CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - 7 OMINOUS r/Nosleep Horror Stories to burn the night away

Episode Date: May 31, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORIES-►0:00 "I investigated these lists of rules people keep finding" Creepypasta►17:23 "I met a movie star at the bus stop. She gave me a gift I'll never forget" Creepypasta►42:11 "We Found Something Strange On The Beach" Creepypasta►58:47 "How I accidentally made a deal when I was young that doomed my future" Creepypasta►1:16:41 "Something is happening next door in my mother's apartment complex" Creepypasta►1:40:09 "I've noticed a silhouette of a person in my drawings. It's getting closer" 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►Sadan Vague: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/mq...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPastaCREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only-

I woke to the sound of my phone buzzing on the bedside table. Hello? I said, grogly. You're the paranormal hunter, right? I had the website changed, new business cards made up, and even sunk some money into an ad campaign. Still, all callers insisted on referring to me as the paranormal hunter, a term originally coined by tabloid papers who made me out to be some sort of monster-fighting hero.

It wouldn't be so bad, if it didn't negatively affect my livelihood. Those articles made me a laughing stock to skeptics everywhere, including the local authorities I sought to work with an occasion. Actually, it's paranormal consultant. Right, sorry, I need to help. She sounded just like the rest, scared, confused, and at the end of a rope. I was the last call anyone made in situations like this.

A desperate cry for help when all else failed. It is as if dialing the number With some admittance of insanity Or worse, a confirmation That the things that go bump in the night Are really out there Waiting in the shadows to pounce on the next victims I'm here to help

What can I do for you? She led her long sigh before continuing Well, you're not going to believe this That's what they all said I received this odd list of rules in the mail I didn't pay it any mind at first thinking it was a mix-up at the post office. But now, every time I'd only break a rule...

Let me guess, there's some sort of strange paranormal consequence? Yes, exactly. How did you know? Lists like these have been popping up all over the country. Some in hotel rooms, others in apartments or employee manuals. They roll the same. Supernatural calamity befalls any victim who refuses to follow the guidelines. When enough rules are broken, it usually results in the person's death.

Not to worry, I've dealt with this kind of thing before. I'll take a case. Just text me your address and I'll be right over. Thank you so much. I wasn't sure you'd believe me. In my line of work, it pays to have an open mind. After disconnecting and thrown on some clothes, I got into my car and took off in the direction of a house.

It was in town, so the drive was a short one. Upon arriving, my new client rushed out to greet me. Thank God you're here. I'm at my wits end. Her arms are crossed and breathing laboured. She was clearly out of sorts. Sorry, where are my manners? I'm Jessica. Nice to make your acquaintance. I'm Henry. Jessica was young, maybe mid to late twenties.

Dark hair, freckled skin. I probably would have found her attractive if she didn't remind me of my my daughter. Please come inside. You walked to the front door and enter the house. After hanging up my hat, I took a look around. It was a lovely home, quaint but spacious. Can I get you some coffee? No thanks. If it's all the same to you, I would prefer to get to work right away. Do you have the list? She picked up a sheet of paper from the coffee table and handed it to me. There were ten rules in total. How many rules have you broken so far?

She looked embarrassed. Seven altogether. That's good, Jessica. It means there's still time. Still time for what? she asked. Time to end things. I pulled a lighter out of my pocket and held the flame beneath the page. What are you doing?

Not many people know about this, but burning a list before all the rules are broken. summons the demon who wrote it. She glared at me, petrified, a look of absolute fear across her face. Demon? The flame spread to the outer edges of the paper. Yes, these lists are powerful, demonic contracts. With every rule you break, you're tempting fate,

inviting the demon to absorb your soul. My soul? The page had all but burned up now. Yes, they feed off of them. With a list like this, the demon has... has access to your soul, every misstep is another chance to feed. After all rules are broken, your soul is theirs completely. As per the unwritten terms of the contract,

the sheet of paper turned to ash and fell to the floor. Jessica started to ask another question, but I held up my hand to stop her. Wait, it's coming. We watched as a cloud of smoke formed at the centre of the living room. It grew until it reached the ceiling and then swirled around, faster with each passing second. After a minute or so, it dissipated, revealing the demon within.

Hello, Henry. It took the form of a man in turn of the century attire, grey hair, grey moustache. Jessica walked over and stood by his side. I see you've met my daughter. I would be lying if I said I wasn't surprised at this revelation, but all the signs of foul play were there that I should have picked up on. No car in the driveway, no family photos on the wall, no signs of a struggle in the house, despite Jessica having broken most of the rules. What is this?

The demon laughed. You've made quite the impression downstairs with your heroic shenanigans over the years. I've been tasked with eliminating you. I reached into my coat for a weapon, but the demon gestured for me to stop. Please, Henry, I have another idea in mind. Why don't we make a deal? I scoffed. A deal, huh?

And what exactly did you have in mind? He smiled. Give me your soul. And I'll bring back your daughter. My heart sank. Chelsea was the whole reason I hunted supernatural things in the first place. She had died over a decade ago in a house fire. One that I discovered, after years of investigation, was caused by some unknown entity.

I was never the same after that. Instead of grieving in the way most parents do, I made it my life's work to track down a killer and everything like it. What do you say, Henry? It's a fair trade. I would give anything to save Chelsea, even my soul. But not like this. Demonic resurrections always came with side effects.

It was very likely that if Chelsea was brought back, she would succumb to an insatiable bloodthirst, not unlike that of demons themselves. I could never put her through something so terrible. Not a chance. His lips contorted into a wicked grin. I thought you might say that. That's why I had my daughter slip something into your pocket.

Confused, I reached into my coat and pulled out a scrap of paper. There were three rules written on it. Number one, don't enter the house. Number two, don't burn the list. Number three, don't accept the demon's deal. That's swine. Without knowing it, I'd broken all the rules on the list, giving this demon full access to my soul.

All he had to do now was come and take it. Sorry, Henry, you're mine now. Their skin melted away, dripping from their frames like candle wax, revealing the red, connective tissue underneath. Then their eyes turned black and mouths opened wide, no teeth or tongues within, just empty pits of darkness. One kiss would suck the life right out of me. Before I could reach into my coat again,

Jessica leapt from across the room and pinned me to the wall, forcing a mouth against my face. My soul began to untether itself from me. The sensation was a strange one. There was an immense feeling of pain, but also heartache, the likes of which I have only felt once before. As soul and body separated, something bubbled to the surface.

It wasn't so much my life flashing before my eyes. It was a single memory playing out in my mind. I'll be fine, Dad. Stop worrying. I know. It's just that... Chelsea interjected. I'm a little girl and it's your job to worry about me. Am I that predictable? She smiled.

Only when it comes to caring. I looked around at the house and it saddened me. I was happy for Chelsea, but I couldn't believe how quickly she'd grown up. You know I can come visit some time, right? It's only a two-hour flight. I can pay for the ticket. Just say the word, whenever you feel you want to... Dad, I'm still your daughter.

I'll visit when I can, but you have to come to terms with the fact that I'm an adult with my own life now. Between work and college, I can't always come when you call, okay? I laughed as a tear rolled down my cheek. So, you're the parent now, is that it? She laughed. If you don't leave soon, you're going to miss your flight. She was right. I admit, I was cutting it pretty close.

I know, I just... I'm going to miss you, that's all. I miss you too, Dad. I'm only a phone call away. With that, I left the house and drove to the airport. Little did I know then. But that would be the last time I ever saw my little girl alive. I hadn't thought of that day in quite some time.

It was locked away, deep in my heart, for fear of the feelings it would invoke in me. In this dire moment, my life hanging in the balance, it served as a reminder. A reminder of why I did the things no one else would dare to do. Why I fought to save others and kill the things that left evil in their wake. It was for her. With what strength I had left, I reached into my coat, pulled out a blade and plunged it into Jessica's side. She backed off and fell to the floor, writhing in pain. Silver!

It couldn't kill demons, but it sure as hell slowed them down. Before the man could come to his daughter's aid, I quickly sliced my hand open and used the blood to paint a sigil on the wall. One push at the centre and the demons would vanish, cast back into the underworld where they belonged. It was a temporary fix, but I was in no condition to fend them off. Henry, wait, the man called out to me, my hand over the sigil, ready to send him packing. Don't you want to know what happened to Chelsea? He was stalling, I could tell, but I had the upper hand and could afford to hold off for a moment. It might have been foolish, but I gave in to my curiosity and listened.

She screamed when the flames overtook her. Her skin peeled and flaked while she cried. He wasn't lying. He didn't know what happened. Still, I couldn't bring myself to turn away. Even a fabricated story about my daughter was better than no story at all. As morbid as it sounds, it made me feel closer to her. His words offered a setting in which I could fantasize about saving her,

something I often did but struggled to picture. It was an addiction. of mine. She was so terrified, she couldn't stop speaking nonsense, counting backwards from ten. I killed her before the fire could. Just to shut her up. My blood ran cold. That was something I taught her when she was little.

Daddy, help! I awoke to Chelsea screaming and ran to a bedroom. Sweetie, what's wrong? A breathing was sporadic. Something certainly had a rattled. It's here, the monster. It was another one of a night terrors. Ever since her mother died, she would get them at least twice a week.

Every time I would come to the rescue and calm her down. Okay, sweetie, it's just a bad dream, you're still sleeping. She wouldn't let up. It's gonna get me. I took her in my arms and held her. Remember what I taught you? Count backwards from ten and it'll all fade away. She whimpered for a moment and then began counting.

10.9. 8. 7. Her breaths were becoming even more controlled. 6.5. 4. 3. She stopped crying and loosened the grip on my arm. 2.1. And just like that, she was awake, free of the nightmares that plagued her. All right, sweetie, you're okay now, go back to sleep. She offered me an innocent smile and crawled back under the covers.

I left the door open just a crack, enough so that I could hear her and come running if she needed me. Just like I did, every time. He had to have been telling the truth. He could never have known about that otherwise. Well, Henry, I'm the one who killed her all those years ago. She had a list just like yours and broke every rule. I showed up to collect.

My heart nearly stopped right then and there. All this time spent chasing monsters. And he was right here in the same room with me. The thing responsible for taking my little girl's life. Come on, Henry, don't you want to avenge your daughter? My hand hovered over the sigil. Jessica was still on the floor. It took everything in me not to pull up.

away and lash out. That's just what he wanted. He knew I didn't have the energy needed to kill him, not with my soul tattered. She begged for your life, you know. It was pathetic. I was dangerously close to taking the bait. All I could see was Chelsea's house going up in flames. You were her father. Why didn't you save her, Henry? I needed to calm down. Otherwise, I would surely retaliate and be good as dead. No more hunting, no more life's to save, no killing this demon once and for all. Some father you were, leaving your girl out in the world to die, all alone. I counted backwards in my head. Ten, nine, eight. What's the matter, Henry? Too scared to fight back. He was working. The anger and sadness was still there, but his voice was fading from the foreground.

