CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - 7 r nosleep Reddit Horror Stories to lock away in your mind

Episode Date: February 1, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORIES-►0:00​ "Track 54.5" Creepypasta►7:59​ "There Will Be No Counting To Ten" Creepypasta►28:53​ "I'm an urban explorer and I'll never forget what I found in an abandoned factory" Creepypasta►47:32​ "I help out at a local food bank. On Wednesday we had the weirdest donation" Creepypasta►1:03:28​ "I'm a Oceanographer Working in an Underwater Facility. Stay Away from the Depths" Creepypasta►1:46:38​ "Thirsty" Creepypasta►2:00:36​ "Give him what he wants" CreepypastaCreepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...​iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...​SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- 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/CreepsMcPasta​CREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic​ ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic​ ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt​ ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM​ ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only-

Driving a train sounds like pretty exciting work, right? Not really. When you were taking your licensing course, you get a sense of excitement, like you're part of some big, long legacy of train conductors. You imagine yourself dodging train robbers while having to solve a murder mystery, meeting guests for drinking in the diner car as they ride the rails to California or Texas.

In reality, most trains haul cargo these days. Like many others, I found myself hauling freight cars through the dark of night. At this point in time, most things on the train come down to pushing buttons and try not to hit people or things on the track. Run the horn every time you come within 100 feet of a crossing, make sure the tracks are in good shape,

note any damage or signal malfunctions, get to your destination and drop your cargo, rinse and repeat. I do the 6pm to 6 a.m. run, and most of my route is done in complete darkness. The train rolls on while I sit to the controls and Roger takes over every few hours so I can stand out on the platform and have a smoke

or eat something out of the fridge we keep in the back. We don't haul passengers, except for cattle sometimes, so there's no dining car or sleeping car or people besides Roger to talk to. After tonight, I guess I won't even have Roger. I'm pretty new at this, Roger, only having worked a few months longer than I had, and I had no idea about Track 54. All the tracks of mile markers And between track 53 and 55 is

You guessed it Track 54 It runs through a deep stretch of woods And the track is the only thing that's not trees and dirt For about 20 miles It's a lonely stretch And it gets a little creepy out there sometimes Roger says it's BS

But I could swear you can see things in the woods Watching the train as it goes by The good thing about the woods Is that there are only 10 miles from the depot we use the drop-off cargo, so once you're there, you're almost halfway done with your shift. Tonight, though, was a little different. I was sitting in the passenger seat, browsing Reddit on my phone when I heard Roger swear and cut the brakes. I braced and looked out the glass, sucking in breath when I realized why he had stopped.

It's not uncommon to get stuff in the tracks, trees or animal sometimes, but this was definitely something we would need to call in. There was a body on the tracks. Roger keyed up the mic and called it in. Engine 13 here on Track 54. He glanced at the metrics on the screen. Point five, reporting a body on the tracks. The line went dead for a few seconds before someone came back from dispatch.

Engine 13, come back. Did you say a body on the tracks? 10-4, said Roger, a human body on the tracks. More static before someone came back. back over, a different someone than the young woman who had answered before. Is it a living person or a dead person? Roger squinted at it for a moment. Does it matter?

There's a body on the tracks. It's the difference between calling the police and calling an ambulance, so yes, it matters. Roger sighed, glancing left and right to the woods, before handing me the radio. Keep them numb nuts updated while I go out and check what kind of body this is. He climbed out of the train and moved to the front I could hear him calling to the person in the tracks and getting no response The body appeared to be sleeping there

Arms and legs played out over the ballasts But I couldn't tell if they were breathing or not from the cab Roger didn't seem to want to leave the train side and investigate Probably wondering if this were a robbery of some kind It's not uncommon for people to block a track and rob a train But our cars are mostly cement powder and cinder block maybe some quarried stone and various other things like AC units or unrefined oil. Not really something a train rob we could get away with easily.

The handpiece crackled back to life as the older voice asked if we were still there. I told him we were, and that's when he asked for our location again. But the way he asked made me feel anxious. He sounded relieved that I had answered and hesitant to have my location. track 54.5, I told him, eyes still on Roger as he walked closer to the body on the tracks. Silence for a good ten seconds as I watch Roger near the man. My eyes cut to the woods for half a second, thinking I'd seen movement in the trees. Was it an optical illusion?

The only light was the big headlight and it did make the things in the peripheral look weird sometimes. Roger was near in the track now. And the mic cutting back in made me jump. Drive over it and get the hell out of there. No one is supposed to leave the cabin after track 50. Did no one tell you that? I looked back up to Roger, now poking the body with his foot, before turning back toward the train.

No, I've only been a driver for a few months. Roger and I... But as I watched Roger coming back, I saw something long and white come galloping out of the woods and snatch him up. It was like nothing I had ever seen before, like a collection of white pipe cleaners formed in some kind of weird animal and left in a backpack for a few days.

It snapped up Roger in its mouth and was over the tracks and into the woods before I could get a good look at it. Roger was there one minute and gone the next. Engine 13, engine 13, respond. Something got Roger, I yelled into the mic.

He went out to check the body and get that train in motion, now. yelled the man on the other end of the radio. I push buttons, through levers and the train started moving again. I heard the wheels tear through the body in the tracks, and wet and meaty sound, and soon it had up to 40 miles an hour again.

I found my breath coming in hitching gasps as the forest careened around me, but the creature never made another appearance. I could still see that thing as it cantered across the tracks. I could still see Roger's face, crested in terror, as it grabbed him and took him into the woods. I suddenly doubted they would ever find Roger, ever find the body I had chopped up beneath my wheels, and I knew there would be no sign of the creature at all.

When I pulled into that depot an hour later, there were people there waiting for me, people in suits from the Department of Transportation. They told me I had done the right thing. They told me I had been very brave and had saved my company millions of dollars in assets. They made me sign a lot of things and told me to take some time off. work before coming back to work if I still wanted to. They advised that I not talk to anyone about what I had seen and made me sign a paper saying I wouldn't.

Well, I guess I screwed that up, didn't I? It's been a week, and I still see that thing when I close my eyes. I researched that stretch of track, and the woods that have surrounded it have seen a good many disappearances and more than a few stories about a strange creature that lives there. There's a hiker that recently went missing there. A man with dark hair and a thick beard Who was wearing jeans and a blue shirt the last time anyone saw him A man, I would swear, I saw

Wade across the track that night that Roger was taken The line keeps calling to ask when I'll be back I just don't know if I can ever drive through those woods again After someone hears this I may not have to worry about that anymore Apparently I had become impossible to talk to unpredictable and being with me was like, quote, constantly walking our neck shells. This was Kirsty's ultimatum.

Unless I wanted it to leave, I was to attend every week, no exceptions. You'd imagine that an anger management group would be a lively bunch, but on first glance, they didn't appear to be. To my right, a woman was engrossed in a book called The Road to Happiness is paved with laughter. I rolled my eyes and let out an audible sigh. She looked up at me, but to my disappointment did not react. Her lip just quivered. Pathetic.

As I sat, I couldn't help but wonder what even happened at these things. They would probably make us sit in a circle and say things like, My name is Doreen and I'm an angaholic. They would probably make us hug each other and visualize our happy places. The bizarre image of me trying out breathing exercises, the next time I had a meeting with that dick from marketing came to mind. Oh no, I don't need an ambulance. I'm just sat here panting like a bulldog giving birth

because listening to you talk about synergistic growth marketing on a multidisciplinary platform makes me want to gouge my own eyes out. Now, if you don't mind, I'm trying to count to ten. The group leader was late. Maybe it was some kind of test to see how angry it made us. Well, I wasn't buying it.

At 7.30, no matter what, I was out of here, and we could sit in a circle singing kumbaya until then for all I cared. Some people call it anger problems. I call it assertive. I get what I want. Sometimes people have a problem with that. I nearly got fired for making Donna cry. But really, she deserved it.

I'm sure she must have screwed away to the top because there was no way that someone so stupid could possibly have earned that position. If I had the authority to fire her, I would. Look, maybe sometimes I get carried away, but better than being a push-over, right? There was nothing worse than those yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir guys. The group leader arrived at 6.16 p.m.

Lack of punctuality was another thing I have no patience for. Better yet, she couldn't have been older than 20. A normal group would eat her alive. Instead, she had this dismal lot. Shame. Welcome, everyone. My name's Stephanie. Look around you.

You'll be together for the next 12 weeks, so get along. Not too well, though, that's rule one. No contact outside of the group, no screwing each other, no meeting for coffee, nothing. A balding middle-aged man groaned in disappointment. From the moment he sat down, he had been staring at the young woman next to him. Clearly uncomfortable, she had been gradually edging the chair away from him for the last 16 minutes. He looked around, guffowing stupidly. Perverted git.

There were other rules, like not repeating, anything you heard in group about being kind to others and all that crap. The final, a most important rule, why didn't go first, this stupid cow? Was that during these 12 weeks, we must not engage in any form of violence towards others. A lot of you are here today with violence in your past. While we can talk about what happened and reflect on it, by being here and taking part in this, you're choosing a different path. In other words, keep your hands clean.

It seemed like a weird way to word it, even at the time. We went around the room. The chair-aging woman told her story of flipping out on a boyfriend for texting a woman who he worked with about work. Bald Purve, quote, he used to beat his wife, but only when she asked for it. Another man spoke of ranting out of his car window at a school bus, but driving too slow. As everyone told their stories, my first thought was how I did not belong here. Half of them had once been in prison, and the others seemingly got lucky with a lack of evidence or a weak judge. I had a bit of a temper, but Kirsty was clearly mistaken if she thought this was a place for people like me.

A gym rat told the story of how his teenage daughter's boyfriend had leaked naked pictures of her to the whole class. When he explained in detail how he hadn't held back when he saw the little punk, everyone in the group cheered. I expected Stephanie to lecture us on glorifying violence, but she said nothing. I cheered a bit too. We met once a week. Contrary to my expectations, there were no happy places or counting to ten. All we did was talk, and talk we did. Every week we listed every person who had angered us.

We were encouraged to explain in detail exactly how it made us feel, the thoughts we had and the fantasies that entered our minds. The woman who had sat next to me reading in the first session was visibly uncomfortable with this. well I guess I was a bit upset with my husband last week but it was my fault really it's nothing I'm sure it wasn't your fault why didn't you tell us more about it Stephanie said

well we were having dinner and he made a comment that I didn't dress up for him the way I used to he thinks I don't make an effort anymore I've let myself go that asshole someone said and there's a general murmur of agreement around the circle no it's not like that he's right I don't take care of

of myself anymore. I guess I don't think of myself as sexy anymore. Why don't you tell us what thoughts were going through your head when you were feeling angry with him? Well, at first they thought, how dare you? I had your kids and they ruined my body. Of course I don't look the same. And he's not making much of an effort either. He's getting older and fatter and his personal hygiene is lacking. Anyway, we talked about it and we figured it out. I was really proud of myself for staying calm and let's go back to when you were angry. What did you want to do? said Stephanie.

Well, I wanted to cry, she started. But when Stephanie gave her a stern look, she added, I guess I wanted to hurt him. How would you hurt him? Stephanie said. She was perched on a chair like a gargoy in heat. Well, the reluctant storyteller had now lowered to a whisper. Sometimes, I imagine taking a knife

and stabbing him while he's asleep. I'd stab him so many times and he'd wake up and see me standing over him and he'd beg me to stop. I just keep stabbing until there's no more places to stab. She burst into tears. Well done, said Stephanie,

her blood loss satisfied at least. The woman who fantasised about stabbing her husband didn't come back. The dynamic of the group changed. Graphic depictions of violent fantasies became normal. Stephanie encouraged him.

demanded it. Everything was someone else's fault and we were chastised for acknowledging that anything could be ours. What about you, Reese, how have things been with your girlfriend? It's been fine. We've been getting along well,

I said. She stared at me like I was challenging her. In a way, I was. All I told her about Christy was that I came here on her suggestion, and ever since, Stephanie had desperately been trying to poke me into admitting I was angry about it.

Fine, what about that dick from marketing? I laughed that she'd remembered his nickname. I've not seen him since. He's been off sick, I think. That's good news, she said and moved on. As the next week began, the fifth of the program, yet another group member didn't show up. We'd started with 12 people and we were down to four.

The ones that were left were the worst of the bunch. Stephanie decided to confront me about the fact that I was not fully engaging with the group. You haven't been sharing what's angered you, Reese. All we hear about is that Dick from marketing. I still haven't seen him. He must have quit, I guess. Look, I just haven't been feeling that angry recently.

I was trying to batter away, but it wasn't deterred in the slightest. Reese, you're at this group for a reason, and if you want to get better, you need to join in. The truth was, my anger wasn't getting any better. It was getting worse. If it wasn't for the ultimatum Christy had given. me, I wouldn't have continued going to the group at all. The way they all spoke and the way Stephanie seemed to get off on hearing it really weirded me out. I started to wish we were doing trust balls and meditating after all.

Stephanie continued to stare at me expectantly. Well, I guess my stepson made me angry this week, I offered. What happened? He's just a little turd. I say stepson, but his mother and I are not married. Still, I'm the closest thing to a dad he has. She had him when she was just 18, you know. Since we've been together, I've done everything I can for him.

It's not been easy either. He knows I can't discipline him properly since I'm not his dad. Stephanie sent an opportunity. How exactly do you think he should be disciplined? Well, when I was a kid, I got spanked. I guess I wonder sometimes if that would help. My girlfriend has the patience of a saint, but she can be a bit soft on him. She believes in talking things out and being understanding.

I get it, but I get it. But at the same time, this kid is such a little turd. Everyone was staring at me. I felt tremendously guilty, but at least I got it off my chest. Maybe there was value in the group after all. That kid is disrespecting you, said one of the guys. Yeah, he needs a firm end. He thinks he can walk all over you, said another.

It's not up to me, I said. It's her son. She can raise him how she feels right. I just... I don't know. No, go on. Reese, what were you about to say? Stephanie leaned forward.

I know it sounds awful, but sometimes I wish it would just disappear, like he never existed. I know, it's a really bad thing for me to say, but it would just be so much easier for me and Kirsty to build our relationship if he wasn't a consideration in everything. Thank you for sharing,

Stephanie said, with a smug smile. Another victory for her. I hated myself for saying it out loud. I hadn't even realized that it was what I'd been thinking for all these years. What kind of terrible human being would even think something like that, let alone say it to a room full of strangers. I couldn't concentrate anymore, so I left early. I slammed the door as I went, shutting out the room's protests.

