CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - 7 CHILLING Reddit r/nosleep HORROR Stories to welcome your nightmares

Episode Date: June 22, 2020

How was your weekend?CREEPYPASTA STORIES-►0:00 "I spent 12 days in the world's quietest room" Creepypasta►24:16 "There was a tapping at the window" Creepypasta►43:17 "I'm So Sorry..." Creepypasta►1:03:06 "I Like To Go On Late Night Runs. Last Night I Was Not Alone" Creepypasta►1:24:43 "I Traded a Pencil for an Item that Should Not Exist" Creepypasta►1:54:11 "My Neighbors Started Rotting Alive" Creepypasta►2:27:28 "I am staying with a family in Japan. Something very wrong is happening here" CreepypastaCreepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...CREEPY THUMBNAIL ART BY- Benny Kusnoto: ►https://www.artstation.com/artwork/KOOo►https://www.instagram.com/kusnoto.benn/SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPastaCREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only-

As I slowly regain consciousness, I felt a wave of dullness wash over my fractured mind. I couldn't move, much less remember what happened before I passed out. My eyes burned as I opened them. I'd spent too much time in the darkness to quickly adapt to the incessant flow of light. Hello? I tried to call out. But what emerged from my lips was merely a whisper. Once I could finally see, I took note of the light. of the room I'd awoken in. The walls, floor and ceiling were all covered in weird, sound

insulation foam. I tried to get to my feet, but my legs refused to cooperate. They weren't atrophied, but had weakened significantly. That fact, alongside my groggy mind, made me realize I must have been drugged. Is anyone there? I asked, a bit louder this time. No response. I tried to think back, clawing at my own memories, hoping for even the faintest scrap of information. I'd been heavily sedated, that much was clear, but why they'd placed me in a soundproof room, I didn't know. After what felt like an eternity, I finally managed to pull myself onto my feet.

Still feeling wobbly, I started to look for an exit. Alas, everything around me was perfectly sealed in that ridiculous foam. I collapsed back to the floor, still exhausted from sleep. That's when I truly realised how quiet it was. The room wasn't just keeping sound in, but it kept everything out as well. No people talking, no traffic, not even the sound of water pipes built into the walls. It was deafening. I held my breath and pressed my ear against the wall.

Nothing. All I could hear was my own heart beating and the sound of my intestines churning away at whatever I'd eaten the day before. What seemed almost fascinating at first quickly became my worst nightmare. Within the room, I was the only source of sound and, in the absence of any external stimulus, the silence got louder.

Please, let me out of here, I begged. Then I remembered something. Nothing more than a faint hint of a distant memory, a glance into time long since past. It was a meeting, a conversation I'd had with a man I couldn't recognize. Why are you here? The man asked. I'm sorry, sir? This isn't a good place, Ryan.

You're young, healthy. Shouldn't you be out there in the real world? Maybe find a wife? I had one. The brief memory was cut short by a paper floating through the air. While distracted, someone had delivered a note through the ceiling. Hey, what the hell is this? Let me out. I called, as I looked, but whatever hold the note had come from.

Without a response, I picked up the paper. It was oddly soft, producing almost no sound as my fingers brushed over it. On it was a single line of text. Day one. Listen. Listen to what, assholes, I called out. I started running around the room, desperately trying to pry the foam off the walls in search of a way out.

It was a futile task, and before long, I collapsed to the floor and exhaustion. The drugs still lingered in my body, and I couldn't think clearly enough to form a coherent escape plan. There was a significant difference between being deaf and living in absolute silence. Same goes for being blind versus being put into darkness. With functioning sensory organs, but no input, your mind takes it upon itself to come up with stimuli. Anything even remotely audible gets amplified a thousand times over. As my mind drifted away, another memory greeted my shattered brain. So, that's it? The man asked, you lost her, and now you're here.

He paused. What happened to her? I... Kilda, I responded with a trembling voice. Once I awoke, I was immediately assaulted by the sounds produced by my own internal organs. God damn it, shut up! I yelled at myself. There were no echoes within the room. Each word I spoke simply vanished into the insulation foam. I had to constantly keep talking to myself, just to keep my own bodily sounds at bay.

That's the first time I noticed how desperately I needed to use the bathroom. What if I need to take a pee then? I asked out loud. With that, one of the foam panes popped up from the ground. Beneath lay little more than a small foam-covered tunnel. Even my own stream of urine fell silently down into the darkness below. Once I finished relieving myself, another piece of paper fell from the ceiling. alongside it a stream of water appeared it hit the ground almost without reducing a sound

and was immediately absorbed by the foam nevertheless I dove under it parched from a day without liquid after the stream stopped I picked up the second piece of paper day two do you hear them yet it read

What the hell are you talking about I yelled to no one in particular. Still, no response. Not that I expected anything else. I spent most of day two investigating the room. With the drugs cleared from my system, I could finally think. Though despite being clear of mind, my memories remained hazy. There was no way out. No cracks in the horrendous facade. I was alone in an isolated room. The churning sounds of my intestine. the only thing to keep me company. I tried lying in different positions to muffle the sounds,

but it felt as if they just grew louder. Confused and trapped, I had another memory flashed by. It's an anodonic chamber, the quietest place in the entire world, a concrete block resting on a spring plate, isolated with soundproof foam to make sure not a single sound can get in nor out. while one exists in Orfield Laboratories

This one is special One by my own design The man said It must have been expensive What's the point? I asked To make people hear the truth On the third day I didn't wake until I heard the faint sound of water

hitting the foam I shut to my feet and started drinking From the short-lasting stream That time they even dropped down some weird loaf of bread. It was heavy and packed with strange bits of vegetable and seeds, some kind of neutral loaf. A note also dropped down alongside the food and water. Day 3. Accept it, it read.

It felt like pure ecstasy to hear the bread tear apart as I bit into it. Finally, an audible sound that didn't come from my own guts. unfortunately it was short-lived as soon as the bread had been eaten I was once again plunged into absolute silence I tried to keep myself preoccupied by talking but my voice could only keep going for so long before my throat dried out

I realised then that they were purposefully keeping my water supply limited to prevent exactly that I'd be too weak to fight back too weak to keep talking, but healthy enough to remain conscious. There I sat, listening to my own organ's work. I hated them. Disgusting, pieces of flesh that produced squishy, sickly sounds that never ceased.

Then I heard something new, a faint voice hidden beneath the sound of my beating heart. Please, just make it so. stop, I can't take it anymore, the voice said. It belonged to that of a woman, oddly familiar, yet so strange. Hey, where are you? I called out. It hurts so much. I don't deserve this. Why is this happening to me? There was no discernible location for the sound. It almost felt as if it were coming from nowhere and everywhere, all at once.

Come on, I need to know where you are if I'm going to help you. Ryan? It hurts so much. Please help me. She begged, before the voice vanished into thin air. Linda? Oh my God, I called out, praying her voice would return. It had been my wife. The voice I'd longed to hear for so long. I almost couldn't believe it. Through the immense silence I heard the love of my life, and she was suffering.

I cried as memories of her flowed back, how she had died. I'm so, so sorry, please forgive me, but she wasn't real. She had to be a figment of my imagination, or a hallucination brought on by the quiet room I'd been living in. As I sobbed into the phone floor, my mind wondered involuntarily back to my most recent, partially intact memory. How did she die? The man asked. Why are you asking me these questions? I already signed the damp papers for Project Orcus.

Because you might be able to talk to her again. The fourth day arrived and another piece of paper dropped from the ceiling. Day four, don't ignore them. They are as real as you and me, it read. I tore the letter apart, not out of anger, but to enjoy the barely audible sound it produced as I ripped it to pieces. I made sure they were only thin strips,

keeping it going for as long as possible. I savoured every moment of it before I was forced back into silence. No sooner had the silence returned before I started hearing whispers all around me. At first, there were just incomprehensible sounds, voices that didn't make any sense. But, among it all, I heard Linda call out for me. Ryan, stay away, it's not safe here, she begged. But she wasn't the only one.

There were dozens of us. of muffled whispers all around me. I tried to filter them out, focusing only on my wife's beautiful, haunting voice. But as time passed, they kept getting louder. Day five arrived. I was in the brink of total insanity.

The whispers had kept me awake for hours, only to vanish when the next paper quietly hit the ground. The voices will set you free. It was a temporary relief. After I torn the papers as shreds, the voices immediately returned. Each hour gone made them louder, and I could do nothing to block them out. Day six came and went in the blink of an eye.

The voices had fused together. The mess of sound that came from all around me just never ceased for a single second. Even as I shouted with my horse voice, they just kept coming. The only real thing I remember from the day is the note that fell from the ceiling. Keep quiet and let them guide you. Once I lost my voice completely,

I sat back and surrendered. I let the voices overrun my mind, still growing louder and louder and louder. That's when I realised they weren't whispers at all. They were screams. Each of the thousand voices that haunted me were cries for help. The people, wherever they came from, were in perpetual, unrelenting pain.

They were begging me for a way out, but I could do nothing save listen to their infinite suffering. In the midst of it all, I still heard the voice of my wife. I don't know why hers was louder or clearer than the others. I'd been clinging firmly to the idea that it was all in my head, but my sanity couldn't prevail for much longer. Soon, I'd have to give in. Let me get the hell out of here! I shouted as loud as I could with my hoarse voice.

My mind was deteriorating rapidly. Day eight was a haze of broken thoughts, and day nine didn't fare much better. I stopped reading the notes. The screams kept going. Among them, I could hear discernible words and phrases, but it wouldn't be until the tenth day, before I could finally understand them.

Help me, please, a child cried. You're not real, none of you are. But you can hear us. You're nothing with figments of my broken mind. You're all in my head. That doesn't mean we're not real. I can prove it. How?

The last note that fell from the ceiling. It's a list of names. I glanced over at the paper I still hadn't checked. As I picked one up, I realised he was right. Henry Jones, Peter Dawson, Alex Mores, David Lawrence. I dropped the paper and picked up another. The same list, same people, but no instructions. Who are they? I asked.

They're the people you're supposed to find, the child responded. I'm one of them. My name is Alex. What happened to you? But it was too late. His voice had faded away, replaced by the continuous screams of torture. I kept my eyes fixed on the paper, and, as I read the names one more time, another memory flashed by. Do you know what to do? the man asked.

Yes, sir. We need us a day to, and you'll undergo electroshock therapy. It's the only way you'll be susceptible to the environment. I understand. I responded, plainly. It's dangerous. I don't care. It also means you'll be extremely disoriented when you wake up.

You might have forgotten who I am, or even who you are. That's why it's of the utmost important. that you keep the mission in mind. Don't forget it. Let it be the only thing you remember. For the next day, I sat in a corner, barely drinking or eating. All I did was repeat the names on the list, hoping the mystery would somehow unravel itself.

Henry Jones, Peter Dawson. Who the hell are you guys? I mumbled to myself. Then, as if a switch had been flicked on, I suddenly understood The screams, the whispers, the voices Everything I'd heard for the past 11 days Made sense

A veil had been lifted from my mind And I could understand everything they'd been trying to tell me Ryan My wife called out for me Linda, you're still with me I responded with a hint of joy I don't have much time it's hard to keep focused, she said, clearly struggling.

What's happening to you? It's not important right now. I just need you to know that it wasn't your fault. Her words of comfort hardly massed the pain she was in. Yes, it was. I was... Before I could finish my sentence, I was interrupted by more, deafening screaming. It's time for you to leave, she said.

wait, are you okay? I mean, where are you? She paused. No, none of us are. I'm sorry, she said with a trembling voice. With that, she vanished for the last time and a final paper fell from the ceiling. Day 12.

Did you find them? I took a moment just to listen. There, among the pain, I heard them call out for me. They'd been a part of the same project as me, and had since died. Yet, they held the instructions I needed to get out of the room. There was something scattered around within the foam,

seven buttons that had to be pushed in a certain order. Based on the voices, I could easily open the door. Just the act of finding them was a feat on its own, so deducing the correct sequence surely meant I'd make contact with the other side of life. I stepped outside. For the first time in almost two weeks, I saw another human being.

Welcome back, Ryan. You made it, the man said. I didn't respond. I just walked past him and traversed the long hallways towards the end of the anodyonic chamber. Once outside, I just collapsed to the ground. and listened to all the insignificant sounds around me. Water flowing through pipes,

the silent hum of fluorescent light bulbs, footsteps shuffling around the facility. It was all equally heavenly. Once I gotten used to the real world, the man joined me. He was my boss. I could remember that much. But my memories still remained hazy

due to whatever treatment I'd been given before entering the chamber. "'Are you ready to talk?' he asked. I sat down by the table, listening to the chairs, scrape against the solid floor. "'The names,' he said. "'Do you remember them?' "'Henry Jones, Peter Dawson, Alex Moore, David Lawrence,'

I responded without skipping a beat. "'And you're aware of what happened to them?' I nodded. Tell me. Henry Jones, age 75, passed away from fourth stage lung cancer. He signed up for the Orcus Project about a month before his death. Payment was supposed to be sent to his family. Go on.

Peter Dawson, age 32, diagnosed with ALS, and immediately signed up for the Orcas Project. David Lawrence, age 56, passed away from heart failure. and Alex Moore He wasn't part of the project He was a child I still don't know what happened to him Neither do we The man said as he smiled at me

A smirk born from completion of self-intentions Good work And how are they doing now He continued I thought back to everything I'd heard through the screams I'd been given mostly bits and pieces

it took me a moment just to put it all together they're in pain they say the last moment of consciousness that they ever experienced is what they've been going through

for every moment since they're passing there's no safe haven on the other side no paradise only the everlasting pain they felt before death he scribbled down some notes onto a piece of paper. A smile

still occupied his face as if his theories had been confirmed. Thank you, Ryan. We at Artifex are you a great debt for your services. This marks the end of our partnership. As agreed, you'll be well provided for.

He said, as he gestured for a couple guards that take me away. They escorted me towards the exit. My boss gave me a final glance. enjoy the rest of your life Ryan he said I packed the few belongings I had

there were still multiple holes in my memory spanning over the past year but I suppose that's why they let me go I know nothing about the people in charge even my knowledge about the August project is scanty once I returned home I started to remember the life I'd left behind the rough memories of my dead white I signed up to get away from my failure to keep her safe, and when the man first told me I could talk to her again, I was ecstatic.

It was a mistake. Because even now that I'm a hundred miles away from the anodonic chamber, I still hear them screaming. They never stop. They're in so much pain. and once we die we'll all join them in their misery it was about one in the morning

when I got a phone call from my son he sighed loudly and picked up the landline my son was a bit of an asshole in a kid way he liked a tease and make fun of me but I understood I also understood his college antics as well it's not like I was the most well-behaved person

in my college "'Hello, Jack,' I said, as warmly as I possibly could. His line sounded busy. It seemed like he was in a crowded area or a party. It made sense. I heard that college parties lasted for days. "'Dad!' he shouted. I didn't expect him to be so loud, and I jumped at the volume of his voice.

"'Dad, where are you?' he yelled. He was slurring his words and didn't seem to read. realized that he was shouting. At home? I replied. My dog, bear, woke up at the sound of my voice. I heard the clicking over pause come down the hallway from my bedroom to the kitchen.

Jack, is there something wrong? Didn't you hear? My friend said there's a big thunderstorm coming tonight, he exclaimed. Dad, you literally only have a dog. What if you die? I smiled to myself. and least he cared about his family.

He was sweet in that sort of way. Are you drunk? I asked, laughing softly. Bear licked my hand as he trotted over to a water bowl. Yeah, kind of. He replied, seemingly embarrassed. Get one of your friends that drive you back to the dorms. It's late.

I said, yawning in the middle of my sentence. Huh? Jack asked. And, before I could. answer, he screamed a goodbye and hung up. I chuckled again, and bear looked at me. I sometimes wished I was a dog like her. She didn't have to deal with hammered stepchildren on the phone. I watched as she stretched and walked around before I saw her go to the sliding glass door. She whined a little bit, and I sighed. I was already awake, so it would be fine for her to romp around

of the backyard for a little bit. She was an energetic dog to begin with. I unlocked the door and slid it open and she immediately burst into the backyard. I had a pretty large backyard, mostly because I lived in a pretty secluded house. There were just bear fields for miles around here. Bear did a usual thing,

running around, sniffing the ground before she started barking, loudly. It wasn't. her playful barks, but a much more aggressive one. I tried to ignore it. Maybe she saw a squirrel or something. I heard a small clap of thunder, and bear barked even louder. Huh?

I said, with a small note of amusement. Jack was right. I probably slid there for another few seconds, when I felt a few water droplets land on my head. Here it was. It was. and Bear to just head inside. I called Bear back,

but she didn't move a muscle. Instead, she was sniffing something on the ground. Odd, I thought. Bear was a ferociously obedient dog. She knew what command I was giving, even before I gave it. I stepped off the deck and walked over to where she was, to possibly see what was distracting her so much.

Bear, what? I cut myself off, when I saw what bear was sniffing at. It was a baby bird, dead on the ground. I grimaced at the sight, but tugged a bear's collar to make a move away. I felt the tension in her body when I touched her, and a low growl was starting in the bottom of her throat. Bear, let's go, I said, louder than my usual voice.

She was not going to make me stay out here and get soaked in the rain. Bear finally looked at me, her ears perking up, and she seemed to have snapped out of a stupor. She ran over to the deck and bolted inside the house. I didn't want to pick up the bird, but I covered it with a nearby leaf, just in respect. I began to walk towards the house when I saw something fall right in front of me, two feet away. Curious and a bit nervous, I took a closer look and saw. that it was another bird. Dead.