7, 6, 5. I can only imagine what's happening to a soul downstairs. Oh, the humanity! The adrenaline in my veins was slowing. 4.3. 2. This is the last chance you'll ever have, Henry. It's now or never. 1.

Karma than I was before. I pushed my hand into the sigil with as much force as I could muster. No. He cried out, but it was no use. His and Jessica's body vanished in a flash of light, leaving behind only an unpleasant, burning odour and faint impressions where they were on the carpet. Thank God that's over.

I stumbled out to the car and got into the driver's seat, feeling a little bit better than I had just moments before. Before driving off, I took one last look at the house, feeling a regret similar to when I left Chelsea years ago. This isn't over. With that, I took off down the road, wounded, but with some newfound clarity. I know what I have to do, and no person or thing is going to stop me. That demon's life will be mine.

But with the information he gave me, there's another matter I have to attend to first. I'm going to save Chelsea's soul. It was around 11.30 p.m. when this hell made a landfall. I just wrote up an eight-hour shift at the movie theatre and stayed behind to clean the floors after the last screening because the usual guys were AWOL. That left me sweeping up popcorn and peeling sphuge-filled condoms off the seat,

alone, well into the night. Just to be clear, we aren't an adult theatre, but dark rooms gives people weird ideas. Pay was terrible too, but it's not like I had a choice. You know how it is. When I sloped off to the bus stop that night, Feeling 300 years old and bloodshed eyes tingling from the caustic disinfectant fumes,

a stiff breeze could have crumbled me into dust and blow me away, and frankly, I would have welcomed it. To add insult to insult to injury, my car was in the shop. This meant blowing an eighth of my wage that day on bus fare just to get home from work, then doing the same tomorrow to get back. Not to mention the added risk of getting knifed by a tweak of a pocket change while in transit. It had happened to friends of mine in this city, and I didn't feel like joining that ever-grown club. It's almost funny, in a twisted kind of way.

I'd always known some screwed up things happened out here. You see it on the news all the time. Assault, robbery, organized crime, poverty and corruption out the ass. But let me tell you, that night I was about to see the other side of that coin. The worst stuff going on out there. It's happening in the dark. You just don't know about it until it squats in front of your house and takes a dump on your doorstep. Anyway, when I finally arrived at the bus stop,

I was so relieved to take the weight off my feet that I didn't even realize someone else was already there, sitting in the far corner. I want to clarify, this wasn't the kind of bus stop where you'd strike up conversation with a total stranger. It was a nasty little place where you'd normally see dirty-looking dudes shooting up heroin and sometimes screwing. unless you've got some wicked speed boy yourself and you're now so high that the flies fornicating the light bulb above you look like a playboy centre vault you keep a lid on it

but like the dark silence can do scary things to a person if it goes on long enough you'll feel a compulsion to fill it it's the immutable law behind some of life's worst conversations and according to the bus schedule our ride should have already been there but our bus was being dispatched from Pluto I must have gotten held up somewhere around Mars.

So, believe me when I say that the silence was freaking plentiful. I got so bored that my eyes started shifting to my fellow stranded passenger to be. It was a woman in her early thirties, with dark, greasy-looking hair and a thick duffel coat, a little weird, seeing as it was an unseasonly warm night. Ditto for the leather gloves. I couldn't make out much of a face. She was wearing a cheap medical mask, but there was something peculiar about her eyes. Or rather, I.

I could only make out one of them. She was sitting half in shadow, but the eye I could see was big and buggy. It twitched from side to side like something more interesting was happening than two people sitting at an empty bus stop at too late for a Tuesday night o'clock, and she wanted to drink it all in. Soon enough, things felt so close. palpably awkward, that I finally said something. At this rate, at least we'll be able to catch the morning bus, right? She turned ahead to me.

Not the kind of spooked cat look most people get when strangers speak to them out of the blue. A cold, methodical twist of the head, like an old chucky cheese animatronic. She just kind of stared at me, sizing me up with the one eye that moved like crazy, and another that hardly moved at all. The woman paused for a little too long, then said, Yeah, morning bus. Immediately, I felt kind of guilty for instigating. She had a heavy speech impediment,

the kind of Sean Conrion steroids type deal, that turned every S into a heavy, slurring, shh, like she was talking with a mouthful. I gave a polite smile and a nod in return, then turned away. Her phone rang. It had a tinny default ringtone that sounded achingly 2007. Then I heard the nostalgic snap of an opening flip phone and the strange woman with a speech impediment answered.

I try not to be an eavesdropper. Curiosity killed the cat and all that. But seeing as it was literally the only other sound around, I couldn't help picking up some fragments of her side of the conversation. God only knows what the hell she was talking about. Cal, I told you, I hate talking on the phone. Yes, I've got it on a disc and a thumb drive. Yeah, of course it's damn good.

Remember who you're talking to. I'm on my way back now. I can send you a copy in the morning. Yes, asshole, I cleaned up. What the hell do you take me for? The bus limped up to the curb not long after. If it were possible for a vehicle to be a pack-a-day smoker with a drinking problem, that'd be the bus.

The flank was decked out in appealing ad for the greatest snowman, and the bus driver, currently the only human being actually on the bus, looked like Santa Claus after a messy divorce. But to me, it was sweet salvation, the chariot of fire, here to deliver us from the bus stop at long last. The woman closed the flip phone. We both got up and stood in line outside of Santa's thin pane of bulletproof glass.

Yes, we won't have to wait that long. I heard a lisping voice whisper behind me. I sat at the back of the bus. The lights were dim, a small mercy, because it had hide most of the filth inside and let us enjoy the journey in blissful ignorance. The seats and inner walls were tattooed in graffiti,

and the occasional empty beer bottle rolled up and down the aisle from backseat to driver with every chelton shudder. The woman took a little longer than me down at the driver's booth. She paid a fare with the 20, and stood patiently while Santa grumbled and sorted a change. She's definitely going on the naughty list this year, I thought, suppressing a stupid little smile. Then she was walking down the aisle towards me. I felt frozen by the gaze of a one big, overactive eye, now fixed on me.

This seat taken? She asked, gesturing to the one next to me with a gloved finger. Nope, be my guest. The stranger took a seat next to me. and settled into place with a sigh. The air brakes gave a restful hiss. The engine rumbled once more into life, and the ride began. Just me and her, sitting in the back.

She was kind of like a renaissance painting. The closer you got, the more strange little details you noticed. Like the left eye, I hadn't been able to get a handle on before. It looked like a prosthetic, a glass eye, with none of the manic, twitchy energy of the other one. The skin bugged around it slightly, old scars covered up by well-practiced makeup. Then she took off of leather gloves. Her hands looked like old rubber underneath.

They were sheathed in the shiny marbled scar tissue, as though they've been burned heavily and never fully healed. She didn't have fingernails, just these long, pale, alien digits. Where the scar tissue fed back into the unburnt skin of the wrists, I caught the edge of what seemed like tattoo sleeves underneath her coat. Roses and barbed wire by the looks of it. I didn't say a word. Didn't feel the need to.

The nighttime world was rolling past outside, getting closer to my stop, little by little. I would have been more than happy to wait out the journey without so much as another sound. It was her that broke the silence this time. Name Sepp, she said. I couldn't tell whether. she was trying to say Sep or Shep, until she kindly clarified, it's short for sepsis. It was so cosmically cruel for a woman with her particular speech impediment

to have a name with three S's in it. Even worse that she shared it with a deadly infection. Whoever Sep was, it didn't seem like life had been generous to her. And Brian, nice to meet you. Sep smiled behind a mask and pulled a shiny buck knife at a, of a coat, freeing the blade from the dark rosewood handle with a click. She seemed to register the flicker of surprise in my eyes with a private joy. Don't tattle, Brian, she said.

Before I had a chance to say anything, she started carving something into the back of the bus seat in front of her. Nothing in particular, just random geometric patterns and the occasional stick figure. I always get bored on these trips. She was carving a spiral into the cheap plastic with a surprising steadiness for those long, scarred fingers. Normally, I just use a pen, but I left my last one at the studio. I didn't know what the hell to say. A stranger had just pulled a knife of me in the back of a darkened bus,

closing in on around 1 a.m. All I could do was latch on to the most normal part of the conversation and run with it until I got to my stop. If I played my cards right, I wouldn't have any extra orifices by then. Studio, huh? I said, wrestling with a tremor that wanted to invade my voice. That's cool. You like an artist? Filmmaker, she corrected, with surprising urgency, still not taking a real eye off of her carvings.

Well, that's just a catch-all. First and foremost, I'm an actor, and then a writer, director, camera up, post-production, Jack of all trades, master of all trades, she said, narrowing a ride to a company where I can only assume was a wide smile underneath a mask. You like movies, Brian? Well, I work in a movie theatre. That's not what I asked.

I gulped, hard, forced the tepid smile. Yeah, I like movies. SEP was carving an unsettlingly detailed smiley face on the back of the seat now. It'd be a miracle if there was any seat left by the time she got off. Then she started to laugh. What's so funny? I asked.

Hello, nice, swiveled back to me. She flicked the bookknife's blade back into its handle. You smell like jizz, she said, between wet, throaty chuckles. I sighed. Yeah, occupational hazard. Sip took the knife back into a duffel coat and reclined in a seat. Studying the ads for medication and personal injury lawyers slapped across the bus's ceiling with detached interest. Personally, I was just relieved she was no longer brandishing a weapon.

So I'm guessing you like movies. I forced the smile. The one I lit up again, like the last thing she ever expected was a follow-up question. Sep nodded. You bet your ass. I've been working in the film industry for ten years now. Oh, wow. I didn't even know there was an industry around here.

You'd be surprised, she spat back with defensive speed. Wherever there's an audience, there's an industry. And trust me, there's always an audience. There was something off about Sep, beyond even the knife and the lack of social graces. It was the energy she put out. This weird kind of dangerous static you could only feel when you are actually there. Right next to her, like she was some kind of human bug zapper. You can feel it radiating off of people sometimes

And it was radiating off a SEP Like a Chernobyl nuclear reactor How'd you get into that? I asked Figuring it was what she wanted to hear Set drummed a long alien digits on the seat She'd just spent the last few minutes maiming I always knew I was going to be a movie style when I grew up I didn't think I had it in me

But he was just bitter Ever since mum left He'd just sit by the fireplace and drink, then he'd get mean and start talking with his fists. I hadn't signed up to receive Sepp's whole autobiography, but I had no intentions of disrupting a flow. As she spoke, I noticed the wet patch was expanding on the left side of a mask below the endlessly staring prosthetic eye. Dad never got me. He didn't get that I was meant to be an actor, that I could make him proud up on the silver screen. He said I was ungrateful,

and I was going to run away just like mom. Stupid old ass, she hissed. I got sick of hiding cuts and learning how to cover up shyness. This wasn't supposed to be my life, you know. I was meant for something bigger. Sips one bulging eye made frantic contact with my own, searching for approval. I gave an emphatic,

please don't hurt me, nod, that seemed to satisfy her. She continued. So I saved up. Did our job. hit my money where he wouldn't find it, and eventually bought a plane ticket to L.A. I had it all planned out. I was going to live my dream. But the night before I was set to leave, the asshole found my ticket.

