CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - 7 r/Nosleep HORROR Stories to chill you this summer

Episode Date: June 14, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORY►►0:00 "I've been going to the same Vietnamese restaurant every week for eight years" Creepypasta►20:40 "I Made A Deal With A Witch" Creepypasta►48:57 "I hate ghosts. Here's why" Creepypasta►1:15:10 "My neighbours are nesting" Creepypasta►1:32:30 "Every night for the past week, I've woken up in the ocean depths" Creepypasta►1:58:37 "I work in a hospice for the dying. This patient will forever haunt my dreams" CreepypastaCreepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...CREEPY THUMBNAIL ART BY►Disse86: https://www.deviantart.com/disse86/ar...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPastaCREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only-

How long have you lived here? It's my least favorite question. The problem is, it's so easy to ask. It seems like a pleasant way to request a bit of personal information, a starting point for categorizing the person you're talking to. But it's so annoying to answer. I have to do the math every time. I graduated from college in 2010, got married a year later,

lived with my grandparents-in-law for two years while we saved up, bought the house after that, At seven years, no, eight. That gets us to today. Yeah, eight years, I think. And if my wife is around, she inevitably corrects me because I rounded up in the wrong place or something. Anyway, that's neither here nor there, just griping.

My point is that for eight years, we all go with eight for now. I've been going to the same Vietnamese restaurant on First Street, at least once a week. and if it's up to me, I'll go back every week as long as I live here. In fact, any time we talk about moving, that's what gives me a twinge. Not the neighbours, not the woody park across the street, not the balmy weather we get for eight months out of the year. It's Café No. I'll try to explain. Ban Me is the world's greatest sandwich.

Café Noor does it like so. bread, hoistened mayo, shredded carrot, shredded radish, glazed pork, cilantro, jalapeno, bread. If you've had one, you'll understand where I'm coming from. It's saucy, spicy, savory, sweet, everything you'd want in a sandwich. And it is vegetables in it. Like, more than a token amount of vegetables, enough to make me feel good about my obsession. They pretty much know me at Cavingall by now. I can mummer my order at sub-hudible levels, and the dude, or one of his daughters, depends on who's working the counter, knows what to get for me.

I leave a tip, even though it's a take-out because, frankly, I think they deserve it. Every single time I go, I'm glad I did. And if there's anyone in the city who knows that place better than I do, every scratch on the floor, every chip in the paint, every misspelled word in the menu, then they're trying awfully hard to avoid me because I sure haven't met them so that should explain why I can't stop thinking about last month the last time we went before they reopened their dining room they were curbside only during the pandemic

like most places around here didn't make a look of difference to me the food was the same either way I went to their website a few minutes before 11 in the morning click the link to the third party website they used for online orders, added a sandwich to my cart. I think I could do this with my eyes clothes, honestly, and checked out. And a few minutes later, I was in my car and headed downtown.

My food was usually ready by the time I got there, but this time I had to wait at the curb for a bit. I had already texted the number on the sign to let them know I was there, and, after a minute or so, I turned off the car. I was looking at stuff on my phone, trying not to stare through the window, or seem too impatient or anything. Then there was a knock on my window and I looked up sharply because I hadn't noticed anyone coming out of the restaurant, but I'm sure I was just too absorbed to my phone. There was a person I'd never seen before, an elderly fellow, a little hunched, white hair

curling out from underneath a blue baseball cap. But he was holding a brown paper bag with a receipt staple to it, so I rolled down the window. must have been a new employee or something. You here for, he trod off and held at the bag questioningly. Yep, here you go. And that was it. I was on my way back home with a ban-me, exactly like the hundreds of others I'd eaten since moving here. Except it wasn't.

I think maybe I should have been listening to my intuition on this one. But on what grounds exactly? Yeah, I'd never see. seen that guy before, but it's not like I was going to run a background check on him before letting him give me takeout. And yeah, the receipt struck me as odd. Like, maybe it was a different shape than normal, wider or something. Again, nothing I was going to freak out about. But, even when my anxiety meds are working, sometimes all it takes is a few little things to make me feel unsettled. And that's definitely how I felt. I was ready to forget all of that when I got back to

my desk. For the next few minutes it would be just me, a glorious sandwich, and maybe a couple of work emails. I opened the bag and pulled out the long styrofen box the band may always came in. This was my favourite part. That first wave of scents. Meaty, herby, vegetable. The first bite, the perfect blend of flavours. It was always as good as I remembered. Except this time, as I opened the box, I've heard a slight wave of nose. nausea, as though I stood up too fast or had too much coffee. And this sounds crazy, but I could swear, the box was empty for a split second. I mean, I looked and there was my sandwich, exactly the way I expected it.

But I'm almost sure it hadn't been there before, like it had materialized out of thin air after I opened the box. Again, sounds crazy. I'm sure that's not what happened. made things happen all the time and usually have a totally reasonable explanation and our brains don't work perfectly so sometimes we see things that aren't there

trust me I understand all of this I've read books about it that didn't stop me from feeling weird as hell about the whole thing I lived at the sandwich out of the box a few times but just couldn't bring myself to eat it so I let out a deep sigh close the box back up and put it in the fridge

Maybe after I'd calmed down a bit, my appetite would come back. That was the first and only banned me that's ever stayed the night in my refrigerator. The next morning, I had just convinced myself that it was a normal sandwich and my brain had been psychinged me out. I bawled it out and was about to dig in when the doorbell rang. It was Pastor Adeline. She'd been trying to get me to join a congregation ever since I'd moved in. I had nothing against church folks myself, but I hadn't been to church in a long time

and wasn't really interested in going back. Plus, I knew I wouldn't agree with a lot of the stuff she preached. But she was friendly to me, and I tried to be friendly back. She had a lot of influence in the neighbourhood, and I wasn't looking for drama. Hey, Addy, I said. Hi there, I've been making visits today.

Mind if I come in? Sure, I've got a minute. I stood aside and let her visit. into the front room. Can I get you a glass of water? That'd be lovely. An old lady like myself has to stay hydrated, you know. I made a show of rolling my eyes. If you want anyone to believe you're old, you'll have to start acting like it. I wasn't kidding either. She practically bounded into the kitchen after me. I motioned for her to sit down as I fetched the glass and filled it. Thanks, friend. She took a long sip and arrived for her. She took a long sip and arrived

fell on the bandme, cradled in his box, still practically untouched. Oh, my favourite. You like Caffingyneux. It's my favourite, too. She squinted. Ah, must have mistaken that for something else. I don't think I've ever been to Caffingor. You ought to go sometime.

It's good. I'll keep that in mind. She took another sip. Can I ask you a personal question? There it was. the awkward portion of today's events. I nodded. When was the last time you prayed?

I thought back. Probably not since high school. You ever thought about trying it again? I made a non-committal noise. Once or twice. At this point, I've probably forgotten how. Why don't you come to church sometime? Let us show you the ropes.

I sighed. It's like I've already told you. you Addie, I respect what you're doing, but I don't think I can go to your church. I just sit there the whole time thinking about my parents. I know they wouldn't be welcomed there. She nodded slowly. I understand, just letting you know that our doors always open. We exchange a couple more pleasantries, and then she stood up to leave.

She eyed my takeout box once more. That sure looks delicious. Mind if I take it home? I was sure she was joking. I laughed, she laughed too. Then she grabbed the box and ran. I was absolutely gobsmacked. Her pastor was stealing my food. She would have gotten away with it too, but then I heard a crash from the front room. I ran in to find Pastor Adeline sprawled on the floor my take-out box inches from her hand. It genuinely looked as though she had run straight into the door.

Are you okay? I asked. After a moment, she nodded. I think so. Then, I look of profound embarrassment crossed the face. I don't know what got into me. Must be that blasted medication the doctor's got me on. I extended her hand and helped her up. She was a little wobbly.

I was surprised she hadn't broken a bone. I am so, so sorry. she said, my doctor's going to get an earful from me later. Don't worry about it, I said, but I don't think I sounded very persuasive. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. I opened the door for her. She looked back at the band me briefly, then tore a gaze away and hurried herself out, muttering something about giving regards to my wife.

If something had felt hard about the ban me yesterday, it felt doubly so today. At this point, I wasn't sure. sure I'd ever feel like eating it, but it didn't feel right to throw it away. I put it back in the fridge. My wife and I were drifting off to sleep that evening when I heard a creek from outside the bedroom. Did you hear that? I mumbled. Yeah, probably nothing. It was a little louder than a normal house-settling creek,

but I really wanted it to be nothing, especially on a day like this. will you go to look? She asked. I sighed and rolled out of bed. She was working ridiculous hours at the hospital lately, so if a quick look around would help her sleep, it was for the best. Besides, it wasn't my first time investigating an odd noise

and probably wouldn't be my last. As was my custom, I grabbed the baseball bat out from under the bed and carefully, silently, open the bedroom door. someone was standing in my kitchen just a silhouette in the dark but a silhouette I thought I recognised short with pudgy thighs

and perpetually wire stiff hair that pointed in all directions Jim the silhouette yelt and whirled around I turned on the light it was indeed Jim my next to neighbour who I shared a thousand cheerful greetings with usually over the noise of a lot

lawnmower or out the window of a car. Oh, uh, hi there. He was in his underwear and looked a little confused. A cupboard was open at his feet. Jim? I began, then paused. How to put this? Are you rooting around in my kitchen at midnight?

The answer was obviously yes, but I wasn't sure what else to say. He looked around, clearly unprepared for the situation, and chuckled so nervously. It almost sounded like he was choking. I must have been sleepwalking again, he added. But I wasn't sure I believed he'd done this before. How did you get in? Front door was unlocked. Probably.

I mean, I don't remember. Good Lord, was he bad at this? Go home, Jim. This isn't okay. I'm sorry He stood there for a moment Quaking before taking a couple of hesitant steps past me Then he thought

I'm so hungry You wouldn't happen to have a sandwich I could take home Maybe some leftovers My heart dropped If only this could have been a regular break in Eventually I could have convinced myself That he was sleepwalking He would have looked back and laughed

his wife would have brought a plate of cookies as an apology. But no, it had to be about that cursed ban me. Go home, I said again, and motioned toward the front door with my baseball bat. Please, I'm so hungry, I won't survive. And go to McDonald's. I really don't care. You broke into my house at midnight.

You need to get out before I call the police. That seemed to motivate him. He walked to the door, a little slower than I would have liked. and let himself out. I locked the door behind him. It was several minutes before I heard his footsteps walking away. I didn't sleep a wink after that.

The next day was like some kind of hellish nightmare. There were three visitors in the morning, five in the afternoon and evening. All the people I knew, except for one, a door-to-door solar panel salesman. All last, with varying levels. of shamelessness if I'd give them a sandwich. I knew what they meant. Several made up a pretext to come inside, but I'd drawn the line.

Nobody was coming inside today. Nobody was coming inside this week. By the end of the evening, I'd had just about enough. I briefly considered putting a no-sambuages sign on the front door, but that would end all pretense of normalcy, and I was desperate for things to go back to normal. A sign probably wouldn't stop anyone anyway.

How often did my no soliciting sign work? Never. I opened the take-up box and stare down to the ban me. I should have thrown it away or burned it. At this point, I knew better than to eat it. But something kept me from getting rid of it just yet. Something deep inside me. Something foreboding.

Something I was scared to think about. As I looked, I noticed the spot of mould had formed in the bread, purple with a halo of white spores around it. Had it been there before, it seemed awfully soon for the sandwich to be going mouldy. Then again, I didn't exactly know how fresh the begets were at Café No,

and I never waited this long before eating my meal. Maybe this part was normal. Maybe it was just a normal sandwich. Maybe the whole neighbourhood had decided to play a prank on me. I put the sandwich back in the fridge. The sun had set and I was settling in to watch something mindless on TV when I heard a shout in the front yard. I sat there, totally drained, willing myself to go look

and at the same time willing myself to stay putt. But in the end, curiosity won out. I peeked through the blinds to see a small crowd gathered on the street in front of my house. The crowd grew every minute or so, as another neighbor arrived. They were huddled in a circle, several of them talking at once,

sometimes making violent gestures in the air. I didn't need to listen very closely to know what they were talking about. I stepped away from the window. When I came back, fully fed up and annoyed, I had my baseball bat in one hand and the take-out box in the other. I opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. The crowd froze. Looking for this?

