CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - 3+ SCARY r/nosleep Reddit Horror Stories to make you forget about your troubles

Episode Date: February 5, 2023

CREEPYPASTA STORY-►0:00 "If you see a girl drinking rainwater, run" Creepypasta►23:15 "Some old Disneyland rumors are true" Creepypasta►42:40 "We accidentally started a myth" Creepypasta►1:04:51 "My time as a prison guard may be short lived" Creepypasta►1:35:49 "My best friend's family has strange rituals" Creepypasta►1:54:34 "If you see this woman on the side of the road. Don't offer her a ride" Creepypasta►2:09:07 "My Livestock Won't Stop Walking in Circles" Creepypasta►3:00:21 "Not all gifts come from Santa" CreepypastaCreepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/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

My mom used to say that the rain is God's tears, and that's why we shouldn't drink it. She said a lot of things to make me believe. She told me that eating too many sweets make invisible goblins that chew my teeth, that spiders would crawl into my mouth if I didn't breathe through my nose, that eating snow would freeze my stomach and turn me into a snowman. A hundred little lies, all engineered to trick me into behaving. And I behaved. As the years passed, I've turned into a perfectly tricked human.

I left all childish nonsense behind years ago. I pay my taxes and keep my head down. I don't eat too many sweets. I breathe through my nose and I don't eat snow. And, of course, I don't drink from the rain. Last August, I was at a supermarket on the outskirts of town. Just another lazy Saturday morning with a sky full of grey clouds and a persistent wind. I bought some groceries and was heading for the door, when I noticed it had started raining.

I hadn't brought an umbrella, so I just pulled my leather jacket close and rushed to my car, hoping the bread wouldn't get soggy. I threw the groceries into the passenger seat, leaned back and noticed a woman standing in the middle of the parking lot. She was staring straight up with a jaws wide open, her mouth filling up with rainwater like a bird bath. Seeing her, I couldn't help but think about what my mom used to tell me to never drink the rainwater, that it was an ugly thing to do. My mom passed on years ago, but some words can stay forever. I sat there looking at her for a while. She had this black pixie haircut and a grey hoodie long enough to reach her knees.

She was completely drenched with lines of black mascara running from her eyes. It took me a while to notice she didn't have any shoes on. I got the feeling that she wasn't well. This wasn't something sane people did. Sane people don't drink rainwater like that. God's tears. It wasn't unusual that strange characters came by the supermarket. There was a prison nearby and a lot of people stopped to buy something on their way out.

Mostly friends and family visiting, but every now and then there was an odd bird. I have no idea what kind of people they keep at that prison, but the company that runs it has quite the reputation around town. Hatchet is a strange company. I decided to say something and stepped out of the car. Hey, I called out, you're going to get sick. She didn't flinch. It was as if she didn't even register my words as a language.

Instead, she just kept staring into the sky. She had this sort of minus determination about her, like she didn't know what else to do. She didn't even blink. Rain drops bounced off her unblinking eyes. I was about to get back in my car, but I felt bad for her. She was barely an adult, and she was clearly having some sort of breakdown.

I jogged back inside the supermarket. There was an older man standing behind the counter, listening to the radio. I'd shopped there a few times, but never actually talked to him. He didn't even look at me when I came back inside. Excuse me, I said, I think the girl outside needs help. He leaned over a bit in his chair, squinting at the glass. stores. She was still out there. What for? he asked. I don't know, she's, she's just standing there. She has no shoes. The old man was clearly not happy about this. Not about her standing there in

particular, but that I'd bothered him about it. Let's go, he said. People don't talk to each other no more. I followed him outside as we approached the girl. The rain was picking up. up. Hey, he called out to her, you're all right. No response. He slowed his pace, giving me a concerned look. Now, he saw what I saw. You want us to call someone. You have a... A phone? He asked. You need help? We all just stood there for a few seconds, until the old man sighed. He put his hand on her shoulder, rustling her gently. I'm sorry, but you can't stay here, he said, you have to move on. He shook her harder, making some of the water in her mouth spill over.

I got a bad feeling from that. Come on now. He grabbed her again, and she immediately lost the balance. She tipped over like a falling tree, her head smacking haplessly against the concrete. water spilled out of her mouth, mixing with the blood from the fresh head wound. The old man's eyes went wild. He fell to his knees repeating, Oh my God, oh my God, over and over.

I backed away with my hand on my phone. I didn't register what was happening, and I went into a sort of paralysis. It took me a few seconds to notice she was still coughing up water. A lot of water. and some of it had turned black. I thought it might be blood, but it didn't look like it, too dark. I was suddenly aware of the phone in my hand,

the weight and texture of it. I dialed 911 as the man put her on her side. Breathe through your nose, he said. Stay calm and breathe through your nose. Black water was pouring out of her like a faucet. Her eyes was still. fixed on the sky. It felt like minutes, but it was only seconds.

Breaths. The water stopped pouring out of her. She just laid there, unmoving. I could hear an operator talking to me in my ear, but it was as if the words just passed through me. I couldn't hear them over my own pulse. Something about an emergency, a question. She's not breathing, the odd man cried.

She's not... At which. Her mouth moved. Something passed between her lips. Something dark. Her finger. A claw. She rolled onto her back with a violent muscle spasm.

She bent her back like an arch, balancing her entire body on the soles of her feet and the scalp of her head. She inhaled, sucking in as much rainwater as she could in a screeching gasp. Her throat rattling as the raindrops passed into her lungs. We went from trying to help to just staring and disbelief. In an impossible move she got to her feet, invisible tethers pulling her back up. Her face still locked towards the sky and jaws once again wide open. Her body turned to me and the old man. And as we recoiled, she gurgled and charged us.

My phone slipped out of my wet hands as she burst forward. I tripped over my own feet, falling backwards, and she hurled herself over the old man. Her head was constantly looking upwards like a gyroscope. It was as if her body was moving and twisting independently from her head. I could swear she twisted her neck an entire 360 degrees at one point. I crawled backwards, scraping the palms in my hands. She gurgled again, the water from her mouth pouring over the old man that she pinned. He was gasping for air, spitting and coughing, wildly flaming his arms,

just this relentless stream of water practically drowning him. Then, he stopped. Slowly he opened his mouth, and he too started to drink the rain. I stumbled to my feet and ran for my car. I could hear naked feet slapping against the concrete. She was chasing me. I got my keys out, unlocked the car and got in the driver's seat. I slammed the door shut right on her fingers,

breaking them like carrot sticks as the door bounced back open. I crawled in the passenger side as useless fingers brushed against my face, trying to grasp at me. She crawled in after me, gurgling with anticipation. I got out on the other side of the car, slamming the passenger side door shut. I rounded back to the driver's side and closed that door as well, trapping her inside. She didn't have the mental capacity to open the doors. So she just settled back and pounding on the glass with her bleeding, broken fingers.

Her eyes were moving independently of one another, trying to find a way out. trying to find the sky. I backed away, my heart pounding. I didn't even notice my tears in the rain, just the sting of sweat in my eye. I kept hunching over, clutching at my stomach. It was burning, like my insides were trying to jump out of me. My heart was having none of this.

The old man had gotten to his feet. He looked at me from across the parking lot. For a few seconds, I could see fear on his face, pleading eyes begging for help. Then, his face snapped upwards, and he opened his mouth wide. His body, moving seemingly on its own, started walking towards me. He tripped over concrete outlines of the parking spaces, barely keeping his balance. His shoulders smacked into a sign, sending him, reeling onto the ground, all the while keeping his head fixed on the sky.

Then, just as the girl before him, I could see this invisible force pulling him back onto his feet, transparent tethers hidden in the drops of rain. He got his bearings, and suddenly he was fast. This man was easily 70 years old, but he was safe. keeping an impossible pace. I didn't know where to go, didn't know what to do. He gained on me, and I just stood there like a deer in frozen headlights, thumping feet coming closer.

Then the girl trapped in my car slammed her hand against the window again. The sound kicked me off like a starting pistol. I shot into a sprint as my stomach shivered. I don't remember running back into the store. I don't remember knocking over a stack of shopping baskets. It was just a blur of colourful packaging as I ran through the aisles. Cheerful radio tunes played overhead. The old man tripped over a shopping basket and fell sprawling to the floor,

water spilling out of him like a fountain. As he struggled to get back on his feet, I saw little things moving between his lips, little fingertips black like ink. a little hand reaching out. He stepped back outside and leaned his head back upwards. Slowly, he walked out of sight, towards another side of the store. I was left standing there, holding a mop.

I didn't even realize I grabbed it. I started looking for a phone. There had to be some sort of alarm, but I couldn't find it. There was no big red button to press. My hands were shaking, and I kept knocking. things over. A bunch of pens rattled against the ceramic tiles. I looked for the manager's office. The guy was old. Chances were there was a landline. Going into the back, I heard a surprise yell. There was someone outside the back exit. I couldn't be bothered. I had to call for help. Help yourself

before you help others and all that. The manager's office was locked. I tried pulling the door open. or banging at the glass lit. But nothing seemed to work. Finally, I pulled a fire extinguisher from the wall and just hammered relentlessly until the thing shattered. I put my hand through, click the lock and stepped inside. The place was a mess. But it had a landline buried under piles of unsorted documents.

There was a computer, but the thing was already old ten years ago. I dialed 911 as I closed and locked the door behind me. I only have a vague recollection of speaking to the operator. I told her about people turning violent, but in trying to explain it, I realized they sounded completely mad. I tried calming myself down and explain it in a way that made it seem like the owner had snapped. They asked me if I was safe, if he was armed, if someone was injured, a thousand things had seemed like.

I kept hearing little noises in the back of the store, and I completely lost my train of thought. Sir, sir, are you there? I heard the voice on the phone, but it was distant. Every bone in my body was listening to what was happening outside. Someone was getting in through the back door. It was clunky, but I could hear the handle rattling. Sir? I slowly put the phone away.

Not hanging up, just putting it away. I had to concentrate. There was an old toolbox in the corner of the room, so I grabbed a large wrench to defend myself. I needed solid metal in my hands. It brought me a kind of courage I didn't know I had. The old man stepped up to the manager's office. I was ready.

I slammed the door open, knocking him back. Even now, his head was tilted upwards. I whacked him over the head with a wrench, sluggishly connecting with his throat. He stumbled sideways, and I hit him again. He tripped, fell over, and snapped his neck against the wall. He was over in a second. He stopped moving as black water oozed out of him. And there, moving at the edge of his lips,

were little black fingers, reaching outwards, desperately, looking for something to grab, to pull itself free. His jaw moved up and down like he was chewing invisible meal. His eyes were still fixed upward. As I raised the wrench to attack again, the little hand stopped moving. It turned into a black sludge, like coagulated darkness. I couldn't let go of the wrench even if I wanted to. My fingers had cramped shut.

I took a deep gasp as I raised. I realized I'd be holding my breath. I backed away. I killed this man. Self-defense or not. He was dead. No question about it. Sir, sir, I could hear coming from the landline in the other room.

I didn't know how to explain this. I didn't know what I'd say. I just stood there, listening to myself breathe. In an instant, the world. shifted upside down. I lost my balance as something grabbed me from behind. I fell hard on my right shoulder, losing the grip of my wrench in the impact.

Two arms gripped me and was pulling me backwards. The stock boy. He'd been out back on a smoke break this whole time. That's the startled sound I heard. He'd been attacked. Moments later, I felt the rain again. He dragged me outside. The guy was in his early thirties and built like a redwood.

He had no trouble keeping me off balance as he pushed me to the ground. He tilted his head downward as water started to spill. Wait, I screamed. Wait, wait, wait. Then rainwater. Leakwarm, body-tempered rainwater. It's hard to explain the sensation. At first, I was drowning, trying to keep water.

water out of my lungs, but after one or two involuntary gulps, I didn't feel it anymore. It was as if air and water switched places. The rainwater kept me alive, and losing it would mean choking to death. My neck locked itself, staring upwards, as to not lose any water. As I looked at the clouds, I heard a voice. It felt like it was reaching into my stomach, resonating in my body like an echo. Rain falling on me, making it look like I was running through a tunnel or being pulled upwards. Hello? A greeting.

A dark presence went swimming through my thoughts. Little tendrils seeping into my memories, touching all my secrets. I could feel my body moving on its own and all I could do was lock up. I tried to scream for help, but all I did was gurgle. It hurt something awful, burning like razor wire, being pulled out of me the more I resisted. There was something up there, something in the clouds that needed me, the way a body needs a pair of hands. I lived in that world. I don't know for how long, having a conversation with something inside myself, trying to feel something.

My body was numb and distant, frozen solid and pulled by an impossible force, and at some point, the rain stopped. I was staring up into the sky, coughing up water as my body slowly remembered how to breathe. I was lying on my back, looking up at the clouds. They were parting. I turned to my side, feeling something wriggle in my throat. I gulp down hard, feeling an obstruction slide down. Then the water started coming out of me. Rainwater, black water and blood.

I had an idea where I was, but it took me some time to orient myself. It was a grassy field, just a bit out of town, underbrush, some scattered trees, and a few dried up discoloured sunflowers. I was just off the freeway. about a 15-minute walk from the store. I'd seen this walk on my way home from work, I realized, not too far from Frog Lake. I eventually made my way back to the supermarket. Four patrol vehicles in an ambulance had arrived, sirens wailing.

I saw the young woman with black air being lifted into an ambulance, a hand broken and bleeding. She had a tight bandage wrapped around her head. They were also moving a body out of her. the store, and three officers were talking to themselves and taking pictures by the entrance. Coughing up the last drops of Blackwater, I tried my best to scream for help. All that came out was a gurgle, had slowly turned into a scream. That part was all me. They eventually recognised my voice from the emergency call.

They took me in, had a medic check me out, and questioned me, about it. The officers tried to piece it all together into something comprehensible, ending up at the story of, an old man goes crazy and gets killed. I wanted to tell them more, but I just couldn't find the words to make it sensible. There was some surveillance footage, but it didn't cover much of the parking lot. All they saw was me being chased into the store by a sick-looking man. Before I was sent home and asked not to leave the state. I got the chance to ask my own questions. I asked them about the young woman in my car and what happened to her.

Apparently, she'd been picked up by her guardians almost immediately. They had all paperwork in order, as well as a pair of very expensive lawyers. Strange people, the officer noted, didn't seem very parental. Since then, I've been getting shivers whenever it rains. I get this sense that I should go outside. to see if there is anything up there, something that still needs me, something calling to me. But I'm fine, according to the doctors. Still, I don't trust myself to stay inside.

I lock myself in the bathroom with my headphones on, waiting for it all to pass. I've read about others seeing her, a young woman who comes out when it rains, to drink from the sky. I have to know more about her. I need to know what happened to me. Working in Disneyland is not all it's cracked up to be. There are things that general public is not privy to, although rumors circulate online about certain practices. One of these rumors is true.

Nobody is allowed to die at Disneyland. As part of the Anaheim Fire EMT team, we are on site for more serious events. The park staff. Staff, known as cast members, have their own team of trained personnel. They deal with everything from small cuts and scrapes to ride into sickness. But every once in a while, somebody needs to take a trip to the hospital. When that happens, two of us will prepare an ambulance and a nurse will be called to assist.

We transport the patient to a nearby hospital and treat them on the way there. the short amount of time we have. Starting an IV in the back of a moving vehicle can get pretty hairy, let me tell you, but I've done it on multiple occasions. Pot holes can make things really interesting when you have a needle in someone's arm and you're fishing for a vein. The important thing is to make sure you don't hit an artery or poke yourself with a bloody needle, especially if your patient looks like an IV drug user. I've been assigned to the park. for the past few months and have come to enjoy working here for the most part. Until today.

