CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - 7 CHILLING Horror Stories to fill you with dread

Episode Date: November 5, 2020

LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...CREEPYPASTA STORIES-►0:00 "The Thing That Came Trick or Treating" Creepypasta►17:22 "While recovering from a broken leg, I ordered the most immersive VR headset" Creepypasta►36:12 "I Worked in the Prodigy Haunted House for Four Years" Creepypasta►1:00:54 "The Whistler" Creepypasta►1:30:39 "Every Halloween I'm Visited By a Childhood Figure" Creepypasta►1:52:34 "A strange encounter from a roadside assistance worker" 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. CREEPY THUMBNAIL ART BY►jdtmart: https://www.deviantart.com/jdtmart/ar...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPastaCREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only-

My wife, Alice, was upstairs in bed, dying of cancer. But she insisted we put out candy for Halloween. She hoped to sit by the window and watch the kids in costumes roaming in packs along the streets and coming down our walk. It made me nervous, her pushing herself out of bed like that, and it didn't like the distractions at the door. But anything to take her mind of things was worth it. After a few clusters of kids had come to the door, I brought tea to Alice. and sure enough found her in the chair by the open window. The IV line running from a stand by her bed into her arm

was hopefully buying us more time. She smiled when I placed a warm mug in her hands but kept her attention outside. We were only in our late 20s. We'd been married four years and the last thing we expected was to have our time together cut so short. A large group of kids were turning down our walk and the doorbell would ring in a moment

but it was the direction of my wife's attention that caught my eyes. A solitary child, or what I assumed was a child, standing across the street, watching a house from the window of a stately oak tree. Have you ever seen something mundane and otherwise normal that completely unnerves you for no apparent reason? For example, you might be driving through town, thinking about nothing in particular when an alley you pass makes your blood run cold. No reason. just something about it. You might wonder if a terrible thing had once happened there, or perhaps if you believe in premonitions,

you might speculate that something terrible was destined to happen there at some point in the future. There's just a feeling. I got that feeling looking at the small silhouette across the street. My instinct was to close the window, coaxed my wife into bed, and turn off the porch light after this group of trick-or-treaters. But the doorbell pulled me away.

moments later I was letting Darth Vader and SpongeBob Squarepants, among others, take candy bars from a plastic bowl. I put on a false smile, waved to the parents standing at the sidewalk with a flashlight

and searched the darkness across the street for the mysterious little figure. At first, I couldn't spot it. But then I did. A tiny thing, barely visible. My hair stood up on my arms when I realized it wasn't watching us at the door.

Its gaze went up toward the window, where my wife sat. When the group of kids left, I closed the door and considered turning off the porch light, but Alice would notice, and I didn't want to upset her. So I went into the kitchen and started cleaning up the dishes in the sink. I had a baby monitor turn all the way up so I could listen in case she needed me. I worried she would fall or have another seizure or a coughing attack. The doctors had been bugging us for a couple of weeks to move her to hospital. But I couldn't even begin to contemplate that.

I despised the very word hospice, which imply giving up and you never give up. There's always a chance as long as you don't give up. Before long the doorbell rang. I grabbed a bowl of candy bars and opened the door, expecting another group. But what I saw stole my breath like a punch in the gut. Even now, I can only call it the thing. In the yellowish light of the porch, it was hard to see it clearly, like its dark flesh absorbed an unusual amount of light. Could this be a costume?

Tumorous, reddish skin, a segmented body like an earthworm, tiny shrivelled hands, a swollen neck like that part of the worm you put the hook into, a triangular head, something like that of a leech. At the end of an outstretched arm, it held a chika-treat bag. Great costume, I stuttered. Ah, what are you? The thing said nothing. Just held the bag a little higher. Well, okay, you can pick your own. I held up the bowl, but the thing made no move.

I could feel my heart racing. Did I hear something from the baby monitor? The thing peered around me, trying to see inside. All I wanted to do was back up, lock the door. door and turn off the lights. I chose a baby Ruth bar, threw it into the thing's bag, and slammed the door. Before I could remember to shut off the porch light, I heard Alice shouting for me from the three speakers I had set up in the living room, kitchen and bathroom. I ran upstairs. Sure enough, she had fallen and lay beside the bed in pain. The IV needle

was ripped out and blood trailed down her arm, drops of it reddening the hardwood floor. I picked her up. She weighed nothing now. and gently placed her in the bed. All she could mumble was, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. She always worried about being a burden. I told her it was okay, of course, while covering her bruised legs quickly with the sheets.

I used the red towel. The hospice people recommended red towels to soak up the blood on her arm. She had been pricked by needles so many times that her arm looked like a battlefield. It took me about 15 minutes to get her settled. I took a pulse, pulled the comforter up to a chin, then sat holding a hand. The nurse would be here tomorrow morning and would fix her IV line.

Then, the doorbell rang again. Shoot, I should have hit the porch light. I'm okay, Alice insisted. Go take care of it. They'll go away, I said. Please, I like knowing kids are coming to the house. I would do anything to make her happy. and this was for some reason important to her.

I ran down when it rang his second time. But when I opened the door, once again, the thing stood there. I stared, open-mouthed. It held the plastic Halloween bag out. The only object inside it was the baby Ruth from me. I felt my blood rising with anger. I wanted to chase it off, but I didn't want Alice to hear me. I felt unnerved, afraid he was.

Was I going crazy? This had to be just some kid in a really awesome costume. It tried to peer around me into the house. You've already been here, I told it. But the thing only held the bag more forward. I reached in for a snickers and slammed it into the bag. Now that's it, I raised my voice. Get out of here, go on to the other houses.

Not waiting for its reaction, I slammed the door, switched off the lights and stood there hyperventilating. Had Alice heard any of that? I ran upstairs. She showed me a faint smile. I walked by the window, stopping to look out for the thing, but I couldn't see it. I took a chair next to my wife and held her hand.

She said, I think, maybe. But then she stopped. However, I knew what she was. going to say. Almost since our first date, we were so in tune that we could finish each other's sentences. Even when I proposed to her, she seemed ready for every word, knowing what I was going to say before I even opened my mouth.

Destiny is a great blessing, and a great curse. And we'd been destined to be together, like a lock that had been made with only one key. What she had been about to say before cutting herself off was, I think maybe it's time. I could barely breathe. All these doctor's appointments, all these months, all the attempts to reduce, or at least delay,

even when we knew how long the odds were, even when we knew the doctors were running out of things to try. I always believed... I don't know. Something. I believe something. Something would always give us more time.

The doorbell rang again. I felt anger like I had never felt before. anger that had been building up, I guess, ever since we had first heard the scan results. That thing dared to come to our door again. I was going to grab it by the neck and drag it out to the sidewalk, kid or thing or whatever. I took the stairs two at a time.

I didn't even remember leaving my wife's room. My cheeks were on fire. After storming across the living room, I whipped open the front door and... There was a large group of kits and costumes. "'Tric or treat!' they squealed. "'It took me a long moment to wipe the rage off my face. I waved weakly at the parents on the street.

What was wrong with me?' I grabbed the bowl of candy and held it out to what must have been nine or ten kids. They came up one by one, and, with trembling hands, I dropped a candy bar in their bags, maintaining the biggest, vaguest smile ever, until the last kid held a bag out. At first I only saw a scream mask, which didn't spook me. But my eyes moved down to the black cape until I saw those reddish black, tumorous arms, those gnarled, half-sized hands, one of them holding the bag,

a bag which seemed mostly empty. My heart fluttered, goosebumps crawled at my flesh, and suddenly I felt cold. You little, I growled, ready to chase it off. Then I remember the parents on the street The little kid still giggling their way toward the sidewalk I grabbed a candy bar Practically crushing it in my hand And chucked it into the thing's bag

Don't let me see you again I whispered through gritter teeth You understand I don't want you anywhere near my house Without waiting for its reaction I turned around and slammed the door I hit the lock then the deadbolt Jesus Christ What was that thing

I ran around every room on the first floor, making sure the windows were locked and the lights turned off. Then I ran back upstairs to Alice. She was awake, but a little delirious. It felt like proximity to the thing outside had been sapping a strength. No, that seemed crazy. I turned the bedside lamp down to the lowest setting, held a damp washcloth to her forehead. Alice had wanted kids, and I guess I had too. I just always thought that children would come down the road when I felt,

I don't know, like I had finally grown up enough, but the cancer had been discovered before that time came. I stood in the window, looking for the thing. I thought I spotted it behind a tree. Or was that it between the neighbours road at Endrons? Maybe it had moved on. Didn't it have to eventually? Not that I wanted to wish it on any of the other families,

but man, why us? My muscles tightened when I saw another large group of kids coming up the street. I stood where I hoped no one could see me in the window, squinting my eyes, trying to spot the thing among them. I held my breath when they stopped in front of our walk. They seemed to be debating. At last, seeing that all the lights were out except Alice's second floor room, they moved on. I watched to see if one figure remained behind or slipped into the yard.

but none did. I sat in the chair by the bed. She looked at me, a moment of clarity. Honey, she said. It's... She still couldn't bring herself to say it, but we both knew. The truth about getting more time

is that it's only worth it if the time is quality. But how do you know the threshold? Some days were good, others horrible. Some days were mostly, bad, yet there would be an hour here and there where we laugh together,

watched the movie, or play cards. Some days, she even managed to read a few chapters in a novel. I took a brush and ran it softly through her hair, which always relaxed her. She drifted off to something close to sleep. Then,

the doorbell rang. Her eyes shot open, and there was fear in them. I felt terrified myself. But I didn't get up. I didn't look out the window. Instead, I turned off the light and sat there, brushing her hair, whispering soothing words, telling her everything was all right.

My nerves were twisted and knots, waiting for the doorbell to ring again any second, waiting for the insatiable thing that just kept coming back no matter what. As the minutes went by and it didn't ring, my tension slowly eased. Minutes became perhaps an hour, and I considered turning on the light so I could read to her from Charles Dickens,

which I would do with a masterpiece theatre kind of voice. But I didn't want the thing to see the light go on. So I sat there, thinking of all the stuff me and Alice had done together over the years, noting how even the beers tasted fuller and the food richer when I went somewhere with her. I don't know how long I sat there, but eventually I fell asleep

and had been asleep for a long time. When I heard it, A light knocking at the bedroom door. I sat up straight, immediately alert, my heart pounding into my a headrums. It had to be a dream, just had to be. I didn't move, except my eyes which went to Alice. And with great relief, I saw she was sleeping soundly, still breathing. Then the knocking at the bedroom door came again.

Not heavy knocking, but firm. Tap, tap, tap, tap. it was in the house. I jumped to my feet, staring at the door. It was unlocked. Nothing could stop the thing from just opening it and coming inside the room. How had it gotten in the house?

Panic flooded my mind. What did it want? Why was it tormenting us? I started pacing, terrified it would knock again, knowing it might push open the door at any moment, horrified that Alice would wake and see it. It couldn't be a child in a costume, just couldn't be.

Why would a child? child only bother one home. It had been lurking across the street for who knows how long, then coming to our door over and over, apparently craving sugar, but only from our candy, even coming once in disguise, and had it harmed some child to get that costume?

What the hell did the thing want? And then an idea came to me, an idea so irrational that I shuddered to think of it, hesitate to tell you about it. I burst into action. The first thing I collected was the bloody red towel. Then I went to the other side of the bed where a small trash bucket stood. Fishing through it, I found dirty bandages and flam-filled tissues.

Palled them in my arm. What else? I ran around the bed again and grabbed the brush, covered with strands of a fragile hair. Tap, tap, tap. The thing knocked again. I ran to the door, caught my breath for a second, then opened it. Sure enough, the thing stood there, no longer in the scream costume, just a tumorous, reddish-black creature with the face of a leech, rows of tiny needle-teeth visible within its mouth. It held out the bag.

