CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - 5 Reddit HORROR Stories to stain your dreams

Episode Date: October 20, 2020

LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...CREEPYPASTA STORIES-►"The Thing Under the Bus" Creepypasta►"I Split Myself in Two" Creepypasta►"When little Sally falls asleep, we pray that no one dies" Creepypasta►"When Everyone Knows" Creepypasta►"The man who was the Sun" 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. 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-

I'm afterdam, for the maids'er. For the maids, they're two-hour faster. Doy. Toadam? With Eurocity direct, though? 16 times per day from out Brussels and in two-hour. Now, from 19 euros, in place of 25. Book you tickets on NMBS International.com.

The festival season is aangeloak, and that betticket. And so, came Kim to Amazon.com. On the way. On look to a water-dict tent, a comfortable lug bed. Oh, so, knus. And Lupeart print regalarze. Miao. Mauder

No, Like that Just like Have he's just Oh, Oh yeah, Mauder Drogobleve?

Goar for Find what you Need what you need Onamptcom. com. I had taken a seat up front So at the next town I could quickly jump out

and grab another coffee. Half the passengers were asleep But I could never get any Z's on buses. Besides, someone had to keep the driver awake because the highway was getting slick with slush and the snow had gone from Hallmark Christmas to ice road truckers. Don't you worry, son, said the grizzled bus driver. This old girl has seen everything from hurricanes to rising rivers. She's a tank. That's what she is. I wasn't worried at all until he told me not to worry and for the first time I could see he was worried, gripping the wheel with two hands and craning forward to sea. sea. Highway 84 cut and almost straight line west to east through the Appalachian Mountains.

Charleston, West Virginia was the next stop, then onto Pittsburgh, where I figured to get off and look for another bartending gig. Break lights suddenly lit up ahead, traffic coming to a stop. I felt the bus's anti-log system grinding as it slowed. Further up could be seen the flashing lights of emergency vehicles. The second row of the bus was filled with stella fans, probably returning from Sunday's match-up in Kansas City, and one of them pulled out a pint of Captain's Morgans. I feel a detour coming, he said. Refreshments, anyone. As the bus got in line to exit the highway, the bottle made its way forward, and I didn't decline. The tiny old woman next to me in the window seat shocked me by taking a swig as well, which gained a cheers from the steeler fans. Across the aisle from me,

sat a man, I'll call duck shoes. carrying a worn briefcase and wearing an equally worn suit, his West Virginian accent told me he was probably on his way home, a neat, pleasant man, the kind always ready for wet weather, as indicated by his shoes. He accepted the bottle, but only wet his lips with it to be social. Just the thing for a cold night, he said. Cold being West Virginia for cold.

Don't you folks worry, said the bus driver. I know away that'll get us there just as shore. We backtracked a couple miles toward Kentucky and 117, the driver searching through the snow for a street sign. Myrtle Creek's Road, he said, old settlers trail. Duck Shoes sat up straight. I don't recommend going down that old road just now. Been down that road plenty of times before, the driver replied.

Nothing to worry about. You ever been down it at night? The driver didn't respond to that But he found the entrance And turned onto a two-lane highway When no other ties had left a path in the snow Duck Shue stayed silent But he looked like he needed to do more now

Than just kissed the mouth of that pint of Morgans The dark road cut its way Through dense woods and swollen Appalachian hills The captains made our end of the bus The more popular one And I guess people were starting to feel the spirit of making connections on a little adventure. a youngish woman, a youngish woman,

red hair, made a way forward for a taste, and, after downing a healthy hit, followed up with a little dance right there in the aisle, earning the affection of the steel fans. Only one person up front refused a bottle. A quiet man in a hoodie, who seemed about his alert and troubled his duck shoes, only far less sociable.

I caught the driver's eye watching red in the mirror, so I was facing forward when something ran out of the road, right in front of the bus. the driver swore, a tall, thumped into the windshield, then disappeared under the bus. A hard-bumped cheltered passengers in their seats, producing a few screams and sending red into the lap of the Steelers fan as the bus skidded to a stop.

Damn it, damn it, the driver muttered, throwing the gear in park and holding his chest. After taking a moment to calm himself, the driver reached down for a flashlight beside the seat, turn the toggle on the control panel that opened the door and stood on shaky legs. But before he could get used to the stairs, Dug Shues jumped from his seat, toggle the door closed and grabbed the driver. For God's sake, man, he said, don't open it. What's the matter with you? asked the driver.

Someone might be hurt. Dug Shues held onto him for dear life. Someone? Did you see that thing? That was a person, Strad, standing in the aisle again Wasn't two legs, said the driver Wasn't two legs, Duxu said

But that was no human being Had to be a man, as Steela Fan argued Was running like one The driver tried to pull free from the hand that gripped him Ago, sir, I have a responsibility Just call for help Duxus pleaded Better yet, drive on and call

Didn't you see that thing? The driver was finally about free from him, and the old woman next to me spoke in a trembling voice. I saw it. Don't open it. There might be more of them. More of what? Red asked nervously. I felt like I should add my weight to one side or the other, but I couldn't be sure what I saw. I kept playing it over in my head. It had happened so fast. Something white, definitely, on two legs.

But those eyes. People were still arguing, nervous words going all the way back to the half-bull bus, when a pounding came from beneath the bus. Sh, several people said. The bus became perfectly quiet, only the gentle humming of the engine and the bus's wipers. And then it came again, more powerful. A few passengers sobbed while others started arguing again. Something has to be done. That thing was monstrous. Can't we have a cell signal?

There must be a storm. Maybe the local powers out. The banging grew louder, or maybe just like imagination made it seem so. I checked my own cell phone. No signal. I'm going out, said the driver. Close the door behind me. I'll go with him, I said.

The driver showed me an appreciative look. I could see his terror. and I wondered, since he had the best view, the water, dog shoes reluctantly released the driver, shooting me a dirty look at the same time. I zipped my jacket tighter

and followed the driver out into the snow. His flashlight wouldn't come on, so I used the flash app of my phone. We heard the door slammed closed behind us. Nervous faces watched us from the safety on the bus. You might be thinking I'm the heroic type for going out onto that empty road, but I assure you I'm not. Truth is, my own selfishness is probably the reason I found myself hopping buses and won my tickets,

but that's something I wasn't ready to face yet. I could barely make out the tall, dark hills surrounding the road, dense with towering pines. As we approached the rear of the bus, we could see a form lying just past the rear bumper, The driver gasped and almost came to a stop. Whatever, showed no sign of movement. Closer to it, the bus tail lights revealed antlers. The beam from my phone showed a hoof. A second later, we were on top of it, exposing it to the light.

An eight-point buck. The driver sighed in relief. Without hesitating, he grabbed the two hind legs and started pulling. I grabbed the front legs and we hauled it off the road. Several passengers held up their phones from the window and took photos. I don't mind telling you I felt great relief when I boarded back onto that bus to a round of applause. The driver faced the passengers briefly. Just the dear folks.

Then fell into a seat and eased the bus forward again. The stealer fan passed me the almost empty Captain Morgan's. We saved it for you. Duck shoes, and seeing his expression unsettled me. Was a buck really what I saw go onto the bus? Maybe it was. Maybe the power of suggestion had put ideas of something monstrous to my head.

One of the Steelers fans, a portly woman with a pleasant face and a warm laugh, gave me a woo-hoo as I finished the bottle of captains. The driver pulled out, keeping the bus at a very cautious speed down the deserted highway, his eyes darting from one side of the other, alert for anything, from the woods. We'd only travelled about a mile or two, when, to our horror, the pounding from beneath the bus started again. Everyone quieted. For a few seconds, only the windshield

wipers broke the silence. But then it came, loud and powerful, like something was trying to break into the bus, the argument's reignited. Stop the bus. Are you It could be someone dragging someone. Impossible, the road would shred them. Not with the snow. I know what I saw, and it wasn't no deer.

Never forget those eyes. Doug Shoes told the driver, Don't stop. You saw it too. The driver looked straight ahead, clenching the wheel, biting his lip. It was as though he had seen a nightmare. something so horrible, and, and, and, as soon as soon as the first chance, he had the dead book gave him, he had seized on it.

But now, the banging from underneath brought it all back. Hadn't I done exactly the same thing? When it came down to it, hadn't I been doing just that thing for years? Running from the horror that haunted my memory? Try my best to pretend it never happened. The driver didn't slow. In fact, red demanded he He stopped. Others joined her, the grandma next to me, and others insisted they keep going. Even the steel of fans were divided.

I still had contributed nothing to the debate. I caught the driver studying me in the mirror. I had been talking to him for hours. It felt like we were in this together, especially after I went outside with him to find the deer. If I said to stop the bus, I knew he would. But, I said nothing. All arguments ended when flashing blue lights appeared behind the bus. A cruiser.

I could see the relief in everyone's face, no matter what side of the argument they were on. The bus slowed to a stop. Whether one thought there was someone under the bus that needed help or something monstrous that posed the threat, the cavalry had arrived. The cruiser came around and parked a few dozen yards in front of the bus. Snow instantly whitened its back window.

Everyone on the bus remained silent while it sat there the longest time. Finally, the cruiser door opened and the trooper emerged, a silhouette slowly crossing the headlight beams of the bus. The flashing blues of the cruiser were almost blinding to those of us on the darkened bus. The driver opened the door and the trooper climbed the stairs. Several people at once were telling him to check underneath the bus. The driver finally swallowed hard and spoke to him. Sir, did you see something?

