CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - 7 SCARY Reddit Horror Stories to drive your mind into the depths

Episode Date: May 10, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORIES-►0:00​ "The Reason I Quit My Job as an Underwater Engineer" Creepypasta►18:28​ "My Old Childhood Home Had Something Evil In It’s Walls" Creepypasta►42:31​ "We Found Something Under the Ice in the Antarctic" Creepypasta►56:05​ "My House has a Heartbeat" Creepypasta►1:17:52​ "My childhood dog ran into the woods. He came back very different a year later" Creepypasta►1:37:40​ "If You Go To The Salt Flats of Bolivia, DON'T Go Through 'The Gate'" Creepypasta►2:05:44​ "This morning the doors to our apartment complex were welded shut." 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►Aiko Aiham: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/9b86W​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-

Oh, my young, that I'm in three days. I'm all moor as I'm more on think. Oh, that to seeer that morning off must. I'm all mooh as I'm just on tomorrow. Oh, from the night at a paddle tournament. Oh, I'm a moor as I'm not mad as I'm on think. Have you it mooled to come? Give you yourself then a boost.

With biocure, Maxhot Liquid. Three op-puppendant plants. Magnesium, Izer. An energy booster, to immediately again again to come out. Bio-Cure Max-Shat Liquid. Foodings Supplement, forcryg by the apotheker.

Arrowhead Lake, the ideal and picturesque image of an all-American man-made lake. It's fast, its waters fresh, yet rarely cold and brimming with fish. Like the other big man-made lakes, such as Norman, Harrington or Thunderbird, Arrowhead had developed somewhat of a colourful cultural superstition. Everything from man-eating leeches with underbellies covered in fangs, capable of toppling over canoes to catfish who grow to enormous size due to radiation leaking out the nearby plant. Then there's the ghosts, the bargain bin Bigfoot rip-off, and the occasional flying saucer. But none of these have ever held any place in my mind. Being your typical,

conservative-raised, athletic type who loved fishing on the lake, I was immune to the fears and warnings from the locals. I'd scoffed when I'd hear old Mrs Cutler telling people how a dog was snatched from the shoreline by Black Black, the giant man-eating leech with an underbelly covered in teeth. Furthermore, I made it my mission to humiliate and ridicule my peers who had a tale about a cousin who was eaten or drowned by something under the surface. In other words, I was a bit of an ass. In my defense, I had never seen anything to suggest my version of the world was wrong. I had lived on the lake, went fishing with my grandpa throughout my childhood, before his boating accident, and I'd become convinced that there wasn't anything to be afraid of.

I was wrong. There was something in that lake. In truth is the reason I'm telling you this, partly to see if anyone else encountered what I saw, partly to warn people to stay away, and also partly as a form of therapy to help me come to terms with what I experienced. Firstly, we needed some context for my encounter,

and I think it all began after high school. You see, growing up on that lake, there were a few jobs for those of us who dived out of school with barely any idea of what to do next. It was either work in the power plant or work on the lake, so I combined the two and made it my mission to get some more grades and more training under my belt and then come back to work as an underwater engineer. I was excited at the thought of fixing the dam and repairing the plant's coolant tunnels where the lake's water was pulled in and used to keep the reactor safe.

mostly I was just curious to see what actually was down there below the still surface of Arrowhead The first person I told was my grandpa But uncharacteristically he was far from enthusiastic And made a point of telling me in a tone I'd never known he possessed to stay out of the lake Naturally I laughed it off Telling him I was shocked he believed Mrs. Kotler's old fish wife's tales

Of man-eating leeches and child-drawn and catfish He rolled his sleeves and began to show me various scars from the fish he encountered on the lake and elsewhere But one set he never spoke of A peculiar arrangement of deep cuts running up his arm I asked him how he got them And his face went pale He told me that unlike the others

These wounds weren't from catfish, gars, alligators or eels But rather from his boating accident Never before had to beaes had he discussed what actually happened that day out on the lake, and he still refused to tell me much. Instead, he diverted the conversation back to the lake's folklore's tales. He told me of the Arrowhead Three, a group of divers in the 80s who went down to fig something on the dam,

and never came back. It was a story I was familiar with. Five went down, two of them came back up, and the other three vanished without a trace. They were ruled as accidental drowning, caused by malfunctioning equipment. They didn't find their bodies, though, and so they too became part of the local Lake Law of Arrowhead.

My response to this was to do a childish. Ooh, scary. Something my grandfather didn't take kindly to. He snapped at me and exclaimed that he knew the lads who survived. One of them was found swinging. The other drank himself to death. Grandpa asserted that one night when he was sat in the company, of the man, dragging his liver and beer and whiskey chasers, the man told him what he remembered.

He spoke of dark serpents, things emerging out of thin air and snatching them one by one, dragging them into the unknown. When I laughed this off and said aloud, I didn't expect my grandpa, a weathered-beaten or fisherman, an ex-naval officer, to be so superstitious. His face became a scowl and his gruff voice spoke to me. them's bad waters I've seen things I wish I hadn't Things that would strike you dead from fright

You youngens Think you know the world Think you've seen it from behind your screens But you haven't Stay out of them waters And especially keep away from that plant Grandpa commanded Sadly

That was one of the last things I remember of him As whilst I went out of state for training He passed away Still I thought the best way to one of him and his memory would be to totally disregard his warnings and worries and get to work on the lake as soon as I was qualified. So, once the training was completed, I returned home, got a job with a power plant as an engineer, and since I was one of a handful of

people qualified for underwater repair jobs, I became somewhat invaluable. I mean, the jobs weren't flying in, and in some ways that was reassuring. I mean, no one wants to be working at a power plant that regularly has power failures or structural damage. However, I couldn't help feeling I had wasted some of my time training for underwater repair when most of the time I was just sorting out maintenance and basic repairs around the plant. Perhaps some sadistic god out there since my disappointment in not being given a chance to dive, because out of the blue, one of the higher-ups approached me and asked if I'd be willing to help sort out a problem. According to him, one of the two cooling tunnels had stopped working properly.

The consensus was that there may have been damaged to the tunnel, and it had partially collapsed, but the higher-ups wanted to assess the damage first, and then if it was a simple unclogging or a relatively straightforward repair, we'd get to fixing it. So me and another guy suited up for a dive. Eddie, the guy joining me, was a sweet guy, always eagerly trying to reassure me. since this was my first proper dive. On a little motorized raft, we made away to the area just above the underwater tunnels. There we disembarked and slipped off from the security of a small raft and sank into the water.

Being that he was a bit older than me, he made a point prior to us entering the water of saying just to stick with him. He told me that he gets quite murky down there, and adding the fact that it was night time, it was a recipe for your mind to play tricks. He wasn't wrong either because I remember feeling an overwhelming dread after only a few minutes into the dive. The kind of dread one feels when you feel like you're being watched

or when you're alone in the house and think you hear someone. Irrational dread. That's what I told myself. Just my body reacting to the fact I could barely see anything in front of my face. So, on I swam, try my best to ignore the

anxiety rising in me and focus on the task at hand. Soon though, my mind was back to observing my surroundings in an over-vigilant manner. I remember the water getting warmer, the deeper we swam, and it got more and more cloudy as we descended. Though it was dark and murky, my torch occasionally caught glimpses of catfish that were large enough to make me feel even more uncomfortable, but I tried to keep my nerve. Plenty of food, warmth and depth. What Fish wouldn't thrive in such conditions, I told myself. Besides, I never saw a catfish that I can honestly say was capable of man-eating, or drowning me, and that was somewhat reassuring. Then, suddenly, they scattered, all of them, the big ones and the small, thrashing the way past me and Eddie, as they shot out of their hiding places.

That should have been the only warning we needed, but we foolishly thought we had disturbed them. How are we to know that we were about to come face to face? With the truth. We were at the cooling tunnels when things took a turn. Eddie went about looking at the one on the right, shining his torch into it, whilst I inspected the left. My one appeared to be working fine, sucking in water, churning it up into the power plant basin,

where presumably it spat it back out on the other side. In the short time it took for me to inspect the tunnel. Something happened. Having looked away for just a moment, I was shocked when I turned to find Eddie had vanished. Frantically, I spun my head around, but there was no sign of him. Not a trace of Eddie existed in the gloom. If it had been a joke, or he was messing with me, I would have at least expected to have seen some debris kicked up from his frantic swimming

as he dived out of my line of sight, and yet there was nothing. I paused for a time, waiting for him to suddenly jump out of the opaque surroundings and scare the life out of me. That would have been a welcome terror, but fate was not that kind, and Eddie did not reappear or reveal himself. Truthfully, my heart began pounding a little faster the minute I saw he was gone, for, in the isolation, all I could think of was my grandpa's words. Them be bad waters. They repeated and repeated, thundering through my head, almost as fast as my heart thundered in my chest. It was in those moments of fear I spotted it, the faint yellow glow shining below and drifting deeper and deeper. Eddie.

It was his torch I could see in the mist below. He must have been playing a prank on me after all, or maybe he dropped his welding tool. Relief washed over me, and I swam down to meet him. but as I kicked frantically my eyes began to see more clearly. The light ahead of me was his torch, that much was true. But Eddie wasn't holding it. Instead, it was just sinking down to the depths of the lake, adrift and abandoned, not unlike myself.

Concerned for my colleague's safety, I swam back up to the tunnels. I started worrying that maybe he was clearing out the debris in the block tunnel, and somehow it turned on and he got stuck in. I turned my torch on the tunnel entrance. It was wide, wide enough to fit a truck through it, and escaping more was dark and empty. Strange, because there didn't seem to be any structural damage, no sign of a blockage at all.

It was just a void, a black void, so dark that even my torch's light couldn't penetrate it. Primal dread filled me as I looked at. into the silent and still shadows filling the opening. My courage and confidence were devoured by the darkness. It was all-consuming. I felt more lost than I had ever felt before as I floated in front of that coolant tunnel,

staring into the abyss, hoping to see Eddie emerge from the void unharmed. Only it wasn't a void at all, and it was far from empty. For as my torch shined across the night-colored surface, It shimmered, stirred, squirmed even. Then, to my utter disbelief, an eye the size of a car tire. Fear struck me and sent me scrambling back for a second,

and, between the mist of panicked bubbles streaming up around my goggles, I saw the enormous thing, slowly shifting in the tunnel. Great, thick black back tentacles unfolded around a large phosphorus eye, with each limb displaying red rings of light that pulsed and moved across the dark skin of the beast, growing ever quicker in their motion as the glowing blue eye focused its horizontal slit-shaped pupil on me. And as it saw me, I too saw it, saw the thing for what it was, and though my mind could not process the reality, I was sure of it. The thing in the tunnel, the blockage, was an enormous cephalopod, a giant octopus, a kraken of monstrous dimensions, a creature clever to conceal itself in the shadow inside a tunnel and evade the sights of a bustling lakeside community.

It was evident from this and from its appearance that the creature was far from ordinary. Beneath each black tangle running under it were fangs and toothy hooks, which retracted and extended in and out of red flesh. These appendages clasped the exterior and the rim of the tunnel, slithering outwards in a serpentine manner. I froze in place and my mind raced back to the wounds upon my grandfather's arm the strange tooth patterns running up his sleeves that he could have been caused by such an appendage.

Then, worse still, I came to understand those old fish-wife's tales of blackbacked the leech with his underbelly of fangs. The stories I had dismissed in my arrogance were true. Only it wasn't a man-eating leech. It was a tentacle. One of many tentacles that were about to reach out. and snatch me as they had done the arrowhead three.

I knew what was about to happen and swam for my life, rushing to the surface as hard as I could. I looked back down, deceived the thing was given chase or following. But it wasn't. There was nothing beneath me or around me, just total absence. My mind immediately realized it was still there, hidden, camouflage, and around the time it took me to realize that. It was too late.

A toothy tentacle emerged from the gloom, shifting from the grimy green murky colour of the water around me, as it grasped hold of my back. I fumbled and wrestled, desperately trying to wriggle free, but it was no use, as more and more tentacles reached around me and their hooks piercing my suit and skin. I screamed and cried out, but beneath the water, my voice was silent. Then it pulled me in close towards what can only be described as a pit of tusks and gnashing jaws stuffed with broken fangs. It was like the mouth of hell

an inescapable grinder acting on total impulse and instinct just desperate to crush skewer and moll me into shreds. Before it could devour me like I presumed it had devoured Eddie I remembered I was far from unarmed

and in a frantic motion I scrambled from my welding tool and turned it on. White and blue punctured and burned into one of the tentacles holding me and instantly it untangled away from me. Like a torpedo, it shot back, recoiling into opaque walls around me,

disappearing once more as its chromatophores shifted and made it invisible to my eyes. I knew it was still there, and so, without a moment of hesitation, I began swimming for the surface, sure that the nightmarish and marvelous thing was right behind my every kick. Desperate to survive, I unclipped my harness and let the oxygen tank sink below me,

trying to remove as much weight from me as I possibly could. And the moment I let go, I saw it. A vast, black, writhing nest of tooth-covered appendages, grasped hold of the tank and dragged it into the depths below. With one final surge of adrenaline, I thrashed my way back to the surface and onto the boat. Let me tell you, it didn't make me feel any safer being on that tiny raft, knowing that beneath me there was a monster-sized octopus more than capable of dragging me

and the boat down to its sunken nether realm. And, even after speeding the boat onto the shoreline, I couldn't expel the imagined images of that thing clattering ashore to get me. I told the higher-ups what I saw and explained what I believed had happened to Eddie. But, as you can imagine, no one believed me. Eddie became another tragic event on the lake, an oxygen tank malfunction which killed him, a conclusion that the authorities reached without an autopsy or even a body. The wounding I had suffered, nothing more than self-inflicted according to the power plant's first ada,

a side effect of nitrogen narcosis. I quit and stopped going out fishing in my spare time, but I continued to warn people to tell them of what I saw on the lake. just as I've been sceptical of the tales of the blackback, the man-eating leech. Now others were skeptical of my tale of an old, huge-sized octopus, living in the coolant tunnels of the power plant. I've had experts and Facebook critics alike, telling me how there are no freshwater octopuses,

how it's impossible for them to get to the size I described, and to them. I have this to say. As my grandpa told me, Lake Arrowhead is bad water, and should they dive beneath its surface with the same skepticism as I had, they will be met with the truth. There is something in that lake.

I don't know how or why or what exactly it is, but it is there and it's hungry. When I was nine, my parents moved to a military base because of my parents' relocations. That meant packing up seven kids and moving there. into a house, an old house, a house that harboured secrets my family was ignorant to. The first day we moved in, I will remember forever. It was the last time I remember being happy in that house.

The last time I remember the whole family being happy collectively. We all helped each other move boxes into new rooms. We each got our own, which was unheard of in our big family. My older brothers were ecstatic, racing each other up the staircase that grabbed the biggest ones. I took my time. I slowly walked up the stairs with my box of art supplies and studied the house. It was old, no doubt about it. In fact, it still had an old rotary phone hanging on the wall of the foyer. I made a mental note to check if it still worked and made my way up to the hallway. I could plainly see where my brothers had gone. Their footsteps had disturbed the

thin layer of dust that had settled on the wood. I turned the opposite way, and turned into the first room. The room chilled me to the bone. Though the room was supposed to face the front of the house, pointing toward the west and the setting sun, the room remained barren, cold and dark. It was as if the windows allowed no light through the thick layer of grime that covered them.

I backed out of the room quickly, not wanting to spend another moment in there. I walked farther down the hall until I came to a slightly larger room. Unlike the first room, it was flooded with the afternoon sun, and I fell in love with a light blue paint that brightened up the room. All it had was a metal bed frame and a closet. I set the box down on the bedframe, claiming the room, and made my way down to the truck to grab the rest of my things.

Hours later, my brothers, all six of them, decided to explore the house. house. My three older brothers, Donovan, Flynn and Duncan, decided they'd explore the third floor first, and that I'd take the younger ones to the basement. As the only girl, I had a reputation to uphold, so I agreed. I decided I'd have to keep an eye on all of them, so they wouldn't get hurt. I ordered Jared, only a year younger than me, to hold under Jeremy, and I'd hang on to the youngest, Isaac. We made quite a racket tromping down the stairs of the basement. Be careful, came my father's call.

We will, we all chorused. I flicked the light switch, and we started our exploration. I turned to face my brothers, and adopted my bossy, older sister persona. I don't want to see anyone going off where I can't see them. We don't know the house. We don't know what's in it. If you find something dangerous or you aren't sure what it could be, be, leave it alone. Got it?

My brothers nodded in sync, and so we continued. Ronnie, look over here, I heard Jared call. I brought Isaac with me to overlook. He had found a shelving unit full of old nails, screws, tools, and pieces of wood. To me, it looked like a workbench. No touching, there's nails, I reminded him.

Jared rolled his eyes. Yes, ma'am. I smiled despite his jab and looked down at Isaac. Where should we go next? Isaac's face lit up and he pointed to the other side of the basement. My heart dropped when he pointed. That side of the basement was shrouded in darkness and had given me a bad vibe when we'd gone near it.

But he looked so excited that I couldn't deny him a chance to look. Okay, come on guys. All four of us started walking into the darkness. My skin crawled. My arms erupted in goosebumps as we got closer. Apparently, I wasn't the only one apprehensive. Though Isaac had been the one curious, he suddenly got cold feet. I don't want to anymore, he cried, his eyes brimming with tears.

I sighed in relief and he did his wish, ending the trip and directing us to the well-lit side of the base. My older brothers got bored of the third floor and came to join us. What did you guys find? Flynn asked. At 13, he was in the stage where he both hated us and loved us. A confusing time for me. Who was suddenly his most hated sibling? Not much. There's a workbench over there, though.

I pointed to the right side of the stairs. What about over there? Donovan asked, pointing to the unlit section we'd abandoned. We didn't explore that part yet. I covered quickly. Duncan caught my lie. Guys, Veronica's scared. Duncan mopped.

Clint and Donovan smiled. Really? Still scared at the dark, Ronnie? I shrugged. Isaac didn't want to go anymore. I didn't either. My brothers gave up on teasing me. They knew I was someone to be rolled up

after dealing with the crap for four years before Trowd showed up. Ronnie, I don't want to go, Isaac said, his voice laced with fear. Me either, Jeremy voice from next to Jared. How about you guys go upstairs and help Mom and Dad unpack? They'd love the help, I suggested. Isaac and Jeremy smiled and raised each other back of the stairs, slamming the door behind them.

