CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - 7 CHILLING Reddit Horror Stories for a long drive at night

Episode Date: March 10, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORIES-►0:00​ "Why my father went into the woods" Creepypasta►16:08​ "I could do with a few inches less" Creepypasta►33:58​ "There was a Toy store in our town that sold animal masks" Creepypasta►46:40​ "Someone on my Prison Cell Block Wouldn't Stop Crying. Now I Know Why" Creepypasta►1:06:30​ "Has this happened to anyone else on DMT?" Creepypasta►1:23:52​ "I Worked in a Fire Lookout for 10 Years. We look out for more than just fires" Creepypasta►2:01:23​ "My father had a home lab he kept locked. I broke in" CreepypastaCreepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...​iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...​SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...​►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...​►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...​►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...​FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta​►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/​►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta​►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPasta​CREEPYPASTA 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-

The festival season is Aangbroken and that betekent mudder. And so, ging Kim to Amazon.com. com. On the look to a waterdict tent,

a comfortable luget, oh, so, knus, and Lupeart print regalarze. Miao. Now, he has Kim not over the

modder, just like that that's the, oh, wait just even, has he now only modder on? Oh, yeah,

only modder. Drove blithe? Goar for. Find what you need to need on Amazon.com. My father was a careful man, meticulous even. He lived a life that was well measured, and if some considered him bland or dull, he didn't seem to mind it.

He was moderately successful in his business. He was moderately well thought of by the community we lived in. When my mother went missing, he was, to anyone that might observe him or inquire, moderately worried and sad. He was the same as me. reasonable, patient, and generally kind in the unfocused way you might expect from a pleasant doctor or taxi driver. A detached civility and courtesy that had more to do with how my father was than how he felt about me. Not that I complained. Even when I was younger, I had enough sense to know so many kids had it worse.

When my mother was around, they got along well enough, though he seemed to feed her the same brand of love as me. a bland, almost flavourless thing with an artificial after-taste. I was 12 when she disappeared, and, as much as I missed her, I was somewhat preoccupied with what would come next, because I'd known for some time that occasionally, just every few weeks or so, my father would go out into the woods.

It never occurred to me to follow him, or to even question internally why I didn't consider doing so. My fear of my father was like a background radiation, invisible but ever present since I was old enough to understand that something was wrong. Eating and mutating me slowly enough that I never stopped to wonder if everyone lived so tight with tension and foreboding, perpetually waiting for the other shoe to drop. When I saw him going into the woods one winter afternoon, I wondered if the time had finally come. He never went into those woods. He wasn't the outdoorsy type.

as he was quick to point out as he pulled his lips away from dry, polished teeth, and nod in that precisely affirmable manner that he had, a mannequin making the motions of a real man. He was just home from work, but an hour earlier than usual, which was hard in and of itself, when he parked and turned to all the trees instead of the house. I couldn't help but watch from my upstairs window,

heart beating a little faster as a voice whispered to me that this was it. he was starting to unravel and now we were going to see the thing that lay beyond those placid smiles and cool pats on the back the thing that made Mom flinch when she heard the door open at night and made me stay in my room when I was home alone

with him I was terrified but also relieved because at least it would be over except it wasn't he went deeper into the woods until I couldn't see him

and after an hour I gave up watching. When he came inside later that night, we didn't comment on his lateness, and neither did he. I went to bed, half expecting to wake up to screaming or not at all. But no, everything was fine. It was the same,

except that occasionally, just every few weeks or so, my father would go out into the dark that lay between the trees. That continued, until my mother vanished. and after a period of disruption where people searched and questions were asked, our lives went back to a form of normal.

The dread I felt was constant now, but it was also an old and familiar friend by that point. I escaped a school or friend's houses when I could, and TV and books when I couldn't. For this part, my father left me alone past the threshold attention and affection he felt he needed to show. His trips into the woods continued as long as I live, there. As soon as I graduated from high school, I moved out across the state to college. I went

home that first Thanksgiving and Christmas, but after that, I never went back. He didn't mind. He called to check on me once a month, always the first day of the month at 8 o'clock, and, other than that, we never spoke or saw each other again. I went back home to see his funeral and put his affairs in order, but nearly everything had already been done for me. He died in the backyard of a sudden embolism, but you'd think he'd know the moment he was going to go. Every corner of his life had been tucked and folded, lines even and corners crisp, much like the envelope he had left for me. It wasn't some heartfelt message of love or loss, and it wasn't a confession of some dark, secret life. It was just a single line, written in my father's

small, neat script, it said, It begins with the dreams. I rented a hotel for the two weeks I planned to be back in town. The house just wasn't an option. I couldn't stay in that place again. Just walking in felt like putting my foot into quicksand, and I could feel the hands of that passed me reaching up and grasping at me, hungry to pull me back down.

So, I slipped in a hotel room. I could have been like any other hotel room in any city the world, somewhere far away, and for the first couple of nights, it worked. Then, I started dreaming of the woods. I toyed with the idea of going into the woods since I'd gotten the call of my father's death. It had been years since I gone deeper in than the edge of the yard. I already spent most of my playtime away from home, and after I saw my father go there, it wasn't even a consideration.

That was his place now, and... whatever he did there, I didn't want to know about it. Maybe I would have just choked in my dreams of picking my way between those dark and tangled trees as residual trauma dredged up by stirring the muck of my childhood. But on the fourth day, the day after the first of my dreams, the estate lawyer gave me the envelope with my father's last words. When I pulled out of the parking lot, I headed away from town and back towards the house. I was a grown man, and I wasn't wasting another.

day of being afraid of letting that strange man poison my life. My heart still hammered as I stepped into the woods, but I was determined. I could see the ghost of the trail ahead of me, and I followed it further and further, past a small creek and across a field into a deeper part of the wood that was thicker and swampier. The mud sucked in my shoes as I went, and the air was more humid, and the air was more humid, but also deathly still. I'd have expected insects, but there were none.

Bird sounds or furtive motions beneath the strange plants that grew here, but everything was silent. I had the thought that I had stepped back in time, a frozen moment from some ancient swamp, oxygen-rich and teeming with unseen life, life that was hungry and powerful, laying just beneath the black mud, watching me, perhaps, or suspended from the enormous bows of the gargantuan trees that twisted overhead.

The nightmare king was some dead. had dinosaurs forgotten memory, but somehow alive and ready to be remembered. I blinked and looked around. Where was I? What was I thinking about? I... My eyes fixed on the muddy bank I was standing in front of. In the middle of it, as though it had been excavated like a fossil, was the thing I felt sure my dream and my father had sent me to find.

It was a brass fortune-teller machine. I glanced around again. I had to be miles away from the house. How was that even possible? The woods weren't that big, less than a mile, and I should have hit the highway. I tried to swallow, but my mouth was too dry. My body felt desiccated and hollow, just bone and dry skin and terrible will as I walked closer to the thing half buried in the hill.

It was five feet tall, all polished wooden brass, though the metal was tarnished and the wood had begun to bleach and speckle after time in the wetten sun. The top three feet were a glass cube containing the torso of a puppet woman dressed in a headscarf and golden jewelry. Her painted green eyes regarded me from beneath arched,

knowing eyebrows, they're told of knowledge of unseen things. Above the glass, the brass arched into an arabesque roof framing a small sign of red and gold-stained glass. I couldn't read it at first, but then it lit up as a soft violin began to trail

from a speaker grill below the fortune teller. I was startled, but I didn't jump or step back. I was transfixed, looking at the red lettering of the glass. I read the words glowing there. The voice of Aradat. I did let out a small scream when the fortune teller began to move, waving metal arms over a glowing crystal ball resting in front of her.

The violin picked up speed, growing louder and more insistent, the insectile trilling of some long. long dead note. My skin prickled as excitement began to grow in my belly, spreading up into my heart and head, down to my groin. A small tray popped out in front of the machine, and from it a milky white card jotted out. I didn't hesitate in reaching out and grasping it, pulling the card free from its silky strands that held it in place with some effort.

On one side, it was a strange symbol that I didn't quite recognize, as though I'd seen it in a dream. And the other, there were two words. Offer yourself. I had the card fluttered to the mud as I saw motion next to the machine. There was a hole beside it. Somehow, I hadn't seen it before, but it was there now. Less than half the height of the fortune-telling kiosk and thick with shadow and more strands like the ones had a trow from the card when I took it. There was no fear or confusion. I knew what had to be done. Of course I knew. I was doing something as old as rain or the sun rising, as scared as being born or taking a life.

I knelt down and crawled toward the hole, keeping my eyes lowered as I reached it and lay down, rolling over onto my back as I scooting myself forward, pushing my head into the moist darkness beyond. Once my shoulders touched the sides, I waited, holding my breath as I began to worry that I had done something wrong. But no. A coolness came to rest against my cheek as an inner darkness within that gloom came to greet me.

I began to cry as that coolness dug into my skin, as a voice told me to keep my eyes closed, not to look. I couldn't see it, not even a shadowy glimpse, or I'd be lost forever. I lay in the muck, head surrounded by shadows and webs, as its icy white settled over my face. When I left the woods, I saw a sheriff's patrol cart. parked behind mine. I was going to try and ignore it, but Sheriff Haveling got out and met me at my car. We had met briefly two days earlier when I'd run into him at the funeral home, and he had seemed a jolly and affable man at the time. Now I could see beneath that, and I knew why he was there. Everything going all right, Kenneth. Need anything for the service tomorrow? My offer

to give you an escort from the church still stands. I nodded. I appreciate it. I don't think many people will be at the funeral, so traffic shouldn't be a problem. Raising an eyebrow, I studded him. Is that why you came, to offer help at the funeral again? He shrugged and gave me a small smile. Partly, yeah, that, and, well, I just thought I should warn you. I felt my jaw tightening. Warn me? Of what?

The sheriff puffed out of breath as he looked down the road. Your dad. Well, he's your daddy and his past, and I don't make a habit of talking bad about the dead, but... He met my eyes again. He was a strange man, and I'd be lying if I said me and the others around here didn't wonder if he was up to more than he let on.

I frowned. Up to... What exactly? You talking about my mom? You never found any sign he did something to her, did you? or that she had done anything but abandoned us. Shrugging again, he nodded. No, you're right.

But it was still odd. No one that knew her expected her to leave like that, and we never saw any sign of how or where she could run off to. It's natural to suspect foul play involving the husband in something like that. You understand. He bowled at his bottom lip thoughtfully. But it wasn't just that. These last twenty years,

we've had people go missing. It always happens sometimes. People move, run away, or get themselves killed. But since I was a deputy, we've had three times the number of people go missing here than in any of the surrounding areas. I know, because I've checked. I stared at him. Okay, so, what are you saying? Do you think my father had something to do with any of that?

Avalin let out a short laugh. No, I'm not saying that. though I admit I did wonder a few times over the years. He always gave me an odd feeling, your dad. Nice enough fella, but I could never tell what he was really thinking. His smile fell away. You look like him, you know. I didn't see it the other day, but I do now.

I glanced past him to the swaying green of the woods. I appreciate the sentiment and the offer of help, but I really do have a lot to do today. Was there more that you need to do? to tell me. When I looked back at the man, his face was troubled. Just...

If you find anything going through your dad's stuff, things that don't belong or don't make sense, something that might belong to someone missing or... Well, I don't know. Anything that feels wrong? He swallowed. If you find anything like that, let me know, yeah?

I gave him a smile. Not too friendly or happy, but not too cool, hard as I nodded. Sure thing, Sheriff, I'll be sure to do that. Seemingly satisfied, he stepped back from my car. Well, I'll let you get back to it. I know you want to get done and back to your life, living in Colorado, right? I paused in opening the car door to glance back at him. I did, yes, but I'm going to be staying here now. Havilene raised his eyebrows. Really?

I got the idea the other day you were hot to be done and on your way. What changed your mind? I studied him for a moment. You know how it is. The past is a powerful thing. I guess I just realised where I am. A distant wind picked up behind the man, rustling the trees and pushing him hard enough to make him have to catch his hat. Fumbling with it awkwardly, he looked back at me.

Where's that? I sucked in a deep. deep breath. The air smelled rich and thick with a dozen different scents. I smiled slightly at the fear I smelled coming from him. I was reading a book behind the counter as it began to rain. It was a slow day and the common sound of the weather outside only served to make me drowsier. The book was a detective thing with a dashing PI in search of a femme fatale that had been behind it all along. P. Predictable, but so good. I was watching the shop all on my own.

We sold an array of cheap items, the things that were the fastest were oily chips and soda pops. This day though, hardly anyone stopped in. The occasional ring of the bell attached to the glass door would rouse me from my half-reading, half-sleeping stupor. Rain always made it that way. Dog here in the page, I moved to the other side of the counter, taking stock of the snacks we had on display there.

I beg of Cheez-Its was calling my name. I hunkered down to pull the bag off the lowest peg and pry the glue at the top apart, dumping two or three of the crackers into my mouth. I could always pay for them later. Chomping on them while scanning the entirety of the general store, I could see that there was someone towards the rear of the store where the bathrooms in the manager's office was.

