CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - 7 CHILLING r/Nosleep Horror Stories to listen to while counting down the end of days

Episode Date: July 18, 2024

CREEPYPASTA STORIES-►0:00 "We thought we had found an abandoned Treehouse. What we found instead was horrifying." Creepypasta►26:21 "Something lives in the storm" Creepypasta►48:49 "I found a diary from my future self" Creepypasta►1:15:32 "Something in my body is trying to escape" Creepypasta►1:44:18 "One of my imaginary friends wasn't so imaginary" Creepypasta►2:14:09 "NASA sent us to a collapsing universe, and its God saw us" Creepypasta►2:43:09 "I am a Former Investigator for the Coast Guard, and I Will Never Forget my Strangest Case" CreepypastaCreepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"-    • "I wasn't careful enough on the deep ...  ►"Personal Favourites"-    • "I sold my soul for a used dishwasher...  ►"Written by me"-    • "I've been Blind my Whole Life" Creep...  ►"Long Stories"-    • Long Stories  FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter:   / creeps_mcpasta  ►Instagram:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Twitch:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Facebook:   / creepsmcpasta  CREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only#Creepypasta #Horror #CreepsMcPasta

Hey Nick, can I have some of the popsicles, please? Asher yelled out to me while I was laying on the couch with an ice pack resting on my chest. It was a hot, humid day in the middle of the rural outskirts of upstate New York on a Friday afternoon. My younger brother and I had just gotten home from school, bored as hell, while we boiled alive indoors and outdoors. No, we have to wait until Wednesday. But it's my birthday, so I should be able to have one, Asher said in an annoying, entitled tone. Not your birthday till Wednesday, dude. Plus, mom and dad said, I was annoyed, uncomfortable, sweating, and felt like a husk. I was 14 while my younger brother was turning 11.

We were home alone until Sunday morning while our parents were out on a business trip. Asher closed the freezer door after peeking inside and lazily walked over to the couch where he fell over and landed on top of me. Dude, what the hell? Get off me! I yelled out. I'm bored, he groaned. Yeah, okay. I literally don't care, I said. I shoved him off the couch and he got up looking out onto the porch. Can we go look for snakes outside? he asked. You can, I'm tired.

I closed my eyes, wanting to take a nap. You're always tired, he said, as he walked over to the glass-lighting door. I watched him look out the window, feeling too weak to move. It was so hot, it felt like I was melting into the couch. Mom and Dad had all this time to go on dinners, trips and visits, yet they didn't have time to get someone to fix the damn air conditioning. A knock from the front door echoed through the house, catching Ashes' attention.

He stood up and went to answer it. Don't answer it, I said in a weak, monotone voice. Why? Because it could be a serial killer waiting to make you his next victim. Shut up, Nick, you're not funny. The knock then evolved into multiple fists pounding at the death. door. This is the FBI.

Open up, you're all under arrest. Jacob's muffled voice yelled from the other side of the door. Okay, open it, I said, annoyed. Asha raised to open the door letting Jacob and Trevor inside. They were the two closest friends we had, both of them in the same class as me. They raced inside and the disgusting odor of hot sweat permeate. did offer them. Nick, you'll never guess what we found in the woods, Trevor excitedly yelled out.

We found an abandoned treehouse, Jacob followed up. Trevor, Elba Jacob, and they both looked at me, ready to run back outside. My interest was peaked as I sat up on the couch. Where at? I curiously asked. It's further past the quarry, Jacob said, trying to catch his breath. Like a 15-minute walk past it. I want to go. Please, Nick, let's go check it out, Asher yelled out. I sighed, getting up off the couch.

I looked at the time, as though I had something important coming up at 3.16 p.m. The three were staring at me, excitedly, waiting for an answer. Yeah, all right, I guess, I said, shrugging my shoulders. Yes, Trevor yelled out. All right, let's go quick. Trevor ran out of the house, followed by Jacob and Asher. I jogged towards them and exited the house. They all hopped on their bikes that were hastily thrown on the messy toy-covered lawn. Mom and Dad had told us that we needed to clean the front and backyard,

but our logic was to wait until the last second before touching anything. We were two geniuses competing with Tesla's IQ. Our house was completely surrounded by my house. miles of woods and a small, quiet road. The nearest neighbor was a mile and a half away. So, if anything were to happen at home, then we were on our own. I honestly don't know what our parents are thinking during that point of time, always going out. We drove about a mile and a quarter down the road on our bikes, the wind feeling amazing against my sweaty face.

afterward we drove onto a trail off to the side of the road and continued through the forest the sun was beaming through the trees most of which were just barely growing back their leaves when we finally got to the quarry jacob and trevor slowed down and got off of their bikes asher and i shot each other confused glances why are we stopping i questioned them The treehouse isn't on the trail, Jacob said, hunting, as though he'd been running the whole way here. How the hell did you guys even find it? I asked. We were looking for a new spot to catch water snakes, Trevor yelled out as he dropped his bike and quickly walked towards the thick forest. Asher and Jacob, along with myself, quickly followed behind, all eager to see this treehouse.

Trevor, Jacob and I had always dreamed about having a treehouse or something of that matter to hang out in and have sleepovers inside like headquarters for our group since this was out in the middle of absolutely nowhere it would most likely need some touch-ups which we could easily do over time

I'm tired Ashah whined quit being such a baby I said not wanting to deal with this crap you knew who's going to be a long walk. I know, but still, can we stop for a second? Asher said, trying to sit down.

No, we're literally like five minutes away, Trevor said, not turning to look towards Asher. We continued on, Asher continuing to whine the entire way. He'd always been whiny and entitled, but I still felt bad for him, since he didn't really have a lot of friends because of it. But unfortunately, that's what happens when mommy and daddy don't know how to say no. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't excited out of my mind to see the treehouse though.

But I wanted to look cool and keep calm on the outside. After about 20 minutes in total of traveling through the forest, leaves crunching under every step, birds singing and chirping, accompanied by the noises of a bratty little brother. We finally arrived. A very tall, skinny oak tree sat in a small clearing, about 50 feet away from any trees. It was a strange sight, but it made sense why whoever built the treehouse chose that particular tree. The treehouse itself was decent-sized, provided enough room for about five kids our age to sit comfortably inside. It wrapped around the tree about 30 feet in the air.

and a singular ladder led inside. It seemed as though it had been there for so long that the tree started to morph around the edges of it like it was clay. The treehouse was in amazing shape. A little dusty, but no rot, overgrowth, nothing at all. Dude, this is amazing, I blurted out.

Have you guys gone inside yet? Nah, Trevor said, shaking his head. We wanted to get you guys for. first. He looked over at us with an excited grin. It was an amazing sight for sure. The wood of the treehouse was a light color, almost the whitest yellow. Fine details were all over the outside of the walls and windows, painted red and dark brown. This was the kind of treehouse that was made by a father who had a passion for craftsmanship, made specifically for his young children to make wonderful memories inside.

Yet, for some odd reason, it was out there, almost three miles deep in the woods. We didn't question it though. I wish we would have, but we were young, stupid and naive. At least that's what I keep telling myself. I went up next to the ladder and rested my hand on the tree. However, I instantly pulled it back. The bark of the tree fell off. In fact, it didn't feel like tree bark at all.

It was somewhat warm with a soft, new bug leathery feel. I slowly went to feel again. It was definitely not bark. I couldn't even keep my hand on it for longer than two seconds without feeling disgusted. I honestly thought the tree was rotten, which made me hesitant to climb up the ladder. I didn't say anything as to not spoil the mood, so I stood back to look back up at the treehouse again. Trevor, Jacob and Asher were apt about their ideas of what they could do with the treehouse. Trevor and Jacob always tried to include Asher and stuff, which was nice, but I still always felt annoyed with his presence most of the time.

Jacob asked who should go up first. Trevor and Ash both instantly said they would, so they did rock pass. paper scissors to settle on who would be the lucky number one. Trevor won, making Asher a bit upset. Trevor smiled and told him that it's best he goes up first, just to make sure it's safe. Asher surprisingly shut up, finally understanding the concerns of someone else's viewpoint other than his own. I was a bit annoyed since he never listened to me, but whatever. Trevor started to make his way up the tall. skinny ladder, all of us waiting in anticipation for what he would see up there.

The subtle wind caused the trees to sway in a strange way, like it was doing its best to blend in with the other trees around it, but didn't know how. That's the best way I can describe it. When he finally reached the top, he didn't say anything at first. We couldn't see him as he had entered the treehouse. What's it look like up there? Jacob yelled out. It's pretty empty, only a couple of cobwebs, Trevor yelled back.

Asher then started climbing up the ladder eagerly. I stopped him, and he looked back at me with an annoyed expression. What? he whined. I was about to say something, but I tripped over my tongue and couldn't remember what I was going to say. Just let him go, bro, Jacob said with a face of pity.

I motioned for him to go, and he continued up the ladder. In that moment, a strange gut feeling washed over me, like a primitive instinct was kicking in. I didn't say anything, but I felt sick to my stomach. I didn't want my brother going up there, but what was I going to say? You can't go up there because I said so. Yeah, right. After Asher got up there, him and Trevor called out to us to join them.

Jacob started climbing up the ladder next, and I was debating if I should follow after. My turn came, and I began to slowly make my way up the ladder. It fell much higher than what it seemed from the ground, the soft wind blowing against my face. The sound of the branches swaying and brushing up against each other echoed through. the trees, almost sounding like a deep groan of a sleeping giant. When I finally reached the top, I rested on the floor of the treehouse, looking around at the interior. The tree was in the center of the room, with what looked to be faint vomit stains covering the wooden floor. It even kind of smelled like vomit.

Jacob pointed out of the smell and said they could bring some air fresheners when they came back with some decor. The feeling in my stomach got worse. Looking out the windows, seeing the seemingly infinite void of trees around us instead of the nice, cozy backyard of a small home made me feel uneasy. Something was off, and it was eating me alive, my excitement slowly diminishing. Meanwhile, the others were still geeking out over the place. So what should we name this place? Jacob asked.

The cool kids club with three Ks, Trevor giggled. As they went back and forth, I noticed something on the tree itself. A strange mark just about three feet wide. It was like a seam in the bark, curved inwards into itself, very similar to two flaps of fat. I've seen some pretty strange tree formation, so I brushed it up. I tried keeping cool, but this pit in my stomach was forming into a black hole. So, I made up an excuse for us to leave.

Why don't we go back to our place and get some stuff to bring back here? I said, having no intentions of returning. We can bring snacks. Yeah, all right, Trevor said. We could also stop by my place to get my backpack to fit more stuff. Asher was clearly upset. But I don't want to go, he whimpered. We're literally going to come right back, Jacob sighed.

So, I can stay here and wait for you guys, Asher argued. No, mom and dad told me to keep an eye on you at all times, I argued back. Well, it's almost my birthday, he said, folding his arms. After a little more pointless arguing, he begrudgingly agreed to come back down. I was relieved to finally get out of there. When we got to the bottom, I saw Jacob look at Asher with a guilty expression. It's not his fault. He felt bad for him, even though we were coming right back.

To cheer him up, he handed Asher a small army knife he got from Boy Scouts and told him he could carve all our initials into the tree at the top, so that way people would know it was ours. Asher lit up with excitement, and his mood instantly shifted. Why don't I come with you? I said quickly. I can do this by myself. I'm not a baby.

Asher said, annoyed with me. I wish I'd stopped him. I wish I could have done more. Something, anything more, but... I didn't. I watched as he eagerly made his way up the ladder, carrying the knife and honour of marking our territory. Jacob and Trevor cheered him on.

as I nervously watched. Hell yeah, Asha! Trevor yelled. You caught this birthday boy, Jacob followed after. I didn't know why I was nervous, but I just was, like my guardian angel was screaming at me to go and get him. Unfortunately, that would be the last time I ever saw him again. The tree groaned with the wind. Something was definitely off.

Asher got to the last. the top and went to carve the names, but I lost sight of him. Yo, is everything okay, man? Trevor asked me. Yeah, yeah, I'm good, I replied back. My eyes were dead focused on the tree house, and I could feel Jacob and Trevor looking at me for a few more moments before turning their gazes back to the treehouse. I was imagining Asher struggling to even leave a mark in the tree with his little noodle arms. Usually, I thought like that would make me laugh internally. But I only felt sad. The type of sadness when you see someone who hasn't had a good life or is struggling physically spill their drink everywhere

or trip on a treadmill at the gym. As silly as that is. I shook the thought off and looked back up at the tree house. We waited for a few minutes. minutes with no call-outs from Asher. Do you need help up there? Jacob called out. Jacob and Trevor chuckled, waiting for a response. A few seconds went by, only to be greeted, with nothing. Asher? I called out.

We were all waiting for a response, but nothing came. I wanted to assume that he was dead focused on carving those initials, but after he called out some more, he still got no response. Asher, stop messing around, man, Trevor yelled out. I then grabbed a hold of the ladder, making my way up, anticipating Asher jumping out at me at the entrance. As I made my way up, I could have sworn I saw movement underneath a bark, like there was something trying to escape from it.

It reminded me of when a snake swallows a rat or something of that, eyes when you see that lump moving down its throat. However, I only saw it for about a second, so I assumed that it was the tree swaying in the wind or something like that. I got to the top and looked around, but saw nothing. Asher? I said aloud, assuming he was behind the other side of the tree. I crawled inside, and then now strung to the tree.

a smell of vomit and bile assaulted my nostrils, causing me to tear up. I crawled all the way around, but he was nowhere to be seen. My stomach dropped. Where could he have gone? I looked at the floor and saw the army knife lying there in a puddle of what looked like greasy yellow slime. I took a good look at it and then turned my attention towards the tree. The same mark I saw before had slime dripping down from the tight crevice with a new small mark above it, looking like a little scab. The sight reminded me of the closed mouth of a toothless old person, saliva running down their lips. It looked like Asher started carving, but didn't finish.

I just sat there, trying to process what I was looking at. Jacob and Trevor were calling out to me. but it didn't register with me. A thousand thoughts raced through my head. I wanted to throw up. It was at that moment when the screams of Jacob and Trevor yelling out for me to come down

finally got through to me. I nearly fell all the way down as I quickly hurried down the ladder. As soon as I reached the bottom, I saw why they were screaming for me. The tree was breathing. It wasn't the wind.

