CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - 7 CHILLING r Nosleep Reddit Horror Stories to pull you into an infinite dark expanse

Episode Date: May 24, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORIES-►0:00 "I got offered $3,000 to look after some cats for a night" Creepypasta►28:47 "Don’t ever play the mirror game called “Billy the Bouncing Butcher”" Creepypasta►51:21 "I signed up for a tailor made horror experience" Creepypasta►1:10:10 "Do not let the ghosts of Chernobyl touch you" Creepypasta►1:35:27 "Something came back with us from the woods" Creepypasta►1:55:12 "We should've bought the damn frogs" CreepypastaCreepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...CREEPY THUMBNAIL ART BY►Doug Williams: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/D6QPRSUGGESTED 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-

Once upon a time, in the mountainous land of Slovakia, there lived two orphans. Well, I'm 24. I think I qualify more as a guy without parents rather than a classic orphan. But if you rip some ash on Tomko's cheeks, he would definitely give off an Oliver twist vibe. Regardless of classification, our parents died in a fire last summer. Luckily, to use the term very loosely, while our parents burnt with all of the family's earthly possessions, Tomko was out in a summer camp learning about wood carving and reading maps. One moment I was living the exciting life of a bartender in Prague,

a city where even budgeting for one person is a hassle, and the next I was Tomko's legal guardian. I moved back to the town where our charred home made the neighbourhood depressing, plunged my savings into a deposit and first month's rent, and started the exciting life of being a single dad. Tomko was 14, pushing on 15. I could handle four years of acting like an adult, right? Wrong.

The first two months broke me. Happiness and stability were never really prominent in my deck, but finding out about my parents burned the entire set of cards. I was meant to take care of Tomko, be the adult in his life, but really it was the other way around. I got us the apartment, collected the government-assisted checks, but Tomko did all the shopping, the cleaning, the cooking, and in the evenings he would sit by my bed and talk to me.

He'd make me feel better. He'd make it all bearable. Some days when the mental fog got particularly thick, thoughts came in that were particularly hard to let go of. This was no way for Tonko to live, just drop him off with one of the religious aunts, just give him a life where it doesn't have to take care of your catatonic ass and then drive off a cliff or something.

I'd do my best to push the thought out, but it would worm its way back with him, minutes. It was always in the back of my mind in one way or another, I guess, but I fully knew that there was no way I would act on it. The aunts would feed Tonko and a steady diet of Bibles, and I wasn't going to let that happen. I also wasn't going to make Tomko go to another funeral. Whenever the abandonment and suicidal tendencies started to pipe up, I would do my best to use

them as fuel. I would take those thoughts as something to disprove, something that I would. to act against no matter how persistent they got. This worked about 10% of the time. But it was during one of these chance boosts of motivation that I decided to stroll through the Facebook odd job section. Need cat sitter for date night, cabin outside of the Volki-McCais. Food provided.

$3,000, six cats. I don't like cats. There's something off about the way they look at you. A dog's expression you can read right away. The thing in their mind is usually food. A cat, however, is a complete mystery. You look into their slitted eyes and you don't see relatable emotions. You see galaxies of mysterious animalistic energy.

I don't like it. It makes me uncomfortable. I immediately commented my name, offering up my services as a cat sitter. Three grand was three grand. That was a couple months worth of rent. There was new clothes for both of us. That was money they could give. get me on my feet. I made my way over to the kitchen to share the good news. Tom Goe seemed

genuinely happy to see me out of the bedroom before noon. He had some news of his own. With excited cracks of puberty in his voice, he announced that his TikTok audience was growing steadily enough that he could bring in some money being an influencer. We celebrated each other's surefire paths to cash, and then I went back to the computer to check on the progress of my cat-sitting application. This post has been removed for breaking community guidelines. I refreshed the page a dozen times, hoping that something was simply wrong with the internet, but the text read loud and clear.

A familiar shiver travelled through my chest. You're a moron. Obviously there was a fake job offer. Go drop off Tomko with the aunt and then ride your car into the burning inferno. My eyes welled up. I refreshed the page again. The text didn't change. I wept at my computer desk like an idiot.

I couldn't take it anymore. I didn't want to be the butt of some twisted cosmic joke. I wanted to be a normal person whose head is filled up with normal things. And then, as tears covered the screen, my phone lit up. A Facebook messenger call, unknown user. Hello? I picked up the phone. On the other side, I could hear a voice straight in static.

It was saying something, but I could barely hear it, the specter of an old person with a smartphone. You have to bring it closer to your ear, I said, getting a faint memory of phone calls with my dad. Is this better? I confused old lady, inquired, way too loud. Yeah, I can hear you now, I replied. Are you the person who offered to look after my cats? She punctuated the word with cheeriness, as if she was trying to assure me that she meant no disrespect. She was simply pointing out my status in life.

I rolled with it. My internal monologue called me considerably worse things on a regular basis. Yes, that's me. I left a comment on your post. Is the job still available? I asked, wiping the mixture of snot and tears from my face and putting on the cheeriest tone I could. Well, that depends, peasant.

Do you like cats? Boy, do I? I exclaimed. Cats are by far my favorite animal. I used to cats sit for my friends. all the time. I was sitting on my desk wearing a dirty hoodie, an old underwear, but over the phone, I must have sounded like I was wearing a fancy turtleneck in slacks, or whatever people who

cats it wear. This is good. I am convinced. My home is at the edge of DeVocchio McEyce. It is the cottage with the chicken legs. The chicken legs? Ah, you will understand when you see it, peasant. You will understand.

So, can I expect you to look after my cats? while I go see my gentleman caller. A dozen questions floated through my head. I asked the most important one. It's $3,000 for the evening. That is enough. Yes, peasant. I pay high price because I expect a job well done.

Okay, I said, baffled by my good fortune. You chose the right man for the job. I love cats, I quickly added, just in case she was playing on changing a mind. Very good. and peasant do come to my home are hungry. I have cooked porridge and I do not want it to go to waste. She hung up, or she thought she hung up.

All I could hear from the other side of the phone was strange rustling. I got violent flashbacks to my father's handling of his cell phone. I hung up. The Tatras are a beautifully terrifying mountain range. They're pretty enough to be put on postcards, shirts, and whatever other chag skies the tourists will eat up. but if you stare at those snow peak crowns for long enough you start to feel small

those towering giants will proudly remind you just how tiny you are in the grand scheme of things how they have stood there before you and how they will stand there after you and how if you stood anywhere near the peak without proper equipment you'd be dead by sundown it doesn't help that the roads that surround the mountains are unfrequishly steep hills

the kind of place where a millisecond of micro-sleep will send you tumbling down into a fiery death. You're riding a horrible tight wire made a road with an ever-present reminder of your insignificance. It's difficult not to get dizzy. Whenever I was behind the wheel on those roads, even before the fire, there was always an ugly shiver in my lungs.

Just drive off, just roll on down, let it all burn. Yet, as I drove there, those thoughts were nowhere to be found. The only thing that was keeping me comfort was the rumble of the engine and the bits of static filled fork from the radio. Is something wrong? I audibly mumbled, unaccustomed to driving without self-destructive thoughts. We'll see, my lungs answered. It was a 45-minute drive, as the trees grew thicker and the hills grew steeper, and the other car slowly disappeared. As I drove, my phone started to maniacally switched between welcoming me to Poland and then welcoming me to Slovakia.

It didn't shut up until we were out of cell phone tower reception. It's not like I needed GPS. There was only one road, and it led straight there. I could pick out the chicken legs as soon as I saw the cottage. The house was indistinguishable from the hundreds of humble wooden homes that littered the Slovakian countryside, with one exception. It stood a meter or two off the ground, with the support of logs that looked undeniably like chicken legs.

The cottage was right at the edge of a particularly steep hill, so parking rustle my nerves a bit. But soon enough, I was knocking on the front door. Ah, yes, the peasant. Come inside, come inside. But be quick, do not leave the door open for too long. The cats might get ideas. It was a small cat flap embedded in the bottom of the door.

If a cat truly decided to leave the house, it should have been able to do so. But I didn't let my mind grab a hold of the absurdities. I kept focus on the money and my faux love of cats. The eyebrows were the first thing that popped out at me. She was an old lady through and through, stringy wisps of white hair, skin like a deflated balloon, but her eyebrows were painted a dark, disturbing red. Welcome, peasant, welcome.

Thank you for coming on such short notice. She clasped my hand in a handshake that felt like sandpaper. Her nails, much like her eyebrows, were painted. an obnoxious shade of red. The eyebrows was so distracting that it took me a good minute before I realized she had a glass eye. I assured her of my love of cats

and stared at a one good eye trying not to be weird. She didn't seem particularly concerned with my qualifications for cat sitting. Instead, she was obviously giddy about her evening plans. How do I look? Do I look enjoyable? She batted those horrible

crimson-faced wings at me. I tried to figure out how to answer that horribly loaded question, but I just ended up nodding. Well, that is because I had my eyebrows done. Tonight is a special night. The man I'm meeting tonight. Oh, ho, ho, I would not be needing the company of the cats anymore. She laughed a horrible, creaking laugh, revealing the few teeth she had left. A part of me was happy that people in their twilight years can still have a love life.

but a much bigger part of me the part of me that likes to sleep at night knew that if I pressed the subject further I would have horrible images seared into my brain until the end of time I did not press the subjects further instead I asked to see the cats they were fat

so horribly fat all five of them they rolled around on the floor looking like hairy melons with toothpicks for limbs she was a crazy cat lady all right they have been fed so do not dare give them any more food these creatures are obedient if you leave them be it was simply sleep she pointed to a group of black and grey cats that lay in some sort of insulin-infused days by the bed

it's this one you have to look out for the old lady said as she fished a striped orange cat from under the table the cat looked like a live-action version of garfield if garfield's obesity had been less endearing and more troubling There was something else other than hatred for Monday in those eyes. That cat was pleading with me. I promised myself I would call animal control as soon as I was in cell phone range. Being someone who tends the break promises,

I knew if she offered return work, the authorities wouldn't be involved. They are strange creatures, sluggish, moody, but they keep me company. She said, with a sort of whistleness in a voice, you only hear from old people. But maybe, tonight is the night. Tonight is the night that I will fall in love. She batted those horrible monstrosities on her forehead and walked me over to the kitchen. The porridge she had in the pot smelled heavenly. I ate before I got in the car, scared that whatever food she had in a home would have been cooked under the influence of senality.

but looking at that porridge made me hungry all over again. Remember peasant, she said, closing the pot. Do not offend my cooking. When I come home, I want none of this porridge left. No one is allowed to leave my home without being fattened up. And do not be an animal. Before you eat the porridge, light of fire, there is wood in the basket and newspaper beneath the stove. And the money?

I heard myself say. Ah, yes, the money. She fished out 1,500 in crisp notes and handed them to me. I'd never held that big of notes before. You'll get the rest tomorrow morning when I returned for my meeting. She winked. It looked as if a scarlet eagle was about to tear out her one good eye. She called me a peasant a couple more times and bid her goodbyes and left the cottage.

