CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - 7 Scary Reddit Horror Stories Compilation to sleep to

Episode Date: March 15, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORIES-►0:00​ "I was a Cryptozoologist. One Creature Still Haunts Me" Creepypasta►12:08​ "There was a man living in our basement when I was a kid, but nobody remembers him" Creepypasta►27:27​ "My Experience with SoloMart" Creepypasta►48:18​ "The Creatures in Algonquin Park Look Very Different After Dark" Creepypasta►1:04:21​ "The Heflin Case of 2007" Creepypasta►1:34:26​ "The Cambridge Catacombs" Creepypasta►1:44:49​ "I work on a fishing boat in the North Atlantic. We reeled something never seen before" 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►Antonio J. Manzanedo: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/Oo...​SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...​►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...​►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...​►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...​FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta​►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/​►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta​►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPasta​CREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic​ ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic​ ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt​ ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM​ ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only-

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Biocure, Macshot Liquid. Foodingsupplement Recreig by the apotheker I'm a retired cryptozoologist I use the term retired in this context very loosely I was never paid for my work and there was no pension to speak of

Cryptozoology has always been a passion of mine one that in my old age I no longer have the energy to pursue but I didn't leave empty-handed the treasures of the trade are not monetary ones they are stories Some passed around from one hunter to the next, others gained from experience on the front lines.

The one that I keep coming back to, even now, is a personal one. It's been many years, but I think I finally have the nerve to share it. Before we get started, a little background. I'm a journalist by trade, and in the mid-80s, there was a spike in submissions to the paper I worked for, which should remain anonymous pertaining to unexplained phenomenon. Sightings of remarkable but horrific beasts in the local forest. They were a trip to read, but not worth investigating, according to my boss. Our mantra was clear.

Straight to the news. The paper was known for neutral, unbiased, fact-based articles. That meant no sensationalist headlines, no opinion pieces, and nothing that could be dismissed or disproved. Still, I had so much fun reading these bizarre tales. The highlights of any given workday, when one landed on my desk. On one particularly slow day at the office,

I was handed three separate letters. All were new submissions describing similar incidents, too similar to be written off with the others. According to these first-hand accounts, there was an ominous creature that stood at the edge of the forest when driven by. There was a humanoid entity covered in grass-like fur all over. Other than the greenery,

there were no identifiable features. It blended in with a tree line, but jarred the three drivers when it moved, running into the road at great speed. If this was a prank, it was an elaborate one, especially for the time period. Each letter had a different handwriting and tone. I later discovered that the return addresses

were those of residents deemed as reputable sources for the paper in the past. I was baffled. My boss was not so intrigued. Upon showing him the letters, he simply took the names of our source list and barked at me too, quote,

stop playing make-believe and get back to work. He was anything, if not endearing. I threw the mystery letters in a drawer with the rest. I worked there for two more years before calling it quits and beginning my new job as a full-time critters zoologist, inspired by the paper's strange submissions.

My retirement and many vested benefits from the company would fund this passion project to mine. You might find it odd given the line of work, but for the first time in my life, I felt truly fulfilled. There are no words to describe the feeling, but freedom is a good attempt. I won't bore you with the details of my adventures into the unknown. There are mostly uninteresting tales, whose joyous highlights and precious moments could never be spoiled with enough embellishment to convey the meaning they hold to me. just know that almost all of these endeavours were unfruitful.

The journey was far more enjoyable than the destination, save for a handful of hunts that harboured actual danger. But there was never a closer call than with the Moss Man, as I later dubbed it. Going through some old notes from my days of the paper, I happened upon those three letters. Pondering over them for a bit, an idea sprung to mind, and a smile crept across my face. I called a friend of mine to meet me.

Then, in a flash, I grabbed my keys and drove to the forest edge, hoping to catch a glimpse of this mysterious moss man. Even if it didn't exist, it would be a fun outing doing what I loved. The friend I called was a rocky hunter. I was his teacher, in a sense, a title I wore proudly. This would be our fifth excursion together. When he arrived, we didn't waste any time minting words. We simply ventured into the woods,

flashlights in hand, ready to find the beast and document its existence. If only we knew at the time what we were getting ourselves into. We walked quietly for an hour before one of us spoke off. Spooked by the darkness, we were in need of some small talk to distract ourselves and break away the awkward tension. Say, Jack, why are you so keen on finding this grassman anyway, I thought your old paper was sent pranks like that all the time.

I laughed. It's Mossman, Henry, and I never said that. That's just what my boss thought. I was never able to follow any leads. Henry looked off for a moment and then came back. What if it was just a guy in a suit, scaring the locals? Henry was a believer at heart, but he wore his skepticism on his sleeve. That's what I liked about him.

It's his apprehension that kept. my head on straight and the explorations we embarked on previously. I had been known to let my enthusiasm get the better of me on more than one occasion. Well, that's what we're here to find out. If there's no evidence, that will probably be our conclusion. Footsteps echoed in the distance, branches breaking beneath a heavy weight. Henry and I slowed to a stop.

Did you hear that, Jack? Shh, quiet, don't make a sound. I listened, but was met with only silence. We brushed the incident off and kept walking, now rattled. So, Henry asked, how big is this thing supposed to be? All of the letters described it as being the size of a man. No specifics past that. Henry turned around and stood still for a moment.

I stayed with him, assuming he needed a second to gather his wits. I think I left something in my car. I'll be right. I interjected before I could finish his statement. "'God damn it, Henry, do you want to be a hunter or not?' "'Yes, I do, but—but nothing. "'How many times have you died on a hunt?' Henry paused.

"'Well, counting the Ketuna incident. None.' "'Exactly. So pull your spine out of your ass and match my pace. "'Walk with confidence. You're going to be fine.' Henry took a laboured breath, turned back around, and straightened his posture. "'My pep talk seemed to have an effect. "'Okay, Jack, I can do this.' He gave me a determined look. We never explicitly disgusted before, but I sensed that Henry looked up to me,

not unlike how a child looks up to their father. Good, now follow me. I marched ahead, and Henry followed. Then there were more footsteps. He stopped again. The sound was so close. I was compelled to yell out. Who's there? Show yourself.

The noise ceased. With a fair amount of trepidation, myself, I pressed on, Henry now falling behind. Pick up the pace, all you, Henry. This is what we're here for. A few moments passed, and the sound of footsteps recommenced. This time, the source was revealed. Out from behind a large tree, stepped a gentleman in proper dress attire, adorning an overly wide smile. A shadowy form illuminated only by a sliver of moonlight that broke through the forest canopy.

Henry and I nearly jumped out of our skin and jolted back a bit. Then we looked at each other, confused. I spoke first. Hello there. The man did not respond. Henry chined in. What are you doing out here dressed like that? No reply.

I gave it another go. Everything all right, sir. Would you like some help navigating the forest? Not a single word offered in response. I contemplate. implated eruptions and turned back to Henry, who was now visibly trembling. Henry, we should go. We began walking in the opposite direction.

To our utter disbelief, the man was there, impeding our travel. My blood ran cold. No footsteps this time, just inexplicable, instantaneous transit. Everywhere we turned, he was there. We had been ambushed. Without warning, the man transformed before our eyes. Green, grassy appendages seeped out from his paws and enveloped his outline. His feet just vanished behind the foliage.

It was him, the moss man. I never suspected it could shape-shift, but this was no time to jot down notes. It lunged at us. Henry and I dispersed, but, with overwhelming agility and strength, it was able to grab us both and pin our bodies to a tree. We were pressed so forcefully against it, the bark felt like thousands of tiny needles scraping the skin of my back. Henry flailed out, screaming in fear and agony. I too were scared, but, having been in a similar position before, I held my composure and hatched the plan.

Hey, big guy, I have a proposition for you. He tilted his head at me. A horrendous amalgamation of vines where his face should have been. I'm sure you have to feed, and we all probably taste better than the same. the odd rabbit or fox pass by. Trust me, I understand. But if you kill us both, they'll come looking for us.

You might be good against one or two men, but a whole search party. If your nest is discovered, you could be caught and killed yourself, or, at the very least, forced to flee your home. Illusained this grip on me. I used to work for the local paper.

My testimonial holds weight in this town. To both local officials and general public, I can make it appear to be an accident. Just leave the body when you're done. That's all I ask. Henry turned to me, more frightened than he had ever been of the Mossman. So, what do you say? Do we have a deal?

The creature nodded and let me go. I ran out to the forest, my heart pounding. Unlike other cryptids I dealt with, I didn't know this one's dialect, so I wasn't sure he would even understand me. I looked back only once to make sure the creature hadn't changed his mind and caught a glimpse of Henry being torn to shreds. Poor guy. I lost more Rockies that way.

The following day, Henry's body was found at the edge of the woods. After speaking with the mayor, a closet hunter and a good friend of mine, and contacting the paper, my old boss commissioned a report from me. Henry had been attacked by a bear on an unfortunate stroll to the forest one night. evening. It was the talk of the community for a while and as such folks steer clear of the woods. The Mossman's nest was safe and so were the locals. A job well done in my book. So let this serve as a lesson to you. When searching for monsters, always bring a friend along for the hunt. They might just save your life. An hour ago I was talking to my friend Mike and my cousin,

Emily. Mike had come from out of town to visit and we spent the evening catching up. It had been quite a while since our last visit, so the three of us were up late, chatting away and swapping stories. Emily and Mike had bundled up on the couch in the living room of our apartment while I sat across from them in the squeaky, tired recliner I've hauled from my last three places. We'd been talking for so long that the day turned to night and we hadn't bothered to turn the lights on, so we now sat in the dim glow of the street lamps below. The three of us, since the day we all met, loved sharing spooky stories and positing the things we could never manage to explain.

It was around 10pm and Mike had just finished reminding me of the strange things he noticed in my child at home whenever he visited. Strange noises at night, footsteps while everyone was asleep, the usual haunted house stuff. Creepy, yet innocent and easily explained away. Emily had stayed there for some time a couple years ago before we moved into our first apartment together and attested to the overall bad feeling the house gave off

especially when she was alone she actually surprised me by how emotional she was while remembering it all she's from another country and moved in with me and my family on a visitor's visa which meant she couldn't work without a permit everyone else in the house however would be out of the house most of the day working

which left Emily by herself She explained to me how isolated and oppressed she'd feel when she was alone there, even though she would normally revel in the time she had to herself. There was something about that old house that made her feel differently. After some time, Emily calmed down and we continued discussing the strange things that went on when she was alone. It seemed to be cathartic for her, albeit a bit distressing to recall everything. She at least knew that she wasn't alone in noticing things. Mike and I would basically guess all the weird things she experienced since they happened to us too.

I grew up with it all, so I casually explained away most of the things that were brought up, or ones that didn't really bother me at all. To add to the discussion, I brought up the man who lived in our basement for a while. Mike and Emily both sat, stone-faced, staring back at me. I could see Mike was a bit shocked. It looked like his eyes were watering, but he was too. too dark to tell. Then, he quietly spoke up.

What are you talking about, Will? I got that it was a weird thing to say, but it didn't feel that weird to me, so I explain myself. Oh, some time after my parents had separated, my dad, sister and I, moved into this old house with his new wife and my three new step-siblings.

I was probably about seven at that point. The main flooring upstairs were in decent shape, but the basement there was all bare. Just concrete foundations. and plywood. It was the quintessential damp, creepy basement. And because of that, we didn't use it for much, except for laundry. The only decent room fitted with the door was shared by my two older stepsisters next to the bottom of the stairs. The rest of the giant L-shaped space was sectioned out by large doorways and would remain untouched until years later, but we used

it for storage in the meantime. I didn't start going down there until my dad hooked up a computer for me to play games on. It was tucked away in the corner of the larger. open room behind the stairs. It was the only spot with an outlet. The rest of the electricals wouldn't be finished for another few years. I'd spent hours down there by myself, absorbed in Doom and Diablo 2,

totally forgetting where I was, completely hidden amongst the pile of boxes, junk and workout equipment. It was a bit cold, but it was my space, and I would never be bothered by my siblings. One night, after dinner, and getting ready for bed,

my dad let me go down to the basement to play my games for a while. It was pretty late, but in the summer I didn't really have a set bedtime. This time was different than normal though. As I began to descend the stairs into the dark, I heard a familiar sound, like a click, click, click of a computer mouse. I thought it was strange, since nobody used a computer aside from me, but I continued down to see what it was.

The basement lights worked, but the light switch was very out of the way. I'd walked through this basement so many times at this point that I didn't really need to see to get to my computer I always felt a sense of comfort down there and I guess that's weird in retrospect it was a bit darker than usual and I couldn't see anything until I'd rounded the large doorframe it was a bit brighter in there

and I saw a familiar glow from between the bookshelf and some stacked totes my computer was already on There was a man sitting in my chair. He was dressed in what I remember being a greenish military uniform. He had short, curly brown hair and his skin was quite pale. He was older, but not that old, maybe a teenager. He didn't notice me at first, but I tried to move around to see his face.

He finally glanced at me without turning his head and quietly said, Hello, Will. Not like a whisper. More like he was worried he'd scare me if he spoke. I couldn't think of a good reason for him to be there, which was sort of creepy, but he didn't strike me as a bad guy. He looked normal,

and the corners of his mouth were upturned into a gentle smile. I asked him about the game he was playing, which I didn't recognize. It looked kind of like Doom, but he was just moving through empty, black and grey hallways. It looked kind of boring. We actually talked about games for quite a while, while. He seemed familiar with the games I liked, but didn't have much to say. I asked why he was wearing that outfit, and he replied, I'm on leave from the military. I didn't really know what that

meant back then, but he said that my dad was friends with his mom, and they said he could stay for a while. Apparently his mom moved out of town, but wasn't able to tell him, so he didn't know anyone else he could stay with while he was here. I felt bad for him, but I didn't know what else to say. He went quiet after that. Eventually, I said good night, and left him to his computer games. As I reached the bottom of the steps, I heard his soft voice again. I hope we can play games together soon, Will. It gets a bit lonely down here. After I explained myself, I was expecting my friend's faces to relax, but they didn't. Mike and Emily were as tense and unchanging as before. I kept going. Every once in a while I would go down into the basement. Sometimes he'd be

there and other times I'd be alone. We would talk quite a bit and quite late into the night too. Now that I think about it, I have no idea where he slept, or if he slept. Something about the words coming out of my mouth finally sent a wave of dread through my body. Emily, I moved both her hands in front of her face, covering her mouth and the lower half of a nose. Her eyes are wide. I could see her irises shaking against the white backdrop. Mike sat there, and blinking, looking me in the eyes, as if he was about to cry. Bay said nothing.