It wasn't an illusion. It was literally breathing, letting out a soft, deep gurgled groan with every breath. I couldn't believe it. It felt like a dream, but it was real, as real as you and me. The tree house was alive, and it had made a meal of my baby brother. The strange movement I saw when climbing up the tree

was Asher's silhouette, trying to kick and escape from its throat as it swallowed him. The thought made me shaking fear uncontrollably. I thought I would pass out. Drove and Jacob ran for it. But I sat there for a few more seconds with my thoughts racing. I could only imagine the fear Asher had been experiencing at that moment, screaming out in terror, calling out for someone to save him.

his cries unable to be heard, not being able to escape his claustrophobic fate, being digested alive with no one to help him, knowing that mum and dad didn't know where he was. He had gone up there excited, thinking that he was finally part of the friend group. Instead, he'd been eaten alive by a tree house, or at least something pretending to be a treehouse.

The bark of the tree was squirming, like there was muscle twitching and contracting underneath it. The branches started moving in an alien-like way, something I'm unable to describe further than that. The sounds of a deep, monstrous, wet gurgling noise echoed through the forest as I followed behind Jacob and Trevor. We made it back to the quarry where we hopped on our bikes and rode to the nearest police station about five miles away. What happened after that? It was a blur. I don't remember much. But what I do remember is that we told the cops that my brother got eaten by something through incoherent cries.

We came back to the spot with the police. But the treehouse was now gone. Not without leaving a giant crater in the ground. Although they were presented with a strange hole, that didn't explain why my brother was missing. We were taken to the police station for questioning where we were separated into different rooms to explain ourselves. The police was stumped. All three of our stories matched up perfectly with each other, so we were either great at lying, or we did in fact witness something supernatural.

They gave a call to my parents explaining the situation, and they rushed over as fast as they could. my mom and dad were heartbroken. They never believed my story though. They rarely went on trips again, and if they did, they brought me along. I'm pretty sure mom and dad think I did something to him, and I don't blame them. Asher remains missing to this day.

I feel so stupid. It's my fault I didn't stop him. I want to blame Jacob for giving him. that stupid army knife. But deep down, I'm still drenched with the guilt of thinking that I could have prevented everything all by not having him

and to the door. Maybe then, Jacob or Trevor would be missing. Perhaps both. But at least my brother would still be here. As selfish as that sounds, 17 years later, I have a child of my own. turn in nine next week and a beautiful wife.

I rarely speak to my parents or any of my family for that matter. These events still linger in the back of my mind like a parasite, something I'll never be able to forget. I live about seven hours away from where my child at home was since my wife didn't feel comfortable leaving a hometown. I've decided to write all of this down the best I could remember. because when I got up this morning to complete my daily ritual

of making my coffee to stare out the backyard window I saw something that took me back in time far out in the tree line past the family of deer eating the grass stood something unnatural that did not belong there the same tree house from all those years ago.

I've been trying to tell the truth for so long that a lie's become more convenient. There's been countless emails and phone calls, but there's no one to listen. I can't blame them. It sounds insane. If what I told them was even partly true, it had changed the way they looked at the world forever.

It started with little lies. I stopped saying I saw something But even then it was considered in bad taste to even talk about They still thought I was lying or spicing up the truth to hide something even more sinister And honestly I've grown tired I'm so tired of trying to be believed So for one final time I'm gonna tell the truth and then just never talk about it again. This has to stop. I never like the term

storm chaser. It sounds too much like a fun hobby. While it is a term commonly used, it's not just about being a thrill seeker. We provide real and tangible services. The NWS relies on real-time updates about barometric pressure, wind direction, rainfall and rate. surface conditions, wind speed and direction, and a dozen other data points. This is information taken into account when providing early onset warnings and to alert emergency services in affected areas. I worked with two other guys back then. We rode in separate vehicles, the two of them up front, with me following in a backup.

There was Javert, the gearhead. He made sure our cell phones were. even in nasty weather through various cell phone boosters, as well as keeping us updated on satellite, radar, and mesoscale analysis. It was also in charge of the radio, making sure we were up to date on any info coming in from police, the fire department, emergency services, citizen band, or military frequencies, mostly Air Force, but we could get Marine as well. Second guy was Reed.

This meatball-shaped man was a veteran in every sense of the word. He came back from Afghanistan and went, Oh well, let's check out tornadoes. So he did. He educated himself and got a job as a forensic meteorologist. Yeah, that's a thing. Years later, he started his own business. One, which I was employed at.

We were on a day to gather job for a storm about six clicks north of a small Minnesota town, not far from Rochester. Early predictions had put the storm as passing east of Madison, but there had been a sudden western shift. They needed boots on the ground for new measurements, and it was looking to be a nasty surprise. There'd been no weather warnings going out as far as St. Cloud, and this thing was puffing up into a monster. We onroaded a quick damage survey as we passed Stewartville. It didn't look like much, a couple of bent saplings along the tree line, but we were at the edge of it.

This was just early indicators. We could tell surface conditions were going to go straight to hell. I was hearing Reed react to it in real time over the radio. Sky's going to hail crap, he laughed. Mark my goddamn words. Ain't no way, Javier said. Ain't that kind of pressure. Boss says it's gonna hail, it's gonna hail, I added.

Glad I've got at least one agreeable man on my side. Or to call him Ray's chaser, Javier scoffed. I'm telling you, it's not happening. We were breaking the speed limit, but driving in rough conditions kind of comes with the job. Our vehicles go through regular checkups. to make sure they can take some punishment. Last thing you want is to get stranded in front of a twister.

It's a measure twice, cut once kind of deal. We made our way through Rochester, heading northeast by way of Kellogg. It was a decent chance we'd have to cross the Mississippi. First arm of the storm was about to pass Maxville. Chavere couldn't help but to laugh. It's a quick turn, quick, quick turn. I could almost hear him shaking his head.

Hail storms don't move like that, he added. You're full of it, Reid laughed. You'll see. The roads were looking clear as we rolled up on the Wabisher Nelson Bridge. The sun was setting, casting a stark contrast between the dark clouds and the red sky. We slowed down to get a better view. I wasn't sure what I was looking at. That's what hail looks like.

said Reed. No, that, it's clustered, right? Javier sighed. Did the Rockies do it? Ain't no way, I scoffed at the radio, unless the Rockies are somehow out in New England. Girls, girls, Reed laughed. You're both pretty. It's fine.

There was a rest stop just across the bridge. We turned in to check the weather stations into a preliminary reading. Javier double-checked the power supply. We were running a ton of devices, and you don't want any of them breaking in the heat of things. He was reading a checklist out loud as Reid and I took a sidebar, getting a closer look at the storm. You really think it's hail? I asked. Could just be a nasty downpour? Nah, it's hail. You nodded. You get a feel for it. You can smell it.

Smell it? Yeah, smell it. Smells like nonsense more like. It's what's happening. He pointed south, predicting a sharp movement to the west. Powerful winds, enough to rip away more than just a couple saplings across the road. We were locking at potentially serious property damage. Checking the weather station confirmed it. Wind direction was shifting fast and picking up speed.

We kept going north, heading to Wisconsin. Then southeast of the 35. We got a better view of the storm, and something just felt... ...off. I had only worked with the Reed for about 18 months, but it's like he said. You can kind of smell it. And I did. We kept going another 10 to 20 minutes, stopped by the roadside and updated our readings.

As Javert updated the local NWSI... local NWS office, Reed stopped for a cigarette. The wind was picking up. Another nemometer was picking up speed, spinning faster and faster. Reed was having trouble lighting a cigarette. That, if anything, seemed to worry him. Rain or shine, he could light a goddamn cigarette. It ain't looking good, he said.

Not one bit. What are you thinking? I'm not sure. yet, he sighed, cupping a hand around his lighter, looking worse than hail. He talking twister? He shook his head, finally lighting up a spark. Nah, he sighed, that ain't it. He kept going south for another ten minutes or so.

The clouds were rolling in, fast. I could feel the increased moisture and the air sticking to my skin. I had to turn up the AC. We gotta stop for another reading, said Chavere. We're getting in the thick of it. We're turning back, said Reed. No, chuckled Chavez. No, we ain't.

That's moving out of... We're turning back. We have no idea what we're running into. You got no idea? Of Chavere, you really got no idea? You? Yeah. Reed, let the pause hang in the air for a moment.

I could feel the tension. attention. All right, said Javier, guess we're going back. Tai screeched as Reed turned. I could see flashes of light in the rearview mirror. Then came the thunder. Yeah, it's picking up, Reed said. So, it's not hail? Joucilled Javier. I don't know what the hell that is. Told you it ain't hail. Now's not the time to be a smugged asshole, Javi. I interrupted. Where are he headed? Reed figured we could cut the thing off going north through Nelson, coming out behind it.

As he shared his plans, I couldn't help but to notice Javert going quiet. This was a guy who was more banter than man. And all of a sudden, he wasn't feeling it anymore. Bad sign. We kept sending updates to the local NWS office, and within minutes there was a little a weather warning going out. I got one too. Return north up the 25, hoping we'd get far enough before we struck the brunt of the storm. With a bit of luck, we could get some more accurate readings on the other side and still be home before midnight. But yeah, no, we weren't that

lucky. The storm picked up and we ended up in the tail end of the northernmost edge. We got hit by the rain first. I kept my eye on Reed's car, watching the raindrops gather and disappear with a tick-tacking of my windshield wipers. Reed and Javier were arguing about the readings, about connection issues, about how the power strip was acting up,

overcharging the batteries. I was having trouble hearing them over the radio. I could suddenly smell ozone. Again, you can smell it just before, it happens. I bet Reid did too. The first lightning strike came out of nowhere. Now, I've seen bad weather. I've lived it, slept in it, but this wasn't just bad weather. It was downright nefarious, not just rain and thunder, but something else. A split second. In that single heartbeat, where the strike lit up the sky and everything was quiet,

there's not a person alive that's quick enough to react, giving this eerie, ethereal feel to it, as Reed's car kept sailing straight forward, within that light. I saw something. Shadows cast across the pavement. Something, Reed swerved, and the road took the wheel. He tried to bring it back, but it was too late. One wheel dipped into a ditch, lurching the car forward, spinning it around and nearly flipping it,

ripping it off the road and about 25 feet into a nearby field, made it look like a goddamn bumper car. I stepped on the brakes, leaning my car into the side of the road. I didn't even think about it. I grabbed my radio and hurried out of the door. I called out for them to respond, but they were doing. the same right back to me. We screamed over one another in those chaotic first few seconds in a garbled mess. Finally, I stopped to listen. Reed came through. Get back into your car. What? Get back into your

goddamn car. I wasn't thinking straight. I was heading out into the field with no cover. In a storm, it's safer to be inside the vehicle. It can act as a sort of ferretem. I was completely exposed out there. A quick turn of the heel and I was heading straight back to my car. I threw myself into the passenger seat and the moment I closed the door, the sky lit back up. A single lightning strike reaching from the clouds and into the windshield of Reed's car. And from that light, I could see them. There must have been a hundred.

People Burn people, people, people with exposed bones, cracked skin, missing limbs, all in various stages of decay and decomposition. They were all over, covering the street, circling Reed's car, all just standing there in a white light, staring with dead eyes. And in the blink of an eye, they were gone. Thunder rumbled as the world turned dark. Javier threw himself out of the car. The strike had cracked straight through the windshield, shattering it.

I couldn't hear Javier over the radio, but I could see him looking my way, pointing at the driver's seat where Reed sat. Reed wasn't moving. Lightning doesn't move like that. It hits the tallest point, not the weakest, but this one wasn't following the rules. Javier bolted for my car, rushing across the field. I left the passenger's side door open and crawled into the driver's seat, urging him on. Come on, I cried out, come on! He was sprinting at full speed with this wild lock in his eyes.

His pupils were so dilated that his eyes looked black. He didn't get far. Another strike, this one piercing straight through him. I could see his muscles contract and burst as his jaw twisted at an unnatural angle. And in that split second burst of light, they came back. They circled him. I could see them across the field in the hundreds, the lightning strike bringing out the image of their form,

looking at Javier with dead-eyed stairs. But one of them was looking my way. I didn't recognize him at first, but I couldn't help but to notice him. He was the only one of them looking my way. Reed. His eyes had rolled back in his head, and there was a smoldering black spot stretching out from his barrel-framed chest, just as dead as the rest of them. Looking right at me, I was next.

I could barely see. As the light faded and the figures faded from my eyes, eyes, my head shrieked from the pressure. As the thunder shook my car, the world looked grey. I think I was blinded temporarily. Everything looked red when I blinked. I couldn't even see Javert lying out in the field. My first instinct was to take cover.

That's what you usually do when you're stuck in a storm. You take shelter and you wait for it to pass. But this was different. It hadn't worked for Reed, and it sure as hell wouldn't work for me. I got out just seconds before lightning rocked my car, burning through the engine block and scorching the pavement underneath. In the flash of light, I saw them. They were all there, Javier too.

His jaw still twisted and bent, but now they were all looking at me, waiting for me. I stumbled backwards, falling into a ditch by the side of the road. I got my clothes covered in rainwater, stinging nettles and discoloured sunflowers. The rain was relentless. My first thought was to get up and run, but I couldn't get my legs to move. Instead, I just curled into a ball, covered my eyes, and tried to make myself as small as possible. strike after strike after strike

but it didn't reach me and with every flash the figures came closer by the third flash I was surrounded by the dead shoulder to shoulder packed like sardines they didn't say a word all they did was come closer reaching for me it felt like an eternity every flash of light making my heart skip a beat

It felt like minutes past in every instant where the ground was struck. I covered my ears and eyes, but there was just no way not to feel it. It consumes your every sense. You can taste it, smell it. It's so bright it burns through your eyelids. It ripples through the hands you use to cover your ears. It's such immense, ungodly power. I could feel them.

hands not having the time to grasp me the smell of decay as a hand blinked in and out trying to strangle me a flash of pain had someone tried to bite my leg but the flash was over before the dead teeth could pierce my skin i couldn't fight them off there were too many and it was impossible to tell where they were coming from i waved my arms around frantically scrambling to protect myself in a fleeting moment moment, I looked up. I expected to see the clouds moving and a storm bringing the rain westward. But that's not what I saw. There was an eye up there. An honest to God eye, I looking straight at me. In hindsight, it must have been as large as a football field. It was such an immense thing that I couldn't comprehend it. It hung there, parting the cloud. clouds, and with every blink another strike came thundering down, looking for me. I counted 18. Eighteen lightning strikes in the span of, at most, a matter of minutes.

It felt like I'd been there for hours, every strike lasting longer than the previous. But as the rain passed me by, I was left freezing and shuddering. The grasping hands stopped. The biting, the tearing. I was bleeding from cuts and bruises, but I was alive. When I finally got back on my feet, there was nothing but cracked pavement, burnt grass, and two bodies, one still in the driver's seat of his car, the other left face down in the rain.