He found my damn ticket. She let out a manic, delirious laugh that I swear even made Santa glance back to Chechnos. I kept looking outside, searching desperately for my stop. It couldn't be much longer. I knew that much. But until then, I was Sepp's captive audience, and this wannabe movie star certainly knew how to command the stage. Next thing I know is knocking the wind out of me, saying everything he's been telling me for months. Oh, you think you're going to be in movies? You think you've got a face for the big screen, do you?

So I'm laying there, bleeding and crying, and Dad grabs the poker out of the fireplace. It's been sitting on the coals for a while now, so it's real hot. In the moment, my eyes can't help but dart over to her hands, those pale masses of scar tissue, and the ever-expanding wet patch on a mask. He says to me, get this, he says to me, let's see how the camera's like you now,

and he presses the damp poker against my face. Let me tell you, Brian, it hurt like hell, like literal hell, fire and brimstone. I tried to grab it and pull it off, but he just held it there. Ten years later, I can still remember, remember the hissing sound, and the smell.

Oh man, the smell. She attentively lifted a scarred hand to her face and hooked a shaking finger around the left strap of a mask. It's almost funny. When Seth pulled away the mask, the first thing that caught my eye was a silver glint of a nose ring, rather than the ruin underneath. The lower left side of her face was a mess of stringy scar tissue

and exposed teeth, leading all the way back to the jawbone, up to the wise and left cheek and beyond. The teeth were shiny, with thick strands of saliva, worked up over the course of the story. The side that could still be called a face seemed to grin.

I lost an eye, lost half my mouth, couldn't move my hands for weeks. They got all messed up when I tried to grab the poker, you see. And even worse, all those asshole casting agents wouldn't take my calls. Nobody wants to represent the freak with a messed up face and the stupid voice. Seps said, spraying spittle out of the large hole on the left side of her face.

She dabbed away the mess with a handkerchief, one I assumed she probably kept for this purpose in particular, then hooked the mask back around her ear and sighed. Left home after that, conversations around the dining room table got a little awkward and I couldn't even eat cereal without spilling the milk out of my face. But I didn't let it stop me. Even if nobody would cast a person like me, I'd work myself into the industry sideways.

That's how Rodriguez did it. You ever read about Rebel without a crew? Changed my life. I saw it in the distance. The next stop was mine. I was so close to being free. I reached out and pressed the stop button next to the seat in front of me.

I learned the ropes and bought the equipment myself. Cep continued. I've made hundreds of movies since then. Hundreds, and I'm in all of them. I even put my dad in one of them. and once I found a distributor I started to make a living off of it my movies get bought by people all over the world

I'm living my dream Brian the bus finally crowned to a halt and I stood up it was nice meeting you I said to Sep and I'm glad it all worked out in the end as I started to walk away when a sip's scarred hands

grasped my wrist she was startingly strong I couldn't move away even if I wanted to. You're a good listener, Brian, she said, reaching into a coat with the other hand. Here, take this.

She shoved a DVD case into my hand. It's my latest movie, and I think you'll really like it. It's an original copy, worth a lot of money. My distributor would be mad if you knew I gave this to you, so don't tattle, okay?

She gripped my wrist, squeezing and ascending nod out of me like fresh lemon juice. Then finally let me go. Hey, you're getting off, buddy. I ain't got all night. Santa called back from his plexiglass booth. I started walking down the aisle towards the door,

hearing her last few lisping words echo through the bus behind me. Can't wait to hear what you think, Brian. As the bus pulled away, I saw Sep waving at me from the window, and I gave a half-hearted wave and return. The boss disappeared. into the distance, taking her with it.

Within a few days, my car would be back in service, and I'd never have to slumber at the nightmare bus stop ever again. The ordeal was finally over. I could relax at long last. I know what you're thinking. Did you watch the DVD? Hell yeah. Of course I did, but not straight away.

Truth be told, that night I left it on my coffee table and went to sleep. Life's wheels don't stop spinning because some random eccentric decides to pull a knife and spill the gutsteer on the bus. In less than 12 hours, I'd be selling tickets,

prepping screen rooms and swarving popcorn a mess for minimum wage once more. The DVD case sat there on my coffee table for three days, gathering dust and occasionally getting used as a coaster. It was only when the weekend

finally hit that I could actually watch it. And in hindsight, I wish that week had never ended and that weekend had never rolled around I wish that DVD case had remained a coaster until the day I died. I was expecting one of three things, some home movie vlog BS,

the OI Adult Movie on Neil Green-level delusional ego trip. What I didn't anticipate was the actual content of that goddamn DVD. When I hit play, the words Piggy Goes to Slaughter 2 flashed up on a dark screen set to blaring techno music. Smash cut to a large man, bound up with a series of leather harnesses suspended from a mithook in a darkened room with sheet plastic all over the ground. His skin was slick with sweat and blood. The only clothes on him was some sole underwear, yellowed with pee and a rubber pig mask that covered the top half of his head.

It looked stapled on. The man struggled against his restraints. His screams muffled by lipstick-red ball gag. Another figure entered the frame. They were tall, dressed in boots, tattered jeans, a leather butcher's apron, and a short-sleeved shirt that showed off complex tattoos running up and down the lengths of both arms. Roses and barbed wire. They held a long, dirty buckknife in one of their clothed hands.

Squeal, piggy-pigy, squeal! Sepp's thick, unmistakable lisp mangled the S. times. I could hardly believe what I was seeing. She was wearing a leather mask that covered more of her face this time, with a dark, greasy hair tied back and a one eye swiveling madly, taking it all in. The whole thing was depicted in one, still, indifferent wide shot, probably from a tripod set up a few feet away. The composition and lighting left nothing to the imagination. She ran her fingers down the bound man's abdomen, playing with his chest hair and petting him like an animal.

He quivered in fear and whimpered pitifully at the touch. Sep laughed and turned to the camera, presenting the knife for all to see. I knew it well. It was the exact same knife as she was using on the seats. Had she been filming this earlier that day, just hours before she got on the bus with me? We're going to take some of pig is prime cuts,

she said with an exaggerated enunciation, like a sadistic kids TV host. Then we're going to open up his belly and play around with what's inside. I called the police that day. It was the only way I could live with what I saw. Cep was living out all the twisted little movie star fantasies and other people were dying to make them a reality.

There'd been nothing to gain from going over every awful little detail in that video. But I'll tell you two things. It was a long video, and the man that Sep called Piggy was alive for most of it and believe me that isn't a good thing I told the cops everything

where I'd met Sep and when what I'd heard on the phone call that named Cal the claim about a studio in the city the story about how a father maimed her the fact that she'd apparently made hundreds of movies and someone somewhere was distributing them all over the world

and of course I gave them the DVD itself If I didn't give it to them, I would have destroyed it. That thing didn't belong anywhere other than rotting in inebrience locker. If that's where this whole thing ended, I don't think I would have shared this. I would have left it in the hands of the police and tried to forget it, tried to go back to living my boring little life of selling movie tickets, cleaning floors and living paycheck to sub-buyer paycheck.

I figured a movie star like Sep would probably just get off on the attention anyway. But that isn't where it ended. Because earlier today, I found a new DVD case sitting in my coffee table, written on the disc in Sharpie with the words, Piggy goes to slaughter, and a handwritten note was slotted into the case. The following is the content of that very note. You promised not a tattle. Very disappointing.

But what concerns me more is, that you didn't enjoy the movie. Don't worry, I don't blame you for that. I made the mistake of sending you the second Piggy Goes to Slaughter First. And trust me, you lose a lot without the context and set up of the original. Just to be a pal, don't tell anybody about this one. After all, I still need to cast a new lead man for part three. Signed.

Sep. A few weeks ago, I was invited to a party. by one of my old friends. Since we had all become adults with busy lives, we barely got together anymore. It had been at least two years since all of our high school group had been in one spot at the same time. The most well-off of the group, Greg, had a place on the beach. It was a pretty decent-sized place, and I shuddered to think about how much he paid for it. But it was kind of him to offer it up for the weekend.

None of us could pass up the chance to relax and party. By the time I got to his place, it was packed. Most people had brought a plus one or a plus two. There was a lot of unfamiliar faces, but I quickly was introduced and started to get along with my old friend's new partners. Mostly everyone was drinking and music was playing, but it wasn't like a college party or out-of-control riot. That disappointed one person.

Stephen. We all like Stephen in our own way. but everyone could only deal with him for so long. I arrived late to Greg's place and by the time I arrived Stephen was already drunk. He was badgering the other guests in ways only he could.

So Greg very kindly asked Stephen to go for a walk on the beach and see if he could find any cool shells. I only saw Stephen for a few minutes before he was off on his treasure hunt. Catching up with everyone else was a good time. I listened mostly. because since college, I didn't really have much going on.

I hadn't made any effort in dating and just started to work most of the time to pay off my student loans. But my old friends enjoyed having someone to talk to about their new adult lives and appreciated me just listening. As time ticked by, Greg got a little bit worried. He was too quiet. He did want to break from Stephen,

but he had been gone for too long. The sun was going to set, and he was worried he might have passed out on the beach or was harassing someone else. Because I had spent the least time with Stephen, and I didn't mind him. I took the bullet and volunteered to go and find him. If I couldn't find him while walking the beach, and if no one could reach him on his phone, we would get more serious about looking. The walk along the beach was nice. I was glad to get out for a little while. I did like seeing all my friends.

but with being as busy as I was I never got to just take a walk and enjoy my surroundings Greg had worked hard to be where he was in life I hope he took the time to take walks like this just listening to the waves and smelling the salty air I almost hoped I didn't find Stephen but around a pile of rocks right near the end of the beach before it turned into a cliff

he was standing looking at something as I got closer I thought I would figure out what he was looking at, but I had no idea. I had never seen something like it before. Oh, hey, Stephen said, looking over at me when he noticed me walking up. His speech was still a little slurred, but I think this discovery sobered him up a little. What even is that? I asked him, hoping he had any idea. What we were looking at was a cube.

It came to about my waist. It was transparent and looked like it was made of clear gelatin. It did sort of look like a clear block of ice. Aside from mine and Stephen's footprints, there were no tracks explaining how it got onto the beach. Maybe the sea washed it on shore. I don't know. It doesn't feel cold. Some sort of jello, Stephen asked.

Before I could stop him, he reached out of hand and slapped the thing. It made a squishy wet sound and rippled slightly. Not as much as I expected. I honestly didn't think it was the best idea to touch the thing. Who knew what chemicals it was covered in or where it even came from? A smart person wouldn't touch it with their bare hands. But Stephen was far from smart. He was our dumbest friend, and we, in a way, liked him because of that,

even if it got annoying really fast. I'm going to put my dick in it. Stephen's words caught me so off guard, and I couldn't speak for a few seconds. This was beyond Stephen Dom. That idea was just gross. It made my ears turn red, even though I usually don't get embarrassed easily.