The trooper raised his voice so it would reach the length of the bus. I'm looking for a Trevor Williams. At that point, I noticed the trooper's hand on his pistol. None of the passengers admitted to being Trevor Williams. So, the trooper began to unfold the sheet of paper and looked down at the printed image. His eyes were still squinting at it. When the gunshot, thundered inside the bus, my ears rang from the explosion close behind me. The bullet pierced the sheet of paper in the trooper's hand and struck him centre-body mass. Screams followed. The quiet man in the hoodie, gun in hand,

was already sliding out of his seat into the aisle. The trooper glanced down, then up, his eyes. wide with shock and then he slummed back and crumpled into the bus driver muttered oh Jesus Oh Jesus oh Jesus The shooter came forward casting quick meaningful glances at everyone in nearby seats Looking back once to make sure no one charged him from behind I had a quick idea to try and grab his gun hand or tackle him but nerves got the better of me When he reached the front he looked long into the eyes of the drawing driver, who was not a big man. Then he turned toward a couple of the Steelers guys. You two, get him off the bus, he

gestured toward the trooper in the stairwell. At first, they were too stunned to move. Do it, now! With a pistol aimed at their faces, they rose slowly from their seats. Open the door, the shooter ordered the driver. The good man stood far enough back so that if one of the Steelers fans tried something, it would likely a life-ending decision. The driver opened the door. The one in the best position to try something was me. But the shooter seemed

to realize this and kept glancing my way. I remained frozen. Just throw him off, the man told them. But don't get off yourself, or I'll put one in your back. He figured they might break, but they're still idling cruiser. I could see everyone on the bus trying their

phones, but still no signal. The steeler fan struggled to lift the trooper who showed no signs of life. One of them was forced to get out in front and lift the trooper from beneath his shoulders. The shooter stepped forward and aimed his gun right at him. And understanding, the guy dropped the trooper on the road, then squeezed back up the stairs while the other steeler fan pushed the trooper's legs out. The shooter then directed them with his gun back to their seats. The heavy-said woman with a steelers fan The one on the other side of the aisle Who said little but laughed so hard of their jokes

Had tears streaming down her face Drive The shooter ordered His motions awkward and jerky with fear The driver put the bus in gear And hit the accelerator But the wheels skidded uselessly in the snow The driver punched it

But only succeeded in burning rubber He punched it again and again I and the gunman as though he might fire on him. And he said he said heardtrand the wheel, nice and easy. In panic, the driver just ripped the gear into reverse and hit the gas. Again, the wheel spun. Not like that, you idiot, straighten the wheel.

The gunman had taken a place by the stairwell so no one could reach him now without being seen first. This also left him right in front of me. I held my breath, not wanting him to mistake any movement of mine. The driver shifted again into first gear and hit the gas, to no better result. He exasperated, the shooter stepped forward and shifted the bus into Park with his left hand and began straightening the wheel.

When the crying stealer woman went berserk, launching herself at the shooter's gun hand, latching onto his forearm and wrist with both hands. He tried to fling her away, but she had significant weight on her side. and the power of the other steelers. Meanwhile, while the other steelers' while people cried, we managed to finally wrestle the gun from the shooter's hand and push him onto the floor. Go, go! Doug Shus screamed at the driver. The stunt driver

didn't react. Get us out of here, Doug Shus yelled. The driver started to shift into gear when I told him to hold up. Let's get the hell out of here, Red shouted. we can't just leave the trooper, he's dead, the old woman next to me screeched. We don't know that, I said. I've had enough of this, someone from a few rows up groaned, get us the hell out of here. Everyone seemed in agreement. No, I told the driver with a commanding voice I sometimes had to use behind the bar. Two minutes, pull that trooper back on, then we go.

He didn't nod, but neither did he shake his head. I could tell how much he wanted to high-tail it, severe, but he would wait. He's gone, duck shoe shouted. Look, the trooper's gone. Everyone pressed their noses into the window. A wave of murmurs swept the bus. I leaned over and looked to the door. I could just make out a smear of

blood in the snow. He got him, the old lady screeched. Terrified voices drowned her out. Open the door, I told the driver. Shut up, asshole. Let's get the hell out of here. The driver's hands were shaking on the wheel. A trooper needed to the driver, he must have crawled away.

But duck shoes had heard me, like that damn deer crawled away. I turned to the stealer hero for support, but the distraught woman just shook her head. Let's get the hell out of here. Two minutes, I beg the passengers. Just give me two minutes. If anything happens, you have the gun.

One of them held up. pistol while a couple of men had come forward to keep the shooter pressed onto the floor. No one said a word. I reached and turned the control for the door. Two minutes, I said. Then I went out into the snow. Using my cell phone flashlight, I found a smeared trail of blood leading on the road toward the back of the bus. I followed. Again, face is pressed against the windows, many of them angry, others terrified. Wet snow whipped into my eyelashes I heard branches

up in the wood-covered hills. Probably the wind, I told myself. I focused on the road, on the blood, the disturbed snow where the man must have dragged himself. When I reached the end of the bus, I saw the form of what I assumed was the trooper, lying unmoving in the road, about thirty feet behind the bus. I jogged a couple steps in that direction.

when I heard screams from the bus. I snapped around toward the front in time to see something leap onto the roof of the cruiser. It rested on its haunches, coiled to leap again. I couldn't tell whether it was man or beast, but from here it didn't seem quite either. The door to the bus slammed closed and the bus rolled forward. Hey! I yelled, but it did no good. The wheels spun a second before the bus lured. towards the centre of the opposite side.

It had reached the opposite side, by the time I was passing the cruiser, but just as it did, the thing on the roof of the squad car leaped toward the bus, almost disappearing in the blinding snow and landing on its roof. I'm not sure if any other passengers were aware of it,

but the bus just kept prowling up the road, accelerating as fast as it could. I watched it speed away, my heart racing. Those assholes. Before long, The turning road had taken the bus out of sight. My breaths came short and fast, my heart racing. I was about halfway between the flashing cruiser and the dead or dying trooper.

Every fibre of my being screamed for me to just run for the cruiser. For years I had been running for myself. My young wife had been dying of cancer for months and she meant everything to me. I stayed with her day and night. When they put her in hospice, I slept on the couch in the same room, listening to the monitor beat for her, and the monitor beat the fact that she was still with me. But before the end came, I cracked. All those days I had never left aside, until at last I did.

Her eyes followed me just a little when I told her I was going for coffee. I never saw her again. I moved toward the figure on the road. Branches creaked within the woods, high on the nearest hill. The trooper lay with his. back to me, blood, in the snow around him. He was gone, but I had to be sure.

I crouched down and gently shook him by the shoulder, rolled him onto his back. Jesus. I gasped and jumped back. The eyes that stared skyward were dead, but the lower part of his face was missing,

leaving a bloody hole where his jaw mouth and nose used to be. Something howled. from the woods. I hear my phone the light didn't reach far enough, but the strobing blues from the cruiser revealed flashes of tall figures standing on the crest in the woods. I watched them a long moment, frozen

with terror. When they started moving toward me, I came out of my trance. I fell to my knees by the trooper, search his body for the holster. Surely the gun would have fallen by the road. I would never find it. growling came from the crackling rapidly coming closer and then I found the gun

inside the holster I pulled it out and stood releasing the safety praying it was loaded and firing it straight up into the sky the movement in the wood stopped flashes of blue light

pierced the darkness of the trees I ran for the cruiser shooting nervous glances at the woods holding the weapon where whoever or whatever was stalking me could see it, focusing on the brightly flashing cruiser ahead. My foot slipped in the snow, but I did not fall. At last, I reached it, jumped inside, slam the door shut, tossed the gun on the passenger seat,

and put it in gear. I spun my way out of there. I pushed the spinometer too hard. I could feel the tires hydroplaining, so I heaved it back to 40. Surely that was fast enough to outrun anything. I grabbed the radio so I could call for help. But it turned out, I had no idea how to do that, and all I produced was static, more crippling anxiety. I recognised the FM button, and soon had the Ormonds brothers calming me down.

I took deep breaths, settled down behind the wheel, one arm on the door. The Ormonds gave way to Skinnerd, and my heart rate was almost back to normal, when I saw the taillights up ahead in the woods. I slowed down, hugged the wheel. The cruiser's headlights picked up the snagging skid marks left by the bus. My hand went to the pistol on the seat. Inside the bus, everything was dark. The front of the bus disappeared into the woods.

Steam clouded and mixed with the falling flakes. My foot hovered over the brake. Freebird poured out to the speakers. I hit the gas instead. Screw him. I always wanted to be a scientist, ever since I can remember. The exact field in which I was obsessed changed week to week, from paleontology to orthonology, to physics to entomology. As college got closer, I settled on biochemistry.

It was around the time that I was graduating from undergrad when gene editing found itself on my radar. I became obsessed, so much so that I almost flunked my last quarter, because I was so focused on learning about viral vectors, crisper, recombinant animals and bacteria. But I made it through and now I'm in a PhD program looking at the possibilities that lie

in the CRISPR Cas9 technology. My lab takes rats that are genetically predisposed to all manner of genetic diseases and we try to cure them via gene editing. It's really quite simple when you get down to it, just like cutting and pasting.

You clip out the bad gene with CRISPR Cas9 then either provide the body, or hope, the body repairs the cut correctly. I was working on a rat had metastatic cancer. Dumas roiled under the thing's fur,

great-growing masses that partially immobilized it. Funny thing, cancer, it's immortal. It's just doing what cells usually do, but forever, never-ending, mitosis, splitting in two to create more of itself. That was the gene I was targeting, A gene that had to do with a mitosis that was faulty in the poor little rat. It's still hard to believe how stupid I was.

