CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - 7 HORROR Stories from Reddit r/nosleep to keep you company during lockdown

Episode Date: May 18, 2020

CREEPYPASTA STORIES-►0:00 "I Hunt Skin-Walkers For a Living" Creepypasta►18:45 "The Whiteboard in the Empty Cubicle Predicted The Future" Creepypasta►44:43 "My New Neighbors Had No Facial Expressions" Creepypasta►1:04:55 "A car chased me through the desert. I'll never forget what it wanted" Creepypasta►1:16:43 "My regular customer only wants one thing" Creepypasta►1:38:03 "I'm in a medical trial for a supplement to make people more perceptive" Creepypasta►2:19:51 "Ambulance F-283" 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- Oleg Bulakh:►https://www.deviantart.com/grindeath-...►https://www.artstation.com/grindeath►https://www.instagram.com/grindeath/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-

I'm just to have Amsterdam, eh? Why? I've been forgotten how a tooprikes. Doi! Toh! Toh! ...nazstan? With Eurocity direct, though?

16 times per day from out Brussels and in 2-hour. Now, from 19 euro in place of 25. Book you tickets on NMBS International.com. The festival season is aangbroken, and that bet bettement. And so, came Kim to Amazon.com.com. On look to a waterdict tent, a comfortable luget. Oh, so, knus. And Lupeartprintregalards.

Now, now, now, now, now, just like that dancing the modder man that, oh, wait just even,

have he now only modder? DROog blithe? Goar for. Find what you know you need on Amazon.com. For the public,

my contact details aren't available. If they were, I'm sure I'd be hit up with many false calls, both on purpose and accidental. My number is reserved for the higher-ups who pieced together if my service is needed, and last night it was.

Publicly, there are a number of disappearances reported around a little hiking trail in Utah. A terrible thing, but not too uncommon. However, on the social media of the recently missing family and friends, there were some statuses that caught my higher-ups attention. Some of them posted that during a memorial at the edge of the trails, they felt they could hear their dearly beloved's voice. calling to them from the thick of the woods. Though they took this as a sign from God

and hoped that this meant the missing would return, the people managing their personal pages felt otherwise. And that's where I came in. Skinwalkers are dangerous. In terms of raw strength, they outmatch us in almost every way. But it's their cunning that truly makes them the apex predator they are. I was called in to investigate as soon as I could.

When I arrived, the police were there, the colourful lights bouncing around like a rave show. Leaning against the cars were a number of beat cops, sent there for the satisfaction of the locals that something was being done. I could tell the head of disdain the moment I approached, as this meant their quiet night of falling around was to be disturbed with actual work. Trails closed, one said, a turn of finality to the words. I was called in to investigate. I shot back. That's our job. Let us handle things here.

You can just go home. He replied. The exasperation in his tone told me he wanted me to just leave. I'm afraid I can't do that. I sighed. With that, he just stared at me. I could see the gears grinding in his head, along with his teeth. He gestured for me to join the rest of them,

and I informed them of everything. I was legally allowed to divulge, that I was sent there from higher orders and they were to let me do my job. However, a hitch I always run into is verifying the authority. You see, the paperwork I come in with always has no contact information, for obvious reason. But this means I'm always faced with scepticism. In the end, I was met with a compromise. I could go in, but I was to take one of them as a partner to keep an eye on me. and my gun was to be confiscated.

I begrudgingly agreed, knowing this was the best I was going to get if I wanted to go in that night. I was left to go into the thick of the woods with my new partner in crime, Austin. If I thought the guys back of the cars were begrudging in talking to me, Austin was practically dragging his heels.

It seemed obvious that he had the lowest seniority as he never even had a chance to protest about this arrangement. How long are we going to be out here? He groaned. As long as we need to, I said back, quieter than him. We've searched the trails a dozen times over. You're not going to find anything, he protested.

You don't know what I'm looking for, I shocked back. Still, that's a lower tone. What are you looking for then? He whined, his voice carrying through the trees. With the way things were going, anything within a mile, was going to hear us clearly. He had no tact for being inconspicuous, but I knew asking him to be quiet

would be met with more questions. So instead, I tried a different approach. Have you heard of Skinwalkers? I asked him, breaking him out of his interrogation. Of course, there are a popular legend around these parts. They're often told to warn hikers not to wander too far. Do you know where they came from? Old native legends.

trying to scare me or something. Correct. The legend stems more specifically from the Navajo, a southwestern Native American tribe. I shot back, ignoring his question. He scoffed at this, seemingly not wanting to hear more, but I continued. In the Navajo language, the word skin walker is Yinagoushii and translates to he who walks on all fours. He grunted at my ignorance of his hints for me to shut up. However, when I talked, he didn't. And I spoke in a much softer tone than he did. I knew he needed stimulation to stop moaning.

He was obviously bored and uninterested. So, I decided to keep him distracted with the tail. I used to walk some of these trails when I was younger. I grew up rural, so hiking was the number one pastime for a lot of my friends and I. I started. Yeah, yeah. A lot of people did.

Some pretty popular walks around these parts. He'd be mused, not yet interested in my words. Well, this carried over to my adult life. When the stresses of my job got me down, I'd take to the trails and woods to calm myself. It was my form of meditation. You'll be surprised the amount of kind spirits you can bump into when in nature.

It seems to bring out the best in people. There must be what she saw in me. I met her during a walk. Nothing grand. just doing what everyone else takes for granted in a densely wooded area, and she was jogging the same trail. We stuck together for the rest of the way, and we were inseparable ever since.

Two years later, I called Regina, my wife. Mm-hmm. Austin groaned, still not pulled in, but was now at least quiet. When we had a kid, Davis, I passed down this love for nature to him. He caught the buck as hard as I did his age. and we bonded as a family during our outings.

We knew the land well, too well. So, we decided to trail off to a lesser walked area. Our sense of adventure was at full swing. We knew we were more than experienced enough to look after ourselves. We had many tools to help us if we fell too far from society. But getting lost wasn't our downfall. I carried on. At that statement, Austin's brow furrowed.

Now I knew I had his attention. Though he didn't say anything, I felt he wanted me to go on. We set up camp. It was quiet, a serene peace at first. But it was because of that solitude that the sound of a twigsnap pulled us from our trance. The more creaks and crunches we heard, the more we realized how unnatural the silence was. It was an overbearing pressure that was only broken by the slowly a broken. approaching snaps of sound.

The closest we heard it was the perimeter of our camp, and it stopped. We eventually settled down, but we never lost the feeling of being watched. I could hear the breaths through Austin's nose, whether it was from exertion or anticipation of the story, he would probably never tell me the truth. The day after things felt tense. We carried on with her excursion, but our backs always felt prickles. with the feelings of tension. It only took one lapse of judgment,

and it was ironically when nature called. My son, Davis, just wanted to go potty. He told us he needed to go before sleep, so we let him out, autopilot in full swing after a heavy set of mental fatigue. It didn't take long for us to realize our error, but that was all it took.

We slipped out our tent and cautiously made our way to our designated toilet area, and Regina quietly called out for Davis. He didn't answer. All that could be heard was our increasing breathing as panic started to set. But I was quickly broken by a meek voice calling out. I paused purposefully. I could feel Austin's gaze on me as he waited for more,

something I withheld. Eventually, he burst out saying, What happened next? seemingly out of impulse. I smiled, lavishing his attention, and carried on. It's okay, Regina, I'm right here, Davis exclaimed jovially, as he slowly stepped into the half-light of the campfire.

Thank God, Regina soothed, rushing over to scoop him up in her arms. By the time I realized what jarred me. It was too late. What fun I was having, scaring this fully grown man, was gone by this point. This is the part of the story I hated telling the most. I didn't even wait for a response before going on. Davis's arm shot out, sharper than they had any right to be,

and pulled her torso first into the darkness behind. Watching this, I froze. The words Davis spoke ringing in my head. Davis never called us by our names. I was kicking myself that I should have known sooner. I gritted my teeth. Even though I told this story many times before, to prepare people for what may come, it never got easier to tell. Still, I felt obliged to finish my story.

I wanted to go after them. I wanted to rush in and pull them from the brink of wherever they were. They supported this idea. Regina and Davis whining out for me to come to them, to save them, to join them. but their cadence was off, their emotions absent. I knew it was a trap, so I just dropped down and wet. All that lay after I finished the tale was silence. Austin's pace slowed as his mind deliberated on the information I spoon fed him.

I could practically see the cogs turning in his head while he weighed the words I said on his scales of skepticism. Another toll on his mind was that I distracted him enough To the point we were far into the appointed trail I was to investigate When I figured he'd reach an acceptance That he was stuck with me

I started asking questions about the case I asked about the victims Where they went missing when it happened What's been found I got him to put park marks on my map And that gave me some set areas to search And search we did to the moans and complaints of Austin for two hours.

I did my best to ignore him, and was quite casual in my work, until I found something small and white poking from the ground quite a ways away from the trail, a small piece of bone. I immediately hushed him in a serious tone, and he took note, a reaction that was seemingly instilled by the mood I set earlier. I inspected it carefully, trying to figure out his origins.

The serious look on Austin's face washed away immediately when he saw what I was looking at. You got worked up over that, a piece of chicken bone? I ignored him while I surveyed the ground for more. He sighed and resigned himself to just stand there, but I had a new objective.

Follow the trail of bone fragments. There were more scattered in one particular direction and if I was careful and observant I would find another piece then another then another eventually I found its origin a body

however it was not recently departed the body before me clad in torn colourful ribbons of hiking gear had been there for a number of months maybe years old and decayed the cop turned his head at this great more paperwork he must have been thinking.

Finding a body this old is nothing but a headache for authorities. A cold investigation of wasted time lay before his feet. But I could recognize the work of a skin walker anywhere. Knowing Austin would not take what I told him 100% seriously. I gave him the most simplest of instructions. Austin, I want you to keep a lookout for something that looks like a hollowed out dog. Can you do that for me? Sure, whatever.

He sighed in acceptance. I took to investigating the body closer. The skin being removed completely was the first thing I noticed. But when I had spake to the bones, I noticed they had been scraped away, not gnawed or chewed, but scraped. Oh no, I thought.

Quick, I yelled to Austin as I reached into my pack. Put this on. I held out a mask, similar to the one I was. putting on myself at the same time. I was obviously met with apprehension, but my tone got to him, on top of my own urgent actions,

and he followed suit. And just in time too, as an ominous obsidian cloud blowing around us, I forcefully covered my face in reaction. What is this? Austin blurted, muffled by the mask.

Though I could tell he wouldn't believe me, I told him that skinwalkers make poisons from bodies, I knew he denied the part about the Skinwalker, but he couldn't deny the danger around him. My hand slipped behind me, and I pulled out my small blade, a needle-thin, steak-like dagger, a crisp sheen flickered from its polished silver metal. I squinted over to see Austin withdraw his pistol. I knew it wouldn't work. However, I didn't want to discourage him, since I knew it would still help as a distraction at best.

What I also saw was that he didn't cover his face when the cloud blew in. Something I felt I shouldn't have had to tell him, but he didn't figure out in time. He was screaming in pain, rubbing the dust from his eyes, only making it worse since his arms and hands must have been coated by now. Before I had a chance to help him, he darted away, trying to get out the cloud. A rocky mistake. I left after him at a more cautious pace. I eased my way to where he went, following his panic shouting.

The juxtaposition of not believing what I told him to being attacked seemed to have sent him in a bit of a frenzy, though his skepticism was still apparent as he called out to his assailant like they were a human. Give yourself up and you will be shown proper treatment, he screamed, a terrible bluff. I got him, over here, I heard me say, which flipped his mood immediately. Thank God they're going to pay for this, he said threateningly through a grin and shot off towards my voice. Except it wasn't me who said that. I didn't get a chance to stop him before I heard him jump into a nearby bush, followed by horrific screaming.

It echoed around and faded away at frightening speed further into the wooded area away from where I was, trying to avoid me coming in to help. At that, I stood up, sighed while stretching my aching limbs from all that sneaking and got to work. Knowing I wouldn't be disturbed, I casually made my way around and set up wards all around the main trail. I saw some side trails, but ignored those. The cheapskates only paid for the main trail, so they only get the main trail. When I made my way to the edge of the trail, ready to call it quits, I saw them Two familiar figures

With fresh smears of red On their faces and hands My fist clench at the sight of them They don't have to do any threatening movements To provoke me Because they know how to get to me After all these years They consistently taunt me

With the skins of Regina and Davis Tattered and barely held together But I recognise them regardless. It was dawned by the time I was done. I emerged from the trail and met the other police officers from before. They had less energy to challenge me this time, as they seemed tired from the long night of escapades. I told them I was done and grabbed my stuff. They asked where Austin was, and I told them he said he'd head back to meet them not long ago in an innocent tone, acting oblivious to everything that went down. I used their confusion as a chance of the

away and headed back. I informed the higher-ups that there shouldn't be a problem at that specific trail anymore, and that I'm open for any more work they send my way. But I didn't tell them the gritty details. That's the secret with my job. 99% of the time the Skinwalker never gets killed. I mean, they're damn near impossible to kill. You either have to burn their hidden skin, which they make damn well impossible to find. whisper their original human name that's often lost to the aithers of time or somehow overpower them and tried to kill them with silver, which I mean good luck with that if you want to try. I've been around so long because I've been smart. I just work on cutting down their hunting grounds one trail at a time. Everybody is huddled around the whiteboard in the empty cubicle. I slowly sipped my coffee as I observed this rather...

stupid event in silence. Pizza party today, one voice yelled from the crowd. No way, Darren never brings anything for us. This thing is lying. Another shouted back. It's never been wrong before. A third chimed in.

