CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - 7 DISTURBING Reddit r/nosleep Horror Stories

Episode Date: June 29, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORIES-►0:00 "Some shooting stars aren't meant to be wished upon" Creepypasta►9:00 "Something keeps posing me in my sleep" Creepypasta►28:57 "My Son Brought A Human Head For Show And Tell" Creepypasta►45:44 "If you're on the last bus for the night, there are some rules on how to survive it" Creepypasta►1:10:44 "Probably the last stream of my career" Creepypasta►1:38:12 "Do not disturb the rats in the middle of their worship" CreepypastaCreepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...CREEPY THUMBNAIL ART BY►gorakart: https://www.deviantart.com/gorakart/a...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPastaCREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only-

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There it was, a fragment of the universe hurtling through the cosmos, and there I was, gazing up from the comfort of a farmhouse roof built by my father's hands smack dab in the middle of nowhere. In all the years we lived out there on the countryside, not a damn thing remarkable ever happened. This media shower was the highlight of my entire life, and that's why, with a bit of wonder glazed over my eyes, I wished on that one shooting star, brighter than the rest. I wished for some excitement. Almost as if in answer to my plea, the meteor took a U-turn and fell from the sky like

a falcon diving for its prey. I watched, astonished, as it passed overhead and crashed into the wooded area behind my dad's property. Surprisingly, there was no sound, no explosion, just, the rustling of tree leaves as it plummeted through the forest's canopy. To make matters more peculiar, I swear I saw a red glow emanating from the crash site, however faint. After the initial shock were off, I climbed down from the roof and raced into the woods as fast as my scrawny legs would allow. I had a rough idea of where the thing landed, so I darted in that direction, hoping I could take home a chunk of space rock as a souvenir to show my father. If I was lucky, it would be a treasure thrilling enough to keep him from getting mad that I went off into the woods by my lonesome.

I could only hope. Eventually, I came to a small clearing where the moonlight gently caressed the earth, granting me a somewhat clearer picture of the flora and fauna around me. I noticed many small animals, frantically scurrying north for no discernible reason. I surmised that the media's landing frighting the wildlife nearby, And so, I decided to head off in the opposite direction. Sure enough, after maybe ten more minutes of my impromptu hike through the wilderness, I came upon the source of the mysterious glow I'd seen before. There was no meteor.

There, sitting in the smallest depression in the ground, was a metallic pot of sorts, complete with a blinking beacon protruding from its surface like an antenna. The craft itself was spherical, and at least twice my height. I'd never seen anything like it before. I was utterly dumbfounded. Before I could take a closer look,

a hatch opened up from its side, startling me back into the woods. With a racing heart, I scurried behind the nearest tree. I cautiously positioned my head around the trunk and spied on the object with bated breath. I didn't know what to expect. Was it some kind of top-secret military?

or perhaps a remote control gadget built by a genius hermit living nearby? Would a little green man step out to greet me, demanding to speak with my leader? No matter the outcome, my eyes were glued to that metallic pod, for better or for worse. A dark violet ooze spilled out from the object, forming a large puddle had its base. The slimy substance then scaled the pod, coating the exterior from top to bottom. as if the slime moved around the sphere, the light above stopped blinking. All at once, the purple liquid was repelled from the craft and back under the ground below. There, it began taking on a more humanoid shape.

As the using changed, so too did its colour. It became white and fuzzy, not unlike television static. Appropriately enough, TV and radio dialogues soon filled the forest. The thing was collecting signals from thin air, regurgitating lines from popular programs long since broadcast. At least, that's what it appeared to be doing. My mouth agape in awe, I began leaning forward without realising it. The signal ceased abruptly and I fell, head first, into a pile of dead branches,

creating a loud crunch. From my new vantage point, I watched the white figure turn to my direction. I then heard it speak. Booze there. His voice was shaky and unnatural, a low, monotone growl coupled with a harsh reverb. Scared for my life, I picked myself up and ran back home,

faster than I'd ever run before. I reclaimed my perch on the roof and carefully surveyed the property. Once I was sure I hadn't been followed, I hopped through my bedroom window and climbed into bed, hoping that I dreamt the whole thing up, an adventure concocted by my imagination running wild. I wished it were that simple,

but wishful thinking rarely plays out in one's favour. The following day, I came downstairs to the familiar aroma of eggs and bacon. My father always cooked up a hearty breakfast on Sundays. The sight I was greeted with upon entering the dining room, however, was anything but familiar. There, sitting at the table across my father, was a man in a clean-cut suit, wearing a bowler hat and a striped tie. We rarely entertain visitors, so I was more than a little perplexed.

Son, this is Mr. Grovewood. His car broke down a couple miles up the road, so he's going to be staying with us for a few nights, just until he can get things sorted out. How do you do, sport? I remained silent, perturbed by the man's presence and still shaken from the previous night. He's paying us a generous sum to stay here, so you best treat him with respect. My dad glared at me in a way that effectively relayed his meaning. As such, I complied. I'm well, sir, thank you for asking. The man smiled, albeit awkwardly, and I ran off outside to tend to the farm.

I didn't know why, but I suddenly lost my appetite. Something just wasn't adding up. How did this stranger find the farm after his car broke down? We were literally surrounded by forest. Dumb luck, perhaps, doubtful. I was beginning to feel that his appearance the day after that thing landed in the woods wasn't a mere coincidence. But this wasn't a theory I had enough nerve to explore. After all, I had already convinced myself.

that the previous night's events were nothing more than a bad dream. The man would be gone in a few days either way, so I tried not to dwell on it. The next couple of nights were bizarre. Mr. Grovewood attempted to watch a sitcom with us while eating dinner, but his reactions were less than normal. He seemed confused by the programme, I would only laugh after he noticed us laughing.

And this wasn't just any laughter, mind you. It was a loud gopour of intensely uncomfortable proportions. I was almost relieved when he got pulled away by phone call from a business colleague, though I didn't hear a single word exchanged. The following night, I walked downstairs to the kitchen for a glass of milk, only to find Mr. Grovewood chowing down on a raw steak from the freezer. I asked him about it, and all he said was, It's just a midnight snack.

trust me a little colour does the body good needless to say i ran back to my room in a hurry without my milk last night however is when i became truly afraid walking past the guest room to get to the bathroom i overheard mr grovewood on the phone this time he most certainly spoke did you receive the information i transmitted yes this is the language we must use you from here on out, we must avoid suspicion and blend in with the rest. It's a lovely place, rich in minerals, water and life forms. You and the others are going to like it here. So long as you're ready, there's no going back from here. This will be our new home. Oh, no need. Why waste the materials and transports when I can beam you down instantaneously?

I have two vessels here, ripe for the taking. It all started when my dad found the old car in the woods. I was away at college then, neither him or mom told me about it when it happened. Instead, they waited to bring it up over Thanksgiving dinner in a tensely casual way that clearly wasn't casual at all. Like parents soft-pedaling news that they're turning a room into an office, or that, after a lot of thought,

they've decided to separate for a while and see how things go. I could hear the nerves in my mother's voice, as she first brought it up with a tight little laugh. They guessed they hadn't told me yet, but back a few weeks ago, my father had found an old car abandoned at the back of our land. Or maybe, Dad added, abandoned wasn't the best word.

There were two bodies inside, after all. I remember choking in my drink a little at that. My first thought was that I'd misheard, although they were playing a joke on me, though that seemed out of character for my. my father. I glanced at his face and then my mothers told me all I needed to know. They were serious and more than that they seemed worried or maybe he'd been scared. I asked what they were talking about. How did something like that happen? And my father told me

that the police said it was a married couple that had been missing for over five years. The working theory was that he had driven them up a dirt access road that ran along the back of our land and then turned into the trees. From there, they somehow navigated a path through the woods until they're in the hundred acre wilderness behind the farmland we rarely even venture into these days. But in September of that year, my father had taken to walking in the woods some afternoons,

and he was on one of these walks that he found an old brown sedan, wedged between two trees and covered in layers of dirt and pollen and pine needles so thick he didn't even recognize. it for what it was until he got close enough to touch it, and it wasn't until he spit onto the window and swiped a patch clean, that he could see the bodies inside. Neither of them would say much more than that the missing couple was dead inside, and it had been very strange and sad. When I pressed the issue, my mother changed the subject, and between that and a forbidding look from my father, I let it drop.

It wasn't until me and dad were out on the porch a few hours later that he brought it back up. Sorry to be so vague in thereabout, you know, the car I found in the woods. I looked around, surprised, less that he would talk to me about it than how he was speaking. A low, almost secretive tone that still seemed heavily corded with some kind of tension I didn't quite understand. Not that finding dead bodies in our woods wouldn't be freaky, but two months later, I didn't know why it was still affecting them so much. But I just met his eyes and nodded. No problem. I paused for a moment, testing the air of conversation before going further in. So, what happened to them? Dad raised his eyebrows as he buffed out a small breath.

I don't know for sure. The cops called it a murder-suicide, and maybe that's what it was. But Sheriff Perry and his couple of deputies aren't good for much, beyond traffic tickets and breaking up a bar fight. I think if there'd been a fuss from anyone, it might have been looked into more. But as it was, well, people talked about it a couple of weeks, and then it was done. He took a sip of his beer. At least, for most people.

Who killed who, and how? Were they from around here? He shook his head. No, they weren't even from Alabama. Came over from somewhere east of Columbus. No family that I know of and no signs of what led them here to our middle of nowhere farm either.

My father lit his lips nervously. The cops determined that the husband killed the wife and then shot himself. I frowned. You're being really careful, are you phrased of, Dad? Is that what you think happened? What did you see?

Turning around, he glanced in through the window to make sure Mom was still inside watching TV. Looking back to me, he lowered his voice a little more. You can't mention this to her. She loves those words, and it was bad enough that I had to tell her what I found in the first place. I spared her the details, and if I tell you, you have to swear you won't peep a bit of it to her. His lips drew down slightly. I know I don't push her much, on the edge of the woods, but we enjoy it, and I won't have that tainted for her, you understand?

I nodded as I took a shaky breath. Yeah, of course, yeah. He patted my leg and nodded as he offered me a brief smile. Okay, good. But then the smile left as quickly as it had come, and his expression became hard and wore it again as he sent his words out to me across the night air. The first part, that's just like what we told you over dinner. I was out walking, thinking about trying to find a route I could turn into a chair-safe path for your mother.

When I saw this mound of... Something through the trees, am I right? That wound up being the car. And, like I said, I spit and wiped out the driver's side window, until I could see inside a little. See that people are in there. It won't look like a man laying his head on the shoulder of a woman in the passenger seat. But it was still really darkened there.

I could have cleared away more of the dirt and leaves and such, but once I saw people inside, I panicked. Reaching down, I yanked on the door. It didn't open at first, not because it was locked, but because it was stuck. Cops said bodies left with rotting cars like that can create a weird seal that makes it hard to open. Still, I didn't know that at the time, and in my excitement and panic, I think I was still worried someone might be in the same. there hurt or knocked out. So I yanked again, and this time the door came squealing open.

The bodies were rotted, I guess, but in a weird way. They weren't gross or anything, and they reminded me of mummies more than skeletons, though they were kind of... Fat mummies. They looked more like people than I'd have expected, but weird at the same time. That's when I noticed all the strings. There were these red, I think of them as strings, but they were more like tendons or strips of leather or, I don't know. They were hard and stretched tight, thin lines of red that wrapped around those people's wrists and arms and head and, well, all over.

I thought maybe it was dried blood or mould, but when I pulled out my flashlight, I could see it looked like meat, like raw meat, coiling around them all over. like snakes before trailing out into the shadows of the car. I show my light to see where the strings all went, but they didn't go anywhere. They just stopped midair in a dozen different places I could see, full of tension like they were attached to something that filled the car, but that I couldn't see. I was reaching for one of them just to see what it felt like, when I saw it start to uncurl from around the man's shoulder.