How careless. I went to inject the rat with my cocktail of castline protein and nucleotides. It squirmed at the side of the needle. It squealed and bit my hand. I'm used to the nips of lab rats, but this bugger bit me hard. It drew a bead of blood from the crook of my thumb and forefinger. I yelped and dropped the down. something, and nicked myself with a needle. There was no way that it got in. I told myself

for days, that there was no possible way that that nick allowed any of the gene therapy cocktail into my bloodstream. So, I told no one. My mouth remained shut when I began to grow the mass under my armpit. Impossible. It wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. No, not to me. not after all of all after all I've gone through, no, it, even as the hard mass grew larger, day by day. By the next Monday, it was so big I couldn't put my arm down over it, and when I prodded it, I felt nothing. It was numb, but it had gotten harder, hardest bone.

I called in sick. My professor, Jess, understood. She always did. I laid up in my bed, continuing to deny what was plain in front of me. I had given myself cancer, and it was growing so fast that I thought I'd break a world record within the week. Damn, I wish it was as simple as cancer. That day, when I called in sick, was the last good day I had. I slept and played a video game and got some homework out of the way,

but all the while I could feel the mass growing. Every so often I would prod it, coping it in my hand, I couldn't help but imagine myself the white rat, rolling with panaceous cancer. I was a goddamn science experiment.

I was still able to make it till bedtime before I collapsed into a deep sleep. My dreams kept me sleepless though, and I tossed and rolled and sweated buckets in my bed. I drank to Grandma at the end of her life, except I was in the bed

and she was standing over me, still skeletal like she was at the end. You're going to be all right, Gregory, she said. Just go to God, it'll be better. When I at last woke from my nightmares, my entire apartment reeked of old sweat and fear. I rolled out of my bed, still soaking from my sweat, and opened my window. Outside it was dusk. The sun was going down. had I slept for 24 hours? What was happening to me? I checked my phone and found that I hadn't just slept for a day, but for an entire three days. My notifications were blown up with my parents and my professor. Rocks dropped from my stomach and my guts turned to water. It was worse than I thought. But then I realized that the mass under my arm, so huge on Monday, was gone.

It was smooth as it was the day I pricked myself. I groped in my armpit, searching for something, anything that would betray the tumour. But there was nothing there. Just underarm hair and my lymph nodes, normal as ever. Before I could breathe for relief though, I heard a clatter in my kitchen. My apartment was not big. It was a one bedroom, but even so, the kitchen was around a corner and I couldn't see into it from my bedroom. I peered out of my door into the living room

The kitchen light was on And a shadow moved around Pulling down ingredients from my cabinets Stalking on tiptoes I grabbed my baseball bat And crept into the kitchen The shadow moved with practice deliberate movements As if it knew where everything was

As if it was home and nothing was amiss I rounded the corner A bat raised Ready to bludgeon whoever was in my apartment But when I stepped from carpet I screamed. I screamed. What the hell? The person

Me turned and looked at me. Oh, you're awake, the thing that was me said. Everything about it was exactly the same as I was. From the birthmark on the left ear to the slight bump in the nose where I'd broken it in a game of touch football. His eyes were exactly my shirt. shade of hazel brown, its hair, its hair, the exact pallor of deep dark brown, almost black.

I was in expecting you for a long time now, it said with my mouth, I made pasta carbonara. It lifted the pan and indeed revealed a perfect pasta carbonara. Little chunks of panchetta spurs through the pasta. What are you? I breathed. My voice was not all there. I was a dog with his voice box clipped.

It laughed. Don't you realize? It took a fork, scraping metal and Nails, scratching, cutting through the damp, sweaty air. It lifted the fork to my mouth and tried to feed me. I'm you. I didn't stop to think. I swiped his hand away.

The fork flew from its fingers, clattering to the floor, spreading creamy sauce all over the cabinet. I let out a raspy scream and swung the bat. It connected with an awful crack and the thing that was wearing my body stumbled back, blood exploding out from its mouth. You are not me, I screamed, though my voice was still weak with disuse. You are not me! The thing only looked up at me, smiling through chipped and missing teeth. It laughed, a full belly laugh that vibrated the air such that I could feel it in my chest.

You can't get rid of me. It said, before spitting a bloody tooth to the floor. nerves and roots still attached. There were no more thoughts in my mind. I cocked back and hit it again and again and again, each blow connected with its head and spurred it a mist of blood each time I pummeled it into the kitchen floor.

The thing skull caved in, and chunks of bone and brain gave way under my bat, oozing out like a slime mould searching for nutrients. I didn't stop hammering on the thing's body until my downstairs neighbour pounded on the noise. I stood straight up right and dropped the bat. The ruined corpse lay asunder under the stove and the pan of Carbonara. No, no, no, no, no, no.

I looked at my hands, my body, covered in viscera. I blinked and felt a bead of blood drip into my eye. I just killed it. Whatever it was. I was crazy. I'd gone crazy. Or maybe, of pricking myself with a gene therapy. Maybe I didn't have a lump under my arm at all. Maybe I was growing a supermassive brain tumour

that was pressing my visual cortex. Yes, that had to be it. I needed help. I needed to go to the hospital, to have someone give me a CT scan before I hurt someone, other than myself, I guess. But first, I needed to be clean. Even if this was a hallucination, I needed the blood and brains and everything off of my skin. I stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the taps. I stripped nude and climbed into the shower,

not even waiting for the water to warm. The shower floor turned thin crimson and I was reminded of times when I was a kid when I'd go take a mud bath and my frustrated parents would stick me in the shower. Junks of brain and bone and blood washed down the water. I gripped a bar of soap and I scrubbed. each stroke,

of layers of my face and arms I ran my fingers and found a huge chunk of cartilage. I pulled it out and flicked the slimy bloody thing into the shower floor and I realised it was the thing's nose ripped and torn and leaking blood

mixed with thick mucus. I vomited. Thick bile trailed out of my mouth in an unending stream and I gagged when the smell hit my nose. It smelled Like spent broth, Sweet and acolyte,

I spit, last, The remainder of bile from my mouth. I felt up my mouth with water and swished, But the taste of dead eagle eye and stomach acid remain in my tongue. The shower ran cold, before I was able to slow all the gore of my body. Even as I turned the water off

and found myself sparkling clean, I felt filthy. I still feel filthy. I dried off, and, naked, to my room, and call in an ambulance. but as I dialed

I felt a bump under my armpit. No, no, no, God, no. Before I lifted my arm to look, I scrambled into my closet and found the old shoebox in my top shelf. I fumbled with it

and set it on my bed. Every second that passed the lump grew bigger and bigger. I could feel it rub against my bicep as I flipped open the shoebox. Grandma's old six-eight special stared up at me. I picked it up and fumbled with the action, trying desperately to remember how to open this cylinder.

The lump pulsed and hardened under my skin and I fumbled with the gun. At last it popped open and I managed to slide three bullets into the cylinder. At that moment pain ripped through me, throbbing and pumping out from my armpit. I collapsed, still gripping the gun and lifted my arm. The lump pushed out And I could see the features Of my face Mouthing wordless under my skin

Reithed and pulsing purple veins I screamed I screamed as it pushed through my skin Ripping out like a newborn Through its mother's pelvis I felt it wriggled through Out from under my skin kicking and pushing

And gripping with fingers and toes It hooked a finger in my mouth And pulled with all it could then like a pimple, and slid it out of me and piled under the floor. The pain I would have passed out

had it not been for the search of adrenaline that coursed through me. I pulled myself off the floor and looked down on my newborn double exactly like me in every way, naked and covered in a thin layer of afterbirth. He looked up at me. He told you

you, you can't get rid of her. I didn't wait any longer. I reached over and pulled the thing up by its hair and dragged it It did not fight me not at all not even when I closed the shower curtain and stuck the gun inside You'll just make this harder for yourself. You'll see you'll I pulled the trigger three times and filled the thing with the lead I heard a thump and a wet squeak as it collapsed in the tub my hand and the gun came out cold in a spray of blood. I quickly moved to the sink and washed them both off. I set the gun aside and stared at the mirror,

unbelieving. I gazed at my features, every scar, every dimple, every strand of hair, every freckle. The thing that came out to me were perfect copies. They were me. I was going through mitosis, splitting and reforming as two. This was real, and there was only one. One way I knew to fix it. Still wet from my shower, I slipped into a pair of sweatpants loaded the gun and stuck it in my pocket I went upon on a sweatshirt

but I felt the mask coming back pulsing to life in my armpit once more No not again Not now I stormed into the kitchen stepped over the room body of the first copy I pulled out an 8 inch chef's knife And waded with my arm raised above my head

Soon my skin began to pull and stretch as the face formed. As soon as the face I again drove the knife down into my armpit. I squealed at the sharp burning pain that erupted out from the knife wound. I got a slash in my skin, revealing the face, slight jawed, teeth broken from the blade's kiss. Then the mouth moved. I could feel warm breath hit the underside of my arm. You won't win, you can't win, it said.

But I didn't waste time I drove the knife in And over and over and over Until the hot breath ceased flowing Quickly I dressed the wound So I wouldn't bleed all over the place And put on my sweatshirt And stumbled out of my apartment

See, I hadn't had the mutation In genome before I'd gotten injected The gene edit must have repaired itself All wrong And how this was happening to me If I could get my hands on the castine cocktail I could stop this It would give my body the chance to repair the edit properly.

It was a long shot I wasn't even 100% sure that any of this was real. But it was my only chance. So I walked to my lab on campus. When I got in, Jess was there. Greg! Oh my God! Where have you been? Are you okay?