I lob the box straight up into the air. It seemed to move in slow motion. The crowd's eyes, wide and hungry, followed it up and then back down. Then I swung, putting all my frustration into a single home run hit. Looking back, I'm surprised it even connected. I hadn't played baseball in years. And I never played in the dark. But there was a soft thud, and the box saved.

through the air in a perfect 45 degree arc. I still can't believe what happened next. Coming up to meet it, as though she had sprung from a trampoline, was Pastor Adeline. Addie, who I was certain had never jumped that high in her whole life. Maybe nobody had ever jumped that high. She caught it perfectly against her chest, her look of utter satisfaction crossing her face before she looked down and realized how far she had to fall.

The fall wasn't what killed her, though. By the time she was halfway down, there were fingers scrapping at her, fists flying at her, people grabbing out her clothes and skin. She was yanked one way and the other, and then I lost sight of Addy and the take-up box amid the writhing mass of people. All traces of humanity gone. Plunging and shoving and climbing desperately toward a single goal. And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. A hush

seized the crowd They disintegrated themselves And stepped back The circle widening slowly Until I could see past them There was Adleine Face down on the ground Blood spilling from gashes

And her arms and legs The takeout box was nowhere to be seen A panicked cry rang out And then someone staggered backward and fell It was Jim He scrambled back to his feet and ran It didn't take long for most of the others to follow. The ambulance arrived late, much too late.

I never saw Adelaide again. The police came and questioned everyone, but nobody was willing to talk. Least of all me. There wasn't one chance in a million they would believe us. The community church closed down a few days later. I still want to go back to Café Noe every week. Is that so terrible? I know I shall be traumatized.

truthfully I am But I pick up an order inside now And I keep a watchful eye for an elderly gentleman with a blue cap And every week as I pull back into my driveway I nod suddenly toward the spot Where Addy died Folks from the city came by to clean the road A couple of weeks ago

But whenever I walk by I swear I can still see a patch of red With the blood soaked through and I wonder just a little bit if it's my fault Addie is dead Except the things to which fate binds you

And love the people with whom fate brings you together But do so with all your heart Marcus Aurelius A pop-up tent appeared on the main market street With a sign that read Make your fate in lazy chicken scratches I've never once had my palms read or future view through a crystal ball.

But at that moment, I was open to try anything. I approached the tent. A strong grassy smell floated through the air and invaded my nostrils. The scent so intense it made my head dizzy,

and it only got stronger when I entered. Inside the tent was dark with the exception of candles and lanterns, different herbs and plants dangled from the skeleton of the tent. A table sat in the middle of the room. It was decorated

with small teeth, a colourful dagger, and a silver jeweled chalice. Hello, Charlie, a woman greeted with a thick Russian accent. She was cloaked in a purple gown. The hood ended just at the tip of her nose, but when she looked up to me, I caught a glimpse of glowing amber eyes, a nice effect which added a cherry on top of the experience. I smiled back.

I had been wearing my work uniform with a name tag. I'd wondered if she thought I forgot and would be amazed by her psychic abilities. Hello, I trailed off. Her name had not been included anywhere. Mother Mihela, she introduced herself and pointed a bony hand towards a seat just a foot away from me. Sit, let's talk. I followed her instructions and sat on the cushioned seat, my head still dizzy from the strong odor. speak of your problems, she urged.

If she hadn't been so eerie, I would have maybe felt a motherly vibe from her. I'm not the type of person to overshare, but the words tumbled out of my mouth. I shared about my childhood and my current life, and my wife Danielle, was no longer attractive to me, how I could feel on marriage slipping. I even mention my thoughts of committing adultery. Mother Mahala listened carefully to every word and thought for a moment. her hands clasped tightly together.

What do you want the most? she asked. The image of the brunette I had seen just a few days ago flashed into my mind and I struggled to think of an answer other than a new lover. She asked if she could read my mind and I nodded. I hadn't realised just how sick of my relationship with Danielle I had gotten. Mother Mahela lifted the dagger from the table and held it gently. in her left hand. I watched on with a confusion, and she held out her right hand. How much will it cost? I asked as I swallowed a large club of saliva.

It's nothing you can't pay, she cooed. My hand soon met hers, and she turned it over so I was palm up. The cool blade of the dagger traced a small line that started from below my middle finger and ended at my wrist. Your fate line, she could. commented. With each stroke, the pressure from the blade increased until finally. It broke the skin. I writhed my hand away. A small blob of blood dropped onto the table, and Mother Mahela hissed out of annoyance. What the hell? I exclaimed. My eyes focused on the long cut, now my palm.

Fool, Mother Mahela snatched my hand back with unusual strength and held it above the chalice. With each drop of blood, a small metallic tang echoed from the cup. After seven drops, she closed my fingers up so they were covering my palm. I half expected to see the blood trickled down my wrist, but when the tingling pain in my palm stopped, she reopened it to reveal nothing. I was left speechless, but soon a dull pain began to throb in my head. Mother Mahala took one of the pointer teeth and grounded down to find dust,

making sure to add some of the herbs that dangled above, and when she added it to the blood, it hissed like hot oil. I stared on as she murmured a few fine words and then slid the chalice towards me. Drink, she commanded. I wanted to refuse, but the more I thought about how much I didn't want to drink it, the stronger the pain in my head became until it was unbearable. I shot the liquid back and it slidstrived. straight down my throat, leaving

nicely trowled behind it. The feeling so intense, I squeezed my eyes shut. He opened my eyes and was stood back on the busy market street. No sign at the tent. Only a small whisper to prove my sanity.

Two days. When I returned home, Danielle was sprawled across a couch and makeup smudged and a hair tied into a nest of a bun. She had been day-drinking on a day-off again. Wine, hun, she slurred, tipping a glass in my direction.

I shook my head and unpacked the groceries she had asked me to pick up on my way home. Just as I was putting away the cauliflower, she appeared behind me and wrapped around to her in my chest. I could feel her face pressed against my back, and my only thought was the possibility that she was staining the back of my shirt with her eyeliner. Will anything even happen in two days? I swallowed my anger and reduced the grin Artificial happiness was my goal for the next couple of days If nothing happens

Then I'm settling for a divorce About that wine By some miracle my relationship began to get better Danielle started the day care of herself And she even started making me breakfast in the morning It was like our first year together all over again Today I went out of my way to pick up some flowers from the local florist. Yesterday was a brilliant day of just watching movies,

talking and cooking. I couldn't help but feel overjoyed at the difference between our relationship now and two days ago. I chose a rose and some flower mix, her favorites, though they don't look as pleasing as traditional bouquets. The idea of seeing her excited by the flowers had me so giddy that I practically skipped home. When I opened the door, Danielle was nowhere to be seen. Her usual spot in the couch was empty, but her phone sat idle in the kitchen counter. Danny, I called out. I removed my shoes and walked further into the house.

Danny? Bedroom, she responded. I walked towards the bedroom and creaked the door open. I had wrongfully expected some sort of naughty surprise like a few years back, but instead I spotted my partner jamming clothes into a suit cap. I stood in shock for a moment. What are you doing? I asked. My dad is in hospital. I'm travelling south. I'm thinking a week.

She replied in a hurry. Daniel's dad, Gerald, hated me. In a way, I was glad she didn't invite me. I couldn't imagine a worse way to spend my time. Damn, given my regards, I whispered. I got you these, but I can't. I guess I'll try and take care of them until you get back. Danielle looked up for the first time since I had gotten into the room.

A blue hues fixated on the bouquet and brightened with joy. Ah, hon, they're beautiful, she could. Yes, if you could, if not, you can always get me more. She almost sang, So when are you leaving? Maybe we can eat as soon as I've packed. Sorry. Just as I was cooking chicken for my dinner, Danielle came rushing by.

She took the time to seal a kiss, and before I knew it, she was almost out of the door. Call me when you get there. That night was dull. I ate my chicken and rice dinner, turned on and ran a movie and settled down. Just as I was getting comfortable, my stomach began to rumble. And that rumble I was able to bear through, until it started to grow into intense pain. I sat for as long as I could until the feeling of liquid molten swam up my throat. Searing hot, red bile flew into the toilet as I gagged and wretched.

Did I not cook the chicken properly? I sat at the toilet, dry heaving uncontrollably. I wanted to stop, but the feeling of something stuck in my throat wouldn't pass. With each gag, it slowly made itself up my throat, until finally a small can flew out of my mouth and splashed into the red concoction below. Some of the liquid jumped onto my face, but I was too exhausted to care. I rested my head and my arms,

which lay on top of the toilet seat. On usual occasions, I would have found this disgusting, but it felt like heaven. After the event, I couldn't help but let out a small sob. Eventually, I gathered myself and stared down into the liquid. I hadn't got a chance to see what flew out of my mouth, but if it was anything serious, I knew I'd have to retrieve it to show a doctor.

I exiled deeply and placed my hand into the crimson toilet water. The liquid's still warm. If I had anything left in my stomach, I would have definitely brought that up too. My hand blindly searched until it brushed up against a hard item, which made a clink when it bumped into the edge of the toilet. After a couple more seconds of blind fishing, I managed to retrieve it. In my hand was a small tin, the shape of a tuna can, but the height of a sardine one. There was a bright orange label, which on closer inspection was written purely in Russian.

To the left of the label was a large picture of a girl. In fact, it was the same brunette I had saw just a week ago. Was she missing? Why was a missing picture on a tuna can? Under the picture read Freya. as well as more Russian and the numbers, 27, 157 and 53. After rinsing the can and my hands off, I decided to investigate more using the Google Translate app,

but it struggled to get a good translation from the picture. When I placed it onto the camera, it read, Fate Limited, and the aid, which I assumed to be the instructions, mentioned cold water, but that's all I could make of it. I became too curious. In the kitchen, I peeled back the lid to find a wrapped-up USB floating in orange liquid. I took the USB and dumped the concoction into cold water.

Nothing. No reaction, no color change. Absolutely nothing. The only thing it did was fill the room with a familiar grassy scent. It didn't smell at all edible, so I left it. My exhausted body left the task of washing up for a future me. Danielle didn't pack a work laptop. Whether it was a mistake or if they actually gave her the time off, I was unsure.

But I took the opportunity to plug in the USB. The laptop scanned the device slowly, and when it finally popped up, it had the same name as the can. Inside the USB was a singular file containing an MP4 and a notepad file named Eng. The video showed somebody doing the same process as I did, except in a bucket of water. They spoke in Russian. An easy fix, as the notepad had a translation on. The man waited for 30 minutes, and soon enough, the liquid turned into a woman. The acting was sickly with just how over the top it was,

and whatever they filmed it on had the grain of an older camera, but the quality of something pretty new. The video showed an expiration date written on the inner left, ankle of the girl, cleverly named a deadline by the company. Once I'd finished watching this strange video, another mp4 file appeared. This time, it was called Freya. I didn't press on it straight away. It was a confusing time, and I couldn't help but wonder if this was some clever PR for a movie.

But then I remembered, the can had literally crawled out of my stomach. I caught up with the document after being too entrapped by the, video. It mentioned that the person created would come with memories of being a partner. This was too much for me. I thought the repairing of my relationship with Danielle was Mother Mahal's doing, but, looking at the current situation, perhaps my change in behavior saved her relationship. However, I had to deal with whatever this was before Danielle returned. I clicked on the new MP4 file. This time it was in English. It was a short three-minute documentary on Freya and a life.

Freya was born local. Her father owned a pub while her mother worked a full-time bakery. Freya herself owned a successful graphics design company and worked from home. It listed a few things Freya liked, such as she loved baked goods as it reminded her of her mother. She also really enjoyed watching movies when they first released. The video was interesting, but I couldn't have to be able to. help it feel like a creep. If this thing turned out to be fake, I don't think I could bear to look her in the eye if I ever passed her again. The end of the video was strange. I thought it

ended as it went black and the music came to a halt, but after a few seconds, audio began to play. What do you want the most? Mother Mihaila's voice echoed. I... I... I want my company to grow and then it ended. Charlie? A voice called out. I wits my head around, expecting to see Danielle. But instead,

it was Freya. I almost freaked out. I was mere seconds from diving off the couch and telling her to leave, but then I remember the video. She had a deadline. I just had to check it. Freya stood in the kitchen,

hair wet, and body covered by Daniel towel. A tinge of guilt shot through my body. Did you not hear me? She began to get closer, and I shut the laptop and removed the USB. I shoved it into my pocket. If you need to borrow my laptop, just ask me. Sometimes I even saved work on there, that's all. She smiled. Frayer traveled behind me and wrapped her arms gently around my neck. She pressed a damp cheek to mine, and I could feel a smile. She smelled amazing. Yeah, sure, sorry, I apologized.