Uncurl and rise. almost like it was coming to meet me, so I ran. When I got to the house, I called 911, met the deputies here, and then led them into the woods, found the car and bodies easily enough. But all those strings, they were all gone. They looked at the bodies before taking them out of the car. Scott Keller, one of the deputies, told me that the man wasn't just resting his head on the lady's shoulder. he'd been biting out the side of her neck when he shot himself in the head. I didn't ask any more questions after that.

Didn't want to know more after that. And I didn't say anything about the red stuff I saw. Figured maybe I'd just been in shock and seeing things. By the next morning, the bodies and the car were both gone. And, well, I guess that's it. I expected him to laugh or looked relieved to finally tell us. someone about what he saw, but he didn't look any less worried than he had before. Not sure what to say, I wound up starting with a question in the forefront of my mind,

both because I was curious and because I could tell Dad didn't think he'd just imagine the strange stuff he'd seen in that car. So, what do you really think the red stuff was? He sat for several seconds, staring out at the moonlight stretched out across the yard, and when he spoke, his voice sounded hollow and thin. I don't really know. I really did try to tell myself it was nothing, that I made it up somehow, but... He shrugged. I wonder what would make a man do something like that.

I blinked, caught off guard by the change of subject. Who, do what? His voice was barely above a whisper now. hurt his wife. I bet he loved her and he still did it to her and to himself. Dad turned to me, his eyes wide. I mean, he would have had to, wouldn't he?

Um, was there someone else that could have done it? Did the police say that? He shook his head slowly, as though the motion required almost more effort than he had to give. No. nothing like that. I just... He sighed.

I'm so tired. I lean forward to catch his eye. Dad? Are you okay? Offering me and Wayne's smile. He nodded and stood up slowly. Yeah, sure. I just haven't been sleeping well lately.

He lowered his gaze. Been sleepwalking a bit, if you can believe it. I went to say more, but then my... was opening the door to ask if we were ready for pie. I almost brought it up again to him or mentioned some of it to her, despite my promise to keep my father's secret. Instead, I told myself I was making too much of it all.

Overall, he acted like himself, and he was a middle-aged man who had his worries, as most everyone does. If the worst his mid-life crisis got was a bit of sleepwalking, I think we could handle it. That Sunday I hugged them goodbye and promised I'd be home the week before Christmas. I made it back to my apartment just before midnight, and by the time I fell asleep, I already knew I'd miss my early class. By Tuesday, I was back in the swing of things, though,

on my way to work, when I got a call from a number I didn't recognize, but with the same area code from back home. When I answered, her voice introduced himself as Sheriff Perry It told me that sometime Monday night My father murdered my mother And then killed himself The five years since have been difficult

But as with most things Time has caused the worst of it to fade At least a little I still think about my parents every day Feel guilty for not doing more every day wonder what could have happened to make Dad go crazy like he did every day. But, at least I don't hate myself anymore, and the pain, left by their absence, has been lessened by meeting Martina and having our little girl.

I have a good life, bordering on a great life, if I'm honest. And for months now, I've been simultaneously trying to give up the last of the grief and guilt I hold on to, while having this superstitious feeling that if I ever stop being sad and upset about it, all the good things I have will be taken away, some curse for not caring enough to be miserable. Maybe that's why, when I got the package from Russet County Sheriff's Office, I was filled with the combination of dread and perverse joy. Whatever it was, it had to be tied with my parents' death.

Whatever it was, it was a way to pry open old wounds again. What it was, after ten minutes of me staring at it, and chewing my lip was a note and a book. The note was from Sheriff Keller. It just said, This was the only thing taken from your parents' death investigation that wasn't a biohazard, was cleaning out old evidence and thought you might want it.

Sorry again for your loss. The book was one of my mothers, a hardbound copy of Stranger in a Strange Land by Heinlein. Eyes, welling up with tears, I opened it up, planning to just flip through it before putting it back in the box. My father's handwriting on the inner corner. Something keeps posing me in my sleep.

I wake up in strange places with strange thoughts. I don't feel like me anymore. It's hard to feel anything. Anything but the strip. My hands were shaking as I reread my father's words. Sucking in a huge breath, I began to fan through the pages for any other writing. when I realized that the middle portion of the book was stuck together,

a thick section of the pages moving as one as I reached them. Frowning, I gently tried to pry them apart, and, after a moment of resistance, they split open in the middle, revealing the thing holding them together. It looked like a raw, red wound, thickly wet, and penetrating multiple pages in both directions. It might have been a small, defunct heart, if books had such a thing.

I felt my stomach turn as the light caught its moist, shimmering surface, and I had the insane and horrifying thought that this was something my father had done. Some part of mom he had cut off and hidden away in a favourite book. But no, this was far too fresh. And... It moved. I threw the book across the room, shuddering as I stepped outside to collect my thoughts. It was stress.

It had to be stress. Or was this something that had been in the evidence room that had been spilled under the book before they sent it back? I needed to just go get it and throw it away. Getting it out of the house was the main thing. Heart hammering, I went back inside. Matina would be home with a baby soon.

No need for them to ever know this was ever even here. I'd just pick it up, run it out to the trash can, and... I stopped by the front door, staring at the book. dangling from one outstretched hand. There were no stuck-together pages now, no sign of anything weird or gross inside. Stepping out onto the front steps, I flipped through the pages again.

My father's writing was still on the inside of the front cover, but otherwise it was just a book. No raw, red horror waiting to get me from between the pages. Shuddering at the memory, I started walking toward the trash can again. nothing had really changed I didn't want it in the house didn't want to think about it ever again

if I could help it so into the trash it went and over the next few weeks everything seems fine until I started sleepwalking I would wake up standing in the kitchen or the yard

I'd be sitting down in the living room or bent over like I was looking under the dining room table My muscles would be tense and sore As though I've been exercising Or position strangely for some time But I never had any real sense Of how I'd gotten to where I was Or what I was doing in my sleep

Four nights ago I woke up in the crawl space underneath the house When I found a light I saw there was a rope and a hammer Under there with me Though I didn't remember ever using either Under the house before It freaked me out enough

I got Martina to take the ball baby and go stay at her mother's for a few days, lied and said I was getting sick and didn't want our girl to get it. For the next few nights, if I walked, I didn't know it. I slept a ton, and when I was awake, I felt disconnected and strange. When my wife called about coming home yesterday, I told her to come, that I missed her and wanted a home, that everything was a-okay again. when I woke up last night I was standing over our baby's crib a 20-pound rock from the garden

held over my head I should have been horrified but I only felt mildly curious Why weren't my feet dirty Had I put on shoes or gone the rock earlier in the day I bet I planned ahead Yes, planning ahead was always good

Quietly I eased the front door open and tossed the rock back outside. Everything wasn't right yet. Not yet. I could still feel worry and fear in my stomach, like a tiny man screaming as he got eaten up by my belly's acid. Yes. Eating right up until there was nothing left to find.

Stepping back inside, I saw Matina's cell phone laying on the table where she left it when they come home. Laughing to myself, I pulled off the phone's case and headed into the kitchen. After a moment of quiet probing, I found a small felt-up pen on the back of one of the drawers.

When I was done, I put the case back on, just like it had been before. No one would know until it was all done. Climbing the stairs back to our bedroom, I chuckled again. Not yet, no, but soon enough. Soon everything would be quiet and ready. and it would be good and right and wonderful.

I thought again of what I'd written inside the phone case and beamed into the dark to a puppet, strings, are God. The call took me totally off guard. Mrs. Fiora, can you please come to school as soon as possible? Mrs. Morgan, the school's guidance counsellor asked. Julian isn't hurt, but he's in a very serious situation. When I asked what happened, Mrs. Morgan said it'd be better to explain when I arrived. Bewildered and unnerved, I feared the worst when speculating what my eight-year-old son might have done.

Julian could sometimes be a bit unruly at home, but never once got in any trouble at school. Julian's teachers loved him, and he appeared to get along with all his classmates, which made this so unusual. Despite pondering every conceivable scenario during the drive, I never would have guessed what my son ultimately did in a million years. My stomach sank when I saw an ambulance and a trio of police cruisers in front of the school. After parking in the visitor's lot, I was greeted by Mrs. Morgan, Mr. Quattro, Julian's teacher, Mrs. Jones, the principal, and two police officers, one of whom happened to be my cousin, Brady.

I noticed none of them looked angry. They all had the same disturbed looks of horror and disbelief across their faces. Mrs. Fiora, thank you for coming so quickly, Mr. Jones said. Where is my son? I asked anxiously. What did he do? He's with Mr. Isbista right now, the school psychologist. Mr. Jones quickly replied. Before I could ask another question, Brady stepped forward and took me aside.

Look, their figure would be best if I tell you what's going on. So, brace yourself. Brady said softly, taking a breath before continuing. Julian brought a head to school. An actual human head. What? Was all like a gasp out, after not saying anything for a few seconds. Unsure if I heard Brady correctly.

He had it in his backpack. Did you see him leave the house today? I waited with him for the bus like I do every morning, I said, unsure if there was a hint of suspicion in Brady's voice, I had no reason to think anything out of the ordinary was going on. When I asked Brady what exactly happened, he motioned for Mr. Cuatro, who slowly walked over to where we stood. Mr. Quadro was still visibly distraught over the incident,

as indicated by his trembling hand, which, ironically, only had four fingers, when we briefly exchanged shakes. When Brady asked him to recount what happened, Mr. Quatro swallowed nervously before beginning. The kids were supposed to have show and tell yesterday, but we couldn't get to it in time, so I had them do it today before lunch,

Mr. Quatro said, his face contorting with disgust while giving his account. When it was Julian's turn, he said he brought in a special friend. He pulled it out of him. of his pack like it was nothing in front of the whole class. Julian said the head was his Uncle Miltie, Brady added. He doesn't happen Uncle Miltie, I said, staring mystified at my cousin.

Did he say where he found it? He said the head was growing from the ground in the woods behind your house. My blood ran cold and mine started racing. I wasn't sure what rattled me more. Julian seeing and physically handling a human head or the grim prospect that someone's remains were discarded as stones threw away from where my family slept. Julian wasn't allowed in the woods boarding our backyard and supervised

and even when permitted he knew he had to stay within view. When could he have made such a gruesome discovery without us knowing? Take me to my son. Julian was playing with Legos in Mr. Ice Business office when I entered seeming totally unaware of the situation's severity. Mr. I's Bister said Julian was immediately brought here while he and Mr. Quadro try getting his class under control. When I asked if Julian explained why he did this,

Mr. Ibista's answer sent a sharp chill down my spine. He said Uncle Miltie told him to. Mr. Isbista let Brady and I speak to Julian alone in his office. My son was elated to see me. and seemed under the impression this was some kind of special occasion. The innocent, unsuspecting look in his young face showed Julian appeared unaware he did anything wrong, which for me made this ordeal extra difficult. Julian, do you know what's going on? I asked while sitting him on the couch.

Do you know why we're here right now? Julian's smile faded when he saw how concerned Brady and I looked. Julian? Who's Uncle Miltie? I asked when my son's eyes started to wander around the office. You don't have an uncle with that name. He lived in the hole behind our house, Julian said, nonchalantly,

appearing more interested in getting back to playing with the Legos. I'm helping him find a new home. Brady and I looked at each other. Both of us visibly perturped by Julian's answer. What do you mean, Cous? Brady quickly asked when he saw I was at a loss for words. Can you tell me where exactly you found the head... I mean, Uncle Miltie?

