CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - 7 SCARY Reddit HORROR Stories to slice into and realise was a cake

Episode Date: July 14, 2020

CREEPYPASTA STORIES-►0:00 "My friends and I just wanted to shoot off some fireworks" Creepypasta►23:25 "I’m a psychotherapist who specializes in unlocking repressed memories" Creepypasta►43:39 "My friend worked for the U.S. Coast Guard. He told me some stories before passing" Creepypasta►1:47:37 "I've been living under a fake name for almost 20 years. I'm ready to explain why" Creepypasta►2:15:49 "I bought a used car in perfect condition. However, there's a catch" Creepypasta►2:44:33 "All I had to do was ignore his messages" Creepypasta►2:59:02 "I was dropped off in the woods for three days. Something followed me out" 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- Inkognit:►https://www.behance.net/Inkognit►https://www.inkognit.com/SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPastaCREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only-

The 4th of July weekend was supposed to be fun. My cousin, Marissa, accompanied me to my friend, Ellen's cabin, where the three of us were going to spend the weekend, shooting our fireworks, and having a nice time. The day started off fine enough. We had about $200 worth of fireworks, plenty of food, and some other enhancers of fun. Seeing as how we had a decent stockpile, we figured we could start the fun early while it was still daytime. We set up some of the lower yield items and took turns launching them while sipping beers. The cabin was set in a pretty level field, with a small grove about half a mile behind it.

We were sure to aim the rocket straight up and away, so that even if they fell without detonating, they wouldn't land within the grove. One firework, fired from a decorative cardboard launch pad, went soaring through the sky like an artillery shot, trailing red smoke as if it was a very small, went. We waited for the inevitable boom of its detonation, but after more than the instruction allotted time heard nothing. The, oh no, panic then set in, and the three of us went sprinting into the grove. Ellen fumbling with a fire extinguisher she brought as she ran, Marissa scooping up some water bottles from a pack. We entered the grove and immediately smelled smoke. Ellen sprinted ahead of me cursing as she went. Marissa kept pace with me.

After no longer than ten seconds of all out sprinting, the three of us ended a clearing and came upon a building of flame. Ellen's fire extinguisher spat out that white foam, but the fire's coverage of the building was total.

She only managed to extinguish a small section of the building's corner. This is not good, we're going to jail. Marissa was having a full-blown panic attack while Ellen watched helplessly. She'd been the one to fire the rocket, and, with the fire being so close to a property, she'd be held responsible. Turning away from the fire, I told Marissa to give me a phone

so I could call the fire department before the flames spread to the undergrowth. Just as I was about to dial, Ellen smacked the phone from my hand. Marissa and I responded with simultaneous shouts of, what the hell? But Ellen merely turned our focus to the building. The fire had burned itself out. The only noticeable damage to it was the incineration of a canopy of leaves and foliage. Blacken leaves curled and fell away from it. Bushes at its edge hosted dying embers. Ellen walked around with a fire extinguisher, snuffing out the small residual fires.

The building had been protected from the flames by an armour of nature. Well, that's pretty lucky. Marissa had calmed down and seemed almost elated now that we weren't an immediate threat of arrest for arson. Ellen and I joyfully agreed. As for the building itself, I suppose you could call it a shack. When the foliage had been burned away, eerily quickly, might I add, revealed there was a simple wooden building, its roof slanted and cracked, its walls in a similar state of disrepair.

As for the building itself, I suppose you could call it a shack. When the foliage had been burned away, eerily quickly might I add, revealed there was a simple wooden building, its roof slanted and cracked, its walls in a similar state of disrepair. There was no door, but the darkness inside was absolute. Nothing could be seen of its interior from the outside.

It wasn't a large building, but gazing into that darkness made it seem as if it was measurably empty, spatially inconsistent with the outside. Ellen, who I guess you can call the bravest of us, found the structure to be immediately and irresistibly interesting, whereas Marissa and I were unsettled by the thing. Marissa was never one to venture into strange places, and I'd always played the role of lookout when the three of us would go urbexing. I don't mind abandoned or disused places.

and can even enjoy a bit of the peril encountered during the exploration of them. But something about that shack felt different. It's rudimentary construction and ostensibly boundless interior, setting off some primitive alarm in my brain. I asked Marissa if she wanted to stay behind, and, after gazing around the area, she said she'd rather accompany us. I had felt a change in the atmosphere of the grove since the diminishing of the flames,

and, while the shack was undidimpsed, uneniably ominous. Something about the area outside it seemed equally odd. We left our bags outside, setting them and what appeared to be a stone bench covered in weeds, bringing with us only our flashlights. Ellen led the way, I followed behind, and Marissa held onto my shoulder. We entered as if walking into some cavernous expanse, holding onto each other like cave explorers, rather than a small woodland hut.