Freya inhaled deeply, and I felt a muscles tighten. Have you been sick? she asked. She quickly retreated. Mm-hmm, I think I undercooked my chicken. That's why I tell you to let me cook, she scolded. That night was strange. Freya headed to the bedroom and emerged. now dry and in Danielle's pajamas.

Freya was gorgeous. She was everything I wanted in a woman. If the video was correct, she technically wasn't real. So was it wrong to enjoy the company? We spent the rest of the evening curled up, watching a movie of her choice, and then we headed off to bed.

I'll be honest. I really did feel guilty when Freer snuggled up to me, but it had been a while since Danielle had wanted to cuddle in me. bed. I felt touch-starved. When I woke up the next morning, it took me a moment to gather myself. My alarm had left me disoriented, and the added shock of Freya being in my bed added to my confusion. I was about to scream at her to get out of the house, but the memories of the can and the USB quickly saved me. Freya stretched and turned over to see me, her hair messy from sleep, and her eyes half open from sleepiness.

Can't you have a lion? she asked. She snuggled into my chest, and I couldn't help but wrap my arms around her. Just five minutes, she murmured into my chest. Those five minutes turned into 35, and my emergency alarm went off, alerted me that I only had 15 minutes to get ready. In a hurry, I showered. I didn't have time to do much, and had to go to work without breakfast and wet hair.

When I arrived at work, my boss, James, told me to wait in the back. I wasn't allowed to see customers with wet air and was ordered to stock instead. James must have wanted me to stay in the back because I spent a good four hours there until he said my name down the radio. There's someone near to see you, he called. When I got to the front, I spotted Freya with a bag. She beamed when she saw me and dived in front. hug. Instead, I pulled her around the side of one of the beams, and she shot me a worried look.

What are you doing here? I asked her. She frowned further at the question. You were in such a hurry. You didn't pack any lunch, so I thought I'd bring it. She held out the bag, and I took a look in. She must have cooked me something, and it smelled great. I forgot to make you something last night, so I did a bit of work and then cooked you this. I gave Freya a thankful smile and embraced her for a short second. Thank you, I totally forgot. Freya checked a watch and glanced back at me. I have to go back and work now.

I'll see you when to get home. She gave me a small pick and disappeared out the door. On my dinner break, I realized that I'd forgotten my phone. In fact, I hadn't checked it all night. I cursed of myself, and luckily for me, I was able to use the company phone to dial Danielle. Hello? She answered. Babe, I'm so sorry.

I must have lost... Charlie, oh my God, you had me worried. I must not have called you like 50 times, she scolded. I know, I know. Did you arrive safely? Yeah, I'm actually at the hospital right now, so I can't talk... Danielle began to speak and I heard a voice in the background. Sorry, the doctor is here.

I have to go. The rest of the day was uneventful, and I was actually quite excited to go see Freya. When I arrived home, she was busy cooking. So, I headed to the couch to fish my phone out from between the seats. Danielle wasn't lying. She really did call me 47 times and text me seven times. Damn.

How's your day, honey? Freya quizzed. Is James still being an hour? It threw me off that she knew that. I thought it must have been the false memory thing. No, he was actually okay with me today. He put me in stock, but I don't really like customers anyway. Freya had cooked as nice prawn and tarragon talia telly, a new dish for me.

It was a nice change to cooking my own things. Danielle wasn't much of a cook, and we often opted for frozen meals or takeout. It was something about eating home-cooked meals. had overcame me with joy. Freya had become more touchy. While watching a movie together, she had attempted to kiss me quite a few times, and despite how much I wanted to,

I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Did I do something? She asked, her voice coated with sorrow. No, no, I just... I'm not sure if I have a stomach bug after yesterday, and I don't want to give it to you, I reassured her. Over the course for the next few days,

I began to forget about the can, about Danielle, and even about the USB. I had been living a reality where Freya was my other half, and in all honesty, I was in love with her. We spent a lot of time talking, her ability to carry interesting conversations and me basically worshipping her. One evening, while watching some football, I began to massage her feet, an act of love, something I often did for. did Danielle really matter now?

Freya really got into the game and I snuck a peek at a feat on the inside of her ankle was a black tattoo. I had to focus a little bit due to the lack of light but I managed to make out 19.05-201 the 19th of May was that her deadline?

It was two days away. I didn't want Freya to live. leave. I'd finally found my soulmate. I needed her to stay. Are you okay, hon? she asked. Surely she's aware of the situation. You expire in two days, I whispered. Freya was surprised by this. That's what the date means. I pointed at the tattoo on her ankle and she leaned forward. Her eyebrows knitted in confusion. Charlie, what are you talking about? about. There's nothing there. No, I argued. It says right there on the tattoo. I continue to point at the tattoo on her ankle. The only one with a tattoo on the ankle is you, Charlie.

Stop messing with me, she hoffed. I had a tattoo. What does my tattoo say? I asked urgently. I don't know. I haven't really looked at it. I urged Freya to take another look. She studied it for a short moment. It just says mothers, and then TBA. What does that mean? I don't know. I debated diving into the subject more.

Did Freya know she came from a can? You've been weird. Knowing Freya only had two days, I decided to go out my way and make it feel special. I went to the local Chinese baker. and bought a few sweet pastries they recommended. I even picked up some flowers, this time the traditional type. It was strange. I have expected to wake up on my bed and this turned out to be a dream.

But with every moment that passes, I can't help but hope that it doesn't happen. When I got home, Freya was standing up. The laptop was smashed the bits on the floor and I'd noticed the same USB was plugged in. My pyjama trousers were laying on the countertop. Freya, I called out. The room filled with a panicked breaths. Freya, are you okay? Why didn't you tell me?

She shrieked. I got a glimpse of teary eyes behind her hair. I... She inhaled shakily and clapsed to the floor. Her knees collided with broken plastic, but she didn't flinch. Why did you do this? Why would you make a deal with her?

She asked. What? I remember now, I made a deal with Mother Mahala. That's why my business is doing so well, she began. I didn't realize this was the cost. Wait, this is the payment? I took a few steps closer. The laptop pieces snapped under my shoes.

You mean I'm going to end up like you? This has happened before, she mumbled. I've done this before with somebody else. Freya scrambled to her feet and rushed to the kitchen. She pulled out a large knife, one that looked like she had recently sharpened it, and held the blade to a chest, where I assumed her heart would be. But every time she jerked her hand to do it, she couldn't. Freya let her a distress cry.

I can't do it. She won't let me do it, she cried. Charlie, please, I don't want to do this again. I'm sick of living like this. she begged. Freya patted over to me and knocked the flowers and pastry onto the floor.

She forced the handle of the knife into my hands and pressed a chest up to the pointed end. Charlie, if you love me, if you actually value me as a person, then I need you to do this. I've been through this too many times. I can't keep living like this.

I don't want to go back to storage, she sniffled. I stood in shock as Freya stared up at me with tearful and pleading eyes. Despite her tears, her makeup stayed on perfectly. Please, she screamed. I did it. The knife slid into her smoothly, and rather than bleed, her body hardened and she crumbled into ash, leaving only an orange business card with the

same Russian logo on it. The knife fell to the floor with a loud clang, and I followed it down. Tears began to pour from my eyes, and I let out loud sobs. Soon after that event, the same grassy smell began to fill my nostrils. I paid no notice of it until it grew so intense that my head began to throb. Charlie, it's time, mother Mihaila called. I'm writing this because I need someone's help. I've been living with Harper for God knows how long. I found a USB about my life, about Danielle, and I'm worried she's looking for me.

I don't want to live in this sick loop. I've tried plenty of ways to waft myself, and Harper refuses, claiming she wants to, quote, get good use if she's going to have to suffer too. Have you seen me? It doesn't matter where. Please, I'm begging you. Kill me. Ghosts have scared me since forever, and it's something I can't control.

I'm very careful not to pass near supposedly haunted places when I go on a tree. trip. I investigate any type of paranormal activity when I rent a new house or have a new job in an area that I'm not familiar with, and I would not go to a cemetery at night for all the money in the world. I mean, cemeteries in themselves are a place that I'd never go, but going there at night is something I would not do even by accident. Not to this people who do it, but they are way too unconscious for their own good. My friends laugh at me, every time I tell them this, and I understand why. At the end of the day, I'm a grown man who is afraid of ghosts, characters that were used to make children go to sleep early.

How can you not laugh at that? The problem is my past, that I know things that my friends don't. The most horrible moments of my life happened thanks to the ghosts, and I don't want to pretend that I'm not afraid of them when I know what they are capable of if we mess with them. Clearly, my friends don't know what I'm about to tell you, but I have no major problem telling it to a bunch of strangers on the internet. Why?

I guess I have to get it off my chest and a group of people that I would never see in real life are less likely to judge me than real friends, whose faces I must see when I tell them about the biggest trauma of my life. Some might say that it is a cowardly outlet for venting, and perhaps they are right. But I like to believe that this is my first step in coming to terms with what happened that night. Maybe if I can tell this story and post it online for everyone. Eventually, I'll gain enough confidence to tell my closest people the reason behind my fear. Sorry, I know I'm getting ahead of myself.

And I didn't even begin to tell them the reason behind my fear of ghosts. My story starts when I was nine years old. It was summer break. and of course I was spending my afternoon playing with my friends Kenny Johnny

Marcus and Frankie we like to lay around in the woods playing cowboys or just lying on the grass to read comic books or an adult magazine that some of the boys would sneakily bring from home

occasionally every now and then we would do wrestling shots that we watched on TV clearly unprotected honestly it amazes me that we hadn't seriously

injured each other more than once To this day They are friends that I can't forget And I keep smiling with nostalgia When I go back to those years Although that happiness Always ends up being clouded by the memory

Of what happened It was a summer day like any other We were lying on the grass Looking at the clouds and finding shapes That looks like a giant marshmallow Marker said They don't dude Are you that hungry? I replied

Of course I am I barely had breakfast today. You're eating chips now, you fat, so. Frank yelled. I like eating. Should I apologize for that? I also like your mom. We all laughed, and even Frankie couldn't help but smile.

Of course, not wanting to admit it, he changed the subject of the conversation. This is boring. Did you see that episode of CSI? Of course I saw it, I lied. Everything about murderers and deaths gave me the creeps, but I was never going to recognize it. It was boring, Frankie said, without turning to look at us.

Even at nine years old, he was much more daring than the rest of us. I haven't been excited about anything in a long time. I wish I could see something really scary, at least once. Frankie, I don't think it's a good idea to say that, John said, shrinking his body at the mention of such a thing. Yeah, you better listen to my little brother, man. he's like you shouldn't talk about big boy stuff. I closed my eyes and disgust, knowing who had said that phrase.

The boys turned to the right to see that I was correct. Jeremy, John's older brother, was standing there. Jeremy was a complete idiot. At 13, he was about a foot taller than his little brother, and he always liked to tease us, hit us from time to time, or just being a general party pooper whenever he saw us. As always, John hid behind Marcus, trying not to be seen by his asshole brother. Leave us alone, Jeremy. What do you want? Kenny asked sourly.

Nothing, nothing. I was just passing by. I heard one of you say that you wanted something scary, and I thought, well, no, you're not ready to hear this. It's a story for grown-ups. We are grown-ups, you giant idiot, said Frankie, almost jumping. Tell us what you're talking about. Jeremy gave a little laugh. closing his green eyes before opening them again and seeing us all. Have you ever heard the legend of the white widow? We remained silent. Jeremy was the guy who knew the most urban stories and legends in the entire city,

and there was no one to match his knowledge on the subject. Sure, a lot of the things he told us were lies to annoy us, but that didn't mean he didn't know how to narrate them well enough to attract new dupes into his networks. logically none of us knew the answer to his question but we weren't going to say it out loud even john was afraid to tell his brother that he didn't want to know anything about his stupid story jeremy smiled and kept talking twenty years ago a happy couple was about to get married they were an elementary school teacher and the former town postman she was the happiest woman in the world her family loved her fiancee and her friends were just a young teacher and her friends were just a young postman she was the happiest woman in the world her family loved her fiancee and her friends were jealous whenever they saw them together. There was one particular woman who remembered her more than anyone else.