She hopped on the bicycle like a proper Slavic grandma and drove off down those horrible hill roads. I held the notes in my sweaty hands They seemed real enough And the lady seemed crazy enough to give me more But somewhere in my chest A voice rattled Something is wrong I looked at the catatonic cats in the bedroom

No not that I turn my attention to the orange cat He was clawing at the old newspaper beneath the stove No not that Something about the house is off That's when it hit me The interior of the cottage was just like any of the other village houses You could find in Slovakia

The wooden furniture was chipped enough to suggest it had been passed down a couple generations There were old photographs that dated back to World War II And the Soviets that let you see the morose faces of those generations But there was something missing Something that was a staple in every room in a rural household Huh No Jesus I mumbled to myself.

Weird, right. You met the one person in the countryside who doesn't use the crucivics as a decoration aid. The walls that would usually hold the statuettes of a sad shirtless man instead had strange framed chalk drawings. Faint outlines of dark figures dance beneath the glowing moon with cats running between their feet. I clutched the money in my hands for comfort.

The orange cat was at my feet, with a bit of torn newspaper in its mouth. Out of the cat's jaw, a black and white picture of a chubby, cheery man, dressed in hiking gear, stared back at me. Family pleas for information about missing mushroom enthusiast. I took the newspaper out of the cat's mouth, crumpled it up and chucked it in the stove. I wasn't meant to be feeding the cats. I was meant to be feeding myself. With some extra newspaper and some logs, I got a fire started.

Within minutes, the house filled with the intoxicating smell of delicious porridge. The Garfield-looking creature kept on staring at me, kept on meowing as if it wanted something from me. But I blocked it out. Instead, I sat down on the couch and got lost in my thoughts. It's funny in a sad sort of way, but the same shiver in my chest that haunts me with a reoccurring, intrusive thoughts is the same part of me that weaves memories so palpable that I disconnect from my body. Those memories are usually haunts. thoughts of arguments with exes

of disappointing social performances in middle school of angsty teenage outbursts but as I sat on that couch the smell of oat soothing my mind I was transported to a happier place I was back in the forest picking blueberries with my mother smoking cigarettes in the balcony

and talking about girls with my dad helping Tomko film TikToks about drunken dinosaurs memories of Tomko gave me pause The kid was so kind, so happy, so responsible and dependable. I couldn't comprehend how the two of us were related. I found myself thinking that maybe I was adopted, that maybe there was a switch over the hospital, and somewhere out there were two very unstable parents

taking care of Tomko's little brother. Was I adopted? I wanted to call up my mom and ask, perhaps in a joking way, but ask nonetheless. But then I remembered. she was no longer alive. She burned to death. Burned.

I snapped out with that thought. The fire had gone out. It was dark now. I'd somehow managed to stare at the wall for hours without moving an inch. Pathetic. The sound of sliding ceramic could be heard from the stove.

The orange cat was propped up against the bricks. I rushed over to the stove and lifted the cat away. But the damage was done. There was no more porridge left. Wow, congratulations. You did specifically what you were told not to do. You fed the cat. The moonlight bounced off those glassy eyes.

The cat wanted something for me, but I was in no position to try decipher its needs. I laid back down on the couch, exhausted in my inability to get anything done right. The voice in my chest grew to a deafening volume. It demanded that I get in my car, drive back home to drop off the money, get back in my car and crash it. I fought it with every inch of my soul.

I kept on trying to push myself towards thinking about literally anything else. I don't know how long I struggled. Time dilated into one long neurotic monologue that seemed to weigh every ounce of energy I had in me. But eventually, sleep came. A hollow, dreamless sleep cloaked in heart palpitations. I struggled to breathe. It was a pressure on my lungs.

She was squatted over my chest, but this was not the crazy cat lady I had met before. The eyebrows had been wiped off, and only faint traces of wispy hair remained, and a glass eye shined with a dreadful, bloody glow. You didn't eat your porridge, peasant. There was no joiner voice this time. She pronounced the word peasant, with the same intonation,

most people pronounce the word tapeworm. What? I ate the porridge. It was to let... Liar! She screamed. Her red nails curled into fists. How dare you lie to me, peasant. How dare you disrespect me in my own home? I'm not lying, I... She pointed towards the floor.

Her bony fingers shaking with rage. Even in the dark, I could see the faint outlines of the orange cat. But it was no longer a cat. It had gained so much weight that it was simply an amorphous orange. blab. You let him eat the porridge. You disobeyed me, peasant. The orange glob on the floor struggled under its own weight. How's your date? I tried changing the topic. The hag scoffed, pressing down her knees on my chest.

I do not need him. No, I do not need anyone else. I have my cat's peasant, and they keep me company. She smiled, the wet remnants of her teeth shining in the dark. and once I make you nice and plump with some porridge, you will join the cats. You will join the hikers and the mushroom pickers and the other desperate peasants who have stumbled into my cottage. You will keep me warm on the cold winter nights.

I would like to go home now, I said as I tried to get off my chest. Yet, as much as I would wiggle, as much as I would push, her knees simply dug deeper into me. You will stay, she said, in an air of calm. From the corner of my eye, I could see a sea of slitted green orbs.

The other fat cats were watching us. The hag took a deep breath and screamed. You will stay! The glass ball in a rice socket burst forth with a flood of light. My body froze. That colour, that hateful hue of crimson. It did something to me. The same sensation that would keep me in bed until noon was back in my body.

but where my depressive tendencies were a quiet jingle of suffering, the witch delivered a demanding symphony of hopelessness. I could feel myself slipping, I could feel myself breaking. I had to act. I punched her in the jaw. I know this isn't something that I should be proud of, but the right hook I delivered to the eight-year-old woman

sent her fragile body clattering to the floor. I dashed towards the door, car keys already in hand. The mountain air outside tasted her freedom. I could have been back in my car in a couple of strides. Yet, as I slammed the door behind me, her bony hand grabbed at my ankle through the cap flap. The old hag had dug a scarlet nails into my skin. I could feel a warm trickle of blood travel down towards my socks. You are not going anywhere, you filthy peasant, she yelled from behind the door.

Her grip was strong enough to send me crashing to the ground. The wood of the porch sent a stinging pain through my skull. you will be my cat you will keep me company just like the others you will be with me forever her voice grew dark it echoed through the mountains

or she screeched some sort of incantation suddenly a fuzzy wave of weakness shot through my limbs something was wrong something was happening to me a feeling of weakness and fragility consumed me an inhuman sensation

travelled down my spine she was pulling me in. My foot was covered in blood and halfway through the cat door. No one gets away from me, peasant. You will be with me until the day you die. You are my... A wave of meows rose from the other side of the door. Suddenly the hag's grip loosened. Get away from me, you verbin. I will punish all of you for this. Get away from me. I freed my foot thanks to whatever struggle was happening on the other side of the door. I ran to my car, locked myself in, turned the ignition, and and that's when I noticed it.

My arms were covered in a steadily thickening layer of grey fur. My clothes were starting to clump up around me. That strange sensation of my spine was a tail. I was turning into a cat. Damn, I thought, this is not good. I tried to keep my foot on the pedal, but my limbs kept on getting shorter. My vision became obstructed by my sweat-drained shirt. my clothes piled up around me, my thumbs were gone,

my limbs receded into furry paws. There was no way that I could operate a vehicle. Just when it seemed like things couldn't get worse, like I had reached the ultimate rock bottom of the human experience, the door to the cottage burst open. Come back here, you firmin! Blood was dripping down the hag's face. She was covered in scratches and filled with rage.

Within seconds, she was slamming her bloody fists against the window. A glass eye painted the inside of the car a bloody red. I hid by the pedals. I kept on spinning around in one place. I don't know what came over me, but it felt as if keeping my body in motion will help me come up with a means of escape. Only one solution presented itself.

A familiar voice spoke within me. Drive off a cliff. Let's end this once and for all. She slammed the window with such fervour that it became obvious that the girl. glass would not hold. For a couple of seconds, I desperately searched for a different solution, but in the blood-bred glow of a false eye, I could only find one answer. I pressed my body, against the gas pedal. I woke up, curled up in the back seat of a totaled scoda fabia.

The car bounced down the hill so many times that it looked more like a modern art installation rather than a vehicle. It was obviously ruined, but I was, miraculously whole. One life down, eight to go. I crawled out from beneath the wreckage. The sun was rising off behind the mountains. Birds were chirping in the forest. The place at the top of the hill where the cottage once stood was empty.

I was dazed and beyond confused. A part of me just wanted to lie in the grass and think about the whole cursed affair, but something in the back of my head wouldn't let me. Go home. One poor in front of the other. Tomko needs you. The journey back home took a good three days. Not only with my new limbs significantly worse at travelling long distances,

but I had to stop to satiate my newly found feline hunger. The first sparrow I killed was just because I was starving. From that point onwards, I would slaughter any birds that got in my way. The whole journey filled me with a strange sort of purpose. I had to get to Tonko as soon as I could. yet as the Tatra Mountains came into full view I couldn't help but stop and take them in for a spell Somehow those majestic peaks looked a lot less intimidating

when viewed from all fours They were no longer terrifying reminders of how small I was They were simply there A part of the same insane world in which I was living Tonko being Tonko took me in as a stray After less than a day of following him I watched him set out an extra plate for the micro-exam wife pizza that he would eat every night. I was with him when he called the police. He took me

along when he moved into her aunt's house. Tom Go's TikToks has gotten quite a bit of traction as of late. He tells everyone that it's because he has an insanely talented cat, but I know that it's because he's a naturally funny person. Either way, I think that the kid has a bright future laid out for him. As for me, well, the world is a lot less intimidating from where I stand. All I do all day is sleep, acting TikTok videos and keep Tonko company. I still hear the shiver in my chest, but it's considerably calm now. I don't feel much of a need to argue with it either. All it tends to say is lick yourself or get that door open,

or, on truly boring days, murder that bird. This feline life ain't bad at all. This post has been quite difficult to write down with my paws. Getting the accented letters down, has been particularly difficult. But I wanted to make sure to let people know if they see someone offering an absurd amount of money for a simple cat-setting job,

report the post for being a scam. Hope everyone is well. There's some really crazy TikToks coming. I heard about it through a guy at work. I worked as a college intern at a medium-sized brokerage firm at the time, and one of the junior executives, Tommy, had taken me under his wing as a go-for. and goof off buddy when he wanted to take a break and blow off steam.

One day, we were talking about stupid games we played as a kid. I told him about playing Mercy and Rock Dool, which was basically Mercy with Throne Rocks. He told me about a game his cousins had gotten him to try one time when he was staying with them. It was called Billy the Bouncing Butcher. He said it involved mirrors and saying some chans until something, quote, scary happened.

When I pointed out that it sounded like a rip-off of Bloody Mary, he just shrugged and gave a weird laugh. He told me he wasn't sure, but he didn't think it was like that. You weren't supposed to see a ghost or anything. It was something worse. When I asked him what was supposed to happen then, he looked embarrassed.

That was weird. Tommy was a nice enough guy, but he was a super type A, man's man type, or at least that's the image he wanted to present. This was the first time I'd seen him be anything other than serious or sarcastically goofy, and seeing his carefully crafted mask slip for a minute to show uncertainty and shame.

Well, it got my attention. After a moment of contemplative silence, he shrugged again. To be honest, I don't really know. I was with them when we set everything up, but as soon as they started saying the words, I got scared and ran out of the room. They were laughing at me, but I guess they were committed after all that work, because they stayed in and finished it.