I stuffed the bandages and towel and brush into that bag. The thing looked down at the offering, sniffing. Then, seemingly satisfied for once, it turned away from the door. I closed it firmly, not caring where they were. the thing went and locked it. Alice stared behind me. I turned on the lamp. Her eyes are open and slightly clearer.

What was that? She asked. Nothing, I said. Nothing to worry about. She reached for a water bottle and drank. I sat beside her on the mattress. Can you read to me for a while? She asked, leaning her head on me.

All night. if you want, I replied. After an accident at work that resulted in a broken leg, I was forced to stay home while it healed. The first few days went by well enough. I played video games, read a book, started a new TV series, chatted online with friends, all the stuck indoors hits.

But when the week ended and the next one started, and I'd finished another book, the TV series, and played through several games, I developed an extreme case of cabin fever. That, coupled with a less than healthy effects of delivered food made me feel not only bored but unwell. I needed a break from the break, something to free my mind, even while my body remained temporarily immobile.

I googled around for VR headsets, red reviews, and most seemed to be too expensive at the rudimentary level of audiovisual immersion they offered. I hadn't expected tactile feedback and complete sensorial captivation, but everything seemed just a bit too gimmicky. The fledgling experimental technology before, much great to do that. equipment years down the line. I had almost given up my search when I came across a website

advertising experimental but highly advanced VR equipment, available to test for free, provided you e-sign a lengthy waiver. This was on the fourth or fifth page of search results after an extremely specific use of search terminology. The results

before and after it were tangential at best. I'd mostly been scrolling to scroll by that point, but I clicked on the link read through the single-page article, entered the required information and completed my free sign-up. They promised fast shipping,

giving no approximation of how long it would take. I didn't expect to receive the products any time soon, suspected I might not receive it at all. But exactly two days later, a package arrived at my front door. Inside the package was a pretty standard-looking black VR headset, with all the attachments and wires you'd expect to find with one, In addition to the headset, there was a single piece of paper and a small plastic bottle that contained a single white capsule.

There were instructions for the operation of the headset on the paper and an explanation of the capsule's purpose. I'm not a medical expert and the instructions weren't detailed in a way that explained the howls of the pill's effects clearly, but it essentially was meant to stabilize my body while I underwent the VR immersion. The sensations of the virtual experience were described as being extreme and so real that my body would need to be tricked into disregarding the sensory and tactile feedback fed to my brain by the device. The goggles and headset formed a sort of half helmet and weighed a bit more than the display helmets I had tried at electronic stores a few months back.

The design was simple but sturdy, surprisingly well built, considering the lack of payment required to receive it. It came pre-loaded for the demo. The only supplementary equipment was a bit of the equipment. necessary was the USB power source. I plugged it into my computer, sat at my desk, took the pill with a glass of water as instructed, and put on the headset. Upon turning it on, I was met with the calibration menu, which allowed me to orient the visual display to my preferences and adjust the sounds to my liking. To my surprise, all of this was done through

audio input. I only had to speak the dimensions, levels and degrees I desired, and the onboard computer adjusted the virtual space and stimuli accordingly. The preliminary adjustments were made within a boundless black area, overlaid by a three-dimensional grid for spatial awareness with various objects and humanoid dummies to allow for reference and collision detection. Even this rudimentary space was highly immersive. Once my preferences had been established and saved, I was transported to an actual play area, and my breath was instantly taken away.

The simplistic orientation area was replaced. by a highly complex, highly realistic, detailed environment. I stood on a great green hill, bathed in pleasantly warm sunlight, that overlooked a gently flowing river. Immediately across the river was a small grove, through which a cooling wind swept, tossing the trees. In the far distance, a misty-peaked mountain range stretched across the horizon. Behind me, leading down the opposite end of the hill, was a small town.

Its general aesthetic of construction appeared to be a strange, a beautiful mixture of modern and medieval architectural design. Despite having no prayerful attachment to my nose, I actually smell the sense of cooking food emanate from within the town. Other smells, those of livestock and agriculture, were also present, two lesser degrees. Before I thought to step in one direction or the other, a visual prompt appeared before me

and instructed me to walk down the hill towards the town. I did so, and actually felt the soft grass beneath my bare feet. There was no sense of disorientation or loss of equilibrium. It felt as natural to move within that world as it did in the real one. Once I arrived at the town, I was instructed to perform several actions and realized that I was doing the tutorial. There were several MPCs within the town, though none of them displayed any unique behaviours or had any dialogue.

Above their heads was displayed the message, character interactions not yet finalised. Nonetheless, they were equally lifelike. Their models strikingly realistic, despite the somewhat odd, paradoxical and granistic assortment of clothes they wore. Their idle animations were fluid and varied enough to not be noticeably scripted. I finished the tutorial in what felt like 10 or 15 minutes and learned the various actions, movements and abilities available to me within the demo. I could move with the speed and agility well beyond anything I could hope to achieve in the real world and had a proficiency with several weapon types that I had never held before.

The floating visual prompts said that there would be other abilities available in the full release and also other weapons I hadn't yet wielded. The variety of armaments already present was staggering. I was genuinely excited for anything else they could introduce. Once I confirmed that I had a comfortable understanding of the gameplay, the area again melted away and a new one took its place. I seemed to be in the same region, although placed in a different location.

I saw the mountains to my right, curling around in the distance. Hills rolled on intermittently to my left, and various stretches of plains showed wind-blown grass far ahead. I stood within a human establishment of some kind, this one different from the town in which the tutorial had been held. The layout gave the impression of a fortress. Walls blocked off the wilder environs. Stone pathways were laid between several wooden huts,

and the gate sat at the end of a sheer flight. of stone steps. Fortifications and medieval emplacements sat around the area's perimeter. I examined myself and found that I was adorned in armour, although it wasn't anything I could immediately recognise. It was like a mix of samurai armour and the combat armour of modern infantry, with other alterations, strappings and paddings of unrecognised purpose. A weapon was sheathed at my side. I drew it and held what appeared to be a very rare sword of vaguely eastern design. A thin, but sharp-edged blade extended from a thick, ornately decorated hilt. The pommel was the head of a chimera, with two flame-hearted crimson jewels set within the eyes.

When I focused on the sword, information about its damage in design appeared in a hovering prompt. There was a supplementary box for the law, although it said that this information will be provided in the full release. The damage was listed as moderate, and the weapons description said that successive attacks were capable of inflicting deep laceration. a subtype of damage that caused the inflicted enemy to lose focus over time. I resheathed a blade and looked around. I saw no one else immediately near me and heard no sounds of activity. I wanted to explore, but some deep and powerful compulsion kept me rooted in place. I felt that if I moved, I'd be abandoning a pre-ordained duty.

I assumed that this portion of the demo would be instructional as well, and waited in place. Nothing happened for a while, although I didn't mind the inactivity. I was more than happy to stand and marvel at the well-crafted world, beautifully illuminated by the bountiful sun. A man approached the gate at the bottom of the path. He stood there for a moment, then knelt down and began what seemed to be a lock-picking activity. Even though I stood at the top of the path and had a clear view of his actions, I could not move, could not raise the alarm,

even though I knew that this man was an intruder. I watched as he eventually unlocked the gate, opened it and stepped into the fortress. No one came to stop him, despite his obvious intrusions. He freely explored the grounds, going in and out of huts, apparently scavenging for supplies.

The demo hadn't made any mention of online capabilities, so I had first assumed this to be the scripted behavior of an NPC. But, something about the man's movements and interactions with the environment gave the impression of a sentient player, instead of an AI program. After he'd gone through all the lower-placed buildings, he ascended the stone path and stood before me. He wore a simple grey tunic and brown trousers, an outfit befitting a peasant. He had no weapons, save for what appeared to be armored gloves.

His face was, in a word, ordinary, and seemed almost lifeless, despite my aforementioned observations about his behaviour. despite his innocuous appearance and impedes of violence overcame me and I felt that slaying this man was my duty. I drew my sword and in a stroke that would have split even a boulder in half

I attacked the man before me. The slash rebounded off his fist deflecting the attack and destabilising my posture. I had been perried. In the split second of my imbalance he pulled out a small curved knife from behind his belt and plunged it into my side. I felt the blade passed through the

weak spot of my armor, felt the steel part of my soft flesh. The pain was terrible, unlike anything I'd ever experienced. Even the breaking of my leg hadn't felt nearly as awful as that stab. I fell to my knees, and before I could even think to shield myself from another strike, the blade was dislodged and reinserted in my neck. Darkness overcame me a moment later, and I was dead before my body hit the ground. When my vision returned to me, I was back at the top of the path, staring down at the gate, I had apparently respawned. I started to take off the headset, too shocked for the moment to continue playing,

but a warning prompt appeared, saying that if I removed the VR apparatus without the proper exiting procedure, I would experience extreme disorientation and nausea that could last for up to several hours. Despite the tactile authenticity of the violence, I didn't want to experience any truly real physical issues, so I kept their headset on. Since I was just playing a highly advanced video. game, I decided to learn from the past experience and adapt accordingly. Instead of a slash, I decided to do a stabbing attack if the intruder should reappear.

Sure enough, he unlocked the gate, explored the area and approached me. Apparently, I was the sole century of the fortress, for a reason not immediately explained to me. I figured that defeating this person would provide answers, so I endeavored to achieve victory. When he was in strike in distance, I unsheathed and thwarted and thursday. trusted the sores forward. A stab I was sure would be unblockable. The man, without hesitation, sidestepped the attack and slashed me across the stomach with his short blade. I fell to my knees, dropped my sword and clutched my stomach as the blood flowed through the threads and plates of my

armour. A moment later, a sudden piercing pressure was applied to the back of my neck, and my vision went dark. I again returned to my original position, undamaged, overlooking the front gate of the fortress. The pain had been wiped away, and yet the real me shivered at the memory of its agony. Not wanting to be defeated by what I was certain was a common enemy, I decided to think of a new plan. Slashing and thrusting had proved insufficient, so I instead decided to wait for him to attack, and then retaliate when an opportunity presented itself. I had no other weapons, only my blade. If I could not change weapons, I would need to change tactics.

This time he was different. He no longer wore the simple tunic and trousers. In fact, his appearance was eerily similar to my own. He was dressed in the same armour, which had aspects of both ancient and modern design. Instead of his armoured gloves, he wielded a cudgel. His face, unobstured by any helmet, showed only an impassable resolve, an expression of acquiescence to a tedious task. I stood my ground, sword-drawn, awaiting his approach.

He stood in mobile for several seconds, presumably waiting for me to strike first. Understanding that I was not going to make the first move, he raised his cudgel in a posture to strike. I tied to my grip on my blade, ready to block or parry his attack and strike swiftly. But rather than bring the cudgel down, he reached into a pouch on his belt with his free hand

and quickly threw some kind of powder at me. The black dust glided my vision and stung my eyes. I swiped blindly, expecting his subsequent advance, but my blows never connected with any. A moment later, I felt a blade sliced across my throat and then stabbed quickly into my side. I died, blind, and in unimaginable, visceral pain. The world reset, the pain ebbed, the memory of death lingered, terror mounted. Even in the game world, my hands trembled at the inevitability of my digital death.