It took me a couple of minutes to call it in. I couldn't believe it. I just sat there, trying to breathe. I've been telling people about it ever since. But they call it trauma. Like it was all just a big accident waiting to happen. Even people in the business refused to listen, no matter their relation to Reed and his company.

A terrible tragedy is all they're ready to say, as if a guy like Reed would mess up this bad. Lightning strikes do not aim. it doesn't happen. I tracked it as long and as far as I could, but from what I could tell, it dissolved somewhere over the coast of Norway. I read something about swaths of gulls

being pulverized into rains of feathers in the fishing village over the northwestern coast, but that's where the trail ends. I've never had a problem with storms until now. Now, I wake up in the middle of the night, imagining I just felt the rumble of thunder. I freak out at sudden lights. I can't bring myself to go outside when there's an overcast.

I just got this feeling that, whatever that was, it didn't like me getting away. Maybe I can tell the next time it's near. I can kind of smell it. I've always kept diaries. ever since I was a child I've documented my daily life in journals carefully labelled on the sides and covers

so to keep them in order I'm on my 1,033rd journal and all of them I kept in order on bookshelves it's basically a ledger of my entire life or at least it was

until my house burned down and I lost all of them all except for one but I never wrote my father and I were going through the wreckage the burnt water of the house had blackened and charred the smell of smoke and burning insulation

still hung heavy in the air I looked through the pile of burned paper that had once been my journals I saw the family photos all water damage from the fire hoses at least those not destroyed by the flames hey what's the this, my father said, leaning down. We both saw the edge of something rectangular, peeking around

the edge of the ruined hole. He reached this hand through a destroyed part of the wall and came back out with a dirty, smoke-brown journal. Spatters of what looked like dark, ancient blood covered the surface. I saw it was labeled 1,077. That is, the 1,07th journal. The 1,07th journal, I had started to write in since I was six. But that's impossible, I said, more to myself than him. I never wrote that journal. When the fire hit, I was filling out my 1,033rd journal. I knew this for a fact, because I wrote huge numbers in Sharpie on the front of each one.

My father rolled his eyes. He thought keeping a diary was stupid and only reserved for girls, and he had often told me so. He flipped it open. It looks like your handwriting, he said, handing it to me. If I'll grimy under my fingers, its cover sprinkled with small patches of black mould and blood, as well as darkened by smoke.

Yet, all the pages was still legible. I put it in my backpack and took it home with me. It was the only thing that had survived the flames intact that I recovered. And yet I know I never wrote it. I flipped it open to the first page, seeing my own handwriting reflected back at me. I read the entries laid out there, with increasing horror. I read them all. April 1st, 2025.

Today. The world ended. I had driven across Arizona. in New Mexico with my fiancée, Stephanie. She wanted to see the Grand Canyon, and I always said I would take her. So, when I made a couple million dollars on stock options shorten the market after the Chinese invasion of Taiwan,

I decided to quit my job and travel. All around us spanned endless desert. The sun looked down like a blazing, lidless eye, withering everything in its intense heat. Only cacti and dead. desert shrubs stood on the Great Flat Plain. I turned the radio on, but only one station came through. It was some AM station talking about the recent Chinese invasion.

China has lost an estimated 2 million troops trying to take the island, the reporter said. In response to the invasion, Taiwan authorized airstrikes and the Three Gorges Dam yesterday evening. state that the Chinese Air Force has, in fact, successfully destroyed it, causing flooding and likely millions more casualties among the civilian population. Taiwan cities are all in flames as... I flipped the radio off, not wanting to hear any more grisly news. I really need to use the bathroom, Stephanie said, breaking my reverie. I looked over at her, seeing her large, blue eyes looking at me.

Small beats of sweat broke out on a light skin. A blonde hair ran down past the shoulders in shimmering waves. Okay, why don't I pull over right here? I offered. She shook her head. Oh, I want a real bathroom, she said. I sighed. I haven't seen a house or storing quite a while, I said.

But as if fate wanted to prove me wrong, A small wooden building appeared on the horizon. A town sign stood in front of it. Devil's Creek. Population. 52. The building looked like some kind of old-timey general store that had been renovated to have electricity and central air conditioning.

An ancient man with a face like a raisin sat on a rocking chair outside, smoking a pipe and reflectively staring off across the great, empty desert. I glanced over to see what he was looking at. In the distance, I saw roll after roll of razor wire surrounding a massive fence. It had all sorts of signs with skulls, as well as warnings about violating federal law by trespassing. We pulled up to the store. The man finally looked over.

His gelid eyes reminded me of an old dog waiting for this. needle. He was a small man, no more than five feet if I had to guess. He wore a straw hat and a shaded flannel shirt and smelled like sweet cherry pipe tobacco. Christ draws, he said in his fluttering old man's voice, it sure is hot out here today. I smiled, agreeing, What's that you're looking at? I asked, pointing to the electrified fence, guarding the apparently empty desert. He gave me a serious luck. That is where the bombs are kept, boy, he said.

The big ones, the H-bombs, Minuteman threes, and B-61s. Well, so I hear. People around town talk, you know. I nodded. I wondered where the silos were. Can I use your bathroom? Stephanie asked hurriedly. as she came up beside me.

The man nodded. Back of the store, young lady, he said in a quavering voice. Then he returned to his pipe and his meditation. Let me know if you need anything else. I decided to sit down next to the old man when I felt the first quivering

of an earthquake. It started small. I stood there, not knowing what to do. do. The old man's eyes widened and he dropped his pipe. Embers and blackened tobacco spilled out on the ancient wooden porch. What in the blue blazes? He started to say when a scream of powerful engines cut him off. A burning chemical smell filled the air. I looked over to the military site and saw the ground pulling itself apart. Secret sliding panels covered in dirt

opened as enormous missiles slowly gathered momentum, rising up into the air from hidden underground silos. Jets of blue flames shot out of them. They towered over everything else in the area, each 60 or 70 feet tall. Within seconds they began to move faster and faster, lifting themselves skyward with a screeching of blue flames and smoke. Every minute, more and more can came out, dozens and dozens of missiles firing in rapid succession. Stephanie came out. I grabbed her hand and pulled her to the car. We need to get the hell out of here!

I screamed over the carcophony. Her face had turned chalk white. She followed me like a lost child. I pushed her into the passenger seat and got in, turning it on and peeling out of there. If this is a nuclear problem, missile sight, I said, vomiting the words as quickly as I could in the panic of the moment, then there will probably be an enemy missile coming to target it soon. American missiles continue to streak through the air like fiery dragons on their way to battle.

We drove as fast as my car would go for the next 20 minutes, breaking 110 and then 1.30 miles per hour. I had a very bad feeling about this, and then I saw it, the thing I had been dreading. Missiles began to drop down from the sky, not going, but now coming. I saw a streak of white shoot across the sky in my rearview mirror, a sonic boom shook the ground, and then the world exploded. I heard someone say God, what? Then I realized it was my own voice.

I opened my eyes. I felt warm blood trickling down my face. My car was flipped over. I saw the endless desert outside, now upside down. All around us, great suffocating plumes of smoke rose into the sky. We blotted out the sun and turned everything as dark as night. I looked over at Stephanie. She was still unconscious.

Or maybe she was dead. I couldn't tell. She hung upside down, her seat bite biting deeply into her shoulder. Jeez, I groaned, trying to unbuckle my seatbelt without falling and smashing my head. I mostly succeeded I crawled out of the shattered remains of my flipped-over car I rose my legs as wobbly as a baby dears

Jay her voice said softly from inside the car it was so subtle I could barely hear it I knelt down next to the broken window and saw Stephanie stirring ah she spat a little blur wiping a mouth.

Are we okay? Yes, baby, I said, with tears in my eyes, locking down the road, where the mushroom cloud hung over us like the blade of a guillotine. We were okay. Luckily, we'd been camping prior to this, so the car was filled with essentials.

Inside the trunk, I had a tent, sleeping bags, food, water, and toiletries. We also had some knives, lighters and lighter fluid. Stephanie filled a backpack with as much as she could carry, still wiping blood out of her eyes from a deep gash across her forehead. But overall, I felt like we'd gotten fairly lucky. It certainly could have been much worse, if we had still been in the city. I should have thought of thinking about it. I wondered if if any cities still stood in the USA. The mushroom cloud continued to grow.

It had a combination of bright streaks of fire and black plumes of smoke mixing in with a scorching cap. Its cap looked like it would go all the way to outer space soon. The stem of suffocating smoke shot upwards, seeming to unspool itself from the inside as it rose. We walked down the dark road and a burning world.

Jets flew overhead, streaking across the sky. The echoing whine of powerful engines followed them moments later. Sonic boom after sonic boom exploded across the dead desert. Where are we going? Stephanie finally asked, after an hour of walking through this apocalyptic scene. We hadn't escaped the black clouds that hung over the sky, though the smoke had started to dissipate. as we got further away.

I looked back and saw a figure behind us. It appeared to be a man, casually walking down the road, but his eyes seemed to be on fire. They shone with an inner luminosity, lit up like the eyes of a jack-o-lantern. Something seemed wrong with a man, and not just because of his eyes. He walked in a jerky, twisted way.

His head, which had been looking down, ratcheted up to look at me. I shudder ran down my spine. I turned away, motioning for Stephanie to look behind us. But by the time we looked back again, he had disappeared. Away from that, I finally said, pointing to the mushroom cloud. Did you see someone just now? I think my eyes are playing tricks in me. I could have sworn I saw someone following us.

Maybe it's another survivor, she said. Maybe. I agreed non-committally, not telling her about the eyes. He'd been very far away, but I had definitely seen him. I didn't understand where he had gone. There was certainly nowhere to hide, unless more secret government silos and tunnels ran under the earth here. It simply vanished like campfire smoke in a strong breeze.

What do you think happened? Stephanie asked, and she took a long drink of water. I think we all know what happened, I said bitterly. China started World War III. They thought they could contain the fighting to Taiwan, but they miscalculated. Once the three gorgeous dam got blown and millions of Chinese in the Yangtze River drowned, it must have escalated. I don't know who fired first, but clearly the US and China are at war.

Maybe there was over already, she said, hopefully. I nodded. It might actually be. If it is, in all the cities have been hit here, and in China and Taiwan, there must be hundreds of millions of people dead already. Maybe more. Stephanie didn't say anything to this, but she seemed to go pale. We need to stop soon.

I'm tired. We've been walking for hours. Stephanie said after another few hours I agreed we hadn't seen a single car or person in that time except for the man with the eyes my feet screamed at me with throbbing blisters and sharp pains my cell phone and watch had stopped working during the blast

some electromagnetic pulse from the warhead must have disabled all electronics in the area so neither of us knew how long we'd been walking with a sky covered in black smoke as far as the eye could see. I didn't even know if it was day or night anymore. We set up the tent. I crawled in, exhausted. I felt like I must have walked for 12 hours.

I took off my wet socks, got into the sleeping bag, and instantly passed out. I awoke suddenly, confused. Something had scared me. Maybe it was in the dream. But no, I still heard it. A scratching sound, light and insistent on the outside of the tent. Stephanie still slept soundly next to me.

I shook her. She grugly opened her eyes. I looked at my pistol next to my pillow, grabbing it up. Its solid metal grip felt real and powerful in my hands. But when I remember the glow, eyes of the thing and how it had vanished in an instant like a puff of smoke and started to feel much smaller. What is? she began to say.

I clapped my hand over her mouth. Her eyes went wide. I put my finger to her lips. She nodded and I slowly removed my hand. Now I could tell she heard it too. It was like someone was running a long, sharp finger nail over the outside of the tent. Walking around it in circles, though I didn't hear any accompanying footsteps. It was too dark to see any silhouettes or shapes through the thick fabric.

We heard a low, diseased breathing coming from outside. The rattling breaths seemed to choke on their own fluids like the gurgling gasps of a pneumonia patient. I couldn't take it anymore. I grabbed the flashlight from next of the sleeping bag and flipped it on. With my arms crossed, my gun in one hand and the flashlight in the other, I motion for Stephanie to open the tent. She hesitated for a long moment. After taking a deep breath, she ripped it open in a single pull.

Yet, no one stood there. I looked out at the smoke-blackened starless sky. Shadows bounced and danced around the cacti and cracked pavement of the street. I had a very subtle sound from my right, a slight shuffling of sand. In a blur and with barely any sound, the diminutive man with a fire in his eyes scampered towards me. His shoulders invertebrate crippled like those of a hunchback. His face only came up to the level of my chest, but he seemed to straighten and grow as he he got nearer. There was a crackling snapping sound coming from inside his body. It sounded

like his bones were breaking and knitting themselves back together. By the time he reached me, he towed over me. This all happened very quickly in the space of less than a second. My vision became filled with the hypnotizing, strobing white light that came from his head, but I glimpsed the rest of him too. He had a mouth like an infected sore, pieces of his lips were rotted or torn away, and behind that mutilated flesh beheld a gibbering, gnashing mouth.

Twisted, fambaric teeth grew out of the tops of his gums, intertwining with those grown from the natural spots. These dozens of overlapping fangs each looked as sharp as a scalpel, made to slice through flesh like butter. His nose was eaten away. In its place, I saw a patch of ragged, necrotic tissue that oozed yellowish pus and blood.

His skin was as dark as obsidian and seemed to glow with a similar iridescence. Hello there, partner. The gnashing thing said in a slow Texas drawl. I looked away from its inhuman eyes, seen Stephanie petrified in the doorway of the tent. She held a long buck knife in one hand and a canister of Osi tear gas spray in the other. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. What do you want from us?

Stephanie asked in a quivering voice. The creature's mutilated cheeks parted, showing more clusters of teeth growing out. growing out of every spot in his gums like a tumour. Everything, he said in a slow drawl. I want everything. I raised the barrel towards his head. My finger tight on the trigger. You want to rob us?

Is that it? I asked. The creature laughed. The tortured sound like shattering bones and grinding metal. I don't give a doubt. damn about this crappy look around. It ain't worth a damn to me. I want everything from you and the girl. We square on that. I'm going to give you three seconds to get out of my sight, I said, before I start. The creature's hand came up on a freakishly long arm. The arm seemed to lengthen,

breaking and regrowing as it twisted towards me. I fired as it smacked me hard on the head. head. I saw stars and went sprawling, the pistol flying off and landing on the concrete a few feet away. The abomination grabbed a screaming, crying Stephanie from the tent, carrying her under one arm, as if he was simply moving an irate toddler. He threw her in front of him. I saw with horror and my shot missed him. I am the true king of this world, he hissed as he knelt down over her. I am the endless void between galaxies and the spinning black holes that rip apart worlds. I am forever.

