we could always come back tomorrow. No, look at it Jen, at the metal. It's probably just some junk that someone threw out. No, no, I don't think it is. In a curious reversal of roles, it is now I who

wants to investigate further. Jen, now unsettled, seems to want to head back. Alex, but I ignore her and open the car door. Alex! I step out of the vehicle, leaving the engine running, and my feet crunch on the pine needles and the busted tarmac of the road as I head to the bushes and undergrowth beneath the towering trees. It's a windless night, and beside the grumbling car, there are no further sounds. I crouched down by the metal. It isn't a piece of junk or something thrown from the car, and the longer I stare at it, the more curious it appears.

It looks like it's growing, growing up and out of the earth, and the grass and into the trunk of the tree. I reach out to touch it, and as I do so, I start to feel a strange, gentle humming through my bones. Like a buzz, I guess. Like an electrical current, an incredibly weak one. I retract my hand. Then I reach back out for the metal root.

The sensation returns, and all the hairs across my forearm rise up in unison. What the hell? I murmured to myself, bewildered. I hear a car door slam shot and the sound of approaching footsteps. Alex, Jen says. Look, let's just go back. You were right. No, Jen, just wait a second. Come check this thing out.

What is it? I don't know, but put your hand near it. Jen crouches down beside me and brushes her hair from her face before reaching out her hand to the metal route. She experiences the same sensation as myself. Whoa, that's creepy, she says, and I accept the truth in a words. It is pretty creepy, to be honest.

I rest back on my haunches and look around. It's just us, a gentle, rumbling car, and the endless trees, endless dark trees beneath a cool, moonless night. There's another one over there, Jen says, and I look back to her. She has risen back up to a stand, and I do likewise, following her eyeline. A little bit further down the road and a little bit further back into the forest is another metal route. This one looks longer.

I'm just going for a quick look, Jen, I swear, I tell her, half jogging down the road, and still within the lights of the car. I clamber through the closest rows of bushes and ferns and forest vines to get a closer look. This route, as I've taken to calling them, is longer than the last. Like the Loch Ness monster, it loops over and under the earth, disappearing at one end into the thickets, and the other carries up the side of a tree before vanishing into the wood. What the hell is this thing? I mutter.

I can feel the electrical current a little stronger now. I take a step deeper into the woods. I'm afraid. But I'm not that afraid. My fear is a general sense of being alone in a spooky place. Not some sharp terror at being taken by this spindly man or whatever. There must be a rational explanation. People go missing in these woods because they get lost.

That's all. They lose their way. and I'm not going to lose my way. I can still see the road. The light to the car could not be more obvious. I'm perfectly safe. I reach into my pocket for my phone. I want to take a picture of this thing.

But the second I tap the button to turn it on, the screen immediately goes to full brightness. It hums in my hand and the flash goes off, temporarily blinding me. Ah! I mutter in dismay. and my phone goes still. Once I've blinked away the colourful aura

stamped into my retinas and realised that my phone is now dead. Completely lifeless. I tried tapping it further, pressing and holding the power button. But nothing works. I'll have to try booting it back up from the charger at the hotel.

Alex, Jen calls again from behind. Come on, please, can we head back? back, I sigh and stand up. Yeah, I guess, probably not smart being alone in the woods anyway. I guess we got carried away. My phone's being weird too. My gaze carries on deeper into the woods, and I'm taken aback by what I see. There are more of those metal roots intertwined with the natural roots and merge into the trees. Lots more, in fact. One of them carries way up the trunk, winding around and around, partially subsumed into the wood. I lift my neck to look up to the treetops. The tree tops appeared to be connected with wires. As I turn my head

to move from side to side, they catch in the light through the branches from the car. They're everywhere, woven between the branches and disappearing into the dark, gently wavering, softly shaking leaves. I hesitate. My gut warns me that I'm in danger before I can register why. My heart rate begins to shoot right back up. Go back, warns a voice in my head. Get back to the car Alex. The leaves rustle and I realize now why this is an issue. There's no wind. The night air is dead still. I begin to make a hate. hasty retreat back through the forest, stumbling through the bushes, and being far less careful than I was on my approach.

Thorns cut my lower legs as I scrambled desperately back towards the road. Something metallic creaks in the darkness overhead. No, I shout out. Stay back. Alex, what's wrong? Jen is at the roadside. She grabs my hand as I stumble over the bushes. Get back in the car, I tell her.

Quick, go, go, go. She can hear the panic in my voice and she doesn't argue. It takes all my willpower not to stop and look behind me as motion catches in the corner of my eye. A shadow is shaped scampering down through the shadows of the trees. We jump back into the car, hearts racing and slam the doors tight closed as Jen winds up the window. Alex, she says grabbing my arm. What is it? But I don't respond.

I simply stare ahead through the windscreen window. Jen turns the fall on my gaze and slams a hand to her mouth. Here is what I see. It is all saved in my mind, like a screenshot in the highest definition. I see a long, straight and damaged road, littered with pine needles and leading away into the darkness of the unknown. On either side are an army of trees. silent and watchful and terrible in their stillness. Beyond the beams of the car, their leaves become quickly lost to the night,

and it is impossible to tell where the trees end and the sky begins. Beneath these silent sentinels is a frozen sea of grass and undergrowth, as if the water was caught mid-wave, tumbling and crashing and frothing up onto a stony beach, and promptly transformed into green matter, into foliage, thick and intertwined. And, at the side of the road, creeping from these waves of thorns

and directly into the centre of the light, is the spindly man. I don't know if I can convey in words how utterly repulsive this thing truly is. Its very presence on the road is an assault against my sense of reason. For starters, it shouldn't be able to hold itself up. My knuckles turn white on the wheel.

The spindly man is impossibly thin. He is comprised of straight metal bars that bend in roughly the places you would expect to find her human's joints. At the knees, at the elbows, etc. He is a stick figure brought to life. His head is made of thin mesh wire, curved and formed into a rough ball around the central pole of his body. He walks like I imagine a deer would walk if it was told to walk on too long. legs. My skin crawls and this spinnly man lifts his head to look at us. He has two glowing orange eyes, like bulbs, I suppose, and for a moment we regard each other, us two teenagers

and this monster in the road. And then he screams. Every hair in my body stands on end as he twitches and convulsorses, contorting and scratching at his face with fingerless hands. The noise is metallic and high pitch to the point of being painful. The spinning man's body twitches as he writhes and shakes, and then he quickly lifts his face once again, sprint into the car and slamming himself up against the hood. The lights of the car fade in and out in tune to the frequency of his screams. Alex! Alex! Jen shouted me in terror. Alex, drive! And I do so. I twist the key. and slam the car into reverse,

the engine revving angrily as we shoot backwards down the road and perform a half turn, knocking the back up into a tree as I do so. The spindly man stumbles to the road and then picks himself back up, running at full speed towards the car

through the darkness. Alex! Jen screams, and with a lurch I slammed the car into drive and tear off down the road, back through the forest and back to where we came. My cheeks start to hurt and I realise that I've been clenching and grinding my teeth this entire time I tried to force myself to relax them

as the spindly man tears after the car in my rearview mirror He matches the speed of the car His two orange eyes glowing in the shadows as he races after us Alex he's not stopping Jane forces out through whimpers Alex I shoot a quick glance down to Jennifer's seatbelt ensuring that she has it on, and then, with a deep breath, I slammed my foot down onto the brake.