I adjusted my glasses and shook my head. This is just a thought, but maybe you guys shouldn't set your expectations on a random office whiteboard. You can write all the positive messages you want in your own cubicles. I got a severe glare from a couple of my co-workers that made me throw up my hands in defeat and go back to working at my

computer. I'm just saying it's stupid, I threw back at the crowd. I was met with shushes, and I'm fairly certain I heard one person call me a non-believer under their breath. They continued to hang around the cubicle and talk, but as the clock struck 11.30, the crowd had long since dispersed. I walked over to my friend, Jim, who was among the mass of people and playfully knocked on the inside of his cubicle. So, almost lunchtime. Karen left already. What's your point, Tom? He asked, without even turning to look at me. My point is no one has talked about a pizza party. No one asked who likes what, and as far as I know, Darren has been too busy to even consider buying us all pizza. Jim stopped what he was doing and slowly turned to me. With an almost somber look

on his face, he just sighed and said, The whiteboard has never been wrong, man. ever. I laughed in disbelief. Dude, we've been seeing messages every day on it for what? Two weeks? All of them have been stuff like, you'll have a good day, or the weather will be perfect, or everyone would get their work done and leave early. Those aren't predictions. They're just positive messages. They are, and they've all been right.

Also, you're forgetting the more specific ones. Like? It told us Karen was pregnant before she knew she was. the exact day that Mike would bring his dog to work and that we'd exceed our goal for the quarter. I rolled my eyes at this. So someone is a good guesser. Karen has been trying for months.

Mike brings his dog every few weeks and we've been doing well for a while. None of that is a secret. Jim simply shrugged and turned back to his work. Regardless, it's never been wrong and it has always been first. I chuckled and started to walk away. Right, just like the one about the...

Before I could even finish the sentence, there was the undeniable smell of pepperoni. I looked to my immediate left, and I saw a group of people crowded around eating pizza. Raising an eyebrow, I walked over to one of the few guys I was semi-closed to in the group and asked, Eddie, when did this happen?

It's awesome, man, he said excitedly. Darren rushed in with like five giant. boxes, all different kinds. Said it was a reward for our hard work and dedication. What a great freaking boss. I kind of just stood there in disbelief. The pizza party was real. I'll be damned, I said under my breath.

I spent the rest of the day in awe, contemplating the fact that the damn thing was right. Ultimately, I settled on it being just a coincidence, but it was definitely a weird one. The next day, people had gathered around the whiteboard again, eagerly discussing the next message. Not wanting to upset the crowd, I refrained from my usual brand of skepticism and simply observed the conversation. Jim walked over to me with a smile on his face and asked if I heard the good news. Uh, no, I haven't, I said shrugging.

Let me guess, there's going to be an ice cream truck at 1232? He laughed and shook his head. No, man, Barbara's getting promoted. She went into Darren's office ten minutes ago and hasn't come out since. Curious, I looked over towards Darren's closed office. A promotion, hmm? That's news worth everybody waiting around. Yeah, man, he shot back with a wide smile.

If Barbara gets promoted, that means she's going to be in charge of managing a lot of the team. Everyone loves that woman. Not convinced. I tried to pray for more. Team management? That's what people. are psyched about? Yes, it's such a great thing from Rall, and she's been here for years.

I'm proud of the girl. Let's not get her hopes up, I said, taking a long sip of my daily coffee. Just then, the door to Darren's office opened up and he was walking with Barbara towards the group. Large smiles on both of their faces. Everyone, listen up, Darren began. As you all know, we've seen great improvement to this company recently, and I couldn't be more proud of the lot of you. But one person has really stepped up and shown how valuable

they are to this group and this company. So, I want to formally recognize Barbara as a new team lead, effective immediately. I looked on in disbelief. Well, I'll be damned, I thought, scratching my chin. At the time, the business with the whiteboard seemed obvious. It had to be Darren writing these messages, as he was the only possible person that could know about the pizza party and Barbara's promotion. Though for the past few days, I'd managed to show up before him and leave after due to some extra work.

He certainly had to be the person that was making these so-called predictions. But for the life of me, I couldn't figure out why. What was the point? And wouldn't those two things be better off as surprises? As Barbara gave her mini speech, I decided to slip out of the room

and head down to the downstairs vending machine. It was a good excuse. seeing as the vending machine was right next to the security office and I casually strolled inside. Hey John, I said to the man monitoring multiple screens. He quickly looked up from his lap, but then relaxed when he saw I wasn't a supervisor. Oh, hey Tom, what's up? I just have a quick question. He raised an eyebrow at this. Sure, I'll answer what I can.

Did you notice or see Darren coming into the office? after he left any time in the past few weeks? Or maybe coming in early and then going to do something else. He thought for a moment, but then shook his head. No, actually, he's been pretty consistent with his ins and outs. I think you're the only person I've noticed coming in early and leaving late. This didn't add up. There was no way that Darren didn't come here at some point before people saw him.

Are you sure there, John? This time he responded confidently. Yeah, I'm pretty sure I definitely would have noticed or heard I don't see him when I'm making my rounds and he usually says hi and bye Here's something up Uh, nah

Just checking to make sure he wasn't spending too much time on a project, you know The guy's a family so I was going to tell him if he was here too long, then I could pick up the slack I lied I saw him return a confused look But then shrug and went back to Looking at the phone on his lap

I made my way back to my desk and spent most of the day thinking about who else could have known about the events that took place. My wife even caught me staring off into space at home. I played it off as just being burnt out from working long days and she simply encouraged me to take more breaks at work, along with suggesting a trip sometime soon to get me my energy back. If only she knew. The next day, I came in a bit later as I slept past my alarm, and again, everyone was standing around the whiteboard in the empty desk. I slowly took my seat and peered at the crowd. Something was off. That day, there wasn't a jubilant conversation. All I could make out were confused whispers. After setting up my computer,

I made it a point to walk by the crowd on the way to the kitchen to make my morning brew. I caught a glimpse of the whiteboard, but didn't get a chance. to read it fully. I contemplated swallowing my ego and going to the crowd to read the damn thing, but decided against it. I would never hear the end of it if one of my colleagues saw me get caught up in the frenzy

that I had caught them out for on multiple occasions. I contemplated how to do a second sweep on my way back as my coffee was brewed, but suddenly I had a loud pop and I only had moments to bring my arms up to defend my face from flying pieces of the coffee maker and burning hot liquid. The coffee stung as it hit my arms

and my eyes grew wide at the small fire that was now coming from the device. Before I could even think to get help, I saw someone rushing to put the fire out with an extinguisher and Jim was around the corner helping me to get my shirts off and cool me down with damp paper towels. I looked around, trying to ask

what the hell happened and I saw a small group of employees standing around the corner looking down at me. Confused, I saw, stood up once Jim had wrapped my arms with bandages and I'd put my shirt back on. I asked how the hell they responded so quickly. But when no one spoke, I became frustrated.

Can you all say something? Did you know the coffee maker was broken? Or am I the only one who's suspicious that you all need to come out here so goddamn fast? Mike, who had worked a couple of cubicles down from me, stepped forward and muttered, We, uh, we read it on the whiteboard. I threw my hands up in disbelief. This again? Are you serious? You expect me to believe that?

Coffee makers don't just explode and you want me to believe it's because of some magic whiteboard? It's true, Tom, Jim said. We read it on the whiteboard. We didn't know who it would happen to or when, but it said someone would use the coffee maker in the morning and that it had exploded on them. All we could do was be ready for when it happened to minimize the damage.

Are you people for real? I yelled, fully agitated at Jim's comment. Even if I pretended that this stupid thing is real, then why the hell didn't you just throw the stupid thing out instead of letting me get hurt by it? Another one of my co-workers stepped up because we didn't know the circumstances of the explosion. Maybe it would have blown up just by us touching it.

No one was taking that risk. This really ticked me off. So you just let me take the fall? I pushed Jim out of the way and stormed towards my cubicle But before turning the corner I turned back around to the crowd It's just a whiteboard you guys Leave it alone and start acting like goddamn adults

Honestly I'm surprised Darren didn't make me come into his office from my outburst But I think at that moment everyone understood my frustration The rest of the day went on normally But I could have sworn that on my way out of work that day When I glanced at that thing I saw a smiley face in the corner And under it was a message that read Hi Tom

Of course the wife asked me about the burns And I just told her I had a coffee accident Honestly her response kind of made the experience worth it Seeing her wide smile and beautiful blue eyes dance When she thought I was going to decide to sue Brought me joy I could never replace I told her that unfortunately the amount of time and money it would cost

wasn't worth it for me, and I couldn't in good conscience sue the company I had dedicated years of my life to because of some freak accident that they had no control over. The coffee maker had been absolutely fantastic up until that day and I haven't heard of many

exploding or catching fire, so I would take the pain and move on to the next day. Unfortunately, the next day was when things really started to hit the fan. I made sure to get to the office extra early. This time I wanted to see who the hell was writing these messages

and how they were manipulating what was happening in the office. Before I went over, I went down to the vending machine, avoiding the newly placed coffee maker, got as many sodas as I could carry, and then grabbed a chair to stare at the damn whiteboard until something new showed up. To my relief, it was empty. It was 6 a.m. on the dot on Friday,

and most people were just at the day. didn't start rolling around until after nine. I knew it was crazy, but I wanted to prove once and for all that the messages being written were by a regular person. Three hours straight of staring. I didn't look at my phone. I didn't look at my watch. I thought the damn urge to get up to pee to prove that it wasn't some magical force compelling words to show up on this damn thing. All it took was a second. I heard the office door opening and someone calling out my name for me to look over

and by the time I looked back a new message was on that damn whiteboard. What the hell? That's impossible! I screamed. Damn near ready to pull the hair out of my head. I looked away for a second. How could there be something written there? I paced for a second which caused Mike to walk over to me. Everything all right, Tom. You seem... He stopped to mid-sentence and then. focused on the whiteboard. The colour drained from his face the second he read what it said.

I traced his eyes to the words and my heart dropped when I read along with him. It stated, Mike will have a terrible accident in the stairwell. He will fall and break his legs so badly that it would need to be amputated. He will see the bones sticking out and pass out at the sight. It will take five minutes for someone to find him and the pain of the incident will last forever. I couldn't move from that spot. I just read the statement over and over again, as I'm sure Mike was doing as well. Mike, I...

I'm so sorry. He didn't respond. Slowly, people started to show up and gather around the whiteboard. Everyone gave Mike their condolences, but at the end of the day, there was nothing that could be done. We all knew that.

Our office was on the third floor of the building, and like clockwork, we all got a memo that the elevators were completely out of order. He could play the waiting game and stay overnight, maybe a few days, but at some point he would have to come down. I saw a sense of acceptance on his face. As the workday went on, I caught him staring at his computer screen, but not typing.

It was like he was trying to decide what time to pick for him to endure the most dramatic moment of his life. Finally, at 2.30, he decided he would go home early and walk down the staircase. Screw this, I thought, there's no way I am waiting five minutes. I waited until he had gotten up, and as soon as he did, I called an ambulance and told him that a terrible accident had taken place. As soon as I got off the phone, I rushed over to the stairwell, and I attempted to fling open the door, but found that it was stuck.

After a few seconds of pulling I called for help and yelled that Mike had gone down Some people rushed over and tried to pry the door open with me But we all failed I got the idea to run and find the janitor He didn't quite understand my sense of urgency But we finally got him over and told him to help us open the door

He mentioned something about the doors being Sticky sometimes and locking by themselves And while I appreciated his help I damn near threw him aside as soon as he popped the door open. And there Mike was, unconscious with his leg bent in a disgusting manner. I could see the bone had snapped clean out of his skin, and it looked like parts of it had shattered around him. As painful as the sight looked,

I waited until the ambulance came by to cart him off. I really wanted to go with him to make sure he had someone there, but at that moment there were more. much more pressing matters. I rushed upstairs. I was about to march into Darren's office and force him to call an urgent meeting only to find that it had already been

done. Barbara was leading the conversation and I couldn't tell if she was angry or terrified. Listen, whoever is writing these messages, it ends today. She scolded. What happened today was a tragic event and good or bad

this isn't just an office matter, it's a legal one. If you're responsible for these pranks, step up now and your punishment won't be as severe as what it could be. We will find out who did this, even if you don't speak. Don't make it worse on yourself. One man spoke up. You think we did this? Who would burn Tom or permanently disfigure Mike?

You'd have to be a psychopath. Another followed. Who even knows how to do those things? A woman stood up from the crowd. I think James from HR did it. He likes to pull other office pranks. Who said he didn't do this one? You witch, James shot back.