It was a woman. Funny, I'm not seen her, ain't her? Her hair was frizzy. Even from a distance, I could make out the freckles beneath a clear, water-blue eyes. The alarm bells that were going off were far and away, so that they blended in with a background noise. Maybe a manifestation of my brain and nothing more. I was immediately enamoured by her.

I watched a scanner rack of newspapers or magazines. She lifted one of the thin books as I put her cheese it up to my mouth, nibbling it slowly without thinking. The crunch must the touch must be able to be. travel the distance between us, because she looked up from the words on the page to me. Surely, I was looking at her like a Shakespearean admirer, but the way it probably came across was that I was staring it down with bug eyes, as I salivated over a handful of cheesy miniature saltines. She turned back to a magazine and lifted it so that it covered her face.

Good job, me. I removed myself from the spot, and returned to the register, trying my absolute best not to look in the direction of the woman. Lifting the book, I'd been reading about the detective and the Femphatal. I held the book, so it seems I was reading the words within. Just above the edge of the cover, I spied her. She flipped through the magazine she was holding before dropping it on the rack from where it had come. She approached the counter and I sat the book in my hand to the side, giving her my full attention. This woman, she had the eyes of a jungle cat,

like she could reach across the counter and tear me to pieces in a second. Bartum he wanted that. I cannot fathom why. I'm telling you, I might as well have jumped onto the counter and showed my whole red ass like a manic primitive baboon. She saw right through me as she popped the faygo onto the counter. No accounting for taste, I reckon. You'd be cute.

She reached across the counter, pointing her index finger at me, grazing the end of my nose with it. If you were a bit... taller. I flinched. She withdrew a finger. The Fagre bottle was gone. Had she taken it when I wasn't paying attention?

The sway of her hips hypnotised me as she left the store. I swallowed hard. What the hell did she mean? If I was taller? I was 5.11. Not huge by any means, but not short. Weird.

For the remainder of the day, there were no more customers. The rain kept them at bay, it seemed. I was infatuated, hoping she would turn up the following day. I took the trash out after locking the glass door. As the motion centre light around me came alive, the rusty green dumpster was bathed in a soft glow. I tossed the black bag in and examined the paper-strewn parking lot idly as I lit a cigarette.

I stood still. The overhead light shut off, and I was left with nothing more than a small cherry glow after the end of my cigarette. As I puffed, I could barely make out the sound of a strange shifting, popping sound. It was like the noise came from everywhere all at once, and yet there was no place it could have originated. I twisted around.

The centre light sprang on again, and I was left standing there in the spotlight, searching in all directions for the unknown sound. Feeling foolish, I ducked out the cigarette and tossed it in the dumpster, sliding into the driver's seat of my compact, I had to adjust the seat. I live alone.

No one uses my car but me. It was probably just the components in the seat coming loose or something. I prayed the engine alive and pulled out of the parking lot. When I arrived home, I was uncharacteristically tired, and my back was sore. No doubt, this was due to leaning down stock shelves, right? I sat to my bed, switching on the TV, so I felt less alone. my shoes were tough to get off so I loosened the laces there comes a time with everything where you must face the facts

no matter how surreal her words came back to me I'd be cute if I were taller I knew even then I think what was happening but my mind went to the possible the likely my shoes were cheap so they shrank from the moisture of the rain I gaked back in my bed and covered myself in a light sheet. With the oscillating fan going in the corner,

the TV muttering to me from the wall at my feet and the phone screen in front of my face, I nearly had enough stimuli to forget who I was, the woman I'd met, the crummy job I had. Sleep came the way it always does for me, without warning. The sound of the TV I'd left on during the night was the first thing I noticed.

The next thing was that I felt extraordinarily uncomfortable in bed. had I slept wrong? I tossed around, feeling my feet and clear off the bed. Blinking my eyes open in the meagre daylight spilling through the window near the bed, I scanned the room.

The dull glow of the TV illuminated my bare feet. Instinctively, I pushed myself up on the bed till my head struck the headboard. When I craned forward, I felt the sheet was hardly clinging to me as I scooted from the bed. My feet touched the floor too soon.

I looked around in a daze, moving to yank over the blinds of the window. It was the strangest of moments, me sitting there, staring down at my legs. In the night, they developed red strands along my calves and thighs. I examined the strands more closely. I could see that there were places the skin had been pulled to extreme lengths over a short period of time. They were tender to the touch. There were stretch marks. How was it that I developed a post-previewed.

percent growth spurt overnight. Then, the woman's voice echoed in my head. I'd be cuter if I were only taller. What a messed up thing to say to someone, if I'm being honest. I anchored myself on my stilted legs. Trying to walk on them were strange, like the bones were too long. I reached with an arm and could easily touch the ceiling without even getting on my tiptoes. The stretch marks were there in my arms too.

Saw. I was sore all over. There was the dull, numbing sort of pain that came with having my bones grow inches in the night. But there was that stinging sensation across my flesh too, and I was forced to wonder, not for the first time, whether or not my muscles were tearing beneath my pinkish skin. I forced myself not to think of that, ducking into the bathroom. Sitting on the toilet, with my feet rested in the shower, I hoped and prayed that my internal organs were still relatively positioned where they'd been the night before. The last thing I wanted was to turn around and see that my whole gutted prolapsed into the bowl. No, no, Christ, I couldn't be thinking like that.

That wasn't the sort of mentality I needed if I were to wake from this nightmare. I shifted the look into the mirror with my giraffe neck. It was hard for me to do, even while seated on the toilet. My cheeks had grown extremely gaunt, and my face no longer looked like a face, but a plasticine approximation. I wiped. There was blood, but I dare not look back there. I rose from the seat, and as my legs awkwardly caught against the shower wall and my waist twisted just so, the sound of something like bones grinding echoed.

It was too late to save myself from what came next. I pulled my knees up to my neck and twisted around on the seat as I pivoted. The skin along my hip tore open and fresh, warm blood ran the length of my long thigh. A lone moan escaped my ghost in the house It took me a moan to realise the ghost was me I leveled myself aboard the stick legs clawing my way from the bathroom like a bow-legged creepy past the monster Do not ask me why

But a thought occurred to me then How long would it be before my skull reached the size of a mammoths What then of my eyes? Would they fall clean out my face dangling from optic nerves like some peculiar funhouse dummy Or would they merely roll backwards into the Why crevice my skull had become? I shook this from my mind and moved to the bedroom. I looked at my clothes, sitting in a pile on the floor.

Thankfully, I sleep naked. I don't think I'd have a spirit to tear my breeches off. I craned down and lifted a pair of jeans lying there. As I held them up to my new legs, I could see there was no way I'd be able to put them on. I knew that, though. I looked at the sheets to my bed. Togas were an option, I suppose. least for now. Looking at the tear of my hip was difficult. The skin had fallen away into a neat

sheet that dangled off my side, flapping. I crawled out to my bedroom on my hands and knees, loosely wrapped in my bedsheets. As I came to the kitchen, I haphazily through the jaws open, searching for duct tape. All I found was a clear roll. I laid the flap on my hip out as straight as I possibly could. This was harder than it should have been, as I had grown since then, and the dead skin no longer came up to the point it had torn away from. I tated down as best as I could, so that I would not bleed everywhere. I crawled out of the house, and once outside, I could once again stand fully. Without a doubt, I wasn't one to clean the gutters,

but I never thought in a million years there would be as full of pine needles as they were. I staggered towards the car, though I'm not sure why. It's not as though I'd fit into the old rust bucket anymore. At least I could walk to work faster this way. I chuckled at this, then found myself crying, walking down the suburban street towards the general store. One thought was burned into my mind. I was going to find that woman that had cursed me.

I was going to confront her. And what exactly? Beggar to change me back? Strangler and sight? I hadn't decided. As the grass turned into sidewalks, I passed by people. An older man with wispy hair running along the opposite side of the street

in a set of sweats caught a glimpse of me and booked it in the opposite direction. I don't blame him. I looked a mess. I passed by mother and a small boy, lumbering like an ogre. They stared up at me with wide open mouths, unable to move, frozen in fear. The little boy's mouth moved to say the words,

he's so gross. This did little for myself confidence. I can tell you that much. Their horrified expressions nearly brought me to my knees. How would it look for a giant to fall into the street, sobbing? I've seen the Hollywood pictures. They'd line up the police cars and point their rifles at me. Maybe they cast some up-and-coming child star opposite to me

to teach the kidies about acceptance of difference. But I'd be captured. How would they even cuff me? Do they have a pair my size? My stomach was spinning, and I hope that's just a bit. the figure of speech. Given the excess room, that may be physically possible. My legs were like freshly debarked evergreen limbs, wobbly and inexcusably bowing out for my

grown weight. I was sweating, surely, but as I lifted a wayward makeshift toga flap to dab at the moisture of my face and pulled it away, I could see it was quickly staining itself red. It was coming out to my paws as they were stretched to the limit. I could feel it. I was getting so tired, whether it be from moving a body so large or from losing the blood. I couldn't tell you. Why did this have to happen to me?

Why did she do this to me? What did I ever do to deserve this? Mr. Fantastic seemed like a pretty rare superhero when I was a kid, but I can tell you now that he's BS. I came to the general store and stilted across the dirty parking lot, stepping over a car that braked hard as it did so. briefly I caught the expression of the woman in the cab of the vehicle, shot. Then she remembered choosing a car and honked.

I didn't have the energy to shoot at the middle finger. My legs waved over to the general store and I sat my hand against the edge of the roof attempting to catch my breath. Is that you, Jason? I looked round on the ground for the voice. It was my boss, an older guy. His belly bulged out from beneath his tuck shirt and his tie caught in a breast. breeze. The same wind caught my toga, lifting it. Oh, my boss put up his palm and looked away. Cover yourself. I pushed the yoga down. My voice creaked out. I could feel my vocal cords like torn rubber

bands. Help. I took a knee, careful not to scrape my paper-thin skin, and shovel myself to a sitting position with my back to the general store's exterior wall. I think I'm dying. My boss's mustache wiggled on his upper lip as he looked me over. What the hell is this? What happened to you? I shook my head, choking back tears. I don't know. But that wasn't true. I knew what was happening.

I'd been cursed by some weird voodoo woman that had an affinity for tall guys. There's a woman here, said my boss. My heart dropped. What? I was whimpering as I spied him through a kaleidoscopic weeping. She's been waiting for you all morning. There she was. She came strolling out of the general store,

hair all frizzy and wonderful freckles to die for. What a knockout. What a witch. I moved to reach out at her with my torts jointed fingers, but my arms fell weak to my side. She was sipping on a fago as she approached me my boss along the storefront. Oh no, she said.

That's far too tall. She shook her head and took another sip of her fago. No good at all. What? I cried. I don't know. I've never been much good at this sort of thing. It's more of an art than a science, really.

So I'm sorry about that. My boss eyed her over, giving her her wide berth and she directly approached my massive leg. She ran a finger. along one of the open wet lengths and the stinging sensation electrocuted my brain. I shivered, trying to get myself under control. You have to change me back, I said. You can't just do this to somebody and expect to get away with it.

Oh, you poor thing. She puckered her lips at me. Another sip from a fagga bottle followed. Don't you understand? I've already gotten away with it. who's going to believe you? As she said this, I heard the shifting sound of bones again

and was met with a splitting headache. I was certain that my damn brain was rolling around in my skull like one of those bouncy balls you get from the quarter machines and lose after an hour of playing with it. My boss nervously puckered the edges of his mustache. When she turned her attention to him, he flinched, he was shaking.

He should have done more than that, though. He should have run from us. he should have gotten into his car and gone home. But he did not. He stood in awe as the woman approached him with her index finger pointed outward. She poked him in the belly, as though he were the damn Pillsbury doughboy. You'd be cuter if you lost a few pounds. She walked down the street, out of sight.

Just like that. No goodbye, no nothing. He turned and looked to me, dumbfounded. I know I'm a little round in the middle, but I'm not morbidly obese, right? He asked. I laughed till I cried like a madman.

It hurt. The festival's season is aangbroken and that betekent mudder. And so, ging Kim to Amazon.com.com. On look to a water-dict tent, a comfortable luch bed, oh so, knus.

And lupart print regalards. Miao. Now, now, now, now, Kim's not like that dancing the modder man that, oh, wait just even, he's he now only modder on? Oh yeah, only mudder.