I'll tell you why. As I've said before, nobody is allowed to die at Disneyland, and sometimes fate is not kind enough to comply with corporate policies. This morning, I was called in to assist with an accident near the teacup ride. It was still early and the park was quiet as visitors were just starting to file. in. The weather was warm and sunny, a typical Anaheim day. But there was a barrier set up near the entrance to the ride. Several people were being questioned and were complaining loudly about their phones being confiscated. A few were in tears and looked borderline hysterical. These people were being taken behind closed doors by men in suits with Disneyland badges. It'll be given right back to

you just a moment. A security guard. was saying, and I saw him hit the delete button to get rid of the most recent video on the visitor's cell phone. Park policy, he said, giving the device back to the woman. Thanks for your cooperation, enjoy the rest of your day. She started to protest, looking at the deleted file, but her husband grabbed her arm and pulled her away, casting a nervous look at the barricade. The woman eventually relented and the two of them walked off.

Right this way, the security guard said, looking at me. He directed me behind the barricade, and I saw a very terrified teenager who was doing CPR on a decapitated man. With each thrust, blood splurted out from the place where his head should have been. The sounds being made were disturbing, like a wet dog toy being stepped on over and over, one of the squeaky ones. What are you doing? Why? I tried to get the words out, but couldn't.

We need you to take over for the kid. This man needs to be taken to a hospital. I stared at the security guard, dumbstruck. A hospital? This man needed to get to a funeral home for cremation. There would be no open casket for this one. You must be kidding. The security guard grouted my house.

and pushed me over towards the kid. Take over, he said. The kid is tired, you need to do your job. Another security guard joined him, and the two of them gave me a stern look, which indicated I'd better not argue with them. I tried to explain to them, unsure how they weren't getting it. I tried to tell them CPR was not going to help a dead man with no head, but it was like talking to a brick wall.

And pretty soon they made it clear that if I didn't do what I was asked, I would be the one in need of a hospital visit. As completely insane as it was, I got down on my knees and took over, doing CPR and the headless man. Each time I pushed down on his chest, a fountain of partially coagulated blood shot out from the hole on the top of his neck. What happened to him? I asked the kid who I'd taken over for. I recognized him as the one who ran the ride. I don't know, man, he said, shaking and pale. I just looked up and the dude's head was flying.

Man, I don't even know where the damn thing ended up. I pressed down on his sternum again as hard as I could, repeating the same amount of pressure, the same depth, despite the fact that it was all pointless. A hundred compressions per minute, two inches deep, ensuring proper placement of the hands. It was all so ingrained in me that I did it perfectly, despite the fact that this man would never breathe again.

Eventually, someone who looked like a manager showed up. He was wearing a sharp-looking suit despite the warm weather and had cold blue eyes with no indication of any compassion. Hey, these guys wanted me to keep doing. doing CPR, I told him, quickly sensing that he was in charge of this clown show. Can I stop now? He's obviously dead. The man in the dark suit shook his head. Keep going. Don't stop. He had a look about him that I didn't like. A cold, angry sort of feeling came off the man, like a dark aura. I decided not to argue with him.

Get Bill from Cryo or Bear, he told one of the security guards, tell him to bring the journey. The man looked around and then whispered under his breath. And someone get that damn head from down the tree before some kid sees it. A strange black vehicle with mouses on top and an enclosed flat bed parked in front of us, and I was forced inside, then made to continue doing CPR and what was essentially a headless corpse. The man's terrified, Gapmouth Visage stared at me from the other end of the trunk, where one security guard held it on his lap. with his face looking outward. The macab scene was so surreal and horrifying

that I had to keep telling myself that I wasn't in a nightmare. This was actually happening. Why are you making me do this? I yelled at the man in the suit who sat in the front seat. He's dead! The man just ignored me

as we pulled into a garage marked authorized personnel only and the weird hearse vehicle continued travelling deeper and deeper into the warehouse-like space. Eventually, after a few more minutes of driving deeper and deeper underground, using a series of ramps like you'd find in a parking garage, we came to another steel sliding door.

Reaching up to press a button on the ceiling, the man up front looked back at me and locked eyes with me. Almost there, he said, just a few more minutes. Then he looked at the security guard and furrowed his brow. Jim, what did I tell you about the heads? The security guard's face went red immediately, and he began to dig through a cabinet next to him. It sounded like a drawer full of ice.

Then he dropped the head inside. It landed with a loud chunk sound, as if he dropped a six-pack into a cooler and a hot summer day at the lake. He raised his thumb in an affirmative gesture, nodding at the man in the suit. Got it, I was dumbfounded, slowing down my compressions,

momentarily, and the security guard unclipped the gun from his holster. Don't slow down, he said. Keep it going. I got the implied message. But why do they care so much about profusing the organs of a dead man with oxygenated blood? There was no head, and without a head, the body would be useless. The brain would be dead from the lack of oxygen a while ago, and minus that control center, the meat sack I was pressing on with all of my force,

was essentially obsolete. It was all pointless. Unless... The memories came to me of things I heard in the past. Hadn't Walt Disney insisted on being cryogenically frozen? No, that was insane. Those ideas were insane. But then, as if confirming my worst fears,

I saw the writing on the next steel sliding door read, Disneyland cryogenic's research facility. CRF authorized cast members only past this point. The next area consisted of massive tanks filled with swirling blue fluid. I saw people suspended in the liquid. The face is frozen like hand solo in carbonite. Their mouths open in silent screams. It's real, I heard myself whisper silently,

then refocus my efforts on CPR. Suddenly it seemed. as if there might be a purpose to all of this after all. We pulled into one final large room. It was filled with equipment that looked decades beyond anything I'd seen before. It reminded me of pictures I'd seen of the large hydrogen collider, massive, complex mechanical forms that I could never have begun to understand. Here we are, said the man in the suit, getting out of the front seat.

He came around to the back and rolled. us out on a gurney with the assistance of a few others. Meanwhile, I just continued doing compressions, too terrified to stop. It's okay, the man said, with a surprisingly gentle tone. You can take a rest now. Thanks for your hard work. Stunned, I got down from the gurney and felt the numbness and pain in my forearms, shoulders and wrist. I had a lot of practice doing CPR, but that was exhausting, even for me. Feeling like I was in a daze, I looked around at the space I was in, taking in my surroundings. What is this place? I asked.

Well, the man said, you're going to need to sign an NDA so we can let you out of here. I guess I can fill you in. I saw the headless man being brought up onto a platform, and his head was being carried up there as well. Large machinery hung down from the ceiling. reminding me of Frankenstein's lab, right before he brought the monster to life. A man in a white lab coat was fiddling with items on cloth-cover tables and preparing instruments, like a doctor about to do surgery.

You might have heard about how the man himself once wanted to be frozen, kept in cryogenics until the future, so that it could be brought back to life again. You've heard that right, most people have. Sure, I mean, I wasn't sure if it was true or not. Well, it is. And it's kept down here in this laboratory. But what most people don't know is that a large portion of the profits this organization brings in goes towards fulfilling that goal. The equipment down here costs a lot of money to build and install.

And we've got everything set up just the way we need it. I wasn't really sure what to say. The man just continued on. The thing is, we don't want to try it out on the boss first. What if it doesn't work out? So, we've been experimenting with other... Volunteers. That's why we had people frozen down here.

That's why nobody is allowed to die at Disneyland. We need to use every available resource we have. Those bodies you saw on the way in here? Those people who suffered accidents in the park, or snuck in after hours. At least, they're the ones who nobody would notice missing. Like this guy.

Exactly, like this guy. Do you know he has no family or extended relations? Robert Biggs here is 34 years old, lives alone, and his only joy in life is coming to Disneyland. My throat felt tight. My stomach began to drop, and it was like there was a concrete block

sitting inside my gut all of a sudden. What are you doing to him? I asked, watching as the man in the lab coat skewered his head atop a shiny, sharp steel rod, as if he were a giant piece of barbecue meat, a shish kebab.

The wet, squelching sounds of the blood and visceral being pushed the side could be heard as he slid it into place. Bob's head wobbled back and forth slightly, and then it was still. We're going to head. help him, the man said, just like we've been helping so many others who've died in this park.

Or should I say, almost died in this park. The world was turning dark around the edges as I tried to focus on staying conscious. I never felt so terrified and jarred as I did in that moment. I really felt as if I might pass out from the overwhelming nature of everything that was happening. But I shook it off and told myself to snap out. of it. Who knew what these people would do to me if my lights went out? I imagine myself waking up as a victim of their twisted experiments, a man with two different sets of arms and a second head maybe. I shuddered. Right this way, the man in the suit said, leading me

towards a small steel table. For the first time when he spoke, I saw something else in his eyes, something hard and dark, like the second entity living within his gaze, a second pair of eyes looking back at me from inside. Here's the agreement will need you to sign, he said, holding out a pen and pointing at a stack of papers three inches thick. Take your time and read through it all. You don't want to sign something you don't understand. His voice was amicable enough, but the look of the contract told me otherwise. Not only was it as thick as a book, it was typed in what appeared to be four or maybe five-point font, single-spaced and written in complex legalize. The first sentence was three pages long.

I looked up at the dead man on the platform and watched in horror as the man in the lab coat attached electrodes to his head and load a massive device that looked like a huge laser pointer directing a beam of energy at his forehead. The dead man began to conforce and shake, his eyes blinking open and closed, his arms started moving up and down, his legs pumping as if he were on a stationary bicycle. Oh my God, I muttered, trying to tear my eyes away from the scene unfolding up there so that I could read the first sentence of the NDA gain. Or try to. It was a brain buster. The party, heretofore referred to as the viewer, would be obligated to. to on completion of this contract and without prior understanding of the event

heretofore referred to as the disturbance will. I got about the same part as before then blinked my eyes as the words became fuzzy and I lost my balance amidst the jumble of tiny letters. It was utterly unreadable. All set, the man in the suit asked

flipping the pages until we were back at the top of the stack at a spark-marked signature. My eyes drifted up to the platform again, and I saw the dead man was now actually beginning to sit up. He was looking around the room dolly, like someone who'd just woken up from a long sleep. Impossible, I whispered. It's impossible. With a shaky hand, I signed the contract. My signature barely legible. Perfect. Now, I think you deserve to have the rest of the day off.

don't you? To reflect. I nodded my head, giving the man his pen back. Jim, show this man out and get him a ride home. He shouldn't be driving after all he's been through. He patted my shoulder in a condescending way. You've had such a busy day. Go home and get some sleep.

I went with a security guard to a waiting vehicle, and the man in the suit called after me. Don't forget about the NDA. You can't tell anyone about this. I turned around, not saying anything. I realized, after I got home, that I needed to tell people about this. The NDA be damned, I thought, getting this out to share with all of you. It's important, I told myself.

They're stealing corpses and forcing them into undead servitude. It's evil. That's like end of the world. zombies taking over apocalypse-level nonsense. The man in the suit suddenly made me think of a necromancer. Some evil sorcerer bent on keeping people alive against their will. I was starting to think that he wasn't a man at all, but something else, as I thought back to the thing I'd seen hiding in his gaze.

Who knows what endless tasks the dead of Disneyland are being forced into by that dark modern-day wizard? Someone has to do something about it. And maybe this is the first step towards stopping him. A few years back, I got a text in the middle of the night. I was a high school senior, and my parents had pretty much given up on keeping me in check. As long as no one was getting hurt, they could focus all their attention on my three younger sisters. So, there was little to keep me from sneaking out to see what the fuss was about.

I met my friends down by the path leading to Frog Lake. There were six of us, led by Brandon and his devotee, Vicky. They were all gathered in a little group along the path, and it wasn't until I stepped up that I could see why. There was a dead body on the road. A middle-aged man, he'd been dead for a few hours, and, judging from the tone of the others, they'd just found him like this. This unfortunate man had been reduced to a novelty.

The others had already rifled through his pockets, and they had all agreed not to call the police. Instead, they were going to let someone discover him on their morning walk. But while the others were chatting about getting grossed out, Brandon was making plans. They'd already taken all the loose cash from the deceased man's wallet, but that wasn't quite enough. They were talking about putting lipstick,

on or giving him a weird haircut, but Brandon wasn't having it. He discovered him, and he wanted something special. Vicky, give me a pencil, he finally said, this'll be good. She handed it over. Brandon carefully punctured the man's throat in two spots, using the pencil. I was surprised to see so much blood run out, even though the man was already dead. What are you doing? protested Vicky.

Give me my pen. The others just looked at the corpse, stunned. It looked like there been some kind of vampire attack, with two puncture wounds right on the artery. This'll get him talking, grinned Brandon. Absolutely hilarious. There was an article about it the next day. Some old lady had found the dead man and noticed the wounds.

She called the police. The cause of death was determined as some kind of aneurism. But that's not what had people talking. The vampire bite was far more interesting. Brandon was so damn proud of himself. There was even a short national news segment about it. You remember the story about the Minnesota Blood Soccer?

Yeah, that was us. No vampire business. Just terrible kids being terrible. Although the whole thing was debunked, the moment you actually read, the story, the headline was enough to bring national attention. But that's just where this story starts. Not a lot of people have heard about what happened next. Days later, I was meeting Vicky and a friend at a nearby gas station. Vicky had a car and we were going out for Chinese food.

There was this guy coming down the road, sprinting. He had these ragged clothes and looked just Dreadful, unkempt beard, wild hair, sunken eyes. He just ran right past us like the devil was chasing him. He didn't even look at us. He just kept going with floppy shoes hanging on seemingly by Wilpower alone. All across town, similar people showed up. From second-hand accounts, I've counted at least six different people. All of them panicked and barely coherent.

One ran into the local police station, another into the school cafeteria. Some were arrested, others dismissed. But they all said they were looking for the same thing. The Minnesota Bloodsucker. The first time I talked to one of these people, I was standing in line at the ATM. At first I thought they were homeless. They looked apart. But when he came up to me, I could tell there was some.

something strange about him. He had these tiny, tiny pupils. His eyes were almost completely white. He was shivering and had trouble keeping his balance. He was going through everyone in line, asking us one by one. Do you know the blood sucker? When it was my turn, I didn't know how to answer. Instead, I just shrugged it off. You know it's fake, right? I scoffed. He had a an aneurysm. No, he responded. No, it's real, it's here. We gotta find it. He had this absolutely desperate look about him, like his life depended on it. He was on the verge of breaking into tears, keeping it all together by a thread. To me, it had all been a big inconvenience, a lie taken a form of its own. But to this man, the bloodsucker was the realest thing in the

world. Brandon and the others weren't paying attention to any of it. To them, desecrating a corpse had just been another day. They did this kind of thing all the time. Hell, Vicky was practically a vampire already. She was up all night with Brandon most days, missing class and partying like four times a week. From what I'd heard, she was taking some pretty nasty stuff. Pills. But people around town were getting a bit paranoid. They might have been able to convince themselves that this was all a hoax based on the articles, but with these people showing up, it was kicking up all kinds of rumours. People were putting their ear to the ground, paying attention, soaking up the rumours. And where there's rumours, there are angry and worried people

calling the police. They started a neighbourhood watch and the police were pressured to take action. Brandon had a house party broken up because of an anonymous tip that he knew the bloodsucker. Not that strange, considering Brandon was the bloodsucker in a sense. One Friday night, Brandon was calling us to his place for a house party. Considering how the last one went, I wasn't interested. Besides, it was almost midnight, and I'd cuddled up in my bed. I just ignored it. The next day I went over to his place. We usually went out together for lunch on Saturday, and he'd been unusually quiet. I got there around noon.