I could hear the muffled reprimand from Mom about slamming doors. Are you losers coming? Flynn called, walking deeper into the darkness. Though my whole body protested, I followed them. Jared stayed close to me, which I was thankful for. Someone turned on a flashlight and illuminated the room. Whoa, came from Duncan, who punched Flynn in the arm. Look at that!

My eyes followed theirs, and my eyes landed on a noose hanging from the rafters. Nausea crept his way up my throat as the fraying ropes swayed in a non-existent breeze. Jared grasped my arm and squeezed Don't touch it, morons, come on. Donovan ordered, smacking Flynn's hand away when he tried. Jared and I quickly caught up to Donovan, leaving the nooster's sway back and forth behind us. I noticed the door.

Jared, did you see that? I asked. Gerard looked at the small wooden door that stood in the back corner of the basement. Jared nodded. Don? Jared called. Donovan came over, trial by Flynn and Duncan. No way, Flynn whispered, jogging over to the small door.

Hey, be careful, idiot. I don't need you dying. Donovan called, walking closer with the flashlight. Shut up, it's just a cellar door. Look! He opened it. The metal hinge is screaming as it swung open. A smell wafted from inside. Flint recalled and covered his nose with his shirt.

What is that? he exclaimed. We all took a closer lock and had the same reaction. Though the smell was unmistakable and horrible, that little room seemed to have no indication of where it was coming from. The room was small, about four foot by four foot and only five feet tall. It was enough for Jared and I to stand straight in, though the older boys had to bend down. Donovan flicked his light around inside.

It had a dirt floor. The ground was covered in old cans and what looked to be toys for a child. Small wooden trains and carved armymen, small kerosene lanterns laying the side in one corner. Though the scene was creepy, there was nothing inside to explain the smell. Creepy, Duncan voiced. Totally, Flynn parroted.

Who wants to go in? Flynn asked, a slight grin on his face. I took a big step back with Jared. No way I was going into that room. Jared agreed with me. Dude, just close the door. It smells horrible. Donovan censored, remembering to watch his mouth around us kids after a lecture from mom and dad.

Fine, Flynn whined, closing the door. Race upstairs, though, he suddenly yelled. A smile broke out on my face as I raised my brothers to the the top of the stairs, coming in second behind Duncan. Ha, I win, Duncan bragged, opening the basement door. Flynn, you got beat by Ronnie, Donovan teased, coming in third. Well, she's fast. I didn't tell them the reason I was so fast was because I was terrified of the basement

and that tiny room. Something inside there made me feel sick and wrong, something old and dark. weeks passed by I started to notice just how oppressive the house was I also noticed how it affected us Donovan was much more sullen He was always in his room with his music

He didn't play with us kids anymore And he sure as hell didn't talk to us anymore Flynn and Duncan became more reserved Their playful, competitive nature seemed to dull and taper off They were very close in age Only ten months apart And so when they started sharing

a room, we really didn't see the issue with it. That is, until the only people they seemed to talk to were each other. Jared attached to me. He'd always been close. He was my kid brother, my best friend. But as the weeks crawled by, he seemed to become my shadow, following me everywhere. I didn't mind. In fact, I felt he was safer if he wasn't wandering through the halls of that house. Jeremy became irate. always a quiet kid. He played quiet. He cried quiet. He did everything quiet. That is, until the house. He would throw these tantrums of epic proportions. He was six, but he threw fits of someone half his age. Anything could have set him off. It could have been Duncan sitting next to him at dinner, or maybe I walked past him in the hall and accidentally brushed against him.

Everyone avoided Jeremy. Isaac. I think Isaac was more like me. He didn't change much. In fact, he seemed hyper aware of what was happening. Jared, Isaac and I would all bunk in my room most nights. It seemed mine was the only one they could sleep in, and I didn't mind at all. I welcomed it. The longer we stayed, the worst Jeremy got.

One day, Donovan went missing. I was the first one to notice. He hadn't come down for lunch. I walked upstairs to his room and night. He didn't answer like he usually did. I opened the door and he wasn't there. That was highly unusual for him. In fact, he sent cold fear through me.

I knocked on Duncan and Flynn's room. What? Flynn called. I can't find Donovan. I can't find Donovan. I called through the door. The patter of footsteps indicated someone was coming to the door. Duncan opened his door.

His eyes marred with deep bags. All those kids seem to have them. What? I pointed down the hall. I checked his room. He never leaves his room. That seemed to alert Duncan and Flynn to start looking. Jared and I checked all the bedrooms and bathrooms.

We checked the third floor. We checked the playroom and then made our way downstairs. Somewhere along the way, all five of us ended up at the basement door. Duncan opened it and walked down the steps, followed by your door. Flynn. Jared and I looked at each other. Isaac pulled to my hand. Come on, he said, pulling me down with him.

Duncan and Flynn check the workbench first, but didn't find him. Then we looked over to the left side. It seemed darker. I hadn't been down there since the day we moved in, but the darkness seemed thicker, deeper. Isaac and Jared grabbed each of my hands. I squeezed. Duncan and Flynn started yelling suddenly. We raced over and came up on a scene I'll always remember.

Flynn had tackled Jeremy. He was holding him down in the corner of the basement. Even though there was a six-year age gap, Flynn was struggling to keep him contained. Duncan opened a small door which had been stuck. Donovan came flying out, covered in dirt and grime. His face was covered in tears, chest heaving. Dude, what happened?

Duncan asked, trying to help Donovan up. Donovan struggled to stand and looked at Duncan with wild eyes. He locked me in, he stuttered, his voice shaking. Who? I asked. Donovan looked at Jeremy. He held the door closed and he wouldn't let me out. He kept laughing. Donovan rambled, taking steps back from Jeremy and Flynn.

suddenly Jeremy erupted in laughter It was deep, dark, hysterical laughter That wasn't even close to that of little boys Flynn quickly crawled away Looking at Jeremy like he was insane Jeremy sat in the corner and threw his head back in laughter What the hell is wrong with you? Duncan exploded at Jeremy You could have killed him, there's no circulation in there

He could have suffocated Duncan yelled Jeremy's laughing stopped as soon as he started and faced us. A smile slowly crept along his face. Yay, he said and laughed again. We told our parents what happened. They forbade Jeremy from going into the basement again. Donovan seemed fine, though shaken.

I asked him what had happened and he simply looked at me and said, There's something wrong with him, Veronica. He's not. And then he trailed off. I knew what he was thinking though. Jeremy wasn't himself anymore. It happened again. Next, it was Flynn.

Then it was Duncan. I feared it was me next. I was terrified of my brother, and I hated it. I hated the house from making him that way. I hated the basement most of all. It lived down there. It vested all its hate down there. I remember the day.

It was my turn. Mom and Dad had left us home alone for the umpteenth time. Donovan had orders to watch us all. He never did, though. He locked himself in his room and played his music. I was downstairs making lunch for the younger kids. I was finished making the sandwiches and poured a glass of milk for Jared and Isaac. I didn't do it for Jeremy.

He spent all his time in the basement anyway. He never came up when I called. So, what was the point? Ronnie Came Jeremy's sing-song voice It chilled my blood What? I asked quickly Come downstairs

I shook my head I'm eating I stated taking a bite of my sandwich Come on please I stared at him You will lock me in there Not like them, go away Jeremy's creepy smile

flipped in an instant He stalked away, stomping down the basement steps. I let out a sigh of relief. We ate the rest of lunch in silence. An hour after, I heard a scream. It was Isaac's scream. Veronica! I heard him call, sobs following after.

I ran down the steps and flung open the basement door. At the bottom sat Isaac, holding his arm. Jared, call Mom and Dad. Jared gave a quick nod and ran. to the landline. I ran down the basement steps. My arm, he sobbed, holding it to his chest. Let me see. He removed his other arm, and I almost gasped, but contained myself. His elbow was bent at an unnatural angle, broken, definitely. What happened, bud? I asked, taken off my jacket.

I was always cold in the house anyway. I ran to the workbench and grabbed up. some shears, cutting part of it to make a makeshift sling. I was walking by the basement door, and then Jeremy. I finished tying his arm to his chest and then stopped. Jeremy did this, Isaac nodded. He pushed me, he said. I heard quick footsteps behind me. Isaac, go upstairs as quick as you can and get Jared.

Tell him to get done. Something grabbed my hair and I was yanked backward, being dragged by something unnaturally strong. I managed to hear Isaac's quick footsteps as he ran upstairs. I knew it was Jeremy. I could hear his laughter. Jeremy, let me go, I yelled. Tears poured down my cheeks from the pain of him pulling my hair,

coupled with the concrete scraping my back and shoulders. Too quickly we stopped. I heard the screaming of the hinges as the door opened. I twisted around to see the old cellar door. Jeremy, no, please, please don't. He grabbed me, and so I managed to shove me into the room and slam the door shut. The dark was suffocating. My heart was beating so fast I thought it would explode.

Jeremy, please, I screamed, banging on the wooden door. I knew he was pointless, but I had to try. I heard the unmistakable sound of a match being lit from behind me. I whipped around to see the kerosene lamp being lit. with a match by a small boy about Jared's age. He put the match out and then looked at me. The screaming won't do. He won't listen, the boy said in a hushed voice.

Who are you? I asked. The boy smiled and extended his arm. Hi, I'm Kent, but you can call me the boy. Everyone does. I pressed myself against the wooden door and stared. He wasn't full. my time period. He wore dirty overalls and no shirt. His feet were bare in cates and dirt, along with his face and hair. You're different from the rest. Most scream. I shook my head

in disbelief. You're dead. He smiled, his teeth, or like the rough, showing, you're quick, too. I was locked down here just like you, my final resting place. He leaned against the rest. He leaned against the wall. My daddy didn't like me much. Get me down here a lot. But grandpappy, he made me these. He picked up a wooden train, caked and grime. He used

to carve away. I'd hear him humming his special song. Then, he'd open the door and hand me one of these. He handed me the train. I tentatively took it. My dad wasn't a bad man. This place, it made him bad.

Like it made that boy bad. Kent said, nodding his head to Jeremy outside the door. There's something dark in this house. It's taken a liking to him, like it took a liking to my daddy. If you know what's best, you'd leave forever and ever. Kent said, matter-of-factly. What happens to him? I found myself asking.

Kent sighed. I take it you've seen the noose. I nodded. He's going to do something he'll regret. and then when he finally gets clear he'll use that noose just as my daddy did Kent said my whole body felt cold

as I listened to his story his warning Jeremy capable of murder could he kill us I have to go but if you come back down sometime I'll tell you the rest Kent said picking up the lantern

you'll be fine you're a smart one and then he blew out the flame I didn't have time to be afraid of the dark. Suddenly, I fell back into the basement, and Donovan was standing over me.

Ronnie, he cried, lifting me up and hugging me tight. Come on, Mom and Dad are coming home. He picked me up and took me up the stairs. I could have walked, but I let him. Isaac got a cast. We all signed it. Jeremy was admitted to the hospital's psych ward.

When we all corroborated Isaac's story, and Mom and Dad realized Jeremy had locked four of us. in the cellar, they knew something had to be done. As long as Jeremy was away from the house, he was fine. He didn't show signs of violent behaviour. Visiting him in the hospital was the only time I'd seen him like himself in months. I finally convinced my parents to leave.

My dad was getting relocated anyway. We packed all our things and said goodbye to the evil house and the thing that lived inside. I fear that if we'd stay just a bit longer, one of us might have met the same fate as Kent and his family. I never lost the memories of that house. When I got my first laptop at age 21, I looked up the house. It had a long history, but somehow I came to what I wanted to find. In the early 1900s, there was a man named Peter Atlas who bought the house along with his father, Gregory Atlas. Peter had a son, Kenneth Atlas.

They lived there for three years. When the mails started piling up and they hadn't been to church, a neighbour stopped by. They found Peter in the basement, hanging from the noose. Gregory was found in the garden, buried. Kenneth was found in the cellar. He had asphyxiated from being locked inside for a day. Every year I'd check to see if someone's moved in. It's listed on a website online.

All it is is a quick search. For years, it's been empty. Since we moved back in 1983, it's been empty. Today, the website listed it as sold. As sold. Young, that examin been three days. I'm all mad when I'm a moor as I can just on think. Oh, that dossier that morning off must.

I'm all mooh as I'm just on think. Oh, from the night. Delta tournoy, oh, I'm all moor if I'm on thinking. Have you it mollicum to come? Give yourself then a boost with bio-cure max-shot liquid. Three op-puppending plants, magnesium,

iceer, an energy booster to get in right again to can't get out. Bio-cure, max-liquid. Foodingsupplement, forcriag-mare-by-the-apot-a-must. There isn't much time left. What's already been done can't be reversed.

We, screwed off. Let me give you all a little backstory. I'm not able to disclose my name in fear of outing myself to higher authorities looking to cover up what happened in Antarctica. Just know that I was part of a research team tasked with investigating a series of seismic disturbances which was affecting the local wildlife within the Wilkes-line region of Antarctica. I was a miner sent to decipher what exactly was causing these disturbances, along with my excavatory team and seismologists. I'm not able to disclose their names as well, but, for clarity's sake, we would call them Beck, Liam and David. Beck had been a colleague of mine for years, and we are grown to become best friends.

Liam and David were two seismologists from Stanford University who were called in for the expedition. The details for why we were chosen aren't really important. It was supposed to be a normal scientific expedition with zero excitement. Just the job I had to do that would get me a considerable amount of money afterwards. My first hint that something was off was that when my team and I were loaded onto the transport to head to Wilksland

we noticed that two military ospreys were docked with our transport Did they tell you why we've got two platoons of soldiers coming with us to dig through ice? Beck asked his brow raised with confusion We've never been on an expedition this official before they might just be taking precautions I assured

though I knew this wasn't the case something still felt off I still don't understand why a few earthquakes weren't the need for military involvement though I don't like it Beck said You'll like it after we get paid 20 grand man

You can't pass something like that up I said God was I foolish Once our team of 20 miners was assembled Beck and me included Along with our two seismologists We set off for Antarctica The ride there was

quieter than I expected. Some of those men I've worked with for years, and they were never this quiet. I could tell they felt something was off. I had no idea how cold it would be when we touched down in Wilkesland. Being used to the Colorado mines, I was no stranger to some very cold weather, but that didn't prepare me for this. We set up camp about a mile from where the disturbances were being traced. William and David set up the seismograph and waited for the activity. You know, it just occurred to me, Beck said. Why would they need a mining crew for something like this?

And the military? Why are we digging for earthquakes? Nothing is making any sense. Beck had a point. None of it did make any sense. At that point, though, I didn't care. We were getting paid $20,000 for this. While I was pondering Beck's statement,

I was interrupted by an unfamiliar voice called calling my name. I looked back to see a man outfitted in assault gear with a rank insignia plastered on his chest. Sorry for just now introducing myself. We were supposed to meet before taking off, but we were cut for time. My name is Colonel Marcus Anton and I am tasked with leading this expedition, said the man. I paused for a moment and then asked him why the army escorted us on an expedition to dig for earthquakes. His reply sent shivered. down my already freezing spine. The seismic activity we're picking up is in a series of normal earthquakes.

They're rhythmic. We have reason to believe something is under the ice causing the earthquakes. Your seismologist buddies are only here to confirm a few suspicions of ours. But we need you and your mining team to find out what the hell is under the ice. Explained Anton. So the army is here because whatever is under the ice might want to kill us? That's comforting. said Beck, growing more and more wary about the expedition.

It's just a precaution. Don't let our presence intimidate you. We're here to keep you safe, reassured Anton. Since it was getting late and the sun was setting, we decided to travel to the centre point of where the earthquakes were taking place in the morning and start the excavation from there. When we arrived at the location the next day,

we were greeted with a colony of penguins standing in a circle right in the middle of Ground Zero. They looked as if they were pecking at the ground, attempting to unearth something from beneath the ice. How much do you want to bet it's aliens? I said to Beck, attempting to calm his nerves. Beck just looked at me, his face looking paler than normal. Don't joke like that man. You know how superstitious I am. Words of power, Beck said. We shrewed away the penguins and started a set of the dig site. Just as we're about to start, we felt a deep rumbling.

within the ground. The ground was pulsating at a steady tempo and then abruptly stopped. Dave said that the seismograph was showing wave patterns that matched each other exactly and was spaced perfectly. This only confirmed and some suspicion that something foreign was under the ice. We started digging right where the penguins had been, hoping to find what was causing these waves. Three hours had passed until one of a miners found something. About 20 feet under the ice was a large, metallic, pill-shaped object. I can't remember the exact dimensions, but it had to be somewhere around 20 to 30 feet long, with a width of about 10 to 15 feet.

Banging against the thing revealed that it was hollow, or most of it was. The metal that coated the object was unlike any material I'd ever seen before. It was perfectly smooth, with none of our tools being able to put any kind of scratch or dent in the thing. It was unbelievably shiny as well, with the Chrome servers displaying our reflections perfectly. Anton ordered all of the miners to clear out the chasm we created. He said he wanted to give the object a search of electricity and see if they could time the wave emissions. Beck could no longer contain his panic. Wait a second. What are you trying to do, Colonel? This thing is obviously alien and you're

trying to wake it up? He said. There's no need to. to worry. This is why we brought the armed forces here. We need to see what this thing is, Anton explained. He then yelled for two of his soldiers to unload what looked like a generator after one Osprey they took to ground zero. I was more confused than I had been during this entire trip. How did they know to bring this high-tech generator? How much was the colonel letting on? If they knew this much, then why was a mining team of 20 men who were local to Colorado vital to the mission. My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of an electrical discharge. The seismic waves began again.

They powered the damn thing, said Beck. The rhythmic waves became faster. The ground was shaking more violently now, with Beck and I struggling to keep our balance. The wave frequencies increased in speed by tenfold until it suddenly stopped again. Looking back, I wished Beck and I got a head start to and ran when we had the chance. The entire Antarctic was dead silent for what felt like an eternity, but what probably lasted a good ten seconds. Then, it happened.

It's hard to describe, but I'll do my best to convey what the hell came out of that chasm. It was an arm. The arm was eerily human-like, but had three fingers and two elbow joints instead of one. It was metallic in nature, but fluid. It's hard to describe, but think of when gallium is placed in water and the metal turns into a liquidized state.