Julian's smile returned. I was trying to find a ball I hit really far into the woods, and I found him sticking out to the ground, he replied. I knew the exact day Julian was referring to. This past Saturday afternoon. Julian and my husband were playing baseball when he hit an absolute howitzer that sailed into the tree line. Although they spread out to find the ball,

my husband said Julian was always within view. It took over half an hour for them to find the ball, and I do remember losing sight of them quite a few times during their search. Julian must have found it then, I thought, becoming deeply unsettled when imagining the naive look in his face when he made that grisly discovery. Would you be able to show us where you found him? Brady asked, and did you take Uncle Miltie with you the day you found him?

Julian shook his head. I visited him again before he told me to take him. He lived where the wood power used to be. Julian was talking about a large amount of firewood in our backyard. It took a few days, but my husband and I relocated all the wood to another part of the yard. Its original location was a few yards into the tree line. We wanted to build a shed there, but wound up finding a better spot, despite clearing the area.

I nodded at Brady, indicating I knew the exact place Julian described. Julian, what do you mean when he said? He told you to take him. Who are you talking to? Brady asked. Julian looked at Brady, perplexed. Uncle Melty. He told me when I could take him with me. So you've been talking to this?

This Uncle Miltie head? Like how the three of us are talking right now? I asked. Tightly pursed my lips and Julian nodded affirmingly. I don't know what I'd have said if someone told me earlier today my son would bring a human head into school that was also his imaginary friend. Mr. Ice Bister said Julian

may have been severely traumatized by what he found and imagined it had interactive qualities as a coping mechanism. While Julian was getting looked up by the school nurse Brady took me to see if I could recognise the head's face. The severed head was being kept in a nice filled cooler out in the ambulance. It was in a large clear evidence bag and looked to have died fairly recently. I didn't recognise the man, who appeared to be in his 30s and had a bloated face with narrow cheeks, large black eyes, Roman nose, thick pink lips and short black hair.

His eyes were still open, looking in different directions, and mouth hung a gape, his tongue partially protruding from between his teeth. The head's whitish-baged skin had patches of mottled skin, darkened veins, and proverbial, deathly grey tint synonymous with corpses. I only looked long enough to verify I didn't recognise the man's face, before having to suppress the oncoming urge to throw up. Julian was medically and psychologically evaluated before we were both interviewed by detectives at the police station We didn't get home until later that night And by then a forensics team had already set up shop on my property Brady kept me informed and was at my house monitoring the situation

The whole area in front of my home was cordoned off by yellow police tape And jam-packed with a sundry of police vehicles Brady and one of the detectives met me at the perimeter. I kept Julian near me while walking up to Brady and the detective, who had me bring my son inside before he spoke. I could have a dog's instantly picked up the scent and brought us right to the spot your son mentioned. The detective, whose last name was Vendetto, began.

We unearthed a shallow grave containing the remains of a body, a headless body. Despite largely expecting, this, hearing someone confirm it was an actual reality made it no easier to accept. There was a corpse buried on my property that nobody

probably would have known about had we not moved that heaping woodpile. A decomposing body, my son had the misfortune of discovering. No child is ever meant to experience those kinds of realities life offers at such a delicate age. Although

Julian maintained a reserved exterior thus far, I shudder to think what actual thoughts and impacts this experience was having in my son. If it really was where the old woodpile used to be, which was there before I even bought the house, it had to have been there for a long time, no? I inquired, particularly emphasising

how the woodpile predated when my family lived at the house. Well, that's the thing, Brady replied, getting an approving nod from Detective Vendetto to continue. Whoever's head Julian found has probably only been dead for seven to ten days tops. The other remains have been buried there for a while, years probably.

I squinted in confusion at Brady and the detective. So they're looking for another body right now? There's two out there? Maybe not here, Detective Vendetto said. We haven't found any more remains yet, but think someone might have dismembered and dispersed another body whose head your son found. There's no way the head Julian found and the decapitated remains they discovered were the same person,

but I couldn't chalk up Julian's discovery happening to be in the exact spot as another corpse they just found being a coincidence. Without any substantiated proof, however, we were only left to speculate. Despite a thorough search of the woods behind my house and surrounding area, no additional human remains were found. Since the body was on our property, we had to be formally cleared of any wrongdoing. While undergoing that process, more peculiar happenings occurred. Two days after the incident, Brady told me the head Julian found went missing at the police station, seemingly disappeared overnight without a trace.

One week later, Julian's teacher, Mr. Guadro, was killed. Only his severed head was discovered. the man's body was never found. My husband and I kept Julian out of school since that fateful day and were considering transferring him so we could have a fresh start. Hearing news of his teacher's demise, which I kept away from Julian, prompted us to go through with a move. Even before, eventually selling the house,

we packed up and relocated to a new town. Julian adjusted well, despite still receiving therapy to help him manage his understandings what happened and always speaking of Uncle Miltie in high regard if it ever came up in conversation. My new home was closer to my job and Julian made friends quickly at his new school. About three months passed since his show and tell incident. It was Julian's birthday, who hadn't gotten a chance to call since my morning and early afternoon were filled with back-to-back meetings, calls and appointments. I was already behind schedule and putting the final touches on a report.

that was 15 minutes past due. I heard my office store open, which I knew was my final appointment before lunch. Keeping my eyes glued to the computer screen, I told my client to sit tight for five minutes, determined to have this write-up finished and sent before shifting gears. I heard him mutter something under his breath

and disgruntled tone, before walking up to one of the chairs in front of my desk. While finishing the report, I pulled at my calendar to view my meeting's details, since my assistant made some last-minute changes to my morning schedule and failed to specify what they were before going to lunch. As soon as the appointment opened my screen, however, I heard abrupt footsteps of the client walking toward the door.

I'm sorry about that. I didn't mean to be rude. Worried my inattempted nurse may have rubbed in the wrong way, I quickly pulled my eyes from my computer screen, just as he was about to leave my office. I caught a long enough glimpse to remember his first. face, long and narrow, with beady, sly-looking black eyes, reddish pink lips that formed in a half-smirk, a balding forehead and short dark hair. Adjusting his fleece's tall neck collar, he looked at me with disgust and disappointment before closing the door behind him with his hand.

I quickly stood up and tried gesturing for the man to stay, kicking myself for being so inconsiderate and dreading the possible ramifications of this miss. sap. He looked oddly familiar, I thought, while hurrying across my office, hoping to catch him. I swung the door open, but he was already gone. Stomping in frustration, I slowly shut the door, thankful my assistant didn't witness that spectacle. Turning back to face my office, I froze after noticing a package on one of the chairs. It was a square box, about 14 by 14 inches, and gift wrapped in plaid red and green paper. There was a card taped to the top of the package addressed my son. Upon reading it, I was hit with a spinning light headiness

when it made me remember where I previously saw that man's face. Dear Julian, wishing you a happy birthday as promised. Thank you for helping me with a new look. Talk soon. Uncle Miltie. I stood there holding the card in my mind. my shaking hands, constantly rereading the hammered notes inside of it, while trying to comprehend who was just in my office. However, it was in his face being that of the severed head Julian found, which filled me with paralyzing terror. The man's hand used to shut the office store behind him.

I realized only had four fingers. My car got utterly wrecked. No saving it. Mashed up to bit. My sister had borrowed it and cheated death that day. Even after looking at the heap of scrap metal that was my car, I had no idea how she got out with only a few broken bones. By all right, she should have died. But that was my sister. She has the best luck. She married a guy with a decent amount of money for them to live comfortably.

The day of the accident, they had taken their car and to get the snow ties switched to all season ones. Her job wanted to come in for an extra shift. She almost refused, but I lent to my car for the day. I was so thankful for having my sister that I didn't even think about how I now had to take the bus for work.

Thankfully, my boss let me have the weekend off after seeing the photos of the crash. He also had no idea how my sister lived. I took care of things while she was in the hospital and soon found out city transportation isn't reliable. It arrives late, or too early, or not at all.

Sometimes it's so packed you need to stand for the entire ride, and it takes forever. A city bus could take over an hour to get to a location that was only a ten-minute drive away. I sometimes could walk faster than the bus, but I couldn't afford getting a taxi to and from work. I thought about borrowing a bike, but it was still cold.

During the day, it was fine, but I worked late into the night. Even just waiting for the last bus nearly froze me to death. Sure, it wasn't going to snow anymore, but I'm very sensitive to the cold. I just never adjusted to the climate after we moved further up north, so no biking home. Aside from all that, the bus wasn't all that bad. I could get some reading in. I couldn't read while driving and most books I enjoy didn't have

audiobooks. That's how I found myself on the last boss home after a week of missing my car. My sister was doing fine and I could relax a little after a stressful week of being late to work because of my new form of transportation and losing an hour

of sleep each night riding home. Because it was so late it was only myself and the driver for most of the ride. I still had half the wrong to go when the bus stopped to pick someone up. My nose buried inside my latest trashy romance, I didn't even look up to see who it was.

Even with the open bus, they sat in front of me. Odd, but I wasn't complaining. I took a quick glance up and noticed they were short and had bleached white hair. I glanced at my watch and groaned and how it was so close to midnight. I lived close to the bus depot, so that was lucky. Not every route had a bus running so late.

I got off the second to last stop. The bus normally turned its light off once I got off, so I knew it was out of service when I was within walking distance of home. In the past week, I'd never seen anyone get on this late. I shrugged and went back to my book. Then, another person got on. which was weird. I didn't think we had actually stopped.

Just paused at a red light. But I had seen kind bus drivers who picked up people if they tapped on the front door if the bus had stopped somewhere. This time I peaked up, but the person who got on was so tall they crossed the bus fast. They were dressed in black

and had passed me before I got a good look at them. I started to turn my head for a discreet peek, but a voice in front of me made me stop. Don't look at it. The voice was soft and sounded like it belonged to a child. I stared at the person in front of me instead of the one who just passed behind. It? I asked slowly.

May I sit beside you? It was an odd request. But if I was talking to a child, I didn't see why not. Without waiting for an answer, the small child in front of me got up from his seat and walked to sit next to me. I was guessing it was a boy, but it's hard to be sure of children. He was wearing gender neutral clothing, just a big grey sweater, jeans, and I was shocked to see no shoes. Why was he out so late?

Where were his parents? Why was he missing his shoes? I'd put the other person of the bus out of my mind and looked over at the child. He finally raised his head to look at me and under his long, wavy white hair. pink eyes stared at me. I had never seen someone who was albino before, aside from some photos. It was off-putting for a second, but I focused on the more important questions. Why are you out so late?

Do you have a guardian I can call? Are you hurt, and wear your shoes? Each question made him look slightly more annoyed. He had a very neutral look, but his eyes narrowed just enough to make me stop and let him answer. In the past six months 10 people have disappeared from this bus route Four have been bus drivers Are you aware of this?

He was speaking so softly He was hard to hear But I got the idea I actually heard the stories in a way I overheard people at my job Talking about some missing bus drivers On the last bus for the night I've been so busy at work

I never stopped the chat I heard there was a post going around online about rules to survive the last bus. But I again never cared enough to look it up. Aren't you too young to be scary story hunting? Is this for a video?