No matter what I tried, the intruder slayed me. Knowing that I only had a few moments before his arrival, I surveyed my surroundings. hoping to find something which can lend assistance or give the upper hand in my eventual confrontation. Only the useless objects of environmental decoration were present, nothing of value within my reach, nothing I could use as a combative tool. Grounded in place, immovably stationed, I could only await the blade-begotten doom. He appeared again, clad in the same armour, but somehow more intimidating, as if he possessed some inner power, or had grown in an imperceptible,

but potent way. Instead of a cudgel, he carried a massive warhammer, held with both hands. I knew I would have no hope in blocking such a weapon with my blade. With fear poisoning my heart, I did the only thing I hadn't tried yet. Speaking to him, I called out, hoping there would be some sort of peaceful dialogue option, with which to de-escalate the violence. But he didn't heed my words, didn't acknowledge them at all.

before I could assume a posture of defence the hammer collided with my skull and though the pain was beyond agony it was short-lived I again resumed that virtual life prior to his arrival I died six more times with each time he was different

changed in a slight way by the third time I realised the truth that I was being farmed killed for experience he would level up almost each time or had purchased or scavenged more lethal weapons and tools with each round. On the sixth time,

I was bombarded by some sort of magical and caustic element, spewed forth by a bone-forged sceptre of some kind. The substance or energy burned through my armour and melted my flesh, killing me in a slow, excruciating death. The intensity of pain was too much.

Ignoring the warnings, I removed the headset and returns of the normal world. Ejected myself from the VR immersion was just as shocking as the game warned. I instantly vomited, emptying my stomach onto the carpet. Despite the stains and the smell, I did not try to redirect the projections to a less absorbent surface. I could do nothing but wretch and cry,

like a child prematurely thrust from the wound into the outer world, overloaded by unfamiliar sense impressions. When I eventually settled down and regained something of my composure, I gathered and placed all the VR equipment into the original packaging. I was done with the game. The experiences were dreadful, painful and terrifying. My tireless adversary only grew stronger with each visit, whilst I remained pitifully outmatched, unfairly under-leveled.

Once I'd packed it all up, I went to the bathroom to wash myself off. I removed my shirt because droplets of vomit had landed on it. The shocking image reflected in the mirror made me lose my balance, and I barely managed to write my crutches before toppling over. several scars were presented across my body scars that hadn't been there before the wounds that left them were savage and even though I'm not a medical professional

I knew by their appearance alone that they would have been lethal had they been inflicted in the real world my heart and mind would duly overcome with a black terror as I realised that each scar corresponded to a wound sustained within the VR game I remembered each vicious strike each brutal blow.

I returned to the living room where I had left the package. I turned it over to examine every service and even unpacked the contents but found no information regarding returns, no return address. I went to the website I had ordered it from but was met with only the initial sign-up screen.

There wasn't even an option to provide feedback for my experiences with their device. I didn't dare put on the machine to search for such an option in game. I wasn't willing to risk re-experience experiencing the horror and trauma of being slain by that merciless foe. I burned it all, even the packaging. If I could not return it, I would see it destroyed.

I know I wanted an immersive experience to take me out of the dullness and tedium of my recuperation, but that game was far beyond anything I would have wanted, far too realistic to derive any sort of enjoyment from it. Something should remain within the realm of fantasy. There's not a whole lot to do in a town the size of Prodigy, Colorado. It's so small, it's barely on any maps. We don't have our own grocery store anymore, and I'm pretty sure anyone who drives through here thinks the gas station is abandoned.

We didn't even have our own church until early 2006, even if it did end up burning down. Most of us don't cruise around by the fields anymore either. That's why, when we have a holiday, we do pretty much everything we can to put together as many activities as possible. The most popular example, besides from Christmas caroling, is the prodigy haunted house. It has to be hosted in the town hall, because it's the only building with big enough rooms to do anything with. We put up fake walls made from scraps of wood, covered in trash bags or long strips of black fabric, to make a series of hallways through the main room that different haunt actors are stationed in.

Sometimes we make fun little false rooms for people to hide in and jump out of. One year, I waited in one section of the hallway, and when people are in. had wandered past me, and crawled through the fabric of the wall and wait for them at the other end of the corridor as well. It's not the highest budget haunted house, but we do what we can, and everyone loves it. The man who started up the haunted house was named Jordan Massey. He was in his late 30s, and at one point was the principal of Tenwood High School. He stopped working there in probably 2016 when his wife had triplets. He was a pretty good friend of my dad, so.

I spent a lot of time around him growing up and felt like he was part of my family for a long time. He spent a lot of time and effort making sure the haunt runs smoothly because it was particularly important to the teenagers and young adults and prodigy in Tenwood that he spent a long time supervising. The thing about it is that the haunted house doubles

as a charity drive and all the money gets donated to the schools in Tenwood. I worked as an actor in the haunted house for four years starting when I was 15 years old. The age didn't really matter, because it was a kind of an, anyone who can pitch in his welcome situation. Besides, I had pretty much begged Jordan to let me be in it. I loved horror, and had an increasing fascination with special effects makeup and costuming. So, finally being able to be part of the haunted house was practically a dream come true for me.

My best friend, Oliver, who has been with me through everything, decided to do it with me. We figured it would be more fun and pretty cool to do something together. The first year was incredibly fun Oliver and I got a whole section all to ourselves and we spent all of our free time after school making the props and planning our costumes and our scares We went with an exorcist theme Which is part controversial and part very popular

Because I dressed up as a nun And Oliver pretended to be possessed The two years after that we constantly tried to up our game I even learned how to backbend and crab walk during our third year But that's not really why I'm telling this story. I'm telling this story because during the fourth year we worked there, something else was working there too. Let me first explain that.

In all the years I've ever visited or worked in the haunted house, none of the patrons were ever injured. The only people who ever ended up with bruises were us, the actors, from falling to the floor and flying around or running into walls. Once or twice we got kicked in by someone who was scared and startled, but it happened rarely. No one who ever went through the haunted house as a visitor had ever been seriously injured

until the fourth and final year that I worked there. That final year I was 19 years old. Oliver and I planned on doing a particularly fun, messy, cannibal-themed room. We were both stressed due to other circumstances in our lives and a chaotic, unorganized, bloody room seemed like it would be the most fun to set up and the least stressful to plan and put together.

Besides, the previous year, we'd gone through a creepy doll-slash-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-kiddhroom theme, and it hadn't felt quite scary enough, so we felt like we needed to step up our game. This particular year, a lot of the older teenagers, who had helped out previously, had moved away for college, or just couldn't make it on the nights we were running the horns because of their jobs. We were a little desperate to make sure we had enough people, so a few weeks before we started setting up,

We put us on flies in Tinwood and Matlock, the two nearest towns to Prodigy. Some of the people I worked with were a little worried about working on something so important to the town with a bunch of strangers, but the rest of us thought it would be fine. We figured that we would just have to be a little more strict and make it a point to communicate with the new workers better. We had a good amount of applicants, though we had to turn a few people away, mostly for being too young. Either way, the haunted house was going to be in full swing and we were all set to work with costumes and props. We even planned and a few extra people to be roaming around

within the walls of the haunt to add some extra unpredictable scares. There was a classic killer clown room near the fronters started off, an asylum-themed room, a hallway lined with metal cages that had been built and donated a few years back that held some zombies and a bunch of smaller single-actor scares lining the hallways. an opening night everything for the most part was going fine

Oliver and I were having a blast people were enjoying coming through the haunt and we had raised a lot of donated money on just our first night we were going to be exhausted but that was always completely worth it we had a few issues with one of the walls essentially collapsing in the middle of nowhere

and nearly falling over Jordan but it was fixed quickly enough we were less than an hour away from our closing time which was 1 a.m. when a teenage girl named Daisy Beck passed out, right in the middle of the haunt. He had to call an ambulance, which came all the way from Matlock, and she was carried out on a stretcher. Later, work out around that she had apparently passed out from a combination of severe dehydration and heat stroke. It was confusing, to say the least.

Daisy had gone through our room before she fainted, and she'd been absolutely fine, and everyone else in the haunt thought it was a little too cold. For the most part, we all passed it off as a one-time incident, thinking she'd just been ill before she came into the haunt, and the scares just got to her. She did refuse to talk to anyone about it, though, and she never came back through the haunt. The second day the haunt was open, a heavy strobe light fell from the ceiling and clipped Stephanie Grant on the shoulder while she was working. She was lucky. She'd been standing directly under it for most of the night, and had only moved to reach for a water bottle while the room was empty. If she had been a few inches to the left, it would have landed on her head.

She was sent to the hospital, and the next time I saw her, her entire shoulder was bruised, and she had to wear a sling. The night it happened, when the haunt was shut down, and the only people left with the workers, we gathered around the fallen equipment and tried to figure out how it could have fallen in the first place. We'd always taken multiple measures to make sure heavy things like lights and props were secured, and we couldn't explain how one single stroblank, I just slipped off the wooden beam at the ceiling that it was bolted to. Stephanie had to drop out of the haunt that day, and we all understood.

She still came by and hung out with us before and after the actual haunt. I think she was really upset that she couldn't participate. When we were turning off all the lights and machines to leave, Jordan managed to burn himself on the fog machine. His hand was bandaged for the rest of the week. On the third day, I talked to Oliver. We were reorganising parts of our room, Trying out a layout that was a little bit different.

Sometimes, working in a haunted house was a bit of a guessing game. Most of us played it by ear and adapted to scares that worked better, even if it meant abandoning things that we originally thought were really good ideas. It was some time in the morning, and we thought we were alone, so I just started talking. I explained how I was absolutely positive that something weird was going on. Daisy passing out, one of the walls nearly collapsing, the light falling on Stephanie.

None of this stuff had ever happened before and half of it was so random and inexplicable that it didn't even begin to make sense. Oliver listened and then quietly agreed. But what are we going to do about it? He questioned, folding his arms as he straightened up and looked at me. Weird stuff is prodigers brand.

It made me sigh, mostly because it was correct. I know, I just... Maybe you should keep an eye out. I don't want anyone else to get hurt. The haunt is supposed to be fun. Oliver agreed with me and we even thought about discussing the issue with Jordan, but we never got that far.

We kind of ended up getting distracted and by the time you saw Jordan we were rushing around to make sure the last minute things were perfect before opening. On that night, an entire group of people became violently ill out of nowhere in the middle of the haunt. It got worse on the fourth night.

I was in the moment. bathroom in between groups and it just dried off my hands and unlocked the door when I heard a commotion in the main room. With how the last few days had gone, it made my blood nearly run cold, and I flung the door open and rushed out to make sure everything was okay. Only to almost be bawled over by an entire group of people sprinting past me. Apparently, one of the teenagers from Tenwood had broken off from his group, snuck past Jordan, and had tried to run through the haunt before we were ready. He nearly made it to the end, even with a bunch of actors yelling and running after him to get him to stop. He made it past my room, the zombie hallway, and was almost to the smoke tunnel when he started screaming. Everyone rounded the corner after him to find him with a ground, shrieking, clawing at his face and flailing one of his legs.

The other leg was bent sideways at the knee, absolutely mangled, flopping against the ground with a series of sickening sounds as he thrashed. We had lost a line of sight with a kid for maybe two seconds. The sound, the sight of his broken leg just flounding like that, made one of the girls throw up. Two of the older men who helped run the horn along with Jordan, Dom and Frank, rushed forward to get the kid to stop thrashing. I wits my phone out and dialed 911 as fast as I could, turning around so I wouldn't have to look at that leg or the girl vomiting anymore. I rounded the corner as the dispatcher entered the phone

and then looked back over my shoulder to peek back into the hallway to make sure nothing else was happening. Everyone, rightfully so, was focused on making sure the flailing, shrieking teenage on the ground, didn't mess with his leg even more than he already had. One or two were crowded around the girl who had vomited, helping her to the ground so she wouldn't get sick again. As I was about to turn back around and focus on the call, one of the people standing at the opposite end of the hallway

past the group of people on the ground caught my eye. I couldn't really see his face. He was wearing a mask. One of those weird, almost see-through masks that a few of the wondering actors were wearing. I was positive that he was watching me, though. I could feel it. He was just standing there,

so still that he almost seemed like a cardboard cutout. I didn't even realize I had frozen until I could hear the dispatcher questioning me over and over through the phone, asking if something else was going on, watching him get wheeled out on a stretcher, and into the back of an ambulance reminded me too much of the incident with Daisy. Once he had been wheeled out of the actual haunt, he had stopped screaming.