That's what the surface of the arm looked like. What looked like wires peeped with the surface of the arm, which were active and constantly convulsed in odd patterns. The massive arm grabbed the ground and clenched his three-fingered hand. Three more identical appendages erupted from the chasm and proceeded to hoist the monster from its icy, tomb. It was massive. When fully emerged, the thing stood almost 50 feet in height. How it managed to fit inside its comparatively small capsule is beyond me. Its body consisted of what looked

like a torso with an exposed rib cage, 12 wild like appendages protruding from the bottom. At the end of the appendages, red lights, which I assumed were its eyes. Each of I acted independently, surveying the area by whipping around in every direction. Beck and I were at a considerable distance away from the chasm after being ordered to evacuate earlier. Anton was with the soldiers at the chasm when the generator was activated. Their efforts to fight the thing were useless. What it did to them still gives me nightmares. The flailing wires that pepper the thing's legs seemed to extend at lightning fast speed.

each one targeted a different soldier and instantly impaled them. The beast didn't even need to move. It just stood there while its wires did a dirty work. Anton got the worst. The thing seemed to take special care and wrap in its two wires around Anton's waist proceeding to rip him in half. After it slaughtered all the soldiers effortlessly, it went for the Osprey and used its wires to plug in to the Osprey.

Beck and I, half running away. and half entranced by this thing, watched as it seemed to fiddle with the plane's mechanics. All of a sudden, the top of his torso opened up. Out of the opening came what sounded like a combination between a screech and a series of beeps. It was loud, very loud. Beck dropped to his knees, holding his ears in pain. The screams were almost rhythmic, like the seismic waves had produced underground. I propped Beck in my shoulder and ran towards the direction our transport was stationed,

hopefully outrunning whatever this thing was. I looked back to see the monstrosity raising one of its slender legs into the air. For a moment, I was puzzled until it brought its leg down on the icy tundra, causing a shockwave of monumental proportions. Beck and I were caught in the ensuing wave. The last thing I remember seeing was a wave of ice and snow,

and then, total darkness. When I woke up, I was in an unfamiliar hospital. An older man in a suit was waiting in a chair next to my bed. You're damn lucky to be alive. You and one of the seismologists were the only survivors, said the man. But Beck, he was with me. Where?

I was cut short by the man. Your friend's body was recovered a couple yards from where we found you. He didn't make it. I'm sorry, said the man. How did you find me? I asked. This seismologist that survived made it to your transport and told the pilot to call for backup. We found you half a mile from the transport, he said. Do you know what that thing was?

Why were we sent to dig it up? I asked. We'll explain everything to you when you heal. Until then, get some rest. Eventually, I learned that what we discovered was a bi-examined. biomechanical weapon that was alien in origin. They're now calling it the shock strider in reference to its multiple abilities revolving around seismic waves. The army eventually took it down with five MOP-2 bunker buster bombs five miles from where it had emerged. This would have put me at ease until I learned of one last haunting fact.

When the shock strider grappled the osprey with its wires, it proceeded to hack into its communication systems. We don't know how, but the thing managed to send multiple frequencies into deep space with a shrieking noise it emitted. To all of you, listening to this, I want you to look around, look at the life you live, and make the most of it while you can. The thing we on Earth in the Antarctic knew it couldn't take this planet alone, so it called more of its kind to help. There isn't much time left. There are more of those things out there, and they're coming. I know what they always say about old houses. There's something inexplicably scary about them.

Something about the way the pipes creak and the sound of the house settling. The chipping paint and warped windows, the doors with rusted hinges and the floorboards at squeal with each step. And yet, as frightening as they can be, there's a magnetism that always seems to draw us back. I know, I make it sound romantic. But I also know the real reason people do it. I'm not an idiot.

The housing market is in shambles. People love a house with... character. Even when that character is pushed through a fresh coat of white paint and watered down with a new and improved open concept floor plan. I grew up in a neighbourhood with old houses. Watched one by one as each house lost this personality to a million dollar price tag. Maybe I'm the odd old.

out for thinking about old houses like this. I've always loved history. I've always loved architecture. It's like I was destined to my line of work. I work in restoration, specifically working with historic buildings. I love my work, as slim pickings as it is. The clientele is small, but they pay well.

And I live in a very old city. I had been looking for a house to call my own, saving up enough money to hopefully buy my own house. but I knew it was a pipe dream I'd end up in a townhouse at best but I let myself dream when I found that house it was like any other day

it was windier than usual bringing up a cold fall wind that whipped through my peacoat and made me shiver the house was at the end of a long road I recognised the street I remembered seeing the houses here get knocked down in favour of newer more family-friendly townhouses It was a pity.

I remembered how beautiful the old houses were. I wasn't looking for a house that day though. No, this was one I was called in to fix by the housing committee. I'd overseen the restoration of dozens of houses before. I'd done work for the housing committee in this neighbourhood before even. But the house before me was different. A true Victorian-style monster. A winding wrap-around porch with a paint chipping off the same.

slats caught my eye first. I brought up a hand, pinching the wood and finding it soft from decay. I wiped my hand on my pants, turning my attention to the sickly pale brick walls. The brickwork was in good condition, though discoloured and pallid with age, vegetation clinging to it like leeches on its belly. The windows were boarded up shabbily, the interior squinting out at me trepidaciously. As strange as it was, the first thought that came to mind when I looked at the house was, an image of an abandoned pet, an animal that once belonged to someone, someone who's long since forgotten about it. So how long did he say again? I asked. Nobody's lived in it since the late 70s, Quinn called back. I turned to face him. So, what do you

think? Wouldn't they have torn it down by now then? They said they've tried a couple of times, but, he shrugged, a mischievous smirk creeping across his face. They say the construction workers backed out, said the place was haunted by a demon. I scoffed, rolling my eyes. I'll grow up. Come on, Tien, have a little whimsy, he pouted, strolling up to me with his hands stuffed in his pockets. Maybe there is a demon in there, so what? Just means one less historical building torn down, huh?

I shrugged. I suppose so. I fished the key out of my pocket, walking up to the front door and unlocking it. It swung open with a low, resounding creek. The foyer was a long hallway with a set of steep stairs leading up to the second floor, two doors on the left and one on the right. The walkthrough went just as usual. A powder room to the first left, a large living room to the right.

Then, further down the hall was a dining room that led into the kitchen. The rooms were painted. in pastel colors, gutted of all furniture that wasn't built in. A thick layer of dust had gathered on the ground, cobwebs in the corners and cracks in the plaster. And yet, there was a charm that magnetized me to this place. Up the stairs there was a second bathroom, then a study, a bedroom and the master bedroom. The bathroom, with its penny round tile, the study's intricate bookshelf, the master bedroom's gigantic window.

I was absolutely smitten by the house, despite its imperfections. Quinn felt differently, though. He grimaced at the state of it, shuffled through the room with his arms crossed to keep from touching anything. He frowned at the rusted bathroom taps, gagged at the dead rat that festooned stood his floor, and shuddered at the dark brown stain smeared across the master bedroom's wall. I mean, it certainly looks like it's been abandoned for 42 years. Quinn mumbled as we walked down the stairs. There's some fixing up to do, but...

I paused. How much did they list it for again? He shrugged again. I think it was around $50,000, maybe $49. Oh, Etienne, don't tell me you're thinking about buying it. I held up my hands. Well, what's the harm? I've been saving up for triple the price.

It belongs to the city. All it needs is a little TLC. Quinn groaned, rolling his eyes at me. This place, really? You know there's probably a reason nobody's bought it. What, ghosts, demons? The scariest thing about this place is maybe black mould. Grow up, Quinn, there's no such thing as ghosts.

It was refreshing to not have to worry about outbidding anyone. It was a house nobody really wanted, but me. It struck me that people were surprised when I said I was buying it. I was regaled with stories of doors slamming shut, of construction work as being tripped off of roofs by seemingly nobody, of broken bones and whispers in the night. I didn't care. Ghosts didn't exist.

They still don't, and never will. Even if they did, there was something beautiful about that house under all the dirt and vegetation. I oversaw the restoration of it myself. I felt protective of it. Whenever the contractors were there, I felt the need to watch over the place. I wanted to move in as soon as possible.

After the deep cleaning, the fresh coat of paint, the electricians and the refinishing of the floors, and after they made sure there was no asbestos of black mould, I moved in myself. The appliances went in the same way as I did, along with my furniture. I remember the first night I fell asleep there. I felt warm. I drifted off to sleep quickly, practically instantaneously. I was so exhausted from all the work I'd put in, all the worry about not being able to move in on time,

but it went off without a hitch. And then I was startled awake in the middle of the night. I felt something jump on me. I flailed in bed, letting out a yelp and reaching to turn on my bedside lamp. Something hit the floor with a thud. And a squeak. I peered down over the side of the bed. A rat, fattened and greasy.

wriggled off its back and onto its feet, chittering and sending a shiver down my spine. It scampered away, disappearing under the antique radiator. I gagged. I always hated rats. My skin crawled, feeling unclean and disgusted by the fact one had been in my bed. I had trouble getting back to sleep, but still I managed it. But when I woke up, the smell of iron hit me first. metallic and hanging thick in the air.

I sat up, reaching to my bedside and putting on my glasses. And that was when I saw it. Sitting in the centre of my bedroom floor was a pile of dead rats. The blood clumped and dried in their fur and onto the floorboards, all piled on each other. I'm not ashamed to say, I screamed. There must have been about ten of them, all fat and greasy and dismal. It was like they were presented to me, like a cat bringing its owner a gift.

But I didn't have a cat, nor had there been any cats around the property. But still, there was a pile of rats on my bedroom floor. I did my best to clean up the mess, wearing rubber gloves to lift them into the garbage bag. I scrubbed the floor and got out most of the stain, figuring I'd find a carpet to put over it later. I brought the bag of rats out to the trash and dumped it into the bin. I didn't have the appetite for breakfast, so I drank coffee instead, sitting on the couch and cracking open the novel I'd been reading. I've never believed in ghosts.

I know why people are so afraid of old houses. It's the frequency of 19 hertz, the one that causes discomfort or nausea. It's easy to disprove the existence of haunted houses. But I still felt as though I was being watched. I still felt myself tense up at every minuscule sound from outside. But most of all, I felt like I wasn't alone. It's difficult to explain. It wasn't so much that I felt like I could hear someone breathing down my neck.

I felt like there was something there. Like I, like the house itself was watching. I brushed the thoughts away. I kept myself from thinking about it. I sank my money into this home. I gave it time, I gave it care. I wouldn't leave over some rats and a nod feeling. I found the best way to keep it off my mind was to stay busy.

I unpacked my books into the study and hung my clothes in the closet. I spent the first week unpacking, keeping as busy as I could. When I was occupied, I didn't notice the crawling feeling of being watched. When I was occupied, I could keep from thinking about the festering pile of rats I'd found. The pile of rats, I felt not like a threat, but a show of affection from a creature that had been alone for so long. In the second week of being here, I got something to work on. I was thankful for that. It meant I didn't have to feel watched all day.

When I went to leave in the morning, the door jammed. I tugged and rattled the doorknob, twisting and pulling as hard as I could. But no matter how hard I yanked at the damnable door, it wouldn't budge. It felt less like the door was stuck or painted shut, and more like someone on the other side was holding onto it, like something was trying to make me stay. I don't know what compelled me to shout at the stupid thing, but when I did, I yelled, I have to go to work, let me go. The silence I got in return was expected, but unease still settled into me. I twisted the knob again. and the door swung open.

When I got home from work, the house was different. It still stood tall. The porch was still under construction, and the brick, though now alive, was still pallid and yellow. But the windows. From the corners of the sealed windows, there trickled something. Brackish and thick, like mascara-filled tears, oozing from the brick round the window. I stared at it for a long time. No house I'd ever come across had oozed black liquid, no matter how old, no matter how strange.

I suppose, if you were to have watched this period of my life like a horror movie, you would have screamed at me to move away. But I didn't. I wondered inside and saw the lights flicker and had the floorboards jubilantly creak in my arrival. I picked up a rag from the kitchen and walked around at the front of the house, sinking to my knees and wiping away the house's brackish tears. I felt sick to my stomach and the viscous liquid gathered on the cloth, but I diligently cleaned its walls either way. A few nights later, I was jolted awake. It wasn't by a rat this time, nor by a sound.

But I think I must have had a nightmare? But either way, when I woke up, the room was warm. Not warm from air conditioning or warm from a space heater. I held my hand up to the wall. It was like holding your hand just a few millimeters above someone's arm, feeling the warmth radiating off them. But it was my house. I got out of bed, staring at the wall in disbelief,

before hesitantly pressing my hand against it. Warm as skin, and below the plaster, I could feel pumping, like a heartbeat. I ran my hand along the wall, patting it as it as it. the check it was real, but it was all too real. I began to hear it too, the quiet, deep, rhythmic thud of a heartbeat,

murmuring ever so slightly. I felt queasy. That feeling of being watched was stronger than ever, like a vice pressing in on me. I crawled back into bed, praying it was only a dream, just a figment of my imagination, my trepidation about moving in, my anxiety about my newest job, something else, anything but the house itself. I slipped in and out of sleep,

hardly getting any rest. Too much happened in those next three days. When I woke up in the morning, the house's heartbeat had subsided, only to be replaced by a constant, wheezing, dragging breath. It was louder at the vents. I didn't have the heart to cover them, even as the sound bent my mind and grated on my nerves.

When I turned on the taps to wash my hands The pipes groaned Before spitting a lump of fleshy Wet sludge into the basin of the sink It was gelatinous The fat cap of a pallid grey steak But pink and wet And throbbing with timorous life

I threw up And then I cleaned it out and threw it away Washing my face in the kitchen sink instead I used the landline to call Quinn About her client when my cell phone had died I made it about halfway through the conversation when his voice turned to static and the receiver drooled out thin, clear slime.

I mopped it off the floor and all throughout even through wiping away sludge and flesh and hearing its desperate gasping breaths and heartbeat I pretended it was normal I tended to it I showed it care even as the dark circles grew under my eyes

even when my head throbbed from last of sleep, even when my hands shook and my jaw grew sore from grinding my teeth with stress. I was tender to it, and I grew accustomed to my grim, macab home. When I would leave for work, it would hold its front door shut. It would wait for me to beg to leave. When I would return, the sludge would be there. It would mourn my leaving, and I would dry its tears. I never thought a house could miss someone.

it would rain, the house would creak, the lights would flicker and dim, and the rooms would grow cold. I would press myself against the walls, surrendering myself to the house's mercy for the unnatural warmth of its walls. So I wouldn't freeze in the chill. And then, one day, it must have been months into living there, when the quiet, insanity of the house became normal. But that day was the straw that broke the camel's back. It grew to fully trust me. The foyer of the house was a hallway with stairs leading up to the second floor, two doors on the left and one on the right, and at the very end of the hallway. A door that wasn't supposed to be there. A door that had never been there before.

A door that must have passed by dozens of times. So innocuous, my eyes must have just slipped past it each time I walked down the hallway. I stared at it. I felt like if I took my eyes off of it, it would disappear again. I felt my lower eyelid twitch. I felt my eyes quake in my skull. I walked towards it, and I reached out and took its door knob. The metal was warm under my hand.

It shouldn't have been warm, but then again, a house shouldn't breathe. A house shouldn't have a heartbeat. The door swung open easily. It's funny, really. To think, after nearly four months of living in that house, I never thought it was strange that it lacked a basement or crawl space. Before me were stairs leading down into the basement. The heartbeat was louder than ever here.

I stiffly walked down the stairs. I felt less like I was walking down the stairs and more like a lemming walking off a cliff. By the time I reached the basement, I finally saw it. The boiler, hot and rusted, a parasitic tree. tumour of red raw, pumping flesh, clinging to its side. The house itself had grown roots, vile, fleshy roots that burrowed into the unfinished cement floors and wound around the rusted metal shelves. The tumour was nearly as big as the boiler, but its roots were even bigger, nearly becoming

a carpet of thundering, pounding flesh. I stepped off the last stair, and the house itself greeted me with a low, rumbling creek from the boiler. I knew what this meant. The house was showing me its belly, rolling over and exposing itself, showing its trust. It expected me to be happy,

to feel thrilled, it expected me to surrender myself to it. After years of being abandoned, I had tended to it. I had made it better. I had fixed it and made it whole again, giving it a purpose. But I wasn't happy, I wasn't thrilled, I was exhausted.

I felt its roots wrap around my ankles, creeping slowly upwards, waiting for me to rush forward and become a part of it. I felt sick, I didn't move. A house with a tenant is empty. A house with no one to tend to it and make it a home is incomplete. But this house had been abandoned so long it became something else. a house that haunted itself. It had found its tenant. In me, I should have been happy.

Wouldn't it be thrilling to surrender yourself completely to a home that loves you so much it would show you its darkest corners? But I wasn't happy. And this house wasn't a home. I shuffled backwards from the pumping tumour of the house itself. It wasn't angry. It understood. I walked up the stairs, ignoring my quothed.

waking hands. This house was not a home, but this house was a burden I had to bear. If I wasn't there to tend to it, who would be? Who but me would keep it happy enough to not feed on them? Who else would tend to it and keep it passive? It was paranormal, it was symbiotic. I tended to the house and the house kept me safe. In a way, isn't that just how any house is? Maybe it was only as a abandonment that drove it to its monstrousness. Symbiosis that can only be achieved through a complete and a total dependency on the other. But this house's symbiosis with me was slowly growing parasitic. I know I'll have to learn to love my house.

I'll have to learn to call it a home. Because although my house is not angry, the house is always learning. Although it's not angry, my house will hold the fact I do not call it a home against me. like a loaded gun. As long as I live in this house, I'll have to live in fear that its mercy will run short. And, just a few weeks ago, when I opened my refrigerator to find the shelves barren,

I knew my house had learned how to eat. I vividly remember the day Duke disappeared. My family was spending the day at the lake next to our little bungalow at a quaint property in northern Ontario. All four of us were swimming and splashing around in the warm lake water, attempting to quell the blistering August heat. Our only neighbour for miles, an old retired police officer named Benny was smoking on his patio. I waved to him and he waved back. We were in the dog days of summer and I was glad to be in the water.

Duke loved the water as much as I did and was still very energetic being a large, middle-aged mutt. We would often throw frisbys and sticks off the dock And he would take flying leaps into the blue-green lake That's exactly what we were doing When he vanished As I was drawing back my hand to throw the frisbee for Duke Who was anticipating a throw and getting ready to run He suddenly whipped his head to the woods

I too looked back at the rows of towering hardwoods and conifers Scanning them to see what Duke was looking at It was nothing at least to me. What followed was a blur. Duke suddenly bolted for the trees, barking and snarling while we were screaming his name. I screamed at my parents to get out of the water and help me chase him. I even saw Benny spring out of his rocking chair to help us.