You're blaming me for this? Maybe you're the one doing it and blaming me to cover your tracks. Before long, the place had erupted into full-on chaos. Blame was being thrown around. Fear was abundant. And a couple of people damn near came to blows. I could only take so much before standing on a chair and screaming at everyone to calm down until they stopped.

Listen to me, I yelled. I know we're all confused. upset and terrified. I get it, but we can't blame each other. Logically, none of us would do anything like this to each other. A prank here and there, sure, but nothing like what we saw in these past couple of days. I know I've been a skeptic, but I came in early today and stared at the whiteboard for three goddamn hours straight, and it was blank. I take my eyes off it for a second, and there was something written there. I know some of you might think that I did it, but we can check the security tapes.

I know we have the cameras. I don't know what we're dealing with, but it's something... Else. The room went silent. I noticed Darren whispered something to Barbara, and she quietly left the room. Ten minutes later, she came back and confirmed that I had been here and that I hadn't written anything on the board, but that she couldn't make out the exact moments when the words appeared.

So what do we do, then? A voice shouted from the crowd. Darren stood up to face his employees. You know what? He said with the conviction. Let's just remove the problem. He casually walked over to the whiteboard, took it from the cubicle wall,

and then reached over to snap it in two. He then walked the pieces out into the dumpster and came back bragging that he had solved the issue. Trashman comes to pick everything up tonight. It's been a rough couple of days, so everyone goes home early today. Let's commit to a nice whiteboard-free Monday and send our thoughts to Mike and his family over the weekend.

Yeah? His offer was met with silence and a slow shuffle to our cars. On the way home, I couldn't stop thinking about what I saw. I spent that Friday and subsequent weekend almost silent, not just because of what I'd seen, but because my brain was still trying to contemplate what the hell was behind all of it. My wife was an angel during that time and tried a best to comfort me. I still didn't want to talk about the events, but it made me. me feel better knowing that she cared. I made time to go see Mike in the hospital and he made me feel at least a bit better, but still the painful memories of what I saw persisted. I had seriously contemplated taking Monday off, but I figured that the only way to get back to normalcy was to push past the pain. I tried to keep my normal routine and even made coffee before walking to my computer, but before I could even try and start my day a crowd was again gathered in front of the empty cubicle I sighed and squeezed into the crowd

and I grew cold I could feel the weakness in my body start to build as I read the message on the freshly replaced whiteboard Aaron dies a horrible death perhaps the most chilling thing about the message was the smiley face after those five words I ran into Darren's office to tell him about the message, but he hadn't come in yet.

I asked everyone if they had seen him yet, and everyone assured me that they had been calling and looking, but to no avail. Damn, I thought, where the hell could he be? I had this sense to go outside and check the back parking lot, and once I got there, I made a shocking discovery. His car had never left, and there I noticed it. her body was slumped forward in the driver's seat. I immediately called 911 and as soon as they were on their way I ran over to security and damn near threatened John

to show me the security footage from this morning and last night. Nothing. I thought for a moment and asked him if he could scroll through Friday night. Our eyes grew wide as we watched Darren leaving late. As he was about to walk to his car A figure in a dark hood ambushed him from behind and hit him on the back of the head with what looked like a pipe. He then pulled out a knife and slowly started carving something into Darren's still twitching body

before finally taking a gun and putting a hole through his chest. Once Darren was definitely dead, the figure fished into Darren's pockets, pulled out his keys and then pushed his carcass into the passenger seat. Jim flipped the camera and we watched the person pull into the back of the back of the carcass. parking lot to be less noticeable. He parked, moved Darren into the driver's seat, and then simply walked away. From what I could tell, the figure never tried to take anything or ask for something. They simply killed Darren in cold blood and left.

I told John to come with me, and by the time we got outside, the police were already there. We went through the rounds of questioning and showed them the tape, but be able to come. Beyond that, there wasn't much we could do. We simply let them do their jobs, and once they were done, they said they'd be in touch. As you can guess, it was somber in the office, to say the least. Many people straight up quit that day, me among them. As I pulled out of that parking lot, I never looked back. I told my wife that something happened, people were getting laid off, and that all I wanted to

was take that stress-free vacation she mentioned. It wasn't until years later that I finally told her the truth and when I did some digging into the outcome. From what Jim told me, the office burned down shortly after. Not just ours, but the entire building. Everyone had to be moved or just decided to separate from the company entirely. I kept in touch with Mike a little bit, and unfortunately, yes, they did have to amputate.

but he seemed to be otherwise in good spirits. I tried to keep in touch with Darren's case as much as possible, but to this day, the killer was never found, and for such a gruesome crime, the police were absolutely baffled at how there wasn't one iota of DNA from anyone else except for Darren in his car. The only thing they had to go on

was the large smiley face carved into Darren's chest. For a while, they thought it was some kind of calling card and the police tried tying it to other potential and confirmed killers, but nothing ever came from it. All in all, it was a crazy experience, and I don't think it was until later that I realized how lucky I was to come away from it completely unscathed. Some of the burn scars remain,

and I drink a little less coffee than I used to, but all things considered, I made it out pretty okay. To this day, I still wonder about the whiteboard in that empty cubicle. But for the most part, I've decided to just let sleeping dogs lie and in the future,

I will always take things, even if I find them stupid, much more seriously. After the new neighbours moved into the house next door, I was curious enough to introduce myself. Knowing what I know now, I should have minded my own business. One night they weren't there.

The next morning they were, having arrived in a beat-up white van in the dead of night. The house had been vacant as long as I lived next door, a foreclosure sign perched in the front yard. I wrote freelance from my own home, I could see it from my office window. In all my staring out that window while battling writer's block, I hadn't noticed anyone paying it to visit.

The new owners must have closed the sale quickly at auction and moved right in. The night after the van showed up in the driveway, I stayed up late working. That was when I got my first glimpses of the neighbours through a window at the side of the house. Peering through someone's window makes me sound like a voyeur, but I couldn't see much at all. Oddly, they hadn't turned any lights on. All I could see were the silhouettes passing through the darkened interior of the home. The only thing I could make out from the shadowy profiles was that they were a man and woman.

At one point I looked up from my computer and saw that the female silhouette had paused. It's back to the window. It remained unmoving for a long minute before I realized I was wrong about which way it was facing. It was looking back at me. Something about the anonymous silhouette's gaze sent a chill down my spine. I closed my blinds and called it a day. When I woke up the next morning, morning, a thick black curtain hung in the window in the house next door.

I didn't see either of the neighbours again, until that night. I was returning home from a run when I noticed a man bent over from the open doors of the white van, one of their new neighbours. I paused. I felt a little self-conscious that I'd been caught peeking through his window, presumably by his wife. More importantly, I still wanted to know about the people who bought him. the long empty house next door.

I decided to introduce myself. Hey neighbour, I began cheerfully, walking towards him. I saw you moved in next door. I'm Colin. He stood up from the position he'd assumed halfway inside the van, and what I saw left me for a moment without words. He had no facial expressions. What that looks like is hard to describe.

It was something I'd never seen before. something I can almost guarantee you've never seen before. There was nothing wrong with his face, at least in the conventional sense. He wasn't deformed, nor was it that his expression was just serious. No, this was different. In a normal person, 43 different facial muscles work in tandem at all times to let you know what they're feeling. A tiny upturn of one's mouth indicates amusement, a scowl reads as anger, and even when someone tries their hardest to mask their emotions,

those muscles create subconsciously perceptible changes that let a keen observer see right through it. On the new neighbour's face, there simply was nothing to read. It was like his face was completely normal on the exterior, eyes blinking and lips moving, but below the skin there was nothing at all. A mask made of flesh and blood. Will Davies.

We've been looking at. forward to meeting you, Colin. I snapped out of my trance when I realized he was talking to me. We? Oh, uh, your family. Where'd you move from? I stuttered. Yes, my wife, Amelia, and my son, Samuel. We were in Chicago before. We're happy to be in such a quiet neighborhood with such fine neighbors, Mr. Davis said. Looking him in the eye, I was unable to contextualize his words. Was he being friendly or only polite? I couldn't tell. Meanwhile, he pierced me with his intense stare, discerning my own bare emotions, even those I didn't want to show.

Did he know how much this was freaking me out? And you, Colin, are you married? Mr. Davis continued, paying attention for the first time to anything but his face, I noticed he was cradling a bunch of cloth in his arms. In a few places, the folds and wrinkles in the fabric parted to a row. reveal something rigid, metallic, reddish, perhaps bronze. Mr. Davis crossed his arms, hugging the object tighter, protecting it from my vision. I remembered he'd asked me a question.

No, uh, it's just me here, I replied. Mr. Davis nodded, his hollow eyes glazed over. I'm happy we were able to meet, he said. I hope I can introduce you to my family soon. Yeah, sure thing, I said. At that point, I just wanted the conversation to end. Once I got home, I texted my friend, Alex, detailing my conversation with Mr. Davies. Perhaps like you, Alex is the type of person who enjoys stories of strange occurrences.

After a while, Alex replied, When you tell me this guy had no facial expressions, do you mean he never smiles? Sounds like he's just got to stick up his ass, Lull. No, dude, I wrote. It's hard to explain if you haven't seen it. Is he still outside?

Alex wrote. Take a picture of him. I went over to my window and brought my eye up to a gap in the blinds. Scanning the driveway. There was no sign of Mr. Davies. I was a second from texting Alex back. Sorry, no picture. When Mr. Davis stepped off his home's front steps.

It looked like it was getting something else from the rear of the van. I held my phone's tiny camera lens up to the gap and snapped a picture. I sent Alex the photo, averting my eyes. I didn't want to see his face. It sphinx-like absence of expression. For some reason, it felt wrong, like I'd done something I shouldn't have. The next morning, I had several unopened text messages from Alex. Is your phone messed up or something?

Okay, you got me. You used one of those photo editor. Perhaps right. Um, you're going to explain or what? I scrolled upwards through our conversation anxiously, with no choice but to look at the picture I tried to avoid. I shuddered in anticipation as I opened the photo, preparing to see Mr. Davis's uncanny face. But it wasn't there at all. The rest of the picture appeared exactly as it would have to the naked eye. The driveway, the white van, a man hunched over.

With a part of his face visible from the camera's perspective should have been though, there was no clear image at all, only distortion, like he was behind frosted glass, not cheaply superimposed over the image, like when the TV news blur someone out, but seamlessly integrated into his face. There was no quick photo editor app that could do that. I told Alex I hadn't doctored the photo. I waved it away as a glitch, but I didn't. know if I believed my own excuse. I put it out of my mind until mid-afternoon when I noticed the

item still trapped in my front door's mail slot. Curious, I stooped to take it. A plain white envelope, lacking postage or a return address. The sender must have brought it to my door themselves. Inside was a small, plain card. It contained a message composed in black ink and slopping, unbroken cursive. Colin, we cordially invite you to join us for an intimate meal at nine today. We are eager to become better acquainted with you. Warmest regards, the Davies family. We didn't know what to make of the letter.

Who had dinner at nine o'clock? I had no intention of going, until of course, I told Alex about it. As I should have expected, he insisted I attend and tell him all the details. After some guilt-tripping about special decorum and not being a terrible neighbour, I relented. Albeit reluctantly, I was going to dinner with the new neighbours. I arrived at the Davis house with a cheap bottle of wine. It was all I had to bring them, and besides, I wasn't spending money on these strangers. Standing on the front porch, and not formed in the pit of my stomach,

as I thought once more of Mr. Davis's strange countenance. A door opened only a few seconds after I knocked. The knot tightened. Colin, Mr. Davis said, My family will be pleased that you joined us. Come in. He spoke flatly. My inability to interpret his tone threw me off balance again.

I followed Mr. Davis through an entrance hallway, turning right into the dining room. I glanced around the house as we walked through, trying not to make a show of it. The tile floors needed a power wash and there were almost no furnishings save for the black curtains obscuring all the windows. Entering the dining room, I glanced into the adjacent kitchen for a second. It didn't look like anyone had been preparing dinner. I didn't even see a fridge.

A wooden table in the dining room was draped in a silky tablecloth, sporting an intricate geometric pattern. This well-crafted item was a stark contrast to what I'd seen in the rest of the house. There were no dishes on the table. Instead, in the centre stood a tall bronze candle holder with several arms. I immediately recognised

it as the item I'd watched Mr. Davis removed from the van, engraved at its base, with some kind of ruin symbol. Each arm held a lit black candle. A woman sat at one end of the table. Her face framed by mid-length brown hair

would have been pretty, Were it not for that same inexplicable trait Mr. Davis had, the one that made my skin crawl, a complete dearth of expression. She was a blank slate. She stood. It's a pleasure to meet you, Colin. I'm Amelia Davis. Please don't mind the decor. It's a ceremonial formality before we break bread.

Our faith is a foreign one. Adherents aren't common in this part of the country. I forced a smile, studying the table again, and realised that there were four seats around it. Samuel will be joining us later, Mrs Davis said, as if reading my mind. He's been resting. Somewhere in the house,

I thought I heard a quiet rattle. I'd only been there for a short time, but everything about it was strange. I needed to get my bearings. Do you mind if I use your restroom? I asked. Mr. Davis, who stepped out while I talked to his wife, re-entered the dining room. Mr. and Mrs. Davis exchanged a sidelong glance.