Some superstitious part of me thought that the beams of our flashlights wouldn't penetrate the darkness, that we were really walking into some place whose humble exterior bellied its true nature. But the light cut through the darkness easily enough, dispersing the shadows to reveal and mostly empty, albeit dust-covered room, save for one substructure straight ahead. A small stone well. I hadn't ever seen a wall. well within a building, although I suppose the overarching structure performed the same purpose

as a little roof you'd often see attached to outside wells, which this one did not have. A wooden bucket was suspended in the usual manner above the well, from a height level with our heads. There was nothing else in the room. Ellen passed a flashlight to me, which I took in my free hand, and then she went to the well and peered into the bucket. Marissa asked what was inside and Ellen didn't respond for a moment looking deeper into it

as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing It's like a black sludge But there's little lights inside Looks like lightning bugs But I don't think they're bugs at all Equally afraid of bugs as she was ruinous places Marissa didn't venture forth To check out the bucket for herself

So I did Ellen took back a flashlight and stepped aside, allowing me to look in. I saw exactly what she had described. A thick, black substance with little moats of light that seemed to swim inside of it. But something about their movement seemed too insubstantial for them to be insects. Oddly, I couldn't help but think that if space were fluid, this is how stars would appear, ebbing on the celestial tides. It was both eerie and fascinating,

and I had a hard time peeling myself away from the bucket. I asked Marissa if she'd like to look, assuring her that it wasn't anything too gross, but she declined. I figured that was the extent of interest in the well and had turned back to leave when Ellen tipped the bucket, dumping its contents into the well.

For some reason, This felt wrong. An immediate sensation of fright overtook me. I stared at her, angered for a reason I couldn't understand, but I saw that she felt the same, regretted the thing she'd just done. I was going to speak up, confirm that she felt the same way, when something caught my attention. Or rather, the absence of something. There hadn't been a splash.

or any indication that the substance had come into contact with something below. I have no idea how far down the average well goes, but I was sure that some rickety, forgotten structure of clearly pre-modern age wouldn't have been very deep. How far does this thing go? Marissa's voice startled me. I'd been listening so intently for any sound which would have indicated that the substance had reached the bottom.

I don't know Ellen, go look down with your flashlight Despite her demonstrated bravery My suggestion wasn't something she jumped to But a moment later She was peering into the well Shining a light into its depth I don't see anything

It's too far down This disturbed me As I'm sure it did the other two A seemingly depthless well above which hung some black substance bearing a star-like quality within. These were certainly odd circumstances. Ellen seemed doubly disquieted, the well sitting so close to her home. We should go.

Marissa's comment was unanimously agreed to, and we all headed for the exit. But before we passed through the threshold, a deep sigh erupted from the well, like the exhalation of some long-buried thing. It froze us in place, crystallizing my blood. In that moment, I felt pathetically weak, as if I had gone through life under the delusion that I was somehow stronger than I really am. My heart rate escalated, working the thaw of the blood frozen in my veins. Ellen and Marissa seemed to go through similar struggles, each struggling to look to each other,

and then to that well. I managed to regain a bit of my composure and movement and looked into the darkness where the well was barely visible. I shied my light on it, but saw only the loose fitting stones and the cracked wooden bucket. For the first time, I noticed that the crank, which lowered and raised the bucket, was missing, broken off by someone, since there weren't any signs of intrusion of nature or weather. The longer I held my light on the well, the worse I felt. The anticipation of something sinister arising from the well

caused a wave of anxiety to rise within me. Since my friends had yet to completely snap out of their petrification, I turned and pushed them, desperately wanting to leave the shack and put considerable distance between us and it. Unfortunately, the sudden forceful movement was too much for the floor of the shack. It collapsed a moment later,

plunging the three of us into darkness. I don't know how long we fell. I must have briefly fainted from sheer terror, but I landed third atop Ellen. I grogly apologised, but she didn't seem to mind the impact, still dazed as a result of that odious sigh. Our flashlight had come free from my hands and fallen on their own. One lay on the floor ahead of me, its beam shining to my left, illuminating Marissa. She was lying on her back And for a moment

I feared that she had landed head first But she stirred And eventually sat up I picked up one flashlight Handed another to Ellen And rolled the third to Marissa Once fully recovered We first shined them up above