You really should be in bed. I led out a sigh and put my buck away in my bag. I was reaching for my cell phone to see how to report a missing child when he slouched in his seat. Fine, if you do not believe me, then look behind us at the figure

sitting at the back of the bus. It's your life after all. He sounded a little like he was pouting, and strangely a little too mature for his face. I gave him a confused look. What on earth did the other passenger on the bus have anything to do with this weird conversation? The bus stopped for a red light again. The driver looked in a mirror, mounted at the front, so he could see most of the bus. Since we were on an empty street, he felt safe enough to take his eyes off the road and look behind.

at us. Hey Missy, who's your friend? Did he get on? I don't remember him at all. The driver said back to me, looking genuinely confused over the boy's presence. That made me look from the driver to the boy a few times. He was still sulking. I gave his arm a very light poke to make sure he was really there and both of us weren't sharing a hallucination. I don't know who he is. He got on a few stops ago, like a few minutes before midnight. The driver looked even more confused. The light had turned green, so he started the bus back up just to pull off to the side of the street and out the way in case any cars came past. He then got out of his seat and started to walk towards us. I mean, he honestly looked like he had no memory of letting the albino boy on,

and he was a child out in the middle of the night. It was a good idea to stop and try and figure out where he was going and why he was alone. Hey champ, what's your name? The man asked when he was a step or two away from us. The boy didn't look up at him though. He only flicked his eyes over towards me. You can scream as much as you want, but do not look behind us. The boy's statement was so weird no one answered him.

The driver raised his head and finally seemed to look around the rest of the bus. Out to my sight, he spotted the other passenger. The tall figure dressed in black I hadn't paid any attention to. When did you get on? Do you... The driver's words were cut short. In a blow of motion, he was grabbed by long black arms and pulled back towards the rear of the bus so quickly that my brain didn't even realize what had happened.

What I saw was impossible. The arms had been far too long. Long black tubes with great clawed hands attached. On reflex, I almost looked behind me. Then I remembered how the boy had warned me about looking. I forced my head forwards as I heard it. The kind bus driver, who had just been worried about a small child, was screaming and begging for his life,

screaming that stopped suddenly with a wet crunch I wish I had never heard. Once I smelled a metallic odour, I was certain was blood. I started to scream as well. I clutched the side of my head and hunched down to my seat, hoping it would keep me safe from those hands. I screamed and had to force myself to stop fearing. They would make whatever just happened to the driver happen to myself.

You can keep screaming. Once he's out of your system, I can tell you I had to stay alive. The boy's voice had changed. I still knew it was his, but it sounded much more confident and much more. like an adult, far different than moments ago. I blinked away tears and looked at him. My body's shaking. I had to trust him.

What is going on? I pleaded, praying to get an answer. If the last bus stops at a crossroad at midnight, a dark figure may enter the bus and sit at the back. Until it sits, you may look. But once it sits down, do not look at anything. Do not turn your head. No matter what you hear, no matter anything else you experience, the moment you look, you become its target. The figure shall not leave until the bus finishes the route and is inside the depot.

My entire body was screaming to just make a run for it. Even after the boy explained the situation, I just couldn't believe him. I wanted to just leave, but I could still smell the blood at the back of the bus. Still, hunched over, I tried to think of a different way out. What are you talking about? And who even are you? I finally asked the question. I hadn't asked for his name yet.

Odd, as it should have been one of my first questions. Better late than never. You may call me Ellie. I'm here to find out if this figure was the reason for the disappearances. I'm not here to save you. I can only give you information. You must act and get yourself safely home. Now, how am I going to do that?

That thing killed the driver. I hissed and tears started to come back. I forced them down, not wanting to look weak in front of the boy. I was the adult and he was the calm one. But after what I had just seen, I couldn't be blamed for losing my call for a few seconds. I know how to drive a bus. However, you need to be the one to do it.

I'm too short to reach the pedals. Under his white hair, I saw a flash of red on his cheeks. It faded as he straightened up and stood. Completely fearless, he walked toward the front of the bus, not looking back at me. He just stood right next to the driver's seat and waited for me to join him. It took everything I had to finally stand up. I walked over on shaking legs, clutching my bag, Every step I was certain I was going to be grabbed and ripped by those dark hands.

Somehow, though, I made it to the front. I closed my eyes, so I didn't have to look in any of the mirrors and blindly stumbled around until I found my way into the driver's seat. I don't know if I can do this. Those mirrors, I might accidentally look at them. After I spoke, I heard a sound that could only be described as those those. worrisome mirrors being ripped down and tossed the side. I opened my eyes just enough to confirm that the mirrors were in fact torn off and gone from sight.

I did not remove them to save you. They also bothered me, understand? Ellie sounded suddenly very serious. I risked a unfounded sigh glance at him. He couldn't even reach the mirrors. How in the hell did he rip them off? He had no plan to explain it to me. Can't I just leave?

I asked, shaking, staring forwards into the empty and dark road. No, you'll be unable to open the doors or windows. Until this bus finishes this route, you cannot leave. That was not at all good news. I had no choice but to learn how to drive a bus. After a crash course of how to start at the bus and how to drive one, we were off, very, very slowly off. There were no cars around, so we should be fine at a snail's pace

until I got used to the hulking thing. Ellie was true to his word about knowing how to drive a city bus. With him beside me, I thought I was going to make it out alive. Only for a few minutes. Soon, it started to get cold. Ellie didn't look like you noticed. With his stone face, it was hard to tell if anything that was happening bothered him in the slightest. In a few seconds, the temperature dropped so low, I could see puffs of my breath.

With one arm, I pulled my work clothing from my bag and placed them over my lap, trying to use them as a makeshift blanket. We slowly followed the route back to the bus stop. I had taken this route enough over the week I knew the way. I wanted to drive faster, but I was still not confident enough. My hands grit the steering wheel so tightly My knuckles turned white I shook in fear and from the cold

I almost couldn't take the cold I wanted to give up Even before the whispers came Horrible whispers floating around Accusing me of being jealous of my sister Of wishing she had died Whispers telling me to just look behind me Saying everything would be easier if I did

Tears started to flow down my face If I wasn't going so slow and steady, I might have put it at risk of swerving and crashing. I jerked a little, but corrected it before hitting the curb. I was so glad for the road being empty. But, after a few minutes, I couldn't take it and almost just stopped when Ellie's voice came from beside me. What are they saying?

His voice was still as neutral as ever, instead of sounding like he was asking about ghostly whispers tormenting me he sounded like he was asking for the weather report they're saying I'm jealous of my sister my teeth were chattering from the cold I couldn't say much more so you can be jealous of her and you can still love her right say back to the voices that you can have both emotions

that you are only human weak and yet very strong His words held some truth in them A warmth came back to me It was still cold But I could bear it I found I could suddenly push through the voices around me I could focus on the road and follow the route We were so close to the depot

If I could just push through for a few more minutes I would be fine I could go home I repeated those words in my head I would be fine I could go home I would be fine. I still loved my sister.

I would be fine. Even though I was driving faster, those last few minutes felt like an eternity. But we finally arrived at the depot. I panicked for a few seconds, but Ellie told me where to go. Oddly enough, everything was unlocked. The large garage doors for the buses was open and dark.

No one was around. I wondered if Ellie had something to do with this. He was so clearly not human at that point. Child or not, he had to have something to do with the fact of no one being ready to receive the last late bus. The moment I parked and shut the bus off, I let out the biggest sigh of relief. I was ready to leave. Beyond ready. Don't move.

Let me look first. I was a little annoyed at Ellie, but he was right. He had said that the dark figure would leave. after the bus was in the depot, but it's best not to take risks. I look sideways at him as he turned his head to look behind us. He stared,

and I couldn't read the expression on his face. He was about to look back at me and give the all-clear. But those long, dark claws came shooting out. In utter horror, I watched the claws rip through his shirt and into his stomach

and slam his small body against the tall clarketer so hard it bent the metal. Ellie had a look of confusion. He didn't shout or cry out in pain. I reached out my hand to grab him, but was too slow. He was dragged out of sight and to the back of the boss. And I wasn't having any of it.

I'd seen the photo the driver had part of his family. This man had people waiting for him, and that creature took him away. And now it broke the rules and saw him. snatched Ellie. In my rage, all my fear disappeared, and I closed my eyes and stumbled off the driver's seat. I fumbled around and found one of the mirrors that had been ripped off. I gripped it by the pole it had been attached to the bus. I was surprised by his weight, but I still lifted it off the ground and made my way to the back of the bus, eyes still closed. I bumped into a lot of seats and tripped over two steps that led to the upper part of the bus.

I honestly had no idea what I was going to do with the broken mirror. The driver had been killed seconds after he was grabbed. I'd wasted so much time and feared Ellie was already gone. If that was the case, I would beat the dark figure with a hefty mirror I'd picked up. It was a dumb idea, but I was so mad I wasn't thinking clearly. Leave him alone, you piece of... I was screaming, but stopped short when I heard a calm voice. What are you doing?

Was Ellie's voice, but I still didn't dare open my eyes. It could be a trick. I debated and if I should just start swinging away. But my very result was stopped before it even started when the mirror was ripped from my hand. You can open your eyes now, it's fine. I shouldn't have trusted. it, but I had to see if Ellie was right.

Slowly, I cracked open my eyes, just enough to see the boy sitting on the back seat, with an empty black trench coat beside him. His sweater had been torn, but I saw no blood. None on him, or even the driver's blood I'd smelled before. What the hell? I snapped at him, feeling pretty angry and confused. when something moved and fluttered around under the trench coat I moved back I can't go into too many details

you know there's rules I told you earlier the figure broke them not only did it take the bus driver making it impossible to give the rider a chance it tried to kill me after we pulled in I assume it would have killed you if I didn't demote it first I need a whole lot of information like what the thing is and what do you even mean by demote? Are you its boss?

You actually don't deserve any information. You should just be leaving. But I should tell you a little. I am not its boss. I am its king. I stifled a laugh. Ellie went on. This figure is a type of creature

that must go by certain rules to take humans. The more humans it takes, the stronger it gets. The stronger it is, the rules it goes by changes. If it finally gets strong enough, the final rule is just a human looking at it, but none really make it to that rank. They cheat trying to get stronger, faster. It's my job to find these troublemakers and knock them down a few ranks. So, I guess I'm lucky you came by to save me, huh?

I did not save you. I gave you information. You drove the bus. you didn't look behind you. If you looked before I did, you would have been killed. You follow the rules this creature has been bound to. Ellie was giving me a hard look. But I could tell he was trying to act off in front of the creature

hiding under the trench coat. He was the one who offered to look first. But he was trying to act as if I was the one who had made the choice. I didn't know what the big deal was. So what if he helped me out? but he was so adamant I decided to drop it I heard a noise behind me before I could really answer him and I looked over to see that the bus back door had opened

when I looked back only Ellie sat but the black trench coat was gone you should go home now and forget this entire thing Ellie got up and started to leave the bus and I followed behind him the bus depot was within walking distance my place. I could easily get back home, but it would be impossible to forget what had happened. A man died. I saw something unnatural. I'm not going to be arrested for anything, am I? No,

you'll be fine. Just go home. Ellie was about to walk away from me, but I couldn't let him go just yet. I had a spare light jacket in my bag, along with my work clothes. I stopped him and placed the jacket on his shoulders. It's cold out and your sweater got torn. You shouldn't be so kind to me. I used you as bait. Even if that was the case, I still forgave him. Because of him, I lived another night. No matter how much he wanted to deny it. He was very embarrassed after I gave him a big hug. He tolerated it, but soon was trying to struggle to get out of my arms. With that quick dismissal, watched as he jogged across the street and away from me. I thought he was a good kid, but I had to agree.

I never wanted to see him again. I didn't take the bus again. I spent a stupid amount of cab rides until I got a new car to drive to work. There were four of us when we broke into the Megaplex. There was Ralph, better known as Razegore on YouTube, and Dale, better known as Drake'song. The two of them often do head-to-head videos on YouTube, as well as let's-plays and other game content where they play the latest games and titles.