Of course, I couldn't go home, because the meeting wasn't over yet. Kirsty would lose her mind if she knew I'd left early, let alone the reason why. Not wanting to deal with a hassle, I went to the bar across the road. It was quiet and I ordered a whiskey. Unlike the movies, the bartender had no desire to listen to my problems and so I sat drinking in silence. It took me only seven minutes to finish my drink,

so I ordered another and then another. I have a vague memory of a brunette walking in at some point and sitting next to me. She was a ten out of ten with a plunging neckline and inviting special. smile. I woke up the next morning, my tongue like sandpaper. I reached my arm out to Kirstie, but Kirstie wasn't there. I wasn't home at all, and instead found the girl from the bar still asleep. Damn. I grabbed my phone. 83 missed calls and my voicemail was full. I called Kirstie. I'm so sorry, I went for a couple of drinks and, Reese, get back here quick. The police are here. Tyler has gone.

The police had no leads. It was like he simply vanished. According to Kirsty, one minute he was in his room, but when she checked on him soon after, he was gone. The window was open, but no neighbours had seen anything. All this, despite the fact that it was far from the middle of the night. It had happened between 8 and 8.30pm. If I hadn't been in that bar,

I didn't want to go to the group the following week, but Kirstie insisted. She told me she wanted to be alone for a while, and besides, the police were going to find him soon enough, so there was no reason not to carry on with life. Well, that's good news, said one of the guys when I told them the story. Good news, I repeated. Yeah, it's what you wanted, isn't it? For him to disappear? I didn't want...

I think what he's trying to say, interrupted Stephanie, is that sometimes things have a way of working themselves out. Sometimes the things that make us angry don't stay in our lives for long. Now, you don't need to worry about it. Yeah, it's like my wife, said Bald Purve. If she hadn't been in her accident, I'd still be. They all looked to me like I took my dick out and peed in their cornflakes. He doesn't even listen to us.

Why is he still in the group? Bold Purve complained. Reese, I told you already. My wife had an accident and fell down the stairs. at home. She is in a hospital now, in a coma. And now I get a lot more peace. I can tell you that for nothing. Just get through the next few weeks for Christy. I zoned out for the rest of the meeting until I heard my name. Reese? Yeah, it's Reese. I'm mad at this week. It was bold perth again. This guy really needed someone to shut him up. Why? I said blankly. You think you're better than us. I could see. I can see.

seed on your face. You act so high and mighty. But listen to what you just said the last week about that kid. Now you're here pretending to care. You're just the same as us. I raised at my feet. He looked frightened. You're a complete piece of crap. You pray on people who can't defend themselves like your wife. I don't know why we're all pretending. It's not blatantly obvious. You pushed her down the stairs yourself. Reese, there's quite an accusation to make, said Stephanie. Why don't we Oh, screw you, Stephanie. Once again, I left. I had no intentions of sitting around, listening to bold purse fantasies of what he wanted to do to, quote, take me down a peg or two.

This time, instead of the bar, I went away to my car. If only they had taught us some breathing techniques, I might actually have used them. I couldn't get my head around what was going on. How was this a normal anger management group? Was this woman even licensed? There was a nagging feeling inside me I couldn't get rid of. I had to find out more. The first person to quit was the woman who had husbands having fantasies.

I'd start there. She had an unusual name, so finding her phone number was easy. Hi, I'm sorry to bother you. It's Reese, when the group used to go to. Reese? Yeah, look, I'm sorry to call you, and maybe I'm being crazy, but... Something strangers? I think I know why you're calling.

it's happened to you too, hasn't it? What as? After the session, when I said, that stuff about my husband, he... He was stabbed to death on his way home from work. He was stabbed in 71 places, and he bled out on the street.

The police have no suspects. It wasn't easy to find the others who had left the group, but I found some of them too. They all had the same story. After they discussed their anger in the group towards someone, the violent fantasy had been exact

on that very person soon after. I had complained about that dig from marketing. He didn't come back to work. I tried to rag my brain to remember what exactly I'd said, but I couldn't remember. It was just an off-the-cuff remark. Then I said I wish my steps on would disappear. It had come true, just like the others.

I drove home, faster than I should have. I had to tell Christy and the police. She snapped. The police looked at me like I was insane, but promised to follow up the lead. Kirsty stunned out, but not before she ordered me to stay putt in case Tyler came home. The next morning, there was a knock at the door.

Stephanie. What the hell are you doing here? I said. She smiled at me. That sickly sweet little girl's smile she did, but didn't say a word. I've told the police everything. It's too late. There's no point in trying to shut me up now.

She just laughed. You think I'm here to shut you up? I instantly realized my mistake. This visit was nothing to do with Tyler. Bold purve had complained about me. Anyone who angered a member of the group was made to suffer, even if it was another member of the group. I just hadn't waited around to listen to exactly what would be my fate.

You really think you're going to overpower me? I'm twice your size. She stepped towards me, and I felt something hard press against me. That's what he wants then, to shoot me? Not quite imaginative, is it? Oh no, she said cheerfully. The gun is just to make sure you behave.

He had something much more exciting in mind. Where did you take Taylor? It's just like he disappeared, isn't it? She laughed again. You're a psycho. It's really simple, really. It's psychology 101. To deal with anger, where possible, remove the stressor.

I'm helping people. Surely you see that. She placed the backpack on the floor. With one hand pointing the gun at me, the other hand emptied the contents of the bag. She took out a large plastic sheet and unfolded it on the floor. Then she took out an electric drill, a meat cleaver and a large length of rope.

You must be out of your mind. I'm not going to let you. I'd rather get shot. No, no. The instructions were very specific. I opened my mouth to argue, but she interrupted. He really is a little turd, isn't he, that kid.

No wonder you'd had enough. He's still alive? Of course. You only wanted him to disappear, right? Please, I'm sorry. Just give my girlfriend her son back. Okay, get yourself on the sheet then. Don't want to make a mess, do we?

Kirsty would never get the stains out of the carpet. Lord knows, she's had enough stress lately. I complied. What other choice did I have? This psycho had Tyler Everything seemed to slow down Everything except my heart Which was threatening to burst after my ribcage

I hadn't ever given much thought to death I always imagined it would be a peaceful affair When I was an old man And if I'd ever imagined something like this would happen I would have hoped I would be brave Dignified But I wasn't I begged, I cried

I was terrified I was terrified of what might happen to Tyler and I was terrified of what was going to happen to me. How much would it hurt? How much pain would it take for me to pass out? How long would it be until my consciousness faded? Luckily for me, she was so focused on her fun that she let down her guard.

Luckily for me, she turned the drill on and the sound drowned out Kirsty's footsteps behind her. Luckily for me, Kirsty reacted quickly when she walked inside and saw what was happening. The drill had only touched my skin. when the bottle came down on Stephanie's head. I was just coming to pick up some clothes. Kirsty stuttered, gawping in horror at the blood-smeared bottle in her hand,

and Stephanie's unconscious body on the floor. The police found Tyler. He was shaken, of course, but physically unharmed. It turned out that I'd wished for that dick from marketing to get hit by a bus, which he did. He recovered, though. He's still a dick, but at least. is alive. My anger isn't cured, but I'm working on it, in a legit way this time. It took time,

but Kirsty forgave me for everything. I know I don't deserve her, but I'm glad she did. Things are better with Tyler now. One good thing about all of this. It made me realize how much I love that kid. My name is Wyatt. I am 21 now, but this story happened last winter when I was still 20. I am an urban explorer and nature photographer. That is about as much detail I go into about myself, because I don't want anybody coming after me if they find out what I've seen. I know I'll never forget what I saw, but I can't risk telling anyone that I know. I'm not currently under any immediate danger, but there are too many unknowns. Back in early December of last year, I was looking through Instagram and saw some shots from an abandoned factory in Germany.

This place was so perfect It was rusting and old But still kept the same structure and shape As when it was in use Some of the pictures were breathtaking Mountain views through to crepit old windows Things like that I screen shotted and reverse image

Search one of the pictures from Instagram And found a place in Germany There was no name for the factory Anywhere I looked But I kept seeing that the town it was in Was called Weston I looked it up on Google Earth And saw that it was in a mountainous

region in northern Germany. As I swiped through the images on Google, one article stopped me. It claimed that the factory was going to be demolished in April of next year, meaning it would be gone in just a few months. I was feeling impulsive and excited, so without thinking, I googled flights to Berlin. Looking back, I wish my phone would have died that very moment. Anything to stop me from looking at flights. I would do anything to go back and make me close that.

tab. However, I found one flight leaving from my airport that Wednesday. It was only $600. I was just about to buy the tickets when I remember that my friend Bryce, not his real name, was looking for somewhere to go for winter break. So, I called him up and told him that there were tickets to bill in for $600. I wish he would have talked me out of it, but instead, he was all over the idea. Later that afternoon, we both bought our tickets and planned to leave on Wednesday. Adrian, also not his real name, was also coming with us, but was going to leave early on Saturday to go see his family in Poland. Me and Bryce made plans to go to West Jen on Sunday and look around there for a few hours. So, when Wednesday came, I packed up all my stuff.

Camera lenses, SD cards, respirator, flashlights, clothes, met up with Bryce and Adrian. We took an Uber to the airport and quickly boarded the plane. Honestly, I don't remember most of the flight. I think I slept through most of it But finally, we arrived in Berlin Honestly, for the next few days It was just a normal vacation Nothing but sightseeing and doing basic tourist things

On Saturday, we said her goodbyes to Adrian As he left for Poland That night, I made sure to get all my stuff ready for the next morning We had a two-hour car ride from Berlin to Weston I was hoping we would get there around two in the afternoon and explore until 8 that night. Playing it back in my head, I remember every little detail of that day.

I remember the sound of my alarm, the excitement of waking up that day, the feeling of seeing all my stuff packed neatly on the floor next to my bed. We got up and had breakfast in the hotel lobby before walking to the car rental place. We picked out a blue chevy from the lot and the guy gave us the keys.

I spent the next few hours driving through the green rolling hills of Germany until we finally got there. I felt nothing but excitement when we finally got into the town. I remember just driving and looking around for a while until we saw it there,

clear as day. The abandoned factory. It sat at the bottom of a tall hill in the middle of a bright green field. The mountains were in the distant to the east opposite the factory. I started looking on Google Maps for a good place to park

in order for us to walk there. There was a large parking lot next to a self-storage place that was only about a quarter mile from the factory. I pulled into one of the spots and looked around for people. Should be good, I told Bryce as we got out of the car. I grabbed my camera bag, my flashlight and my respirator out of the back seat and put it all on. For those of you who don't know, a lot of old buildings were built with toxic materials like asbestos, so it's just safe and not to risk it and wear the respirator. We began walking down this old cracked asphalt road that has grass and flowers growing through it.

It led straight to the factory, which I remember finally having a good view of. It was brown and rusted, but still beautiful and majestic. It had plants growing in it like it had been retaken by nature after the people left it. After a little walk, we reached the tall chain-link fence that was locked. But there was no barbed wire on top, so I considered just jumping it. but instead I decided to look for an easier way in. After walking next to the fence, I saw part of it had been knocked from the metal frame by someone else. We pushed the metal out of the way and just crawled through it onto the other side.

Now we just had to get to the factory. It was already clear to me that the main entrance wasn't an option. It probably had motion sensors anyway. I was looking around when I spotted it. A broken window. It was only about 10 feet off the ground, so I asked Bryce to help me up. He hoisted me up, and I grabbed onto the window sill. I pulled myself up and through the window frame, pushing aside the broken glass as I did so.

I poured Bryce up through the window, and we both jumped down on the ground inside the factory. Now, when I say this was massive, I mean massive, like probably the biggest single room I've ever seen. It had so many levels and catwalks and bridges. This place was a gold mine. I immediately got out my camera and put in my 16 to 35mm lens and my best flash. I also put in a new SD card just in case. We walked around the ground floor a bit, mostly just locking up at the ceiling.

I took one picture of the catwalks and bridges, leading up to a crack in the ceiling, letting sunlight through. I went up one of the staircases under the second level. There were a ton of generators and turbines all over the place, with a thick layer of dust and rubble covering them. I took some pictures on this floor, but we quickly moved up to the next floor. It was more of the same, but still beautiful. I walked to the edge of the floor

and looked over the small balcony-like platform we were on. I immediately felt dizzy, looking all the way down to the ground floor. I'm used to that kind of stuff. I just didn't realize how high up we were. We climbed up the stairs to the next floor, and Bryce told me to look at the mountain, out the window. That was the shot from Instagram that I wanted. I adjusted my settings and

snapped the shot. I checked over them just to make sure it was good, because that's pretty much the reason I came here. Even though I'm explaining this all very quickly, we did spend hours wondering around the place and looking at every little detail. We eventually got to some sort of control room. We must have had hundreds of different switches and buttons, all labelled with German words that I couldn't read, or seemingly random numbers. It was made clear from a thick layer of dust that this place hadn't been used in decades probably. That being said, I know I shouldn't have done this, but I took a small silver key from the control room as a souvenir.

We left the control room and saw a ladder that went up at least two stories. It led straight up onto the roof of the factory. I hesitantly decided to climb it. Bright said he'd do it if I did it first. The ladder wobbled from side to side as I hesitantly climbed up the steel bars. Finally, I grabbed onto the roof and pulled myself up onto it. You'll be fine if you go slow, I yelled down at him. Soon he joined me up on the roof and we looked out on the rest of the world.

It was just endless rolling green hills leading to the snow-capped mountains. I turned around and looked behind us. I realized that the hill behind us was taller than the factory itself. If we could get to that hill before sunset, the picture would be unbelievable. I really, really wish I just abandoned the idea. But instead, we rushed back down the ladder and all the staircases to the ground level. We quickly leapt out the window and crawled to the fence. We walked across the grassy green fields and slowly walked of that tall green hill.

I won't lie, it was tiring walking all the way up. that hill racing the sunset. When we finally got there, it was totally worth it. The factory, the mountains and the sunset all mashed together in this beautiful vista. I took up my tripod and lined up the composition. When I finally snapped the shot, I took nine or ten of the exact same picture just to make sure I got it. It was incredible. But if I could, I would go back in time and leave that hill immediately.

But unfortunately, Bryce looked behind us and pointed out another abandoned building to me. It was smaller, made of brick rather than steel. He was hesitant to go down there and check it out because it was getting late. I assured him we would be fine with the flashlight and we wouldn't be long. We walked back down the other side of the hill and over to the dilapidated brick building. By the time we got there, it was getting pretty dark already, but we had flashlights that worked fine. The only weird thing was that when we walked up to it,

the gate was unlocked, like they weren't even trying to keep people out. I guess it was pretty hard to find, but still. We walked straight through the gate. I was scanning the area from motion sensors or alarms, but there was nothing. The same exact thing when we got to the front door. No lock, no bar, nothing.