I looked up at her and spoke. Still, in my raspy, weak drawl. I'm doing great, Jess. I just came in for... I forgot something in the fridge. I stumbled over to the huge lab fridge and opened it. What are you talking about? Greg? What are you doing?

You don't look so good. I'm fine. I didn't mean to snapeter, but at the moment, something just below the mass roiled and pinched the nerve, sending shooting agony up and down my body. I'm okay, really, I said, through clenched teeth. I rummaged around in the right syringe. What are you looking for, Greg?

Greg! Jess pulled at my arm, but I ignored her. Bingo. I found the syringe. I shoved it in my sweatpants pocket, then, on a hunch, grabbed a few vials of canomycin, liquid antibiotic.

I twirled and shut the fridge, then pushed past Jess and out of the lab. Jess followed me the whole way out to the stairwell, screaming for me to stop, but I couldn't stop. not here. The feeling under the dead mass was growing I felt like there was a snake, wriggling just under my skin. I reached up under my sweatshirt and groped at the gout's teeth sticking out from my skin. Then the thing's head pushed against my hand.

There was another one coming, but it had to push past the dead one first. I stumbled down the stairs and ran out to the bed, building. I sprinted as fast as I could. On wobbly legs, I burst from campus into the little cobes of trees at the west edge. A creek ran through the area and the state cordoned in it off as a mini wildlife refuge. Birds flushed and rabbits fled as I ran deep into the woods. I pushed out into a small clearing full of wild grass and shrubs. The pain was growing in intensity, the squirming growing ever stronger with every step I took. I collapsed and ripped to my sweatshirt. I tore it off my body and looked under my arm.

The dead face was pulsing in and out, a turtle coming out from its shell. Then, at last, with a huge tearing groan, the face pushed out from beneath my skin and slopped under the ground. I watched as the skin on my side stretched and pulled and somehow did not break. The next thing squirmed up under my skin. I saw a foot kick out at my hip before another face tore through the hole in my armpit and clawed. its way out. But they weren't done with me. Pain continued to rich my body and I curled like a shrimp in boiling water. More lumps under my skin, doubly as big as the first, tore up through my skin. Then two faces peaked through and fought one another for escape. Hands pushed out and widened the hole and both copies

slid out. My vision was going. My ears rang. I could feel my heart jumping in my throat and I hurt so bad. I throbed with sharp pain all throughout my body. I managed to pull the gun up level with the copies now standing over me. They just laughed. You can't stop us now, Gregory, they all said with one voice. I shot at them wildly, shooting until the gun was empty. Then I collapsed. Black circles closed in from the side to my eyes, and I lost consciousness. When I woke up, I was still. in that little clearing, still in agony. The sun had set over the horizon and the last traces were leaving the sky. I stood, somehow, through all the pain. My legs were gelatin, my eyes, two burning embers. I managed to produce the syringe, bite off the cap and inject myself with a full dose of the gene

therapy. The corpse of myself looked up at me, mouth wide and its face slashed in ten places. the eyeballs gouged out and weeping thick liquid down its cheek. I pulled out a single vial of canomysin and dumped it on the body. It did exactly what I thought it would. It popped. The first spot where the antibiotic touched it bubbled and grew. Then the whole body bloated the three times its size and burst. Gray Icar spilled out into the forest floor and there was nothing left of it but a puddle.

I walked home. No one paid any mind to me. When I dug the first corpse into the second. I cleaned the kitchen as well as I could and dumped the rest of the can of mycin on the bodies. Days later I woke, but I don't remember falling asleep, and I don't remember Jess coming to my apartment and taking me to the hospital. I was put on academic probation at school, having to spend a week in the psych ward to prove I was not a threat to myself or other. When they checked my blood, they gave me they gave me a clean bill of my way.

I tried to forget what happened, tried to go on with life as normal, albeit far more cautious with needles than I once was. And for a while, I did sort of forget. I had nightmares every night, but during the days things were more or less normal. That is, until they found that man. Along the bike path,

Just outside of town, a body, a body found a body, a body, a part, by what authorities labeled, but I know better. My babies are reproducing. There's an orphanage situated in northern Pennsylvania, in a small town so isolated from the rest of the world that it might as well not exist. Why, in God's name, anyone decided to put Dorson's,

home for special children, I'll never know. without any other opportunities in life, I'm stuck here until the day I draw my last breath. Don't get me wrong. Now that I've been here for well over a decade, I'd never leave. If I can give even a single one of the children a better future in life, this pain will have been well worth it.

But the kids they send up here aren't exactly ordinary. They're the ones abandoned on our doorstep, left behind them. by their families without anyone to care for them. They usually move from orphanage to orphanage, acting in ways their caretakers just can't understand. It's not like they're bad kids, but rather odd. It's a fickle thing to describe beings that don't abide by the laws of science and physics. To most, these kids might sound like mythical beings

or just eluded stories told by someone suffering from mental illness. Honestly, that was my first impression as well. well. But then they showed me laura, the girl that never aged. She'd been ten for generations, but even her mind never matured, because her memory kept getting wiped on her birthday, leaving her in a perpetual cycle that never ended. She wasn't enough to convince me. Next they showed me Alexander. He was a boy without a face, born flawless skin, replacing each feature of his head. How he could breathe of how he navigated the house of that bumping into each and every feat. It was as if he had eyes, but he couldn't talk. By the time I arrived,

he'd already been there for three years, unable to effectively communicate with anyone. Then there were the less severe cases, like Daniel. He looked and acted like a normal child, but whenever he fell ill, every single person in the orphanage got infected with the exact same ailment, even if it wasn't impeccas, or James, who just spoke a language no one had ever heard before, incapable of learning anything in English. Not a single one of them were evil, and they sure as hell weren't the monsters I've been led to believe. They were just victims of various curses thrust upon them by an uncaring universe. I wanted so desperately to help them, to give them a chance at life, but for each year that passed, they kept dying, either from their own curse or that of a

Those that fell to an early death were quickly replaced by new, After my first year at Dawson's home, I wanted to leave with every fibre of my being. I tried too hard to help the children, but I just couldn't. Even though I didn't have enough money for a bus ticket, it had all gone to helping the kids. Still, I needed to get out, to find a new life before I turned suicidal. But then, I met little Sally. She was the most wonderful girl, a perfect little child that just happened to wander onto our doorstep.

I was the one to find her, standing outside the orphanage in dirty clothes after having wandered the streets for days. Without hesitation, I brought her inside, feeding her and giving her a fresh set of clothes. She was so extraordinarily thankful, polite, well beyond her. as I put a bowl of hot stew in front of her, she just stared down at it, waiting for permission to start eating. My heart immediately broke once I noticed the hunger in her eyes, but she just sat idly by, waiting for me to tell her it was all right.

Once I gave her the go-ahead, she basically inhaled the bowl, at which point I gave her a second serving. I tried to figure out her name, but she couldn't remember. All she knew was that her her parents called her little Sally, but where they'd gone, she didn't understand. After she'd finished eating, she just started talking. She never mentioned what happened to her before we found her, but rather about her favourite animals, the climbing tree in a backyard, and the playground near a school. I did my best to decipher the clues, but at a young age, she didn't give me much to go on. It was starting to dawned me that whoever They might not want her

When I tried to ask her about the parents again She felt silent She just refused to talk about them But based on the bruises and malnourished form We suspected abuse Despite all that She was the perfect child And though we couldn't quite figure out what had happened to her

We were happy to have her by our side On top of it all I almost let myself believe she wasn't with strange abilities at least until the first night she spent at Dawson's we always give the newcomers a separate room for the first night

to adjust them to the new settings Sally was no exception and we fully intended unintegrating her into our large family once morning rolled around she just needed time as day gave way tonight I led her into her temporary room

the walls inside were fitted with drawings from the previous children, each creating their own piece of art on their first day at our place. I explained to Sally that she'd be allowed to draw anything that came to her mind, a useful exercise for us both, to figure out how a mind worked, but also one to help her relax. She seemed to like that idea, and with that, I left her alone for the night. That night, I felt a modicum of happiness for the first time in months. I felt like I'd finally have the chance to help someone, to bring them into the real, a task beyond just keeping them alive.

but despite my enthusiasm for our new family member, sleep would not grant me the rest I needed. My dreams quickly turned to nightmares, filled with worry and uncertain pictures of death. I knew the images I saw weren't real, leaving me with a hint of lucidity, yet I could not wake until the alarm finally jolted me back to reality. Exhausted, I went to check on Sally to see how she fared during her. her first night. When I opened the door, I was greeted by a full new wall covered in paper. In the span of a single night, she'd produced just under a hundred new drawings. Most of them were scenic drawings of the woods, always taking place during the sunset.

Sally, did you do all of this? I asked in shock. She nodded and gave me a gentle smile. Yeah, I can't sleep. It was an odd answer because she didn't look tired. She was as fresh as she'd been the night before. I sat down next to her, as she went on to a next drawing of a princess, riding a dragon over the treetops. You like trees, huh? I asked, not sure what to say. Mm-hmm, she agreed enthusiastically. Then I turned my questions back at her odd lack of rest. Was something wrong with the room?

Was that why you couldn't sleep? No, I just can't sleep very much. What do you mean? I don't know I have really bad dreams they are even badder than the dreams I was taken aback by her last statement My dreams

She put her colouring pencils down on the ground And looked up at me Her eyes pierced me And I could sense a hint of pity in them You were scared I saw it How did you know I had bad dreams I always see other people's dreams

But only the bad ones then when I have them too. nightmares she nodded. That's the day just how special Sally truly was. She was the girl that almost never slept which meant it wasn't a coincidence that she ended up on our doorstep.