Jeremy, Kyle and I were just their editing team, but we appeared on the channel often enough to be recognisable. I was operating the camera that night as we came up to the back door of the Megaplex, ducking under the police tape. What's up, Gourhounds? Tonight we have something special for you. Ralph said, trying to keep his voice pitch low and failing. As some of you may know, the Megaplex in our area was closed recently under some very creepy circumstances. He pulled a goofy-looking face that was probably supposed to be creepy. Dale tried to stay in shot, looking unimpressed and striving for that too cool for this look. Kyle and Jeremy stood outside of the camera, Jeremy waiting for his cue and Kyle looking around nervously.

Ralph had talked us into this, and all of us were having second thoughts now that we were here. The payoff would be spectacular, but the risks would definitely be high. For those of you don't know, Dale said, two weeks ago, an unknown man came in for a midnight showing of Silence of the Lambs and killed eight patrons in the theatre. Many of the others escaped, but when the cops burst in, he was nowhere to be found. The theatre has been closed for two weeks now, with nine. no sign of the murderer.

So we figure is the perfect time to break in and play some dead by daylight, maybe some Friday the 13th, as we all sit in different theatres, isolated in the dark. We were saying break in, because it's sounding more dramatic. In reality,

Jeremy worked for the Megaplex as an assistant manager, so he had keys. I kept the camera on Ralph and Dale as Jeremy approached the employee's entrance with a crowbar, so the camera could easily seem pass. After some grunting and exertion off screen, Ralph and Dale hyping up the stream, Jeremy slid the keys into the lock and unlocked it with one quick, smooth twist.

He gave a mighty strain and pretended to rinse the door open as he turned the handle. I turned to look at the door as the other two congratulated him, and we proceeded into the dark back room. I had all our laptops in the bag around my back, and I try not to thump them around too much as we came inside. I would sit in the booth and monitor the streams, collect the video and audio from each session, and piece them together into something cool we could post next week to our channels.

The creepy ambience and gameplay would play well together. It would ensure that we had something awesome for maximum viewership. I could also monitor them from the central projection hub in case anything went wrong. The theatre was dark. The emergency exit signs glaring garrishly at us as we walked through the snack bar and into the common area. The Megaplex had 12 different theatres and allowed each of them to sit in a different one without even having to leave our fingerprints in the one that was still a crime scene.

We had toyed with the idea of all of them sitting in there as they played, basking in the atmosphere of death as they played killers and victims. The idea of accidentally leaving evidence behind to incriminate us, however, wasn't particularly appealing. We were already taken a huge risk by doing this. Mitigating risk from here and out was important. Okay, we're going to get set up. Ralph said to the camera as he stood near the entrance to the theatre hallway.

See you on the other side, Gorhans, he intoned. I switch off the camera and put down the bag as I handed out controllers. Okay, here's your controllers. take any theatre but seven. Jeremy, show me which key gets me into the booth. Jeremy flipped through them until he found a longish silver one, handing it to me. This one and the one next to it gets you to the projector cages. You know what you're doing up there, right?

He asked for the thousandth time. Hook the HDMI cable from the laptop to the projector. It's not rocket surgery, dude. Please, for the love of God, don't unhawk anything that's already hooked up to the projectors. We're playing a dangerous game already here and I don't want anyone questioning why wires are suddenly unplugged. I think I can handle it, Jeremy. Now you guys go get set up so we can start.

They went toward their theatres and I went towards the projection booth. 30 minutes later and we were ready to start streaming. The software on each laptop was easy to set up and hooking the computers to the projectors was pretty simple. Each of their audio feeds let me hear what they were saying and let them communicate with each other through the game's software. They had taken theatres 5, 6, 8 and 9,

leaving Theatre 7 empty between them. I couldn't help but glanced down into the dark theatre as I worked. My eyes straying to it every so often. The lurid red exit signs were the only lights in Theatre 7, casting police tape and seats in a crimson glow. I cut the screens on for 5, 6, 8 and 9, seen the theatre's light up as the screens flickered to life when the screen for seven came on two

and felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I glanced at a little window that gave me a bird-eye view of the theatre and nearly dropped the laptop I had been about to move. My vantage point gave me a great view of a large, black shape standing frozen in front of the screen. I backed away, shakily,

startled by the sudden appearance of the gangly shape, and I bumped into a desk as I stumbled away from the frightening sight. I stood, breathing hard, as my mind raced and my brain ran over a thousand different scenarios. Was that the killer? I cop doing some late-night investigating, a janitor. They weren't moving, so I had probably startled them as bad as they'd startled me. What if it was the killer, they'd said he'd never left, hadn't they?

my mind kept plodding over that little nugget as I stood motionless and felt my guts writhing in terror I needed to get the audio feeds hooked up so I could warn them I needed to call their cell phone so they could run I needed to do something other than just stand here in object terror but that seemed to be all I was capable of when he continued to stand motionless however I felt my fear ebb some and took another look

I realised my mistake pretty quickly. The coat had clearly been left over the chair or something. The longer I looked, the more details became apparent, and the stranger it became that I couldn't see arms or legs sticking out of it. I laughed when I realised I was frozen in fear by someone's left over coat and choked it up to the creepy ambience of this abandoned theatre. I was too jumpy. I had to keep my head in the game.

I got back to work. Mike 1, check? I asked, sitting down to test the setup. Check, said Ralph, and I saw a little light come on in the seating area as his controller came on. Mike 2, check, check, said Dale. Mike 3, check. Nothing. Mike 3, check, I asked, looking out in theatre rate.

I didn't see anyone sitting in the dark rows of seats and started glancing around to see where Jeremy was. The screen was a solid, staticky white that covered the whole theatre in a bright carpet of light. By that light, I could see nothing but an empty theatre. This inevitably led my eyes over to Theatre 7, and I did double-take when I noticed something was amiss. I stood up, squinting,

around the chair that someone had left on the little platform in front of the screen. The chair was now bare. Just the silhouette behind the white screen. The coat was gone. Sorry, Mike 3 here had to go to the bathroom. The coat had been there. I knew I'd seen it. The ragged old coat had been sitting on a chair in front of the screen.

A chair that was now empty. The hood had been up, making me think that's something. someone had been inside it, the arms dangling out like an empty scarecrow. And now it was just gone. The theatre was still empty. I could see it illuminated by the screen, but the coat had vanished. Hey, are you still there? Control, come back.

I shook it off and went back to my setup. Check, mic four. Check and check, and check, Carl said. I got back. to the job at hand. I'd ponder that old coat and his escape act later. However, I would ponder it a lot more than it would ever know. I lined up the cameras so the fans could see and hear them, and then we officially started the stream. Our last stream, as it happened. What's up, gore hounds? I'm joined by Drake Song from the channel Dragonhorn, as well as Kyle and

Jeremy, regulars in the show. We're going to be playing some dead by daylight in the battles of the Murder Megaplex. His head was a little more than a ghostly, floating specter, as the camera picked it up, and it made him look a little ghoulish in the dim light. The screens became black as the game started. I watched as they rolled into the selection menu, the game divvying up teams and assigning the killer. I let my mind wonder a bit, as I monitored the stream.

The boys were enjoying themselves, yelling and screaming whenever the killer would sneak. sneak up on them and murder them. They had played three games, Jeremy taking the killer role twice, when someone in the comments started typing in caps and trying to get her attention. This was pretty typical behaviour. Most of these guys were attention hares, and they wanted to make the highlight reel at the end of the video where we showed great comments or funny commenters.

This guy, despite the ridicule he was getting from others in the comments, was not letting up, and that drew my attention. Randoween 420 There's a shadow behind Kyle. Seriously, someone is sneaking up behind Kyle. Someone get Carl's attention. Someone is coming up behind him. I looked at the camera feed,

but saw nothing besides Kyle's face lit up by the ghostly light of the movie screen. The game was the kind that was favoured by very music colour palette, and it had bade the theatre in a murky tone. I looked back to chat. and saw Randalline still yelling about someone coming up behind Kyle, telling him to watch out. I looked back to the feed, and nearly fell out my chair, as the momentarily flash of lightning in the game lit up the whole theatre.

I had seen someone poised behind him for a bare second, a black-clad figure in a long ratty coat that I remembered all too well. I keyed up Carl's mic and told him to watch out, but he didn't move. Instead, he continued to look up the screen with that same frozen look of concentration he'd been wearing all night. Kyle always had this intense look

when he gamed, this expression somewhere between concentration and catatonia. I could see the silhouette of the man behind him, but it too was stationary and unmoving. When his feet cut out abruptly,

I realised he had been frozen there for about five minutes. I looked out into the theatre and could see Kyle still sitting there, head bent a little, his character was standing still. Ralph strode by with the Reaper and killed him, dropping him with an easy swive of his sickle. Ooh, tough break, Kyle. He was a lag spike or something. Kyle said nothing. I glanced out at the theatre Ralph was in and saw he was alone in the murky blackness. Ditto for Jeremy and ditto for Ditto for Ditto for Dalympie. Dale. I assumed that he was still in the theatre with Kyle, so maybe I had time to warn the others.

It occurred to me that this might be an elaborate prank, but surely they would have told me about it if it were, right? Otherwise, I might call the cops, would you draw attention to our stream and cause us to leave? I keyed up Ralph's mic so the others wouldn't hear me. Ralph, we've got a problem. What's up, homie? Ralph asked, and I could hear the theatre as booming in the background. Something's going on. There was someone in the theatre with Kyle, and now he won't respond.

He hasn't moved his character, and I can't raise him on the headset. I think that something's happened to him, but I need you to tell me if this is some kind of goof. Ralph was quiet for a second, before chuckling, kind of weird. I don't have the slightest idea

of what you're talking about, but if you're trying to run a prank here, it's not funny. It's creepy enough in this theatre all by itself. I don't need to think about some creeper loom. around at the dark. Look, I'm just telling you, this looks like...

But when I looked out at his theatre, I felt my next words stolen from me. Someone was standing in the aisle a few feet from Ralph's seat. Someone who was holding a crowbar that dripped wetly. Ralph, behind you! I yelled. But by the time he turned, it was too late. Ralph cringed against the seat in front of him, as the hooded figure lunged the upraised tool.

I watched as his controller spills of the floor, the assailant smashing him across the face with a dripping instrument. He rode him to the ground. Ralph looking dazed as he fell. The tool came up with each swing in theatrical horror movie fashion, sending out spraise of blood that coated the seat. The figure rose once he'd finished, and I could almost feel his eyes on me as he looked up to the projection booth.

I stepped back to the computers, and keyed up to the other two mics. Dale, Jeremy, I need you guys to come to the projection booth now. Why, Dale asked. Someone just killed Ralph. What? Jeremy asked, and I could hear him standing up. He beat him to death of the crowbar. We need to get the hell out of here, right now.

Agreed, said Jeremy. Dale, you and I should head to the emergency exits in the theatre while. But there was a sound like someone tripping over the carpet. I heard Jeremy's Mike go dead And a quick look Showed his feet being dragged behind a row of seats I heard wind passing by Dale's mic As he ran for the exit

I could hear him hyperventilating a little And as I watched I could see him running for the glowing exit sign I could also see the figure step out from the front row And bash him with a crowbar Knocking him sideways into the row of seats I backed away from the window then Starting to hyperventilate myself

This was crazy. How had they gotten Dale and Jeremy at the same time? Was there more than one killer? How had they gotten him before us? Have they been waiting the whole time? I shook myself out of my days and decided that I needed to go. I looked at the equipment on the table and decided to leave it pretty quickly. It would slow me down and who really cared if the police found it?

I was getting ready to report this the second I got outside anyway. I glanced through the projector holes one last time, checking to see if anyone was in their theatres and finding no one below. That's when something slammed into the projection room door, and I fell on my ass. I scuttled back against the wall, eyes glued to the door that was being violently round from the other side.