They weren't laughing when they got done. I was mad and embarrassed, but I was curious too. I asked them that night what had happened, but they wouldn't say. Tried to joke that I didn't get to know since I was too chicken to stay. But they seemed weird, scared even. He shook his head. I went back home the next day and never found out if anything really happened. or if it was just BS.

I almost laughed and told him I had the answer. It was BS. But I didn't want to hurt his feelings or tick him off. So I silently nodded as a new idea crept into my head. My girlfriend, Carla, simultaneously hated and loved creepy things. And I thought I remembered her saying once that she never played Bloody Mary as a kid because it spooked her so much. I knew it was a gamble, as she might get mad or refuse the point.

play. But even if I could get it to try out Tommy's weird knockoff game, we might have fun or at least get a good laugh out of it. So I pressed Tommy for the details. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and for a second I thought he was going to refuse or say he didn't remember. But then he shrugged again and told me what they had done. It takes at least eight mirrors. That's probably one reason you don't hear more about it, right? Who the hell has eight mirrors? Well, my aunt did. She had a big house and almost every room was filled with all kinds of stuff.

It only took us like an hour to find eight good-sized mirrors and sneak them all into one of the back rooms that had been emptied for re-carpeting or something the next week. We'd gotten the mirrors in the room and shut the door without anyone seeing. But that was the easy part. The hard part was getting the mirrors set up right. You kind of make a circle with the mirrors, but they have to be angled so that each mirror reflects at least two other mirrors

and at least part of the centre of the circle, because that's where we were supposed to be. The idea is, if you get it right, you can see your reflections in the mirrors, and the reflections of those reflections and so on, stretching out farther than you can see. When we were satisfied with that, we went into the middle and stood back to back,

facing out towards the mirrors. Then they said we had to say this around together until something changed. Trying to get every detail, I asked him, did he remember the phrase? Browning at me, he shook his head. Damn, Cody, that was like 30 years ago. It was something spooky sound into a 10-year-old, I guess.

His gaze had shifted away from mine, and I suddenly felt sure he was lying about not remembering. I was going to let it go, but he went on I don't know it was something like his eyes snapped back to mine come to me

come to me you're invited by word and deed come to me come to me by this offering you'll be freed come to me come to me water mist and chains are rust

for there is only one of us I burst out laughing dude that's awesome you really had me going very creepy. My girl is going to crap about... But Tommy was already standing up with a frown.

Got to go, man. I... I have a phone conference in ten. Jerky later. And then he was hustling down the hall toward his office. I should have thought it was stranger than I did. But I was young and dumb. And I assumed Tommy was just playing it up, being dramatic,

because that's the kind of stuff he did. Anything for a laugh or to look cool. and it was cool. I hadn't been lying. Carla was going to lose a mind. I didn't mention it to her that night or the next. By the weekend, I'd already bought four mirrors for 50 bucks from a pawn shop downtown

and borrowed three more from my sister's store. With the one I had, hanging on my closet, I had just enough. Setting them up was a giant pain in the ass. It was hard to get the angles just right. But by the time Carla came over for what she thought was dinner and a movie. Everything was ready.

To my surprise, she was gung-ho from the beginning. I could tell she was a bit nervous about it, but I think she thought it was really sweet that I'd done to so much trouble to set it up. And, like I've said, she really liked creepy stuff, even when it freaked her out a bit. I told her to Tommy's story,

including the phrase I'd written down as soon as he'd left the break room that day. I'd written it down on a slip of paper, for both of us, so we wouldn't mess it up. I told myself my attention to detail was just because it was all cool and creepy as it was. And if I changed it, I would just mess it up. Because it was all made up. Kids games.

The words were just spooky nonsense. I didn't really think anything would happen, so I wasn't seriously worried about making sure I got it right. Right? We stood back to back in the circle of mirrors. Initially, I was just going to have candles burning for an extra creep factor, but it was too dark. Candles don't brighten up the dark like they do in movies, and I finally decided to turn on a corner lamp to give us just enough light to read our papers and see into the shadowy mirrors. Our reflected selves stretched on forever.

Despite being pressed against the back, I could see Carla's excited expression doubled and redoubled, just like I could see my own. focusing on one of my faces I asked her if she was ready to start letting out a nervous laugh she said she was so we began come to me come to me you are invited by word and deed

come to me come to me by this offering you will be freed come to me come to me wards are mist and chains are rust for there is only one of us We stumbled over the words this first time. The phrases are discordant jumble as we both shifted speed trying to match the other. Come to me, come to me, you're invited by word and deed.

Come to me, come to me, by this offering you will be freed. Come to me, come to me, wards are mist and chains are rust, for there is only one of us. We were in unison now, and I focused on the paper to make sure I didn't make a mistake to throw us off again. Come to me, come to me, you're invited by word and deed, Come to me, come to me, by offering you'll be freed, Come to me, come to me, words are mist and chains are rust, for there is only one of us. We were in the rhythm now,

and while I didn't have the words fully memorized, I felt comfortable enough that I lifted my eyes back to one of my reflections. The one where I could see my face, and behind that, the back of Carla's head. Except, there were two faces. is staring at me now. In that reflection, Carla's face was turned to face the same direction. I had a moment of unreality where I assumed she must have turned around, even though I could feel her back pressed against mine.

But then my gaze wandered to the other reflections, and all of them were the same as they had been. I should have stepped away then, or at the very least stopped or stumbled over my words. But somehow I didn't. The chant kept flowing from me As if pulled from my core on an invisible string And as I looked back at the wrong reflection

I saw that the mirror Carla was smiling at me Smiling at me as she started to shake and shudder Bounce and twist Despite the fact I could feel Carla's stillness behind me As we continued to chant And then as the thing in the mirror smile widened further And its up and down motion sped to a blur It was suddenly gone

It was as though a spell had been broken. The reflections looked normal again, and this time, when I tried to stop speaking, it worked. I turned to Carla and found her looking at me with a combination of amusement and disappointment. Getting bored already? I smiled at her, almost blurting out what I saw or what I thought I'd saw.

But that was stupid, right? It had all happened fast And if it had been real Wouldn't she have seen something too I knew she loved me But we hadn't been dating so long And I wanted to risk making a think I was a nut job I was something that couldn't have possibly happened in the first place

Or that I was so spineless That I actually got scared by a kid's game So I just nodded and returned a smile Yeah sorry It's kind of lame Are you cool with us skipping up She leaned forward and kissed me. Sure, and it wasn't lame, it was cool.

She laughed, and a little spooky. For a second, I thought I saw something move and it freaked me out. Weird how the mind works. I grinned, feeling relief. Yeah, me too. I guess we just spooked ourselves. Two weeks later. Carla was dead.

She lived in a nice condo on the north side of town. one of those places with two pools and security guards at the gate. The police claimed they talked to everyone, reviewed all the security footage. They said they had no idea how someone had gotten into a locked apartment, disabled her alarm and butchered her in her own bed. I'm not saying they didn't do a good investigation. Maybe they did, I don't know. What I do know is that they questioned me three times,

and each time it felt more and more like I was a suspect rather than a grieve. boyfriend. Then the interviews suddenly stopped. Two weeks went by without any word. Finally, I called the main detective, a woman named Everly, and asked her if they made any progress. I could hear her reluctance to talk to me over the phone, and at first I figured it was because they still suspected me. But then she was apologising. Told me, she knew they'd been hard on me, but it was because they didn't have many leads, and the one lead they did have. have pointed towards me, but they'd finally managed to get the phone's GPS records and then confirmed through my officer's security that I've been working late with Tommy on the night

Carla was killed. That was why they hadn't been in touch anymore after that last interview, though she was sorry to say there were no new lead so far. Stomaching, I asked her, what about the lead they already had? What it made them suspect me in the first place? She said that the alarm in Carla's condo had been disabled. with the code, and that based on their investigation, aside from Carla, I was the only other person who knew the code, at least locally. Since there were no signs of a struggle, and it appeared that Carla had been murdered in her sleep, it seemed unlikely that she had disabled the alarm herself to let the killer in. That meant someone else that knew the code had gotten into her

apartment, disabled the alarm, and then crept back to a bedroom, where they murdered her. I, was confused by the logic. I pointed out that maybe she never set the alarm in the first place or she led someone in earlier, gone to bed and they had killed her. I didn't want to think that she'd cheat on me. What if she'd been seeing someone else and they decided to kill her while she slept? Maybe she was breaking it off with him because she really loved me. Detective Everfully broke in, explaining that while the killer might be some jilted lover, they knew when the alarm had been turned on and turned back off.

The system was in every condo, and they were all the same. to a security server that was monitored and controlled by an alarm company in Arizona. They had logs of every key press, as well as every time Carla's system had been armed or turned off. On that night, Evely said, the alarm had been set just after 10 o'clock, and had been turned back off less than half an hour later. Around the same time, she added, they could put me walking to my car from the office some 20 miles away. Again, I'm sorry, I know you probably would think we were just being asshole. But so often it's someone the victim knows and you are the only one with access.

Not even the condo manager has the code. So, unless someone from the security company decided to drive a thousand miles to murder a random stranger, which we actually looked into, by the way, we don't know how the alarm got turned back off. I could feel my palm sweating against the back of the phone. It had been over a month since the call that Carla had been murdered. And talking or thinking about it still sent me spiraling toward either a panic attack or a teary breakdown. But I wanted to understand, to help them understand, if it could help catch the killer. But maybe you're wrong about her being asleep.

Maybe she let them in. It could be someone she knew. The detective was quiet a moment before letting out a small sigh. Maybe, yeah, we can't say for sure. But it still seems weird to me. Weird that you wasn't asleep? I mean, how can... No, not that.

The code. The security company. the records they sent, they show that when the alarm was disabled, there was one invalid attempt before the right code was put in. That by itself isn't a big deal, but it was how the code was entered that stands out to me. What do you mean? Well, when someone knows a code and they misenter it, they usually either hit the wrong button, swap two numbers, or put in something entirely different. Putting in your PIN number instead of the alarm code, something like that. I've looked through all the alarm code entries for Carla's apartment going back six months,

which is as far as they keep that kind of thing. There were a couple of times where the wrong code was entered, but it was just one digit that was wrong, the same digit every time. I figured out what there probably was. Her alarm code was 1681, and the last four digits of her social were 1651. But other than that, the right code was always entered every time until the night she was murdered. I felt myself twisting tighter and tighter with tension as she spoke. Some unknown dread blooming in my belly like a dark and toxic flower that was nourished by her words.

Please, just tell me. What was special about the wrong code then? She gave a short bark of a laugh. Sorry, I get lost in it sometimes. No, all I meant was that the code, the wrong code that was entered before the right one, was different than the others. Or what I'd expect to see. because it was the right code

in reverse. Instead of 1681, someone put in 1861. Then, 10 seconds later, just before the alarm would have started going, they put it in right. Everly let out a long sigh. I'm sorry, I don't have better news

or more to tell you, but trust me, I'm going to keep working on it until we get whoever did this to her. They never did. And eight years later, I'd largely moved on. There was still a hole in me from where I'd lost Carla, not only as I knew her,

but as I imagine our lives might be, if we'd stay together long term, but if time doesn't heal, it at least gives you scars. Patches of unfeeling callous that make it easier to not dwell on the pieces you've lost along the way. I still miss Carla,

and while I occasionally date, it's always half-hearted. My sister says I sabotage any chance I have of finding anyone, of really being happy, that I have to stop blaming myself for something terrible that happened that wasn't my fault.