Vicky's car was in the driveway. Brandon's parents had gotten him his own place about a year back, so there was no one around to check on him. Even so, I got a bad feeling. Vicky didn't like spending the night outside her place. When I stepped inside, I could tell something had gone down. There was a couch overturned, and there was this strange, iron-like smell in the air. A glass table had been shattered and dry flowers from a broken vase lay across the floor. A couple of blue sunflowers Vicky had gotten Brandon when he moved in.

It looked like there had been an insane fight. There was even some blood dripping of a splatter in the ceiling. How the hell did it get there? At first, I didn't know what to do. I just stood there, calling out for Brandon, or whoever might hear me. I got no response. There were no bodies, just an unlocked door and an absolute mess. I called the police right away.

They took over, and I got to hear that several people had been reported missing. This was the first lead they had. There'd been at least six people there, three of which had been reported missing. They'd probably sneaked out in the middle of the night, and their parents had noticed their empty beds in the morning. I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it. This had to do with a blood sucker, but was it retaliation? Or something else? Having unknowingly dodged the bullet, I started getting paranoid.

This did little to slow the rumours. Now, there were even more people talking about the bloodsucker, and things were getting out of hand. Although this was mostly reported locally, there were interviews, articles, and missing people posters handed out all across town. Putting up a poster for Vicky and Brandon was one of the most surreal experiences of my life.

It was like their pictures were staring at me through the paper, asking me, where the hell I'd been that night. People were asking me questions. My parents, the police, social services, a lot of people had the impression that I knew something. And sure, I knew all about Brandon's prank on that dead body. But I wasn't telling, not outright.

Then again, I didn't see the relevance. It was just a stupid rumor. So, I just shut up about it. I got through countless innocuous talks. They were all being so friendly and understanding, but constantly prodding me. It's as if they just couldn't believe that I had no idea where Brandon and the others had gone. We just want to talk, they all lied, to see how you're holding up. This painted an enormous target on my back.

Everyone knew I spent time with Brandon and the others. So, when days turned into weeks, people were growing desperate. I was getting dozens of calls a day. I remember once when the paper called to ask me about them, and I just screamed, I don't know anything, maybe the bloodsucker got them, I don't know. Shouldn't have said that. I really shouldn't have. This just kicked everything up a notch.

I was brought into the police station and interrogated. I was brought. to the school counsellor with my parents. There were endless phone calls from newspapers and worried parents, as well as a few internet nut jobs. The Minnesota Bloodsucker was turning into a headline. People don't just go missing by themselves. I stopped going to school.

Those awful moments in between classes or when I walked around on my own just ruined my nerves. I imagined hearing people talking behind my back or some unknown presence looking. at me from afar. This rumor about the bloodsucker had taken over my life. I thought about telling the truth. I really did. But when you've lied for weeks on end, you can't just start changing your story overnight. My parents cut me a cheap car so I could go straight home from school. But cheap cars are cheap for a reason. And one night in late May, the thing broke down

completely just off the highway. I'd been a bit careless and spent some time after school with a friend. I'd had a few beers and probably shouldn't have been driving in the first place. So I was a bit anxious about calling for help. I had to manually push the car off the road. It was almost 8pm and there was an awful wind blowing. Drops of rain smattering across the windshield and this cold howling sound echoing across the highway.

There was a storm coming. cars rushed by as I anguished about what to do. It was either my parents, the police or AAA. I finally settled on calling my parents. I had my thumb hovering above the number for a few minutes, trying to build up the courage. I've been a pain in the ass lately, and this wasn't making things easier. The faint smell of beer didn't help.

There was no way for me to prepare for what happened next It was quick. One of the ragged men had walked up the side of my car with a tire iron. I pressed the call button. I was showered in glass. Hands reached for me through the broken window. I kicked and crawled into the passenger side, trying to get away. I didn't even notice my hands were bleeding.

Looking back at it, I realize there are a lot of blanks. I was panicking. I have no memory of it, but I think I was. was screaming. I remember my throat being raw as soon as I came to. But there, in that moment, I was just trying to get away. But I remember one moment clearly. As I got out on the other side of the car, I met the gaze of the strange man who attacked me. This time, his eyes were completely white. It was as if he was looking straight through me or seeing something in me that I wasn't.

But those eyes, they haunt me. That's one thing I can't forget. I just ran. Just off the road was a large grassy field leading into a pine forest. It was easy to follow in my footsteps, but what choice did I have?

It was like I'd forgotten how to breathe. My body just got into this weird autopilot mode and I just kept going. I could hear screaming and there was rustling in the grass. behind me. As I got to the edge of the forest, I went straight through the underbrush. I cut myself raw on every kind of bush and thorn there was. They went from one person to four. It wasn't until I gained some distance that I heard they were actually calling out to me.

It wasn't just screams. Please, one of them screamed. Please, sir, talk to us. They all said the same thing. They begged, they pleaded. They screamed. They screamed. Screams went from panicked to furious to hopeless. They were just broken. I found a small hole, mostly covered by one side of a pine tree. I crawled in and reached for my phone, only to realize I dropped it in the car. It was probably still waiting for me to push down on my mom's number. I have no sense of how long I stayed there.

Hours, probably. I heard them shuffling about, looking for me. One of them got dangerously close, rushing by the tree I was hiding next to. As they passed me by, I heard one of them muttering to themselves. Gotta find him, they weased. Gotta find him. Not too late. Gotta, gotta find him.

I caught a glimpse of one of those white eyes through the roots and branches. I just closed my eyes, held my breath, and waited for it to be over. One way or the other. At some point the sky had gone dark The wind had picked up But the rain was still just trickling down I couldn't hear any screams And it had been at least an hour

Since I last saw one of them shuffling about I got up only to realize I didn't have the slightest idea where I was Everything looks different in the dark fumbling about I noticed the space between trees growing larger I might not be going the right way, but I was at least getting out of the forest. As I reached a small glade, I stumbled over something.

I couldn't see what it was in the dark. Taking a moment to stop and listen, I noticed I stumbled, not over a something, but a someone, someone gasping for air and coughing up blood. The clouds parted, casting a slim ray of hope. In a short moment I could see blood and a pair of white eyes looking up at me. It was the strange man who had attacked me. This time, he wasn't looking at me. He was looking at something behind me.

I turned around. I could see their black silhouettes against the sky. Six headless bodies floating in midair. I recognised their clothes. arms and legs swaying back and forth in the wind and there standing in the middle of the glade was a man the memory comes to me as a fever dream

this Armani-flavoured businessman standing in the middle of nowhere arms resting at his side back straight in a stiff posture well-kemed black hair he had some sort of Mediterranean features but it was hard to tell I couldn't peel my eyes off the floating bodies

held aloft by invisible strings gently rocked by the wind the man stepped up to me I could barely breathe it was as if my body forgot how to run there was just something about his eyes that just made me freeze and wait for him to speak

he gently shook my hand with an ice-cold grip it hurt my veins just to be near him You brought a lot of attention to me, he said. His voice dripped with threat. He had the kind of low voice that was just on the edge of turning into a growl, like hot chocolate, but so hot it'll burn your tongue. I don't appreciate this level of scrutiny, he continued. It ends now.

I... I know, I weased. I'm sorry. Some woodsmen are seeking me, he said, eyeing the dying man I tripped over. You and your acquaintances brought them here. It, they, it wasn't our choice, I stammered. They, they just... He lost control, a monster seeping through the cracks. His skin turned white and cracked, like a snake shedding its marble skin.

His eyes turned dark. His mouth unhinged, revealing three full rows of sharp teeth with two prominent fangs. In a moment, it was as if he grew by several feet. I wasn't looking straight at him anymore. I was looking up at him. I am indifferent to your excuses. His fingers were so long they almost wrapped around my neck twice. He could have popped my head like a grape.

Instead, he slowly squeezed my neck and lifted me up. I could feel my pulse pounding against his fingers. You will tell them it was all you. You will tell them there was nothing in the dark. You will lie. I tried to nod, but I couldn't. I was standing on the top of my toes, trying not to break my neck. You will lie.

I was thrown to the ground. I tried forcing air into my lungs. Through the tears that welled up in my eyes, I saw the vague shape of the monstrous man picking up the bleeding person I'd stumbled over earlier. Maybe he'd been saved as a snack. The last thing I remember before running blindly into the woods was the sound of a cracking neck

and blood pouring out of a shivering body like a juice box. blood reflecting off a pale skin bright drops dripping into open unblinking black eyes six headless victims held hostage by some unseen force saw me turn my back on them and i ran like a bat out of hell the next morning i lied i told everyone about the prank i told them it was all this stupid thing that got out of hand and i told them it was all this stupid thing that got out of hand and i told them I had no idea what was going on. I lied about Brandon and the others, saying I didn't know what had happened. I lied about my car, saying I walked home, and that someone must have broken into it while I was gone. I lied about everything, and I still couldn't sleep at night. If there was even the slight chance that I was missing something or outed that thing in any way, I'd be dead I was sure of it

A few years down the line I feel like it's time to speak up An anonymous post online Is as far as I'm willing to take this But it's a start I've left that town behind The whole state But every now and then

I get an email or a strange friend request Someone asking uncomfortable questions and to this day, I lie. A few years back, I had the worst streak of bad luck in my entire life. My dad, my one living parent, got run over at a pedestrian crossing. My fiancée left me. I lost my job at the warehouse and had to move to the outskirts of town because of a sudden rent spike.

My one stroke of good luck was my friend, Gareth. He mainly worked the commissionary at a nearby prison and told me they were looking for more people, mainly night crew, but the pay was solid. There was a trial period and two weeks of on-the-job learning, but it was all paid for. In my position, how could I say no? So I started my job as a corrections officer just outside of Tomscog, Minnesota. The place was partly owned by a private company, but it was basically the same logo you'd see all over town. Hatchet Farmer has a finger and everything around here. I got the uniform, I met the inmates, I went through the routine and I got to know who to keep my eyes on.

I had to fire my taser after three weeks on the job, but that was pretty much the highlight. Most of the time is just sitting around waiting for something to happen or breaking up loud conversations. It's not as dramatic as it sounds, but you've got to be ready for when it counts. In December of 2021, I was assigned to a new route. One of the people working with inmates in solitary confinement had to quit over a health scare, and I was next in line to take his place. It was still a night gig, but in a deeply disturbing part of the jail.

Now, I won't paint it to be something it's not. Isolation is just a whole bunch of people keeping to themselves, usually not even that many. Sure, the Tom'scock facility has a slightly higher solitary capacity than normal. We're talking 10 to 20% at most. Still, you need someone there at all times. You never know what they can come up with, and they're trickier than they look. There was this one guy at the end of the hall that just gave me the creeps. The other guards called him Mary, short for a longer biblical name I could never remember.

He always broke the lights in his cell, and he was rumoured to be extremely violent. Even in solitary confinement, he had to wear shackles. Every time he received his food He had to put his hands out to have the shackles removed So he could eat That's basically the only part of him I ever saw His hands The cell was always pitch black

The guy used to be an academic Mary had three doctorates But one day He just snapped Killed three of his students He also had some kind of chemical burn on his arms leaving most of the skin on his hands discoloured, silver poisoning possibly. Even his files were strange, stamped with a sort of blue flower.

Most in Nates had a stamp on their file, but he was the only one with a sunflower. The guy refused to eat during the day, so I was the one to feed him on the night shift. Every time I removed those shackles, I'd see those gnarled blue hands reach for me, or the tray, whichever. One of those nights, we were having beef stew. Nothing fancied to look at, but the thing smelled divine. I brought him some bread on the side, a little jello box and a bottle of water. Everyone else was fast asleep, apart from a newbie who couldn't stop crying at the end of the corridor.

Same procedure as last time, I said, hands up front. Those elongated fingers slowly slid out. as if giving me an invisible fruit. The shackles clattered. I put down the tray, got the keys, and started twisting the locks back and forth. These were always a pain to deal with. You're going to let me out, Mary said.

I need you to, so you're going to. Yeah, I don't see that happening, buddy. I unlocked his shackles and fetched this tray. He took it, but lingered. it for a second. You're going to, he said, with no hint of a joke. It's already decided. Well, no one showed me that memo, I juggled.

You're good in there. Someone said, bad things happen to you, Mary said, and that's why you're here. Well, that makes two of us. Have a nice dinner. I walked away, but couldn't help but to look back as those long fingers slid back inside the dark room. Gave me the creeps every time. And sure, I had to get the tray and cuffs back up in a bit, but that was just part of the job.

The next night was fish sticks. Not too shabby, but far from fresh. There were only three people in solitary that night, two guys who tried to kill each other, and merry. Always merry. As soon as I approached, those blue hands slid back out. I had to look away. There was something about the texture of his hands that made me feel weird,

like they were always a bit too slick, like a thin cover of soap. This time, he didn't skip a beat. You're going to let me out, he said. It's already decided. You keep saying it, but this door just seems as sturdy today as it did yesterday. If you come in, you'll see why you're going to let me out. You mean, if I opened this door without any kind of backup of supervision, yeah, I got a pretty good idea why you'd get out if I did.

That's not it. I unlocked his shackles and he took his tray. It disappeared into the darkness. But Mary kept talking. You being here is proof that I made it, he said, that I'll get out. I'm not following. They told me you lost a lot of things. Your dad, your girl, your apartment.

There was poison in his words. Deep, seething poison. I'll be honest. I wanted to break his goddamn hands when he said it. But what bothered me more was where he'd heard it from. There was no one around to talk to him. And as a rule, we didn't talk to inmates about our personal lives. Neither our own nor that of other employees.

Someone must have slipped. Look, that's personal, I said. That's none of your business. Then, how do I know your dad got hit by a white corolla? I banged on the door. I didn't even know why. It was just this instinctual reaction to shut him up. But of course, that just made him laugh.

How the hell did he know? It had been a hit and run and the color of the car was only a footnote in the police report. That's not funny, I spat, and you're not making any new friends by being an asshole. I don't care, little man, he continued, because you're going to let me out. Not at my goddamn life. I took the tray back from him before he finished his dinner and I shackled him right back up. He didn't resist. It shut him up for a while, but it was a faint victory.

I asked to be transferred to another shift, but there just wasn't any other people available. Hiring was rough. We were basically on our own. If we lost one person to Cygnus, we'd be out of luck at that point. So no, there was no option to switch. It couldn't be done. I didn't want to go back to Mary. I really didn't.

I didn't know who was talking to him, and I didn't like what he was saying. I checked and double-checked, and there was no mistaking that white corolla. It had gone 60 on a 30-mile-per-hour street and killed him on impact before disappearing down a dirt road. The thing was just gone. The police said it might have been deliberate that it was too fast to be an accident, and in my mind's eye, I could see. blue hands on the steering wheel. When I walked up to Mary's cell

with a tray of meatballs and mashed potatoes, I was genuinely scared of what he might say. Every word felt like a threat. Could he really say something to make me let him out? What if he could? What would it be? Hands out, I said, knocking on his door.

You're not letting me out tonight, he sighed. I know that. but it's gonna happen. Yeah, yeah, I shrode. That's all I want to do. Did they tell you what I did? How I did it.

I got a pretty good picture. Helium poisoning. Painless asphyxiation. They didn't feel a thing. I didn't respond. I just took off his shackles and gave him the tray. I'm not a monster, you know, he added. I just do it.

what I have to do. Eat up and leave the tray, I said as I walked off. Maybe ask your ex about Beverly, he shouted through the slit in the door. I could almost see his lips moving. I'm sure you'll find it an illuminating conversation. I didn't want to do it. I didn't want to talk about it and I didn't want to think about it. But God damn it, there was something there.

In the last fight we'd had, she'd shouted that name. Beverly. I didn't know a Beverly, and at that moment I didn't care. But it was such a specific name. The chance that Mary just picked it up on random was improbable. So the next shift, before my work, I decided to give my ex a call. Things had calmed down after all. There was a cold greeting and even called a small talk.