Whatever it was, slammed into the door a few more times before it rattled the handle and found it locked. I was suddenly glad I'd remember. remember to lock it and patting my pockets from my phone. I decided to go ahead and call the police. They could book me for trespassing right after they saved my life. It wasn't till I patted myself down a half dozen times that I remembered I'd left it on the table next to my laptop.

There was also when I realized that the banging had stopped. I crept on hands and knees towards the desk, praying it had fallen in my panic. The silence was deafening in the wake of explosive pounding. I kept glancing at the door as I crawled, expecting that any minute the door would just burst open. I was afraid to look up over the edge, fumbling in vain as I tried to find my phone. That when I heard a truly chilling noise, the last noise I ever expected to hear.

The sound of keys being thrust into the lock and the door being opened with a simple turn of the knob. I sat, huddled beneath the table as a hudded figure wandered into the office. He was tall, his face hidden under the blackness of that dark covering, and his feet echoed off the floor as he stalked towards me. I tried to back up further, but my back smacked against

the metal legs of the short table. I felt my legs tremble as I shook, and I closed my eyes as I expected to die very messily. I opened them again when I heard. The laughter, coming from the doorway, as Ralph and Dale came through the door with her cameras in hand. Oh man, we got you so good, Ralph laughed. He bought it, hookline and sinker.

Dale laughed, turning the camera to face him. Another classic prank. I couldn't believe it. This had all been some stupid prank for the channel. I watched as the killer. doubled over and started laughing too, his crowbar dropping with a plastic thunk to the ground. When the hood came down,

I saw that it was Titus, and sometimes rowdy when we took our shows on the road. Jeremy leaned in the doorway, laughing uproariously as the others high-five and congratulated themselves on scaring me half the death. I wanted to be mad, but I found myself laughing and of pure nervous relief.

You jerks, I breathe, accepting Titus's offered hand. You really scare the crap out of me. I slapped Titus on the shoulder. How the hell did he get across three theatres in a matter of seconds anyway? Titus looked confused. I didn't. I snuck into Ralph's theatre through the fire door and waited for you to notice me. Then I ran out after you turned away, coming up to Dale's theatre and catching him as he tried to escape.

I pretended to drag myself behind the seats, Jeremy said. And Kyle? Titus was still laughing, but he looked a little confused. What about him? We didn't even tell him about the prank. You know Carl's a blabbermouth. He'd have never been able to pull this off. That made me pause for a minute.

Where is Kyle? I asked. Not seeing him and really concerned about that for the first time. Ralph and Dale looked at each other Don't know No way he's still in the theatre I looked down for the box And sure enough

Kyle was still in the theatre Unmoving and not playing the game We tried to raise him on the mic again to no avail And after thumping in the glass for a few minutes to get his attention We decided to go see what was going on with him The five bus came downstairs And crept towards the theatre Kyle was sitting in.

The door creaked ominously as Jeremy pushed it and none of us seemed to be in any hurry to step inside. I could see Carl's head framed by the white screen as he sat upright, staring forward, and moved inside to see what was up with him. I came up behind him, pausing as I caught sight of something I hadn't seen before from my vantage point in the booth. I didn't need to touch him to realize

he wouldn't answer me and they all drew closer as I took a few bulky steps back there was a machete stuck through the back of the chair pinning him to the seat when the others saw him they started freaking out

talking all at once as we tried to figure out what to do next Ralph wanted to call the police Jeremy wanted to get out of the theatre and then called the police Dale just wanted to be out of the theatre We all kept trying to talk over each other, our terror rising, even as he kept stepping over each other's conversations. That's why it took us so long to realize.

The Tidas was gone. We looked around for him, but no one could remember if he came into the theatre with us. The last time anyone had seen him was in the projector booth. That seemed to be the deciding fact of Adail. He had his phone out, dialing 9-1-1, before anyone could see him. say anything about it. Jeremy slapped it out of his hands, though, and the two of them stared at each other in surprise. Jeremy seemed as surprised that he had done it, as Dale was, that his phone had been slapped away.

It bounced under the nearby seats, and the two of them just stood silently for a few seconds, before Dale asked him what the hell he thought he was doing. I don't want to be involved in this. If you call the cops, I'm going to lose my job. Screw your job, Dale said. At least one person is dead Let's just leave first We can get outside and then call them

You two can say that it was just you guys in here and I can't Dale was dropping to his hands and knees Looking for his phone under the seats Man that's some countly talk One of our friends is dead And you're worried about losing your job Man I can't believe I ever His words were cut off though

When something drug him under the seat And he started screaming We scattered as Dale screamed all three of us flying like quail as we tried to put as much distance between ourselves and the killer as possible. I had my phone out as I left the theatre darling the number for emergency services

as I went. I vaulted the concession counter and hid behind it as lying buzzed and buzzed. I sat there, shaking. The smell of alled popcorn and aged soda in my nose as a wait for someone to pick up. 911, what is your emergency? I sighed,

glad to hear someone outside of this place. I told them I was at the Megaplex and that I needed the police there immediately. I told her how we had used Jeremy's key to get inside, how we were planning to set up a stream and play games in a creepy theatre, and how they had pulled a prank of me and started all of this. I told her about Kyle and Titus, and about all my friends who were probably being murdered right now as we split up. And as I told her once again that I needed help,

I felt the tears rolled out my face as I started to cry She assured me that help was on the way But that I needed to stay in the line That was when someone kicked the counter From the other side And I practically threw my phone in surprise I could hear the lady on the other end

Calling my name Seeing if I was there But my phone had landed against the opposite counter And my attention was dominated by the hulking figure standing over me The bar came up to his waist. The guy was nearly seven and a half feet tall and dressed in cast-off clothes and a long coat with the hood.

He was holding the crowbar, his sideless face looking down at me. And when he smashed the crowbar against the glass, I felt drops of something splatter across my face. I wiped them off and saw red streaks of my finger, realizing that his crowbar was splattered with blood. For a moment, we just stared at his head. other, his featureless face glaring at me. I couldn't see him glaring, but I could feel it as he glared at me in disapproval. I had come into his den, his hunting ground, and now I was to be his

prey. He turned, taking a step towards the opening that would let him behind the counter, and I weighed my escape options. I could try to vault the counter, but it seemed likely that he would catch me before I got to the door. If I sat right there, I'd get killed in short order, but if I sprinted for the area beyond the concession stand, where the door was that we'd come in through, which seemed my best course of action, he would likely still catch me before I got there, but it was my only hope of escaping. The choice, however, was made for me. He had just stepped into the space between the counter and the back, when the blue lights framed him up. and he looked at the big glass doors at the front of the building.

He broke and ran for the back of the Megaplex then, back towards the theatres, back towards whatever nest he had back there. The cops found me behind the counter a few minutes later. The search of the Megaplex turned up the rest of my friends, or what was left of them at least. Each of them had been killed. They had been stabbed, bludgeoned,

or just strangled with bare hands, of that imposing shade. I was the only survivor it seemed, and the police were very interested in getting a statement. That's why I'm here in this interrogation room, filling out this report. They even talked about criminal charges yet,

and I think they figure I've suffered enough. What they want is my complete report on the happenings of this evening. You can be certain that I'll never forget the events of tonight's stream. the last stream of my career Why are you looking at my girlfriend

I'm fixing your sink I replied This guy had a familiar look about him That made me nervous He was twitchy in always scratching his skinny little arms His eyes darsing to every corner of the room I tried to stay neutral with my head tucked away under the kitchen counter The sooner I fixed this problem of theirs

The sooner I'd be out I hear about guys like You got keys to everyone's room and like to go sneaking around, installing cameras in the toilet and shower. I saw photos of one hidden camera and a screw. I ain't stupid. I know what you guys get up to. Can you go get me a drink baby, please?

Something from the vending machine maybe. This baby's making me so damn tired. It was this girlfriend who spoke. She'd been slouched on the sofa the entire time I was there. She looked sad mostly, but also a little afraid. She must have known a man pretty well, because I could see the guy's head working overtime after she spoke. He was torn between wanting to chew me out and looking after his pregnant girlfriend. The whole time I stayed down under that sink, twisting pipes free and pulling ranted black filth into the bucket below.

It was hard to stay focused, but I knew things could escalate quickly. A few long seconds passed before the door slammed shut. Sorry about him, the girl said. groaning as you sat upright, can you fix it before he gets back? I shoved my fingers deep into the final clog and began to pull it loose. I think this is the last of it.

Ah damn! Something sharp had slipped right past the rubber glove and into the soft flesh for my thumb while I've been trying to scrape the blockage free. I whipped my hand out of the pipe and immediately tore the glow off, squeezing the tiny flesh until a tiny bead of red blood appeared on my skin.

Are you okay? she asked. Something sharp in the pipe, I said, before sucking the blood clean. With my good hand, I grabbed a screwdriver and used it to pull the final clump of food and hair free. It plopped into the bucket with the rest of the blockage, a single silver-shaped glistening amidst the filth. Do you have any kids? I asked, pulling the strange objects free. It was an old paperclip, or maybe a hairpin, bent and twisted into a funny shape that was overlapping circles, almost like a broken key ring. This is our first, she said, while patting her belly.

I found this down there, I said, while holding it up. But she only shrugged. I didn't put it down there, she replied. But if it's all fixed, I'd finish up and clear out before Jason gets back. He's, uh, he's not well. I nodded, slid the strange thing into my pocket, and began to collect my tools. Everyone hated the basement. Most residents didn't even use it, but it was always full of old junk.

A few elderly people who'd stuck around were the main corporates. They often arrived with a horde of old possessions in tow, and only gathered more as time went on. Looking round, I saw more than a few old urns down there, and I knew from experience. experience, not all of them were empty. People held under things, sometimes without much reason. In the back! Mrs. Harps was calling from the top of the stairs, her round little body, blocking most of the light. Taking a deep breath, I clicked my torch on, and began to walk deeper into the mire of mouldy boxes and crumbling furniture stacked ceiling high. I saw it, Mr. Thomas, I swear in my life, I saw it down there. I'm sure you did, Mrs. Harps, I cried back.

I'm not making it up, Shrew-beated. I saw him down there, the furry bugger, big as hell and chewing up my old clothes. Very deep in the back, close to the old boiler, was a stack of wet cardboard boxes that had property of A-harps scrolled across it. The very bottom box had a hole chewed right through one corner, and a dozen little raisinside droppings were scattered near the entrance. Yep, there it is. I cried out.

You're right, Mrs. Harps. I'll be sure to lay some traps this afternoon. She shouted some answer, but my attention was pulled elsewhere when I heard a scratching coming from a shadowy cluster of overturned boxes just ahead. Down there, in the dark,

the light of day seemed far away, and I felt the need to be anywhere else to go clambering back of the stairs to feed Mrs. Harps some lame excuse. The basement was a wall. Warren of shadows, and I couldn't help a picture what might be hiding just out of sight. Of course, deep down I knew what was out there, persistently scratching away. What else could it be?

I gripped my torch tight, and walked onwards, turning the corner just in time to see a black-haired body squeeze itself through a tiny gap in the wall. Bugger, I groaned, shuffling closer to the gap that had been gnawed right. through Victorian brick. Something had been scratched into the floor, worn down over and over with what seemed like thousands of permeations. It laid right in front of the hole like some kind of signpost, no larger than my palm, and its shape was eerily familiar. On a whim, I took the thin piece of metal out of my pocket and held it up, gazing at the impossible resemblance it bore to the shape on the floor. six or seven overlapping circles

bound closely together like a loop of rope the two shapes are identical coppers of each other just rendered in different mediums I told myself it was kids who must have done it a random act of vandalism but when I show my light into the hole a pair of beady red eyes glared back at me and I couldn't shake the feeling

it had been watching me appraised its work There are, simply put, a lot of restrictions on the use of poison this close to a park. Oh, look at it. I leaned forward and pulled the child-sized bed away from the wall, revealing a thousand little black droppings in the space behind it. Tell me this is okay. Look, he put his hands up. You don't need to do this.