I ran as fast as my nine-year-old legs could carry me into the dense forest, twigs and debris snapping under my feet. But you can only get so far in flip-flops before you trip. I tumbled to the ground, screaming and crying after accidentally scraping my leg against a sharp rock. My mom consoled me while I caught a glimpse of my dad running through the woods. It was a while before my dad and Benny came back. My dad had a somber look on his face. He didn't have to tell us what we already knew, but Benny looked shaken.

I'm sorry, folks. He ain't coming back, he said shakily. He took off his feet. faded baseball cap respectfully and patting me on the shoulder before trudging up the hill back to his house. My whole family missed him, but to me it felt like part of me left when Duke did. He had been my best friend since I was young, and I even had a small photo album packed with pictures of the two of us. For a while, every night before bed, I would sift through the laminated pages of the photo album, reminiscing about the good times and praying that someday he would come back to us. Deep down, I knew he wouldn't. A few months after Duke disappeared, my dad arrived

home from work with a surprise. It was another dog. It wasn't elegant and athletic like Duke was. It was one of those tiny, white yappy ones with crusty red goop around his eyes. My parents fell in love with it. Princess, they called her. But I didn't. I simply referred to her as the dog. I was bitter, so bitter, because I'd interpreted my dad's gesture of kindness as his own confirmation of Duke's absence. In time, I did grow to tolerate her. I had to admit she was good company, and it was cute when she curled up by my feet. Life was going normally for us.

Until Duke came back, it had almost been a year since Duke had disappeared. On this particular day, we were all cooped up inside, courtesy. of the rain. I was engulfed in my book, when suddenly I heard a bark, not a high-pitched yap, but a deep, booming bark. I put my book down and rushed to the back door where I had heard it, princess scuttling at my heels. When I peaked through the window, I nearly fell over. It was Duke, somehow. By this time, my parents had arrived. My mom rushed past me and will the door open, While my dad and I hung back, mouths agape. As my mom hugged Duke, I couldn't help but notice something off.

I'd spent countless hours spending time with him and sleeping nights pouring over photo albums. I'd familiarized myself with every spot marking a quirk of Duke's fur. One of his most striking features was a black spot over his left eye, which had appeared in almost every one of the photos. But standing here was Duke, his eye spot, was now. on his right eye. As a matter of fact, his whole pelt seemed to have been flipped.

He was missing his collar and he was skinnier than when we'd last seen him. But it was him all right. Well, that's what I thought. The first red flag was how Princess reacted to Duke. She was a yappy dog, right? But when she saw Duke, she went ballistic,

spitting and yapping like we'd never seen before. Princess barks had everything, remember? My dad told me, sent to my discomfort. She's probably just barking because he smells like the forest. And with that, he went outside to greet Duke. The barking must have alerted Benny, and he went outside to see what the commotion was. Once he saw what was going on,

he darted back into his house and audibly slammed the door. When my parents came back inside, I tentatively stuck out of hand for Duke to sniff. He didn't wag his tail like I expected him to. All he did was quietly sit down. Then he heard Princess yapping from the other side of the room. His head swiveled and he lifted himself and padded confidently towards her. Before long he had her cornered.

All he was doing was standing and watching her. Yet Princess's eyes were bulging as she howled and yapped. A sense of dread was beginning to creep up my spine. but before anything had happened my dad whistled and Duke lifted his head With one last glance at Princess He slunk away The sense of wrongness didn't alleviate

For the rest of the time Duke was with us The second red flag Was that Duke didn't eat the food we'd put out for him Granted it was food intended for small dogs But it was still the same formula Dogs are wired to eat everything they can get their paws on so even then it wouldn't have mattered. Not once did I see meat.

Every time we led him outside in the woods to relieve himself, he came back 20 minutes later, his white muzzle stained pink. I found it odd that my parents didn't think he was at risk of running away again, but since he didn't run, I never brought it up. They spent all their time with Duke, petting him, coddling him, attempting to feed him and playing with him. All this, completely ignoring Princess, as well as my objections.

Something's different about him, I brought up during dinner one day. That's nonsense, what are you talking about? said my dad. He's good old Duke. He looked at the dog as if searching for approval. We ate the rest of the dinner in silence. As summer went on, Duke seemed to gain more and more influence over my family. At this point, it was just me taking care of Princess. He was up to me to feed, walk and take care of her now, as my parents had completely neglected her. This dog wasn't the Duke I used to know. Every time he walked into the same room that Princess was in, she would scuttle away in fear and into my arms.

I took to always being in the same room as Princess, just as a precaution. From what? I didn't want to admit. But deep down, I think I knew. One day, Benny approached me while I was walking Princess. You doing okay, kid. Yeah, yeah, it's... I trailed off. Benny bent down to my height, his friendly blue eyes clouded with concern.

Be careful, kid. If you need any help, I'm right up here. Without another word, he turned and walked back into his house. When I came back from the walk, my mom announced that we were going to the store. Dad had figured out that Duke liked raw meat, and we'd run out of it. As a matter of fact, we had run out of all other food in the house. But of course, in order to enter the grocery store, we needed to leave the dogs alone. I wanted to stay back and look after Princess, but my mom wasn't having it. I don't know why you always insist on being around that dog, said my mom.

It's not healthy. Look who's talking, I muttered. We're going to buy a bunch of raw meat for a dumb dog. For that, she slapped me. Tears sprung from my eyes. Don't you dare speak about Duke that way, she huffed. Get in the car. Without another word, I did, as she said, and got in, leaving Princess behind, with the dog.

I couldn't stop thinking about Princess as my parents cleared out the raw meat section. The drive home was nerve-wracking, and the walk up the driveway to our cottage was dreadful. I could hear the whimpering even before the door was open. Heart in my throat, I wheeled the door open and screamed. Princess was under the kitchen table, leg bleeding profusely. No, it was gone. One of her legs was just gone. Curled up on the carpet was Duke, muzzle-stained red.

The rest of my family walked in. Oh, the mess you've made, bad dog! my mom said, as she scolded princess. She gave a pathetic whimper in response. This was my breaking point. Stop, I wailed. Are you guys blind? He tried to kill her.

She needs to go to the vet. Yeah, yeah. Duke, I have a snack for you. His ear shot up as dad ripped open a package of ground beef. My stomach growled. I hadn't eaten all day, and the only food we bought was meat for Duke. I was livid. This damn dog was taking over them.

I didn't feel safe anymore. I'm leaving, I announced. I'm taking princess with me. Tears was streaming down my face, even as no one acknowledged me. I packed a few belongings and grabbed a towel to wrap princess in. I remembered what Benny had said to me earlier that day, and I knew what I had to do.

As I trudged down the dirt trail to Benny's house, thoughts collided into each other in my house. mind. Why were my parents ignoring me so much? Why didn't they care about Princess? Did they even love me anymore? The last one made me cry even harder. I reached the faded red door of Benny's house and knocked. He appeared a moment later and when he saw me holding Princess with tears streaming down my face, his breath hitched. I knew this would happen, he muttered gravely under his breath. Getting my truck kid, we'll go get your dog some help.

He unlocked his truck, and without another word, I climbed silently into the backseat. I was a cloud-duttered sky turned into pale shades of pink and purple, as we sped down the bumpy road. After a while, we arrived at a small house, which seemed to have been converted into a veterinarian clinic. Benny took Princess in his arms and rushed in, yelling for help. I followed along slowly and sat down in the waiting. room, sad and defeated, but too tired to cry even more. After a lot of frantic pleading, princess was to receive emergency care. A woman in a teal veterinarian's uniform carried her away.

I sprung out to my seat. Let me go with her, I begged. Benny guided me away. She's going to get help now, kid. It's in God's hands now. I plopped down and curled into a ball. Benny patted me on the back A somber silence had appeared between us

When I broke it by asking Benny something That I hadn't gotten the chance to before Benny Mm-hmm What did you mean when you said you knew this would happen He tensed up A guarded look crossed his face Then one of guilt

He exhaled a melancholy sigh Well Uh you see kid you know why i live alone he asked i shook my head well i had a family too once marjorie and my son james i said look crossed his face you remind me of him we had a dog too a beautiful pointer named max james loved him so he was all torn up when he went running away but one day about a year later we find him standing at the front door. Something's wrong in those woods.

It changed Max. He wouldn't eat the dog food we got him. Only raw meat. James was happy to see him, but Marge was happier. I found it strange, because the night I brought Max home from the pound, she yelled at me like she never had before. Benny chuckled wistfully to himself. Well, since I was busy patrolling all day and night,

I didn't notice it as much as I should have. James kept missing school and I noticed it was thinner I told March that she had to take care of her son but all she did all day was spend time with the dog I tried to do the best I could but I was a terrible dad

and a terrible husband I should have helped my wife I should have protected James he exhaled I'm sorry I said quietly not knowing what else to say Benny shook his head

I ain't finished yet You see one day Me and my partner get a call Some neighbors had called about a disturbance At my address My partner was in the driver's seat And I was the first one to get out of the car When I walked in the house

I saw my boy in the middle of the kitchen Dead The dog was eating him Instinctively I shot the dog As when Marched turned around with a knife. She lunged at me and I shot the fatal blow. All three members of my family, dead in one night. My mouth was wide and the full weight of his words weighed heavy on me. Was that to be the future of my family?

Benny, that's terrible. I'm so sorry. I looked up at him to see a single tear trickling down his otherwise stony expression. I felt James as a father. I can't do the same to you, kiddo. After his story was finished, I felt my eyelids start to droop. I leaned on Benny's arm. Goodnight, Benny. He stared straight ahead, face emotionless. Good night.

When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was how much my back hurt from sleeping on a chair all night. But I wasn't cold. Benny had put his tattered flannel jacket over me as a blanket. I sprung up from my chair and he yoke. helped at the receptionist. Where's Benny? She jumped in shock. He went to go do some errands, he said.

She got up from a chair and picked up a few items. Take this, dearie, you must be starving. She placed a buttered bagel, a blueberry muffin, a banana and a bottle of vapor juice on the table next to me. She was right. I was starving. Food always tastes the best after you've been deprived of it. I ran my fingers over.

for my ribs. I could feel each one protruding from my chest. This was the first time I'd been full in ages. The receptionist had informed me that Princess had made it, and that she was in the recovery stage. When I saw her for the first time, my heart exploded out of love for Princess, and I hugged her gently. I smiled as she licked my face. I didn't know where else to go. so I played Scrabble with a receptionist for the rest of the day I got to meet a fat cat named Mr Cuddles a rabbit named Twix and I got to eat a hamburger for lunch but all throughout the day I kept wondering

when would Benny be back at 3.4pm my question was answered as Benny stumbled through the door there was a lot of blood on his clothes a couple of police cars were waiting outside Let's get going, kid. Although I didn't get the full story immediately, I came to know the full extent of what had happened eventually. Even though he wasn't part of the police force anymore,

Benny still had connections with the department and to the people that know what happened to his family. He gathered police officers and went to my house where they found Duke eating the carcass of my parents. Benny shot in dead. I wept profusely for my parents. Not for how they were to me in their final weeks, but for the people they once were. Benny assured me that they had loved me.

There were not many people at the funeral, mostly townsfolk. Seeing as I didn't have any other relatives, the courts placed me in the custody of Benny after a lengthy court process. A few years later, he officially adopted me. Princess came to live with us too. Benny was proud of me when I went off to police college. When I got married, when my wife and I had a child. As per his wishes, we held him a small funeral. Life is generally good to me.

I have a wonderful wife and an amazing daughter. Sometimes on the bad days and the dead of night, I thrash in my sleep as visions of dead dogs and screaming people writhe in my nightmares. But when I wake, I look at my daughter sleeping in a cradle, and my wife hugs me back to sleep. I remember that everything is okay now. The Belivian salt flats are staggering in both their size and scope. I adjust my sunglasses and look out over the expanse, the breezless air cool against my skin.

Soft and dreamlike mountains, low and silver, shimmer in the far distance. They are the only objects in my field of vision that mark any kind of horizon. A thin layer of rainwater, one that barely reaches up above the sole of my shoes, covers the endless plains ahead and all around. They have turned the ground into a great and impossible mirror, a mirror that reflects the blue of the sky and the thick full white of the cloud so uncannily that to the human eye they become as one. I stand in the centre of a place outside the realms of possibility, beyond the laws of rationality

sense. I turn my palms outwards and face them up to the sky, and I close my eyes. I breathe in slow and deep, and I exhale. I've always wanted to visit this place. My girlfriend didn't want to. She said it would be a waste of money. She said a lot of things. Eventually, she said she was going to break up with me. So, that was that? Her loss. I opened my eyes and turn in a sense. I opened my eyes and turn in a circle. I look around. A little in the distance is the bus, surrounded by a tour group. They walk and amble from place to place with the reflections in tow, weightless, floating, but the bus appears to be suspended in midair. I look over to my left, I see the silhouette of a woman in a white-brimmed hat. She raises what I think must be a phone, and she takes some pictures.

I do the same, but the pictures don't match up to the reality. It's not the camera's fault, of course. They just couldn't. They could never hope to do this place justice. I pocket my phone and close my eyes again, smiling. I put my arms out to either side and walk. Safe in the knowledge that there is nothing for me to bump into, nothing for me to trip over, just the endless flats.

My feet make repetitive, hip-partative, hip-partisan, natic and soft little splashes with every step. It's a tune, I decide, and the melody plays as I cross the surface of the mirror. I have to see this place in its natural colours. I think to myself after an imperceptible amount of time. I come to a stop and take off my sunglasses, squinting through the glaring brightness, waiting for one of those lazy clouds to drift across the face of the sun. I shield my eyes with my hand as the intensity around the edges my vision cools.

off a little, and I drink in the view for the umteenth time. I want it fully committed to memory. There are the faint and shimmering mountains, now a touch more purple than silver grey. They might as well be mirages, and it's impossible to tell how far away they are. Ten miles, one hundred.

I do not know. I do not want to know. There are the clouds, above and across and below, all apart of the great, blue sphere of sky within which I'm standing, tinged with the gold of the light of the sun. There is the woman with a wide-roamed hat, her silhouette boasts more color now. I see the edges of the deep blue of a dress. She is the only object with mass in my immediate surroundings. Beyond her,

there is only the mirror. I pause, chuckling, I realize I must have scanned right past the bus and the tour group. I look again. But no, they're not there. I turn in a full circle, standing in place. My reflection turns with me. We both search for evidence of the boss, but there's no doubt about it.

It has gone. I return my sunglasses to my face, trying to mentally calm the rising beating of my heart. Where the hell? I murmur. There was no noise, no engine, a sound which would have carried far and wide across the salted formless plain. No rumble of voices or calls for us to return.

There was nothing. There was nothing and now it is gone. Damn it, damn it. It's left me here. They've left me here alone. No. Not quite alone. I turned to the woman.

She does not appear to have noticed that predicament. The air, so refreshingly cool only moments ago, now feel sharp in my throat with every breath. I jog over to her, raising her hand. Hey, I call out. Excuse me. She's further away than I thought she was, but she turns back to me.

I'm able to make out of face, and she blinks, as if I'm awakening from a trance and returns her own sunglasses to her eyes. They flash with a reflection of the mirror's glare. Hi, she says, stepping closer and lowering her phone. What's up? The bus, I say to her.

Did you see anything? Where the hell did it go? She seems to notice this absence for the first time. And I see the fear glimmer up to the surface. I don't understand, she begins. It was right there. Did it go without us? It couldn't, right?

I don't understand. She pinches the brim of her hat and runs right past me, back. the way I came, each step, leaving a momentary little ripple in the water at our feet. She gasps and mutters something to herself, shaking her head. But the facts are plain. The bus and all our fellow travellers are gone. One hour later, the fretting has stopped. Panic gave way to calm.

We introduce ourselves. I gave her my name, Blake, and she gave me hers, Rebecca. We came to a conclusion, one based on the logic. If the bus was still here, we'd be able to see it. There's nothing out here to obscure our view. The fact that we cannot see it means one simple thing. As unlikely as it seems, the bus must have driven away without our hearing it. It's the only explanation.

And so, the second they realize that two of their passengers are not on board, they'll drive right back, or someone will drive back. They'll have to. They wouldn't just leave us. Or hell, another tall group will find us. Even if worse comes to the worst, we'll have to stay here overnight. Someone will come. We did try to follow the route that got us here on foot, but there are no trails in the water or the salt.

Everything is instantly washed away, and since all our surroundings look exactly the same, we cannot tell which way to go. So, we are just waiting it out. My phone made it through to our tour guides answering machine. I left a message. Rebecca's attempts were all met with a line is busy alert. There is nothing to sit on here.

No slopes or rocks or ledges. Just flat, wet salt. The endless, shimmering mirror. So, I lay my jacket down in the water, and we're sitting on it together now. Side by side, watching the sky slowly shift through its shades of blue as the sun starts to drop from his midday peak. So you're out her alone then, Rebecca, I ask her, after a period of silence.

Try not to think about the vast emptiness, the lack of rescue vehicles. Yeah, she replies quietly. You? Yeah. Another pause, I continued. My girlfriend don't to me. Thought I come out here as a kind of screw you. I consider this statement.

No, that's not right. I did it for me, not bespite or anything else. I've always wanted to see this part of the world. And, well, life is unpredictable, isn't it? You have to do things while you have the chance. You might not get another. She nods, thoughtfully. That's...

Yeah, that's very true. Another pause. So, why are you out here? I ask her. She lifts her head and locks out over the ethereal plane. I wanted to experience something otherworldly. I wanted to come to Bolivia specifically. There's so much to see here.

The salt flats were the last place on my list. My bucket list. I wanted to come here before I died. Oh, my reply. So kind of like me then. She turns to me. She isn't wearing her sunglasses as a hat shields her eyes from the direct light. So I could see them sparkle as she gives me a sad smile.

Yeah, she says softly. Kind of. We are quiet for a little while longer as the sun sinks lower and lower, lower and lower. And still, there is nothing. Nothing but the soundless, shimmering sphere. The water and the sky has one, and Rebecca and I in the middle. The world begins to drift from blue through silver to orange and purple. My mouth is death dry.

Based on the sound of Rebecca's coughs, I assume hers is too. We had a plastic bottle of water between us at the beginning, about one third full. Most of our supplies were left on the bus. The bottle's contents were quickly and foolishly finished, and the thirst has only grown since then. The fact that we are surrounded by vast quantities of entirely unduly, drinkable water makes the sensation far more torturous than it should be. I claim my throats for the 13th or 14th time.