Fire poured out of his hands and arms like lava as Stephanie lay on the ground. Her eyes went wide. as the first of the flames bit into her skin. I saw her chest and stomach caught fire as if he'd been sprayed with gasoline. With an animalistic strength, she jumped up, still burning. She tried to grab the man in a bear hug.

The fire spread to his body, but he quickly pushed her away. The fire spread up and down her clothes into her hair. Her face began to melt as she gave an ear-splitting streak of pure agony, drops of liquid fat and burnt sizzling blood ran from a crackling, blackening skin. I love to watch them dance, he gurgled in a diseased, raspy voice. Stephanie jumped from leg to leg, putting her arms straight in front of a body to try and keep them from the flames covering a torso.

The fire seemed to have an inner life, spreading across a flesh as if rivers of neighbor. arm flowed over a body. I grabbed the gun running over. I put it into the back of the man's head and pulled the trigger. The fire had started to spread across his chest, but he had no facial expression. He stood there, grinning like a skull. Thick chunks of black flesh burst out. In his destroyed skull, I saw no blood or organs, but thousands of tiny, dark worms writhing and slithering. He fell forwards. A few feet away, Stephanie also finally clasped, still twitching and screaming. I ran over to her, pulling a water bottle from my backpack. I poured it on her, but it was like pouring a bottle of water on a bonfire. It sizzled and hissed as it turned to steam,

putting out a small portion along her chest for a few moments, but then the fire flickered back up. I choked, death gasped seconds later and stopped moving. Her body had become little more than a blackened husk by this point. I looked at the evil, inhuman thing that had done this. To my horror, I saw his hands clenching and unclenching, his legs twitching. The black worms had started to restitch his skull back together. The tiny heads poking out through the wound and moving tissue around like diligent. little labourers. Sickened. I ran. The landscape had started to change. Rocky cliffs now loomed

overhead, dozens of feet high. I stumbled up the rock faces and eventually found a small cave. I crawled in and with my flashlight. Finish this journal. I know this will be my last diary. My last will and testament left in some rocky cave of a destroyed world. because the true king of this world is on his way here and he loves to watch people dance. Have you ever experienced something that shock you to your very core? Something that makes you remember every single little detail of your surroundings from that moment and time. Even years after? I can remember so vividly the moment I realized

something was wrong with me. I was in my junior year of high school, sitting in class, just like any other day. I remember the smell of erasers and cheap cologne that permeated off my classmate who sat next to me. I remember the scratchy tag on my t-shirt and how I was resisting taking it off in the middle of class just to cut it off. I remember what my teacher, Mrs. Brown, was talking about. the fall of Constantinople My mouth felt dry And I kept looking at the clock

Counting down the minutes Until I had lunch so I could get a soda The sound of a pen Clicking behind me was synchronized With the song that was stuck in my head All those things were going through my brain at once My ADHD mind went a million miles per hour When it all came down to a crashing halt

When I felt it At 1120. I felt what I can only describe as a hand grabbing at the inner lining of my stomach. It didn't necessarily hurt, not at this point. That's not why I got so scared. You see, not only do I have ADHD, I also have OCD that manifests itself in the fear of anything growing or moving inside me. Even if I think about the concept of blood moving in my body or a heart that is beating in my chest, I have to think of something else. I've had full-blown panic attacks because of it.

The closest term for this is tachophobia. That's technically the fear of pregnancy. I'm a guy, so it's not completely accurate, but it's really the closest term. I mean, I also have a huge fear of pregnancy. Not necessarily of me being pregnant, but even though I knew I could never get pregnant, the thought of it made me feel sick. I bet you can imagine the terror that overcame me as I felt something moving inside me. I made an audible groan and grabbed my stomach.

The whole class turned to look at me. Even my teacher stopped talking to ask if I was okay. I stood up and started to run to the nurse's office without even. even acknowledging my teacher. My first thought wasn't thinking that something was actually in my body. Even stomach aches and the feeling of gurgling in my stomach made me feel this way before. I didn't have anything on hand to help with the stomach ache unfortunately. However, the nurse always did.

I sprinted across the school, hoping and praying that my stomach wouldn't make that awful feeling again before I got there. I turned the corner into the nurse's office with my tennis shoes squeaking in the process. I saw the school nurse, Mrs. Kennedy, sitting on the couch in her office reading a magazine. She looked up at me with a sweet smile that quickly turned to worry. Sam, what is it? How can I help? She said as she stood up and hurried over to me, putting a hand over mine with just grabbing my stomach tightly. It's my stomach Something is wrong with my stomach

I mumbled with a red face She shuffled away over to a large medicine cabinet And she motioned for me to sit down She asked me questions about my stomach Asking if it was pain, grumbling, cramps, nausea etc As she was asking me what my symptoms were And digging through bottles The feeling happened again

However, this time it was different. It felt like fingers grazing against the inside of my body. I screamed and wrapped my arms around my torso. Mrs. Kennedy ran over to me to comfort me. This seems a lot worse than normal. Maybe we should call your parents, she said, as she put her hand at my back. It felt like some days I saw Mrs. Kennedy more than my teacher. any small element would distract me so badly from class that I had to go see her, sometimes multiple times a day.

She knew at this point when something was really wrong. Within about 30 minutes, both my parents were there with us. That may seem fast, but I'm an only child and my parents are very aware of my tendencies. They know I can spiral and like to be around if it happens. They kept asking me where the pain was. I think they assumed by the way I wasn't responding to their questions, the pain must have been really bad. The reality was that I just didn't know how to tell them what was going on. I got so frustrated after they asked me over and over again

that I just yelled at them. Something is inside me. Get it out. Get it out. I lifted my shirt and was ripping at my stomach, leaving red nails scratches and cuts. My mom and dad ran to either side of me to grab my arms. Mrs. Kennedy had seen me go pretty crazy, but this was the worst I've ever gotten in front of her. My parents, however, had seen a similar situation before.

Not exactly like this, but they didn't skip a beat on trying to help. me. Sam, breathe, sweetie. Just remember everything is in you for a reason. It's keeping you alive. Nothing is going to hurt you. My mom said softly to me, trying to calm me down with the words my therapist gave her. Ice cubes, get him ice cubes, she said to Mrs. Kennedy as I started to hyperventilate. Mrs. Kennedy grabbed a Ziplog bag and started to fill it with ice cubes. My mom went over to her and grabbed her an ice scoop right out of the bag, opened up my hand and put the ice cube in it. This worked in the past to distract me.

I knew that's what she was doing. And trust me, I wanted it to work too. But this was different. I kept trying to tell myself that it was just a different feeling I hadn't felt before, that it wasn't possible something was physically inside my body. But I couldn't help it. Everyone in the room could see that this was getting intense. I think they assumed it was just a mental breakdown

and that nothing was physically wrong with my body but I didn't care. I just wanted help. My parents got me into the car with my mom, even sitting in the back seat with me. She kept trying to distract me with conversation, but my mind was only. on that awful feeling in my stomach.

We pulled up to the ER and my mom guided me in while holding both my wrists. It felt like she was walking me on a leash but I didn't fight it. I knew she was just trying to stop me from scratching my stomach. We walked in and I spoke to the receptionist. All I said was that I had a terrible pain in my stomach. I didn't want to sound too crazy. I just needed a doctor. her to look at whatever was going on.

After giving the receptionist my name and insurance information, we went to sit down. I was sitting in between my parents, and I could see my mom leaned back to try and mouth something to my dad without me seeing. I didn't think much of it. I was way more worried about other things. My dad then went up to the receptionist. He pointed over to me, and she looked a little concerned. I saw her pick up the clipboard that had my information on it

and she started writing something else on it I asked my dad what he did and he just said not to worry and that he wanted to let her know it was urgent no more than ten minutes went by and I felt a terrible moving sensation I cringed and grabbed my stomach immediately followed by not just the feeling of a hand

grabbing my insides, but also scratching and pinching. I yelled out in pain as the other people in the waiting room looked at me, mortified. A doctor and a couple of nurses came running over to me and helped me up, but I couldn't stand up. I was in too much pain. They put me in a wheelchair and started to head for a room. However, they didn't take me through the normal big ER doors that went to the standard examination rooms. They took my parents and I through a smaller door to the side that had a padlock on it. We walked through a white hallway that was very quiet. The doctor and nurses showed us to my room

and helped me into my bed as I was wriggling and wincing. I had one parent either side of me, patiently waiting to stop my arms from scratching. The doctor was trying to ask further questions, but he could tell it wasn't going anywhere. I knew that my dad probably told that receptionist about my OCD tendencies and that I needed to go to the psych ward, not just to the standard side of the ER. I couldn't take it anymore and blurted out that something was inside my stomach and it was trying to get out. The doctor just looked at my parents for a reaction and they gave him a sad nod. It was like they warned him that this could happen.

The doctor didn't just think I was crazy. My parents did too. The doctor took a deep breath and came up to me. I knew I was about to hear some kind of dumb speech about how this was just my OCD and everything was going to be okay. As he came closer to me, I pulled up my shirt. And he gasped.

Not only was my stomach's scratch. scratched up like crazy. But we saw movement. It looked like when a pregnant woman can see her baby kicking. But this was much stronger. It was stretching my skin. My parents stood up and gasped while the doctor looked frantic and unprepared. Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn, the doctor said as he backed out of the room.

Hang on, we're getting this taken care of. Just hang tight. Just seconds later, a nurse came in to get him. gave me some painkillers. I started to feel the pain slip away. There's something so much worse started to creep in. I heard her voice, not my own, not some creepy sounding creature, but the voice of a normal sounding man that I'd never heard before. But that wasn't the scary part. The scary part was what he was saying to me. Get me out. Get me out. Get me out. get me out.

It started in a normal tone, but slowly became more urgent and rushed, then demanding. The voice would coincide with a movement inside me. It was getting so loud that I was having a hard time hearing the people around me. The doctor came in just a few minutes after I last saw him. It was red and sweaty, like he'd just run a marathon. He told me they needed to do just a few days. tests on what was inside me before taking action. I was trying so hard to pay attention to the words coming out of his mouth, but all I could

hear was the voice. The voice stopped for just the second and changed what he was saying. Now he was repeating, cut me out, cut me out, cut me out, cut me out now. I now knew this thing didn't just want out, but it wanted out now. I begged the doctor to just get it out now, but he wouldn't listen. The voice spoke up again. This is taking too long. Don't be afraid.

Get me out yourself. I think it could feel me resisting him. Without realizing it, I was looking around the room for something. It was like I didn't have control over my head or eyes anymore. I knew the voice was looking for a knife, but I was trying to ignore the feeling. I knew there weren't any knives around. I was in a very safe place. Just as I had the feeling I was safe, it was immediately taken away.

The thought passed through my head that my dad probably had a pocket knife on him. My heart sank. I knew this thing could hear my thoughts. I knew what it would try to do. The next thing I knew, I was on my feet leaping for my dad. my body hit his luckily he's in pretty good shape for his age

and had no problem putting me in my place he got on top of me and pinned me to the ground all the while I could barely hear my mom in the background yelling at my dad to be careful my dad knew something was going on

and that I just needed to be on the ground until I calmed down my body tried to flail but it wasn't successful The whole time the voice in my head, now yelling and screaming, not saying any distinguishable words, but just having what felt like a tantrum. What made my dad the most uncomfortable was the kicking feeling coming from my stomach. After a couple of minutes, the voice calmed down and I felt in charge of my body again.

My dad slowly got up and attempted to help me up. At this point with an audience of hospital staff that looked like they were getting ready to take me somewhere for more tests Just as I stood up I felt the voice take over And I lost all sense of my own body I felt like a shell of myself My dad gave me a soft yet worried smile

And in that instance I grabbed him and reached into his pocket My heart sank as I felt his pocket knife. The room started to panic and about five people tried to grab it from me. The last thing I remember is plunging the knife into my stomach. I felt a blinding pain and everything went black. Several hours later I started to wake up. Everything was extremely blurry and fuzzy.

I could hear a faint voice telling me to relax. As the minutes passed by, things started to get a little bit clearer. I looked around and saw I was in a large room with a few other patients. A nurse was going up to all the beds and checking in on them. I tried to sit up a bit to get more comfortable. I moved my hospital gown out of the way and saw a huge scar, about six inches across. Most of the scar looked very surgical,

like what I'd imagine a C-section surgery would look like, except where I remembered the knife going in. It looked like a bunch of extra stitches had to be added where it went in. It also looked pretty bruised. I can imagine that a dull, 10-year-old knife that was harshly shoved into a body really wouldn't clean cut through and leave some damage.

The feeling of shock from looking at my stomach was quickly gone when I realized that meant whatever was in me was now gone. I didn't hear the voice. I didn't feel a hand in my gut anymore. I didn't see

that vile kicking anymore. I felt like I could breathe. I asked the nurse what they found. And she looked flush. Uh, that's something that you, uh... Your doctor will talk to you once you eat something and can speak clearly, she said, and she scurried off looking upset. Shortly after that, I was wheeled into a recovery room and my parents came to see me. As they walked in, they had a very similar look on their faces as the nurse did.

He looked pale and didn't want to look me in the eyes. I kept asking them questions about what was going on. The face of the doctor needed to discuss it with me, and he wanted to make sure I wasn't feeling high from the anesthesia while we had the conversation. The doctor didn't come and see me for another ten hours, which felt strange. And, to add to the strangeness,

my parents were taking shifts hanging out with me. There was only overlap when they switched, and the other parent took over or the other one left the room. I would understand if they weren't both with me for the whole time. I'm not that needy. But they were only both in the room together

for about an hour. That was the hour before the doctor came to my room. Finally, the doctor came in to talk to me. When he walked in, the room was cold and quiet. It was evident he didn't feel the same relief I was feeling.

He seemed awkward, like it was taking way too long to get over to me. He grabbed a chair and scooted it close to me. Listen, Sam, I know this last 24 hours has been very challenging. I apologize for not explaining what happened during your surgery sooner, but we all needed time to figure it out. And quite frankly, process what happened. We feel we have enough information to let you in on what is going on. A silence filled the room.

It felt like no one was brave enough to break it. And? I asked with confusion. I think it'll be easier. If we just show you, the doctor, along with my parents, helped me into a wheelchair. And we started to make a way across the hospital to an entire. different section. I couldn't believe all the things running through my head at what

we're about to see. It felt like cruel and unusual punishment to leave me in anticipation and not just tell me what I was about to see. When I went around the corner, I couldn't process what I was looking at. I thought they were showing me a large tumor or growth of some kind. But why would a tumor be in a big incubation chamber? with tubes connected to IVs and machines coming out of it. As I got closer, I started to see human features on it. It was mostly just a six-foot lump of flesh, but I could see a hand sticking out of it.