What? No, why would you? I was spluttering. Why'd you do that? You don't even know what it is. He was smiling at me with a drunken gleam in his eyes. It was hard to tell if he was kidding or just wanted to mess with me

When his hands reached for the waistband of his cargo shorts My hands shot up over my eyes and disgust Dude don't be gross You don't even know if it's safe to touch it I heard him cackle over my discomfort And kept his shorts on It's just some weird yellow stuff It's not some weird alien goo

Here, look He shot out his arm and shoved it into the clear cube The mass parting like slugting like slime, letting Stephen's arm sink inside. Being the overgrown child he was, he kept squishing his arm in and out and making lewd sound and laughing. I was not at all impressed. I considered just leaving him and even started to walk away when a scream made me stop. Stephen's face was twisted in horror as he was pulling on his arm, looking like he was unable to remove it. My good nature got the better of me.

Not considering it as a joke, I ran over and hooked my arm under his to try pull him back. Yo, dude, it's a joke, Stephen answered laughing at my worry and shrugged me off. He started to pull his arm out, but stopped right below the elbow. I wanted to hit him for making me worried like that, but I only scowled. He was a jerk, but he was still a friend. Stephen only had a crooked grin on his drunken face for a few seconds He kept pulling on his arm

But his look started to fall He pulled and tugged and even though I was just pranked I started to get worried Are you stuck? I asked while watching him struggle Still standing behind him ready to help No, it's like a let's suction thing If I wiggle I can just I watched as he wiggle

and struggled to get his arm free of the cube. When asked for help, I was ready to jump in and start tugging again. But if that didn't work, I didn't know what else to do. I wasn't going to touch the cube, and I didn't have my phone on me. I was using it for directions to get here. I asked Greg to plug it in for me as soon as I walked in and didn't grab it in my way out to find Stephen. I would have to leave him to get help.

Hang on, I got it. With one final grunt of effort and one great pull Stephen got his arm free of the cube mostly free I heard a sickening wet ripping sound as his arm came out but left part of it behind

I had heard the term D-gloved for a workplace safety video but because the images were so gruesome they never showed us photos D-gloved was a word I never hoped I ever had to use or ever have to see. The shock hit him before any pain.

Stephen stared down at his red arm, lays of skin removed, starting under the elbow, unable to react. My stomach turned. Unable to help it, I turned away from him and lost all the contents of my stomach. Something went up through my nose and my eyes started the water from the pain, but I kept dry heaving. I was never able to deal with blood. seeing such a bad injury

was beyond something I could handle I don't know if it was the rage or pain but Stephen started to scream shortly after I started to puke I was facing away from him so I didn't see what he was doing and I couldn't stop him I heard slapping sounds between his screaming

like a sound of someone hitting wet sand the moment I was physically able I stood up rowing my eyes to look at him I wanted to drag my friend back to the house to get him medical treatment, but my dumb friend had different ideas. Stephen was kicking at the clear cube, screeching. The part of his arm that remained was dissolving inside,

and in a few seconds it was gone. His foot was just bouncing off the cube, and he must have thought it was safe because he was wearing sandals and his bare feet weren't touching the thing. I screamed at him to stop with my raw throat, but it was too late. With one final kick, his leg sunk in deep inside the cube. I grabbed him under the arms again, willing myself not to puke,

and started to pull so scared and frantic to think of any better ideas. Somehow, he had enough wiggle room to move so he was face to face with me, but still stuck. I didn't look at the cube. For him to turn like that, he might have done a number on his ankle. I feared it was already dissolved by the cube. Both of us screaming and yelling for help, he wrapped his arms around me, begging for me to save him. I pulled and used all my strength to try and get him away from that dangerous man-eating object he was stupid enough to touch.

Even if he lost a leg, maybe, if I was fast enough, he could be saved. My skin crawled where his bleeding and injured arm grasped me, but I refused to let go. I desperately wanted to pull him free and bring him back to Greg's house. I heard that Justin's girlfriend was studying to be a nurse If I could just get him back, he would be all right I believe that Until Stephen stopped screaming I was sweating and shaking

I looked down at him to see an expression on his face That made me turn cold He was smiling It's all right, it doesn't hurt Come with me His arms tightened around my waist Unable to stop him, I felt myself being dragged closer and closer to the cube. Both his legs at some point had been taken inside.

I only saw up to his knees and the cube started to drag more of him inside and soon to be myself. Or while he grinned like a maniac. I struggled, but I had already used up all my energy trying to save him. I was doomed unless someone came by and saw us. But I doubted anyone cared enough about Stephen to come home. looking. After all, I hadn't actually been gone for very long. It was my turn to beg and plead. I sobbed, begging Stephen to let me go. I clawed out his good arm, not able to bring myself to

touch his skinned one, even in that condition. Stephen was gone. I knew that. I could no longer save him. His waist was inside the cube, the rest eaten away. I thought that was to be my fate. but something happened His expression changed Suddenly he let me go And with his good arm punched me as hard as he could in the face My world went black for a few seconds When I came to I was on the ground

My friend with a scared yet relieved expression on his face Run It was his last word to me Almost like the cube was angry at him for letting me go the rest of his body was sucked inside and lost to any rescue. I crab walked away from it as fast as I could, head swimming and vision fading. My face pounded from where he hit me,

but I was thankful for it. My eye would be black for some time. It really didn't hold back at all. I stared in horror as the last of Stephen was dissolved away. I gave me and the cube some distance. I was still positive it could somehow sense me and get me. But instead of coming for me, the cube, now clear from eating away the last of my friend, started to glide away on the sand. He went slowly towards the sea, touching the lapping

waves. I didn't know what I was doing, but I felt a crazy pull towards it. I stood up on shaking legs and started to follow it. It disappeared inside the sea, and yet I couldn't stop my body from following. I walked and walked, screaming at my body to stop. When I was waist deep in the sea, Stephen's face and his last word came to my mind. That snapped me out of whatever trance I was in. In a panic, I forced myself out of the water and started to run towards the house. When I got inside, I was so frantic, I tripped over the welcome mat and smashed my face against the shoe rack. It cut open my forehead, and I was out of the house. to gain for a few minutes. The party had stopped, worried about me. When I was awake enough,

I begged someone to go and help Stephen. Greg had already called an ambulance for me, but was ready to call for more help. I couldn't tell them the crazy story of the strange Manitin Jello Cube, so I made up a lie. I said Stephen was drunk, tried to go swimming and went under. I tried to save him, but I was a bad swimmer. Bad swimmer was a understatement. I have nearly drowned at least five times and drowned once. I had to get CPR and spit up water and everything. They all knew this and knew why I would come running for help. To them, if I tried to save him, they would have two drowned victims on their hands. And they did try to find him. I needed stitches for my forehead. And because so many people saw me bash my face,

none of the police officers thought Stephen had hit me, that we got into a fight and I drowned him. they bought the story of him being drunk and going swimming. I don't know if I could have held under questioning if they thought anything else. The reason why they so quickly accepted my explanation is because they already had six missing persons suspected to have drowned. When I heard, I had to look into those cases. None of the cases reported seeing something strange, just that their loved ones went swimming, then just gone.

I hadn't learned anything to prove my strange experience, but then I started to look at different cases in the next city over, and then the next. After hundreds of hours of researching and hundreds of missing persons cases, I could tell two things. If that clear cube was real, it was moving up and down the coast. Once it hit one town, at least 16 people went missing near and in the sea, and it would move forward. further down the coast to do the same in a different area. And the second thing I could figure out, there was more than one of these creatures. Both the east and west coast had the same pattern.

I could tell there were at least six of these creatures. I don't know what they are. All I know is if you see something strange on the beach. Don't approach it. And be careful, swimming. But as long as I could remember, I've had the phrase you will grow into a fine person embedded into the back of my mind. For some reason, that made me look at life a bit differently the most.

I was never worried about what kind of job I held down or making any serious mistakes in my life. That one sentence was my truth. No matter what happened or what I did, as long as I was still alive, I would become a fine person. It was only recently I found out who told me that phrase. and why I should have cared more about putting some sort of purpose to my life. I had come into my money. On a whim, I bought a lottery ticket when I was at the corner store getting a cold drink. I had never actually bought a ticket for myself.

I would go into lottery pools at work, or buy some tickets for my family, but never won for myself. It was a bit out of character, but I never considered guessing why I bought it, even after I won. The amount was enough for me to live comfortably If I was careful with my spending I could retire before my mid-20s Even after giving my parents a share So they could retire as well I was never close with my parents

And I had no reason for the emotional distance I love them, sure But I can never bring myself to go out of my way To do things like meet up for family dinners Or play catch in front of the yard with my father They didn't seem too bothered with the distance I was a fairly lonely person Very much the type to go missing

And not have someone noticed for three months With my newly filled bank account I decided first thing was to find a better place to live My apartment wasn't in the best area But it was affordable Now I could afford a place with 16 bathrooms if I liked But I figured that to be a waste if I was alone I did some house hunting alone

and found a nice place with a reasonable price. I hadn't even bothered getting a new car yet. I still owned a near the end of its life truck I bought for a few hundred bucks. It was good enough for me to get to the open house that day. But I never got to the location I picked out. Despite living in the same city my entire life, I got lost. I somehow ended up on a side street. It was a nice neighborhood.

The sidewalks cracked. the area looking like it was stuck years in the past, but it was nice. Each front yard was huge, big enough to host a tree that towered over every other house. Although I had gotten lost, I felt like I knew this neighbourhood. I slowly drove down the street, looking for a place to park, so I could use my phone to get directions to the open house. Because I was going so slowly, when a dog ran out into the weather-worn road, I was at no risk to hit it.

From where the small dog came running, a child followed behind. She was calling after the dog and not watching where she was going. I had stopped my truck in the empty street and watched as the poor girl tripped over the curb, smashing a knee. She wailed for a dog and over a new scrape. Her father, I assumed, came running out from the house to go to a side. In a strange days, I stopped my truck and got out. Is she right? I called out.

She's fine. Did you see where our dog went? The father asked after he picked up his sobbing daughter. I did see where the dog went. He had run down the driveway and I guessed into the backyard of the place across the street. I'll try and find him. I offered and took off trying to track the small white dog down. The driveway ended in a gate that was a jar.

I heard barking and, hope the owners forgave me for trespassing. It only took a minute or two to collect the dog and start back towards the road. But the owners of the house must have seen a stranger coming to their backyard. A man came out onto the porch to see what the fuss was about, followed behind with a woman. Sorry to go into your backyard, I just wanted to get him back, I apologised. They looked between each other. Not looking worried exactly, but at a stressed look I couldn't place.