Maybe, she's right. But I'm not so sure. Because yesterday, I got into an elevator and my company's brand new building in London, the same company where I had worked with Tommy some 4,000 miles away

and at least one lifetime ago. I haven't heard from him in years, and when I tried to find him in the company directory yesterday afternoon, he's no longer listed. But that was after the elevator, and even if I found him, I don't know if that would make any difference.

Because, as I stepped into the new elevator for the first time, I realized that I was in a box made of mirrors, highly polished, chrome-framed mirrors along each wall of the elevator car, as well as the closing doors themselves. Immediately, my mind flashed back to the night with the car, back pressed up against her as I stared at my double and redoubled reflection stretching away towards some unknown destination just like that night I could see an infinite number of cells all connected to each other and to me all of them terrible in the

similarities and slight variations of appearance and angle all except one among them all I could see one reflection that moved when I did not that was occupied by not only my own staring figure, but a second one as well. A dark shape that cradled the face that wasn't my face and whispered in my ear that was not my own.

It was Carla, or something in a shape. The sight of her made me gasp, and I would have turned to try and find her if I wasn't frozen to the spot. She looked the same as I remembered her, at least mostly. Her face and chest was speckled with black

and maroon flakes of dirt or blood, and the hand that stroked the cheek of my other had ragged, yellow nails that scraped at the skin. I would have said it was just to reflect on my gaze, except he was nodding his head at her silent words. She broke off to look at me as they both began to smile. I glanced at the floor number above the doors. Two more to go, and then I could get out of there. Looking back at them, I saw they'd begun twisting and jumping. Their image is bouncing more and more as they... And then they were gone.

I had just a moment to stare into the empty place my reflection should have been, and then the door slid open. Gasping for air, I stumbled to my office and locked the door, hiding in there most of the day before taking the stairs back down to my car. I'm getting on a plane in 20 minutes to fly back home, if I may get that far. The planning and motion of running of trying to hide or fight it makes me feel a bit better, or at least distracts me.

I'm staying in crowds, hoping that whatever is hunting me can't or won't attack me in public, but I have no illusions of winning or really getting away. I don't understand what this is or how to fight it, if it even can be fought. So, I'm telling you this now as a warning, and maybe an epitaph for myself. So, I'll end with this. Don't play this game or anything. similar. You may think it sounds like a fun dare,

but it's not. You may think it's all a joke, but it's not. I can't make you believe me, and I understand by telling you about it, I risk making it worse. But this didn't start with me, so I have no reason to think it would stop

whether I tell you this or not. So, take this for what it is. An earnest warning from a dead man. And if you don't listen to it Well, you only have yourself to blame They say that if you want a first date to be effective

You should make it a horror film Apparently something about the brain chemicals released Makes people more attached to each other Which is a tad manipulative if you think about it too long But if it works, it works However, this is far from the first date It might just be the last If I don't do absolutely everything I can,

if a horror film can get a girl attached, this might just make us fused at the waist. Getting tickets was surprisingly easy. It moves around the country fairly often, and whenever it arrives, everyone flocks to get a load of the latest horror experience. But Lisa was friends with a guy running the venue, so it worked itself out.

No one scorns a bit of polite corruption when it benefits them. Still, I paid for the tickets, £25 pounds each, and from what I've heard, that makes it vastly underpriced. Thomas Davis calls a tightly suited woman at the waiting room desk, as a worker leads a middle-aged man to the back door.

For a horror attraction, the waiting room is surprisingly peaceful. A lot of places tried to spook you early, with actors and tacky decorations draped everywhere. That was certainly what I expected when I was. walked in, but it seemed they prefer to keep it professional, at least on this end. You see, the frights aren't really for us. They split every pair in two, with one becoming a part of the attraction as to give their

partner a personalised scare. Horror with a human touch. That's their slogan. Jack Amos, a secretary says, another boy going to the back room. Still a few more to go before me. Like clockwork, as one person leaves, another enters the waiting room, this time a greying older man who chooses to sit next to me, despite the few empty seats. You can tell with some people when they are going to talk.

They sort of look at you to make sure you won't bite, I suppose, and their mouths rest open as if warming up the machinery. Who do you have on the other side? I asked, preempting the man. My grandson, it's a treat for his birthday. He says, a cheerful smile, stretching out the lines on his face and pulling his white stubble tight. Birthday, huh? How old is he? Fifteen. A tad young. But, looking around the waiting room, I see a little girl waiting excitedly beside her mother.

Like I said, this side isn't for the scare, so they allow it. At the other entrance, it's purely 18 plus. He's always been a bit of a horror buff, the old man says, trying to keep up the conversation. But my attention is still on that child. It's allowed, but I can't say I understand it. What kind of parent brings a child to this sort of thing? I don't consider myself much of a moral busybody, but that still doesn't sit right with me. Cute little girly thing too, long blonde hair with a pink bow.

I wager she'll come out of the room sobbing before long. though then again despite people periodically going in I've never seen someone leave they must go out through the back entrance I suppose do you think they'll let us choose the theme I ask pitying him I've always hated people who are mean to old people and he is clearly lonely

but actually having to be the one to keep someone else entertained was never my thing not sure but if they do I'm going to ask for something based on the sore films I don't exactly get the appeal but my grandson adores them I never quite got core films either it's just a cheap way of getting a scare

not even a scare it's just disgusting I'll probably ask for the human centipede my girlfriend can't get enough of those awful films coldfield family a board secretary calls the little girl in the pink bow and a distracted mother take their time going through the door to the next room

and like clockwork, another customer sits and wait. Still, how much can they possibly do? They let people in every few minutes. They can't spend much time in each customer. The old man tilts his head. I reckon they have multiple rooms, one for each group. There's probably a fair few members in the back room. True, I didn't think of that.

Plus, I doubt they'd get such rave reviews if they half-assed it. I always love hearing old people swear. It simultaneously feels wrong, like hearing Father Christmas swear, but it also feels like after how long they've lived, they've bloody well earned the right. And the old man was correct about the reviews. You never hear anything bad about it. If the rush for tickets wasn't evident enough,

you just needed to look at their online review pages. Come to think of it, I don't think I've seen a review low than five stars. Michael McCormack, the secretary calls. My turn, I say to the old man, a little uneasy about leaving him alone. He's clearly lonely, and by how late he was coming in, he was going to be waiting a long while. But I can't keep Lisa or the staff waiting now, can I? A smiley staff member in an orange shirt meets me at the next door and leads me through.

As he opens it, I get my first glimpse into the next room. Just the hallway, brightly lit with white walls, the corner. turning off past my line of sight. He gestures for me to go through in front, and I do so, even though I have no clue where I'm supposed to go if the path splits off. He stops me as the hallway widens into the first room, which is essentially a smaller version of the waiting room without any chairs. At the desk sits an even more bored-looking secretary in an even tighter suit.

Just the usual Vivian, the staff member says, her plastic smile still on his face. Are any of the consultants free? Mr Ramirez isn't seeing anyone at the moment, she says. That's room four, tire. And he leads me to the next door. This one is more in line with a horror aesthetic than the last. A thick metal door with one of those twisty handles you see on a submarine.

As I step through, the door closes behind me, and I notice there is no handle. I guess I was right about leaving through the. other side. Room four, like she said, the staff member says, leaving me to continue my walk without him. The lights are bright, a bit too bright, like the fluorescence in a nightclub bathroom. On the walls are these foam boards with alternate lines of ridges, soundproofing like you see in YouTube's backgrounds.

Very professional, don't want the noise from the fright room is distracting the people waiting. I get to room four and knock. But the door drifts open before my fist hits it the third time. Not metal. A wooden door like the waiting room. This time in cold, clinical white. Inside is a tall Hispanic man with black hair splotched with grey. He calls me in and points me to a wooden chair.

This whole thing feels like a doctor's appointment. What are you going to prescribe me, Doc? So, first of all, I'm going to need you to sign this. He hands me a thick pile of papers stapled together. What's this? Boring legal stuff. Don't worry about it. I just need you to sign your name here.

He says in an upward tone pointing to a line. And then I need you to make a verbal declaration of understanding. I will read a sentence to you and you can say, I agree. And we get into the consultation. Or you can not say that and this whole thing ends. Though I will remind you that this experience is non-refundable. I nod. I'm not the type to get cold feet, especially when I'm footing the bill.

I, Michael McCormack, understand and agree to the term, that once I go through the door at the end of the hall, I am bound to follow the rules of and complete the experience. In other words, once you go through that door, there is no going back. I agree. Very good. He drums his hands on the contract before putting it onto his desk. Now, I'm to be your fright consultant.

Funny title I know. Basically, my job is to help create a perfect horror experience for... He checks his notes. Miss Lisa Monroe. Do you have any initial ideas for what you want to do? Most clients come in basing it on a movie, video game, or book their partner likes. I was figuring Human Centipede, but I'm guessing you don't really have the time of resources to do much with something so ambitious. Well, that streamlines things.

And don't you worry, we are more than capable of providing for. for all our clients' needs. Let me just send an email and you are ready to go to the fright room to prep for your personalized experience. After a few beeps and the clatter of a mechanical keyboard, Mr. Ramirez leads me down the hallway past rows of advisory rooms. If I had to estimate, I'd say there were 10 in total. We get to the end of the hall where we meet with another submarine-like door. Room 4, once again, they will be prepared for you.

The door slams behind me. Once again, with no handle to open. Point of no return it is then. Exactly what the contract says. Turning around, I see I'm in another corridor. Once again, ten rooms with the door at the end of the corridor. But the lights are dimmer here, and they flicker. I'm in the customer side, back entrance.

Time to set up my personalised horror experience. Time to scare Lisa. She is going to love it. Room 4. I search the door numbers until I find it. Even the fonts are creepier now, and twisted Roman numerals like scratch marks. The door opens with a click as I twist the cold metal knob.

Inside it stood three people in orange uniform shirts. Wide plastered grins on their faces. Just through the next door, one of the three women says, gesturing to another door from the current room. You people like your doors have noticed Just through the next door To repeat Behind that door

The lights are brighter And a balding man in a suit sits next to what looks like a dentist's chair Without that blinding light Welcome Mr McCormack Please take a seat I have expected him to adjust it But the chair is just the right size as it is

This is the set-up room the room where you were just in was the fright zone or the experience I sees we just need you to get you prepared first right I suppose you've got a costume or something face paint something a little more high budget than that he chuckles we spare no expense

in making an immersive experience for our clients he pulls a small mic from his desk and murmurs into it a staff member entering locking the door behind her still beaming ear to ear In her hands she has a chart, which she passes to the head technician. Now, the process is fairly simple, as these things go. It looks impressive, really, but all it is is a few stitches only the end.

Stitches? That's a bit severe, isn't it? You did opt for human centrebeats, sir. Well, it sinks. Good one, but really. Tell me about the costume. The balding man doesn't laugh, and the staff member doesn't stop smiling. This isn't a joking matter, sir. Please, just relax. It'll take a few moments. What, come on, I'm not stupid.