We moved open the metal, door, but it was heavy, hard for either of us to even move. When we entered the building, it was dark, super dark. I immediately had to turn on my flashlight to even be able to see. The building looked more of the same, catwalks, machines, and the overall same vibe. But there was a large, circular door directly in front of us. It looked more like the entrance to a bank vault than any normal door you would find. At this point, I was stunned that we hadn't seen a single door.

single alarm or motion centre in this place. We were both immediately drawn to the vault door. I put my hand on it in awe. I'd never seen anything like this in all the places I've explored. It was barely cracked open, not open all the way, but definitely not closed. I put my hand in between the door and the wall and tried to pry it open. It slowly moved open, showing us what was inside. There was a long, circular tunnel that seemed to lead to a

another room. So far, this was looking like one of the best finds for me ever. I took multiple pictures looking down that long hallway, the flash lighting up the area. We slowly walked down the hallway, flashlights in hand as we advanced towards the room at the end. When we got to the end of the hallway, there was another vault door that was swung all the way open. We walked through the open door into the room. It was seemingly empty, except for a small hatch leading into the ground. It was closed, but the lock and chain on it were broken. Above it, there was an arrow pointing at the hatch that said, Project Natt Wolf in.

At the time, I had no idea what it meant. I didn't even take a second to put it into Google Translate. Nowadays, the word still sent a chill down my spine. Project Night Wolf. A phrase that sounds like nothing. But, if you have seen what I've seen, you wouldn't be able to hear those words without shuddering. I slowly opened the hatch, the hinge is squeaking as I did so.

I flipped it all the way over until I was on the other floor. I shine my flashlight down the hatch to reveal what looked like just a normal staircase. We began slowly descending down the stairs. As we got closer to the bottom, you could hear the drops of water hitting the floor and making a quiet sound. I was going first ahead of Bryce, so I saw it first. A room that was all pitch black. with about two inches of water lining the whole floor came into my sight. What horrified me with a pile of animal skeletons and bones lying in the water,

small rodents had been mutilated and sheep that had been torn apart. Some were just the skeletons, others still had decaying, rotting flesh, but it looked like they had been ripped apart, some of them torn perfectly in two. I struggled to hold back my stomach contents when the smell hit me. I was firing off my camera flashes, taking pictures all around us, when I spotted another door just ahead of us. I remember Bryce telling me we should just leave, but I wanted to get to that last door.

The room was made out of cement, stone pillars sat around the room, although some of them looked like they were about to collapse. When we finally got to the door and opened it, it looked like just another control room, like the ones in the factory. The thing that was different, though, was... There was swastikas and all the equipment and walls. not ones that had been spray painted on by some kids, but real-looking ones. It was as if this place hadn't been touched since World War II. I looked around at some of the buttons and stuff until I saw a journal. I opened it to find that unsurprisingly, it was in German,

but I stuffed it in my pocket to take home. Just then, I heard the sound of broken glass, not like somebody dropping a wine glass, but like an entire window was just shattered all at once. I immediately turn off my flashlight and Bryce slammed the door behind us. We both knelt down, breathing as silently as possible, not wanting to know what that sound was. Thoughts rush through my head. Possibly a bird, a mountain lion, but neither of those were even possible.

We sat in that room for about a full minute, until I realized it was probably just because of how all this room was. Some structural error or rotting metal probably caused it. I worked up enough courage to go out there. where I said that he would go if I opened the door first. I walked over to the door, still crowds on the ground, and I turned the handle. I slowly creaked the door open, and as if I were in a horror movie. My flashlight died. I was too committed at this point to go back, so I did the only thing I could think of.

I grabbed my camera and started blindly firing off the flash. It could only do it about every three seconds. But I slowly creeped further and further out into the room. And that's when I saw it. It looked like a shadow crouched on the ground, but about ten feet away from me was this oily black, skeleton-like creature. It slowly stood up, making cracking and crunching sounds as it did so. Its limbs snapped back and forth like they were breaking.

When it finally got all the way up, I saw its mangled set of razor-sharp teeth, lining a huge gash in its face. It was at least nine feet tall, with its head almost hitting the ceiling. It was holding the body of a fox in its lanky, disgusting arms. It ripped the fox in two as it led out a horrifying, ear-piercing screech. My flash stopped firing. I looked down at my camera to see the message.

SD card full. I quickly grabbed the one in my pocket and switched them out, but when I fired the flash again, the creature was gone. Had I just imagined it? I felt paralyzed when suddenly it grabbed me by the neck. Its hand felt wet and sharp as it pulled me towards it. Bryce immediately ran for the door, and I don't blame him for it. I was panicked.

No rational thoughts ran through my brain except one. Survive. As I was brought closer to its face, I grabbed the pocket knife in my right pocket. It dropped me and led out a horrifying scream. My camera smashed on the floor, and I felt Bryce grabbed my arm to pull me up. We bolted for the door and slammed it behind us. We could still hear it screaming and screeching as we ran up the stairs. When we got up the stairs and above the hatch and the floor,

I tied the chain around the lock, hoping to give us more time. After that, we just sprinted back to our car. It was pitch black by that point. So, when we got in the car, we sped off and didn't look back for a second. It was a very silent car ride back to the airport. We got on an earlier flight back home and left that night. We didn't talk about what happened until we got home. I didn't leave my room for the rest of that winter break.

If it weren't for the journal and the pictures, I would have thought that I'd dreamt it. But no, the pictures show the disgusting creature exactly how I remember it. I'm actually glad I switched out the SD cards, or I would have no pictures of it. I won't post any of them here, mainly because I don't want people finding this place, making the same mistake I did.

but I will post a section from the journal that I was able to translate. Most of the journal is illegible, but I could make out this small section. Art tests have not been getting better. It has become even more violent, no longer eating the rabbits, but just tearing them apart. Nobody here wants to get into the cage with it anymore

because of the fact that it seems to find joy in destroying the animals. Also, the screaming. I will not forget the screaming. until the day I die. March 24th, 1942. A young woman stood in the doorway, hands cupped, as though protecting a baby bird. She was waiting, it seemed, for an invitation. Hesitance like that is a common sight at the food bank.

It's tough for people to ask for help, even when they really need it. It breaks my heart to see how many hang their heads, trying to hide tears of shame when collecting a meagre box of supplies to see them through. It's not their fault. The government should do more, starting with knocking off all the poor people are lazy rhetoric, especially now, but I digress. The girl was slim, gaunt even, and barely out of her teens. The faded yellow dressy wore hung off her bones, several sizes too big.

I doubt it did much to keep a warm and the damp January air. She looked around for a bit, and I did my best to give a space, busying myself by taking inventory. Lots of folk get spooked if you're too keen And often the courage it takes To walk through the door is brittle I try to feign indifference As a kindness

After a minute or so of steady observation She appeared in front of the table As I was stacking bags of pasta I glanced up with a practice smile Her eyes had a strange Still quality that caught me off guard I don't remember ever having been looked at Like that before

So coolly or so thwarted thoroughly. Higher? Suddenly my throat contracted, and I spluttered, seized by violent coughing fit. Sorry about that, I said, patting my chest. Can I help? The girl hadn't moved, hadn't blinked. Her face impassive and inscrutable as a statue.

She simply stood, boring into me with a flat grey eyes. I'm not very good at silence, and to ease the comfort, I fiddled with the string of my hoodie, trying to think of something to say. Thankfully, she spoke before I embarrassed myself by babbling. I have things to give, she said in a steady, measured tone. Great, I gushed, we are grateful for whatever you can spare. I gestured at the table of rice to my right, and again to tell her which bits we were typically low on,

tea bags mostly, though stock cubes are always welcome. She raised a hand to stop me, and I did stop, compelled by a gesture. The way she moved was considered, commanding even. It was so peculiar to see authority like that in someone so young. In many ways, she still looked like a child, playing dress up in her mother's clothes. I offer this. She placed a small brass tin about the size of my fist on the table between us.

I wasn't sure what to say. It was tiny, but I didn't want to seem ungrateful. And, after all, every little wreathful. really does help. Uh, thank you, I said, trying to keep the disappointment from my face. It is for everyone, she said, then turned away, walking back out into the cold, the flimsy cotton dress gently lapping at her calves. I regarded the tin with vague contempt.

It looked like the ones old-fashioned pastels came in, and I highly doubted that would be any use to us. Still, not looking a gift horse in the mouth is good advice, and I resolved not to be so dismissive. Perhaps it would be something we could divide between a few boxes, or find a use for it in one of the Trigger Dietary Bundles. To say, I was astonished when I twisted off the lid would be a phenomenal understatement. Inside the tin, on a layer of plush, suedey-looking fabric, set a single sweet, wrapped in bright

purple foil. What the? I muttered, tilting it slightly in my hand, bemused. I screwed the lid back on and strode a cold. the room, eager to share my peculiar experience with the other volunteers. Mark, come see this, I called on my way over. Mark was the project lead who had recruited me, a perpetually cheerful man in glasses that always seemed to be trying to escape his face. He held them in place with a well-practised forefinger,

trotting to my side. What you got, Dee? I handed in the tin without a word. Alice's curiosity had peaked too, and she used the card. pardon of U.HT milk in her hand to nudge Mark slightly, angling for a better view. He frowned and turned the tin over, probably looking for an expiry date out of habit, and gave me an inquiring look. I just shrugged, telling him it was a donation from a walk-in, while Alice tutted and went back to her boxes, grumbling softly about people taking the mick. Twisting the lid off just like I had,

Mark brought it up to his face and sniffed at the shiny wrapper like a bespeckled truffle pig. The absurdity of the whole thing tickled me, and I led out a snort when I laughed, about to ask him what he thought we should do with it. A family sheepishly entered the hall, their confusion and worry drawing my attention enough that I abandoned Mark to his investigation and headed over to greet the newcomers with a welcoming smile. I wish I hadn't left him like that. If I'd stayed, it might have worked out differently. We would probably have had a quick giggle and then chucked the registered. thing away. It would have been just a fun odd little story to tell each other, an in-joke about the weird woman and a tin. Now, it's so much worse. When I left that afternoon, I'd pretty much

forgotten it. The day had been busy, and my mind was already on tomorrow's supermarket delivery. I was completely ignorant of what was coming, of what I had done. When I went in the next day, Mark's car was parked outside. This wasn't unusual. Part of the what made him great at the job was his commitment, and he was often the one first in and last one out. It was strange that he hadn't heard me open the door, though. Normally, I'm greeted by his terrible, if enthusiastic singing, or at least the sound of him faffing about in one room or another before setting up. I figured he must be in the loo or something, and set my stuff down, preparing for the day to start in earnest. After fiddling with my phone and tracking down the

sign-in sheet, movement across the room caught my eye. I hoped Mark had heard me come in and made me a copper, but there was no one there. He wasn't in the room, but something else was moving. A brassy glint danced on the floor, and a sharp whirring noise grew louder. The tin from the day before was spinning, as though someone had twirled it like a coin, between the far tables. I frowned and watched it slow, eventually falling still with a hollow clink. Mark? I called. No reply came

And I felt silly For allowing a little prickle of fear To creep up my spine He was probably just mocking about I still don't know if the thought was genuine Or a subconscious effort to soothe myself Mark, stop playing silly buggers and put the kettle on There was a shuffling sound

From the direction of the kitchen And I let out the breath I didn't know I'd been holding Ten minutes went by Then fifteen and twenty Every so often I would find my eyes sliding back to the tin. I don't know what I expected from it,

but my nerves were jangled, and I gave it a wide berth as I stomped to the kitchen, annoyed at Mark and myself in equal measure. It was empty, but the whole room was in disarray. Coverage doors were open, coffee granules were spilled all over the countertop, sugar crunched underfoot.

My irritation dissolved into worry, and I shouted for him again. Mark, are you okay? where are you? Another clang came from the hall and I headed back the way I came. There he was finally. I was awash with relief.

His back was turned and he was hunched as though looking for something. I assumed he had dropped his classes like always and started to head over to help. Hey. I wanted to ask him what was going on, what had happened in the kitchen. But before I could get the words out,

he stood and turned. My hand flew up to cover my mouth on instinct. The man in front of me was indisputably Mark. There could be no doubt. The clothes were the ones he'd been wearing the day before. But his face. There was something wrong with his face. At first, I thought he might have fallen and injured himself somehow.

It was like I could only take in flashes of what I could see. Partial snapshots like I couldn't process it all at once. His face looked raw, but it wasn't blood or bruising. The colour was all wrong. His mouth was smeared with a deep plum stain, spreading out across his cheeks and chin. I reached a hand out to him, then faltered. The colour wasn't on his skin. It was under it, and it was moving.

I could see clearly now, thousands of tiny capillaries writhing around his lips, pulsing with every beat of his heart. My own hand hadn't moved, and I could feel the pressure of it, grinding flesh against teeth. It took all the strength I had to tear it away and speak. I'm going to call you an ambulance. You'll be... The next part is a blur. I tried to reach from my phone, worried he might be having an allergic reaction. I was scared, not of him, but for him. I should never have turned my back. My head hit the back of a plastic chair as his weight slammed into me from behind. The impact turned my vision to static and everything else was just a tangle of limbs in agony. He grabbed me by the temples, kneeling on my thighs, fingers tangled in my

hair, and lifted my head to his as I tried to desperately blink away the involuntary stream of tears. I could see him, not clearly, but well enough, as he loomed over me. The wine-colored thread had spread up from the side of his nose, twisting the contours of his face into something monstrous. Their throbbing made me want to wretch, and I clawed at his hands, struggling to free myself. Mark younged my head back, making me yelp in pain and pulled me closer. Close enough, I could see the dilated pupils and the smell of copper tang on his breath. The veins in his face were twitching as though they were alive, some distending to the point of bursting, a few at the corner of his mouth split,

spilling thin blackberry icka down his chin. He tilted my head back, pulling at my hair, silent and merciless. Alice burst through the door with armfuls of shopping. walking straight into the chaos. For a second, we were all caught in dumb shock. Mark and I startled by the noise and Alice trying to make sense of what she saw. It was enough for me though.

Mark was distracted and taken advantage. I grabbed the closest thing to hand, smashing it into his distorted mug with all the strength I could muster. The same revolting liquid that had erupted from his skin splattered over me and on the floor behind, but I kept on hitting and screaming until Alice pulled us apart.

For the first time, she got a good look at his face and gasped in horror as he lolled on his back, barely conscious. I just panted, clutching the can of value grapefruit segments to my chest. While Alice called the paramedics, I caught my breath. The adrenaline combined with the taste of his blood in my mouth made my stomach churn, and I heaved myself up into a more comfortable position in case I needed to be sick.

As I shifted my weight, I felt something cold against the heel of my hand, and I flinched. I knew what it was without looking. Mark was still lying prone, seeping dark fluid from his wounds, and Alice was here now. Help was coming. I was safe. But still, something about this tiny object frightened me. I thought about throwing it across the room.