Jealousy ate her every time she looked at the couple. She wanted to marry that man more than anything in the world. On the wedding day, the teacher waited for a fiancée for hours. Everyone was nervous, scared, and they started to realize the most horrible thing. Her man had left a planted on the altar. We were all quiet. The intensity Jeremy brought to the, his stories was always on point, as if he were born to tell them.

John didn't bother trying to hide that his legs were shaking from the tension, but the rest of us weren't much better either. Only Frankie was genuinely interested in what would happen next. The woman cried while returning home, but when she turned on the lights, she realized the horrible reason behind a man's absence. Her friend, the one who envied her happiness, had killed the poor postman with an axe,

and she was stroking his severed head, sitting in a favourite chair. The poor widow was in shock. She took the axe that was at her side and blew a friend's head, unable to stop crying. She went mad forever. She got in a car and threw it over the edge of a bridge, drowning. And what happened next? I dared to ask, clearing my throat to cover my fear.

That same night, the caretaker went on his night rounds, and everything seemed normal, until he heard a voice appear out of nowhere. It sounded like a sob, carried by the wind, tears of pain carried out by the supical tone she used to throw them. The poor man turned around, and there she was, in the same wedding dress, looking at him. She said, Where is my husband? And attacked him without waiting for an answer. They found the poor man dead the next day, his eyes wide open with fear.

We were all scared, and from what a good smell, John had wet his pants. Since then, every night the White Widow wanders through the city's cemetery, searching for anyone who can tell her where the soul of the man she lost forever is, and attacking anyone who doesn't know the answer. But hey, you don't care, do you guys? I mean, you're too cowardly to go to the cemetery, and your mom's would never let you out so late anyway. Who are you calling cowards, you moron?

Frankie jumped, his bride hurt, and anticipating what the rest of us wanted him to say. It was one thing to be scared, but no one was going to doubt our bravery. I'm just telling the truth, Frank. I'm very afraid to go to the cemetery and run into the white widow, and you want not braver than me. You're way braver than you, I dared to answer. I glanced at Frankie and Kenney's faces, and I knew it. they would be willing to jump on Jeremy's neck if they weren't so nervous and scared.

Well, in that case, I suppose you can prove it. I dare you to go to the cemetery. Tonight, Jeremy said, looking at us with a challenging expression on his face. He was always trying to force us to do stupid things, and it seemed that this was not going to be the exception. Well, how do we know you're going to find out if we do? You're not going anyway, replied Kenny. always the focus kid of the group.

Oh, I'll find out, Jeremy said, smiling again. At the cemetery at midnight and I don't take complaints. If you really are braver than me, you'll find a way to go there and prove it. He concluded, turning around and leaving without saying goodbye. We stood there for a while, unable to say anything until Johnny came out from behind Marcus slowly, like a turtle leaving its shell. We're not going, are we? It's a challenge, Johnny.

Of course we have to go. It's what separates the men from the boys, said Kenny, his mind made up. But do you want the white widow to attack you? Buddy, did you really believe in that story? Maga said, contained and affectionate. Think for a moment. Ghosts don't exist, and even if they did, why would she be looking for a fiancé soul in the cemetery

instead of the house where she died? It goes against all horror movies. but there can be a lot of bad things in a cemetery. If that happens, I'm going to protect you, buddy, like I always have, Marcus continued, not noticing our exasperation at John's complaints. Are we really going to run away from home? You don't have to run away, you coward, Frankie said, unwilling to take any more complaints from John.

You tell your mommy that you are going to your boyfriend's house, and then the two of you come with us to the cemetery. If you're so scared, you can ask him to grab him. your hand. Leave him alone, Frankie. He gets scared because he can think about things, something you should start doing. I mean, you should learn something about that

after watching so many horror movies. Anyway, just make sure the little princess doesn't ruin our party. Frankie replied, spitting on the floor. Come on, man, stay over at Marcus's house. I don't think your mother will have a problem, I said, trying to decompress the situation. Okay, I'll do it,

Johnny said, feeling safe next to Marcus. After that, we all agreed that we were going to meet at the cemetery at midnight, and then we relaxed, going back to our games until it was time to go home, where we all reminded each other that we should meet at the cemetery and bring something to protect us. That afternoon, as I went home alone, I remember my nerves growing more and more. The hours passed, and by the time the appointed time came. I was nervous as ever in my entire life, but I knew I could not back down. If even Johnny wasn't going to chicken away, then I couldn't be less than that. I stole a golf club from Dad's

closet that he didn't use anyway, and I escaped through my bedroom window. My heart was beating so fast that I felt it about to leave my chest, and it continued until I reached the entrance to the cemetery, just about four blocks from my house. As expected, the boys were already there and Frankie was the first to point out to me. We thought you'd chicken out. Where the hell were you? In bed with your mom? Should we? Oh come on guys. Am I the only one who brought a weapon? I said, looking in disbelief at the empty hands of my friends. Damn, I know I's forgetting something, Frankie replied. We all burst out laughing. I wasn't upset that I was the only one responsible in the whole group.

It was impossible to get angry when Frankie was there to make you laugh Guys, how long are we going to be doing this? John asked, trying to hide his nerves I would say for not too long our parents may find out that we ran away And then we would be more dead than the white widow Said Kenny or everyone laughed except for John I would say that half an hour will be enough All we have to do is go there hang out for a bit and get out quickly Half an hour

guys, it's too long, John said, worrying again. Easy, man, I promised I would take care of you, and I will, Marcus said, smiling. John saw Marcus' smile and he instantly calmed down, peace running over his face. I saw them very few times after that night, but in hindsight, I think that if our lives had turned out differently, maybe the two of them would be a couple right now. I can't explain it, but there was some special chemistry between those. to. It's a real tragedy that the events turned out as they did. Well, well, well, for the white widow, Frankie said, being the first to open the cemetery gate. Slowly, we all started to follow

him, with Kenny behind Frankie, Marcus and me behind him, and John behind Marcus to close the parade. We didn't have a course to go, so we only moved a few inches in a straight line, paying attention to the environment around us as much as possible. None of us dared open our mouths. We could hear the wind blowing through the trees there, and even that warm summer wind felt like the wintry gusts in my nerves.

I thought that being with my friends would help me overcome the tension of that place, but their silence only reinforced it. I could expect it from John, but when even the foul mouth and adventurous Frankie didn't dare to say one of his typical jokes,

it was that something was wrong. Really wrong. As we walked, we could see row after row of graves. None of those names meant anything to us, but seeing so many neglected headstones was terrifying on an existential level. I still couldn't fully grasp the concept of death, but there was something bleak about a human body lying so abandoned for the rest of eternity, with no one to take care of its eternal resting place.

The tension in the air was so intense you could cut it with a knife and I could sense that the rest of the gang thought the same. You know, I've been thinking about something, Kenny said, breaking the silence. I felt my heart skip a beat when my friend opened his mouth and we all stopped suddenly.

The tone of his words didn't help calm me down. He wanted the sound as listless as ever, but the sound of his voice couldn't mask his broken words. his raspy tone. Kenny was scared. I've been thinking about the explanation that Marcus gave us this afternoon, about why the white widow would be here, and not in the house where a husband died.

It all ends up here. Kenny paused for a moment, as if waiting for one of us to ask him what he wanted to say. But no one did. If any of us didn't understand the basics of Kenny's phrase before entering the cemetery, We had learned it the hard way at the moment, as we were walking among the graves where human beings lived. Everything was going to end here.

We were going to end here. The White Widow's fiancé had ended there. Everything ends, everywhere, all the time, and nobody comes to see these people. No one except... Her. My mom makes me watch those cheesy movies where there are weddings and two fools kiss. and the priest always says till death do them part, and he says it because,

because death is oblivion, but she cannot forget. Whatever the reason she attacks people is because no one remembers her fiancé, and she can't bear it. Man, come on, don't lie about things like that. You're scaring Johnny, Margot said, in a painful attempt to cover his own fear.

Do you think I'm lying? Think for one time, said Kenny, indulging more than me. more in his panic. Imagine spending all eternity in a hole like this and absolutely no one remembers you. See that grave over there, the one with the brown water and the dead flowers? How long do you think that has happened since the last time someone saw him? Kenny, calm down, man, I replied. I'm not calming down, bro. Kenny continued. Can you imagine that for a moment? That is what it means to be dead, that no one remembers you. The white widow is

looking for someone who is definitely dead. We have to get out of in now, before. she finds us. Can you calm down for a memento? There is no white widow, yelled Marcus. Right at the moment we heard a noise coming out of nowhere and we knew we were wrong. It sounded like an unfamiliar hooting, a flapping of the wind that heralded the arrival of something horrible and devastating. We were silent and still for a few seconds with a heart on the verge of collapse, waiting for nothing to happen, pleading that it did it had only been the product of our collective hysteria. Not even Johnny dared to sob.

We were all sunk in fear. Where is my husband? Said an unfamiliar voice. It sounded scratchy and choppy, as if the water from the stream had caused her to lose control of a vocal cord. We desperately wanted to deny its existence, but we only needed to see our faces to realize that it had been real.

We were at the mercy of the white widow. We needed to run out of there. Without saying anything, we turned around to escape, and that's when we saw her. She was dressed entirely in white with a veil of a wedding dress covering her face and her own dress stained with blood and dirt. She was hunched over, making utteral sounds of pain,

and she was much taller than us, despite her curvature. We screamed in horror at the sight of her, unable to do more than fear. I can swear that, in hindsight, the bloody monster was laughing at us under a breath. The white widow approached her slightly and my body knew what to do. I took the golf club and hit her where a knee should have been. The widow collapsed and her head slammed into one of the tombstones. After falling, she remained lying there without getting up

We're a pull of something that looked like blood began to flow from the back of her neck. Little by little, we got closer, knowing that we had to see the corpse. How could it be otherwise? Frankie was the first to lift the veil of the white widow. We saw Jeremy's face, dead and surprised,

greeting us from under the veil. You... You killed Jeremy, Kenny whispered, unable to speak out loud. I didn't kill him. You saw her. She was the white widow. She must have done something to... Johnny ran up to me and hit me, but Marcus stopped him. Johnny was crying, and he could only babble over and over incoherently about how I'd killed his older brother. The rest of the boys looked at me,

mixing their expressions of fear and disbelief. Unable to say anything, I ran out to that place without seeing goodbye. I shoved the golf club under the bed and fell asleep. hoping it was all the nightmare. It wasn't. When I woke up, the news reported that Jeremy's body had been found in the cemetery wearing the wedding dress from the night before. There were beer cans everywhere, so the police concluded that he was drunk and had broken his head after tripping. No one asked any more questions. When the news ended, someone knocked on my door of my house, and I went to open it. Outside, Kenny was looking at me.

with huge dark circles under his eyes. Tom, I guess you've seen the news? I saw it. Didn't they ask you anything? No, we went home a little after you left. Johnny wanted to say it all. He wanted our parents to know what you did. But we thought about that.

It's not worth the rest of us ruining our lives over what happened last night. We all slept in our houses, and poor John couldn't hear anything about his brother running away, because of course he was sleeping at Marcus' house. He is, we are dealing with it the best we can. And Johnny? As good as he can get. But he doesn't want to see you again, or any of us.

And I get it, man. I can't look at you. And neither can the boys, not without going back to... We killed someone, Tom. Yeah, Jeremy was an idiot, but he didn't deserve what you did to him, what we did to him. We can't see each other again. man. But the white widow. Stop saying that, Kenny screamed, more annoyed than ever.

There is no white widow. They never was. It was just that idiot Jeremy wanting to play a joke on us. Man, I wish you would show up now and tell us it was all another cruel prank. Gotta go, Tom. Don't talk to me again. Or to any of us. Kenny left my doorstep. And I can swear, I heard him cry. Years passed, and we never spoke again. But I know what happened to some of them. Johnny committed suicide at 14, leaving a note that his parents refused to make public. Kenny did several crimes in and out-of-correctional facilities until he died of an overdose at 22.

Frankie entered a strange cult, and I never heard from him again. I've no idea what happened to Marcus. I'd like to believe that he got the psychological help he so badly needed. But I can't be sure. I tried looking for him on all social media to contact him, but he doesn't seem to have any public profile, or at least not with his name. As for me, I've not done so well. I'm only beginning to find my alcoholism since a couple of months ago, and there are days where I'd kill for a drop of beer. Today is one of those days.