Finally, she just called me out. Just tell me what you want, she asked. I want to talk about Beverly, I said. You said a name once. What, you're getting remarried, want to bury the hatchet? No, I... What? You want me to forgive you, give you my blessing?

What are you talking about? There was a moment of silence. She scoffed. The skank you're dating? I'm not dating, Beverly, I said. Never have. Don't give me that. I saw your emails, her video, her Insta.

Look, I don't know any Beverly. She screamed her username and cut the call. I got online and looked her up. Beverly was maybe eight years younger than me, and absolutely stunning. She'd only been active for a woman. a few months where she uploaded a sort of daily video blog. It was heartbreaking.

In every post she talked about the issues of being the other woman, a vlog kind of thing, daily outfit posts, memes, a sort of strange mix. This is the woman she thought I'd been involved with through some kind of email? It didn't make sense. And how the hell did Mary know about this? This haunted me. I didn't know what to think, and I felt myself coming back to Mary and his blue hands. I had this constant sense of him being with me, looking at me.

It felt like I was missing something. I could feel that strange, slick texture as the hands wrapped around my neck whenever I let my mind wonder. I could feel his presence in the back seat of my car riding along with me. And once at a stop sign, I heard him clear as day right behind me. You're gonna let me out, but there was no one there. The next time I went back, I skipped the tray. We were gonna figure this out. I finished my coffee and thundered down the hall, ignoring the other inmates.

Mary had some explaining to do, and I was goddamn terrified of what he was gonna say. but I needed to hear it. You're going to tell me what you know right now, I said. I've had my black coffee and I'll break your goddamn hands. You let me out and it'll all be clear, chuckled Mary. I promise, it's kind of written on the wall at this point. I smacked my nightstick against the door. No more games.

Then come in, teach me a lesson. Open the door. I calm down. Maybe this was how he got to me. Tricking me. That wasn't going to work. No way. Your shift starts at 10.15, Mary said.

You take your black coffee and you came here. First thing you did. Hold on. He shuffled off into the back of the cell. There was a strange scratching sound and he was gone for a solid minute. I just listened, trying to figure him out. I shone a flashlight inside, but he'd hung up a sheet over the slit in the door. I couldn't see anything without going inside.

So there was your dad. You reacted to that. Then a Beverly. That worked. What made you lose your last job? Was it? Ah, let's say, a failed drug test. Yeah, that'll work.

What the hell are you talking about? And you don't do drugs? Probably some kind of error. Maybe a few. Poppy seed pastries for breakfast. Those things can give a false positive. I just stood there, mouth wide open. The morning of the mandatory drug test, I had three pastries with poppy seeds.

The bakery down the street were giving them away as a promotional event. I got this awful pit to my stomach. Like he knew more about me than I did. Like it was about to tell me something horrible. Like it was standing right behind me, just soaking up my fear. So what brought you here? I'll have to figure that out later. Maybe you know someone here.

He continued. Shut up, I said, hitting the door. I'm telling you to shut up. I looked over my shoulder. There was no one else here. Why was I feeling what? Calm down, Mary said. We're getting to the end.

You're about to let me out. Never, I spat. You're going to rot in here. Don't you understand? He yelled back. The fact that you're here proves that I'm right. How? How does that make any goddamn sense?

And then... He told me everything. Mary, or Meridian, was given an opportunity. If he followed a very specific set of events, he would be given a great gift. Non-locality, he said, but you need to dissociate hard enough,

basically turn yourself crazy enough for reality not to make sense anymore, or rather for you as a person not to make sense to reality, the other way around. As a part of this delusion, he killed three of his students, he burned himself with chemicals, then seemingly, as part of his plan,

he willingly went to jail. Years of darkness, he added. Isolation, like being in a sensory deprivation tank. I need it. I crave it. Then, I'm done. And all for... For what? To be unbound.

No causality, no rules, non-linearity. and the fact that you're standing here is all the proof that I need to know that it's going to work. And why is that? Don't you get it? A blue hand slipped out of the slit in the door and pointed at me. I did all this to you. I put you here. Someday you will let me out because if you didn't, I wouldn't get you to come here.

And that time is drawing close. I don't need this darkness anymore. I feel it. I'm done. That's impossible, I said. That's literally impossible. Then why are you sliding down the wall? Feeling sleepy.

I hadn't even noticed. I was nodding off right there in the hall. I tried to touch my face to see if I could feel anything. Did you? Yes, Mary said. I drugged you. I couldn't have if he hadn't told me about the black coffee. But now that you did, I could.

It's all on the list, and what's on the list is going to happen. I don't understand. Imagine you could travel through time, he juggled. Not today, but someday. And you promise yourself that you're going to put a rose outside your door on this very day, in this very present. and when you open your door, the rose is there. Then you would know that you're going to get that power. You know that you will come here someday.

Then it all comes down to strength of will, to force yourself to remember all that you're going to do, and in the correct order. That's not, I... An image flashed in my head. Blue hands on the steering wheel of a white corolla a man paying the bakery to promote some pastries, a woman being paid for a bit of internet theatre by an unknown benefactor.

There were dozens of people standing at the end of the hallway. Thin emaciated men, men with long fingers and blue hands. I blacked out. I woke up in the staff room with a nurse looking into my eyes. They gave me a check-up and sent me home to rest up. They gave me a few days off. just to make sure. I didn't know what to say. I had my keys and Mary was still in his cell. If I was the one to let him out, all I had to do to make sure that didn't happen was the stay away.

That had ruined his plans. So taking a few days off seemed perfectly fine. I was about to leave when Gareth met me in the parking lot. He jogged out to say good night and to see if I was okay. Look, he said, I know you hate that shift, but don't worry about it. They're moving him. I've heard talks about approving a shift change. It'll be someone else's problem, and you'll be back in cell block D. What do you mean? They heard how much he was messing with you, Gareth said, and decided it wasn't worth it.

They're moving him. We can't lose you. What? Why? I, uh, gee, I thought this was good news. No, I, I don't know. Breath patting me on my shoulder and sent me on my way. I didn't know what to say.

How could I explain it? Did I even believe it? I got in my car and took a deep breath, a strange chemical smell. I noticed something on the passenger seat. A letter. I took a deep breath and opened it. Thanks for the help, it said, This one's on me.

A little smiley face, and a hundred dollar bill. I just stared at it. Suddenly there was a loud bang. For a heartbeat, all I could see were blue hands, simultaneously smack in my car. I shot out the driver's seat, but there was no one outside, just an empty parking lot. Still, I couldn't help but feel watched.

My balls pounded behind my eyes, almost popping a blood vessel. They were out there. He was out there, watching me from the dark. He was still getting out. I knew he was all around me, unbound. He could stab me, push me over, whatever. He'd be there and then not, and I'd be helpless. I got this intense sense of paranoia washing over me

and I didn't know how to deal with it. I just dug my fingers into my hair trying to force my mind out of that dark pit. This was my doing. I'd let him treat me like this and because of it they were going to move him. During that move he'd get out. He must have planned it

and I couldn't do anything about it since I was off duty. I took another look at that $100 bill, and a thought occurred to me. There was something I could do. I went to the gas station. I came back the next day with a backpack. I showed my credentials and told the gatekeep

that I was there to fetch something from my locker. It was fine. Danny knows me. I got in on the day shift and waved at the others. A few of them asked how I was doing, what I was doing, the regular chit-chat, all smiles and waves. Prison transfers take place in the early afternoon. It'll only be a short walk, but that might be all the time he needed to escape. I use my keys to get past cell block D.

I knew I get stuck on a camera, but I also knew that prisoners were out in the yard. No one was watching the test. not this close to lunch. I walked straight into the solitary ward and all the way up to Mary's door. Wait, he said, you're... You're here? Yeah. No, that...

That doesn't make any sense. Send me home then. Have someone shoot me. I'm waiting. No, wait. That doesn't... Hold on. There was a shuffle as Mary hurried into the back of his cell.

I couldn't feel them here. We were alone. I unzipped my backpack and took out a doorstopper. I shoved it under the door. That thing wasn't moving any time soon. I stepped over to the fire alarm and pulled the handle. The emergency doors opened with a violent blaring siren. Every door swung open.

But Mary's. I was lucky that time. No one in the solitary ward, but Mary and I. Hold on. What are you doing? I took out one more thing from my backpack. A can of gasoline. I shoved it through the slit in the door, tearing down the sheet he'd hung up. Oh, you're killing me. That's what this is.

It Yeah, and I see no little blue hands trying to stop me So I guess it's working Maybe you're missing the point Maybe you're not doing what you're supposed to And how exactly is that a bad thing It keeps you from getting out Half a can was enough

It was leaking under the door I took out a gasoline-soaked rag lit it on fire And tossed it through the slit For a split second, the room lit up. The walls, the bed, even merry. I got a short view of the room as it was, and what he was doing in there. He had drawn things on the wall and the floor.

White Corolla, Beverly, poppy seeds, black coffee. The wall was full of things, arrows, lines and squares, all related to me. These were all things he was gonna do when he got out And he was so convinced that I was the one to let him out So convinced that it had all started to happen And then there was Mary himself He was more bone than man Sunkan eyes like he hadn't slept for weeks

He had torn his hair out and bit off his fingernails This was a completely senseless man and he stared at me with unblinking eyes. But in that moment as the flame started to lick him and the fire spread into the hallway, he looked me in the eyes. And smiled, I just bolted out of there.

Hundreds of inmates were gathering in the yard and I could already hear sirens. I could see flames bursting out of the solitary ward. Before the firefighters could get there, one of the walls completely collapsed. And I saw him, just for a brief second. I saw that emaciated man standing in the flames, holding his hands out like he was receiving a gift. The chemicals in his arms ignited with a bright green, and they'd burn straight through the wall.

And the thought hit me. Technically, he was out. He might be on fire, but he was out. And in that split second, in that heartbeat, like snuffing out a candle. Hours later, the fire was put out. It didn't spread. Turns out, that part of the jail had a peculiar type of stone

that was weak to high temperatures. The stonework just crumbled. Some kind of exposure to a certain chemical. A blue one, with a great, flame. The construction crew had jeeped out on materials many years ago. There were no records. They'd forgotten to change the tapes from last night. There were no visitors' logs. Barely anyone remembered me even being there. And lastly, there was no body recovered in that cell. As I got back in my car, I just held my breath, waiting for something to happen.

A knife at my throat Possibilities pass through my mind In another place it all really happened Violent images of myself getting stabbed Burnt tortured and flayed A world where everyone turned to ash And I was placed in front of a throne of bone As a prize jester

Dark figures rising from the earth Tearing the world apart Breaking the ground like an egg shell I cried. It was seconds away at most, but minutes passed. I found a letter on the passenger seat. It hadn't been there three seconds ago. It took me a solid 15 minutes to work up the courage to open it.

You got me out, it said with a smiley face. And there was another hundred-dred. dollar bill. Merrin had plenty of friends at school, but he lived out in the suburbs, and the neighborhood he lived in rarely had kids his age. When Van first moved in across the street, the two became fast friends. Van was homeschooled by his parents, which Merrin thought was kind of weird and lame, but otherwise it was cool as hell. They were the same age, but Van always seemed older and smarter. In a weird way, it was like how to be a having the older brother he'd always wanted.

They'd spent hours playing games or out exploring, and over time Merrin found himself wanting school to be over, just so he could go hang out with his real best friend. Yet, as close as they were, it was nearly a year before Merin became aware of a strange custom Vans' family kept to every single day. Merin already knew that Vann's grandmother also lived with his family, But she slept most of the time and never left her upstairs bedroom so far as Mirren knew.

What he came to learn, however, was that every morning and evening, Van had to spend an hour with her. At first, he thought it was just Van's parents wanting him to spend time with his grandmother before she died. But over time, Van said enough that he learned she was always asleep when he was in there. And it wasn't just about him sitting in there. Bored with a sleeping old lady for a couple of hours a day. Van was embarrassed, but eventually snuck Merrin in during one of his visits with his grandmother. Maren didn't know what to expect. Van sat in a chair next to her and turned on a tape player, then started playing some sad old song.

He then picked up a ground spiral-bound notebook and started reading from it. Hello Granny. My name is Van der Bilt Amerson. But you and everyone else calls me Van. I don't remember when I was born, but you do. It was a snowy night up in Empire, which is where we all lived back then. You sat with my father in the hospital waiting room, keeping him calm until the doctor came out and said I was born.

You were 53 years old then. It was January 3rd of 1972 and... What are you doing in here? Van broke off reading as we both turned. to stare at his mother. She looked pale and scared as she looked between us. But Collar came back as her expression

grew angry. Van, you know no one can be in here during this. Even your little friend. You go back to reading now. As I started to stand, she grabbed my shoulder firmly and propelled me out the door, closing it behind us.

She gave me a forced smile. Sorry, he has to do that alone. It's a private friend. family thing, so please don't mention it to anyone, all right? Merrin, I nodded with a frown. Yeah, sure, Mrs. Emerson, but what was all that? Why was he saying he was born so long?

She gave my shoulder another firm squeeze. Private, Merrin, I know you're his true friend, so I ask you, keep this to yourself and don't pry any further. Even with him, he is very sensitive. about it. You understand? I didn't. Not really. But I still nodded. Seeming to be satisfied, she let me go and led me down to watch TV until he was finished. Van didn't mention it again when he came down, and I left it alone.

We cautiously avoided mentioning it for the next several years, as odd as that might seem from the outside. It was weird, sure, and I was still curious, but I cared about him and his family, and I guess my desire to understand was outweighed by my love and respect for them. When it came up next, we were 15, and Van was kind of the one that brought it up. A bunch of guys from school were going to go camping, and I'd invited Van to go, but he said he couldn't go because he had to read to his grandmother. every morning and night.

He was mad about it, said how he thought it was stupid, and nothing was going to happen if he missed once or twice. But that his parents wouldn't hear of it. When I told him he wasn't a big deal, that I could hang back and we could just camp in the backyard or something instead. He seemed to get angrier, though he was sad now too.

No, you can't do that. You're my best friend, man, but you have to live. I don't want you. you trapped just because I am? I wanted to ask what he meant, but I held back. If he wanted to tell me in time he would. Instead, we just played cards for another hour, and then I went home to pack for the camping trip. The trip was fun, but he was all tempered by my guilt at leaving Van behind. It was unfair how his family treated him, forcing him to spend so much time with someone who probably he didn't even know he was there.

And really, what was the big deal if he skipped their dumb ritual once in a while? It was all frustrating, and by the second night, I sat up late, poking the campfire. I decided I was going to talk to him about it when we got back the next day. Hey man, what's up?

I jumped and gave out a small yell. Looking around, I saw Van at the edge of the campfire, grinning at me. What the hell, man? What are you doing out here? He gave a small laugh. Just coming to hang out. I plan on getting here earlier, but...

Damn, this place is kind of far out, and I had to walk the last part after catching a ride to the gas station. Van glanced around at the campground, with its neatly cordoned-off tent site and built-in campfire. Still, you guys aren't exactly roughing it in the deep woods, so it wasn't too hard to find you when I got to the parking lot. I was happy to see him, but I still felt a small worm of worry in my belly.

I leaned forward, keeping my voice too low to be heard by the nearby tents. But Van, aren't you going to get in trouble or something? Did you at least do your evening time with your granny? Van's expression darkened as he shook his head. No, screw that. I'm done with it. And if I'm ever going to convince my parents' BS, now is the time. I didn't read to her tonight, and I won't be there to do it in the morning either.

I puffed out of breath. Okay, well, yeah, man, if that's what you want, but your mom's going to be furious. He grinned. Letter, maybe this will wake her up. I love them, but damn, man, they are way too uptight about all this. Swallowing, I decided to get it out before I lost my nerve. Yeah, about that. Why do you do it?