You can't do this. It was tricky, yes, having to recruit people on such short notice. But don't you worry, sir, it was well within our means, and no burden at all when it comes to customer's satisfaction. My hands sweat into the handrests. I noticed the key on the staff member side. But, I stutter, looking for excuses. Won't it hurt?

Well, we'll anesthetize you for the initial procedure, but there may be some discomfort afterwards. You're insane. You signed the contract. It was all there in black and white. You agreed to it. But I didn't read it. That's your fault, not ours, the technician interrupts.

Stacey, holding down while I'd be. minister at the anesthesia. We really don't have the time to waste. The orange-shirted smileer lumbers over and I keep my eyes trained on her keys. Her manicured hands dig into my arms and my heart races ever faster. The key. I've got to get the key. She puts all her weight into me, her sickly sweet breath puffing in my face, her white teeth wide in front of me. I thrashed my head forward, clashing with her jaw. She fumbles, backwards, holding a face, and my hands shoot for a side. With a second pair of hands claw into my back.

With adrenaline-fuelled rage, I push backwards and slam the technician into the wall. The keys. The staff member kneels on the floor, holding a face as blood drips through her fingers. With one almighty kick, I send a reeling, and the sound of the technician getting up rings out behind me. Before I'm able to think, and before he's able to yell, the keys are in my hand, and I'm fumbling them against the lock. Move hands, move.

In my peripheral vision is the balding man approaching, and the key clacks into place just as he reaches out of hand. I slammed the door behind me, locking it. The two remaining staff members don't have time to react, and I lock them away too. The door is at the end of the hallway. I sprint towards it as Ramirez's words echo in my head. Once you go through that door, there is no going back.

I thrash my hands against the metal bulkhead once I noticed the lack of handle. It must open from the outside, from the customer side. There has to be an exit, they must. How else would the staff get out? I could wait for the customers to come in when Lisa comes to see what they have done. But what if another customer comes through, staff in tow? No, I have to get out now. There must be away.

I notice a keyhole in the bulkhead and try the key in hand to no avail. All I can do is check the rooms one by one. Surely, one of them must have the right key. Room four. That's where I was supposed to go. Let's start with room one. Nowhere better to start than the beginning. I test a cold metal handle.

Unmarked? The first thing that hits me is the smell. Rotting meat. The room is decorated like an abattoir. stark white and freezing cold with cruel metal hooks on the walls and each one is a carcass pigs, cows, chickens

and something else it is limp, skinless, vainy its head missing and it looks almost hollow but something deep in my mind knows exactly what it is and what it was the desicrated lump of flesh

is wrong not just morally it feels factually wrong. I'm not supposed to see this. No one is. Mr. Davis, middle-aged, they brought him in first. I leave and close the door behind me.

All that matters is getting out, finding the key. Still, I lock the door. He shouldn't be on display like that. Room number two. I try not to consider what could be inside. No use breaking twice. The door creaks open, and this time the sound strikes me first. Crying.

Small, pathetic sobs. Jack Amos is restrained in a straight jacket, wire criss-crossing through red holes around his mouth. His eyes tear into me, a mix of hatred and terror. I scan the room as quickly as I can. No key. I lock the door. I want to help him, but there is nothing I can do. I don't want to keep that image in my mind.

so I keep it permanently out of sight and out of earshot. Thank God for the soundproofing. What's behind door number three? I think in the voice of an overexcited game show host. I have to laugh. If I don't, I don't know if I can carry on. I try to recount who it will be next. Who is the next person to go through the doors?

I remember, and this one is particularly abhorrent. but I have to get the key All that matters is the key When I open the third door It isn't the smell or the sound But the image that stops me my path I could recognise that pink bow anywhere She was lying in a bed

A bed fit for a girl her age And it would be almost peaceful If her head Wasn't backwards And her skin covered in wounds It seems her father is in Exorcist fan. Her key sits on the bed in front of the girl. I take it and close the door behind me, locking away my guilt. I have the key, but the ridges of fruits has turned to ashes in my mouth. No image can grasp my mind. All I see is her. I hear the door at the end of the corridor begin to open, and I look at my escape. And I just sit in place. Outside door three. and sob.

I've always wondered why ghost hunters never went to Chernobyl. I've seen movies where they have monsters or mutated animals there, but I've never seen anything on ghosts. You'd think with a nuclear meltdown and the amount of deaths that happened there, they would have some activity going on. It piqued my interest so much that I planned a trip over there. I've been a small ghost hunt all over the country before, so I was no stranger to this stuff.

I've been to the supposed most haunted places but never really found anything interesting Yeah, I've seen some weird stuff on my journeys But never anything like what I came across in Chernobyl The ghosts are completely different there I'm not so sure if it's the radiation before their death Or after their death they completely mutated them For the trip I had to make sure I went alone

That was my thing I noticed you get more paranormal activity when you go alone Maybe they feel more powerful over one person than over a group of people But by choosing to go alone It made the trip extremely difficult and much more dangerous After months of planning and studying the land I was finally there I drove as far as I could and walked a few hours to get there

I arrived earlier on the day hoping to hit all the landmarks The ferris wheel the Azores swimming pool and the iconic rows of abandoned apartment buildings reclaimed by nature. When I finally arrived there, I immediately started setting up my gear. I set up my camera and started live streaming the event online. I had a few diehard fans that watched me live. I mostly did a live stream as a type of insurance. If anything bad happened, I was hoping someone watching would call for help or alert the police.

The first few hours were uneventful. I didn't hear or see anything. My supposed voice box was not picking up anything. I was honestly about to start packing up my gear when I noticed the comment on my live stream. Who is that following you? Is that a cameraman? Following me? Nobody's following me, I assured them.

I came here alone, it's just me. I panned around and retraced my steps, but nothing was there. I thought for sure someone was trolling me, but more comments kept popping up from different people. Who is that behind you? they asked. This made chills run down my spine, but I had to keep my composure. This could be a local, or worse, someone looking to rob me.

I did have a few thousand dollars worth of gear on me. Being all alone in an abandoned city made me feel like a very vulnerable target. If anything went wrong, I was screwed. But I had to find out who was false. me. Okay, let's see how close we can get to it. I remember entering a room with a mirror immediately adjacent to the door. Maybe I could catch a glimpse of whoever was following me, using that. I circled around and made my way towards that door. When I'd left, the door was

open. Upon my return, it was closed and locked shut. Damn it, this is going to take some time, I told my viewers. I left my camera facing the door and tried to force it open, but it felt like this door was nailed shut when I'd just been through there. I decided to give it all my strength in three pushes, then give up.

I should probably be heading back soon anyway. One, two, three. And bang, it flew open. I landed a few feet in front of the mirror, laughing, off myself when I realized why I am there in the first place. The follower, I looked up into the mirror and saw a pitch-black mass floating behind me. I should have ran, but I was completely frozen in fear.

This didn't seem like a ghost, but like a black hole had appeared behind me. Suddenly, the mass reached out towards me, before I could even flinch or even close my eyes in fear. Everything went black. I don't know how long I was passed out for, but when I woke up, I was in a completely different place. Everything felt different. The air was warm with a slight noticeable draught blowing in one direction. I stood up and noticed the room was now covered in an inch of dust.

The room also looked different, like someone had moved everything around, searching for something. I went to grab my camera and noticed it was gone. I reached for my backpack, and that too was gone. Great, someone robbed me, I let out in anger. I was trying to piece together what happened, but I can only recall a black mass, not a person. Sadly, my head was throbbing with a headache. I could not recall anything clearly at the moment.

I started to make my way out of the building, when, in horror, I noticed the sky was now dark red and orange. The first thing that came to mind was the reactor somehow exploded again. I could faintly hear a siren going off in the distance, but it sounded odd. It was broken and not repeating properly like it had been running for years. I started making my way towards the exit and my rental car, which I could not be any further from.

I had to make my way through the whole town and pass who knows what with all this hell going on. If this was another nuclear meltdown, I was screwed. I was right in the exclusion zone with no protective gear. nothing to defend myself with, and I still had a long way to go. As I got closer to the town centre, I started hearing the strangest animal noises I've ever heard. I thought for sure the radiation was slowly torching whatever animals were left to death. I kept walking and noticed the whole town looked different now. I don't know what happened when I passed out, but everything was different.

It was like people were still here, ravaging through everything. It was so different I decided I should just retrace my steps, so I wouldn't get lost in all this new junk. But I couldn't shake the feeling that something was following me, maybe that same follower from before. I entered into a hospital I'd walked through earlier. In here, those ungodly noises were not as loud and terrifying. I swear, something or someone is out there in agony right now.

I did not want to find out what it was. At this point I was feeling woozy My head was throbbing And I decided I needed a break I entered into a room with windows So I could keep an eye on whatever the hell was going on out there I was sitting staring at the window When I noticed

Even the trees looked different The closer I got towards the reactors They were now bare and deformed They looked like large back wings curled in But all the trees and branches Were being blown away from the reactor time hours, almost like a continuous wind was pushing them away. I wonder how long I was out for.

Could I have been passed out a whole day and all this happened? I tried to ease my mind. This felt like a living hell. Could I be dead? As all these horrible thoughts were racing through my mind, a mother holding a small child on a shoulder staggered past the window. Hello? I shouted, but to no response.

She just kept on limping by In what looked like a great amount of pain I ran outside in a desperate attempt to get her attention Please stop I can help I get running towards her yelling and waving my arms When I finally got closer She slowly stopped but stared straight forward This stopped me dead in my tracks

As I got closer I could make out the details on her She was horribly burnt. Her ears were nothing but holes and a face was a blank canvas of melted skin. The continuous wind blew the blanket covering a baby to reveal a large mass of flesh and small body parts half mutated into a body. Her child was dead. As I was now close enough for her to hear me, I could now hear her. A whimpering cry was coming from inside a skin-covered mouth. I was petrified in fear. A mutated monster stood in front of me and I did not know

what to do. In what felt like an eternity, she slowly turned her head towards me. She started motioning her head upwards in a sniffing action like she could smell me. That was enough for me to turn back towards the hospital and run as fast

as I could without looking back. I could hear the muffled crying getting louder and louder as she chased me. It was almost like she wanted my I dashed inside and slammed the door behind me as hard as I could. Standing, staring at her, I felt a small wind. That's when I heard it. Screams of agony started howling from everywhere.

The mother immediately ran towards the woods in fear. I was anxiously waiting to see what made that creature run off. And suddenly, from behind the building, horrific-looking flesh creatures started running and limping my direction. I knew I couldn't hide from these things if they could smell me, so I ran towards the roof. I closed as many doors as I could behind me and quietly sat in an air vent as these creatures searched through the building. I tried to breathe as little as possible, but that was hard when you're terrified beyond belief. The building was so decrepit and old I could peep through where I was hiding. I wanted to see what I was running and hiding from.

The smaller ones had already left the building. only the bigger ones were still there. As I was peeking through, a huge, puffy man in a hazmat suit stumbled by. He was bloated. He looked like he could pop at any second. His suit was sewn shut like human flesh, like it was part of his body. He was terribly burnt, all mutated. I couldn't tell.

Their flesh looked like melted candle wax. They all finally left, and I was alone with. with my fear. I felt like prey here. I needed to escape whatever this was. I needed to get closer to my rental car and to a hospital. Now that it was quiet enough, I left the building and slowly made my way towards the exit trail.