What was I saying? I don't know where or if he slept? What do I mean I don't know if he slept? I wrecked my brain, and I honestly couldn't come up with an answer. There was no makeshift bed downstairs and no extra space for him to sleep Why did I never think of this? I can't even remember when he stopped showing up

But I do remember that he did I could tell they were getting uncomfortable And so was I So I switched it up and began recalling a separate unrelated memory I was still quite young Probably seven or eight And woke up one night to the sound of a deep groaning

Coming from beneath me My room at the time was the only one on the main floor. The sound was steady and rhythmic, but it was loud enough while my head was pressed into the pillow that I couldn't fall back to sleep. I got up and made my way to the landing before the basement stairs. I paused, wondering if I should get my dad,

but I felt so heavy and drowsy that I just needed to sleep. So I went downstairs with a light from the main floor illuminating the wooden steps, down into the dark, concrete sand. The sound was definitely coming from the storage room. I looked at the room where my computer was and couldn't see anything. The sound hadn't stopped, so I moved closer, round in the corner like normal, until I had to stop.

I almost walked into the punching bag in the middle of the room. It was swinging. I figured the guy that lives in the basement must have been messing with it since it's normally on the ground. I'm not even sure if it had a rope or cord attack. to it anymore, but the computer was off and he was nowhere to be seen. I stopped the bag, holding it steady to reduce his momentum and making sure it wouldn't make the noise so I could sleep. The man that lived in the basement, he's in this memory too. I didn't remark on it and kept going.

As I climbed upstairs, a little disappointed that my friend wasn't there. I heard a sound as I reached the top step. It sounded like heavy boots and pavement. The sound made me freeze for him. moment. I wasn't sure if I imagined it, but my body wouldn't let me turn to look down into the dark. Then I heard a soft voice from further away say, Come back, Will, something snapped to me. I don't know why, but I felt like I had woken up from a daze. My gut told me to run, so I sprinted down the hall into my room, blocked the

door with my dresser, jumped under the covers of my bed, and covered my ears. Then, the same groaning from before started again, like a weight swinging back and forth on the beams below. I could still feel the vibrations from the cracking beams. I don't remember falling asleep. After that, I didn't feel the same way about the basement. I would rarely go down there. Even after it was renovated, I wouldn't linger if I was alone. As I revealed more about my childhood,

I could tell from Emily and Mike's reactions that this wasn't normal. Hell, after saying it out loud, I didn't think it was even a little weird anymore. It was totally bizarre. In fact, I don't know if I ever said this out loud before. Emily finally said something for the first time since I started reminiscing, still covering her mouth. She asked, Did you ever asked your dad about this?

I kept trying to remember, but I honestly don't know if I did. If I did, it was never brought up again. I started feeling uneasy and played. called out my phone. It was almost midnight, but my dad would still be up. My family normally went to bed late. I sent him a message asking if he remembers the man who lived in our basement. He didn't reply right away, so I texted my stepmom too, then my sister, then my step-sisters. Before I knew it, my knee was shaking with anticipation as I awaited an answer. My chest tightened as the old chair beneath me seemed to creak in a familiar way as I get playing

with a pedal that moved the leg rest up and down. The sound made my stomach churn. A few minutes had passed in silence before I got a response. It was one of my stepsisters that had lived in the basement. What? Who are you talking about? I was about to respond, but my thumbs wouldn't move when I realised I didn't have any other information. I didn't know his name, I never asked. Why didn't I do that?

He was always just a man that lived in the basement. But he knew my name. I started to feel sick as I began getting more replies. Well, are you okay? Then another... No, I don't. What are you talking about? I was starting to feel dizzy when my dad finally responded.

Perfect. If anyone knew what I was talking about, it would be him. Then I would know I wasn't crazy. Then we could all relax. But his response didn't ease my mind. mind. It made things worse. He said, he didn't remember either. He said, he remembers me mentioning my friend who lived downstairs, but he always thought it was made-believe. I remember it so vividly. I know it wasn't imaginary. He was there. I'm certain he was there. I text my dad again.

You seriously don't remember letting the man in army clothes live in our basement? I could see my dad was typing. He kept starting and stopping. I was beyond desperate for an explanation at this point. I was panicking. Even worse, I could see Mike and Emily were just as anxious for an answer as I was. Then, the message came. Will, I never talked to anyone about staying in our basement. I could imagine his voice trailing off. He sent another text shortly after, but this one left me even more confused. I haven't told the family, but the previous owner had moved out after she came home one day to find that her son had passed away. I never told anyone because the price of the house was so cheap and we needed the extra space. I figured after some renovations it would be easy to forget.

I'm sorry. I didn't get it. How was this related to what happened? Who was in the basement? My dad answered both of the questions for me before I could even ask. I was curious, so I looked into the property before buying. He was suffering from extreme PTSD after his time in the military. She found him hanging from the ceiling inside the house. I sent my last message, even though I knew the answer at this point. Where? After a few minutes, he replied.

In the basement, behind the same. The festival season is Aangueckon, and that betekent mudder. And so, came Kim to Amazon.com. com. On the look to

a waterdict tent, a comfortable lute bed, oh, so, Kness, and Lupeartprint regalarze. Miao! Now, Kemp,

he has gone more to make over the modder, just like the dancing the moderm man there, oh,

wait just even, have he now only modder on? Oh, yeah, only modder. DRO blithe? Goar for. For my whole life, I have lived in that nowhere town, nestled in the woods of central

Ontario, just off Highway 144, where the pines were tall and the days were cold. Since I was young, I'd wanted out, not only because of my fear of becoming a townie like my peers were destined to be, but because of my family. I had a rough childhood, one I'm not keen to get into. Suffice to say, my home life alone was. was enough to convince me to leave and never come back. So, at age 19, with nothing but a trunk of clothes and personal items and my aunts had me down 2007 Toyota Corolla, I did just that. That night was the straw that broke the camel's back. Things have been rocky since

mom passed away, and after a night of beer-breath beratement from my father, I just couldn't take it anymore. I remember being so angry I could have cried. I wasn't thinking straight. I know that now, but I don't regret it. The lights of the town faded out behind me in the rearview mirror. I should have been happy. I should have celebrated, called up my friends from out of town and asked them to make a spot for me on the couch or recommend a good motel to crash in. But as I drove in the dark, all I felt was a crawling dread. My friends had offered me a place to stay countless times, even just for a night. I had always turned them down.

I convinced myself that I could do this on my own, that I didn't need anyone's help to get out of fear. I guess I was right after all, though. That pit in my stomach just got deeper and deeper. It wasn't so bad that I needed to leave, really, but I shook my head. I didn't let myself feel a thing at all, honestly. I was just doing it to prove a point. I could leave, even if I'd be back eventually. I'd push those thoughts out to my head, though.

I didn't need any distractions, but I should have seen it coming then, right? I wasn't distracted by any emotions. I was just staring straight ahead. I should have seen it, right? I have trouble recalling what happened that caused my car to crash. I must have just hit my head, but there was no bruise, no pain. There was something in front of my car, and then it wasn't there anymore. There was a bang as my tire popped, and I swerved at the side, coming to a skidding halt on the dirt road.

I jumped out of the car, looking around in confusion to see what I'd hit, but there wasn't anything there. Not a sharp rock or tire spikes, not a deer or dog or any other animal. I swore to myself when I took my phone out, finding it unable to turn on. The welcome sign at the outskirts of town was ripe. behind me, staring me down mockingly. I looked down the road, even though I couldn't see very far. There was a light in the distance, yellow and blue and white, just within reach. I took the keys and wallet out of my car and locked the door behind me, and started walking

down the road. It didn't take long to reach the light. Just off the side of the road, there it was. It was the size of a supermarket with warm yellow light. emanating from inside. It looked just like a normal grocery store, albeit an unpopulated one, with large glass windows at the front to entice those outside to take a peek at its wares. Above the entrance, there was the name of the store in big neon blue bubble letters.

Solo Mart. I'd driven out of town this way dozens of times, and I'd never noticed it, but I wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. I figured I could ask to use the landline and maybe get a snack for the road while I was there. I walked into the store, hands shoved into my pockets as I glanced around in search of a staff member. I've always hated asking for help at grocery stores

and being the only person in the store aside from staff only makes it worse for some reason. I started to slink through the aisles hoping to run into someone. The place made me feel really on edge for some reason like I'd been here before. The sense of deja vu I got Just from standing in the canned food aisle Made whatever appetite I had dry up immediately

Hello sir, welcome to Sulelemart I nearly jumped out of my skin When someone came up behind me I whirled around to face the employee He was just a regular looking guy Of course he was What was I thinking He was a little shorter than me with brown hair

wearing a blue polar shirt with a name tag clipped on his chest. Keith, it read. He looked familiar, but I was sure I'd never seen him before in my life. I knew I'd never met him, but he had the face of someone who I'd known since I was young, but hadn't seen in years. It made me feel something I can't describe. Hey, uh, sorry, do you have a landline I could use?

I asked. He blinked at me for a long moment, like he didn't understand what I'd said. I was about to repeat what I said, thinking he hadn't understood me, but before I could, he cleared his throat. Landline? Right, yes, of course, sir. He said, sounded confused at first, but becoming more aware as he spoke. He stood there for a long moment. Hold on, I'm sorry, I'll need to check in the staff room for a landline.

He didn't meet my eyes, looking through me. me rather than at me, with a strange, glazed over expression of bland, polite drubility. I'll go look for a phone. Why don't you take a look around the store while I do that? Are you okay? I asked. His expression didn't change.

I got a strange feeling like something was on the tip of my tongue. Have we met before? He didn't respond. Didn't even give me a look as he turned on his heel and walked away. Weird. I figured he was probably high, or maybe just sleep deprived. I felt bad for the guy, but he still left me with a hair in my neck standing on end

and a weary feeling weighing on me. I figured I'd pass the time by walking around. The store truly was empty, the only sound coming from my footsteps and the music that played from the speaker system. It sounded... Old. Like someone had deep-fried the sound quality

of an old 50's commercial track. I rounded the corner into one of the aisles into the frozen food section. There was a stand with three samples where another person was standing. She had long, blonde hair and brown eyes

wearing the same uniform as Keith. I squinted at her. Was she? Samantha? I asked, cocking my head at her. She stared straight forward for a moment with a blank expression on her face. before blinking and turning to look at me with a bright smile.

Aha, I'm afraid not, sir, she said. I blinked a few times, and, oh, I guess, she wasn't her. I could have sworn she was, but when I blinked, she looked like a complete stranger. I glanced at a name tag. Jane. Oh, sorry, I thought you were someone else, I said. embarrassment crept on my neck at the situation I'd put myself in so I tried to curb my discomfort by looking down at a table of free samples

it was ice cream I think she had a big tub of the stuff on the table a plastic container of pale purple frozen something the container had the word exo'wip written on the lid and side in a loopy white script and a dark purple background with little white stars like a night sky next to the top of ice cream there was a tray of paper cups

with tiny portions of exywip I'd never seen it in a store before it's vegan would you like to try it she asked jovialy breaking me out in my contemplation yeah sure I said picking up one of the little

cups she handed me a tiny spoon to eat it with um thanks I'm just gonna walk around I said For some reason, the way she looked at me It made me feel just

So uncomfortable She hardly blinked Just stared head on at me With that same blank smile That Keith had I wandered away Taking a tentative bite of the exit whip It was sweet

marshmallow-y Like some weird kind of blue moon ice cream It had a strange aftertaste Like a sugar-free sweetener That made me grimace Yuck I tried another bite to make sure I didn't like it and nope, it was bad

I wondered why they even carried this stuff I started looking around for a garbage bin to toss it in wondering where the hell Keith had gone and what was taking him so long as I walked down the frozen food aisle I started to feel strange my steps got sluggish my head began to hurt

almost like a brain freeze right behind the eyes the eyes. I winced, holding my head with my free hand and looking down at the melting cup of exit whip with confusion. What the hell were they putting in this? My head spun. Sparks appearing in my vision. My ears begin to ring and... I think I blacked out. I must have. I remember falling to the cool tile floor and my vision going dark. I think... I dreamed. I dreamt. I dreamt. I dreamt somewhere, like a void of dark purple. Ahead of me, there was a purple spotlight shining down on a spot far away.

I think I tried to run to it. It was like running through syrup on a treadmill, not making any progress despite running myself dry. I shot awake suddenly. I expected to wake up in my room back home, the way to my blankets and my back and the smell of cigarettes and beer from downstairs. But I didn't. I woke up right where it had fallen down in the frozen food aisle of Solomart It couldn't have been long since I fell, right?