One fierce love to get the wretched thing away, but I couldn't risk Alice picking it up. I didn't want her any. where near it. Hesitantly, I closed my fingers around it without braving a glimpse, only to snatch my hand back in surprise. The lid was off, and spread out neatly on the velveteen lining, was a square of bright purple foil. Something inside me knew, Mark had opened it, even before I touched it, even before I noticed

the embossing inside the foil. He had peeled it apart, so perfectly, there wasn't even the slightest thing. hair. He'd even smooth the creases. The only imperfection left was the word at its centre. The rest of the day is basically blank. I was taken to hospital, that much I know. I have some vague memories of tired voices, warm hands and the hem of a yellow dress, though mostly all I can recall is a muddle of noise and confusion. My injuries were superficial, barring a concussion, but they've kept me in for testing because the doctors don't know what's wrong with Mark.

They did what they could, Alice said, but there is something very wrong. He's in a medically induced coma right now, and I can't help but hate myself for it. I did that. I hurt him. Not with a can, but when I left him with that tin. I handed him something evil, and he was corrupted by it. It should have been me. When I woke up this afternoon, the nurse told me I had a visitor.

I hadn't been expecting anyone and shrugged in response. you're very lucky to have such nice friends, she said, pulling the lid from my gift to show me a single, perfectly wrapped orb. I forced the smile and she nattered cheerily about how expensive and fancy it looked. I didn't have the strength to argue or explain or even cry. I couldn't bring myself to tell her, but if she were to look very closely at the gleaming purple wrapper, she would find a word etched lightly in its centre. A single word. A name.

She'd only have put it down to my head injury, I was certain. Hours have passed since then, and I'm mindlessly tracing the new thread of veins blossoming on my cheeks with my nails, trying hard to ignore the sunlight reflecting of the brass behind me. It won't be long now. I just wanted you to know. Wanted someone to know, for mark's sake, as well as mine, that we tried to be good people. He'd want me to reach as many as I can, so you can.

keep yourself safe. That's why I'm telling you this, so you can learn from our mistakes, before it's too late. Learn from my mistake, please, refuse whatever the girl in the yellow dress offers you. The skinny girl I thought was strange but harmless, the one I worried for, the bundle of thin bones in thinner clothes, the one who gave a little would cost us so much. Do not take anything from her, I'm begging you. Her name is on the the foil. Her name is flooding my veins. Her name is killing me slowly. Her name is pestilence. I am an oceanographer. Ever since my family started bringing me to the beach when I was young, I was fascinated by the sea. But fascination turned to something else when I was hired to work

in an underwater sea lab in the Baltic. My name is Will. I had recently graduated with a degree in marine biology and was looking to start my career. I'd always thought that the only underwater research lab had been off the coast of Florida, the Aquarius Reef Base, but here I was, staring at an application to work on another sea lab across the world. I chalked my lack of knowledge up to my own incompetence and applied for the job. It wasn't long before I got a reply. A sophisticated man with a German accent spoke with me

about my education and all the other regular things that you would hear in a job. sharp interview, but at the end of the conversation, things starts to get a little weird. Are you in any way afraid of any sea life, like sharks, for example? Ask Bertram, the German interviewer. I have a healthy fear of ocean predators, I said, but I don't mind swimming with them. They mostly aren't interested in humans. Good to hear, he said. I completely agree.

The job will involve some diving into deeper waters, and this can make some people uneasy. To my surprise, I was hired. I boarded a plane and ended up in Rostock, a medium-sized German port city. I made my way over to the port itself, where I was to meet with a team and start travelling to my new home under the sea. I had read the documents they had sent over to familiarise myself with the underwater environment. I had noticed, however, that there were no bathrooms, and this seemed a little strange. I assumed that I probably would just go in the ocean. I'd been pinging the ocean since I was a kid,

but I'd never gone number two. I laughed to myself as I thought how silly it was I was dwelling as such a triviality. When I arrived on the dock, there was Bertram. I recognised him from the video conference we'd had before. He was taller than I figured. Next to him stood another tall, skinny man. Ah, speak of the devil,

Bertram said as I approached. His accent made me chuckled to myself, but his grammar and dictation were very good nonetheless. Will, I would like you to meet Derek, our colleague. Derek also seemed very polite. His English was excellent. We have a team of French, German and English speakers. We mostly speak English,

but you'll have to forgive us if occasionally we start ranting on our native tongues together. At that, Derek mumbled something in German, and they both laughed. We hitched the ride on another vessel out towards the sea. After about an hour, I saw a little ship. That is Hoffnung, said Bertram. Our humble ship. The ship was small and rusty.

It looked like it had seen better days. Something seemed off. The facility underwater was much too advanced to be paired with such a beat-up-looking ship. We geared up for the dive. As far as depth is concerned, the Baltic. is pretty shallow. Yet I was surprised to hear that we would be diving down to a depth of 65 metres. The deepest I had ever gone was 30, and going 65 didn't help my growing anxiety. Don't worry, it's a one-way trip, so it isn't very dangerous. You don't have to worry about the bends.

I remembered how cool it was that the underwater facility used ambient pressure and a moon pool. The entire facility was pressurized. It was still too deep for humans to live at the pressure between 7 and 8 ames. atmospheres. Though humans can free dive quite deep, they cannot live in such crushing pressures for extended periods of time. Three atmospheres was what the facility was pressurized to. Still, the time saved not having to go back and forth between sea level and seven atmospheres made this facility useful for studying the seabed. We have all heard how we know less about our oceans than outer space. This was what fascinated me so much about the sea. The beginning of the descent was uneventful.

Things started to become darker and less light was able to penetrate the depths. When we reached 40 metres, it felt like I was entering another world. It was surreal. I'd never been this deep before, and I remembered my diving instructor mentioning how dangerous it was. People were said to fall into a trance. As we continued to descend into the misty depths, a building appeared. It was taller than I had expected, spanning at least three stories upward. Certainly, this was not the facility that I had read about.

Soon enough, however, I saw the moon pool. It was a peculiar thing to emerge from the ocean into an indoor swimming pool, and to be all traded water for a minute. Bertram and Derek turned and smiled at me. I couldn't help but smile back. It was just so badass, I felt like I was in some kind of sci-fi movie. The room we were in was pressurized higher than the rest of the facility, and we made our way into a deep-pressurized.

chamber after removing our gear. Watch your arm, said Derek, as I clumsily walked into a loose panel. It graced my skin a little. Sorry, said Bertram. I should have mentioned the loose panel. The facility is much larger than I read, I said, inquiring about the large structure I'd seen. Yes, said Bertram.

That document is out of date. The facility has expanded in several areas, though we lowly scientists are to remain in a humble, quarters. He and Derek laughed. I thought that this facility was entirely run by scientists, I said. The job application had been from the website of GMR, a prestigious research institution in Germany. It started that way, but after funding was cut back, it looked like we were going to have to abandon the facility, said Bertram. But then they discovered the ore deposits down the hole. The hole? I asked.

We entered the habitat I'd familiarise myself with from the manual There was a bunkhouse, a mess hall And a couple other rooms for signs and storage Is this the new bloke? Asked the voice from around the corner In walked a short man with a smile on his face He had instant charisma Don't let the crowd scare you mate

Things are pretty peachy down here He shook my hand with vigour that left my arm noodling He was a middle-aged man A little older than the rest of them name's Doug, I'm from Newcastle. I nodded. This whole crowd thing, said Bertram. I just don't understand why you all think it is offensive.

It just means cabbage. Your people's world or two put-downs weren't very good. I couldn't help but chuckle at their relationship, when, suddenly, a loud explosion rang out. They all grabbed for something to brace themselves with. Is everything all right? Kempishrew a word voice from deeper into the facility, amidst the flickering buttons and endless readouts.

A French woman cautiously came into the room hugging the wall. Despite the fear the crash moments ago had instilled, she smiled politely to me. Welcome, Will, it's good to see you, she said somewhat nervously. Hi, I said, smiling back. She was wearing a cap and a bulky crewman coveralls, yet I could tell that she was really beautiful. The buggers are really pushing her look with those explosions.

said Doug. They're going to get us killed. Why are there explosions? I asked. We didn't have the funding to keep this place running. We were forced to entice some other parties. I said it then, and I say it now. It was a short-sighted decision, said Doug.

Yes, but what choice did we have? asked Bertram. The rest of the day was spent familiarising myself with a facility. Everything was just like it said in the manual, except for an ominous looking door just after the pressurization chamber. That was new. Though the whole place looked like a futuristic spaceship,

this door seemed to be even more so. It looks strong. At first, there was constant traffic in and out, but after they completed their submarine docking station, a soul hasn't passed through that door in months. We occasionally speak with one of them on the radio, but we have less and less contact as they need us less. It is a little strange,

but it is better than being. shut down, said Bertram, as he noticed me looking at the door. Who exactly are they? I asked. At first, it was underwater welders and construction workers who worked for a German mining company, all the usual stuff. But after several months, the miners left, and apparently ownership of the facility changed hands again, though I have heard nothing about who. Jiamar has been vague about it all. No doubt they were up to some exploitative act, probably attempting to weaponize something beautiful.

That is why I get the feeling that we are no longer welcome in our own facility. They wouldn't want their secrets exposed by us pesky, good-intended scientists, said Bertram, laughingly. Eventually, I had to go to the little boy's room, and I finally inquired as to how this was done. They all laughed. It is a pleasure going number two during the day. The fish can get quite frisky, said Doug.

Mennon rolled her eyes, smiling. The fish sometimes eat your way, she said, "'Don't let Douglas scare you. They had just fish.' There was a dome several metres out from the moon pool where you can hang out and do your business, but you won't catch me going out there in the dark,

said Doug. "'Ha, yeah, I can imagine the fish are much more frightening in the dark,' I said. "'Actually, that's the weird part,' said Bertram. "'There are no fish at night.' Manor laughed the shirt she was holding up Bertram's arm pushingly, yet in a soft, motherly way. I'm just saying

I don't go number two at night either said Bertram If it's an emergency I just trap the log right in the moon pool And you should too Said Doug Floters be damned That's disgusting

Said Manon Why do the fish not come at night I asked We aren't quite sure Derek thinks it has to do with their body chemistry The neurodrenal level starts to spike As the light stops shining through They scatter in all directions

said Manon. Except towards the hole, said Derek. What is this hole? I asked. It is the 20-meter wide hole in the bottom of the ocean at the moonpool to the east. It is hard to miss. We stay away from there, said Derek. I made a point to do my business during the daylight and was alarmed and amused by the amount of fish it attracted. I swam out to the dome and soon several fish began to investigate me. I looked around the area and saw the massive hole to the east.

I could see that the facility must have been built to study the hole. It was starting to get a little darker and I was ready to swim back to the moonhole. When I noticed a small submersible ascending out of the hole, the submersible propelled itself towards the large three-story complex attached to our habitat. A hatch opened and the submersible ascended up into the hatch. My imagination ran wild

as to what this mysterious other faction was up to behind that hatch. As weird as it all was, after several days, I had fallen into a rhythm and everything became normal. I would gather samples and document the wildlife by day and study my findings as well as told my colleagues at night. Occasionally there would be an explosion and, like clockwork,

a submersible or two would descend from the hole at sunset. Sunset became a time of caution I noticed. The fish would remain until it was dark, But almost in a flash they all knew to disappear as the last sunrise left. It was part of a fascinating cycle. I had seen things like this in nature before, like when bats all fly out of a cave at the same time, or birds migrating for winter.

But this was different. There was a desperation about it. For the fish, it was more of a desperate scramble. I quickly understood White Dog wouldn't go number two at the dome after dark. I found out that none of them did. Every day I would walk by the mysterious door leading to the other facility, but the hallway beyond was always dark, and I could never see that far.

It was unnerving. On top of that, there were no port holes or windows of any kind to look into from the outside, only the submersibles at sunrise and sunset. One day, I joked. Maybe one of us should try swim at the hatch one time, I said. The mood in the room in the room. room became very tense. It wasn't long before Manon burst into tears. I didn't understand why. I'm sorry, I said. It's okay, mate. It isn't your fault, said Doug, as he went to console Manon.

I tried to look at Bertram. You usually explained things to me when I was baffled, but his eyes remained fixed on his breakfast. I looked at Derek. It is time Will knows about Javier, said Derek. Nobody said a word. All that could be heard was Manon sobbing. Who is Avier, I asked. Aviere was the marine biologist you replaced, said Derek. And he also had the idea to swim up the hatch. We were informed that he was dead over a week later, the assholes, said Doug.

We began searching desperately, but after a couple hours, we knew that the air would have run out. We started searching for his body. apparently the whole time he was in the other facility. What? I asked, mortified. Aye, they said there had been an accident and they weren't able to save him, said Doug. And they waited to tell you, I asked. He nodded. I never looked at the hatch the same way.

Had half the air been trapped in there and run out of air? Surely there must have been some way he could have entered the facility, as it is how the submersibles went in and out. Over the coming days, things went back to normal, or at least as normal as living 60 metres under water could be. I didn't dare broach the subject of Javier. I just kept my head down and did my work. There was plenty of plant life to catalogue, not to mention all of the different species of fish and jellyfish. Occasionally, a pot of sea animals were passed through.

As I was performing my nightly bathroom ritual before the dark set in, one night I noticed the submersible ascending from the whole. as always, only this time he seemed to be having trouble moving through the water. It almost seemed to be stuttering. As I looked closer, I saw what looked like markings on the outside of the

vessel, as if it had been in some kind of accident down there. I shuddered to think of what could have happened if the craft had been damaged more. There I tread in the outhouse dome, pondering what I just saw. It made me feel uneasy, but nothing like what I felt

after what I saw next. my gaze fell back on the giant sinkhole. There, at the very edge, I saw something that all horrify me for the rest of my life. I saw a head, looking back. The rest of the body was hidden down the hole. Just ahead as if it was peering at me. Even with the water clouding the distance between us, I felt his stare burn into my soul. Here, 60 metres below the middle of the ocean, was a full.

face, completely unencumbered by gear, no air tank. What was he breathing? I must have been hallucinating, but the moment lasted for what seemed like a lifetime. Up until then, it was the longest moment of my life. His eyes locked on mine, just his head. As it got darker, I came out of my confused trance. I made a dash for the moonpool. I didn't dare look back. I leapt out of the moonpool and into the decompression chamber. I was terrified. I stared at the moonpool through the window, half expecting the head to emerge from the water.

How could a man have been in the hole? He would have had to have held his breath for at least five minutes, as I haven't seen anyone else as I swam to the dome. Although with training, a human can hold their breath that long, something was just off. I had goosebumps all over my body. I had heard of pressurized air playing tricks on people's minds. Perhaps I had nitrogen narcosis.

I quickly went in and told the others. Elevated levels of nitrogen affects us in different ways, said Manon as she examined me. It is possible that you hallucinated. I must have, I said. If anything like this happens again, come tell us right away, she said. I noticed Derek looking at me from across the habitat. He quickly looked away when I made eye contact. There was something about it that made me feel like he knew more.