Drogoblev? Goar for. Find what you need to have on amazon.com. com. It was called Piper Toys, elegant and refined, located right in the heart of the village square, decorated meticulously with luxurious burgundy velvet curtains

and a bright pink door with a golden knob. The proprietor, was incredibly chic, with a black bob cut and painted red lips, she looked like she belonged in New York, even Paris. Not here, not with us. As a kid, going to Piper was a worthy occasion, and one I coveted, as it was only when I went with my friend Cassie and her parents. The shelves were lined with intricate jewel trinkets,

bins full of stuffed animals, with fur so soft I could press it against my cheek. Behind the counter was a glass case of dolls, incredibly lifelike in their appearance, so much so that sometimes it would catch me off guard, the glassy eyes following me as I moved. It was a month before Christmas that Piper Toys unveiled their holiday display window. In front were several boxes wrapped in shiny gift paper, along with a menagerie of plastic animals. A cherry red sign in large white font read, Coming soon, this year's hottest toy, animal masks, and below it in smaller writing,

Become the animal you are meant to be. My dad was out of work, the hefty $399 prize tag dashed my hopes of having an animal mask of my own. All I could do was speculate, along with my fellow students, what they were. It must be something special to be the hottest toy of the season, and to take a prime real estate in the toy store, just as kids were starting to write their list to Santa. It was Dinah Summers, who was the first to find out. Amongst the crowd of eager students in the school lobby, she uncovered a fleshy, salmon-coloured mask from a backpack,

boasting that her father had secured her an animal mask before anyone else. Just watch, she said with a mischievous smile, and the cluster of kids around distilled. With one hand, she pushed the mask against her face, the other stretching the rubbery texture across a perfectly permed blonde hair. There was a collective gasp as Dinah's face was transformed into that of a white tabby cat. It looked cartoonish, but still unfathomable. Her visage had morphed, stretching and shrinking, her nose now a pink, meaty thimble.

The whiskers protruding from her cheeks quivered with laughter. Almond yellow eyes with slits in the middle danced around, and, opening her mouth, revealing two pointed canines. Meow, she cooed, lifting a human hand to overwhelming applause. She took the mask off, her face returning to normal, boring diner, now unremarkable in comparison. The mask, just a piece of plastic in her hands. It's a different animal for everyone, she yelled. News spread like wildfire about the animal masks.

The sign in the display window at Piper changed from coming soon to, available 12 to 14, limited quantities. The morning of the animal mask release, there was a line of anxious parents that stretched all the way from the toy store to Coldwall pharmacy six blocks away. Mr. Coldwall himself stood outside, his arms crossed, muttering, I had never seen anything like this before. Eventually, the town sheriff had to come out, telling people they couldn't block the cross wall. My dad was not in attendance, but I waited with Cassie at a house, exchanging restless looks at the door. Her mom and dad had been in the line since 6am. I better get it, Cassie said between clenched teeth.

When the front door opened, Cassie's mom came in with a huge grin. I got it, baby, she said, holding a lush lavender, pipe a toy store bag in a right hand. Maybe if you're a good girl You can open it a little before Christmas She winked at Cassie Who was squealing with joy Christmas at my home that year Provided no lavender gift bags

Or any other presents The only box under the tree Was an unwrapped board game I'd received the year before I attempted to seem thrilled Hugged my dad around his flabby waist It's just what I wanted Really

I called Cassie that night desperate to learn if she had tried on her animal mascot. Come over, she said into the phone. When I arrived at Cass's parents, they were in the living room laughing. We don't know where our daughter is, said Cass's dad. She's probably monkeying around. With that, Cassie emerged from behind the door. Her face now morphed into that of an ape.

It was incredible. Her wrinkled skin pushed up. meched with fine black hairs. Oh my God, I said, coming over and touching her. It's so real, right? Cassie said, giggling. It came out more like monkey sounds. Can I try it on?

I asked in amazement. Sorry, but the buck said it's only supposed to be used by one person. My parents are even thinking about buying one now for themselves. I got to say, it's really incredible. Cassie's dad took a sip from the beer he was holding. Never seen anything like it. Must be some of that new technology they're always talking about. After the winter break, going back to school was more like going to a zoo.

It seemed like everyone had an animal mask on, from all the little kids all the way up to the seniors. Bird children chirped away. There were trails of drool in the hallway from those wearing dog masks. Kenny Bogwater, the sole elephant took to trumpeting from his trunk every morning before class. Requesting that students take off their masks, during school hours. Letters were sent home to parents

that were of course ignored. Everyone thought it was just a fad that would pass and eventually the school officials conceded. As one of a handful of students without an animal mask it felt strange to be in what was considered human form.

I began to feel like an outcast. Students began to group themselves together based upon that animal mask and identifying as such. Cassie began to distance as from me, becoming friends with a pocket of students who were also eight masks. I would sometimes sit with them at lunch. They began to talk in grunts, as if they had their own secret language. The back masks began to lurk in dark corridors. Mice masks scored for snacks and left over food,

while cat masks watched them with alert eyes. Dog masks refused to come inside at all, and fish masks started a petition for the school to build a swimming pool. One day when Cassie and I were walking home I noticed some red lesions blisters cropping up around her skin where the flesh met the mask I might have been imagining it but the mask was starting to look more realistic as well

when I mentioned it to Cassie she dismissed my concerns claiming that I was just jealous several months after Christmas I found myself in front of piper toys looking longingly into the window The owner came into view Her dark-rimmed eyes

focused down on me Her hand motioning me to come inside No animal mask She said with an arched eyebrow You must be the first kid I've seen in ages without one I took my hands into my coat pockets Embarrassed Perhaps it's not for you

I have a lot of toys She went over to the counter Retrieving one of the beautiful dolls Its cheeks were rosy with soft eyes. It looked so real, I imagined, that I saw its chest deflate, as if it were breathing.

I... I have no money, I said, she bushyly. Oh, she said, tilting her head. Consider it a gift. Anything in the store you want. My treat. She flicked out her tongue.

I couldn't believe it, looking at her incredulously. Really? Anything, she said again, leaning closer, the smell of clothes deep and earthy. From that proximity, I could see under a worn lipstick that her lips were actually black, the crevices in the corner showing. I would like an animal mask, please. As I said it, she went to the shelf, pulling down a shiny new box and putting it into one of those delicious pale purple bags.

Perfect timing, she said, handing it to me. Would you like to try it on here? I shook my head. I want to try it on with my best friend, Cassie. Elation filled me, like drinking hot chocolate after playing in the snow on a cold day. I thanked the owner again before running out of the store and towards home. I called Cassie, but there was no answer. Circling the edges of the box with my finger, I was eager to open it.

What animal would I be? I hoped I would be a month. monkey, white Cassie, or something cool and different like Kenny Bogwater's elephant. It really didn't matter, though. The only thing that did was that I would be a part of it now. I went to bed, waking up anxious the next morning to call Cassie. No response. Undeterred, I took the unopened box and went over to Cassie's home, up in the nicer area of town, and Bluebird Street. I rang their bronze doorbell, and Cassie's dad came to the door, He looked disheveled, his face red and puffy, and clothes ripped and stained.

I heard an awful sound coming from inside. Monkey screeches. Peering around him, I saw a small but fully formed monkey, its body covered entirely in black fur. It bared its fangs at me, jumping on the couch, before swinging its hands and feet up the stairwell to the second floor landing. She was like this when we woke up this morning. said Cassie's dad, his eyes filled with horror.

We're waiting for the police to come. Cassie wasn't the only one. All of the children in our small town who had adorned the animal masks had transformed into their animals. Those that were dogs and cats were easily caught and captured. There were a few unfortunate cases of a parent

finding a rat or mouse and swiftly killing it unknowingly, as well as several fish found dead in a pile of clothes. Those that were birds took to the sky to never be seen again. Kenny Bogwater, now a two-ton elephant, was sent to a local zoo, where, as far as I'm aware, he lived out the rest of his days peacefully. There were no answers.

Upon the discovery of the animals, he was found that Piper Toy Store and its mysterious owner had disappeared into the night, along with a strange collection of toys. Cass's parents kept the monkey, treating it as a little. a pet. I would sometimes come to visit, less so as I grew older into adulthood, moving out of state. At times, I would look into what used to be my best friend's eyes, searching for some form of consciousness or recognition. I found none. What happened with the animal masks has continued to haunt me, though I've done my best to forget about it. It was only

recently when looking at a friend's baby registry on Amazon, that something caught my attention, a name that gave me pause. Clicking on the link of the item, I opened the merchant page, name, Piper Toys. My eyes widened in terror, unable to breathe as I read out their products. Piper baby Tether takes the bite right out of teething. Piper Children's Picture Book, so real you feel like part of the story. Piper baby crib. Baby, we'll sleep forever.

I first heard the wailing as I lay in my bunk, and I growled as the bawling cut across my dreams. This was my third night in the box, and I was getting tired of being woken up by the loud crying from somewhere in the quad. The inmate spent his days in almost object silence, no one stopping at his cell with mail or call-outs. I never saw them come out for showers,

and I don't even think I'd see them get a trace. during meals. All they really did was cry at night and keep the whole block awake. I huffed out a long suffering breath and rolled on my bunk. My cellmate, an old guy named Tobs, looked over the edge at me and shrugged. He reached up to his ears and pulled out a pair of earplugs that he made from toilet paper and held them out to me. I just shook my head, knowing they wouldn't block out the crying. After getting zero sleep on the first night, I tried talking to the man and finally gave it up. It seemed that the crying couldn't be blocked out by normal means,

and my brain simply couldn't be tired enough to block it out completely. It helps a little, Tubbs lied, but he smiled as he said it, the light from outside, making his grin look ghastly. What's his problem anyway? What's he got to be so upset about? I asked, grumply. That wiped the smile off Tubbs' face, and I saw him roll away and face the wall.

It's best not to think about it. He's just getting by in his own way. That seemed to be all Tubbs would say in the matter. I'd been a guest of Strackview Prison for about three years now, but this was my first trip to the box. They had caught me in a shakedown a few weeks ago, and some jackass had decided to hide their drugs under my bunk. The guards hadn't wanted to hear about how it wasn't mine.

Possession was nine-tenths of the law, and I was processed and whisked after confinement. Three days later, I was exhausted and ready to snap. I rolled over and tried to block out the crying and get back to sleep. The next day, I tried to ask Officer Macklin about the inmate, but he just told me to shut the hell up and take my tray. Macklin was a grumpy night shift guard, but seemed to think that shut the hell up was synonymous with Good Morning.

I probably wouldn't get anything out of him, so I figured I'd wait for day shift to arrive. Officer Timius was a pretty bubbly guy and he could usually be counted on for conversation When day shift arrived though Timmius looked at me like he didn't know what I was talking about Don't know what the hell you're talking about him mate You must be mistaken

And he wandered on with a call-out cheat Best just a drop it kid Tubb said It's just one of those things it's best not to ask about I nodded at him but his answer made me more curious than ever. What was this guy's deal? Was he just crazy or what?

And why didn't anyone tell him to shut the hell up? I knew I wasn't the only one he was keeping awake, and the idea of a bunch of cons just letting this guy lose them their hard and sleep made my head hurt. My situation only got worse around lunchtime, when Sergeant Mefford arrived with Timius and Sergeant Bassford from the captain's office. They cuffed us, told me. him to move to the back of the cell and told Tobs to approach the door. They opened the door and pulled him out, keeping a wary eye on me like I might charge them in handcuffs.

Once he was out, they closed the door and took his handcuffs off, telling him his time was served and his release from confinement was approved. He looked back once, giving me a grin and a thumbs up as Bassford led him towards the quad door towards the outside world. And just like that, I was stuck in that 12 by 8. room by myself. Most people would have jumped at the chance to have a cell to themselves, but I wasn't as excited as most. Being alone in a small box with only yourself for company gets all pretty quick. With a roommate you have someone to talk to or play cards with, but alone is just you.

I sat to my bunk as the quad buzzed with general noise, and it didn't take long for me to get bored. I spent the rest of the day trying to trade for a book. but only managed a ratty magazine that I devoured like a starving man. That night, the crying started again. It was just after lights out,

and I was exhausted after sleeping so poorly the night before. I had just laid down, getting comfy, as I prepared to pass out when the deep, sorrowful crying began again. It echoed through the quad, bouncing off the walls, and seemed to circle like a hunting bird. I heard mutters and sighs, people trying to make the best of their situation and get some sleep,

but the whaling just went on and on. It always stopped when one of the guards came in to do a round, and I would just get close to falling asleep when they would walk out, and the wailing and crying would start again. As the sun came up, the crying stopped, but it was too late for sleep by then. I was exhausted from days and end of having little sleep. I drowsed most of the day,

roused for meals, mail-call, call-out, and the other common occurrences that happen in prison. I found myself napping fitfully, fully clothed, so I'd be ready if someone important came in, and wanting nothing so much as to sleep for hours on end. Being in confinement, I couldn't sleep if I wanted to, but with no escape from the noise in the bustle, I was left in a state of tiredness, knowing there would be no reprieve tonight. I blame the lack of sleep for what came next, but I know, It wasn't completely due to that.

I was simply the first one to snap. That second night, it all became too much. The crying echoed across the quad, leaving many of us grumbling, no one willing to say anything to him. This was very odd, since I'd heard guys yell at each other over whistling after eight at night, and this guy was getting away with keeping the whole quad awake. When the officer came around at ten,

I tried to get his attention, begging him to tell the guy to shut up. My neighbour tried to shush me, but the guard just rolled his eyes and told me to sit. I kept calling, but he ignored me, and soon the door was closing behind him. We all sat in the pregnant silence for a few minutes, and I thought he might have heard me,

asked the guard to talk to him and realised he was a nuisance. I lay down in my bunk, the crunchy plastic mat, sitting firmly against the hard metal rack, and closed my eyes. as I tried to sleep. Maybe he was just sane enough to realize that he was driving us all nuts. Maybe he realized that, scared or not,

someone would remember that he had kept them awake when they both got back to the yard and that someone would probably put a knife in him. I was almost asleep when the wailing echoed out again, louder than ever. That was when I snapped. Shut up!