But when I looked around for Jane She was missing from a samples table I decided to go looking for her and Keith My vision's still swimming as I stood I wrote to my eyes And in the freezer where there would normally be all manner of brands and boxes All that was there were boxes and tubs Labelled with the same branding

as I'd seen on the Exiwhip. Exe cheesy bread, exi fries, exi rolls, exi chow, exi brand, with that dark purple background and loopy white text. I turned to the shelves behind me. Exi chips,

exi munch cereal. You get the picture. It wasn't like that before. Everything was normal before. I held my head, starting to walk down the aisle. There was a squish under my shoe. I looked down,

grimacing. at the puddle of purple slime the exit whip had melted into. I didn't pay it any mind. I tried to wipe it off on the floor to no avail. I shrugged it off and kept walking, and kept walking, and kept walking. Had this aisle always been this long? It stretched out in front of me like it was a mile long, making my head throb. I turned around and started walking towards the free samples table,

rounding the corner from the frozen section towards the bakery. The music was similar to how it had been before, but more high-pitched, faster, like someone was skipping through it. Hello, I called out, walking past the display of purple loaves of exe bread. Walking past the display of purple loaves of exe bread. Jane, Keith? Is anyone there? There was no answer. Not a peep, aside from my footsteps and the music overhead.

I could feel anxiety rising in my chest. Screw this place. I could just go back to my car and hitch a ride off someone. Maybe go back home and just wait out my dad's drunken anger. I turned down the nearest aisle and stopped, dead in my tracks. Down the aisle there was... Someone. Something?

I don't know what I'd call it. It was in the shape of a person, I think. Like a shadow. the absence of light altogether in the shape of a person carrying a basket. He was looking at products like it was just a normal customer. I felt sick, all my hair standing up on end and my heart beginning to pound. I rushed away from that aisle, looking for a way past it, only to find the aisles filled with more and more of the things, all shopping like normal.

I don't know why I was so afraid. I just ran, looking for somewhere away from the things, but they were everywhere. where when I turned around to find somewhere away from them, they were in places I had been before. I had to find Jane. I had to find Keith. At least they were normal. At least I knew what the hell they were. They felt like the store was stretching in front of me, like I wasn't making any progress at all. Frustration and fear and despair all mingled in my stomach, a lump forming in my throat as my hands began to shake. And then in front of me, the staff room door opened.

Those familiar, but odd faces in front of me brought the most relief I'd felt the entire time I'd been in this strange place. Jane, Keith! I called out, finally able to run towards them. I didn't even notice the strange expressions of their face until I was just a few steps away. What's going on? What?

I tried to stammer out a question, feeling breathless. Keith reached out and gently patted my arm. "'It's okay, Andrew. We'll keep you safe.' He had that same, glazed smile on his face, as if nothing was wrong. Jane grabbed my arm, gently pulling me towards the entrance of the staff room. "'You can hide in here until they go away.' She soothed with that same tone. Her voice was so familiar, it made my head hurt.

I wanted to follow them. They were the only thing I could understand in this place. but my fear began to return. I looked past them into the staff room, but it wasn't there. A purpleish, starry void was all that was there. A familiar void, but a void all the same. I felt like throwing up,

bawling my quivering hands into fists to hide my fear. I don't... I can't. I took a step back, but Jane squeezed my wrist hard, still staring at me with that smile. only growing more manic. It's safe here, Andrew, she said. You'll only get hurt if you stay out there, Andrew,

Keith said, through gritted teeth, barely masking his frustration. I stepped back again, trying to wriggle my arm free. Let go of me, I whispered. My boy strangled by the tightness of my throat. Keith grabbed onto my other arm, trying to help Jane drag me towards the staff room. I lean back, going dead weight, and finally managing to yell,

Let go of me! He startled him just long enough for me to get my arms free and stumble back, but I didn't make it far before Keith jumped at me. We both fell to the ground and I screamed, but I couldn't get much else out because as soon as he righted himself, he wrapped his hands around my neck and began to choke me.

His eyes were manic and feral, teeth gritted, drool dribbled out of his mouth and hit my cheek. I struggled under my mouth, onto him, grabbing his arm. But then James there, grabbing my wrist and pulling my hand away. She wrestled my arms down onto the ground and put her knees onto them, holding me down. Then she gently held my face in her hands, tipping my face up to look at hers. Her eyes are gone purple like the void, full of white stars.

Just relax, Andrew. It's better this way, she said, in my mother's voice. I sobbed, squirming under her and trying to pull away from them. She wasn't her. She wasn't. She wore my mum's face like a Halloween mask, stretched to fit over an unfit base. It's better this way. It's easier this way, she promised.

My breathing was getting short, my mouth gaping open like a fish out of water and desperately trying to drag in air that wouldn't come. Purple, Starryus began to drip from the monster's eyes. hitting my face and sliding down, mingling with my own tears. It hurt. It all hurt. I couldn't breathe. That sludge burned my skin. That thing's hands dug in harder. My eyes rolled up in my head. I was in that dark void again. Purple light far ahead, out of reach no matter how hard I ran. I looked behind me, with the dark only got darker, more unsure.

It would be easy to keep running. I get there eventually. I would be better eventually. If I could just wait, if I could fix it, if I just stuck around, I could fix it here. I had to fix it.

I looked back at the purple light and turned towards the uncertain void. I began to run, finally making headway through the slow, honey thick air. Dark hands reached out to me. My eyes shot open, and with the air I still had left,

I rolled my head back, closed my eyes, and screamed face. help. There was a moment of nothingness. I thought I died, but then I heard shouting. I opened my eyes looking around me, and those things, those shadows, they grabbed Keith and Jane off me. When I sat up to look, they were deflated, like they had been suits that no one was wearing anymore, flattened and empty. I stared at them for a long moment. One of the shadows reached out to me.

I flinched back, looking up at his featureless form. I reached back hesitantly and took its hand. It helped me to my feet, dusting me off and speaking backwards. A question. I nodded. They let me lean heavily against them, and I didn't trust my legs to carry me. I was so tired. The other shadows parted for us to walk past, looking at us with reserved curiosity.

I glanced back behind myself, and they began to fade out of sight until the one holding me was the only one left. They slowly shifted, letting me stand on my own. I gave me a thumbs up and faded away. I let my eyes close. I was standing in the middle of the highway when I opened my eyes. My phone vibrated in my hands. I lifted it to look.

My father's number was displayed on the screen. I hit the cancel call button. I looked behind me and my car was right where I'd left it. I walked towards it, shakily, and got inside to shield myself from the cool night air. Melted exitwip smeared on the floor of my car under my shoe as I shut the door behind me. I scrolled through my phone to find my friend's number and called them. I'd need a ride out of here. I wouldn't be coming back.

My drive to Algonquin Park lasted longer than expected. After running into traffic and making a few wrong turns along the way, we got there late in the afternoon. My dad paid the fees at the front gate and proceeded to drive the remaining kilometres into the park. We eventually found a way to the canoe launch and got out of the van, stretching our legs. My dad and Uncle Steve were looking over the maps, which appeared to have been hand-drawn by park rangers and were encased in clear plastic. I watched as they traced the route we would be travelling.

They both agreed that it shouldn't be too complicated to make it to the campground, despite the fact that we've been delayed getting there. A little bit late in the day to start a portaging trip, said a park ranger to my dad as we were packing the last of our camping supplies into the canoes. We are meeting up with some friends who are out there waiting for us. They've already set up camp, so we've just got to make it to the island. Well, be careful. We want to get stuck in Algonquin Park.

it becomes a whole different world. You folks be safe now. Thanks, we will. My dad had lectured us the whole way there in a similar fashion and I couldn't help but grin to hear and get a taste of his own medicine. Apparently there were people who got lost in the park every year never to be seen again. There were bears and wolves, coyotes and other animals in the wilderness and we would be guests in their domain. I climbed into the front of one boat and my uncle took a seat in the the back. My brother was in the other canoe and my dad climbed in awkwardly, nearly tipping over in the process. The water was crystal clear and pristine. I could see minnows swimming in the shallows, frogs and tadpoles. I took a deep breath in, enjoying the crisp, fresh air of the northern

outdoors and admired a great blue heron that was resting in the shade nearby. Paddling along the river, we found our way towards a lake which opened up before us, revealing our first glimpse of the pristine beauty of the provincial park. The silence was overwhelming, away from car mufflers and computer fans and the constant noise of the city. The sense of sudden peace was overwhelming. All I could hear was the sand of my paddle slicing through the calm water, and the occasional call from a bird from the surrounding pine forest that engulfed us. Other trees and plant life lie in the lake as well, maples and white birches.

Some pale-looking twisted trees sprang from high cliffs above, growing against all odds, their roots hanging on from rocky outcrops that ranged in rusty reddish colours. My brother, Noel and my dad, was struggling with a canoe coordination. Noel and I frequently went fishing using the canoes at our cabin when we went up there, so I knew he wasn't the one having issues. It was my dad. My dad had never operated a canoe before, I realised. in that moment.

Although he'd spoken confidently, saying he knew what he was doing, he was struggling. He had insisted on sitting on the rear of the canoe, which is the most crucial position on the boat, since you act as the rudder, and also the primary source of power. Noel was fruitlessly paddling away up front, while my dad lackadaisically slapped at the water, sending the boat veering back and forth in his zigzag pattern. His ineffectual efforts eventually caused Noel to get slightly annoyed, and I heard them bickering at each other. I looked back at them, trailing far behind us, and saw their twisting, turning path,

was taking them over the lake, whereas we were travelling in more or less a straight line. Has your dad ever paddled a canoe before? Steve asked. I think it's been a while by the looks of it. Oh boy, maybe he should let Noel steer. Yeah, I'll suggest it at the first stop. We arrived at the first place where we had to portage across a short stretch. For those who aren't familiar, this means you have to carry your canoe across dry land for a little ways to get to the next river or lake so that you can continue your trip.

If you have a cooler and luggage and other items, you have to hike back and forth, sometimes two or three times. This is when it comes in handy to pack light. It took us two trips to bring everything, including the canoes to the other side. The hike between lakes was about ten minutes, so it wasn't too strenuous. That was the easy one, according to the map, my uncle Steve said. The next one is much further. Great, I thought to myself. I guess it'll be my job to carry the cooler again too.

We got back into the carved wooden boats and started paddling once more. My uncle had the map and was directing us which way to go while my brother followed with my dad in the other canoe. At least he had managed to get him to switch seats though. As we went along, I saw they were now keeping pace with us, with Noel at the rear of the boat generating more power, and is more experienced paddling, keeping them on course. What do you guys know about the legends of the Algonquin?

My uncle asked us, making conversation. He and my dad both had a wealth of knowledge on various topics, but things like this were my uncle's speciality. He was an avid outdoorsman and a skilled fisherman, who took a deep interest in Aboriginal cultured, culture and the stories they told over generations. Nothing really, I said. So, you've never heard of the mimicancy?

We all stayed silent and waited for him to explain. My uncle was a bit of a jokester as well, so it was hard to tell if he was kidding sometimes. He liked to put on a straight face and tell an elaborate lie in the form of a story just to take you along for the ride. So, we waited to see if he was trying to fool us before answering yes or no. They're water spirits, mischievous little buggers. They'll steal your camping supplies if you're not careful.

Food, clothes, fishing rods, whatever they like. And they can send your canoe off course too. You'll be just paddling along like we are now, and the Memeguessi will send you off from the proper course, and you'll wind up lost. If you don't show them the proper respect, that is. Okay, enough with that, Steve. Quit trying to scare the kids with that crap.

We're barely going to make it to the campsite before it gets dark as it is. Turn right up ahead. here. The map says it's going to be over this way. Weirred our boats over in that direction and my dad's insistence and I noticed we were in a very shallow section full of reeds and plants. The canoes were almost touching

the bottom of the lake. Should we go this way? I don't think that's what the map is saying. My uncle was looking at the narrow river doubtfully. The area we were heading towards looked like a swamp and mosquitoes were already beginning to land on me and bite my neck as we got closer. My dad and uncle pondered over the

for a while and my brother and I sat there and slapped the bugs landing on us. Eventually they decided to take the route which led us down the shallow, winding river, surrounded by tall reeds. I could tell by the silence of them both that they were not sure if this was the correct way. The further we got and the more time passed, I noticed the sun had begun to set. Pretty soon it was almost dark outside and the water eventually became so shallow that it nearly dried up. The river had turned into a muddy creek, and we were forced to turn around.

Uh-oh, my dad said, we must have gone the wrong way. We'll have to go back to that lake. I think I read the map wrong. My uncle bit his tongue, and we paddled back against the current. The lake was empty, and it was completely dark by the time we got back to it.

There was no moon that night, and nothing to light our way. My dad told me to get out of flashlight and cast beam towards the shore, looking for a reflective sign with a symbol for a portage point. Just keep their flashlight pointed at the shore and tell us if you see a reflective sign anywhere, Jordan. This next portage should take us to the lake with a campsite, so there shouldn't be too much farther to go after we find it. My heartbeat was quickening with anxious fear as a canoes traveled along near the shore in almost total darkness, to check for deadheads and rocks in our path, and told my uncle to veer left or right to avoid hitting things that would have tipped us

over. You've got to be careful. Don't want to fall into these waters. There's another legend that people of this area used to speak of. My uncle said while we paddled, trying to distract us from the precarious situation we had gotten ourselves into.

The Mashikina big. It's a huge horned serpent. It lives in lakes and eats people. Okay, Steve, that's about enough. My dad was yelling when my ears caught a sound that I couldn't place. It was steady and persistent. coming from just ahead.

It was steady and persistent, coming from just ahead. The canoes were picking up speed. I looked back and saw that my dad and uncle weren't paddling, weren't paying attention at all. They were just arguing with each other about who had taken the wrong turn. You and your ridiculous legends,

you're distracting us with all this, this useless garbage. Don't say that, you're going to upset them. You should apologise. I managed to find my voice, and I yelled back at them. There's a waterfall up ahead. we're paddling towards a waterfall.

They chuckled and told me that was ridiculous. There was no waterfall on the map. Then they began to bicker again, and I started to get extremely nervous. The canoes were moving faster and faster, but nobody was paddling anymore. I was just a kid, so they weren't listening to me. Can't you see what's happening? I yelled at them. Look how faster moving!