I nudged it around with my shoe, but it didn't move. It was very dead. Did it die on impact? I couldn't tell, but I was creeped out. I picked at my pace and jogged to the deck, shutting the sliding glass door

when I got inside the house. Bear was waiting for me, as happy as day. Suddenly, a thud. something hit the sliding glass door. I glanced outside and saw the body of a bird on the outside of the door. Bear began to growl again, but I rubbed her head to quiet it down. I was wondering whether to open the door and take a look at the thing

when I heard another thud. Again, it was a bird. Was this the storm Jack was talking about? I waited for a few seconds, as still a stone, when a crow crashed into the door again. Blood was splattered at each spot the birds crashed into and the drops slowly flowed down the glass. I quickly dialed Jack's number.

I got his voicemail, so I called again. He wasn't picking up. I looked at the window again and I jumped when another animal crashed into the door. This one was huge. I looked at the ground where it fell. It was a hawk There were now cracks in the glass

Bear, come on I said gently trying to urge her to follow me I wanted to just stay in my bedroom till this passed or call animal control or something Bear followed me but her ears were set back she was frightened

I grabbed my phone book and headed to the bedroom bear in tow bang This one was louder than any bird I froze and put bear in the phone in my bedroom and quietly walked over to where the sound came from The front door I carefully glanced out the side window by the door

And to my horror I saw a deer The deer It was a female And it was smashing its head against the door I could only see the whites of its eyes as the deer pommeled its skull against my house. With the little light I had,

I saw blood trickling down its head. It didn't even seem to care that it was crushing its brain. It kept on pounding against my door, again and again. It didn't make a sound, or nothing that I heard of. After three minutes,

it began to slow down, and the pounding got quieter. I caught sight of a male deer coming up to the door. It was stumbled. and walking awkwardly, as if it didn't have control over its own body. The rain was a heavy downpour. The lightning struck at the exact moment to see the buck's eyes were slivers of white as well.

A crash came from the back sliding glass door. The house was small enough for me to see what happened quickly. A hawk. Glass stuck in its body, flopped on the kitchen floor, blood smearing with every movement. It seemed to have deadly interest in me. Even if it had shards of glass in its skull, it crawled to me. Its eyes rolled to the back of its head as it attempted to bite me.

I jumped back and it let out the most horrendous screech I ever heard in my life. It stopped moving after it screamed and blood began to pull quickly around its body. I glanced at the broken door and saw more birds flying towards it. calling that same blood-curdling shriek. My heart was pounding so loud that I couldn't hear anything else. I just ran to my bedroom and locked the door. Bear was hiding under the bed, pouring at her head as if she had an itch. I tried to reach for her, but she snarled at me, and I instinctively flinched.

She seemed to have trouble hearing, and she was shaking her head repeatedly. Bear wasn't like this. I didn't understand what was even happening. With all the animals, with bear, I just crawled over to the connected bathroom and locked myself inside. I feel awful now, abandoning my dog like that, but I don't know. She really didn't want to move,

and I couldn't get her out from under the bed. I just hid in the bathroom, the lights blaring against my eyes. I didn't know what the hell was happening But I heard more crashes and more things breaking in the house There was a small window in the bathroom And I decided to take a peek outside Birds were flying towards my house

Along with another line of animals From the darkness of my backyard Then something else caught my eye It was lagging behind the birds I couldn't make out exactly what it was till it got closer It was coming for the window I was looking out of

It was slow And its movements were sluggish and unstable I realized it had a humanoid appearance It was standing on two legs And seemed to have two arms The skin seemed to be pulled back And I could see the thing's gums as clear as day Its mouth was gaping open

and I could see a row of human-like teeth except they were all yellow, black and chipped. If I could make a guess, it seemed to be eight feet tall and as slim as a stick. It was heading for me, and I remembered that the lights in the bathroom were on. I let out a slew of curses and ran to switch off the bathroom light. I hid in the corner where it couldn't see me,

and I trembled with fear. Its footsteps were heavy I could feel the vibrations of its treads from the ground After a few seconds The steps stopped And I nearly let out a sigh of relief Before a tapping was heard at the window I didn't dare look up

But I heard heavy breathing And it scratched at the window Hello The voice was deep, gravely and terrifying. My breath caught in my throat. I'm... I want something...

To eat. It whined. It had the tone of an impatient child. I prayed to every God I knew that the thing would just leave me alone or that I was dreaming. Damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it. Is someone here?

It groaned, holding out its words with despair. I can't take it anymore. I'm starving. I curled myself up tighter into a ball. I could nearly feel the tears falling from my eyes. I just wanted this to be over. I just wanted this thing to leave me alone. I didn't make a single sound.

I didn't make a squeak. You're... You're so tasty. It clawed at the window. It didn't bother breaking the glass. I just heard its nails drag up and down, up and down. I covered my mouth with my hand so it couldn't hear my breathing. After ten seconds, I heard it fiddling with the frame of the window,

as if it was trying to find a lock to open it. Nobody else can have you. nobody else saw you only me the thing said his tone getting more excited as it continued to mess with the window a crack

it broke a piece of the frame he let out a groan it sounded like it was in total glee the thing started to knock on the glass the pounding growing louder and louder oh god the thing was going to find me I felt a few tears fall down my cheeks.

I still refused to make a single sound as the window began to seem like it was more and more likely to break. Your doors were so hard to open. This is better. Hopefully, I don't have to search your house for long. It still didn't know where I was. It still couldn't hear me. Suddenly, Bear started barking and scratch.

the outside of the bathroom door. I held in the will to scream at my dog to shut up, but it was too late. That thing heard it. Oh, it murmured. It sounded disappointed to hear Bear. Only a dog. The pounding and the scratching stopped from the window,

but Bear continued to bark. He's not home. Where is he? The thing said, in a slightly irritated tone. I can't. No one sees him. I can't see him. I didn't even take a breath in the next minute as the thing stayed there, motionless.

A shame. Footsteps began to recede and bear stopped barking. I couldn't hear anything except my heart pounding so unbelievable. loud. I stayed in that bathroom for the entire night, not moving from that corner. I eventually fell asleep a few hours later. When I woke up, I carefully unlocked the bathroom door and peeked outside. Bear was asleep on my bed, but she woke up when she saw me. Her tail wagged and she ran over to me to greet me. I haphazily petted her head for a second before stumbling to the bedroom door. and looking outside, I expected a mess, with all the crashing and clashing that I heard in the bathroom.

But everything was fine. Bear was following me, but raced to the glass doors, basking in the sunlight that shone through. It wasn't broken like I saw it. It looked the same as normal. There weren't any dead birds, there wasn't a hawk, and there weren't any cracks. Was everything a dream? There was no chaos, no nothing, till I retrieved my phone from the bedroom

and checked to see that Jack had called me at 5am. I decided to call him back. He picked up right away. Jack? I asked, leaning against the kitchen counter. Bear was impatiently waiting for breakfast, but I wanted to get through my call first. My nerves were still a little on the table.

Fritz, so I must have sounded panicked. Dad? Jack replied. He sounded groggy, as expected of a hangover this size. How are you doing? I asked, finally giving in to bears pleading eyes for some food. I reached over for the kibble that was in the cabinet, my hand shaking. I'm good. Are you okay? You're acting kind of weird. I'm fine. I reassure.

showed him. It's just a few animals decided to go crazy and miss up the house, I guess. I said. Yeah, that... Jack's voice was cut off. I stared at my phone, confused, even more so when I saw

that I had no signal. Bear started to growl again and wouldn't stop when I petted her or when I put her food down. She was just staring at the glass door. I tried to see what she was looking at and spotted a deer standing right in the middle of the yard not moving.

It was just staring at us and I couldn't see it that well but I did realise in a few seconds that the whites of its eyes were the only things visible. My fear got the best of me the memories of the previous night came rushing into my head and in an instant

I grabbed bear, my wallet, my keys and my phone. We headed to the car. And I just drove. I didn't care. I was driving for my life. I've been on the road for a while, and I'm mostly staying in a hotel till I learn what to do with the house.

I just know that I'm never stepping foot in there. Again, I've always been overly protective of my daughter, Charlotte. As soon as I laid my eyes upon her for the first time, I knew I would do anything and everything to keep us safe from harm. With that being said, I hope that you can understand why I'm doing this by the end of my story. Two days ago, on Wednesday evening, I sent my daughter out of the house. The tale of her black cat costume bounced as she ran down the driveway to meet her friends who waited patiently on the sidewalk.

Charlotte had just recently turned 13. She was a teenager now. My wife, Samantha, had always been a bit more open to letting our daughter live her own independent life. Sam, with Charlie's help, convinced me that she was ready to travel around the neighbourhood on her own for Halloween. I wanted to keep my daughter safe, yes,

but I'd always been conscious of how overbearing I could be. In an attempt to make up for my overprotective tendencies, I agreed with them this time. We lived in a great neighbourhood anyway. I had nothing to worry about. In our town last year, trick-or-treating occurred on the night before Halloween, October 30th. It was a last-minute decision by those who were in charge of that kind of thing. A massive rainstorm was coming through the night of Halloween. The storm would have ruined the holiday of these kids, so I'm glad that Charlie got to have that experience while she could. Sam and I sat on our front porch, waiting patiently for another child to make their shy journey

of our driveway. It looks like it's going to rain tonight after all, Samantha said, leaning forward and looking up at the sky. Charlie's been out for almost an hour now, I said, glancing at my watch. Even if it does rain, I imagine she won't be that disappointed. Sam scoffed, shrugging. It's like you don't even know your own daughter, she said, laughing. That girl can down candy like it's nothing.

I smiled, turning my attention to the end of the road. A small boy, no more than four years old, waddled around the corner, his body surrounded by a large, poking costume. His parents walked slowly behind him, jutting quietly as the sun moved down the road. God, look at him. him, Sam said, a pang of sadness in a voice. He's so adorable, Ryan. I smirked.

We could make a hell of a pie out of him. Sam ignored the joke, turning towards me. We should have another kid, Ryan. I sighed softly, sitting up in my chair. We'd had this conversation many times before, but several months had passed since we'd talked about it last. Don't you think it's a little late, that? I mean, if the gears are still running, she started shrugging. I don't see why we shouldn't.

It's just, Charlie's getting old, so fast. She'll be gone soon. You still have plenty of time, Sam, I said, rubbing my wife's arm slowly. She's not going to college tomorrow, you know? Sam hummed softly, looking out towards the driveway. The little boy was moving up our yard, his bucket of candy in hand. The boy began to walk slower than before as he noticed that he was being watched Wow, look at you Sam said, leaning forward in a chair as the boy approached

The parents smiled politely at my wife As the boy stood silent What do you say, Lucie? The mother said, looking down at her son Trick or treat The boy said, hardly getting the words out Well, we just gave out a lot Last trick, Sam said, repeating the same joke she'd used for most of the night so far.

So, I guess, we'll just have to give you a treat then. The little boy smiled, stepping towards me. I leaned forward, holding the large orange bowl of candy out towards him. His tiny hand reached into the bowl, taking out a single, fun-sized Snickers bar. The pumpkin took a step back, dropping the candy into his pail. Oh no, Sam said, laughing. you have to take more than that The boy looked back to me for a moment

before stepping forward once more reaching back into the bowl I couldn't help but smile as the boy began to rummage through the candy he clearly had his favourites footsteps sounded from up the street it sounded as if someone were running Sam looked up at the parents from a chair

starting a conversation as the boy continues to pick through our candy my eyes moved down the road as the footsteps grew nearer Charlotte was running down the street towards our house her pillowcase in hand I was on my feet within the next second the boy stayed up at me in confusion as I set the bowl up on the table next to me Charlie what's wrong I called out

ignoring the staring eyes of the parents to my left my daughter ran up our yard clearly in distress the eye makeup that she and her mother had worked on just a few hours earlier was now running down her cheeks, black tears staining her pale skin. Charlie ran up to me, throwing her arms around my waist. Sam was now standing, confusion in her eyes. Charlie? I repeated, rubbing my daughter's back.

What happened? Charlie took a step back, rubbing her eyes. I... I... I got scared. I couldn't help, but become slowly angry. Why? Was someone messing with you?

No, Dad, she said, shaking her head. I just... I don't know. Sam stepped forward, standing beside me. You can talk to us, honey. What happened? Charlie sighed, looking nervously at the family on our driveway, as they began to walk away.

There was a man. at one of the houses. Okay, what did he do to you? I asked, just about ready to go inside and grab my gun. Nothing, she said, wiping away tears once more. He just... He told us a scary story, that's all. Sam nodded, sighing softly.

Well, you're safe now, Charlie. It's just a story. Who was it? I asked, nodding slowly. Sam placed a hand on my arm, attempting to calm me down. It was that old guy, she said, shrugging.

The one who moved in like a week ago. I clenched my teeth. All right, well, I'm going to go talk to him. Charlie began to churn a lip as Sam shook ahead. It's fine, Ryan. Don't bother. It's Halloween. You're supposed to tell scary.

stories, she said, looking towards our daughter. And it's just fine that you got scared, honey. Scary stories aren't for everyone. No, I'm going, I said, shaking my head. Who makes a little girl cry like that? Dad, it's fine, Charlie said, sighing. It was just a stupid story. I'm okay.

Don't worry, Charlie, I said. I just want to talk to him, that's all. Charlie rolled her eyes, heading towards the front door. Well, I'm not going back there, she said, pushing open the door. That guy is creepy. I remained outside with Sam for a moment, rubbing my chin. Ryan, you don't have to bother with doing this, Sam said, sighing. You saw her Sam, I said, pointing towards the door.

That creep should have known what was too far, before she ever got to that point. Sam nodded slowly, seemingly accepting that I wasn't going to give in. Well, I'm coming with you then. I grunted, already beginning to walk out towards the street. I'd already made up my mind anyway. I knew exactly which house Charlie had been talking about. The man had only moved in five days ago. I knocked on the front door of the man's house, glancing over my shoulder at Sam.

My wife looked slightly nervous. I didn't blame her. I usually kept my temper under control to give myself some credit, but some people just rubbed me the wrong way. There wasn't much I could do about that. The door creaked slowly open, an older man stood in the doorway,

his scalp almost completely bold. His skin was extremely wrinkled and looked as if it were dry. The man had certainly not aged well. You seem a bit of a bit of a little. old to be looking for candy? The old man smiled, chuckling. I ignored his joke. Hey, did my daughter come through here earlier? The man browned. I'm afraid I don't know your daughter, sir. I nodded. She wore a cat costume. You told her a story apparently, I said, narrowing my eyes. She just came

home to me crying. The old man sighed, turning away briefly. "'Ah, yes,' he said, nodding. "'She did come by.' "'What's wrong with you?' I asked, crossing my arms. "'Why did you think it's okay to make a girl cry like that?' Sam placed the hand on my arm as the old man stared into my eyes. "'I didn't know that the girl would cry. I'm truly sorry.'

"'What did you tell her anyway?' I asked, moving Sam's hand gently away. I was calm. The man laughed softly before sighing. Oh, I imagine you wouldn't want to hear the story. No, you're going to tell me, I said, taking a step forward. I was calm. The man stared at me for a moment before speaking.

I told your girl a story that my family has been telling for years, centuries even. I nodded, leaning again. the wall. Well, get on with it then. The man nodded, clearing his throat. In a small town, out in the middle of the country, a few hundred years ago, there lived a young boy and his friend. The boy and his friend liked to play out in the woods outside of the town, fighting one another with sticks or swimming in the river. I listened intently, feeling Sam as she stepped up beside me.

The man continued. One day, the two of them heard a rattling somewhere out in the woods. The friend turned to the boy and said, I think I just heard a deer. The boy turned to his friend and said, No, I think it was a dog. I turned to Sam, frowning. You sure this is the story you told my daughter?

The old man ignored my question. The boy and his friend began to argue, eventually deciding that they would move deeper into the woods in an attempt to find the source of the noise. Sam smirked, seemingly amused by the man's story. What did they find then? Deep in the woods, the boy and his friend found a man. He said, a disturbing smile crossing his face. He was quite unlike any man the two had ever seen before.

He stood nearly eight feet tall and wore dark clothing that covered every inch of his skin. A hood shielded his head from view. No matter how hard the boys looked, no matter how close they moved, they could not make out the man's face. I hate to admit it, but the man's story was beginning to make me feel uneasy.

Why were you saying this to my daughter? The man is good, my friend. The old man said, smiling, Let me finish my story, please. I nodded, sighing loudly. The old man spoke. The man introduced himself to the boys and explained his situation.

The man is tall, he needs to eat. Once a day, the man picks a name from his list and travels to their home. When his meal is not looking, he sneaks into their home and hides under their bed. When the meal falls asleep, the man makes a small cut in the meal's skin and sucks the blood from their body. I frowned, disgusted.

What the hell is wrong with you? The man continues to smile. You don't like the story? You're sick, I said, shaking my head. In what world is that a good story to tell a child? "'Hours,' he said. "'His eyes unblinking. "'Don't you want to know how he makes his list?'

Sam groaned, unsettled. "'Ryan, let's just go home, please.' "'The man adds those who hear his name to his list,' "'the old man said, his grin growing even wider. "'No, Sam,' I said, looking back at my wife, "'this guy needs to understand that what he is doing is wrong. Would you like to hear his name?

The old man asked. His eyes locked under the back of my head. I turned back to the man. My hand held up. Enough with your story. They call him the blood letter. The old man said, beginning to laugh. The man was starting to tick me off.