I'm with you. No, I said, firmly. See this? This is where she keeps her toys. I pass at the top of a small toy trunk. before grabbing either side and pulling it away. The skirting board that ran along the floor had been chewed through entirely

until there was a foot wide hole. There are rats literally coming out of the damn walls, Al. Help me out here. Why can't we do anything about this? You're new here, Al replied. I just can't approve any of the purchase requests you've made him lately. This is government housing for Christ's sake.

What happens if one of these little brats ends up having an allergic reaction to the stuff you spray? Do you have any idea how much red tape we have to jump through to fix this? So we just let this carry on, do we? All part of a better Britain, yeah. Don't be like that, he cried. I'm not saying you're on your own, far from it.

You must do some work online, right? Do you Google stuff and you got to fix something. Yeah? Well then, why should your property get worn out doing government work? Coffee machines, orthopedic chairs, laptops, tablets. Hell, one guy down in Southampton had an emotional sense. support ferret in his cubicle. We just got to be creative, that's all.

Some purchase orders will slip right through the government machine. Poison isn't one of them. I'll see what I can do and get back to you. You just get me a list of what you need. Mind you, he added, nudging a pile of damp mouldy laundry with one of his tan leather shoes.

It's not like they're exactly helping themselves here, is it? Did you catch him? We both turned to see a little girl, staring at us from behind the bedroom door, her fingers clutching the jammed nervously. He was under the bed, she whispered. I'll leave this to you, Chris, Al said, before giving me a little mock salute. He smiled widely at the little girl as he sailed past and hurried away.

Just get me that list, he cried out before the front door shut. I found where he's coming from, I told the little girl, and I'm going to fix it so he can't get through anymore. His whispers are scary, she replied. She besie his eyes fixed on the door. Well, pretty soon, that won't be a problem. He lives down there, she pointed at the floor. He told me, do you think he'll be mad if you can't come over anymore?

No, I could. And even if he does, I won't let him come back and do anything bad. He says he'll find me anyway, she replied. Her eyes glanced at him. up to the hole behind me. Something in it must have held a gaze, something that seemed to grab a hold of her and keep her staring with an almost dreamlike expression. I suddenly became aware of that little gap in the wall, feeling its presence in my back like

it was an arching black hole. I hadn't felt afraid of it at first, but now the hairs of my neck rose and a chill ran across my shoulders. I clicked my torch and turn around to find two red eyes. glaring back at me from the darkness. They lingered for no more than a second before receding into the dark, their disappearance accompanied by Kurt Chitter. He doesn't like you, the girl cried in a lilting, sing-song voice, before suddenly bursting into laughter and running away.

I went to my knees and began to hammer a plank of wood across the hall with nervous urgency. The old man was apoplectic, all perfect. in the face and spitting everywhere. He howled with rage at the direction of his neighbour's door, unaware she wasn't even in. That damn cat keeps leaving bloody rats in my home, he cried. You weren't allowed no animals in here. I told her so.

I told her over and over, this is exactly why. As unsanitary is what it is, as disgusting is what it is. He seemed oblivious to my discomfort as I stood there awkwardly. Well, Mr. James, whatever is happening, I'll be sure it stops right. here and right now, I told him, does that sound fair to you? I made sure to catch his gaze and hold it when I asked the question.

He paused his shouting for a few seconds, and when he replied, his tone was a little more even. Right now? He asked, not in three weeks or six months, or in some distant damn future, where the council finally decides to affect repairs. Right now, I said, I have my tools, I have materials. It won't be pretty, but I'll make sure it holds. I won't leave until you're happy with it. He chewed the air for a few moments as he thought it's over.

Oh right then, it's through here. He took me into a squat little living room, the bedroom visible through an open door. The scene in there wasn't pretty, but it was the spare room he pointed me to, and I was thankful I wouldn't have to kick his old underwear around while looking for rats. Still, his spare room was so filled with old junk,

He had to push the door open with his shoulder. There was a bed in there somewhere, but you'd be hard pressed to find it under the lifetime's worth of books, photos, documents, and bags of old clothes. I had to eke my way in one foot at a time, being careful where I stepped, so as they not go tumbling over.

No need to stay standing up, I said as he hovered by the door. I'll come get you when it's done. If there's anything you're not happy with, I'll make sure to fix it for you. Right, he grumbled. Fine, I'll be out here in my chair. I returned to the job and began to whittle my way through the mountain of crap.

I happened to know that the lady next door really did have a cat, but I couldn't bring myself to turn her in. Not when I thought the building could use another 30 cats just to keep the rat population down. I doubt you'd do this anyway, I said to myself as I mused around the windowless room. No attic access, no air conditioning. How did the cat get in here? I wondered. I figured there had to be a heating vent somewhere,

so I started kicking all clothes away until I found it tucked away in the back of the room. Big enough for a rat, I muttered when I saw it, not much else. A closer look revealed that the vent had been pushed free of its screws. God knows how, and it popped out with a gentle pull of my fingers. The stench coming from the hole was haunting. and I took a deep breath before putting my face anywhere near it.

I nearly screamed when I saw something right out of a nightmare staring back at me. Wretched and animalistic, his expression was twisted into a desperate hell of anguish. Oh no, I hissed as my eyes took in more of the scene. This thing was clearly dead. Its school could barely fit in the hole, and all manner of bones must have been broken, so that he could squeeze down there. It looked a little like a monkey, but his teeth were too sharp

and his face was too pointed. Somehow, my curiosity built up just enough for me to overcome that initial pang of terror, and I gingerly reached in to pull the monster free. It came out with a sickening sound of suction. Its fur matted and dripping thick blood

that fell onto the floor in clumps. Free of the vent, the skeleton of the creature unfurled, like a rotten flower and its ears finally unstuck from the back of its head. It was a cat.

Jesus Christ, it was the cat, the one from next door. His paws had been bound with what looked like human hair and its eyes ritually torn out.

The broken jaw kept flapping around as I held it out at arm's reach and something fell out from under its tongue and under the floor. It looked almost

like an earthworm but it just stayed there all called up and perfectly still. I leaned in and saw that it was a couple of rat tails, several of them, all wound together in a strange, overlapping circles, and pinned tight with ribbons of muddy brown hair. The kids were to go down into the basement, or so I was told. I knew that teenagers like to go down there in smoke, but the call I received from Mr. Andes mentioned little kids playing with toys, which just didn't seem right.

Maybe it was because that place scared the hell out of me, but I couldn't quite picture little kids bundling down there like it was some secret playground. The old man hadn't said exactly where the kids were playing down there, and the basement was larger than it appeared at first sight. But I found myself straying straight towards the old hole I filled up a few days before. I'd thrown a fair amount of poison down there and fill the gap with rubber cement and insulating foam, before hammering in one hell of a piece of wood. I told myself that meant the place was free of rats, but I felt very little surprise when I found the barrier torn to shreds

and the foam and cement ripped free. But that wasn't all. The scratchings had multiplied until dozens of those repeating frayed circles covered the floor and wall for over a meter in every direction. And I guess Mr. Anders had been right, because an old children's story had been laid out and plugged into an unfurled extension cord. It was a little play mat with different words and colourful shapes arranged in a neat grid.

I'd seen them before when my niece was just a toddler. Her mother had used it to teach her to read. You could press any one of the soft pads and a pleasant voice would read the corresponding word and accompanying image. Why the hell anyone had dragged it down there and I couldn't say. But it creeped the hell out of me to see it laid out the way it was in front of that hole. I traced the extension cord to a socket on the opposite wall and went to turn it off. When a robotic female voice came from behind.

Present. Present. Give. Present. I swung around into an enormous rat glaring at me, its black fur glistening in my light. The damn thing was huge. easily the size of a possum with its hindquarters hidden out of sight in the encroaching shadow. I'm not normally scared of rats, with the thought of that thing lunging at me with his

scissors-sharp teeth, left me feeling like I was glaring down a mountain line. Present. Give. It thwacked the pets like an impatient child, and I would have laughed if I wasn't paralyzed with fear. I could feel it rising away. his manic need to either start pulling my eyes out or cackling hysterically. Instead, I swallowed both of madness and fear and went to unplug the cord with shaking hands. Ouch, you.

Ouch, outch, you. I took the plug from the socket and looked back towards the mat. The rat was gone. Did you see this guy? The words pulled me from my thoughts of, glooping circles and ragged teeth. My dreams had taken a dark turn over the last few days, and not just because of the infestation.

A few days before, the same little girl I'd helped her the rats in a room had gone missing and left a mother in a state of grief-stricken distress. In fact, it had left most of us who knew her a little shaken up. Sorry? Miss Rothers mentioned a strange man in the lobby last week. I was speaking to a policewoman who wore plain clothes, and I knew from TV that meant she dealt with heavy stuff like dead people and stolen children. She looked like every teacher I'd ever had, only with not nearly as much patience.

Uh, yeah, I said. He came in screaming about his dog, said he'd been sleeping around back in the alley when something took his dog through one of the vents that led into a building. I actually tried to help him, tried talking to him, but he was just beside himself and wouldn't listen to reason. He only left after Al, as my boss threatened to call the police. Can you describe this man? I did, going into great detail about his face and clothes,

and I even managed to get some security footage to send over just in case. I was doing my very best to be helpful, but I think she could tell something was playing in my mind. Maybe she figured it was nothing, or maybe she could just read people well, because she never asked me directly. But I found myself stopping her on the way out of my door, just so I could spill the beans.

Um, look, this might be nothing, but... Uh, last week, I called you guys up about a dead cat. I'm sure there must be a report somewhere, but you should know the cat was... I mean, someone had killed it. They pulled its eyes out, broke in its jaw, and... Something was stuffed in its mouth. Her eyebrows rose. In its mouth? What do you mean?

I reached into my drawer and pulled out the little bundle of rat tails out, along with a bent piece of metal, just in case. Side by side, their identical structure was even more pronounced, and it became apparent just how careful the construction must have been. I found this in a train, I said, and the same shape was made out of rat tails in the cat's mouth. And you reported this? I did, I said. It's tied with human hair, just like the cat's feet were. It's the weirdest damn thing, but it almost feels ritualistic. I don't know. I suddenly felt stupid for just saying the words out loud. I just thought that if there is some sick freak hanging

around, maybe he killed this cat first or something. It's not stupid, she said. It's good you mentioned it. there's nowhere the original report would have made its way to me. And you're right, this does feel ritualistic, doesn't it? My name is DCI Miles, by the way. DCI Miles reached into a pocket and took out a card that she handed to me. If you see anything else like that, any other dead animals, or anything that makes you wonder about who exactly might be living here, let me know.

We need all the help we can get. Mr. Anders, I said, banging on the door. open up we need to speak with you DCR Miles was beside me along with two stern-looking uniformed officers You know I really don't think this is right I said looking back at them Mr Anders is a miserable bugger

But he isn't not Not that You said it yourself The cat was in his apartment She replied And we trace some internet searches to this flat That would make you seriously reconsider your opinion of the man Mr Graham

Do you have the key we asked for? Of course, I said, holding the master key up before inserting it into the lock. It turned with a latched click, and I found myself suddenly pushed out of the way as the three police officers marched ahead to make their arrest. This is the police, Stephenander. Jesus! I rushed in, slowing momentarily, to take in the horrific stench were powering through anyway. I nearly ran right into the back.

back of the two large officers, where DCI Miles stood a little ahead of them, mouth open and eyes wide. They, they, they, they... A dozen black rats poured out of the room and swarmed around our feet, the greasy fur, streaking our clothes, and smearing our shoes with filth. One of the officers began to kick and scream, and he nearly went down, except his friend managed to reach out and steady him. The thoughts of him falling into that river of gnashing claws. and writhing muscular vermin terrified me, and I had to resist the urge to panic. Stay calm, I said.