We are both thrown forwards, Jen and I, with a grunt and a great mechanical creek from the car, and the spindy man crashes at full speed into the back with a great slam and a shower of tinkling glass. I seize the moment and bring across my foot, slamming down on the accelerator and roaring us away through the night, the engine of the car howling in protest. We leave the spindly man behind us, a crumpled pile of metal poles and wires in the middle of the road. We sit in silence for a while, too afraid to break the tension, the tension of what it was that we saw back there in the forest. It isn't until I've brought us back onto a slightly more urbanized road that Jen finally cracks. Did you see them, Alex? she whispers, and my stomach lurches.

By talking about it out loud, she had given life to what it was that we saw as we sped away. Because we didn't just see the spindly man back there in the forest. We saw a little bit more than that. As we were driving away and leaving the curious, crackling electric energy of the forest to the darkness, we spotted something else through the shattered glass of the back window. A great many something else. All across the treetops looking down at us from their perches with countless twinkling orange-balled eyes in the night, with dozens upon dozens of them. Of the creatures, the spindly men, watching us go, reaching out their fingerless hands towards the car.

And screaming, screaming that I could have sworn came glitching through the radio. for us to come back. The circle of forest is just that. A circle. About 750 meters in diameter. It's not particularly big. It is ringed by two metres of grassless rock and then beyond that is the wilderness.

Moss and fern and cliff and weeds. The trees and plants that grow inside the circle are thick and strange. It's raining this evening. I sit in my little hut with a mug of warm tea as the rain batters and clatters against the roof. It leaks through in one corner and drips quickly down into a bucket of place there. My rifle rests against my leg. My hut has a direct view to the centrepiece of the forest.

A dark, cave-like hole in the middle of a clearing, descending down into the unknown. I tried to go through it once, but my head began to pound the deep I wind. went down, to the point of agony, actually, and I was forced to retreat. I don't go down there anymore. Not much point to it. My colleague joins me tonight. He sips from a mug of his own. Ah, he says with a pleasant smile.

Delicious. Nothing like a warm mug on a cold day. Mm-hmm, I reply, scratching my beard. What do you think might be coming up tonight? He asks. Who could tell? Nothing, hopefully. It's been a while since the last one, he murmurs. We're overdue a visitor.

Yeah, I suppose we are, I sigh. Visitor is a darkly comical way to refer to the things that clamber out of the hole, coins because of how crushingly lonely it can get at this particular station. I've been here for three months now, another three to go. But of course, I have Robbie. here with me tonight. Someone to talk to. I've missed him. The rain splashes through the leaves and into the undergrowth, and I take a final sip before setting a mug down onto the wooden little table with a low thunk. I rise to my feet. Right, let's head a little closer, shall we? Ah, he mutters, glancing out the

doorway. Into the rain? You know it, brother. His eyes. Fine. Are we going to spit up or sticking together this time. It's a no-brainer. We'll stick together, I tell him. I clap him on the shoulder and gesture for the man to head outside. You know how I can get lonely. He chuckles. Right, you are, men.

And out he goes, rifle in hand. I hoist up my own and out I go. The water splashing against my hood and my shoulders as we push through the undergrowth and a little closer towards the hole. The reason for this little pursuit outdoors is the rain itself. It is, unfortunately, obscuring our view. And whilst on a clear day, I might be content to just sit in the hut

and wait for one of the senses the trigger. I also don't fully trust the sensor's effectiveness in such weather. So, out we go. The ferns brush up against my camo-clad legs as we approach the clearing, and we take our positions beside the best lookout trees. Robbie is a little laugh though. Hey, I say to him, above the rush of rain.

He looks up at me. Wake up, man. You can be seen from there. Back up a little. He chuckles and rubs his head. Of course, right you are. We settle down and we wait, and we watch as water pulls and puddles around the hole in the ground ahead.

It surrounds. by tumbled rock and stone, though I couldn't say from where. There isn't another rock of such size in the whole circle of forest. Perhaps someone moving there long, long ago. It's been another 20 minutes before anything stirs from the hole. Robbie and I just spend the time chatting nonsense. I just think you'd be so much happier if you quit this businessman, Robbie says to me, being isolated for such long periods of time,

it's not healthy. How long you got left? Three months, I tell him. So six months total, half a year in such a place as this. Robbie shakes his head. You need to be around people. Humans are social creatures. Perhaps, I grunt.

Robbie opens his mouth to say more, but I cut him off with a quick gesture, pointing to the hole. We both creep a little lower in our position, and watch as a shadow begins to shamble its way from the depths of the hole. The thing is covered in slime and chatters as it appears. Armoured, brown and disgusting. Two tiny, beady eyes peer out as its antennae twitch and circle around. It rose upon rows of sharp legs clatter over the rock and slice down into the wet grass and the mud.

I feel a swell of revulsion rise up in my stomach. But it's okay. These types are always the easiest. I raise my rifle. Robbie does likewise, and the abomination is riddled with quick holes. Its shell and flesh bursting out of the undergrowth as it screeches and fury. And I suppress a gag. Disgusting, Robbie mutters.

Where the hell do these things even come from? I don't bother responding. It's a question we've asked each other countless times over the years. I have my theories. From amidst the ruin of the centipede-like creature and out from the hall, comes a deer. He raises his head and sniffs the air. I raise the rifle and the deer bolts, bouncing and speeding away over the undergrowth. Damn it, I shout, hesitating as I look between the deer and my colleague. I pointed him. Watch the damn hole. I'll be back. Yeah, chance will be a fine

thing, but the deer is the priority for now. I take off between the trees after it. I raise the gun and fire, exploding a branch as I do so. The deer still hops steadily away. They aren't usually this fast these things. I stumble after it, leaping over ferns and bushes, and the deer makes the mistake of turning sideways to try and run away from me. I take the opportunity to raise the rifle to my shoulder, firing again, with a better chance of hitting, and this time I strike. Black fluid It bursts from the deer side and a strangled, decidedly non-deer-like noise escapes his throat as it crashes down to the ground with a rustle of ferns. I wipe the rain and sweat from my forehead and turn instantly back, chest rising and falling as I hastily return to the clearing. I approach from the opposite side this time and I raise the hand to Robbie.