Instead, he seemed dazed or confused, like he didn't even remember what happened. His voice had gone hoarse and roar, and by the time he was in the back of an ambulance, he could barely speak anymore. The paramedics theorized that he had slipped in the fog tunnel, and it was just some kind of freak accident that his leg bent like that. I knew better The whole time we were outside with the ambulance I was searching for the masked man I saw earlier but it could have realistically been any of the wondering volunteers

We shut the haunt down early that night It was the fifth night of the week That an incident involved me A couple Holly and Pete Rios came through the haunted house I used to babysit for them Holly was an elementary teacher over in Tenwood and Pete worked in maintenance.

They were, by all accounts, a very nice couple and they had gone through the haunt once already on the first day. I saw them at the gas station only a day after they had gone in for the first time. Apparently, they loved it and they congratulated me, and Oliver, in spirit, on our costumes and our room.

I'm not sure if they had a reason for coming through a second time, but it wouldn't have been that weird. There were some people who went through every night that it was open. There were even some people who came through and donated every night. By this point, I was suspicious of nearly everyone working in the haunt that had come from Tenwood or Matlock. Every time one of them came through Oliver and I's room, I tensed up. I'm sure Oliver caught on at some point, but he never said anything to me about it.

I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something up with at least one of them. We had never had problems with the haunt until this year and the only thing different about this year was them. The only problem was that I couldn't rule any of them out. So, I just had to watch everyone. Pete and Holly got to our room where Oliver and I were crouched in a messy pile of fake gore. Typically, I would stand, stare at the visitors for a bit

before turning, backbending, and walking backwards at them to essentially chase them out of the room while Oliver did his thing behind me. Because we were placed in the middle of the haunt, people were usually already pretty scared before they got to our room, which at first seemed pretty calm compared to the others that were filled with strobe lights and screaming people. Two of the volunteers from out of town had wandered in front of our room to do their scares, so I was keeping an eye out on every visitor who came through for any signs of something going wrong. As Pete and Holly entered the room, pausing to taking the sight of fake blood and body parts,

I stood up and stared them down Wild eyes, messy hair Covered in fake blood It was dark on the other side of the room That they stood on The only real light in the room was the dim Partially covered spotlight That rested on me and Oliver

Despite the lack of lights I could see on their faces that they were scared But it felt off It didn't look like the normal kind of haunted house scared Besides they had seen all of this before they shouldn't look like that. I was determined to stay in character though. Everyone knew that if the house was too much,

you can ask an actor to stop and lead you out. Neither of them said anything, so I was prepared for business as usual. I stepped forward, nearly to the spot where I'd spin and drop into a back bend. And then Holly started shrieking, hands reaching up to cover her eyes and pull out her hair. And Paul screamed,

searching forward before I could react and grabbed me by the arms. Close up, he looked absolutely crazed. I yelled, surprised and terrified. No one was supposed to touch or grab us, just like we weren't supposed to touch or grab them. But Paul dug his fingers into my arms, and before I could say anything, he was shaking me back and forth like a rag doll,

hard enough that my head whipped backwards and I nearly lost my balance. It took me a second to realise he was screaming in my face. Holly's high-pitched screaming made it difficult to hear at first. He was threatening me, screaming some of the most vile things I've ever heard in my life, punctuated by, If you touch me one more time, I'll kill you. I had never touched him. That much I was sure of.

I put my hands up on his chest, trying to push him away, but he felt like he was ten times stronger than me. Suddenly, the lights in the entire building flew on, and Oliver was next to me, trying to pry Paul's hands off my arms. He wouldn't let go, and then there were more people, flooding in from other rooms, trying to pull him away. It took six people to pull us apart, and by the time I stumbled backwards and nearly fell to the floor, I had four crescent-shaped cuts on the inside of both arms from his nails. Almost the minute that we were separated, both of them stopped screaming,

looking almost dazed as they were dragged out of the house. Some of the other actors and visitors, including Oliver, stayed to ask me if I was. I was okay. They asked me what had happened. I didn't have a good answer for them. I sat on the floor, legs feeling weak. The look in his eyes was burned into my brain. It reminded me a bit of a wild animal in danger, vicious, crazed, nearly feral, most of all, completely terrified. I don't know what he thought he was looking at, or what he had seen before me, but I don't think I want to know. Oliver and the girl from the room next to ours, Emily Keller, helped me to my feet and walked me outside to get some air.

I remember Emily telling me that someone had called the police and that they would be here soon. I was having trouble focusing, kind of zoning in and out of the conversation. Don't worry, I heard her say as we got to the front door of the hall. Jordan has Frank and done watching Paul and Holly on the other side of the yard. You won't have to wait near them. Oliver pushed open the door and the three of us stepped outside and I was relieved to feel the cold air

in my skin which felt a hundred degrees too hot all over as soon as we were outside Jordan found us he tried to ask me what had happened but I guess I wasn't giving him very good answers because he finally decided to turn to Oliver and ask him instead

Oliver seemed about as confused as I was but at least he could accurately relay the details on the incident considering he had watched it happen. For a while, I was focused solely on staring at the grass, but then a slow, creeping chill worked its way up my spine. The back my head buzzed, and I felt the very distinct feeling of something, somewhere, watching me. The familiar feeling of breath on the back of my neck made my skin crawl, and I whipped my head around and practically full tilt to look over my shoulder

and searched for whatever was making me feel so off. Almost immediately, my eyes flicked back to the open door of the haunted house. The lights were on, and everyone who had been inside had spilled back out under the lawn in front of the town hall. But when I looked back, the building wasn't empty. Just before the first bend of the hallway, standing back against the shadowed part of the wall, was a tall man, the same man.

This time he didn't have a mask on. When I looked at his face, he was already looking at me. Something about his gaze made me feel cold, scared. While Oliver was talking to Jordan, I stared through the doorway, holding eye contact with the man. Part of me recognized him as one of the workers from Tenwood, but there was something so indescribably off about him that it didn't feel like the same person at all. His eyes seemed a little too wide. his stance unnaturally still.

He didn't move or smile or do anything. He only stared and I couldn't look away. Everything else fell away. It was like I was underwater and could only barely make out the loud chatter that was surrounding me. The longer I stared, the worst I felt and the more uncanny he started to look. He looked angry, furious even,

his gaze burning into me like he was hoping looks could kill. For all I knew, the ground beneath my feet was slowly crumbling and falling away with everything else. I felt like I was falling, alone, when no one could catch me. My skin grew cold. His eyes were so big, open so wide, they looked perfectly round, and he was still just frozen there. I couldn't stand it.

Some kind of artificial outrage boiled in the pit of my stomach, under all the terror. Why wouldn't he just move? I don't know how long we stayed like that. Him staring at me and me staring back, feeling every second more and more like I was going to implode. It felt like years. Eventually, I veiled to hand my shoulder and Oliver shook me as gently as he could,

careful of the tender, red areas in my arms, and I was yanked back to the surface. The sound all around me almost seemed too loud now, like someone I pushed a loudspeaker right up to my head after a long period of silence. Cut out of the inexplicable trance I whipped my head around to look wide-eyed at Oliver and Jordan I was vaguely aware of Oliver asking me if I was okay

and Jordan given his jacket because I was shivering but with the sound of my blood rushing my ears and the terrified adrenaline pumping through me he sounded far away I whipped my head back around about to explain that there was something staring at me but there was nothing inside the house the door wasn't even open

the words died in my mouth feeling bitter on my tongue as I tried to swallow my mouth was dry and my head was spinning my chest feeling too tight to properly breathe I passed it off as being a bit in shock

Jordan bless him thought it would be best if I went home and let me off clean up duty for the night Oliver offered to take me home so I wouldn't have to walk and I snatched up his offer immediately. Jordan told us he would tell the police to come to my house if they wanted to question me and sent us on our way. I barely remember any part of getting into Oliver's truck or getting home.

I do remember that Oliver stayed the night at my house with me and made me my favourite kind of tea while the police were sitting in my kitchen in order to question me. I'm pretty sure I was still covered in fake blood and wearing my costume while that happened. I told the police I didn't want to press charges. They told me that it sounded like a targeted attack Since Paul and Holly had apparently been fine Up until they came into our room And Paul had only tried to attack me I didn't know how to explain it to them

So I simply repeated that I didn't want to press charges They wrapped up and left shortly after And I didn't go back to the haunted house For the final two days that it was open This year Jordan asked if I would work at the haunt again Oliver was doing it and even Logan was going to get in on it I didn't have to think about it

before I said no if they needed help setting up I could come around and help with that but I wasn't going to be anywhere near the haunted house while it was running I don't know if I'll go back ever again even if the accident stop occurring in hindsight

I wish we'd listen to the people who were cautious about sending out flies a little bit more. I think whatever was there fed off the chaos and fear, or maybe just like causing it. We should have known that announcing an event like that in a place like prodigy would invite something less than savoury. When I was a kid, I had a mostly typical suburban childhood. White big fences, cracker box houses all the same, endless concrete for my friends and I to ride our bikes on, and the only strangers we saw with the again. occasional drifter or traveller that wandered through our town.

My dad worked at the steel mill. My mom was a homemaker, and I remember afternoons off from school, filled with bike rides, trips to the arcade, Boy Scout meetings, and, of course, exploring Stokes Woods that lay just off the secluded neighbourhoods we all lived in. Stokes Woods was where my friends and I had so many first. It was the first bit of real freedom we had, spending summer days exploring, making maps, and setting up camp.

that would be found again later to our great amusement. It was our first brush with death, finding birds or animal carcasses on the trail. We broke them with sticks and ooed, never guessing that one day we might share their fate. I was in the woods the first time I swore, yelling, damn it, as I skinned my knee when I was eight.

I was in the woods the first time I saw a naked woman, the glossy pages of Terry's dad's playboy held gripped in my sweaty hand as we sat around a campfire when I was 11. It hosted my first camping trip and was the first place I was allowed to camp alone Well, with Terry and Reggie at least It was also where we found the tree house

The tree house was a relic of kids gone by It was in a big old tree set into a clearing A fire pit dug in its shadow With a dumbwaiter to pull things up And a rope ladder to climb up through the trap door It had been built in pieces And there was a wall inside with the signatures of kids who had added to it

When we came across it one afternoon Our nine-year-old eyes growing wide with wonder We knew we had found something special Over the next few weeks We replaced the rope ladder Cleaned out the fire pit Replace the rope on the dumbwaiter After a disastrous incident

That sent our stuff spilling 20 feet to the ground We painted it too Finding some paint at the junkyard And painting the faded treasure in a wash of purple And browns and golds We added a bike rack Again with wood from the junkyard and the easy trip to and from the yard

made me believe that the tree house may have been constructed from things they found in the junkyard. We asked Old Man Macy, the caretaker and he said that kids had been coming and going for years taking stuff for projects in the woods. He was glad it had been put to such good use. We had been playing and camping and using the tree house for a couple of years

when Terry suggested a Halloween sleepover. It's on a Friday, we can camp out in the tree house eat candy and tell scary stories. I thought it sounded like a great idea, and my parents agreed. This may sound weird to some of you, but the town we lived in was very rural, and crime was almost non-existent.

Our town had a population of around 1,200. Besides the odd traveller that sometimes blew through, you knew your neighbours very well. We had camped in the woods for the last few years, and the Boy Scouts had taught all of us how to camp safely and not burn down the woods. That night We all hit the streets

As soon as the lamps came on Pillowcases in hand And embarked on a sweet journey We had a theme As we always did And we were all dressed as Avengers When we went out to trick or treat I was Hawkeye

Bow slung over my shoulder And cheap mask covering my eyes Reggie was the Hulk Bodypainted green With absurd foam Hulk hands On his real hands And Terry was Captain America His store-bought costume

topped off by a trashcan lid shield he had painted a star on. We moved from house to house, striking poses and delighting adults as they filled our pillowcases with candy. By the time the porch lights started going out, we had bulging sacks ready to burst from candy. We stopped at our home, dropping off a little excess candy in getting our camping stuff and told our parents where we were going. My mom kissed me goodnight and told me to come straight home if there was an emergency. And with that, we set off.