Across the house, near Samuel's bedroom, Mr. Davis said, Just make sure not to rouse him. I headed in the direction he pointed me. I was still holding the wine bottle I brought. I must have been so tense I forgot to put it down. I passed the hallway. which I entered the home. Out of the corner of my eye,

I saw something which chilled me to my core. A length of rusted chain stretched taut across the front door. Padlock secured it to brackets affixed to both ends of the doorframe. This wasn't a dinner. It was a trap. I hurried to the bathroom,

finding it across from what was presumably Samuel's bedroom. The bathroom was bare, like the kitchen. No toilet, or cosmetics in sight. I didn't know what was going on, but I needed a way out.

The back door wasn't an option. When Mr. Davis chained the front door while I was talking to his wife, he wouldn't have overlooked it. My best bet was to lock myself in the bathroom and contact the police, but I didn't want to draw attention by making a call. Instead, I texted Alex.

Listen to me, there's something very wrong at the Davis's house. I need you to call the police and tell them to get here now. Mrs. Davis caught for me from outside the bathroom. Colin, are you all right in there? We're waiting. Alex replied, chill out, man, lull. Tell me what's going on.

I began to panic. Alex was more concerned with indulging his nosiness than helping me out. Colin, Mrs. Davis called impatiently. Come on out, dear. We'd like you to meet Samuel. My gut told me, I did not. want to meet Samuel. One second, I shouted. I texted Alex again.

Not joking. Call police now. The doorknob began to jiggle. Mrs. Davis was trying to open it. It stopped after a while, but she hadn't given up. You'll have to come out one way or another,

said Mrs. Davis. The sound of metal connected with metal from between the door and the frame. Mrs. Davis was trying to use something to pry open the latch. The door would be open any second. I gripped the bottle of wine I was holding so tight, my knuckles went white and faced the door.

I heard the pop of the latch and raised the bottle above my head. The door swung open, revealing Mrs. Davis, kitchen knife in hand on the other side. I brought the bottle down with as much force as I could. It shattered over Mrs. Davis's head, sending splinters of glass careening through the air. She slumped to the floor, rivers of red wine flowing down her head and shoulders like blood.

I noticed though that despite the open cuts on her skin, caused by the glass, she wasn't actually bleeding. I ran out of the bathroom, stepping over Mrs. Davis. Mr. Davis stood, blocking the end of the hallway, I'd come down. He carried something he hadn't before,

an old but razor-sharp bronze dagger, Its hill was adorned with the same ruin I'd seen earlier. Mr. Davis began to advance down the hall. Running towards the fire end of the house, I noticed the door I hadn't tried, narrower than the rest I'd seen. Whatever was inside, I hoped there was something I could barricade the door with.

I opened the door to find a steep set of wooden stairs leading to a darkened basement below. Down the hall, Mr. Davis was closer. He paused beside Samuel's room. and opened the door. A tall figure lumbered out of the bedroom. It was humanoid, but not human, composed of thick, black lines, scribbles,

not fixed, but constantly fluctuating, threatening to escape the boundaries of the figure's person-like shape and degenerate it into something else entirely. I bolted into the basement without a second thought. The basement was dingy, filled with junk left behind by the previous owners, In one of the darkened corners opposite the stairs, I found a hiding place beside a futon covered by dusty old sheets.

As footsteps marched towards the basement door upstairs, I scooted behind the futon but collided with something. I turned around. I was face to face with a dead body. Backing up as far as I could without exposing my position, I saw that there was not one dead body, too. They appeared to have been mummified somehow, preventing full decomposition, carved into their foreheads. It was a symbol, that familiar rune. The door creaked open upstairs and, peeking out, I saw two figures begin to slowly descend the steps. Mr. Davies, still carrying

the blade with which he would cut that wretched run into my forehead and that shape they called Samuel. Come on out, Colin. Mr. Davis yelled, Samuel wants to meet you. Samuel wants to be you. The footsteps got closer as they creaked down the steps. That mass of unstable darkness loomed over Mr. Davis' shoulder as he came into a full view.

Perched on one of the bottom steps, he surveyed the basement for me, his expressionless stare sweeping from one side to the next and... Sirens They began faintly Becoming louder as they rapidly move closer to the home Alex Had saved me

Sensing that the source of the sirens Were closing in on the house Mr Davies turned to the figure And motioned for it to turn back Despite being thwarted His face belied no disappointment Anger or fear Just the same

cursed stare The shape, however, released an ear-splitting screech before they both flared upstairs. By the time the police managed to breach the house and found me huddled in the basement, they were already gone. As far as I know, those people I call the Davies family

still haven't been found. I say it that way, because it wasn't their real name. Later, at the police station, Detective Sims, the lead and what was named, now a double homicide case, told me what she knew. That house was never purchased, Sims explained.

It was still on the market. The people who called themselves well in Amelia Davis gave you false names. We know where they got them from. Those bodies in the basement. Medical examiner just ID them as Will and Amelia Davis, a couple who went missing, along with their six-year-old, Samuel, in Chicago a few months back. Emmy thinks they've been dead about that long. Sims paused, remembering something.

Can you describe those folks for me again? I obliged. Stay put, Sim said. I want to show you something. She left the room, returning with a printout of a photograph. The real Davies family. It was a family portrait of a couple and their small child. The couple were identical to the people I'd called Mr. and Mrs. Davies.

well almost identical there was one difference the people in the photograph were smiling I paid for the fuel and walked out my town car waiting for me by the pump I don't care what anyone says driving will always be my choice over flying

when it comes to cross-country travel there's just something about cruising on two lane interstates to the badlands of the US that I've always liked Maybe it was the freedom I felt with it Just me, the car And the open road With the windows down and the radio turned up

I was the happiest I could ever be And since I had to travel quite frequently For business trips and whatnot This had become a regular feeling for me I got in the car and started the engine Chills running over me as the V8 growled to life I pulled out to the edge of the parking lot and stopped

looking down the desolate road. You could see it disappear into the desert miles ahead, almost as if it was going straight to the edge of the earth. I was on the last leg of my return trip home to Las Vegas from a company conference in Seattle. The whole drive there and back had been nothing short of perfection. Clear skies, great music, warm weather, and, of course, the feeling of complete isolation

from the rest of the world. I had also stayed in cheap, but rather nice roadside motels. A nice break from the congested and noisy city life I was all too familiar with. But unfortunately, I had to go back to. It was mid-afternoon now. I had started today in a little motel near the Utah-Nevada border and planned to be back home that night. I couldn't think of a better day to end the trip on.

I pushed down on the accelerator and turned onto the road. The town car slowly. picking up speed. I let it get to roughly 70 miles per hour before leveling off and turning on cruise control. I had packed some CDs for this trip as well. My favourite

being the Holly's album, Distant Light. I pop the disc into the CD player and rolled down all the windows. The music started and I kicked back and relaxed behind the wheel. Letting the groove of Long Cool Woman take me as the warm desert air

rushed into the car and mounted passed. I drove like this for the rest of the day, only stopping for fuel or the occasional snack at the roadside diner. The sense of space and freedom I felt was otherworldly. I'd only passed a handful of other cars and only one cop at the side of the road. I truly felt at home. Once night fell, however, I turned off the radio and focused more on the road. I didn't want to hit any animals and Las Vegas was wasn't too far off now. I had about two and a half hours to go, but even still, there were absolutely no cars around me. I guessed that no one else really had any reason to be out here, but that's when I saw them. Two headlights had appeared in my rearview mirror from seemingly out of nowhere, and they were coming up really fast. I figured it was just a speed freak or a teenager

out for a joyride away from the crowd. I expected them to just overtake me and speed off down the road. But they didn't. I watched as the car sped up behind me and began riding my bumper, so close I couldn't read its license plate. I glanced at the headlights and noticed the car was also quite old. It looked like one of those late 50s or early 60s Cadillacs. I should know as my father had one when I was a kid,

and every summer we would go on a road trip with it. This is probably where my love for cross-country car travel began. This person was still tailgating me though. Thinking they just wanted to be an asshole, I switched lanes that let them go by as the interstate had now become four lanes, with two going different directions. As I did this, however,

the Cadillac followed me, still riding my bumper. Now I was worried. Did this person want something? Or did they have some kind of problem? I was startled out of my mind when I heard the car lay on its horn and saw it rapidly flashing its bright.

I picked my phone to call the police, but it was dead, and the charger was in my suitcase in the trunk. There was no way I was pulling over now, so I shut off my lights and stomped on the gas. My car took off like a rocket, leaving the Cadillac far behind. As I spayed away,

I kept checking my car. mirrors expecting to see that car chasing after me but it was gone I turned the lights back on and was now on full alert that person was obviously crazy but seemed to have gotten bored of me and turned around I'll admit I started feeling a sense of relief as I saw the stars begin to fade I'd only about half an hour of driving left until I was back in familiar territory. Even though I was starting to forget about the previous events, I was still eager to get back to civilization. Bit by bit, the sky grew brighter and brighter. However, the road was still empty. I thought this was rather odd, but didn't have any time to

think about it, as my car suddenly jolted forward by a rear end collision. It's where for a moment before I got it back under control. I looked in the rearview mirror to see what had caused the impact and my eyes opened so wide they burned. It was the same Cadillac from earlier.

Now it was actually ramming me. I knew the town car was a heavy vehicle, capable of taking quite a beating but I wanted this nightmare to end. I put the accelerator to the floor and started racing way over the speed limit.

This time The Cadillac kept up, and it hit me once again. What the hell was this person's problem? I spun the steering wheel and jerked over to the side of the road. The Cadillac followed suit and hit me a third time. I finally realized that he was trying to run me off the road. My phone remained dead, and no matter what I tried, this maniac was always on my tail. At that moment, I realized what I had to do.

I went back to the right set of the same. the road and the Cadillac followed, this time pulling alongside me. Now I could see the car with more detail. It was jet black and had no license plates, and the windows were as dark as a starless night, obstructing any view inside. I looked at it angrily and let out a scream. I threw the steering wheel to the left with everything I had. My car collided with a Cadillac, its way causing the car to spin out of control into the ditch. I didn't stop. I didn't want to face whoever or whatever was in that thing.

I kept going, not daring to slow down. I was flying down the road, not caring if a cop pulled me over. Just then, I saw the lights of Las Vegas appear over the mountains in front of me. I was nearly there. I began to slow down as I near the bridge. It was a very long bridge that went over a deep ravine on the very outskirts of the city. I just didn't want any more trouble tonight, so I slowed back down to the speed limit upon approaching the bridge.

Past it, the road started to become a bit more populated with a few cars here and there. I felt a huge wave of relief at that moment, but was snapped out of it when I heard the roar of an engine next to me. I only had a second to look at the Cadillac flying across the interstate, before it teabone me, sending me spinning into the rocks at the side of the road. I sat there, dazed, all on my airbags deployed. I tried looking outside to see if the Cadillac was still there, but it had vanished. I was in so much pain that I collapsed back into my seat,

broken glass littering my lap in the surrounding area. Before I blacked out, however, I heard a low, deep grumble. I glanced outside and through the smoke and debris I saw something I'll never get out of my head. The bridge. It was collapsing. I awoke in the hospital the next day. I had a cast on my left arm and left leg. By this point I wasn't in very much pain, but the scene from last night was still fresh in my mind.

Next to my bed stood a doctor and a cop. The doctor told me I was in remarkably good condition despite the crash. Though I'd fallen unconscious, broken bones were going to be the worst of it now. The cop then asked to be alone with me in the room. When the doctor left, he started asking me about what happened. I told him everything, from the old Cadillac to being chased and rammed multiple times. The cop took some notes, then told me my belongings had been successfully removed from the car. But the car itself had been totaled in the collision.

He also said that insurance would cover the expenses and a search was being initiated to find the suspect. Before the cop left, he told me I was actually extremely lucky that I wasn't on the bridge when it collapsed, or I absolutely would have died. This was apparently the second time the bridge had failed. The first time was four years ago. I remembered that. The story had spread like wildfire across the country nearly overnight.

Officials were now looking into the cause of both disasters. The cop left the room leaving me all alone. I looked out the nearby window and saw the sun in the sky over the Eiffel Tower. I was back in Las Vegas. Just then I glanced over to the TV next to me and saw the crumbled bridge on the news. It mentioned that unlike the first time around, there were no casualties. Just a car crash nearby, leaving one vehicle destroyed. Mine.

They also said that no signs of a second vehicle could be found anywhere, but that an investigation was now officially underway. What happened next is something I'm still trying to cope with to this day. The news showed a few pictures of the first time the bridge fell in, and there was one casualty. A 73-year-old man by the name of Gerald Henderson, had been out for a drive when he went over the bridge. It gave away and the old man was killed in the fall.