I returned the dog to his owners and the little girl stopped sobbing when she had him in her rounds again and he looked bloody but she no longer cared her father thanked me for the effort and took them inside to get his child cleaned up the couple on the other side of the road

was still on their porch I gave them a wave sorry again no problem was the gate unlocked I swore I'd closed it the man asked he looked at least ten years older than myself and kind. It was a little open, maybe the latch is broken, I suggested. He gave me a friendly shrug,

and I got back into my truck. I was still parked in the road, but the street I was on looked like it didn't get any kind of traffic. I picked up my phone to try and get some directions, but for some strange reason, it didn't turn on. I fiddled with it for a few moments, and finally gave up. The couple hadn't gone inside when he said stay to talk to each other. I felt bad for interrupting, but I was still lost after all. Do you two know how I can get to Main Street? I got turned around and I'm late for an open house. For a moment the woman looked a bit pale. She recovered and just gave me a friendly smile. Just go left at the end of the road and keep going straight. You'll see the turn for it. If you hit the big hill, you've got to

too far. If your open house doesn't work out, it turned around again and come back here. We're considering on moving. After her partner spoke, the woman took his hand and gripped it tight. In that moment, I didn't notice how tight or that she was suddenly forcing her smile. I figured she was just stressed over the idea of moving. I was stressed even though the process would be easy. Sure. Would you mind giving me your number? I got a nod and the man went inside and came back with a sticky note he had jotted down his number and their names. He handed it to me through my truck window. I gave him a thanks and doubted I would ever see them again as I drove off.

I didn't arrive to the open house. The street had been blocked off by emergency vehicles and I watched in shock at the dark smoke ballooning out from where I guessed the for sale house in question was located. I hoped no one had gotten hurt. What bad luck for the owners. I was too lazy to start at my job hunting again. Instead, the next day I called a nice couple I'd met. They offered to let me come by and look at the house whenever I liked.

They were Henry and Carol Jones, both perfectly lovely people. Henry gave me a big handshake the moment he saw me. Carol had gotten cookies and juice ready for us. They showed me around the house and I could tell they had done a major clue. cleaning spree for me. I felt flattered over all the kind of tension, but at the same time, just below the surface, they look stressed. Layed off from work, Henry said, explaining their strange mood. I guessed he saw that I knew they were stressed. Happening to a lot of people, that's why we want the place sold fast. We found a perfect place for us. Doesn't cost much. We'll be

happy for the rest of our lives there. I looked at the living room. It smelled clean and the summer sun came through the large open windows. I hadn't been in the house before, but oddly it felt like home. It felt like I was meant to be there. I would be glad to be able to help out a good pair of people. I could afford to pay double the raskin price, triple if they let me. The living room had faded and the wallpaper slightly peeled. I ran my hand over the top of it, taking in the thought of me living there.

and I like the thought All right how do we get this sale started It was another month Until Henry and Carol could officially move out I was fine with that I came over and helped them pack At some point I was spending more time

Over their place than my own apartment I'd bought the place But it was still their home for the time being I greatly enjoyed their company And hoped they weren't moving far During that month Something was bothering me Something so minor

I didn't feel like troubling them with it It wasn't something troubling Just strange I was the type of person to not dream Or not remember them when I woke up But for that month I was dreaming I was younger

Maybe six with my parents We drove looking at different houses and finally arrived at Henry's and Carol's Place. I knew by the wallpaper. I had been sat on the couch, eating a cookie while my parents stalked boring adult stuff. My cookie was finished and I was ready to cause trouble when someone handed me another cookie.

I couldn't see their face in the dream, but I knew they were the most beautiful person I'd ever seen. I can only have one, my six-year-old self told the stranger. It's all right. I won't tell. I couldn't tell the person's gender. Their voice sounded like a waterfall in spring. Something so soft, and yet had a hint of a cold edge. The hair was done up in complex braids and pulled back.

It was an odd colour I can't describe. Yellow, that shimmered green. Do you live here? I asked the person. I do, with a lot of people. Would you like to move in? I always woke up at that point I stayed in bed trying to recall anything more

the person's face my answer anything but I was stuck it felt like it was all on the tip of my tongue the final day of packing came the three of us stared at the boxes

and I felt like Henry and Carol meant more to me than my own parents in the course of the month please don't go too far go and visit any time you like I told them trying to act like an adult and fight back tears. Oh, don't worry. We'll always be here.

We all gave each other a crushing hug, and I had to leave to organise moving on my own end of things. I wished I stay longer, because I never saw Henry and Carol again. I got moved in, all alone for a few weeks. I got into a routine of sleeping, eating and reading. My life was pretty boring. I did try and fix it by calling my two friends,

but the number they gave me didn't go through. I didn't freak out at first. They might not have gotten things set up yet. But as time went by, and I still couldn't track them down. I started to get worried. But they were adults. I liked them,

but they were in a way strangers. I had no right to track them down if they didn't want to see me. I would give them some more time to contact me first. As more time passed, I started to get anxious. I even considered hiring a private detective to track them down. I had the funds, but that was just a crazy thought. They were just busy adjusting, job hunting or just relaxing.

No reason to go over the deep end. I decided to keep myself sane I would get myself some sort of hobby. The house was older. but in pretty good condition. For some reason, Henry and Carol had taken off the wallpaper in the living room right before I arrived. The whole house smelled of fresh paint for a few days after I moved in. I missed that wallpaper and wished they'd left it. I sat on the couch in the middle of the day on my phone, looking at tutorials and how to apply wallpaper,

when I heard a voice. You don't like the new wall colour? I jolted up out of the couch, heart beating out of my chest. I relaxed seeing who's speaking. It was the person I dreamed about. So I must have fallen in asleep in the couch. But in the dreams, I couldn't see the person's face. But now, I could.

It was a perfect face. So perfect and so beautiful, it couldn't be real. I was scared again. I started to sweat when they took one step towards me. Their limbs strangely a bit too long, fingers too thin and nails too pointed. Sharp perfect teeth smiling at me, and eyes glittering, watching as I stood up on my shaking feet. Who? I croaked, but my throat was suddenly dry.

You'll grow into a fine person. The person, no, creature answered back, in a voice tinkling with a bell-stinkling. with a bell-sounding laugh. I got a sudden case of vertigo. I clutched the couch arm to stay upright. I had spoken to this thing when I was a child. The memories came flooding back. I sat on the couch, eating a cookie it gave me,

and I had answered, I very much would like to live in that house. I think I could love you when you're older. If I give you the means to purchase this house when you're older, Would you come back here? Would you live with me? With us? I would like to fill this house with people I love. The creature had told me so many years ago. What if I don't use the money to buy the house? What if I buy toys instead? My child self answered back. Oh, I know you won't. That's something a bad person would do.

I don't like bad people. I know one thing about you. You'll grow into a home. fine person. My legs shook and I felt myself nearly giving into a faint. That thing had the same smile as it did then. I felt it placed one hand on my shoulder and I wanted to shake it off. But to my horror, I realized I liked the hand there. I couldn't look at a far too perfect face. I was under its spell. I had a fluttering in my stomach. A start of an adoration I knew would spell my end. No matter what I did, I knew in time I would love this monster, and the truth made my stomach turn. Where's Henry and Carol? I asked weakly, not looking up. I wanted to

cling onto my sanity for a few more minutes. The creature led out a laugh. It wrapped its long, thin limbs around me, and I was unable to struggle. My body accepted it as my mind screamed to fight back. They never left. No one leaves this place. I like that, filling up houses with people I love. Once you've accepted my suggestion to live with me, you'll never leave either. Sadly, houses fill up so fast. I was glad I'm able to get a few more into this one before I move on to the next. My throat tightened and tears started to sting my eyes. I suddenly understood why the living room wall looked so freshly redone, and why Henry and Carol looked so concerned during their final days,

and why they put off moving for as long as they could, and why I could no longer contact them. The creature holding me notice my tears and held me tighter, shushing me and petting my head like one would do with a dog. I've lived here for a while, with whatever it is. I order food in, and I don't need to work. Just me, that creature that loves me, and whoever else is trapped inside this house out of sight. Most of my time is spent in the living room, talking to Henry and Carol, expecting the empty room to answer back.

Whatever brought me here, either has gotten bored of me, or didn't love me as much as it thought it would. When it thinks I'm not listening, I've heard it on the phone, calling up to plan an open house in the future. I may not have a lot of time left before I pick someone else. But, at the very least, I won't ever be alone in this house. My mother has lived in the same apartment building for the last two decades. Even three years ago, when she had a car accident and went through six months of therapy to be able to walk again, she refused the move from the fifth-story home she'd had since I moved away for college. I tried to point out that while she was getting around,

found okay with a new cane, a ground floor place would be a lot more convenient. She'd nodded toward the hallway and she pointed out that the elevator made every floor the ground floor. When I asked her what she'd do if the elevator was out or there was a fire, she just shrugged. Well, I guess I'll just tumble my ass down the steps. My mother's attachment to her apartment isn't limited to the place itself, of course. She likes the neighbourhood and she also likes a neighbours. apartment buildings are funny A lot of the times you live with dozens of other people

without knowing them at all But her building had enough long-term tenants That over time people grew familiar with each other They chit-chat in the hallway Occasionally they might have a party or water each other's plants For her part my mother was among the most social Of the social butterflies in the building She worked from home

Which gave her plenty of opportunities to encounter the strangers around her and make them something more. Her next-door neighbour, Mrs. Saber, had been one of the closest friends for a number of years. I remember in my twenties, I'd come home to visit and they'd be hanging out like college roommates in one apartment or the other, talking, watching a movie,

or having a couple of drinks. Then, very suddenly, he just stopped. Mom stopped mentioning her at all, and when I asked her what Mrs. Saber was up to, she just sound anxious and changed her subject. It wasn't until a few years later that Mom told me that her friend had got all ties with her and pretty much everyone else in the building some time back.

At first, she hadn't known why. She'd been worried she'd offended the woman somehow, or that something was wrong. She tried to call or get her to the door multiple times, but she refused to respond beyond telling her through the door that she wasn't interested in socialising anymore to please go away. And so, as much as it hurt and worried her, she had. I could tell as she told me about the death of her friendship that it caused her a lot of pain,

and I found myself both sympathising with my mother and feeling resentment towards the woman that had been a good friend to her for so long. I asked Mom if she'd ever found out the reason behind the sudden change. She had. That had been the reason for a call, and her confession to me. Just that morning, all of the tenants had gotten a note in their mailboxes from Mrs. Sabert. It said, in short fashion, that for the past several years, she had been dealing with a degenerative neurological disorder,

and that it had been her decision to withdraw from active social life for reasons that were her own. But that, as she neared the end of that decline, she was going to have regular nurse care that would likely turn into full-time hospice care in under a year. She offered this note as a brief apology and explanation for the issue. equipment and staff that might be utilizing the elevator and briefly cluttering the fifth floor hallway from time to time. She thanked everyone for their past friendship and asked that they continue to respect a wish for privacy. My mother was crying as she told me this. She said that she'd had the strong urge upon reading the note to go to Mrs. Sabre and tried to talk to her anyway.

Let her know she was there for her any time she needed anything. Yet as she headed down the hallway with a well-meant plan in her head. She saw the woman's door was already open. Two large men were man maneuvering a large hospital bed in through the narrow front door frame, grunting and muttering as they twisted it this way and that. Mom had looked past them into the apartment.