To my surprise We'd fallen only about ten feet The hole above us Was roughly circular The broken edges of the board oddly uniform. The light which entered the upper room from the outside did not reach below to us,

despite the short distance of the drop. Turning our lights to the room around us, we saw that it was as bare as the room above. Again, save for a singular item immediately ahead of us. It was a body. Time. Who knows how long,

and corruption had assailed the thing, leaving it in a state of extreme decomposition. The clothes, clearly of much older era, were in tatters. Any colour they'd once possessed were now washed out or replaced with the stains of decay. Bones stuck out from pant legs and blackened, or greenish flesh, show beneath Motheton holes in the fabric. Portions of the skull were exposed on the head, yellowed and lacking any ossory luster. The body looked to be decades, if not centuries old, and yet,

It also seemed to have been weirdly preserved in some undefinable, non-physical way. I noticed that it had once been propped against the wall ahead. Around its neck was a clamp, the ends of which held holes through which the rings of a chain, still attached to the wall, must have gone through at some former time. But now it was slumped over to the right, when facing it, free of its undoubtedly uncomfortable imprisonment, a freedom that had obviously occurred too late.

Oh my god, look. I followed Ellen's finger, which at first seemed to just point to the corpse. Seeing nothing new, I stepped closer to her, and my body nearly regained its form of rigidity at what I saw. On the floor, right beside the corpse, was a puddle. The liquid was the same black substance Ellen had dumped from the bucket. The well, apparently, was directly above the body. So, they lowered whatever was in there down to him, for him to eat, drink?

Marissa's voice trembled, and I'm glad she spoke up. I doubt I would have been able to offer an intelligible thought on Ellen's observation at that moment. Your guess is as good as mine, Ma. I hadn't heard Ellen call Marissa by a nickname since childhood. she was both fascinated and frightened. I looked back to the body and saw something which seemed to disprove Marissa's theory. I came closer, shining my light on the corpse's hand, what was left of them as I went.

I brought their attention to what I had found, and together we stared with renewed uncertainty at the mysterious corpse. He wasn't meant to drink it. He couldn't have. His hands were chained as well. Marissa backed away as she said this, the beam of a flashlight widening to spot the entirety of the once-restrained figure.

Ellen was quiet for a while, before finally saying, Whatever that stuff was, it was meant to be dumped on him. It was so obvious. He'd been upright. The contents of the bucket would have come down and drenched him. For what purpose? It was unknowable at the moment.

But it was clear. That was the intention of the Wells placement and his initial restraint. The sludge pulled beside him, still strangely starry, yet otherwise innocuous. Having seen enough of the corpse and no longer wanting to remain in some subterranean dungeon, we decided to climb to the upper floor. Marissa crouched to the back against the wall opposite the corpse, hands out together, and Ellen stepped on them. Marissa boosted her up

And once there Ellen leaned over and pulled Marissa up I was next And had just been ready to outstress my hand When I heard a sound It was a soft crack Like a stick being partially broken Turning around

I saw that the sludge had spread Beyond its initial pooling Reaching a gnarled hand Of the corpse The hand remains submerged only for a moment. The next I saw it move. The fingers uncurled and curled again.

The skin growing taut as the hand's flexibility was tested. The next moment the hand was raised and brought to the head, still dripping the substance. Droplets fell upon the body as the hand slowly came to the corpse's face. Once there, it wiped the remaining sludge

across the skin and exposed bone. It then fell limply down to the floor and the corpse grew still. But only a moment later, I heard that sigh, which had just minutes ago, paralyzed us on the upper floor. This time,

I actually saw the chest inflate and deflate as the breath was drawn in and released. My face must have held an expression of extreme terror because Ellen screamed at me to grab a hand. She couldn't have seen the corpse's activity from the perch above. It was too far ahead in the room.

I wanted to reach for a hand, but my body was no longer under my control. Paralyzing fear prevented even the slightest physical exertion. It felt as if I had been caught by the watchful eye of some tightened thing, and could do nothing but stand there and await a footfall and doom. After the sigh, the corpse again became animate. I watched with ever-increasing terror as the body shifted and the limbs moved about. out. The black sludge stained its flesh and clothing as it writhed, and seemed to excite it further, as if renewing its physical capabilities. At one point it tried to stand, and I was

sure that I would have been eaten or butchered or otherwise assaulted by the undead thing, but either its bones are too brittle or its muscles too withered because it failed in this attempt. "'Grab my hand now!' voice boomed, and although the corpse was clearly reanimating, I wint at the sound, not wanting to give it a reason to hasten its resurrection. Somehow, against the petrification which had seized me, I managed to raise a shaking hand. Ellen immediately grabbed it, and with a strength I hadn't known she possessed, pulled me up. But as I ascended in what could have been more than half a second, I saw into the empty black