What the hell is funny to you? I asked, taking another step forward. Is making little girl cry funny to you? The old man did not respond. His laughing cut off by a pain fit of coughing. Without another word,

I reared back my fist and punched a man. Sam gasped behind me as the old man fell to the floor. The man grunted in shock as he hit the ground before falling back into a fit of laughter. I shook my hand slowly,

groaning. That's... go, Sam. I said, avoiding my wife's eyes as we walked down the man's driveway. Charlie was watching TV in the living room when we got home. The three of us ate a late dinner and headed to bed. Charlie still at school the following day after all. I kissed my wife good night and that was that. I woke up the next day, Halloween morning, to find Sam next to me. dead Her neck had been slashed open

No blood Stay in the bed around her corpse Her skin was paler than it used to be My poor, beautiful Sam The first thing I did was check on Charlie She was and is okay Thank God The police found the old man's house to be empty

There are apparently no records Of anyone having lived there within the past year the smart ones among you may have already noticed what I have done. If so, I'm so sorry that it had to be this way. If you still have yet to realize what I've done, I'll spell it out for you. You've now heard the old man's story. You now know the man's name.

Maybe I'm just losing my mind. Perhaps that ass all I talked to on Wednesday was the one who killed my wife. but I can't stop thinking about his story Do I want you to die? No, of course not No, I want Charlie to live And it seems that the more people that know of the man's story The better her chances are of surviving

You are now on the man's list of names So am I, so is my daughter And so is the name of every other user who's heard this story. So, now what? How do you increase your chance of survival? Tell the man's story to those you know, to those you hate, to those you love,

to those you don't know. I couldn't give a damn, really. I just want Charlie to be okay. I hope you can forgive me. It isn't personal, of course. I don't know your stories. I don't care about who you are, or what you've done.

To me, you're just a name. A name that lowers my daughter's chances of being murdered by this blood letter. I'm taking Charlie far away from here. I'm not going to mention where. I'm beginning to fear that there is no point in trying to run. It's only a matter of time before the blood letter reaches Charlie's name. I don't even know how this damn list works. For all I know, Charlie and I are next.

Maybe I've killed you all for nothing. Who knows, really? Please, share this story to as many people as you can, or as many people as you want to. Hell, I don't even mean this YouTube post specifically. Tell them the story. Tell them his name. If I'm lucky, the blood letters list will grow.

If I'm lucky, maybe I can put off Charlie's death by a few years. I've already told almost a hundred people this story. in person. That's potentially another hundred days of life for my daughter. That is, of course, unless the blood letter picks randomly. I hope I've made you understand why I've done this to you. I hope you will join me in spreading his story. I'm so, so sorry. Chronic insomnia has its advantages, believe it or not.

Sure, I haven't slipped through the night since I've been. was a teenager. Yes, I sometimes start to hallucinate after being awake for more than 72 hours, but on the plus side, when I go to the gym at 4 a.m., at least I don't have to worry about anyone watching me. I've been doing this for a couple years now. Work out at the witching hour, my friends call it. It's oddly soothing to be productive at a time when most people are in deep sleep. It distracts me from my inescapable feelings of exhaustion And it's a good chance to clear my head This year I decided to try something new

And add some jogging to my workout regimen I've always been afraid to run in public Because I'm afraid of the general public Staring and my scrawny chicken legs in shorts But I figure that at 3 in the morning I'm not liable to run into anyone in any position to judge plus I live in a sleepy little suburb So I figure the streets are safe at all hours of the night

Safe sleepy That's what I thought at least Until this week Until something happened On my Monday jog At 3.30 in the morning That I haven't been able to stop thinking about Did I mention that I haven't slept a wink since then

Or that I've been too scared to leave the house I start out pretty slow on my Monday runs, just going a mile or two around the nearby neighbourhoods. I've gotten into a pretty good routine at this point and can pretty much run the route with my eyes closed. That can be a useful skill for an insomniac because I'm liable to fall into a stupor mid-run and go several blocks without even realising it.

My body has gotten pretty good at jumping into autopilot when my mind starts to fail it. On Monday though I was feeling very alert That weekend I had actually gotten several hours of quality sleep I think I might have even dreamed

And I felt like I was looking around My neighbourhood with a newfound appreciation The towering ancient coral trees With trunks like rhinoceros's skin The tidy little lawns in front of quiet houses They're darkened windows Protecting slumbering families inside Most of all, I enjoyed the silence that followed through the empty streets, as if I was the only person in the whole world.

I closed my eyes and breathed in the smell of flowers and dewy grass. I heard some crickets chirp. Total bliss. My peace was shattered as soon as I opened my eyes and saw a figure in the distance, several blocks ahead, walking towards me. Walking isn't quite the right word though He had a funny way of moving pushing one leg forward and then dragging the other behind him Stepping sideways then almost falling over himself

Steadying himself against trees and telephone poles No two paces were the same Like each limb had a mind of its own Or like they were being controlled by two bickering puppeteers Each one trying to trip him in a different direction Somehow, though, no matter how clumsily, he moved ahead. I shivered and slowed my pace a bit. It's not unheard of for me to encounter someone else on these late-night runs, but it is pretty rare.

Occasionally, I see a grouchy, half-a-sleep dad in his pajamas, taking his dog out for a late-night pee. Once or twice, I've seen other runners with the same nocturnal habits. we give each other a nod of mutual recognition then go our separate ways for the most part though I am alone on the streets and that's the way I like it I was getting a bad feeling about this guy

something about the irregular shambling way he was moving as well as the alarming pace at which he was approaching me it gave me the creeps instinctively I crossed to the other side of the street there was a side street

street one block down the street and I hung a right down it. I felt bad if I offended the guy, but my sleep deprived three in the morning brain wasn't ready to take any chances. After a few minutes I was back in my groove falling into the rhythm of a steady pace. If that had been the end of it, I'm sure I would have never even thought of the man again. I probably would have laughed at myself in the morning for being so skittish. But that wasn't the end. Far from it. Less than ten minutes later, I slowed to a walk in order to take a water break.

I happened to glance behind me, and I nearly spat out a mouthful. There he was again. The same man, walking in the same, frightening shamble, less than two blocks behind me. I swallowed my water too quickly. and almost choked on it. I started running again right away, this time at a faster, less responsible pace. My mind was a flurry of rationalizations.

It's not so weird to see the same guy twice, I insisted. It doesn't mean his following you. He probably just lives around here. It would be more suspicious to see a second person out at this hour. Stop being so paranoid. So what if he walks with a limp? That's not his fault. You're being a dick.

All of this sounded perfectly reasonable to me, but none of it was convincing. It wasn't just that he walked kind of funny, I couldn't explain it. Every step he took seemed like it was the first one he had ever taken. Every flail of his limbs looked like a different approximation of what human movement was supposed to be, but each one was wrong in a different, horrible way. I ran even faster. For the first time since I started these night-time jogs, I felt an acute sense of terror. Why the hell did I go out running at this god-forsaken hour?

Nobody knew where I was. If anything happened to me, there was no one around to see. The thought of meeting some unspeakable fate on my own neighbourhood streets turned my blood to ice. I broke into an all-out sprint, determined to head straight home and never leave my house again. I bolted head several blocks and rounded another corner My heart was beating like a drum But I barely noticed I was running on pure adrenaline

Again the rational corner of my mind fought for control Are you really going to let one light-night walker scare you off your own streets To which the other part of my brain The louder part screamed back a resounding reply Hell yes I am I looked behind me once more and saw the figure shuffling around the corner now on the same block as me

damn it I was running as fast as I ever had how is it possible he was gaining on me I found another well of energy somewhere deep inside my chest I ignored the screams of pain from my lungs and sprinted three blocks in ten seconds I made one more right turn, remembering something I've been told in a safety class.

If you think someone is following you, make three right turns. If they're still behind you, that means they're going in a circle. If that happens, run. As I made the last turn, I could hear him just a few yards behind me. Before he even rounded the corner, without even thinking, I dove behind a nearby hedge. As I made the last turn, I could hear him just a few yards behind me. Before he could round the corner, without even thinking, I dove behind a nearby hedge. There I lay on a stranger's front lawn, my face buried in their hedges, my whole body covered in thorns.

My heart was beating so loud that I saw the whole neighbourhood could hear it. I didn't have much of a plan beyond hiding, I have to admit. If the man was really following me, it wouldn't take him long to find me here. I've always wondered if I was a fight or fight kind of guy, I thought to myself. I guess now I know the answer. Right at that moment, my pursuer finally caught up. From my angle on the ground, I couldn't see anything but a small patch of sidewalk directly in front of me. But the sound of uneven footsteps stopped as soon as they ran in the corner.

Evidently, he was confused not to see me. He made a strange, nasally sound, something halfway between a snort and a congested wine. He had repeated, and he started to move again more slowly. Every few steps he paused, and I heard the sound again. With horror, I realised what the sound was. He was trying to sniff me out. My skin crawled.

He got closer. And then, he was upon me, standing directly in front of me on the sidewalk, nothing but a row of hedges between us. I didn't dare breathe, though I was sure he could hear my heartbeat loud and clear. There was no way out of this now. He slowly approached the hedges, once again making that hideous, flemy slurping noise. I noticed that he was. not wearing any shoes. All I could see were his feet and ankles, bare, pudgy, and totally

hairless. They were like rolls of fat. I could barely make out his toes. He did not so much walk on them and slide, like someone pushing yellow across a countertop. I heard a rustling mere inches above my head. He was feeling the top of the hedges with his fingers now, groping around for me. Could he not see me by the light of the lamp post? Could he not hear my thunderous heartbeat or smell the sweat clamming my hands? Apparently not,

as he felt his fingers all through the hedge, just barely missing my face. I got the sense that he still wasn't sure where I was. I silently prayed that he would just move on. He let out a raspy,

frustrated howl, a horrible sound like someone's screaming. and giggling at the same time. But it also seemed to indicate, mercifully, that he was giving up. He scraped his feet across the sidewalk and moved out of my line of sight. I let out an undetectable sigh of relief,

not ready to celebrate until he was gone around the next block. What the hell do you think you're doing? I gasped, falling backwards out of the hedges, rolling across the lawn, chanting in my head. shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up right now. They didn't get my message. The voice came again, louder, more insistent.

Hey, asshole, I'm talking to you. Get the hell off my lawn. I've already called the cops. I groaned, then looked up at the front door of the house I had made my refuge. A tired, middle-aged woman with a hair and a ponytail, wearing a fluffy pink bathrobe, was standing in the doorway, holding a shotgun. My mouth dried up. I've always hated guns.

Listen, lady, I said, as quietly as I could, putting my hands in the air. I can explain everything, but you just need to quiet your voice and get back in your house right now. I looked around frantically, hoping to God that the man had already left the neighbourhood. The lady laughed at me. She reached into a bathroom pocket, pulled out of a gun. shotgun shells and loaded them into the gun like a pro. Jesus, I thought. So much for peaceful suburbia.

I'm going to give you to the count of three, she said, as she aimed straight for my heart. And if you're not halfway to Tuscaloosa, I'm going to make Swiss cheese out of you. I roasted my feet slowly, hands still in the air. Look, I told you, I can explain. One?

She said, taking a few steps forward into the yard. In the distance, I heard a horrible sound. The rapid approach of unsteady feet on pavement. Two, she said, holding the gun up to fire. For the love of God, listen to me! I yelled at her, we're in danger. The footsteps were unmistakable now, coming directly behind me. But I didn't dare look away from the gun pointed right between my eyes. Three, the lady smiled, tightening a finger around the trigger. And then she stopped. Her smile fell.

Her mouth slowly opened into a perfect, shocked circle. Behind my head, I could feel something rushing towards me through the night. And I ducked, dove onto the grass and somersaulted backwards. She was not so lucky. The man's trajectory took him straight through the air and on top of her. knocking her to the ground. The shotgun clattered to the ground, unfired and impotent.

She screamed. I stepped back, unable to take my eyes from what was happening. Did I say he jumped on top of her? I'm sorry, that's not quite right. Maybe into her works better. His pale, pink body,

totally naked, totally smooth, like an unformed lump of fleshy clay, flowed around it like a pure liquid. He poured into her mouth, her eyes, through her paws. She was only able to scream for a few seconds before he had filled her up completely. I shuddered to my bones, but still I could not move.

It was not possible what I was seeing. It was not real. It couldn't be. It made no logical sense. And yet, there it was. This was the thing that had been following me It's every step a nightmarish miracle of conscious meat Its moist flesh rippling and stretching before my eyes

On the yard in front of me As it absorbed and penetrated this unsuspecting trigger-happy suburbanite It seemed to lose its shape entirely It was pure, mindless mould Skin without bones Hunger without end It was making quick work of the woman with a ponytail. She had been totally covered by the pale form now,

reduced to a lump within some larger flesh, and, as it did its work on her, it repeated with an encore of sounds I had heard it make earlier. A wet slurp, bones crunching, skin stretching, something dying, and something else being born. At last it finished. The wet, hideous noise died down to a low rumble Like a minor bout of indigestion

Idiot that I was I was still there It turned Don't ask me how I could tell which part was the face But it looked at me In the midst of its swirling, bubbling body Eyes and ears and fingers began to float around Finding their proper place

A long, fleshy appendage crept through the grass towards my feet like a snake The end of it Already beginning to resemble a human hand That was it I broke out on my stupor in a snap Feeling the night air on my face

I am not dying tonight I shouted inside my head I turned around slam my feet against the pavement And let my body take over the rest I don't remember getting home I don't remember outrunning the thing. I don't remember anything. I guess my survival instincts took over completely, because the

next thing I knew, I was lying on my bed, rocking back and forth and crying softly. Trying as hard as I could to forget the ways her eyes had looked as they were taken from her, the way her arms and legs had wriggled and turned to mush before they were slurped up into the hole. But no sleep came. That was four days ago. As I told you, I haven't slept or left the house since. I'm not taking any calls, not answering any emails. I don't care if my friends think I'm dead or if I've been fired from my job. Once you enter fight or flight mode I found, all of that becomes quite trivial. I entered it on Monday morning and haven't come back since. I don't know what my life. I don't know what my my long-term plan is,

I'm starting to starve in here, and I'm starting to see things too, hallucinations from malnourishment and lack of sleep, monsters walking through my kitchen in the dead of night, horrible, nightmarish visions, but ones that are familiar to me. I've been there before. I know that all those monsters are just in my head.

It's the things outside my house that scare me more, because although I haven't left since Monday I have a big picture window in my bedroom that looks out over the neighbourhood I stare out of it all night long looking over the quiet peaceful street that I've always been so proud to call my home

now everything looks different my neighbours once so friendly are hiding something beneath their empty smiles I look at the neatly trimmed lawns, and all I can think are of the worms crawling underneath them. I look at the shuttered windows across the street and wonder,

What's hiding inside of you? And, once a night, without fail, Something else comes through the neighbourhood, stands on the edge of each lawn, Sniffs the air, And reaches its obscene tendrils across the grass. It is no eyes, but I know he can see me.

no mouth but I know it's hungry. Its shape is a little different now, that is, when it's trying to look human, instead of a single man walking alone at night. It is two. He has been joined by the woman with a ponytail, but they can't fool me. She is always holding his hand,

the point where their fingers meet fuse together. One bow, becomes two, two becomes one. Their faces are blank, and I know that there are no eyes behind them, no bones or innards or cavities. It is flesh all the way through. Yet still, I swear it is like they can see me. They stand at my lawn each night, impeded by something that would not let them cross my door, waiting patiently for me to join them, for the two.

bodies to become three, and for three to become one. How long do you expect to keep this up? They seem to ask me, not unkindly. I wish I knew the answer to that question. I wish I could say, forever, and tell them to get lost. But I'm not so sure. I've been so afraid for so long. I can see them outside my window, standing closer than

before, a little closer each night, and I can feel the weight of my eyelids pulling down, coaxing me patiently, into a long, deep sleep. When I was growing up, I used to be really active in my local church youth group. The one at our church was mostly run by guys and girls in their early twenties, and placed more of an emphasis on bonding and having fun than anything else. Sure, there was still talk of scripture and a focus on God, but you can only retain a teenager's attention for so long with that kind of talk. The youth group put on all kinds of events,

like pulling all nighters at the church, attending concerts, geocaching, among countless others, and was far and away a better option than the regular church service, at least for me. One event, which eventually became reoccurring due to its popularity, was something we called the trade game. The youth group would divide up into teams of five or six kids and one counsellor. Each team would be given a single number two pencil and dispatched into the local neighbourhood. The object of the game was simple. Try and acquire the coolest item possible using only the pencil as trade collateral.

Each team would go door to door to attempt and trade the pencil for an item of equal or greater value with a homeowner. Rinse and repeat for the allotted one hour time. time frame. It was a simple premise, and on the surface, you may not expect it to yield anything too valuable, but you'd be wrong. Previous escapades of this game had yielded things like couches, go-karts, a slushy machine, a giant gumball dispenser, a 54-inch box television, among many others. Most infamously was the occasion where a guy was on the brink of trading one team his Hummer

age two for a DVD player. Clearly the guy was loaded but unfortunately for the team the man's wife stepped in and shut down the transaction the game was meant to be a simple exercise in negotiation and interaction with the local community but more than anything it was meant to be fun and engaging for the players

at the end of the game the youth group would gather and vote on which team acquire the coolest item the winning team would be given candy and the items collected would be used to decorate the youth group classroom, so everyone could enjoy them. That 54-inch TV

sat in the lounge with a Nintendo 64 surrounded by beanbag chairs and lazy boy chairs, all of which had been acquired from the game at some point in time. I had never been on the winning team, but I remember the night that changed.

We split into groups as per the norm, and once again set off into the neighbourhood to begin. Not long after we arrived at the first house, and one of the kids knocked on the door. A middle-aged man answered soon after, and one of the kids explained the rules of the game to him. The man chuckled. Oh yes, I've seen you guys come round before.