But just as I expected, the man isn't looking. His interest is elsewhere, staring off into the other. the woods. He rises to his feet. Robbie, I shouted him, and he swivels to look at me. Are you watching the hole? The man does not respond, and movement at the clearing's edge catches both our attentions. An anxious-looking man with a backpack and waterproof trousers shuffles out from between the trees. I crumple map in one hand. Uh, hello, he says, looking between Robbie and I.

I raise my rifle at once, and Robbie does likewise. I begin making my way around the clearing's edge towards my colleague. Barrel of the weapon fixed carefully on the stranger. Oh, hey, he says an alarm, putting up his hands. I don't understand. You guys are Rangers, right? I'm not a poacher or anything like that. He pauses out an awkward laugh.

I'm just lost. Honestly, literally, I'm literally lost. Where are you from? I ask him. I'm sorry? The man replies, adjusting his glasses. I didn't realize I had an accent. The poor attempt at a joke.

Another weak laugh. Tell me where you're from right now, or I'll blow your head off. I tell the stranger plainly as I reached my position beside Robbie. Speak clearly. I'm from Abdurand, the man mutters. What?

I reply, jerking the rifle. I said, speak clearly. I... I... Debrand, the man replies, raising his voice. The terror in his face, quite evident. That... That isn't a real place, I tell him.

What country? I... I don't... What damn country. This country, obviously. Please, this isn't funny. Just let me go all right. I'll find my own way, please.

I exchange a look with Robbie. Tell me the name of any country hiker. That's all I want to know. The man shakes where he stands as the rain pours down through the trees. He stutters and mutters, and eventually he manages to speak, though his words are a string of nonsense. I take quick aim and pull the trigger, and a hole appears in the center of the man's forehead.

He drops like a brick as black fluid burst and spurts from his face, his skin twitching and crawling there's a massive, insect-like leg burst from his rib cage. I spit on the ground. Jesus, Robbie murmurs. I consider chiding the men for allowing the creature through, but there's no point really, so I let it go. The corpse twitches in the grass beneath the rain. Obdebrent, Rob repeat.

Do you think it's a real place, or did he just make it up? A random combination of sounds? Who can say, man? I reply, shrugging. Your guess is as good as mine. Robbie says nothing further. We sit side by side and watch the hole for another 30 minutes. We are quieter this time. But still, it's nice just to have his company. The rain falls. I gotta take a leak, man. Robbie says, breaking the silence. He clambers to his feet. Hey, well, don't go too far. Just be right.

there. Hey? I need you alert an active man. Just pee right there. Robby hesitates and gives me a look before shaking his head. All right man. I try not to turn around too fast. I wouldn't want to hit you with my dick and knock you out. I chuckle as he relieves himself against the tree. A chuckle, which is quite lost as a horde of shadowy beings begins scampering out of the hole. Action, Robbie, I tell him. Quick, stay alert. The shadowy beings quickly take shape through the rain. They are all exact copies. Of myself.

They don't make a break for the exit. They run to me. Damn. Soldier, one of the copies shouts into my face, grabbing me by the shoulders. Jesus, thank God you're alive. Right, come with us. Immediately. There's still time to get you to safety. I shove him away and raise the rifle.

My copy stares at the barrel, then at me, and then swears and throws out his hands. Again, for goodness sake, why does he keep doing this? He turns to another of my copies and gives him a light shove in the chest. Why won't he just come back? What are we doing wrong? I choose not to partake in this little piece of theatre. I take aim and fire, bursting a hole in my copy's neck. Initially, the blood is red. which is rather worrying, but it quickly runs black as he falls gasping to the floor.

The other coppers of myself all retreat and panic. There are five more of them. Robbie, one of them shouts, gesturing to my colleague, tell him to come back already. We can't keep doing this. Robbie stutters and mutters, and I fire. The copy's head bursts open. Down he goes. Two of the surviving copies attempt to hasty retreat,

back to the hole, which I find interesting, but not interesting enough to spare them. Down they go, one after the other. Bang, bang! Two left now. They look at each other, and the closest holds out a hand to me. Listen, he says carefully as I reload. I know this seems impossible and scary. He's right.

I'm utterly terrified, though I'm doing my best not to show it. These things really are getting creative. But you have to trust us on this, or at least hear us out. Please, do you have any idea how long you've been gone? The other copy shouts in anger. He's not going to listen. It's just like the last time. The closest copy stares right into my eyes.

I don't care what the others say, he tells me. I will never leave you behind. I swore it once, and it's a promise. I intend to... Bang! I blow the imposter to the kingdom come. his comrade panics and slips on the wet grass as he tries to run and I gun him down his lifeless body thuds to the ground his skin twitching in various and unsettling places

as if being pressed or stretched from the inside I put a couple of bonus bullets in him for good measure Robbie looks over to me and studies my face are you good man he asks after a moment yeah I reply, lying. Yep. I stare at the faces of my copies. Corpses now. I try not to dwell on it.

I glance over to Robbie. Perhaps I've let this little shrieg go on for too long. Robbie pales and stares right past me at the hole. I turn to follow his gaze. Three figures clamber out. One waving a white flag.

Wait! One calls above the roar of the rain. I squint through it for a better look. Don't shoot! It's me again. Another copy. Though this one is at least two decades older. A copy of Robbie is with him, similarly aged.

A girl in her thirties walks with him, a fearful expression on her face, and her hands raised. It's my daughter. A sick copy, at the least, and aged up like the others. I throw my hands out, exasperated. What do you want? Listen to me, you fool, my elder copy shouts back. This is the real me, the real you, and this is the real Robbie, the real Robbie.

He puts her hand on the copy of Robbie's shoulder, and the other are my daughters. She stares at me, wide-eyed. He looks so young, she says. She calls over. Dad, it's me. Do you remember? Please tell me you remember. Remember we took the trip to the beach. He took us to the coast on my 10th birthday. We saw dolphins.

She reaches up to a neck and lifts a necklace with a smooth little shiny pebble attached. You let me keep this pebble. We had it turn into a necklace. Things are about to change, my copy says to me, walking ever closer. Things beyond your understanding, and the truths of this hole barely scraps the surface. It's a passage. I think you've realised this. A passage to place is beyond and between. Sometimes to other planes, yes.

But the tunnel runs deep, and they loop back around. He slams his hand to his chest. I'm babbling. I appreciate that this might not make it any sense to you. But we are from the same loop, the same path, looped back around. I take a deep breath. I look this madman in the eyes. with a scent of the rain-washed pine and the drift of rifle smoke in my nose.

I take aim, and I fire. Bang, my so-called future self drops to the ground. My daughter screams, and the elder copy of Robbie drops to his knees at the corpse. No, no, he cries, and I take him out as well. The copy of my daughter is the hardest, shaking where she stands, She turns to stare at me, defiant, daring me to shoot her in cold silence. It doesn't have to be this way, she says, her voice wavering. I chew my tongue and then I call her bluff.