The bad thing about memories is that sometimes I don't have to pressure them to come back, but they choose to return to my memory of their own accord, torturing me when I can barely bear my seedy job and decaying life. The worst thing about all of this was having no one to talk to. I tried to talk to my parents a couple of days after the incident, but realized the constant that would continue into my adult life. Grownups don't believe in ghosts. Yes, I know what Kenny told me.

I know what I saw under the... the veil, and even my psychologist has told me that all the things about the white widow is a defense mechanism that I have to avoid dealing with my guilt for killing Jeremy. But there is something else, something I never told anyone, and that you'll be the first people to know. That night, when I ran home with tears in my eyes, unable to calm down, I saw the real white widow. She was looking between the graves, looking just like Jeremy had, wearing that damn dress. Except she was almost floating through the tombstones, with chains binding her ankles.

I hid behind a tree as fast as possible and held my tears for half an hour until I knew she was gone. When that happened, I almost crawled home, unable to run. All those emotions had exhausted me. This is why I hate ghosts. That damn white widow was the swap bodies with poor Jeremy, bringing him from his room to the graveyard in a split second to suffer a fate. My psychologist wanted to convince me that the second vision wasn't real, until I ended up dropping therapy for good.

I know what I saw. I'm not crazy. And one day I'll be able to prove to the world that she was the one who ruined my life. and murdered Jeremy I'm not a conspiracy knot I don't believe the moon landing was fake or that there's a secret world government run by lizards I'm a sane, rational human being

with that being said I'm convinced my neighbour is building some sort of nest I'm not joking let me explain I got divorced about a year ago and had to move to a new place on short notice I got a pretty decent two-room apartment

and the third floor of an old apartment building. The place was probably built in the 50s, but I couldn't get a cleaner or cheaper apartment that isn't out of my price range. I moved in and tried to pick up the pieces of my life. At least my wife took all the heavy and expensive boxes in the divorce settlement. I only saw my neighbours in passing.

There are two apartments per floor and five floors in total. I live on the third floor, and straight across from me is a retired elderly woman. She lives with two cats and is a younger man visiting about once a week, probably her son. The two apartments below me aren't that interesting. A childless couple and straight across from them, three college students. No big deal. The apartment straight above me was probably the most important one.

That's the one you've got to look out for when moving to a new place. If anything is going to disturb you, that'll be the one. You don't want them to be clogged-danting enthusiasts, manic cleaners, or the kind of idiots who listen to music with loudspeakers on the bus. The guy who lived above me, Hugo, was an ideal neighbour. He was some kind of accountant who worked at the sanitation department. He kept himself, never moved a single piece of furniture, and didn't move around much. No slamming doors, no running. He was pretty big, body-wise, with a sizable pair of glasses and thick.

thinning hairline. He lived alone, seemed friendly, and he was simply the best neighbor I'd ever had. God bless that silent, chunky angel. So, let's talk about the nesting. It started a few months ago in December. It was at the height of the 2020 pandemic, so I was trying to get some minor Christmas shopping done in the off hours of the day. I have flexible work hours and can work from home, so I can go out whenever I need to. I was getting a photo printed for my mom, and was trying to find a fitting frame. I found this small store with a going out of business sale, and I noticed Hugo browsing some silverware further in.

Only, he wasn't alone. Christ, I'm having a hard time describing this woman. She was half his weight, an entire head taller, and she wasn't even wearing heels. neck like a swan, thin shoulders and gorgeous not make hair. She had a peculiar smell like a mix of bittersweet flour and honey. Pale, flawless skin, red nails. I couldn't stop staring at her. Hugo told her something funny and her laugh seemed to light up the entire room.

She grabbed his arm, kissed his cheek and whispered something back to him. He smiled. I'd never seen him smile before. I saw them buy plates, silverware and a few blankets, nothing special. She paid for the whole thing and carried it all out in a tote bag. Hugo just hung to her every word, but they both seemed to genuinely care for one another. It didn't make sense to me. They were basically different species of people.

Over the coming days, I noticed some changes. I could sometimes hear laughter coming from the stairwell, and I could hear furniture being moved around, the day. Hugo got himself a new car, one of those large six-seaters. They were drilling and hammering a few times a week. And at two occasions, I noticed Hugo and his girlfriend carrying large carpets up the stairs. He seemed so happy. I don't want to sound like a stalker, but I was curious about the two of them. I noticed they changed names in the door. That's how I learned a name, Sandra.

After going through a painful divorce, I'll be first to admit I was jealous. Sandra was gorgeous, and it didn't make sense for a debut with a guy like Hugo. I was spending weeks on end in lockdown, alone, hearing laughter coming through the ceiling. Yeah, it made me bitter. Sue me. Then her family moved in. Hugo helped carry a lot of heavy boxes up those stairs, and a cause a glimpse of the hospital. whole crew through my back window. Sandra had two younger sisters, both just old enough to start high school. Then there was a dad who looked to be in his early 60s. The whole lot of them

were beautiful, everyone smiling, eager to help. Healthy, happy, well-dressed. You could fall in love with either one of them with just a picture. It was weird for so many of them to move into such a small apartment. But I'd seen strange as well. things. I figured it was a temporary thing, but I changed my mind once I saw the moving vans. Yes, that's vans,

plural. Three vans full of boxes, not a single piece of furniture. Hugo looked exhausted, carrying those heavy boxes up and down several flights of stairs. Sandra didn't seem bothered at all. I know, looking at them

like that was creepy. I was painfully single. and most of all, bored. As December turned to January, the whole family had settled in quite well. They were still decent neighbours. The hammering and drilling stopped early on, and at most I would just hear them laughing at something or watching TV. Hugo would leave for work every day, and he'd always leave with a smile.

He lost a lot of weight, and he'd gotten himself both contact lenses and fitting clothes. He looked good, not compared to some. But still, he was getting there. I ran into him in this stairwell once when I was throwing out some trash. He was just coming back from a jog, jogging some kind of sports drink. Hell, he was in better shape than I was. He smiled at me. Hey, you're in 3B, right?

He asked. Sure am, and you're 4B? That's right, he smiled. Look, if we ever get a bit too noisy, let me know. all right sure I nodded it's fine really no bother you guys holding out okay yeah yeah great actually my fiancee got the bug early so she's got the antibodies the rest of us will just have to wait for the needle no doubt no doubt we smiled at one another and went our separate ways just a few steps later I had to stop myself I was too curious hey I Uh, I gotta ask, how do you guys all live together in that small space? Doesn't it get crowded?

Always room for family, Hugo smiled and finished his drink. No room too small, no problem too big. That was the last time I saw him. I stopped seeing him go to work. His car stayed put in the parking lot all day. I see Sandra around town, alone, her sisters as well. I noticed the dad throwing out some trash every now and then, but that was it.

Hugo just wasn't around anymore. I didn't think too hard about it at first, but in early March, I realised I hadn't seen him in over a month. His name was still on the door though, him and Sandra. This was when I started to get a bad vibe. I started to make a habit out of taking notes of things that seemed weird or out of place with Sandra and a family, like their trash bags. They're not just trash bags.

They're these big blue mesh-type bags that are heat-sealed at the top. Looks like something you'd used throughout biohazardous ways from the hospital. They were round and packed to the brim like beach balls. Then there were the nightly excursions. Once the sun started to set, all their sisters would take Hugo's car and go for a ride. They'd only be gone for a few hours. But they did it consistently, at least four days every week, mostly on the weekends.

But the weirdest thing started in mid-March. For some time, their dad had been throwing out more trash than usual, sometimes several times a day. And at night, I'd hear these weird noises. It sounded like a mix of an engine and a nature documentary. This low, constant droning noise. I tried recording it in my bathroom where the sound was clear. But it didn't sound like much. I'd hear that noise at least once a day, sometimes for an hour or two.

It wasn't loud, but it is such an unusual sound that you can't help but listen to it. Things escalated gradually. Sometimes I watched them come back from the drive with duffel bags full of... Something. At one point, they just had armfuls of branches and firewood. I made notes of all of it, complete with time and date. I was a bit obsessed. I even got out in the middle of the night to check one of their big blue trash bags.

I poked one open and felt this intense dirt smell. The bag was just full of some kind of white ceramic and broken glass. I took a piece of the white stuff back home just to get a closer look. At this point, I still thought there were just weird people who'd done something to Hugo. I was still trying to piece it altogether. That's the little thought that made me realize that this was something else entirely. To piece something together, I gathered the rest of the white ceramics from the bag and pieced it together. Super glue, an egg, an actual egg, large as a football.

This was the remaining shell. I didn't know what to think of it. I just hid it. All of a sudden, I started seeing that fan. family in a whole new light. Branches, boxes, bags full of something smelling of dirt. In my notebook, I just made a single entry. They're nesting.

At this point, it was the beginning of April, and my job was opening up to have people come back into work. We were forced to come in at least twice a week to note our hours and report to our supervisor. I didn't mind getting out of the apartment for a while, even if I had to wear a mask and keep a lot of distance. It was fine. Once, when I was coming home, I noticed my front door open.

The old lady across me was standing in the hallway, holding one of her cats. Something was going on, and the neighbours were antsy. Just as I was about to enter, Sandra stepped out of my apartment. She fixed her brilliant smile on me, that creepy, gorgeous smile.

We heard noises, she said. The door's open and your fire alarm was going crazy. Is there? It's fine, she said. The super opened it to see if there's a fire. I walked up to her and she stepped aside. I gave her a long, questioning look. Fire alarms don't just start by themselves, I said.

Where's the super? He got a call, said the lady who crossed the hall. He looked upset. He did, nodded Sandra, sounded serious. I'm sorry if you were all worried, I said, but please respect my privacy. You can't just go in. I was just waiting for the super to get back. He forgot to lock your door.

Well, now I'm here, and I can lock it just fine. Thank you. I closed the door, locked it, and looked over my apartment. My notes were gone. The eggshells were gone My computer had a hard drive malfunction And there were screws missing from the chassis Now

They knew The sister started noticing me more and more They waved at me Every time they took the nightly drive The dad gave me a cold look Every time we threw out the trash Now in regular non-blue bags The sounds at night stopped

And I never saw them carrying anything inside I was sure they just switch up the sky schedule, but I wasn't sure. I'd run into them more frequently in person. They'd accidentally meet me in the stairwell every time I went outside. Sandra was always polite, but that smile was hiding something. I felt it. Then there was the water damage in the ceiling of my bedroom, something foul-smelling.

There was something heavy up there, and the ceiling had started to bulge. I called the supervisor about it, but some man kept telling me that I had to have the papers for their insurance claim before they could fix it. It was BS, and they were stalling for time. I think they were trying to cover the fact that the super hadn't been in for at least a month. I'm not stupid. I knew the super didn't have an assistant. The thing is, I hadn't really been paying attention to my other neighbours. The couple downstairs and the college roommates?

they moved out a month earlier. I didn't even think about it. Now I had eight new neighbours and they were all very, very pretty. Six women, two men, all in their early twenties and dropped it gorgeous. The entire apartment complex was full of them now. That weird sound I used to hear

seemed to come from every direction at night. They were not even hiding it anymore. They were just carrying it anymore. They were just carrying all kinds of weird trash up to their apartments. Branches, firewood, plastic. Bag after bag of fertilizer and planting dirt. Last week, there were more moving bands coming. Everyone was going outside to help their new, beautiful neighbours carry their stuff inside.

I felt trapped in my own apartment and decided, once and for all, to just leave. Once I stepped into the stairwell, I noticed eight of them looking at me from all over. They were on the floors above, below, even straight across. Yeah, seems the old lady with a cat moved out as well. Then, they screamed. They all just screamed in unison. They were all animals trying to scare away a predator.

I could hear boxes dropping and footsteps approaching. I panicked. I glanced at them and burst into a sprint. There were open mouths screaming, feet running, eyes large and dark, like cats getting ready to pounce on a mouse. I took the firescape out the back, ran, twisted my ankle and got in my car. I just drove. Something pounded on my back when chilled.

But I got away, and now I'm here, posting about it. I'm not sure I should look into this. I just want to get as far away as possible. I don't think I'm safe yet. I'm staying with my brother. And just the other day, he told me there was a beautiful young woman asking for me while I was at the grocery store.

I don't know what this is or what they're doing. All I know is that the nesting and people are going missing. God, I can't get that noise out of my head. That scream. Those faces. Every night for the past week, I've been waking up in the ocean. I don't know how this started.