As I was walking, I noticed it felt like time wasn't moving here. It had been the same time of day as when I woke up. It surely had been a few hours, but the sky was still the same orange and red. This gave me an uneasy feeling. While I was walking, I noticed a normal looking house far off in the distance. It was an old and abandoned looking. It had a lit torch on the front porch like someone was currently living there. Finally, some good news, I thought.

But this was towards the reactor, a place I did not want to go to. I decided that house was my best bet, so I carefully made my way towards it. towards it, not wanting to alarm any more creatures on the way. As I was walking, I could still hear the odd screams and howls off in the distance. I could hear the pain these creatures were in. As I walked towards the house, I looked up at the tall reactor towers. They looked enormous.

I lifted my hand to shade my eyes from the glow that seemed to emanate off them. That's when I realized I could see the bones through my skin. This caused me to quick my pace. I started the jog since I was finally getting closer to the house. As I arrived, I could see a fire lit inside the house. Someone was definitely living there. Hello? Anybody home? I need help, please.

I let out desperately. At that moment, a deformed dog came running out from beneath the deck. I ran back and stumbled as the dog was halted by a chain. The dog was missing all its fur and was constantly scratching itself. It stared at me down a few inches from my face, growling and snarling at me. Suddenly, behind him, the door flew open. Who's there? Why are you here? Said a man as he walked forward.

He was old and looked like a priest. He was wearing a torn robe and some kind of necklace around his neck. Who was there? he repeated, but louder this time. Um, me, I'm here, I responded, confused. Can you not see me? I asked. No, I cannot see. Come in, quickly now, he said, or motioning his arms towards the house. His dog seemed to calm. I walked past the beast and inside his house as he shut the door behind me.

His place looked old. Everything in there looked like it was from a century ago. "'Who are you? Why are you still here?' I asked. "'Why are you here? You should not be here,' he responded. "'I'm lost, I think. I don't know how I ended up here exactly. I was exploring the city when, somehow, I ended up in this place.' "'You don't just end up here. What were you doing exactly?' he sternly asked. "'Well, I was looking for someone. Someone was following me, and I tried to see who it was.

Then they touched me, and I ended up here. Hmm, I see. So you were why all those things were riled up then. Hmm. I heard a group of those things dragging something up to the church. I'm guessing it was you. Me? What do you mean?

I'm right here. You are here, yes. But they took your body up to the church, he said, as he walked towards the window, pointing outwards. They sacrificed something. Every chance they get, those wretches. He let out in anger. I'm sick of those things. I wish they would go away so I could rest in peace.

Who are you? Are you one of them? I asked slowly. No, I used to be a priest. I stayed back as long as I could to help the people pass on in peace, long after the army left everyone behind. But I guess I stayed too long because somehow I ended up stuck here.

I can't leave or move on. So I learned to live with these monsters. I stay near the towers because it's the one place they seem to hate. Is there any way I can leave this place? I asked. Hmm, I don't know. Maybe if we get your body back before they tear it apart we can. But I've never tried such a thing. Most do come here, never make it out. People have been here before? A few, yes. Lost souls like you.

A few government scientists came here once, but never returned. I think the monsters scared them away Those creatures, the monsters What are they exactly? Were they always here? No, they were people like you They were left behind or chose to stay behind Some tried to help

Some wanted to take advantage of the situation with greed In the end the radiation was too much for us all The government hid from us how bad the situation really was Am I dead? I asked suddenly No, not yet. I am, but right now you are in between both. We must hurry.

I don't know how much time you have left. He'll collect your body and tried to put you back. He grabbed a few walking sticks, put a few vials and some liquid into his pockets, and we were off to the church. As we were leaving, he untied his dog, and I asked him what that thing was. Man's best friend, he responded. I used to leave him beds outside my house. He seemed scared of those things out there.

Eventually, we gained each other's trust, and have been following each other ever since. Not all the things here are likened, though. Almost all those things out there will rip you to shreds given the chance. They take the limbs off anything and leave them at the altar, like a gift. A gift? For who? I asked. There's one out there who stays hidden, but all those creatures fear him.

So they leave him gifts, hoping he won't go after them. What is he? I don't know, but he was close to the reactors when everything went down. I think he's the most mutated of us all. As we were walking along the path, I noticed a mutated body into the ground. Its limbs were cut off, and it was slowly flailing its arms about, like he was trying to get unstuck. But he was cemented into the ground.

The old man walked past without a notice. I wanted to try help, but I'm sure it would have attacked me the second it was loose. As we got closer to the church, I noticed bones were scattered everywhere. Be careful, he warned. How can you see the way? I asked. I've been here a very long time, so long that I barely remember my life before the disaster. My memories slip away more and more every day, and I fear that soon I will become one of those creaks. I felt pity for this man. I wish I could help him.

We walked towards the back entrance of the church. The windows were all broken and the front doors were barricaded shut. We slowly entered. As we ran at the corner, I could see my lifeless body laying on the ground. It felt odd looking at my own body. I ran towards myself. I was cold to the touch. I'm dead, I let out and worry. No, you are not, be quiet. We are in its den, said the old man. Now lay down inside your body, he instructed. I followed along and laid beside myself.

No, lay in your body, he angrily responded as he was gathering candles and some cloths. I moved a bit over, and somehow I was able to lay inside myself. It was an odd sensation. It was cold and I could feel a wetness all around me. Now what do I do? Nothing. You wait. He placed lit candles around me,

started soaking some pieces of cloth with a liquid, and placed it on my body. Stay quiet, and whatever you do, don't move. He took a few steps back and began to speak in a language I did not recognize. As he was doing this, I noticed the statue behind him began to move. It was the one he was speaking about.

the one who they fed. I yelled to warn him when the beast attacked from behind, launching both of them to the ground. His dog immediately jumped to his aid when the creature threw him into the wall, leaving him lying motionless. He was terrifying looking. He had long, skinny arms, with legs that were backwards at the knee. Blood was leaking from its fanged mouth,

while its bloody fingertips wrapped around the arms of the priest. Don't move, he shouted. I was frozen in fear being near this creature, but I wished to help. While the priest was holding back the fangs from digging into him, he pulled out a vial and threw it into the monster's huge mouth. It released his grip from him and staggered backwards, coughing a green-glown substance that released smoke from anything it touched. I thought for a moment he was radioactive. The monster retreated outwards while the priest stood up examining his wounds. Ah, the wretch took into me, deep.

He said, Are you okay? I asked. I should be able to finish this, but just in case they come back, I'm going to make sure I get the last hit. He stood up and walked over to his dog. Don't worry, buddy.

I'll be seeing you on the other side, he said, while petting his head. He then walked around the church, pouring something onto the ground, saving the most for the entrance we used. What is that? I asked. You'll see.

He responded. He then walked back over to me and started chanting again. Are you going to be okay? I asked. He ignored me and kept speaking in that unknown language. Not a minute into his ritual, a screeching roar came from outside the building. He started chanting louder or pulling something out of his pocket. I could see through the halls and broken windows that a mob of creatures were coming directly our way. There is a lot of them, I shouted.

He then lit a match and threw it onto the substance on the ground. A purple flame erupted and lit our entire surroundings on fire. Arms and heads then started reaching into the building, trying to grab at us. I felt helpless. I could feel the certain death on the other side of the walls. He took a step closer towards me as the fire grew and climbed up the walls. A strange glow began to form around. around myself. I pulled my hand up to look closely at my fingertips, illuminating, when I

realized my physical body moved with me now. It's working, I shouted. At that moment, more and more creatures began ripping open the building. The glow around my body grew brighter and brighter when the roof started falling down nearly hitting us. He then knelt down while continuing his chant. My body suddenly felt extremely cold. As the light around me, grew too bright to look at, the monsters broke through the walls, storming inside had a great pace. The priest ignored all of this and kept on chanting. The roof thing collapsed, as it was falling closer and closer and the creatures were within arm's length of both of us.

I blacked out. I was surrounded by darkness. I awoke in a dark room. The sun was down and I was freezing. I sat up and realized. I was back in that room with a mirror. My camera was sitting on the ledge and my backpack laying next to me.

Was that a dream? I asked. I stood up and looked at the time. It was 3.15 in the morning. What just happened? I asked myself. I gathered my stuff and walked outside. It was dead quiet.

No sound except the wind rustling the leaves on the trees. I started my way back and everything looked normal. I was back in the world of the living. I noticed a collapsed church for my way back and stopped by to look at it. He looked burnt, graffiti covered one remaining wall. I stood there, wondering if I had imagined everything that had happened. And as I was looking through the debris,

I noticed old priest robes completely shredded to pieces. I turned around and walked as fast as I could towards my rental car, not wanting to think of everything that it just happened. The car started fine. I made it home with a few bruises, but nothing bad. I looked over my footage the following week, and to my disappointment, it did not capture anything. Just me, collapsing to the floor, with nothing standing behind me. Did all that really happen? Or did I just hit my head hard enough to think that?

that that happened. I have no idea. I still have nightmares of those creatures. And that place. I'm part of a study group that meets once a month. We typically meet on a Saturday afternoon and spend several hours hanging out and discussing ideas, talking about problems with and having and helping each other with feedback from reading each other's stuff. On the holiday months, which in our case has typically meant October and December, We tried to make the meeting a bit more festive, and it becomes more of a party than anything else. That's why, when Colby suggested we do an overnight camping trip this October, complete with a spooky ghost tour and scary stories around the campfire,

it sounded like a great idea that was more of an expansion of what we normally would have done around Halloween, rather than any real departure from the past four years I had been part of the group. I was excited for it, not just because the activities seemed like they would be fun, but because these people are my friends. Sure, we don't see each other as often as some friends, but I feel like I've gotten to know each of the five other members of our group pretty well over time, and I've reached the point that I look forward to our meetings more for the social aspect

than for any help or support it gives my writing. So we gathered up at Colby's house and headed out in his SUV to Winter Falls Wildlife Preserve. Colby said he knew one of the guys that administered the property and we had the green light to be there, which was cool for two reasons. First, only a handful of people were given permission to camp on the property every year, so the likelihood of running into loud, drunk teenagers camping too close for comfort was very low.

Second, there was an old abandoned place on the land that was rumoured to be haunted. Now, I assume this second thing was slightly BS, and if it had come from Alan or Janet, are two horror and paranormal writers in the group. I would have said they were just making up stuff as part of some elaborate Halloween story or prank. But all this information came from Colby and he didn't like horror.

Couldn't stomach it really. He mainly wrote poetry and character pieces that was so dense with historical detail that you felt like you'd been through a class on a given period before you reached the end of the story. He was sensitive and delicate and... Well, it seemed odd he'd be the one to suggest going there in the first place, but it somehow made it more believable too.