Bang. Down she goes. Just another leaking corpse. Robbie stares at the ruined bodies. The trees rustle in the rain as the blasts of the rifle will raise. in our ears. He looks to me. How do you do it? He murmurs. How the hell do you do it? I rub a sleeve across my eyes. Do not allow anything to escape. I tell him it's a rule for a reason. You do it so easily, he says quietly. The disgust in his voice quite clear. Is that what you think? I ask him. I turned to face

him, my jaws set as the rain leaks from my chin. Tell me, Robbie, tell me if what I'm doing is wrong. Should I be letting these things and these abominations out into the world? And where do they come from exactly? If where they're coming from is so great, then why leave at all? If there's something worse that's pushing them away, then that's all the more incentive to just keep shooting. I don't know which one of these horrors is the worst,

so better safe than sorry. What if they have something important to? tell us, he asks me. Important. Screw him. It's all tricks and lies. The second I let my guard down, I'm lost. And speaking of which, I raise the rifle and point it at his head.

He backs away. Wait, hold on. He laughs anxiously, then stops when he realizes that I'm not kidding around. You've gone mad, he says simply. You've lost yourself. In your head. It's me. It's Robbie.

If the things that come out of the ground are benevolent, then why do they all lie, Robbie? Why do they lie? I don't know what you're talking about. Oh, I think you do, my friend. I cocked the rifle. I've enjoyed your company tonight. I really have. You're a strong imitation.

I'll give you that. But you've missed a crucial piece of information. You always miss something. Robbie is dead. Long dead. Died two years ago. He died defending the people of this place from an abomination that rose out of that yonder hole. So, I'll be seeing you now.

Robby's face contorts into shock and surprise. Please, he begins. And I put a bullet through his forehead with a loud bang. He crumbles. Down he goes, just like the rest of them. That terrible black fluid pouring out and over. the grass. Oversized, yet still only half-formed insect legs burst from his shoulders and neck, twitching in the rain. I lift my face to the sky and take a slow, deep breath. When Robbie

first appeared to me this evening from through the trees, I too was surprised to react. It was a potentially fatal mistake, but for one reason or another, the copy did not use his rifle to shoot me. If he was going to use it to kill me, he could have done so in that very first instant. He didn't. So, after that, I just played along, keeping an eye on him. As I said, it gets real lonely up here, and I miss that man a great deal. The rain's letting up a little now. I watch as black sludge begins to bubble up from the hole's entrance, and I return to my hut,

sitting down with a sigh in my chair as water drips from the branches and into the bucket beside me the corpses will have melted away by morning there won't be any more visitors tonight the black sludge means the tunnels need time to recharge I reach for my mug and take a slow sip of cold

miserable tea three months down three more to go I was a student and on my own in a new city. Money was always a worry, but I managed to find some ways to make a bit extra. The ones that stand out were a session I did as a life model. I was very embarrassed throughout and I hoped anyone painting my face had a good supply of red paint because I was blushing a lot.

One afternoon, I gave a DNA sample at a medical facility as part of a research program. This took hours because I also had to fill in a detailed questionnaire about my family medical history. Get blood tests and be weighed and measured. They even photographed me. Talk about Thorough. Then there was a time I agreed to have a fake tattoo on my forehead to advertise a new clothes shop that had just opened. Their brand was trendy and daring and the tattoo looked so real I got gauped at a lot as I walked up and down the street. I even got my picture on a news website

The people that ran the shop were delighted And so was I When they paid me twice what we agreed on Cash in hand The fact the fake tattoo took two weeks of me Was my face four times a day to come off Was not a problem My course was difficult

But I was up for a challenge My apartment was small And I had a rodent infestation problem Possibly I could hear something scurring around in the cavities at night, and rodents were the least disturbing thing I could think of. So, all in all, I was living my life, until I saw him, standing in the street outside my window. I'd had a very busy few months, so much so that I hadn't even had time to earn any extra money.

There are exams looming, and I'd had a romance with the girl I really liked. I was actually feeling pretty down because she left town and it looked like that was the end of our relationship so I was feeling distracted that day and had to do a double take to check and I wasn't seeing things I moved closer to the glass and squinted said wow under my breath the man standing in the street outside my window

looked exactly like me the same almost black and unruly hair a nose that's one size too big for the face it's on, a clear complexion and brown eyes. They were staring back at me. Who was the weirdest feeling? I suppose with the billions of people in the world, the odds of some of us having total lookalikes were not beyond possible.

But that was my double out there, and from the way they were acting, they wanted to meet me. I had to find out what the hell was going on, so I opened the window, leaned out and shouted, Fourth floor, second left buzzer. My double nodded and disappeared from view. Moments later, I was hearing the clang on the main door opening as I let him in. My apartment was a tip.

There was weak old pizza crust on the floor, empty soda bottles everywhere, junk mail and mail I really shouldn't have been ignoring in a growing pile in the hall. My bed was a whirlpool of clothes, books, bedding, and yet more pizza remains. If my double is anything like me, he won't mind, I thought. Then laughed at the strangeness of the situation. The buzzer to my apartment door went. I took a deep breath and went to let him in.

The first thing I noticed as I asked him to come in and sit down, and while I was sweeping the worst of the debris off the sofa, was that he really did. didn't look well. He was kind of pale and had a sheen of sweat. His eyes were bloodshot and he had the shakes. Seeing him up close though also confirmed my initial impressions. This guy was identical to me, down to the same gap in between his top two teeth. But not quite the same voice. His accent was different. It was kind of bland. I noticed this when he said. I'm so sorry.

Which was a pretty odd way to start a conversation with a complete stranger, no matter how much he looked like them. About what? I asked. I'm from the south and still have quite the twang, and when I said this, I saw from his expression that my accent was food for thought for him as well. He rubbed his face instead of answering my question. I figured he was exhausted or maybe stressed. both would explain his pallor. Or perhaps he had some kind of bug. Could I have a glass of water? he asked.

Sure, I said, and went in search of the nearest thing I had to a clean glass. Now he was in my apartment. The first twinges of her knees were creeping in. On the one hand, he did look like me. On the other, he was also a complete stranger who was acting weird, was possibly infectious or not in his right mind. And now, he was crying. Hey, I said, handing him the glass of water.

What's wrong? He took a sip, eventually. His hands were shaking so bad, the surface of the water was seriously choppy, and said, I escaped. I had to. I couldn't stand it anymore.

All the tests, the uncertainty. it was too much. This came pouring out of him. Then he properly broke down and his tears were now sobs that racked his entire body. Damn, I thought, what had I done inviting him in?

I felt sorry for him, I really did. But clearly, he had problems that needed professional help. My worry shot up a bunch more levels when he reached out and grabbed my hand. You're the only person I could turn to. He told me, with a manic edge to his voice. I saw you this morning.

By chance, I guess. By freak accident. And I followed you here because I knew that you were the one. That they made me from you. A cold chill ran down my spine. I pulled my hand free. Whoa, dude, I said. I don't know what you're talking about.