It just began one night. And I don't mean I'm dreaming of the ocean. No. I don't know how, but I am physically transported to the ocean. Like I said, it began a week ago. I went to bed as normal after spending some hours on my computer. Turned off the light and crawled into bed, and soon I fell asleep. I've never really had any problems falling asleep, nor have I ever woken up in the middle of the night before.

So, when I first opened my eyes, I thought it was morning. But it wasn't. The first thing had hit me was the fact it was wet. It seems like a stupid thing to think when you're waking up in the middle of the ocean, but that was the first time, and the first thing I'd hit me was the fact it was wet. noticed was that I was wet, but I wasn't cold. Then I noticed the darkness, or rather the lack of sunlight. You've probably seen those graphs that show how deep sunlight goes into the ocean. The Mesopalachic zone, also known as the twilight zone, is located between 200 and 1,000

below the surface, or 660 to 3,300 feet. In it, the sunlight barely manages to reach some parts of it, and life is adapted to not only rely on photosynthesis, like in the upper parts of the ocean. But I was deeper. I was a lot deeper, but it wasn't pitch black, like you're probably imagining. I'm not sure I was seeing bioluminescence of creatures, or if I was capturing some sort of light the human eye naturally cannot perceive, but I wasn't in a vast, dark emptiness. nor was I being crushed to death by the insurmountable pressure exerted by the tons of water above me. For a moment, I was filled with panic, and I flailed my limbs trying to swim upwards.

But then, I noticed other things. First, I didn't need to breathe. I touched my neck, but didn't notice any gills or anything. So, I imagined there was another reason why I couldn't breathe underwater. Then, I realised I could move within. knees that would put Olympic swimmers the shame. It wasn't that I now had a fish tail, but I could move in ways that just worked. I could cut through the ocean depths in a way the human body was simply not built to. By now, I was thoroughly confused. After all, I've never been one to

remember my dreams, let alone have vivid dreams. And yet, there I was, in that strange, lightless, not darkness of the depths. I didn't know which way was up, which way was down. I had no sense of bearing, no direction I could name myself to. And so, after a few moments of just floating there, I began to swim. I picked a random direction. You'd think the vast depths of the ocean are empty, but you'd be wrong. There is life down there, and in my first night, I've seen many different different.

creatures. I've seen tiny crustacean creatures that sometimes glowed, sometimes just swam around. I've seen eels with fangs the size of my fingers. I've seen anglerfish with a glowing antenna. I admit, my first night in the ocean depths was surprisingly pleasant. But just before I woke up the first night, I felt a tug in my mind. It was a strange sensation, very faint and distant. But I know I noticed it, just before I felt my body growing light, and then I woke up in bed. I'd have passed it up as a simple dream, if it wasn't for the fact my skin felt moist with seawater. It wasn't sweat.

My room was far too cold for me to have sweated that much, but it was, in fact, water. Water that coated my entire body from head to toe. clothes and my bed were dry, yes, but I wasn't. At first day, after I woke up, I just laid there in bed, trying to process all I'd seen. I did try to pass it off as just some vaguely vivid dream, something I've never experienced before, and the wetness to be just sweat. I finally got up and headed off to my day as normal. That second night, after I fell asleep, I woke up in the ocean again.

Somehow I could tell that I was roughly in the same place I've left off the previous night Honestly there was nothing around me that it signalled that it was the same place I still couldn't see the bottom and you can't really use pathologic fauna as waypoints But something deep inside of me told me I was in the same spot It wasn't the same day too for I had been studying this interesting act-shaped fish the previous night before I was whisked away and woken up, and there was no such fish around. So, I began to explore. And, instead of going up, I started to go down, or at least what I thought was down.

I travelled in a downward angle, going forward and down, for a few more minutes before I realized something. That tug in my mind, I could feel it again, and it was stronger now. Even now, I can't probably explain how it feels. It's like a light tugging, like a fish hook, that was guiding me ever so slightly towards something. If I turn my body, the tug wouldn't move. It would remain in the same direction. After noticing it initially, I tried to resist it. But it was to no avail.

If I tried to swim away, it seemed to tug a bit harder. It made me unable to go. concentrate if I tried to swim away. And so, I began to follow the tugging. I continued to see creatures of the deep there. Squids, jellyfish, strange fish with bulbous eyes and more. I even saw a shark, like those 500-year-old shark that just swim around looking all weird. It was a bit different from those and seemed larger.

The second day went smoothly too, although by the end of it, I could know. I noticed that the darkness of the depths was a bit different, and that the creatures I was seeing were also stranger. Before, those shrimp-like creatures were pretty tiny, barely visible. Now I could see ones that were the size of the nail on my pinky. Some of the eels I saw at the end of my second day were well over six feet long. Again, when I woke up, I was slick with water. By now, I was doubting my initial theory that I was just having very.

vivid dreams and sweating of a storm. But I didn't know what to think, so I just didn't think about it. It was during the third night that strange things began to happen. Everything started as normal really. I went to bed, woke up in the same spot as before

and began to swim following the tugging. Around me, the vastness of the ocean. After a few minutes of just swimming around, I noticed the shape in the distance. It was far, but I couldn't tell how far it was. He moved around in a strange way, and it was only after a few more moments of observation that I realized it was a giant squid.

I could see its long tentacles trailing behind its tubular head, including those two long ones. I stood there, mesmerized, watching that deep-sea colossus just swimming around. Then, movement from above caught my eyes. A long shape swam down from what I assumed was the shallower part of the ocean. It swam with surprising speed for such a large creature, and the squid barely had any time to brace for impact before the beast attacked it.

I gasped as I realized what it was. A sperm whale. I watched as the titanic creatures battled, but the whale had the upper hand. All this was happening well over 300 feet from me, I'd say. maybe more. I just floated there, watching as the whale used its jaw to kill the squid

and begin to consume it, and then I saw it. Further back from the whale's position, something stirred in the darkness, something massive, far larger than the whale itself. I watched in horror as the creature far larger than any living being

I've ever seen before began to move, displacing water as its powerful body moved with an impressive amount of speed. It slammed against the lower half of the whale, a large more opening to bite the whale in the flank. I saw the whale attempt to swim away, but the beast took a chunk of its flesh. Blood was clouding the water,

but I saw the beast attacking the whale again. I don't know if it was a massive shark, if it was another type of whale or something older. But I knew I needed to get the hell out of there, and that's what I did. I began to swim away, following the tugging, which was growing more and more incessant. I was going down and down and down. Even though I swam faster than any other human out there, the scale of the ocean is just massive.

And now, part of me was terrified of the gigantic creatures that seemed to inhabit those depths. I saw other underwater creatures around me, and they were stranger and stranger. I saw crustaceans that looked wrong. Too many legs, too many mandibles, too many eyes. By the time I woke up, I was just reaching the bottom, and just before I fell unconscious, I could see the benthic floor beneath me. I woke up with a jolt that day, breathing heavier, slick with water as always. The memory of the massive beast that ate the whale was in my mind.

When I got home later that day, after my usual day, I began to search about the deep ocean. That's how I learned about some of the creatures I've seen. But of course, there's not much to go from. We know more about the surface of the moon than the depths of our oceans. And if what I was seen was true, things should remain that way. That night, I had a bit more trouble falling asleep. The thought of Leviathan swimming around me,

ready to swallow me whole with many fanged moors, was terrifying. So far, nothing I'd encountered had attacked me, although I know that, at least when I'm in my sleep, I can feel things underwater. I felt the hard carapace of a nautilus-like being. I've touched shrimps bigger than my hand. But I ended up falling asleep,

and when I woke up, I was just a few yards over the bottom of the ocean. I could see the sediment of the ocean floor beneath me. creatures crawled and swam around, bottom feeders. I saw a sleeper shark swimming around before attacking a trilobite-like creature, which should not be possible, as trilobites died millions of years ago. And yet, there it was. It wasn't a horseshoe crab or a giant isopod.

It was a trilobite. That thing was larger than a dinner plate. I decided not to walk in the bottom of the ocean. Last thing I wanted was the disturb one of those creatures and have it attack me. At first, the area around me was devoid of any sort of landmark. It was just a vast stretch of mostly flat oceanic floor, with gentle, short slopes here and there. At one point, I saw something that looked like a large rock. But when I approached it, I was shocked to see it was, in fact, the carcass of a whale.

I couldn't tell you which type of whale it was. as it had been dead for a while, and the scavengers of the deep ocean were doing its thing on it. I could see all sorts of beasts crawling in and over the carcass, and I found myself floating there for a while, just watching as strange benthic beings burrow their way through the spongy, dead flesh of the whale. Finally, I moved on as the tugging began to go stronger, after I watched the creatures. It's hard to guess how long it passed,

but I'd say half an hour maybe 45 minutes but the tugging pulled me out of my trance and I began to swim again I continued my progress through the ocean floor

as if drawn to some spot I did not know about but that called to me non-stop and then the environment began to change the vast emptiness of substrate

began to give way to more rocky ground Now I could see strange crags jutting out of the rocky and sandy ground These were like islands in the emptiness As they contain more life Stranger life I saw a creature that from a distance Look like a ray just swimming above the rocky ground But as I moved a bit closer

I saw it actually had an exoskeleton And two pincher-like claws protruding from its head And two eyes that bulged outwards It swooped down and grabbed smaller creatures on the bottom And cracked their bodies and shells with his powerful pincers I finally felt myself being whisked away And woke up in my bed By now I've more or less grown used to my nightly trips to the ocean floor

Sure I was terrified of some of the things I've seen But so far nothing seemed too interested in attacking me And I could see creatures that should not exist in our time That day, after I got home, I decided to post my experience online and see if anyone had a similar tale to mine. Alas, it seemed like, at least in the forum I posted, no one had any idea of what I was experiencing, and some people called me a liar. Some people seemed interested, and some just said I should stop taking drugs before sleeping. The fifth night started as usual. I went to bed and woke up in the abyssal depths of the ocean.

The tugging seemed more insistent now, and I could hear strange things. Sound travels differently underwater, and although my ears seemed adapted to hearing underwater, there wasn't a lot of sound going on, except for what was made by the creatures around me. I've heard whales, I've heard sharks and those prehistoric beasts. But now, what I was hearing was like, whispering very quietly in the back of my mind. almost easy to drown out, but always there. That greets me out, truth be told. I couldn't understand what was being said,

but it was just a very quiet noise. Hell, maybe it wasn't even actual whispering, but just some far-off geological phenomena. But I kept swimming through the rocky ground. Now, more and more landmarks seemed to appear. I saw fumaroles sprung black or white mineral-rich water, and I kept my distance from those. As I could tell, the water around them was hotter.

I also saw stranger and stranger creatures around them. Crabbs with too many legs, prehistoric predators, sharks with circular jaws full of teeth. But then I stopped when I saw something looming ahead. It wasn't a creature. It was a rock. It stood on its own, taller than the other rocks around it. But what caught my eye? was not its size, but its shape.

It was rectangular, perfectly rectangular. My mind raced as I tried to understand the megalithic block in front of me. It was too perfect to be natural. It stood at a 90-degree angle. Its size would clearly work smooth. I approached it, slowly, afraid of what I would see once I approached it. But the tugging, a constant tugging guided me to it. Reaching the stone, I could feel my eyes growing wide as I saw its closest face.

It was just slightly pitted, but I could see it was perfectly smooth in places where the crustaceans didn't cling to it. It was a black monolith, standing alone there. The whispers seemed to grow louder as I approached it. Well, relatively louder. I still couldn't make out what they were saying, but now they were harder to ignore. Against my better judgment, almost as if I wasn't in full control of my body, I reached forward with a hand and pressed it against the stone. It was smooth and strangely warm.

And then it began to glow. It was a faint green glow, but it was glowing indeed. It was so sudden that it actually scared some of the sea life that was around it, and I saw a strange creature swimming or crawling away from the rock. But I remained there, staring up to it. If I had to guess, the rock was well over a hundred feet tall. It was just staggeringly tall. And now it was glowing, almost like a glow stick.

Not a bright one, but it was visible. And then I saw another glow in the distance, similar in colour, but far away. I felt dread starting to build up in me. But I began to move again toward that next glowing rock. And it was a similar monolith, and I could see another one off in the distance. Wild life seemed to avoid these colossal structures now, the more I felt my mind starting to... Swim. Thoughts started to fill my head, like the whispers.