It was small, but what made it creepy as it looked like a fully developed man's hand, just small. I could see a patch of hair coming out of. of what I assumed was its head. It had no discernible facial features, just a few teeth scattered in one section. As I looked at it with disgust, coming to terms with this thing that was just in my body. I had a realization. I wasn't feeling sick at the thought of something being in my body. Sure, I was grossed out that this particular thing was just in me, with the thought of bacteria in my body, didn't make me want to throw up.

I thought about all the blood pumping through my veins, and I felt normal. Not only was the voice and kicking gone, but my OCD was gone too. It was just this thing, trying to find its way out for years. As I was staring at the creature, the doctor came and put his hand on my shoulder. We believe this is your twin brother. I immediately looked up on my parents who looked very disturbed and upset. I let the doctor finish talking. We believe that you absorbed him in the womb and that he's been living inside you your whole

life. is an extremely rare condition called fetus and fetus. It seems he didn't quite have the best opportunity to develop normally. That's why he looks the way he does. Despite his appearance, he has all the organs he needs to survive. Looks like he's missing a lung and his gallbladder. Also a bit of his liver, but other than that, it looks like he will live for at least a few years.

He won't be able to leave this room due to him needing a feeding tube. and a few other things that his body cannot do on its own. He needs a lot of support just to live. What makes this situation extremely unique is that your twin is still alive, despite your body not sustaining him anymore. Even though we have him hooked up to a few IVs and machines, it is unexplainable how he is living outside of your body. I was in complete shock.

I didn't want to believe it. I asked my mom why she never told me I absorbed my twin in the womb and she said she had no clue it was never a sign when she was pregnant with me he also mentioned that sometimes even in pregnancies women will go their whole pregnancy without even getting a belly it's called a cryptic pregnancy

I've always had a bit of a gut but never anything big enough to cause suspicion I guess in my case I had a first a fetus v2 and an experience similar to cryptic pregnancy, even though it was in my stomach. At least, that was the doctor's best guess, although it all sounded like BS to me. The doctor and my parents kept trying to explain more and more details to me. I don't know why they didn't slow down a little bit for my sake. How could they not tell I wasn't processing any of this?

I noticed something while they were trying to explain things to me. I kept calling it, he. Now listen, I'm not some kind of asshole who won't respect someone who wants to be called a specific pronoun. I've never been that kind of person. But this is where I draw the line. Not just that, but this thing had a name. My parents named it and said it was its birthday. While they told me all this information, they didn't look happy about it.

It seemed like they were forced to do all this nonsense. And now it was my turn to be convinced. I could tell they were trying to force it. The doctor told me, despite it not having a high probability for a long life, that we should still try and give it all the love it deserves. Of course, the doctor referred to it as a he-butt. I refuse to. This thing disgusted me.

This thing tried to kill me and ruined my quality of life for so long, and now we're going to treat it like it's some kind of prince? No, absolutely not. Luckily, it seemed like it would never leave the hospital, but my parents planned on going to visit it daily. Visiting it? Are you kidding me?

It has no eyes, no ears. It's probably miserable and has no concept of people even being around it. I'm refusing to ever see this thing again or acknowledge its existence. I could get in trouble for even talking about this. The hospital or anyone involved has signed NDAs to not share any information about this until it officially dies. This is because it's a medical anomaly and the first of its kind. They want to do the proper research.

and how this all occurred before coming out with a statement. I just have to get this all off my chest. I feel like I'm the crazy one here when I know I'm not. I don't care if I get in trouble. I'm scared that the doctors are trying to force my parents into giving this thing a proper life. I think that's why it took them so long to tell me. I think they scared my parents into keeping it alive

and guilting them or even forcing them. them into being its parent. I'm all for every life being important and all that stuff, but I have a feeling my parents are terrified of this thing, just like I am. I'm convinced they gaslit my parents into believing this thing is my brother. If there wasn't any sign of him while my mom was pregnant with me, could this thing be something else? This all happened about two years ago.

It's still alive and they're still really. researching it. My parents continue to visit it despite everything. My therapist told me that I'm probably just struggling with jealousy now that I'm not an only child anymore and so much of my parents' attention is on him now. But it's so much bigger than just jealousy. Since this thing showed up and my OCD is pretty much gone, I've hardly seen my parents. I know I'm not just jealous. something more to this. I know it. Something just feels off about this whole thing. What is this thing? Where did it come from? And what does it want? I had a rough time as a kid. I suffered from both hemengeomas and spotty hair loss. Two conditions that would go away the closer I got to my

teenage years. But for those first few years, I was a social pariah. I looked strange, which was enough to draw unwanted attention. Some kids thought I had a kind of mange, or others just didn't like to look at me. My parents didn't make it easier for me, forcing me to bring various creams that I had to apply during school hours. I ended up trying to make my own fun. I made my own friends in my head and I played a lot of board games on my own My parents were going through a divorce And both swore off having any more children

So I ended up as an only child Most of my made-up friends Were just the plaything I could tell it was all just for fun And that they weren't real I didn't see them or hear them I made up little stories in my head trying to imagine what they would do if they were there.

I could get really into it. I had this one imaginary friend who always tried to cheat in games, so when I played with him at the table, I'd move the pieces in a way he would, and thus cheat. Another friend was obsessed with lemonade, so I always brought an extra glass for him when I was seven years old. There was a new friend. This one was different.

I could really see him. I knew he was just as fake as the rest of them, as he only appeared when I was alone and playing, but he was strange. I hadn't imagined him for a specific purpose. I didn't come up with a name for him. I don't know anything about him. Even if I would pretend not to know the cheetah and the lemonade enthusiast to drive conversation, this one was a genuine mystery.

He was scary. He looked like a person but sort of stretched, at least seven feet tall, pale, flaking, grey skin. He was super thin and had this sort of hanging face like his skin was slouching. It reminded me of a wet towel hanging off a rack. And his eyes, well, they were empty. There was nothing there. He was super quiet and rarely moved. I'd usually forget he was even there, unless he made his little sound.

A sort of teeth chatter. It was like a tick, sometimes a single click. Other times he just stand there chattering excitedly. Clack, clack, clack, clack. At first I just asked him to go away. He didn't talk and he didn't answer my questions. No matter what I played, he refused to participate or even acknowledge me. He just wanted to be there.

Most of the time, he was a nuisance. He'd scare me. I'd wake up to that noise of chattering teeth at night, or it'd click right next to my ear when I played my board games. Over time, it went from scary to frustrating. He was just being a bother. But there was a time in middle school that changed the way I viewed him. There was a new kid in school, who was an infamous bully.

Let's call him Ian. He'd been moved from another school where it'd been a menace. No one really knew what to do with him, so they just sort of moved him around. And now it was our turn to deal with him. And of course, I was a clear target. Ian started calling me scathe me scathe. me scabs and it kind of caught on. The sick dog of the class now had a name that others clung to and it wasn't a good one.

But it didn't end there. One day after school he took things too far, spurred on my cheers and laughter from my classmates, I was beaten bloody. While I was beaten, the others went inside to get some scissors. They were going to cut my mangy hair. when it was just me and Ian I heard that teeth-chattering noise again I could see the strange figure in the background

my first thought was that he was there to mock me too but to my surprise it had other plans it leaned in unhinged its massive jaw and took a bite out of Ian's ear tearing it in half. There was instant pandemonium. Ian turned around, not looking at me, but straight at his assailant.

He could see him too, blood and screams. Panic. Ian scrambled like a scared dog, tripping over his own legs to get away. The others came running back too, but as they saw what had happened, they'd all had a collective gasp. Seeing them step back was... Imparing. He turned and ran, screaming and pointing. They hadn't seen what Ian and I had.

They thought I'd done it. He took it. He took it Ian's ear! The kids ran away. They ran like their heads were on fire. I sat there for a moment. My body pulsing with bruises and shock. The strange creature approached me. His teeth had stopped chattering.

replaced with chewing, slowly savoring a meal. For all the help it had given me, this was grotesque. My adrenaline had spiked, and I just said the first thing that came to mind. Maybe it didn't really want to hurt me. Maybe it was there for some other reason. Either way, I said what I said. You're just a big softy, aren't you? I sniffled.

You're a big softie. Big softy. It weased back. He was less of a voice and more of a throbbing wind. Its lips didn't move. Big, softy, it continued. Am. Yeah, you are.

I nodded. That's you. It leaned in close, inspecting me. He didn't breathe. Nay, it hissed. Free. I stared into those hollow sockets, waiting for something to happen. A smile, a breath, anything.

But no. I blinked, and Big Softie was no longer there. Sometimes, violent. solves things. While that brawl didn't make me popular, it stopped kids from teasing me. Classmates began using my regular name again. Sure, there were still whispers and the occasional side-eye, but that was still an immense improvement. No one spoke about that fight, though. I didn't want to get in trouble for the ear, and they didn't want to get in trouble for bullying me. So we kept it to ourselves, and never spoke of it again.

Ian seemed fine with sitting quietly and not talking to anyone about it. He changed. And big softy. Well, he sort of disappeared. It's like he'd done his job and went on his merry way. For a couple of years that followed, I thought he just might have been a figment of my imagination. Maybe I was the one who really bit Ian, and this whole thing was just a way to cope with that trauma. It had to be something of the sort. Imaginary friends don't affect the real world.

Then again, giving him a name, even a nickname, seemed to have encouraged him or something worse. Most of my afflictions cleared up in high school and I found a solid group of like-minded youths. Over time, all little dream friends faded from memory, the one who cheated, the one who loved lemonade, a hundred others who I can't even remember, the way they looked, the way they sounded, their names and quirks, they all went away. But Big Softie stayed at my mind, realer than any of them, the hollow eyes, the chattering teeth. It was strange how the most horrifying of all my imaginary friends turned out to be the one

who stuck around the longest. The time passed. High school turned to college, college turned to work, and by the time I was 27, I had a pretty cozy life going. But even then, despite not having seen or heard that childhood friend of mine, Big Softie still drifted in my dreams every now and then. I wish I could end the story here. It would just be a strange anecdote about something that happened to me as a kid. Sadly, that's not the case. What began as an unusual chartered curiosity turned into a waking nightmare.

Back in 2019, I was in a pretty good place. I was six months into a promotion that added a flat 15% to my salary, and I was finally getting back into dating after a messy breakup a couple of months earlier. Nothing serious, but it felt good to shake off the cold webs. I was coming home from a long day of overtime and had to stop for gas. Nothing I hadn't done a hundred times before. I got myself a slim gym and told the long-haired man behind the counter that I wanted 30 on Pomp 2.

I handed over my card and checked my phone for a moment. Clack. Teeth. Turning around. Nothing. I could feel my pulse spiking for no apparent reason. I became hyper aware of my surroundings. We hovered light and the faint whiff of gasoline.

That one noise brought me straight back to middle school. It sent this cold spike straight into my head as if I could picture that hollowed out face in front of me. I snapped out of it with a beep from the cash register. I thanked the cashier and headed for the door. Just before I left, I turned back around to them. Excuse me, but did you hear something strange just now? No, can't say I did.

Sorry. Did you click your tongue or something? Can't say I did, sir. I nodded. Of course they didn't. The same sensation came back to me on four different occasions. Once when I was closing the blinds in my bedroom. Once when getting the mail at work,

another time when stuck in traffic. and once when I was about to answer a phone call. I ended up missing it. It was such a strange reminder. It had come out of nowhere. And now it was starting to become a daily annoyance. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out where it was coming from. There wasn't really a direction.

It was just like, in my head. He was there, everywhere, nowhere, and inside. Clack. And yet, Big Softie was yet to be seen. I was having trouble focusing on work. I couldn't push my intrusive thoughts out, and I ended up doing some digging on social media. Looking up old acquaintances from work,

folks I hadn't seen or heard from in years. Some had started families. Others had moved far away for work or studies. There were a handful of them still left in Minnesota. One face stood out to me though. Ian. Turns out he was still around. The moment I got home from work, I went straight to my computer.

I looked up Ian on some of the more common social media sites. The man had no privacy settings. Most of it was just nonsense. Pictures of him having beers with the boys, a couple of nice cars, group pictures of random people with generic. nicknames. This was a man that wanted to express nothing more than being hashtag Friday blessed. But looking a little closer, there are a few cracks in the facade. For example, there are a couple more recent comments he'd made to a few friends of his. God doesn't just

send angels to protect you, he said in one post. Sometimes he sends demons to test you. Looking a bit closer revealed a lot more. pain that was readily apparent. Ian was taking medication for schizophrenia. He was overcoming a drinking problem. He seemed to constantly be bouncing between complete disregard for others and hysterical regret for his actions. He could be fighting for forgiveness in one post and bragging about stealing from work in the next. The man was a mess, a complete mess, and that half-missing ear of his didn't do him any favours. no matter how many tattoos he put on his neck to divert the attention.

But one particular post caught my attention. He was discussing lifestyle challenges with a local youth pastor, an old acquaintance we had in common, and they were at a disagreement. Ian spat out, I don't deny my goddamn problems. I know what they look like. I know their names.

I see their teeth. See their teeth? Huh. Furthermore, no one seemed to have seen him for a while. For all intents and purposes, Ian had sort of fallen off the face of the earth, leaving behind one last cryptic post. It's getting too real, the post said. It's too close.

And with that, he posted nothing more. I checked the dates, my notes, and made some deductions. That final post of his was written the same day I first started hearing the teeth chattering noise again. That couldn't be a coincidence. It just couldn't. I didn't find out anything else about him, and the sound of teeth chattering with horrible timing was getting worse. Once I had to pull over in traffic to stop my heart from racing, I could have sworn I saw that hollowed out face. in my rearview mirror. I was so frustrated that I smacked my hands on my dashboard so hard I got a bruise. By the time I got home, I was nervous and stressed. I threw off my jacket, stormed

into the kitchen, and cracked open a Coke. I slammed the door shut so hard, I knocked one of the fridge magnets onto the floor. A little blue sunflower came with a place. Leaning back against the fridge, My heart skipped a beat. Big softie. It was right there. Just a few feet away, looking right at me. I clack. I dropped my can of Coke.

As it hit the floor, I blinked. In the next moment, I was alone again. Clutching my chest, I picked the can up, wiped up the spill with a couple of paper towels, try my best to calm down. This was getting out of hand. I hadn't regained my composure before there was another sound, a knock on the door.