Just shut the hell up! People are trying to. asleep. I came up off my bunk, face pressed against the glass door, as I yelled into the quad at the stupid idiot who was crying. I didn't care if the guards heard me or not at that moment. I just wanted this idiot to quiet down so I could sleep. Other people in the quad tried to shush me, telling me to be quiet before he heard me. But I didn't care. I wanted him to know what an asshole he was being, and I wanted him to stop his stupid wailing. When my yelling stopped echoing around the quad,

and realised that the whaling had stopped. The silence that followed was oppressive. The absence of the whaling now seems strange, and the pregnant silence of my fellow inmates was equally as odd. I hadn't expected full-fledged applause,

but I'd expected a few complimentary comments. People usually celebrated someone willing to tell off a noisy inmate, and their lack of any kind of talk made me nervous. I went, and sat back down, leaving the quad in a state of absolute silence. As my eyelids slid shut, I started trying to get some sleep.

Who knew how long this wacko would be quiet for, and I wanted to get a little shut-eye before he started crying again. I had just started to slip off. When I heard it, someone was tapping the glass of my cell door. I tried to ignore it. Maybe it was one of the guards wondering why I'd been yelling, And if I just ignored them, then they would assume I was asleep. I felt my tired mind trying to slip off again, when the tapping came a second time.

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. I sighed and sat up, looking at the glass on the door. They probably wanted to remind me of the rules. They made you sign a big long list of rules before you got a call, and one of them was not yelling into the quad. Some guard thought he was cute And wanted to remind me of the rules Just to be a dick

I got half off my bunk Before I caught a good look of the face On the other side of the glass It was white Its eyes like hollow pit And the finger it raised was crusty with blood I moved as far away from the door As my bunk would allow

Screaming and thrashing as it stood tapping at my door The finger tapped again and again As I tried to ignore it I slid under my blankets, but they did little to block out the sound of those dead fingers tapping. I put my pillow over my head, but the hard canvas thing did nothing to block out the constant tapping. Who the hell was this? Was this some crazy mate who had gotten out? Some guard playing tricks? I wrapped the sheet and blanket around myself as I tried to block him out,

secure on the knowledge that at least I was safe behind that big rolling door. I lay under the scratchy blanket for a few more seconds, dreading the taps, but listening for them nonetheless. The darkness beneath my blanket was broken by a shaft of light as they cut through the thin material. The light streamed unhampered through the little glass of the door, and its uninterrupted shining made me realise that the face was no longer there.

What was more? The tapping had stopped, and I felt a sigh slip out as I realised that whatever it was, had moved on. I slid the covers down a little bit and glanced at the door, feeling relieved at the empty window before rolling onto my side

to try and get some sleep. Just as my eyes closed, my head facing the familiar grey wall, did I see him leaning there amongst the shadows? He looked bored, unsure of himself, and now that I could see him clearly,

he appeared young indeed. His eyes were black, sunken pits that he seemed, seemed devoid of any means of seeing. He was skinny to the point of emaciation, and his grimy hands constantly gripped at the waistband of his prison uniform pants. His nails made a whispery sound against the fabric, and his long dirty nails were crusted with a rusty red residue.

As we made eye contact, I could see the residue's source. His throat had been cut deep enough to nearly detach the head and gaped at me like a leering mouth. I had only a matter of sense, to take all this in before I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep. There was little else I could do. I couldn't escape him.

That door wouldn't open no matter how hard I pulled at it. He didn't seem to want to jump on me and kill me. Not yet anyway, and his silent watching made me think I could just ignore him. The idea of sleeping with this thing in the room was not an option, though. My only hope seemed to be to wait for the guard to come by on a round and notice it here. What would they do if they saw it, though? Would they get rid of it? Could they get rid of it?

My eyes pulsed behind my eyelids, hearing the whispery sound its nails made against its pants. The stiller I got, the more I became aware of its raspy breathing as it loomed against the wall. The darkness behind my eyelids seemed like a breath of fresh air compared to the nightmare that now inhabited my cell.

I tried to stop myself from shuddering as I lay there, hearing its breathing and wishing for the wailing. The wailing would have drawn out the scrabbling of its claws And the sucking gasps from its neck wound Its flat foot made a plopping sound When it took a step towards me I quivered beneath my blankets

Hearing the harsh sound of its breath As it slithered through the neck wound It took another step The scrit scratch of its nails Having stopped now as it stepped closer The cell was small And it didn't have far to come Before it was very close to my exposed face

I kept my eyes shut tight, the rattling of its damaged throat right at my face, and I had to work very hard not to start hyperventilating. It was close enough to shred my face with those crusty blood nails, and I remember thinking that if I could just get through this without shaking to pieces, I'd be very lucky. I wasn't aware right away when the breathing left. But when the cell lights came on, I knew I'd been trying to scream for nearly six hours.

I couldn't sleep that day either. It wouldn't come out during the daytime, but I knew it was there. If I lay in my bunk, I could hear that raspy neck breathing from under my covers as it hid in the dark crevices. It didn't like the light, it seemed, and would only come at night, so it could hide in the dark corners and watch me. No one would talk to me. I had become a social pariah, and I sat in contemplation for most of the day, trying to figure out how to make this creature leave me alone. It was a long and boring day,

and I had plenty of time to think, plenty of time to plan. The longer I thought about it, the more I believed that it had been the wailing that kept it away. The creature must have been afraid of the wailing inmate who lived in that room. Had I hurt his feelings or something? I needed to figure out how to make him start wailing again.

If I scared this thing away, it would be worth the sleepless nights. I tried talking to him through the grate on the back window, tried sending him kites under the door, but nothing seemed to get his attention. After yelling myself hoarse, I'm using all the paper I had in my possession,

I felt like I had one chance. Tomorrow was one of three shower nights we had every week. The guards always took me to the shower nearest my cell, the cell nearest to his cell. I could talk to him, make him understand how sorry I was,

Maybe he would understand why I needed him to keep crying. I just had to make it one more night. That night was the worst night of my life. When the lights went out, that creature came slithering out from under the metal rack. I heard his nails scraping on the concrete floor as he drug himself out and turned my head to the wall as he rose to his full height. I couldn't see him. He couldn't get between the wall on my face.

but I could see his shadow across the wall as he loomed over my prone form. His heavy breathing filled the cell as he rasped and husked, and I believed I would go crazy as I lay there and watched the shadow. I was exhausted, near to my breaking point, but my fear kept me from snatching more than a few seconds of sleep at a time. My biggest fear was that he would simply fall on me and devour me, or slither into my bed and wrap his long pale arms around me, before breaking me like kindling.

I didn't know what he wanted. It was no closer to finding out what he wanted, but he spent that night, much as he had the one before it, bent over me and breathing superly. When the cell lights came up, I breathed the sigh of relief as his shadow left me. I got up and moved to the top bunk.

The bare mattress was cold against my skin, but I didn't care. I lay, dozing, listening to his thick breathing and feeling afraid all over again. Guards offered me food, offered me wreck, offered me cleaning supplies to clean my cell, but I spent the whole day ignoring them

as I lay in a state of fitful insomnia. I was too afraid to sleep, too tired to stay fully awake, and as the sun went down, I knew it was nearly time to enact my plan. I couldn't weather another night like the last two. I stripped in my boxes, grabbed my towel,

and was waiting when they came to get me. I kept close to the wall, aware that this was his time, even if the lights were on, and not wanting to get grabbed and miss my chance. I could hear him under the bed, and I knew that all he was waiting for was a chance.

When the flap came down, and the guard told him to cuff off, I put my hands out and was restrained before the door rolled open. I walked out, turning towards the shower, before breaking away and running for the cell nearest the shower. The guard stumbled, yelling as he fell down on his backside, and I heard the angry feet of his partner coming from close by.

I'd only get one shot at this, and, as I hit the door, I began to plead my case. I was sorry, I shouldn't have spoken to him like that. Please start crying again, so the creature in my cell would... Before the guards hit me, I noticed my miscalculation. The cell was empty, free of inmates or mats or anything. anything. There had never been anyone in that cell. Correction, there had been someone in that cell. When the guards tackled me, they dropped me my jaw and dislocated it. A little overzealous maybe, but they saved me in the long run. When they realized what had happened, they took me to the

infirmary so the nurses could reset my jaw. They wanted x-rays, wanted a second opinion, and I had been checked into the infirmary for the night. As I lay there, jaw hurting. I wondered to myself, what will become of me when I return to my cell. I don't know what it wants, but I know why it's haunting me. I called it out. I acknowledged it, and now it haunts me. It hasn't followed me here. This is not the place it's tied to.

But if I return to that cell, they will find me dead in that place. The creature is the source of the wailing, but it's constant staring. is far worse than the nightly crying. If they put me back in that cell, it won't have to kill me. A few more nights of that, and I'll do it myself. The festival's season is

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Find what you knowdhap. On Amazon.com. com. I hit my head really hard when I was a kid. I was six to be more specific. Obviously, I don't remember much from the actual hit, but it concerned the hell out of my mom. When she first told me about it,

She said she laughed afterwards. I'd gotten hit in the face with a ball and toppled over, and while she still checked that I was okay, I was a third kid, so she thought it was funny. At first. She told me I wasn't the same kid afterwards. The happy, bubbly boy she once had was replaced by a vapid, empty shell of a child.

She brought me to therapy, talked to school psychiatrists the whole nine yards. They told her there was nothing wrong with me, medically, that it was a trauma response, that the fall just freaked me out and that eventually I go back to normal after I got over the shock of it all. It confused her because she didn't think the fall was a big deal. All kids fell. My two older brothers had fallen a million times before me and she just laughed it off. Doctors just told her this was different for whatever reason. I went on to have a pretty normal life after that, albeit missing the six years of lust for life,

if my mother insists I had. When she would tell me about the accident and how empty she thought it left me, it definitely did make me sad. But it also made me think, I didn't feel empty, per se. I just felt like me. But when she insisted that I was missing something

that I had before the fall, I started to believe her. She tried not to make me feel too weird about it, but I could always tell that there was some spark in me that was lost after that day. one that she always hoped would come back, one that never left for my brothers.

Despite all of this, we lived normal lives. My brothers, who were both several years my senior, got married and had kids of their own. My parents were thrilled, especially my mom. We were like the perfect nuclear family. My parents didn't rush me to meet anyone and get married. They knew my time would come, and they already had grandchildren on the way.

When I met Sarah, all that changed. They knew she was the one before I even did. My brothers treated her like the sister they never had right after we begun dating. It was truly just like how people described meeting their soulmate, and they just nestled right into your life like the last puzzle piece that fell under the coffee table. We were married within the year and had our son on the way by year two. Waiting for her kid made me feel like there was no gap in my life, no lapse of sparkle.

I felt like my brothers, I felt like I lived up to the role in my life that my mom wrote the script for. When everything seems like it was falling into place, I felt like I could take a deep breath and say, finally. Of course, like in any good story, this is the part where everything got screwed up.

My wife was about three weeks away from the date she was scheduled to be induced. I worked in finance at the time with a lot of other guys about my wife. age. Many of them had not been as lucky as I was at the time and were not involved in committed romantic relationships, and, like many guys who don't have a lot going on in their lives beside work, they like to do a lot of drugs. Normally I'd hang out with them and we'd smoke weed or occasionally take mushrooms and watch a funny movie or something. We never did

anything that I felt was serious, dangerous, or life-oldering in any way. Our nights on one of their couches was a brief escape from reality, one that helped. all of us decompress after a long week of balance sheets and annoying phone calls. One night though, things got taken a little too far. We'd been smoking weed and just hanging out for an hour or so before the conversation started to lull. This heavy silence hung over the room, like we all knew something was about to change,

but none of us knew exactly what it was. A minute or so passed, and then my friend, Brandon, spoke up. guys, I have this new stuff. I think we should try it. Brandon was the daredevil of our group. He'd always pulled dumb stuff in the office, never anything actually harmful, but things that would always tick people off.

Hiding staplers, copying his middle finger in the Xerox, listening to people's phone calls, things like that. He was harmless, but definitely a risk taker. Nathan was the first to speak again. What is it? It's DMT Brendan started

By the look on his face He'd been waiting to give this explanation For the entire night Sitting on the conversation Until he had the right moment He was like a kid in a candy store I've done it one at the time with Josh It was so sick man

It was like nothing I'd ever done before Not like weed not like shrooms It was different but so good Nobody spoke I couldn't tell at the time if it was because people were actually considering it, or if they were just afraid to be the first one to shoot Brandon down. None of us wanted to kill his excitement,

but this was way out of the realm of what any of us had ever done before. Brandon pulled out this tiny bag of white powder, almost as if to prove he was serious. I have enough for all of us. I think it would be really cool if we all did it together. I want you guys to experience what I did. I'm not sure what came over me in that moment, but it was definitely a combination of factors.