We walked the familiar trails into the woods, backpacks and bulging candy sacks weighing us down, and the night was lit by a full and ghostly moon. Reggie and I talked excitedly about the candy, wanting to tell ghost stories as we ate it, but I kept getting distracted. I could swear there was a noise out in the woods, a bird or a high-pitched wind, and, as we moved towards the treehouse, it seemed to follow us. The other two were oblivious, but the sound made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. We came to the treehouse at long last, and, in the full light of the moon, it looked ghostly and strange. Once we were safe inside the treehouse, lanterns on, and candy spilled under the floor, I began to feel at ease. This was our sanctuary.

Nothing bad could happen to us here. We were children who had yet to experience loss or real trauma, and we were secure. and the knowledge that no matter how bad it got, our parents would still protect us from anything. We were foolish, but children are supposed to be foolish, I guess. Reggie was halfway through one of the four-sized candy bars the Hudson's have been giving out when Terry suggested we started ghost stories. Terry loved scary stories, and he usually had a good collection of them from the internet or wherever. Reggie bought a beanbag chair over from a corner, and I drug a chair over so we could group up around the lantern.

Normally, we would tell our stories around the fire pit, but I think we all sensed that tonight it was better to be inside. Halloween was unique somehow, best to be inside after dark. Terry brought the flashlight up under his chin, tilting the light knob down on the lantern and grinned at us ghoulishly. This is a true story. I swear it on my life, he said theatrically, before beginning his story. He told us a story about a kid. kid plagued by the ghost of a hobo he and his friends had accidentally killed. They'd been playing a trick on him and he'd choked to death on a sandwich. After he died, the boy kept seeing him

around, in windows or on street corners, but his friends wouldn't believe him. Then, while the boys were to sleep over, the ghost struck. I found myself distracted as he told the story though. The wind blew against our treehouse, creaking it in the branches of the old tree, but beneath the wind was a sound. A whistling coming from outside. A high-pitched keen that was not altogether tuneless. As I listened to it, it almost seemed to move through the surrounding trees as Terry wove his story. Terry came to the climax of his story.

The boys and his friends dying badly as he escaped the sleepover and ran back to his home. The ghostly hobo dug his heels, screaming his name as he chased him through the quiet streets, and the boy had made it home and slammed the door in his rotting face. He had leaned against it, safe at last. But as the banging began, he remembered one important fact. His parents were gone, Terry said, grinning in the flashlight beam. He might have made it home, but he was still at the mercy of the ghostly apparition. Terry told us how the door had bowed inward, the ragged hands pushing the wood like wax paper.

But I found my attention dragged away again. I could still hear the whistling again, close and now, and I could swear there was another noise too. Rustling leaves, maybe, or leaves cracking underfoot, was someone outside our tree house? And, as Patches pushed at his door, trying to catch him, the boy snuck out of his window and disappeared into the night, never to be seen again. Terry seemed to notice then that I wasn't really paying attention. Oh, come on, that was a great story.

Huh? Yeah, sorry, something was distracting me outside. Reggie looked quizzically at me. What was it? I thought I heard some outside moving around in the leaves. Terry turned to look at the bare window and Reggie walked over to look out into the inky blackness. The moon cast an odd light over his face,

but as he scanned the ground, it gave away no sudden surprise. He shrugged his already broad shoulders and returned to his beanbag chair. He reached for a candy bar and started unwrapping the silver foil. Nothing there, he said after Terry, and I stared at him for a few seconds. It must have been the wind. Terry began another story about a shadowy creature that lived in a stairwell, but as he laid out the narrative, I could hear the whistling again.

It warmed into my consciousness, spinning through the trees outside like a drunken bird. I could hear the leaves crunching again, the wind making them rustle like skeletal wind chimes. And suddenly, I too wanted to go to the window. and look into the night. I was trying to listen to Terry's story, but the more attention I tried to give to it, the more I heard the noises from down below. Terry looked miffed when I interrupted his story

to go drag up the rope ladder. I latched the hatch and came back to find him with his arms crossed and an indignant look on his face. You think you can do a better story? Well then, hot shot, how about it? He tossed the flashlight at me, and I caught it by reflex. I thought about it for a moment.

and realized that I did have a better story I could tell. Maybe by getting it out, I could alleviate the fears that had been consuming me. I was ruining my Halloween camp out for what? Some noise outside the tree house? It was probably just a raccoon or something that had been spooked when we arrived. My knees had given me the perfect story though. So, these three kids were walking in the woods. They were going camping and were going to a familiar spot in the woods to set up.

They left their homes at dusk. wanting to camp out under the stars in just their sleeping bags. Their parents told them that if anything went wrong, they could come home and sleep there. But the boys had done this a hundred times and felt that they knew the woods like the back of their hands. They felt like nothing in the woods could surprise them. They were wrong.

Terry sneered, but he sat close to the lantern and listened nonetheless. Reggie opened another candy bar, the story drawing him in as the stories almost always did. Reggie didn't really seem to like scary things. He was kind of a scaredy cat, but he liked the stories. He would sit and listen, getting more and more terrified, but always begged for another when you were done. They walked towards the determined campsite, talking animatedly about the smalls they

would make and the scary stories they would tell, but one of them kept hearing something as they walked. He heard the snap of a twig here, the crunch of a leaf there, and it made him wary. He told his friends. but they shrugged it off as nothing. It was late afternoon, the sun was setting, and animals were coming out to forage. They were probably just hearing animals,

moving around in the dry leaves. The two of them went back to walking, talking between themselves, but the third kept listening, kept looking over his shoulder to see what lay behind. Terry and Reggie were paying attention, Terry a little begrudgingly, but Reggie's eyes were large and starry as he listened.

And, as I told the story, I almost thought I could hear the leaves crackling outside the treehouse. The wind in the trees rattled the dying year's foliage against the limbs and a low whistle could again be heard outside. It was tuneless and wafting

and as it warbled across my sanity I knew just what was stalking these kids through the woods. He kept asking them to listen telling them it was important but they wouldn't listen to him. They kept walking and talking and all the while the crunching

of leaves and the rustling of limbs followed them, getting closer and closer. The boy became afraid. The steps sounded large. One of the others finally turned to him and yelled at him, telling him to stop being stupid and just enjoy the trip. There was nothing out there. No one by him could hear it. He was being stupid. He needed to relax. I paused for a dramatic effect, seeing Terry roll his eyes at the description of the boy in the story. That's when they heard the whistling. And I imagined I could still hear the whistling outside the treehouse. He was getting closer and closer as I told the story. Was the story drawing it in? Was I calling it to the treehouse? But by now I couldn't stop myself. The story needed to be told and I'd become

a conduit for it. I would tell it to the end, even if the whistler came right up the tree after us. They all froze when they heard the whistling. This was no wind. through the bows of a tree. This was a tuneless, monotonous whistling that cuts across the dying afternoon like suckle through wheat. It was behind them, seemingly on the trail, and they could hear it getting

closer and closer. They began to make their way towards the campsite, walking a little faster, but all three looked over the shoulder now. They were all made uneasy by that whistling, and they wanted to put some distance between themselves in it. My friend sat forward, hanging on my every word,

entranced by this new development. Outside, I imagined I could hear the whistling coming from just outside the clearing. They didn't talk anymore, they didn't laugh, and they didn't joke. They let their feet take them ever onward, but the whistling followed them. The friend who had insisted it was nothing said that maybe they should speed up a little bit. The campsite couldn't be far. Once they were there, they could take a side trail and get back to town, or whatever it was would leave and they could get back to the camp out. The other two agreed, but all of them knew that the camp was already cancelled. None of them would sleep here tonight, not willingly.

They sped up, but the whistling followed them, followed them steadily. One of them said they should stop and confront the whistler. He must be human, who else or what else could whistle. The other two shot him down though. The whistling was discordant, jangling against their nerves, sounded like nothing. they'd ever heard before. Both agreed that they didn't want to find out what whistled like that and kept moving.

Something bumped at the bottom of the tree, but my audience didn't seem to notice. It wasn't a hard bump. It didn't shiver the whole tree. It felt more like an inquisitive tap, a gentle knock, someone trying to get our attention. I put it out of my mind,

maybe the window or something, and kept telling. They kept moving, deeper and deeper, and deeper into the woods, all the time being chased by the whistling. They broke into a run, the campsite still not coming into view, and still the whistling grew closer and louder. The whistling took on a life of its own, rising and falling, as its chaotic tune became less and less discernible. The children put their hands over their ears, the noise scraping across their minds like a rusty scalpel. The hands would not block out the whistling,

though. They heard it inside their heads as they battered their senses, and they were, and they were And when the first one tripped, the other two did not stop to help him. They didn't hear his screams, but they felt a change when the whistling thing got him. A nightbird called out from the forest, but now the whistling was in my own head, and I only registered it as something different. I told the story frantically, hoping it would stop the whistling in my head somehow. They dropped their packs then and ran. They sprinted flat out, knowing that the rail must be just up ahead.

They would round the bend and there it would be. It would be there as it always was, and they could cut back towards town. It never occurred to them that the creature could just cut through the forest after them. The trout of town had a talismatic effect on them. If they could make it, if they could walk it, they would be safe. They ran, they wept, but the whistling followed them on and on. Their feet crunched against the leaves and pine needles sounded like gunfire, but they hardly noticed over the eerie whistling in their heads.

my two friends were leaning close now, the lantern making their faces look like jackal lanterns as their eyes begged for the climax. And still, that whistling assaulted me, threatening to drive me mad. If they noticed it, they gave no indication. When the second boy fell, the first never noticed. He ran and ran, trying to out distance the whistling,

trying to get it out of his head, and when his friend was found, the whistling again took on a different tone. The lone boy ran and ran, hoping to out distance the crazed whistling, knowing that his fate would be the same as his friends. Some say he runs to this very day. Some say the whistling got him in the end. No one knows for sure. I heard the whistling abate a little.

It didn't leave, but it did lighten slightly. I felt like crying as I came to the end of my story. Maybe I would be allowed to live where the boys had died. The search parties found their backpacks two days later Animals having worried them to get at the food They found the campsite bare No fire having been lit in weeks But of the boys

They found no sign No trace was ever found of the boys Not a scrap of cloth, not a footprint They were never seen again But the children in the area say That you can hear the whistling in the woods on quiet nights And on those nights It's best to stay indoors

The whistling takes all who venture too close And the whistling will haunt you for the rest of your life However long that is That was when the whistling stopped It stopped so abruptly That I wondered if it had ever been there at all For a ten-year-old to question his mental stability Is a strange feeling

But at that moment I was just glad it had passed me by The other two shook off their rapture Looking as though they'd been hypnotised and Terry blew out a long breath. Well, damn, that was a good story. I can't top that. And suddenly, I'm feeling kind of tired.

Yeah, Reggie said dreamily. Me too. I think maybe we should go to bed. I would have argued with them most nights, but tonight I was as drained as the rest. We laid out our sleeping bags and borrowed down, dropping off quickly without the usual talk that precedes it. I'd like to tell you that this is where the story

he ends. I wish I could, but that wouldn't be doing justice to the memory of my friends. I awoke in the wee hours of the morning when someone threw a pillow at me. It was not thrown playfully. The throw was hard, angry and directed at my face. I sat up, roping my cheek and became aware of the keening whistle that had returned. It was louder than ever and it chilled me to the bone. For God's sake, stop it! Terry yelled, staring daggers at me. Your story was good, we said so, but trying to scare us with this stupid whistling isn't funny.