sockets of its skull. Simultaneously with this, it had raised a rotten hand, and upon locking its eyes, it spoke a single word. Despair. Ellen pulled me up and practically threw me onto the top floor. Marissa stood mostly outside, gripping the threshold and leaning in. Ellen helped me to my feet and half carried me out of the building. She sat me on the bench, rifled through a pack, and pulled. out a bundle of fireworks. She passed from to Marissa, who apparently knew what was intended

without being said. A few seconds later, they were throwing the lit fireworks into the hut. They didn't wait for detonations. Once one was tossed, another was lit and thrown. A few landed in the hole through which we had fallen, and one or two even saw directly into the well. Had the circumstances been different, I'm sure applause would have been in order. The detonation were loud, the acoustics increased considerably by the structures interior. Ellen helped me up, and together the three of us hobbled away as the bombardment went on. We arrived back at Ellen's house half an hour later. I was laid in Ellen's bed while she and Marissa sat in the living room.

I could hear them speaking, but couldn't make out their words. I was tired, as I'm sure they were as well. and, while my tideness was partially owed to the physical exertions of the experience, something else bothered and debilitated me. I haven't told them this. Can't bring myself to explain it to them, but I felt something horrible just as I was being pulled from that dungeon. When my eyes looked into the eyeless recesses in its skull,

when it uttered the word despair, something overcame me in that moment. I'll do my best to describe it. It was like the instant onset of extreme depression. I had never really believed in people having spirits before, but in that moment it felt as if mine had been taken from me, or at least reduced in some metaphysical or spectral way. I felt withered, immediately and totally.

This is awful enough, but the worst thing was that this dark sensation was subsequently enticing. In the span of less than a second, I was introduced to this ultra depression, and yet afterwards, it felt intoxicating. I suppose it's vaguely similar to the loss of inhibition with certain drugs and alcohol, the resultant thrill of no longer abiding by one's own or society's expectations. But in this case, the thrill was exposing myself to some abysmal spiritual ruin. I wanted to submit to it, wanted to reject whatever sanctity of self that exists within us. It weakened me, captivated me, made me desire nothing but the obliteration of my own being at the hands of something.

I can hear Marissa and Ellen talking in the room clearly now. The voices are raised. Ellen wants to go back and make sure the place burned down. Marissa wants Ellen to take us all away from here. I don't know what I want. I feel weak and just listening to them puts a strain of my nerves. But something inside me, some deeper than primal feeling is tickling my brain,

imploring me to return to the well, drop down to the lower floor and offer myself to that black oblivion that I tasted. I don't know what will happen in the next few hours. So, I've decided. decided to share my story. Just in case I'm unable to later. My name is Dr. Hayes.

I'm a psychotherapist who specializes in the unlocking of repressed memories. A repressed memory, for those of you who may not know, is a rare psychological phenomenon in which memories of traumatic events may be stored in the unconscious mind and blocked from normal conscious recall. In simple terms, the human mind can sometimes hide away memories of trauma or abuse, giving them the illusion as if the event never happened. Some theorist claim that this is a defence mechanism developed in the cases of young children who could possibly not be able to mentally cope with the trauma from the experience.

At first glance, this may not seem to be much of a concern. What you can't remember can't hurt you, right? For some people, this may be the case, but in others they find themselves responding to mental triggers, smells, sounds or phrases with no prior knowledge as to why they are having these experiences for others they may

unknowly stumble across the memory in their sleep have you ever had a dream that seems so vivid and real yet upon awaking you think back to it unable to recall when your life the scenario happened what you simply dismissed as a strange dream could have very well been a repressed memory unwittedly stumbled upon in your subconscious

It's weird, I know, but bear with me. I find the phenomenon fascinating, which is why I choose to specialize in this area of psychology in my studies and practices. Periodically, from time to time, I am visited by patients from all over the country who believe they have experienced this phenomenon. After being referred to me by their therapist who suspects their patients may have repressed memories from their childhood, it is then up to me. to unlock these memories. Only after using social cues and making notes on their reactions

to certain smells, sounds and pictures, can I estimate where in the lifetime the repressed memory takes place. This is a slow process that can take up to a year before we even identify the timeframe of this memory. Once the time frame of the repressed memory is discovered, commonly between the ages of 4 to 12, I bring in what I call the Dreamscreen, a device invented by the National Center of Neural Applications lent to me by the University of Illinois. The appropriately named Dreamscreen is a device that measures brain activity while you sleep. This data can be plugged into an algorithm that reconstructs your memory so that it can be played back in a recording. Subjects are first put into a stage