I couldn't grasp them, but they were there. And to my utter shock, when I reached the last of the glowing monoliths, I saw it overlooked a depression on the ocean floor. It was vast, far too large for me to hazard a guess, but it was filled with angled structures, vast promenades and statues that divide explanation. I was overlooking a city, and, to my dismay,

I could see, off in the distance above the city, large figures swimming around. Some of those figures were shaped like whales or sharks. Some seemed to be more amorphous. Some look like colossal octopi or squid. I couldn't see them properly. They were just too far, too vast, and too impossible for me to perceive. Even my enhanced eyes, used to the depths and the lack of sunlight, couldn't properly grasp their size.

And then, I woke up. I woke up in my bed, crying out of distress. I was breathing heavily, my mind trying to understand what I had seen. I'm no stranger to the Lovecraftian stories I love the Cthulhu mythos But I don't believe I was seeing the lost city of Rulia No None of the statues were of the humanoid-shaped colossus-headed Cthulhu

But there was no denying that what I had seen Was almost out of a Lovecraft book I decided to call in sick that day And spent the whole day just reading online Frantically searching for information As you can imagine nothing came up. I was dreading going to sleep now,

but I'm not someone who can stay up for a long time, truth be told. That night I still ended up going to bed. That was last night. The sixth night. I woke up in the same spot as before, overlooking the Cyclopean city, with its structures unlike anything I'd ever seen before. I began to follow a road down to the proper city,

my movement's almost not my own. By now, the whispers were words, and, although I couldn't understand them, I could tell they were speaking to me. What they were saying, I did not know, nor did I want to find out. I followed the road, paved with black stones, each the size of a school bus.

I felt like an ant in a house. Everything was just so large. Above me, the creature swam. impossibly high in the ocean, I could see leviathans that could put any creature that has ever lived on earth to shame in size. I could feel the gaze on me, making me feel impossibly small. I felt words in my mind, in a strange language. I felt the tugging, that damned tugging guiding guiding guiding guiding guiding me. From within the gargantuan structures, I could feel eyes watching me.

Not eyes of sharks or shrimp or any of the creatures like that. Beady eyes that carried in. evil intelligence in them, their own is hidden by the darkness that not even my eyes could pierce. I saw what seemed like a tentacle poking out of a building, but instead of the suction cups, it had countless finger-like petrusions that wiggled. But then it was retracted out of view. I was going down what seemed to be a main avenue, wide and vast, in a way that nothing humans could build would ever come to match it. At the end of it, a structure sat. It was...

Ugly. Large, with square blocks. It reminded me of a massive dolman, made out of the same dark, perfectly cut stone. Its interior was shrouded in darkness, but I could feel a current of water moving in and out of it, as if something massive was breathing in and out in there. I didn't want to move, but my body was not my own anymore. The voices in my head, they were rejuven. a crescendo of chattering, chanting and speaking.

My body shook, and yet I moved. Finally, I reached the end of the road. I stood in front of the impossibly tall entrance to the ancient, humongous dolman. And then an eye open within the darkness. A single eye, horizontal and forward-facing like a human's. But it was not a human eye. It was massive, larger than a sperm whale. The sclera was black, darker than the darkness around it.

The iris was red and seemed to glow like fire. The pupil, a sickly yellow colour that made my stomach turn. My mind was trying to process what I was seeing. When a second eye opened, a mirror of the first one. Whatever it was in there was now fixating me with its terrifying gaze as the voices in my head drowned out any thoughts I could have. and then the third eye opened

this one vertical in the middle and above the other two I could feel the current of water growing faster as if the beast within was breathing faster eager to sink its fangs

into the tasty little morsel that was now in front of it and then impossibly slowly something began to emerge from the darkness it was a saurine snout not quite like a dinosaur

each of its fangs was massive and looked sharp for its sheer size I was frozen in place and this beast slowly emerged from the darkness or rather just its head and before I was taken back to dry land I could swear I saw it smiling at me that happened this morning I've been awake all day as I typed this out I don't know what will happen to me once I fall asleep but I know one thing I'll try my best not to fall asleep anytime soon when I woke up today I could feel my skin different

I don't know how to explain it but I'm not feeling comfortable at the same time I'm terrified of what I will see if I fall asleep I decided to write this down for posterity I have a feeling

that once I do fall asleep that thing will be waiting for me. I can already hear strange noises. Maybe the deep ocean should remain undisturbed. Most people who have ever worked a night shift will tell you it's creepy work. You walk up and down the corridors of wherever you are, your instincts working over time, setting your mind on edge. We're hardwired to fear the night, a time of helplessness,

a time in which we slide down the food chain, our bodies craving rest, our senses ill-equipped to cope with the dark. For me, it's never been an issue. To be honest, I kind of like it. The dark. When I do my rounds, I don't feel that fear. I just feel peace. When I walk the halls at night, I don't have to deal with people rushing around or jabbering nonsense. No extra responsibilities or requests.

small talk, no empty pleasantries. Just the echoing of my own feet and the linoonium, bouncing off the walls, the soft sounds of patience breathing as I pass their rooms. Sure, every now and then, one of them wakes up in a panic. Pretty rare, but it happens now and then.

All I got to do is call the on-duty nurse, and whoever it is, takes care of it. I glide on, finish my rounds, back to the front desk, back to my books. Some of the chatty or nurses complain as I passed the station about being stuck on the night shift. They asked me how I can possibly stand it. Don't I get bored?

Don't it get sick of being tired throughout the day? I tell them it doesn't bother me. I like the quiet. What I don't tell them is that it's the daytime that feels pointless to me. I don't have friends the required daylight to spend time with. I don't have a girlfriend who needs attention. My mom died when I was little. Dad has his new family.

Just leaves me. And I don't mind. You don't miss what you never had. I guess I'm what you might call a loner. I think a nurse's pick up on it. They don't often try to speak to me. The nice ones flashed me a smile when they see me. The assholes ignore me.

All the same to me, to be honest. I always figured they probably wouldn't think much of me if they got to know me anyway. All in all, it's not a bad place to work. Easy money. No much security required watching over a bunch of old folks on the way out. There's nothing here really worth stealing.

No drugs, no expensive equipment. The patients aren't in a state to get out of bed, let alone cause any trouble worth talking about. At least, that's what I thought. The first time in 15 years of work I'd ever felt afraid of the hospice, was when they wheeled in Isaiah Muldoon. Now, before I saw Muldoon,

I'd seen some disturbing stuff. Dementia patients talking to the walls, old men with cancer riddle brains moaning like ghouls, elderly ladies so emaciated you could shine a flashlight through their stomach and see the spine on the other side. None of them had the effect of me, that motionless man on his gurney had.

He was so still, Only way I could tell he was breathing was the machine whirring beside him. But the eyes, wide open, staring out into oblivion in horror, as if they had seen the end of it all. Pretty rare I saw the patients coming in, and I guess the nurse thought I was the sensitive type. She caught me, staring at him, so she leaned over and told me he had locked in syndrome. I asked her what there was, all the while compelled to stare at the man. pinned to the bed. She said he'd been in a routine operation and they got a dosage on his meds wrong, poisoned him. His brain stem and the lower part of his brain was severely damaged,

the upper part untouched. Essentially, Muldoon was in a waking coma. As she told me this, his eyes began darting around the room like ping pong balls, locked onto mine as they looked past him. I tried to avert my gaze, but I couldn't break his skin. Claire. It was like he was staring straight into me to places no one had ever seen. They got him into the bay and drew the curtain. I snapped out of it. Took me a moment to get my thoughts back together. Just imagine that for a moment. One day you're healthy and happy, living your life as if nothing can ever go wrong. Then someone flips a switch and you find yourself trapped inside your own body. Mind still sharp as it is right now.

Only you're unable to move, unable to speak, so damaged even your lungs need help to work, but still completely aware of everything going on around you. No hope of ever being free. Waiting to die. Despite my fear, I couldn't help feeling for the guy. It's one thing to have your mind eaten away by the confusion of dementia. It's another to watch your body decay around you, or as you feel like you're still together. I asked about Muldoon.

his family, friends. The nurses told me his wife had died earlier in the year. No kids. He'd moved to the area recently and didn't have an emergency contact. Only reason he had enough of the room was his insurance, which was paid for by some organisation. Looking back, I guess my first mistake was feeling some kind of kinship with him. He didn't have anyone, just like I didn't have anyone.

Plus, with him being in his state, I knew I wouldn't have to make small talk with him or listen to any yammering. So, I figured, what could it hurt if I went to his room and talked to him when I was passing? It felt kind of strange talking to anyone like that, opening a conversation. I wasn't used to it. At first, I spoke about the weather, sports, the news, instantly despising myself each time I felt myself drifting into petty conversation, aborting and cursing myself as I continue my rounds. But every time I passed, he was there, waiting, a captive audience, if you will.

I started talking to him about the book I was reading. I'm a big Murakami fan, so I told him that, described the plot of the novel I was reading by the author, told him what I thought of it and what I thought was going to happen. I'd keep him up to date each night I passed, and soon got on the story. to more personal topics. I told Muldoon about my family, how my dad was distant and my mom was dead.

And no one really liked me, but that I didn't mind. I told him about my life and my dream to one day write a novel, how I sleep alone and ate alone, how I really had no one. All the while during these conversations, Muldoon would fix me with his stare. It was hypnotic. I felt like I was pouring myself into him. A trickle opening into a torrent until he would release me, and I could go back to my rounds. Those conversations, if you can really call them that, always left me feeling so tired, dazed,

I could just woken from a deep sleep partway through. Each time I told myself that was the last time. Yet the next night, when I was passing that room, I couldn't help but go inside, drain some more of myself away. The night Muldoon spoke. Was the last night? I felt peace. I was doing the mid-shift rounds at about 3 a.m. as usual.

I remember how quiet the building was as I walked. Thinking back, I don't even recall my shoes making a sound as they hit the floor. It felt like the forest when everything goes utterly silent. How only in the absence of that sound, are you aware it was there at all? I drifted in Muldoon's moonlit room, and inside, he was sitting up in his bed. bolt upright, his eyes fixed on mine, so wide they could have popped from his skull, brilliant white against the darkness around him.

He was skinny by then, and as I went forward, he reached out his skeletal hands, besieging me closer. He felt wrong, but I was not afraid. I felt like a child being carried to bed in a fever, tumbling away from myself and towards the blackness. His jaw unhinged and cruel.

creaked open. With each pump of the ventilator, he rasped out a language that sounded like death gasps. I lowered my head to him like cattle, and he clamped onto it with an unknown power. I felt his claws dig into the skin, my skull shuddering as he forced his way inside. The nurse slats me across the face, and I came round to a petrified eyes searching me. I was standing in the doorway of Muldoon's room, rooted to the spot. With a wavering voice, the nurse asked me what was wrong. She told me, I'd been screaming. Terror erupted through me like a gazer.

I blurted out Muldoon's name, repeated it again and again and again. I gassed, I pointed into the darkened room to where my attacker was surely scuttling. The nurse flipped on the light switch, and there he was, asleep in his bed, the ventilator gently clicking by his side. I said I didn't understand. He had attacked me, his hands. The nurse checked the machinery surrounding the withered old man. Told me it all looked normal.

Nothing had changed. I didn't believe it, but I couldn't bring myself to enter the room. I told her we had to check the CCTV footage. Each room was fitted with a camera. Some of the other patients were stirring. A couple had made their way into the hall, no doubt disturbed by my apparent scream. The nurse said you needed to tend to them and set about a duty.

I made for the security desk. The bank of monitors glowed before me like mystic windows to the past. I squinted at them, trying to focus my blurred vision. My thought still felt groggy, as if I'd woken up still drunk from the night before. Not that I'd drink much, as just how it felt. I managed to align my vision for long enough to key in the correct camera. My heart lurched as the sleeping old man manifested on the screen. I rewound the footage until I saw myself and the nurse in the doorway.

I kept going. As the timestamp sped backwards, a static version of me remained pinned to the spot on the doorway, staring into the room like some kind of jittery creep. By the time I saw myself reverse away from the room, 12 minutes of video had elapsed. 12? The attack had felt over in a flash. Thoughts fogging over again, I pressed play and watch myself stroll up to the doorway and pull up to look inside.