I asked you up here because I was intrigued by her resemblance. Who wouldn't be? but I'd like you to leave now. I was trying to be reasonable, to hope he would respond well to being treated this way. But he didn't. He started to shake his head and mutter. No, no, no, no, no, under his breath.

I began to consider calling 911. Then he looked me straight in the eye and said, I need you to believe me. He turned and looked at my laptop, which was balanced precariously on the edge of my garbage tip bed. Go online and look up futures we believe med tech facility. They are the people responsible. As much to humor him as anything else,

that's what I did. The minute he said the name, it sounded familiar, but it wasn't until I was on their corporate website that I realized why. This was the medical facility where I'd given a sample of my DNA for money. a few months before. I was clicking through into various pages on the website to give myself time to think what to do about my now unwanted guest. When I saw someone on their our staff page I recognized.

Her name was Mary and she'd been friends with my girlfriend, my ex-girlfriend I thought with a sigh. I'd only met Mary a couple of times, but she'd seemed nice and I now recalled her talking to about applying for jobs once you finish the PhD. I glanced back at my double. He had his head in his hands and was looking through his fingers at me. He didn't look dangerous at that moment in time. Just lost, badly in need of a friend. For better or worse, I decided I would try and help him.

I'm going to contact someone I know, I said. They might be able to shed some light on things. Then I tracked down Mary on social media and DM'd her. Hey, it's Matt here, Joseph's friend. I'm researching a paper on the social implications of genetic research when saw you got a cool new job. I wondered if you could spare five. The coffee's on me.

I didn't like to lie, but if I told her the truth, she'd most likely block me, and I wouldn't blame her. Still, I wasn't holding up much hope of an answer, and I was wondering if I should wake up my double who had curled up on the sofa and gone to sleep when my notifications showed I had a new message. What do you know, Mary had got back to me? Hi Matt, good to hear from you.

I'm sorry about you and Josie. I don't know if I can be any help, but I'm always up for a free drink. I replied straight away, suggesting we meet at a cafe I found online that was close to where she worked. I showered and found my least smelly clothes and was ready to set off

my double was still fast asleep I thought about waking him and telling him he needed to leave as I was going out then decided against it maybe a good sleep would help him and let's face it apart from my laptop I had nothing worth stealing I popped a laptop in a backpack

and let myself out quietly It took me about 30 minutes to walk to the cafe And by the time I arrived Mary was already there She was sat at a corner table I smiled and waved and went over to say hi Hey she replied She seemed jumpy

Her fingers constantly tapping on the table And she kept looking over at the door Is everything okay? I asked Sure, yeah She replied She didn't say this with any conviction, and I could see she'd bitten a fingernails right down. It's just, she continued, then paused because someone had walked into the cafe, and she was checking them out. Are you expecting someone, I asked.

She sighed. Sorry, work is difficult at the moment. I'm sorry to hear that, I said. and, sighing to myself, I added, I am also sorry that I lie to you about why I wanted to meet. She clearly had a lot on her mind, and I couldn't keep pretending I was writing a paper. It would have just been plain wrong.

Her fingers stopped tapping, and she exclaimed, What? I took a deep breath and told her everything about my encounter with my double. She grew increasingly pale as I was. spoke and when I'd finished she asked have you ever given a DNA sample I nodded a few months ago at the facility where you work it was an easy way to make money she swore then leaned forwards and said in a quiet voice you must keep this to yourself the people I'm working for are creating clones human clones I have no in-person interactions with the clones but it sounds like that's

who you met. My clone? I said, incredulously, and far too loud. I lowered my voice and added, That's crazy and completely illegal, surely. It is, she replied. All the work is taking place below the line, with absolute deniability built in,

not just because it's unethical and against the law to clone another person with or without their permission, but also because the methods they are employing are incredibly dangerous. They're using experimental drugs that cause the cells to multiply at a tremendous rate. That's how your clone reached its adult form in the space of just a few months and... She suddenly stopped and was looking over my shoulder.

I glanced around. Two middle-aged men had come into the cafe. Both wore plain business suits and they were looking at us. Who are they? I asked Mary. She was looking down into a coffee, almost as if somehow this would mean the men couldn't see her. Whoever they were, she was clearly scared at them. Still staring at a drink, she said.

Facility security, you should leave. I'll message if I can. I figured it was best to do, as she said, and got to my feet. My legs felt unsteady as I headed out back onto the street. My encounter with my double had already left me feeling very, unsettled. My conversation with Mary had further thrown me, leaving me shocked and confused. Feeling like my nerves had been in a cocktail shaker and made my way back to my apartment. My double, my clone, was still there, was still laid out on the sofa, and he was in a very

bad way. He was coated in sweat and seemed to be delirious. He was trying to say something, but I couldn't hear what, so I leaned in close. He was saying, it hurts over and over again. Our faces were almost touching. I could feel his breath on my face. I was transfixed. This man was more than a double. He was a being that shared my DNA.

We were built from the same blocks. And now I knew this. It felt like I was looking in a mirror. that I saw myself die. So my eyelids grow still. My breath cease. My body stopped moving. I cursed, snapped myself out of my days.

Felt for his pulse, but there was nothing. I turned my mobile to camera and held the screen almost touching his lips. It didn't fog. My thoughts began to race. I knew I had to call the emergency services and report this, but I first needed to throw up. I returned from the bathroom a few minutes later to yet another shock. My clone was moving again.

His eyelids were flickering rapidly. His arms and legs jerked. It was as if he was having some kind of seizure. Man, I said, you gave me a serious fright there. I thought you were dead. I'm going to phone an ambulance for you. As I was keying in 911, a new message had been. appeared from Mary.

They know where you live. You need to get out of there now. What the hell? I said and called her. She answered on the first ring. Matt, I can't talk for long. I think they're following me. Who are?

I asked. Facility security, she replied. I didn't go back to work. I needed time to think so I went to the park instead. I'm sure I've just seen them. You should phone the police, I told her. They wouldn't believe me and, even if they did investigate, the facility would cover up the truth.

About the clones, I got in. It's more than just about the clones. She sounded breathless when she said this, as if she was walking quicker and quicker. It's about a problem that is caused by the rapid multiplication of the cells. This is killing the clones, but the drugs then keep acting after death, multiplying cells at obscene speed, and the clones are reanimated.

They become zombies. Before she could say more, the call ended. I looked at the icon, my mind reeling at what she had told me. Then I became aware that my clone was getting to his feet, was standing there, swaying slightly, as if he was trying to remember how to walk, how to talk. I... I don't feel right, he said in a halting voice.

because you're dead, I thought. And then someone kicked the door in. Two men burst into the apartment. They wore the same plain business suits as the men in the cafe, but I'd never seen them before. One of them pulled out a gun. You need to come with us, he said. No, I yelled at him.