The news then showed a picture of Gerald's mangled car being pulled out of the ravine. And my blood froze. The car in the picture was an old black Cadillac. The exact same one that I encountered last night. Consider this. A newlywed couple gets into an argument one morning. It starts off as a petty squabble about a clogged up drain but ends up becoming a guided tour of every single issue

that has ever plagued the relationship. Insults are heaved, parental comparisons are made, reoccurring themes are established. When all is said and done, the two parties march off to separate sides of the apartment and quietly seethe. Yet the anger doesn't last long. As a lazy Sunday morning turns into a lazy Sunday afternoon,

the words used in the bloodletting seem overly sharp. They both feel kind of guilty. She's sprawled out on the bed with a book, rereading the same paragraph for the seventh time. When he peeks into the bedroom, she pretends not to notice him. He's about to apologize, but he's a bit too proud for that. Instead, he offers an olive branch. Are you hungry? She shrugs.

Kinder. I'm going to pass. Pavel's, you want something? Chipotle cheeseburger and a soda. She bats her eyelashes. I love you, he blots out, surprising himself. I love you too, she says, going back to a book. It isn't until he's in the elevator that he realizes he didn't have breakfast.

His mouth waters with a thought of Pavel's bistro's Chipotle Cheeseburger. The image of his future lunch looms in his mind's eye. A tangible delight, hiding, just. a couple blocks and minutes away from him. By the time he walks out on the street, the thought of the burger becomes tangible. He can smell the freshly baked bun. He can feel the juices from the meat trickle down his chin. It is as if the burger is already in his mouth.

His stomach feels warm and satiated, as if it had already accepted the first bite. A perfect manifestation of Pavel's bistro Chipotle burger exists in the man's head. The thought remains in his mind As the man is blindsided by a grey scot of Fabia The taste of the burger lingers in his mouth As he's lifted off his feet and propelled at breakneck speed into the asphalt The first time his skull connects with the pavement The taste jumbles into a burnt facsimile of the Chipotle cheeseburger

On his second bounce the man loses consciousness On his third his brains spill across the sidewalk The more spiritually inclined among you might wonder what happens to this man's essence, to his memories, to his sense of self, his soul if you will. Will he carry on in some other form? Will the argument of the morning keep him tied to the mortal realm? The question no one asks, the question that truly needs to be answered, is the question of what happens to that perfectly manifested thought of the cheeseburger.

There was a constant flow of customers in and out of Pavel's Bistro. We were, after all, one of the best burger joints in Prague. Every day, dozens of hungover tourists and picky hipsters and grumpy locals would give me their orders. Yet, all of their words were just background noise. There was only one customer who would always have my full attention. A single mystery that kept my mind occupied through the long hours. The Chipotle guy. Early 30s, drab jacket, receding hairline.

He didn't look like anything special. But beneath that urban camouflage, there was something eerie. He'd been in the bistro every day at precisely six past one. If there was a line, he would patiently wait. But if you watched them closely, you could see a nervous tap in his foot. It was the same order every day too. Two Chipotle cheeseburgers and a soda. He refused to hear the specials or recommendations or any attempt at small talk.

Just two Chipotle cheeseburgers and a soda. Not a thought to spare for anything else. He'd ordered the food to go, but as soon as his order was finished, he'd take out one of the burgers from the bag and eat it in the restaurant. The moment he was done with this burger, he would get up and leave. Every day, six past one, two Chipotle cheeseburgers and a soda. When I brought up the specter of the Chipotle Guy to my co-workers, they laughed, they joked, and when they realised I was serious, they avoided eye contact.

I knew that there was something impossibly odd about the Chipotle guy. I just couldn't put my finger on it. For weeks I doubted myself, questioned my own sanity. But my suspicions became certainties during a spring thunderstorm. It was the type of storm that makes you fear of flood. The world outside was condensed into roaring thunder and the occasional splashing of cars passing by. All morning we only managed one sale, a single cup of coffee to a drenched dog walker. He ran in when the storm picked up, ordered a hot drink to dry off, watched the unrelenting

downpour for fifteen minutes and then ran back out to take his chances. I watched the clock the whole day, counting down. the minutes, gathering all of my doubts. Six past one, right on cue. The Chipotle guy was there. He ordered his two burgers, sat down to eat one of them, got up and left. Yet, as I saw him walk out of the restaurant, as I traced back his path to the table and to his seat, a jittery satisfaction crawled at my spine.

The man had not left any tracks. It was pouring outside, yet somehow he was completely dry. I did not have the answer yet, but my doubts had vanished. There was something unearthly going on. I could feel myself inching closer to uncovering the true nature of the Chipotle guy. I knew I had to follow him. My lungs didn't approve, but I negotiated my morning cigarette break to be moved to the early afternoon. The park outside of the bistro made for a perfect vantage point. The eccentric

vagrants which hung out around the benches were harmless, but discomforting enough to ensure that no one spent too much time in eye contact. With my apron off and a little bit of luck, the Chipotle guy wouldn't notice me watching him. The afternoon after the thunderstorm, I lit up and patiently waited for the mystery to unravel. Half past one he was out of the beast's The man walked past the benches, completely oblivious to my presence. He simply stared straight ahead, his takeout bag dangling in his hand. As he reached the edge of the park, however, the takeout bag slipped from his hand and ended up on the benches. It didn't stay there long.

Within a blink, one of the transient park dwellers had snatched it up and rustled through its contents with hungry eyes. The Chipotle guy just kept on walking. Letting go of the bag wasn't a slip. The whole affair played out with a smoothness of daily routine. I got up from my bench and followed the Chipotle guy further. We walked through the maze of Prague for nearly half an hour. We crossed through the well-lit passageways etched into the Parisian houses, through the winding gothic streets, through crowds of stag parties looking for Irish pubs.

Not for a single second did the man slow down. moved with measured determination, not letting anything get in his way. It wasn't until he reached a quiet residential area that he stopped. The street was completely empty. It was a type of place where drivers would sneak peek to the text or just read GPS directions. The Chipotle guys stopped at a crosswalk, took a deep breath and stepped out onto the crossing. What I saw next obliterated any of my doubts about the unnatural nature of the Chipotle guy. Before the man's foot connected with the crossing, as if he were whisked away by a force foreign to rational thought.

He disappeared. After I returned back to Pavel's bistro, I was chastised for my extended smoke break, yet the yelling of the manager was nothing but a screeching backdrop to my internal monologue. I knew what I had seen. I was certain of it. Research was in order.

I travelled to the forbidden aspects of the internet. I peered into unsecured hyperlinks, inaccessible through all but the most niche of browsers. I scroll through forums where poor rambling grammar gave way to forbidden secrets. I read other accounts of mysterious customers. My evenings became filled with stories of recurring demands for outdated menu items of strange requests of desperate beings struggling to find meaning in family-owned businesses. Only after weeks of inquiry, when I was certain of the true nature of my mysterious customer, did I confront him?

Want to smoke? I asked. I wasn't hiding this time. I was right outside of the bistro as he walked out. The man looked confused, as if he was unaccustomed to being spoken to about anything unrelated to his order. No, I don't smoke. He finally said and started to walk away. Why not? I yelled after him.

My heart in my throat. It's not like they can kill you. He stopped. What do you mean? His voice was completely void of emotion. You can't die from lung cancer, I said. If you're already dead, the take-up bag rustled in his shaking hand. Something horrid wrestled.

behind his beady eyes, a steady burning flame ready to crackle to life at a moment's notice. What do you want? He hissed through his teeth. Details, I said. I want to know how you died. He strode up to me. He smelled just like a burger grill. A burger grill covered in the child mistakes of yesteryear. I owe you nothing. His tone made me feel unsafe. There was a threatening hollowness to it, an inhuman quality. He stared at me, stoking my dread with his lifeless eyes. And then, when I was sure he would snatch me away and take me to some horrible realm, he left.

The knowledge that I had instigated some sort of primal Eldridge force kept sleep from me that night. My mind filled with thoughts of death, of a shrieking, desperate sentience demanding to walk the world after being rid of its mortal coil. I promised to find myself a new job, one where I would not have to interact with spirits. Yet, before I could fully commit to quitting, I found myself standing at the counter of Pavel's Bistro. Six past one, he walked in. The man made his order, as he always did, and I told him the price. It was as if nothing had changed, as if the previous day was a figment of my imagination.

Yet, as he paid me, our eyes met. The same hollow expression from the day prior lingered on his face. I owe you nothing, he hissed. I nodded. He placed the money on the counter, paying far too much. With the cash he had put down, he could have afforded a dozen Chipotle cheeseburgers. but instead he simply repeated his order. Keep the change, he said, sitting down on his usual spot.

Then he patiently waited for his order, ate his burger and was out the door by half past one. The scene repeated itself over the coming days. Each time the man would pay for his order, he would buy my silence with some change. The details of the mystique surrounding the Chipotle guy was still foreign to me. But the extra income he provided was enough to let me be content with not knowing the location or circumstances of his passing. His daily tips slowly bloated into a rainy day fund. If there ever was to be a storm, a lack of work or injury or a mystery that required my full attention, I would be just as dry as the Chipotle guy.

We carried on our secret dealings for months. Our exchange became wordless. I would simply provide two Chipotle cheeseburgers, without taking needless questions and he would put a dent in my rent. It seemed as if our partnership had reached a perfect equilibrium, but the waters of the Prague burger trade are seldom calm. Prague, being a stone's throw away from Hamburg,

takes his burger scene seriously. Each summer there is a burger festival where any restaurant that offers anything even remotely similar to a hamburger is in attendance. Those who fare well at the burger festival are flooded with customers who crave the best of the best. That summer, Pavel's Bistro's presence

and was undeniable at the Burger Fest, and so were the crowds that followed our awards. The owner was beyond ecstatic about our newfound fame. The side of the lines made him puff up his shoulders and approached the grill with a newfound gusto. The Chipotle guy tolerated the crowds, although his dislike of waiting in line became much more pronounced. His foot tapping became audible.

He would break out into coughing fits if the uninitiated customer started taking up my time by asking about the sourcing of our meat. The Chipotle guy knew he couldn't do anything to change the situation. Yet there was another party that disliked our newfound fame. Our competitors. Palms were greased, evidence was fabricated, strings were pulled, and before we knew it, Pavel's Bistro was shut down on health code violations. The shutdown only lasted a week, but any hint of a health code violation is a blow in the

restaurant industry. I'm ashamed to say that during my week-long vacation, I did not think about the Chipotle guy. I simply enjoyed sitting around in my pyjamas all day, dwelling into the darker parts of the internet and dining lavishly thanks to my rainy day fund. I thought about how work would be calmer once the crowds left, how I would have more time to explore fantastic concepts in my daydreams at work. At no point did I consider how the Chipotle Guy might be handling his hunger for the cheeseburgers. I will never forget what I saw that Monday morning when I return to work. The ghastly apparition of the Chipotle guy will forever remain embedded in my dreams.

The memory of his wild, pleading voice will forever haunt any silence I encounter. The creature that I met that morning was a far cry from my regular cost. As I walked through the park to get to work, he leapt at me. Chipotle cheeseburger, he screamed. If it was not for his clothes, I would not have recognized him. That drab coat that I'd seen day after day after day was the only thing that was familiar about him. It was the only thing that even suggested humanity. The man's skin had gone a horrid, ashy shade of grey.

His pupils had completely dissipated into the milky glow of his eyeballs. glow of his eyeballs. His fingers had morphed into sharp, black claws, which were digging into my arms. Chipotle cheeseburgers, he screamed. His breath smelled of hot rot. His teeth moved in impossible rows, spreading deep down his throat. The Chipotle Guy's Moor promised to be fed one way or another. How many? As many as can, Chipotle Cheeseburger. On that day I've always. On that day I've confrontation was now in full force. His voice was no longer hollow. It was wild, desperate. It came from a hunger beyond human comprehension. Chipotle cheeseburger, chipotle cheeseburger. Yes, I will bring as many as I can. I felt his grip loosened around me. I just need money.

I desperately searched for understanding in those bleak eyes. For a second, it seemed like there was none to be found. like the Chipotle guy would tear apart my throat from sheer madness. But after a terrifying eternity, the creature stood up. He fished his wallet out of his coat and handed it to me. As many Chipotle cheese burgers as can, he hissed. I ran into the bistro and fired up the grill. I returned with half a dozen burgers that his wallet afforded him. The grey creature jumped onto the food as if he was.

was a rabid animal. The first burger disappeared in mere seconds. The second followed soon after. It was only with a third that the Chipotle guy started taking breaks to breathe. His eyes started to clear with a fourth burger. By the fifth, his colour was starting to return. He started to speak as he ate his final Chipotle burger. Thank you, he said in between bites. I'm sorry if I hurt you or scared you. I don't know what this is, what this hunger is. All I know is that every day I wake up with a full wallet and I crave the Chipotle cheeseburger. I have to have it. Something within me screams for it. It's the only thing in life that makes sense to me. I eat my burger and then he shoved the rest

of the burger in his mouth. I disappear. The Chapotle guy had transformed from a horrifying creature of the dark into my regular, aggressively boring, daily customer. How did you die? I asked. He shrugged. He didn't know. All he knew was that he needed his daily Chipotle cheeseburger. He needed to smell the freshly baked bun to feel the juices of the meat trickled down his chin. It was the one truth that drove him. What about the other burger? Why do you leave it behind? He shrugged again.