I heard someone crying and looked over to see Reggie in the corner with his hands against his face. The whistling was loud and discordant, just as I described it in my story, and it appeared that I wasn't the only one who could hear it now. Terry looked madder than I had ever seen him, and Reggie was clearly terrified after the story. I'd spun. It's not me, I swear, I told Terry. He glared at me for a few seconds before

realizing that I was right. He moved to the window and I joined him, trying to see the source of the whistling. Most nights we would have seen nothing in the inky darkness, but under the light of the full moon, the yard shadowy but visible. As we scanned the yard, we could see little. The fire pit below The logs we sat on as we toasted our marshmallows and weaners The woodpile we had tarped against the rain I'd almost decided to go check the other window When Terry gasped like a stepped on cat

I looked and saw a man in a long dark cloak Step out of the tree line He was dressed in a dark grey cloak A tall cowboy hat making him look almost seven feet tall As it pokes for the skies And the toes of pointy boots pokes from beneath the cloak. The wind seemed to loath to touch him, but by the way he pulled the cloak around himself. He would have thought he was freezing. I could see a pair of eyes reflect the

moonlight as he looked up at us and thought he must be wearing glasses. Of course, we could see very little under the cloak, but he made me very uneasy. The whistling seemed to be coming from beneath the cloak, and when it stopped, he began to speak, and I wished for the whistling again. His voice was raspy, pitched, croaksome, a dead man's pleading last words. I'm so cold, boys. Might I take shelter in your treehouse for the night? I shuddered, not knowing what to say. Somehow, Terry found his voice. Go away. Our mothers told us not to talk with strangers. We don't know you. Please, boys, kind boys. Didn't your mother's teach you hospitality.

Let an old man come in out of the cold. He pleaded. No, Terry said, and moved away from the window, as though the man might somehow leap to the window. The man didn't yell. He didn't plead. He just sat on the log beneath our treehouse

and continued to whistle. The jagged cords waffed it up into the treehouse, and I saw Terry shudder as he began again. He picked up a boot that had been part of my costume and went to the window to the window to throw it at the man. Terry sent it sailing, but hissed when it didn't connect.

As the whistling continued, he threw several other things, but the old man never seemed to be where he was aiming. Terry cussed loudly, reaching for the lamp. I wrap my arms around it, begging him not to. It's all the light we have, Terry, please!

He tore it out of my arms, growling as it came free, and chucked it at the old man. He broke on the ground, shattering and fizzling with an electric pop, and the inside of the treehouse was darker for its passing. The whistling went on, though. The man never seemed to run out of breath. Reggie began to rock in the corner, sobbing loudly as the man whistled and whistled below.

Terry screamed at him from the window, his rage never-ending, as I covered my ears and tried to keep the threads of my sanity together. It seemed to last for hours, for days, and as I sat with my eyes closed, I prayed it would end. When I heard the floorboards creak, I opened my eyes. I saw Reggie standing by the window, his foot already on the ledge. Reggie? I breathed, half getting up. What are you doing? Reggie looked at me, Snott runners creeping down his face. His naked face looked tortured, tears, cutting lines down his dirty cheeks. He smiled gruesomely at me as he framed himself in the window. and I didn't have to ask what he intended to do.

I tried to stop him. I pulled myself up from the floor to go get him. But it was already too late. I just wanted to stop. He breathed before he threw himself out the window. We never heard him hit the ground over the loud and terrible whistling. Terry stormed over to the hatch and had unlatched it before I could throw myself across it. What are you doing? I breathed.

What do you think of it? I'm doing. I'm going to go do something about this guy. He's an adult, Terry. You can't do anything to him. Get out of my way. I'm going out there. He's scary, Terry. You shouldn't go out there. He'll end up like Reggie. You'll... Terry kicked me, sending waves of pain through my gut. And I rolled off the trap door. I heard him throw it open and tossed the ladder down, descending in a shrieking rage as he made for the whistler. As scared as it made Reggie, the whistling made Terry a furious juggernaut. I drew myself up, my ribs hurting

and hobbled to the trap door. I looked down before closing it and gasped in horror against my throbbing chest. The man was at the bottom of the ladder. His face was still hidden by the cloak. His eyes are glittering twosome amidst the swirling dark void. And I could see thick red fluid

around the collar of the cloak. He was two rungs up the ladder, temporarily frozen by my gaze, and I slammed the hatch and threw the lock as second before he slammed into it. I crawled away from the hatch, seeing it buck wildly and hearing him scream at me to open it. He cussed and howled like an animal, wanting to get in, but stopped by the strong bolt some past child had installed on the sturdy hatch. Maybe they'd installed it to keep him out, I thought after. My fear overtopped me at some point, and as I watched the door jump in its frame,

I must have passed out. And the banging woke me up. It was daylight. And I screamed loud enough to startle whoever had been banging. Easy kid, it's Sheriff Basque. Are you okay? I dragged myself to the hatch,

my ribs aching, and threw the bolt before falling back, panting. If it was the whistler, I hoped he was quick at least. My ribs would turn out to be broken, and their healing wouldn't come, compass, too, of the worst months of my life. Every time I breathed in, I was reminded of the Whistler and that last encounter with Terry.

At that moment, though, I didn't care what happened. I just wanted it to end. Sheriff basked pushed the flap open, and I guessed I get to live another day. He took me to the hospital. He took me to the waiting arms of my parents, who pulled me into the warm embrace of their arms, and threatened to never let go. I had been missing for two days, they told me, and when the police had seen the state of our treehouse,

they feared the worst. They never found any sign of Terry or Reggie. I told them what happened. I told him about the whistling man, about Reggie's fall, and Terry charging from the tree house to attack him. I told him about how I'd like the trapdoor and passed out as I watched the man try to batter his way in.

That was eight years ago. I've seen that night in my dreams every night since. The events live on in my memories in a living colour and I often wake up screaming as the man tries to break the hatch open. In my dreams I don't pass out. In my dreams the hatch doesn't hold. In my dreams I wake up as he wraps his hands around my throat and drags me towards that pitch black moor he hides beneath the coat.

I haven't been back to the forest since that day. and I don't think I ever will. Lately, though. I've been hearing the whistling as I lie in bed at night. I look out the window, my backyard, butting up to the woods, and see two small figures hovering on the outskirts.

Sometimes the man in the coat is there too, but I know better than to try and tell my parents. All of them are gone when I get there, and I just end up looking crazy. I leave a college next week, and I've chosen one in the middle of a big city. I plan to attend it because the closest collection of more than four trees

is 60 miles from my dorm. I'm hoping that distance will stop these apparitions. But I don't know. I can hear the whistling now, even as I write this. I can hear my dead friend's soft calls as they entice me to come out and play. I can hear that whistling

as it scrapes against my nerves yet again. I hear it and I hope that I get to leave a college before it becomes too much to bear before it calls me back to the tree house once more Come on Dad, let's go!

My daughter stomp to slip a clad foot on the sidewalk as she looked back at me I was sitting on the front steps of my child at home a well-loved cul-de-sac that was teeming with costume children the moon hung overhead a ghostly sicker that presided over this Halloween night

and I was seated with my back against the smooth stairs and found my eyes tracking up the road the children laughed and screamed as they stalked by the street was a sea of superheroes video game characters, colourful animals and everything in between I let my eyes drift past the exciting pageantry though I was looking for one costume in particular my mom smiled at me

slipping a hand into my daughters and giving her a little touch Come on, hon, your dad's waiting for someone. We'll go trick-or-treating while he wait. My daughter looked interested. Who you waiting for, Daddy? Of course, she wouldn't have remembered from last year. She had been excited about trick-or-treating, showing off a Wonder Woman costume, and swinging between my wife and my mom's hands while they walked.

However, my wife was six months pregnant this year, and had opted out of the hour drive to get to my mom's house. She just smiled at me knowingly as I left and told me to say hi for her. My mum soothed her hair as it sat under the tall princess hat. It's an old friend dear. Your father meets him here every year. Well, you're going to miss out on the candy, my daughter said incredulously. I smiled.

That's okay, Cat. You go have fun with Grandma, okay? She glanced back as they walked back onto the cul-de-sac, but was soon lost in the crowd, and probably wouldn't think any more about the conversation. I leaned back, getting comfy, as I waited for him to arrive as I did every year. In many ways, he was what I looked forward to most about this holiday.

The candy was nice, the costumes were great, but seeing him was why I always came home on Halloween. No matter where I was, no matter what I was doing, I always came home for this one night in particular. This was the night I got to see him. This was the night. I got to see Snarf Snarf was a mutt

A bull terrier mixed with a basset hound mixed with God knew what We grew up together He was just a pup when I first got him And he was my best friend for many years I got him in kindergarten Which had been a difficult time in my life

I'd been sheltered My mother just a little bit overbearing And I'd never been around So many kids my life I was not what you would call a popular kid I had thick glasses I was overweight and my isolation had made me painfully shy

The other kids Kids who had gone to daycare And Cub Scouts and Teeble together Took one look at me And dismissed me as a social outcast It's rough to be alone at five years old My mom thought a dog might help my confidence Or at least ease some of my shyness

I think she really just wanted to make me happy to see me come out of my funk, and she thought that something to love me back might help with that. My mom worked 12 hours a day, six days a week, and often I was left to the care of my grandmother. She loved me and always towed it on me,

but she wasn't always up for the games a five-year-old would be interested in. Now, I think that snarf was a way for her to alleviate some of her guilt about leaving me alone so often. Whatever the reason, I loved her for it. We found him at the Humane Society, his little smiling puppy, and when he put his feet against a glass, I was already in love.

He sat in the backseat with me the whole way home, head against my stomach, panting happily as I scratched him behind the ears. He was that rare an animal whose temperament never led him to jump up on people or bark for no reason. His accidents were few and far between, and he was easy to house train. called him snarf because he had a deviation in his nose that caused the sparks that sound like snaf's instead. He was the best dog, the only dog that I ever owned. And after he came home, I do remember doing better in school. I was less anxious around the other kids. He got me out

to the house more as I ran the neighbourhood with him, and when I entered first grade, I'd made a few friends that made the transition easier. None of them, though, could hold a candle to my friendship with that little wriggling mass of fur and ears. I was eternally thankful for the time I got with him, but it would never be enough. The trio of Disney princesses said thank you as they ran to the next house in a flurry of skirts and sneakers. A pirate wandered up and gave me his best arg,

which I rewarded him for with a couple of little snickers bars. I sat up a little and saw a small ghost, four legs poking out from beneath a short bed sheet, but he turned and bagged at a lot. a ghost who was walking him. I sat back, scanning around, hoping he wouldn't be long. I'd sit here all night if I had to. I had snar for five years.

He never left the yard, always bounding and yanking when he pulled him into the driveway. So I never worried about him getting into trouble or being hit by a car. He was a good dog, a neighbourhood favourite, and he would have lived a good long time. He would have. He would have. If it weren't for me. Reggie moved onto the block when I was 10. I had a group of friends that I hung out with by then,

Terry and Walt and Patrick. And when the new boy had been seen unpacking boxes from his family's moving van, we had gone over to introduce ourselves. He was a big kid, tall and muscular, and it became apparent very quickly that he was going to be trouble. Five minutes of conversation was enough

to let us know that his interests were different than ours. He had scoffed at our comic books, asked if we were babies when we'd asked about action figures, and had it grinned at us when we asked about playing basketball in a way that made us nervous. He was a large, sneering boy, and we all decided to keep our distance from him. But he lived on the block,

so inevitably he found a place in our games. We were playing baseball when it happened. Reggie had seen us setting up and inserted himself into the game, as he usually did. Whenever invited him, he always just showed up, and we were too polite to tell him to buzz off. The problem was that Reggie didn't always play by the rules. We had been correct in our assumptions that he liked to hurt people.