She was an outcast, abandoned like all the other children though her curse was minute in comparison to many others. Rather than help a deal with a curse I wanted the teacher to be proud of who she was. That was a lesson. I always tried to accept themselves, or at least the things they didn't choose to be born with. I gave the talk about her being special like the other children, which seemed to improve her mood. She was happy, as if she wasn't alone for the first time in her whole life. She hugged me, and together we went to introduce her to the other kids.

In the end, Sally didn't need a bed to sleep on. as she could just stay awake. Still, we wanted to give her a place that belonged to her, among the other kids. They all embraced her with open arms and went on to show her the different places in the building. She quickly became one of us. Every now and then, she'd come running to me when the other kids were having nightmares. They scared her, but she was always more concerned about them. She wanted me to help comfort them, to let them know they weren't alone in their bad dreams. It became part of my daily routine. One,

Sally would let me know And I'd come to the rescue Things were going well But as all things eventually must The good times came to an end About one year after Sally came to us I found her unconscious on the ground It was the first time I'd seen her so still

As if all her energy had left a tiny body And it terrified me beyond words She didn't seem wounded, and she was definitely breathing, albeit, erratically. In a way, as if she was dreaming, running away from something terrible. I picked her up in my arms and carried her to the nursing station as we awaited a doctor. The orphanage was too far out in the countryside for an ambulance to reach us, which meant we didn't have much in terms of help, apart from the single local doctor. Once I put her

She started wriggling around She started wring around As she spoke of words I heard multiple horrified screams Emerging from the playroom The staff rushed towards the screams To find Daniel getting fused with the wall His entire body

Got an entangled in the concrete surrounding him And we could hear his bones crack Under the immense weight He screamed in agony, but trying to pull him out proved a futile task. All he could do was stare as he sunk deeper into the wall. The sledgehammer, I yelled as I held onto his arm. One of the staff ran out of the room, heading towards the basement where the tools were kept. All the while, Daniel's bones kept cracking and his organs were turning to mush within the concrete.

By the time they brought the sledgehammer back, his chest had been destroyed, making it impossible for him to breathe. He died, in agony, and never, why his life had to end. It wasn't until we saw the true stent of his damage. He had become a mangled bag of meat without the faintest hope of survival and none of us understood what had just happened.

We were just lucky the damage hadn't affected us in the same way his diseases had. As they cleaned up the blood and crudely, crushed chunks of flesh. I went to check on Sally, who had woken up again, and was crying. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep. I killed Daniel, she cried. I tried to comfort her, but she wouldn't have it. It wasn't your fault, Sally, I said, though I didn't fully believe it. You saw the wall smash him. I dreamed it. You dreamed about Daniel, I asked. She nodded. What did you see?

Then she went on to explain the dream in excruciating detail each matching the manner of Daniel's death and that was it the innocent girl I'd known for the past year was gone and the true nature of her curse

had been revealed I gave her a hug and told her that it wasn't her fault of course I meant it because she couldn't control her dreams still it had been her We decided to tell the other kids

but even then, something about Sally had changed her previous her previous happy persona had vanished only to be replaced by something colder, more distant and broken The next year was spent mostly trying to figure out

how Sally's ability worked a hard task for someone who had only seen sleep a single time During that time I also tried to pry deeper into her past It took a while, with the little detail, I could sort of create a picture, what had happened prior to her arrival at her home. She'd been sitting in the backseat of her parents' car, and she suddenly drifted off.

Then she simply dreamed that her parents never existed, and with that, she woke up alone on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. I didn't want to fall asleep, but it happens anyway, she would say. It would take another year before she said. started hanging out with the other children. It was around the 8th birthday, and she was playing with Alexander. He was oddly good at the game, at least for a kid with no face, but on the 6th or so round, Sally never came to look for him. Once it became apparent that Alex would never be found, he decided to go look for Sally himself, only to find her fast asleep in the corner he'd left her.

As we figured out what had happened, we started escorting the children in the children in the into the bomb shelter in the basement, figuring we should get everyone as far away from as possible. Then, it simply vanished from existence, replaced by a concrete wall that wouldn't yield. We were trapped with no way out in the dim basement. Then the lights went out as well, and we were plunged into darkness. There was a flashlight in one of the closets, but it hardly helped to illuminate the room. was simply too old and the batteries were close to death.

We were all standing around in horrified silence and I was just praying that Sally would wake up before someone died. After a few minutes the ground started feeling wet. I shined the light down on the ground only to realise it had turned crimson red. The air reeked of metal and I quickly figured out that we were standing in a pool of blood that was rising rapidly.

The screams the kids let out were hard. heartbreaking, but they were muffled by the thick, meaning, meaning, and the outside could hear us. Within minutes, it swallowed us. We tried to swim, but moving around in such a thick liquid proved a complicated challenge. Once the blood hit the ceiling, we were all pulled under, unable to breathe. I held my breath for as long as I could, trying to find the children while under, but my eyes were blinded by the blood. I must have lasted two minutes, and I just inhaled a long full of blood. The entire basement reverted back to its native state, meaning that Sally had finally awoken from a slumber.

The blood vanished in the blink of an eye, and the door reappeared. Once I'd regained my senses and looked around to the kids and staff. Most were fine, coughing up chunks of partially coagulated blood, but James wasn't breathing. I rushed to his side, still struggling, then I started CPR. The others cried as I pushed his chest in, desperately trying to fill my lungs with enough air for the young boy. I felt his ribs crack beneath my hands, but I had to keep going. Then, on the third set, he finally coughed up the blood and started breathing on his own. Sally was devastated, but despite the nightmare-inducing event, not a single person had died. That time though, we couldn't keep Sally's The children, the children, And Sally once again become an outcast Even among her own friends

I decided then that the best way to help Sally Would be to help her control her dreams Working on inducing lucid dreaming Reality checks that could snap her back to reality And for a few years, it actually worked Each time Sally would fall asleep She'd realised what was going on, and wake herself up. But on the rare occasion that it wouldn't work, people had a tendency to get seriously wounded.

On a 10th birthday, Sally dreamed that the entire building was on fire. Luckily, everyone got out in time, mostly suffering light burns and some smoke inhalation. Once she woke up, the building was fine, as if the fire never happened. Then a few months later, Sally fell asleep twice in the same day. The first incident took place in the moment. morning during breakfast. She had created a new entity that she referred to as Mr. to us. To us, he appeared as a normal middle-aged man in a suit. He sat down with us in the dining hall and made casual conversation. It wasn't until someone asked about the briefcase before the horrors began. It was filled to the brim with human skin.

He said he needed it for his home and tried convincing the children to come observe his room of flesh. Once he realised, he just got up and left. Sally woke up but she'd fallen asleep again that very afternoon. That time he just caught glimpses of Mr. Sin walking down the hallway, blood dripping from his briefcase filled with skin. But he'd come from the kitchen where we'd found Mrs. Ingridson lying on the floor. The entirety of her skin was missing, stripped from the underlying flesh. She still writhed around in pain, but her.

But her would not last long. Before we could even try to help, she died from shock. That was just the beginning of our living nightmare, because as Sally hit puberty, her slumber increased drastically in frequency. It went from being a once-a-year occurrence to two, then three. Before she'd even hit 14, her dreams had become a bimonthly occurrence, ones that were wounding, both the staff and children.

She knew it herself that her dreams would inevitably end up killing everyone she loved, and we couldn't deny that fact. But, running away wouldn't stop the dreams, neither would locking her up. She tried using different drugs to keep herself awake, but her efforts were fruitless.

Nothing could keep her awake. Eventually, I was hit with the only solution available, the only thing that could keep her awake. The only thing that could end Sally's hell of nightmares was death itself. It wasn't like the thought had struck me before, but I'd forced it so deep into the darkest corner of my mind that he never truly considered it. To save everyone else, we had to kill Sally. Since I was the closest to her, I was chosen to do the deed.

Our doctor aided me in choosing the most humane way of ending a life. He gave me an injection I could only assume held morphine. but he promised, with that. With that, into an eternal slumber. I chose a Saturday to end her life. She'd asked me to take her out of town for the day, just the two of us

to a favourite hiking spot in the countryside. It was a beautiful place, filled with endless fields, only bordered by vast forests. I brought a picnic basket full of her favourite treats, a final meal to end her existence among us. After we'd eaten, I'd be done.

I didn't want it to be a surprise, I needed her to know that it wasn't her fault. She didn't even seem surprised. In fact, she almost seemed relieved that no one else would suffer as a result of her curse. That's why she'd asked me to take her out to the fields, because she wanted one final moment of happiness, just to pretend that everything would be fine. She'd considered, but couldn't find her own but couldn't find the strength to do it. We sat there

hours and just talked, made plans for a future she'd never have, and joked about the good memories that still lingered from her past. I'm sorry, she mumbled. It wasn't your fault, Sally. Your dreams might leak into reality, but that wasn't your choice. Life is not a balance scale between good and evil. It's a chaotic mess filled with random events. You just got the short end of the stick, but that doesn't make you any less of a person. I just wish I knew why.