It surprised me. I wasn't expecting company. I lumbered over to the door, flustered and shaky. I put my hand on the handle. Then stopped. Maybe there was a reason I'd seen that thing. Maybe it wasn't just psychosis What if it meant something

But it'd have something to do with whoever Or whatever was on the other side of the door I can shoot you through the door A muffled voice said Open I froze One hand on the door handle Another hand on my phone

I was stuck I couldn't make myself move. I won't ask again. Open. I didn't know what to say. I turned the handle and carefully stepped back. Ian. He looked like he'd gone through hell to get here.

Unwashed hair, unkempt beard, and a shiny new handgun pointed at me. His hands were shaking. He wasn't kidding around. His fingers trembled. He was. was trying to pull the trigger. Ian?

I said, reflexively. You, what do you? Shut up, he spat. Just shut up. He raised the handgun, staring me down. The sound of his own name shook him. It has to end. I can't.

His aim faltered. He looked away. A second later, he pushed me back and entered my apartment, closing the door behind him. He led me into the kitchen. There were still wet paper towels on the floor from my spilled drink. Sit down, he said, pointing to a chair. Keep your hands on the table. I did, as he said.

It was a sudden quiet between us, as if he hadn't planned this far. There was a clear uncertainty to his actions, which just made it worse. I couldn't tell what he'd do next. I need you to To make it stop He said

It has to stop It has to I just can't Don't tell me you can't You raise this gun Stepping closer My whole body felt cooler As blood will rush to my arms and legs

Don't you tell me that He repeated Now make it stop Before I got a chance to say Or do anything He sat down across from me Guns still pointed in my direction One wrong move, at which anything.

And it'd be over. I almost forgot to breathe. I know it's yours. It's being yours for... Always. He continued, scratching his hair. But it's too much. It's gone too far.

So... Okay. I tried to click my thoughts. You're talking about him, with the teeth. Don't act like you don't know its name. Ian groaned. Don't you dare. We looked at one another and said it in unison.

Big, softy. The moment we said it, I could see him emerging from the shadows in the back of the kitchen. I tried my best not to gasp or look his way. He's in my head. Every night, I hear him all the time. Ian continued. That damn click-clack.

right in my ear, sometimes in my face, like he wants to take a bite. I'm not controlling that, I said, carefully picking my words. I haven't seen him in decades. Even know how bad you messed up, he said, squinting with disbelief. You named it. It's all they need to go off. They need a name. They need to be made real, and you...

He raised his gun, growing more determined by the second. You made him real, this time to the bathroom. I didn't have any say in the matter, having a gun pointed straight at me. Somewhere off in the background, I could see the vague shape of Big Softie, moving soundlessly from one room to another. I can't control it, I said. I have nothing to... I don't care.

But this is pointless. There's nothing. I don't care. If you go away, his name goes away. You don't know that. I was pushed through the bathroom door and to the back of my shower. I tripped, coming down hard on my tailbone. The ceramic tiles felt icy cold against my sweaty palms,

and I could smell a bit of chlorine from the cleaning supplies. He raised his gun. This was it. Big Softie. I said. That's all I did. I called it a goddamn nickname. I don't deserve to die for that.

Ian's resolved, faltered. He scratched his head again, groaning. But more so, I could see Big Softie just outside the room. Was he getting closer? Big Softie, I said again, my eyes darting to the door. I was a scared kid. It just slipped out. Don't you dare put it.

this on me, he said, don't you dare. I observed the creature. It was approaching. Every time I said its name, it got a little closer. Looking Ian dead in the eye, I took a deep breath. This was it. Big softy, I said, big softy, big softy. What the hell it? I kept repeating it over and over and over. It might do something, it might not. Either way, I had to try. But by the sixth time I said it, that enormous looming creature was inches behind Ian. But more so, it was changing. Not by a lot, but enough for me to notice. He was smiling. Ian raised his gun at me and pulled the trigger. At the same time, I said the name for a seventh. And final time, the shot went wild as an unhinged jaw came down on Ian's shoulder.

There was a scream, a spurt of blood on the bathroom mirror, a flailing arm hitting the light switch, turning a gruesome scene into a shadow theatre. Impassably thin hands wrapping around a throat, twisting his neck like a toothpaste cap, crunching, ripping, chewing, teeth, teeth, teeth, clack, clack, clack, clack. Laughter. Otherworldly, ethereal laughter. I have no idea how long it went on.

Ian didn't even have time to beg. The handgun clattered to the ground. It was just me. And this thing alone in a dark bath. room. I couldn't speak. I just curled up into a ball and tried my best to ignore the viscera running into the drain next to me. It was a slight creaking sound as old knees bent, a hot breath in my face. Big softy could breathe, it seemed nice name, it said. The voice was different, real, tangible.

I could hear vibrations in his throat. This was no longer a figment of my imagination. Going, it continued. I could hear something getting dragged out of the apartment. I had doors open and close, and God knows how long I realized I was sitting there, shaking like a dry leaf in the wind. My stomach turned at the idea of turning on the light, but I had to.

I got up and reached for the light switch, almost tripping on the handgun, and something slippery cling into it. Fingers, I flipped the switch. And I broke. I won't go into detail of what I saw. Most of the body was gone. Not all of it, but most of it. It was a blood trail leading into the hallway, then disappearing just as it reached the front door. I'd brought that thing into the world. I'd named it. I'd reinforced it.

I'd believed it. Called out to it. I'd made it real. All it had to do was answer. You can't unlearn something. And even if I could, I think it's too late. I think big softies. got just enough of what he needed to become something else entirely.

He took a life, and now he's got one of his own. Maybe we still have some kind of connection. I don't know. I think we do. Or else he might have just killed me too right then and there. Then again, there's no way to tell. I've obsessed over this for years, looking through articles about mentions of Ian. There were no search parties, no one came looking.

Even the people who missed him were reluctant to work with the police. And with his history of schizophrenia, there was a higher likelihood of him just doing something he shouldn't. But I knew better. Ian hadn't been schizophrenic. Week softy had just stuck to him and just tortured him. For God knows how long. Decades. Looking back at it, I think that was the plan all along, to drive Ian to a point where

he would try to kill me. It is in their final moments that a person gets truly desperate, and that's what I felt on that floor. Desperation. I reached out to whoever would answer, and I couldn't fathom the consequences. He's out there right now. he probably looks like us, walks like us and sounds like us. But wherever he is and whatever he does,

I don't want a part of it. I don't know what to say. But if you meet a strangely tall man who does that thing with his teeth, just know that there might be more to him, a lot more. He's more than just a big softie. In my tireless pursuit of answers, I found fresh questions of terror. Comfort is an alien notion to me.

I've always been afraid, always failing to still my brains ever-waring cogs. But, from a young age, I aimed to cease my mind's endless worrying. I poured every ounce of my energy into becoming an engineer. It has always eased my mind's endless worrying. nerves to fix things. Of course, nothing was ever enough. I needed absolute certainty, and I wasn't going to find that on our little green rock. Naturally, I looked to the stars. In the early 2000s, shortly after graduating from Cambridge University, I moved to America and secured a job at NASA. I wanted to be part of something bigger than me, an organization

organization focused on exploring the deepest crevices of the universe. The date was January 2nd, 2023. It was a day unlike any other. The office was filled with the excitable chatter of my colleagues, folk who, typically, would have their heads silently buried in paperwork. The air on this particular day, however, was filled with a jittery, magnetic energy. Connor, you'll never guess what just leaked, Adam eagerly said, motioning for me to follow. I shrugged and followed my friend out to the office.

What's happening? I asked. You're going to lose your mind, my colleague replied. We made our way into one of the compound's main facilities, a building which housed NASA's assembly line of rockets. I had a hunch that Adam's exciting news might be related to DM 50, but a dozen minus rockets. After all, the bulky vessel was near in completion. No low-level employees had been given any inkling as to what purpose the spacecraft would serve.

My colleague and I rounded the corner of the vessel, and we found Dr. Stanley Jacobs talking to a few physicists. He was a graying, pale-faced fellow with chapped skin. the sort of man who had physically aged beyond his years. He could have been 64 or 46. The wary-faced man groaned at the sight of Adam, but my friend didn't care. He was fixated on the screen behind the physicist.

It depicted various graphs and charts, a foreign language to me. Everybody who's been biting Stanley's ear off after he mistakenly forwarded an email to Jenny and account. Last year, Jacobs discovered an anomaly at the edge of our galaxy. Adam gleefully whispered, an unidentified phenomenon that vaguely resembles a black hole, though its physical makeup is unlike anything previously discovered in human history, and NASA has been intercepting frequencies from the other side. Using telescopic data, they've created musical tones which sound like...

Well, who knows? storms on unseen planets, forms of alien communication, a parallel version of our reality perhaps. This sounds like fiction. Why didn't we hear about it when Jacobs found the anomaly a year ago? I asked. My colleague shrugged. You know what the media is like. This could be huge or it could be nothing.

But Jacobs is suggesting that it might be a tear between universes. Hypothetically, I scoffed. though secretly my interest was peaked come on Connor you're always talking about the mysteries of the universe well it turns out that there's more than one universe Adam said and Frank heard that they plan in an expedition with a DM 50 I told you something big was happening

why else were they have contracted dozen miners it's unofficial highly classified technology my heartbeat started to quicken as I contemplated what my friend had said. Parallel universes, I thought. Could these distant worlds offer the answer I've always wanted? A small group of physicists eventually dispersed, and Adam nodded his head at Stanley. Talk to him about the expedition.

He didn't want anything to do with me, but this could be your shot to see space. My friend whispered before walking away. May I help? Dr. Jacobs asked, overhearing us. I... Does the DM50 expedition have any openings for engineers? I asked. The man sighed.

You shouldn't know about that. But you're not the first person to ask. This day has been... You're going to explore the anomaly, aren't you? I asked, eagerly interrupting the physicist. Did you hear something? Wait. Are you even an engineer?

You're not some government servant on a mission to shut down this project, are you? Dr. Jacobs asked, lifting an eyebrow. No, I just need to be on that ship, sir. You likely already have plenty of engineers attached to the project, but we do. So I wouldn't get your hopes up, the man interjected, hacking his briefcase. I won't pretend to be some indispensable genius, I said. But this is more than a job to me. I don't really care about NASA.

I just... I've always wanted answers to... Well, everything, the man carefully examined me. What's your name? Dr. Jacobs asked, pulling a piece of paper out of his coat pocket. Connor Bridges, I said, composing myself. The physicist nodded and scribbled my name. There aren't any official opening.

But I know that look in your eyes. It's what guided me to this place too. It's what prompted me to chase Harriet's eye. Harriet's eye, I asked. The man solemnly nodded. The name of the anomaly, my late daughter. Sorry, I quietly replied. Jacobs cleared his throat. The DM50 could always use an extra engineer. My eyes glistened, and I immediately accepted the offer. I couldn't quite wrap my brain around the idea of going to space. Now, of course, months after my voyage of terror, I tried to pretend it never happened.

After ten months of training, launch day arrived. Dr. Stanley Jacobs and Dr. Elizabeth Farrow his research partner had been developing the logistics of the mission for the better part of two years. Our stealth vessel, the DM50, would venture to the edge of the Milky Way, undetected by the people of Earth, and we would send various automated research vessels into Harriet's eye. Given promising results, a man's mission would follow. It was an airtight plan. The launch was a surreal experience.

sitting in a near silent ship equipped with cloaking technology. We left Earth behind, not a soul on the ground watched. It was a week-long journey, using Dozen Minus Technology, we achieved the impossible. We not only travelled to the farthest reach of the Milky Way, but we did so within an unthinkably fast time frame. The reason for Dr. Jacob's hurry would eventually become horribly clear. From within the window of DM50, the crew surveyed Harriet's eye with doe-eyed, blissfully unaware faces, a gaggle of schoolchildren dazzled by the mysteries of space. And, as we approached, the eye grew from a blackened blemish on the horizon into a ginormous wound that had splintered the very fabric of reality. A hauntingly spectacular sight.

The unmanned vessels were launched once we reached a suitably near, yet safe distance from Harriet's eye. We watched as the tiny metallic blobs jettisoned from DM50. Then, one by one, the three vessels was swallowed by the blackened mouth. We found ourselves hovering in space at the edge of oblivion, waiting for the robotic explorers to return. The majority of low-level workers had nothing to do but twiddle thumbs. We couldn't proceed until the data from the unmanned vessels had been retrieved and analyzed. Not quite the adventure you imagine Mr. Bridges, Stanley Jacobs asked, grinning. The two lead physicists sat on the opposite end of the canteen table.

I smiled at the pair of them, whilst horridly finishing my mouth full of food, It wasn't often that lowly crew members would have the opportunity to talk to the ever-elusive lead physicists. Actually, it's no different from a day in the office. Sitting around, waiting for something to do, I said. Stanley laughed. Well, it's just as tedious for Elizabeth and me. Too right, but I enjoy lunch breaks because I get to spend some time with people other than him. Dr. Elizabeth Farrow's chirped.

I hate to pry, but... Well, have you made any progress? I asked. I won't pretend to understand the physics of this expedition, but... Don't be so modest, Connor, Elizabeth said. You're an engineer. I'm sure you understand more than you pretend to know. He's a mysterious egg, Jacobs chuckled.

Did you know that he twisted my arm to get on this mission? He was almost as determined as me. Almost. Elizabeth raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Yes, I seem to remember him showing up quite late in training. Were you keen to see action, Connor? The woman had kind eyes. Elizabeth was middle-aged, possibly the same age as Stanley, but the years had been kinder to a soft skin, rosy-cheeked face. She reminded me of my late mother. Something about a velvety voice encouraging. encouraged me to open up. It wasn't about the adventure, Dr. Farrow.

I've just... Always been afraid, I said. I've always wanted answers to unanswerable questions, and this phenomenon seems fundamentally juxtaposed to the reality which surrounds it. Before either other physicists could reply, our food tray slid to the right as we did, and everybody cried in confusion

as the bodies were limply flung to the side of the unexpectedly leaning vessel. My temple connected with the edge of the table, drawing blood, and I gripped either side of the canteen bench onto my knuckles whitened. Dozens of dazed, injured workers clambered to their feet. We all hurried to our respective stations, ready to assess the damage. Though the ship corrected its balance, it continued to quake uncontrollably. and as we ran to the engineering office, my crew members and I shuddered at the sight of complete blackness beyond D&50's windows. The stars and planets had disappeared.

Race for impact, a voice shrieked over the ship's intercom. The ship's outer body groaned under the strain of seismic pressure, and I tumbled at the office's metallic floor. The other engineers and I clutched that any fixed thing we could find, and we braced for our lives as DM50 finally came to a blunt, jarring halt. Everybody lay as still as possible. Mums of pain echoed around the office, light fixtures flicked unstably, and various alarms sounded in a clamorous cacophony. All personnel report to the main bridge, her voice announced over the ternoy.