The sound dry and harsh. How long is it that a person can survive without water? Three days, right? I try to imagine suffering the sensation I feel now for another two and a half days, getting gradually worse and worse to the point of, well, death. How does a person die of thirst anyway? What must it feel like at the end? I swallow.

My lips stick together as I do so. Someone will come. Someone will come back for us. The hours crawl by. Sand through the hourglass. You walk around some more, but there is nowhere to go, really. And we don't drift too far from our original location.

We talk some more about our lives, but I get the feeling she's holding something back something she doesn't want to tell me which is fair enough I guess I've only known her for for how long now exactly it must be going on nine or ten hours and those hours are stretched in a place like this

we keep trying to call for help as the charges on our phones keeps dropping and dropping our first few calls are only to the tour guide operator but then they start going out to the emergency services to friends, to family, to anyone, but nothing seems to work. It's infuriating. I blink away a momentary bout of dizziness

as the words and numbers on the screen fade in and out of my focus. I put it back into my pocket. The sun is setting now. We sit in the centre of a ball of silent fire. Orangees and reds and crimsons are thrown up all around and the clouds are cast in slow flame. What have we fall asleep? She asks quietly, and they don't see us in the dark.

They'll see us, I reply. How could they not? Were the only objects with any mass from miles and miles? She murmurs in cautious agreement, and then she lifts her head. Eyes wide, staring out into the distance. She sits up straight and leans forward. Those eyes are drawn to a squint, and I follow a gaze. Upon seeing it, I stumbled to stand.

My head, swimming. There's someone there. Another person out there across the plains. A small silhouette against the red sun. Hey, I call out. Then clear my throat and try again. Hey! Rebecca does the same, and we start making a way over towards them across the water.

My first thought is that it's a part of a rescue party. but there's no one else, just this lonely figure, no vehicles or cars or helicopters, so I come to the conclusion that they must have been left behind as well, forgotten by the boss. Then, how come we didn't see them sooner? We draw closer and closer, the figure does not move,

and I have to suppress an uncertain shiver when I realise they're staring right back at us. They've been staring at us. at us the whole time. No words pass between Rebecca and I, but we come to a gradual stop about ten or twelve feet away. I want to call out to him, but I have a creeping and unnerving sensation that by doing so, I'll be breaking some kind of spell. The man is tall.

His eyes and hair and beard are dark, but his skin is a ghostly white. At least it would be, where he not bathed in the blood-red. of the sunset sky. He's adorned in what I can only describe as a robe, black and long, with a mantle of scarlet. His hands are clasped behind his back. I clear my throat and make to speak,

but Rebecca beats me to it. Hello, she begins. Are you okay? The man's eyes flicker from me to her, but he says nothing. He runs his tongue along his upper teeth, then takes a sudden step forwards. A wave of nausea flows up from my gut,

but the man steps up to us. He raises his hand, an offer to shake, and Rebecca takes it. He offers it to me, and I do likewise, and of wary but ingrained politeness. He grins wide. Good evening, he says,

his accent thick in Spanish. My name is Bistako, Bistaco Carisireire, A pleasure to meet the two of you out here in the flats. A real, real pleasure. Blake, I reply, and Rebecca introduces herself. I struggle to formulate words. This man unsettles and disturbs me in a way I find hard to articulate. So, Pistakow, what are you doing here?

I mean, I laugh awkwardly. What the hell is going on? Where is everyone? He nods gravely, as if I had said something of immense importance. The sun is setting, he says, gesturing to the sky with a large hand. Time grows short. I must show you something. Please, come with me.

I exchange a look with Rebecca. She rolls her tongue around her mouth. Are you with a talk group? The man does not respond. I don't think you are, are you? she asks quietly as a shiver of fear passes between us. No, Carasiri replies, and again he takes her hand in his. She lets him.

But I do have something to show you. If you would follow me, just for a little, I waver where I stand. I am overcome with a sensation that I am standing on the edge of a great black cliff. But just as soon as the feeling hits me, it has passed. Cadiziri's eyes flicker back to mine. They are so, so dark, dark and deep. They glitter with sparkles of red, reflected in the water at our feet. You have to do things while you have the chance.

Rebecca murmurs, my own words, repeated back to me. You might not get another. I draw some air in through my teeth. Rebecca, I begin, I don't know about this. I try to lower the intensity of the situation to put a hold on the shimmering tension. Guys, let's just stay here, alright. Let's wait for the bus. Someone will come for us. They'll come back. Cadizher returns without another word and strides dead east, directly towards the sun, melting into a shimmering red puddle and bleeding out into the water above the invisible horizon.

Something has changed Rebecca's attitude clearly, as she has changed Rebecca's attitude clearly, as she makes the decision to follow him across the plane. Rebecca, I call after her, Rebecca! But she does not stop. She turns around, though. She casts me a fleeting glance, and, with gritted teeth,

I too follow on. The dark figure and the woman in the brimmed hat, three lonely shadows amidst the world of reflections and mirrors and water and sky. This is insane. but I don't know what else to do. We walk for surely no more than ten or fifteen minutes, but the distance we cover feels disproportionately large,

paradoxically so, as our surroundings remain identical. Where I, to compare my view now with my view from the moment I had stepped off the bus, the two would appear identical. Identical, but for the changing colours of the sky and salt. Mr. Karrasiri comes to a stop and turns back to us, his robes swishing around in an arc about his legs. Before you lies the miracle of the flats, he says.

There is no grandeur or theatrics in his voice, just simple statement. There is, as before, a distance between him and Rebecca and I of about ten feet. Look down at the gate before you, he says, and we do so. I blink. The motion slow and heavy. I look down at my feet and there in the water between us I see that the reflection

is different. The reflection is different to all the water that surrounds us in the endless miles to the horizon. Soutly so, but different all the same. The reflection is reversed. The clouds are flipped vertically

in a bizarre and confusing illusion as they drift slowly. across the sky and the water. In this patch right here, they drift the opposite way. I look up above me in confusion, expecting to see the same spectacle in the sky. But it is not there. I look down to the water again, my mind struggling to comprehend. I don't understand, I say.

It is the gate, the man says simply. His voice is free from the dry and sickling mouth sounds that accompany the words of Rebecca and I, desperate for water, for drinkable moisture. He looks over his shoulder and the Redson connects with his reflection in the water. The two are joined. We have only three minutes before the sun is lost, he says. To see the wonders that lie through the gate, you must put all else aside and stride through, as if it were a door standing right in front of you.

I just don't get it, I say, A little angry now, despite the fear. What the hell is going on? Where is the bus? Why have you led us here? Just stop this now. Please! The man regards me cautiously. He says nothing but gestures to the water. He looks back to Rebecca

and sucks a strand of saliva that is slipped down the side of his lower lip back into his mouth. It must be now, he says. To see the wonders through the shimmering gate, I will not offer again. Rebecca, I say, let's just go. Come on, let's just go back, back the way we came. The bus could return at any minute.

But she is mesmerized, mesmerized by the shimmering water that does not reflect as it is supposed to. It's okay, Blake, she says softly. Just step through, urges the voice of Karisiri. Just step forward and walk through the gate. You will feel the sensation. as one falling in a dream, but do not allow yourself to be jerked awake. Ride the feeling through and out the other side.

The wonders await you, Rebecca. The sun sets. Go now if you will go, before it is too late. And to my horror, she does. Without another word, she closes her eyes and steps forwards,

exhaling as she does so. I wait for a foot to splash, down in the water to connect with the salt beneath but it does not there is no salt beneath down she goes in a great arc her other foot rises in turn and she does not brace herself as she falls her hair blows out behind her and a hat caught at an angle splashes into the water behind her it is left behind but Rebecca disappears She falls right through the impossible water beneath us And she vanishes

She meets her reflection And the water shimmers and flickers There are lights I realise Lights beyond the water Catching on the edges of shapes And spires But the vision is a droplet The ripples evaporates it from view

I look from the water To the man Back to the water and then back to he What the hell have you done? I manage. Where did she go? His eyes are white now. His grinned fierce. He stares down at the impossible reflection between us, at the gate. Where did she go? The sun sets Blake, says the man.

His face shrouded in shadow. His body tipped and lined in red at the edges. But despite the shadow, I watch as the lines and appearance of his face transformed. His lips peel back and the shadowed bone teeth of a wild dog stretches out from his gums. They snap and foam and his tongue, longer now than it was before, runs hungrily across them. Will you go, Blake, make your choice? I stagger back in alarm. No, I won't. So be it, Cowdy Siri replies, and down he goes.

In that sweeping arc, he is. He falls suddenly forwards and makes no effort to brace himself against the splash. The splash, which does not come. He meets his reflection, the two become one, and he vanishes through the gate. Again, I see those glimmers and flickers of light beyond. And once again, they are lost, and... I am truly alone now. My head spins and the sun disappears.

I panic. I put my hands to my head. Rebecca, I shout. Rebecca! But there is no response. In the heated moment of desperation, I tried to follow. I tried to see what lies beyond.

Rebecca was caught in his spell, I realize. I can save her. I jump on the gate. I try to push my hands through, my face. But each time, I hit only water and salt. There is no way through. Not for me. Even as the world darkens from red to purple,

I try to emulate what they did. I tip myself forwards. I fall and try my best not to brace. But each time I simply strike the salt with a painful splash and a cry of frustration. Night falls and my madness grows. It transforms from a will to save Rebecca to a desperate, no one craving to see

what lies on the other side, to see, to know. But, try as I might, no matter what it is that I do, I cannot get through. I just can't. I awaken, shivering and soaked, huddled up into a ball, roused by the sounds of voices. My sunglasses have fallen from my person, and so I squint to the light of the burning morning sun. The voices are in Spanish. "'Cadisiri!' I shout suddenly, thinking for a moment that the dark man is returned.

Where is Rebecca? Where did you take her? Show me, Carisserie. The English, amongst the people around me, tried to calm me down, but I don't fail to catch the Bolivians drawing back, and sharing a clear look of alarm. Come on, someone says to me, attempting to help me back to my feet. Let's get you back.

No, I shout, pushing them away and splashing back in my elbows. I have to see, I have to see. But they lift me up as a team, grabbing me beneath the arms and hauling me to a nearby helicopter. I hadn't even heard it land. Wait! I shout, twisting my head, turning to get a look behind me at the gate.

But the gate, if there ever truly was one, has vanished. There is only a blood-drenched, white-brimmed hat caught in a thick puddle of red that stains the salt that's perfect, sparkling water.

I don't care what the authorities told me. I didn't listen to the warnings of the Bolivians. I know what I saw I will return and I will see for myself the source of the lights the edges of the sparkling and shirming world beneath the water I'll get myself

through that gate I swear it this story has been expanded into a full novel if you enjoy this video and wish to experience the full story I highly recommend picking up this book the author has done a fantastic job and I'd love it if you check it out in the description below

right now I'm in my apartment on the third floor and I can't go outside I'm lucky that I've just bought my groceries yesterday I don't know who could have done that but at this time I know a few other things I know that it was someone from the tenants since the seams in the door indicate that they were welded shut from the inside I know that one of my neighbours friends from the next entrance confirmed

that their door was welded shut as well which tells me that they are still in here with us I know that we don't know who it is. Nobody has taken blame so far. And I know that there's a dead body outside. But don't let me get ahead of myself. I'll explain everything in a minute. I live in a small and very old apartment complex

on the far outskirts of a small town. Honestly, calling it an apartment complex is a stretch. It's only five stories high, no elevator, and it was built out of concrete panels all the way back in the 60s. It has no attic, so people living on the last floor have to constantly worry about rain ruining their ceiling,

extremely sound conductive of their thickness walls, so you never feel home alone, and a basement which connects to a sewer system, which smells horrible in spring. In Russia, these kinds of buildings are called Khrushovka, named after Khrushchev, obviously. I get the appeal of a low-cost, easy to construct building,

but I think there's not a single soul in the entire course, country who'd missed them. In 50 years, they should have demolished them and replaced them with something better, something newer. At this point, the buildings are a health hazard. Usually, only the old people live there, since it was the house they received long ago and never moved out. Young people like me rarely moved into Khrushavkas, which were why my neighbours were mostly old people. And let me tell you, old people in Russia. I really mean. But I can't complain. I got this apartment from my late grandma,

so at a young age I at least have my own place. Plus the view from the balcony on the third floor is great. It overlooks the forest, which technically is the border of our town, so no ugly buildings in sight. Just a boundless nature, which, as I was told, stretches for thousands of kilometres in that direction.

An entire ocean of dark wood that curves beyond the horizon. In a way, I live on a beach. Pretty sweet if you don't account for the things that sometimes wash ashore. At first, I was kind of bewildered. I went down the stairs to the first floor, yawning and stretching and hoping for a weekend to come faster, and I saw a crowd of people, all in their coats, with their bags in their hands.

The air was hot and damp from the collective breathing, and the air was quaking from the shouting. I couldn't make out what they were saying, because they were all talking at the same time, but I could get the general mood. Some of them were confused, but mostly they were outraged. I didn't understand what was going on at first. It was 8 in the morning when everyone was either hurrying to their jobs or God knows where pensioners go so early.

But then I made it to the front of the crowd, and my eyebrows shot up. In front of me, a couple of the people. men in their forties were trying their hardest to push the door open. Only, they couldn't. The entire frame of the iron door was welded shut. I could see the metallic seam running along the frame. Push harder, have a doctor's appointment in an hour, one of the old women shouted at them. It's no use. One of the men stood back and wiped the sweat from his forehead. The seam has already cooled down. Nothing short of a circular saw will open this door now. are we locked in here?

One of the women asked in a tone that was boarding on hysterical. I can't stay here. I need to get to work. Everybody needs to get to work, the man snapped back at her. But the door is locked. What else do you want me to do? So what? We're just going to stay here locked because of some kids' prank?

She squealed at a frequency I thought it was impossible for a human voice to produce. I doubt that it was a prank, the man said. I've worked as a welder for 17 years, so I can tell you for sure. the doors welded shut from the inside. There was a pause of silence as everyone considered the meaning of his words. Somebody locked themselves in with the rest of the tenants.

But why? Who the hell would do something like that? I asked aloud to no one in particular. Some maniac for sure, the old woman grunted. She gave me a mean eye and then tucked my sleeve. Say, what apartment are you from? I don't recall seeing you here.

Is it you who's done this? She pointed at the door, "'You and you're good for nothing friends, huh? Probably hoping to budge us all and take on money, huh?' She was getting louder with each sentence, and I suddenly found myself at the centre of attention of a really mean and annoyed crowd. I had to diffuse the situation fast,

or else I wouldn't be able to reach my apartment in one piece. I'm to my reverse-levenor's grandson, I explained, feeling angry that my words, the God honest truth, sounded like an excuse in that context. I've lived here for the past year and it just came down from my apartment. Leave him be, you old hag.

One of the men from the back of the crowd interfered. I've seen this lad here many times. It's a good person. Helts me with my bags more than once. The woman was obviously humiliated by such a development and gave me a death glare. But thankfully, she didn't say anything else. A doorbell buzzed behind me.

Someone from the crowd was trying to reach the neighbours that lived on the first floor. Open up, I heard a man's voice shouting, followed by the thuds of his fist knocking on the door. The door stuck, and I need to go to work. How are they going to help you? Someone from the crowd asked. I'll crawl through the window, that's how, the man replied.

Don't be ridiculous. All of the windows on the first floor are grated. Somebody else shouted, but the man didn't listen. It seemed that more people joined him, as I could hear numerous fists banging on the door. Hello, can you help me with the door? I can't seem to open it. We suddenly heard a voice coming from outside,

from beneath the welded door. Somebody was caught outside when the door was welded. I can't find any explanation as to why they were trying to enter our building at such an early hour. Perhaps they were out for groceries, or they decided to take a morning jog, or perhaps it was the postman.

Doesn't matter now. The people started talking all at the same time, trying to explain their situation to the man, or to ask him to call for help, or to demand him to explain himself. But he never had a chance to answer their questions. Oh my God, what the hell is that? He screamed in terror. The door shook as he started pulling on the door handle, hoping to pry the door open. The crowd fell silent. The terror in the man's voice was so genuine that no one had any doubts that he indeed saw something horrifying. please let me in please he screamed again desperately hoping to muster the strength to open the door

we couldn't see of course what scared him so much but we could hear it the heavy snarling the clanking of teeth of a huge more the claws scratching against the ground getting louder with each second the concern for his fate swept over us at the same time it was probably what her ancestors felt when they watched one of their own being chased by a lion. Run, run why you still can, the crowd shouted, but it was already too late. There was a loud thud and the door shook. The unknown creature rams straight into the man, pressing him into the door with its massive frame. I could hear it growling as it was tearing into him, trying to get a better hold of him.

But I couldn't recognize the animal. The door trembled again and again as the creature was still. throwing the man against it, hoping to get him to stop resisting. He screamed until the creature finally got to his throat. Someone gasped in terror. Help him, someone! Somebody from the back of the crowd shouted. Nobody moved.

There was nothing we could do. The iron door that protected us from the creature outside was also separating us from the man. He was so close to us, and yet he was dying alone. There was another strike at the door and the crowd stepped back. The creature was testing the metal. He could hear us inside, but the door stood still.

Whoever welded it shut did a good job. After that, it fell silent. We don't know whether it left or was standing right behind the door biding its time. We couldn't check either way. It was at that moment that we heard them. The sirens, old and rusty, they were coming back to life after decades of sleep to fulfill their purpose, to warn people of an incoming catastrophe. The years of slumber did not do them any good.

They started out sounding low, but with each second, as the mechanical voice chords was stretching and warming up, they were getting louder and higher, until the familiar sound that everyone had hoped to never hear was drowning out everything else. The sirens were getting louder. But in the pauses between its pulses, I could hear that the noise of the town outside was getting quieter. After a few minutes, the commotion outside was gone, as everyone evacuated. We were left alone, probably the only people in the entire district. Alone, stranded, with something dangerous roaming beneath our windows.

I can hear howl and scream in the distance. This voice sounds almost human. But I now know the difference. You could tell it clearly when the howl was followed by a human scream. Now, you might think that there was a panic among the tenants, but you would be wrong. A distinctive feature of Russian people is that they, more than anyone else in the world, don't give a damn.

I say this with absolute certainty. Once they learn that the police told them to stay putt, they'd just calm down. I can sort of see their reasoning. Why panic when you're protected by the walls? Can't you stay at home for a few days? The police told us that it's dangerous outside, so why would you go there? I've lived through the 90s, you wetted mutt.