Everything that was happening in my life felt like it was surging and intersecting right then. The emptiness of my childhood and the impending excitement of our new baby and the pressure from the office and everything else was telling me for some reason that this might be the first time in a long time

I get to have any real fun. I knew a lot more than I wanted to about childhood and newborn babies. I knew that it wasn't fun and that I'd be able at 4 a.m. wiping my kid for at least six months. I wasn't there yet. And I had tonight.

Screw it, I muttered. That's my boy. That's what I'm talking about, Brandon yelled. My enthusiasm seemed to have swayed the rest of the group, as soon enough, we were all hovered over the glass pipe and the lighter that Brandon held in his hands.

All right, once you take this hit, you'll feel it immediately, Brandon said. The effects only lasts like 30 minutes, No matter how long you feel like it's been, I swear it only lasts 30 minutes, so don't tweak out on me. 30 minutes and then it'll be over, and I'll come back to real life. No big deal. It'll be a nice break, even if it feels longer.

The pipe was passed to me first, assumedly because of my lack of inhibition. Brandon lit it for me. I took the hit, and damn, he was right. I flopped back on the couch, and I could. already feel myself starting to trip. The living room started to twist and contort. The TV started to grow, swelling and purging,

as if it were full of water. My friends were all taking their hits of the pipe, but they were long gone by then. Half in the distance, small, insignificant to the journey I was taken. The rest of the room started to spiral out of control to the point where I couldn't orient myself

on the couch anymore. I was positive that I wasn't moving. but it just felt like everything else around me was. I tried to put my hands down to feel the cushions around me, but I didn't want to look like a tweaker. I couldn't feel anything in the room anymore, and I'd completely lost control. 30 minutes, 30 minutes and that's it.

I closed my eyes, trying again to orient myself. Everything behind my eyelids just kept continuing to swirl, even with nothing that could be swirled. It felt like vertigo to the nth degree, except I was seeing and feeling it. Trying to keep my eyes closed was no use, so I opened them. Everything instantly stopped spinning, and my eyes were met with bright, fluorescent light. Everything was blurry, like when you first wake up in the morning and have to blink the sleep away.

My vision adjusted. I was in a hospital. No, wait. I was in an operating room. I could hear the monitors beeping, and the over- overwhelming harm of heavy medical machinery. I looked down at my feet. I was in scrub somehow.

Blue, thin, with covers of my shoes and powdery latex gloves. In my right hand was a long scalpel. What the hell was I doing here? From across the room, a blood-curdling scream erupted like an active volcano. One that could only be accompanied by life-threatening agony. My wife, Sarah. My feet became bricks. I couldn't see who was lying on the table, but I was positive it was her.

A ball of vomit bubbled in the back of my throat. Every passing second threatening to come up to the surface. Doctors and nurses buzzed around the table like bees to their queen, but they were clearly waiting for something, someone to intervene. As if they could hear my thoughts, they all turned to look at me with dead stairs. Were they? waiting for me? How the hell did I have anything to do with this?

I opened my mouth to speak, which is when I noticed it was covered by multiple surgical masks. Sound echoed through my lungs, but was halted by the lump in my throat. One of the nurses briefly stepped forward and grabbed me by the wrist, pulling me toward the table where they had made a gap in their hive. Sarah laid sprawled out on the table, crying out in pain.

Tears streamed down a face, and blood pulled on. underneath a frail body. It was unlike any operating table I'd ever seen, as she was fully awake, and clearly on no painkillers. Honey, please, help me, she pleaded, grabbing my hand.

You have to get him out. I looked down at my right hand, which still clutched the scalpel tightly. None of this was real, I thought. Thirty minutes, that's all it takes, and this will all be over. It's a hallucination. A fallacy.

I drove the scalpel hard into a bloated stomach and dragged the blade across her abdomen. The urgency of the situation was not lost to me, but I still had no clue what I was doing. A dozen or so doctors and nurses stood around the table silently, blankly watching the massacre. Blood gushed from the wound. She shrieked louder and more painfully than before. I dug my gloved hand into the gash and began to pull before she passed out from the pain. warm liquid swam around my fingers like I just reached my hand into a massive pot of soup

I began to pull it meaty and gorge pieces of flesh slapping them wetly on the operating table I had to find our son if nothing else after a few moments I found my wife's uterus and sliced it clean open through the blood and fluid

I spotted five tiny little fingers and a tiny hand I clasped the hand and ripped it from its host freeing my son from the prison that had trapped both him and my wife. Sarah's face looked cold and white, stuck in a permanent state of shock and agony. A jaw slack and her eyes glazed. I stepped back from the table. A cry erupted from my hands, one that echoed the first breath being taken in this new and terrifying world.

I held my son, after the light, allowing myself to take the first breath I think I'd taken in five minutes. He looked down at me with white eyes. he had no skin. Even through the fluids of his birth, I could see that every inch of his flesh from head to toe was completely exposed. The whites of his eyes stood stark against his crimson pulsating muscle.

His newborn cries were not those of confusion, but of pure agony. The room, once again, began to swirl and twist with a violent force. Thirty minutes, it had to have been thirty minutes. The blue of my scrubs and the white tile of the floor and the grey in the ceiling started to blend together into one sickening spiral. I felt the vomit that sank behind my rib cage rise up again. The edges of my vision began to fade and I could only see directly in front of me and my sickeningly skinless little boy.

How the hell has it not been 30 minutes? I fell directly back to the floor, smashing the back of my head into the tile. Everything went completely black. The next thing I heard was a voice in the distance, somewhere very far away. It was faint, but it was beckoning me, calling me, asking me to come closer. I followed the voice through the darkness. Are you all right? My eyes snapped to focus.

I could feel the hot sun on my back and grasp pressed against my face. Ambient sounds of summer birds and far off voices of children. centered my ears in reality. I was on the ground, outside, in the grass. Honey, are you okay? Mom.

It was my mom talking. It was a gentle, soft hand of my back. I picked up my head and looked toward the sky. Oh my gosh, you had me worried there for a second. I thought I was going to have to call the ambulance or something. She laughed and nonchalance sigh of relief. She looked so young. young. Her mousy brown hair draped around her face in soft curls. She had no wrinkles and a

small line had disappeared. I only remembered seeing her like this in photographs. One of the bigger kids over there threw a ball and it hit you in the head, honey. She stroked my hair gingerly. I'm sorry, I know that must have kind of freaked you out. You're out for about a minute or so. What the hell was going on? Brandon swore this stuff wouldn't last for 30 minutes. This was way, way longer than 30 minutes. Something was seriously wrong. Let's get in the car and go home. My mother added,

it's been a long day and I think that's enough. She grabbed my hand, which was scarily small. It was closer to the size of the hand of my newborn than the hands I remembered having. I stood up on my feet and only came up to a waist. I was somehow six again at the park during what my mom would later call one of the worst times of the life, the day that made me empty.

I couldn't believe it. I went home with her, and the day went on exactly how I had remembered it, and everything in our home and my childhood bedroom was left exactly how it had been when I was a kid, untouched. For a moment, I was happy. I thought that DMT was making me relive one of the worst moments of my life in order to make it better, made myself less empty. Give myself my spark back. I thought I was being given a second chance.

I stopped being thankful once the day ended, and I went to sleep in my childhood bed, with my parents tucking me in and reading me a bedtime story. I thought surely I had done my duty and saved myself from losing my spark. I would soon wake up on Brandon's couch and tell everyone how I was a changed man. Instead, the days turned to weeks, weeks turned into months, and months turned into years. I'm ten now.

I'm ten, and my parents are measuring my height on the doorframe. I'm ten, and I've already been to a dozen therapists and a dozen other psychiatrists. I'm ten, and I have no spark, and my parents can't figure out why a ball to the face turn me into a different child. I just got my first tablet for school. My parents told me they thought in my help

with my reading comprehension outside the classroom or something like that. Before this, I haven't had any unsupervised access to the internet. I've been staying up all night the last few weeks looking for anyone from my old life online, trying to contact them. I don't know what I'd say,

but I know somehow they'd understand. I can't find anyone. No Sarah, no Brandon, no one. It's like they never existed. I knew all of their usernames on social media before all of this, and there are no accounts listed with their information. I don't have anywhere else to turn.

So please, anyone. Has this happened to you on DMT? I found the opening after a long stint of working office jobs. I wanted something more in touch with nature, and my search went further and further until I hit an ad for a job as a fire lookout. The bay was low, the hours looked horrendous, and the benefits were minimal.

However, the lifestyle at granted was something I wanted, even if just for a temporary reprieve from my draught city life. I never expected to have worked this job for the better part of a decade. However, over my time, I recruit more than enough stories to hold any party's attention for a week. That's because my job wasn't that of an ordinary Firewatcher. I don't know if this is the same for others in the same job line as me, or if it's just my specific one. But let's just say we had more duties to withdrawals to it.

tend to than just watching for smoke. My first day in the job there was a lot to take in. I was actually shown around by the area's ranger, rather than another lookout. Apparently the previous two quit on short notice for them to train their replacements, so the duty fell on

his shoulders. The walk to the fire watchtower was Arjavs at first. If it weren't for my partner leading the way, I'd have gotten lost many times over. Just when you think you're at a clearing that should lead straight to the place, we'd take a We'd take a sharp turn, seemingly away from the destination, and yet it weren't to be correct.

We made it to the tower at around 8.20pm. The first thing I was told was that the door should be closed before 8.30pm, and never opened until the shift was over at 6am, not accounting for daylight savings. We safely made it in. I was briefly left inside, while he went out with a brush and paint can, and came back covered in a few specks of red on him. The door was closed and my first shift officially started. At first, things were uneventful.

I expected to be lectured on all I needed to do, but as soon as the door closed, my partner simply went to lounging around. Left to my own devices, I took to familiarising myself with the place I'd be held up in for the next ten hours or so. There were four rooms in total, a kitchen with some minimal rustic appliances, a bathroom with bare essentials, a lounging area with some basic wooden furniture and a small storage area filled with many things I didn't know how to use. All rooms are laid with clear glass

and all had a door to the balcony for ease of access to have an overlooking view. I tried starting any form of conversation, but my partner was not having it. Any questions about the job was shut down. A few hours in and the thick of night was fully set in. My partner checked his watch. took something out of storage, handed me a pair of binoculars and looked too high-tech for what I thought I'd be doing. When I flicked them on, the view it gave me was astounding.

Despite the overbearing darkness outside, I could clearly see for miles through those things. Whether there was some form of night vision or infrared, I didn't know. But I was able to observe a vast area through those things. I took to scanning the horizon for movement, signs of smoke or light. after a while of no activity I dialed in the distance and started skimming the surrounding tree line closer to the tower

I froze at the most peculiar sight it was a figure barely distinguishable from the surrounding trees the only way I even spotted it was because of the consistent arching movement I focused the binoculars

a bit more and saw that it looked like a person overenthusiastically waving I waited to see if there were more, however, it didn't stop. It didn't stop after a few uncomfortable seconds. It didn't stop after a few awkward minutes. I kept checking through the night, and sure enough, there they were, waving in my direction. When I asked my partner about it, he just grunted and told me to ignore it. Seeing that he'd be no help, I resigned to just checking on them every so often.

That was my first shift. And it set the tone for the rest of my career. As a fire lookout, I mentioned the dingy kitchen. Let me go into more detail. It was a simple room which matched the wooden facade of the other areas of the tower. There was a small fridge with limited selection. The food options were either a lettuce sandwich or salad, which was just lettuce, some cherry tomatoes, or bread

if you threw the planned lettuce away from the aforementioned sandwich. On the plus side, you had condiments to make the food more tolerable. if you consider brandless packets of ketchup in the door compartment flavour enhancers. For drinks you had bottled water, nothing else, and for snacks we had lightly salted crackers. This is the say, their hospitality was lacking. At first, I politely used what was provided and masked my dismay to be as polite as possible. However, after a few weeks, I decided my friendly facade was less necessary, and decided to bring my own meal. The shift started as usual. The ranger left with his can of paint and came back

slightly stained. I was left to my own devices and took to just spotting peculiarities. However, during this shift, things were slightly more rampant. There were more waving figures spotted out at various distances, or enthusiastically waving in my direction. If their sole purpose in life was to just get my attention, I hope that life's purpose was a With the increased frequency, some were closer than they usually were. The glint of white on their faces showed they were smiling wide, and a moving grin plastered across their face. After having enough of them, I just sat down and pulled out my packed meal. Immediately, the ranger dropped what he was doing and snatched it.

Figuring he was ravenous for something that wasn't essentially water leaves on bread, I yelled at him, about to grab it back. However, he just ran out the balcony door, opened the box and threw it all off the edge. He came back livid, yelling at me that he warned me not to bring in any outside food. The smell of my roast beef sandwich started to waft from the now empty lunchbox in his hands. I hesitantly told him that I wasn't told that, to which he went through some range of emotions, starting from studying me to see if I were bluffing, mulling over his own memory, and then defeat, when he told him. told me not to do it again. On top of that, he told me I was no longer allowed outside for the

rest of the night and locked all the balcony doors. I figured he'd sussed that that was my favorite part of the job, soaking in the night air and observing nature at night, a cathartic pastime that I was getting paid for. However, as the night went on, I learned. It was for a different reason. It started as small thuds, heavy, soft bumps that thudded around outside. It mostly sounded like it was hitting dirt, but occasionally I'd hear a dink of the wooden beams that held up the tower. It was hard to see much outside from the angle of the windows, but, with the use of the binoculars, I could see movement just below the tower. I didn't manage to see what was hamming around outside that night, or the fact I could hear it was quite concerning, as we were so high up that you'd barely be able to hear an elephant thundering outside. whatever was outside was hitting the ground with ferocity.