My fellow wounded engineers stumbled weakly to the corridor outside our office, But we did not walk to the main bridge. We speechlessly filled the corridor, and each of us stared out of the window, and each of us stared out of the windows which lined the walkway. Beyond DM50, there lay a near colorless hellscape. The only light stemmed from a luminous blue orb in the distance. A white dwarf, one woman said, gasping. do they usually look like that, a man asked. The edges of the orb seemed to dance erratically,

and the ocean beyond our ship was littered with tidal waves of crumbling rocks, stray pieces clattered against the windows of DM50, and then I realized that one of the larger distant rocks was a planet. It appeared to be cleanly split down the middle, as if it were two halves of a cracked coconut shell. This foreign place was not the Milky Way. The very laws of physics seemed to contradict our reality. We entered Harriet's eye, a man whispered.

It's another universe, somebody muttered. All personnel to the main bridge, the Tannoy voice repeated urgently. Snapping out of the existential fever which had seized our bodies, the engineering crew hurried through the walkways of the ship. and we joined everybody in the main bridge area. Beyond the chatting crowd, I could see Dr. Jacobs and Dr. Farrow standing sheepishly behind Captain Poulton.

Quiet, the captain bellowed. The entire crew immediately complied. We tried to fixate on our bearded, stern-faced leader, but our eyes kept wondering to the swirling kaleidoscope of colors and bombardment of rocks beyond the bridge's main viewpoint. An unidentifiable force has pulled us into the anomaly, Captain Poulton said. We're working towards immediately returning home, and we do not know what we might find here. The data has not yet been retrieved from the unmanned vessels, so these are uncharted waters.

Anxious murmuring resumed. Enough, the captain shouted. Before we attempt to enter the anomaly again, we must deem DM50 to be ship-shaped. I'll leave that to our engineers, but time is of the essence. Isn't that right, Dr. Jacobs? There was a disquieting tension between the lead physicist and the captain. Dr. Jacobs cleared his throat. The anomaly is shrinking.

We should have told you that we have a limited window in which to explore what lies beyond it. That's not all, Captain Poulton growled. Stanley cleared his throat nervously, but Elizabeth placed a table. delicate hand on his shoulder. We have entered her dying universe, one that is collapsing on itself, she said, prompting a gasp of horror from the crowd. The anomaly is our only exit, and it will soon be closed for good. Dr. Jacob sighed.

I believe that Harriet's eye might well be more than a rip in the lining of reality. It might be the crunch point for this universe. All matter in this reality will collide here. Anarchy ensued. Crew members held abuse of the physicists, and the few furious individuals lunged at Jacobs. The captain and several security officers restrained the enraged crew members. We can't change what has been done. Captain Bolton yelled, shoving the mob backwards.

When we return to Earth, Dr. Jacobs and Dr. Farrow will stand trial for their crimes. Until then, we have one objective, save for. every last person abroad this ship. A crew worked tirelessly over the following hours, but things only worsened. We were sitting ducks at the entrance to the anomaly, the ever-closing seal between two universes that became apparent as the ship's body began to wail painfully. The onslaught of rocks are loudened against the metalwork and reinforced glass panes. The M-50 began to quake on a knee.

near constant basis, and whenever I had glanced out of the ship's windows, I became acutely aware of a burgeoning light in the distance. The sinister swirling glow of a trillion galaxies converging, the incoming flurry of long-dead planets and moons. The universe was collapsing, and we were at the epicenter. I eventually slumped into my bunk-bunked. bed at the brink of exhaustion, but I found myself unable to shut my eyes. Eager to busy myself, I switched to my terminal to run a few diagnostics for the evening. The sooner we could give the captain the green light to go, the better. I was surprised to find a notification in my inbox.

It was a day-old video message from Adam. Hey, Connor, I've been bored out of my mind. I'm still upset that Dr. Jacobs wouldn't let me join the crew, so I decided to do some research on the big man. I talked to Frank in IT because he owed me a favor, and he let me look at some of the transmissions that Jacobs has been deciphering. NASA received signals from the anomaly that seemed communicative, Connor, and it was a two-way flow.

Jacobs responded. He talked to something. You need to ask him about that. The thought of receiving a message from alien life, whether in our universe or another, had once filled me with such excitement. But I was filled with the inexplicable dread by the idea of Jacobs communicating with some unseen intelligence. It could have been the secrecy surrounding the communication.

Jacobs hadn't told anyone that he'd already found something sentient beyond Harriet's eye. Why? my gut instinct was to confront him. I slid out of bed, got dressed, and left the engineering quarters. The ship was eerily quiet on my walk to the main laboratory, other than the roar of space debris, which had become a form of white noise. As expected, I found Dr. Jacobs hunched over at his desk and busy himself with work. The white glow of the screen illuminated the man's gorns, possessed face.

He hardly looked human. Why didn't you tell us? I asked. The expedition would never have been greenlit. Dr. Jacobs muttered without looking up. Good, I said. We never would have faced such horror. Dr. Jacobs removed his glasses and eyed me with disappointment. What happened to that young man who wanted answers?

We're not going to get any answers here, I said, certainly not about that thing you heard in the darkness. Stanley Jacobs froze, eyeing me for a few seconds as droplets of sweat collected on his forehead brow. How did you know about that? he whispered. He only spoke to me. I shivered. He? Stanley's frown lifted as he realized that I knew nothing. Go to bed, Mr. Bridges," he said, returning his gaze to the laptop. What were you hoping to find? I asked. The man scoffed. Another universe, Connor. Something greater than us. And I calculated that we had no more than a couple of years before Harriet's eye would seal forever. A couple of... I stopped mid-sentence.

How long do we have before this reality collapses, Jacobs, months? weeks? Days, Stanley whispered. Fists clenching of their own accord, I stormed across the lab and towed over the man, who quickly shrank into his desk chair. What could we possibly learn in days, Stanley? You brought us here to die. I barked.

I wanted this to happen sooner, he retorted. But the airheads at NASA had to plan carefully. Unofficial projects are always messy. especially when they result in countless deaths i said the anomaly almost tore the ship in half we might not even be able to fix it we might die don't you care i have every faith in you dr jacob said returning his gaze to the numbers on his screen and i have every faith in you i replied you're lucky to even be here the physicists snarled as we continued the back and forth discussion, our voices gradually raised. It was only after ten minutes of running in circles that we realized we were competing, not with each other, but with the growing sound outside the ship.

And when we turned our heads to the laboratory windows, Stanley and I gasped in unison. The dying universe's void was filling with light at an increasingly rapid pace, and Ian 50's trembling foundations felt less stable with every passing second. No, this isn't right. We should have time. Stanley breathlessly cried. I still have so much data to collect. I need to...

All personnel to stations, the voice announced over the intercom. Flight to Harriet's eye will commence in five minutes, brace for impact. We've barely run 50% of the necessary diagnostics, I said. Who cares about the ship, Connor? Dr. Jacobs manically cried, This is greater than anything in human history. This is... What are you?

The wispy, disembodied voice rattled sharply around my skull, like a coin stuck in a jar. It's me. I'm here, Stanley whispered. I did as you asked. The physicist noticed my horrified expression, and he realized I'd heard the voice too. He was in especial as he thought himself to be.

I became aware of the fact that all sound outside the ship had ceased. The terrifying convergence of galaxies continued beyond the window, but there was quiet. Only that haunting whisper permeated the silence. A new land to conquer, the voicest. Thank you for showing me the door. I want to see her. Dr. Jacobs wailed, throwing his arms outwards.

You said I'd see Harriet. She is still in the place of all dead things. Come closer. Let me show you. The chilling voice said, outside the window, amidst the multicolored glare of approaching galaxies, I saw two forming bodies. Red, gassy spheres of biblical proportions,

and as black specks emerge from, from their centres, I realised what they were. Eyes of unfathenable enormity. I tried to scream, but my quivering, narrowing throat was unwilling. Could it have been strangled, perhaps, by that paranormal deity? Black tendrils emerged from the abyss of the universe's ever-nearing edge. They curled forwards and took the shape of colossal, god-like fingers. fingers that were reaching towards us.

The ship suddenly lurched forwards. The captain, who had looked upon the horror in the depths of space, commenced our voyage into Harriet's eye. Thankful for the slightest hope, I looked to the sobbing physicist beside me. Harriet, he cried. You, you promised. With a thunderous clap, the tremendous, ear-shattering sound. of the collapsing universe returned as if the terrifying entity with eyes like blazing gateways to hell were roaring in fury at our attempted escape whose ever-stretching fingers

soared towards our spacecraft and DM-50 began to jolt from side to side a trillion swirling lights soared towards our ship as the universe's collapse quickened I screamed as I screamed as I finally fathom the horror of being crushed by a universe But then, the pulling began, the pull of the shrivelled, near-closed anomaly. Blackness began to envelop our ship. We were entering Harriet's eye. As Stanley and I stated ourselves against the nearby desk, I closed my eyes and thought of home.

A little green rock that I had shunned for my entire life. In that moment, it was the only thing I wanted. Following an explosion of sound, everything stopped, all sound, all movement, and when I opened my eyes, we were surrounded by life. We had returned to our universe. There were bright burning stars in the distance, fully formed planets, serene tides of space that gladly carried us home, a long, quiet journey home. I rushed to the laboratory window to eye the fading anomaly.

Did it close or simply fade from view? I still don't know. Part of me believes in the darkened distance of space. I might have seen those terrible black tendrils slinking through the tear between realities, the hand of a god fleeing its dying universe to claim another. Jacobs and Dr. Farrow await trial for what they did. I've been denied visitation privileges, but I need to see them. I need to understand the last thing he said to me, it lives. My name is Marshall, and I was an investigator for the Coast Guard for over 30 years.

Before I begin, I'm not going to give any last names or overly personal. information for the protection of myself and those involved. As I write this, using the first names my superior still feels like sacrilege. However, following the events of this story, I had signed an NDA pertaining to what was uncovered during the investigation. Given that I are now staring down the barrel of a nasty cancer diagnosis, I no longer care for my career or life. But I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to hurt anyone else in the process. Despite the danger of disobeying a federal NDA,

I feel that people deserved another truth about what lurks in their coastal waters. During my time as an investigator for the Coast Guard, my days was spent stopping drug runners, hanging around the docks and yelling at drunk party boat captains. However, every single servicemen or member of law enforcement as a couple of cases which they cannot forget, no matter how desperate they are to do so.

The SS Nepoli was one of those cases. It was 1997, and I had been an investigator for the Coast Guard for three years and was stationed in Portland where my partner, John and I got the call. According to our dispatch, there was a small cruise vessel which had veered into a restricted commercial waterway, Having nothing better to do and not wanting to look too lazy around our superiors, we made our way to our small patrol boat where we were met by one of the senior investigators named Eric.

John, Marshall, you're both late. Eric said as he stood in front of our boat with his arms crossed. I didn't know this was going to be so serious, John said as we walked towards the boat. It's always serious. Eric said as he stared daggers at John This search has become a high priority And we're just wasting time standing here So move your asses

After glaring at John for another second Eric turned around and quickly made his way aboard the boat Screw me John said as he gave me a look of dejection and annoyance I was really hoping this would be a quick call I looked at John and gave him a shrug as I boarded this ship. During my time being stationed in Maine,

I had heard from several of my colleagues that Eric had a reputation for being a, by the book's hard ass. It was his way, or you were just in the way, my friend Pete would tell me. I should have known that once Eric had become involved in the investigation,

that this was going to be more than a routine stop. However, even with the knowledge of having, Eric conducts his investigations, we were all unprepared for the turn that this case would take. It took us about 20 minutes to get to the site of the SS Napoli. When we got there, we found that she had drifted into a sandbar and had gotten stuck. Despite this, we could hear the loud sputtering of the engine, desperately clinging on for dear life as its rotors were being enveloped by sand. Hello, this is the US Coast Guard, Eric stated over our boat's PA. Turn off your engines and come out on top of your deck.

We waited for a minute before Eric repeated the message. This is the US Coast Guard. Turn off your engine and come out or we will board your ship. Eric boomed over the loudspeaker, clearly annoyed at the lack of response. Screw this, Eric said as he drew his pistol. We're boarding now. Eric had John put down our anchor, and the three of us boarded this ship. As soon as we stepped aboard, I noticed several pile of clothes neatly folded along the deck's edges.

Maybe they went for a swim, John said sarcastically, as he simultaneously avoided looking at Eric. Enough clowning around. Let's go turn off the engine. Eric said as his words trailed off. John and I both looked in the direction where Eric was staring, and saw a limp hand holding a pistol on the ground. John, get to our boat and call this in. We have one confirmed casualty. Without saying a word, John quickly leapt from the Napoli onto our ship and made his way to the

radio. With his gun drawn, Eric motioned for me to follow him, and we quickly breached the helm of the helm of the ship. When we got inside, we found the heavily decomposed body of a man in his mid-50s with an exit wound on top of his head. As Eric radioed John to relay the man's information, I stared mindlessly at the back wall of the helm, which had become adorned with a man's dried blood and brain matter. "'Marshal!' Eric yelled, snapping me out of my days. "'Sorry, sir,' I said as I regained my again.

composure and started searching the pockets of the man's pants for any identification. It's okay, Eric said, in a surprisingly understanding tone. Let's figure out who this man is and how he got here. Reaching into his left front pocket, I found his wallet and pulled out his ID, which caused a loose photo to fall in the process. It looks like his name was Wendell Kramer, I said, as I handed Eric the man's ID. As I went to put the man's wallet on the table, I saw the small photograph and picked it up. In the picture was Wendell and what appeared to be his wife and two older children as they stood in front of the Bellagio in Las Vegas.

Looks like he had a family too, I said, as I handed Eric. a photograph. Wife and two kids. Eric said as he looked out the open doorway. How many piles of clothing were there? Three, sir, John said, as he made his way into the helm, stopping just shore to the corpse. Christ, do you think it could have been a murder-suicide situation? John said, as he looked down at the man's body.

I think that I need to see the living quarters of the ship first, before I have any theories. Eric said as he walked past John. John, you're coming with me. Marshall, I want you to see if we missed anything in the helm. Yes, sir, I said, as Eric and John made their way to the deck below. As soon as Eric and John were out of sight, I quickly ran out of the hall and threw up over the side of the ship. During the first three years as an investigator,

I'd only been part of one other case involving a death, and it had happened earlier the same day. Never before had I ever seen the effects of advanced decomposition on a dead body, nor had I ever smelled the blending of the seawater and advanced rock before. After composing myself, I made my way back into the helm and started searching for any evidence. As I looked back at the wall behind the dead body, I noticed that there had been a small circular glare of the head.

light at head level. Turning around, I saw a VHS camera propped up onto a shelf. Sir, I think I found a camera, I said over the radio, as I picked it up and pressed the eject button. There's a tape inside of it too. Thank you for the update, Marshall.