I decided to sleep it off, but had wild dreams about what I saw. I woke up in a cold sweat. I felt more exhausted than before. The crew, for the most part, hadn't noticed that I was a little off, all except Derek. He approached me that night. You must be feeling a little rattled, he said. I was good friends with Javier. When he died, I sort of lost it a little bit.

I couldn't sleep or eight. I even saw things too. He became very serious. This place is dangerous, more so than the others understand, said Derek. He brought me over to a laptop and opened up a folder with images. He then brought up a picture of the crew all happily posing. There they all were, Doug, Manum, Derek and Bertram. Then my eyes came to rest on the fifth person.

And when they did, electricity did. ran through my body all at once as horror welled up from the depths of my soul into my throat. There stood the very same face that it stared at me from the hall and all at once I knew who that was

what Derek had seen and what it meant. I could barely speak, I just muttered. That was the man I saw I said. We have to tell the others and they are not going to believe it or like it, he said. We headed up to the common room where the others were gathered.

Derek led bluntly in a dire tone. We both saw Heavier alive in the water, he said. Doug almost dropped to what he was doing and turned around to look at us, then looked at Bertram, who was as bewildered as him. Then they both broke into laughter. Manon looked very upset. That is not funny, Derek and Will. I didn't think you were like this, she said.

Derek showed me a picture of Javier, and he was without a doubt the same face that looked at me, I said. I didn't care about impressing Manor anymore. Something was horribly wrong. I thought it was my mind playing tricks on me because Javier had just died. I heard you can see people sometimes who have just died, said Derek. So I didn't think much of it, but one thing is very clear. We need to leave, he said.

It was empowering to be next to him. I would have never had the courage to say these things. There was a moment of silence Okay, I'll put a calling for the ship to come pick up whoever wants to leave, I guess But this is my life's work I can't just leave because you think you saw a ghost, you understand? said Doug respectfully I strongly urge you to reconsider said Derek And we can't wait for the ship to get us

We need to take the Hoffnung now Suddenly this wasn't sounding like such a good idea The Hoffnung had seen better days Bertram started to argue with Derek in German. Manning and Doug started jumping in, and I had no idea what was going on. At last, however, Derek went out with an exclamation that silenced the rest. He then turned to me. I know it seems like the Hoffnung isn't seaworthy, but she is.

She passed her a quiet inspection. There was five years ago, Derek. Really? Said Doug. There is a reason we don't use her anymore. She's a floating platform, just in case something happens down here. really what is another day to wait for the ship he said if you had seen what we had seen you would understand said derrick i wasn't sure what to do on the one hand waiting another day for a proper ship to take us back seemed reasonable yet what if that thing in the water came into the moon pool tonight what if it came into the decompression chamber very well i'm going to make the call to be picked up said derrick he left and came back moore moments later. There is a storm coming.

They can't make it here for two days, he said. My stomach started to turn. That rusty old boat was starting to look more and more enticing. I was starting to feel better about everything. There were tests to be run and flora to be catalogued. Manon even helped me, which put me at ease. During the day, she started asking me questions. So, are you sure that it was heavy air that you saw?

she asked. Yes, I said. He must still be alive, but we watched each other for minutes. I don't know anyone who can hold their breath at long. Manon looked at me, horrified. He was a good swimmer, she said. But five minutes? I know, I said.

After I finally started to feel normal again, I started to feel tired, even though it was just the afternoon. Something about the pressure or being cooped up. That was why I went to sleep early that night Going to sleep early turned out to be a giant mistake I woke up in the late evening around 10 I had to poop something fierce

I instinctively went over to the decompression chamber When I entered the moon pool for the first time I saw pitch black water I stood there watching it ripple Beyond was just the murky black depths I remember Doug admitting he wouldn't go to the bathroom at night And now I understood I walked up to the edge and looked down

There was absolutely no way I was going to swim to the outhouse dome With little options left I pulled down my trousers and attempted to squat right over the moon pool Still squatting there I couldn't help but look back every couple seconds To make sure something wasn't coming up to grab me He felt silly But it was a very vulnerable position to be in

after trying for a couple minutes I stood back up it is amazing what kind of things the body will do when it knows it is not safe I suddenly felt no urge to go to the bathroom at all I slowly backed away from the edge of the moonpool keeping my eyes on its dark rippling depths I thought I saw something move I felt a deep fear I had to get out of there I went for the decompression chamber

and to my horror I saw out of my peripheral a mass cresting out of the water. I threw myself into the chamber and, as fast as I could, try to throw the door closed. A monstrous, dark grey-screen tentacle moved with startling speed and just as I was shutting the door

wrapped around my leg, sinking several spines into me. I cried with pain as the creature began to drag me out of the chamber. I slammed the door on the tentacle, but it was thick and strong and continued to drag me. The second tentacle,

just like the first, was starting to crest out of the chamber. moonpool. Just then I looked up and it was the same metal sheet panel that grazed me when I first walked in. I ripped it off the wall with surprising ease. With all my might for my life, I cleaved the tentacle. It didn't sever, but I cut it deeply and it released me. Before the second tentacle could reach the chamber, I slammed the door with all my might. I looked at the tentacles prodding and probing the sealed door. It was absolutely horrifying. I know. knew they had every intent on dragging me down into the depths.

They were terrifying, like a giant octopus, with spiny thorns attached, to hook its prey. After what seemed like hours, the decompression finished. I had already been screaming, and the others gathered at the door. I exited the chamber and turned to the others. We have to get the hell out of here, now, I screamed. Calm down, said Manon. What happened? There is some kind of... I stopped.

I didn't know. what to say. I know this sounds crazy, but a massive predatory invertebrate grabbed me in the moonpool. Like, like a Pacific octopus? Doug asked curiously. They were not understanding the gravity of the situation. The tentacles weren't visible from this angle, and I dare not open the door to show them. Instead, I showed them my leg. It was bleeding, though not profusely. The puncture wounds were still clearly visible. The others began to inspect my leg. Derek went into another room and came back with a couple of knives. They were the only weapons we had available.

At first light, all of us should make a break for the Hoffnung, said Derek. But what about the storm? said Bertram. I'd rather take my chances with the storm than be down here. At least I would die in natural death, said Derek. I don't think the others understood, but I knew exactly what he meant. The idea of drowning in the open waters somehow seemed like a tolerable alternative. It suddenly made sense. The explosions, the beat-up submersibles, this animal was being studded by the other facility.

One thing is certain, said Derek. The creature only seems to be around at night, and we seem to be safe in here. I'm swimming for the hoffning in the morning. I strongly urged the rest of you to come. I nodded. The others looked amongst themselves, not knowing what to think. We all went to our banks and tried to sleep. After hours of tossing and turning and staring at the entrance, half expecting a dark-gray tentacle to slither around the corner.

My wound felt better. Manon had bandaged it and applied disinfectant. I slowly started to nod off. When I awoke, I started my daily routine. I even got ready to go out and swim to the bathroom when I stopped dead in my tracks. I felt a deep sense of horror, as if I was just remembering what had happened to me in the moonpool just hours before. I suddenly felt no urge to go to the bathroom at all. I just stood there, gazing, at the pressure chamber.

All of the others had risen and were mulling about. Have any of you seen Doug? said Manon. I'm waiting for his data, but I haven't seen him. Maybe he hasn't woken up, I said. He isn't in his bunk, said Manon. I'm starting to get worried. He probably just went for some samples, said Bertram. You're probably right, said Manon.

and she started busying herself with her work. I finally worked up the courage to go out to the bathroom dome. The water was moving faster than usual, but nothing I couldn't swim against. I could see how being a poor swimmer could be very hazardous and understood now why they insisted on strong swimmers in the job application. Out at the dome, I looked around and realised there wasn't a fish in sight. Usually during this time of day, the ocean was full of them, but now it was barren and it was unnerving.

I looked around the eerie depths, trying to make out what I could through the misty seawater. I noticed something strange. The hatch up to the other part of the facility was open, that same hatch that Javier had swam up. Upon thinking about Javier, my eyes darted back to the place where I had seen his eyes, staring at me from the hole.

I shuddered and suddenly started to feel very vulnerable. I got done with my business and started back towards the moonpool. When I entered the habitat, I saw that Manon was coming my way with Bertram and Derek. There you are, she said. We are going to look for Doug. He should have been back by now. The hatch is open, I said. They all look to one another.

We will have to think about that later, she said. Everyone suit up and make sure you are full of oxygen. The water was still moving fast due to the stormy conditions. It was difficult to fight against the current, but Doug should have come back by now, and there was a chance he was stuck and running low on air. We had to look for him. We checked down the slope in the opposite direction of the hole, but there was no sign of Doug. We finally came to the hole.

We shone a light down into the depths, nothing but darkness. After a while, our oxygen levels were getting low and we returned to the habitat. On our way back, we all saw the open hatch. No doubt we're all thinking the same thing Doug might have gone up the hatch for some reason When we had shed our gear in the moonpool Derek was diverse to mention this We need to get in touch with the other part of the habitat

He said I will try to radio them again As I walked past the door that connected the two habitats I peered down its corridor Surely we could override the locks and walk in there It seemed like the right thing to do given the circumstances I shied my light down the corridor through the glass. It was strange. Something at the very end of the corridor seemed to be floating.

I squinted and tried to discern what I was looking at. Hey guys, I said. I think something is moving in there. We all gathered at the glass of the door and peered into the darkness. There was something that seemed to be hovering. It was drifting closer. I knew what it was. before my mind could register what I was seeing.

It was a strange feeling. On one hand, there was a pen, but on the other, it was drifting right in the middle of the air. The pen was floating, because the chamber had filled with water. It won't break through, said Derek. This door is designed to withstand pressures far beyond this. It was always a possibility that one of the habitats would be compromised.

His words did little to reassure me. I kept staring at that pen. as it seemed to drift aimlessly. It ricocheted off one of the walls gently. What happened to all the people? asked Bertram. There was nothing but silence for a moment. Then Manon spoke.

We have to go in there, said Manon. There must be where dog is. Maybe he is trapped. Derek and Bertram exchanged glasses and started speaking in German. Manon interrupted them and they all started yelling at each other. I stood there, puzzled.

until they finally switch back to English. I can't believe you too, said Manon. Doug would have done it to save you. Doug is dead, said Derek. Or worse. What do you mean, or worse? said Manon. He has to have been out of air for a while now, and we all know it, said Derek. Bertram and I are going for the Hoffnung.

We aren't waiting for the ship. Bertram stood there, looking as guilty as he was terrified. Finally, they were starting to understand. we had to get the hell out of here. I opened my mouth to agree adamantly, but Manon spoke first. I am going over there, she said defiantly. She looked at me and waited for me to speak. Okay, I said, I will go with you to look for Doug.

This is crazy, said Derek. I don't want to be on that sinking boat in a storm any minute longer than I have to. We can't wait for you. One hour, said Manon, that is all we need. Derek and Bertram started arguing in German again. We will wait one hour, said Bertram. Then we will head to the surface together. Suiting up went fast.

We did our final checks and dove back into the moonpool. The hatch seemed to beckon me. I thought of Javier, of how I had seen his head staring at me. Even now he gave me chills, but I put it in in the back of my mind. Soon we could almost see up the shaft. I thought about how much had happened in my life since I had taken this job, how much I had learned and seen. It was hard to remember what my life used to be like.

It seemed like so long ago that I had been sleeping in a nice bed and eating all the food I wanted. Mostly, I thought about how much I had taken for granted. You don't realize how important it is to feel safe until you don't. We reached the entrance to the shaft. It became dark fast. Manon turned on the light. and my heart sank.

At the end of the shaft was a metal door, but it looked as though it had been warped. What could have done this? Luckily, our diver's masks had radio communication built in. What could have done this? said Manon. She looked over at me. She knew what I was thinking already. There was no creature ever discovered like the one you hallucinated Will.

I went to retort but stopped. There was no point in arguing. I wanted to live, not to be right. Let's hope not, I said. It took everything I had, but I managed to start kicking and swam up into the shaft. Mannon soon followed after me. We traced the dark room with our lights. It seemed to have been some kind of submersible docking room.

What once was a moon pool had been overtaken by water. All manner of clutter floated about. It was unnerving to be there in the darkness. 60 metres beneath the surface of the water in a breached habitat that had gone silent. I swatted a tablet away from my head as we continued onward. The decompression chamber was wide open.

Both of the large doors stood and sealed. I knew what had happened. That creature had tried to grab me. A giant octopus creature had gotten through the decompression chamber. I couldn't stop thinking about those tentacles that had grabbed me. They looked like they were as thick as tree trunks as they disappeared into that black water. I will never forget it.

As we swam into the next room, it was large and quite long. It was full of all types of computers and lab equipment, but in the centre of the room and to my horror, there it was, that same dark grey tentacle. It must have been 50 feet long. I instinctively swam away. This was horror movie 101.

I had done everything. everything I could to convince Manor that my story was true. If she didn't believe me now, it was unheard. To my relief, I saw her swimming fast behind me. She now understood that our lives were in imminent danger. As we ran in the corner of the room with a hatch, we saw a dog. It seemed like a miracle. There he was, floating there in his diving gear.

We made it up towards the moon pool and started to get out of our gear. That is when I caught out of the corner of my eyes. Doug's oxygen meter had been empty. Still, I didn't think much about it as we made away to the decompression chamber. I wish I had. Doug, I have to say, it is good to see your stupid face,

said Manon. Why didn't you respond to my radio? Doug gave a slight smile. We looked everywhere for you, I said. He looked at me. He looked like he had some kind of debris in his eye. Still, he said nothing. he just stared at me.

That is when I realised that Bertram and Derek were nowhere to be found. Derek? Bertram, I cried out. You don't think they would have left without us, do you? said Manon. Suddenly, I heard a loud crash a distance from the habitat. It was as loud as the explosions, but it was different. I could tell Manon thought the same thing as we looked at each other in horror. Putting it out of our mind, Manon and I desperately scrambled around the habitat. When we returned, we noticed Doug standing by the decompression chamber.

He seemed to be examining it. You're okay there, Doug? I asked. He turned to me and gave me that same hollow stare. I'd seen that stare before somewhere. I couldn't quite put my finger on it. He soon returned to the decompression interface. He just stared at it. Any ideas on where Derek and Bertram are, Doug?

I asked, more to make conversation than anything. we stood there in silence for a moment. I dared not walk away. Manon had made a way over to us after searching for Derek. By the look of my face, she could tell that there was something wrong. Doug? she asked. After a moment of silence, Doug's hand rose and pressed one of the buttons. He pressed another button.

He was starting to figure it out. I tried to block the panel, but he swatted me away with a speed that was uncharacteristic of Doug. He was trying to open the decompression chamber. I tried to push him away from the panel, but he headbutted me hard. I fell to the ground. I felt woozy. I tried to stand up but fell over again. Manon, I cried out.