When the shift ended and we eventually peaked outside, I saw what remained in my food that hit the ground. Crumbs and wrappers were scattered, some had fallen in the many large divvets that were now punched on the ground. I had the extra job of loosing the dirt and filling in the small craters. Without giving too much info on location specifics, I can say that the area we're in barely, gets any visitors. This is fortunate to the safety of the public. However, because of this,

when someone is spotted here, it's always hard to know what to do. Whilst making my way towards the tower, I saw a group of young people. There were four of them, and they looked like they were ready to spend the night in the sticks. At this point, I wasn't trained in dealing with others, but I also felt a moral responsibility to try to talk them out of it. I called over to them and tried my best to warn them, without divulging any specifics. They seemed to heed me at first, however, a brazen one asked me if I was a ranger. As soon as I admitted I wasn't, I could see all my credibility was gone, and they left with a hollow agreement that they'd stay safe.

I made it to my shift in time and saw the ranger returning with his tin of paint, red specks dotting his right arm. We lunged around doing our usual affairs, But I couldn't get the hikers out of my mind. I toiled with the idea of bringing it up, but knew that most things I asked were often shot down. Eventually, I took a deep breath and asked what we should do if we saw hikers going in at night.

With this, he took pause from the book he was reading. Though he didn't move, I could tell his eyes were no longer focused on the words, but rather fogged over as he went deep into thought. After a few moments He returned with an exasperated sigh And just asked How many

Huh? I thought And pushed again I just said four With that he went back to reading his book And all conversation ended That shift was particularly Uneventful I simply took to watching the trees

Seeing if I could spot any nocturn animals Until the light started peaking itself From the horizon Rather than parting ways, the ranger told me to follow him. We walked around the common entrance of the tree line, near where most people parked before walking in. Once there, I felt a tight grip on my shoulder and realized the ranger was grabbing me tightly, his other hand doing the same over his eyes. I hesitantly asked him what he was doing, and he just suddenly told me to do as he said.

My orders were to tell in the moment I saw those same hikers. So, there we waited From six in the morning to around nine Waiting for any signs of movement I was sat uncomfortably Or the ranger never relieved my shoulder Nor his eyes Whatever he was doing

He was heavily committed to it Eventually movement emerged from the tree line The group had returned to their car They had smirks plastered across their faces Whatever they got up to the night before they must have had a lot of fun. I muttered to the Ranger that they were here

and his grip tightened as he readed himself for whatever he was going to do. I watched as they packed the gear back into the truck, moving very jovialy, almost dance like movements. I wondered if they were high. How many are there? The Ranger asked. Five, same as I said last night, I replied.

Five, not four, he probed. Yeah. they don't seem shaken up from anything in fact it looks like they had a lot of fun they seemed very happy I shot back he sighed and asked me to read out the license plate to which he called into his radio

adding it was another code 147 I didn't realize what happened until the ranger recalled me back the events of that night in which he adamantly told me I originally told him there were four I tell the story how he told it back though when I so

my mind back to that night. I always remember telling him five. Let me tell you about Dave. No, that isn't the name of the Ranger. I never did get his name. Something which bothered me at the time, but later learned was a wise choice. It didn't take long for me to become a savant at the job, though there wasn't saying much knowing how few responsibilities I had earlier on. We met at our usual time. The Ranger went about his business with the red paint, and I set up my attiagnet. for that shift. I spaced out my watchtime with frequent small breaks to do side projects. Read, browse my phone, dabble in dating apps. Shifts were more bearable when I knew something was waiting for me after the session of vigilantly staring out of the tree line.

I was so fixated on some movement in the far brushes, possibly my first sighting of a deer, that I was startled when I heard something eerily close. It wasn't the crumbull of twigs or dirt being moved, but a simple, Polite. Hello. After quickly settling down, I looked to the ground where a person stood, barely illuminated from the tower's light. I was so dumbfounded I didn't respond, which prompted a second, elongated. Hello?

Snapping back to reality, I replied with an equal pleasantry. I am terribly sorry. I seem to have lost my bearings. I was trying to head back to my car, but I keep looping. around, could you come down here and help me? He said this in the most polite tone I've ever heard. He had a light note to his voice, spoken through a constant, brimming smile. I smiled back and engaged in conversation.

After a few back and forths, I learned that he often walked the lovely trails in this area, and even offered to show me around to some nice scenic spots. This warned me, since that's exactly what I wanted. to learn more of the area, to really get in touch with the beauty of the land. All I had to do was come out and help him find his way. I told him I'd be right down and went back inside. However, the more I walked, the slower I went. All I could think about was how I was told never to open the door.

Was that to make sure I didn't leave shift, or was there another reason? Under any other circumstance, I would have taken my own initiative, something I prided myself on when I applied for the job. But with all that I'd seen so far, I found myself second-guessing myself. My body was mimicking my thoughts by leaning towards the stairwell and then pulling back towards the Ranger. After a few back and forths, eventually the Ranger took notice, and with a confused look, he asked what I was doing. I stared at him as he gave me a curious look like a father looking down on their inept child. I mulled things over, but eventually cracked and told him all I'd seen. He just stared at me, not saying a word.

Eventually he sighed, got up, grab some ornaments off the table and went to the balcony and started hurling them off the edge, all while screaming expletives mixed in with demands for him to go away. I didn't move, just stunned by the whole act. Eventually, the Ranger returned, sat back down, and carried on reading his magazine like nothing had happened. I knew I wouldn't get a word out of him, so I just went back to my watch. I don't think I've mentioned the dancers yet. A lesson I learned quickly was the never play music above a certain volume. Around a time when I was starting to be left alone more often, I sought out ways to pass the time.

Reading was never my thing so I tried getting creative with what little I could carry to my shift because connection around the area was spotty at best I had to get a bit more analogue with my approach in a dusty secondhand store I spotted a vintage looking CD player for almost free

the guy wore a great look of shock that someone got so excited over the thing I could tell who was worried I'd somehow found a forgotten gem rated a scalper price he'd missed but I was just glad I found something I could use. You'll be surprised how cheap you can get CDs in a charity shop and you'll be amazed at some of the gyms you can find. Old Backstreet Boys' albums, Original Green Day,

before long I was jamming out to my childhood powered by three D-sized batteries. It wasn't long before I was jamming out to Afro Levine, screaming the words I'd heard a thousand times before that flickers of movement caught my eye. A naive thought came to mind. that some lost travellers were looking for help, that that didn't seem to be in the job description. I turned down the music and peered around, cautiously looking for any more signs, but it was quickly quiet again.

I went back to my activities, just trying to make the night pass uneventfully. Sadly, my wish would never be realised. It quickly became a game of cat and mouse. I'd catch sight of something, inspect, and nothing would be there. It was jarring too Because each time I'd fiddle with the CD player Which wasn't in the most stable conditions Causing the CDs to skip whenever I knocked it to turn it down

Patience were in thin It only took one time to storm out to the balcony Without turning down the music to see what was happening Across the edges of the tree line were scores of figures A legion of strange emaciated creatures It was hard to make up the details Because they moved so damn much They swayed and jerked in a rhythmic pace,

though their approach was slow, their movements were swift, showing that they held some power behind their swings. No movement was synchronized. Each moved in their own accord. The only things that matched was the beat in which they acted, and very quickly I noticed it was the same BPM of the song that was playing. I quickly slapped the player off and ran back over to the edge.

I saw as they slowly stopped and started, and started shoveling back to the tree line. After that, I left the player off for the rest of the night. A few days later, there was a shift I couldn't cover. When I came in after, I saw my CD player had been smashed. The fact that it wasn't disposed off showed that it was a message to not playing music anymore. I learned a valuable lesson.

When the lights went out, it was a quiet evening. I ate the ranger to manage me for the night. night. I'd learn to enjoy reading, despite it not being my favourite pastime, and it was turning out to be another uneventful night. In the station we have minimal lighting, a few small lamps and a pendulum bulb. This obviously makes reading more of an ordeal than it should be, and it's a mystery how the Ranger keeps it up. Because of the dim light, it was noticeable when the darkness suddenly felt depressing. The room felt dark. I looked at the lamps and the

all still on. I checked the pendulum and it too was brightly lit. I looked at my manager to see if he noticed it and he indeed had. He was looking out towards the balcony and his eyes were bulging. That was the most emotion I'd seen in display and I'd watched him watch a person get dismantled in seconds. I looked out the balcony too and at first I couldn't be together what was wrong. It was dark out and I couldn't see anything stalking out the woods, something I usually looked out for. I couldn't even see to the tree line. In fact, the more I looked, I realised I couldn't see anything at all. I looked up and realised everything was black.

There was no moon, there were no stars. Immediately, my manager went around the rooms turning off each light. I barely produced a whisper about to ask what was happening, but he quickly shushed me. There we sat, in total silence, in total darkness. This lasted about an hour, though, as you can imagine, with a lack of any stimulation, it felt a lot longer. Even though it was dim, it was almost blinding when the light started to return from outside. The air of oppression was lifted. We turned the lights back on, and went on.

like nothing happened. It wasn't until another time that I found out the consequences of doing things wrong. Dave? And a wife. Every so often, I saw some hikers grazed the outskirts of the zone I patrolled.

A woman and a child. The brief times we spoke, she'd talk about how this was how she bonded with her son, now that she was a single mother. Sadly, her husband passed away a while back, and for some time, she lost the deep connection with her son that she felt mothers should have. It was rare, but when we'd bump into each other,

we'd always swap pleasantries and tips on navigating the woods, though most of mine turned into warnings of the many areas in my zone. I learned that her name was Lisa and her son was Joe. Sadly, I made the mistake of telling her my name. Now I know why the ranger never told me his. for the sake of brevity and not repeating the same mistake I'll supplement it with the name

Jerry It was night Another shift on my own When I heard a voice Calling out to me A familiar voice It was Dave In his meek demeanour

He told me he had something important to show me I sighed knowing I shouldn't engage Go away Dave I'm not interested I yelled at him learning from my many other encounters with him. You don't understand. The most amazing thing has happened.

I'm in love. He shot back, a vibrancy to his tone now. This piqued my interest. Usually his endeavours involved trying to get me to come out. Oh, I hurt my leg. Help me, there's a bear. I've lost my glasses and I can't see. But this was different.

He wasn't enticing me outside. This was something I could do from the world. balcony. This was new. I made my way over, mostly confident that I'd be safe. It turns out I would, but what I saw made my heart sink. Dave was now standing there with Lisa and Joe. Both had a large smiles, jovially stretched, though their eyes didn't seem to look happy. Dave, however, had a genuine smile on his face. He got what he wanted. "'Come down. I want you to meet my new family. They're excited to meet you,' Dave shot out, loving his voice.

"'I'm not interested,' I replied bluntly, though I was hiding pain. "'Just when I thought I'd have my usual back and forth with Dave,' Lisa spoke up. "'Come down, Jerry. We want you to come to our ceremony,' she weeped. My heart broke. I can't. I'm sorry, I weakly said back, though the apology held multiple layers. I was sorry they got caught up in this.

I was sorry I hadn't done more to prevent this from happening. I was sorry that I couldn't do anything. All I could do was surmise that they must have stayed here past daytime, and, of the many things in this zone, they were found by day first. Now, every so often, when I'm on shifts on my own, I hear them calling to me. There's a certain power they have now,

the power of my name. Even though I know I shouldn't go out, the allure is so much stronger when they address me on such a personal level. I just hope they don't catch me in a moment of weakness. Otherwise, I might become a new member of his growing family. A lesson I was never told, but learnt through watching, was to memorize the entire layout of the watchtower

at the start of each shift. I was with a ranger and another one of our many quiet shifts together. I had gotten into the habit of drinking tea throughout the night. It was a gentle amount of caffeine and had many health benefits if all the homeopathic articles were to be believed. I was about to grab a fresh bag out the cupboard when I spotted something next of the kettle. Is this yours?

I asked, reaching out to it. My eyes studied it while I was reaching over. It was an old doll. It looked Victorian in design. Its face was ivory porcelain, slight cracks marred in its glaze. Rosie cheeks were dabbed on with the utmost care, and its eyes were a glassy blue.

I've never had that irrational fear of dolls, and in a way, I thought it was cute. My thoughts were ripped from me with a tearing of muscle from my leg. I fell, turning to look at the ranger, staring at me, wide-eyed, daring to show. a pistol in his hands.