What was the meaning of all this pain? I don't know. With these words, Sally fell asleep on my shoulder. I bowled out the syringe ready to strike before a nightmare could end me. Tears were welling up in my eyes and my hands trembled as I pointed it at a neck. But despite a slumber, the world around me didn't change. There were no horrors pouring. out of her unconscious mind, nor any evil presence in the vicinity. That's when I realised that Sally hadn't

just fallen asleep. She'd actually stopped breathing. I let her down on the ground easily and checked a pulse. She was dead. She'd taken her last breath before passing over to the other side, just like that. Whether she dreamed about her own demise, or if it was just a random stroke that finally ended her, I'll never know. I gave her a funeral the forest, dug her body, dug her so she could rest peacefully among the trees. I failed, Sally like I failed so many of the children at the orphanage before. But I keep trying. Because, if I

just save a single person, it will have been worth it. Hey, four eyes! Marcus yelled, and I winced as a hood of sneakers smack in the linoonium. Marcus and I were far from friends. I've known Marcus since my family moved here when I was eight. My first interaction with him was on the playground on my first day of school. Marcus and his small band of cronies wandered up to me as I sat in the sandbox, clearly drawn over by the new kid,

and made the dynamic of our future relationship clear right away. I had sand kicked to my face, a sneaker pressed in my chest, and before I knew it, I was on my back in the sandbox as Marcus informed me that he would be collecting my lunch money for me. collecting my lunch money from now on, and there wasn't a thing I could do about it. As I lay there, staring up at him without a teacher inside to help me, I knew it ate what it was like to be truly helpless. And for eight years, he took this as a personal challenge to make my life a living hell. My lunches were stolen, my glasses were broken, my things were vandalised, and my friends and I were tormented

by the ever-present shadow of Marcus Hyens. I did make friends of course. I did make friends of course, but many people avoided me simply because I had elicited the ire of Marcus. He was a constant presence in my life, always there, always looming, always waiting for his next opportunity to show me what I was, his constant victim. I never owned anything that he didn't try to destroy or take away from me. I never liked a girl that he didn't immediately woo and dump in a semester. Marcus made it his business, but couldn't afford, but couldn't afford it in my face. I kept hoping, just as mother had always taught me that karma would catch up with him, and his actions would be punished by that ever-present force of cosmic justice.

It seemed, however, that karma was not on my side. As we grew, Marcus became the darling of whatever school he attended, and I became known as a bit of a weirdo. I was a quiet kid, I liked to write. my grades were fine, but I was an introvert and didn't like to show off in class. Marcus, on the other hand, was known and loved by all. I quickly learned that this was how he got away with his bullying. Marcus was large, imposing, but he had a way about him that endeared him to adults.

I would never admit it to him, but he was also smart. He never had trouble with grades, never had to study for tests, and seemed to succeed with only minimal effort. He played sports And thrived in the field Even as he did well By the time we were seniors He had a football scholarship

That would let him get into nearly any school he wanted He was the typical All-American student And the world was his oyster I hated him Especially after this year I had spent three years With one goal in mind

Having a seat on the student council In my senior year It would look great at my college transcripts, alongside my volunteer work and debate team presence, and I actually thought that I could make a difference for some of the unheard students at the school. On a deeper level, I realised it might also bring me out to my shell and change me a little before leaving this whole experience behind and going to college. I had lived my life as an introvert, not really wanting to know anyone outside my circle of friends. senior year was my last to really experience what would become the

best years of my life or so they said maybe putting myself out there could change me a little perhaps even for the better I had such high hopes back then I had campaigned

talked to my fellow students and felt I had my finger in the pulse of what they wanted in a councilman I seemed to shoo in for the empty seat that was until Marcus realized how much he joined the race. Suddenly, suddenly his players were in every hall, his posters plastered over mine, his talking points very similar to mine, and his goals seemed to be to take one more thing that I wanted. He had been trying and failing to throw me off my game for weeks, trying to get in my head and make me drop out

of the election before the upcoming candidacy speech before the student body voted for the representative. As he approached, I wondered if he had found the toehold he needed. I closed my laptop as he came to stand over me, not wanting it broken if he was in the breaking mood. His face was possessed of that mixture of wicked glee and childish meanness. He looked like a kid on his way to pull wings of a butterfly, and I guess he was. I had been his caged bug for years, and today was just another chance to practice his sadistic craft on me. He came alone, but I could see several lettermen jackets hovering nearby, watching the show, I was nowhere near as muscular as him, but that hardly mattered to him.

Marcus never thought fair if he could help it. Guess what I did last night, who shouted, glancing around to see who was watching. My friend sitting around the lunch table, immersed in a game of Magic the Gathering, looked up like startled animals around a watering hole. Her predator had arrived, and they wanted to know when the best time to start running was. I don't know, something fulfilling, but I doubted it, I said, without much interest.

Marcus barked out a sarcastic little laugh. You'd be right there, four eyes. He never used my name. It was always four eyes, and always in tones of the deepest scorn. I was at a rager last night when I met this fine piece of tail and took her upstairs for a few hours.

God, she screamed so loud I thought the cops were going to come. If you're looking for a high-five, I think your boys are hovering somewhere around here. I said, already uninterested in this conversation. I had no idea that his trap had teeth, but he was about to show me

just how deep they cut. I just thought I'd let you know what a good lay your sister was, four eyes. She screamed my name again and again as I had her. The whole cafeteria was paying attention now. I glanced at my friends and saw that their game was forgotten

as Marcus laid out his night activities for me in intimate detail. My face reddened, As he loudly proclaimed, His activities for all to hear. I was shocked. I was incapable of reacting, And I simply wanted to stop existing at that very minute.

How could she? How could my own flesh and blood betray me so thoroughly? How many nights had I confided in my family about the abuse I suffered at Marcus's hands? How many times has she seen me demoralized at school by this bully? How could she have done such a thing? I don't know how this story ended. I grabbed my bag and ran out to the cafeteria, hiding my streaming eyes as I ran blindly for the exit.

Someone yelled at me at the hallway, but I didn't stop. I was outside far sooner than I thought I would be, and I heard a car horn blare as I dashed across the parking lot towards my car. I tossed my bag inside, no care given for the things inside, and was on the road before I quite knew what was happening. My streaming eyes made it difficult to drive, but I knew I couldn't stay there a moment longer. The emotions rolled inside me, and I felt like I might be sick as I drove the streets. There was rage bubbling inside me, an inbitant rage that had been festering for years, but had never been fully realized.

I hated Marcus, but until that point, his actions had been those of a bully seeking a release. It was only then that I realized his intention to hurt. He wasn't content with just hurting me physically anymore. He wanted to break me. I didn't understand his animosity, and I never would. I spent the rest of the day in my room having a nervous breakdown. My friends didn't text me. No one texted me.

As I lay there, waiting for just one person to reach out to me, I began to feel utterly alone. My anxiety was palpable as I lay in my bed and tried to gain control of myself. Had anyone I had Of course They had They were just too embarrassed

By my outbursts They didn't want to get caught up In the fallout of my shame I wouldn't be welcome To sit with my friends anymore I had been outcast My brain reminded me Almost absently

That I could kiss my bid For student council goodbye as well No one would vote for me now No one would waste their vote On a loser like me The candidacy speech was tomorrow How could I mount that With everyone whispering about me

How could I tell them that I would be their voice On the council With them all laughing at me behind their hands My mind raised My pulse raised And I lay in a ball of perpetual anxiety I must have fallen asleep at some point My anxiety is so bad

That I had worn myself out Because the next thing I knew Someone was knocking on my door Hey Spaz Why do you leave school My blood ran cold It was her. My sister, Never what you would call her joy. She was two years

than me, but the two of us couldn't have been more different. My sister was the foil to my introverted nature. She was a social butterfly who flew in many circles and knew practically everyone. She was their perfect little girl to my parents. They were utterly unaware of a late-night carousing and extracurricular activities. To them she was in the world. angel, but to me, she was just a spoiled brat. She was needy to the point of annoyance, her needs turning to indifference when you needed something from her. She had come now to see

what could be gained for my suffering. Go away, I droned, not wanting to see her. She came in instead. Heard Marcus spilled the beans about our night last night. I turned towards the wall, ignoring her. It's not like we're dating or anything. He's cute and I wanted to sleep with them. I turned over angrily, You slept at her. You slept with someone who has made my life a living hell since I was eight years old. Do you have any idea what that does to me? You've made me into a laughing stock. How can I go back to school and look Marcus in the eye, knowing that he's been with my sister? She smirked, not even having the decency to look ashamed. As if anyone but you cares,

get over yourself, it's my life and I'll live it any way I want. For the record, he was great too, she added, the last bar before leaving. My mother was furious. Not at my sister, she couldn't believe that people would spread such lies about her perfect little angel. She was furious at me. How could I leave school early? What was I thinking? Didn't I care about my future at all? Skipping class and being truant was no way to live my life. The sermon went on and on on the dinner table. my sister was smug, as I sat there being chastised,

and dad went right on eating blandly as though the world was just as it always was. To say that Dad didn't care was an understatement. Dad simply didn't want to involve himself in what he called women's work and didn't worry his mind with matters concerning the children.

I had started shoveling my food down, barely tasting it to escape the table and my mother's howling words. With my plate clean, she wasn't done yelling at me, but I told her I needed to prepare for my speech tomorrow, which seemed to perk her up a little. She had known I was running. They both told me how small a chance someone like me had of being elected, but as I

kept at it, I think she realised how much I wanted this. She released me, threatening bodily harm if she ever heard of me leaving school again, and I was free to return to my room. I spent the rest of anxious tension. A rainstorm rolled in around midnight, and I found myself tossing and turning in a ball of rolling emotions. I didn't dare go to school tomorrow.

Marcus would be waiting there. All those people would know about my shame, and they would all laugh at me. I couldn't go back, I couldn't go back, I couldn't. The lightning lit up in the sky, and I started on my bed, looking at the window. Had I seen something? It was impossible.