You think this is going to scare me? So, while everyone was displeased, they all decided to stay put. And, well, if they don't want to go, then I don't have much choice either. I'd rather stay in our first. fought with the majority of people, even if they aren't the most pleasant company, then risk going outside. Besides, it's not like there's any immediate threat to my life. Right? I'm still here, still alive, so that's good. Still locked in, and I'm starting to doubt whether I'm as protected as I've thought I am. Today was the day when we were planning to try to leave this place,

but with everything that happened, I don't think we'll be leaving any time. soon. The water and electricity are still working, which is surprising. It might be that not the whole town has been evacuated, or that there's some skeletic crew left to take care of the necessities. Just to be prepared for everything, I fill the bathtub with water in case it stops running or something happens to the pipes. I'm also eating only perishable goods for now. The rest can wait. I guess I'll clear out the refrigerator first and switch the grains and potatoes afterwards. The phones aren't working anymore and neither is the internet without the VPN. I guess it would be smarter to turn it off completely, but someone at the local ISPs office is

either not very smart or has left this window of opportunity for people like me. On the day it all started, everyone in the building has been trying to contact the police. I remember that on the first day you could hear them all through the walls, cursing that they wouldn't pick up the phone or begging to come help us when someone did pick up. At first, the policeman was seemingly shocked when they learned that we were still here, but then they told us how it was. Nobody was coming to rescue us. It would all be over soon. We just had to stay put.

When people started calling their relatives, the phones were suddenly switched off and it stayed silent since then. So, I guess the higher-ups don't want us to spread panic. Perhaps the rest of the country is not even aware of our families. is not even aware of what's going on here. I'm not surprised. Our politicians have a long history of keeping catastrophes under the wraps. The Beast has been very active on the first day.

Though I hadn't seen it, I'd heard later from the rumours that one of the tenants had seen it lurking beneath his window. We'd occasionally hear its roars and screeches, and every time I could hear the entire building fall silent to hone in on its sounds and determine how far away it is. We couldn't hear it on Saturday.

Only a few car alarms have been set off, implying that something still lurks there. And on Sunday. For now, let's just say we didn't see him during the day. All of this has led people to believe that this whole thing is going to be over soon. Although on the first day, everyone was staying in their apartments. On the second day, people started going out. People were walking up and down on the street.

stairwell, talking to each other, and even inviting their neighbours in for a dinner. I'd never seen these people getting so social. Usually, they just give you a death stare. I could hear the clanking of plates and cups, whistling of kettles, and chitter of tenants as they were gathering into groups. I can understand them. Even the soldiers on the front lines of World War II had reported how unbearable the boredom was when nothing was happening.

Plus, it's been instilled into us to stick together in times of heart. by the very nature, so realising that it wasn't a good idea to spend my days alone, I decided to pay a visit to the only friend I had within these walls, Nikita, who lived on the fifth floor. We'd been buddies since the day I moved in. He noticed me when I was entering my apartment and invited me for some tea. He was a swell guy, around my age, and was a casual tabletop gamer. We had spent many evenings playing Monopoly and Jackal in the past. with him and his girlfriend. It was her who opened the door,

and I instantly recognised from the look on her face. Something was very wrong. Nikita was staying at his friend home the night before it all started, Natasha explained. He was supposed to come home in the morning. We took a day off for Friday and we were supposed to go out of town, but he didn't make it in time. She didn't cry.

Though looking at her eyes, I realized that she had for many hours. I could tell that she could use my support, so I invited myself in. Over a cup of tea, she shared with me that she was feeling scared for him. She was afraid that he was close to the building when the siren started wailing, and that she had nightmares where black hands were dragging him into darkness. She shared with me that she had heard that someone couldn't get in on Friday morning and that she was afraid that it was him.

So I reassured her that it wasn't the case. As I was there, I heard the victim's voice, and I would be able to tell if it was Nikita. That brought her some relief, but she was still stressed. I can't sleep very well since then, she told me. I wake up in the night hearing footsteps above. I keep hoping that it's him, but I know that it's not the case. On my way back from Natasha, I met the man who had claimed that he was a professional welder. He was carrying a box of tea to his neighbour.

curiosity got the better of me, so I struck a conversation with him, hoping to learn if something about those welds could tell him something about the welder. It's all over the place, he informed me. The welds are mostly fine, so I can tell that whoever did it knew what he was doing,

but they were really messed up in other spots, especially at the corners, and there was a lot of slug left. Whoever did that was probably in a hurry and drunk. His hands seemed to be trembling. I can't stop. thinking about it. The perpetrator is somewhere in this building. I know it. There are four separate flights of stairs, five floors, four apartments. Four apartments of each floor grouped around a stairwell.

So, eight apartments total. If I go by elimination, I'd be able to eventually find him. It's not like I have anything better to do at the moment. I've spent a good hour examining the door, trying to spots and clues. All I've found is a cigarette butt that may not even belong to him. A Russian brand, Soyuzopola, really nasty stuff, makes you cough your lungs out. I might take a look at the paint cans mounted on each flight of stairs. The improvised astrays. Maybe I'll find something this way. Some people don't have the luxury to just kick back and pursue some personal quests like I do. They genuinely need to get out. an old man in his early 60s knocked on my door

he was looking for insulin he'd been planning to get it from the nearby drugstore on the morning we were all locked in during the last few days he'd used up his last reserves and now desperately needed some he said that he had hoped that it would all be over before that would happen

but time was playing against him and now he had no choice but to ask people to share their own if they had any I didn't But I wondered if any other tenants had, but were choosing to hide that fact in order to save some for themselves. When I noted that I hadn't seen his face before, he informed me that he was from the next flight of stairs. He had to get up onto the roof to come over here when all of his neighbours told him that they didn't have any insulin on them. I'd heard that there had been shortages of insulin in the drugstores lately.

We'd just probably why the old man didn't have enough stock on him. The drugstore is just across the road from our building. He complained to me. I can see it from my window. They were supposed to bring in a new batch on Friday morning. But when I came downstairs, the door had been welded shut. His last sentence intrigued me. So I asked how early did he try to leave the building?

It was 6 a.m., son, he informed me. The pharmacist told me that the truck with insulin was going to arrive at 9 a.m. But I thought I might get in line early to make sure I get enough. This has left me very heartbroken. But it also gave me a clue. The perpetrator must have finished what he was doing before 6am. And if that old man in need of insulin was able to get up onto the roof, surely the mysterious perpetrator could do the same,

that would allow him to weld all the doors shut from within. Perhaps he was even him who was waking up Natasha at night, or maybe someone else. I didn't want to jump to the most horrible conclusion right away. If something was crawling on the roof It wouldn't miss its chance to go inside the building Unless It is already here Hiding in one of the apartments

There were talks that we could make a break for it Make a rope out of bed sheets Hang it from the window And then get down from the second floor's window One by one And then head to the other side of town We were acting like a group Today was the day

We were going to set this plan in motion but it didn't come to be. Last night I awoke from a sudden sound. When I opened my eyes, it was already over, but I knew what I'd heard. The scream, the howl, similar to the one that beast produced, only somewhat different. I lay in the dark with my eyes open, waiting for it to repeat.

But it was only silence. I heard footsteps above. It seemed that I wasn't the only one who'd been woken up by it. Getting up to my feet, I glanced at my phone. It was 3 a.m. I tried going back to sleep, but I couldn't keep my eyes closed. The howl, the implications of it were keeping me awake. Deciding that I'm not going to sleep anyway, I got up and headed for the balcony.

Oh, hey there. My neighbour, Maxim startled me. His balcony was a few moments. meters away from mine, and he also decided to go out for a smoke. Even though it was a November night, he was wearing only his underpants. You heard that too, he pointed to the forest with a cigarette. I nodded. Yeah, you think it's back? Didn't sound like it, Maxon confirmed my suspicions.

It sounded different, you know, like a different breed or something. Yeah, I thought so too. You're passing me one, I asked Maxim as he threw me the entire pack. Take it, you might need all of them. Before taking the cigarette, I glanced at the pack. So you're upola. My curiosity spiked, but I quenched it. I didn't want to think about that at the moment.

We smoked in silence for some time. Then Maxim spoke again. Everything's in chaos in this building. Everyone is scared. We ought to do something about it. Like what? I wondered. I don't know yet. Maxim shook his shoulders. But it's our responsibility.

As men, you get me. We have to... He felt silent as a branch broke somewhere below. Something was moving down there. I only looked in time to see something big entering the forest. And my blood ran cold. He was standing there throughout all of our conversations, and neither me nor Maxim noticed it. We were merely chatting as the beast below was biding its time, listening to our voices.

Holy, have you seen it? Maxim loudly whispered. I didn't, I stuttered, still shocked that the creature we've been hiding from for the last few days, the one that had crushed a man's windpipe with its jaws, was mere meters away from me. hold on I'll light it up I searched my pockets for a phone pulled it out turned on the flashlight

and pointed it at the forest at the very next moment I shuddered and dropped it catching it at the very last moment I was not ready to see something like that the phone's flashlight was not particularly powerful so the cone of light quickly dissipated

and yet some of the photons had found their ways between the branches deep into the forest to reflect from the beast's lone giant eye, the size of a small platter, and they travelled back to me. At that short moment, I was unwilling to participate in a staring contest with it. Something told me that I was the first man to do so and walk away to tell about it. So now we know that it never left. It was always there, biding its time.

It's not leaving. And neither are we. People are back to their apartments, and the stairwell is mostly empty. On my way to Natasha, some old woman opened a door to give me a death stare. Why the hell are you stalking around here? Everybody's tense as it is. They don't need you creeping around here, making noise. Today, Maxim knocked on my door.

He told me that all able men were organising into a militia and offered me to join him. I decided it's best to agree If all able men were grouping up I'd be wise to stick with them Even if it could mean that I'd be the building's first line of defence Plus I'd be able to keep my eyes On Maxim

The beast has become more stealthy We don't hear its roars anymore But sometimes, after spending hours looking outside the windows I can see it lurking behind the branches in the forest I'm convinced that it came from the forest now. It feels like at home there, spending the majority of its time there, surfacing only to take a glance at us, to check if we're still there. My fridge is already empty. Even with me rationing the food, it ran out much quicker than I expected.

Luckily, I still love my grains and potatoes. Most of the old people don't seem to be complaining. I can understand why. With them surviving on their pension They learned how to stretch the food until the next month Plus they are old and their knees are weak and brittle They can't afford to go out for groceries every day So they wait until they learn about some sale somewhere

And go there to stock up for the month Even if said sale is on the other side of town They are probably stocked up for a few months ahead I can't stop thinking about it The tap water started to taste funny too I'm glad I filled my bathtub to be ready for something like that Some people are warning everyone not to drink it And I hear all kinds of rumours as to why we shouldn't

From it having some drugs mixed into it To being poisonous to take care of everyone Personally I don't think it's anything like that The pipes had probably come bad over the last week Since they weren't looked after Maxim has started organising the militia So far it's very small and we patrolled only our flight of stairs and the roof.

But he started to try and convince people from the neighbouring ones to join us as well. He sounds very convincing, and I can see why people are joining him. He gives them back the illusion of control. Even though we don't have anything except for makeshift weapons, like sharpened brooms, knives, or, in my case, a hatchet for meat, people are now less scared to leave their apartments again. They trust us. I guess it reminds them of the old times

when volunteer militias on the streets that looked after the neighbourhood were a common thing However, not everyone is willing to join his cause The furthest flights of stairs to the right Gave us a rather cold shoulder When we descended from the roof To tell them about our idea We were greeted by a bunch of men

Some of them were obviously drunkards With their faces red and swollen from constant drinking While the others had prison tattoos on them All of them reeks of alcohol and the sounds of Blatniak, a Russian music genre that consisted mostly about obscene ballads about criminal life played in the background. Somewhere, far in the distance, I'd heard metal clanking. I didn't pay much attention to it then. Their leader, a man with gold teeth and a naked torso, exposing a tattoo of an orthodox church, spat to the ground when he heard of us.

Trying to play coppers ear, he said with a fake grin, making sure to show us his every tooth. "'Look at that one, guys,' he pointed at me, "'so young and already trash.' The crowd behind him half-heartedly laughed. I felt a chill running down my spine. The looks in their eyes were dangerous. It was like staring into the eye of that beast again. "'It's for the greater good,' Maxim said,

staring at the man. "'We were all in danger, and we need to stick together.' "'We can look after ourselves,' the man replied, pulling a gun from behind his belt for a moment. We don't need anyone snooping around either. Now scrum back to your corner, you bunch of idiots. I felt Maxim's hand on my shoulder. He was tugging at me, letting me know that it was time to go.

I felt sick that the man could talk like that to us and get away with it, but there was nothing I could do. Bring some girls next time. One of the men shouted as we were leaving, and the crowd laughed. Well, Maxim said on our way back, it seems we have a hatter there. When he met my confused gaze, he explained. It's the place where the criminals gather

after they have served their sentence to celebrate. Seems like a bunch of them got caught here with us. And they don't seem like it affected them. They seem to be partying all day long, which means, soon, they will be out of food. I don't envy their neighbours. Maxim is a nice guy. I'm not sure if he's the mysterious welder who had locked us all in.

The only clue I have is the brand of cigarettes he gave me, and is a stretch to think that he's the only one in the entire building who smokes them. While they are not exactly common, I'd seen people smoke them plenty of times. I've tried talking to him about what he thinks about the identity of the welder. Who could he be, and why did he do that? And while he was talking, I was looking to his face to spot something. If you were to get nervous, then it would be a dead giveaway.

But his face remained straight the entire time, and he even got some joy out of speculating about who could it be and what were their motives. Either he was a very good liar, or it wasn't him. After that, Maxim had me check the basement to see whether we could escape through the sewers or if somebody could find its way in through them. Truth be told, I was scared to get to.

go down there. The concrete walls covered in moss and cobwebs stretching from wall to wall weren't exactly reassuring. But what really scared me were the tiny windows along the walls. They were too small to crawl through. I would barely be able to fit my head in if I tried, but I was still afraid that something could find its way in. The basement ran under all of the building, with all flights having a door leading down there, so it was hard to find the hatch that led down to the house that led down to the the sewers. When I finally found it in the far corner of the basement, I experienced the mix of emotions. It was also welded shot, which meant that nothing could get in through it,

but also that nothing could get out. Over the next few days, we started hearing gunshots in the distance. It sounded like a machine gun, and I doubted anyone in our town has one. maybe the police of a few AK-47s. Sometimes it almost sounded like there was a war going on in the distance. It filled me with hope that we were going to be rescued soon. But I can't help but wonder, what are they shooting at for so long? I doubted that the beast outside could soak in so much ammunition.

Aside from that, not much happened during that time. One day followed another, and I spent the majority of my time with Natasha. We could both use some distraction from the world around us. I was at her apartment yesterday, playing Monopoly with her, when we heard confused shouts coming from outside. Looking out the window that was overlooking our town, I felt my heart skip a beat. Someone was running away from the house.

I squinted my eyes, and my heart sank even more. I recognised who it was. It was the old man who'd been looking for insulin. I opened the window and looked down, already knowing what I was looking for. Sure enough, it was there. A rope made out of bed sheets hanging from one of the windows on the second floor. In desperation, the man must have decided to make a break for it and rushed towards the drugstore to get the insulin he needed to survive.

It was either that or a slow and painful death. He disappeared behind the crone of trees, and a few seconds later I heard the glass break he must have shattered the window of the drugstore to get inside the sound echoed across the empty street and Natasha shuddered in fear

I knew what she was going through if that creature that stalked the house for the past week heard him it would no doubt come over seeking its next prey a few minutes later I saw him running towards the window clutching something in his hand

even from a distance I could see how pale he was he was out in the open away from the safety of our walls and for a moment I felt respect for the man rise up in my chest he defied the odds and refused that died doing nothing

he approached the windows when we heard it the moaning scream of the beast somewhere very close the man grabbed the rope and started climbing up He made it about halfway When his weak arms gave out and he fell to the ground

Old and frail He was unlikely to make it Even if he wasn't malnourished and weakened by his disease He slowly got up rubbing his hip And tried climbing up again When the creature showed its head around the corner I could finally see it with my own eyes And it was beyond my wildest expectations

It was clear that whatever it was It was not from this world. Its front legs were thick and burly, ending with paws with long fingers that looked disturbingly similar to human fingers. The hind legs were much shorter, and, once again, parodying human nature, looked very similar to human legs.

All of his body was covered in black, long, thick fur, except for its head, which was bald, exposing its grey skin. And, at the centre of its almost human-looking head, A single eye wildly rotated, seeking out its target. It stopped, on the old man, and the beast let out a low growl. The man was not giving up trying to crawl up, but with his busted hip, he could barely crawl one meter above the ground,

and his arms alone could not pull him up. The beast must have noticed that, because it didn't rush at him. Instead, it took its time approaching him, as if, haunting the man's efforts to escape it. When he was just five metres away, the man jumped back to the ground and tried to escape. But the creature covered the distance separating them in one quick leap. It raised this pore above him,

clenching his fingers into a fist, and I looked away. But I still heard the wet splatter when its fist descended into the man's head like a hammer, killing him instantly. At least he didn't suffer like the one before him. When I carefully looked out again, the creature and the man were both gone. The only proof they had been there was a long bloody red trail leading around the corner, towards the forest.

I thought that the day was eventful enough, but last night, something else happened. I woke up from the sound that had haunted me for so long that I wanted to know so much about it. The sound of someone welding something. I jumped out of bed and listened. I was not sure where the sound was coming from, but when I looked at the window, I noticed the light coming from the roof above, somewhere from the direction where the criminals resided.

I rushed out of my apartment just in time to see Maxim leave his own. He was wearing nothing but boxes, and I could see in his eyes that he was in a rush. Just like me, he wanted to learn the identity of a mysterious welder. When we got onto the roof, the welder was already gone, but not before finishing what he had been doing. The door leading down to the criminals was now reinforced with a makeshift cage gate made out of stairs railings.

At that moment, I realised that the sound I'd heard before, the clanking of metal, was probably the welder working on the railings to give them the necessary shape. The mysterious welder that I'd been chasing for the past week was one step ahead of me. I now knew where he lived, and I couldn't get there. And even if I did find my way in, I'd have to deal with the criminals first. They'd let me know before that I was not welcome there.