I don't know, he said. I just feel like it's not mine to eat. And with that, he got up and left. I saw him again at six past one, but we didn't speak of the morning. We simply went on with our usual arrangement. He ordered his burgers, and I collected an absurd tip.

We never spoke of the morning. Our exchanges soon became silent once more. For months we carried on, my burgers feeding a mysterious, metaphysical need and the Chipotle guy's wallet preparing me for a rainy day. Then one day, the rain came. The world was struck with a plague. On the 12th of March 2020, the restaurants of Prague closes doors to businesses in order to prevent the spread of the infectious disease.

A once thriving city of gourmet burgers had to bow its head low to McGoverns. Donald's deliveries. After months of silence, however, the streets are to fill with good food once more. Pavel's bistro and other businesses will be able to reopen outdoor seating. The Chipotle guy's money has kept me afloat over the rainy months, but the thought of returning to work next week makes me shiver to my core. I saw what one week of being denied his calling caused him to turn into. I cannot imagine what monstrous effects 50 days of deprivation will have.

I fear that there are no amount of burgers to satiate the Chipotle cheeseburger guy. I fear that his daily order will change. Question 13. I was mid beer sip when the announcer, a cheerful man who I knew only by the name of Trivia Guy, read out the next question.

In a human body, bacterial cells outnumber actual human cells by the ratio of 3 to 1, 10 to 1 or 6 to 1. It's 10 to 1, Jack said. He sounded pretty confident about it too. That's a common misconception, Liz responded. Her eyes shining with the unmistakable joy of someone who's about to tell someone else they're wrong. It's actually a lot closer to 3 to 1. I was reading this article about gut microbiomes and fecal transplants the other day and...

Jesus! I looked up with a plate of nachos shared between the four of us. The pile of chili on top didn't look as appealing as it had moments before. Can we not? She grabbed a chip herself. Then, in classic Liz fashion, continue to talk through her full mouth. All right, fine, but I'm telling you, it's three to one. Jack grunted, writing something down on the answer sheet,

seeing as Liz was a biomager and Jack was comp science with me. I hoped he took her answer Question 14 Trivia guy pulled no punches According to a poll from Cosmopolitan magazine The worst vacation fashion trend was Speedos Sox and Sandals Or Hawaiian shirts

Sox and sandals Sadie spoke up first She didn't even wait for anyone else to comment Before she snatched up the answer sheet from Jack And began to write it down Oh definitely I agreed A few moments

too late for it to matter. But hey, Sadie was the reason our trivia team was ever anything besides dead last, not to mention the only one of the four of us who'd ever cracked open a copy of Cosmo. I took another sip of the beer and cringe slightly. Corona is not what I normally go for, but that night the price point meant a lot more to me than the quality. The night continued on in a haze of terrible beer and nachos that went cold far too fast. We didn't place this week, but we were all slightly buzzed, so we got over it. As Trivia Guy made his final remarks, the waitress came and gave us our bill. My total for the night was $40, and that was before adding a tip.

I could cover it, but just barely. Sadie watched me as I pulled out the cash and put it down on the table, completely emptying my wallet of change. I stood up, my head spun for a moment. but it wasn't too bad. I think I'm going to have to skip next week. I didn't know why I felt the need to announce it to everyone. Probably the vodka that had come before the corona.

I regretted it the moment I said it. Way to look like a broke loser in front of everyone. Great one, Brent. We shuffled out to the bar in a sea of other beer-sticky, stumbling students. Lucky for us, it wasn't a long walk. All four of us lived on. campus. There were probably cheaper places to get drunk on a Thursday, but there weren't more conveniently located ones, and certainly none with trivia. We said goodbye to Jack first,

then Liz. I had a vague awareness of the May air being frigid, but it didn't register with me on a physical level. The alcohol had taken off the edge of a Canadian spring that still thinks it's winter. Her coat would have been a more responsible way to handle it, but hey, Whatever works. You're broke. The words weren't stated, but slurred. I watched Sadie as she swayed side to side. In the bar, it hadn't been clear just how drunk she was.

I delayed reaction. She clasped her hands over her mouth, then said something that was probably, I'm sorry, into the palms of her hands. I just laughed. Yeah, I'm broke. What gave it away? The fact that I have no money?

Not my cleverest comeback. Not technically true either. I didn't have money to throw around, but it's not like I'd starve. I still had my meal plan and two parents who tolerated me, so I wasn't exactly in dire straits. I've got an idea. She grabbed my arm, her nails poking me through my hoodie, and I recoiled, sharper than they looked.

No, really? All right, what is it then? I half expected her to try and sell me on the essential oil nonsense I knew his sister was into. But then again, Sadie was always the brighter of the two. Dr. Davidson asked us to try and get him some subjects for some experiments running. She grinned. I had no idea who he was. Being in Comptide myself, I wasn't familiar with any of the professors over in the sight department.

I thought she said the name before, but I was never good with names, especially the names of people I had no reason to care about. Okay, and? I'd gone into experiments at Sadie's behest before, never really gained that much from the experience. In one of them, I got two marshmallows, which I appreciated. Most of them just involved watching videos of shapes, dancing around on a screen,

and then writing a story about whether you thought the triangle and the square were friends or enemies. Neither one of those were going to help me buy a night of beers, Is paying participants $100 for being a part of it? I froze in my tracks. $100 wasn't life-changing, not for me anyway, but it was more than enough to solve the problem of not having the spare cash to get wasted.

I wanted to do it myself, but he says we're not allowed to do it if we're in his class. He doesn't want to inadvertently prime us or anything. Hell yeah, I nodded, though Sadie hadn't asked the question. Yeah, I'll do it. That sounds great. Do you think there'll be any marshmallows? Before long, we were at our dorm complex.

I helped Sadie into a room, and in return, she promised me that she texts me the details in the morning. I made my way back to my own dorm. I unlocked the door and sighed. I hated the room. It was small, scarcely room for a single nightstand between Tarek's bed and my own. He was asleep already, a flat cardboard box that smelled. pepperoni flipped open on the nightstand. He was a good enough guy.

But God, the number of pizza boxes that room had seen must rival all of Italy. I was asleep by the time my head hit the pillow. I awoke, what felt like five minutes later, to the blaring of my alarm. The morning began like any other, with me, blindly grasping for my phone. Alarm turned off, I noticed the text from Sadie. She'd kept her word. as she always did, and sent me the details on where and when I could find Dr Davidson. Lucky for me, I had no classes that Friday.

I'd done my darndest to cram everything else into the other four days of the work week to extend my weekend. When I finally rolled out of bed, around 11.30, there were only two things in my mind, breakfast and Davidson. After pancakes and coffee, thank God for meal plans, I took another. the look at the text. Davidson's office was, to my surprise, in the science complex. Most of the Sadies classes were in the Macpherson's building, an ancient brick monolith crawling with ivy, and that was where all the studies I've been a part of before had taken place.

I'd assumed that's where I'd find Davidson, but apparently not. Davidson's office hours weren't until three, so I headed back to my room to get showered. I didn't know exactly what kind of test subject he was hoping for, but I figured being halfway presentable would probably be a good start. I nearly tripped over Tarek's iPad in the process. He had a habit of leaving it unlocked on the bathroom floor, for reasons I tried not to learn.

Stone cold sober, I made the decision to wear an actual jacket as I headed off to the science complex. The building had a name other than science complex. But I can never remember it since no one called it that. It was the newest building on campus, one of those angular glass monstrosities that makes any fan of classical architecture cry and bemoan the decline of society.

I liked it well enough, but I was in the minority. I got lost, finding my way to Davidson's office. It was in the basement, and none of the elevators seemed to go down there. It was only, after talking to a group of 10 zoology students students had I managed to get conclusive directions. As far as basements went, the science complexes was pretty damn classy.

Since they couldn't carry on the whole class walls theme underground, they gone with a smooth, black, foam marble. Comparing it to the basement where one of my small group sessions took place, where the black on the walls was most certainly mould, and felt a surge of jealousy. Davidson's office was not as classy as the surrounding corridors. lay scattered around an oak desk, clearly much older than the building itself. A man, even older, still seated behind it. His hair was dark, but streaked with grey that he made no attempt to cover, and his face was softly wrinkled. Looking at him, I had no idea how old the man was,

but presumably old enough that he should have done a better job cleaning the place. I knocked on the open door, and he looked up. His brow knit together, and he was a squinted. The face of someone tried to figure out if they're supposed to know you or not. Dr. Davidson? I asked. His name had been on the door, but it didn't hurt to confirm. He tilted his head like an inquisitive puppy, and I winced as his neck cracked. He didn't seem to notice. Yes. His voice caught me off guard. It was smoother than I would have assumed from his appearance. He waited patiently, big brown eyes staring expectantly in my direction.

I'm here about the... uh, study? It would have helped had I known what he was researching, but Davidson beamed up at me. Clearly, he knew what I was talking about, even if I didn't. You're interested in participating? Yeah, a friend of mine, Sadie, she's in one of your classes. I watched him process the name, trying to figure out who Sadie might be.

She said you were doing a study with... Compensation? I winced after saying it. Way to look desperate. Yes, he smiled, shaking his head, bemused. A hundred as soon as you were approved. And a hundred of the conclusion. My eyes bulged.

Sadie had said there was a hundred dollar compensation total. I guess she'd finally been mistaken. about something. All the better for me. Davidson rifled through the papers on his desk, licking his thumbs to help him separate a set of sheets. We all need to make sure you're fit first, of course. He held two pages out and finally left his doorway to approach the desk. Both of these can be done at the clinic at Stone Mason Avenue. I frowned as I took the papers. This I wasn't expecting. One was a letter requesting an EKG and the second a blood test. You'll need to put your info at the top of those there, but once you fill them out, you can get tested. They faxed the

results straight to me, same day. For a moment, I wondered what kind of psychology experiment needed an EKG in blood test. But the doctor continued. Once you've got the documents, you come back and we can fill out your consent form and... paused, grinning. Get you the first payment. Despite my moment of apprehension, I was grinning back at him. I took one more lock of the papers and gave him a nod.

Awesome. Davidson let me know my deadline for the testing, but he didn't need to. The second I was out of the science complex, I was on my way to the clinic. When both tests were through, it was dinner time. My parents are coming to visit on Saturday.

and Davidson and no office hours Sunday, so I resolved to visit him right at 3 on Monday. The weekend flew by. It always did when my parents came. It was their mission to cram as much family time as possible into every visit. They lived just an hour away from the campus, but I was an only child. I didn't really know what it was like for them, but I must have made the house feel different for me to not be around. Dad was always saying how entering. it felt while mom told me how happy she was that I was pursuing my passion. Mixed messages maybe, but I think they just missed me. I missed them too.

We were always close. I woke up at 7.45 a.m. on Monday. I was one of the few who liked morning classes. I thought it was more practical to get classed on early in the day, so I had the afternoon to do whatever I wanted. This meant by the time three rolled around, I was finished class for the day. and ready to pay Davidson another visit.

His office was tidier than it had been the last time. Papers were still scattered around the room, but they coalesced into semi-defined piles. He seemed excited to see me. Wonderful news was how he began the conversation. The blood test and Ikeji had come through normal, which meant that it was time for me to sign my consent form and receive my first payment.

I skim the document. I didn't understand a lot of it, but I also didn't care. Much to my surprise, this wasn't going to be another marshmallow or shaped storytelling study. This was a full-on medical trial. Or, well, something like that. I was fuzzy on the details. Myself and the other subjects were going to be given some sort of supplement. I wasn't on any medications they could interfere with, and I didn't have any heart conditions

that they could aggravate. Animal trials had indicated that, in mice, the supplement boosted reaction times and functioning in tests of reasoning. The most notable finding was that the rodents were more, quote, generally perceptive, whatever that meant. The last sheet of the document included a list of seven other names. Below that were two lines for me to sign. One confirming that I consented to take part in the study, and the other confirming I did not know that. know any of the seven listed people. I scrawled Brent Hayward twice, wrote my phone number and email below and a few minutes later I was walking out the room with $100 cash. I was giddy. $100 wasn't much, but at least I wasn't going to miss trivia after all. I didn't see Davidson

again until Thursday. He'd emailed asking me to meet him and the other participants in the science complex. This time we didn't meet in the basement, but in a small, above-ground lab. I thought I was prompt, getting there right at three. But when I walked in, there were already nine people present. Davidson stood at the front of the room, a tray of bottles behind him. He flipped through some papers, whispering to the woman standing next to him. The other seven, clearly students were in chairs, organized into a rough semi-circule. One seat remained right on the end, next to a girl who looked to be a year or two my senior. Her brown eyes were warm and inviting, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't interested.