We know what you're doing. The honor man smiled. It's not we anymore, he said. It's just you now. the one problem left, the one problem that can be easily eliminated. What have you done to marry? I shouted. The armman answered by pointing the gun at my head. Guess, he said.

Fear flooded my body. No, I begged. Please don't. It's too late, he told me. Suddenly, his partner screamed. It was a primal cry of pain that filled the apartment. I tore my gaze away from the barrel of the gun pointing at me and saw that the unarmed man was being torn apart. His head was almost severed and blood was spouting from the jagged wound that ran down the length of his neck. My clone held him by the scalp and was pulling.

The head lifted, trailing a crimson slick spinal cord and finally was separated. The man's mouth was still open, his eyes staring. but unlike my clone I did not think there was any way back for him he was dead meat the man with the gun opened fire six bullets ripped through my clone's body he looked down at the wounds

as if there were nothing more than smoldering kisses than threw himself at the man he clamped his jaws down in the base of the man's neck and ripped out a chunk of flesh the man howled of pain then his legs gave way as he crumpled to the ground. My clone spat out the blooded slab and fell on the man, began to devour him. I became a fugitive after this, from the facility.

I spent all my money on a run-down car and kept driving, heading out into the desert. My clone was with me, cloaked in a blanket so no one could see him. He had barely spoken since slaughting the men and saved him. life in the process. I couldn't leave him behind after that, the man who was made from me, the zombie. I didn't believe I was in danger from him because of our genetic link. He had though continued to deteriorate. Necrotic wounds had started to appear all over his flesh, and the sickly sweet scent of decay drifted from him. He said little and stared morosely out the window at the desolate landscape.

I had recorded an account of what had happened on my phone. One day, somehow, I would hold the visibility to account for what they had done. I was trying to think of how, when, next to me, the zombie started to cry. It was not the first time since we fled. I had no words of comfort and silence soon returned, until the zombie said, stop the car what here

I asked yes he sounded insistent so I pulled over there were no other cars in sight no buildings we were hundreds of miles from anything slowly clearly hurting

the zombie got out of the car I peered through the open door asked what are you doing You need to leave me here, the zombie replied. My thoughts are clouding over worse and worse. And soon I won't recognize you anymore. Then the hunger will come. I can't just leave you here, I protested.

The zombie looked at me. You're not, it said. You're going to end me. When we fled the apartment, I'd instinctively grab the gun the man had dropped. when he was attacked. I had hidden it under my car seat when we set off. I had no intention of using it. I was appalled,

sickened, terrified by what was being asked of me. I'm not going to do that, I said, you're me. Not now, the zombie said sadly. Not anymore. He spoke to me quietly as he walked away from the car, as together we took a grave for him. He told me that of everything he could remember.

The only time he had not felt scared and alone was as he had been falling asleep on the sofa in my apartment. The sound of the gunshot that followed. Still echoes in my mind. Roadwork ahead? Theo begins with a big, dumb grin on his face. I can see the whites of his teeth in the corner of my eye. Don't say it, bro, I interrupted the mutter, fingers flexing on the steering wheel.

You don't need to say it. Yeah, I sure hope it does, he finishes, shortling to himself as I swear under my breath. I've always hated that stupid vine. How are we doing on the time? I ask him, changing the subject. He checks his watch, his phone and the car's clock. All in sync, dude. 2.17 a.m. We've got five minutes. Perfect, I respond as we drive down the length of a dark and empty highway.

We're actually going to make it this time. Have we got far to go? No, I tell him, just a bit further on. It's hard to see, but there's a load of hills just ahead to the right. That's where we're going. Right, he responds, settling back into his seat. The highway stretches through a long, dark section of country. There aren't many trees, but the cornfields grow high.

and they'll taper off soon as the hills rise. There's a subtle turnoff from the highway coming up and it leads through these hills. That's where we're headed. You have to time it just right though, if you want to play the roadworks game. The clock ticks. 2.18 a.m.

Damn, we're actually going to make it, I reply. Are you nervous, man? Nervous, Theo laughs. Nothing's going to happen, Dara. It is, I'm telling you, it's been done before, I reply as we race to the night. The engine, a subtle backing track. Yeah, we'll see about that. The corn and the hills roll on by, the time ticks on.

I shift in my seat, my throat has gone dry, and though Theo refuses to admit it, he is anxious to. The atmosphere in the vehicle has changed. We're here, I murmur, slow. the car right down as the clock ticks over to 221. Turn right, then you have reached your destination, the voice of the GPS announces. I do so, bringing the wheel around in an arc

and turning off from the highway. I wind the car between the hills that rise up all around us. And at last, just as the clock hits 222, we come to a stop at a traffic light. It has the appearance of being a temporary and sense. but I've never known it not to be here. It is accompanied by a rusted yellow sign with a KS construction logo printed in small letters on the top left. In the sign centre, it reads simply, road works.

The traffic lights glow is red. It highlights our faces in its crimson glow. Nothing's happening, Theo mutters. Did we get the timing's wrong? A part of me. is disappointed, but I find that a much greater part of me is relieved. Perhaps this was a dumb idea anyway. And then, as if in response to this thought, the traffic light does something that I've never

seen it do before, ever. It changes to yellow, illuminating the road beneath it in bright amber, and my adrenaline surges. Damn, Theo blurts out. He tries to say something but stumbles over his words. I do not speak. I know how to begin the game. And it's really very simple.

I slam my foot down on the accelerator and the car lurches back into life. The vehicle leaps forward and I wind it around the traffic light and down through the hills. The time ticks the 2.23. We meander left and right passing between the hills of various. heights and sizes, as I expected, of course, but then the landscape changes. Instead of coming out the hills and being led onto a parallel highway, as geography would expect, we are instead met with a vast, flat landscape as the hills pull back. It is a moonless night, and our only source of light comes from the beams of the car itself. Ahead is the road, and to either side are grim and empty fields,

sparse pieces of rotted vents, dead crops, all fading away into the void at the light's edge, the total and surrounding darkness of the night. My heart pounds. Jesus, Theo says. Oh God, this is real. It's real. We're playing. We're actually playing.

Of course we are, I reply. I told you so. Remind me how it works again. His voice is tipped with fear now. I can hear it. The rules. What do we win? They say that the game gives you what you need the most.

Great, he forces out a weak laugh. PlayStation 5 it is then. Yeah, maybe. I reply, Deadpan. If we win. What do you want? It's what you need, not what you want, Theo. Fine.

What do you need? I consider. I don't know, man. A new family would be a good start. A new life. Theo does not respond directly to this. We've talked about it before. Instead, he changes the subject.

You said, if we win. If. So, how do we lose? I don't reply. I just grip the wheel a little tighter. We just have to stay on the road till the end, I say eventually. That's the rule of the game. Don't leave the road.