There's a waterfall up ahead! They abruptly stopped arguing, and now the sound of rushing water could be distinctly heard. from up ahead. Okay, let's start paddling towards the shore. I think we need to start paddling towards the shore right now. My dad was trying to sound calm, but I could hear the panic in his voice. We all began to paddle as hard as we could.

In the dim light, I could barely see anything but the silhouette of trees all around us and the ink-black water of the lake. Shimmering reflections of stars were floating on the surface of it, speeding past at an increasing rate. We began to make some headway, getting closer to the shoreline, but then suddenly our efforts became futile. We were being sucked in, drawn inextricably towards the waterfall. I looked ahead and saw it, drawing close. The night sky sat surreely above the surface of the turbulent black water which flowed downwards, disappearing from sight.

And when I saw how close it was, I screamed. Watching in horror, I saw us go over the edge and the world tipped sickingly upside down as I fell. Becoming weightless was a harrowing experience, as for a moment I floated through the air, my screams echoing out into the night. The wolves held in response and I descended, looking down to see jagged rocks waiting for us below. Far, far, far down below. We fell and our screams echoed across the lake. I tried to point my feet downwards, afraid of what might happen if I impaled the water incorrectly. After what felt like forever, I landed in the frigid depths below.

The surface of it hit me with so much force that it nearly knocked the wind out of me, and I struggled to breathe as I gasped from the cold, sinking downwards. The way to my boots dragged me below, and I kicked trying to get them off my feet. They felt like cinder blocks, and as my head dipped beneath the surface of the water, I gulped it in and it went up my nose, stinging my sinuses. I called for help, but my pleas were drowned out by the water once more. My head went under again, and this time I stayed down longer, struggling to get back to the surface. I looked around in the murky water and saw a pair of eyes glaring back at me from the depths.

Yellow eyes they were unblinking and massive, glowing in the darkness. A tipped over canoe was close by when I got to the surface, and, I grabbed a hold of it and took a gasping breath of air. My dad and brother were okay, I saw, and my uncle had survived the fall too, although his head sustained a large gash and he appeared dazed and hurt. You need to apologise, Dave. My uncle told my father, sounding drunk now, his words slurred and difficult to understand. You've disrespected the spirits here.

Apologise before they kill us all. What? Those stories you were telling to scare the gun. kids, are you still talking about that? Suddenly, I felt something wrap around my ankle, and although I held onto the canoe as firmly as I could, I felt myself being dragged down. There was no time to scream, but I tried to take a breath of air before being pulled down below. My uncle's hand reached down and managed to grab mine, and he held onto me for dear life. I felt like I would be pulled in two as the thing from the depths tore at my leg, yanking me downwards.

As the time passed beneath the water, my need to breathe became me. more urgent. I began to thrash and kick my legs, trying desperately to free myself from the thing which was pulling me down. My heartbeat was loud and fast in my ears, and I looked in terror to see the yellow eyes of the thing were very close now. It was coming towards me, and in the black murky water, I could just barely make out this massive horned head and gaping more. Huge fangs and a split tongue could be seen in the dim light as the snake came face to face with me. The massive beast was so large it could swallow me whole, I realized, and I cringed and waited for that to happen, momentarily resigned to my fate. But then, the light shone down from the surface, a bright torch lamp

that made the snake cringe and recall in fear. It loosened his grip on my leg, and I felt my uncle pulled me towards the surface. My vision was clouding red and black, and as I began to feel like I was passing out, I broke through the surface of the water and was pulled up and onto a large canoe. friends who'd been waiting at the campsite, waiting for our arrival, had heard us screaming as we went over the waterfall. The campsite was close by, and they had quickly gotten in their boat to come rescue us once they realized what had happened. If not for them, we would have been dead, at least so it seemed. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. My dad was repeating the words over and over. It's not your fault, Dave. These things happen. As we paddled over towards

the campsite. At least nobody got hurt, right? That's the important thing. My uncle rubbed his bleeding forehead and rolled his eyes at me. Thanks, Uncle Steve, I said to him quietly. He nodded and said, no problem, kiddo. I saw the horn serpent down there, Uncle Steve. I think you're right. We should probably be respectful of the creatures around here. I don't want to get on that guy's bad side again. He smiled. His eyes shut. shining red for just a second in the moonlight, and I notice his face appear different, like someone else entirely,

a being which had been sent to help us, both ancient and wise. Just wait until I tell you the tale of the Great Rabbit. I've got plenty of stories, and each with a lesson. For those who will listen, and who have ears to hear, he put two fingers over his head,

making little bunny ears, and smiled. season is a broken and that that's betekent modder and so came Kim

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find what you knowed on Amazon.com com. com. The town of Prodigy doesn't have its own school. The nearest one is in Tenwood, where the Tenwood Elementary School had been built into the side of Tenwood Junior and Senior High School.

That's where I ended up going to school for pretty much my entire life. Both of my parents, at this point in their lives, worked long days and wouldn't be around to pick me or my brothers up right after the school ended, and we weren't allowed to just wait around on school property. It was some kind of policy. The school buses also didn't go all the way to. to Prodigy, only to a bus stop halfway in between the two towns, so that wasn't an option either. I don't even think the bus would have been able to drop us off at home, even if it did

go to Prodigy, since we were so young. When I got old enough to drive, this wouldn't be much of a problem, but at the time I was only about seven years old. It was pure luck, as they say, that my parents found Charlie's ad in the newspaper, barely a week before we started school that year. Charlie Webb, babysitter and nanny, please call the number. Charlie was fresh out of school. If I remember right, she rendered a place in Tinwood to babysitter and nanny out of while she saved at the money she would need to open up her own daycare. She had a degree in early childhood education to boot, which was listed on her ad, so my parents called a write-up and we met her for the first time the day before our first day of school that year.

She was tall, with pin straight, long, red hair and a big smile. I thought she was nice. My parents liked her too, and so they signed us up for a daycare. Me and my brothers would stay with Charlie every day after school until one of my parents was off work to come pick us up. Some days, there would be a couple of the kids there as well, already running around in the house and playing when we got dropped off by the school bus. There were a lot of days that it was just the three of us, though.

Most days Charlie led us out into a fenced backyard and let us play, running around and coming up with her own games. Her house was right at the edge of Tenwood, nearly backed up against the sparse woods that surrounded the eastern side of town. Vence was chain link and tall enough that a snorty kids could easily climb over it, but we could still see into the trees beyond it. The beginning of the trees was somewhere between 20 and 30 yards away from the fence, and all the trees were tall and small and skimely. skinny at the front. I'd never been in the actual woods by that point, and to this day, I've only been inside the ten wood forest once, and I don't plan on going back, so I had no idea if all the trees were like that or not. I like to think the trees got thicker and more forest-like the further you went in, just because it seemed more magical that way.

That particular afternoon, it had just been me and my two brothers at Charlie's house. All three of us were kind of just doing our own thing, running around by ourselves when I was walked past the fence and something caught me high. Kind of in the way where, when you're driving, you think you see an animal on the side of the road, it snaps above your attention immediately. I stopped to turn my head and look, and once I realized what it was,

I walked closer to the edge of the yard, press my hands up against the fence. There was a woman standing just at the edge of the trees, in a striped blue sundress with lace around the neckline and hem. The sunlight bounced off her hair, which looked strawberry blonde and tumbled down her back in shiny, neat waves. She had big, shiny hoop earrings on as well,

which swayed every time she turned ahead and caught the light in a nearly blinding way, filling my eyes with sunspots and solar flares. I wrapped my fingers around the metal of the fence and watched her, practically pressing my face right up against it. She wasn't moving, just standing next of the trees,

looking out on the open, empty space at the edge of town. Occasionally she would tilt her head or turn it to survey something a little to one side, but that was it. She never looked at me, so after a while I kind of got bored with watching her. I didn't feel like I was in any particular danger, since she wasn't looking at me or trying to talk to me, and she definitely wasn't coming closer to the fence. She just stood as still as I had ever seen a person stand. I thought it was weird, sure, but I'd seen people to be.

do weirder things than stand next to a tree before. I got bored, watching I'd do nothing. At some point, my brother came by to ask me to play tag and stopped to stick his face right up against the chaining fence and asked me what I was looking at. I shoved my hand through the fence, wiggling my arm through up to the wrist, pointing in the direction of the trees,

and told him there was a girl out there. He squinted his eyes and scrunched up his face like he was straining to see. before he turned to me and said he couldn't see anyone. He asked me to come play again. I glanced back at the girl again, wondering how he didn't see her. But she wasn't doing anything interesting,

so I let go of the fence and ran off to play with hardly a second thought. That night was a Friday night, so my mum came to pick us up from Charlie's house sooner than normal. I didn't give the girl by the trees a second thought as we picked up our bags and coats and piled into the car to head back home to Prodigy. I don't think I even thought of her for the entire rest of the weekend We were back at Charlie's house

On Monday afternoon The bus dropped us off And Charlie was waiting for us outside the front door Right at the edge of the porch It was a little odd Because she never waited for us outside like that But not wild enough That I put much thought into it

I was just glad to be out of school She let us inside Gave us some snacks and asked if we wanted to go play outside a game because it was so sunny and warm. The three of us were pretty unruly kids, so of course we said yes. We had to finish eating first, so we sat to the kitchen table and Charlie waited on the couch in the living room, which was only a few feet away. She didn't let us watch cartoons very often, and certainly not while we were eating.

Normally she wouldn't even have the television on. Sometimes she even hid the remote. Today, though, she sat on the edge of the couch, leaning forward to be closer to the television as she flipped to the local news channel. I finished up my food, sitting at the table as patiently as a seven-year-old could for my brothers to finish, so we could go outside. Because Charlie was still listening to the news, I started looking at the things on the table to entertain me. The first thing to catch my eye was a newspaper. I was a big reader as little kid, and at the risk of sounding like an embrace, was pretty advanced at a young age.

I couldn't understand the newspaper as a seven-year-old, of course, but I wondered if Charlie would think I would look smart for reading the newspaper, so I reached out and pulled it closer to me. On the front page, a pretty, black and white, smiling girl with neat, wavy hair and hoop earrings stared back at me. Before I could try to figure out what words follow the picture, Charlie was behind me, moving the newspaper to the counter in the kitchen her in the kitchen and announcing that she was unlocking the back door. I had nearly completely forgotten about the girl in the trees,

and seeing what I believed to be a picture of her, had me shocked to argue when Charlie took the newspaper away. Instead, I just followed my brothers through the kitchen and towards the back door. For most of the time that we were outside, I didn't even go near the fence. We played hide-in-seek with Charlie, we moved on the swings, and eventually we ended up just running around and doing whatever we wanted. on the playset. Charlie's playset was one of those that you'd climb up into,

with a little platform at the top and a slide to get back down. It wasn't until I was at the top of the platform, about to go down the slide again for probably the hundredth time that I looked out over the fence. The girl was standing by the trees again. I could see her easily from where I stood at the top of the play set. I didn't like that she was standing in the same place. My wild imagination couldn't help with picture her standing there

amongst the trees for the entire weekend, day in and day out. That wasn't really the part I didn't like, though. The girl looked sick. Her dress was smudged and dirty, and even from a distance, her skin had an almost greenish hue. Her hair seemed so much less bright and shiny than it had, and no longer hung in neat, even waves down her back. Now it was ratty and dirty, like she had been rolling around in the dirt.

As I looked at her longer, I could see a series of dark, trickling stains down her legs. The worst part, though, was what I could see of her eyes. She was far enough away that I couldn't see anything in full detail. Her skin all over her face was mottled and her mouth hung open just enough that it looked wrong. Her eye sockets weren't quite empty. There was some kind of squishy-looking pale remains in there, counteracting the darkness in the hollow spaces behind her eyelids. And she still just stood there, staring into empty space.

For a moment, anyway, there was no more movement from her until her shoulders jerked a bit upwards, once, twice, and soon enough she started to shake. She raised her hands, tilting her head down to look at them. It hit me the second I could pick out a dry, raspy sound of my brothers playing around me, that she was trying to cry. She cried and shook, and she stared down at herself with missing eyes, and I slid down the slide and ran inside as fast as I could.

When Charlie came after me, I told her there was a lady behind a fence and that she scared me. Charlie frowned, but immediately grabbed her phone and ushered me back outside to ask if I could point out the lady. I think that as we were walking, she was holding her thumb over the emergency call button in case it ended up... in case it ended up being some crazy person watching a bunch of kids. At first, I didn't want to go back outside, but it felt better with Charlie holding my hand and going with me. We walked across the yard and reached the fence, where Charlie stood next to me,

both of us staring at the trees on the other side. The lady was still standing there, green and bruised and dirty. Charlie was quiet for a long moment before she knelt down before me and gave me a big smile. See? There's no one out there, she said,

as she rubbed her hand up and down my back. Someone must have just walked by, and now they're gone. I was horrified. Before I knew it, I was crying. The girl was still right there, all sickly and dirty and heaving,

like someone out of the horror movie that I wasn't supposed to see. How could Charlie not see her? I cried and screamed until Charlie had to call one of my parents the clock out of work early to come get me because I was inconsolable and it cried so hard I was getting sick. I'm sure that when my dad showed up. Charlie told him what had happened as best as she could, because I know I certainly didn't talk about it. Everyone tried to ask me what had set me off, but I said nothing. I don't think I could have if I tried. When I tried sleeping that night, the blanket pulled up over my head.

I kept seeing her face like she was inches away in the dark, hovering over me in my blanket cocoon, staring me down with liquefied eyes. The next few days that we went to Charlie's house, I avoided the backyard. I didn't want to look out past the fence and accidentally see the woman again if she was still out there. I adamantly wanted to play inside and actively avoided locking out of the kitchen window which looked over the backyard. On Thursday though, it couldn't be helped. It was sunny and warm.

My brothers wanted to play outside and Charlie was probably tired of us making a mess inside a house already. I remember sliding my shoes back on and standing in front of the back door waiting for Charlie to finish helping my youngest brother who was only about three at the time put his shoes and jacket on.