He had nearly broken Patrick's wrist when he fouled him during basketball, and he had shoved Terry off his bike, skinning both his knees in the fall during a race. None of us wanted to play with him, but we were too afraid of him to tell him to go away. The second he wandered up, I heard Snarf growl from my yard. Reggie was the only person I'd ever seen elicited a growl out of my usually good-natured dog.

Reggie had quickly learned not to come into my yard as Snarf would not tolerate him, which was fine with me. Unlike the others, whose houses he frequently came to, Snarf kept him out of my yard and his fingers off my stuff. I was careful to keep snarf inside though when I wasn't outside I'd seen the way Reggie's little pig eyes narrowed when he looked at my dog

and I was not too fond of it I wished I'd just put him inside when he started growling that day Reggie was up to bat and we all prepared to get out of his way as he ran Reggie did not believe in dropping the bat after he hit the ball as the bruises on her ankles could attest

and as the ball went sailing off down the street, I dashed it. Reggie came running around first base, Terry and Patrick nearing the other two bases as Walt moved off the manhole we were using as pitchers mound to cover home. It bounced once before I grabbed it, turning to throw it when I heard Patrick yell out in pain. I dropped the ball, sprinting towards them as Reggie lifted the bat to hit Patrick again. Walt told me later that Reggie had crashed into Philip, skinning his hand as he almost fell over. In a rage, he'd hit Patrick in the stomach and now prepared to bring the back down on his head. Fast as I was, though, Snaff was faster. He hit Reggie in the back, sending him

reeling forward and dropping him onto the street. He stood over Patrick, protectively, snarling and showing his teeth. Reggie was getting back up, shaking his head, but Snaff did not continue his attack. He just stood over Patrick, the boy still frozen in surprise and fear as Reggie got back onto his feet. His knuckles turned white against the handle of the bat, and I saw him turn in slow motion. I was running for Patrick, Walt and Terry were running for Patrick, but none of us got there in time to make a difference. Snarf was staring daggers at Reggie, but when I called his name, he looked towards me,

tell wagging as he looked at me. The bat crashed down on Snarf, and the pitiful noise he made sent a shot of glass through my gut. Walton Terry arrived in time to grab Patrick under the arms and drag him away from the scene. I hit Reggie as hard as I could around the waist, dropping him to the concrete and sending the back clinging across the pavement. Reggie hit his head on the concrete, and as the wind oofed out of him, I saw his eyes glaze a little from the impact. I got off him, picking up the bat and yelling at him to get out of fear. I told him not to come near me, my friends, or my dog again. I said some of the adult worlds I knew, the cusses sounding high and whispery as I fought back the tears,

and Reggie scrambled home on his hands and backside. When I turned to look at Snarf, it was already too late. I found myself glaring at Reggie's old house as I watched a pair of Transformers walk off with their chocolate. The house was occupied now, but it had been empty for quite some time after that Halloween. Regge's parents had refused to believe that their son had killed a dog, and when they told my mom about the scratches and scrapes their son had come home with, it was decided that we would drop it and not involve the police. Regge's parents are threatening to sue us for hospital care.

I can't afford something like that, sweetie. I'm sorry about snarf, but if we call the police, we'll be in trouble as well. She had told me this, and I had seethed in my ten-year-old heart. I saw a blonde kid with a crew-cut walk-up, dressed in a karate gie, and I almost didn't pass him anything. Reggie still on my mind. This kid could have passed for Reggie once upon a time, but his eyes didn't have that evil glean in his eye.

I smiled at him and nodded, and he left with a mock salute. Reggie had been bigger. Reggie had been meaner. But in the end, Reggie had not been braver. I had been incontolable after the death of snarf. I'd pretended to be sick for a week, my mother letting me in the wake of my sadness.

My grandma stayed with me. and she never pushed me as I moped around the house. He was sitting on the couch one afternoon, her arm draped around me, and she told me something I would never forget. I know you miss your friend, but you can't let his death be the end of your life. You have to live for both of you now. It's what he would have wanted. I looked up at her with big, swimming eyes.

But I miss him. She smiled. I know you do. It's almost Halloween though A time when they say the ghost of our loved ones Can walk the earth again Maybe, just maybe His love will be great enough to bring him back to you

That made me think If ghosts and spirits could walk the earth on Halloween Then maybe Snarf could too I spent the rest of that month In a little better mood Waiting for Halloween night so I could see If Snarf would come back for a visit Mom had to work on Halloween

But Grandma was home with me And I sat in my room and watched out the window, hoping to see him. The costume masses began to swirl and run, but I didn't have time for that. I wanted to be there when Snarf came home. When my friends came to see me, they begged me to go trick-or-treating with them. I hadn't been out to play since the incident, and they wanted me to join them. Each of them were dressed as a different Power Ranger, and Terry said that his grandma had sent him a second costume if I wanted to use it.

I had a feeling that he brought it in case I decided to come out with him but I still didn't want to go I might miss Nath What if I wasn't here when he came back Once again my grandma had the answer I'll keep an eye out for him And I'll let him stay if he comes or you're gone I was still hesitant

But after some coaxing from the others I put on the costume and left with a group They had made me the Blue Ranger my favourite at the time and as we set out into the night I felt a little better I had missed my friends over the past few weeks

but after what had happened I couldn't bring myself to see them going out with them now made me feel a lot better and we spent a few hours filling our sacks with candy it would have been a perfect Halloween if Reggie hadn't come

I started noticing lights going out on the cul-de-sac as it ticked closer to ten The kids who were present were becoming older, the little kids already turning in, and I furrowed my brow as snarf still hadn't appeared. I felt like I had on that first Halloween after his death, looking for him as I walked the street and hoping to catch a glimpse of him. I heard a bark and snapped my head to the side expectantly. I frowned though. It was just a Labrador in a bee costume, its owner harrying him as a football player who was heading to the next house. I saw a pair of ninjas wander up

and sighed as I took them out some candy Surely he wouldn't stand me up He was almost ten by the time the light started going out And the street began to empty My friends and I had full sacks of candy And I was sitting on the sidewalk And trading candy with Walt I'd started out looking for snarf

Glancing around as we walked against that tide of excited children In those two hours I had been granted a reprieve from my sadness Only now, as we parted ways, did I remember to look for him and started running home to see if he was with Grandma. When the egg hit me in the side of the head, I staggered, my ears ringing from the impact. I thought I was bleeding when my gloved hand came away wet, but one look told me it was just egg.

I looked across the street and saw Reggie grinning at me. He wasn't in costume, dressed in basketball shorts and a tank top. But he did have a silver bat in his hand and was tossing an egg up and catching it. I froze when I saw that he was staring at me, realizing how vulnerable I was out here alone, with my house still three streetlights away. Been waiting for you to come back out. We've got unfinished business four eyes.

I think I knew the same sort of beating I gave you a stupid dog. He chuckled, swinging the bat experimentally. I stepped off the curb towards him, angry at what he said, but then thought better of it. That metal bat could cave my skull in, and Reggie was pretty good at swinging bats, as I'd seen to run our games. I glanced towards my house, three streetlights wasn't so far, and I thought I could probably run faster than Reggie could. It was either run or sit here and get killed by this psycho, I realized. I tore off, hearing his trainer slapped behind me.

I made the first light, easily outstripping him, but I heard him getting closer as I moved under the second light. He slapped the light pole with the bat as he went by And he made a hollow thunk as it connected I started to panic What if he caught me Would he kill me? Would I die in the road like staff had? I wished he was here, I thought As the tears streamed down my face

He would have protected me He would have stopped Reggie from hurting me If I hadn't distracted him that day Maybe he'd be here to help me My house was in sight When the second egg cracked me in the back of my head I had forgotten about the egg he'd been throwing and catching and though it hadn't been thrown very hard

it surprised me and I staggered into the fence that separated my yard from the neighbours I crashed against it with a loud thunk my head connecting with the boards and my head swam as little cheap plastic mask broke into pieces I was reaching out in slow motion moving my hands and legs like someone wading through mud

I rolled onto my butt as I prepared to take off again but he was too late Reggie loomed over me the streetlight gleaming off the bat in his hand Looks like I caught you He said raising the bat Say hi to your dog for me when you see him I pushed against the fence

Hoping he would fall backward Knowing it wasn't going anywhere Reggie raised the bat high Metal twinkly as the light made galaxies of starburst I close my eyes Preparing for the blow that would end my life When the growl split the night I opened my eyes

and looked between Reggie's spayed legs Reggie had turned his head to look at the shadowy crevice Between the house next to mine And the fence that now stopped me from escaping Reggie Between the structures stood a snarling, red-eyed creature And seemed to fill the space with its shadowy mass Reggie took a sidelong step away from me

The beast snarling as it took a single thunderous step towards him I felt my breath hitched as Reggie stepped into the street, his own breath trapped, as this looming thing lowered its head and rumbled. My brain couldn't fathom it. This nightmare creature had appeared in my neighbourhood out of nowhere, and, when it loosed that single, ear-splitting bark, I put my head between my knees and push my palms against my ears. I sat in darkness, screaming against my leg as I prepared to be devoured. When the warm tongue slid over my hair, I cracked my back against the fence, trying to. to escape again. Then I opened my eyes, panting like a trapped animal, and was looking into

snaf's panting, grinning face. Reggie was gone. His bat lying in the street, and I wrapped my arm around my lost friend and laughed as he licked my cheek. I pressed my face against his familiar short fur, and my sadness, my pain melted away as his doggy tongue bombarded me. That's how my mom found me, laughing with my back against the fence as her headlights dissipated the ghostly dog looking me. That was 20 years ago. Snarf had come back every year since, visiting me on Halloween night. When mom didn't come right out and say it at first, she was upset about my injuries, but she told me later that she had seen Snar for a few seconds before her headlights hit me. After I told her what happened, told her how Reggie had ambushed me.

She called the police. She gave them the bat, told him he had been a problem, and started a process to have a restraining order placed against him. She was tired of being bullied by Reggie's parents, as tired as I was of being bullied by Reggie. Reggie's family moved shortly before the order was finalised. I've never seen him since, and I'm quite happier for it.

I watched her walk up the front walk now, my daughter in her arms, as she sleepily held onto a sack of candy. She was stumbling on the way back, I think we're going in to have some cocoa if you'd like to join us. Give me a few more minutes, Mom. I think he's just running late this year. She smiled.

Take all the time you need, dear, she said, walking inside and leave me alone on the stoop. The street was emptying, only a few stragglers heading for home, and I glanced around furtively. Where was he? Had he forgotten about me? Twenty years was a long time to visit someone

who wasn't a little boy anymore. Maybe he... I dropped the ball when that ghostly cold nose prodded my hand. I looked down to find snarf, tail wagging, as he smiled up at me from the front lawn of her house

he had loved as much as I had. I wrapped my arms around him and it felt like coming home all over again. I work for roadside assistance, which basically means I'm the Uber of car problems, sort of like a mobile mechanic.

If you have a flat tire or dead battery and call your insurance for help, where the guys they send out to assist you. It's not a bad gig really, as I basically just cruise around the city all day, listening to music and podcast, and waiting for a driver to get in a pickle. I have no co-workers or boss breathing down my neck, and I just get to kind of do my own thing.

Now, as you can imagine, there are some dumb and strange people out there. I'm not knocking our customers, as 99% of the time, how wonderful and appreciative, and I've never actually had an overtly negative interaction with a customer. It's usually the other people hanging around that cause an issue. I've had a few interesting events, but honestly, most of them are more hilarious than anything. This obviously isn't exactly the place for that, but other than a few slightly uncomfortable situations, I've only ever had one incident which I would classify as downright terrifying.