Follow the road till the end. Till the end, he repeats, and we are quiet for a while after that, driving steadily through the wastes and the shadow. The tension rises until Theo can take it no longer. Let's put some tunes on, he says, tapping play in his phone, still augsed. What the hell? I ask him, as the intro to Toto's Africa starts blaring obnoxiously from the speakers. Bro, turn that off. Why? he asks, holding his phone away how to re-reacted.

It's a banger. He starts humming along to the opening beat. Theo, turn it off. I reach out again. I tried to grab his phone. Why, it's not against the rules, is it? He starts to sing along. I look down to the ogs and pull it from the plug.

And in that second, the split second that I have my eyes away from the road, the car drifts ever so slightly. And with a loud and sickening crunch, it lurches up and then back down with a thud. Christ, Theo shouts as we are slammed up and down in our seats. Panicked, I swing around the steering wheel and press a foot down on the brake, and the tires screech as the car comes to a quick stop, still on the road, but now at a slight angle. We turn to look through the rear window.

My pulse is racing. Theo is grabbing my shoulder. Dara, you hit something. Oh God, oh God. What was it? it? Is it moving? I squint. It wasn't a person, was it? Did you see any movement? No, but, I mean, it was dark, so you were distracting me. Me? What the hell, dude? But our fight comes to a quick halt as a beat bids us turned swiftly around. The GPS has begun to glitch and blink.

Its pleasant white-glows screen now shines in a sinister, warning red. Black text appears across the ruby screen. Follow the road. We stare at this text, Theo and I, and then Theo glances back over his shoulder. His eyes widen. Bro, he mutters. It's gone. I turn around to look, and sure enough, the large, dark shape that we hit in the road has vanished.

I think we need to keep driving. Now, Theo says, as a creeping, lurking terror begins to slink into my mind. I don't respond. I don't need to. I just sit back in my seat, push down the handbrake, and drive us off. Quicker this time than I was driving before. The GPS remains unchanged, black tics on the red background. The car sails to the night.

Was that part of the game? I asked Theo. Do you think... I don't know, dude. You know more about this game than me. It just disappeared. it must have been alive. Well, if it moved, then it must be fine, right?

It wouldn't be a person. What would a person be doing on foot way out here? Well, if it wasn't a person, then what was it? Theo had no response. My hands are clammy with sweat now. I wipe them one at a time on the side of my jeans. Dude, Theo murmurs, there's something in the fields. What do you mean?

look, he says quietly, and I do, peering to my left, then to my right. I cannot help but catch glimpses of rustling in the long grasses. The headlights catch curious little shadows, darting between the broke fence posts. But every time I tried to look directly at one, it has already disappeared. More and more of this rustling takes place around us, shivering grass, small little shadows, Dozens, then hundreds. I put my foot down on the accelerator, and the car picks up speed. Maybe we should turn back, Leo asks out loud.

Then, we should turn back. Bro, we should turn the hell back. No, I reply, determined. We committed. We have to see the road through till the end. That's the rules. The quivering little shapes in the grasses fall back and away. The lights of the car catch on a person

Standing a little ways out in the field to her left Damn! Theo shouts And I stare an alarm at this mystery person Standing alone by the road with their arms outstretched But no, this is no living person As they draw closer It becomes apparent that it's only a scarecrow Its sacks straw head lulls to one side

It's ragged clothes flutter Very lightly in the breeze It whizzes by A second scarecrow Appears on the same side of the road A little further back into the field It too whizzes by Then there is a third

This one standing right By the road on the field Far behind it And only barely visible in the edges of the headlights And shrouded it in shadow It's a fourth They are coming faster More and more

All over on both sides Scarecrows Silent and watching Straw sentinels that guard the road And the fields Theo has begun to mutter under his breath Why you like this man He asks

Why do I let you talk me into dumb stuff like this You're so reckless This was short-sighted as hell I laugh at his use of language Short-sighted Short-sighted Says you man Since when have you ever thought more than a week ahead about anything in your life?

I don't know what you're talking about, dude. You got your stomach checked out yet? You've been complaining about it for like a month. That's totally not relevant. What about your exams? You started revising for your finals yet? Sure I have, liar. The fields are full of scarecoes now.

Each may be only a few feet apart from the exit. Like an army standing in various frozen poses, disappearing into the void. We just have to stay in the road, I say, through gritter teeth. Easy. The scarecrow start thinning out. They become fewer and fewer, until once again the fields are barren and empty. They remain empty for some time.

About an hour by my count. A long, long hour of driving. A thought occurs to me. I'm sure it has occurred to me. to Theo too, but neither of us dare say it out loud. What if the road doesn't end? I try not to think about it. There are occasional bumps and cracks in the brick of the road,

but it's otherwise quite smooth and always in a straight line too. There are no turns here, just constant, endless road. Theo drums his hands on his leg. his fingers illuminate red by the glow of the GPS. Do you really think I'm short-sighted? He asks for a while. Well, yeah, a little bit. Sorry.

He says nothing at first. Then, there's something else out there, dude. Where? Over to the right, look. I glance over, and sure enough, I think he's right. It's difficult to tell since it's so dark, but the edges of some piece of, of what looks like massive machinery are caught in the headlights out of glow, way out into the field.

What is it? Some farm thing? Could be a tractor, I guess. But as we make these guesses, to my utter horror, the tractor starts to unfold. Go, Theo shouts. Oh God. Oh God! I do so, but I can't stop staring at it at the massive machine in the distance, in the dark.

It's much bigger than I'd first thought, too. It clanks and grinds echo out over the field towards us, and then it disappears behind us into the dark. For a tense few seconds, we wait, jaws clenched, and then the machine reappears. It approaches. I catch sight of it in the mirror. It is unfolded into the form of a monstrous metal man.

Bolts and nuts fall from its joints as it runs after the vehicle. It is easily three times my height, perhaps bigger. It roars a terrible, oily mechanical sound, and it reaches out an arm towards us. Damn, Theo screams. Darra, go, just go! My knuckles turn wide against the wheel As I go flat out

But my beat-up car struggles to accelerate Two blazing orange lights flicker Into life in the machine man's head Two angry watchful eyes Staring right at us Its iron jaw unhinges and monstrous metallic bellow Thunders out It's catching up dude

Theo shouts, swiveling around and round in his chair I know, I know I reply, eyes darting between the road and the rearview mirror. The machine man grips an axe in two iron hands, and it's a heavy-looking thing, comprised entirely of cold grey and rusted brown with a massive sharp blade at one end. The monster roars as it raises the axe. I drag the wheel to the left, keeping us narrowly on the road, but away from the centre, and slam down on the brake. The axe slams down hard on the road just ahead of us as the machine man stumbles. He turns his great head to look through the window in rage.

Go, go, go, go, go. I hit the accelerator. The engine whistles and grinds in frustration as smoke blasts from the pipe. But they pale in comparison to the roars of the monstrous machine. It does not follow us, however. I don't think it can. It struggles the dislikes. the axe from where it struck the road, and it disappears gradually into the distance behind us.