We rode with Colby onto the property, past two gates he had the keys for, and up on a winding dirt road that finally petered out into patchy grass and hard scrabble before being consumed by brush and deeper woods. I made the suggestion that we just camp in that open area near the car, but Bonnie and Susan, who were both allegedly roaming. novelists, but who spent more time flirting with Colby than working on their writing during our

get-togethers, giggled to each other, and suggested that we needed to go deeper to find the right spot. I wrought my eyes and sighed as the Okuli smiled at them, nodded. Although it hadn't been said, Colby was the de facto leader on this little trip, and, without another word, we pushed into the woods. After the initial few feet, the walk actually became fairly pleasant. There was a cool breeze in the afternoon air and a small, crooked path had opened up as we went past the

first few trees and bushes. We walked for probably 30 minutes before coming to a clearing that Colby said was a good spot to set up camp. Looking at his watch, he said if we could get our tents and stuff set up quickly, we'd have around an hour of daylight left to start

heading to the haunted building he started telling us about. He told us that at one time it had been a private home owned by a family known for their strange ways and practices. He said this last part with a theatricality that I hadn't known he was capable of, raising his eyebrow as he lowered his voice to a gravelly rasp. Eventually, the family died off or something because it became an orphanage of sorts, taking in trouble children who were having a difficult time at home,

or at other orphanages that couldn't or wouldn't tolerate their behavior. Are you saying this was a baby prison? By this time, we were actually walking with him away from the finished campsite, and I regretted the question as soon as I asked it. I liked Colby, and I didn't want him to think I was making fun of his weird attempt at a scary story. But he just nodded and grinned at me. Yeah, kinder. Not babies, but some of the children were very violent or deranged.

That lasted a few years, but it seems like a lot of the children got worse living at the orphanage, not better. And eventually, the place fell into such ill repute, the business dried up and the house was shuttered for good. Since that time, no one has lived there. But there are several accounts of people hiking or camping nearby, and having... Incidents. Again, the raised eyebrow as he looked around at us,

like an old vaudeville villain. It was kind of cute in a dopey way. Bonnie tittered at him. What kind of incidents, Corby Pooh? That was one of a cloying nicknames for him When she was feeling especially promiscuous Like usual he blushed when she said it Looking away before continuing

I wanted to punch her Well hearing voices when no one is there for one thing And more than one account I've seen lights or faces at the windows of the old house That kind of stuff Susan Not wanting to be left out grabbed his arm dramatically

As she looked up at him with doe eyes This sounds scary, you're going to protect us? Colby gave an awkward laugh and nodded. Yeah, sure. He looked up at me and smiled. I'm sure we'll all get through it okay. The house was impressive and impressively creepy. Large swaths of moths lay draped across most of the roof,

but even with several of the windows broken and his weathered skin of yellowed paint and warped rotting wood, you could see what a beautiful. beautiful house it had once been. Four stories tall, with thin columns going up to a large balcony on the second floor. He looked far too stately and regal to be stuck in the middle of these dark woods, being slowly consumed by decay. Yet, at the same time, it somehow seemed to fit its locale perfectly. The front of the house reminded me of a face, an ancient, mouldering face that stared at us with cold contempt as we shuffled across what had likely once been a well-manicured front lawn.

I suppressed the shiver as I unconsciously dropped my gaze. Looking back at Alan and Janet, I saw they had similar expressions of both awe and apprehension. I leaned toward them and tried to sound nonchalant. This place up to snuff, spookiness-wise, it seems to be pretty creepy to me, but I'm no expert. Janet looked at me and beamed. Yeah, this place is badass. Alan nodded his agreement before going back to fumbling with his phone

as he tried to take a picture Colby noticed him and frowned Come on man leave off with a phone will you We're here to experience it Not look at our phone screens the entire time Looking cheapish Alan nodded and stuffed his phone back into his pocket

I almost said something then As I didn't like Colby bossing Alan around Like he was some kid Especially when in truth Alan was probably five years older than any of the rest of us. But then, Colby was excitedly telling us to come on that he had a key for this place too,

and I went along, pushing my irritation and doubts aside. He unlocked the front door without any problem, but it took him and Alan shoving it hard to create a large enough opening for us to squeeze through. The afternoon light had already been fading, and, once we were inside, I realized we had left the sun behind.

We all pulled our phones out then, using flashlight apps to light our way as we moved down the trash room front hall that led to a large room that had possibly once been a small ballroom or massive parlour. It was now a black ruin. A tangy, putrid smell filled my nose as I sent a wash of electric light over mouldy walls and dangerous looking floors. I don't know about this, Colby. I didn't want to be a party booper,

but I was already having images of someone falling through the floor or getting sick from breathing in all this rot. I could see that Alan and Janet were feeling the same way, and even Susan was starting to look uncomfortable. I noticed Bonnie scowling at me, but I ignored her as I went on. I'm just worried this place might not be structurally sound, you know. I don't want someone getting hurt.

He nodded and smiled. I know it looks rough, but listen, I've been here once before, and it really is safer than it looks. just go where I go and if anyone gets too worried we'll stop and leave fair I wanted to say that I had already

said I was too worried and wanted to go but I let it go I was probably being overly cautious and as long as we were careful it should be fine and it was at first at least the house was very creepy

and we heard the odd sounder to but there was nothing too remarkable After walking around inside for a few minutes, we split up into smaller groups to explore a bit. Surprising no one, Bonnie and Susan had gone with Colby while I had gone with Alan and Janet. I didn't like splitting up, but I was trying not to worry and get into the spirit of our adventure. We spent some time wandering around the main floor, as I had no interest in trying the stairs or the flooring on the upper levels. The house truly was massive, with numerous halls.

weaving between different rooms large and small. Alan, Janet and I started working our way back toward the front of the house when I turned a corner and ran into Susan. The odd bubblegum scented perfume she always wore assaulting my nostrils as we bumped into each other. She let out a yelp and then smiled at me nervously. Damn, I got turned around and separated from Colby and Bonnie,

glad to see a friendly face again in this place. I smiled and then went slightly. Poor Colby, Bunny has probably attacked him by now. Susan surprised me by letting out a short laugh and nodding. Yeah, I think he's cute and all, but not really my type. I'd just like joking around a bit. But Bunny, yeah, she may hurt that boy. We both laughed again, trying to stifle it as Alan and Janet came around the corner.

We walked on for a bit when I thought I heard Bonnie's voice. Thinking about what we've just said, I decided I might as well try to intervene if Colby wanted any intervening I dropped back and went in the direction of a voice making a point to call out to them well before I walked up on something I shouldn't see I got no response

and as I walked to where I thought she had been I saw no sign of either of them I was in what had once been a large kitchen white tall walls painted with blue roosters and hens forming a weird quaint procession around the perimeter of the room. It was an old-fashioned kitchen hearth containing a large castine pot along one wall, and as I watched it, I thought I saw shadowed movement in the ashes underneath the pot. My first thought was rat.

But whatever it was, I wanted no part of it. I headed back the way I came, regretting ever leaving the group in the first place. That when I ran to the corner and saw Bonnie, and Colby. At first, I thought they were embracing. But then I realised he was behind her, and she didn't seem to realize he was even there. His light was off, and I could only make out his outline from the reflected illumination of a phone's light hitting the rotting wall in front of them.

It struck me as odd, so I stopped and watched for a moment. Colby lifted his hand and placed it on the back of her head while uttering a single word. "'Silla!' Bonnie jumped and let out a little scream as she turned around. I couldn't see much of their faces in the phone's meagre glow, but I could hear the fear in her voice as she spoke, although she tried to hide it and turn it into a joke once she saw who had touched her.

"'You scared me, you asshole. You're going to have to make that up to— Hey, you guys ready to go?' I don't know why I blurted it out, but I didn't want to be in the house any longer And for whatever reason, I didn't feel right leaving Bonnie alone with him anymore. I expected a glare from Bonnie as I shine my light on them, but instead she looked relieved. For Golby's part, he just gave me a thin smile and nodded.

Yeah, I think we're done here. We were all fairly quiet on the way back to the campsite, though I noticed that neither Bonnie or Susan seemed interested in sticking close to Colby this time. I didn't know what to make of what I'd seen, and as we settled into cooking hot dogs and joking around, things began to feel more normal again. By the time we were taking turns telling scary stories, I had almost decided that I just made a mistake,

thinking anything was going on beyond a guy trying to scare a girly light. But, when he was getting close to my turn to tell a story, I got up to go to the bathroom, as I racked my brain for something that could even vaguely compete with Janet's story about a mother's dead twin sister or Alan's tale of water babies that drag people into a nearby lake.

I found what I hoped was a non-poisonous bush and squatted down, my gaze going back to the campfire and my out collection of friends laughing and talking there. Their shadows were flung giant against the tents and surrounding trees,

dancing and shifting in the ever-changing flicker of the firelight. That's when I noticed it. Bonnie. had two shadows. One was like the others, vague and ill-defined, but still an amplified and distorted version of a silhouette. The second was something very different.

It was much darker and almost seemed to have a substance to it. It moved, but in a way that was discordant and wrong, out of sync with the fire or the other shadows. And its shape. Its shape was more defined. than the others, and much more horrible because of that added definition. I didn't know what was up, but it didn't resemble anything human. I pulled at my pants and strode back to the campsite.

My heart was thudding, and the last thing I wanted was to be near Colby or Bunny, but he had the only car, and I wasn't staying out there any longer. I told him that I was sick, badly sick, and I needed to go home. Alan and Janet made disappointed noises and Bunny and Susan gave no real argument or comment at all other than Susan asking if I needed anything but my eyes were primarily on Colby He just looked at me

His expression seeming sad or disappointment Except for his eyes His eyes were hard and distant As though he was considering something Doing some kind of dark arithmetic behind that gaze After a few heartbeats, he just nodded with a small smile. Sure, there's always next time. The ride back to his house was the longest three hours of my life.

I was exhausted, but there was no chance I was falling asleep in the car with either of them. While I didn't know what was going on, I was past doubting myself or putting myself in any more danger than was necessary to get home and away from them. So I sat on the back With my hand on the door handle In case I needed to make a hasty exit Fast-moving asphalt or no I talked very little

And when we reached Colby's house I was out of the car before I made a complete stop Someone yelled that I was leaving my sleeping bag behind But I didn't turn around Screw it They could keep it When I got home I locked my door and checked all the windows

It was after sunrise before I finally fell into a fitful sleep, and even then I was plagued with dreams of being trapped in that house with shadows chasing me through the dark. In the first few days after that, I kept expecting to see Colby or Bonnie, or both, coming around to check on me,

or deal with me, or something. But there would be no sign of anyone. I have stayed in my apartment most of the time since then, but this afternoon, I finally had to go out to get groceries, I was nervous the entire time, but I never saw anyone I knew and made it back home uneventfully. When I walked into my apartment, I froze, bubble gum. I smelled bubble gum.

I dropped my bags and stepped back into the hallway. After several seconds of silence, I reached in enough to turn on all the lights. I could get from the switches next of the door. Nothing seemed out of place and there was no sign of anyone My heart thudding I picked up one of my grocery bags containing several weighty cans

and began to explore my apartment with a makeshift weapon There was nothing there Well Except for the singular smell Of that bubblegum perfume In several spots throughout I locked the back door

And went to sit down on my laptop I had gotten in the habit of looking outside frequently In the last few days always wary of some sign of Colby or Bonnie. But there had never been anything out there until now. Across the street and the far sidewalk, I saw Susan and Alan standing together,

holding hands and staring up at me. That was five hours ago, and they're still out there. They haven't tried to come in or communicate with me, but they also haven't moved from their spot in all that time. They just stand and stare Waiting Waiting for me to give up and come on out

So they can get me for Something And while I don't understand enough To know exactly what they want to do with me I have a strong suspicion I think They want to take me camping Again

I live in a small town called Tomskark Minnesota It ain't a big town but it is what I've learned to call home. Just south of Fergus Falls, just north of St. Gall. I want to share something weird about this town that started just a few months after we moved in, and it has been getting progressively worse.