The burning question, however, was not who he was. What bugged me the most was, why did he do it? What made him install the gate on the door leading to the roof? Perhaps there was something that we didn't know about. I thought that would be it as far as bad news went But this morning we found one of the tenants dead on the stairwell There were no wounds on his body

But he was foaming at his mouth And his skin had the nasty shade of purple I recognised his face It was the man who on the first day had said That he had worked as a welder in the past His grieving wife told us that he had no history of heart diseases Which led us to a single conclusion He was poisoned.

It seems that the tap water indeed contains poison in it. Since then, we don't drink tap water anymore. I'm also convinced that they left us electricity to lure all of the creatures to us. They want our problem, namely the problem of having too many witnesses to take care of itself. Spread the message people. We're here. We're still alive. There's something outside my door.

Something's lurking at the stairwell, going up and down all five floors. I was alerted to its presence by a scream one late evening. Someone must have come out for a smoke and may be socialised with his acquaintances when they saw it. There are no sounds of struggle, nor any yelps of pain. Only terror. I'm now glad that nature instilled that need to cross. cry out when you're faced with something horrifying, something so unexplainable it rocks your understanding of the world around you.

That way, you can warn your pack about the danger. Even if you don't survive, the others learn to stay wary. Your death becomes a noble sacrifice, a meaningful event when you succumbed to your terror in your last moments. And I barely managed to squeeze my own scream of terror when I'd realized that the shriek that creature admitted was not the one I'd heard before. It was not the prime or yell that had haunted us for the last weeks. This was something new.

Something that somehow managed to find its way into our apartment complex despite the precautions that had been taken. I spent half an hour looking at the eyehole, trying to catch a glimpse of it. The dim light bulb outside provided just enough lighting to see what was going on. At one point, something suddenly obscured the light, and I heard a pit apart.

batter across my door. A second of confusion was followed by a terrifying realization and jumped back from the door trying to hold back my screamer surprise and shock. Whatever it was, it just crawled across my door on its many legs. It could crawl on the walls. This means that the door to the roof is now a huge opening in our defences. In the morning, me and the other guys from our militia carefully stepped out to take a look at the damages it had done. We'd just found a bloody spot on the fourth floor and the long blood trail which led to the roof. There it led us towards the edge of the roof where it ended. The creature not just found its way inside our house, it killed one of ours and then dragged

him off to its nest. Since there are two creatures now, I feel I should start giving them names. Ape demon, or the ape, sounds like a fitting description for the one that has been terrorising us for the last few days. And on the next day, everyone unanimously started calling the new person. the crawler. So, if the ape is the joggernaut that watches the streets, the crawler is the infiltrator that sneaks in and attacks us where we live. The demon ape and the crawler. God, just two weeks ago, I wouldn't have thought that those are the words I'd use with a serious

face. Since that event, we've put a lock on the doors that lead to the roof. I think he was long overdue. It's just, we never thought we'd need to do that. I pray that it will suffice to keep it out and I make sure to have my curtains closed at all times I'd hate to one day look outside and see that thing crawl across my window and I'd hate for it to see me inside

an easy prey ready for consumption I'm more and more concerned with what's our end game there is no chance that the water in the pipes could have gone so bad in just over a week that it would become so toxic Bacterias don't kill you in one night They don't make you foam at your mouth They don't make your skin purple The water has some toxins in it now

Which tells me that to our government We are no more than unwanted eyewitnesses If we make it to the other part of town Where the gunshots are heard We won't be rescued We will meet a firing squad The food's becoming a problem Yesterday I heard someone walking around

asking the neighbours if they had some salt, just a cooking salt to make their boring dish more pleasurable. I heard three of my neighbours tell them to get lost. But who am I to judge? When they rung my bell, I didn't open the door. I know that it's just salt they were looking for, but you can never be too careful.

Perhaps it was their way of gauging the situation. Perhaps they'll think that if I have salt to spare, I have plenty of other food inside, and that I'm a viable target. perhaps I'm just talking nonsense. Two days ago, I carefully checked the door in the basement that led to the flight of stairs where the bandits live. It was locked on the hanging lock,

but neither I nor any other tenant heard the welding, which means that, if anything, it could be broken down. I need to get the welder. This personal quest of mine that started out of boredom and curiosity has grown into a necessity and prerequisite for my survival. They must know something. They're calling all the shots and where everybody goes and what parts of the building we have access to.

And they might have the tools to get us all out of here. I've thought about it. My only chance of making it is getting a torch or bus saw from him, whichever he happens to have. Cut the hatch that leads to the sewers open and escape through it. It's probably a maze down there. So if I make a wrong call and where to get out of it and come face to face with the military, or the beast outside.

I'm done for. But it's better than pushing my lock by trying to escape through the surface. The only problem is getting to him, before the bandits he lives with get to us. The cage gate that he installed on the roof entrance has latches and a lock, which means that it can be opened by them, which means that it is they who decide who enters their flight of stairs, which means that they pretty much have a fortress within the fortress, I fear that when those stores open

They all come out Not to cooperate Not to beg for food But to hunt To prey on the weak And so far We have no solid way of fighting them back But the crawler and the bandits

Aren't our only problems Yesterday the ape learned That it's strong enough to rip the cages Off the windows of the first floor Worst It was the apartment in the same stairwell as mine That it chose to attack I heard his grunt outside, the screaming of terrified people downstairs,

the weeping metal that was being torn apart. I don't know what the people downstairs did to provoke the beast. Perhaps they thought that the cages would protect them and didn't have their curtains closed. Perhaps they saw the creature and decided to indulge themselves in a staring contest with it. I don't know, I didn't ask. One of the tenants who lived there managed to escape. I could see the terror in her eyes when I walked to.

out to my apartment to see what was going on, just in time to have a rush past me. But I knew that someone else was less lucky. I heard the screams of a man who the ape pinned down. I heard the loud thumps when his fists collided with a man's flesh. And you know that thing where you can tell where the sound is coming from, by how much it is distorted by the echo? Well, judging by how it all sounded, I realised with terror that the screams were coming from that apartment on the first floor.

and the woman fleeing, fleeing in terror, didn't close the door on a way out, which meant that when the ape would be done with a man downstairs, it would be free to enter the stairwell and roam all five floors. Perhaps it wouldn't even be able to leave if it got lost here. I had to do something quick. It was very risky to go down there and try to close the door, but I knew that if I didn't do that at that moment, I'd be dead within a few days. It wasn't bravery that pushed me to such a reckless,

action. It was desperation. I was facing a paradox. Stay safe and die or risk your life and live. And my body was telling me he wanted to live some more. I carefully made my way down to the first floor and took a peek at the door. Just as I suspected, it was wide open. I could hear the ape munching on its already silent prey, but I could also see the key in its keyhole. Carefully, try my best not to make a noise, I inch towards the door. I wanted to scream in terror from the fact that my steps weren't completely soundless, but I guess the creature didn't hear it over the sound of the bones breaking under its bite. It was now right next to the door. One more step than I'd be inside the apartment. The ape was now mere meters away from me, somewhere around the corner.

If I messed up, I'd have a second, maybe two, to say my prayers. There was a little. There was no going back now. Carefully, I slid the key out of its keyhole. On its way out, it clanked. The munching stopped. It took a step. I slammed the door shut and started shoving the key into the keyhole, but my trembling hands couldn't pull that off.

A mothwood roar came from within the apartment, and I felt a massive body slam into the door from the other side. Luckily, the door seemed to be reinforced. The ex-tenants made sure to protect themselves from burglars, as with them living on the first floor they were prime targets. My legs were twitching from all the adrenaline in them begging me to run away.

I knew that if the creature somehow turned the door handle, even by accident, it would break out that instant, leaving me no chance to survive. I took a pause, took a deep breath and then slipped the key in. A moment later, I turned it,

locking it. The beast was now subsided. He left the apartment through the window a few hours later, after it was done raging and consuming the man. After that, all of the tenants who lived in the first floor moved in with their neighbours above. They brought their food supplies with them, and I'm glad to say that people upstairs didn't mind them. They realised that it would be heartless to let them live on the first floor

or hang out on the stairwell where they were easy prey. Natasha had an old man move in with her as well. Still, even though our casualties were minimal, we'd taken a huge hit. Our home, our submarine submerged in all of this madness, had taken another hit and sunk even deeper. I am currently thinking about how to find the welder and get him out of there without alerting any thugs.

The roof is not an option, but there's still a basement door that can be broken. I'll discuss that with Maxim tomorrow. It's time to act. Time. To get out of here. It's really weird how everything is both extremely tense and dull here. My life is in constant danger and we don't have a solid plan yet.

But I can't think about it all the time. As weird as it sounds, I'm tired of constantly thinking about my chances of survival. And when monsters are not crawling across your window, you don't have that sense of urgency. You don't get anything at all. It feels like you exist only to react to them, interact with them, and maybe eventually end up as their lunch. Over the past few days, I've received a lot of advice from Florida. You guys have it rough there.

I still wish I'd rather be there. At least it has colours. Everything here is so grey, I want to poke my eyes out. We've prepared for food and water shortages, but there were things we didn't consider. For starters, there are two dead bodies on our building, and they are starting to rot. When the guy who got poisoned died, his widow kept his body in their apartment.

She dressed him up in nice clothes and lay him down on their sofa. We even suspected that she spent some of the water to wash his body. But two days ago, she came to us asking for help. He was starting to swell up and smell. It was a weird sight, seeing him lying there in a tranquil pose, arms on his chest, on that tidy sofa under a painting of a river. he had so swollen and purple. It seemed that the toxin continued its work on him.

The smell was unbearable. In the first few minutes I got there, it was making me want to vomit, and knowing that it was a human body, something that was a living individual just some time ago was making it even more disturbing. She wanted us to take him to the basement, but Maxim objected. His smell will attract the predators.

they'll want to break in even more if they smell a stench. We need to throw him outside or leave him on the roof. You can't, she whispered, and her eyes widened. It's not Christian-like, he deserves a burial. She leapt to her husband's carcass and raised her hands, letting everyone know that she won't let us take him. You can't, she repeated in a shrill voice. I won't let you. Get the hell out of here.

I won't let you do it to him. We silently surrounded her. Nobody wanted to force her away, but we knew that. it had to be done. The man's dead body was compromising the safety of the living. Maxim wordlessly grabbed her by the wrist. She screamed and tried to break free, but Maxim wouldn't budge. When she realized that she couldn't overpower him, she switched to defense, clawing at him with a free hand. Maxim didn't defend himself, choosing to stochely

endure her assault, giving her the opportunity to take it all out on him, and only tilting his head back so that she couldn't claw his eyes out. Take the body, throw it out the window, he said, before dragging the woman to the kitchen so that she wouldn't get in our way. In a desperate last-stitch attempt to resist, she grabbed onto the door, but Maximia yanked her away from it.

Her grip was strong enough to leave scratches on the door's wooden surface, and one of her nails was left, edged into it. We wrapped his body in a blanket. It was easier to carry him that way. both physically and mentally. We carried him to the roof, one of us said some prayers,

and we tossed him over the edge. We didn't even look how he fell, only hearing the heavy thud when his body collided with the ground and rushed to safety before the crawler showed up. Looking back, I don't feel guilty about what we did, but I feel guilty for not feeling guilty,

if that makes sense. I should have felt something A few hours later When I looked out the window The body was already gone The second body The one of the man who got mauled in his apartment Was left where it was

We knew that the door to the apartment Could tip off the intruders So we didn't bother to do anything about it I've talked to Maxim about the welder And my plan to get his tools He liked my idea But warned me that there was nothing we could do At the moment

sneaking in would be dangerous and we didn't know where to look. It's dangerous to confront them, he told me. They are armed and they can overreact to us entering their territory. Maybe we should just let them know about our plan. That way they will cooperate. I reluctantly agreed with him. Back then, we didn't know that the time for negotiation was already up, that those scumbags had already made up their mind.

because when yesterday I walked up to the fifth floor to Killsontai with Natasha I found to my horror that the door to her apartment was wide open and there were signs of struggle taking place in a hallway I suspected the worst but I also didn't abandon hope I rushed through all of the rooms but she was nowhere to be found only the old man from the first floor that she'd taken in was lying on the floor of the guest room a small pool of blood formed under his left side

He was still alive when I turned him over. He didn't answer my questions as to where Natasha was, instead just whispering. I'm sorry, young man. It is all our fault. The sins of the fathers. I didn't have time to heed his cryptic words. I needed to help him or he'd die from bleeding. But I knew that Natasha could be dying somewhere at the very moment, perhaps somewhere very close. I rushed back to the hallway, trying to find any clue as to where she could be. And sure enough, there were a few drops of blood on the floor, leading outside and toward the door to the roof.

It was dangerous to enter the roof on my own, but I didn't care. I rushed outside, looking around. Nothing but a small, barely noticeable trail of blood droplets. I feared that it would lead me to the edge of the roof, but instead, it was heading towards the cage door at the end of it, the one that led to the bandits hide out. The cage was already locked. I started shaking it and screaming for them to let Natasha go. Reckless of me, I know.

If I'd stay there for a few more minutes, I'd no doubt attract the crawler and be done with. But one of the bandits emerged from the darkness beyond the cage and shook his pistol at me. Keep it civil. Your girlfriend is in good hands. We'll take care of her. After all, how does the saying go? If you love her, let her go.

Isn't that right? He gloated. I spat in his face. When he lifted his gun, I turned around and ran away. I heard a few shots behind me, but luckily they missed me, and the man must have decided not to spend more ammo on me. I had to act quick. I didn't even want to think about what they were going to do to her.

Every minute counted. As I was running down the stairs, I was calling for men to gather up, hollering at the top of my lungs. Surprisingly, people started leaving their apartments to see what was going on. They could hear the urgency in my voice and didn't want to miss an important announcement. Never had I been so glad to see the faces of my neighbours before. Just two minutes later, I told them what had happened.

Two women rushed to the fifth floor to help the old man. Some militia you are, some old woman from the back row said. Can't even protect us in our homes? shove it, I yelled in a direction, and surprisingly there were no witty retorts. Hey kiddo, what's going on? Maxim stepped through the crowd to see what was going on. I told him what had happened. His eyes turned bloodshot and his fists trembled with fury.

Oh, scumbags, that settles it. He hollered. Men, gather up. We're going to take a back. He confidently hurried towards the roof. I followed, and I could see that the other men, even those who were reluctant, followed after us. We headed straight to the door on the roof. The same door, with just a few minutes before, I'd almost been shot.

Only now, I wasn't alone. There are at least ten men with me now. It didn't matter if we probably couldn't break through the gates. What mattered was that when ten angry men show up at your doorstep, you listen to what they have to say. open up Maxim shouted through the cage grate Open up or I swear I'm going to break these down What's all the ruckus

The same man who had been shooting at me before Walked up to the cage He cast me an angry gaze Before looking away While he looked confident His earliest smugness was gone Give us back the girl Or we'll feed you to those monsters outside

Maxim hollered The bandit raised his hands in a mocking gesture of fear. Easy, Pops. We just took a girl for a night out. No harm in that, right. Maxim kicked the cage in fury and the man on the other side jumped in surprise. It was now clear that he was feeling tense and his calmness was just knocked. Now, if you think we can't tear these down, you're very mistaken, Maxim shouted. Calm down, Pops. I was just joking, okay? We could all use a bit of humor these days. The man said, doing his best. to keep smiling. I'll go look for her. He disappeared. I was getting more and more anxious.

Who knew how long she'd been in there? Who knew what they'd been doing to her? Every minute counted. We heard some arguing coming from within. The men were shouting at each other, but due to the echo, I couldn't make out what they were saying. Thankfully, I didn't hear Natasha's screams. The shouting subsided. Then, a few minutes later, the man walked up to the cage separating us. I could see Natasha behind him. She had a nasty bruise under her eye and dried up blood on her lip, indicating that she must have been bleeding from her nose. Thankfully, her clothes were intact, with no signs of tear, and there's a strange spark in her eyes that seemed almost out of place.

A spark of enthusiasm and determination. Here's your girl, the man grunted. giving her a push towards us as she was passing him. We didn't do much to her, see? Now scram. And her food? Maxim inquired. What are you talking about? It was a down payment for keeping her safe with us, was the man's reply as he closed the gate to walk away.

Maxim grunted, and I could see the fury in his eyes. To him, it wasn't over. He wasn't going to let it slide. Something unknown in the distance roared. We hurried back to safe. How are you? Did they... I asked Natasha, once we were inside the building. But she raised her hand to stop me. I'm fine. Don't worry about it. Their leader got scared when he saw that asshole bring them to me.

He suspected something like this would happen. How did they get you? I asked her another question. But she shook ahead. They lured me out, pretending to be one of the tenants from the next flight of stairs. Told me they were looking for some aspirin. It doesn't matter. She lowered a voice to a whisper. I found him. I found the welder.

You did? I was genuinely surprised at such a development. Yes, he lives in the third floor, apartment 73. They told me to go hang out with him while they were deciding what to do with me. It seems they're taking good care of him in return for his help. I don't know what happened to the other tenants, though. He didn't want to talk about them. So, did you talk to him?

him? Did he tell you why he did it? Why did he weld us in here? I asked with anticipation. Yes. She looked around if anyone else could hear. The men were still descending from the roof and going straight inside her apartment to help with the old man who was still tended to inside. He says he panicked. He was hunting in the forest for some game when he saw them. He says there are dozens, maybe hundreds of them. They are migrating somewhere and we are on the sidewalk of their path. So he ran home and barricaded himself and all of us. Of course, that was before he learned about the bandits, says they moved in just two nights before. But why didn't he run away? I wondered. Why not evacuate? Natasha shook ahead. He can't. He has a son and he

is completely bedridden, paralyzed below the waist, and he's too weak to carry him. No She grunted and shook ahead. He thought it would all be over in a day or two, but he miscalculated. I imagined the situation the man had found himself in, trapping not only himself, but his helpless child and everyone else in this hell. Even though I wanted to feel angry at him, I just couldn't. I told him about your plan, Natasha interrupted my train of thought. He says it makes sense and he's just.

He's willing to lend us his tools and skills if we find a way to sneak him and his son out. They guard him well. There are constant patrols on the fourth and second floor. Of course, they mostly drink and listen to music. But... They have guns. I wanted to say something, but then Maxim approached Natasha and put a hand on a shoulder. You're right, girl.

Yes, I'm fine, Natasha said, leaning back. She didn't like the fires in Maxim's eyes. "'Good, good,' he said, staring into the distance. "'I have a daughter, you know, younger than you, but still,' he gave Natasha's shoulder another shake. "'They will never do this to you again, girl,' he proclaimed, "'and I can almost hear the lava of pure anger building in his throat. "'Or anyone else for that matter. "'I've made a decision. We need to strike them first.