What do you got to trade this time? He asked. We showed him the pencil, and he appeared to ponder it a moment. He then smiled and excused himself back into his home before returning with something in hand. How about this? he asked, holding out a toaster in his hand. We jumped at the opportunity and accepted his offer right away. We thanked him, took the toaster and handed him the pencil. The team was buzzing as we knew we were off to a great start,

but we hadn't seen anything yet. We repeated that same process probably a dozen times after that. We traded that toaster for a blender, the blender for a lender, for a leatherman multi-tool, the leatherman for a lawnmower, and the lawnmower for a holy grail, a brand new original Xbox. This was the early 2000s, and our team of teenage boys thought that an Xbox was pretty much the coolest item we could have possibly hoped for. Time was winding down by that point, and we were satisfied with our new treasure, but decided to hit one more house before returning to the church.

I knocked on the old wooden door and our team waited in silence A few moments later and the woman answered the door She was an elderly lady Mid-70s if I had to guess and greeted us with a warm smile We greeted her and explained the rules of the game to her

I then showed her the Xbox and asked whether she wanted to participate and offer a trade The woman pondered a moment and smiled warmly. I have just one thing for you, one moment. She shut the door and returned inside. We waited for a minute or two before the door opened once more.

The old woman then stepped onto the porch and we eagerly awaited what she had to offer. How about this? She opened her wrinkled hand to reveal a single silver key. It looked unusual, possessing no teeth marks of any kind. It just looked like a rough key before a keymaker cut it into the right dimensions. There was a symbol on the hilt, but I didn't recognise it. What's this for?

One of the kids asked. The woman smiled. Everything. Our team exchanged a few perturbed glances. So, you're offering just the key to trade? I asked, try my best not to come off as rude. The woman nodded. Yes, my child, but this isn't just an ordinary key.

The key can be used on anything. We just stared at her a moment. Anything? I asked. She nodded again, possessing an odd gleam in her eye. Any door, any lock. Anything that needs a key can be opened or activated with this key. I glanced at the team, but they didn't appear convinced.

I wondered whether the woman was right in the head. Not to be mean or anything, but her claim was quite extravagant. I'm no key expert, and certainly wasn't at the time, but something like that is impossible, right? A master key can't exist. The team was reluctant to part with our treasured Xbox, and in the end we thank the woman for her time and politely declined her proposal. The woman just smiled, in an odd look, which is hard to describe.

It was almost like someone bidding farewell to a loved one. The team turned to leave and I turned to follow when the woman gently grabbed my arm. I looked back to her, now somewhat uncomfortable. I want you to take it, she said. I glanced at the key in her other hand once more. Uh, thanks, but that's okay, I replied, trying to slither away. Her grip bolstered. I don't want your gaming do-hicky.

Goodness sakes, I wouldn't know what to do with it anyway. But I want you to have this. She offered the key again. Uh, that's not really how the game works. I'd have to trade you something. The woman then released a grip and thought a moment. By this time, our counsellor had paused on the street, wondering whether something was amiss.

Well, how about this? I don't get many visitors nowadays, so let's just say that you traded your time for this key. There was a subtle aura of sorrow in her eyes, and I didn't know why. I also didn't know why she was so insistent on me having the key either. after all, if it did what she claimed, then why did she want to give it up so badly? It may have been a loophole in the game, but I decided to accept her offer.

She placed the key in the palm of my hand. It felt unusually cold, like it had just been taken out of the freezer. Oh, and one more thing, the woman called from behind me, as I was leaving, now bearing a stoic demeanour. don't ever use it on something you haven't opened before the woman and I maintained eye contact for a moment but in my mind I was rolling I thought for sure that she was some eccentric woman and didn't place much weight on what she said

I agreed to a warning thanked her again and rejoined the rest of my team down the block I put the odd key in my pocket and pretty much forgot about it after that The team was on cloud nine And after all the teams had gathered in the main room We all showed off the treasures we had acquired The other teams had some good stuff

But after the votes had been tallied It was clear that our team's Xbox was the coolest item We won the game for the first time But little did I know That the true prize was something I barely paid attention to Years went by after that and I pretty much forgot about the odd little silver key. Looking back, I honestly can't justify how exactly I managed to forget an item like that,

but I guess my teenage mind was focused on other priorities. I was preparing to leave for college years later and cleaning out my room for the big move. In the deepest crevice of my closet, I stumbled upon something I had entirely forgotten about. The odd silver key. It felt as cold to the touch as it did the day I had received it, like it had been kept in cryos storage for all those years. The memories of my encounter with the woman suddenly all came flooding back.

I decided to test it and went outside and locked the front door of my parents' house. I then pulled the silver key and placed it into the slot. Feeling a little ridiculous that I was actually trying something like that. To my utter disbelief. it clicked. I turned the knob and the door opened. I could hardly believe it, but the woman's words appeared true.

Still, not entirely convinced, I tried the same thing on my dad's safe. I unlocked it using its original key, then relocked it again. After putting the silver key in the slot, I was met with the same result from before. The door opened. I knew I truly had something special then.

From that point on, I carried that key with me wherever I went. I must have used it thousands of times for hundreds of different purposes. It worked on my dorm room, all of my classroom doors that I tried, and even turned on my crappy 98th Civic. In time, it was clear that the odd silver key worked on every single thing I tried it on. I still don't know how to explain it, or whether there is even an explanation to it. More than once I thought about sharing it with someone to have it tested,

but I was always worried it would end up being confiscated from me. After all, a master key that can literally open any lock would be absolutely priceless. Who knows what damage could be done if it were to fall into the wrong hands? I figured the safest place it could be was with me. So I kept it on me at all times, and kept my secret to myself. During my college years,

I ended up getting a job as a night shift janitor at a local building complex. It was one of those multi-use buildings with many different businesses operating out of separate rooms. The businesses there were a dentist, lawyer's office, insurance firm, therapist clinic, among a few others.

Since I was the janitor, I was given keys to all other rooms in the building. Of course, I didn't need of them, but it's not like I could tell anyone that. Once more, my little silver key proved to work on every single door in the building. Made my job a heck of a lot easier, but if anyone found out, I'm sure they wouldn't have exactly been thrilled. I had just finished up cleaning for the night, and as the sun began to rise on the horizon,

I went around to ensure all the doors were locked. as I was about to head home, I noticed something odd. In the main hallway of the building, I found the door I had never seen before. It was a simple wooden door, but that's not what made it unusual. All the other doors in the building were metal. Not only that, but that door in particular also used to be metal. It was a utility closet, but I'd never seen the wooden door there before. I wondered if maybe the building's landlord had replaced it for some reason,

but I was usually informed whenever any renovations like that had occurred. I tried the key that was designated for that closet door, but it didn't work. I tried all the keys I had in my chain, but none of them worked. I'm sure you've already figured out where this is going, but before I could use the master key, the woman's words from years ago suddenly flashed in my mind

after her claim about the key's ability proved true I knew it would be wise to consider her warning but then again I had technically opened that door before even if it was a different door that was mounted there

plus I had to open it because it was my job to ensure all rooms were clean before I left I found myself chuckling as I slid the silver key into the lock figuring there would be nothing to be concerned about. I mean, after all, it was just a closet door.

But as I turned the key, heard the tumbler click and twisted the knob, my heart skipped a beat. Instead of a bland utility closet, I was met with a sight of a far larger room than I remembered. The floor was entirely grey, appearing to be constructed of steel. All around the room was a collection of dozens, of odd sculptures. Most look like strange pieces of abstract art

constructed of various geometric shapes in what I can only describe as a brutalist architecture aesthetic. One in particular caught my eye that was just off to the right. It was a sort of spiraling vortex design with six arms constructed of segmented blocks of diamond-shaped links.

On top of the spiral was a small obelisk that looked somewhat like a rock-stacking sculpture. but fused together and pitch black. The thing had to have been at least ten feet tall. Needless to say, I had never seen anything like it. I'd been in that utility closet dozens of times before. Not only was there never anything like those sculptures in it previously, but it didn't even seem possible for them to be in there at all.

The utility closet was wedged between two offices rented by separate tenants. That sculpture room was for them. far too large in both width and height to have even fit in the building. And yet, there it was, right before my eyes. A cold chill swept down my spine as I realized

I had no logical explanation for what I was seeing. I stared at the key in my palm and it felt colder than ever before. I knew it was a bad idea, but I had to see what else was there. I stepped through the doorway and felt my foot clap against the cold grey floor.

A scent of chemicals, like paint thinner and diesel, lingered heavy in the air. My breath turned a visible vapour as it left my lips, and the cold air felt like an ice cream blanket onto my skin. There were more odd sculptures of every shape and size who can imagine. There had to have been several dozen of them at least. Most were of the same vein as the first I described. consisting of odd geometric formations.

There were a few that possessed a bit more human qualities, but the resemblance was minimal. The first I saw consisted of a large amount of hardened clay. Various appendages, like hooves, tentacles, pincers and claws sprouted from the bottom at varying intervals. The middle portion contained eyes, mouths, ears, and other less definable orifices.

On the top of the mound were two semi-humanoid creatures facing one another on their knees They both appeared to be female And both had the faces pressed together Appearing as though they had been fused together The whole thing looked like Donatello Took a massive dose of acid

And tried sculpting something out of an HP Lovecraft story It was deeply unsettling But clearly, whatever disturbed hands had carved it had done so with incredible skill and finesse. There was another piece that caught my eye because it looked more human than the others. It was rather simplistic compared to the others, looking only like an incredibly lanky humanoid.

No facial features, nor hands or feet, just a body elongated like you were made of black Play-Doh. It looked like Gumby had some unwanted love child with Mr. Fantastic and I felt somehow deeply unnerved by it. I felt incredibly drawn into the Macard Museum and stared in wonder at the multiple iterations of twisted effigies. There were more there than I can describe in a reasonable amount of time and they weren't even the main oddity.

After sifting my way through the gallery for a minute or two, I spotted a window on the far wall. This window was massive, expanding tens of feet upward to the ceiling. Its frame had these elaborate swells like something from a Greek pantheon but stained black.

As I stepped in front of the window, I felt all possible explanations disintegrate in my mind. The first thing I noticed was the green ring. Outside in the sky was a massive green ring that glowed like some enormous

emerald halo. Its hue bathed the landscape in its verdant light and illuminated things I have yet to explain. I was high up in elevation, no question about it. The landscape stretched on for miles,

revealing mountains, forests, lakes, and other less describable things. From my vantage point, I assumed I was in some sort of tower, one that had to have been several hundred feet tall. There was no denying it anymore. Not only was I clearly not

in my same work building anymore. I don't even think I was on the same planet. Hell, for all I know, that wasn't even the same universe anymore. I still don't know how to explain what I saw. I was torn in that moment between my desire to continue exploring and the instinctual dread

that had been creeping at my spine. After gawking at the impossible landscape for a while, I finally decided to leave. I figured the silver key was my ticket to coming back and I could do so at any time. I had to show someone what I had found.

I continued oogling the sculptures as I made my way back towards the door, marveling at their uncanny vestiges. As I was nearing the door though, something caught my eye. I wasn't quite sure, so I turned back. That's when my heart sunk

like a lead weight. That's our heart sunk like a lead weight. Plato Man's sculpture Wasn't there anymore The hairs bristled on the back of my neck And I suddenly felt very much in danger I ran back towards the door And heard something moving behind me

Once I got through the door I attempted to slam it shut But something prevented me In a split second Some amorphous obsidian thing wriggled its way from the other side of the door It was far too strong and it knocked me flat on my back.

I stared back in horror as the faceless thing from that sculpture lunged at me with a blinding speed. I screamed and tried to crawl away, but the thing outmatched me in every physical capacity. It flipped me onto my chest and I felt its cold,

almost squishy appendages curl around me. Things turned into a flurry as I thrashed about to escape the grip of the vile fiend. I thought I was as good as dead, but the thing then suddenly stopped and released me. It then slinked away, holding something up to its eyeless face with his fingerless arm.

It then darted down the hallway, crawling on all fours like some hideous fusion of spider and octopus, smooth yet clunky. It was gone before I could even get to my feet. The only thing I could think to do at that point was run. So that's what I did. I didn't even bother putting my cleaning cart away. I just got the hell out of there as soon as possible.

Once in the parking lot, I was certain that the thing was waiting to ambush me. But as I reached my car, I saw no sign of it. I fired it up and gunned it out of there. My heart was pumping furiously, and hands shaking like leaves in the wind. I thought I was going to have a heart attack and even considered driving to the hospital. I think I was so petrified that it blacked out the entire drive home, because the next thing I really remember was cradling myself in my dorm bathroom. I thought I was going crazy.

I thought I was in the midst of a psychotic break or schizophrenic episode. I don't know how those things work, and I've never been diagnosed with any mental disorder like that, but it was the only explanation. I had to have hallucinated the whole thing. There's just no way I actually had a key that opened a door to another dimension, right? That's when I realized something even worse. I didn't have the key anymore.

I looked everywhere for it, but I couldn't find it. I even thought about going back to work to look, but exhaustion and fear prevented me. Questioning your own mental state is one of the scariest things I've ever been through. But now, I think the truth may have been even worse. For the rest of that day, I only managed to keep my sanity intact by ironically convincing myself I was not in sound mind. I rationalised that the key I'd used for years to open my dorm, start my car, and just about every other usage imaginable,

was nothing more than an extraordinarily complex and persistent hallucination. I told myself I would check myself in to get the help I believed I needed as soon as possible. By the time my heart finally stopped racing several hours later, I was struck with a wave of exhaustion, like a club to the face. I fell asleep right there in the bathroom and was woken up to the sounds of knocking several hours later. It was my roommate, Chris, and he looked quite worried.

Dude, are you all right? You've been in there all day. I did my best. to dissuade his concern, claiming I had been very hung over and fell asleep in the bathroom whilst between sessions of vomiting. He laughed at that.

Oh, thank God, man. I was worried you got caught up in that stuff in your building. I peaked an eyebrow at him. What are you talking about? I asked, causing Chris to mirror my confusion. At the Zenith Complex downtown,

that's where you work, right? Did you work last night? I nodded, replying yes to both questions. Did you hear what happened? My heart sunk as Chris pulled out his phone. After a few seconds of typing, he turned the phone to face me. On his screen was an article from a local news outlet. Too dead in a horrific and bizarre attack late last night, it read.

I grabbed the phone from him and furiously scanned the pages with my eyes. The article revealed that, two women were killed in a way that no one could fully explain. They found one woman who was a secretary for the insurance firm cut in half, with a lower section solidified in some kind of stone material, while a torso remained flesh. The other woman was a dental hygienist and had been decapitated, with a headless corpse sprawled on the hallway

and a stone replica of her head laying a few feet away. Whether that stone was actually her head or not, I still don't know. and I don't think anyone does. Paranoia and crippling guilt surged into my gut like never before, and it was so abrasive that I collapsed to my knees. Once again, I questioned my own sanity. Was it me that did it? Did my mind simply concoct an illusion to convince me otherwise?

I don't know if that explanation would have been worse or better than the truth I now know, considering the attack happened well after I had already left. I've been holed up in my apartment ever since that happened earlier today. I know it's a matter of time before cops come to interview me. But what am I even supposed to say? I didn't do it.

I'm sure of that now. But I can't explain what really happened. Either way, they'll haul me off to a loony bin for sure. No one will believe the truth. The only person I could think to turn to for help was the same person where this all began. the old woman who had traded me the key. I searched online and after scouring through all sorts of euloges, articles and census reports,

I finally found her in the worst place possible. It was a police report and he was even more worrying than I could have imagined. Sandra Elmsworth, 83, had suddenly and inexplicably gone missing almost 10 years ago. police found no sign of a struggle in her home and no indication she had left of her own volition the woman suffered the myriad of physical ailments including an injured hip and likely couldn't have left her home unsupervised even if she wanted to

how does an elderly woman just vanish off the face of the earth like that police suspect foul play but after all this time they have yet to identify a witness suspect, motive, or even an explanation of what exactly happened. The only thing they noted being out of the ordinary was that her house seemed unusually cold for the August season when they conducted their investigation. I don't know what all this means,

and I don't know what I should do. That thing attacked me, that thing hid in that strange world beyond the door. I let it out, and now I think it has the key. I don't think there's any question to it. Whatever it is was responsible for the deaths of those two women. Why didn't it kill me? What even is it?

And what was that place it came from? How does the key work? After all this, it seems on left only with endless questions. Questions I may never get the answer to. There's one which really worries me more than all the others, though. How many other? other doors are out there. And what if that thing

decides to start opening them? For a moment, I thought I was hallucinating. I saw my neighbour across the road, an old man in his 80s reach into his mailbox, only to pull his arm out to reveal his hand suddenly gone.

The wrist now ending in jagged, yellow bone, poking from blackened flesh. I watched on from my front window where I had been lazily staring out as I sipped my morning cup of coffee. I often would see my neighbour come out to check his mail, then get the newspaper at the end of his driveway, as our little weekend morning rituals happen to coincide.

On this Saturday, however, he never did get around to grabbing the newspaper. Bill Docherty stared at his knob for a moment. He seemed to study the exposed bone with only a mild interest, as if it were nothing more than, than a pesky paper cut. Then he peered into the mailbox, retrieved his detached right hand

with his still working left, and started back for his home, the dead hand still clutching to a few pieces of mail. I rushed into my kitchen and told my wife what I had just seen. When I said it out loud, I realized just how insane it sounded,

but I was adamant about what I saw. Sarah looked up from a bowl of cereal, quizzically. His hand fell off. One corner of her mouth turned upward in a slight smile. Yeah, he reached in the mailbox, then pulled out a broken knob. She paused for a moment, then laughed and shook her head. I don't get it.

Is this why you don't joke around a lot? You're not very good at it. I'm not joking. Her smile was replaced with a look of concern. Actually, you look pale. She stood and felt my forehead, looked me up and down. Are you feeling okay? I'm fine. I mean, I don't know.