Or why do they want you reading all that stuff? Is there more than what I saw that one time? Sitting down on a log across the fire, he shook his head slowly, and I felt bad because I could see he was embarrassed. I went to take the questions back, but he raised his hand to stop me. Nah, I'll tell you. If I'm going to tell anybody, it might as well be you. It's weird stuff, though.

Trying to keep my face neutral, I just nodded and kept quiet as he went on. He sighed. To answer your question. Yeah, there's tons more to it. Forty-five pages now, though it gets longer as I get older. It... He paused, looking across the flames at me. Jeez, you're going to think you're all freaks if I tell you.

I shook my head. I won't. Don't tell me if you don't want to, but I won't think bad of you or them. You're my best bud. I know you're cool. He grinned at me and shrugged. Okay, screw it. So they have me read all this stuff about myself.

The first part is really weird. That's the part you heard that day when we were younger. It's all this stuff about me being born in 1972 and my grandmother being there and more stuff about me being a baby back then. which is crazy because I'd be like 50. Yeah, what are they talking about? What do they want you to read made up crap? He smiled awkwardly at me.

Oh, it gets weirder. Okay, I'll shut up and listen. Well, they have me read to her about me being a baby, what I looked like, time she spent with me, that kind of stuff. Then there's like a gap. Until that time I carried you up to watch I don't know why the gap was there But they sat me down and told me

Anyway, I'll get to that So after the gap it jumps to when I'm a toddler Things I say and do Trips I took with my granny Then I'm older talking about me going to school Her pulling my first baby tooth And this just goes on until I'm caught up to the age I'm reading it That's why it gets longer over time

I said I'd stay quiet But all this was so insane I blurted out of question In spite of myself Why? Van nodded That's what I always wondered I mean, I've done it since I was old enough to read

When I was real young Mom would read it But she made me follow along I have most of it memorized But they taught me to always read it Just to be safe said it needed to be said just right and always the same. But I've always known it was weird.

I'm homeschooled, but I don't think the other kids were reading stuff like that to they're permanently sleeping... Oh yeah, that's another thing. She's always asleep. Like, always. I frowned. How does that work? Is she, like, in a coma?

He shrugged. I don't know. They don't feed her or give a medicine that I can tell. They just... Well, they change the sheets every two weeks and wipe her off. But I don't know how she's alive like that. But she is alive. Just always asleep. Always dreaming.

Dreaming? I could see her shadow of fear on his face now. Yeah, that's what they finally told me. Or at least, that's part of it. It's going to sound super weird, so I apologize ahead of time. I gave him a smile I didn't feel. No man, go for it. No judgments.

Well, my parents told me that I was born in 1972, that them and my grandmother are older than they look, that most people in our family live really long lives, and that's why what happened to me hit them all so hard. Okay, what happened? to you? I died. They said I died suddenly when I was two years old. I think the other kids and our family have died young like that too since, but I was the first. And when it happened, my parents and grandmother, they kind of went crazy. They have a lot of strange beliefs. And they said they tried

different things to bring me back, but nothing worked at first. Bring you back from being dead. From being dead? He sighed. I know, but you have to go with it for now. So they spent years and years trying and nothing ever worked. Then finally, after over 30 years, my grandmother found a way. My parents call it the grand sleep. Basically, they claim she entered this permanent sleep, a magic sleep, and while she's sleeping, she can dream things and make them real. Only one thing at a time though and it takes all the focus to keep it going all the time. Okay, so what did she dream of? He looked pale in the orange firelight.

Me, according to my parents, like 11 years ago, she went into the grand sleep and after a few months of them talking to her about me every day, I came back. Oh, well, I wasn't exactly the two-year-old dead version of me. I was four now, but as far as they could tell, I was otherwise the same little boy they'd lost. I lasted a week before fizzling out, and they freaked out, but they managed to get me back and keep me by reciting stuff about me to her twice every day. It wasn't because she didn't want to keep me alive, they said. She loved me very much too. It was just that, even within knowledge and talents, when you're in the grand sleep, you're

in a dream and in that dream it's very easy to forget what you were doing or even who you were and if that happened for too long the thing you were dreaming into life would disappear jesus van gave me a pain smile and shrug they that's why they have me read it to her she said it works for them, but it's better if the dream talks directly to the dreamer, makes it easier to remind them of why they're in the sleep and how important it is to keep the dream alive. He gave a shaky laugh and wiped at his eyes. Damn, I told you it was crazy stuff. I felt my jaws tinsing with anger. It's messed up is what it is. It's child abuse. They taught you that you had to read that crap

to her or you'd die? Stop existing? Who does that to a kid? Marin, they believe it. They really do. They're good parents and they really do love me. They're terrified that if I don't. The sound of him died the same moment that Van disappeared, as though a shadow had fallen upon him and devoured him whole.

Van? Oh God, Van! I looked for him. But of course he wasn't there. And once I accepted that. I woke up my other friends, not to tell them that Van had been erased in front of me, but lying that I was sick and had to get home right away. It was three in the morning when I got to the neighbourhood,

but when I turned to go to Van's house instead of my own, I saw his mother waiting at the open door. I started crying. I'm sorry, I didn't know, she stepped aside to let me in. Looking at her, I could see she'd been crying too. Of course he didn't. How could you have? She leaned over and gave me a brief hug before pulling back to look at me. You were with him when it happened. You saw it?

I nodded, sniffing. And had he told you of his nature, why we had him do what he did? Yeah, tonight he did. It was still telling me when it happened. How did you know it happened? Her expression was stricken. Because my mother died two hours ago. After so long of sustaining him, they were inextricably bound. She couldn't survive without him any more than he could her.

I, but I thought we, I thought maybe she could bring him back again. Mrs. Anderson smiled at me, sadly, touching my face gently. I led her to gasp and felt a sting on the side of my neck. Behind me, Mr. Anderson was pulling back a syringe. Not with her, Merin. But we still have hope in you. I have tried to be a good mother, Merrin. I tell myself I have.

But I have no illusions about the fact that all my efforts to protect my son have also limited his life in so many ways. That's why you've been such a blessing to us all. You gave him a life outside his family, a true and good friend that, in many ways, knows my son better than any of us. That's why it has to be you. Before you were placed into the grand sleep, you shared your memories of Van and your innermost thoughts, and most of it was given willingly.

For those things I had to pry free, I hope you will forgive me. But writing all of this down, it reassured me that, like us, you truly love that. and want him back, that perhaps you know him better now than even his own mother. So, I'll read this to you every day for as long as it takes. The words are correct, and I feel sure that our dedication and desire to have him back will overcome any deficits as a dreamer you have compared to my mother. It just requires willpower and patience, time and love. And we have all these things in spades.

don't we? So dream deep, dreamer. Dream well. Dream of your friend, our baby. Think only of that. And one day, it will be him, reading you these words. I haven't always been the best, brother.

Not that I didn't love Nathan, I did. But we were never close after we got into high school. And by the time I hit 30 and lived on the other side of the country, he'd become someone I'd call at Christmas and birthdays and awkwardly chat with for ten minutes before one of us decided to let the other one off the hook.

That changed a couple of years ago. He started calling me more regularly and he got less weird. After a few weeks, he started opening up more, telling me more about his life, his plans and things that were worrying him. The biggest was his health. He'd started to start to be.

started feeling tired all the time, even though he was eating the same and made sure to get enough sleep once the fatigue started. I joked to them at first that he was just getting old, and he laughed, but I could tell he was still worried. He eventually went and got checked out by a doctor, but they said he was fine other than being a bit dehydrated. They gave him some low-grade sleeping pills to help his sleep, be more restful, and suggested he try yoga of all things. To his credit, he tried all that and more, but he just kept getting worse.

By early last year, I could tell he was near the end of his rope, and I offered to come out to visit him. He was resistant at first, but eventually he let me fly out for the weekend. When he picked me up from the airport, I couldn't hide my shock. He was only 35, but he looked like an old man. His hair was patchy and grey, and his skin was loose and sallow. I'd seen photos of him from his 33rd birthday, and he looked strong and healthy. Riding back to his house, I could see the skeletal ridges of his hands and tiny wrists as he feebly gripped the steering wheel like a life preserver through every stop, start and turn. When I asked him what was wrong, when he was hiding from me, he just shrugged and shook his head.

Doctors still sound fine, other than being dehydrated and underweight. They claim I'm exercising too much. But Don, I swear I'm not. I haven't been to a gym in over a year. He gave me a dry laugh. Too tired. I just stared at him. Nate, this isn't exercising too much.

You need to see a different doctor. Not trying to be mean, but you look really bad. Like, you've aged a lot. When he glanced over at me, there were tears in his eyes. I know. Of course I know, but I've seen five doctors, and they all say they can't find anything wrong. When I point out how I look, they just shrug it off, say I'm probably putting my body under too much strain with my exercise regime. He snorted. One of them actually suggested all I needed was a vacation and some hair dye. I frowned at him.

Are you not drinking enough? I mean, that can miss you up, right? And they say you're dehydrated. He shrugged as he grabbed a sports bottle from between the seats and took a huge gulp. A year ago, I started drinking 100 ounces of water a day. Now I'm up to 200. Nothing helps. Can you think of anything else that could be causing it?

Nathan hesitated then. He seemed about to say something more. But then, he thought better of it and shook his head. No, nothing that makes sense. I didn't push it then. And when I did push it on the way back to the airport two days later, Nathan resisted, told me he appreciated my concern and the visit, but it was just something he was going to have to power through.

When he waved me goodbye, there was a sadness and fear in his face that almost made me go back and force him to tell me what he was thinking, what he wasn't telling me. But even then, we weren't close enough that I was comfortable doing that. I told myself that he had a right to his privacy, and the best thing I could do was be supportive. I kept talking to him regularly.

Up until the time, he was found dead in his yard two months ago. We were told that the cause of death was cardiac arrest, brought on by extreme exhaustion. and dehydration. A few weeks later, when I was helping my parents sort through Nate's stuff, I found a letter he'd written to me back weeks before he died, but never sent.

I considered showing it to my mom, but decided it would just upset her worse if she knew his mind was going well before he died. When I got home, I read it again, hoping it would make more sense than it had the first couple of times I read it. It said, two years ago, I was lost, driving back from visiting the parents of the girl I was dating

at the time. I saw a woman walking on the side of the road and pulled up to her, rode down the window, and asked which way it was to the highway. She was a beautiful woman. She smiled at me and asked if she could have a ride. I almost said yes, just because of how she looked. But then I hesitated. How did I know she wasn't dangerous?

Being a hot woman didn't mean she couldn't hurt or kill me. I tried to ignore her question and asked again if she knew which way it was to the highway. Smiling wider, she asked again if I would give her a ride. Part of it was because I figured she was saying she'd tell me where to go if I gave her a ride. Part of it was because I thought she was flirting with me. And despite my fears and dating Patricia, I was powerfully attracted to her. I didn't want to be that guy, but that didn't stop me from wondering what might happen if I let her into my car. So I told her yes. I told her yes and turned to unlock the doors.

And when I turned back, she was gone. It kind of freaked me out at the time. I even got out and looked around for her. were just stupid but it didn't matter. I didn't find her or anyone else. After a circle of the car, I got back in and drove on, eventually finding a sign that led me to the highway and on home. The nightmare started that night.

Dreams of running down lonely midnight roads and misty swamps, a weight across my back, something cold and hard lay across my tongue, tugging me this way in the, that as we wove between black cypress trees, wet mud splashing against my legs. When I would start to slow or tire, a sharp heel would jab me in the ribs, spurring me forward as a warm breath leaned forward and whispered curses into my ear. The voice tells me that I'm cursed, and I must keep running, that if I stop, the curse

will catch me and swallow me whole. I know how that all works, but I've had very eight. are the dream for nearly two years now. I don't tell the doctors because, what good would it do? I could bring them pictures of the times I wake up with dirt or grass covering my legs and feet, but they would only say I'm sleepwalking, or worse, that I'm lying for attention or have a mental problem. I've wanted to tell you, brother,

but I've been afraid it'd drive you away when we're finally getting close again. None of that matters anymore. I can feel time tightening around me like a noose. It'll be over soon, and I don't want any of you around when the lady starts looking for a new nightmare to ride. The more I think about it, I'm better off to not send this at all.

I can mean it as a warning, but if it just brings you back to help your poor, crazy brother, how am I protecting you at all? No, I'll just keep you. acting as normal as I can. And when it's done, when I'm gone, oh no, she'll be gone too. If you find this letter later, just know, then I'm sorry for not being more honest. Maybe I am crazy after all. That would make more sense, wouldn't it? But I somehow don't think I am. I think she's real. The riding is real. And if I'm right, you just need to

stay away. Stay away and be careful. Love you, little brother. The nightmare started for me that same night. At first, I assumed it was just the power of suggestion, my mind trying to make sense of my grief and the strange story I'd found in the letter by blending it all together and forcing me to drink it night after night. Except it was night after night. For seven weeks, I've had similar bad dreams of being ridden almost every night, and each day I wake up sweating and afraid and exhausted. The fatigue has been grown worse. At first, I could beat it back with coffee and a nap on my lunch break, but for the last couple of weeks, I've been like a zombie. My joints ache, my muscles are sore, and I have trouble focusing on anything for more than a few minutes.

I've been seriously considering going to a doctor and trying to decide how much to tell them when I go. I didn't think I was sick and I didn't believe some witch was riding me around at night, of course, but something was going on and I needed answers. As it turned out, the doctor I went to first was my dentist. My jaw had been hurting more in the last week

but when I woke up yesterday, my teeth were painful on both sides. I had to pay extra to getting quick, but I didn't mind. I wanted to fix something, even if it was just stopping my mouth from hurting. The dentist was an older man with a fringe of white hair and tight little silver spectacles that bound on his nose as he looked at my teeth and gums with a pick and mirror. frowning slightly, he finally leaned back and hit the button to bring my chair back upright. Have you noticed you grinding your teeth a lot in your sleep?

I shrugged. I mean, maybe. I've been having a lot of bad dreams lately, so maybe I do it without knowing. I see. Do you wear a mouth guard or anything else in your mouth when you sleep? I raised an eyebrow. No? Do you think I should?

He studied me for a moment. Hmm, maybe, but you're not sure you don't sleep with something in your mouth? Or have something you repetitively chew on during the day, maybe? Don't be embarrassed if you do. People chew on all kinds of stuff. I shook my head slowly. No, I really don't. Why?

What are you getting at? The dentist puffed out of breath and folded his arms. Normally, when someone is grinding their teeth at night, the wear and tear is going to look one of several ways, depending on the shape of their teeth, the shape of their mouth and jaw, and how they're grinding it altogether. But yours, you do have spots where I see abnormal wear, but not like I'd expect from you grinding your teeth. It reminds me of. He gave a laugh and stopped himself, shaking his head. What? I could feel myself growing irritated and nervous.

It reminds you of what? Looking more serious, he gave a slight nod. It's silly, but okay. My father was a vet and a horse breeder. For a long time, I thought I was going to be a vet too. And growing up, I helped my dad a lot with our animals and those that came to him for treatment. One of the things that we saw a lot was called

bitware. My heart was pounding now. What's that? Well, you know when you ride a horse, a lot of times they have a metal bit in their mouth to help control them. It sounds bad maybe, but it's not a cruel thing if the bit is worn and used properly. Still, over time, the metal of the bit will wear away at the teeth where it sits and rubs, creates a little bevel on both sides where it hits the teeth the most. He smiled. Now our mouths are different than a horse's mouth. But if I didn't know better, I'd say what I was seeing in your mouth was bit where.