Don't let him open the chamber. Manon stood there, horrified, as I finally got to my feet. But it was too late. Doug managed to open the decompression chamber. Still, there was a fail-safe mechanism. Both doors couldn't be opened at once, unless overridden in an emergency. I'd read about it in the manual before I came aboard. There was a way, but if it was done underwater that depth, the moon pool's integrity would fail,

and the water would rush into the habitat. Doug stood there once more, thinking with that horrifying, hollow stare. My head was still spinning, but I managed to grab a hold of his arm, and we both went tombling over. I managed to dodge some swings at my head and scrambled backwards, Doug refocus his attention on the panel. Suddenly, a loud alarm sounded. It was over. The moonpool integrity had been compromised.

Water immediately began rushing in. Manon and I looked at each other in horror. She rushed over to a cabinet. The water was already up to our knees and rising fast. Doug simply stared at us void of emotion. Water poured forth and in seconds I had taken a deep breath from the air at the top. I tried to think of something, anything. But before I could, Manon grabbed my hand.

She had found the life raft. We swam for it. We both started towards the moon pool, when all of a sudden I felt a strong hand grip my leg. It was Doug. I thrashed and kicked, but to no avail. I tried to fight Doug with all I had left, but he was too strong, and I was running out of oxygen.

The edges of my vision were starting to turn black, and my lungs were crying out. This was it. suddenly Manon drove a fixed blade into Doug's stomach He momentarily let go and we scrambled out to the moon pool with Doug right behind us To my horror I saw Doug swimming down after us blood pouring out Manon screamed and pointed towards the hole There was Javier Bertram and Derek swimming for us

All were that hollow lifeless look in their eyes All we had to do was clear the building above us and we could pull the rip cord It was so close. That is when I saw Hoffnung. It was the ship that was supposed to be above us, but there it was. I could barely make it out through the murky water, but it was hard to miss something so big. The storm, or maybe the others, had sunk it. That was what the crashing sound had been.

We cleared the structure, and just as the creatures were closing in on us, Manon ripped the cord. Holding on, we started to ascend fast. I watched as we left that horrible place behind. It disappeared into the misty ocean underneath my feet. We hung there, blind and helpless, all the while thinking to ourselves. What if the others swam up after us? How long would it take for them to reach us? My joints were hurting, and I knew why.

The decompression sickness was setting in. Still, we were alive. The more I strained the look, the more I started to make out several shadows. They were getting closer. I could start to make out the human bodies now. There were more than several metres away swimming for us. My joints were in agony, and I felt so tired. I needed to sleep.

Still, the sight of the service so close, its glimmering majesty, just a little farther. We broke the service, gasping for air. The life wrappers so close. We scrambled into it as I felt that fear of having my last leg gripped. But it wasn't. We had made it. We quickly looked over the side. A chill ran down my spine as I saw them.

Right beneath the surface, the faces of Javier, Derek, Doug and Bertram. All of the eyes fixed on us. There they remained as if unable to break the surface. Doug was still bleeding profusely from his stomach and a cloud of red was gathering. We collapsed in the bed of the life raft, exhausted. We had made it. We could feel their hands scratching out us through the raft. It was unnerving, but the raft seemed to be holding.

The sun was setting and the sky was a beautiful pink colour. That brings us to now. The last light has gone away now. The others are still scratching at the bottom of the raft. The sun is no longer holding it at bay. The creature will surely come for us tonight. Found scribbled on the back of a log after the night of October 5th, 2008, tied back to the night of thirst. attention night shift staff

be advised that there is a water restriction in place until further notice the water has been determined to contain a harmful chemical that may cause extreme health risks the warden will advise when the water restriction is lifted i looked over at the day shift officer who was collecting his things and preparing to leave what's this all about he looked at me absentmindedly and scrunched up his face in deep thought I relieved Macmillan most days And he always managed to look like conscious thought Was a lot of effort

He never struck me as a deep thinker The longer I interacted with him The more I realised that the department's standards Were slipping pretty low Macmillan looked like the effort Of flexing all 12 of his brain cells Might start a fire And it took him a few minutes before he came up with an answer

Oh yeah I'm not supposed to use the water Major said so when he came to put up the sign I roared my eyes at him. Macmillan had told me nothing that I couldn't have gleaned from the notice. Yeah, but for how long? He shrugged, till you hear otherwise, I guess. Then he left, and it was just me and a dorm of 150 warm bodies.

I started my exciting career in corrections about two years ago. Honestly, if it weren't for the astounding amount of money you make for being a babysitter to crone men, I probably would have quit. The job is tedious, mind-numbing at the best of times, and never-ending most nights. I worked for a captain that would rather sleep than do his job, so even the prospect of dorm search or response team drill is off the table most nights. Compiled with a staff shortage we seem to be in the middle of, and I was destined to spend every night alone in the dorm.

Now, this was going to make my life ducky. The complaint started almost immediately. The heat from McMillan's backside. hadn't even adequately cooled from the chair before I got my first complaint of the night. The dorm I was in had four quads that held about 30 to 40 people per quad. On average, I have about 150,

and tonight, they were all mad about the lack of water. The fella at the box, his finger smashing the button hard enough to go through the wall, looked like he ate push-ups and craps sit-ups on the daily. He was bold, his black-peed lies staring out of a face that looked shaped from clay, and he was looking at me through the glass as he pressed the talk button, which was making a loud click in my office.

I pushed the talk button on my end and asked what he wanted. So we can't use the water? Through the glass, I stared at him to let him know how great a question this was with my most convincing, you're a real genius champ expression. That's what the sign says. So then, how are we supposed to take showers? You aren't? He looked back at me.

His face looking like he might have come up with another question if I was willing to wait. What do we suppose to drink? He said, just as they thought he had given up on a follow-up question. I don't know. I'm sure someone with a higher rate to pay than me will sort that out. Well, what about? I wrote over him. If it's related to water, there isn't any, so stop bothering me.

And that was how I spent the first hour and a half of my night. Different representatives from each quad would approach the box, their questions taken on differing allocations. levels until I finally announced that there was no water. I didn't know when the water would be back. If it made them feel any better, I also didn't have any water to drink

and it didn't look like management was going to send me any either. So, unless their further questions had to do with something other than water and when it was coming back, I had no answers. After that, I sat in my chair, found a book that someone had left and began reading. I could see them out of the corner. corner of my eye though. Some of them had taken the news meekly enough, but most had formed

into tight little angry groups that seemed to be holding individual powwows about the water situation. I saw a lot of furtive looks cast my way, but I didn't let on that I'd seen them and kept reading. This situation was out of my hands. If management wanted to send down water cakes or plastic bottles or a goddamn tidal wave to wash us all to hell, that was above my pay grade. The weirdness didn't happen until after eight. No one had come to help me count, so I just hadn't gone out to count at seven o'clock. This was not uncommon, but no one had called to bother me about it either.

No one showing up might be an everyday thing, but the control room shouting about it was not. Control liked to have their count on time, damn it, and if it wasn't called in, then there would be hell to pay. The radio hadn't made any noise either But that was nothing to get excited about I might have a bad radio It was also possible that for once No one had anything to say

These thoughts soon slipped out of my mind however When Warden approached the fountain Warden was a typical inmate He was slight, pigeon-chested With the uniform that hung off him And a shaved head that was sprinkled with stubble While the others had been holding a council Warden had been staring at the water fountain.

After about half an hour, I had only been pretending to read my book and was instead staring at him over the top of the Stephen King novel I had found under the desk. His simple, inbred face was held in the mirage-like grip of the silver drinking fountain,

and he darted his tongue across his parched lips as he thought about the bounty that must be inside. He'd likely drunk something today, a beverage with lunch, or a sip of something cool on the yard from a keg that was filled by maintenance. but it's strange how being told that you can't have something makes it so important to you. I watched as he got up after staring at the thing for nearly an hour and a half

and walked over to press the button. I expected nothing to come out, but to my surprise, a stream of water arced out of the bowl of the fountain. Warden looked as surprised as I was and smiled as he bent his face down to have a drink. The others in Quad II looked over at Warden and seemed to notice that the water was working again. They glared over at me. Why hadn't I told them? And went to stand behind Warden as he drank at the fountain. His smile was gulping it down as he looked euphoric.

But, after a few moments, his laughing friends became less friendly. They slapped at Warden, wanting to drink some of the water as well. The bold one who had asked the initial question pushed them away like a rag doll, bending to drink as Warden lumbered up like a wild animal. The brute had taken no more than a few sips before Warden threw him full. the fountain violently, his head leaving a red scree across the wall. Warden bent to the fountain like a starving animal. He gulped down mouthfuls of water, the rest sliding down his chin as he slurped greedily. The big bold brute came shakily back to his feet, a cut in his head leaking blood,

and grabbed Warden by the shoulders. I thought he would beat him to death right there. But instead, he tossed him back into the day room, warden slamming into a concrete bench, his arm bending strangely as the other man turned to drink. The others who had walked over with him stepped away, not wanting any part of what was going on, as Warden got up and lumbered towards the fountain. His arm was quite clearly broken,

but he lifted the wounded hand to his mouth and sucked at the blood coming from his purpling hand. I looked back to the guy at the fountain and saw that he hadn't even noticed Warden. He was drinking water like he'd never seen the stuff. The water was sliding down his chin as he drank, his throat working furiously as he guzzled it down. I turned back to Warden and sucked in air as I noticed the shank in his hand.

He had curled his broken arm to his chest, shuddering as it spasmed, but his other hand had found a short, crude little weapon made of twisted metal. He ran up to the drinker, his friends calling out a little too late. Warden stabbed him about a dozen times. The drinker never stopped, never even wincing, as Warden rammed the knife into his kidneys and back. When the drinker slid down the fountain, his lips were still sucking the air as he tried to drink. As Warden took his place, standing over the corpse as he drank,

I heard panicked banging from the other side of the dorm. Robinson was my housemate in Quad 3. He was an older fella who made the best of his situation and never complained. I'd seen him many mornings in the dayroom, a cup of coffee in one hand, and yesterday's paper and the other before he started cleaning for the day. He was an amiable guy. and I found that I liked him as far as inmates went. He was not the one knocking at the glass.

His roommate, a redhead named Griggs, was banging on the glass window that separated him from the hallway and pointing to the shower in the corner. The inmates in Quad One weren't the only ones to discover that the water was off limits, but not off. I could see Robertson kneeling on the floor of the filthy shower,

naked as the day he was born, his head lifted to catch the water falling from the shower head, There were others there too, three or four who had been trying to get him out of the shower and were now just as powerless to leave as he was. They were all catching the water, mouths open and over was prodding for a better position. The inmates in three stood watching them, some of them laughing, but others looking scared as they banged on the glass and tried to get help. I picked up my radio and called to medical. I had no other choice. I had an inmate bleeding in Quad 1, and I had several others displaying strange behavior.

The protocol was very clear on what I had to do. I had to get someone down here to help. I called for emergency traffic, calling for medical and an 18 response. After five seconds of nothing, though, I called again. The static had a pregnant response about it as I stood, staring into the war key. 18 response usually brought all kinds of people running. I was literally feet away from the captain's office, and the fact that it didn't have people banging to get in was very odd.

When I picked up the phone and didn't get so much as a dial tone, that was when I really started freaking out. The glass tinkled to the ground as I pulled out the emergency keys. I wasn't supposed to leave the station unattended, but this seemed like one of those emergency situations they talked about in training. I'd sign whatever incident report I had to after I'd gotten some help here. I was way beyond freaked out, and I needed someone to laugh at me and say that this was normal. tell me how this was nothing compared to the riots of blah blah or the incident in blah blah blah the keys slid in easily enough but the maglocks wouldn't release when I put my shoulder against the door I slammed against the door the lock disengaged but the door refused to open

I slammed it again and again my shoulder burning but my nerves turned up to a million I had to get out suddenly this station was about two sizes too small and what I needed was fresh air and the sounds of cricket. I needed to run up to the concrete road and to the control room, uniform left behind me and not stop until I was sitting in my car in just my boxes and undershirt. I could hear the other quads banging, seeing what was going on from various vantage points and wanting escape or answers or just reassurance.

Instead, I slid down the door, sitting on the concrete floor and letting all the anxiety crush me. It's midnight now, and they've most of the most of the same. I managed to make it back to the desk, posting up with the phone in case it starts working again. I wished, at first, that I'd stayed where I was. The quads have developed into war zones. Inmates fought over petty gangfewed, fought out of misguided fear, or fought over the precious water that they now all crave. I can see some of them at the fountains now, but there are others in the shower with their mouths open and the water soaking through their cheap prison uniform.

Others are in their cells, heads under sinks Or even in the toilet As they drink and drink and drink Warden is still at his fountain The others have left him alone As they search for their own water Or just hide and wait for all of this to be over He's been drinking for hours

His body expanding as he threatens the burst I can see dark spot on his pants Where he's messed himself And I imagine there are dark spots under his clothes too where his organs or blood vessels are burst due to the swelling. His smile, though, is the most cherubic thing you've ever seen. It makes me wonder what is experiencing as he gorges himself on water. I find myself looking at the fountain in the station and longing to find out.

It's only been a few hours, but I can feel my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth as I watch the quads devolve into madness. It's funny what you miss when you can't have it, right? A few hours without water begins to feel like a thousand years, and even though I know it would kill me, I still want it. I figure this will be the last thing I write before I go try the fountain. Maybe our water isn't tainted.

Perhaps it's just the inmate's water that holds whatever this is. It hardly matters. I'm so thirsty now, and it doesn't look like help is coming any time soon. If anyone finds this, just know. that I died smiling. No, that I didn't die thirsty. I still don't know why I did what I did to Michael.

I've thought it over every way I can, turning the memory upside down and inside out until it felt like I was going insane. At the time, a part of me thought it was just a bit of fun. I meant him no harm. I was 19 and hanging around outside a school waiting for my girlfriend to get out when I spotted the guy in the parking lot.

He must have been there to pick up his younger sister, Like a lot of us, he wasn't able to make it to university or even just get a job in the city so he was stuck at home like the rest of us but growing up he'd been a real pain in the ass a special kind of dweeb born out of insecurity and petty jealousy he hated everyone he hated the smart kids most of all

but that didn't stop him from saving some choice words for the rest of us all of us kids were just trying to have a good time smoke a little dope, get a little drunk, feel each other up. Michael would rock up to our usual haunts with the police in tow and then act high and mighty about it the next day. He had thriped in a controlled schoolyard environment. But on that day, looking at him, sat in his car. It dawned on me, we weren't in a schoolyard anymore.

It was the real world. And in the real world, there are consequences for your actions. Acting like an asshole, taking people off. Well, it's liable. to get you a slap around the head. I could see him eyeing me when he thought I wasn't looking. I knew what he was thinking

as I sat there smoking. Had I turned out to be everything he hoped, some loser with no future, no ambition? It may be angry to think of him judging me when he turned out no better. His sly little glances only got worse

when Dave and Andy wandered past and I called him over for a chat. He must have known we were laughing at him. He must have heard us chant his old nickname and clutch our stomachs in faux laughter. We were doing it for his pleasure. I could see him squirm. It wasn't meant to go further than that.