They're just fleeing. Just, just let them go. When they finally passed, I was surprised to see DCI Miles still standing in the same place, having not moved an inch, even as dozens of nasty little vermin had clambered over her ankles.

They, they, they, they? She looked at a catatine. tonic, and that alone left my stomach lurching towards my feet. She didn't seem like the sort of person who could be terrified so easily. Then again, I realized maybe it hadn't come easy at all. The room behind her was dark, the curtains pulled. I could see what was in there. While the other two officers saw to each other, I slid past and peeked inside with my torch.

I didn't even know what I was looking at, least not a lot of. first. The shoes on his feet let me know it was Mr. Anders lying on the floor, but the podgeo man was otherwise unrecognizable. His living room had been cleared out, and his mutilated body had been laid out by some kind of display. His limbs and entrails encircling his dismembered torso in several overlapping loops, all routed up in thick clumps of soggy human hair. All around him were hundreds of small, scratchy circles. they'd been engraved in the floor with pockets of rat droppings contained in each one. Praying, DCR Miles had spoken, and I practically jumped down to my skin.

They were praying, she said. Scratchy little voices, scratchy little voices all whispering. I heard them. I heard what they said. They were all laid out like, like a service all around him. I looked back at the scene and felt my gorge rise. Moving the torch a little further ahead, I finally found Mr. Under's head,

or at least I figured it was his, given that it had been picked clean to the bone. It was an ivory school gleaming harshly in my light, placed at the head of the circle, although a little farther back. He's preaching. Good God, he's preaching. I can hear him.

DCI Miles spoke, but I did not look back. The skull was occupied. Something stood over it, wringled pink paws, clutching at his brow, and leaning forward, like a priest given a sermon. It must have been the same rat from the basement, for it was huge, holding the man's head between both paws like he was getting ready to pass a basketball. For a moment, it stared us both down, bearing those wretched fangs in the light. each one as long as a human finger before it chittered and flared into the darkened corners of the living room oh god

Miles screamed collapsing to the floor and seizing all of my attention oh god it nests it nests below I suddenly found myself feeling very afraid and my terror grew white-hot when I heard two voices cry from the hallway behind us I had almost forgotten about the other officers until they shouted back. But, far from offer help, the robotic cries only made me feel like I was spiraling deeper into madness. Hit nests below, they screamed in unison, answering the woman's call like a religious prayer.

You shouldn't be out here, I said, as he turned back to face the young boy. He'd been sat out in the hallway, scrolling pictures when I first passed. And even though I had far bigger problems with my hands, I couldn't quite leave him out there. It's, uh, you should have a grown up with you. It's not safe. Mum's in the flat, he said. I knew his mother, and she wasn't going to win any parent of the year awards. Still, I felt like I should try anyway. Are you sure you don't want to go back in with her?

He looked at me like I was an idiot. is she is she not feeling well again like last year last time I had to call an ambulance for her the needles was still stuck in her arms you could say that he replied his eyes fixed on the paper

laid on the floor he was holding a black pencil in his fist like it was a dagger dragging it across the page so hard I wondered if he might mark the floor will the police come back he asked. Probably, I said.

I think the detective just needs a break. They say it happens from time to time with police officers. They work so hard to keep us safe and sometimes they just need a rest. Did your mother ask you to ask? He shrugged his little shoulders. Something compel me to walk back the way I'd just come and sit next to him.

I'm not the most paternal of people, but something about the last few days had me feeling like I should try a little harder to look after these people. Let's get you back to your mom, I said, while reaching over to put an arm over his shoulder, only to freeze partway. When I saw what had been drawing, it was a ragged black circle repeating over and over as he scored the pencil into the page so hard it had torn parts of it away. When he spoke, it was in a whisper,

anything can pray, he told me, smiling like it was a secret. Repeating the same few sounds over and over, we prayed before we even talked or even walked. We prayed to be safe. We prayed to be dry. We prayed to be strong. Our first prayers were to leave the trees, to escape the snakes and birds who snatched babies. We prayed over and over and over and over. When you need to pray that badly, you invent words to fill the aching needs. It doesn't matter what you do, just that you do it again and again until you make a groove in the world using your mind. His fist was still circling that page, and I felt my eyes

follow the pencil going round and round until my head grew dizzy and a whining bus filled my ears. Something about his voice had warmed its way into my head, and I became fairly aware of a warmth trickling down my ears. We scavenged before we hunted, he said, I need for safety made prayers, made worship, made songs and music and chants and words and language, and eventually our prayers made us think. But he came first, before it all, before we were strong or smart, and we just forgot him like he never even mattered when he was the one who made us this way.

He came first. The boy added as he handed me his drawing. Something had gripped my mind so tight I couldn't even think of a reply. He came first, he repeated the words a little more sternly, without realizing how or why it was even possible. I found myself answering them. It nests below, the boy smiled as he ran a finger in circles on my forehead, blessing me silently. The strangest thing was, I almost felt thankful to him. I need your help, he said.

Follow me. The rats were chasing their own tails. Dozens of them cover the floor, wearing grooves deep into the ancient khaki carpet. They all looked like they were going mad, trapped in place, while going round and round and round. All except one. He stared at me from where it was put. her heart atop the boy's mother. She had been stripped, found, and then, presumably, killed.

How fast it had been, or how painful, I couldn't say. By the time I saw her, the thick ropes of braided hair were the only thing stopping her limbs being scattered by the furious currents of swirling rats. And now, their leader was using her open ribcage, like some kind of pulpit or stage, staring down on the masses below him. Even worse, the rats were not alone. There were children in there, down on all fours, going round and round like the vermin by their feet. I might have expected them to trample some of the furry little monsters, but they never did.

The rats always parted just in time. In fact, none of the hundreds of occupants ever bumped into each other or even came close to it. There was no order to their movements, but it wasn't quite chaos either. and if I looked at them too long, I felt the first flickers of the aura of a migraine started to fade in from the corners of my vision. The boy took my hand and led me to the dog-sized rat. He doesn't like you, the boy said,

and this time it wasn't a threat or even a tease. He was just saying it. You don't need heat or comfort or food to fill a starving belly. You want. All of your grown-ups want so much, but your bones don't ache with the need like ours do. The rat chittered, and as one, every single thing in that room looked up and answered him. The Georgian cried, It nests below, and the rats squeat inanely. Just as quickly, the frantic circling resumed, and I realized, with growing horror, that I had answered the cry as well.

But compromising for the sake of a need is a sacred act, the boy continued, and he is willing to give you a chance to take part in this right. He reached out and blessed my head once more, his groby finger tracing circles on my brow. It nests below, I whimpered, feeling tears at the corner of my eyes at the realization that I no longer controlled my own mouth. He does, the boy. hissed, leaning forward until all I could see was the rot setting in his teeth. But the nest is small and cold and wet. It needs so much, and just as he once answered our calls, he must now answer his. Bloody hell, he did a good job with the rats, Al said, staring at a sack of rotten meat I'd just thrown into a dumpster. How many are in that? Too many to count,

I replied. Well, I'm glad to see that poison I got you worked out. Must have been serious stuff. Ready to use it. The basement, mostly, I answered. It's all clean, though. All of it. Spick and span.

Ready for the new residence. I'm glad to see you've got your eye on the bigger picture, he cried. Most people don't think like that. But yes, already. First one's coming in next week, from what I hear. Look, I don't want to throw a wrench in anything, I said, but I'm pretty sure I found where the rats were coming from, and I could use some help sorting it out. Hang on now, Chris, I'm not a bloody handy man, a management.

I just need someone to hold the torches all, I said. I mean, do you really want to risk the new contracts? I asked, leaning in and speaking quietly. First, we had all the missing kids, then like a third of the residents just up and left without paying us a penny and rent. Come on, I played ball, didn't I? I dealt with the rat problem just like you asked. Help me out here. I just need a light. All right, he grumbled.

But I better not catch anything down there. Jesus, he hissed. Chris, are you serious? What are you doing knocking holes in the wall like this? I needed to find where they were coming from, I answered. Turns out it was this old door that leads into the sewer on the other side. This thing is Victorian and it's been here a while. breaked up but here nonetheless.

Anyway, as you can see, it's just wood, and the rats keep going through the bottom, and that's what I gave them access to all the walls. Look. I pushed the door, and it swung open, leading right into a dripping, wet tunnel, darker than any place I'd ever seen before. It goes right into the sewers.

I just need some light on it while I break it up properly. You're thorough, I'll give you that, he said. Give me that thing. He reached out and I handed him the torch. The light fell on my back and I watched my shadow rise up ahead of me. Taking a deep breath, I stayed in myself and stepped through the doorway. Already the scratching my ears felt deafening. I knew it was about to get a lot worse.

Oh wow, I cried out, my acting less than convincing. Al, you need to see what's through here, pal. These sewers are ancient. they must go on for miles. I ain't stepping in no crap pipes, Chris. Come on, use your head here. Just do what you've got to do. All right, I said, closing my eyes and taking another deep breath.

Is that a kid? I cried out. Al, there's a kid down here. I think, I think it's one of the ones they never found. Oh, damn, he cried out. Well, go after him. Go on. The little bugger must have been hiding down here all along.

I turned back and looked at him like a slack-jawed idiot. You caught the light, Al? For goodness sake, he hissed, pushing past. You should have been running already. You might have even caught him. Where'd he go? That way, I pointed to the left with a tunnel branched off, down there and to the right. Al stormed ahead, and I followed.

At least this rat three, he hissed. You must have really done one hell of a job laying that poison. I didn't answer. resolving only to follow in silence. Surely they could take care of it from here, I thought. Surely I don't have to see it all again. I was thinking the same thing over and over when I suddenly bumped into the back of Al.

We reached the chamber far faster than I was expecting. What the hell? The torch fell up on the nest and I could see the terror paralyzing Al. It riveted him to the spot like a bolt of lightning. It was horrific, but also beautiful. A hulking mess of rotten bodies chewed and pulped like paper machet. The nest was part ruining wasp hive and part mass grave.

Sunken faces and bleeding eyes stared back at us, mouths hanging wide open. The missing residence hadn't even been tangled together, just actually melted into each other's flesh using a process I simply couldn't bear to think of. standing in front of the nest was the rat. It had grown, yet again, even larger, looking like some misshap in Alsatian. What the hell is that thing? Al hissed. Chris, where am I? What's going on? He was white as a sheet, and I couldn't blame him.

Does that thing live down here? Is that... is that his nest? No. I replied. The rat chittered and I cried out. It nests below. Al looked more than confused. He looked like the world had lost all order, all sense, and who could blame him.

It wasn't so much the chorus of chitters that echoed from the darkness. It probably hadn't been my own voice speaking from behind. No. It was the voices of the people in the nest, the ones with missing eyes and pulled. teeth and broken bones and exposed muscle, their limbs intersecting with each other's torsos like some impossible puzzle, like they've been broken down and poured into some god-awful mould.

They had answered too. He is just their priest, I said, pointing towards the enormous rat. What he worships lives down here. What have you brought into this place? Al gasped. What the hell have you brought? brought into my building. It was always here, I replied.

The god reached out from within its nest, an owl was dragged screaming into the darkness, dropping the torch as he begged hysterically for me, for anyone to help. When it was finally over, I reached down and took the torch. It caught the rat's eyes, and they shone back at me like two burning coals.

For a moment, I thought it might attack. But it only dipped its head in a rare acknowledgement. It jittered something in its newborn language. It nests below, I replied, before turning to leave.