I don't know exactly what was going through my head as I stared at the tall white door in the back of the kitchen. But I remember thinking about the fact that the lady who had scared me so much was on the other side of the fence. She was all the way up by the trees, and I was in the yard, separated by 20 to 30 yards of a chain-link fence. No one else was scared. No one else could even see her as far as I knew.

When Charlie opened the door, I marched right across the yard and looked at the fence. I don't know what I was thinking of it. would prove, but I wanted her to know she didn't scare me anymore. She wasn't green anymore. Her skin looked almost red, at least all the parts that I could see. Sort of like a bad sunburn, but darker in colour. She was even more dirty than she had been the last time I saw her, with dirt caked all over her legs and in her hair.

Her dress barely looked blue anymore. She wasn't crying anymore. She wasn't really moving at all. her head was tipped a bit to the side and facing slightly down and she just stared at the ground without a rise so I just watched her I watched her stand there as still as the trees until it was time for me to go home

it felt a bit like a magic spell or a ritual of some kind she couldn't do anything to me if I watched her the next day I did it again and I would have done it the following day as well if it hadn't been the weekend Now as an adult I'm very aware that this was not a normal thing for a child to do

I wish I could remember exactly what was going through my head when Monday rolled around and I fell into the third day of this routine after I'd abandoned the games everyone else was playing and took up my pose at the edge of the yard little fingers clutching the wire of the fence she stared back at me I watched her finally turn her head

messy, muddy strings of hair shifting out of the way of her face, like she had only just noticed that I, or anything else, was there. And it's a weird feeling, knowing someone is looking at you, like you can feel it on your skin. At this time, I wasn't quite used to this feeling yet. At least I could see her, the thing looking at me. For a while, that's all she did. She turned her head and stared, much in the same way that I was staring. When, at first, looking at her, had just made me scared. Looking at her, looking at her, looking at her now and making weird one-sided eye contact with her made me feel almost sad.

It was a particularly lonely feeling, like a shallow despair sliding down your spine and settling like stones in your stomach. I don't know what I felt sad for, maybe for her, or maybe everything else. Either way, it killed whatever terrified thoughts that I'm sure I would have had previously. It wasn't until she lifted her arm, her movement slow. and almost painful looking until her hand was in the air. And she was waving at me, and my trance was broken, and I backed away from the fence.

With her arm up in the air, I could see more clearly that at least one of her fingers was completely missing. There were entire chunks of flesh missing from that arm as well, like something had bitten it right off of her. I can't really remember what happened afterwards. I remember feeling distinctly like I was in a dream, and all the details of that particular evening are very fuzzy. It was almost like I was standing in Charlie's backyard one moment

and then brushing my teeth after dinner at home the next, even though the two things must have happened hours apart. The only thing I remember clearly was the woman. Seeing her face, the emotions I felt from looking at her, all the parts of her that was so wrong and sad. That night, after I had already climbed into bed, and was halfway to falling asleep, I found myself thinking of the woman by the trees.

I don't know what to call a person, ghost, something else. I knew that people, regular people, didn't look like that. And as far as I knew, I had never seen a ghost or a monster in real life before. In my head, she was just a lady by the trees. I could so clearly picture in my head. Her face plastered on the back of my eyelids like I was staring at a picture. or she was standing right in front of me. A perfect portrait of her standing stuck still,

soft blue dress and waterfall of pretty hair, not quite staring at me, but looking straight ahead. Before I knew it, I was asleep and dreaming, and she was still there. Just like in real life, she never moved much, but she would twist her head and lean forward and look around like she was searching. I didn't know what for.

I could never move either. It was like I was watching her through a camera instead of standing in front of her. It felt like I stared at her for hours upon hours with nothing else happening until I woke up. The next day was my usual routine and the next night had the same dream. This time, just before waking up, I watched as she looked down at her feet and took a small step forward. Wednesday was the same. Thursday was the same. By Friday, the dream version of the woman was walking freely. still was searching for something I didn't know about.

On Saturday, I was grateful to not be at Charlie's and see her in person, but that didn't stop the dreams. On Sunday, the woman was crying as she ran, and by Monday, after getting home from Charlie's, I was begging my mom to let me stay up later, so I wouldn't have to go to sleep. My mother was, as usual, not having any of that. If there was one thing in my house that was always enforced,

it was curfews and bedtimes. My mom took a little extra time calming me down with a dinosaur box before bed, took me in as gently as she could. She flicked the lights off and closed the door as she left, but I refused to close my eyes and sleep. I held my stuffed rabbit in my arms, a cold feeling settling over me once I was alone in my room, and confronted with the fact that I would have to sleep.

At the time, my house was old. It settled a lot, as old. houses do. I should have been somewhat used to the noises. But that night, the second I heard a creaking sound, I flung my blankets over my head and buried my face in the fur of my stuffed rabbit. The house went quiet after a few seconds, and my heartbeat stopped racing. Every once in a while, the house sat silent for a few minutes, if not a full hour. I couldn't sleep. I was on edge, forcing myself to stay awake for fear of what the lady would be doing in my dreams tonight. I had thought I was brave

And could show her I wasn't afraid of her But I was I was tired of seeing her every day and every night The house started groaning and settling again And I clutched my bunny even tighter Only this time The low, crackling groaning didn't let up As it rang around inside my head

Less of an old wood foundation grown And more of a localised hollow wine I realised it didn't sound like the house at all. I couldn't place what it sounded like either, but it wasn't the house. I peaked over the edge of the blanket, using my three-hand to pull the comforted down over my eyes, while my other arm clutched my stuffed bunny to my chest with a deathly grip.

My room was dark, save for the very dim glow of the planet-themed nightlight I had on the wall next to my bedroom door. It was an odd light, and the cover on it, themed to look like some planet with a rocket ship circling it, was a little too opaque for the light to shine through it well. It illuminated the bottom third of the door, and the corner of my bookshelf, which stood on the other side of it,

and maybe a foot into the room with a soft, dark blue glow. The tiny bit of illumination made it harder for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. But the light was landing on something, not quite in the middle of the floor, but near enough, close enough to the light that it caught my attention. The longer I looked at it, blinking sleep and a creeping blur of fear out of my eyes, I decided slowly that it wasn't my disguised clothes or a book or a toy. It was someone's feet.

The realization froze me, immediately as I stared at the bare toes, just tipping into the blue light like water. There wasn't a scream trapped in my throat, two caught off guard to even think about it at the time, but my breath caught in my lungs and my knees locked. my eyes followed the shape of the legs up out of the circle of light and into the waiting darkness where he was standing the legs were misshapen I had to make out in the dark

and as my line of sight got to the hem of the skirt it was wearing I realised it was because long gouges of skin and flesh were missing I couldn't make out the colour of the dress in the dark but the shapes were familiar by the time my eyes glossed over the cut hands held in front of the figure with missing fingers and dangling flesh. I knew it was the lady from the trees.

She didn't look at me for a long time, instead, tilting her head down and staring into her own cut hands. A jaw hung open and loose, as it had been for days, if not weeks. I was petrified. I had never seen it anywhere, aside from the trees and my dreams, and I knew this wasn't a dream. She was so close to me now,

barely a few feet away, standing barefoot and dirty in the centre of my room. When she did look up, her movements were slow, and I realised that the low sound that had made me look up in the first place was her, groaning in a low hum as she moved. It came from deep in the back of her throat, scratchy and guttural at the same time. My heartbeat picked up as she looked up enough that her eyes,

if she had any, would have met mine, and she held a cupped hands out. Her other fingers was shaking as she pulled them slowly apart, and a series of small objects clattered to the floor, hardly making any noise as they bounced off the carpet in all different directions. Her teeth. She dropped her own teeth all over my floor, a terrible pain sound coming from her own wrangled mouth

as they rolled and bounced to a stop all over my floor. I shrieked, finally finding the courage to launch myself out of bed and towards the door, scrambling to fling the door open and run sobbing to my parents' room. Even after my dad went into my room to check and assured me there was no one and nothing in there except my own things, I refused to go back in. I fell asleep due to pure terrified exhaustion late that night, cuddled in between them after a cup of hot chocolate and a lamb-before-time movie. I woke up in my own bed and assumed my daddy carried me back at some point in the night. I think my alarm had been turned off

because I never woke up on my own on school days It was always too early When I got out of bed My brothers weren't even awake yet But my parents were in the kitchen We didn't go to school that day Which also meant we didn't go back to Charlie's None of us asked why

And we're pretty excited not to go to school for the day But we didn't go to Charlie's the next day either Or the next or the next My older brother asked about it on the third day when my mom picked us up from school and watched us at home for a few hours but the only answer we got was that Charlie's daycare will be closed for a few days

by the time we did go back to Charlie's nearly two or four weeks later I had stopped having dreams about the lady by the trees I never saw her by the trees again no matter how many times I would stand by the back fence and stare eventually her memory faded into the background of my life I was nearly 15 before I found out who she was

I had nearly forgotten about the woman whatever she was in the seven or eight years since I saw her in my room until I had a dream about her one night completely out of the blue I hadn't had a dream about her since the night I saw her standing in the centre of my room cupping her teeth in her own mangled hands

I saw her just like the first time strawberry blunt hair pretty gold earrings soft blue sundress. She hugged me like we were old friends, and when I looked up at a soft, pretty face, I saw her decay right before my eyes. Her eyes disintegrated, her skin turned pale, then green, then red.

And when she smiled at me, her teeth fell right out of her hands as her jaw went slack. Soon enough, the woman who was hugging me was nothing more than yellowing bones as the last remnants of her flesh practically liquefied. The whole time I stared at her, and even without her eyes, I knew she was staring back at me. By the end, I was cradling her skull in my hands. When I woke up, everything felt a little surreal.

I couldn't believe I'd forgotten her. I wasn't fully convinced that I hadn't made it all up, but I finally broke down and told my mom about it and told her everything. I described the girl I saw in vivid detail, like I had only seen her yesterday. and that I had saw her in the paper. I told her that Charlie didn't see her and my brother didn't see her, even though she was right there.

I even told her about the dream when she asked where all this had come from. My mom turned to her phone and didn't say anything for nearly five minutes as I sat on the opposite end of the dining table and watched her. My mug of tea going cold in front of me. She typed away,

scrolled and typed some more before she finally set a phone on the table and slid it across to me. On her phone was a digital copy of a missing person's poster, zoomed in a bit on the photograph from the left side of all the text. The photo itself had clearly been zoomed in and cropped, because there were two people who had been cut halfway out of the picture, but still had their arms around the girl in the centre. A girl who had flowy, long, strory blonde hair and a blue sundress with lace details. She was smiling, nice and wide, like she was laughing, and had pearly white. teeth. Above a picture was the question. Have you seen Tanya? It all but pushed me straight down

the rabbit hole of the mystery that surrounded the local girl's disappearance and death. Tanya Helflin was abducted on a walk home from a dinner party, then murdered and dismembered deep in the woods at the back of Tenwood. She was buried, barely in the woods there for a few days. She was later dug up and taken out to the middle of an empty field. where her remains were scattered, susceptible to the weather, the bugs and the animals. This was where she laid for nearly a month, alone and rotting. No one was ever tried for a murder. Every suspect fell through, either from severe lack of evidence or corroborated alibis.

The order of the events leading up to a death with just what the police could put together based on where her body was found, and scraps of a bloody dress and ripped out hair found amongst the foliage in the forest. When a body was finally found And a trail was traced back to the woods behind Charlie's house Charlie closed the daycare down for a week or two Afraid that the presence of the police and the dogs would have set the children I never knew Tanya Heflin

Before she died From what I could find And memorialized Facebook pages and practically ancient newspapers She was a dental hygienist who had lived in Tenwood for less than two years My whole family went to the dentist in Tenwood But all the little kids had a different hygienist so I never met her. Tanya was in her mid-twenties when she died.

She had, apparently, moved out to Tenwood mysteriously and out of the blue, all the way from some big city in another state. It had still been light out when she started walking home as her co-worker and friends had attested, because she had left early. Police theorised she was dead before nightfall. By the time she was found, she had been in the middle of the field for at least a month,

and what had been left of her I'd been picked over by scavengers. So, I never knew Tanya Heflin, but she was the first ghost I ever saw. My dad spent over 20 years as an officer with the Cambridge, Massachusetts Police Department,

and he told me about the tunnels that run under the city. There are a few different names for them, the Harvard tunnels, the Cambridge catacombs, the Crimson Catecombs. There are a well-kept secret, shrouded in mystery. Mention them and most people will assume you're talking about the subway tunnels and will show little to no interest.

Discovered by settler Elliot James Smith in 1634, and later bought by Harvard, when Smith disappeared in 1641, nobody knows who built them, or why. They have spawned many legends over the centuries. In 1775, a British soldier abandoned his outfit during the siege of Boston, made his way into Cambridge and hid in the tunnels. Less than a day later, he emerged, wide-eyed, babbling about a Latin-speaking child with charred, black feet, who taunted him until he fled. In 1827, Edgar Allan Poe ventured down there, was stationed in Boston, and wrote of a, pale child who materialized out of a black fog and changed form in front of his very eyes.

Despite few people knowing about their existence, and technically being off limits to the public, people still occasionally find an access point. The most frequently used entrance lies in the basement of Memorial Hall, a high Victorian Gothic theatre at the north end of Harvard Yard. In 1991, a four-year-old girl went missing from her home in the middle of the night. There were no signs of a break-in, and a bedroom windows remained closed and locked. Her body was discovered a week later, deep inside the catacombs, with not a mark on her, or any other evidence of foul play.