It was largely dark, except for patches of grey morning sun deeper inside. She could see part of the living room where her and Mrs. Saban had spent so much time together. and then after a moment she realised she was seeing

Mrs Sabre herself the woman was sitting in a chair shrunken and grey with long stringy hair and a drawn face punctuated by wide staring eyes she looked 20 years older

instead of four a ghost of the woman she'd once known mom had raised her hand in solemn greeting testing the waters to see if catching the other woman's attention might be enough to re-establish even tenuous contact.

Mrs. Sabre ties had shifted, even at a distance. Mom had been sure she'd seen her, but she didn't smile or wave, didn't stir at all. The only signal, a glance in a direction, was there, and then it was gone, as her old friend went back to staring at. Well, she had no idea. Her heart-breaking, Mom abandoned her plan and went into her own apartment and closed the door. I talked to mom for two hours that night, doing my best to control her. Over the next few months, she would bring up Mrs. Sabre occasionally, but the mentions grew more and more sporadic.

There was no news or real signs of change, other than strange people going in and out of the apartment at all hours of the day and night. It took me a while to recognize the shift in my mother's tone when she talked about Mrs. Saber. Her voice was still laden with worry and sadness, but there was a growing thread of suspicion there as well. Once I noticed it, it was hard not to be concerned. My mother was not generally morose or suspicious person. If anything, I'd always felt she was too willing to overlook others' floors and give them the benefit of the doubt.

But with this? At first, it came across as concerned for Mrs. Saber. Was she being treated well? Or a caretakers doing their best? Were they trustworthy? But it wasn't long before a concern. concerns had seemingly shifted to the woman herself. What was she doing over there? She heard strange noises in the middle of the night, singing, animal sounds, even though there's a no pet

policy in the building. Sometimes it sounded like people were chanting something, not just one person, but several. My worry was growing at this point, not about Mrs. Saber, but my mother. In most ways she seemed the same as she always had But this weird obsession with a neighbour Was it just her way of dealing with losing a friend Just being a weird older woman Or was it the sign of some mental issue blossoming in my mother I told myself I was being alarmist

But by the third conversation about strange Terrible noises and hearing the woman over there Sing in some kind of creepy song I decided to quit verbally nodding along And help my mother through whatever was going on. Mom, could it be the TV or something? Maybe she's playing it louder and you're just hearing that.

No, I'm not stupid. I've never heard anything like this from her apartment before and we certainly never used to watch anything that sounded like that. Yeah, I mean, I get that, but that doesn't mean that's not what it is. Maybe she's watching a lot of horror movies or something. I know you don't know her that well, but Cecilia can't stand horror movies and I certainly don't think she'd be watching that kind of thing now with, well, whatever is going on with her health, given the way that she looked when I last saw her, I don't know that she's watching much

of anything. Maybe, but maybe not. Her tastes might have changed, right? Or maybe she always like that kind of stuff, but she kept it from you because she knew that you didn't like it. Just because you were friends and lived next door to each other doesn't mean you know everything about her. Not trying to be mean, but I think you need to just let it go. It's upsetting you, and again, not trying to sound crappy, but it's not really a business. If she really is dying, she deserves to do it how she wants, and you dwelling on whatever she's up to over there isn't helping either of you. Mom was silent for several moments and then changed the subject.

A few minutes later, she got off of the phone. After that, we talked a little less frequently, but when we did, the subject of Cecilia Seabert didn't come up. Until two weeks ago, when I answered a phone call from a phone call from, mom as I was driving home from work. She's well. What? Who's well?

Cecilia. I just saw her walking away from the building as I came in from the store. She... Well, she looks better than I've ever seen her. Younger and stronger. She was walking by herself without any problem. And if I didn't know any better, I'd have sworn she was no more than 30. Well, I mean, that's good, right?

Yes, yes, that's good. It's just... It's strange, isn't it? How did she get well? How did she get to looking so young? It... It must be something they did over there. Something happened next door.

I can feel it. Or her medicine is helping her? Or she was just having a good day and wearing makeup? I'd just be happy she looks better and try not to worry about it. Yeah, sure, you're right. I'll just let it go. And again, I thought she had. Then, three nights ago, I got an email from my mother.

As you know, I hate sending emails. They seem very impersonal to me, and while I use them frequently for work, I try to avoid them in my private life whenever possible. In this case, however, I think it's the best means of communication, as by the time you receive and read it, I'll be done with it. We can talk about it by the phone later on, and I'm sure you'll scold me as though I were your child. But that is for later. For now, I want to tell you what I've seen and what I'm about to do. I have not, as you suggested, set aside my concerns about Cecilia. After seeing her out and about that first time, I saw her making frequent trips here and there.

I will catch glimpses out my window that faced the street, and twice I saw her while I was out myself, as she seems to be primarily frequenting the park and the shops in our neighbourhood. It wasn't until the third day of this, that I decided to approach her. Tell her how happy I was that she was doing better, maybe even suggest we get together like the old times. She was walking back from the local drugstore

when I next saw an opportunity. I fell beside her and asked her how she was doing. Up close, the difference in her was far more amazing. It's not just makeup, she really looks a lot younger. If I didn't know her so well, I'd be convinced it was a younger sister or daughter. But no, without question, it was her. Not that you could judge it by how she acted.

She knew me and was polite, but she was very distant and strange. Her words and her actions were all fine, if bordering and unfriendly. But everything else about her was wrong. Her expressions, the tone and her voice, the way she moved, it all seemed off. And not just because of the passage of time, I can tell you. She also had this odd thing she kept doing As we spoke briefly She would periodically twist her mouth slightly

It was as though she tasted something sour Neither of us acknowledged it And before I knew it She brushed me off and went on her way This could have been the end of it And maybe it should have been I admit that my feelings had been hurt by all of this More than they should have

And I focused on it more than is reasonable I told myself those very things things as I began to follow her over the next couple of days. I know how that sounds. I know at the time, and yet I still did it. Again, I expect to hear from you on it when we talk, and I won't say I'm undeserving of some choice words. But in my defence, I did it, at least in part,

because of this feeling of wrongness, of danger, that I just couldn't shake. It's bothered me for months now, and talking to her on the street. well he made it worse not better so i followed her as subtly as i could of course and to be fair i think i did a good job overall i never saw a noticing me trailing behind or set up at a nearby vantage point as she went to the grocery store or walking at the park and to be fair the mundane routine of her trips out was comforting to me she wasn't doing anything that odd or different than the old cecilia i'd known perhaps I was just overreacting after all. But then, on the fourth day of my spying, she walked past the park and into the woods that lay beyond. I almost didn't follow her. Part of it was shame for spying on her.

Part of it was fear at getting caught. Because I come to realize that, for some reason, I couldn't totally explain. I was a little afraid of her now. That may sound crazy to you. I've suspected you've worried about my mental health over the past. few months, if we're both being honest. So have I. But it didn't change the powerful feeling I had that there was something wrong with my friend.

And if I could possibly help, I needed to try. So, I followed her into the woods. She didn't go too far before reaching a small clearing and the group of people that waited for her there. A couple I recognised from town. Another two or three I'd seen coming in and out of six. Cecilia's apartment over the last few months. The rest of the better than a dozen figures circling her

was strangers to me. I was too distracted to know or care. They had encircled her as soon as she walked into the clearing. Their voices echoing off the ring of trees as they began to chant in much the same way as the noises I've told you about from her apartment. There was a large, round wicker basket in the middle of the circle and Cecilia went to it and lifted the lid off without hesitation.

glancing down into it, I saw her mouth twist slightly as she smoothed the skirt and knelt down before it. This next part, you'll think I'm crazy. That's unavoidable. But it's the truth, and I need there to be a record of this, both for me and for you. And, well, I don't want to be the only proof of this having happened, just in case things go differently than I'd like. Cecilia opened a mouth wide and leaned over the basket. At first I thought she was going to throw up, and I guess in a way she did. But it wasn't vomit that came out.

It was snakes. Thick, black and green snakes, impossibly wide and long, slid out of her mouth and into the basket, one after another. I didn't count, but there was over a dozen, far more than could have possibly been inside her, given their size. She had filled the basket by the time she was done. After it was over, Cecilia simply stood up, replaced the lid on the basket, and dabbed at the corners of her mouth for any errant lipstick.

She gave no indication of being troubled by the horrors she'd just vomited up, and after a brief glance around the group, she headed off in the direction of home. I stayed where I was for the next three hours. I watched the others carry the basket away, and I saw or heard no sign of them returning. But I was still terrified of being seen or caught, so I waited under the light started growing dim

and then made my way back to the apartment to write this email. I'm going over there tonight, right now. I can hear her over there, I think, and I have to confront her, try to help her. If I don't do it now, if I talk to you first, I'll be too scared and too weak to do it. And maybe that'd be the safer choice, a smarter choice.

But that doesn't mean it's the right one. And I'm too old to want to add any more regrets than I can help. It may be that I call you before you even read this. But if not, please don't worry. I'll call you when I'm done. Either later tonight or tomorrow. If you haven't heard from me by tomorrow night, please check up on me. But under no circumstances are you to interact with Cecilia or any strangers here.

I've debated not telling you any of this out of fear it will push you towards the very people I'm afraid of but I'm trusting you to listen to me in this if something goes wrong not that it will please let the authorities do whatever can be done and stay out of it do not catch the attention of these people and whatever terrible things they are doing I love you stay safe

I'll talk to you soon Mom, I didn't read that email until the morning after it was sent, and I naturally texted and then called Mom to see how she was doing. There was no answer the first time or the second, and by mid-afternoon I was trying her once an hour. It was around three when she picked up. Yes? Mom, I've been calling you.

I got your email. I... Are you okay? How are you feeling? Hey, I'm fine, dear, just fine. How are you? Um, I'm okay. Just worried.

Did you go over there? To Mrs. Sabot's place. Oh yes, she's doing fine too. We've actually become quite close again recently. But, I mean, that email really had me worried. The snakes and... Oh God, I'm sorry. That was meant as a joke.

I, well, me and Cecilia, got a little tipsy yesterday, celebrating our reunion and all. And we got to laughing about how paranoid and worried I've been, how I'd been telling you all this weird stuff. Well, we wound up writing an email as a kind of prank, I guess. I was going to call you last night and tell you it was a joke. But honestly, we fell asleep, and I guess I slept most of the day away. Okay, yeah, I mean, you really got me.

Damn, I... Are you sure you're okay? Fine as paint, dear. Thank you for calling. But I really must be going. Talk to you soon, okay? Um, how about if I flew out this? The line was already dead.