"'If you have pests, you've got to smoke them out.' He looked Natasha in the face, and the sight of a wounds made him grit his teeth. Tomorrow, we'll burn their entire stairwell down. Right now, I barely have enough strength to write, and my memories of the events that transpired a week ago are still fuzzy. But, let's just say one thing. I'm still here, still inside this cursed building, weaker than ever. Maxim wasn't joking that he was going to burn down the entire stairwell,

and I and some others tried to convince him not to do it. We reminded him that we could catch on fire as well, that there were at least two innocent people in there, one of whom was a young man who wouldn't be able to escape. But none of it mattered to him. We just have to start the fire big enough to make them move toward the roof, he said, maniacly nodding to his own words. We'll be waiting for them there, and once they emerge,

he made a slashing motion with his hand. After that, we can put the fire out. He'll try to. I reminded him. Fire is no joke. Who knows how big it may grow. Well, we'll do our best. He reassured me in an impatient tone.

But I wasn't going to let it slide. And what about the welder and his son? I reminded him. They are just prisoners there, and they won't be able to escape the fire or the smoke. Are you ready to burn them down? I looked him in the eyes, trying to guilt him into abandoning his idea.

But Maxim didn't look away. Instead, he looked me straight in the eye. And I could see that the flames of his anger were getting wilder. How can you be so sure that they are just prisoners in there? Because they said so. Why did they make such a convenient cage door for them? Hmm? Why did they lock us in here?

Because his son, I tried to explain, but Maxim stopped me before I could finish. No, that's just what he says, and personally, I think he's full of crap. He didn't have to lock us all in here, all right? He could have just stayed in his apartment and be done with it. So, unless you have a better plan, we're going to do it my way, he said before turning around to leave. I do, actually, I said to his back.

He turned around and nodded for me to continue talking. My plan was crazy and dangerous, potentially even more so than the one Maxim offered, and way more complicated. But in my plan, the threat could be contained, or Maxim was basically offering to burn us all down. So, after listening to what I had to offer, He agreed to go with it. At least we can still burn it all down if your plan goes wrong, he grunted.

You start tonight. I'll find you a few good men who can assist you. If your plan doesn't work by sunrise, we go with mine. I was too anxious to stay alone, so I decided to spend the rest of the day at Natasha's place. Her apartment was crowded. A few women were helping her tend to the old man. He was breathing heavily and his face was pale,

but his bleeding had stopped and he was conscious again. Young man, thank you, he said, wincing from the pain at the same time. It was obvious that talking was causing him quite a lot of pain. I didn't do anything, I said, and frankly that was the truth. The odd man was just too confused to realise what had happened, that I had abandoned him and went after Natasha, not even bothering to call for help. But he just smiled at me.

So modest. Lay still and don't waste your strength, one of the women told him. You're too weak for that. He didn't pay her words any attention. I'm sorry, young man, he whispered weakly. And to you all, I'm sorry as well. It was our hubris to expect anything else.

He's delusional, don't mind his words. one of the older ladies warned me and Natasha. For the first time in my life, I am quite sane, thank you. The man denied with some degree of irritation, before wincing from pain. Listen, he talked to me again. There's no forgiving us for what we'd done. It was a difficult time. The entire world was our enemy.

But still, we thought that we'd failed. But we were thinking globally. We were only thinking about them, as if there were weapons aimed at the enemy. We never thought they'd be so effective against the civilians, against their own people, if they ever broke out. We underestimated them. We thought they were already gone. Quit your ramblings, you odd fool, and you two, go, the old woman told me and Natasha. Can't you see you agitating him?

We need him to rest. This is my apartment, Natasha objected, but the woman scowled. You'll be back here tomorrow. Go hang out to your boyfriend's place. She nodded at me He's not Okay Latasha gave in

Seeing that there was no use arguing I nodded towards the door She nodded back And we headed out Heed my words There will be more You need to get out of here While you still can

Or they'll trample you Along with everyone else The last words of the old man sounded Like an ominous warning It was in the deep of night when we started executing my plan. The first thing we needed was the law. It was tough finding a piece of meat.

Nobody wanted to share, and when they heard why we needed it, they'd spin a finger at the temple to show us what they thought about our idea. But, after a few hours of searching, we finally found what we were looking for. And then, it was time for the next part of the plan. We brought it to the basement with us

and headed toward the furthest door, the one that led to the stage. Well, Maxim wanted to burn down so much. The door must have been locked on the hanging lock from the other side. But it was old and wooden. There was a way to get past it. The trick was to do it completely silently. We spent a good three hours trying to drill through the wood

with a wimble we borrowed from an old carpenter, making one crank at a time, listening all the while to the noises on the other side. In the complete silence, we could hear the thugs, We were on Overwatch drinking and talking, and the nauseating hoarse voice of chants and singer they were listening to still rings in my ears. But at any moment, the music would stop and their tone could change from cheerful to worried, which would mean only one thing. We were busted. Throughout our operation, I could think about one thing only.

Our failure meant the death of the welder. Even if we would miraculously retrieve his tools from the ashes, that priestly. was too high to pay. After two hours, the Wimble's drill finally reached the nail, which held a lock hinge in place, and we spent the next hour working around it, making turns,

trying to make the whole bigger, until finally the nail was separated from the wood. The hanging lock was just hanging from the doorframe now, and the door could be opened. I took off my boots and entered the stairwell. From then on, I was on my own. It only made sense to me to be the one to bear all the risks.

After all, it was my plan. The men were just one floor above me. I could hear them with perfect clarity. One wrong step, one noise, and they'd come rushing down toward me. It was time for the greatest gamble of my life. I reached out toward one of the doors. Unlocked. Of course.

Why would they lock it if they left it? They knew that the first. first floor was dangerous, that the ape could break down the grates on the windows. And so did I. I headed towards the kitchen, open the window, and put a piece of meat on the floor. Then, carefully, taking a knife out of the drawer, I slipped my left palm and drew some blood, raining a few drops onto the piece of meat. The plan was now set in motion.

I didn't know how well the ape could smell, but I banked on the fact that by sunrise, it would be tempted enough to break down the grates and enter the stairwell, where it would quickly deal with all the bandits. I hoped that the old welder would have enough sense to lock the doors before that happened. Looking over my trap one last time, I headed toward the exit. I made sure to leave the door open. That way, either the creature would find its way out of the apartment on its own, or the bandits would hear it breaking in, which would prompt them to come over and take a look at what was going on and drawing it out. I headed toward the basement door

I only to find it wide open The hammer, nails, a piece of furniture Improvised wooden planks that we had planned to use to barricade the door afterward Were lying next to it, abandoned Weird, I thought to myself Before I heard it The pitter-batter of many legs that were getting closer with each second Coming straight out of the basement I came from

The windows was all like a good, think before I turned around and ran. The windows, the tiny windows that lined the walls of the basement, were an easy way for the crawler to get in. We'd never seen it, so we had no clue whether we'd be able to sneak in. And now, it was in there, cutting me off from the safety and pinning me between a rock and a hard place, and it was approaching fast. I didn't have a lot of time to spare.

I had two options. Run back into the apartment I just left with a boat. bait was waiting for the ape, or run up the stairs towards the bandits and hope that their shooting skills weren't great. I chose the second option. In a crisis, primates had always sought to gain elevated position or move toward their peers, and that instinct, buried deep within my psyche, re-emerged in the time of need. The men was so drunk and so bewildered by my sudden appearance that none of them even reached for their gun. They just watched me with surprised eyes as I rushed past them toward the third floor, toward the apartment, 73.

Open up, I shouted as I started furiously banging on the door. I'm Natasha's friend, open up. One floor below me, the men screamed in terror. One of the screams was cut short as a pair of mighty jaws, mandibles, crushed the man's throat. A second later, I heard gunshots. The men above, the ones who guarded the fourth floor, started rushing. down to see what was going on. I could hear their horrid steps. In a second, they would turn around the corner and see me, trying to break into their most important prisoner's apartment.

The key clanked, and the door suddenly budged. I jumped to the side and let it open, and saw the old man inside, wrinkly face, wide eyes. Hey, who the hell are you? I heard right behind me. They were just one flight of stairs away. I pushed the old man inside and jumped inside his apartment,

locking the door behind me, and listening. They rushed past the door. There were more pressing matters to take care of, one floor below. I'm Natasha's friend. I've come here to rescue you, grab your metal saw or gas torch, or whatever it is you have, and let's go, I said quickly. But I... He interrupted me, but I stopped him with a gesture.

I'll carry your son, don't worry about it. I... I... don't have the gas torch anymore, he said. I shook my head. I couldn't have heard it right. What? I'm out of gas.

I used it all up, cutting the railings for the cage on the roof, he explained. So you don't have anything to cut through the metal? I inquired. It seemed impossible. No, no, that couldn't be right. He shook his shoulders. I'm afraid not. But you told Natasha.

you have the tools, I wrote at him. I do, but they are useless. I just, I just wanted to save my son, he explained, pointing toward the door to another room. I just wanted someone to carry him out of here. He didn't have the tools. My quest for him was pointless. I slid down the door and grabbed my head. I spent a few minutes like that, listening to the noises outside.

The men rushed back to the fourth floor, shooting at the pursuer, and after a few minutes the sounds of fight and struggle above stopped. I had to get out. I had no reason to stay there any longer. Should any of the bandits survive, they come over to see who I was. I opened the door. Wait, you're leaving, but I can't carry him without you. The old man pleaded.

Please, I just... I walked out and closed the door behind me. I moved back to the basement carefully. yet at the same time I couldn't feel any fear anymore it all seemed pointless at that point two weeks I had harbored hope

that I'd be able to get through the sewers and now all hope was lost the second floor had two corpses on it one of them still clutching a pistol I wasn't thinking about my survival at the moment but I thought that it could still come in handy

in the future I grabbed the gun and pulled it only to realize that their hand holding it was not dead yet. The man I thought to be dead opened his eyes and looked at me. He was too weak to form words, but he had enough strength to form a scowl. He recognized me. He knew it was me who let the crawler in. A shot rang and had tumbled down the flight of stairs, clutching my side.

The pain instantly snapped him back to reality, my survival instincts coming back online. I wanted to live. I wanted to live, no matter how bleak my future looked. What if the crawler heard it? What if something else heard it? I'm losing blood. I need to hurry.

My brain was producing one rush thought after another. I descended into the basement, squeezing my wound. I could barely see in the darkness. But luckily, I was alone in there. I pulled the handle of the door that left. led to my stairwell. Nothing. I pulled at it again.

It didn't budge. It wasn't that I was too weak to open it. It was locked. I looked back at the windows lining the wall and knocked on the door. I was too scared to shout for someone to open. I knocked again and heard some noises. But they weren't coming from the other side of the door. They were coming from the apartment where I left the bait.

It seemed that the ape, finally took it. I heard its roar, heard the noise with which the grates were separated from the wall, and shuddered. I had nowhere to run. I was cornered. If it could smell the blood on me, I could feel that my palm was full of blood, and there was probably a trail of blood drops behind me. My only hope was that it would be drawn towards the bloodbath on the second floor.

I sat down near the door and closed my eyes. There was no point in staying alert. If anything, I had to make sure I'd make as few sounds as possible. The sounds were starting to get quiet. The last thing I heard was its footsteps as I entered the stairwell and sniffed the air. That was where I was found in the morning, lying unconscious from all the blood loss right next to the door. Thankfully, someone had found me before I froze the death.

Otherwise, you wouldn't be hearing this. Throughout last week, I was trying to recover my strength. Natasha was taking good care of me, and thankfully she found penicillin somewhere, so I didn't have to worry about infections. It did a trick in my digestive system, though, which was less than ideal in my situation. The bullet went clean through. Though there were two wounds on me, at least they didn't have to cut it out of me. I'm starting to regain my strength bit by bit, but without limited food resources,

It was tough. In fact, we're going to run out of food in just a few days. The tenants pulled all of their food and started rationing it. A surprising development for sure. But very soon, there will be none left. I heard that some men were trying to raid nearby grocery stores. Not all of them returned. They hoped that once I recover, I'll join them.

I can't object to that. They've been feeding me for the last week after all. But I can't help but think that we need to get out. Once the food runs out, we'll be too weak to do that. So the next update will probably be the last one. Sorry for not writing for so long. It just seemed pointless for the longest time. But I guess I have to say goodbye.

It'd be impolite to do otherwise. Little by little, I'm beginning to walk. The strength has been coming back very slowly to me, ounce by ounce. With my poor diet, my body had to cannibalize some muscle tissue in order to heal the wound. It's going to leave an ugly scar too. Right now, I have a hole in my side, filled to the brim with scar tissue. I can't help but poke it all the time, even though it's disgusting. Of course, I won't be going for any food raids anytime soon.

I might be able to descend down the rope. but to climb back while carrying a dozen kilos of food on me. That's just impossible. I'll repeat the fate of that old man who couldn't get back inside. So, for the past week, I've been lying in bed in Natasha's apartment. I guess you could say it's became a hospital of sorts. She takes care of both me and the old man, one more potato per day for each of us.

She's been boiling them all the while using the same pot of water, Say it'll make a nice soup when we're out of everything else. Maxim and the other men tried to raid the groceries nearby, but each raid gets more difficult than the last, mostly because half the time somebody doesn't return. They'd taken the guns they'd found of the bandits hide out, but, from what I've been told, they're not much use, and the gunshots usually imply that someone is living out their last seconds in terror.

I don't hear much about the outside, except for some rumours. Before, I was locked inside the apartment complex. But now, it feels like the danger looks right beyond the door's threshold, beyond our windows. It feels like my fortress, there used to be the whole building shrunk to fit inside Natasha's apartment. With my limited mobility, I can't feel safe outside her apartment. We're almost out of food, and I can hear people bickering with each other more and more. It seems to head in a nasty direction.

and each time Natasha steps out of apartment, I fear she might not return. She says that crazy things gone outside, things that just a month or even two weeks ago would make my hair stand up. But now I'm just too tired and exhausted with all this nonsense to react. I feel like the same goes for everyone else in the building. Natasha says that a mysterious human figure has been spotted right on the very verge of the forest. It signalled to the observers to come out and follow it and then disappeared in the forest. It seemed impossible for it to be one of the survivors.

On another day, the tenants from one of the apartments started screaming that the voices in their heads were too loud. I believe that it was just a madness taking over if it was just one person. But all three of them? That was very unlikely. And a few nights before, we all woke up from the stampede. hundreds of legs were rushing from the forest past our house and into the town I could feel the building trembled from the vibrations their mighty feet were sending into the ground

and the screeches of many beasts were mixing together to a point where it was hard to tell which one I'd heard before no one dared look out the window we were all just hoping that it all passed and let us continue living on our pointless lives after they passed we could hear gunshots firing off in the distance throughout the whole next day. The sounds of shots got the old man quite agitated. I have never managed to get more than a few coherent sentences at a time out of him.

It seems that the physical toll on his body, as well as whatever guilt he's been feeling, has made him lose it bit by bit. He talked about a place far in the forest. He was confusing things, so I'm still not quite sure what it was. In some stories, it's a town, and in others a base in the forest. Sometimes there's a lab and sometimes is an archaeological dig. It was built by the Soviets, and it's been there long ago. But, in all stories, one word always came up.

The door. He worked there as an intern. He says that our entire town was built by the Soviets precisely because of that location. It was a closed-off town, the one that wasn't on any maps, even on the secret ones. our town was a place where all the scientists and personnel lived he said that he got his apartment back when he was assigned to the project and was very proud of being a homeowner at a young age whatever they'd been doing there the higher-ups ended up disappointed with the results

so the project was closed and the town was declassified even before the fall of the union he said that he'd forgotten what he's seen there until a month ago but now despite death decades of abandonment, something was happening there again, something that unleashed the hord of these monsters. As the man himself said it, something on the other side has finally made contact with us,

forty years after we sent our first signal. He didn't elaborate on what the other side was, or where the beasts were coming from in such volume. Soon after, he shut himself off from the world around him, and wouldn't talk anymore. days ago, the mysterious figure was back again. This time I got a good look at it. A long black winter jacket and a hood that obscured its face, a dark spot so visibly clear on the snow day. I say it, because despite it looking completely human, I can't accept it as such. The only thing different was that, on that day, some people followed it into the woods. I was almost

one of them. The voice I'd heard in my head was just too alluring to ignore. Yesterday it came back again, and once more, with a wave of its hand, people started crawling out the windows to follow it. Some were just hanging over rails and falling down onto the snow, from the second floor before getting up and following its calls, ignoring the cold and broken appendages. I had to restrain Natasha from following it. It seems that some people are more susceptible to. to its call. And so, she answered it. I was fighting her for a good five minutes.

She didn't hit or bite me. She was just silently pushing her whole body toward the door, trying to get out of the building and follow it. I was shouting at her, even hitting her to bring her back to her senses, all the while feeling the strength leave my already weakened body. And throughout all that, I could almost feel the creature's waiting gaze,

piercing through the solid walls and judgingly looking over Natasha disapproving that she was making it wait for her. Finally, it left and Natasha came back to her senses. I almost burst out crying when I realised that she was back with me.

Over the last few weeks she'd become the closest person to me, almost like a sister. To see her back to her senses was a great relief. But then the chill of cold air past us and with the terror we realized that we were the only two people left in the apartment. The old man left and he didn't even bother to close the window behind him.

Seeing as it was the fifth floor, we didn't risk looking out to see if he survived. We knew the answer. We simply closed the window. Today, the mysterious figure, the haunted pipe piper will undoubtedly return. And this time, we may fall victim to his cause. So, we have no choice but to abandon the ship. There are no more than ten people left in the building, and we're all ready to leave. We've eaten all the food we've had, no point carrying it with us anymore.

We've put on the warmest clothes we have to combat winter, and we've prepared the makeshift weapons. Some sharpen their brooms, but I decided to stick with my hatchet. I'm still convinced that it's the best weapon I have. We're leaving in front of the same. five minutes, and Natasha, and Natasha's pouring potato soup into cups, our last meal in this building. We don't know where we'll go or how far we'll get. But I'm sure of one thing.

We'd be safer away from the forest. We might even travel from one building to another. After all, we doubt that people close our apartments before evacuating. So, who knows? We may survive. We'll head somewhere far away, away from the military, away from the creatures, and I'm sure we'll find the way. And if, in the future, I'm not maimed or shot,

and I finally have a moment to sit down and safely recount what I've been through, I'll let you know, so keep your fingers crossed to me. And hopefully, I'll talk to you soon.