Eric said, come down below and bring the camera with you. Without any hesitation, I put the tape back in the camera and made my way down the stairs to the living quarters. John and Eric were sitting down at a table in a small kitchen. Did you find anything down here? I said as I sat next to John and put the camera on the table.

Nothing to give any probable cause, but we did find four suitcases belonging to two women and two men. Eric said as he put two new AA batteries into the camera. He also found batteries, John said, as Eric quickly smiled before going back to his cold gaze. Are we going to watch the tape? I asked as Eric turned the camera on, causing it to sound its startup jingle. Of course, it's evidence and we have nothing else to go off of. Eric said as he checked the time on the recording. Looks like there's about an hour's worth of footage on here. John and I sat in anticipation as Eric put the camera back on the table and hit play on the VHS recorder.

The first clip started off with a woman, around a black and white striped bikini sunbathing on the deck of the ship, while two people could be heard having a splash fight in the water. Hi everyone, a man said as he zoomed in on the sunbathing woman. Here is my beautiful and not at all cranky Clara. Oh, Wendell, stop that, the woman said playfully as she sat up. And this is my not at all annoying husband. Ooh, burn, the man said laughing. Dad, I'm hungry, yelled a boy in his mid-teens as he climbed the ladder to the deck.

And can we please not have pork chops again? A younger girl chimed in. The man then turned the camera to face himself, revealing himself to be the same man. that we found in the helm. Being apparent is such a rewarding experience, Wendell said sarcastically as he was sprayed with water. Hey, cut that out. The video then cut to black before starting clip two.

Hey assholes, the boy from before said as soon as the second clip began. Today, I'm going to be pranking my dad by pushing him overboard. Like hell you are, Connor, Wendell said as he grabbed the camera. You couldn't trick me if you tried. Yeah, Connor, you'd have to be smart to do that. The young girl said as she walked by the camera to sit at the kitchen table. Screw you, Sam, Connor said in an annoyed tone.

Hey, be nice to your sister, Wendell said sternly. Ah, fine, Connor said as he sat down. Dinner's ready, Clara, Wendell called out, before giving an annoyed look to the camera. The camera then went black again. As I watched these clips, I couldn't help but think about the man whose lifeless body is lying directly over our head. It doesn't get any easier, Eric said.

What? I said as I snapped back to reality. This isn't the first time I've had to go through footage like this. Eric said as he gave me a sad look. seeing someone's ghost, their memories, the life they've left behind. Just try not to get too caught up in it. Remember, we need to be here for them so they can rest knowing someone was able to tell their story. Thanks, sir, I said as I looked down at my hands.

Eric nodded and clicked play on the camera, which started up Clip 3. In this clip, it was now night time and the family. were staring at something off in the distance. Wendell, do you have the camera ready? Clara said in nervous excitement. You have to film this. I just turned it on. I'm right behind you,

Wendell said as he approached his wife and kids. As he got behind them, the camera showed four blue warps of light hovering over the ocean. What are those things, Dad? Connor asked as he turned to face the camera. camera. I don't have any idea, buddy, Wendell said as he zoomed in on one of the orbs. When he did, you could see that the orb was pulsating as if to mimic the water below.

Wendell, I don't like this, Clara said nervously. Yeah, that's all go downstairs and play some board games, Wendell said with clearly fake enthusiasm. As Wendell started to put the camera down, he quickly froze. Suddenly, a faint sound could be heard off in the distance. Is that singing? John said as he leaned towards the camera speaker. Come on, kids, let's get downstairs. Wendell said in a more concerned tone than before.

The camera once again cut to black, leaving us in pure disbelief. You all heard that right, John said, as he quickly looked at Eric, then me. Yeah. Yeah, I think I heard something, I said, before being cut off by Eric. I didn't hear anything. Eric said, as he pressed play on the camera. Let's just keep watching. Dad, get the camera quick.

You need to see this. Sam yelled from the top deck. Windle then ran up the stairs to see that the bright light, were much closer now. What the hell? Wendell muttered under his breath. As he stared at the pulsating orbs, the singing from the third clip had become much more audible.

John then paused the recording and turned to face Eric. See, don't you hear the singing? John exclaimed, the orbs are harmonizing. Eric said nothing and pressed play on the camera. The clip continued with Wendell filming the orbs. Suddenly, the song that was being sung began to shift. Wendell, Clara, Connor, Sam, the orb sang. As they sang, it sounded as if they were producing multiple octaves of sound at once,

producing a rolling sound of harmonies at a perfect pitch. as we listened to the track through the VHS, I felt the hairs of my arm begin to stand up. Sam, honey, let's go to bed. It's late. Wendell said as he started to walk towards his daughter. Sam, having either not heard her father or did not care to listen to him, stayed perfectly still as she continued to stare into the orbs, floating ten feet above her head.

Sam, Wendell yelled, snapping Sam out of the days. Dad, Sam muttered, groggily. It's okay, baby, Wendell said, clearly shaken by what it just transpired. Let's get you to bed. You were sleepwalking again. The clip went to black, and John pressed the play button with no hesitation. Eric and I looked at each other as the clip began. Clara, Connor, Sam.

him, Wendell called out as he left his bed and entered the living quarters. All around him, the sound from earlier had gotten loud to the point of causing the VHS's microphone to start clipping. The blue light given off by the orbs had surrounded the boat, causing rays of blue light to cast throughout the cabin. As Wendell panned the camera around the room, he heard the faint sounds of talking above deck. on, I'm coming," Window yelled as he ran up the stairs. As soon as he reached the top deck and turned to face the bow of the ship, he instantly

froze. Clara, Connor and Sam was standing completely nude and facing the ocean. What the hell is going on? Window yelled. As he made his way towards his family, he stopped and screamed as four creatures began to rise in front of his family. As the skinless humanoids began to tower over the three, they began to unhinge their jaws and produced two black tentacles which emitted the same light blue glow as the orbs.

The three of us and Wendell watched in horror as three of the creatures pressed their tentacles over Clara, Connor and Sam's faces. As the tentacles latched onto their faces, they appeared to suck away at their skin. away from my family, you freaks, Wendell cried out. As soon as he spoke, the fourth creature began to shuffle towards him, walking as though their legs did not match their autonomy. Wendell began to slowly back away as the creature made a break towards him. The sudden speed of the creature caused me to flinch

as Eric sat stoically and John sat transfixed. Wendell quickly rushed to the helm and slammed the door shot just as the creature was about to grab him. Damn it, damn it, what are those things? Wendell muttered as he tried to catch his breath while he locked the door. After a minute of composing himself, Wendell pointed the camera towards the window and walked off to the left side of the screen.

From the hatch, we watched as the formerly skinless creatures started to take on facial features from the family members, becoming twisted versions of the loving family. family we had seen on TV. The placement of hair on the creature's heads were matted and off-center. Their mouths, which were still unhinged, looked crooked and broken, and the creatures bulged from the skin they adorned like a tight-fitting suit. As soon as Wendell came back on screen and looked out the window, he vomited at the abomination before recoiling due to a loud banging sound from the other side of the door.

Wendell looked up in horror as the face of the skinless creatures suddenly appeared from the other side of the hatch window. It smiled at Wendell as it began to bang its head furiously against the door. Take this! Wendell screamed as he drew a pistol and fired three shots to the door. As the shots rang out, a deafening scream of pain could be heard from the other side of the door. Ha, got you, Wendell cheered as he looked out the window. As soon as he saw the scene outside, his pride had quickly soured to dismay as he began to sob. I don't know how to live without you, Wendell said, as he stared down the pistol.

I'm so sorry, everyone. I love you so, so much. For anyone who finds this, my coordinates is 43.6. to minus 69.7. If you see blue orbs over the water, run. As soon as he said this, Wendell picked up the camera and placed it on the shelf beside the door.

Out of sight of the camera, the sound of the engine wrong to life can be heard as a single gunshot exploded through the mic, leaving just the sound of the singing from behind the door. Suddenly, after several minutes,

the sound of banging resumed. and a loud crash was heard off camera. After several moments of shuffling, the creature that was behind the door appeared and stared directly at the camera, causing John to let out a blood-curdling scream. What the hell? John screamed as he shot out of his chair.

The sudden reaction caused Eric and I to flinch as John began pacing around the cabin. John, are you okay? Eric asked as he got up. Its face, John screamed. It's damn face. I know. I don't think I'll ever be able to unsee that skinless freak.

I said, what the hell are you talking about? John said as he stopped pacing and stared at me. The creature, I said in a confused tone. It didn't have skin and was all muscle and tendon. It had my face, Marshall. You didn't see my face. face?" John pleaded. It smiled at me with my own damn face. Eric shot a glance at John before giving me a worried look.

Grab the camera. We need to leave now, Eric said. But it had my face, sir, John muttered between fits of crying. Now, let's go, Eric yelled. Eric stormed out of the cabin as I helped an inconsolable John of the stairs and onto our boat. The ride back from the SS Napoli was tense and silence between John's constant whimpering. As soon as we made it back to dark, two members of the Coast Guard were waiting to escort John to our field office. As I was about to get off the ship, Eric put his arm out to stop me. Sir, I said before being cut off, what I'm about to tell you is extremely important so I need you to listen. Eric said, as he looked around to make sure no one else was in a shot.

Of course, sir, what is it? I asked. You didn't see anything today. Eric whispered. Of course, sir, I won't tell anyone, I replied. Eric just shook his head and stared at me. Even if you saw something, you never saw anything. You never heard anything. You know nothing.

Eric continued. I'm only telling you this, because I have no choice. Those creatures you saw are sirens. From the Odyssey? I asked. Similar, Eric said, as it became slightly more relaxed. They pray on those who allow themselves to be open to their calls. As soon as you leave here, listen to your favourite album.

or do something to rid yourself of the mark. What about John? I asked as I watched them struggle to walk with his escorts. Watch over him, make sure he doesn't do anything stupid and hope that God's grace is in his favour. Eric said as he pulled out a cigar and lit it. Now go, you're dismissed. Yes, sir, I said as I gave a salute and walked back to the office.

For the next couple of hours, I took Eric's advice and listened to some music and watched a late-night Celtics game on TV with my friend Pete and some other colleagues. Just as Bruce Bowen missed another two-point shot, Eric burst into the office. Where is Marshall? yelled. I'm right here, sir, I said wearily, as the guys who are watching the game with me tried to distance themselves. Follow me, now! He yelled as he slammed the door.

I stood in the room, confused for a second, before grabbing my coat and rushing for the door. Poor guy, Pete said as I rushed out of the room. As soon as I left the office, a marshal was waiting for me, holding an M-16. You have a serious issue, Marshal. Eric said as he handed me the keys to the boat. What's wrong?

I asked nervously as I eye. the assault rifle. John stole one of our boats, and I think I know where is going, Eric said, as he began to briskly walk to the boat. Where is he going? I asked as I tried to catch up. The coordinates in that video is going back to the site where the incident happened. Eric said as he picked up his pace. Why would he do that?

He was terrified of those things, I asked as we neared the boat. Just as we were about to board the boat, Eric turned to look at me, because he never listens, Marshall. He embraced the song, and now they have a hold on him. Eric and I then boarded the ship and sped off into the night towards where Wendell had reported the incident. By the time we arrived near the location, it had been about an hour since we had left the dock. of us, we saw the footlights of a ship in the distance, and to my horror, a bright blue orb hovering

in the sky. Damn, it might already be too late, Eric said as he turned the safety off the M-16. What's the plan, sir? I asked as the floodlights came closer. We saved John if we can, and I shoot anything that's not human, Eric said, as he pulled earplugs from his pocket and handed them to me. As we approached the side of the boat, I saw John standing on the bow, nude, and staring at the sky or the orb above him was singing, just as it had in the video. John, John, John.

John, what the hell are you doing? Eric yelled. John didn't respond. John, if you don't answer me, I'm going to board this boat and haul you off myself. Eric yelled as he prepared it to disembark. Just as Eric was about to board John's boat, a creature started to crawl from the water onto his boat. Standing before John was one of the eight feet tall, skinless sirens.

Oh, damn, Eric said as he raised his rifle. Before he could shoot the creature, John turned around and fired two shots from his revolver at Eric. Eric, hitting him in the shoulder. As Eric laid bleeding on the floor of our boat, John turned back towards the creature, as his tentacles exploded from its face and latched onto John's skin. As the creature began to harvest John's skin, John started to moan with delight. Not wanting to see John consumed, I grabbed a medical kit from the helm of our boat and rushed

over to Eric to stabilize his wounds. Don't worry about me, son, Eric said between gritted teeth. You need to take that thing out. I nodded and carefully grabbed the M-16 from beside Eric. Once I had him in my hands, I quickly spun around and fired several shots of the creature. The creature turned around to look at me, and I saw that half of its face now resembled my partner, John, while the other half still. was primarily muscle.

It snarled at me, showing off its various rows of different size teeth. When I was able to see this creature up close, I realized that it looked like it was made of human beings stacked upon each other. Its legs had different joints and knees that did not function. Its hands had tens of fingers that didn't move. Its face had several jaws and mouths of various sizes moving in the same. unison. It was as if it was a Russian nesting doll of flesh and bone. After a moment of staring me down, the creature lunged for me. I quickly sprayed the rest of the magazine into the creature.

As I did, thousands of teeth and bone exploded from his face and torso, and the creature fell forward into the sea. Staring back at John, I saw him gasping on the floor of his bow. drenched in blood, and missing several layers of muscle and flesh from his face. As he turned to look at me, he smiled before the creature, which I thought I had killed, grabbed him by the legs, and dragged him below the surface of the water. Having no bullets left, I watched in horror, as the man I'd worked with for the last three years, was dragged down to a watery hell. after a moment of standing defeated and utterly dumbfounded

I made my way over to Eric and handed him the rifle you did good son he said as he lit another cigar but John's dead I replied barely able to hold back tears you did what you could Eric said between puffs now let's get the hell out of here I wish I could say that I became Rambo and hunted down the creature that killed my friend. But I didn't. I knew that John was a dead man as soon as he set sail for those damned creatures.

But every day, I think about all the ways I could have stopped him. Eric and I would go on to work together on many unexplainable cases after this one. But those are all stories for another day. For now, as a form. former Coast Guard investigator, if you see blue orbs in the sky and the open ocean, run like hell. And don't ever listen to their song.