Then I just stood there, barely moving a muscle, but not looking especially strange. Just standing there, taking note of the old man on the bed. At the 11 minute and 34 second mark, the man on the screen burst into life, nearly shocked me off my chair. He just started screaming, face contorted unlike I'd ever seen myself before. The nurse came into view and I paused the tape. Heard had it felt so real. But it was impossible. Had I had an aneurysm?

Was there a tumour the size of a golf ball in my brain fixing to send me into one of these beds I've been walking past for these years? Nausea crept my throat and I closed my eyes tight. I should probably get one of the ducks that take a look at me tomorrow, I figured. As the acid receded back down my esophagus and the urge to vomit passed, my head began to clear. I decided to check the other camera, the one looking into the room. I flipped over to the correct channel and the old man in the bed appeared on the screen. I rewound at the time I'd arrived in his room, hit play. Instantly, it hit me.

The eyes, glowing in the night, fixed to the moment. wide on the doorway where I stood out of a shot. A shiver crept down my spine as I watched Muldoon, unmoving in that blackness. His eyes never blinking. The timestamp showed I'd started screaming. The eyes flickered closed. I spent the rest of my shift sitting at the security desk. My thoughts felt cloudy, distant.

All I wanted was to go home and sleep. The first light of dawn came. my shift ended without further incident. I made the automatic commute back to my apartment, climbed the stairs, collapsed into bed and shut my eyes in the hope that good rest was all I needed to shake off the strangeness of last night. As I drifted off,

it all felt like a half-remembered dream, or like something that had happened to someone else at some of the time. Ten jaws reached out from the depths and dragged me into sleep. My eyes flicked open. I was laying in a bed which wasn't. wasn't my own in a strange room. I felt uncomfortable, but somehow numb. I glanced around, trying to get my bearings. There was the rhythmic sound of machinery beside my head. The place was utterly still, grey. Thin cobwebs hanging about the place. A layer of filth covered everything,

making the modern utilitarian furniture look ancient. I attempted to sit up to get a better look, but my muscles were not obey. I willed movement with all my might, but nothing, not even a twitch. I was pinned under some great weight, unable to muster so much as a wiggle of my toe. I realised where I was. It was his bed, Muldoons.

But why was I here? I had only finished my shift. I had left. I was asleep at home. Relief washed over me and my revelation. I was asleep, just a bizarre dream. I lay in the dusty hospice bed, convinced to myself I would wake up at any moment in my home. I had never had a lucid dream before, had no idea a dream could feel so real.

But why had I not woken up? Usually, when a dreamer notices his inner dream, his brain shorts out and he wakes. I was still there in what felt like real time. Something was in the hall, my body filled with dread. In the absence of all other sensation, it became my world. I lay with my eyes fixed to the closed door. It was out there moving towards me. It made no sound, but I could feel it.

The pressure in the room increased as it approached, like the room had slipped off the side of the marionette trench. drifting down into the blackest parts of the ocean. My eyes felt as though they would burst from my head. I closed them tight to squeeze them back into my skull. It was at the door, waiting. My heart pounded in my chest, shaking my whole body. I knew if whatever it was came in and looked into my eyes, it would ruin me.

The door opened. I gasped and threw myself off the bed. I kept my eyes close tight, and raised my hands to protect my head from the being. No attack came. Slowly, I opened my eyes and looked around. It was my apartment. No cobwebs, no machinery, no presents creeping up the hall.

Before I could quite register to the nausea, I threw up onto the floor. I rose to get a towel to clean up the mess, but my legs went and mush and I collapsed. My entire body felt stiff Like I'd just run a marathon I must have come down With a pretty nasty illness

Flew probably I wrenched myself from the floor And staggered into the living room Where I'd left my phone It struck me as strange That I was naked I usually sleep in pajamas But that was the least of my worries

It was 6pm One hour before my shift was to begin I was starting to feel better but decided I should probably take the night off. The hospice is pretty strict about coming to work if you have something like the flu. Too many high-risk patients. My boss was understanding,

told me to see a doctor if my symptoms persisted. I told her I would and hung up, slumped onto the couch. A knock at the door stopped me from drifting off. I groaned. No one ever visited me, so it couldn't be anything important. The person knocked again, polite and cheery.

I made my way to the peephole and looked out. It was my neighbour, Mrs. Patton. We had never said so much as a hello in the hallway before. I only know name from the mail that sometimes mistakenly ended up in my box. What could she possibly want? She looked well enough. I decided against the interaction I was turning to go back to the couch and something slid through the door.

A note. If she had some kind of problem, she could get lost. Now was not the time. I opened the folded paper anyway. Dear Thomas, thank you so much for helping me today. It's heartening to know I have such a lovely young man for a neighbor. I fake some cookies as thanks. You'll find them on your doorstep.

If you ever need anything, you feel free to pop over the hallway and knock on my door. Thanks again, and God bless. Pamela. Great, I thought. Not only is the woman across the hall losing her marbles, but now I'm involved with the delusions. Should steer clear of her as best I can. That kind of crazy has a way of sucking people in. I screwed up the note and tossed in the direction of the trash.

Missed. I spent the rest of the day feeling totally worn out. Though, to be honest, it didn't change how I spent the day compared to most of my other days off. A lounged around the apartment, too tired for video. games, watching the same series on Netflix I had already seen countless times before. I tried to force myself to write a little of my latest novel idea, but as usual, I couldn't find the willpower and just went to the fridge instead. Frozen pizza for dinner again. Spaced out, I barely even noticed as my conscience started the drift, walled off gently by the chatter

of fake lovers on the TV. I closed my eyes just for a moment. I battered my eyes open, must have dozed off. The room was dark around me, but smelled dank, rotten. Gradually, my vision adjusted to the gloom. My heart sank. I was back in the hospice bed, pinned to it by my own body. The room had changed. Black mould covered everything, seething out from behind the furniture and up the walls.

Air thick with spores was pumped into my feeble lungs with each click of the machine beside me. I wanted to cough, to clear my throat, but even that was impossible. I tried to wrench myself from the dream, to whirl myself out of it. Futile. The machine's clicks intensified, my heart pounded with a quickening rhythm. It was coming. The spores in the air whirled around me with each step outside in the hall.

I could hear it now. Each step, a thump of some great mass slamming onto the ground. ground. The pressure in the room was unbearable, enough to buckle the door in its frame. Its curdling breath billowed to the cracks in the door. I winced my eyes tight, heard the door scream open on its bent hinges. The thing was in the room, willing me to look at it. It was moving closer. I could smell it now. An ancient thing, rotten mass and dirt. I felt it reach out for me. I rolled off the couch and under the floor.

floor screaming. I could feel the filth from the room clinging to my skin. I made a blind dash for the door, but tripped and was sprawled under the carpet. Laying, panting. I was home, back in my own home. I was Thomas, me. This was no ordinary illness. Something was severely wrong. Orange lights streamed through the window. My anal-clock was no help. Five a.m. or p.m. I checked my phone, PM. I'd slept for almost ten hours, and yet still felt as though I'd been awake for days. I needed a doctor, medical help. Maybe the nurses of the hospice could offer me some advice. I unlocked my phone to call. An odd red message popped onto the screen. I opened it. Hey, great meeting you last night. I don't usually do that kind of thing. I'm a nice girl, really.

call me whenever, X. No telltale link to some seedy sight at the end of the message, no request for money or to follow on some social media page. Even the number looked legit below the saved contact, Amber. I decided to ignore it and called the number for the hospice. The head nurse picked up. I told her who it was, but before I had the chance to ask her advice, she was already thanking me for enthusiastically stopping by with the donuts for the staff.

That was really sweet, she said. I was unfounded. She said she was happy. I was feeling so much better. She'd never seen me so perky. She asked how my plans were going for the trip. Trip? The one I'd used my favour to book the time off for short notice.

I asked her when I'd booked this time off. She told me three days ago. But wasn't that Sunday? No, she said. Today is Saturday. I dropped the phone. This meant three days had passed since I'd fallen asleep in the couch. I'd been asleep for three whole days.

It couldn't be. And how had I booked the time off in my sleep? I could hear her asking for me from the floor. I picked up the phone, made an excuse and hung up. My head was swimming, or rather sinking. My body felt totally used up. I could have fallen back asleep right then and there The only thing keeping my eyes open

Was the dread pulsing around my body with each heartbeat I had to find answers There had to be some kind of clue Some link to what was happening I remember the message to my phone I called Amber Hey you The soldier voice on the other line said

You don't play games I like that I asked her who she was There was a pause on the other side. She asked me what I meant. I demanded to know how we met. Amber told me I was being weird. I ignored her, demanded again.

She called me a creep, said she guessed she had been wrong about me, hung up. I never was much good with women. I looked around my apartment. Everything was so tidy. No dirty plates or cutlery. No empty takeaway boxes on the floor. Even my magazines and video games have been neatly put away in the shelf in alphabetical order. What sick person had alphabetized my stuff?

I checked the trash. Vegetable wrappers from the supermarket. All organic. I dashed to the fridge. Stocked with fruit. More organic vegetables. Some kind of rice with canoa written on the side. Apricots.

Meat from a local butcher. Where was my mustard? Where are my pickles? My hot dogs. A white hot needle shot beyond my eye So painful I nearly collapsed Worst migraine of my life Wincing I checked my phone

Check the history in the browser I scored past a number of charity websites I had apparently visited over the last three days First time for everything I suppose There had to be something I was missing I checked the files There was one recording Play me, that mp3

I opened it My blood froze as my own voice rang through the tinny speaker It was me and yet not The same pitch and accent Yet somehow more languid Calm Hello Thomas, don't be startled I know this all must be very distressing for you

For that I apologise It is not my attention to frighten you But vessels rarely offer as much resistance as you have. You should be proud. I'll admit you're not a prime candidate, but needs must. My current vessel is damaged beyond repair and I must transition soon. Unfortunately for you, amongst the staff in the hospice, your existence is least worthy. You have squandered your chance of finding meaning on this earth, and if you look within yourself, you know this will never change. That is not my doing, it is your own.

Sadly, this is a state of most vessels, doomed to be used up and shriveled away without finding any purpose at all. A drop in the ocean, as they say. I want to make the world a better place, Thomas. I want to make something of your vessel. Give it to me. Give in. Rest. Make it easy in yourself, as you always have, and know that you will be loved, adored by all.

They will build statues of you and praise your name. Give yourself to me, Thomas. Sleep. At that, a guitaro chanting began emanating from the speaker. Instinctively, I held the phone into the wall, shattering it into silence. I stood for a moment, exhaustion pulling my eyelids down, adrenaline holding them open. Something was coming up the stairs. A smell, decay, ancient dirt, thudding down the hall.

Cobwebs began to form around. me. I shook my head and they dissipated. They began to gather again. The thudding reached the door, filling the room with a stench, the apartment itself twisting around me. I ran to the sink and splashed my face of the water. The reek wafted away and back in with each cold splash. I was fading. In desperation, I went to the toaster, set it, and took a deep breath. I jam my fingers into the glowing filament. The toaster, I flew back and onto the ground, more awake than I'd ever been in my life. I lay in the floor, panting, looking around.

Everything was normal. The only smell now was burnt hair, fragrant compared to what it had replaced. I had to stay awake, just long enough for that thing to die. I rummaged through my drawers, found the truck of bills I'd bought when I started the job. It was still in date. I bowed the kettle, washed down. thrice to recommend a dose of the pills with black coffee. It's been 32 hours since I heard myself on the recording.

My heart is beating like a jackhammer. I'm so wired I didn't even recognize my own face in the mirror earlier. I look old. Every time my head drops, I hear that thing outside, getting closer, beating the door and groaning. It wants to be let in. It wants to see me. I think it may be death itself.

Maybe is whatever Muldoon really is. I don't know. Right now, I'm doing anything I can to stay awake, to stop myself drifting off. That's why I'm writing this all out. Not even sure if anyone will believe me if they read it. What else can I do? Call the cops? Yeah, right.

I've considered going to the hospice and killing Muldoon myself. But even when that thing in the hall is keeping quiet, I know it's out there. I can feel it. It wants me to go to it. By the time anyone reads this, I'll either be me, or I'll be gone.

Not sure how much longer I can hold out. The cobwebs are covering everything now. When the thing outside groans, it sounds fierce, angry. At least I can still move my arms and legs. I think I'll watch more TV. Take the last of my trucker pills. Maybe another cold shower.

I wish I'd written that novel. Heck, it might have been pretty good.