Throughout my time with him, I'd seen him witness many disturbing things. We'd watched the poemless squashed the carcass of a deer, to the point that it looked more 2D than 3D. I'd seen him have to choose between two identical hikers, one to kill, one to let go, never knowing what the right choice was. I'd seen him read books of many genres. He'd clean a comedy without so much as a smirk, a detective mystery without so much as raising an eyebrow.

but the man standing there wore the most grim of expression. When I snapped out of my shock, I screamed in agony. He quickly came over and helped Sim the bleeding and had me seated on the couch. Upon inspection, he only grazed me, though I'll never know if that was intentional or luck. I had to use an ancient-looking crutch to move about for the rest of the night, and the night dragged on to be one of the most stressful shifts of my life. You see, when I went back to the kitchen area, the doll was nowhere to be found. The only explanation I got from the Ranger was that one touch was all it takes.

He didn't elaborate further on that, but the urgency in his voice sent chills down my spine. Through the night, it became a game of cat and mouse. We were sat together in tense silence. The Ranger went back to reading, but after every finished page, he glanced up and look around. He was being much more cautious. I sat there trying to keep my wits together, gently sipping the tea I eventually finished making. I was reaching down for another sip as the ranger finished the page,

and, as quickly as he glanced up, he threw the bug down and drew his pistol at me. I froze, not wanting to get shot again. Eyes wide, we stared at each other, until I realized that though I was looking at him, He wasn't looking at me. He was looking at where I was reaching. Without any sudden movements, I craned my neck to where my tea should have been.

And there it was. The doll. My fingers are breath away from glancing its mousy red hair. This didn't stop for the rest of the night. My co-worker put down his book to go to the bathroom. While in there, I heard him yell. I couldn't rush over to help due to my lap. leg. All I could do was surmise that the doll must have been waiting in a precarious position

and it almost got him. When the sun peaked up from the horizon, I saw the ranger sigh with relief. This must have meant it was over. He empathetically helped me all the way to the hospital to get my leg properly treated. This was the closest we'd been since starting together. I think this was the point in which he knew I'd last longer than the previous applicants. You'd think our job and a fire watch lookout was to, well, look out for fires. And there was one time I saw one. The Ranger was sat with me. By this point, we were reading the same book together.

We would get a copy each, read it, then move on. When he first suggested this, I thought we would discuss it afterwards, but he didn't seem to understand that. Even though this was bizarre to me, I kept it up, figuring this was how we bonded with people. Something that's easy to pick up on when reading is any change in light. It's how my co-worker picked up in the darkness when the stars went out. But this time, it was the opposite.

At first, it was a faint orange clove from far in the tree line. I tried pointing it out to the ranger, but he just glanced at it, honed, and went back to reading. I tried doing the same, trusting his judgment, and trying to keep up with his incredible reading pace. However, the longer I read, the bigger the glow became. Eventually, I recognised it for what it was. Fire.

It was bright enough that the billows of smoke were visible. It was a torrent of flames, and it was growing rapidly. I tried pointing this out to the ranger, but he just went about reading his book. I was sat there, unable to read, or worrying about this growing inferno. Then I heard a voice Help, fire, please help My family are in there I ran over to the edge

It was Dave He no longer had that knowing smirk on his face It was a genuine look of panic How do I know you're not lying I hesitantly shot back Lying You can see it and look He pointed to the edges of the tree line

I could see all the hauntings of the woods. The dancers, the pommers, the many-finger man, hell, even the doll was escaping to the distance. Whatever was going on, it had the whole supernatural ecosystem going awry. This made me panic. I shook the ranger, trying to get him to react. But he just furrowed his brow and tried focusing on the words in his hands. It's too late for help, just get out of there!

I heard from down below. He was right. The flames were licking the edges of the tree line. It wouldn't be long before it caught up to us, or we were smoked out. I ran to the door, but as I reached for it, I heard a familiar click. The ranger was still sat there, book in one hand, Derringer and the other. I just put my hands up, knowing he was serious, and sat back down. I waited anxiously, as I could do nothing but stare at the raging inferno that crept

ever closer, the smell of smoke permeating the room. Every so often, the ranger would glance up from his book and check that I wasn't going to do something stupid. The night rolled on, anxiety churning up something fierce inside me. Eventually, a new light started to grow, a brighter hue than the blood orange of the flames. It was the yellow iridescence of the sun. Eventually, the new light overtook the old light and everything went calm. When the shift ended, on the dot, my co-worker got up and left.

I followed suit, anxious to see the results of the damage. There wasn't even as much as a speck of ash, no lingering smell of smoke, not even the residue left after flames lick wood. It seemed it was yet another trick of the woods to get us to come out. And this one... Almost worked. These events are never just one-offs. Often they can happen many times.

but always at random. There's no way you'll predict what you'll run into in each given night. However, sometimes, things fall out of your control. You can do everything perfectly, but another factor will change the expected outcome.

I was on my own one shift. I'd prepared things to do to the best of my knowledge, and I picked up my fresh book. By this point, I'd taken a liking to reading. I understood why it was my partner's preferred pastime,

It pulls you away from the drab boredom of the night, but keeps you aware enough to react to things happening. It also has zero technology for any external interference. Don't even get me started and when I tried to bring in an old TV. I was a few pages in when I had to squint harder to read the fine print of my book. It was dark again, that same oppressive darkness that enveloped us a few months back. Knowing what to do, I went around snuffing out all the light sources. For extra measure, I had to do. I even turned off my phone.

I sat back down, defeated, knowing my only pastime was gone. I resigned myself to sitting there in the oppressive darkness. It's strange, seeing the sky so empty, a thick blanket of black covering everything around you. There wasn't even a drop of light pollution from the nearest spot of civilization. Everything was completely blank.

This is why it was easy to spot when something popped up. A tiny fleck of light in the tree line. From the looks of it, a camper had wandered into my zone, and they seemed to be trying to create a source of light,

understandably so. I could see the swing of their flashlight as they rated wood for a fire. However, they didn't get that far. A glow rained from above, an overparing pressure beam from the sky. It was almost like a spot. light was lit on the camper's exact spot, focused onto him like the most brightest of floodlights.

I ducked away, knowing this could only mean trouble, but I kept a vantage point to observe what was going on, albeit through a sliver. I glanced up and saw that the light wasn't just an illumination source. It was an eye. He was glistening in a gargantuan size. Staring at the camper, they must have been frozen still from shock, judging by the lack of movement from their flashlight. I saw the most curious thing. The stars started dotting in and out at the edges of my vision. At first, I couldn't figure out what was going on.

Before I knew it, the light sucked up the camber faster than I could blink. One moment he was there. Another, it was a dot zipping through the sky into the eye that also seemed to be a mouth in the center. Suddenly, more stars flickered into view as the edges ripped. crippled away, and as the eye closed and left, I realized the stars didn't disappear. They were covered. They were covered by this strange, titanic umbrella of a creature. It flooded away like a jellyfish, content with this catch.

After a safe period of time, I turned the lights back on. After a safe period of time, I turned the lights back on, and went back to reading. These are only some highlights of the bizarre things I've seen on this job. I haven't even told you about the mouthless deer, the kidney repairman and many others. And as time passes, I only discover more strange phenomenon. Some, even my partner, hasn't seen. It's trial and error trying to figure out how to survive each new thing, and it's starting to make sense why so many people come and go in this job.

Now I know they don't quit, like I had originally thought. Still though, the job's a job, and I'm pretty good at this. So, I'll keep doing it as long as I can. For now, though, I hope you enjoyed some of my strange work experiences. I hope your job is more mundane than mine. The festival's season is aangroken, and that betekent, mudder. And so, came Kim to Amazon.com.com. On look to a water-dict tent, a comfortable luget, oh, so, knus,

And Lupeart print regalearser, meow. Now, Kim, not like Kim's more to make over the mudder. Just like the dancing modder man there. Oh, wait just even.

Have he now only mudder on? Oh yeah, only mudder. Drove blithe? Goar for. Find what you need to knowdhap.com.com. It had been wrecked my brain for months. What exactly did he keep in there? Why was he being so secretive?

Even when I was younger, my father was more than happy to share his work with me at the dinner table. I listened intently, fascinated by the projects his biotech lab was working on. I didn't understand most of the jargon, but that's probably why he was willing to reveal the hidden truths of the trade. He knew I wouldn't retain enough to be a liability. But then, there's the room. It was an extension of his bedroom, one that was built when we moved in, so he could do some of his work from home. Its secrets were locked behind a can I endure, and no matter how many times I asked, my father would not divulge what he described

as being classified research. Eventually, I stopped nagging him about it. That brings us to the other day. My father woke me at 6.30 a.m. sharp for my weekly blood draw. It was something he started last year as a precaution. Knowing the dangers he possibly brought home each day, he felt the need to check in and make sure I hadn't been infected with one of the many strong. of harmful bacteria he worked with. Up to that point, I was in tip-top shape, no issues since the day he started. This day, however, broke the streak.

My dad went to his secret room, ran his usual test to my blood, and raced back to see me, startled by an alarming discovery. My blood had been tainted by something, as he described it. He assured me there was nothing to worry about. He would just need to go. He would just need to go into work and run some more scans and get second opinions on the data. He promised to be back before dinner. With that, he rushed out the door, clearly rattled by his findings.

When dinner time rolled around and he wasn't home, I became a bit worried and called him. He answered and said there were more tests to be performed, but everything was looking good. He told me to cook one of the microwave meals in the freezer and not to wait up, as he would be late arriving home. I did as he instructed and got ready for bed. That's when an idea sprung to mind. I had attempted to open my father's secret door

on many occasions, to no avail. There were two dead bolts in place, as well as the run-of-the-mill padlock. Without the three separate keys needed to unlock it, it was a fruitless endeavour. Still, it was fun to try and imagine the wonders that would await me upon potentially opening it.

It was the fuel that sparked many of my daydreams over the years. As I so often did when he wasn't home, I ventured into his bedroom and walked over to the mysterious door. Upon closer inspection, I was surprised to see the deadbolt's undone. The only thing standing between me and my dad's classified research was the cheap lock hanging at the door's handle. He must have left in such haste that he didn't feel the need for redundancy. sure I wouldn't be prowling around his room while he was at the lab.

Curiosity was a far stronger feeling than he knew. Knowing this would be my only chance, I got to work. Using wirecutters and a thin metal coat hanger, I constructed a makeshift lock pick. Shaking it within the keyhole, however, was not rewarding. I only succeeded in twisting the pick into the pretzel-like form, rendering it useless. Disappointed, I knew what had to be.

done. It was time for plan B. I felt somewhat foolish as I hurried out into the darkness to our garden in the backyard. I picked up a sizable stone and headed back in. My father's trust in me was broken and he would soon know. My prize would have to be worth the damage because there was no way I could hide or explain away the busted lock. But the allure of whatever it was that lurked within this room had such a strong pull that I almost didn't care. The need to see its contents far away the fear of impending punishment. Once inside and back at the iron door, I looked down at the rock in my hand. I now had the power to solve the mystery, and I was lated.

Where the couple of vicious swings, the lock gave into the force and fell to the floor below. My heart was racing as I slowly pulled the door open and peered inside, astonished. It was truly a marvellous sight. inside my father's room was a plethora of tanks, wires and devices, all of which looked to be lab-issued in design. Certainly not anything I'd ever seen in a retail setting. Within the tanks, a blue neon liquid, with pockets of air bubbling to the surface, each with its own unique creature. Some were fused together, others had too many eyes or appendages. One in particular that caught my attention was a fox-like rodent with transparent fur and skin,

granted me a glimpse at the inner workings of his body. A close second favourite would have to be the fiery orange bird, the size of my palm with iridescent wings. All of these living marvels was suspended in animation, locked in a peaceful slumber behind their glass. The oddities in the room had far exceeded my expectations. My dad was creating new life, fathering a new era, not only in his field, but in Mother Nature.

These animals had the potential to deeply alter the face of the earth's wilderness. Perhaps they even had the power to benefit the world's ecosystem as a whole. I was so very proud of him. As I gazed at my father's work in awe, I noticed something. In the centre of the room was another tank, larger than the rest, covered by a completely opaque black sheet. This must have been his pride and joy, a creature that stood out in the way that others couldn't.

A magic he must have captured so brilliantly that he didn't even want to look at it himself for fear of being distracted, transfixed by its appearance. Excited, I was compelled to dislocate the sheet from the tank. In doing so, I was mortified. Behind the glass was a human, but only one portion of it. It was a head and partial torso.

cut off just below the chest. New cells are being replicated at a steady pace, slowly completing its shape. With its increasingly rapid rate of regeneration, it looked as though it might be in a walking state by the week's end. It being human didn't trouble me so much. It was the face, my face. This project of my dad's was a clone,

a living, breathing copy of my DNA. Unsettled, I couldn't help but stare. Even the minutest detail was accurate, down to the individual hairs floating above its scalp. I was no longer enamoured with my father's room. My stomach had turned to such a degree that I felt as though I might become sick. Then the strangest thing happened. My clone opened its eyes. On either side of its nose were black lipses,

the likes of which I had never seen on a face. before. After its eyelids receded, the mouth opened and I was accosted by a muffled but frightened shriek. Its incomplete form thrashed about wildly. I ran away as fast as I could, the sound of glass shattering behind me. I foolishly forgot to close the door, too preoccupied with my own survival. I looked back once while running and saw the horrifying sight of a dark-eyed version of me from the chest up, floating through the house to my position. I left as quickly as possible and sprinted into the trees towards my father's lab. Coming from the direction of my home, a terrifying symphony of unnatural screams filled the forest.