The world started to yore slightly. My head felt light. I sat down. Sarah stared at me while biting her lip, something she often did when she was thinking carefully. Normally, I found it endearing and unbearably, cute. And, just two years into our marriage, it still made my heart flutter a little when she did that. But, at that moment, it only bothered me. I knew she was considering the possibility that I

was going insane. What? I snapped. Nothing. It's just... She started rubbing my shoulders. Relax a little. I think your eyes might have been playing tricks on you. You just work. up and you're still half asleep. I mean, people's body parts can't just fall off for no reason like that. I didn't say anything. Here, have some breakfast. You can't live off coffee, no matter how much you try.

I picked at the bowl of cereal she poured out. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her studying me and biting her lip. I kept thinking about Bill and his hand. I wish I'd been seeing things. I wish it had been some trick of the eye. But it wasn't. I knew what I saw.

That was empty space where Bill's hands should have been, and that was bone sticking out of what looked like decaying flesh. The next morning, I stood, staring out my window, waiting for Bill and his ritualistic mail check. I could not get what I had seen the day before out of my mind. I would have gone over already if I didn't think it would concern my wife so much that I might be going nuts

but I needed to see Bill again would he come out with his hand this time had I been seeing things after all or would he come out with a bandaged knob one question kept playing in my mind though one that it caused dreadful nerves to sink through my stomach why had he been so unnervingly calm

about losing his hand I checked my watch Bill would be out at any minute and shifted my weight from foot to foot nervously Bill's next door neighbor, Gary Nemechek, was already outside watering his lawn The Nemecheks, Gary and Natasha, were a secluded couple,

both commudgeons in their early 50s. Gary was a short, pudgy man with no neck. Natasha, on the odd occasion I saw her, was a nasty-looking woman with a perpetual scalp, on a face. They had managed to get on the bad side of most people in the street. No one had a nice thing to say about them. Sarah and I had a not-so-pleasant running with them ourselves

during our first week in town. The morning after our housewarming party, we had found a scathing letter from Gary and Natasha slipped under our front door. They said they were reporting us to the Homeowners Association and that the next time we threw a party until, quote, of the morning, they would call the police.

That's the shorter and nicer version of what they said, with less expletives. A bit over the top, considering our party was relatively tame and over before midnight. Bill's door opened and snapped me out of my thoughts. He walked down his drive towards his mailbox, both hands where you would expect them. I shook my head. It couldn't be. I still had no doubts of what I'd seen. There's no mistaking something like that.

I had to speak with him. I had to suss out what happened. I hurried outside, pretending to check my own mailbox. As Bill looked over, I gave him a wave and he flashed a big smile back. Bill and Angie couldn't have been more different to Gary and Natasha. Angie had cooked us a whole week of delicious dinners when we first moved in. We've moved plenty on our lives, she told us as she delivered a stack of full Tupperware containers. I know cooking after a long day of moving, unpacking and settling in is the last thing you want to do.

And Bill had helped me fix up the front garden beds after the last owner had left him in a state of disrepair. Bill had quite the green thumb, and thanks to his help, we had a great-looking garden instead of a total mess. Nice morning, I said to Bill as I crossed the street. Sure is, glad to see us warming up after winter went a bit long. I see your flowers are blooming nicely. That they are, I said. Thanks again for all your help. You've thanked me plenty enough.

I quickly glanced at his right hand. He was wearing long sleeves, despite it being a warm, 82 degrees. Even so, I could see a bit of gorse wrapping around his wrist poking from under the sleeve cuff. That alone got my heart racing, but it was the hand itself that chilled the blood. It was deathly pale, like it hadn't seen sun in years,

if ever. A stark contrast to his other hand, tanned and liver spotted. Not only that, the hand hung limp and unmoving, as if it were a prosthetic, not even the slightest twitch of the fingers. You're right, pal, Bill asked. Huh?

You look a bit sick all of a sudden. I swallowed nervously. My throat suddenly dry. Yeah, just a bit of reflux is all. I tried to laugh, but it came off as a nervous chuckle. Bill's eyes narrowed on me with a suspicious gaze. I suddenly wanted to leave badly.

That pale, dead hand hanging at his side really did make me sick. Something was terribly wrong with him and his piercing gaze had all my instincts telling me to run. Just as I was about to make an excuse to leave, Bill looked over his shoulder at Gary, then leaned forward, leaning on his mailbox

and lowering his voice. Look who's trying to eavesdrop? He said. Gary had moved closer to us, standing at the border between his lawn and bills, right at the property line. He was facing away from us, but it was a thinly veiled attempt to make it seem as if he wasn't trying to listen in. They're always so paranoid that people are talking about them.

Gary continued. Not surprised, really. People talk about those who are nasty as they are. Did I ever tell you about the cat incident? I shook my head. Well, a few years ago, before you and Sarah moved in, another family lived there. Not the same family you bought the house from, the one before them. They had a cat, an outdoor cat, and, well, you know how they are.

They have a tendency to crap all over the place sometimes, don't they? Well, it seemed that this cat had a hankering of crapping in Gary and Natasha's garden. Now, I can sympathise with how frustrating that can be. Cat poo is rung, but I don't excuse what they did. What happened? Bill leaned in further, lowering his voice more. Gary was still watering that same patch of grass for an oddly long time. But I doubt he could hear what was being said.

They poison the cat. He dropped dead one day, blood leaking from its little. little snout, those assholes. I saw them in the grocery store early that week two, and they happened to have some rat poison in their shopping cart. Well, I didn't think anything of it at the time.

Not until that poor cat died. Jesus, did anyone do anything about it? Bill shrugged. What could anyone do? We can't absolutely prove it was them, and the cops have better things to do than chase up a case like that.

But everyone knew it was them. He shook his head, sadly. Those poor kids were devastated. They loved their cat. It was a friendly thing too. Not like some of those insane cats that'll swipe at you for no reason. Well, anyway, that family moved out shortly after the incident. I don't blame them.

Of course not. That's terrible. Sure is. There really are nasty pieces of work. He leaned in even further. close enough that I could smell tobacco on his breath and something else even more unpleasant something like rotting meat

but don't you worry Bill said they'll get what's coming to them there was a troubling viciousness in that tone of his Sarah was waiting for me when I got back home she had her arms folded she was biting her lip

Ben, you didn't go ask Bill if his hand fell off, did you? She asked. No, but he did have a gorse on his wrist, Sarah. So he might have cut it. Awfully coincidental, don't you think? You don't really think is, I know what I saw, Sarah. I'm telling you that something strange is going on. She shook her head, exasperated.

I suppose if the rolls reversed, I would be too. It really was an insane conversation we were having. I really hope you aren't losing it, she laughed, but it was a strange laugh. She turned away, spinning her index fingers around a temple, the universal sign for Yurakuku. But three days later, she'd have a strange interaction with Bill's wife, Angie, and we would come to the realization something terrible was happening to our friendly neighbours across the road. They were decaying, rotting away before our very eyes.

It was two days later. Sarah had come home from work late and walked in pale as a ghost. When I asked her what was wrong, she could only stammer. I got her to sit down and gave her a glass of water, which she took with shaking hands. I ran into Angie outside,

she said. I saw her on a veranda when I pulled into our drive What you had seen the other day popped into my mind And I was thinking I'd go over and ask if everything was okay I assumed she would say everything was fine And it would help put your mind at ease So I went over and And

It's okay I tried to calm her Brushed her hair out of a clammy forehead And tucked it behind her ear She took a sip of water And gulped it down and when I got close she had her back to me

and I saw she was spreading a line of salt around her house I was confused so I asked her what she was doing and she started muttering preparations she said keep the seeking souls out she said it a few times and her voice sounded strange it was hoarse and gravelly

I asked if she was okay but she didn't answer so I tapped on a shoulder and she got a fright like she didn't know I was there, and she spun around and... Sarah moaned and covered her face with her hands. Oh, it was awful. It's okay, honey. What happened? Her eye.

It was gone. Her eye was actually gone. Maggots were crawling around in the empty socket. There was also a big hole in her cheek. I could see her teeth and the stench. She groaned again. I almost screamed when I saw it. I told her she needed an ambulance,

but when I got my phone out, she grabbed my wrist to stop me. Did she hurt you? No, but she wasn't exactly gentle. She said she was fine, really, and I needed to trust her that everything would be okay. But she was adamant about me not calling the ambulance, told me it was very important not to.

She made me promise that I wouldn't And I just wanted to get out of there by that point So I promised I wouldn't Jesus What the hell is going on over there I don't know But you were right It's something very strange

I should go over there and try to find out What the hell is going on Even though the thoughts of confronting them in their state made me sick I felt I had to They had badly scared Sarah by now And that sent a streak of anger and frustration through me My first instinct was the try and protect her To figure out what was happening

To fix the situation But Sarah gripped my hand And squeezed it No, don't What if they're dangerous And what if they're not What if they're just sick and need help Then why would they let me call an ambulance?

I don't know They're scared maybe, in denial? Sarah Bitterlip. What if it's contagious? Then it's a bit late for us. We've already been exposed. Her head dropped. Look, I'm sure we'll be okay, I said.

But I think I should go over there and find out what's happening with them and maybe try to convince them to call an ambulance. I don't think it's a good idea, Ben. And it probably isn't, a voice in the case. the back of my head said, something beyond your comprehension is going on here, something you should stay out of. But, I ignored it.

I wanted to get to the bottom of this, needed to, for our sake, for our peace of mind. I can be very convincing, you know, I said, after all, I convinced you to marry me. She gave a short laugh.

Your jokes really are terrible. She said it with a smile, and I was glad to make her feel a bit better, if only for a moment. I then wriggled free of a grip, and, against my better judgment, and hers, went over to the dock at his house. The sun had just set, the light was rapidly fading, and the house across the road looked darker than ever. The curtains were pulled shut, the veranda lights were turned off, and even the automatic security. light didn't trigger. The street light to my right flickered with an electric buzz.

Screeching birds, dotted against the twilight sky, flocked their way west. Behind the dockety house in the distance, a storm approached. The dark cloud seemed to rise malevolently from behind their home, framing it with a sinister backdrop.

Occasionally, the clouds flashed with brilliant bolts of lightning. Thunder rumbled. The trees rustled, the trees rustled as a cool wind picked up. I shivered as I approached the front doors. I knocked. No response. I looked back at my house.

My wife's silhouette watched from our window. I knew she would be biting a lip, all the possibilities that might unfold running through her head. I gave a quick wave and she gave one back. I knocked again. A strong gust of wind dislodged a branch from its tree somewhere I heard it clatter against the roof

From inside came a groan A bang as if a chair had been toppled over Shuffling feet near the door When it opened a crack The hinges whined And a dark figure appeared in the small opening Yes Ben It was Bill

His voice was strange trained and hoarse. His breathing was laboured, that of rank sweat and decayed roadkill. I almost gagged. Bill, are you okay? Me and the wife. We're a bit worried about you and Angie. He laughed a dry, hacking laugh, a laugh like a man stricken with lung cancer. I peered in, trying to get a better look at him. But it was dark and my eyes were still adjusting. I know I don't look it, he said, but we're okay, we'll live. Please, don't worry about us. And now the horrid sight started to come into view.

I stepped back and resisted the temptation to gasp, but my mouth hung open in shock. His face appeared to be melting. His cheeks sagged low, a chunk of furrow. flesh hung from his chin, the bone beneath exposed. His nose was gone, a dark, hollow opening in its place. Oh my God, Bill, we better call an amp... His hands shot up to cut me off. His fingers were black and rotting away, like they were frostbitten. On his index middle finger, pale bone jutted from the tips. I appreciate your concern, Ben, but this is something you can't and won't understand fully.

We are fine, and you are going to have to trust me on this. I have a lot more experience than you, young man, more than you could possibly imagine. So, believe me when I say, you better leave it alone. He coughed. Something dark and viscous dislodged from his throat, fell out of his mouth and landed on the floor with a plop.

He paid no mind to it. don't make us do something we will regret he said bill what the hell is going on here i managed to get out go now he said you have nothing to worry about and by tomorrow morning you'll understand a little better he shut the door in my face his warning re-played in my head you better you better leave the door in my face he better leave you it alone, don't make us do something we will regret. The words struck me deep, and I shuddered. I stood there, feeling small and useless. Any confidence I had had in confronting him evaporated in an instant. I could feel the underlying aggression in his words, in his tone, and though he may look as if he were weak, old, and somehow decaying like a dead man, I felt power there.

radiating off him like heat, a strange, uncanny power that made me want to run and hide and never come out. I may not have understood what was happening, but there is one thing I did know. I would heed his warning. Sarah and I didn't get a wink of sleep that night. How could we?

We stayed together in bed while the rain fell in drenching sheets, watching a random show on Netflix that I'm sure neither of us were really paying attention to some time during the night through the sound of heavy rain and thunder I heard what I thought

was a muffled scream I immediately turned to Sarah and the look in her eyes told me she had heard it too we got it from bed and nervously made her way to the front window peering out we could see the darkety house was no longer pitch black

Instead, orange candlelight glowed in the windows. A bolt of lightning flashed right over their house, so close the thunder cracked instantly. Then came another muffled scream. Longer this time, desperate and pained, and they were coming from the Dockety House. There was another two flashes in quick succession, but these were no lightning strikes. They came from inside the Dockery Home. their windows lighting up in a brilliant white for fractions of a second. Thunder still cracked.

Then the house went dark, the candlelight extinguished. Their house stood there, under the drenching rain and in the muter glare of the streetlight, dark and still. In that instant, with the way the dark windows seemed to peer back, with the way the trees framed the house and reached out with jagged branches, with the way the front gate had become unlatched and swung back and forth in the wind. The house looked evil. What the hell is going on over there? Sarah whispered, her voice wavering.

I wish I knew. We kept watching for some time. But nothing else happened. The storm started to subside. We retreated to our bedroom, wondering how this happened to us. Life had been so normal Our marriage was going great Our new home was amazing The neighbourhood was

Mostly friendly and safe Now this had threatened it all We stayed up Letting the TV drone on in the background Too shocked to sleep Until eventually the darkness turned to light The last of the rain faded And the birds started to sing

Their morning songs That was when the knock of the door came. We knew it was Bill and Angie. Who else would it be? Sarah and I went to the door together, dressed in our PJs, our eyes darkened by bags, and our skin the pale complexion of those who had not slept in over 24 hours. I wondered if Bill and Angie would be recognisable by now, or if their rot would leave them as little more than living husks. But what we saw was the complete opposite. Shockingly, they were vibrant.

They looked healthy. They greeted me and Sarah with warm smiles. All their signs of decay had disappeared. And not only that, they had become younger. And it wasn't just that they looked younger by virtue of a good night's rest. They were younger by a good 25 to 30 years. they almost looked like totally different people. We wanted to thank you for being so understanding,

Angie said. Her skin was smoother, clearer. Her hair had regained its colour and volume, and her eye was back. Yes, we are very grateful for you, not impeding our work. Bill continued. He had short sleeves on,

and I could see his right hand was normal and moving. He was no longer completely. "'who, still balding, "'and like Angie, his old skin had become smoother, "'the wrinkles less numerous and not as deep. "'We should not have let you seen us like—' "'Like we were,' Angie said. "'I suppose we got a bit sloppy, didn't we, hon?'

"'Yes, it happens sometimes. "'Every now and again we become a bit complacent. "'It happens when you've been around as long as us.' Bill winked as he finished that last sentence. You two have been so nice to us since you've moved in. Angie smiled a big, warm smile. Her teeth were natural, not the dentures I was used to seeing. You know, when you first moved in, we thought you were going to be our sacrifices.

So young and healthy. My heart froze. Sarah leaned in a little closer. Sacrifices? What were they talking about? about. But you were just too nice, Bill continued, while others around here are not so nice. Angie nodded ahead in the direction of the Nemechek house. Yes, Bill said, and while they might not have been the best sacrifices being older.

Sacrifices, I thought, that word again. It kept playing in my head. They were the most deserving. Angie said. They both laughed heartily. My wife and I couldn't even muster a nervous chuckle. We were speechless. Anyway, we must be going now. Angie said, as you might imagine, you won't be seeing us around anymore.

It wouldn't be safe for us this day, you know. The questions might start piling up. And we hope you won't be talking to the police about us, correct? or anything you've seen. There was Bill's more aggressive tone again, the one that had filled me with dread. Sarah and I shook our heads. Good, they said in unison,

and they both smiled. It was hard to tell if it was a friendly smile, or a threatening one. We'll keep you in our thoughts, Angie said. We know you two will raise a wonderful family together. And with that, they turned and left.

We plopped on our couch, totally gobsmacked and unsure of what exactly they were talking about. We were speechless for some time. Keep the seeking souls out, Sarah suddenly whispered. What? That's what Angie said, while she was pouring the salt that night, she turned to me, and they kept talking about sacrificing. just now. I think she meant she wanted to keep the other souls out of the house

in case they stole the sacrifices. Things started to click. And their sacrifices were the Nemecheks, I said. Yes, look at them now. They look the same age as Gary and Natasha. They sacrificed them, didn't they? Sacrifice them to stop their decaying,

to reverse their raging. And then, all the pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place in my head. Their decaying turned to sudden age loss, their talks of Gary and Natasha as deserving targets, their eerie candlelight from their home, the screams, the two strange flashes of light. They had sacrificed Gary and Natasha to take their relative youth so that they could stop their unnatural decay and keep living. And who knows how many times they had sacrificed before, or how long they'd been on this earth, or how long they would keep going. Like vampires, living for centuries.

Only they rotted, whatever they were. Rotted, like the ancient things they are. Until they... Sacrificed. Jesus, Sarah, I think you're right. She bit a lip and stared blankly at the shut-off TV for a moment. Whoever they are, whatever they are, they found their secret to eternal life.