I'm writing this all down now, because I did fly out yesterday. At the time, I was worried that mum was hiding some kind of mental breakdown and wanted to make sure it was all a prank like she claimed. I decided against calling her, warning her that I was coming over. I wanted to see things as they were, not how she wanted to present them. I felt guilty about it But it was the only way I could be sure she was okay

So I flew into town Rented a car and drove over to her apartment I bused her apartment But there was no answer After several tries I decided to try Mrs Sabert's place No and to there either It was as I was turning around

To head back to the car That I saw them walking up the street together It took me a second to recognise them. Mrs. Saber, well, my mother had been right. She looked younger than me, and more healthy and beautiful looking than I ever remembered. As for my mother, she looked different as well. Her skin was pale and ashen, with flakes of drying skin scaling up her cheeks and arms. Her hair looked dry and brittle as broom straw, and her lips were split and scabbed at the corners, as though her mouth had been stretched too wide for too long. Despite all of the

of that. She was smiling as I approached them. Hello, dear, what a great surprise. Her voice was hoarse, but she kept a light tone as she met my eyes. Light, but uncaring. Not at all, her normal reaction

where she saw me after a few months, especially if it was a surprise. Um, hey, Mom. I glanced at the other woman who was regarding me coolly. Hey, Mrs. Sabre. Hi there, good to see you.

Her expression didn't change, but a gaze shifted to my mother. We should be going. My mother glanced at her, then back to me with a slight nod. Yes, I'm afraid so, dear. Good to see you. We all have to visit again while you're in town. I couldn't hide my surprise. What? Can't you do something now? What can I go with you guys? I'd really like to talk to you and see you for a bit. Her mouth twisted slightly

As though she'd bitten into a lemon No, not right now You really should have called before you came It's very inconsiderate She glanced at Mrs. Sabre again In any case, we are late for an appointment I'll discuss this with you later With that they walked past me

Without another glance I thought about following, about pressing the issue But there was no point Whatever strange influence Mrs. Sabot might be exerting on my mother, it was too strong. I needed to get her alone. So I'm writing this because of what I've seen, of all my mother had seen before. I don't know what parts of it I believe and what parts I don't, but I'm scared enough now that I want there to be some record of it all,

because I understand what mom meant now about the wrongness that you feel. I felt it being around Mrs. Saber. and mum yesterday. I can't tell you how or why, but there's something off beyond their appearances. Something has happened here, or is happening here, and I have to try to figure it out. I have to talk to Mom.

It seems like I wasn't the only one with that idea. As I'm writing this, I just got a text from my mother. She wants to meet tonight at her apartment around eight. I offered to pick us up some dinner and bring it over. But she said not to worry. The meal is already taken care of. Come on, Mackay, what's stopping you? Brad spoke to me over the phone.

You're single, your career's kicking off. You've got a good reputation around the block. I mean, if you ask me, I think you're more than capable of leading not only the storyboards, but concept designs too. I know I can do it. I replied, fiddling with my keys to try and open my apartment door, while at the same time trying to talk to Brad. Just give me some time to think about it at least. Is that okay?

I finally got the key in the lock and let myself in. Yeah, man, of course, Brad said. I'll let you sleep on it and I'll wait for you to tell me tomorrow that you're up to the challenge. I chuckled at his confidence. Mm-hmm, I responded. Well, thank you again, as always. I'll give you a firm answer tomorrow.

All right, brother. you take care. You too. Good night. I hung up the phone, threw my stuff onto my bed, followed then by me, and stared at the ceiling. I'd just been given the opportunity by the studio to serve as a leading consultant for storyboard and concept art on the new cartoon the network was producing. Did it finally pay off? All those years of interning, studying, drawing, and scribbling during class as a kid and not even paying attention? Guess so. In truth, I was being a little overly humble and modest over the phone to Brad, the art director

for the project. Of course I could do it. I knew that without a doubt. But I also did in favour making such fast decisions. I wasn't going to be able to sleep easily the whole night. My mind would be racing. I stepped into my art studio, surrounding. by the many colourful designs plastered on the walls.

They were creations over the years from when I was young. Some recent, some I'd made on road trips when I was bored, some during study hall in school, and countless more I don't remember exactly when I made them. Sitting on my drawing board was an unfinished project I had started last night, but didn't get around to completing, and probably weren't any time soon. It only possessed a head and shoulders,

not even hair or eyes. I don't really know what it was supposed to be. A character, an object, an animal. Who knows? That's how my imagination worked. I just sort of drew whatever comes to mind and go with it. One of the pieces hung on my wall was my first drawing. Well, first complete drawing I should add.

At least that's what my mom said it was. And looking back on it, she always knew I would have a natural talent for art. I was four, I believe, and she said it was the best drawing she'd seen from any four-year-old. Any mother would think that other child, I'm sure, but my friends and other relatives said the same. It was a drawing of what I could only describe as perhaps a hybrid between a cute little bunny and a tiger cub. It had the features of a bunny, but the fur pattern of orange and black stripes. I like to think that was due to me watching Winnie the Pooh around that time,

and having a special liking to Tigger. It was the only explanation I could think of, but as I was viewing it, I spotted a rather minuscule but distracting the odd detail I just noticed. Near the bottom right corner of the paper was a small black speck. Why was that odd?

On a piece of paper over 20 years old in which wear and tear were bound to occur? Well, you'd be amazed at how well kept this drawing was after such time had passed. The paper was never that dirty or dusty. Yet, for some reason, I was just now noticing this one little detail left behind. A little spot. It was too perfect, too intentional.

Oh sure, I just put it there myself when I first drew it as a child. That was the probable explanation. Kids do weird things sometimes. Maybe I just felt the need to put a little speck with my pencil or pen and left it there when no one but myself would notice. Then again, nothing else on the paper reflected that whatsoever, and the entire drawing was in crayon. What might have caused that?

Was it believable that I had a random pencil or pen just lying around at the time? It's plausible, but why would I have done that? I kept trying to contemplate in my head what my four-year-old self might have been thinking, but how the hell would I know? I was a pretty weird kid, and it was such a distant memory. Maybe that was my way of signing my art when I was that age, you know.

Signed here, Mackay Phillips, in a black dot. That's how you knew it was me. What the hell was I doing? I had sleep to catch up on. Brad had convinced me, and by the next two days, I was sketching new ideas and designing new storyboards for the show. I was coming up with character designs, building layouts,

suggesting what sort of colours and contrasts to use that might better capture the essence and tone of the series, a mainly action and adventure genre with some lighthearted comedy trickled throughout. I felt at times that I was overstepping my bounds at some points, but Brad suggested that was nothing to be worried about. More ideas were better than little in his eyes. I'd finished the first draft for the lead character of the show,

a minimalistic cartoon style reminiscent of Bruce Tim's illustrations. I brought my idea over to Brad for his consent, and to my pleasure, he loved it. He said he'd pitched up to the producer as well for final review to make sure that they too were pleased. Everything had to please them at the end of the day. Not most audiences understood about the business. You might make great art, but it means didly squat if the men at the top don't see the profit out of it. I was just wrapping up for the day and was getting ready to leave the studio, when Brad came by to talk to me.

Hey, Kai, Brad called to me. That was my nickname, Kai. Hey, I said back. So, bad news and some good news. Oh, want me to give you the good news first? I prefer bad news first. Cool. Well, the bad news is that Larry thinks we should change the design to something more...

Eh, how do I put it? Minimal. I arched my brow. Larry was the main producer of the show. Technically, he had final say over the creative decisions, including Brad or me. It's already minimalist, I argued. That's literally the form. I know, and trust me, man, it looks great, Brad insisted.

If you're up to me, I'd definitely keep it. But, unfortunately, the guys at the chain aren't 100% satisfied. I'd say more like 85%. They could kiss my aunt. I wanted to say. But instead, I said, All right, I'll start thinking of some new drafts, and I'll show you them in the morning.

Nah, don't lose any sleep over it. We'll work on it throughout the week and next week. Sound good? I nodded. Good. Hey man, sorry to be the bearer of bad news. It's nothing personal. It's not an attack on you as an artist.

It's just they want something, just a little more to par with what their vision is for the show. I gave the fakes reply probably in my entire life. I completely understand, I said with a smile. It's nothing. Oh, and yeah, what was the good news? Brad looked thrown off for a bit, but then regained his thought. Oh, the good news? he said.

Well, you get to try again. He gave a cheeky sort of smile that for the first time since knowing him, I had a tempting urge, similar to a bad itch. that I could knock those perfect white teeth out of his face. That night I got home and did the opposite of what Brad said and stayed up working on different sketches and ideas for new designs for the character. What was wrong with mine? I thought it was a timeless animation design and easy on the eyes.

Not only that, but from a creative perspective, it worked for the show. I knew exactly what they wanted too. Some boggle-down simplistic Calat's design carbon-con, copy that had been done many times before. I figured it was time to try something unique and fresh once again, while simultaneously being a callback to the old animation myself and other generations before me grew up on. Appreciation for effort seems to be dead these days. It was an hour past midnight, and I didn't leave my drawing board for hours. I didn't get up to use the bathroom, get a glass of water or anything. But whilst drowning myself in my work, I didn't.

I did peek over again and my first drawing posted on the wall to my left. And I noticed something that made me squint to make sure my eyes weren't deceiving me. I got up to go over and check for a closer look and my eyes saw just fine. The dot I'd seen in the bottom right corner of the paper was in a different position this time. It had moved upwards and more towards the left side of the page. Again, I was tired, this time for my own will, but I couldn't have been that exhausted to see that I was completely right. And another thing I observed, but perhaps was also tripping over due to my lack of sleep. The spot was slightly bigger this time, and more akin to a filled circle.

First, it was all as if someone planted a single dab with a pen, whereas here, it was more of a jot and a two little rotations with a ball. The next afternoon during lunch, I showed Brad what I'd come up with for the new character designs. I showed him four different alternatives for what we might use. I watched his face change from wide-eyed,

amused, confused, and bemused in one sitting. I think this one will do, he said, pointing to the first one. It was the most simplistic of all the drawings, and, in my opinion, my most uninspired piece. Of course he picked that one.

What about this one? I pointed out another. This one has more emphasis on his facial expressions and gives him a bit more emotion, you know. Yeah, but we can't have the characters stand out too far from each other, Brad said. The differences in colour will be what distinguishes them in this case. But the character designs were so much more than just colour.

Expressions of the face thought a thousand words about who the personal thing was that you were drawing. Nevertheless, I agreed with him, though not in my best interest. Grazing later that night at the other drafts I'd whipped up sitting on my drawing board in my room. I sighed with pity at the wasted time and threw them in the trash can. Whilst doing so, I glanced over and my old drawing again to see where the mystery dot might have ended up this time. I'd almost forgotten about it earlier in the day, possibly due to how ridiculous of an assumption it was. to assume a dot could magically change places across a piece of paper.

I discovered that he was in the same position I last found it. However, something was unusual again. Getting a closer look, I found that it seemed not only bigger, but I can almost swear it was beginning to appear more than just a measly spot and an entirely different shape instead. But it was too small to see with my naked eye. I took a magnifying glass from my desk and placed it at a good distance between my eye and the paper. I squinted to my right to get a good look at what I was seeing.