She smiled as I sat down. I opened my mouth to greet her, but Davidson cleared his throat to gather our attention, cutting off any attempts at flirting. Hello, he smiled and waved, and I couldn't help but smile back. In the light of the lab Not crammed behind a desk He looked a bit better off He had an energy about him

The kind that radiated from anyone Who has a genuine passion for what they do You all know me But I'd like to introduce you to Miss Gill She's a fantastic woman And she'll be assisting me throughout the duration of this study Miss Gill and I have worked together for the last few years And she has already taken the lead

on some of our most recent animal studies. Davidson beamed like a proud parent. The faintest pink blush graced the cheeks as she smiled. Nice to meet all of you. I've got all of your consent forms here, but I would like to ask one more time before we begin. Do any of you know each other?

I looked down the line of chairs. Counting me, there were four men and four women. It struck me as an awfully small group, but this wasn't my field. I didn't know any of them. One man looked familiar. I'd definitely seen him before. I was about 90% sure he worked at the subway on campus.

That hardly counted as knowing him, though. I looked back to Gill and shook my head. There were some murmurs of no from my cohort. Excellent. Now, it is absolutely critical to the integrity of this study that at no point do you attempt to contact any of these fine folks outside of the context of the study. As we want to measure your individual responses to the supplement, we don't want to muddy the waters by having you discuss

your experiences with each other outside of the lab. I shot the girl next to me, an exaggerated frown. She stifled a laugh and turned her eyes back to Gill. Gill went on to explain the process. She would be giving us each a bottle of the supplement. We were to take one pill each morning at 8 o'clock. failures that take it on time would need to be reported immediately. Every weekday, we'd report back to the lab at an assigned time and complete some basic reasoning tasks to assess any impact the supplement had on our abilities over time. For me, that meant I need to haul my ass out of science complex at 7 o'clock in the evening for the foreseeable future.

I scowled. That was going to be annoying. The good news was that we had no need to show up on the weekends. The next morning I woke up at 745 with a mild hangover. Trivia had been the night before. I thanked Sadie again for the lead, and she admitted she was surprised about the fact that there were only eight people there. I expected more, she told me, sipping on a cider.

Assuming half of you are actually taking the supplement, the rest of placebo, it's only four people in each group. Who cares? I asked, holding up my own. no discounted corona this week. Cheers to Davidson. It didn't take long to make my hair look tolerable and pull on some clothes. A second alarm went off at 8,

reminding me that it was time for me to take my first dose of the supplement. Tarique, not a morning person, growled into his pillow. I didn't give the pill itself much thought. It looked like a multivitamin and it tasted like something that had fallen to the back of an oven and continued to burn there over a year before someone realized and pulled it out. I nearly gagged, but it was nothing half a bottle of sprite couldn't help with.

Nothing felt out of the ordinary throughout the day, but I wasn't really sure what I'd expected. It sure as hell wasn't the pill from Limitless. The only difference I really noticed in my own behaviour was that I was over-analising everything I did and trying to figure out if it was the pill's fault. Was I slightly jumpier today? Was I thinking about the pill too much because of the pill?

No, none of that, obviously. At six, I grabbed a quick dinner with Liz, Jack and Sadie. When I was done, I headed off to the lab and arrived just before seven. Subway guy was leaving as I went in. We gave each other a nod of recognition as we crossed paths. Inside the lab, Gill and Davidson were seated at one of the black lab countertops. In front of them with some sheets of paper and some red and white tiles. I recognised them from when I was younger.

In grade four, I'd had to do some sort of test with those tiles, but they showed me a picture of a complete pattern, and I had to assemble it myself. I hadn't expected to see them at 22. Davidson seemed happy to see me, and gestured for me to come sit. The next 20 minutes were spent on a variety of tasks, not just reasoning, but memory as well. In one of them they read me a series of numbers and then I'd have to recite them backwards. I didn't do particularly well on that task.

I was more confident with the tiles at least. Time flew by. Gill was the one who actually administered the tests while Davidson took notes, grinning the whole time. I wondered what he was so excited about. It couldn't have been my test results. Finally they took my blood pressure and sent me on my way. As I went to leave, the brown-eyed girl from the first day was coming in. She smiled at me, and before I knew it, I was smiling back.

I just barely managed to choke back a high before we walked past each other, and I was back out in the hallway alone. In the empty hallway, my heart was racing, and I couldn't tell you why. I felt sweat instantly started to build on the back of my neck, I almost said hi to her when I wasn't meant to Davidton wouldn't have been happy Was that it? Or was it the simple fact that she was hot

and I wanted to talk to her Whatever it was, it felt stronger than it should have But God damn it I was just overthinking things again Days passed following the same pattern I'd get up, I'd take the pill at eight And I'd spend the rest of the day Over-analyzing everything I did

Each day it worsened Because I had another 24 hours of evidence That I was overthinking My heart was getting one hell of a workout Though Davidson and Gill Never commented when my blood pressure was taken A feedback loop sparked a life Deep inside my chest

I'd hear my heart hammering away And I would feel anxiety Make my hair stand an end Then I would think about what I was experiencing And the panic would grow deeper I couldn't talk myself down from it. Every time I tried, my body would fight against me, digging in its heels, turning up my nerves. By Monday, I was on edge in a way I'd never experienced.

In the past, I hadn't had a leg shake. Now, crammed into my lecture theatre seat, laptop balanced on the tiny desk, my right leg leg was positively vibrating. I nearly leapt out of my seat when Jack asked me if I could do that. double-check a piece of Cody had written. Jesus, dude, he looked me up and down. Are you all right? I nodded, but speech hadn't come back to me just yet.

I closed my eyes, breathing deeply and rhythmically in an effort to calm myself down. After a few moments past, I was able to speak. Yeah, it's just the study I'm doing. I think it's getting to me, man. Jack shook his head. incredulously. No, duh. He turned, and as he did, his arm clicked the back of his laptop. Something in my chest exploded, and my vision completely greyed out.

When it came back, my hand had Jack's laptop in a death grip. It was still sitting on the desk, but it was clear it had nearly fallen. Jack, mouth slightly ajar, stared at me. I swallowed hard, gently nudging the laptop. into a more secure position on the table. As I pull my hand back, he was quivering. What the hell, Brent? A few moments passed, the instructor droning on in the distance.

It was going to fall, I finally answered, my voice weak. My heart was still throbbing and the beginnings of nausea tickled at my stomach. It was too much. I closed my laptop, slipped it into my bag, walked out. The instructor paused the stare as I walked to the doors. I managed to choke out the word, sick, before I was out of the room. In the corridor, I broke into a run. I needed to go home. I needed to lie down. I spent the bulk of the day as a heap in my dorm room. I wasn't an anxious person by nature, so it had to be the supplements doing. What a shame. I feel like I'm going to die.

but I don't feel any smarter. Thankfully, I had my laptop and Netflix. I stuck to watching comedies for the rest of the day. Eventually, my heart rate slowed to the point where it wasn't dominating my every thought. By the time Seven rolled around, I was in a state you might almost mistake for normal. A benefit since I needed to haul my ass down to Davidson and Gill.

I didn't see Subway Guy leaving the lad this time. I wondered if he left early. Or maybe last time he'd left late. Oh well. It was much the same as Friday, little puzzling questions, tests of memory, rearranging tiles. If anything, I thought it did worse than I had on the first day.

As it continued, anxiety began to rise in me again, building in my chest, setting my nerve endings on fire. I managed to keep it all together until the very end. As I finished up the last of the tile activities My thoughts were consumed by the fact that There was someone behind me Turn around, now they're behind you

I nearly snapped my neck Spinning around to look behind me There was no one there At first A second later The brown-eyed girl walked through the open door Her eyes instantly met And for the first time

I saw her frown It was probably off-putting to walk into a room and find someone staring directly at you. I turned gingerly rubbing my neck, back towards the researchers. Neither was facing me. Instead, they were looking at each other. Davidson's grin was wider than ever, and a smile was playing on Gil's lips. Whatever that shared look said, I was deaf to it. Davidson turned and offered me words that gave me little clarity in the moment. Brent, you're becoming an awfully perceptive person.

Before I could respond, Gil stood up and gestured for me to leave. As I walked past the girl, she refused to look at me. That evening, I received an email from Davidson. There was going to be a slight change to our regimen. I was now to come in at 10 past 7. The message said that a greater effort should be taken to space out the subjects. I was feeling pretty spaced out myself. By the time I was back in my dorm, all I could think about was going to sleep.

But it did not come easily. No matter how long I lay in the bed, tossing and turning, I never felt at ease. Eventually, with the help of a meditation app my mother had emailed me months ago, but I never bothered trying. I caught myself to a point of stillness. That was when things got me. worse. I'm not sure if you have ever experienced sleep paralysis, but if not, consider yourself blessed. Instead of drifting to sleep, I felt a tingling sensation crawl across my limbs. I went to shake them out and found I was frozen in place. I couldn't see a damn thing. My eyes may as well have

been glued shut. There were no dreams, no hallucinations to break up the blackness. As I lay still as a corpse, the tingling gave way to numbness. Before long, the only sensation I could experience was one of impending doom. I couldn't move, I couldn't feel. Unable to form rational thoughts in this dark void, I was absolutely certain I was going to die. I don't know how long it was I lay there in that worse than nightmare state, but eventually it ended. I woke up groggy, no memory of any dreams. I don't know why I kept taking the supplement. Maybe it was morbid curiosity.

Perhaps it was the manifestation of some deep-seated, self-loathing I'd never bothered to unearth. Some sort of pill-popping lapel de V. It doesn't matter why. It just matters that I did. I skipped class over the next few days, only leaving to get food and visit Davidson and Gill for the next round of my testing.

The researchers would watch my actions and smile at me, but I had no idea if I improved. Davidson seemed thrilled, but he wouldn't tell me why. What's your problem? Tarika had asked me on Thursday. I shrugged, my duvet pulled tight round my body. I was acutely aware of the dark shadows that hung below my eyes. Sleep was getting harder. Every night, the pins and needles.

the numbness, the sensation that death himself was in the room with me seemed to take up a greater percentage of my sleep cycle. I was anything but well rested. My phone vibrated on the bed next to me, and I was angry. I shouted a string of expletives at the phone for daring to disturb me, and whoever was on the other end of it for having the gall to try and contact me, before tossing the damn thing to my bedroom floor. You've lost it, dude.

My skin prickled as he picked up a slice of pizza from the newest box he'd added to his hoard. I watched as he lifted the greasy, floppy triangle up to his mouth. When I realized he was going to drop it, I buried my head in my blanket. I didn't want to watch. I didn't want to be right. I didn't want to be perceptive. Through the blanket I heard a muffled, damn it! I screamed into the fabric.

For goodness sake, Brent, it's just pizza. I didn't respond. My hands shook, and I held the blanket tighter. I gripped it so intensely, I feared my nails might tear through the fabric. Hey, it's almost seven. Shouldn't you be leaving? Dorek spoke. Clearly, not out of genuine interest for what I was supposed to be doing,

but because he'd found a great way to get rid of me. Motives aside, he was right. I leapt off the bed. dropping the blanket on the floor as I went to pick up my phone from where it had landed. Moving helped, terrifying though it was. Walking across the campus managed to lessen the feelings, or at the very least distract me from them. I broke down crying during the testing.

Davidson lacked his usual grin, replacing it with a look of concern which, as far as I could tell, was genuine. He stopped the last test early. In what was clearly a breach of some sort of ethics code, he reached out to give me a pat on the arm. I recoiled before his fingers could touch me, the hairs on my arm standing on end like I'd stepped out into a hailstorm without so much as a jacket. I stared at him, rubbing my face with my other arm to try and get rid of the tears. Finally, he spoke. I don't understand, he said quietly.

At first I thought he was talking to me, but he wasn't facing my direction. He was looking down at the sheet where he'd been taking notes. Then he said it again, more forcefully. I don't understand. He turned to Gill. She shrugged. What don't you understand? I asked.

There was a tickle on my arm where Davidson had nearly touched me, just a faint sensation. like a tiny spider had found its way into my skin when I wasn't looking. I tried to brush it off, but it wouldn't go. He didn't respond. He spoke again, but to Gill, rather than me. We need to stop this. What don't you understand?

I meant to just ask, but somehow I was shouting. Somehow I was standing, scratching my arm as I shouted. You were our most promising candidate, Brent. His voice was quiet, and he refused to make eye contact. Your scores have gone up every day by significant margin. You've become so much more perceptive, but... There it was again.

That word, perceptive. I suppose it was accurate too. I noticed people, sounds, things about to happen. I pay more attention to the world than I ever had before. I obsessed over it, whether I wanted to or not. But... Maybe too perceptive, Gil whispered as she looked up at me. I could see pity in her eyes.

She was right. As I stood in front of the two, I felt everything. I felt the fabric of my hoodie rubbing up against my chest and the pressure of my jeans tied around my legs. I felt the crawling sensation growing across my skin, moving from one arm up to my neck to my face. For the final time, I ran from the lab back to my dorm room. Outside, the gentle wind hit my face, stabbing into my skin like icicles.

I phoned vibrated in my pocket, and I screamed as it buzzed up against my leg. I pulled it out, glancing at the message from Sadie. Are you coming to trivia? And I threw it as hard as I could against the pavement. I did not stop to look and see if it cracked. I left it behind and kept running. Back in my dorm room, the first thing I did was tear the sweater off. It was too much to bear.