She looked to me dead in the eyes. as serious as ever. And we can never tell anything to the police, or they'll come for us. I nodded. Already ahead of you on that one. We never saw Bill or Angie again after that morning. Later in the day, a plain white truck came, and strange men piled Bill and Andrew's belongings into it and drove off.

The house was left abandoned. It's been two months. The Nemecheks are missing. have been since that stormy night, of course. Detectives have come around, asking us and the neighbours if they've seen or heard of them. We, of course, said no.

They asked us if we knew what happened to the docketies and why their house was suddenly empty without them selling, or why they had seemingly vanished without a trace. We of course said no. The detectives told us to contact them

if we see or hear anything, and we told them we would. But of course, we lied. My wife is right. Bill and Angie were nice enough to let us go once, but they might not be so kind if we started blabbing to the police. Even if they don't believe us, and who would, I don't think it's a good idea.

We'll respect the docketty's wishes. Sometimes it pays to be nice. My name is Finn. Growing up, I was always the quiet one. I did my own thing, but had solidified myself in a friend group. None of us were popular, none of us outcasts. I took this with me into college, and it was there where I truly realized the part of my life I was missing.

The friends I made there had an abundance of crazy stories and adventures that could silence a room, mainly Lexi. She travelled the world, most of the world. by herself, which opened her up to meeting some really interesting people and getting herself into some really crazy scenarios. I wanted that. Was it out of my comfort zone? Absolutely.

But that's where we thrive, right? So, after college, I asked her for some advice on how to organise a solo trip. I wanted a backpack, live it rough, stay with host families or in hotels, like she had done. She asked where I wanted to go and we got talking about my possibilities I chose to travel Asia and somewhere I'd never been and the ranging cultures from country to country

city to city intrigued me I loved the way Lexi had spoken about each country India Uzbekistan Thailand, Vietnam, South Korea so she'd put me in contact with people she'd met along the way people to house me or offer me jobs and I planned my route.

Lexi set me up with places to stay in most instances, despite the occasional hostel. It brought out a side of me that I knew I had, but rarely showed. I was talking to strangers, trying to speak to locals in the respective languages, embracing the culture of wherever I was. I lived day to day, from sleeping on packed buses to hitchhiking with strangers

who soon became new friends. I stayed with an array of host families all providing me with different experiences and I am now on my way to stay with a final one before the end of my trip I pulled out the itinery that Lexi and I come up with months prior this last family I'm staying with was one of the few that required me to be on time

they lived in an isolated village in the mountains of Japan and were expecting me on a certain date at a certain time whilst Lexi hadn't actually stayed with this family she had planned to. A trip had been cut short due to personal circumstances

and she never got the chance to meet them. She had communicated with the family through a mutual friend as the family didn't have much access to the internet and apparently spoke very little English. All the information I had was the name of the village

and to go to the main square where I would be greeted by the family and that's basically all I knew. That's what makes this so exciting I also knew the name of the family The Nomura family The journey here was exhausting I had taken a ferry from South Korea to Honshu, Japan

From there I'd taken a series of buses Before having to walk for about 30 minutes Up a small dirt road through the trees Thankfully the bus driver knew where the village was Because when I got off in the middle of nowhere I would have been useless with just my map And my very limited Japanese He pointed me in the right direction, but the journey was worth it.

The village is beautiful. It is large, situated on a grassy plain that rests alongside a small mountain which overlooked the traditional wooden houses. As I walk the streets, most people smile and nod. I'm guessing there haven't been many outsiders that visit this place. I feel privileged to be one of them. The houses are made of wood and clay, providing. a complimentary rustic appearance against the bright green grass below.

Some boasted large front doors, while others opted for the more traditional sliding doors. I walked the streets in awe of the hustle and bustle going on around me, contrasted by the natural, overwhelming beauty of the mountain above. I soon see an area that is clearly the main square of the village,

a clearing in the middle of wooden houses with a beautiful statue standing tall in its centre. I go to inspect the statue when a girl approaches me, I guess, mid-twenties, and smiles. Finn? She asks, focusing on pronouncing my name correctly. Yes, hi, I respond. Are you the Nomura family?

Yes, yes, she excitedly replies. Welcome, I am Ren. Hi, Ren, I introduce myself. My name is Finn. Thank you so much for agreeing. to have me. Her English seems very good. I felt comforted that I would be able to speak with someone and be shown around, as I was under the impression that there would be a language barrier.

Please, it's fine. We are very excited, she says. Would you like to come with me? Of course, I agreed. I am excited to see where I'll be staying during this last week of my trip. On the way to her house, rent her. tells me that her family doesn't speak English, except for her mother who she is teaching. Wren says that she learned English when she moved out of the village to Kyoto, where she was able to take classes.

As we walk, the houses around me seem to grow larger and further apart. Wren says that her house is situated just outside the village, and essentially that we are in the area where the richer families live. All in all, her house is about 20 minutes from the village square, down a beautiful green path overhung by shrubs and flowers. It is more isolated than the houses in the village centre, which I am happy about, as I'd be able to get the most out of both the village life and the natural beauty that surrounds it.

Wren's house is beautiful. Intrigate designs dance on the light brown rooftops looming above its large front doorframe. The wooden walls are the outer house pristine, as if newly made. The isolation of the house enhances its beauty as there are no distractions to take you away from its bold presence I've hit the jackpot here

Wren open the front door and welcomes me inside The house is split into two parts The main area with the dining table and kitchen And an area with bedrooms and bathroom The two sections of the house are connected by a small walkway That takes you outside Providing a stunning view of a flowery garden below.

The main area hosts a dining table that lays close to the ground. Just off that, a kitchen area and an area with what looks like instruments, in the far corner of the room, a small house shrine. Across the connecting

walkway, the sleeping area, a long wide corridor hosting rooms either side with a traditional sliding door made of what I think is rice paper. Wren shows me to my room, the third one down, My room is simple, a mattress laying on the floor and a small table perched below an open window too high to see out of.

Like the rest of the house, the walls and floor are made of wood. I set my bag down and unpack before going to meet a family. I meet the rest of the namuras over dinner. Wren has a sister, Hina, who is quiet. She is younger than Wren, around 17, and I feel she was shy around me. Wren's mother, Saiko, is very sweet. She tried to use what English she had to make me feel welcome and offered me more food than I could handle.

Wren's father, however, seems less welcoming. He is a serious man, speaking only to his wife throughout the meal after greeting me with a slight nod. Strangely, I am told to refer to him as Father Nomura. Whilst I didn't expect this, I won't question it, as they were doing me a favour by letting me stay here.

I assume it's a sign of respect. Dinner, however, is lovely. Psycho has clearly put a lot of effort into it. I'm already starting to feel comfortable when Wren pulls me aside when we all part from the dining table. Finn? She grabbed my arm, locking eyes with me.

The last room in the sleeping area, that's my grandparents' room. The room at the end of the corridor, you aren't allowed to go in there. Oh, I didn't even realize your grandparents are staying here too, and replied, having not seen them. Yes, they are, she says, and you must make sure you don't go near their room, okay? Okay.

I find that weird. Obviously, I'm not going to be going into anyone else's room, but if she was going to warn me about that, why only warn me about the grandparents' room? I am just back from a walk around the village. Wren and I went She gave me a quick tour Best she could before it got dark Before we headed back to her house

I didn't see any of a family On the way through the main area Or in the corridor housing my bedroom I thank Wren And say I'd see her tomorrow Exhausted from my long journey I lay down to sleep I wake to the sound of a whisper

The whisper is a harsh, long one I can't make out what is being said. I think it's in Japanese. It's a fast whisper. Sounds like a chant. Someone is repeating something. I sit up and peer through the darkness at my sliding door. It's coming from the corridor,

almost as if right outside my room. It starts to speed up even more, repeating the same incoherent phrase over and over. What the hell? what's it saying? Suddenly, the whispering stops. I sit there in silence, waiting for something to happen. Footsteps.

From the end of the corridor, the sound of the footsteps increase as they quickly approach my door, before passing it, seemingly heading for the exit. As they pass my door, I make out a silhouette through the paper. It moved fast. Weird. I get out of bed and edge toward the door. I slowly slide it open, peering into the dark corridor before me. It's empty.

I look down one end, nothing. Then down the other, also nothing. I'm about to close the door and head back to sleep when I see wet footprints. They appear to have come from the room at the end of the corridor and lead all the way out to the connecting walkway outside. I can clearly see that whoever made them was barefoot. Some of the footprints are so clear that I could count each toe. I begrudgingly follow them.

Just as I'm about to open the door onto the connecting walkway outside, I hear the door of one of the bedrooms behind me slide open. It's Wren. Ren? I stutter. Someone just ran by my room. She hushes. me. It is grandmother, she whispers. She has a problem at night. She runs into the village often at night. Father will get her. I figure she means night terrors or sleepwalking or something. Spooked, I

apologize to Wren and head back to my bed. The cold air wakes me up the next morning. The light streams through the open window above as I sit up in bed. I have no idea what time it is. I could have slept for ages after all that travelling. I should probably get up and see what's happening. I roll out of bed and sit on the floor whilst I go through my suitcase. I get changed and turn towards the bedroom door. I'm freaked out about last night,

but it's my first time here, so I'm definitely not going to bring it up. I walk out into the corridor, and as I take one last look at the room before sliding the door shut, I noticed footprints They are the same barefoot, wet footprints I had seen in the corridor last night My heart flutters and I scan their route

These were different footprints Like last night, these came out of the room At the end of the corridor But instead of leading to the exit They led into my room Toward my bed I see two wet footprints planted on the floor

at the foot of my bed Wren's grandmother had been watching me sleep I decide not to talk to Wren about the footprints in my room last night If they have a grandmother with these types of issues It must be very hard to control And they must be aware that this kind of thing happens

Although I am on edge I'm not really the kind of person To completely wave something off like this call it overthinking, but I always feel like something more sinister is going on, even where it isn't. So, whilst I'm not going to forget that it happened, I'm also not going to bring it up to Wren, especially not after my first night here. It might not even happen again. Ren is taking me around the village this morning. It's just as beautiful in the early light as when I had arrived.

The mountaintop glistening in the still rising sun. However, I do notice something is different. The people. When I arrive in the village yesterday, they were smiling, waving, greeting me. Now, they look in shock of my presence. A man who I clearly recognised as one who waved at me the day before just looks at me, then at Ren, then back at me, almost as if in fear, before turning back to his family.

Ren isn't speaking to anyone and they aren't speaking to her Surely in a village this size Everyone is friendly with everyone Or at least Ren would recognise some of the people around us But apparently not We've been walking for around an hour Mostly talking about my life When a man burst from his house and grabs me

His hands grip my shoulders And he stares into my eyes With an alarmed look on his face He is speaking fast. His tone is one of urgency, frantically speaking to me, volume slowly rising. Wren quickly pushes him away. I was too in shock to even react. She speaks a quick sentence back to him before grabbing my arm and leading me away.

He stays by his house, still shouting at me from afar. What the? I exclaim. What was that? What was he saying? He is trying to sell you something Ren replies Eyes front as she continues to lead me away from the scene Sell me something? I ask in shock

Why would he What? Was that even a shop? It is nothing She seemed different Sterner He is trying to rip you off because you are not from here What the hell That's an aggressive way of trying to achieve a sale

almost unbelievably so. The first interaction I've had with someone else today was that? I look back toward the man just before he disappears from my view. He's on his knees, pointing at me, still shouting. We are just back from the village, and I'm going back to my room to show Ren a book I had told her about. I enter the corridor of bedrooms. At the far end, I see Father Namora with a very elderly man. Wren's grandfather.

The old man is frail, with strands of grey hair on his head, and tired eyes. Father Namura appears to be helping him into his room, one hand on his shoulder, the other hand, locked in his. Father Namura looks up at me, so does the grandfather. Father Namura shouts something at me in Japanese, waving his head to the exit behind me, as if telling me to leave. He seems angry. I freeze in my tracks. Do I continue to my room? Is he actually telling me to go back the way I came?

My eyes start to the grandfather. He's staring at me. Eyes wide now. His mouth is moving. He's muttering something. I can't quite hear what are you saying over the shouts. Not that I'd understand anyway. I turn to leave as Father Nomura's tone gets more agitated.

As I turn, the grandfather speaks up. although still a rasp whisper. He is repeating something. He is repeating the same phrase I had heard outside my room last night, over and over. I shut the door behind me and stand on the walkway, staring blankly at the flowers below. I have just finished dinner.

Other than Wren and Psycho and the weird exchange with Father Nomura, I have seen none of the family today. Dinner was quaint but delicious. Saiko continued to force food on my plate throughout the entire meal Wren and I are sitting in the garden outside teaching Saiko some English phrases It's been quite a strange day

I've been shouted at by a random guy And by Father Namura But it's been a really nice day too I can't sleep Last night is replaying in my head Freaking me out I'm nervous that as soon as I fall asleep someone's going to come into my room or something.

I've been lying here for a few hours and haven't heard a peep outside, but I'm still on edge. My brain won't shut up. In fact, my thoughts are so loud and overwhelming that I almost didn't notice my door begin to slide open. It opens very slowly. Someone in the corridor is sliding it quietly and carefully, as if trying not to make a sound.

I am frozen. I stare at the doorway as more of the dark corridor is exposed. It's almost as if the darkness pours into my room, bringing with it fear and uncertainty. The door is soon fully open, but I see nobody. Just darkness. I hear nothing, see nothing. My door just opens, that's it. I'm not moving.

I lay in bed on edge, ready to. spring up at any moment should I need to. But nothing has happened. It's been open now for a few minutes, and nothing. I build up the courage to go and shut it. I stand up, slowly and quietly, and edge towards the door. Curiosity takes the better of me as I reach it, and I quickly peer down both ends of the corridor.

To the left, towards the exit, nothing. Darkness. To the right, a light at the end of the corridor. A faint light coming from the open door of the grandparents' room. Although the room is side on, so I can't see inside. The light is clearly candlelit as it flickers in such a way. Screw that. I start to slide my door shut, and notice the footprints once more.

wet, bare footprints they lead from the grandparents' room to mine then go back the way they came had the grandmother come to my room opened my door then gone back to sleep I was so in shock engulfed by both the fear and the overwhelming darkness

that I almost missed it the opposite wall of the grandparents' room had a faint shimmer of life light reflected onto it through the open door. As well as light, a shadow is reflected onto the wall. The shadow of a figure. A person standing just inside their room. It's just standing there, completely still.

I feel like it is facing the corridor, but I can't tell for sure. All I know is that someone is standing right by the entrance to their room, barely inside it, but far enough. but I can't actually see them. Are they waiting for me to investigate? Do they know I can see them? They're so damn still. I quietly slide my door fully shut

and get back into bed. It's around 3 a.m. now and I haven't slipped. I don't think I will. Well, sleep must have taken me last night. Although I don't know when, I sit up in bed fast in a panic looking around my sunlit room

no footprints my door is shut bag seems untouched wow I'm so thankful of that although I am damn scared I'm scared about last night I'm scared about tonight hell I'm scared about even getting up and out of bed right now tonight though

I'm going to set my phone up maybe in the corridor and film what is going on. I'm going to hide it in the corner, perhaps in one of the protruding rafters. I'll make sure it's difficult to see. Nobody will see it. I want to find out what happens here at night. So, here's my plan. Firstly, I'm going to tell Rin I'm exploring the village alone, except I'm not going to explore the village. I'm going to hike down to where the bus dropped me off and hope that at the bus stop there's some sort of schedule. I had tried to find bus schedules on my phone, but couldn't see any information.

I'm freaked out right now, and we'll feel more at ease, knowing there are ways that I can get out of here should I need to. The numoras have been nothing but kind to me. Well, Psycho and Ren have been, but I still feel I need to have an exit route, just in case. I'm not going to tell Ren where I'm going. I don't want to offend her, but a part of me also doesn't trust her. I don't want her to get suspicious. Secondly, the camera. I've downloaded an app on my phone that's used for overnight recording.

I think it's advertised toward parents watching over their children's rooms or something. I'll set it up and see what happens here at night. If I see anything I don't like, I'm out of here. I'm almost at the bus stop. Earlier, I had eaten breakfast with Wren and Psycho before telling them that I wanted to explore the village of my own. Wren insisted she joined me, but I assured her I'd be all right and that I want a day to myself. My walk through the village was similar to yesterday's.

Nobody smiled at me or even acknowledged me. The only difference was that nobody tried to sell me anything today. reached the bottom of the hill. It's been about 45 minutes since I left the Nomura's house. I've been walking fast. I see the rusty old sign that the bus stopped at when it had dropped me off and pace toward it. Squinting my eyes to read through the rust, I see only two time slots. Both the times are on the same day I was dropped off, separated by an hour.

Damn, the next bus out of here is the bus I was planning on taking in. anyway. This was for nothing. There are no buses out of this place for days. I pray I won't need one. Fully fed. I sit on my bed after dinner. Other than finding out there are no buses out of here. It's been an uneventful day, but I'm dreading the night. I open up the recording app, turn my phone on silent, turn its brightness down. I don't want it to be seen. Everyone has gone to bed, but I still hear people occasionally walking around. I'll wait for everyone to be asleep before setting the camera up. It's been silent for an hour.

It's time. I quietly get out of bed and tiptoe over to my door. I slowly open it, looking down the corridor. Empty. I know where I'm setting this up. The far end of the corridor has a round. I can prop my phone up on. It's the only place that it would work.

The rafter by the front door would be too easy to spot by anyone leaving. I creep down the corridor, passing a series of rooms, including the grandparents. Softly as I can, I jump and grab the rafter, pulling myself up and propping the phone so it films down the corridor. Awesome. I slowly lower myself back to the ground. I'm quite proud of myself for being so silent. when the grandparents's door starts to slide open. I freeze.