It didn't make sense. It was a shape, a shape of some sort of figure, a person I could have sworn. It was a black silhouette of a humanoid shape, and it looked to be an amazing detail for it to be so shimpy. I just knew that if I could somehow put a moment. microscope over it, I could get a completely detailed and intricate picture. It was so strange. It hadn't been a dot after all. It was a vivid picture, but how? I couldn't have drawn that as a kid, not at that age. Even for an adult or any skilled artist, it was practically impossible. It was unimaginably impressive to draw something of that detail in that size. I tried to see what sort of

expression or stance the figure was doing, though with closer inspection, it didn't seem to be doing much at all. It sort of just stood there, and it was just a shadow where I couldn't see any sort of emotion on his face whatsoever. However, the more I stared at it, the more I noticed, it began to unsettle me. It was so out there, so far-fetched for it to even exist right there the paper. And the question still bugged me. How did it even get there? In the first place, the next day I was off. I decided to call my mom. I knew she'd probably have a picture of it somewhere on her photo albums. How's the new job going? she asked me over the phone, excitedly. It's going, I told her. How's the blood pressure? Oh, I'm keeping it at good levels right now.

doctor says to eat less red meat, so I've been working on that. You must be struggling. Eh, it's not as bad as I thought it would. There's days I still want a burger here and there, but there are plenty of other things to cook that don't have all that junk in it. Yeah, but then there's using too much butter and seasoning knowing you. Exactly. I then changed the subject.

Hey, do you remember my first drawing? I shot the question. Uh, well, I remember a lot of your drawings, she replied. Your first drawing? Yeah, the one I took with me. It used to be in the fridge all the time. Oh yeah, the crayon-colored one. Mm-hmm.

Yeah, I remember that one. What about it? I know this is random, but I was wondering if you had a picture of it somewhere in one of the photo albums or somewhere. There's this small little detail drawn in the picture that I swore wasn't there the first time I drew it. I just want to be sure, out of curiosity, you know. Hmm, I may have it somewhere, hold on. She and I talked a bit more while she looked around through the photo books for the old drawing. She knew she'd taken a picture of it somewhere.

That's what she told us off at least. She usually did with these kinds of things just in case they ever got lost. My mother was also from a generation where photos weren't exactly scarce, but also held more value which captured special memories and memories. moments to last a lifetime, compared to nowadays, where it's easier than ever to take a photo, giving less need and may be want for a photo album. It was a good trip down memory lane for her, as she would make warm-hearted comments and exclamations of joy, as she told me all the old photos she'd turn the page over and find,

whether they be baby pictures of me and my siblings or old family vacation trips when dad was still around. Eventually, she struck gold. Well, what do you know? she said. I found it. Wow, I replied. I'm actually surprised it was that easy. That's why I keep telling you to start getting a photo album

so you can have these memories kept forever. And you can keep one for all your drawings too. I do have one for all my drawings. I'm not just talking about a portfolio, but like an actual photo book so you can show your kids and my grandkids one day. If I have kids. Give me some hope, once you.

I'll send you the picture. Thanks, Ma. You're welcome, baby. When she did send it, I paid close attention to the detail in the photo she'd sent compared to the one on the wall. Everything was practically the same,

except for one thing. The silhouette wasn't drawn on the photo my mom sent. It was only on the actual copy. So, I was right. I didn't actually draw that. I knew I couldn't have. Then who?

I decided to set up a camera one night to check and make sure no one was breaking in. It was a cheap studio apartment, and I didn't have the money and consent with my landlord just yet to install ADT or some alternative. Crazy enough, the thoughts of someone breaking into my apartment just to add an elaborate illustration was hilarious by itself, but still no less creepy. What would be the reason? Just a harmless prank from one of the guys at the studio? I couldn't think of who, and I couldn't imagine going through the trouble of trying to pull something like that off,

let alone risking a criminal offense for trespassing. Even still, the impossible and precise detail of the figure didn't seem realistic from the measly creep in the night. The next day, I looked at the drawing to find that the silhouette appeared slightly bigger than last time. Now it was starting to get quite unsettling. I had to review the footage. but what I saw led me nowhere. No one broke in, nothing changed on the paper and the camera. Everything remained unchanged.

For whatever reason, what was seen through the lens didn't reflect what I was seeing in reality. A couple of months had passed and by the end of pre-production, I'd finalised most of the concepts and storyboards, and the characters were, for the most part, set on their final designs, or rather as final as final can get. The voice actors would need to record their lines and the eventual plot would still need to be screened of course for a view so we could get a consensus on what does and doesn't work with the show.

But for now, all else was nearly wrapped up. I hadn't noticed the change in the silhouette since that night I checked the footage. I just accepted that it would be a permanent mark at my first drawing ever. Well, it bothered me a little. At least my mother had the original copy saved in our family photos. I had gotten home again and walked into my studio room and nearly jumped at the sight on the wall. The silhouette was no longer miniature,

but now grown in size, taking up nearly a quarter of the page. The texture of the grain or ink drawn into the page bore her stark presence, almost as though it would burn into the paper. It contrasted with the bright, vibrant crayon colours beside it in a very morbid fashion. with a nightly black hue.

I stepped over to the paper nervously, afraid of some unknown threatening aura that could now be felt within the room. Getting a closer look, the silhouette was filled with the most absolute darkest shades I've ever seen, like staring into a black hole. But one of the striking detail

was now apparent that gives me chills to this day. I could discern that the figure held an actual expression on its face this time. A calm, sinister smirk I grabbed the paper off the wall and put it away in one of the bottom drawers in the studio The last thing I wanted to do

Was see that thing every day I walked past it That night I slept well up until around 2 or 3 a.m When suddenly I thought I heard a noise from within the studio It sounded like a tapping or light banging against the walls or drawers I got up from my room and crept into the kitchen first to grab a knife, then sneaked over to the room. The door was already open. I'd have to flip the switch to see who was inside, if anyone. Damn, I hoped there wasn't anyone. I cautiously turned on the light to the room, the illumination straining my eyes and then quickly scanned the area.

Nobody. A sigh of relief came over me, and then I suddenly felt silly for getting worked up over nothing. I then looked down at the drawer that I discarded the drawing in, glaring at it for a moment. Why not, I thought. I put the knife down on the dresser and kneeled to open the drawer, grabbing the handle. The sight of it from last time was so eerie, yet luring. But I had already considered throwing it away ever since it became a noticeable presence. So I figured I might as I'd do that since it was giving me all this trouble. My hand pulled on the dresser handle and it opened to reveal that malicious smirk, now covering the entire page, the size of an actual head,

staring directly into my soul. I jumped back onto the floor and froze for a bit. The eyes and the face and my old drawing. It was gone. I couldn't even see it anymore. It had been replaced with whatever this thing was. After getting myself together, I immediately burned it with a grill outside on my balcony, burned it to bits and discarded them over the grass.

I watched it disappear into the night, still shaking from that god-awful sight. I might as well have killed an odd friend, a piece of my memories. I thought to myself, at least I had the original though, if not the physical copy. But when I looked back at the message my mom had sent me of the picture. It was gone. It appeared as though the file had been corrupted or something, and I was unable to view it. I had saved it in my gallery and my phone as well, right after she sent it. But still, it was nowhere in sight, like it never existed.

I tried asking my mom the next day if she could try to send it again, but to her surprise, the photo was ruined. Somehow, the image was blurred and awfully distorted to where it was unintelligible. She didn't spill anything on it, and nothing could have possibly tainted the photo from where she placed the album, she told me, as none of the other pictures were it all affected. There was really no way to explain it. It just sort of died. That was the only copy she had, the last, thiffing proof of it even existing. Later that day, I hung out and had a couple of drinks with some friends and colleagues from the studio, and pretty much went through a margin.

five stages of grief within one evening. I felt like a piece of me was now gone from losing the picture, but I knew there were countless more creations to be made and hundreds that I did create. That was the beauty of art, I told myself in a drunken, slurred speech to my buddies, that art preserves and is forever in all aspects. Or something sentimental like that. I don't really remember.

I was plastered. One of our D.Ds took me home that night and made sure I got inside my place, safely. Still inebriated, I stumbled into my room to undress, but first decided to make a trip to the studio. I turned on the light and looked around at the various other projects I'd made over the years, soaking in my vanity, glory and pride. How about that, huh? I said aloud to no one. Huh, how's that? And there's more where that came from. It was my big F-U to the silhouette, and the loss of my first accomplishment. I didn't know who was trying to prove myself to, or what,

but that didn't matter. I was so out of it, I couldn't even see the hangover that was about to hit me in the morning anyway. As I was turning to leave the room, I took a glimpse at one of the other drawings that put me in first place for an art contest back and fourth grade. It was a spin on Salvador Dali's persistence of memory, you know, the one with the melting clocks.

It was my favourite painting and I decided to do one of my own, but with a warped depiction of my bedroom at the time. In it, my bed was melting into the floor. The trophies and toys on my dresser, liquefying bit by bit. The window paint seemed to turn flimsy. Some of the walls were even oozing. I even drew it to where you could see a bit in my bathroom door open and some of the inside, like a mirror, sink, toilet, shower.

of those objects were also starting to melt, and inside the bathroom you could even see the shape of someone hiding. A shadow. I sobered up real quick again, a sphere replaced every other sensation in my body. I know for a goddamn fact that I didn't draw that there. With the help of my magnifying glass, I aimed over the bathroom door cracked open in the drawing and watched the silhouette stare directly back at me through the mirror, with that same malevolent expression, that devilish smirk. About a year has passed, and as we were wrapping a production

on the cartoon, I was offered a position as an art director for another upcoming animated series. It seemed like a dream on true in otherwise more favourable circumstances. However, I wasn't drawing like I used to. I sketched here and there, but I didn't have time anymore. I'd been managing and overseeing other artists to work, micromanaging and dictating what passes as art or not, taking note of that passion, that fire in their young, hungry eyes. It was like ripping a plant from its roots. By the end, there had been only one picture left in my studio that wasn't tainted by the shadow, a self-portrait of me in an animated style.

I stared at it with a cold, desolate visage. I didn't even recognise it anymore. I remember a time where I might have been proud of making something this grand. But now I don't know what to feel. It didn't mean anything to me anymore. And in the far distance of the background of the canvas, there I could glimpse the figure waiting. With the magnifying glass zoomed in on it,

it stood there with his arms crossed, head tilted down with that dubious grin, staring at me. It knows. It knew good and well what it was, a malevolent force with intentions unbeknownst to me. It was no use in waiting for the shadow to take its full form and completely devour the drawing with no remorse as it did with the others. It had all been lost with no way of ever recovering them.

No recollections of pictures, files, videos, nothing. All disappeared from the face of the universe. And with that, I decided to do the honour myself and burn the last one standing. I went back to my studio room, staring at the empty room. walls around me. They'd once been plastered with creations of grandeur, zest, creativity, and most importantly, individuality. I was 28 years old and didn't even recognise who I was anymore. I no longer perceive it with my own eyes, but I just felt its presence. I knew somewhere looming over me from a dimension invisible to myself, that it was still watching me,

glaring at me with that same mischievous hungry smirk