The two teenage explorers who found her, say they initially thought she was like to alive as a body was standing perfectly erect against the wall. Since then, it's standard procedure to search the tunnels in the event of a missing person's case. My dad has been down there three times. The first was in 1997. A young boy had gone missing after leaving his grandmother's house and a massive search effort was underway. My dad entered the tunnel with three other officers and they walked the entire six miles of it with no sign of the boy. Shortly after exiting empty-handed, they were radioed that, tragically, the body of the boy was discovered in a river in Maine, and suspects were in custody.

The second time was just a year later. An 80-year-old man with dementia wandered away from his daughter's apartment, and my dad was again assigned to the catacomb search. The team hadn't gone more than a half mile in when they were told to come back. The man had been found, perfectly lucid, enjoying a scoop of ice cream at the Benin' Chalach. in Harvard Square, a bit peeved that his afternoon chaunt had been deemed a demented walkabout. The third time. He doesn't like to talk about. It began much like the other two, missing person, in this case a four-year-old girl, Alicia Hughes, last scene playing in a backyard. As usual, Dad was one of the four who drew the

short straw and had to check the tunnels. No, he hadn't yet had any disturbing experiences down there, but nobody is just going to up and volunteer to walk through a dark, creepy, damp tunnel of unknown origin and questionable stability. Since his other two experiences had been uneventful, Dad took the opportunity to study the structure. Shining his flashlight on the walls, he could see that they weren't composed entirely of dirt, as he had initially thought. There was a thick layer of clay that was eroding in spots, revealing light, very old-looking orange bricks underneath. While it didn't dispel his uneas entirely, the realization that the tunnel was more structurally sound than he had thought lifted a bit of weight off his shoulders.

He noticed the lack of graffiti on the walls. You think there would have been a plethora. But no, not a single tag. The place would have made a great hangout for adventurous youths, homeless and drug addicts alike. But there was no trash, no used needles, nothing, almost as if people didn't want to stay for very long. Dad had shown his flashlight and the darkness in front of him, ready to resume his duty, and startled when the beam fell to illuminate the three other officers who had been in front of him not 30 seconds before. Had they fallen behind him when he was preoccupied with the construction of the place?

He whipped around, but the flashlight illuminated a tunnel of nothingness. He stopped in place, thinking maybe if he quieted his boots, he'd be up to hear theirs, or maybe their voices far up ahead or around a corner where his flashlight couldn't reach. Silence. He tried his radio. Nothing. Not surprising. Coverage down there was very spotty.

Just walk fast and you'll catch up to them, he told himself, quickening his pace. Then a tiny voice echoed through the blackness. Hello? It asked. It was a little girl. Hello? he parroted, breaking into a jog. Help! Alicia, Alicia Hughes, is that you?

I want to go home. Keep talking to me, Alicia, so I can find you, okay, honey? He jogged for another minute or so, swinging his flashlight every which way, and slow to catch his breath when it illuminated a small figure huddled against brick wall with a tunnel dead ends. He was a tiny girl with flame red hair. his first instinct was the radio that he'd found her, but it occurred to him that if he had no reception before, he most certainly wouldn't at the deepest end of the maze.

Hi, is your name Elysia? He asked the frightened girl softly, in his best soothing dad voice. Yes. She stood on shaky legs, propping her hand against the wall to push herself up. My name is Officer Reynolds, but you can call me Dan, okay? Are you hurt in any way, sweetie?

No. That's good. Do you want to hold my hand so we can get out of here? She slipped a little hand into his, and he gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. I want Mommy, she said, tearfully. You're going to see Mommy very soon. Okay, honey? Okay. They walked as quickly as Alicia's little legs could carry her, with Dad trying his radio every several hundred feet, wanting to communicate with his team as soon as they got within range. There were about 50 feet from the rotted wooden staircase that would lead them to the entrance when his radio crackled to life finally.

He was garbled, but he can make out the important words. Alicia Hughes, located, Somerville Avenue, Grandmother's House. Dad shook his head, certain he'd misheard, and then asked them if they could repeat themselves. They reiterated that Alicia had been found, shoeless, and wondering along the sidewalk near a grandmother's house in Somerville. They were positive it was her, and her parents had just arrived unseen to confirm it. So, if Elysio was at a grandmother's house, whose hand was my father holding? His mind was suddenly inundated with the legends of the tunnel.

Little girl, black feet, ghosts, shapeshifters, demonic activity. His stomach felt like it dropped into his colon. His extremities went cold, and a tingling began on the roof of his mouth, like the prelude to panic attack. So, this was it, he thought to himself. This was how he was going to die, or worse, he was about to be dragged to hell. He had been too cocky about the tunnels and hadn't taken the story seriously. He'd been lured in by the innocent little girl and was now literally in its grasp holding its hand. He didn't dare look in the face, afraid that it would change into something evil in front of his very eyes. So he did what any

burly police mail officer would do. He snatched his hand out of his grasp and hightailed it out of those tunnels, not looking back, not even when its sad little voice called after him. He wasn't falling for that again. Dad had nightmares for weeks

and was so shaken up by what he encountered that he informed his boss that he would never ever return to the tunnels, even if it meant his job. Surprisingly, his boss was sympathetic and told him that there were several rookies he'd sent down there the next time a tunnel search was required.

They needed the experience after all. Two months later, just as my father was beginning to forget his experience, Alicia Hughes was once again reported missing. A welfare check and a family, requested by a neighbour, revealed that her parents had been murdered in their bed. Their throat slit and their daughter nowhere to be found. On their nightstand sat a torn corner of construction paper. On it, scald in green crayon.

It was a message. Thank you for letting me out. Upon learning of this turn of events, my father did something he swore he would never do. He returned to the tunnels. He had a hunch, a hunch that he hoped to God wasn't true. He and two other officers walked nearly six miles

before they found the flame-haired body of Alicia Hughes. Her little form was curled up in the fetal position on the dirt floor as though she had died trying to keep herself warm. She was in the process of mummifying, the soil surrounding her was dark, as it had acted like a sponge for the fluids that her body had leached, allowing her to dry out. An autopsy revealed that she had been dead for approximately two months.

My father never recovered from this, and retired from the police force the following year. The festival season is aangbroken and that betakened mudder. And so, came Kim to Amazon.com. On the look to get a

waterdict tent, a comfortable lute bed, oh, so, and lupart print regalarze. Miao.

Now, he has Kim not sure to make sure that the modder man that, oh,

wait just even, has he now only modder on? Oh yeah, only modder. Drove for.

Find what you know what you need to on Amazon.com point B.E. We were not aware at first that the hall had drawn

anything unusual out of the sea. We were all just standing around, watching with only mild interest as the arm of the boat's crane dragged the heaving net up and onto the deck, splattering the legs of the nearest fisherman with a shower of seawater as it did so. The net was steadily and mechanically drawn open, and the squirming, writhing fish within began to tumble from the sides and out onto the floor as the fisherman backed up and away to higher deck. The rain at the time was no more than a drizzle, but as I watched the fish spill out and over the boat I nonetheless had to pour my hood a little tighter around my head

a feeble defense as the wind blew it bitterly sideways and onto my face the weather as it is now is pretty typical of how it's been for the last few nights I turned to look around tilting my face away from the direction of the rain I don't see much to give you an idea of our surroundings try to picture a world of grey.

Dark and shadowy clouds from horizon to horizon cover the sky. Through the horizons themselves are hidden behind rumbling, tumbling, tumbling swells and walls of mist and fog. The sea churns softly and steadily, frothing white against the hull of the trawler, but grey to greyish blue everywhere else. The sea is all there is. In the first couple of weeks we saw other boats occasionally, but we don't even see them anymore.

not this far out from the Canadian coast. Aside from the occasional drifting ice, there is nothing. Formless, shapeless water and cloud. And let me tell you, four weeks into a six-week round trip, six hours into an eight-hour shift, the mood on the deck at dusk is as grey as our immediate surroundings. I'll give you a quick rundown of the crew, but there's no need to memorize their names. I'll try to make obvious who's who as we go, but it might be useful for reference at least.

Here's my reasoning. There's Troy, our intrepid captain. Lazy bugger, scruffy one too. No idea how he came to command a ship, even one so modest as ours. Feels wrong to even call it a ship, to be honest. There's only about a dozen of us in the crew. There's myself.

Go by Charlie, Chief Officer. 90% of the responsibilities of the captain with 50% of the pay. Go figure. The trawlers engineer, a redhead we referred to as NG for a laugh. Then there's the operators of the machinery, Brett and Bryn, both big dudes, Saskatchewan boys through and through, though I'm pretty sure that Troy hired them for the alliteration of their names alone. Five fishermen. Sean, Scott, Omar, Ferris, and...

Ah, some of the lad. I can't remember his name off the top of my head. Then, there's the chef, Ken, though we sometimes just call them chef, like in South Park. Decent guys, really. Every one of them, all things considered. Only one fight since we left Doc, which is pretty good going in my experience.

It was really more of a scuffle anyway. Everyone, bar chef and Captain Troy are on deck at the moment that the net in question is opened. There's no particular reason for this. some of the night shift crew are just up a little early and there are a few other places to actually be the hauling ins are tragically the most exciting features of the day

Bryn turns and locks the winch into place stepping away from the crane's controls for a closer look at the hall his hair is blown about his face eyes squinted as the fish flop and slip out and over the lower deck and that's where we first see it we see the thing that the net has drawn up from the deep, appearing at first as an oily black mass behind the silver,

absorbing the low level of light instead of reflecting it. It becomes clearer and clearer as the fish disperse. It's pretty big, I think to myself, that we might have caught ourselves a baby whale or something. But no, that's not it. What the hell is that? Shouts Brin from the opposite side. He has a better view.

than me, I think. He turns to the man beside him, to Engie, and gestures to the object as the fish fall. His mouth moves, and Engie replies, but I cannot make out their words. The others step closer now, staring in awe at the thing that sits silently in the centre of the dock dripping onto the fish below. I'd say it was roughly six or seven feet long by my estimation, and maybe two-thirds of that length in height. It appears as a roughly head. It appears as a roughly hexagonal cuboid, pointed at either end, like an enormous dark crystal. This is no crystal, however. No precious gem.

It looks... Sick. Wrong, almost. The surface is not shiny or sharp or near-translucent, nothing like that. I hesitate to make the likeness, but it looks kind of like... Skin. Eighty and black. And, unless my eyes deceiving...

me, which, to be fair, is entirely possible. I swear, I see the thing briefly throb. What the hell? Did anyone else see that? Brin shouts again from the opposite side. His eyes met mine and they flash, a bright and pale blue, almost grey in the colouring. Aye, I reply, loud over the wind. I saw it. He hops down, the short steps to the deck, kicking aside the fish as he approaches. Ferris and another of the fish. The fellow whose name escapes me jumped down too for a closer look. Hey, I call out, get away from that thing, we don't know what it is. In a classic display of respect and deference to my position, I am thoroughly ignored.

I sigh and look over to my right, raising a hand to Brett. He stands further at the boat behind the controls of the machine that will open and lower the end of the loading deck, swallowing all the fish into our cold storage. I catch his attention and gesture for him to lock it up and leave the controls well alone. He does so, and I step down onto the deck and turn. Might as well go for a closer look if that's what everyone else is doing. Brin slaps his hand against the object, peeling it away at once with a sickening squelch and a laugh of disgust. Thin, sticky, saliva-like strands of dark fluid connect his palm to the object's surface.

I shake my head in disapproval as I circle around, allowing myself. a good long look. Bryn juggles and puts his hands out towards Ferris, who promptly backs away in revulsion. He instead grabs Enj in a headlock and tussles his hair, much to the engineer's dismay. The object is certainly nothing I'm familiar with. I ain't never seen it in no nautical books either.

Could it be a clump of oil, all frozen together perhaps? But in such a shape? Does oil even freeze? Rynne! I call out, and the fellow looked. up, releasing NG as he does so. The freedman mutters a curse as he brushes his hair and pulls his hood up back over his ginger mop. How's it feel then?

This thing. What does it feel like? You're welcome to touch it yourself, Charlie, he replies with a laugh. I grimaced him. I'd rather not, bud. Tell me, how's it feel? He opens and closes his palm. It's...

It's warm, he says. feels like I don't know how I'd expect the skin of a seal to feel I guess A seal Interesting comparison But whatever And warm

It's some kind of scientific anomaly That's what I reckon Says Britt as he scratches his chin Aha Well that's helpful I reply Personally I hate it I think we should dump it back into the sea

It goes deeper than that though This thing, for reasons I can't quite explain, unnerves and unsettles me in a way I don't really understand. It's sickeningly out of place in its current position in the centre of the deck. It does not belong. This suggestion, however, is met with a general murmur of dissent from most of the crew. You can't just throw it overboard, says Brett. Talk to the captain. This could be a discovery of some sort.

A big deal. We should keep it on board and take it back to do. "'Captains asleep,' I reply. "'Well, then wake him. You're the chief officer. "'Tell him it's an emergency.' "'I look around at the crew. "'They're clearly in agreement with him.' "'I turned to our engineer.

"'Even you, N.G, you think we should keep this thing on board?' "'He shrugs. Sort of.' "'I relent. "'Ah, fine. I'll speak to Troy. "'I turn from the object and head back.' under the body of the boat, striding the length of the narrow little corridors to the captain's quarters. One of the fishermen catches up with me as I approach.

Omar. Charlie, he calls out to me. Wait, man, hold on. I think you're right, you know, about the thing. I'm thinking we should just chuck you back out into the sea. Yeah, I know, man, I reply, barely slowing my step. I hear you. I might even dump it back into the sea myself.

I will speak to the captain first, though. I said I would, after all. We stumble a little against the walls as a wave knocks into the side of the trawler. The rain comes down a little harder against the roof. I knock on the captain's door and then push it immediately open before waiting for a response. Hey, Troy, wake up. Troy grumbles from the darkness and I see the rough shape of his body turn over on the mattress. Troy, damn it, wake up.