I'm just beyond the door at the end of the corridor. I don't move, hoping I'm not seen. Father Nomura and Psycho walk out of the room, shutting the door behind them, deep in discussion. They don't see me. They hurriedly walk up the corridor before exiting onto the walkway at the other end. That was so close. Had I been walking past the grandparents' room where they exited? The walkway door slowly opens once more.

They're coming back. Damn, I have no other choice. The only place I can get in fast enough without them seeing me is the grandparents' room. I quickly open the door, slide myself in, and shut it behind me, just as they re-enter the corridor. Stairs. That's what I see. A staircase going down. This isn't just a bedroom.

On the edge of each step is a dimly lit candle. I can't see beyond the bottom of the staircase. Father Nomura and Psycho's voices are now getting louder. I think they're coming back towards the grandparents' room. I hear their footsteps louder and louder. Their hushed voices now right outside the door I had just come through. I moved down the stairs, finding myself in a room with two sliding doors, nothing else, just the small, square, wooden room with two traditional sliding doors on either side.

Nowhere to hide, I have to choose a door. As I stare at each door, I see movement, a shadow, through the door on the right. My choice is made for me. I go through the door on the left, shutting it behind me. I get swallowed by darkness. Shaking, I'm pressed up against the door I just went through. I hear Father Namura and Saiko making the way down the stairs. The room I chose is completely dark.

I tried to quickly scan it for somewhere to hide in case one of them comes in. But I can't see anything around me. I don't want to venture further into the room unless I absolutely have to. I can't see and might knock something over. I hold my breath Footsteps Father Namura and Psycho Have just reached the bottom of the staircase

To my relief Their quiet steps and hushed conversation Lead to the other room And I hear the door slides shut behind them I am still frozen And want to wait a second before making my move But I can still hear something

Something behind me No longer disrupted by the sound of Father Namura and Saiko, I can now hear something in the room with me. I hear slow, quiet breathing, exasperated, rasping breaths coming from behind me in the darkness. Every breath sounds as if it's causing incredible pain. The breathing is quiet, but the anguish that comes with each breath is clear.

I'm not finding out who or why. is in the room with me. With no second thought, I opened the door, shutting it behind me, and bolt up the stairs to my room, careful with every step. I tried to stay awake after what happened. I tried to be on alert, but I was exhausted. I had fallen asleep shortly after sneaking out of the grandparents' room. I'm beyond freaked out.

I'm trying to tell myself there's an explanation for last night that I had simply heard one of the grandparents' breathing, but I couldn't convince myself that what I heard was normal. Something about it terrified me, made me feel cold. Every breath was laced with pain, with suffering. I could almost feel it myself. And if I'd been in the room with the grandparents, what did I see through the screen of the other room?

There's something happening in this house. I go to collect my phone. Even in the morning light It was almost impossible to see it I had hidden it well And I quickly grab it and bring it to my room To see if anything had happened during the night Skimming through the recording

The bright green filter or night vision provides a creepy view of the corridor The shadows in the corridor dancing As the moon makes its cycle through the night Father Namura and Saiko Left the grandparents' room late going back to their room. Nothing out of the ordinary.

I reach 3.54 a.m. And I see movement. Simultaneously, all doors slide open. All but mine and the grandparents. In sync, each of the family members step out. Heena, stepping out of the room next to mine. Wren, the room opposite. Both parents also step out to their room at the room.

same time. All in unison. Further from the camera, Heena walks down the corridor first towards the end. As she passes Wren, she walks by her side. The parents then follow suit, walking behind the sisters. None of them seem to speak or acknowledge each other. They gather around the grandparents' room. Father Namura opens it, and they enter before the door is slid shut. I fast forward 4.40 a.m. Movement. The door of the grandparents' room is opened.

The family walk out in the same order they had entered. Sisters side by side. Parents side by side behind them. Father Namura shuts the door behind them. They walk toward my room. They surround my door. Their mouths are moving, as if they are chanting something. They stand at my door.

staring at it for exactly 23 minutes. Father Nomura then moves. He opens my door slowly, carefully. The family enter my room in the same order they'd maintained throughout, completely in sync. The door is shut behind them. My heart is racing. What the hell did they do in here? I look around my room.

Nothing seems out of the ordinary. I even feel around my body Nothing feels different I fast forward Exactly 23 minutes later My bedroom door is slid open And the family exit parting ways

They go to the respective rooms shutting their doors in unison I'm leaving I don't know where I'll go Maybe I'll seek refuge in the village Or even brave the wilderness I don't know I just have to get out of here

I quickly pack my things and open my door to see Wren on the other side Finn she says a nervous look on her face as she looks at my fully packed bags Where are you going? Uh I stutter La Laundry I don't know why I said that But it works

Finn She calmly nods father wants to speak with you in the main area. Oh, why? My heart is beating out of my chest. I might just run. He wants to talk about something. She replies.

He knows you went to my grandparents' room last night. Father Nomura stands with his back to me. I'm in the main area of the house, backpack on, ready to run. The entire Namura family surrounds me. suffocating me. The only one doing anything is psycho, who's fiddling with something in the kitchen. The sisters, however, watch me.

Father Namora turns to face me, then speaks. He sounds calm. Once he's finished, Wren translates. He is unhappy you went into grandfather's room, she calmly states. Grandfather is very sick and should not have been disturbed. Tell him,

I'm sorry, I stammer. I didn't mean to go in. I just... I got scared because of your grandmother's footprints. She came into my room and... Father Nomura starts to speak again. Wren hasn't translated what I said. Does he understand me?

He tells me you have to behave now. Ren explains. He says he will not punish you this time, but you must behave. As for grandmother, I'm sorry you are scared. She's old and sick. I'm...

I couldn't be sorrier, I plead. Tell Father Namura, it won't happen again. He nods, then leaves the room onto the walkway. The door shuts loudly behind him. Heena then does the same, moving as soon as Father Namura had left our sight. I turned to Ren. You must eat, she smiles. It is okay.

Mother made you food to make you have. Happy. My attention turns the psycho. Sure enough, she had made a lot of food. She places the final plate in the table and invites me to sit. I had offended the family once. I won't do it again. I don't want to be punished.

But after this, I'm leaving. I don't trust this family. I wipe my plate down, and the first chance I get moved. towards the exit. Nobody saw me leave. I am quickly pacing along the path heading into the village. I don't know my next move.

Maybe try and find the man who was selling me something. Try to determine what he was actually saying. I reached the village. I know roughly where the man's house is. Suddenly, my legs feel weak. I stumble but keep my balance. Just.

What is going on? My steps get wider, my legs harder to control with every step. I fall down to one knee, but I can't feel the ground beneath it. Help, I stutter. Help me. I look to the villagers around me. They are all staring at me in shock, but they are not helping. In fact, many are moving away.

Hushed conversations and distant whispers surround me. as I fall to the ground and black out. You are sick. Please eat. My eyes open. I am back in my bedroom, back in the house. Saiko kneels beside my bed, holding a small plate of food, still piping hot, steam rising. What happened? I ask.

I'm dazed, confused. You have fell, Saiko says. Please, eat and rest. My mind is in haze. I can't think straight. I eat some of the food as Psycho places it against my lips. I'm not sure why I do it, but it tastes so good, and I'm so hungry. As my eyes shut, my cloudy vision becoming blurrier by the second,

I noticed something. Over Psycho's shoulder, my door is slightly open, peering through the gap A tall, elderly woman looms above smiling as she watches me eat I wake to the sound of my stomach churning Hunger owns me I need to eat

It's dark but I get out of bed And slide my door open Heading to the kitchen The cold night air and my skin doesn't faze me I only want food To my surprise There is a meal on the kitchen table.

I stride over to it, then devour it. It's delicious, but I'm still hungry as I head back to my bedroom. I sit up right to my bed and eat away at the bit of skin dangling from my fingertips. I wake once more. It's still night, only now I'm myself again. I think back to earlier. Had I really gone into the kitchen, and eaten all that food?

Why was it even there in the middle of the night? Was that a dream? I looked down to my fingers. Blood and loose skin cloak them. My fingernails almost completely gone. My fingers bitten so much that blood now stains my mattress. What is happening to me? I have to get out of here.

I get out of bed. I can't see my bag or phone, but I don't care. I slide open my door The hallway is empty So I make my move I quickly make it to the door Connecting the two areas of the house And go through it with ease

Soon I find myself in the main area I hurriedly move towards the front door Almost breaking into a run Once outside I do run I am almost at the village I can't see the path in the darkness My bare feet are cut with every stride

colliding with the thorns and branches below. I should have reached the village by now. Right? The house behind me is no longer in sight. Where's the village? Light. I see light ahead. I'm almost there.

It must feel further in the dark. I am relieved. I've made it. It's the house. I'm looking at the house. But how? It's a straight path. I haven't made any turns off of it either. I turn to run the other way.

The cold air hurts my lungs. I continue to run. Again, I reach the house once more. What's happening here? What is happening to me? I stray away from the path and run into the surrounding trees. I need to get away from here. I must be turning around in the dark,

accidentally taking the same path back to the house I see it again through the trees ahead of me this doesn't make sense how am I back here I can't seem to escape this place so I grab a sturdy branch to use as a weapon

and carefully move towards it the main area is empty I scan for my bag but see nothing I walk across the wooden floor and open the door onto the walkway. Also empty. Crossing the walkway, I am struck by the cold night air.

I open the door to the corridor ahead. Darkness. Either side of me, all doors are slid shut. The house appears undisturbed from when I left it, as if everyone is still asleep. Strangely, as I tread down the corridor, careful not to make a sound, the air gets colder.

With every step I feel a chill crawl across my skin As I reach my room I slide open the door and peer in I see only my bloodstay mattress And the small table I'm still missing my bags My shoes, my phone Without more clothing

I'd freeze outside I peer down at my feet battered from my escape attempt earlier and knew that if I wanted any chance of escape for escaping here, I'd need my things. Most importantly, I need my phone to call for help. They're somewhere here, but I can't wake anybody up. One by one, I slide the doors of their rooms open.

Hina lies asleep in a room, decorated with a weird symbol I don't recognize. A circular symbol with a horn-like figure in its center. A small shrine stands in the corner of a room. of a room, the same one from the main area. The moonlight that shines through a window makes it easy to quickly recognize that my bag isn't here. Wren lies asleep in a simpler room. She turns as I peer in, but doesn't wake her. Her table holds books, a lot of them.

I make out a small shrine in the corner of her room, but no bags. Her parents' room. My hand is trembling as I slide open their door and peer in. Similar to Heena's room, it's decorated in that symbol. Multiple shrines are laid out against the back wall, each with a candle in its centre. The parents are asleep on a mattress that lies in the middle of the room. Father Nomura grunts in his sleep and turns towards his sleeping wife, but doesn't awaken. This room is much larger than the two doors.

There is no back here, and I slowly slide the door shut. There's only one room left. I open the door and walk down the staircase. The candles remain lit along it. This room is the coldest of them all. As I reached the two doors, I hopped again to go through the left one. I'm going to grab a candle and quickly scan the grandfather's room. He was unable to make a sound last time

So even if I wake him I feel I won't get caught I move towards the door And slide it open with a creek The smell hits me as soon as the door opens It is putrid A combination of rotting fruit and feces I turn away and hold back a gag

Taking a deep breath I turn back to the room It's completely dark I get low with my candle, illuminating only my surroundings a few feet ahead. I slowly crawl into the room. The smell is ranted, only getting worse the further I delve.

I'm holding the candle ahead when I see a strap to my left. Oh my gosh. My bag. I carefully reach across the grab-it and soon realize my phone rests comfortably on its top. I just need my shoes. Then I can get out of here. Drip. Drip. What is that sound? I need to

hurry. I can't hear any breathing. Only hear a drip. Maybe I just quickly turn on my phone light and find my shoes. I don't think the grandfather is in here. Drip. Drip. Drip. I'm going to do it I'm going to quickly turn it on then back off again just so I can establish where I am where my shoes are if my phone and bag are here

my shoes should be I just I need to hurry and it's too quiet for someone to be sleeping in here my heart beats in harmony with a drip drip drip drip drip

screw it I flick my phone's light on. I look up. I wish I hadn't. Thin chains hang from the ceiling. At the end of each chain is a large hook. Above me, the hooks hold up a body. A man.

They puncture his calves and the upper fatty bits of his arms. There is one large hook that wraps around his spine, pulling it partially out of his back. He's naked His head droops lifelessly Carved into his chest The symbol I'd seen in Heena In the parents' room

I see no blood It's almost as if it's been cleaned up Or drained My eyes turn to the dripping sound From his nose and mouth Saliva or something Slowly drips But his face

As I look up at him Hanging lifelessly above me. I recognized this man. It's the man who had pulled me aside and shouted at me. In the village, I hold everything back, tears, gags, screams. I need to get out of here. I need to not make a sound. My eyes lock with the dead man's as I leave. They are wide but lifeless. I notice part of his flesh are missing, as if they've been ripped out randomly. His fingers look as if they were chewed to the bone. I feel a strong sense of guilt as I slide the door shut and lose sight of him.

He had died because he warned me. That was his breathing in the room with me nights ago. He was dying and I didn't help him. But it's too late now. I sneak up the stairs. The corridor looks undisturbed since my last venture. and I quietly shut the grandparents store behind me. I'm going to go into my room,

quickly get my gear on, and try to contact help. I enter my room and turn to my phone. Frantically, I type out the following message. It's Finn, I need you to come help me. I'm not safe. I send it to all of my contacts, followed by the name of the village I am in.

Someone has to help me. The messages are sending slowly. I'll check again when I'm. I'm outside. I'll also try to call someone when I'm in a place that I'm safe and able to speak. My shoes are on. I have proper clothes. I'm getting out of here. I sneak through the corridor into the main area and reach the front door with no hassle. I'm quiet, very quiet, and feel I've managed to get through the house once more without waking anybody. Now I just have to find the village at...

The silence is broken. as the sound of footsteps ring through the house. Wet, fast footsteps emit from the sleeping area and I hear the door leading onto the walkway open. The steps slap against the wooden floor approaching the main area. Approaching me. Grandmother.

I propel myself through the front door and into the darkness ahead. I run into the nearby tree line, hide behind the large trunk and turn back to look at the house. standing just outside the door A figure A tall, spindly, frail shape

Towers over the frame of the door It had just come through I can only make out its shadow in the night Shaped like a human But proportionally wrong This thing must be at least seven feet tall Despite its hunched back Long skinny legs hold it up

And its thin arms stretched down its side its hands just beyond its knees. I make out very large hands, long, bony fingers take shape in the dark as my eyes adjust. I stare in horror. It appears to be wearing a gown of sorts, although I can't make it out clearly.

The sole feature I can make out from its head are a few strands of hair protruding from its scalp. It stands for a second, then breaks into long strides down the path toward the village, hunting its back further as it runs. Is that the grandmother? I'm about to turn my attention back to reaching safety when I see a second figure exit the house.

I can clearly make out the figure of Father Nomura as he stands by the front door. He does not move. Just watches the creature run into the night. His stance is one of impatience, annoyance. I fear that whatever the creature is the creature, that thing is, the grandmother is looking

for me. I run through the trees, frantically trying to call someone. The police, my family, Lexi, anyone. The messages I typed out earlier had all sent, but I now lack signal. I find a large tree,

climbable, I reach its top easily enough, I ignore the branches that pierce my skin and draw blood. I just have to get out of here. Still no signal, but I see something else that gives me hope. I see the village. I can make out the dimly lit houses and see a section of the main square.

I know which direction to move in. Just as I start to climb down, the grandmother runs below my tree. I freeze. I watch as her unnervingly long body passes my tree below. She doesn't see me, but I see her. She is old, very old. Her skin wrinkled and vainy, almost discolored. Her grey strands of hair spreadically dangle from a scalp.

Her eyes are wide, although I can't make out their colour. Her mouth, wide open as she runs, as if she were screaming with no sound. I see no teeth, just reddish black gums. She wears a white gown, which appears to have been ripped short just above her knees. Each fast step is a lunge. Her arms reach out in front of her, grabbing the trees as she passes them to move swiftly through the wooded area. Her head darts around. She's looking for someone, for me.

As soon as she passes, I lower myself down. I move from tree to tree, but don't see her again, before soon. reaching the village. I run to the first house I see and knock on the door. I don't want to be too loud. Grandmother is still nearby. A confused, cautious

Japanese man opens the door. He looks at me up and down, questioning my state, visually wary. Help me, I need help, I pant. He speaks back, unsure what he says.

He starts to shut the door. No! I put my hand firmly on the door. Help me! Help! After some back and forth, he lets me in. He leads me to a room toward the back of his house and points to a chair for me to sit. His family stand cautiously by, a woman and a child. They do not speak to me. The man gestures for me to wait and he leaves the room, shutting me in. I try my phone again. Still, no signal. his wife soon enters the room and gives me a glass of water. I drink it fast, and she gets me another.

The man comes back into my room, and through a series of gestures, assures me that help is on the way. There is a lady, a monster, I try to warn him. But as I speak, his calm demeanour assures me that he has managed to get help, and that I am safe here. I am thankful, and he leaves me,

in the room once more. Just as my heartbeat begins the slow, I hear the familiar voice of Father Namora at their door. I stand up, panicked. Father Namora, the man, and five or six other villagers

enter the room. No, I shout, pointing at Father Namora. This is him. Help, I can't... Father Namora say something. They walked toward me. No, what are you? Stop.