of sleep called hyponogia. This is a semi-lucid stage of sleep that takes to be played in a takes place in the moment between sleep and wakefulness so that I can communicate with them as I watch their memory unfold on the screen, live as if I, myself, were living in the memory. While walking the subject through the memory for the first time, it is up to me to coax the subject through the entire memory, asking the right questions, pointing out the hidden details, all while making a conscious effort into not leading the subject too much as to incidentally plant false memories into their subconsciousness. This is an incredibly delicate procedure and requires absolute concentration on my behalf, something I've only been able to achieve

after years of experience and practice. This entire process can take up to an entire month to complete, but the results are always worth it. Some patients were able to recover memories they lost years ago and finally be able to come to terms with the past and put years, of not knowing to rest. Other times, missing evidence from crimes and horrific injustices such as torture and abuse were able to be reported in the court of law so that the victim could finally get the justice they deserved. It is for moments like these that I continue to do what I do. It was only after viewing my most recent subject's results that I ended up having more questions than answers.

Questions I'd never imagine asking myself. Questions, in hindsight, even I would much rather be left unanswered. The subject, Hugo, was a 26-year-old male from Eden, New York. He was initially referred to me by his family therapist after identifying gaps in his memories and recalling a strange reoccurring dream he had no memories of in his childhood. The subject appeared healthy, both mentally and physically. from the obvious signs of sleep deprivation, he was in great shape for someone his age. During our initial interviews, he was able to recall memories from as far back as 1995,

when the subject was only two years old. These memories were recorded and replied to his living relatives and confirmed as being legit memories. This is very impressive and gave me high hopes for this being a quick and easy case. All those left to do was find the key. I asked the subject if he could recall any forms of abuse during his childhood years, either from the hands of a family member, friend or stranger. No, nothing like that, he replied with a forced smile on his face.

Do you recall ever witnessing a traumatic event such as a traumatic accident or a murder take place? I asked him, curiously. Nothing as long as watching reality TV doesn't count. He remarked comically. I forced a smile at the bad joke and continued Tell me about those dreams you've been having I asked him with genuine curiosity His smile was quickly replaced by a look of concern

As he unconsciously stole a glance over his shoulder Then back to me Well uh he stuttered It started happening last year He said as he took a casual sip of water from his table as he continued. I noticed a slight tremor in his hand as he placed the glass back on the table.

I've been having this dream. I'm in a field at the old family farm. How do you know it was that particular location? I asked. According to your file, you moved several times during your childhood. I would recognise those blue skies and open farmland anywhere. he said. My mother would complain all the time about wanting to move back to the city, but my father claimed that the open country air would do his kids some good. What else do you remember? I asked patiently. I remember standing in an open field, walking towards something.

Go on, I coaxed him. He sat there for a moment in silence, becoming visibly tense. Then things get weird, he said nervously. I'm all of a sudden in a dark room I've never seen before, and someone else is there. Do you remember who that person is? I asked him. No, no I don't, he said. If I can be 100% honest, I don't remember anything else that happened.

He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes, as if trying hard to run. remember. How old were you when you lived on that family farm? I asked him. Nine to ten years old, he replied more confidently. I lived with my grandparents at the time. It was only about a year or so. Anything else you can remember about your time there that you think could be related to this dream, I asked. I don't know, the patient admitted. That's where my memory begins to get a little foggy. All I know is that hours, even days after having the dream, I just can't shake this feeling of dread. No matter how much I try, I just can't calm my nerves after that dream. I took a few notes and stood up to my feet. Well, I guess the only way we're

going to find out is through phase two. I moved the cart over to where the patient was sitting and began to prep the dream screen. After leaning the subject's seat back, into a prone position, I administered this sedative to ease him into his semi-lucid state. After placing the electrodes to his temple and forehead, I slipped on a pair of headphones onto the patient so that I could communicate with him from the observation room. After guiding the patient through verbal cues and building the scenario, I began to see the first sign of images on the screen. The memory started dark at first, but what began to look like an open,

field came into view. I began to take in the sights, blue skies, white clouds, this way of golden wheat blowing in the wind, and what appeared to be a small country home in the distance. Okay, now tell me, where are you standing right now? I asked the subject. The farm, the subject mumbled. The one I grew up on. As he spoke, I took in the surroundings as they began to become clearer as the subject began to remember. Now tell me, who else was with you? I prodded. My... my friend. No, cousin, Katie.

The subject said. Good, you're doing great, I said, encouragingly, as a figure appeared walking next to the subject in his memory. Now, describe your cousin. What did she look like? Dirty blonde hair, brown eyes, freckles on her nose. The subject said confidently as Katie came into view, exactly how he described her. She looked to be around eight years old. Come on, Huey, Katie said excitedly.

Can you see it? The old farmhouse. We're almost there. Can you tell me about this old farmhouse? I asked the subject. Yeah. It was an old abandoned house built in my grandfather's property. It was built before my family bought the property.