We need you to come check out what we hold in from the sea. It's important. The men grunts and waves one of his hands in a kind of shameless shoeing motion. Troy, I wouldn't wake you up if it weren't important. I don't really want it on a ship any longer than it needs to be. Can't it wait until morning, Charlie, he grumbles. You know down well how hard it is to fall asleep on this thing. Troy, this is an alien-looking mess.

Is it dangerous? Not actively, but... Is it moving, flashing lights, speaking? No, it's not particularly animate, but... Then he can wait till morning. I'll have a look at it then. Now get lost before I lose any tired. Troy, get your ass out of bed and get lost, Charlie.

I sigh and draw the door to a close. Omar is still stood there, just looking at me. We'll deal with it come tomorrow, I say to him. Screw it. I'm not thrilled by the object's presence. But, what the hay? It doesn't look dangerous. It's just weird.

I guess it can wait till morning. I return to the dock and order the lads to get the fish down into cold storage and then I turn in for the night myself Might as well not much else to do I'm more or less used to sleeping in the conditions The ocean provides by now But it still feels like a particularly rough one tonight

I try to get some rest as the night shift Officially take over their rolls on the ship But as I drift off into an uneasy slumber My dreams are twisted and frightening I find myself alone in the dark. Looking around, there is only water in all directions. My arms and legs kick and push gently to keep me in place.

The surface is far, far overhead and out of sight. And below, below is the void. Bottomless, watering nothing, down, down it goes. And I find myself drawn down into it. Pulled by an invisible current, I struggle as the pressure tightens around my head, and I'm swallowed by the darkness of the ocean below. The water around me grows colder and colder,

and I can only shiver in horror as my blood turned steadily to ice. Dark towers rise up from the gloom beneath my feet. I am drawn ever deeper into the midst of a poisoned city, ancient and long-forgotten and terror will be on words. Abandoned, it would seem, but alive in a way that I could sense for certain in the dream, but cannot explain to you now. The material of the rising towers is the same as that of the object.

Slimy, yet emanating and disturbing and uncomfortable warmth, one that I should, by logic, be drawn to, given the freezing nature of my surroundings. And yet, yet I find myself, wanting to distance myself as far from the towering pillars and spires as possible. Down I go, down, down. The gaps in arches and the ruin architecture revealed to me that the alien city's now extends far out in every direction. A humming rises up from the deep, low, but growling louder and louder,

reverberating up from the depths. And something moves in the shadows. Charlie, it says to me, Charlie! Yo, Charlie! My eyes crack open and a twitching fright as I am returned to the world of the awakened. Engie is staring at me,

from the door, silhouetted by the dim grey light of the corridor behind. There are other members of the crew out there too, I can tell. I grimace and rub my eyes, groaning as I sit myself upright in bed. This must have been how the captain had felt. I empathised with him at once. What is it, Enj? I grumble. But there is a real alarm in the man's voice, and once I realise this, I awaken a little quicker than I would have otherwise.

Brin's freaking everyone out He was up swearing and cursing in his sleep And he won't wake up neither I pause He's sick Charlie I grumble and stumble out of bed What's the matter with him He don't look well, pale and leaking at the lips

And he keeps rambling muttering about some city below the sea My eyes flashed with sudden horror And I stare the engineer in the face You what? And she stutters surprised at my reaction. The two fishermen, Ferris and Omar stand behind him in the corridor, and I pushed past them as I hasten through the corridor of the gentle rocking boat to Bryn's quarters.

I slam open the door and fumble for the switch, squinting as I flick it up and the room is washed in sickly, artificial light. There lies Bryn, groaning and muttering in his sleep, blanket half thrown from his body, legs sticking out at the end at straight angles. and his skin. Pale, Engie. Bloody pale, he said.

What the hell is this? Bryn is as white as a sheet and slick with sweat. Worse than that, though, he looks decidedly wet. And his veins. His veins bulge black in his neck and chest, and all the way down his right arm. He weren't this bad five minutes ago, I swear it, though we didn't turn on the light.

Holy hell. This is above my pay grade. we're taking the trawler back to shore, see if we can conduct the helicopters to meet us on the way back. This is insane. None of the crew are looking at me now, though. They all have ceased listening. Their attention's focused on the man in bed.

My skin starts to crawl, and I slowly turn to look back at our boy, Brin, diseased as he is upon the mattress in the corner of his room. We watch in silence, our spore, as Brin ratches and turns onto his side, falling from the bed and onto the floor of the room with a sickening squelch, a terrible and alien black fluid leaking from his nose and mouth. But, as he falls, as he slips from the bed,

his legs, the top of which are covered by the sheet, remain exactly where they are. Brin now ends at the torso, connected to the mess he is left behind on his mattress with a series of thick and oily black strands. He looks up at us. and his eyes roll over white

damn someone shouts and we crash into and elbow each other frantically hastily retreating from Brian's quarters staring at the twisted remains of the man as he writhes against the floor the ship rocks in the storm

brin i forced out fighting against a throat that is closing in panic brin brin are you there man rebuild He mutters through wretches, fluid leaking from his mouth. Rebuild what has been lost.

Her city grows, spawn for the spires. He hisses and starts to drag his ruined body across the metal floor towards us. Jesus, no! shouts Omar behind my left ear. No! We all stumble back, tripping up and out into the hallway. Engie, I splutter. Get everyone awake at once.

Brett first, I need that guy on the crane. I'm no idiot. This is the work of the object. I wanted it off the ship, ASAP, before I can do any more damage. Captain B. Damned. NG nods and disappears off into the darkness of the corridor. I am separated from the two fishermen.

They back up into the corridor that leads to the deck, whereas I head further back towards my own quarters. Shut him inside, I think to myself, close the damned door. But I'm already too late. Brin slithers out from his room, though he doesn't even look at me. He instead crawls instantly towards the fisherman, dragging his leaky body in the direction of the deck. I am speechless.

I have no idea what the hell I am supposed to do with this man. My crewmate, the abomination. Omar and Ferris cry out and panic as they retreat, stumbling towards a lobby that leads to the deck. Omar does at least. Ferris stops and grabs a fire extinguisher off the wall, raising it high above his head, jaw clenched and eyes wild and mad. Wait, I shout, Ferris! But the man ignores me and brings the extinguisher down hard towards Brin's face as the former operator scrambles along the floor towards him. His aim is off and he strikes Brin in the shoulder and neck with a spray of ink like murk. Brin screeches, and, to my horror, disconnects his cheek.

jaw like a snake, ensnaring a good half of Verus' lower leg in his teeth. Various screams and kicks, crashing into the wall and dropping the extinguisher, and Bryn tears out a chunk of the fisherman's leg. Not a small chunk either. Various drops like a tumbled stone, silent and shuddering,

shocked to the core, I should think, and Brin continues along his way, snaking disgustingly from side to side as he hauls himself down the corridor, ever muttering to the backdrop of his low hiss in his throat, I go to the fallen fisherman. Ferris, I mutter, but speak to me.

But he just stammers and pales before my eyes, as blood splurts and leaks out over the floor. This is insane, I murmur as I stare at the wound. This was not covered in aid training. I decide upon tearing the man's jacket from his shoulders and wrapping it tightly around his leg. He finds his voice and screams out into the corridor as I apply the pre-trained. pressure and tired off. It seems like the others are frantically starting to come and see what the hell is going on. Either that or Engie was successful in waking them up.

My heartbeat is quick and loud. I can feel it heavy in my chest as a look at my bewildered colleagues. The captain, dazed and clearly still half asleep behind him, a good foot taller, chef and Sean of the fisherman. Ferris! he exclaims, stumbling towards us and falling down into his knees, checking the man over, lightly slapping his cheek. Ferris, hang in there, man, hang in there. Charlie?

The captain says. Would you care to explain to me exactly what? Go to the deck, Troy. Take a look at the object. He did this. Brin smacked his hand against the thing like an idiot and, I don't know, something happened to him. I'm rambling.

I turned to Sean as I clamber to my feet. Keep an eye on him, okay? He nods, and I beckoned Troy and chef down the narrow metal hallway towards the lobby, following the trail of dark, slimy grease that Bryn is left behind. To my left are a number of metal poles we use for sorting the fish when the occasion calls for it. I grab one now and suggest to the others that they do the same. The lobby of the boat is empty, but beyond the glass windows, the dark and rainy deck shows us blurred shapes darting from place to place. Screams can be heard above the winds and the

rains. What the hell is going on out there? Troy mutters, as we push into the world outside, instantly buffeted by rain and wind, squinting against the thrall in the darkness. The great grey waves froth against the ship's sides, uncaring of the drama that unfolds on the deck. And flashlight beam crosses off Hilda vision, briefly illuminating Omar at the side of the boat. Another of the crew stood beside him, Scott, I think.

Omar's lower back is pressed against the rails as he stares in horror at the object. The great, black, hexagonal shape, darker than dark in the midst of the storm. Omar! I call above the gale. Where is he? Where's Bryn? Omar cups a hand around his mouth and calls something back, but his words are lost in the wind. I can seem pointing, though. Right at the object. I can see that well enough.

Chef, I say to the pigman beside me. Aye, he replies. Get back inside and turn on the floodlights. Aim at center deck. He nods and hastens back in, and I turns to Troy to my left. He's messed up beyond recognition, Troy, I say to him, as loud as is necessary. Bryn, he's poisoned. So, what the hell is he doing out here, Charlie?

Troy shouts back, and to that, I really have no answer. The edge of the Captain's shadow is suddenly cast out long across the entirety of the boat as one of the floodlights behind lurches into life with a slow and heavy mechanical click. Its angle changes ever so slightly until its pointed head to the centre of the deck, right on the object, as instructed. The new burst of light bids Omer and Scott temporary shield their eyes and also reveals a fellow to the left, the fishman whose name I cannot remember, and Brett Brins are breaking.

counterpart by the controls to the crane on the far side. This is chaos. From his current position, our remaining operator cannot see the horrors that the rest of us can. What's happening? He shouts out loud over a temporary lull in the sea-sprayed tinted winds. What is it? But I find myself unable to answer. Hellfire and brimstone.

Troy splutters beside me, eyes wide and fixed on the abomination air. head. The object does not shine in the light. It absorbs the powerful beam and only seems darker in comparison with its newly floodlit surroundings. The specks of sea water across its form, however, glitter brightly like false gems, as indeed does the moisture on the skin of our comrade, Bryn. We watch him writhe and press himself up against the object with sickening desperation. His mouth is moving, though I cannot hear his speech, and with his jaw so distended and broken as it is and cannot read his lips either. He turns from us and presses his face up against the object, pushing his forearm and torso

against its slimy black surface. Dark and sticky strands beyond count connect his body to the form of the object, and as he pushes, he seems to be sinking into it, forcing himself into the actual object itself. It becomes difficult to tell where the man stops and the object starts. His skin, at the edges, begin to melt in the object. the oily fluid, physical barriers between the two break down before our eyes. I feel a rise of bile accompany a lurch in my stomach and force it down. Charlie! Troy shouts.

Damn, should we stop him? What the hell are you asking me? You're the captain, are you not? I think to myself. But to tell the truth, I don't know either. Instinct tells me how we should. We should be stopping this grotesque display at once. but on the other hand

I don't want to go anywhere near the thing and whilst it hurts to admit I cannot help but feel our decision at this stage wouldn't matter much surely by this point we are too late ah screw it

gotta at least try this is brin we're talking about I step through the storm and onto the deck the metal pole in my hands flashing in the glare of the beam light Omar calls something to me but again the man is not loud enough and I don't hear him. Shaking fiercely, with the cold I tell myself, and jaw clenched,

I stride suddenly forward and jam the pole into the space between Brin's steadily disappearing shoulder and the oozy black of the object. The noise it makes and the bizarrely disturbing, mushy resistance are sensations I'll remember for the rest of my life. The remainder of Brin's head twists with the tightening of the dark strands that surround it, and he screeches at me. his lone visible eye white and wide. I stagger back in horror,

trying and failing to take the middle pole with me, and the end I was holding clatters against the deck as the other remained stuck in the mixture. Prince's eyes, ever pale, seem only all the paler now, as his pupils has all but disappeared. He's gone. I back all the way up to the entrance to the lobby,

never take my eyes from the horrors ahead. Troy, man, captain, you need to order this thing to be dumped back into the sea. Now, our lives are about to get a whole lot worse. What the hell is going on over there? Brett calls from the crane controls. You kidding me, Charlie? The captain replies, with a member of my crew inside? No way, I'll be tried from murder.

Captain, use your eyes. You think anyone will believe this, Charlie? The point is a valid one, but he's either ignoring or failing to feel the sense of impenetive. pending doom that now weighs down ever heavily upon us. Well, fine. If he doesn't have the balls to do it, I'll do it myself. Brett, I call out, dump this thing back into the sea, as quick as he can. He starts making his way towards us, stumbling a little in the winds, round the edge of the dock.

You want me to dump it, Charlie? I thought we were going to take it back to shore. This thing belongs in a museum. Jesus Christ, I put my hands to my head and watch as the last of Brin disappears through the membrane of the throbbing, oozing dark shape on the dock. Blubs of flesh and pieces of clothes are left stuck to the side, and they drip and drool down to the deck with the rain. Fine, hey, everyone get the hell inside now.

I turn to Troy. You're going to take us back to dock this second, and I'm going to radio for an emergency helicopter. Aye. Troy monitors back with a nod. Then, after a pause. Right, you are the man. Everyone back into the ship.

The captain and I, hastily try and return to the safety of the lobby, but we find ourselves space the face with our boy Ferris. Jacket still wrapped tightly around his leg, but standing up right now, right in the doorway, if a little skewed perhaps. Black fluid leaks from his lips and his eyes are staring, whiter than they have any right to be. Lightning strikes the sea in the distance and we recoil in sudden terror. Behind him it is Sean who now lay slumped on the floor. His eyes are closed, and I cannot tell if he is breathing.