Help! Get your hands off me! I continued to scream and resist as they hoist me onto their shoulders and, against my thrashing, carry me back along the path toward the Numera household. They carry me into the house where Ren, Hina and Psycho wait. On the table, a feast of delicious looking food. My struggles against them are useless as they sit me by the table and begin to the food into my mouth. Psycho looks on, almost in sorrow.

Father told you to not misbehave. Wren calmly speaks from somewhere behind me. Now, eat the food mother kindly prepared for you. I wake in the night. I am hungry. Wren's grandmother stands in the corner of my room. Her hunched body blocks the moonlight from the window. And she looks at me with a toothless grin.

Her iris is black, eyes wide I stare at her And I feel safe I am hungry I bite into the tips of my fingers drawing blood I am desperate for food For substance

As I begin to eat The woman in the room with me Whispers a chant The little chunks of flesh I tear If my fingers taste good I continue to bite until I feel bone. Then, bite down some more.

I shoot awake. I'm still in my room. I scramble off my bed, away from where the grandmother stood. But she's not there anymore. In her place, the same small shrine I'd seen around the house. My fingers throb with pain. I looked down and see the damage I had caused. Most of my fingers look as if they'd met a shredder.

There is flesh missing bitten into it dangling down my hands My bones visible Many have slight cracks on their surface From where I bit down onto them What is happening to me I stumble up

Desperate to escape this place I open the door There are candles placed along the corridor As I staggered to the door Leading onto the walkway I see that most of the rooms around me are open nobody in sight though

I try the main door and it won't open it has been blocked from the outside I push hard through the pain of my hands but to no avail I turn back to the corridor and walk down it

peering into each room I see nobody but each room has changed there are no beds in Wren, Heena or the parents' room just lit can and the same shrine in the room's centre.

But it is too small to fit through. There's no use. I go back into the corridor, and that's when I notice a large red X has been drawn on the outside of my door. Whatever was used to draw it still looked wet, but it is a clear X. There are red droplets from my door down the corridor's floor. I followed the droplets which lead to the last room, the room at the end of the corridor.

It gets colder as I approach. The candles are my only light. The door is shut, but there is something drawn on it. It is drawn in the same red substance. On the door, a large red O. The grandparents' room had been drawn on for a reason. and I'm not entering it, not unless I'm armed.

I quickly scour the empty rooms along the corridor, but only find the small shrines and candles. As I'm about to leave Hina's room, I see a lifeline. Through her small window stands a low hanging tree. I hoist myself up and with some struggle managed to pull off a sturdy branch. This one is even more solid than my last.

Despite the pain of my fingers, I hold a tight grip. I leave a room and sit down against the walkway's door. I stare down the long, candlelit corridor, waiting for something to happen. It's been over an hour. No sound. I've tried the walkway door a few times and tried again once more as I decide to move towards the grandparents' room. But no luck. I walk down the corridor and reach their room

Holding the branch high ready to swing I quietly slide the door open Candles are lined down the stairs and I can tell from the dim glow That there are many more on the floor below I tread down the stairs carefully Alert At the bottom of the staircase

Candles are lined up along the walls Highlighting the two doors I have faced before The door on the left has a large red X drawn on it, whilst the door on the right has a red O. What kind of sick game is this? I moved towards the door on the left, the room I'm more familiar with. I press my ear against its frame and listen. Upon hearing nothing, I slide it open. Inside, the same symbol I had seen in Heena and the parents' room,

the horn-like figure in the centre of a circle. The symbol is everywhere, drawn in red all over the walls, the floors, the ceiling. At the end of the room, a small table holds a book. I cautiously approach it, opening the book, which reads from right to left. The book is drawings, two per page. Page 1 The Village It is the village square, although much more old-fashioned.

People are smiling, children playing. The characters are all drawn wearing traditional Japanese clothing. The next drawing is of an old woman who appears to be in the woods, watching the village square from afar. She looks normal and wears a white kimono. I flicked onto the next page. Page 2 The woman is now in the village square, conversing with the children. The next image they are followed.

her into the woods. I turn the page. Page three. Villagers are on their knees pleading to the old woman. No children are in sight. The old woman is smiling. Her lips now red.

The next drawing is identical except the villagers bow to her instead. They are worshipping her. Page four. The next page, people feasting at a long table They look young, although they aren't children. The old lady is watching from afar, smiling.

The next drawing is of the same people, but they appear to be much fatter after the apparent feast. Page 5 I turn the page. This page has one larger picture. The drawing is of the old woman, biting into one of the people from the feast. behind her the children she had taken scratched into their chests

the symbol they looked sad frightened I jolt away from the book as I hear a child laughed behind me a quick innocent giggle breaks the silence almost as at the sound with the cause the candles around me all extinguish at once

I plunge into darkness shaking I stare across the room and out toward the staircase. I hold my branch high, ready once more to swing. I slowly walk towards the room's exit and see a child quickly run into my view before disappearing up the staircase ahead. I edge out the room,

my eyes slowly adjusting to the sudden dark. I am at the bottom of the staircase now and turn my head to see where the child has gone, standing tall in the darkness at the top of the staircase. The grandmother. The creature that had chased me into the woods, now looking right at me.

Behind her, cow was a child, wearing a white kimono, his chest exposed, scratched onto his chest, the symbol. He looks frightened, hiding behind the tall legs of the grandmother as he looks at me.

The grandmother appears to be eating something. She's holding something up to a mouth. although I can't see it beyond her large hands. She chews excitedly. The wet sound of her food, meeting her lips, ring through the otherwise silent house. She stares at me as she eats. The sound of a quick chewing soon stops, and she drops a meal. It tumbles down the stairs, violently bouncing off each one on the way down.

As it lands by my feet, it lets out a weak cry. It's a baby Carved into its tiny chest The symbol I look back up at the grandmother in terror Her hands no longer cover her blood-soaked mouth And instead Stroke the hair of the young boy by her side

I take a step back To my side more people Young men and women children All looking at me They look sad frightened and each of the symbol engraved into their chests

I back away from them as they begin to close in on me I feel the door behind me and slide it open hits the door with the red O I shut it behind me and turn to see the Nomura family

they wear traditional white kimonos and are spaced around the walls of the wooden room the candles in here are lit two by each family member's feet The grandfather stands at the far end of the room Staring at me, wide-eyed His lips are red The remnants of blood

I'm unable to speak as I scan the family members Each looking at me lips red Psycho holds a plate With small cuts of meat on it The meat looks to be drizzled with blood They begin to quietly chant The same chant I've heard throughout my vision it. Psycho steps towards me.

With a rush of adrenaline, I hit her as hard as I can with a branch. It splinters upon impact with the side of her head. She falls fast. The plate of meat clatters against the floor. As I opened the door to run, I noticed the rest of the family quickly moving to pick up the meat from the floor, ignoring Psycho. I turned to run, but the grandmother stands tall in front of me. She puts a cold hand of my head Her large fingers wrap around my skull She whisper something

And I fall unconscious I wake drowsy I lie nude on the wooden floor resting in the centre of a room It is the same room I did psycho With a branch in Father Namora Wren, Hina and the grandfather

stand around me They whisper the chant I am weak, almost completely unable to move. Father Nomura kneels by my side and draws a short, sharp knife. With a swift, expert-like movement, he grabs some of my excess fat and cuts it from my stomach. I briefly thrash, but he's already done it. I lie on the ground, disoriented, weak in agonising pain. I am unable to properly move my body.

my movement after the cut was brief. Father Namoa stands, clutching the cut flesh, and Hina hands him a large Japanese chalice. He holds the meat above the chalice and squeezes it. My blood drips from the flesh and into the cup, some oozing down Father Namora's arm. The chanting continues throughout. He takes a sip from the chalice before passing it to Wren,

who does the same. She then passes it to the grandfather, who calmly drinks before moving to kneel by my side. He lifts my head and presses the chalice against my lips, pouring my own blood into my mouth. Too weak to resist this grasp. My desperate coughs are not enough to stop some of the blood pouring down my throat. He then stands and passes it to Heena, who drinks. They continue to chant. Father Namora wraps the flesh he had cut from me,

with a cloth and hands it to Heena. Heena leaves the room with the chalice of my blood and the cut to my flesh. The family stopped chanting. Almost as soon as this happens, I feel unable to move. adrenaline hits as Father Nomura kneels by my side to speak to me. His face close to mine.

Finn. His voice gruff. I whip my elbow into his nose as hard as I can. He kneels back, but not before I grab the knife. I quickly sit up, screaming in pain as the pressure pounds on my wound, and I thrust the knife towards whoever is closest to me. It cuts through the back of the grandfather's knee, who screams and collapses backwards.

I stand up, hauling the knife, threatening to cut whoever moves next. The family stare at me in silence. Even the grandfather chokes back his cries of pain. I leave the room and run upstairs, clutching my stomach to slow the bleeding. The candles are all lit up here. In my state of panic, I grab one and settle out the shrines that are placed throughout the rooms. I don't know if they can exit to all this, but if this family worships them, I definitely don't. In each shrine was a small canister of oil that I was not aware of.

This helps the fire, and it quickly spreads onto the wooden floors. I run to the walkway door. Smoke fills the corridor behind me. Finn! I hear Ren scream from below. She meets young life, please. I ignore her and barge through the door, which, thankfully, is no longer jam-shot. I cross the walkway, knife in hand.

It is still night. I enter the main area. Saiko and Hina are by the table and look up at me in surprise. Psycho is bleeding badly, cut from where I'd hit her. I can tell she has drank from the chalice. Her lips red. I say nothing. Holding the knife up toward them, I noticed Psycho is holding my flesh in her hand.

She holds it above the pot and flame. She is going to cook it. My eyes don't leave either of them, and I move toward the shrine in this room, the largest one in the house. I quickly set it alight As I reached the front door Hina notices the flames from across the walkway She shouts something at her mother

And they both run to help their family I burst through the front door And run into the trees I dart into the woods As the house lights up behind me I run for no more than a minute Then turn around to see how far I've gone The dim glow of the fire

illuminates through the foggy night enhancing the shape of the trees around me I'm not far enough away yet I turn to run and hear a screech from the house's direction It's a long, high-pitched streak Full of anger I know that doesn't belong to a human It echoes through the woods

bouncing off the trees around me ringing in my ears I keep running I see children To my left A young boy in a white kimono stands pointing at me from the fog To my right

A young girl in the same attire Point at me from behind a tree There are soon children All around me Every few steps I see one Pointing at me from the darkness They're showing her where I am They all whisper

The sound of their chant is carried by the wind Quietly reminding me That this is not over yet Amongst the sound A baby's cry comes from deep within the woods. This is too much for me. The whispers of the children, the crying of a baby.

I am panicking, yet I continue to run. Nude and bleeding, gripping the very play that caused my wound. I leap over fallen branches, through sharp bushes and away from the cries and eyes of the dead children. I see light in the distance. I don't know how. This place is a way of turning me around to myself But It's the village

I see the town square It looks as if the entire village has gathered there Men and women surround a central figure I realise I've seen no children in the village And I now know why In the square centre Standing elevated by its stature Far than Amura

His voice bellows from his half-for-n-one-the-moorah His voice bellows from his half-burnt face as he speaks to the residents of the village. A spit flies from his lips, skin slowly drips down his face. He is angry, and the people appear to heed and agree with his every word. I am behind a tree. A row of houses stand between me and the square. This is my chance. With everyone occupied by Father Nomura, I can sneak into a house, steal clothes and maybe some money.

I pace towards the closest house. Blood drips with every step. The wound has opened up further. Dirt and leaves stick to my body. My blood acts as glue. I open the front door and enter the house. I see two doors toward the back and assume they are bedrooms. I enter one and sure enough I am right.

I find clothes. Ironically a white kimono. I scrounge together any money or valuables that may help me escape. Blood drips onto the house's floor and I leave and move onto the next. In the next house I do the same. I've acquired a decent amount of money but I'll keep stealing more just in case. I sneak out the second house and I'm halfway to the third when I notice Father Namura point towards the trees. A section of the villagers run in that direction disappearing into the tree line. Father more a point in another direction.

The same thing. Villagers move towards the trees. He then point in my direction, although he doesn't see me. I won't have time to make it to the next house or back to the one I came from. I'd be seen. I turn and run back into the trees.

The villagers have been sent. I'm guessing to find me. They are faster than me. They haven't seen me yet, but they will soon. I reach the tree line and feel my only option is to hide. I'm bleeding too much to outrun them,

coupled with my exhaustion and lack of proper clothing. I no longer see the children or hear the baby's cries. I trudge into the woods before seeing a climbable tree nearby. Jumping up to its low hanging branches I hoist myself up. I hold back screams as my wound presses against the wood.

my inside's sandpapered. My white kimono soon takes the color red. I keep climbing. I pour myself up one more branch, just as the villagers end my sight line. I pray that I'm high up enough that they don't notice me. The first few pass without trouble.

They look scared. They look guilty. But I know they're not on my side. I hear a shout from the direction of the village. They definitely found something Either my trail of blood Or they've realised I looted their houses Soon the area around me swarms of villages

Every few minutes One emerges from the fog and passes my tree Finn Wren's voice echoes Finn we found your blood and know you're near I freeze She couldn't be more than 40 feet away She's close to me

somewhere in the fog. Finn, a voice booms, Father Namura's. You must come out to us, Wren shouts. You must let us explain. Father Nomura bellows from beyond the fog, surprising me with his English words. I feel my blood starts a drip. It soaked through the kimono and now drips onto the ground below.

I tried to cover it with my hand and move my wound further above the branch so it leaks onto it, yet it continues to drip down the side of the branch. Someone emerges from the fog as I struggle to stop my blood leaking from the branch's edge.

Heena. She looks scared. Her arms are burnt, yet she shakes in the cold night air. She walks slowly, nervously looking around. I quietly try to contain the dripping, but it continues to steadily drip down,

Hina moves under my tree and a drop of blood falls onto the shoulder of her white kimono. She doesn't realize. She stands under my tree. Another drop lands on her shoulder. As she turns to leave, a drop on my blood falls in front of her face and slightly clips her nose. She looks up slowly and sees me clinging to the branch above. She stares at me in disbelief.

leaf. It feels like it's been minutes. We continue to stare at each other. She begins to quietly mutter something under a breath. I begin to beg. Heena, I... She turns her head and shouts loudly in the direction of the village. I have no choice. In one quick movement, I brandage the knife and pushed myself off the branch onto the one below before jumping onto Heena.

She falls to the ground. ground under my weight, groaning as we both hit the dirt. I feel a warm liquid around my hand oozing from the knife. I've stabbed her. The knife cuts into the upper side of her stomach at an angle that looks like it slid under her ribs. As I let go of the knife, I feel it is stuck in place. She is silent, looking at me in shock.

I wonder if I got to her in time. I wonder if Father Namoa. heard a yell. Villagers emerge from the trees, followed by Wren. I am encircled by people. Father Namura soon one of them. My eyes briefly lock with his

before he looks down at his daughter that I had just killed. He is frozen. His face slowly turns to one of despair. Tears well up in his eyes. He swallows loudly and clenches his jaw. He does start. not move.

The first villager begins to quietly chant, dropping to his knees as he does so. The rest soon follow, including Wren. Soon, the villagers surround me, quietly chanting, bowing down. Father Nomura stands still, staring at his dead daughter. He is yet to move.

From behind him. Movement Children, emerged from the fog, the same children who had once been hunted by the grandmother, and who had hunted me earlier tonight. I counted around 15 of them all huddled together. Two of them approached Hina. The rest watched from the woods.

I move away from her, scurrying in the dirt. The young boy and young girl are the ones I had seen when running. Each grab one of Hina's feet and drag her towards the other children. Father Numeru's eyes follow Hina as she is dragged past him, his head turning so that she doesn't leave his sight. I notice he now whispers the same chant as the rest of the village. His whispers are the quietest here. A tall, foreboding silhouette of the grandmother

slowly emerges from behind their children. Hina's body rests in the dirt, her feet out of sight immersed in the fog. As I make out the figure of the grandmother, Heena's body suddenly is jerked deep into the woods, a fast and violent motion that pulls her out of sight completely. The children and the grandmother fade into the night beyond them. I am frozen.

One by one, the villagers stop bowing, stop chanting and leave. Soon, Wren leaves, quietly saying something to a father as she power. She does not look at me. Father Nomura and I are the last two here. He remained standing, still quietly chanting. His eyes haven't left the spot where Heena's body lay before it was pulled into the night.

I stand and slowly back away from him. His whispers change. I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry. I spent last night by the road. The bus just arrived. I'm almost surprised when I see it. I'd been in and out of consciousness so often that I hadn't realised how many days it had been.

Upon seeing my bloodstained clothes, the driver asks me what happened. I ignore him and give him the stolen money before taking my place on the back of the bus. Police soon stopped the bus. I'm guessing the driver contacted them about me. Fair enough I tell the police everything

About the village The Namoa family The fire, the grandmother Obviously They don't believe me And take me away in their car It's been a few days Since I escaped the Namoa family

The police tell me they located the burnt remains of the Namura household But none of the family They say the villagers tell them That the Numera family Were the richest in the village And that they had taken me in but have no idea what happened to the house.

They deny any acknowledgement of any Yamaoba, terrorising the village. Although I hadn't actually mentioned the grandmother being a Yamaoba, I just told the police that there was a creature who mimicked an old woman. I only have just found out what a Yamaoba is, and it fits the grandmother's description. I fear that even though the Numeras are gone, the creature isn't. I fear the villagers are still under her control I've tried to call Lexi hundreds of times

Her number isn't even in service anymore I don't know if I'll have another update Probably not But as I line hospital Go through the photos from my trip last year I recognise the Nomura family I see photos of her smiling with them Laughing with them

as I reach the final few photos of a trip I see a picture of her with a young boy he is full of life smiling as he hugs her in his white kimono