I think I have things under control as it stands, but I'm not sure, and I think I can use your opinion on this. My family and I moved here in 2019. I got a job at one of the larger, warehouses on the outskirts of town, biggest refrigerator warehouse in the state. I moved here with my wife, Laura, and two daughters, Beth and Jane, all the way from Chicago. We all agreed on one thing where we got here.

The entire town looks like something straight out of the 60s. The town has a long tradition of refrigeration and cold storage. Back in the 60s, the town reduced a large portion of the milk canisters used by traveling milkmen. You know, the kind you've seen in the... the movies. People who would deliver cold milk in the morning straight to the door. That milk came transported in a Sullivan's canisters in bright orange and purple letters. They still use the same font, and those milk can be seen all around town. It's a point of pride. But those days are long gone. There are no milkman left in Tombscog, but there are a few

places that still use the aesthetic as a theme. There's Buttermans biscuits on. Main Street, along with the Rosemary, an ice cream stall in the mall. Those places always have someone dressed up as a milkman. The high school also has a milkman-themed mascot. Sort of a cowman minotor thing with a creepy smile. Beth isn't a fan. We had been here for about six months when we got a knock on the door. We weren't expecting company, and by then, we were fairly settled in.

We'd had our fair share of neighbours coming by already. that time was over. Laura called me over as she opened the door. I was in shock to see a young man, no older than 17, dressed up in that classic all-white milkman outfit. He waved a clipboard at us with a big smile. Mr. and Mrs. Hives, he smiled.

I'm Tom from O'Sullivans. Great to meet you. Nice to meet you, Tom, chuckled my wife, giving me a side eye. That's a great uniform. Just great, I agreed. You're too kind. I'm here to see if you're interested to sign up for any of our weekly deliveries. I'm sorry we didn't get to you sooner,

but there have been all kinds of hold-ups on the factory floor. I don't, uh, said Laura, looking at me. I don't think anything comes to mind, I butted in. Not at the top of my head. Of course, of course, nodded Tom. Maybe I could leave this with you, so you can look it over at your own. leisure? He held out a single piece of paper. I took it, we wished him well and locked the door. Laura couldn't stop laughing and swore she was going to get me one of those outfits.

The paper itself was left on the kitchen counter for a few days until my youngest, Jane, found herself reading it out of sheer boredom one morning. She counted everything on the list, reading it out loud. Most of it was fairly ordinary. You could have have eggs delivered, butter, or a few select flavors of ice cream, mostly benning juries. There was also sparkling water, fresh juice, and hay, even good old milk. There were also a few dried goods, like baking soda and flour. Then, at the very bottom of the page, was this one line I couldn't believe. Frogs, said Jane, my youngest.

It says frogs here. That can't be right, chuckled Laura. Let me see. She held it up to me as I drank my morning coffee. There it was, bright as day. Frogs with an asterix. No one on the page did it say what the asterix was for. It was by far the weirdest thing I'd seen in this town.

Maybe someone in town had a thing for French cuisine. But having frozen frogs hand delivered to your front door? That's weird. And if it was a cooking thing, why were there no snail? My wife and I talked about it extensively for about a week At the parent-teacher conference We tried talking to the other parents about it But most of them didn't seem to know what we were talking about

They thought we were joking Some of them had O'Sullivan's regular deliveries But most were just once a month And only for some of the cooking basics Apparently their fresh cream was the die for I called up the O'Sullivans the following Monday It only took a single ring before someone answered not a machine either

a real person we exchanged pleasantries and I explained that I'd gotten sign-up sheet from Tom and they were delighted to have me call back it was all very pleasant until I brought up the frogs and the asterix

oh you got one of the houses out by the lake not really by the lake we're in the vicinity of it that's why it's there just in case you need some frogs unless you have your own Why would I need frogs? Could you explain, in clear terms, why...

Sir, I'm sorry, but I need you to lower your voice. I'm not proud to say, I didn't. The conversation turned sour, and I was closed to flinging my phone across the room. Laura calmed down. She told me she talked to the realtor about it, and they had assured me that while there was a lake nearby, there were no reports of troublesome frogs in the area.

For all intents and purposes, it all seemed like a mistake. As autumn turned to winter, we forgot about the whole thing. It wasn't until spring, we got another visit from Tom, and this time we weren't home. He left another sign-up sheet on our front door, and I tore it to shreds. Laura thought I was overreacting. Tom's Gog is beautiful in the winter,

but the snow can be a real problem. A lot of the driveways go slightly uphill, so even a tiny bit of ice can keep you from getting to work on time. You might think people don't need as much refrigeration in the winter, but you'd be wrong. Sure, you might not want ice cream delivered to your front door, but there are still goods that need to be transported across the country, especially during the holidays.

I was working overtime most of December and didn't even give myself the time to worry about the delivery boy from her Sullivan's. I was too busy with everyday life, getting the kids to school, pushing my car out of the driveway, getting a babysitter once a week for a night out, the usual. But winter turns the spring,

and things changed. I was getting water from my morning coffee when I noticed the pipes rumbling. It sounded like a blockage. As I was about to smack it, something came flying out of the pipe, something small and black, straight into the garbage disposal.

The water flowed just fine afterwards, but I couldn't help but worry. I figured the pipes were just old. Of course, it wasn't that simple. Over the coming weeks, we started to notice things around the house and yard. The grass outside was slowly turning brown, and the gravel path from the house to the driveway was turning into mud. I started waking up to the smell of wet wood drifting in through a bedroom window, and my daughters would come in at night complaining,

about mosquitoes. It all escalated to the point where I woke up one night from a mosquito bite on my nose. I went into the kitchen to grab a glass of juice and calm my nerves when I suddenly slipped on a full 90-degree flip landing on my back staring at the ceiling. I checked my foot only to see it covered in blood. I'd stepped on a frog. I'd squished it and flung the remains straight across the floor like a banana peel. The thing still twitched as my wife threw it out. I had to shower for a solid

40 minutes before I felt even remotely clean again. Over the following days, it just got worse. I would awaken in the middle of the night by the sound of croaking. It was always somewhere nearby. I could hear something wet

slapping against our wooden floors. Sometimes I'd hear something bumping against the furniture or even the bedposts. I started doing frog checks before going to bed. I really found more than one, maybe two. But as soon as the lights were out, we could hear them. Croaking, slapping around. It all came to our head one night when Beth, our oldest daughter, came screaming into our bedroom.

There's someone in the house. There's someone in the... I was up in a heartbeat. Laura got to the phone and started calling the police. Jane crawled into bed as I loaded up my beretta. Jane, I yelled, Jane, get in here. There was no response. I gave Laura a lock and ran out into the hallway, still in my underwear. I could see through the main hallway, all the way to the front door.

It was all dark, the lights were still off, the half-moon illuminated a small silhouette in the doorway. A child, but not Jane. That and a thousand glaring eyes along the floor. Someone was screaming outside. Jane. I took one step and felt a frog crush under my foot. I could feel the grabby hands twitch between my toes as I struggled to stay up.

Just as I tried calling out for my daughter, I lost my footing and fell face first into the floor. Frogs everywhere. They were getting in my hair, pushing against my ears, trying to force themselves onto me. They pushed against my lips, my nose, my eyes, biting with toothless mouths. I got back up and threw them off of me, only to see that this silhouette in the doorway was gone. I wiped the frog gunk from my face and ran outside, squishing frogs with every step. I could feel them nipping at my leg hair. It was freezing outside, and the mud was deeper than usual.

The croaking outside was deafening, small, tiny croaks, big, bawling croaks. croaks that seemed to stretch on forever like screams. Out of the cacophony of sounds, I managed to pinpoint my daughter. Gun in hand, I ran straight into the woods. By now, my heart was pounding so loud, I couldn't even hear the croaking. I had only walked that same trail a few times prior. I knew where he was leading me. I should have known.

I rang for at least ten minutes, only using moonlight to guide me. I scream myself hoarse trying to find Jane, and every now and then I could hear her in the distance. I would trip on branches, step on sharp rocks, tear myself open against pine and birch, but I would just keep going. I pushed myself so hard I didn't even notice my hand cramping against the trigger of the gun. Luckily, the safety was on. The lake is usually a calming sight. A small freshwater lake, perfect for fishing, with a big rock in the centre.

You can usually type your boat there and take the dip in the summer. I'd done so a few times before with the girls. But the lake was teeming with frogs. The forest was booming with croaking, and I couldn't see Jane anywhere. Suddenly, something breached the service of the lake. I heard a loud, gargling scream, and I knew it was her. I ran as fast as I could, diving headfirst into the water. The moonlight reflected against a handful of tiny eyes under the surface, tiny legs kicking to get close to me.

The water was dense with mud and debris, and I couldn't see further than a couple of feet. I reached for air and got back down. I was halfway across the lake when I could finally see something just below the surface. In the moonlight, it looked like a jellyfish, but I knew better. That was Jane's pajamas. The rest is a bit of a blur. I dove and somehow got a hold of her. As I was pulling her to the surface,

I could see something large looking up at me from the bottom. Eyes, the size of headlights, holding Jane's entire leg in its mouth. It was gentle, almost surprised to see me. As soon as I tugged her loose, he retreated to the bottom of the lake, those large eyes turning black as the light retreated. I dragged Jane up to the rock in the middle. middle of the lake. She wasn't breathing. I performed CPR, screaming for help. I was panicking so bad I couldn't keep count. I kept shouting, screaming, crying and begging. But in the end,

it was just her and me. As she finally coughed up a long full of lake water, along with a tadpole, I held her close. All around the lake, I could see little silhouettes staring at us. Short, hazy shadows. the size of children. They were croaking. We didn't tell the entire story to the police. There was no way they would have believed us. Instead, they figured it had been a case of night fright and that Jane had gotten lost in the woods.

We just let them believe what they wanted. We called Tom from her Sullivan's back. He came the very next day, all dressed up in white. We asked him if he would recommend us ordering the frogs. Once is enough, he smiled. Most of the old folks who live by the lake's nose to keep a frog or two in the house. How come? I asked. If there are already frogs in the house, there's no need for any more frogs to come in.

He nodded, tapping his forehead. So they stay away. So we get frozen frogs, and then we're good. They're just hibernating. Just go ahead and put them somewhere. real nice, and I'm sure it'll all be just fine. I signed us up for a single delivery of four frogs. Tom seemed pleased.

As he was about to leave, I stopped him. I gotta ask, are we the only ones in town who need this? Tom looked past me, locking eyes with my youngest daughter. For a few more years, Mr. Hives, unless you want to take your chances. We got four frogs delivered I set them up in a nice terrarium in the hallway Jane barely even remembers that night

and doesn't seem as shaken up as the rest of us Hell I've seen a play with the damn things But me I get the shakes every time I hear them croak There hasn't been a single frog on a property since The grass is green again And the gravel path stays gravelled Even during bad rains

But sometimes at night I swear I can see those hazy outlines of children along the edges of my property and they croak