But there are bruises around his neck, and his face is smeared in the dark substance that now coats the corridor, floor and walls alike. Ferris? The captain splutters. And Ferris responds. The towers are close to completion. Sporn for the spires. We are bound to rebuild Troy.

His speech is slurred, But I can still just about make out his words His skin has begun to leak. Hard duty is plain. The movie drips and oozes. Mother awaits, mother awaits, ah. And he becomes incomprehensible. He falls to the ground with a squelch,

clutching at my leg as he does so. I grabbed an alarm and kick him away, shielding my eyes from a far carried blast of sea spray sent up by the churning waves. The captain grabs a hold of Ferris's shirt by the shoulders, and half drags him, half throws him further down the deck as Omar and Scott reached the door. Brett is just behind, and swears and curses and alarmed the scene.

Everyone inside, Troy bellows. The fisherman pushed the door at once. Brett, bewildered and uncertain, nonetheless does likewise. I hasten into the lobby as Troy slams the door shut behind him, and from the panel I make the request for an emergency helicopter. I send out our coordinates, but I don't receive anything back, and we're a hell of a long way from shore. Troy, I say, but he knows.

He makes off into the body of the ship, heading presumably to the upper levels to steer us away to begin our journey back to the coast. But just as he's about to step past chef, tending to the muttering, shivering shorn, he stumbles and hits the wall with a lurch of the boat. We all do. The ship's engine, it would seem, has cut out.

We drift in terrible silence across the service of the ruffling sea, all quiet, but for the lashing of the rain and the windows, and the swell and dissent roar of the waves and wind. I look around at the faces of my colleagues. N.G. is missing, I realize. Captain? Omar murmurs.

But the captain does not respond. He has stepped back up to the front of the lobby, and his eyes are fixed on the scene beyond the windows. With a pounding heart, I turn to follow his gaze. It's difficult to see through the rain-soaked glass, but the scene outside terrifies me in a way that I've never in my life experienced before. The object has begun to steadily leak. That much is clear.

Dark fluid pours out, and over the deck, slipping this way and that with a rocking of the boat. Ferris has hurled himself up against the edge of the ship, his features illuminated ghostly pale in the glare of the beamlight. He redges and twitches, but he is not my primary focus now. My focus, instead, is on the sea beyond, out there in the watery darkness. The sea froths and bubbles out of sync with the churn of the waves,

and the waters are pushed up and apart. An enormous, twisted shape rises up from the murk. I cannot make out its features through the glass, but it is a blight on the face of the ocean. A terrible blight, indeed. We stare, all of us, out into the raging waters. Something has arisen from the depths, blurred through the glass of the window and the walls of the rain.

It is nonetheless obvious that something does not belong. Brett is the first to speak. Lads, he says quietly, now just what the hell is going on. He is met with silence. Where is Bryn? No response. The thing in the water dips below the surface just for a second, then rises back up and out, higher than before, and whatever it is becomes clear, there's only a small part of a much greater hole. Screw it. Brett mutters and grabs the door to the deck, swinging it open and swinging it wide. It is caught at once from the wind and torn from his hand, slamming against the outside lobby wall. Jesus, Brett, get back inside! I shout over the gale.

I turn and grab the captain by the front of his shirt. The engine room, Troy, get the ship moving again. We head back to shore at once. Troy nods at me and stumbles away, pushing past chef and the quivering shorn. Keep an eye out for Engie, I yell after him. And chef? Chef looks up at me. I'd move the hell away from my boy Sean there if I were you.

Sean twitches and groans. It becomes clear that the black fluid smeared all over his face and neck has become worse, and it leaks like sweat from his skin. Curiosity is a powerful thing, and even though I have a much greater sense of the threat that faces us than Brett, I still fall victim to its call and push out onto the rainy deck of the trawler beside him, squinting and staring out of sea at the anomaly that is so defiantly pushed aside the waves. Up it rises, up and out of the water.

It is difficult to see through the downpour and the darkness, but the initial shape that has caught her interest is no more than a crest, I now realize. A crest atop an alien shape, horrific in its strangeness. I hesitate to call the thing a head, as it bears no resemblance to any human head that I've ever seen, Nor does it boast even a single face-like feature. Blood roars in my ears with a swell and crash of the sea.

I look through the haze and the pore of the beast that has arisen from the depths. It is undoubtedly colossal in size, the length of the boat, if not more. The crest is a picture of spines, thick, grey-black flesh, pulled-taught and quivering between them in the storm. Below this crest is a body, or a head, roughly hammerhead, sharkish in shape, though more definitively angled. This monstrosity has no obvious eyes, but a lone dark void, the size of a man in the form of a diamond, shivers grotesquely in the centre of its face. On either side of this feature

are clusters of smallish holes in the skin, subtle greying lights flashing from within. A squirming, angrily rising mass of thick tendrils ripple and swarm at the sea's surface as the rain falls, clustered around the thing's base where it meets the waves, and a low, sick sound reverberates from its form, the hole across its surface widening and contracting intermittently. Brett and I stare in silence, unable to tear our eyes away, frozen in place. I am vaguely aware of Chef. He has joined us on the deck and laid his gaze on the beast, and he falls to his knees in the puddles and begins frantically muttering in desperate prayer. As I stare out to sea and into the void at the centre of the abomination, my dream returns to me. I see the twisted city, and it's dark and alien spires.

My vision is blurred and uncertain. But I see it. I see the thing before me flow like a mist from spire to spire, as he shapes breaking away and drifting to the surface. Mother! A flash of lightning to my right, far. Far out above the waves breaks the spell. and sudden movement from the object on the deck returns me to the world of the storm, drenched and ice to the bone.

I grab Brett by the shoulder and drag him back. He stumbles and turns, and we watch as the object begins to pulse violently. The object that we so foolishly hold from the water. Blackoose spurts out in jets and streams as it throbs and hisses, and it hardens and crackens, breaking apart like a shell and leaking poison out over the deck. Poison. And a monster. Like a great wet worm, it smacks to the deck with a squelch.

Illuminated in the glare of the beamlight as it is, its shadows are deep and sharp. It writhes and screams and tilts this way and that in the rain, deciding on a direction and slithering towards the sea. It turns to us as it approaches the edge. It looks back as it squirms its way up and over the railing, rocking in the waves, and for better or for worse, we see its face. A hollow diamond fills the centre, a void, but on either side of this shape are two bright and staring eyes,

pale blue, almost grey in their colouring, Thayer Brin's eyes, and they reveal nothing but cold malice. Then the worm-like creature turns and slips clumsily over the rail and into the sea, and the great atrocity begins its descent, a deep and ethereal roar shivering out and under the bow. boat as it does so. As the thing slowly disappears beneath the grey waters, a great many things happens pretty much at once, all in the space of about 20 seconds. Various staggers to his feet,

pale and shivering as he is by the edge of the boat. He grabs the rail of the deck as it rocks from side to side. As he squeezes it with his fingers, fluid leaks from his palm in the manner that water leaks from a sponge. He clambers up under the side, raises his head and throws his arms out. Veris, someone calls from behind me, Omar perhaps, or Scott, but the man does not respond. The boat lurches as he falls over the edge towards the sea, but before he hits the water, a slithering, snake-like appendage burst from the churning waves and wraps around his chest, drawing him down and into the dark of the deep. And he's gone. I never see him again. In the same 22nd period

The boat is surrounded On all sides and far out into the sea Dozens upon dozens of the smaller But still roughly man-sized And worm-like abominations Raised their heads above the surface of the water The features vary And it is hard to see in the current weather conditions anyway

For they all, at the least, share that sick and disturbing hole In the centre of their faces I hear sounds of a struggle behind me I turn dazed To see the twisted and fluid-stained Sean, eyes white and wild, grab one of the fishermen around the neck. He drags him to the edge. Omar cries out and stumbles after them, slipping on the soaked surface of the deck.

Sean lulls his head from side to side, ghostly pale, but for the dark ooze that leaks from his eyes and nose and mouth, and doesn't even hesitate as he reaches the edge of the boat. He throws himself over and the fisherman caught in his grip is unable to keep himself on board. Both of them tumble over the side and into the sea And as with Ferris That is the last time I ever see them again Felix Yes, that was the man's name

His name was Felix And like Ferris and Sean He is gone This hectic half-minute culminates With a feeling of something slamming into the underside of the ship Chef slips and crashes to his side But the rest of us keep our feet The slam comes again

The boat is under attack Where is the captain? I shout Turning and looking up to the glass of the level above the lobby Though it is too dark for me to see If we don't get the trawler moving again Then this could be it We're all going to die The slam comes again

Brett grabs him by the shoulder and yells into my face What if it's after the fist Charlie We should dump it all before it's too late It's a reasonable theory though a part of me believes it more than that. Far, far more. But I want to live, an action is better than in action surely.

So when he runs the length of the deck to the controls at the opposite end, swaying from side to side, I stagger backwards, pushing past the panicking chef and head into the lobby, hastily activating and turning the dials for the controls that will allow us

to dump the contents of the cold storage back into the sea. The slam comes again. I feel mechanical movement beneath my my feet, signifying that the fish and the process are being released into the surrounding waters. I look up and out the window through the rain, staring at the broken and cracked remains of the object in the center of the deck. The light catches in the fluid it leaks as it washes from side to side with a rocking

of a ship. And then comes another slam. The fifth. And it will be the last. Our efforts, if they would have even helped at all, are too little too late. The boat grinds and our ears are met with a series of terrible cracks. I watch the deck at the far side of the trawler begin to tip up and away.

And, to my horror, a different angle to the rest of the boat. The trawler rocks to the side and to my dismay it does not correct itself this time. We're going down. I stagger out onto the deck and shout into the storm. Brett, get back, quick! I'm coming, I think I hear him shout. He was gripping onto the controls for the crane and cold storage at the far end, for balance presumably, but he releases them now,

and he starts to run the length of the deck as thunder rolls across the sea. The deck splits, and he falls, trying and failing to hold onto the wet rail. I don't understand how the ship could be singing so quickly, unless... Unless something is dragging it down from below. With the sound that will stay with me till the end of my days The trawler splits into two

The fire end of the ship The bow The location of the crane And my comrade Brett Breaks entirely from the rear half And tips into the sea Brett I roar into the gale

As he falls He turns the face to hungry waves And he is lost forever Behind the cloud of froth and spray As with the others He is gone The trawler groans And creaks deliriously

"'Lads,' comes the call of a familiar voice from behind, "'not from inside the lobby, but from down the corridor of the ship. "'Between the walls of the hub and the railing, "'I turn and grab a hold of the edge, "'looking down to the ship's stern. "'There stands the captain, his hands held high. "'Are you getting into the lifeboat, then, or what? "'It's now or never.'

"'He's right, of course. "'And look round for the others, "'I see Omar staring wide-eyed towards a lost section of the ship as it slowly sinks beneath the waves. But he stands alone. Omar, I stumble forwards and grab his jacket. Lifeboat, now! And before he can respond,

I've already half pushed, half thrown him in the right direction. The door to the lobby is still cast wide open and a shout a final call down into the body of the boat. There is no answer. I look all around me with desperate hope, but neither chef nor Sean can be seen. Nor indeed can Enjee. I realize I haven't seen him since I asked him to go and wake everyone up,

but it's too late for that. With a heavy heart, I turn and stagger down the slippery deck towards lifeboat. Quickly catching up with Omar and bumping into his back, we hasten into the lifeboat as Captain Troy does the same. With a metallic grind, he turns the lever that allows our descent, and the lifeboat jerks and jitters on its way to the sea's surface. The ship screams beside us as the lifeboat. smacks into the water, and we disconnect from the trawler's body.

Troy sails the boat away from the wreckage as it sinks into the sea, and one by one, the trawler's lights are fizzled out with clanks and groans and distant words. All around us, those twisted worms slither about in the waters, just beneath the surface and blurred in the grey-white froth and churn. There's something still in the upper deck, O my mutters through shivers. Look! I shield my eyes from the eyes.

Arctic wind, but I cannot see what Omar is talking about, not until a brief flash of lightning reveals the silhouette of a figure stood stark still in the engine room, visibly behind the glass. Engy, I think, it must be. But as quickly as he appears, he is lost, lost behind the dark glass as the ship is swallowed by the sea. The worms rise up and out of the water. They writhe and squirm over the trawler's corpse, their hissing is carried on the winds. The last of the vessel's lights fails, and the ship is plunged into total darkness. Our lifeboat has an engine, thankfully, and Troy sells it grimly and solemnly away into the night. One final roar echoes from the swelling waters that swarm the ship, and it is the last I hear

or see of the monstrosities that plagues the final voyage of our accurseded trawler. I shiver in the chill of the air. None of us speak. I try not to think about the endless steps that lie directly below us. I try not to think of the horrors that I now know lurk hungrily beneath. I tried to keep away the resurfacing memories of my twisted dream. The dark spires made up from the same material as the object. The storm fades as the hour passes, the wind's ease,

and soon the only sound is the rumble of the engine as we power on through the mists of the night. We were found eventually. spotted by helicopters. A nearby vessel was rerouted and came to pick us up to return us to shore. I quit the industry the same day. Omar did likewise. I don't know what Troy plans to do. I still dream of that night. When I close my eyes, I see it. I see the colossal abomination that rose up from the sea and the face of the worm that slithered from the shell of the object. I've done pretty much nothing since then, but red,

Red and red and red and red to try and make some sense of the things I saw, of the things we all saw. I have found little, but what I have learned has worried me greatly. I have learned about the process called external fertilization, common in amphibians, aquatic creatures and sea life and the like, a process in which the eggs of the female are fertilized outside the body. The sperm inseminates the egg in the open after it has been laid. I think about the object I think about Bryn And I think about my terrible dream

My dream of the enormous Endless Undersea City Its angular spires and shapes And shadowy towers A sunken city made entirely Of the same material As the object If indeed

It is even a city At all