It's the same area on both sides of your mouth, both top and bottom, like you've been biting down on a bit. I tried to swallow. That's so weird. He started jotting a note down. Well, I'll get you fitted with a note. nightmouth guard, that'll probably fix it up. Glancing back up at me, he chuckled, and if someone is riding you, tell them you need a break from time to time.

I felt my skin grow cold as I offered him a weak smile. I'll try, but I don't think she'll listen. As a hotel clerk, I've seen my fair share of strange guests come and go, but the residents of This hotel in particular are on a whole different level. The eerie whispers and footsteps that I would hear in the empty corridors at night, the way customers would disappear for days on end, only to reappear as if nothing had happened. The way the air seemed to chill whenever I went into certain rooms. But then I started to notice the little details.

The way guests would avoid making eye contact with me as if they were hiding something. the strange symbols and markings etched into the walls and furniture the way the hotel seemed to shift and change when I wasn't looking I knew I had to get out of there but I couldn't bring myself to leave I was drawn to the hotel

to its secrets and its mysteries I had to know what was really going on even if it meant risking my own sanity I could have left but I didn't A strong curiosity kept me here, and I've worked long enough to have some pretty wild stories. Now I'm ready to share some of my story. But be warned, once you start listening, there's no turning back.

You'll be drawn into the darkness just like I was, and you'll never be able to forget what you find within these walls. I'm kidding. Enjoy. When I started working here, I didn't know what to expect. It was never briefed above service-level instructions. Dealing with guests was my number one priority, so I sat front and center to anyone who walked in. One time when I was still relatively new, as I stood behind the reception desk, I heard a soft knock on the door. I looked up and saw a tall, thin man standing in the hallway. He was pale, with dark circles under his eyes and a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead.

He looked like he hadn't slept in days. Can I help you? I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. The man's lips curved into a faint smile. I'm looking for a room, he said. His voice was low and raspy, like he hadn't used it in a long time. I hesitated. for a moment. There was something about this man that made me uneasy, but I couldn't just turn him away. After all, that's what I was here for. Of course, I said, forcing a smile. We have a few rooms available.

Do you have a reservation? The man shook his head. No, I just need a place to rest for a few days. I've been travelling for a long time. I raised an eyebrow. It was unusual for someone to just show up without a reservation, especially at this time of night. But I didn't want to pry. I didn't want to know any more about this man that I had to. That's no problem, I said, grabbing a key from the drawer. We have a nice room on the third floor.

It's quiet and private. The man nodded, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. That will do just fine. He said. I handed him the key and watched as he turned to leave. Enjoy your stay, I called out. But he didn't respond. He just disappeared down the hallway, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

For the rest of the night, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. Every time I looked up, I expected to see the pale man standing in the doorway, staring at me with those dark, empty eyes. But he never came back. The next morning, I heard a commotion coming from the third floor. I rushed upstairs to find the room the man had rented the night before. But it was empty. The bed was made, the curtains were drawn,

and there was no sign that anyone had ever been there. I searched the rest of the hotel, but the man was nowhere to be found. It was as if he had vanished into thin air. I knew then I wasn't dealing with a normal guest. I was dealing with something much more sinister. Another time, as I was making my rounds, I heard a strange scratching noise coming from one of the rooms. I knocked on the door, but there was no answer. I tried the handle, but it was locked.

I hesitated for a moment. unsure of what to do. The scratching noise was getting louder, and I could hear a faint hissing sound coming from inside the room. It sounded like something was trying to escape. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open, bracing myself for whatever was on the other side. But what I saw was beyond anything I could have imagined. There, on the ceiling, it was a creature that looked work across between a spider and a human. It had long, spindly legs and a pair of glowing eyes that stared down at me. I stood, frozen in shock, unable to move or speak. The creature hissed and lunged at me, its sharp claws scraping against the ceiling as it moved. I managed to snap

out of my trance and ran out of the room, slamming the door shut behind me. I could hear the creature pounding on the other side, but I didn't look back. I just kept running until I reached the safety of the reception desk. From that day on, I avoided that room at all costs. I didn't want to know what other horrors were lurking within its walls. I just focused on my job and tried to forget about the strange guest that called that room home. There was one particular guest who always made me uncomfortable. Every time he checked in, he would try to lor me into his room with promises of untold riches or secrets of the universe.

But I always declined, knowing that there was something sinister lurking behind his charming facade. He was a tall, handsome man with a smooth voice and a magnetic presence. But there was something off about him. His eyes were cold and empty, and there was a darkness that seemed to raise. radiate from his very being. Despite my reservations, I couldn't help but to be drawn to him. There was something intoxicating about his presence, and I found myself drawn to his room time and time again. But each time I approached his door, I would hear a voice in my head warning me to turn back, and each time I would listen to that voice and retreat, leaving

the man alone in his room. I knew that I had to stay. away from him, no matter how tempting his offers may have been. I couldn't allow myself to be drawn to his dark world. I had to stay strong and resist his charms, no matter the cost. After a while of working here though, I started getting used to my strange customers. I learned to keep to myself for the most part, and that no one could help me if I was ever caught out. I wasn't alone, though. Besides the other staff, There was once a second hire to help out at the front desk. He was a young man named Daniel.

He was bright and ambitious, and I could tell that he was destined for great things. But unfortunately, he wasn't as careful as I was. One night, Daniel was making his rounds when he was caught by one of the guests. He was a succubus, a creature that feeds on the life force of humans. It had been disguised as a beautiful woman, and it used his charms the Lord Daniel into its room. The succubus played mind games with Daniel, making him believe that he was in control of the situation. It told him that he was special, that he was the only one who could understand its true nature. And Daniel, flattered and entranced, was unable to resist his charms.

I can imagine that if I dealt with it first, I would have most likely fallen for the same thing. Let's just say, it was very persuasive. As soon as Daniel entered the room, the succubus revealed its true form. The creature was a terrifying sight to behold. It was slender with long claws and dark red eyes. Its skin was pale and clammy, and its mouth was filled with horrific teeth. I don't know exactly what happened, but I heard Daniel screaming for help.

from one of the rooms, so we ran to see what was going on. But, by the time I got there, it was too late. Daniel was lying on the floor, his body twisted and broken. The place was in shambles as if a natural disaster had been entirely located in that room, and the succubus was nowhere to be found. When I asked management about what had happened, they told me that Daniel didn't exist. They said that I must have been imagining things, but the scream I heard was just in my head. But I knew the truth.

I knew that Daniel had been real, and that he had suffered a terrible fate at the hands of one of the strange guests. I couldn't help but feel guilty about what happened to him. If only, I'd been there to help him. Maybe things would have turned out differently. Maybe not. but it was too late now all I could do was learn from his mistake and be more careful in the future

one of the regular guests at our hotel is a strange and unsettling creature that reminds me of something out of a lovecraft story it has an elongated and exaggerated body and many writhing tentacles that seem to blur in formless ways like an aura and it moves in a way that is both graceful and terrifying. Despite its fearsome appearance, the creature is actually quite harmless.

It is a bit of a prankster and it loves the mess with people's senses. It can change its shape and size at will, and it can make itself invisible or even appear as something else entirely. I have had several encounters with the creature, and each time it has left me feeling disoriented and confused. It has the ability to manipulate my perception of reality and time, and it can make me see and hear things that aren't really there. It is like a living hallucination, and it is both fascinating and unsettling.

Despite its strange and terrifying powers, the creature is actually quite timid and shy. It is rarely seen by anyone other than the staff, and it is usually seen. content to stay in its own room. It only comes out to play when it is feeling particularly mischievous, and it usually disappears as quickly as it appears. Despite its unusual and unsettling nature, I've come to see the creature as more of an

annoyance than a threat. It's not aggressive or dangerous, and it rarely causes any real harm. It is more of a nuisance than anything else, and I've learned to ignore it and go about my business. But even though the creature is not a threat, I can't help but feel a sense of a knees whenever it is near. His presence is unsettling and disorienting, and it reminds me of the vast and unknowable horrors that lurk beyond our understanding. It may be harmless, but it is also a reminder of the darkness that lies at the heart of the strange hotel, and I sometimes question its motivations when it's pulling.

one of its pranks and wonder what is doing while the staff are disoriented. Something I learned was that I had to deal with a strange and often inexplicable rules put in place by management. They were a mysterious group, always shrouded in secrecy and never seen in person. The memos were faxed by an ancient-looking machine that never seemed a neat filling and always worked perfectly. An anomaly in and of itself, if you know what? what dealing with printers and such are like.

One of the most puzzling rules was that we were not allowed to ask any questions about the guests. If a guest requested something strange or unusual, we were to fulfill their request without hesitation or curiosity. It was as if management didn't want us to know anything about the guests or their true nature. Another rule was that we were not allowed to enter certain rooms, even if they were unoccupied. These rooms were always marked with a red sticker on the door, and we were warned that severe consequences would before anyone who dared to enter them. But, despite these strange rules, I continued to work at the hotel, drawn by the strange and supernatural occurrences that happened there.

I couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and wonder at the thought of encountering one of the guests and experiencing their otherworldly powers firsthand. And yet I knew I had to be careful. I'd seen what happened to Daniel, and I didn't want to suffer the same fate. I had to be vigilant and always on my guard, lest I become the next victim of the guests that temporarily called this hotel home. Despite the challenges and dangers of working at the strange hotel, I've had many pleasant experiences with the guests that frequent this place. of them are fun and friendly and they make my job enjoyable and rewarding. One of my favorite guests is a mischievous fairy who loves to play pranks on other guests and the staff.

She is always getting into trouble, but she's so charming and cute that it's impossible to stay mad at her. She has a knack for making people smile and she always brightens my day when she comes to the front desk. I remember one time when she snuck into the kitchen and spiked. the chef's coffee with a potion that made him dance uncontrollably. It was hilarious to watch, and even the chef couldn't help but laugh. But then she got into trouble with my manager, and I had to help her apologize and make amends.

Another guest that I enjoy interacting with is a ghost who haunts one of the rooms. He is friendly and gentle, and he loves to tell stories about his life and his time in the hotel. He's a great listener, and he always has a kind word to say to me when I'm feeling down. I remember one time when I was feeling particularly stressed and overwhelmed, and he came to me and offered to help. He suggested that we go for a walk in the hotel's gardens, and he told me stories about the history of the hotel and the people who had lived there. It was a great distraction, and it helped me to clear my head and relax.

But my favourite guest of all is a shapeshifter who can take on any form that she desires. She loves to play dress-up and she often comes to the front desk in the guise of famous celebrities or historical figures. She's always full of surprises and I never know who or what I'll be talking to when she arrives. I remember one time when she came to the front desk in the form of a beautiful princess and she asked me to help her find a lost tiara. I was skeptical at first, but she was so convincing that I couldn't help but believe her. We searched all over the hotel,

and we eventually found the tiara hidden in one of the guest rooms. It was a fun and exciting adventure, and I was glad that I could help her. I'm grateful for the opportunity to interact with such fascinating and unique guests. They make my job exciting and rewarding, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. I talk confidently now, and that's because of experience. Once you really get the hangar this place, it starts becoming easy to not get caught out.

But there have been a number of close encounters. One particular night, as I was making my rounds, I heard a faint whimpering sound coming from one of the rooms. I followed the sound, and soon I came across a small child sitting on the floor. She looked up at me with big, innocent-looking eyes and asked me for help. I was immediately drawn to the child, feeling a search of compassion and protectiveness. I asked her what was wrong, and she told me that she was lost. She said that she had wandered away from her parents and that she didn't know how to find them.

I felt pity for the child. and I decided to help her. I asked her if she knew what room she was staying in, but she shook her head. She said that she didn't remember and that she was scared. A wave of her knees washed over me. Something about the child didn't seem right. She was too calm and collected for a lost child.

Her eyes seemed to be glowing faintly, and she moved in a strange way, almost drifting rather than walking. But, despite my missing, I couldn't bring myself to abandon her. After all, you couldn't judge people here on their appearance. I decided to take the child to reception where we could lock up a parent's information and help her find a way back to them. But as soon as we reached the hallway, I realized that something was very wrong. The child was attached to a long, slender tail like the kind used by anglerfish.

It was clear that the child was just abate to lure unsuspecting victims. I could never explain how, but this was all hidden from me until the last moment. I was frozen in shock, unable to move or speak. The creature lunged at me, its sharp teeth bared. But at the last second, I managed to snap out of my trance and dodges the attack. I ran out of the hallway and slammed the door shut behind me, locking it from the outside. side. I knew that I had to get away from it, but the creature was blocking the only exit back to the stairs. I looked around frantically, trying to find a way out, but the corridor I was in was small and cramped,

and there were no windows or other doors. I was trapped in a dead end, and the creature was getting closer and closer. Its claws were scratching at the door, trying to break through. It seemed it couldn't open doors, and the child-law figure might not have the motor function for something so nuanced. A small break for me, though the splintering word told me that my lucky break wouldn't last long. I could hear its sharp teeth gnashing and its breath rasping in the air. Filled with terror, I didn't know what to do. I was about to give up and face my fate when I spotted a small vent in the ceiling. It was too small for the creature to fit through, but I was slim enough to squeeze in.

I grabbed a nearby table that held a few small decorations and stood on it, trying to reach the vent. The creature was almost through the door, and I could hear its claws tearing at the wood. I had to act fast. I managed to unlatch the vent and push it open, and I scrambled up into the air duct. I could hear the creature bashing at the door, and it shrieks were. louder and more frenzied than ever. I knew that he was angry and frustrated that it couldn't get to me. I crawled through the air duct as fast as I could,

trying to put as much distance between me and the creature as possible. I didn't know where I was going, and I didn't care. I just wanted to get away from that terrifying monster. After what felt like forever, I finally emerged from the air duct and collapsed onto the floor of the reception. I was exhausted and terrified, but I was also relieved that I had survived. I knew that I had to be more careful in the future and to always be in my guard regardless of appearances. But, despite the danger, I couldn't help but feel a small thrill of excitement at the thought of encountering more of these otherworldly creatures.

though I hoped it would be less close for comfort. Speaking of, the reception area of the hotel is a strange and fascinating place. It is the first thing that guests see when they arrive, and it is the hub of activity in the hotel. But despite its busy and bustling atmosphere, the reception area is also a surprisingly safe and peaceful place. I have noticed that the more aggressive and dangerous guests tend to avoid the reception area They seem to sense that it is a place of calm and tranquility And they prefer to stay in their own rooms

Or roam the halls This means that the reception area Is a relatively safe space for the staff And we can relax and unwind there Without fear of being attacked But despite the relative safety of the reception area We can't stay there all night. There are many mandatory tasks and duties that we have to perform,

and these take us out of the safety of the reception area and into the more dangerous parts of the hotel. For example, we have to inspect the rooms and make sure that they are ready for the next guests. This means that we have to go into the rooms and look for oddities, and this can be risky business. Some of the rooms are inhabited by aggressive, or dangerous guests, and we have to be careful not to disturb them or provoke them in any way.

We also have to deal with the guests' possessions. Many of the supernatural guests have items that are too powerful or dangerous to be left unguarded, desired items that other guests might want to pinch for mischief, or worse. It is our job to make sure that these items are stored safely, and that they are not misused or stolen. This can be a challenging and dangerous task, especially when the guests are unpredictable or volatile. As the main hotel clerk, I have a variety of tasks and responsibilities that I must perform on a day-to-day basis. Some of these tasks are routine and mundane, while others are more challenging and exciting. Here are some of the examples of the tasks that I have to perform.