We lived just a few acres away from it. He mumbled quietly. Kate and I wanted to check it out. We were planning on making it into a new clubhouse. I spotted a small smile on the subject's face from the window of the observation room as he began to remember. We had a backpack full of stuff, action figures, comic books, a couple of chocolate bars. He said, quietly.

We were driven out of our old clubhouse in the hayloft after a family of raccoons moved in. Now, describe the old farmhouse to me, I asked him as the blurry image of the house began to come into contrast. Two stories, peeling dark blue paint, thatched the roof, an old tire swing in the tree out front.

He told me. The image now became clear as the farmhouse came fully into view down to every detail he described it in. Come on, Huey, Katie beckoned. Let's see what's inside. As she walked to the front door, the subject's eyes darted to a window on the top floor.

A figure quickly moved out of view that appeared to be watching them. Wait, I blurted out. Who was that? The subject's eyebrows forward in confusion. I don't remember, he said after a long pause. I let it go and let the subject continue. Okay, now, what happened after you went inside of the farmhouse?

What did you find inside? I asked. Um, nothing, the subject said slowly. It was cleaned out, no people, no furniture, not even a single scrap of litter. The dream suddenly grew darker as the subjects now appeared in a small, dimly lit room. Light pulled out from the creases in between the boarded-up windows. Isn't this great? Katie said excitedly. We can have camp-outs. We can have picnics. We can even invite our friends over and...

Her voice was cut off as a low creek sounded from upstairs. What? What was that? Katie said, nervously. Probably another family of raccoons. I heard Katie say as the subject's eyes trail to the top of the stairs. Wait, I remember now,

the subject said, shakily. Who was it? I asked cautiously. No, not who, the subject said, with genuine fear in his voice. Oh God,

it, it was... His voice trailed off as a figure appeared from the top of the stairs. I leaned in close, try my best to make out the figure standing at the top of the stairs. Stay with me, I coached the subject. Describe what you saw inside of that farmhouse. The subject didn't say anything. His facial features remained taut, but his lips quivered. My eyes went back to the screen as the humanoid figure began to walk down the stairs.

Huey Kate's soft voice said nervously Who is? The figure suddenly dropped onto all fours and dashed down the stairs with alarming speed Teeth the subject shouted White eyes, pale skin

The figure suddenly stopped Inches away from the subject's face My heart began to race as the image cleared up As the subject began to remember. Most of what I could make out of the face of the figure was only what was visible in the small slivers of light from the boarded-up windows. Pale skin, gleaming white teeth, and brown receding gums with a mouth whose lips were pulled so far back they almost appeared to not exist. Its eyes were also rolled so far back that the pupils and arises were not even

visible, showing only the white of its eyes. Its nose was nothing more than to be. It's nose was nothing more than two slits as it breathed heavily only inches away from the little boy's face. The being wore no clothes and appeared to be human, yet showed no discernible signs of gender. For a long time, I watched in complete shock as the figure appeared unmoving. The slits were the nose should have been, flaring with every breath. Its teeth began to click as if in curiosity as movement was spotted from behind the being. Katie, no! The subject screamed in unison with a child in the dream.

Katie stood behind the figure and swung a two by four other being's head. The creature spun around with lightning speed, catching the little girl's wrist in his hands and lashed out with the other, slicing a clean cut into the child's stomach with its clawed hand. Katie fell onto her back, hands covering the open wound, and began to whimper, terrified, subdued soothed sobs. as the creature slowly crawled on top of her. Its face now inches from hers.

Leave her alone! The subject screamed once again in unison with his younger self as he made his way forward, arms outstretched, as if to push the creature off his cousin. The creature once again moved with blinding speed knocking the young boy across the room with a mule kick to land roughly against the opposite wall. The creature once again drew its attention back to the young girl

lying beneath it. It slowly leaned forward, its mouth only inches away from the young girl's ear. It then stopped and a hissing whisper could be heard from the creature's mouth. Katie looked up in confusion as the creature then broke into a sprint, dashing out of the open door faster than any living creature I've ever seen move in my entire life. The screen went dark as an alarm went off in the observation room. The subject began to shake violently as if in a seizure. I ran forward and quickly shut down the machine and removed the electrodes from the subject's head. Katie, no, leave her alone.

The subject cried as the thrashing became less violent and he slowly drifted into unconsciousness. I will be honest with you. This was not the first time I've seen this creature while using the dream screen. The first time I did. dismissed it as simply a pseudo-memory. Sometimes a subject subconscious would replace the person who caused the trauma with a childhood fear like the monster in the closet or a creature from a horror movie that scarred them as a kid creating a pseudo-memory.