I just wanted to give him something to think about. I knew he'd spend that night tossing and turning, as furious at us as we were at him. But then, Andy started throwing beer bottles, and I should have stopped him. It was a silly thing to do. Too loud, too angry, too stupid. But, before I'd even thought of what to say to end,

Andy, Michael was up and out of his car and filming us with his phone. Please leave the premises, he cried, his voice a little shaky. This is a place for learning, not drunk in yops to pick up underage girls. We shouted our own replies about his sister, his mother. Michael called us losers. We called him pathetic. If we'd left it at that, maybe it would have been fine. But it went on until Michael cried something a little too close at home.

I hope your dads are proud. Those words hit a sensitive spot for Dave. Before I had time to think of what any of it might mean to him, the young mechanic was already charging forward. I figured he just hit Michael, but he slapped the boy hard around the back of his head, hard enough to daze him, and then hoisted the little Michael up into the air with ease.

Andy ran over and grabbed the boy's ankles to stop him kicking, and we're all howling with laughter and excitement, just waiting to see where this was going. Timeout corner, David cried. Michael, you're going in the timeout. corner, just like a Mrs. Ketchum's class. Michael was calling us every name under the sun, but when he heard Dave tell me to pop the trunk,

his tone changed. In the few steps it took for Andy to cover the distance, Michael went from screaming to shouting, to pleading, to begging, and then right back to raging. I later found out he was claustrophobic, something to do with his own dad being a real piece of work. But we didn't know that at the time. We just wanted to scare him a little.

We shoved Michael into that trunk Like it was a cardboard box that wouldn't fit It took three attempts to slam the hatch shut First time his ankle got in the way And that must have hurt But Michael was still determined to make his way out Second time he was his wrist And Michael's voice started to falter

Third time we caught his fingers And Michael started screaming like an injured dog I often think about him Pulling his hand back into the dark I think about it because it was the moment he gave in, and it makes me feel sick to my stomach. At times, I blame myself for letting us do it. Mostly, I just hate myself for putting him in that place.

After his hands slithered into the shadows, we finally managed to close the trunk for good and shut out Michael's hysterical crying. And then we sat, drinking beer, while Michael screamed and howled. It was a rage, desperate kind of shriek that went on rising forever like a violent crescendo, finding new and dangerous notes of despair. You ever heard a dog scream? It had that kind of animalistic quality to it. Andy would later say it was like an opera singer

with his hand caught in a wood chipper. I can't say for certain if it bothered the others as much as me, but after only a few minutes, it felt like I was carrying a lead weight in my stomach. We talked and laughed and joked, but I don't remember what about. Even as I nodded and replied, I found all my thoughts returning to the muffled cries of the young man

trapped in the trunk beneath my legs. By the time he stopped, my girlfriend was coming out of the doors and Dave and Andy said the goodbyes. Two more beers were sent arcing through the air to shatter into a thousand pieces and they were gone like we'd done nothing more interesting than just chat about the weather. I waited for them to turn the corner. My girlfriend had stopped to chat to some of her own friends and I knew I had a few minutes

and I finally opened the damn trunk. By now, my stomach was in my ass. That's how damn bad I felt. I maybe even started mumbling some kind of response. God, maybe even an apology. But no one was there to hear it. Michael was gone. He torn the crap out of the fabric in my car,

gouged his long claw marks into it like a ticked-off cat. I touched every inch of that trunk like I was trying to find a magician's secret hatch. By the time my girlfriend made it to my side, I'd pulled what was left of the fabric away, and was getting ready to crawl under just to take a look. What are you looking for? she asked. A head cocked to one side. Uh, nothing, I stammered. He must have.

He must have what? I never finished the sentence. I rationalised it, you see. Told myself he'd gotten out. That was all. Even as I rolled past the lot and I saw Michael's sister staring at his car, looking around for older brother, I just kept telling myself he'd gotten out and was probably running to the police ready to file assault charges. Of course, that wasn't true at all.

From what I understand, Michael's sister had to go back in and call her parents who in turn called the police. I woke up the next morning to Michael's smiling, spotty face on the Gazette. The picture cribbed from one of our school photos.

It must have been taken at school play with me standing just a few places over. I was nearly sick with guilt. and I tried to pretend that my mind was playing tricks of me, not that it stopped me going over my car with a fine-tooth comb. I'm hardly CSI, but there are a few blonde hairs in the back that I'm sure he must have shed. And the scuff marks, they were never imaginary.

They were real, 100% authentic. I called Dave and Andy, and they confirmed what we'd done. Not that they saw it with the same significance. Oh, he must have got out as all, Andy said. For all we know, he wandered out and straight into some creeper's car. I don't know what you're so worried about. Is he in your basement chained up? No, I answered.

Is he dead and buried in your garden? No? Did you chop him up and feed him to his family at a town barbecue? No. Well, good. Well, then chill the hell out, Andy said. We played a mean prank as all. I'm a proudest moment, sure, but hardly worth going to the police over.

I convinced myself of this, because it made a kind of a kind of of sense. We really had just played a mean prank. He hadn't killed anyone or stuck knives into them like they were a pincushion. But in the background of my mind, I learned a new mantra. It was when I picture myself saying to the police, to the press, to Michael's weeping family. It was like a prayer that I started muttering in quiet moments between chores and work, a prayer that's still with me, a nervous tick that I repeat incessantly in hushed breaths, even though I don't always know what it means. I didn't mean no harm. I didn't mean no harm. I didn't mean no harm. They should have carved those words into my skin the day I was born. It had saved people who met me a lot of time. Lied to my

old man and got my little brother in trouble. I didn't mean no harm. Hid my speeding tickets from my parents until the debt collectors came and took the car. I didn't mean no harm. Got caught driving home after too many drinks. I didn't mean no harm. Lost my first girlfriend after I got drunk one night and sent some messages to a sister on Facebook. I didn't mean no harm. Hell, I got a daughter I don't see anymore after I overslept one night and didn't manage to change her. Her mother turned up one Sunday morning to pick her up

and found her watching cartoons in a feces-soaked diaper while I slept off an apocalyptic hangover. The last thing I remembered, I'd put her down to sleep and had a couple of beers. I didn't mean no harm. They... Never found Michael. They looked and looked, and yes,

they even looked at us. A few people had seen us messing around with him, some from passing cars, some from tall windows, and the police found out. Our faces are in the local papers and some wider reaching ones too. But it never amounted to anything because the police didn't have a body. His parents made a few public pleas. My car was taken and searched top to bottom. They have it at the police impound where I ought to have picked it up, but never did. A psychiatrist would probably tell you that's guilt.

But damn, there's a good chance I left the car to be. rot because I just couldn't be bothered. I'm not sure I even know myself anymore. First time I saw Michael after the incident, I was wondering out of a bar and feeling a little mean, which happens a lot when I drink alone. I had a half bottle of beer in my hand when I passed this homeless guy sitting outside. He was new, probably a drifter, and just looking at him, put all these cruel thoughts into my head. I often think cruel things, and I was a little.

was getting ready to ignore these ones like normal. Except this homeless man, he calls out and asks for a swig of the beer. I look at this guy and all these pictures come rushing into my head. Pictures like sort are soaking up vomit and pee. Pictures like my boss talking down to me after I used the wrong mop in the canteen. Pictures like the way the admin ladies look at me when I smile at them in the smoking area. And then there was this guy sitting there with a blanket on his knees, absolutely tilting his head side to side while waiting for an answer.

Sure, I said. And I threw the beer at him so hard, it counted him right on the skull. There was a little peep there for a second, a split-second cry of pain that was cut short. It made me laugh. It really did. I hadn't meant to hit him, just scare him. But the outcome made me giggle anyway.

I was already walking away, feeling a little better, when someone else called out to me. And the sound of their voice made my blood freeze solid in my veins. Alex, it said. Pst, hey, Alex. It was Michael. And I turned, feeling as if the whole world was about to snap shut in me like a Venus fly trap. I nearly passed out, just crumpled to the floor then and there.

I'd spent too many years telling myself that boy had disappeared on his life, just on a runner after the horizon to go live in Mexico or Sweden or who cares. Over here. He was coming from the homeless man. I got closer and tried to live. looking for the voice, but all I saw was a smelly old guy, blood trickling down from his temple.

Down here, under the blanket. I pulled it aside and saw a can of lager, open but empty, resting between the man's legs. That's it, right here. A finger rose out of the empty can and wiggled at me,

like he was saying hello. Michael giggled. You found me. What the hell? I said. Michael? Michael, is that you? You bet, he cried. Look, I need a favour, and I think you owe me given... How the hell? What is this? A magic trick?

I reached down and took the can and held it up, turning it over and over, and even shaking it, thinking something would rattle. But nothing did. It's not a trick, Alex. A vainy I bulged against the ringpole and glared at me. It's been a long time, Michael said. Chirpy in a way. Never been in real life. Are you gonna do me this favour or not?

I mean, I don't want to point a finger or nothing. But whose fault is it that I'm here, eh? Uh. Oh, your aunt's so witty now, are you? He laughed. I didn't mean no harm, he added, marking me with a faux dumb tone. You say that in your sleep, you know. Uh-huh.

Jesus hell. I know I called you dumb, but we both know you're better than all this. Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh, crap. Come on, use your big boy words. I held the can up to my ear and rattled it once more. Stop it! He screamed with the authority of a drill sergeant and I dropped the can without thinking. Damn, oh crap, sorry, I mumbled.

Sorry, Mike. I picked the can up and focused on the ringpole. A single brown eye was looking at me and I felt myself shrinking before the withering gaze. You're going to help or you're just going to keep trying to make me seasick? He asked. Of course I will, I added, nodding. anything, anything at all.

You know people are looking for you, right? Did I ask for your bloody advice, Alex? He snapped. If I ever need to know how to get rid of public lies, I'll speak to you ASAP, okay? For now, I just need help. A tiny bit of help, that's all. Sorry. Look, I think even you can manage this.

Just pull the can down and... You see that homeless guy? The one you knocked out like a real good Samaritan. Yeah? Put his finger in the hole. What? the hole in the can, he said. Any finger, it doesn't matter.

Just do it. I nodded and carefully put the can back where I'd found it. I held the old man's wrist with one hand and gingerly pinched the single finger with the other, sliding it into the can like I was slipping a wedding band on. That's it, Michael said. Up to the knuckle, if you can. I pushed the finger in as far as it could go

without the metal cutting the old man's skin. I was so close to the poor guy I could smell the coppery trail of blood that ran down his scalp. The realization made me feel like a real piece of crap. I hadn't meant to hit him, just scare him. Chance and bad luck meant the bottle had hit him. That was all.

I didn't mean no harm. Oh, goody! Michael giggled after I waged the finger in there, good and proper. Oh, and Alex, I have one more favour to ask you. Don't look a way. away. When it was over, the can look like a spent bullet, all frayed around the edges like a blooming flower.

And the man was. Well, he woke up when the first finger bent backwards at the knuckle, and he looked at me like I was a doctor about to explain some strange amputation. He wasn't angry at me. He just wanted to know, and somehow that made me feel even worse. I'll never know exactly what happened to him, anatomically speaking. To put it simply, that old homeless guy, he got sucked into the can, and not fast like explosive decompression either. It was real slow going, painful too, given the noises he made, and the way he ran around screaming and hollering while his arm was just torn to shred.

That's something I'll never forget. As a kid, I watched this old horror film and a guy got sucked out into space through this tiny little hole over the span of minutes, and he was just like that. only it weren't cheap rubber and latex's skin getting pulled into goo. By the time it reached his elbow, I was trying to help pull it off. Somehow, he was awake the whole time, joints cracking and snapping, bones and muscle slowing off like melted wax. How no one came to help us, I'll never know. I screamed for help so long my throat turned raw, and I was spitting up blood for days. Just before the end, the man went quiet, and he looked at me like he was a cancer patient

I just knew what was coming. The can was up to his shoulder, and, without warning, he just slipped on in there. Pop, and the mess flew up into the air, and only the can was left behind. You could see the inside plain as day, and there was blood and goo, and even a tooth, but there wasn't a whole human stewing around in there, more like a half-glass is worth, but not a whole man. Michael? I whispered.

but no one answered. They were gone. Give him what he wants, Dave said, droning into the phone like a brain dead drunk. Give who? I asked. You know. We put him in there and he never left. Dave, I said, where are you? Do you need help?

Just give him what he wants, Sal. He replied. He'll ask for a lot, but we owe it to him. Click. The line went dead and I was already putting my coat on before another minute it had passed. Dave and I hadn't spoken in years. Hell, it had been a good four years

since I heard any voices in cans, whatever that was. A dream, I figured, even if I did drive past some very scary-looking cops outside the bar the next day. It was just a dream, I told myself. Yet I knew what Dave was talking about,

and that scared the hell out of me. I didn't know it at the time, but the garage Dave owned hadn't opened all day. A string of angry voicemouse were left waiting on his phone and the flashing red buzzer lit up the small reception desk with godly patience. On off. On off. On off. I saw it through the window with my hands cupped around my face.

Dave and his family lived above that place in a small flat and I had to break a small window around the back to get inside. Dave was sat against the wall on the cold shop floor. His chin slumped down over his chest and his legs spayed out in a V. I tried the lights, but they didn't work. The glass crunched underfoot along the way. Someone had done a real number on this place. Rubber and metal would strain about the floor in twisted bits and pieces.

Whoever owned the car Dave had been working on would be mad. It was smashed all to hell with panels wrenched off and embedded in the shop walls and floors. The drive shaft was sticking through the back wind shield and the roof had been curled back like a sardine can. It looked like it had gone. through a Viv's section, especially given how liquefied flesh dripped off the twisted frames like vines in an old wreck. When I

moved around to check under the hood, I saw a dense labyrinth of finely machined parts, I guessed to be the engine block. Fingers jutted out of every shadowy crevice, and delicate mechanisms were chocked with hair and skin. I thought of the old man and the can and felt my

gorge rise. Something about the scene looked familiar, and I was wondering what that was, when a flash of colour caught my eye. I backed away to get a better look and, angling my light, I saw a small red shoe dangling from a bumper by a lace. It was the kind of thing a girl of eight or nine would wear, and it was dripping with blood. I thought of Dave's wife, of his family, of what he said on the phone. Dave, what did you do? What I had to. I looked and Dave was staring right out of me, blood filling his mouth.

He looked so pale in my light, I didn't know if he was just close to death or an actual talking corpse. What happened here? I asked. It's like a bomb went off. He stared for a while longer, and then lifted his arm, pointing to the car. I think his back is broken. That voice was like acid in my veins.