There was no way. I had seen something at my window. My anxiety was creeping up on me now, and it was making me see things. That was all. As the rain came down, I got up and moved closer to the window. The thunder boomed outside, and I crept towards a glass square like a rat trying to avoid detection. There was nothing there. Why was I so jumpy?

There was nothing on the other side of the window, but... When the lightning flashed again, I screamed and fell onto the carpet. Something was on the other side of the window. An inky face had been looking at me, and when it saw me looking, it had smiled. Its teeth had been corgate white, a stark contrast to its midnight person, and I felt my breath hitching as I stared at the jet-black window. The rain fell against it like angry stones, and I waited in terror for its next flashed of lightning. When it flashed up, it was gone. I curled up into a ball on the floor, closing my eyes and trying

to will myself to sleep. But all I could see was that gruesome face. I had seen it for the barest of seconds, but it was imposed on my memory perfectly. I lay in the floor as the lightning struck outside, too afraid to open my eyes, but too scared to sleep either. My anxiety and fear roiled inside me, and I spent the rest of the night, shuddering. Wake up! I must have dozed off some time before the sun came up. My mother was standing over me, yelling and slapping me, as the sun shone merrily through my window. My mother was rousing me, telling me I was going to be late. I stirred grogly and went to my closet to get out the clothes I would wear for the speech today. I was too groggy for the anxiety to hit me all

at once, but, I remembered the rolling bit of dread in my stomach, and stopped with my slacks halfway up. I couldn't go to school. I'd have to face that mob alone. My mother came in with a cup of coffee and a plate of eggs, frowning as she saw me shaking and indecisive. All of my excuses fell on deaf ears. I was not missing school today, no matter what was wrong, and that was that. She would take me and dropped me off herself if that was what it took. I was not ruining my education because of something silly that had happened the day before. People would always be stupid, but I wasn't going to ruin my future for anything. In the end, I took the coffee and just left to escape a venom. As I drove, I honestly felt like I might be having a nervous breakdown. The coffee shook in my hands,

and if my mom hadn't put it in a to-go cup, I would have spilled it all over my pants on the right to school. I looked up in time to see the light turn red, slamming in my brakes just a minute too late and getting a nasty look from a jogger running across the road. I tracked a dolly with my eyes and jumped when she ran past an overhang near the deli. The coffee flew out of my hand and hit the passenger window, exploding in a caffeine puddle over the glass. The passengers looked at me, concerned, as drops slid down the glass, but I was already running the red light and speeding towards school. My heart raced and my stomach flipped over, my anxiety about the bully momentarily forgotten. Under the awning, perched in the shadows, had been two of the oily dark people that had appeared in my window the night before.

Their skin oozed with midnight clarity, but their smiles were wide and crazed. As I drove, I thought I could see others, pairs and threesomes and foursums, all watching me from the shadows of alleys and dark respites of awnings. and doorways. They followed me, but I did not want to be found by them. I had to remind myself of stop signs and red lights. I did not want to be pulled over. I did not want to stop until I was somewhere with people and lights and places to hide from them. At that point I would have welcomed the cheers of the schoolyard rabble. I pulled into the parking lot just as the first bell rang. The halls were packed, students making last-minute preparations

and finishing their conversations around lockers. But, when they recognised me, I heard a definite change in the tempo of conversation. Oh my God, isn't his sister the one who... I feel bad for him. I don't know how he can come to school after that. Oh man, Margas totally owned his ass yesterday, told the school how he...

And he just ran? He ran away and... I walked fast, not stopping. Not talking, just walking, amidst the gale of gossip. I heard someone laugh, but I didn't dare look. It sounded fake anyway, teasing laughter, more like the can laughter on TV than a real laugh. The hallway became a gauntlet, people staring, people laughing, and amongst them I became sure that I could see the dark creature that had hounded me all the way here.

They slipped among them, staying in the shadows, and whomever they touched seemed to laugh. I wanted to run. I could feel tears on the verge of breaking the surface, but I didn't want to draw more attention. The laughter was so snide, so fake, that I almost couldn't stand it. It rattled against my nerves and made me want to scream. Around it a corner, still making from my homeroom, and bumped into someone and nearly fell over. I threw my hands up defensively, almost certain that it would be one of those tar creatures with their smiling mouths, but it was Miss Cunningham, the assistant principal.

She looked put upon, her normally well-maintained pantsuit and lustrous black air, looking rumpled and out of place. I wondered if she too hadn't slept last night. She hoffed when she realised who she had run into and tapped a foot impatiently. I was beginning to think you weren't coming today. You're speaking second. Marcus was on time, so he gets to go first, and it starts in five minutes, so I suggest you hurry. She turned and started

I could hear, I could hear, repulsive laughter behind me, heard it creeping up the corridor like a canterous cloud and sped off behind her, not wanting it to catch me. The gym was packed, the entire senior class had assembled, taking any excuse to miss first period and were murmuring quietly in the hard bleachers that had been pulled out for the occasion. As I came in, someone noticed me, and the whispered conversations began again.

I heard some giggles, felt their stares, and knew that they knew my shame. My stomach was a royal of angry emotions. My brain was befuddled and unsure of what was real anymore. I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, my whole life hanging in a fibre before entirely imploding. I had no clue how much worse it could get. About time you showed up four eyes, Marcus said, looking resplendant in a clearly had clearly

for him. I didn't say anything. My attention was on the crowd. I could see the creatures amongst them, whispering and gnashing those perfect teeth against their ears. Some in the back had begun to chuckle. Some had already started to laugh. Those further down were still engaged in their own conversation, unaware of what horrors lurked behind them. They just sat in their little peer circles, chatting and living their lives free of this overpowering stress surrounding me like a cloud. How I envied them. Looking at all the votes you're not going to get four eyes, Marcus asked, but I continued to ignore him. As Miss Cunningham mounted the stage, the laughter had already begun in the back.

She ignored it, opening the proceedings with a little speech before introducing Marcus to scattered applause. Marcus grinned at me, mouthing that I should watch how it's done, before mounting the podium and starting his speech. He got straight to the point. Students wanted more free periods and fewer assemblies that serve no purpose, more pep rallies and car washes, and less information about booster meetings and boring stuff. He said nothing, but he said it well, and he kept it short, so the students would remember it. The applause was scattered again. the laughter in the top row, on that made my mechanical sound

that made my sanity scream from the depth of my skull. There were more of them now. The house lights dimming in the dark of the upper bleachers and the darkness was spreading. Miss Cunningham had to call my name several times

before I finally stood and made my way to the podium. Marcus's grinning face welcomed me from the first row, smiling and inviting me to begin my pathetic speech. I had forgotten my papers. I meticulously crafted note cards, but it hardly mattered. I could no more

have read them at this point than I could have spoken Russian. From the podium, I could see the black tar monsters crawling over the crowd, working their way down and bringing an inky darkness with them. The student body needs a... needs a person who will represent them, represent their interest on the council. I feel that... I heard a rattling of stuttered laughter, and it threw me off worse. I feel that I can... my eyes were as big as dinner plate. They were smiling at me

from within the crowd. The two white teeth were horrifying. Their teeth too large for their mouth. How did they contain all of those teeth? How did they... Miss Cunningham was walking towards me and I'm not sure if she was trying to save me from the shame of making a fool of myself on stage, or she was at a fool of myself on stage.

angry that I had wasted a time. Regardless, she only got about half-acred when she smirked and began chuckling. I watched her, terror written across my face, as she doubled over and began to erupt in racking gales of full-bodied laughter. There was a laughter behind me too, the topar becoming a single note of canned and emotionless chuckle as it spilled across the throats that were no longer their own. I glanced to the side and saw Marcus stumbling up, his fingers dragging up, leaving bloody trails behind. The mob was laughing, they laughed at a lot of uniform, and I felt my sanity unraveling a strand at a time as I backed away from the crowd.

My foot found open air, and I felt the wind knocked out of me as I fell from the stage. Miss Cunningham was tearing out her clothes as she laughed her life away. I scooted backwards, getting my feet under me and running as that terrible laughter chase. me. It was the kind of laughter you hear bubbling from the an insane asylum. It was the kind of laughter you hear in hell. I ran then, ran until I found a door and barreled through it as the manic drone chased after me. I ran until the school doors opened before me and I was out on the quad, my sneakers making for home. I ran, the pavement, the most substantial thing I had felt all day, until I

found myself on the porch of my own house. I banged on the door, my mother opened it. Confusion and anger stamped big across a face. Then I collapsed, and didn't come back to reality for the next three days. When I did, I was in the hospital. That's where I got the whole story from my bleary-eyed mother, who hadn't left my bedside the entire time I'd been here. Everyone in the gym was dead. The police were calling at a gas leak and the whole city was mourning the loss of so many young people. The doors had been wedged shut, all but the one I had burst out of. School officials had found everyone inside dead from hyperventilation, including Miss Cunningham. Some had tried to claw their eyes out, had peeled their faces open,

but all had succumbed to this terrible tragedy. I said nothing. My sister came to visit, apologising for the way she had hurt me and extremely thankful I had been laid. that day. My mother was the doling woman I had always wanted. She and my sister were never far from my side, and their attention quickly became claustrophobic, but I soaked it in as long as it lasted. I would never tell anyone about what had happened that day. They all assumed that my lateness had led to my safety, and they would never have believed me if I told them the truth. That was nine years ago. I live in my own now, apartment, the whole experience. My mum and sister. My mum and my dad, his same old ambivalent self. And it's

heartwarming to have their love after years of feeling like an outcast in my own home. I felt that he was in my past that I don't often talk about outside of therapy and I like to think that it may make me stronger but having lived through it. My girlfriend knows nothing about it of course. She knows I had something dramatic happen in my past, but she knows I've moved on, and the less I say about it, the better it is for my mental health. At least, I had gotten over it. Yesterday, I received a letter in the mail.