The second time I saw it, I knew it was so much more than that. Several times before, I've seen this thing locked deep into a subject's locked memories as if its appearance itself was so horrifying. that the human brain automatically retracted the memory into the deepest part of the subject's memories as to keep them from going insane. Each subject completely different, unrelated with no discernible trends or patterns in physical appearance, mental health or age. I do not know who or what this thing is, but I have dedicated my entire career to finding out what this creature is.

Every case only leads to the dead ends But this case was different Never in any of my past subject's memories Have I heard this creature speak Even in my most recent report I could not make out what exactly was said Earlier this month I have contacted the most recent subject's cousin

From his memory, Kate After much convincing on my behalf I talked her into visiting my office in Washington DC to have her memories examined. The now, fully grown Kate, was also experiencing similar dreams as the most previous subject prior to our first meeting.

Her resulting memory, once unlocked, ran parallel to that of her cousins. She also bore an old scar on her stomach in the same place the creature had scratched her in the memory, proving its legitimacy. The only difference between Kate's memory

was that the creature's voice was now clear as day. I will never forget the words I heard from Kate's memory, the sound of the creature's hissing voice still fresh in my mind. What I heard it say to that little girl almost 17 years ago, Stop searching for me. Dr. Hayes The Coast Guard

The oldest continuous sea-going service of the United States. I still remember the day Owen got in Why did a smile I ever saw on him, apart from his wedding day of course. It had been a dream of his since we were kids. Having shared our love for the ocean, I understood him, but where he had gone for the Coast Guard, I had settled for a swimming instructor. Not as fancy, but I enjoyed it. Through the years, Owen and I would meet up and share typical stories.

Nothing that seemed too out of the ordinary. It was only a few months after he joined the Coast Guard. when I started to see him change. His demeanour, his expression, and overall energy that he'd bring just wasn't the same. It wasn't until I finally confronted him about it when he began to really open up about what had been happening. The following are some of the stories he's shared with me over the years. Story 1 If you guys know anything about the Coast Guard, you'll know that one of their main missions is search and rescue.

One particular story involved a search for this kid after his parents reported him being carried out by a rip current. The thing that stood out about this story though was how the kid had gone missing. According to the parents, they'd brought their kid along with a friend for a beach day. While the parents had been laying out in the sand, the kids had gone to the shore to see which one could hold their breath the longest underwater. The mother claimed she could see them both not too far from the shore when they went under. Less than a minute later, the friend's head popped back out, but her sons never did. The kid's friend appeared to be just as confused as the mother, going back under, only to pop out and look around. They looked around, but eventually began to panic, alerting the entire beach, at which point someone called 911.

The kid's friend had told them that they'd been staring right at each other before going under, and that he'd kept his eyes closed underwater. When he came up and didn't see him, he went down again, eyes open this time, but the kid was gone. The parents had assumed it was a rip current because they didn't know what else could have taken him so suddenly. The chances of it only taken one of the kids when they were only a few feet away from each other wasn't likely though, and any type of marine life large enough to take a kid that size would have been spotted that close to the shore. Owen told me they spent the better part of a week searching for the kid, but they never found any traces of him.

Story 2 One case he told me about that freaked him out involved the report of a foreign vessel being spotted in the area. He was sent out with a team to investigate. When they got there, a fishing vessel had anchored next to a sailboat in poor condition. When questioned later, the fisherman claimed he'd only wanted to help after spotting the sailboat and didn't want any trouble. When Owen's team boarded the vessel, they found a young married couple. They were hiding in the inner cabin in a closet space, both visibly shaken. Owen tried talking to them, but they responded in another language.

When the team took them outside, the couple trembled, looking around them in fear. Owen said it was a cloudless day and the ocean was extremely peaceful, so he didn't understand what had them so frightened. They kept rambling something the team couldn't understand. One of them even yelled at some point. Someone eventually realized they were speaking Italian and were able to find a translator to talk to them over their radio device. The translator told the team that the couple was incoherent

that they were rambling about the storm and a black and white thing They weren't getting anything from the couple out there So they decided to take them back to the mainland The translator managed to calm them down And they agreed to head back together On the way there one of them started talking to Owen She was shaking again and looked terrified

Her words seemed almost as if she was pleading to him about something. Owen got the translator on the radio, but he told Owen to ignore her. Easier said than done. Looking back, he remembered feeling uncomfortable, the woman being only one of the reasons. He said he felt very anxious while the translator continued to advise that he ignore her. She eventually started the yell though, and the team tried restraining. her or the translator attempted to calm her down. She pushed on, screaming, fighting them, or looking at something behind them.