The facility where my father worked, as well as our home, was located along a dirt road in the woods. Moonlight soaked the path, grant me ample visibility to make my way there. My drag was met with the eerie soundscapes of the forest, including the occasional far-of-outburst from my copy, who I knew must have been gaining on me. My legs was an advantage, my pace never wavered, and I was able to reach the lab within the hour. Before venturing over to the entrance, I surveyed my surroundings. The unsavory sounds of midnight animals filled the air around me,

the outgris of walls, predatory birds and bears. These, however, were not what I was listening for. Once certain that my copy hadn't followed me, I used the speaker box to communicate with the voice. receptionist. Luckily, the response was immediate. How can we help you? Hi, this is Garrett's son.

I really need to see my dad. There was a brief pause before I received a reply. One moment. I waited patiently but nervous. As I stood there, my ears were met with a familiar, inhuman sound, reverberating off the trees at the edge of the clearing. It was closing in. What are your full name, date of birth and social security number?

I was beginning to panic, but was able to provide the information requested. Thank you, one moment. The horrific sound was no longer distant. It grew louder as I watched the grotesque form of my clone floating up the path coming towards me. My breathing became sporadic, as did my heart rate. You've been approved, you may enter at the sound of the buzzer. I quickly open the door. door and enter the building, slamming it shut behind me. My other self did his best

to charge of the closed door, but was unable to penetrate its thick, metal layers. I was finally safe. At the front desk, the receptionist offered a greeting, and pointed me in the direction of the next floor where my father's office was located. I thanked them and headed off upstairs. The second floor of the lab was a labyrinth. Red carpet and identical white doors weaving in and out of the brightly lit hallways. I tried turning the knob on the first floor, which belonged to room 371. It was locked.

Hello? Is anyone there? I'm looking for my father? A man opened the door for me and sat down at his desk. The room wasn't anything special, some workstations with a plant and waistpin in the corner. No sign of my father. I tried conversing with the man who let me in, but he ignored me completely. His strange demeanour and zombie-like state were unsettling.

Unable to get any answers out of him, I left. The door was swiftly shut behind me. The other rooms were exactly the same. I tried dozens of them. There was always a single worker inside, all of whom he ignored my presence. The closest I came to conversation was one of them, trembling, muttering to themselves that this wasn't worth a paycheck.

After that, I started knocking on doors altogether and simply wandered the hallways. It seemed there was a rule against speaking to outsiders. Just as I was about to go back down to the receptionist and ask for directions, I saw a door at the end of one of the halls, unlike the rest. It was white, but instead of a room number, there was a plaque affixed to its surface. Dr. Garrett Covenwood, head of operations. That was it? My dad's office.

I waltzed over and knocked on the door. Dad, it's me. I made a mistake. I really need to talk to you. There was no response. Fortunately, the door was unlocked. I gently turned the knob and pushed it open, revealing the inner sanctum of my father's workplace.

Another area I had always wanted to see, one that I constructed many times in my imagination. Unlike the secret room at home, his office was entirely normal. There was more red carpet and plain white walls. A single desk was perched in the corner, complete with a computer and piles of paperwork. On the opposite side were a filing cabinet and a few chairs.

That was it. It was as ordinary and mundane as it could possibly be. But I was not disappointed. My only goal was to tell my dad about the copy and hope he would know what to do. I scoured the room in hopes of finding a phone to call him with. There wasn't one. Instead, I discovered a strange red button protruding from the side of his desk.

In pressing it, something unexpected happened. Amazed as the far wall of my dad's office opened up and slid into the corner, governed by an unseen mechanical interface. Behind it was a long, brightly lit tunnel. Upon crossing the threshold, I noticed several tanks lined. up along the walls, similar to the ones back home. Inside them, more copies of me, suspended in bubbling liquid. I was once again mortified.

I couldn't fathom what my dad was doing, or why. I racked my brain for answers, but none came. Before I could contemplate the matter any further, I noticed something. There was an opening at the end of the tunnel, just before it was a final tank on the right wall numbered 2263. The glass was broken and his contents had been emptied. I raced over to the opening and found a room filled with computers and various electronic hardware. There, lying in the centre of the room, was my father, his lower half in a pool of blood.

I ran to his side and turned him over, tears wetting my face. He was still breathing. but barely. He managed to open his eyes and smiled upon seeing me. I thought I I thought I told you not to wait up for me.

I smiled but continued to cry. I'm so sorry. I broke into a room and let that thing out. I didn't know what to do. He coughed. My eyes scanned his body and identified a gash in his lower abdomen.

I apply pressure as best I could. It's okay There are some things I need to tell you Before I go Please listen carefully I wiped the tears away with my arm And nodded in agreement What I heard

Changed my whole life As you know Your mother died during childbirth I was never the same after that He coughed some more I applied more pressure Hoping that it would keep him alive What I never told you was that you died too.

The birth was premature and the complications that arose were too much for your fragile form. You never made it out of the operating room. I brought a look of shock and confusion, almost gasping as he spoke. I couldn't save your mother, but I thought I could save you, at least in some fashion. It was the only thing that kept me from losing my sanity after her husband. death. I extracted some stem cells from your body and used them here to make more of you. Clones. Clones? I asked. But why? I couldn't bear the thoughts of being without the two of you. Saving you was my only hope. Unfortunately, there were side effects that came with the methods we

used. He let out another loud cough. Blood dripped from his mouth. All of the clones gained unforeseen abilities. This affected their temperament and caused them to lash out. Each and every model went haywire within a day. You were our most successful attempt. You mean, I'm a clone? I could barely get the words out. Yes, but your vitals are the same as your predecessors. In addition to their vicious behavior, all of the previous versions of you become comatose within three months time. That's when we placed them back in their tanks where they remain in an eternal slumber. With the tests I ran today on the prototype at home, I thought I solved it. I tried the antidote on one of the clones here at the lab. It backfired. Blood seeped out from behind my hands.

No amount of pressure could stop it. I was able to wake it up, but it grew wilder than the rest. It had abilities the others didn't and used them to attack. How long have I been alive? How much time do I have left? He coughed some more. I wasn't sure he would be able to respond. You have one more week. You all have neural implants.

That's how I was able to give you your memories. I was saddened by the news, but it was strangely relieving to know the truth. My father looked up at me one last time. The blood was now pouring from his wound. I hope you can forgive me. I love you so much. His eyes went blank and his head fell in my arms.

He was gone. I sat there for a long time and cried over my father's lifeless body. Even if I was only three months old and equipped with fabricated memories, he was the only family I ever knew. Even if it wasn't a real relationship, I loved him. As I wept, footsteps echoed. in the distance. I turned to see the full-bodied clone that had broken free from the tunnel, standing at the edge of the room. His eyes were dark and his mouth open at an unnatural angle.

He led out a shriek that pierced my very soul and struck fear into my racing heart. I had to escape. But how? I stood to meet its horrified gaze. Terrified and without many options, I tried conversing with it. Hello? Can you see me with those eyes of yours? I'm just like you. We're family, in a sense. It tilted its head in curiosity. I cautiously walked towards it.

It's okay. I'm not here to hurt you. I was created, just as you were. We are the same, you and me. My heart was pounding hard as I closed the gap between us. See, there isn't anything to be frightened of. I'm your friend. Now, inches apart, I put my haphazard plan into motion. Without giving it a second thought, I pushed my clone aside with a great deal of force and rushed out of the tunnel and into my father's office. It screamed a sickening cry and ran for me.

Eventually, I no longer heard its feet touching the floor. I turned to see it, levitating in my direction, just like the unfinished prototype before it. I ran out of my dad's office and navigated the maze of halls with sheer look, successfully making it down the stairs into the first floor. I called out for the receptionist to help me. But she was not at a post. It seemed I was on my own. In a flash, I yanked over the front door and stumbled out into the cool night air.

There, on the path, waiting for me, was the prototype, still floating above the earth. I dashed to my right and took off into the trees, desperately hoping the shrubbery would hide me to some extent. It was no use. I looked back to see both clones honed in my position, both floged. lying into the forest. There was no way I could outrun them. Thinking quickly, I developed a theory. Their eyes were void of color. I thought of the exchange I had with a clone in my dad's office. It was a long shot, but I carefully took cover behind a tree, walking as softly as I could manage. The clones followed suit, but dispersed at my last position, seemingly unaware of my whereabouts.

They split up in an effort to find me. My theory was proven correct. They were blind, only able to react a sound. That's how they were able to navigate the forest in the dark. If I was quiet, I thought, I might be able to leave unnoticed. Putting as little weight as possible on each of my steps, I made my way to another tree, then another. I repeated this process,

until I accidentally stepped on a fallen branch, creating a loud crack that rang through the wood. woods. My cover was blown. Within a matter of seconds, the two clones caught up to me and ready themselves for an attack. I was out of breath and energy, unable to run anymore. There would be no escaping them now. This was it, my final moments, knowing I only had a week left anyway, I wasn't all that bothered. The only thing that was keeping me scared was the thought of what these foul creatures would unleash upon me. They had abilities unknown to the natural world.

Seeing the agony my father went through when he passed, who was safe to assume I was in for a great deal of anguish at the hands of my other selves. I closed my eyes for the impending torment. That, when a fleeting thought bubbled to the surface. If I was a clone, just like them, did I have powers too? I opened my eyes and just barely had time to dodge the red stream

of liquid that shut from the prototype's mouth. It met the tree at my side and incinerated the bark clean off. The other clone extended its arm and turned its hand in a circle of motion. The space around I seemed to bend, making my vision blur. I was inflicted by hallucinations, the likes of which I never want to experience again. Bound by this power, the visions at the time felt all too real. I was standing in a white room in a hospital. From what I could tell, doctors were scrambling to deliver a baby. I managed to catch a glimpse of the woman between the outline of their forms. It was my mother. I had only ever seen her in pictures, but I was certain it was her. This was the day I was born, or at least when the actual me was born.

Her pain cries ricocheted off the walls and burrowed into my ears. After a moment or two, the sound abruptly stopped and the doctors dispersed, forming a path to the table. I hesitantly stepped over to it and was greeted by a terrible sight. My mother was still. Her eyes glazed over. Something was moving within her abdomen. It began crawling its way out, blood and organ spilling over onto the floor. The face appeared above the mess.

It was one of the clones. His dark eyes cutting through my stare and shaking me to my core. It expelled a black smoke from its mouth and swalleled. around the room and filled my field of view. It then dissipated, transitioning to another scene. I was now outside of my home, peering in through the window. My father and I were having dinner inside, laughing together, like we had on many nights before. A tear trickled down my cheek as I watched.

Then, without warning, a version of me in the house turned to meet my gaze, its eyes consumed by a familiar darkness. It was the clone still toying with me. A wicked smile danced across his face as it stood up from the table and stepped over to my father. He was still laughing as if nothing had happened. All the while, it never turned away. Our eyes still locked in a sickening stare. I cried out, futilely.

The clone placed his hand on my father's head. I struck the glass to warn him, but it was no use. His smile grew wider. I shut my eyes not wishing to see what would come next. There was a loud crack, followed by the thud of a body meeting the floor. I reluctantly opened my eyes to see the clone right there at the window. I fell back in fear and hit my head on the unforgiving ground. The illusion was broken.

I found myself back in the forest, pinned to the ground by an unseen force. I had to act fast. I tried to tap into whatever a reservoir. bar of energy I possessed. The clones read to themselves. I saw the prototype open its mouth again. I would be a goner, if not, for what happened next. Almost out of my control, I broke free of my restraints,

releasing a wave of energy that propelled the coppers deeper into the woods. I stood in an upright position and nervously awaited the return, still unsure of how to use my newfound abilities. Their screams bounced across the tree line. They appeared before me. their faces contorted in pure anger. With them, an amada of wildlife, deadly creatures that didn't exist in any textbook.

A bear the size of the house with grass-like fur, wolves with six legs and three eyes, human-sized bipedal rabbits, and a slew of others I had no time to examine. They must have been failed experiments from the lab. They charted me with bloodlust in their eyes. Using what seemed like a collective energy, I was hurled upward into the air.

They gathered below and waited for me to fall to them. I helplessly flailed about or descending to what I thought would be my inevitable death. On my descent, something awoke within me. All at once I stopped falling and hung there in the night sky, facing the group below. Then, almost instinctively, I unfolded my arms and legs out in front of me. Something I can only describe as a loud metallic creak was expelled from my mouth, while a glow left my skin and washed over the forest.

I came too on the forest floor. The many lab experiments that once haunted me, including my clones, were scattered around, inanimate on the ground. There were colourful sparks dancing across the heads. The neural implants must have short-circuited in the blast. They wouldn't be chasing me again any time soon. As I strolled through the forest towards my home,

I thought of my father. No matter how round, wrong he was in what he did or how artificial my memories were, I still held him close to my heart. I would have to spend the last week of my life mourning his death and finding a way to come to terms with everything. I don't know if I'm fit for an afterlife, so I can't be sure I'll ever see you again. Just know that I do forgive you and miss you terribly. We will always be my father.