The robbing of fabric against my body was nauseating and the sensation of unseen spiders creeping across my skin had reached an apex. No matter how much I scratched, I couldn't stop it. In my absence, Tarika left, so I had free reign of the dorm. I headed for the bathroom, hoping to scribble away whatever plagued me. It worked to some degree. The itching lessened, but did not dissipate entirely. When I stepped out of the shower, I looked to the mirror. I could see nothing there but my own face,

the same as it had always been, though no bugs visibly crawling across my skin, but I could feel them, less than before, but still undeniably present. I toweled off, then sat to my bed, a attempting to comprehend what was happening to me. This wasn't imagination. Not according to Davidson anyway. This was not simply hallucination brought on by lack of sleep. No, he'd said that I'd become more perceptive. So what the hell was I perceiving?

As I sat, scratching my arms, the explanation came to me. When people say, the answer was inside you all along, I don't think this is what they mean. It started with a tickle in my throat, the kind that lets you know you've got the beginnings of a cold. I coughed and attempted to make the sensation go away, but it failed. If anything, it made my throat itchier.

I stood to grab a glass of water, and my legs shook beneath me. Something was deeply wrong. The itching, the crawling, had sunk far deeper down into my throat than any cold ever reaches. Once the awareness was there, I could not return to ignorance.

There were things moving within me. I would never be rid of them. Deep inside me, there were billions of things squirming and twitching and pressing up against my internal organs, and I could feel every one of them. Now that I had become perceptive enough to feel them,

there was simply no way to stop. I tried to scream. I felt the movement. movement on my throat and stopped because it was agonizing. I tried to stand, but the billions of living things inside me crawled and shuddered as I moved. Enumerable flagella smacked against the walls of my intestines as I shifted, miniature whips cutting into me. I wanted to destroy each and every one of these legions of invaders, who I had never asked

for, but who I would die without. I wanted to lacerate my abdomen, pry myself open and scrape them all out, and then until only I remained, just me. I tried to stand, but I hated it. I despised them, writhing and scratching inside of me. Unable to take the sensation, I fell to my knees. The carpet burned like I had fallen into a lit campfire. Everything was too much and there was no escape because it was on me and within me.

I started the sob and the tears seared my flesh like acid. I don't know how long I was there on my hands and knees, gasping as everything within me twitched and moved and boiled. There was nothing I could do to quell the sensations, crashed there in the middle of my dorm room, but I knew how to make it all stop once and for all. And so I began my mission of dragging myself to the bathroom. I pull myself there on my hands and my knees dragged. They turned red and raw, and they felt like they had been shredded to the bone.

The things of my guts wriggled and whipped and the things of my skin itched and crawled. It was an agonisingly slow process. Eventually, my desperate, reaching palms were met with a cold tile of the bathroom floor. It was like passing from a volcano to a glacier, but I forced myself onward. My hand grasped for the latch on the cabinet under the sink. I sit here with a bottle of drain cleaner in one hand. The other pressed to the floor as I tried to hold myself up. Every second that passes, I still feel them.

On me and in me. I'm not an idiot, you know, but there's only one way out of this. The good news is that I'm going to take every one of these little critters down with me. There's one thing, though, that I can't help thinking about as I sit here, trying to overcome the sensations long enough to do what needs to be done. done. For my family's sake, I hope I wasn't in the control group. I woke up around 4 in the morning to the sounds of my 11-year-old daughter, Madison, screaming. My wife, Sarah, had just started to sit up in bed by the time I ripped open our bedroom door. My heart was racing.

In my panic, I hadn't even realized I'd picked up my revolver from within my bedside table. Something was terribly wronged. Sarah began to cry out in terror behind me as I raced across the top floor of my house. I found Madison's door still shut from the night before. I gripped the doorknop and pushed my way inside, nearly falling onto the floor as I did so.

Madison was laid out on her bed, her covers bunched up in a pile on the floor. Her hair was wet as if it were covered in sweat. She was pressing hard against the same. stomach with both of her hands, screaming loudly. Maddie, what's wrong? I cried out, kneeling beside my daughter's bed. Daddy, please, help me, she screamed, sobbing. Maddie began to roll around in pain. Sarah appeared in the doorway behind me. Oh my God, what's wrong? She said, entering the room. I looked over my shoulder, my eyes wide. Go call an ambival.

I said, watching Sarah as she stared at her daughter. Go! Sarah seemed to understand my words the second time. My wife raced from the room, heading for a cell phone. I stood beside Maddie's bed, lifting my daughter into my arms. Maddie began to cry even harder, bearing her head into my shoulder, and she gripped her stomach. Just breathe, Maddie, I said, carrying my daughter towards the staircase.

Maddie continued to cry. cry as I moved her to the bottom floor of the house. Sarah stood by the front door, looking out the window as she talked on the phone. Yes, yes, my daughter, she just started screaming. I set Maddie down carefully on the couch, kissing her on the forehead as she rolled over onto a side, screaming into the couch cushions. Sarah had started to sob. She had never been very good at containing her emotions.

give me the phone honey i said glancing back towards maddy sarah handed me the phone gasping between her sobs and headed towards a living room hello i asked placing the cell phone up to my ear hello sir the operator said it was a woman are you the father yes yes i am i said looking back at my family sarah knelt beside maddy her hand rubbed our daughter's shoulder. I'm going to need you to give me your address, sir, the woman said, sounding amazingly calm for what was happening. That was a job, I suppose. But it still surprised me nonetheless. I told her our address at the end of the street,

just past the big yellow house, I said, heading towards the living room. All right, the woman said, a mechanical keyboard clacking away in the background. An ambulance should arrive in just a few minutes. what exactly seems to be the problem? I rub my forehead, struggling to think over Maddie's screaming. I don't know. She's grabbing near her stomach. Maybe it's her appendix or...

I don't really know. The woman continued to type away. Just tell your daughter to hang in there, sir. Help is on the way. I knelt beside my daughter. Her face contorted in immense pain. It's going to be okay, Maddie. Okay? The doctors are coming. I said, brushing her black hair out from the front of her face.

She stared up at me with scared eyes as I stood back up, moving towards the front door. I could just make out the voice of the operator, coming through the phone over the sounds of Maddie's screaming. The phone returned to my ear. Hello? Sir, the woman said. Can you hear me? Yeah, I can hear you, I said, stepping out onto my front porch. Please remain on the line, the woman said.

I'm sorry, I said, looking back into the house. I was just talking to my daughter. That's fine, sir, the woman said. Helped you to arrive in a few minutes. I rub my palm against my forehead, listening to the early morning air. I was certain I could hear the ambulance in the distance. I think I hear them. I'm sorry, the woman said, a brief pocket of sense.

static escaping from the speaker. I can hear the ambulance, I said, staring out into the trees through the house across the street. The flashing red lights of an ambulance caught my eyes. Sir, can you hear me? The woman said, a continuous static beginning to blanket a voice. Hello? I called out, winting as the static grew in volume. I lowered my phone, staring at it.

I could still hear the white noise from where you could still hear the white noise from where you the phone hung near my waist. I cursed softly, hanging up the call and jogging downstairs as I made my way towards the street. I could see the ambulance now as it turned onto my street. The ambulance parks in front of my house, the tires nearly screeching as the driver slammed on the brakes. The vehicle was white, with a bright red stripe running horizontally across the side of it. The name of my city sat above the stripe. On the driver's door, in bold, black lettering, sat the vehicle's identification tag F-283.

The back door of the ambulance swung open. A larger man jumped from the vehicle, landing on the asphalt. A thick black beard hung down to his chest. Hello? The man said, stepping towards me. Thank you so much for coming so quickly, I said, moving towards the front door. The man followed closely behind me. Of course, he said, nodding, bring me to your daughter.

I nodded, pushing open my front door. Sarah spun to look at me as I entered the house. A look of relief crossing her face. Maddie continues to cry loudly into the couch cushions. The doctor saw here, Maddie, I said, looking back at the man. He stood in the entryway of the living room, looking at my daughter. I stared at the man, frowning. What's the issue?

Pick her up, let's bring her to the vehicle, he said, I'm moving. At the time, I found his speech odd, but I didn't have time to think. I stepped into the living room, lifting my daughter up off the couch. Maddie yelped in pain, returning her head to my shoulder. As I turned, I could see that the man had already begun to leave. I began to move towards the front door, afraid that I was hurting my daughter in the process. I stepped out under the front porch, noticing that the man had laid out the gurney behind the ambulance. I moved slowly down the steps, careful not to upset Maddie any further and approached the vehicle.

The man looked up at me as I approached. He reached out, helping me lower my daughter on the gurney. Maddie cried out in pain as she was set down, gripping her right to the door. side tightly. I watched as the man rolled a gurney up to the back of the ambulance, lifting it into the vehicle. He stepped up into the back, looking towards me as he did so. I followed the man, placing my foot up onto the step and entering the ambulance. I knelt beside my daughter, lightly squeezing her hand. Her crying had softened in volume, but tears continued to pour from her eyes. You're going to be okay, baby. You're safe now.

I said, repeatedly squeezing and relaxing my grip on her hand. Sarah stepped up into the vehicle, stepping around the other side of the bed. Only one of you can ride in the back, the man said, shaking his head. Are you serious? Sarah shouted, frowning, we don't have time for this. It's right, Sarah, I said, giving my wife a look. You're heading straight for the hospital, right? I asked, looking at the man. He nodded in return.

I looked back to Maddie, rubbing around gently. Everything is going to be okay, baby girl, okay? Mama's going to ride with you to the hospital. I'm going to be right behind you in the car. The doctor will keep you safe, I said, kissing her on the forehead. I love you so much, Maddie. I love you too, Daddy, she said, groaning as another wave of pain passed through her body. I pushed myself to my feet, leaning across the bed to kiss Sarah before stepping out of the vehicle.

I landed on the asphalt, moving around to the side of the vehicle. My keys were in the house. I needed to go back in and grab them before I could do anything else. I looked to the driver's side window, nodding in appreciation of the driver. He turned to look at me, his round face covered by a thick black beard. I frowned, listening as the back door of the ambulance slammed shut. Ambulance F-283 began to drive off down the road, did sirens blaring loudly.

I groaned, pushing aside my fear. I had to focus. I needed to get to the hospital. I ran up to my front door, listening to the sirens as they began to fade away in the distance. It was the worst time for me to have lost track of my kids. keys. I fumbled around the house for what felt like several minutes, eventually finding them in the pocket of the pair of pants that I had already checked once before. I groan loudly in annoyance, heading back towards the front door. The sirens could still be heard. I swore that they sounded

louder than they had before, but I knew that was impossible. I stepped outside, moving quickly towards my driveway. The car's headlights blinked as I unlocked the door. I would need to drive quickly, but I was sure I could reach the hospital at the same time that the ambulance did, if not just a few minutes after. I pulled open the front door of my car,

suddenly freezing. In my focus state, I hadn't realized just how close the sirens actually sounded. I turned, watching, as an ambulance moved quickly down the street, in the direction of my house. The ambulance parked by my mailbox. The back door swung open, two men hopping out onto the street.

They began to unload a gurney as the driver opened his own door, giving me a look of empathy. Good morning, sir. Is your daughter just inside? I shook my head slowly, watching the men as they began to wheel the gurney up to my house. What is this? The driver frowned. I'm sorry, do we have the wrong house? The other men paused, looking towards me, as I began to stammer. I...

My daughter just got picked up a few minutes ago. Picked up? He said, looking over at the other men. Did someone else bring her to the hospital instead? Yes, another ambulance, I said, leaning my arm against the room. roof of my car. The driver did not respond for a moment. That doesn't sound right, sir, he said, looking again towards the other EMTs. Isn't that possible? I asked, looking wildly between the men. I was beginning to panic. Can't another ambulance just arrive before you guys?

That happens, right? The man stared at the ground for a few seconds before looking back up at me. Just give me a minute. Let me go make a call, he said, heading back towards the ambulance. I stood by my car, my mouth stuck open as the two EMTs began to whisper to one another. Dred had started to fill my gut. The police were unable to find the ambulance that took my daughter and wife from me. Every hospital in the area swears that there is no F283 in service. The police seem to want me to think that they're not.

They believed me, but I knew that they didn't. It has been almost a year since it happened. I live every day in emotional pain. I have called for an ambulance six times in the past two months. I think that I believe I can find my family that way, but nothing is pointing me logically towards that being a fact. I might be losing it. The thought crossed my mind that perhaps the ambulance wouldn't come because I wasn't actually

injured. Surely that couldn't be it, right? I'm sitting here now with my revolver just beside me. What's the worst that can happen? Maybe I'll lose my foot completely. I don't really care. With a bullet in my foot, maybe the ambulance will return. Maybe I'll be able to see my family again. My sweet Maddie. God, I miss them both so much. I've missed around for far too too. I've long. The police are no help anymore. They really don't seem to care, frankly. I know they're still out there somewhere. I just need to find them. I'm putting this out as a warning. I don't know who came to my house that morning or what they wanted, but I want you all to be careful. Those you trust may turn out to be the ones who wish to hurt you the most. And please, God,

If your ambulance has the tag F-283, don't go inside of it.