It happened to me a few months ago, and ironically, it had nothing to do with the customer. I haven't told anyone about it until now. It's just very difficult to understand. Just to clarify, I am not currently diagnosed with any mental illness, aside from mild depression, never had any hallucinations or bouts of psychosis in my entire life, nor do I use illicit drugs of any kind. As far as I know, I'm healthy. The reason it's necessary to emphasize this is twofold. 1. This event is something I don't know how the hell to explain.

And two, I'm honestly terrified of what the implications could be. It started like any other day. I mark up on the map I used to let dispatch know I'm available and prepare myself for the day. I got flooded with like five calls right off the bat and was basically hopping from one call to the next without any downtime in between. I prefer when it's that busy because I make more money and the day goes by faster. Around 9pm that night

and things finally started to slow down a bit after. After changing a woman's tire in a Costco parking lot I realized I didn't have any other waiting calls. There was a wargreens across the street and I decided to just park and wait for another call. I browsed to YouTube and read it for maybe half an hour before realizing I was hungry and deciding to do something about it.

The area I was in was basically at the furthest point in my patrol, and I wasn't really familiar with the area. After googling what restaurants were nearby, I found a taco bell and punched it into the GPS. Much to my dismay, after about three minutes of driving towards it, I saw an odd sight in the road. Multiple police cars had sectioned off the area past the intersection. It must have been a car wreck or some kind of crime investigation, but either way, I couldn't go forward and follow the GPS. With an annoyed groan, I turned right and waited for the GPS to reroute. Apparently, the road that was blocked by the cops was the only real direct route to the Taco Bell, because the ETIMI screen switched from seven minutes to about 12.

The road on the screen winded and twisted into a forested area. In a few seconds, I was outside the small town and onto the back roads that ran parallel to it. Thick walls of trees lined both sides of the road, and the two sides of the road, and the two seconds. sparse light from the town soon diminished in the rear view. A steady torrent of rain was dripping down on my windshield, kept at bay by the rhythmic swipe of my wipers. Before long, the only source of light was that beaming from my headlights. I kept driving and saw no other cars along the road.

A few minutes later, and a sudden annoying yellow light popped up by my dash just as a road came into view on my left. My eyes drifted down, already anticipating the oil level light. that routinely flicks on. I drive a Subaru, which has an annoying tendency to burn oil, and every once in a while I have to top it off. I tried to do it as soon as possible to avoid unnecessary engineware, so when I saw that light come on,

I pulled my car to the side of the road, flicked on the hazards and popped the hood. I stepped out, oil jug in hand onto the side of the road at night, in a place I wasn't familiar with on a rainy, ominous evening. Nothing bad has ever happened to anyone under those circumstances, right? To the chagrin of some, no serial killer attacked me and no evil cryptid dashed out from the woods to try and eat me. My 44 magnum is kept on me at all times when I'm on the road,

so if anything would have done that, I would have fired without hesitation. I had no reason to do that, though, and the night was quiet, filled only by the gentle pitter-patter of falling rain. I twisted the cap off, added. half a quart and shut the hood without incident. The GPS was squawking orders at me as I got back inside my car and shut the door. The clock of my dash read 10.36pm, which was actually an hour fast because I don't bother changing it for daylight savings.

I usually just go off the time on my phone anyway, and that little detail may not seem relevant, and in the moment I didn't think it was either. I'm 100% certain it was the case, though, just so we're clear. The GPS painted a trail which continued straight on the road. To my left was a single road and a couple hundred yards down it was a row of houses. The strange thing was, my GPS didn't show anything there and gave no indication that the road existed. That struck me as odd, but I figured my GPS just wasn't loading right.

After closing and reopening the app, however, I found it unchanged and my phone had full bars. I thought maybe the road was a new development that hadn't been updated on Google Maps yet, but the houses had clearly been there for quite some time, so that didn't really make sense. I don't know why I was suddenly interested by it. My stomach was still growling and bowels quivering under the prospect of digesting a cheesy codita crunch. Yet for some reason, I was transfixed on that road, which, according to the Almighty Google, did not exist.

I turned down the road and watched my headlights swiveled towards a cluster of houses. The rainfall had increased in volume and I kicked my wipers into overdrive. My GPS lost this mind and began nagging me to make a U-turn before I shut it off. I drove forward seeing the looming houses come closer. The rain that had bellowed a moment earlier, then suddenly halted dead in its tracks. My wiper blades continued to scrape across the clear windshield for a few seconds, making an annoying whining noise because they should have been replaced like two years ago

but I still haven't got around to it I shut them off and it confirmed the rain had stopped falling entirely that struck me as odd and I suppose rain can stop suddenly like that but I'd never seen it stop that abruptly and I'd feeling struck me then and a few things happened at once

first was a nervous feeling trickling in my gut followed by my ears popping as though they had just gone through an altitude change, despite the road being almost entirely flat. A random zap then slithered through my brain, as if struck by electricity, but disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared. The foreboding feeling of dread

seemed to grow deeper the further I went, but my curiosity was still stronger. I realize ignoring your gut is like the biggest mistake everyone makes in the horror movies, and I know I'm a dumbass for it, but I didn't feel I was in danger. It was just an insatiable curiosity. I reached the houses a few seconds later and saw no lights coming from within them.

Upon closer inspection, I realised the houses were unlike any I'd ever seen. The architecture was ornate and altogether foreign, with spiralling columns and odd waving groves around the base. The walls were slanted and smooth, looking like whoever built them was either severely drunk the entire time or aim to build something entirely different to anything ever seen. I wish I'd taken pictures, but I was too enamored with what I was seeing at the time to consider it. The houses all seem built in a similar style to that first one, and they look like things that would have been more at home in the Star Wars universe or something.

I could have almost written them off as some eccentric architect who just wanted to build something unique. But that wasn't the only feature. The numerous cars that lined the neighbourhood were also different. They all had four wheels like any other car, but I couldn't identify any of the makes or models. I'm usually pretty good at that too, because it makes my job a lot easier when searching for a customer,

but I didn't recognise a single one, or even the logos on the back of them. My plausible explanations further dwindled at that point, and it first occurred to me that I was witnessing, something truly weird. The road eventually curved and rounded to continue deeper into the neighbourhood. Those odd homes stood silent as Templars along the way, and they seemed to go on for quite some distance. Around the corner, the road forked in three separate directions. The ones on the left and right led to more clusters of houses, and the ones straight ahead led out into another

desolate road. I then noticed a few trees in some of the yards and size. They were tall and skinny, almost like palm trees, but with skeleton branches lined with small yellowish leaves that dangled down like a willow tree. I don't know what species they were, but I'd never seen them. The houses on the left and right were similar and designed to the first street, but with a few worrying caveats. Several other doors were cracked open. Two of the houses had a bunch of random debris scattered in the front yard, and one house looked like it had been struck by Vandals, with a broken front window and damaged door. It looked almost like the houses had been ransacked

or struck by a mini-tornado. I turned right, simultaneously enthralled and nervous about what I was seeing. Not sure what to expect next, but with a nervous tremble, I pulled my 44 from underneath my seat and rested it on my lap. My GPS still had no clue where I was,

and according to the app, I was driving aimlessly around in the middle of a forest, As I entered the new street, my headlights illuminated something up ahead, which made me freeze. I hit the brakes and saw something bipedal standing on the sidewalk maybe 100 yards away. It was sort of twitching in this odd, rhythmic pattern that seemed to repeat every few seconds. I was struck all at once by a feeling of thick dread and also a desire to get closer. I thought maybe it was someone in trouble and that they could use help, but I also desperately wanted to turn back. I drove onward, creeping closer and closer to the unnerving scene.

My headlights finally reveal the images they'd hinted out earlier, and my jaw hit the floor. It looked like a person, two arms, two legs, and a humanoid head, but it was fuzzy, undefined like I was viewing it through water. It almost seemed stuck in what I can only describe as a looping animation. It stood upright, and its head tilted back to what had to have been a very uncomfortable angle, before twitching for a moment and resetting at its original position. It didn't react to my present at all, and I couldn't make out the details of its face. The way it moved was indescribably unsettling, and I had this subliminal feeling that I was seen something that was never meant to be witnessed.

Whatever that thing was, it was moving in a manner that was impossible for any ordinary human. I'd seen enough and put the car in reverse to turn around and leave. I kept my eye in that thing as I turned around, but it didn't alter its behaviour in any way. As I flipped my car around, my heart sunk deep in my chest as my eyes beheld something I'd missed earlier. There was another one. It was on the driveway, hidden. behind some odd vehicle from my original vantage point. It was humanoid like the other one,

but it had no lower half, no legs. It was just a torso with arms and a head. It was crawling down the driveway before reaching a certain spot, twitching and transporting back to its original position and repeating it all over. Just like the first, it didn't seem to notice me, or maybe it wasn't even capable of it. The red flags in my mind,

sprung higher than ever before, and I realized I had no explanation for what was going on. I just wanted to leave and hit the gas pedal, bound for the same exit which I had entered through. As I retraced my route, I saw more of them. Dozens of them lining the houses I'd previously passed through and behaving in similar fashion to the first two, twitching and moving around in a plethora of ways before resetting into their original positions. I was in full panic mode by then and just wanted to get out. By that point, I was speeding through the neighbourhood, and I heard something crashed behind me.

In my rearview, I saw something enormous rise in the trees. It was shrouded in darkness and consisted only of a shadow. The thing rose several dozen feet taller than the trees around it, and its head slowly split open in an ocular shape, like one giant eye. An immense blue light beamed out from the opening socket, and it swiveled towards me. I heard the ground quaking behind me as the thing lumbered towards me,

its eldrous gaze glaring and evapresent. I held my breath and slammed my foot down, causing my engine to roar loudly and my car to rapidly accelerate. I reached the end of the houses where I'd entered, and the rain suddenly returned to pelt my car. I slammed my foot in the brake as my car came dangerously close to flying into the ditch.

It groaned and screeched as my car slid to a seat. stop in the middle of the road, the scent of smouldering rubber filling my nostrils. I took a moment to level out my breaths and muster the courage to look in the rearview. There was nothing there. No sign of anything that I'd seen earlier. I was back in the same spot I had pulled over to refill my oil, without a clue as to what I'd just witnessed. It got even weirder than that, though. My eyes caught a glance at the dash, and the green, eddell delight showing the time on the screen.

10.36pm. I know for a fact I was in there for at least 10 minutes, and yet time hadn't passed at all. I thought maybe it was broken, but the clock on my phone confirmed the same time. I thought I was really and truly screwed, trapped in some time-divoid dimension for eternity without any hope of returning home. When the clock finally turned and read 1037, my heart breathed an indescribable, high of relief. I drove away from there, having lost my appetite entirely. I just drove home, despite my shift lasting another two hours. I was just so rattled by what had happened. I didn't care about anything but getting home. This was months ago, and I still have no logical explanation.

At first, I thought the whole thing was an incredibly vivid nightmare or about of psychosis, but that doesn't explain why the time didn't pass. I guess maybe I subconsciously imagine the clock in my sleep. The more I go along with this route of thinking, the more unlikely it all seems, and it all just seemed way too real to have been a dream, which of course leads to the outlandish explanation that it actually happened,

and I didn't hallucinate any of it. I've been back to that same location where this happened numerous times, but the neighbourhood and road aren't there. nothing is. It's just a grove of trees alongside the road, with no indication there was ever anything else.

This whole event has left me with this overwhelming sense of existential dread. Like maybe I was transported to a separate dimension or experienced the glitch in the matrix. I both wish

I had more answers and also that I could forget it ever happened. I really don't even know how to end this post or even what to think anymore. If anyone has experienced anything like this before, then please tell me. I still work the same job and I can't really afford to leave it right now.

I don't really expect to understand what happened, to be honest, but one thing is clear to me. Reality itself is more convoluted than I think anyone is ready to understand.