When it is nothing more than two pinpricks of orange light, I finally allow myself to breathe and wipe a quick hand across my sweat-soaked forehead. Theo runs his hands through his hair, then holds one out in front of him. It is shaking violently. I guess we're not turning around then, he mutters. Don't want to meet that guy again. I told you, dude, we can't turn around. We have to make it to the end of the road. Sure, he says. So, the drive goes on.

Who do you think made this game? He asks. I have no idea, honestly. Who even could? Right? It's all screwed up. The whole thing is insane. I managed to get some footage to the machine man, you know, on my phone.

It looks crap, but it might be worth a watch later. Nice. I tell him, Yeah, you sure you don't just want to go home, Dara? We make it to the end. He hesitates. Okay.

The fields are not quite so empty now. No more scarecrows, but instead stand ruined remains of buildings. We pass by a lone telegraph pole made of curious, dark stained green wood. It is cracked and does not appear to be connected to anything else. The fences here too are that same. color, dank, rotted, murky green, and clustered around these ruin remains, our remains of a

different kind. Carcasses of great beasts, cows, I suppose, but they have been torn essentially beyond recognition. Massive gorse-streaked ribcages rises up from corpses in the dark all around. Stay cool, I mutter, we got this. Our thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a roaring in the distance, less mechanical this time, more animalistic. We brace, but nothing further happens for the next ten minutes. We are primed, muscles aching from the unconscious tension. It is excruciating this pressure, waiting for the next horror.

And at last, it's almost a relief when we finally see its source. Almost. Atop a ruined barn. I think it is statue at first, until the creature moves. It lifts his head and opens wide its jaws and releases another of those blood-freezing roars. Its skin is black, a monstrous, prehistoric, cat-looking creature, with a shaggy black mane and two tiny green eyes, shining with malice in the night. It leaps from the barn roof and begins bounding wrong. right forest down the road.

Watch out Dara, Theo shouts. I panic and attempt a similar maneuver to my previous one, though this time I don't bring the car to a stop. The great cat skits past and growls, swiping at the vehicle, and its claws go right through Theo's side door. Three huge great scratch marks streak down just inches from the guy, and he flinches in terror.

The creature's green eyes vanish temporarily into the dark, before it begins pounding after us yet again, keeping pace, saliva spilling from its jaws. I cannot go any faster. The car is flat out. The lion-like monster leaps from the road and grabs onto the back of the car. We feel its weight and the car judders and groans in complaint. I start swinging the wheel from left to right as fast as I can, whilst also keeping the car on the road. The creature's snarling face takes up the entire back window. I can hear the metal scream as its claws are dug deeper in. But at last, the creature is thrown free and it spins away, roaring, vanishing into the long grasses to the side of the road, and we don't

stick around to see if it will return. The broken buildings and structures in the fields are numerous now. They are all over the place, surrounding us, all ruined. There are water towers and heaps of run-down ancient machinery, all that same shade of rusty, murky green. A road sign, the first that we have seen since beginning the game, whizzes past us. It is rusty green with a faded white border. City limit, it reads. I don't know if it can take much more of this, Theo mutters. Dara, maybe there's a way you can go home you don't know about.

Do we have to make it to the end of the road? We've been driving for hours, dude. What if the road doesn't end? He looks to the GPS. Still, a bright and ruby red. Maybe there's something here we can use. I told you, man, to the end. I'm not quitting.

I doubt we even could if we wanted to. For goodness sake, you're playing with our lives, Dara. Theo is suddenly angry. You complain all the time about how bad your life supposedly is. You ever consider the fact that the problem might be you? I splutter with indignation, but our argument is interrupted by the sudden, terrifying sound of something wet, smacking onto the windscreen. Red gorse splashes across the glass, and I put the wipers on, horrified as the redness is smeared across my field of vision. What the hell was that? Theo asks quietly.

He leans forwards and looks up. Hey, there's something. He jumps back on instinct as a large, pink glob of human flesh splats sickening against the screen. I stare at it in horror. Mashed slightly and leaking ooze, it is still nonetheless perfectly recognizable. It can be nothing other than a human brain. It clings to the glass before sliding off and disappearing into the dark. Flex of fleshy rain splattered down, and with a pint or two of blood,

A heart is what hits us next. It smacks onto the glass and bounces away, and what follows causes me such fright that I feel like I'm going to pass out. An entire human spine, clotted with blood and flesh, smacks hard into the glass, and cracks it.

The impact cracks spread out over almost half of the windscreen, and the spine slips down the front of the car and is crunched beneath the wheels. This is hell. It must be. Some terrible, godforsaken nightmare land. But the feelings are all too real. My surroundings, the sounds and the sights. It is all terrifyingly real. Ahead, directly above the road and beneath an enormous wooden green arch, an inhuman face flickers into view. It stares down at us, moving like a hologram and keeping pace with the car. It grins, stretching its cracked and ghostly lips to reveal a shimmering smile with layers upon layers of teeth concealed within. A human stomach smacks against the glass and explodes, bursting and leaking on theo's side of the window. Welcome, booms the voice of the great and terrible face. What do you need?

And the answer, to me, becomes painfully, blindingly clear. Home, I scream, just let us go the hell home. Theo has begun tapping and shaking the GPS. He presses her shaking thumb against the screen, and the text on the red screen disappears. It is replaced, quite simply, with a home icon. A little picture of her house. He presses it about 20 times in the space of three seconds, and the great face above us begins to laugh.

A great barreling cyclone of air. races down the road towards us. And there is no escape. And in a second, we will be enveloped. This is the end, I guess. I scream and swear, and, against my better instincts, I lift my hands from the wheel to defend my face

as the world beyond is lost the sight in the torrents of wind. For a while, there is only screaming, and then, gradually we calm down we haven't died at least I didn't open my eyes just yet I daren't

but a low level of light registers through my closed eyelids and cautiously I opened them up I return my trembling hands to the wheel as the car chunders to a gentle casual stop the sun has begun to rise and a flock of birds fly across the deep blue

ever so slightly lightning sky just ahead. We are on the opposite side of the highway. I swivel in my seat. Behind us is a meandering path through the hills. Theo, Theo, open your eyes, bro. He does so through gritter teeth, and then he too takes in his surroundings. There is peace.

Theo crosses himself, something I've never seen him do. before, ever, and he shoots a quick glance behind us. He swallows. I think... I think... I'd like to go home now, dude. Yeah, I reply, as my wing mirror falls from the car and hits the road with a clank. Yeah, I think that's a good idea.

So, I put the car into drive and we begin a very slow and very steady ride back home. Theo ended up getting his stomach checked out. He didn't give me the gross details, but he assures me that everything is fine now. He just said, it's a good job I went when I did, could have gotten much worse. And I realized something too. Honestly, my life ain't all that bad. Maybe not being a miserable guy all the time is a good place to start. I won't be attempting any further play-throughs of the Roadworks game.

After all, there's really no place like home.