Check guests in and out This is perhaps the most important and essential task that I have to perform I have to greet guests when they arrive and have to make sure that they have everything they need I also have to collect payment and make sure that the guests are satisfied with their rooms do laps around the hotel Another important task that I have to perform

is to do regular laps around the hotel This involves walking around the hotel and looking for any oddities or anomalies that might need to be dealt with. I have to be alert and vigilant and I have to report any issues or problems to my manager. Deal with the guests requests and complaints. As a hotel clerk, I am the first point of contact for guests who have requests or complaints. I have to listen to their concerns and try to resolve any issues that they might have. This can be challenging, as some guests can be demanding or difficult to deal with. And or requests for food and drink.

One of the more challenging tasks that I have to perform is dealing with these requests. Some of the guests have very strange and unusual taste, and they often request food and drink that is difficult to find or prepare. Fortunately, our chefs are incredibly skilled, and they seem to be able to make any order. no matter how insane. Handle emergencies and security issues. In addition to dealing with routine tasks,

I also have to be prepared to handle emergencies and security issues. In a normal setting, this would be dealing with medical emergencies, fires or other disasters. But for me, I mainly have to make sure that the hotel is secure and that the guests are safe. Work with other. staff members. As a hotel clerk, I am part of a team and I have to work closely with the other staff members. This includes working with the cleaners, the maintenance staff and

other clerks. We have to coordinate our efforts and make sure that the hotel is running smoothly and efficiency while minimizing loss. A challenging aspect of my job is dealing with the most difficult guests. These can be key. guests who are demanding, rude, or cooperative, and they can be a real handful. But with this job, it could really be the widest variety of dangers, examples of which I've already mentioned. Report everything to management. As part of my job, I have to report everything that happens on shift to the management group. They have provided us with an archaic system for doing this and I have to make sure that I use it correctly and accurately. This can be a time

consuming and tedious task, but it is an important part to my job. Keep the hotel running smoothly. Ultimately, my goal as a hotel clerk is to keep the hotel running smoothly and efficiently. This means that I have to make sure that everything is in order and that all the guests are happy and satisfied. I have very little interaction with the mysterious group we staff know as management. This group seems to be in charge

of the hotel, but they have never actually seen any of its members in person. Instead, they communicate with us through messages that are sent through the archaic systems they have provided. These messages are often vague and cryptic, and they can be difficult to decipher. They usually tell us

what we need to do for the day or week, but they never provide much in the way of explanations or details. This can be frustrating as it makes it difficult for us to understand what is truly expected of us or the dangers we'll face during that shift. Despite this, we have to follow the instructions to the letter. We have no choice but to do as we are told, and to trust that they know what they are doing. It's an unsettling feeling. to be working for a group that we know so little about. Sometimes this makes me wonder what the real purpose of the hotel is

and what role we really play in it. I wonder if management has some ulterior motive or if they are a group of eccentric and supernatural individuals. I don't know the answer to these questions, but I do know that I'm grateful for the job that they have given me. Though I really shouldn't be sharing anything at all about this place. The information I've provided thus far puts no one at risk, so it's kind of a grey area,

but there are some things I can't talk about. I have access to many secrets and hidden knowledge unknown to the modern world. One of the most intriguing things I will share though is that I have come across a failsafe that is hidden away in the depths of the hotel. I have never seen it used, and I don't even know what it does, but I have read that it is only to be used in the most dire of circumstances. The failsafe is a small, unremarkable looking device that is hidden in a secret compartment in the hotel's basement. I've been instructed to never touch it and to never tell anyone about it. But, despite the warnings, I can't help but be curious about it.

I have no idea what the failsafe is or what it does. I've heard rumours that it can activate some kind of security system, or that it can seal off the hotel from the outside world, or that it takes the hotel away someplace far off, maybe even off world. But I have no way of knowing for sure, and the management is tight-lipped about it. Despite my curiosity, I have never been tempted to use the failsafe. I know that it is only to be used in the most dire of situations,

and I have never faced the situation that warrants its use. But I can't help but wonder what would happen if I ever did have to use it. I may never know what the consequences of using the failsafe would be, nor do I know if I'll ever be able to share it if I do. It could be the key to saving the hotel and its guests, or even the world, if something so catastrophic were to emerge from this place. Or it could unleash something terrible and unimaginable. I can only hope that I never have to find out. Every month, our hotel undergoes a strange and unusual inspection.

The inspector arrives without warning, and he spends hours scrutinizing every day. every inch of the hotel. He checks the most mundane and seemingly insignificant things, and he takes copious notes on everything that he sees. At first I thought that the inspector was just a normal, if not eccentric, secret government official. But as I got to know him better, I realized that there was something very strange and otherworldly about him.

He seemed to have an almost supernatural awareness of the hotel, and he was a very strange and he was able to detect things that no one else could. One of the things the inspector checks is the quality of the air in the hotel. He takes samples of the air in each room and he analyzes them. He says that the air quality is critical for the health and well-being of the guests, but I have no idea why. Forget this. He doesn't use a single device for this.

He simply raises his finger, waits, and notes down. down the results. The inspector also checks the water quality in the hotel. He takes samples from the taps in the pools, and he tests them for impurities and contaminants. He says that the water must be pure and clean. But again, I have no idea why. And again, the measuring device for all these samples are entirely done with the tip of his index. But the strangest thing that the inspector checks is that the inspector checks is that the

hotel's electrical system. He spends hours examining every wire and circuit and he tests the flow of electricity through the hotel. He says that the electrical system is crucial for the operation of the hotel, but I have no idea what he means by that. This test is done by him biting down on certain wires plumbed outside the walls connected to certain loops. All of the results are given to me to note down on the system. They are numbers specific to such a detailed degree that I wonder how he gets all that from just his fingers and teeth. Despite being given the information and seeing the variances in the results from month to month, I have never been told or seen anything that correlates to them. All I know is that they're

important. Despite my confusion and curiosity, I have learned not to question the inspector's methods. He's a strange and enigmatic figure and he seems to have a deep understanding of the hotel and its workings, which I blindly trust is in everyone's best interest. I can only hope that his inspections help to keep the hotel running smoothly and safely. Overall, I have decided to keep working here. The pay is good and I enjoy and enjoy interesting.

interacting with the guests for the most part. Plus, I've learned a lot about the hidden workings of the hotel, and I've access to many secrets and knowledge that most people don't have. I know that I will face many more dangers in the future, but I'm ready for them. I face the worst that the hotel has had to offer so far, and I've survived. I'm stronger and wiser than I was before,

and I'm ready for whatever comes my way. I'll stay here and I'll do my best to protect the guests and the staff. I will continue to learn and grow and I will use my knowledge and skills to keep the hotel running as smoothly and safely as possible. I know that it won't be easy, but I'm determined to do my part to make sure the hotel is a success. I am proud to be a hotel clerk at the hotel with strange guests, and I'm grateful. for the opportunity. It may be perilous, but it's also fascinating and exciting. I will do my best to make the hotel a safe and happy place for all of its guests.

My flock of 32 lambs in my newest and southernmost paddock were a mix of newly bought and some from my own lot. With only two rams last November, due to unfortunate cases of fly strike, I had lost a few rams, and my new ewes had not birthed many lambs during spring. I was fortunate that one had birth quads, each with a white dot in their foreheads. Four healthy lambs from one mother you is a rare sight. A local farmer, Jonathan,

had suggested a farm vet who had arrived in all black and supplied supplementary milk. I had to bottle feed them four times a day as the poor mother couldn't keep up with milk production. Sadly, one of the lambs passed the, way between morning feeds, an unknown cause had taken it. The land taketh what you oweeth, Jonathan whispered. At first I thought it was just old farmer talk for, I'm sorry for your loss.

Incineration, though a standard process for dead livestock, felt far too cruel for a baby, so I buried the body deep in my fields with the rest of them. I hoped that my good treatment of the creatures would visit me back in good calmer and nutritious grass for my livestock. The triplets, now six months of age, reside in the paddock I mentioned earlier. With their late birth, they are too young to breed and are separated from the ewes ready for the new season.

They sit larger than the rest. It was a sign that the supplementary milk had done them well and I'd fed them correctly, a proud achievement of mine. I'm relatively, be new at farming. The land I now own belonged to a relative on my dad's side and was eventually passed onto him. The land he had owned, yet not wanted, was given to me after his death. It took a lot of work and money to renovate it, and I've received a lot of support from the

nearby farmer since then. Even if they did find it strange that I suddenly wanted to become one of them. After months of intense studying to ensure the animals I raised would be treated well, I ultimately decided to start it easy with sheep. Unfortunately, I underestimated just how difficult they can be. Two weeks ago, I visited the lambs in the morning to find them walking non-stop in an almost perfect circle. They had been doing it throughout the night as the autumn grass had been worn down from their trotters. I even entered their flight zone, which usually would have sent them fleeing from me.

However, the lambs continued their march with their lower halves coated in mud and their eyes hazed. Not even my farm dog, Holly's barking and nipping could snap them out of it. In fact, they almost crushed her. The other farmers and I had suspected Listerosis,

aka circling disease, but it became a minute. mystery when the other paddocks were not affected, despite feeding on the same supplementary hay. It was as if their flock mentality had activated, and they were trying to flee from something. With people I didn't know arriving to see the lambs, it became an area mystery. Even local news took an interest in the matter. However, nobody yielded a solution. In the early days, I released one of my mentally-sufficient.

stronger all the ewes into the paddock, hoping the lambs would sense her seniority and break away from their trance. At first, she stayed clear of the group and grazed at the grass. But eventually, she too was drawn to the circle, as if magnetized. The other farmers were unsure of what to do. This behaviour had been reported as common with sheep left in pens for too long, but with the vast paddock to themselves, it just didn't make sense. Jonathan had lent me a few of his barn dogs to try and break the circle off, but they remained tightly packed and unresponsive. I reached out to multiple vets, unable to track down the one that had helped me with the quads.

In fact, Jonathan helped me with a lot of things, even going so far as to give me a you to aid with my lambing. Each vet that visited suggested Listeriosis. Some of the vets had theorized that the soil in the paddock had become contaminated. Nonsense. I told them that the lambs had access to my supplementary hay as frost began to claim the fields during the night and dawn. November's cold rain flooded the fields and created thick mud.

Day by day, the lamb's pathing formed a moat around the central path of grass. Despite everything, the patch of land in the middle remained dry. Some of the lambs began to pass away by day 10. Their starved and tiny bodies were stampeded and crushed to a pulp by the remaining yet dwindling numbers. Soon enough, the moat had become so deep that I could only see the top of their heads. The farmers came by every other day, equally intrigued. They'd watch on with focused eyes and raised brows. as if the sight triggered deep thought.

Each day they witness a drop in the numbers of lambs, but none of them would offer their condolences. With fewer live lambs, I used the poly system to lift the corpses out of the ground. Most of them were floppy, their bodies, the consistency of beanbags with their broken and crushed bodies. Some ripped apart from days of lying at the bottom.

Once cleared, we used the system to trap a live lamb, and lift them out. When we had gotten it to the surface, the lamb flipped out. Its body swung around violently as if it tried to get back into the pathing, and when restrained, it whipped his head around so wildly that it intentionally broke its own neck. Things like this happen, the land taketh what you oweeth, Jonathan assured me. His voice was calm and soothing. Did you speak to my guy, he asked. I never got his number after his visit. Do you think you can call him? I'll give it a try. He's hard to reach. When I visited the paddock this morning, their air was thick with moisture. The fog was suffocating and foreboding. It almost felt as if I was drowning. The grass under my

feet felt soft, as if the damp air had mixed with the mud and softened it. Between flemy coughs, I peered into the moat. At first, I heard nothing, with just four lambs, including the triplets, alive, just the night before. I was doubtful they would make it through the night. And then... I heard it. A wet, slippery noise filled the air. It sounded like somebody squishing a saturated sponge repeatedly.

As I crouched down to the moat, it grew louder. And despite my efforts to focus my eyes through the fog, I could only see dark blobs moving below. My feet shuffled away from the edge, fearing a mysterious figure would come from the fog and push me in if I leaned closer. An intense bleed sounded. It was harsh and loud, yet muffled like it came from under the surface, and suddenly a rhythmic thudding echoed from below. My flashlight illuminated the water droplets in the air and revealed a faint shadow of one of the lambs. I watched as it repeatedly slammed his head into the dirt

two other thumps in the distance following after each other. Instinctively I shrieked and tried to reach the depths below to stop the lamb, only for my fingertips to brush up against the now soil coat of the creature below. I recognised the material as one of the bigger dogcoats I had to give the triplets due to their size. Crackling trickled into my ears, almost like a faulty electrical wire or the sound of water and hot oil. At first it was practically impossible to hear it over the thudding, but it soon grew louder and louder and was quickly accompanied by strange vibrations in the ground. and I noticed the central island began to crack and break.

I pushed myself back onto my feet and took a few steps back, afraid that the cracks would infect the ground I stood on and swallow me up. I watched as the centre caved in like a sinkhole. The hole grew bigger, swallowing up the remaining dirt until there was just one giant hole inside of the moat. Suddenly the air became light, No more cracks, no more thudding, nothing. Time itself stood still, while my rapidly beating heart created the soundtrack of my panic.

And so, with unsteady feet, I approached the hole yet again. I feared that the remaining lambs had gotten stuck in with a muck, and my worry for them triumphed against my frightened nature. To my surprise, the three lambs were, remained, stood in place. A small mud mound remained. The lump wriggled and squirmed as if something was trapped underneath. Fearing that it was one of my lambs and that it would soon suffocate, I jumped in. I clawed at the damp dirt, the mud coated my hands and crawled under my nails, until I finally hit something ice-cold. It was a small lamb, less than a month old.

Not one of mine. After all, lambs are only birthed in the spring. Initially, it appeared to be dead, with the same dot as the triplets. I was almost sure it was the lamb I buried just months ago. But when it stood up on all fours firmly, I was almost sent into shock. I felt the need to cover it with a blanket and warm it up. However, something about the lamb seemed strange, as if, it was controlling the air around me, as if we were both the same end of a magnet. I stumbled back from the force, almost tripping over one of the hoof crevices on the pathing.

The remaining three lambs stepped forward and lay before the middle one. The act was practically cultish, more sacrificial. There was a sense of purpose in their movement, as if they'd been working up to this moment. Hey, I called out, followed by a whistle. They didn't spare me a glance. I knew that they had heard me. There was something different in their behaviour now than earlier. They seemed to have woken up from the trance they had been in over the past few weeks.

Frantically, I scanned the surrounding area. It was doubtful somebody would be in my land, but after these two weeks, my place had become a hotspot. Just beyond the fence of the paddock and through the lessening fog stood a dark figure dressed in black. Perhaps another farmer had arrived to check for any update. I opened my mouth to call out to them, but found myself lost for words. What was I shouting for? What was the emergency here? An impactful crack flooded the area, followed by a few less harsh ones.

I turned my head and witnessed in horror as a smaller, Lamb stomped apart one of the triplets' heads. And, although I'd come across plenty of corpses these past several days, this was different. My mouth flooded with saliva, and stomach acid soon followed. The pressure too much for my lips to hold back. And soon enough, I painted the ground with my insides. When I looked back, the lamb had begun to feast on the viscera.

Stop! I screamed, my hands waving dramatically in the air to seem huge and intimidating. Stop it! My throat burned as I cried, still coated with the mix of last night's meal and drinks. The lamb did not listen, and with the intense force pushing up against me, I could only watch on in disgust as it turned to another one of the triplets and did the same. In just seconds, it all became too much. Erratically, I climbed out to the hole and searched the service for help, but the figure was gone.

I was alone. Help, I called through the moisture. Please, come back. The skull burst and cracks echoed again as the lamb made contact with his final target. I didn't have to look. I couldn't. Feeling helpless, I ran. No matter how far I fled from the sea.