A letter from my old high school. A letter for a high school reunion. It looked like a postcard, glossy picture on the front and words on the back, with a banner proclaiming, Welcome Back, Class of 2010. The front was a picture of the first. of the gym as it had been on the day of the event. On the floor, gathered the smiling creatures as they waved and grinned their eternal grins. On the back was written three words that sends chills down my spine even now. See you soon. The first time I saw him, I was 12. I was asleep, and then I was awoken by

nothing in particular. I looked up from my bed and saw him. A frail man, with boyish proportions, hunched over in the corner of my room. I could see his spine protruding, casting shadows on his back in the darkness. His head was comically large. He turned to face me. Hello, my name is Sundance and I am the sun. A rasping voice echoed throughout the darkness. His words were low, croaky, and in whispering tones. I focused on his face, that great, round, yellow disc. With unmoving lips, sundance smiled, A permanent stare and a permanent smile.

From that yellow face, eight beams burst. Golden, twisting, metallic spikes shot out individually, clockwise around the Sundance's face. I screamed, and I woke up again. It was morning and I was in my bed. Sundance was nowhere to be seen. I felt safe, knowing it was just a dream. just a dream, but then he came the next night, and the next night. Despite his unnerving

appearance, he'd always greet me in the same way. Hello, my name is Sundance and I am the sun. One night after I had completely grown used to his appearances, I spoke to Sundance. It was a warm night in the summer holidays. I remember being too warm to get under the covers, but doing so anyway, because I felt exposed. When I woke up, Sundance was in his usual spot. Hello, he began. My name is Sundance, and I am the sun. Hi, Sundance. I'm Joe. Hello, Joe. Sundance straightened with a creak. His metal lips smiled. His vacant eyes stared. I'm a little cold, Joe. Oh, are you? It's really warm, I said. May I lay

He gestured to my bed. Um, the bed is quite small, I said. Oh, don't fear Joe. Sundance took a few steps towards me. I shan't take too much room. He slithered into the bed next to me. He sat up straight, wrapping the blanket over his shirtless body. His bones poking into my skin as he nudged He was cold. Fingers His nails, jagged, sharp. In the morning, I woke up pressed against the wall.

I had a newfound fear of Sundance. I had grown used to his visits, but that dream had rekindled the uncomfort I felt when I saw him. I didn't see him for many nights after that. Not until I was 13. When the fear of Sundance had finally faded, he returned.

"'Hello,''an said. "'my name is Sundance, and I am the sun.' I silently stared, watching Sundance. He looked less emaciated, though still frail. His spine was less visible upon his back. "'Joe,' Sundance snapped. "'Are you not going to converse with me?' He swiveled quickly to reveal his face,

smiling, staring. Sorry, I stuttered. I'm cold, I don't think I should. Show some hospitality, Sundance interjected, his croaking voice trickling to my ears

as he slid once more into my bed. That same cold skin pressed against me, Sundance's feet poked out of the end of my covers. Bare, thin, crooked toes, wriggled with glee as Sundance wrapped an arm around my shoulders. Yellow toenails sat up his writhing worms like little wax stamps The next day at school I found myself unable to focus I couldn't get any of my schoolwork done

I was punished for this and sent to isolation In isolation one would have the belongings confiscated Being made to sit in a small room with nobody else present I was given several worksheets and a pen I began drawing on the back of the worksheet as I wasn't exactly in the mood maths. Absidly, I doodled. As I drew

inocuous little things, I felt a sharp pain in the nape of my neck. I placed my hand at the source of the pain and felt a thin, waving, twisting metal. I joked away and spun around to face what was behind me. Hello, said Sundance.

My name is Sundance, and I am the sign. help, I shouted. I backed away from Sundance, and chairs to the front of the room. What do you need help with, Sundance giggled.

Get away from me, go away, I cried. Someone, help. Oh, I see. Sundance took my seat. You need help with these pictures, don't you, Joe. I tried to open the door, but it wouldn't move. The door didn't have a lock on it, but still, I watched Sundance as he drew.

He held the pen in his fist, much like a child would. He scrawled frantically, stopping to look up at me before looking back to the paper to continue scribbling. Finished Joe, Sundance held the paper with pride. I woke up at my isolation desk. Drawn upon each of my worksheets was a crude picture of Sundance. that same smile, the eight rays of the eight rays of his head, I scrunched the pieces of paper into balls and dumped them all in the waistbin in the corner of the room.

I became used to being reprimanded for misbehaving over the next number of years. The constant panic I felt that Sundance would visit me, loomed over me, clouding my every thought. A persistent fog in my mind, Sundance's smile was lingering in my head. I found it hard to remember things, my mind, my mind would slowly drift back that cold,

and those unblinking eyes. When I was 15 I began sleeping with a knife under my pillow. I'd gotten it from one of the older boys at school. Hello, in that tone I dreaded, Sundance revelled in his own glee.

My name is Sundance, and I am the the sun. Leave me alone, I muttered, covering myself, covering myself, with my covers. That's not very nice, Joe. Sundance tore away my blanket. His smiling face peered down and my curled up body. He was larger than before. He looked fuller, more radiant. I slowly reached under my pillow, wrapping my hand around the folding knife. I flicked the blade open with my thumb.

Joe, share your bed with me. Sundance dug his jagged nails into my thigh. No, I shouted and jerked towards him with a knife. My trembling hands were barely able to meet their target, but still I plunged a knife into Sundance. Oh, Sundance stumbled backwards and I fell on top of him. I stabbed him and stabbed him. I kept stabbing him. With every thrust, Sundance let out a little yelp.

I kept stabbing him until he stopped. I sat atop Sundance and looked at the knife. It wasn't wet with blood, instead a thick, greasy oil that lay at Sundance's skin. Still, blood poured from him. I felt a great relief. I closed my eyes and dropped the knife from my shaking hands, ready to stand up and leave.

Greasy fingertips grabbed my hips, squeezing my flesh, pulling me back downwards. Now it's my turn, Joe. Sundance reached up, lifting me by the throat. I struggled, kicked, scratched at his arms. His skin grease caught under my fingernails, and I left no marks on him. His stab wounds were still pouring blood, but he paid them no notice. Reaching above his head, Sundance grasped the top sunbeam. It clicked as he uprooted it. I looked Sundance in the eyes, and there was the first time I had ever seen his expression change.

Sundance frowned. His lips cracked and warped. downwards, little gapes filling the splitting mouth. His eyes narrowed. Sundance sunk his shimmering sunbeam into my stomach. The blistering metal burned as he swished it around inside of me. I saw a smile returned to Sundance's face and my vision faded. Sundance's giggles as he tore me open, played in my head like a broken record. I couldn't have imagined such intense pain, the pure hatred that settled upon that metallic face. The anger and dismal. disgust that Sundance felt that I would dare defy him, a burning malevolence carved into those sunken eyes. I'd believe myself dead, yet I was still thinking. I slowly opened my eyes,

and in the blackness of the world around me, I saw a distant light. I found that I was alone in what was seemingly a void, aside from that distant glow, floating. I looked down at myself, My stomach was agape, and little chunks of myself floated alongside me in the black. Before I could question what was happening, I felt myself pulled towards the light. Globules formed under my skin, born of the blood that had poured from my stomach. Little red balls floated alongside me, weightless, like tiny cherries. The pull of the light became stronger, and I knew that soon I would pass the event horizon. My thoughts were few as the light grew brighter,

A great orb had encompassed the majority of my vision. In those moments, I only held a melancholy acceptance. This was the light at the end of the tunnel that so many people described. I noticed waves, indentations, spots and other imperfections upon the light. Slowly, those imperfections shifted to the right as the great orb rotated. Hello! A booming, a booming, a booming, a booming, still, still, despite this omnipresent echo,

it was a familiar croak. First, the corner of a great eye came into view. My name is Sundance. Lips spoke with thunderous volume. Wide, red lips, cracked and dry. And I am the sun. In full view, I beheld the great light in all of its terrifying magnitude. sun dance.

A vast star. He opened his mouth. Wide, It grew to encompass his entire I could do nothing scream as I drifted towards the chasm. Closer, closer, closer still.

I screamed for it felt like hours, screamed until my throat was raw. Still, I hadn't reached him. I endlessly floated onwards and soon felt no fear of sunda'nard. Instead, The same, Only the same

I had become too exhausted To feel that fear A shadow loomed over me As I approached the final stretch Passing the boundary of Sundance's lips A thick spiral of tiny teeth lined The inside of Sundance's gaping mouth And I was sucked towards the central singularity

of Sundance's throat Little laughs resonated around me As if each of the tiny teeth were giggling At my expense, The white stalactites peppered my skin with dripping, slowly, slowly, and I was engulfed in darkness. Sun then stood over my body. He was fat, gelatinous. His body wobbled as he leaned over to pick me up from the floor. Weak, dejected, I tried to struggle, I tried to release myself from his grasp, but there was no fight left in me. Where his grip not so tight, I'd have slipped through his.

oily, greasy, butter. Sundance hummed a merry tune as he raised me above his head and dropped me onto the sunbeen spike that lined his face. Everywhere I look, I see him. I see his rotten nails, his greasy skin. I see his eyes and I see his face in the sky. I always feel cold. I always feel alone.

I tried to meet new people so that I won't be alone. I always introduce myself politely. I find myself looking for someone, just to let me warm myself up a little. It's not that I wish to impose. I'm just so cold. Perhaps one of my new little friends. We'll speak to me soon.