It definitely wasn't Dave who'd spoken. He was still staring at me, like a drunk on the side of the. the road, his classy eyes vacant of all thought. Over here, Alex, Michael said, and I followed the voice to the engine block. Woo-hoo! A small finger wiggled at me out the black cylinder. Yes, that's right. Look, I need your help.

I know it's a lot to ask of someone like you, but you got to admit, you kind of owe me. Sure, I mumbled. I was dumbstruck by the strangeness, sure. But looking back, I can also. to remember a kind of haze, a crippling guilt so powerful, it was like standing on the surface of the sun, like there was enough power in Michael to snap me into like a bundle of raw spaghetti. Anything you want. Good, Michael said.

That's what I like to hear. What I need is for you to grab Dave, pull him over, and popping down against the engine. Anything, I repeated. You're a good guy. You know that, Alex. Michael said, Just try not to screw it up. I have expected Dave to put up a fight,

but as I stepped over, he just looked at me like we had a job to do. Not really thinking, I gave his shoulder a tug, and he fell over. His head hit the floor with a loud crack. Poor guy. His eyes rolled around like I'd turn his brains to omelette.

Don't worry, Michael cooed. There was nothing important in there anyway. I deserve it, Dave slurred. Shouldn't have hesitated when it came to my little girl. That was selfish. It was, wasn't it? Michael agreed. So selfish.

Dave groaned as his eyelids fluttered and his breathing slowed. It was hard work dragging him, but I got him there. I had to prop him up, awkwardly, against a slab of metal like some kind of upright pillow. It was a clumsy job, but good enough. A single thumb emerged from the darkness and gently rubbed a trickle of drool from Dave's lip. Alex, Michael said. I think you know what I'm going to ask, don't you? Yeah, I nodded.

I won't look away. And I didn't. I didn't have a bad childhood, but it sure had its moments. Despite a father with anger issues and a mother with gin and a veins, it wasn't too bad. The only time where I truly felt singled out for a cruel and unusual punishment was the time my cousin locked me in an airing cupboard.

I'd had a wicked time with night terrace grown up and it was no secret among the family. I think he thought it'd be funny or that maybe he'd find something out about me. I don't know. Looking back, it was the first time I ever understood what real cruelty was. It was a small space he crammed me into.

God, no bigger than the inside of your standard washing machine. and dark, obviously, pitch black all around me, and you got to understand that to a kid, the universe ain't ordered and sensible. Things just happen all the time. Old dude you liked who gave you candy every weekend. He's dead, sorry. Come home to a crying mother.

No one will tell you why. Wake up one day and your old men won't go to work no more. You won't say what happened, but everyone's crying and it soon turns to fighting. Do you know what a promo shun is? Well, your best friend's dad just got one, so now you'll never see him again, ever. The universe is chaos.

You will suffer without warning. Enjoy. To me and you, being locked in a room or a cupboard, probably ain't a big deal. Kick down the door, scream, cry, holler, shout, bide your time, do what you got to do. But I didn't know that. I was six and strange things happened to me all the time.

How was I to know my art would hear and come open the door in just ten minutes. I didn't know someone would come for me. I didn't even know whether this was part of the damn plan. For all I knew, I was right where my parents wanted me, and my suffering was the desired outcome. You'd think I'd be scared up dying in there. But as I screamed so loud that my lungs turned ragged,

well, it wasn't dying I was thinking about. It was living. It was spending my whole life trapped in the dark, in the cold and lonely outskirts of existence, when no one would come to get me. How long does a person live? 80, 90, 100 years. To a kid, it doesn't matter.

It's all the time you got, and when you're six, you have a lot of time. And there I was, in a space so small, I couldn't stand or lie down or lift my elbows more than a few inches from my side. By the time my aunt arrived, I'd broken two fingers and dislocated a shoulder. Panic can do that to you.

I remember her looking so, sad and worried and confused. She asked me why I'd done it, let myself get so crazy, but I wouldn't say. If she didn't know already, she'd never understand. I only did what I did because of something

that, deep down, all kids know, but then they grow up and forget, or at least you're supposed to. You're never alone in the dark. There's always something waiting for you in there. You're not meant to remember that fact as an adult. It's meant to burn away until it's just ash. But something about Michael had set the thought of blazing me again.

Maybe it was when I locked him in the trunk. Maybe it was when he first came back. But as time ticked on, I was starting to feel like I could just about glimpse something in the corner of my eye. Like I had a taste of the truth and it was hurting me. Physically hurting me like a knife was in my skull being twisted around by a great big, greasy fist. Sometimes I'd find myself staring at shadows and trying to look beyond the dark, the place beyond, the place I'd seen first-hand as a kid, the place that Michael had slipped

into, or more likely, dragged. I didn't expect her to grow up like that. Andy was sat next to me, his feet up on the dashboard with a cigarette between his lips. Trying not to make him look, I pulled to my sleeve and wiped away the blood collecting round the corner of my eyes. I'd been staring at the footwell for the last hour or so, refusing to blink. If Andy had thought me crazy, he didn't say. truth is he didn't look so hot either

he'd had a wife once upon a time a real battle axe Dave and I used the joke that if it weren't for the fact that we saw the two of them in the same room we would think Mrs. Andy was just a husband in a wig but Andy liked her he did he liked her a lot and by the time we finally saw fit to contact each other

I was pretty sure Andy had already given his blow of it over to Michael she's looking good he smiled biting the tip of his lip like a cherry pip. I looked at the young woman walking down the street, and I shrugged. I hadn't had thoughts like that for a long time. Looks like him.

You can see the family resemblance, I said. Do you think he can see us? Do you think he sees everything we do? I don't know, I replied. I'm not sure he's even human anymore. Well, you better hope he is, and he scald. Otherwise, this plan is shot. She's a pretty thing, though.

A couple of ways we can show him we're serious. I wouldn't do that if I were you, I replied. We need to show him what he can lose if he doesn't leave us alone. What do you mean? I mean, let's try and scare him, yeah, not make him mad more than he already is. Whatever, now come on and get ready. Andy said, sitting upright and slapping his thighs with excitement. Here she comes.

Something about this experience was wearing on me. The last few weeks had started this much together. I wasn't even sure how it got an hour. out of Dave's place. It was like my brain had purged all those events from my memory, and yet, if I closed my eyes, I'd see skin-colored wax melting through a sieve. It made me ill every time, but it wasn't just that rolling inside my head, making me nervous. It was Andy. He had a nasty little look in his eye. The girl was on her way home from college. She was all grown up since I'd last seen her standing outside her school,

looking around for a missing brother. She looked like she'd grown up on the straight and narrow, and I could see a satchel bouncing around her hip that was full of thick-looking textbooks. It was bizarre, but right before we snatched her, right before Andy lunged out of the car to hug her waist and throw her against the door, I remember thinking,

good for her, getting an education. And then Andy punched her so hard, her head snapped back against the car window, and she went out cold, sliding to the floor. I got her, Andy growled as he bundled into the car. Come on, move it, move it! We can't just sit here forever.

I turned the keys and pulled out to the alley we've been hidden in. When I looked in the rearview mirror, I could see Andy staring down at Michael's sister. He looked insane. Don't, I said, and I gently pulled Andy's hand away from the girl's hair. He'd spent the last few minutes caressing a head like a bowling ball. Isn't the whole point to scare him? He asked, flashing me a toothy grin. It's me you're scaring right now, I said, just wait. For what? She wakes up and starts crying, Michael, Michael,

come save me. I don't know, I answered, wiping another trickle of blood away from the corner of my eye. We were sat in our old locker room. The school had been shut down years ago, an old student sent to another place a few towns over. There was no electricity, so we were to bring our own lights. They cast harsh shadows that plucked away at my consciousness Like the aura of a migraine Please just sit down I said and stop pacing How the hell is this my fault?

And he screamed And he probably didn't mean the words entirely for my benefit For a brief moment he unravelled And punched the locker door so hard And so often they'd left an impression of his knuckles As bloody indents Only when the locker collapsed backwards Did he seem to finally register where he was

And who he was with and he took a long breath between his teeth while trying to soothe his sore fist muttering furiously he walked over to a nearby sink and washed the blood away I gave him what he asked for he said when he finally came back did everything he wanted

not just Bethel either the dogs the cats the chickens out back even the damn feats had to go if it lived it went I just nodded it wasn't enough he growled it never will be the girl was awake and she was looking

right at me. Her voice had made me think of how funeral home smell, like it was the kind of thing that had talked to you as you turned to mush in a crypt somewhere. Oh boy, Andy cried, stepping towards her like a boxer in the ring. Here we go, sweetheart. He grabbed his chin with one hand, and he looked ready to crush her head in a single move. Big guy, our Andy, but for some reason, I wasn't too worried about that. It was the girl. How long had she been listening to us? And the way she looked. She didn't seem right. Even as Andy lifted an arm and sent an open-handed slap barreling towards her, she never looked away from me. She barely even flinched. Michael, he roared, turning to every corner of the room. We have your damn sister. We have her and we're not afraid to hurt

her because we ain't got nothing left to lose. Anything we do now, pal, it's on you. His voice was hoarse like a soldier screaming bloody murder, like this was a battlefield and he was getting ready to face off against the final foe, like he had it all figured out. But I was starting to get the funny feeling we hadn't found a winning strategy at all. That's not true, she said. Where's your brother? Andy roared, hitting her again. Tell him to come out. Tell him to come out and face me like a damn man.

What's not true? I asked, my words, frightened whispers. You have plenty left to lose, she answered. Alex, she smiled. her mouth all crooked from where Andy's gorilla fist was crushing her cheeks in his palm. Could you do me a favour, please? Andy looked at me for a moment, like he thought I'd planned some kind of ambush, and her and I were in league.

Don't answer her, he said. What the hell's going on? Don't look away, she said. It's important to him that you watch. I want, I whispered. And I think it was right about then that Andy's bluster failed. I'm sure I saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes before the hand reached out of the girl's mouth and grabbed his wrist

And he cried for me He cried a lot Towards the end he cried for his mother for Bethel too But the girl, she never cried What happened to her was probably just as bad as what happened to him Even worse Bodies weren't meant to do that But whatever hold Michael had over her

It was strong I guess it must be so dark inside a person By the end, she looked like a clay statue of a girl that had been squished by a toddler's fist. Those chubby fingers gripping so hard that some parts squeezed out in funny trickles, while a other bit split apart and crumbled. I remember looking into a chest cavity when it was over, looking at the way the shadows made it look so big and vacant. I'm pretty sure her head had been split open in places,

but it was hard to know what was her and what were just the dripping remains of Andy. I was captivated. by the raw destruction of the scene. I must have stayed there for an hour, just looking down at her. Sometimes I catch a sound, a little bit like a crying man. It sounded like Andy, but it didn't always come from the gaping hole made out of the girl's collarbones. Sometimes, it came from the lockers behind me. If I listen carefully, I can hear him screaming in the dark.

Don't do it again, he said. I won't. don't try to threaten or intimidate or outwit me. I won't. I've seen what's on the other side. I nodded. It's not good, he added. You're not meant to have a body here.

Makes you indigestible. It's been a real struggle, Al. You owe me for what you did. More than just a single lifetime, because thanks to you, I'm not going anywhere, am I? No. It was a rhetorical question, Al. Sorry, you should be, he said.

Are you worried? The words pulled me away. I'd been staring at my feet the whole time. My eyes drawn to the patch of shadow beneath my seat. The train shut it gently as it traced the railway's curve, the lights flickering weakly. I could feel the air growing heavy. What's your name?

The woman sat beside me and smiled. She was old and spoke with a sympathetic authority. Alex, I said. How are you feeling, Alex? "'Not good,' I answered. "'And to my surprise, I burst out crying. "'Not good at all. "'I'm Beatrice,' the old woman said.

"'But you can call me B.' "'Thank you, B. "'Do you have anywhere safe to stay, Alex?' "'I nodded, wiping the snot from my nose. "'Are you going there now?' "'A few other passages abroad were looking at B "'like she just approached the hungry lion. "'They'd spent the journey doing

everything to avoid me, treating me like your typical lunatic. I never tried to hide anything, never tried to hide who I was or what was going to happen. But they always thought I was talking to the voices in my head. They didn't know I was speaking to the shadows. They didn't know how real it was. Do you need any help getting home? Be asked, is there anyone I could call for you? I have no one, I said, feeling my heart break a little at the admission.

When I looked up at B, I saw the tunnel fast approaching. I reached out and grabbed B's hands so tight and must have hurt. She looked worried, so concerned. Her eyes darted around looking for what had scared me. When she realized what had scared me, she looked relieved. Oh, it's okay, she said. Are you claustrophobic? I'll be here the whole time, but don't you worry, the darkness always passes.

The train into the tunnel. There were a few gasps, one even from B, who must have wondered, just like all the others, why the shadow that enveloped us was so devastatingly black. That was the last noise any of them made. There were no screams, only a whoosh of displaced air, like I'd stood next to a speeding truck on the highway. Something enormous had just passed me by, and it took all my strength not to scream. There were other things too, smaller predators floating behind in the shoal, scavenging what little remained.

They would ignore me if I stayed perfectly still. So said Michael. When the light returned, there was hardly a sign that there had ever been anyone else aboard. The sole exception being the severed hand of bee that remained clutched in my fist. Even in plain daylight, I couldn't bring myself to let go. I just kept holding on, hoping and willing the past few minutes could somehow reverse and undo themselves. I didn't want to be this person. I didn't want to be responsible for anyone's suffering.

But you are, Michael said. And when I looked back down, there he was. You are very responsible. Not if it could happen without you. You think that things would be like this if it had just been Dave or Andy on top of that car? No, Alex. It was you.

You remembered what lives in the dark, and they remembered you. I let go of Bees' hand, and it fell to the floor. I'm sorry, I said. It's too late for that now, Alex. You carry this darkness around like a luggage, and the holes you make are getting bigger every day. A lot of those people are still in one piece.

Do you know what that means? They're alive, and there's no time here, no death, no entropy. They will always be alive, and the things that live here just love flesh. Can't eat it, but they sure do love playing with it. Something alive. Something whole. That's like Christmas.

They spent a long time playing with me. But I'm not so sure I would be would be able to strike up a deal like I did. No escape for her. I should kill myself, I whispered. You can, Michael said. But where do you think you'll go? Hell, I asked.

Oh, Alex, he laughed. Hell implies another option. But this is all there is. just an abyss, the abyss and the things that live in it. You don't have a lot of time in the light. Nobody does, but that's why it's so important you put it to the best use. And, as we've already discussed, everything you have really belongs to me, doesn't it? It does.

So, what are we going to do? I'll give you whatever you want. Good. And I could hear the smile in Michael's voice. There's another stop. soon. Just a few more people. Then we'll move on. Gotta change it up, I'll, we don't want to draw too much attention. After all, there's so much more you can give me.