I couldn't escape the images in my head. The atrocity which happened right in front of me was barbaric, unexplainable, and left my stomach and knots. When I had created a large distance from the hole, I spared a look back, my feet still stumbling ahead of me. Through the fog, multiple figures stood eerily around the sight, staring into the crater below.

It was difficult to make out any identifying features. Suddenly, the surrounding ewes and rams in the remaining paddocks began bleating in unison, as the shadows around the hole shifted and moved. I didn't stick around for longer, fearing I owe the land much more than I could ever give it. As a child, I was always excited for Christmas. It was my favourite time of year, and I would spend the day. the entire month of December, eagerly counting down the days until Santa arrived. I would always make sure to leave out cookies and milk for him on Christmas Eve.

But one year, something happened that shook my passion for this season. That was the year that I learned that not all gifts come from Santa. Growing up, I was vaguely aware that we were not very well off as a family. I always had less than the others at school. The meals I brought in lacked the flair compared to my friends more colourful spreads, and surprisingly, I wasn't sad about this. But for some reason, I had it in my head that Christmas was different. I think I thought because Santa gave out the presents that I would get whatever I wanted,

probably from all my childhood movies that show the less fortunate protagonist have their dream come true for a day. I was convinced I was going to get what I was. I wanted and I non-stop dropped hints about what it was, the hottest toy in the market, a Nerf Endstrike mega Thunderbow. I dropped hints constantly to my parents about what specifically I wanted, what everyone else in school was going to get. I was filled with excitement as I anticipated the arrival of Christmas morning.

When I woke up on Christmas morning, I ran downstairs to see what Santa had brought me. I was thrilled to see a small pile of presents waiting for me under the tree. It didn't take long to sort them, as my parents had only one present each, which, retrospectively, they must have bought each other. Small things that were more gestures than gifts. I had the most, a grand total of two. The first one was some things for school, and I waited a moment with bated breath.

The second present was a box signed from both my parents. I was more than sure I knew what it was, so I just wanted to savour the moment. Let it last in my mind's eye for the years to come. I saw colour when I ripped a corner and I knew it was a toy. But when I stripped it of his paper flesh, I was distraught. It was close, but it wasn't a nerve Thunderbow. Some street market knockoff, was pretty much the same in all but name. But, as everyone knows, kids don't understand that.

I just knew I didn't have what I wanted for so long, and the betrayal I felt was too much for me to handle. Seeing that it came from my parents made all my ire directed solely towards them. In my anger and frustration, I stormed upstairs to my room and slammed the door behind me. I was so mad that I could hardly think straight. I couldn't believe that my parents had let me down in this way. I felt like they didn't understand me, and I hated them for it. I lay in my bed, crying and feeling sorry for myself. After Christmas, I found it difficult to shake off the feelings of resentment that I had towards my parents.

I felt like I had been cheated out of something that I deserved, and I couldn't understand why they couldn't give it to me. I knew that they loved me, but it didn't feel like it. I didn't know how to deal with these conflicting emotions, and they consumed me. I found myself snapping at my parents and lashing out at them for no reason. I was miserable, and so were they. Looking back, I realized that a Nerf Thunderbow was just a toy,

and it doesn't really matter that I didn't get it. But at the time, it felt like the end of the world. As the days went by, I was still feeling angry and upset about not getting it. I didn't know how to let go of those emotions. I was sitting in my room, staring at the wall and feeling sorry for myself, when I heard a knock at the door. My parents were out, so I answered it cautiously, with a chain on, as instructed for the rare cases when I was home alone.

As I opened the door, I was met with a sight that filled me with unease. Standing on the other side was a strange-looking man with pale skin and sharp angular features. He was dressed in a long black coat that seemed to absorb the light around him, making him appear almost ethereal. His eyes were barely visible through the darkness. That seemed to surround him, and I could barely make out the cold, calculating stare. I felt a chill run down my spine.

Hello, child, the man said in a voice that was both soft and cold. I have something you want. What do you mean? I asked, feeling a search of curiosity. What do you have? Enough end strike, mega thunderbow. the man said holding out a box I can give it to you if you want

I was stunned I couldn't believe what I was hearing a thunderbow was right here within my reach and all I had to do was take it but something about the man's offer made me uneasy

what do you want for it I asked I don't have any money I said trying to keep my voice steady Oh, nothing much, the man said, smiling, just a small price. But don't worry, it's nothing you can't afford. It was everything that I wanted. But I didn't know what the man wanted in return. I didn't have any money, and I didn't have anything else to give him.

But I was desperate, and I didn't want to miss out on this opportunity. Okay, I said hesitantly. I'll take it. The man handed me the box, and after he left, I tore it open eagerly. Inside, I found the Nerf Thunderbow, new and perfect. I was overjoyed, but at the same time, I felt a sense of fear and uncertainty. What had I agreed to? What was the price I had to pay?

This quickly left my mind, feeling like a man. off with the way better deal because I had what I wanted and he left before getting anything back I think I just justified it as some strange act of goodwill and pushed the bad thoughts away as time went on I quickly began to outgrow the toy as with all fat it was the hype that was exciting not the toy itself it was still a special and cherished possession but it no longer held the same all law that it once did. I had other interests and hobbies and I'd moved on to other toys and games. The years went on and I thought that I had left the memories of that Christmas behind. But even as

I moved on with my life, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. I started to have strange and disturbing dreams and which I was haunted by the man that had given me the toy. I would see him in my dreams, his pale and sharp features leering at me from the shadows. I would wake up in a cold sweat, feeling shaken. Sleeping became a chore, something that I dreaded rather than looked forward to at the end of a school day. I tried to push these visions out to my mind, but they always returned, more vivid and terrifying than before.

It was a haunting experience that left me feeling lost. These nightmares became worse. I found myself feeling more and more isolated. The strange and disturbing dreams that I was having left me feeling shaken, and I struggled to sleep at night. I would lie in bed trying to calm my racing thoughts and steady my racing heart. But it was a losing battle. The image of the man with a pale and sharp features would always return,

leering at me from the shadows of my subconscious. My breath would come in short, panicked gasps frequently. I felt like I was trapped in a never-ending nightmare and I didn't know how to escape. I struggled to cope with the feelings of fear and anxiety that consumed me. As the strange and disturbing dreams continued, I also began to see strange and unexplainable things in the world around me. I would catch glimpses of twisted and otherworldly shapes lurking at the edges of my vision.

I would hear whispers calling my name from the darkness. I would feel a strange and powerful force pulling me towards unknown and forbidden places at the edges of my mind. It was as if the barriers between reality and nightmare were breaking down and I was being drawn into a world of madness and terror. I was filled with fear, confusion, unsure of what was happening to me or why. I felt like I was losing my grip on reality, and I didn't know how to stop it. At first, I thought that I was just letting my imagination get the better of me.

I was still young after all, and I was known to have a vivid and active imagination. But as time went on, the things that I saw and heard felt more and more real. I started to see the man grinning at me in the course. corners of my room, in the shadows of trees, and even in the reflections of mirrors and windows. He was always there, watching me, and I could never escape his gaze. I was terrified of the unknown, unsure of what he wanted from me or why he was haunting me. I tried to tell my parents, but they just laughed it off and told me that I was being silly. I was horribly misunderstood since I couldn't properly describe what was happening and I didn't know how to make the hallucination stop.

The man continued to haunt me, eventually appearing in the faces of people on the street and in the whispers of the wind. I could always sense his eyes on me, even when I was alone. I was trapped in a never-ending nightmare. I never knew what he wanted from me or why he was tormenting me. All I knew was that it was somehow connected to the gift that the man had given me. I could feel the weight of my decision and the burden of the price that I had paid. I was trapped in a cycle of uncertainty and I didn't know how to break free. I felt like I was losing my mind and I was terrified of what would happen to me

if I didn't find a way to stop it. I stopped seeing my friends and cut school a lot. All of my time was spitting. into my room, huddled in the corner, trying to escape from the horrors that plagued me. I felt trapped, and I didn't know how to break free. I didn't know who to turn to for help. No amount of therapy or medications could help me either, and I grew distant from the world. When you can't trust your own senses, you lose any semblance of trust in anything. This ended up with me lying in my room, all lights on and the TV blaring.

Despite all the light bleed, the room still felt dark. I put on some cartoons as a comfort show, but the sound just passed through me, and I ended up passing out after days of exhaustion. The grinning face in place of the show I was trying to watch for comfort. When I woke up, I wasn't. in my bed anymore. I don't even think I was even on earth. The world I was in was a twisted and surreal place. Childered toys and memories were sickening visages of their innocent forms, dolls with razor blades for teeth, teddy bears with organic

eyes, and many things I can't begin to describe. I could hear the laughter of children, but it had a cold feeling to them. I could sense them. man looming in the darkness, mocking me at every turn. For myself, I was back to my child's self, the exact age for when I received the man's gift. I wondered through the toy-filled landscape, feeling more and more lost with each step. I didn't know what was wanted from me or why I was here. I just knew I was a prisoner, and I was at his mercy. I began following noises I heard, hoping to find a way out, but I found something else instead,

more children. They had been taken by the man, like me. I had no idea how long they'd been there, but they were just as frightened, which took a bit of my hope from me. They were huddled together, hiding in small spaces and behind discarded objects. I tried talking to one,

but was hushed and shoved away, and when in the open, I saw why. Some of the creatures were lurking, and when I was spotted, it launched. Immediately the others ran, seeing that it was distracted. I didn't get a good look of the assailant before I was torn apart. I felt everything, despite being what I could only describe as a red puddle on the floor. Even as it feasted on the remains of my chunks, I could feel.

the pain bouncing around my mind like a phantom pain. I never blacked out, but I also lost nearly all my senses, so it felt like waking up when I jolted up from the floor, around me smeared in a rust-colored stain. Then it all cycled again. Sometimes I'd bump into others when no danger was around. During these moments of respite, there was some sense of camaraderie. The consensus was that if someone was caught and left behind, it was no hard feelings, just your time for torment for a moment of relief for the others.

It was a shark in a school of fish system. As they shared their stories with me, I was deeply moved by the horrors they had experienced. I couldn't help but admire their strength. But the horrors haunted us all equally. We couldn't sleep in this world, and even if we could, the love. lurking abominations didn't give us time to rest. Exhaustion was constant. Pain was eternal.

One of the children, a girl named Lily, made her deal when she was just six years old. She had been desperate for a new doll and she had begged her parents to buy it for her. Her parents had refused. Lily had been devastated and succumbed to the man's temptation. He appeared to her, offering to give her the child.

doll in exchange for a small gift. Lily didn't know what the demon meant, and she was too young and innocent to understand the true cost of her decision. She had agreed to the man's deal, and she had been taken to the dream world after years of a torturous life, just like me. The others had similar stories. Lily had been trapped here for years, and she had been forced to live through the same evils over and over again. She was trapped in a never-ending cycle of gore and violence, and she couldn't escape. She'd given up hope, and she had resigned herself to a never-ending lifetime of misery and despair. She had met the other children, and they'd given her a slice of hope.

Despite not having the tools that deal with what's around, that small sense of camaraderie and self-sacrifice gave that seed of hope that helped them carry on. And now I had that too. This seed grew into an idea, an idea with no backing, mind you, but still a small light to imagine at the end of this dark tunnel. They were looking for a way out, and they were determined to escape from the man's grasp. However, the more we explored the twisted world, the more we felt trapped by this curse. Too many demons patrolled the space, too many sights that twisted one's mind and drained us of hope. No sign of any form of escape.

Through all this, Lily and I quickly became friends, and we helped each other to survive in the dream world. We would often get separated from the other children, and we would have to find each other again. But, no matter what, we somehow always found each other specifically over the world. the other kids. Despite this, there could be times that you couldn't find anyone. Weeks would go by without seeing a single person, only the twisted toys that roamed like titans. Sometimes you'd wonder if there was anyone left. What if the others found a way out while you were separated and you were the only one left behind? Thoughts like these made me curl up in a hiding spot and weep for days on end.

But, no matter how well you hid, they would find you. You couldn't go on forever without being caught, like there was a time limit before they locked onto you, messing with your sense of hope of reprieve from the pain that comes. The things they did would twist the stomach of a medieval madman. After years of this cursed living, I was wondering the landscape alone.

Then I felt a tug on my hand. It was Lily. She pulled me into a crevice, which at first I thought was to hide. But she had something to share. She claimed she somehow learned a way to escape, though she never told me how. She said that the only way to escape was to replace our spot in the dream world with another child, and to let the man claim them instead of us. It was a cruel and heartless plan, but it was our only hope.

Lily seemed horrified by the idea, and she didn't want to sacrifice another child at first, but it was our only chance of escape, and she wanted to see what the terms were. I promised to keep it secret from the other children, and to make sure they never found out what we were planning. Two victims was already too much for our conscience, though the guilt of not telling them also weighed on me. Lily led me through many paths and tunnels I hadn't seen before in the years I'd been there. These must have been mapped out in her mind from almost a decade of being here. Her time was well spent, something I hadn't been doing myself,

though I didn't want to tell her that. Crawling for so long, we came to a clearing that looked different to the rest, A dark passage devoid of the flames and Christmas lights of the monster-stalked plains. In the middle was a small hut, and inside was him. Though he didn't move, I was terrified. He just stood there, smiling at us. But when Lily approached, I realized he was just looking at her. She knelt and told him we were willing to serve him.

and the dream world, if we could live the rest of our lives. A complete change in demeanour to how she described things. Despite this, I went along to see how it had go. The man was intrigued by our proposal, and he agreed to our terms. He grinned and gave us a Christmas gift, and he told us that we had to find a child to replace us for the time we were gone. I had little hope that he would release. them once we were back, however long that was. But at this point, my mind was clouded with

the thought of reprieve from this nightmare. I was horrified, but I knew I wanted a break. In a blink, I was back in bed. At the exact moment I drifted off. Family Guy was playing in the background, with no hint of corruption on the TV. I was back. and my senses were mine for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. It took me a while to get my bearings. I was in bed and the TV was on with some cartoons running. I was getting ready for sleep and there was no school because we were on break. It was the Christmas holidays.

Instead of going immediately on the hunt, I slept for the first time in what must have been years. It was refreshing to close my eyes in a dimly lit room without seeing the visage of the man lurking in any shadow. When I woke, I prayed to anything holy that it was all the culmination of my mental deprivation, that the nightmare was a tortuous lucid dream that ended with some well rest. For the first time, everything felt quiet. No more whispers, no more visions.

I tried to believe with all my heart. But the present sitting at my desk said otherwise. I picked up the present and left the house. I told my parents I was dropping a gift off at a friend's house and they were so ecstatic that I was up and about that they gladly saw me off and on the wiser to my real motives. I wondered through the streets,

looking for anyone who stood out. I passed by parks and fields until I saw a girl. She was lost and alone, having wandered too far from her friends while playing hide-and-seek. I comforted her as best I could and told her I would help her find her friends.

So I guided her back to where they started and called out for them. As soon as they heard her voice that wasn't someone they knew, they took it seriously and came out, seeing their lost friend wiping her tears. She was grateful, and before leaving, I told her that she could have a gift to cheer her up. This immediately worked, and their friends gawked at the prize she received.

If it weren't for the immense guilt that racked me to my bones. There are things I never accounted for, though. Where is Lily? I have no idea the size of the man's domain. Was it only in my country? Or could she be in a far-off country? continent. Did she give the gift? Did she find another way? All I know is I need to find her. I was weak. I am weak. I did the man's bidding with no question. Lily was the one with the brains. She was the

one who found the escape. Could she have found a loophole? Too many questions, too much guilt. I need to find Lily, maybe she'll find a way to stop us going back. Because if not, I have to enjoy the time I have left, because hell would be a respite from the torture that awaits me. We don't always get what we want. And sometimes the things we want the most comes with a price that we can't fully understand.