She was really losing it when they all heard a loud splash behind their boat. The woman went silent then. She looked for her husband, who had fallen asleep early on and sat beside them. Neither one spoke for the rest of the trip. The proper authorities took the couple once they reached land, and Owen didn't hear anything about them after that. He did manage to speak to the translator not long after though. Curious, Owen asked him what the woman had been saying.

The translator laughed, told him she was nuts, but then went on to say that she'd be repeating the same thing over and over and over again. It's coming, it's here, it wants you now. Story 3. Another bizarre missing person story that also involved. kids. In this one, the parents had just bought a boat and took the family of five out for the day. They had angered themselves a bit out of the way from what Owen told me. At some point, the parents took their eyes off the kids. They said it must have happened within five minutes, if not less.

But suddenly, they heard the splashes. The parents rushed down, but only saw the after-effect of their fall. The water already adjusting back. The order is charged. A boy, about 14 or 15, said he'd seen them watching the water from the side of the boat. He looked away just before they both went in. Both parents jumped into the water but couldn't find either one of their kids. This was a girl aged 6 and a boy about 8. After failing to locate either one, the father radioed for help. When Owen's team arrived, they actually managed to find the little boy.

head had been poking out of the water not too far from where the boat had been anchored. Owen said they'd asked how it had gotten so far out on his own, and the boy told them that a man with weird eyes had asked him and his sister if they wanted to go look for treasure together. The man had apparently climbed to the boat, quote, like Spider-Man, and pulled them into the ocean, then dragged them away underwater. The man then told the boy that he'd take his sister to the treasure first and then come back for him, that it was not to move from there until someone came. That was the point they'd found a boy. Following this, they searched long and white for the girl, both by sea and air.

They assumed the girl had been kidnapped, but no vessels were found in the area. It was Owen's longest search and rescue mission up to that point, taking a lot of manpower and a heavy toll on him. While glad they had found the boy, the family was a wreck, blaming themselves for not keeping their eyes on their children, the oldest kid especially. Owen said the boy had been non-stop crying and even asked to please let him help in looking for her. A little over a week later they were calling it off, having found nothing. No one wanted to make the call, but Owen said he could hear the screams on the other side of the phone even from a distance. distance. The weirdest thing, though, Owen had told me, was the description the younger

boy had given of the man. He described his eyes as weird, in that they were large and had different coloured circles inside. He looked at this to mean multiple pupils in each eye. Not only that, but he also said he'd seen holes on his neck, like the, quote, smoking people on TV. It was one of the most head-scratching cases he'd worked on. Story 4 From time to time, Owen had heard reports of compasses taking a full 180 turn. Sometimes the crew wouldn't even notice.

They'd be heading west and at some point and half an hour later they'd find themselves twice as far from their destination, having gone east instead. He said it happened to him once, but they noticed the change fast enough to change directions before going too far. They blamed the electromagnetic field or some science thing, but I don't know much about that to say for sure. Story 5 There was a time where they had a shark migration happening.

They made sure to tell everyone to avoid the area. One guy didn't listen though and purposely went out there to see the migration happen live. The call went in not long after. A large patch of blood spotted on the shark's migration trail. When they went out to investigate, they were surprised to see a man in a small boat. Same curious guy that it ignored the order was the one that made the call. The blood patch was huge apparently, made up for the remains of dozens of sharks.

At first they thought the sharks had attacked each other for some reason, but then they stumbled upon one that had had half its body bitten off. Just down to the freaking middle, Owen had told me. We're talking about a shark about six to eight feet long, about two metres, that Owen described as being bitten in half by something even larger. Hell, if I know any animal capable of biting a shark in half and then leave the carcass behind, much less one that would feast on an entire school of sharks.

Story 6 The last story I'll share is probably one of the last story I'll share is probably one of, the weirdest. Owen said he'd been introduced to this not long after joining, said the other guys would chuckle whenever it was reported, but we'd ignore it and just go about the day after. He didn't understand why at first, but everyone told him it was best not to ask questions, and to never ask the superiors about them. It seems that from time to time, more patrolling, teams would report finding these random sandbars in the open sea. The sandbars would always have large, odd-looking patches of vegetation growing around them, sometimes of different

shapes and colour. Owen said the things would disappear within a day, sometimes even within a few hours. The orders for them were simple enough. If you see one, report it. If it disappears, report that too. Never approach them. Most importantly, don't mention them to anyone on the outside. That last rule is out now though.

Whoops. They'd been very specific when they told Owen not to pay them too much attention, and he did just that. I could tell he was really curious about them, though, but he insisted he'd grown used to them, to the point he'd juggle along with the guys whenever they were reported. Owen told me a lot of the stories through the years, so if anyone is interested, I'd be open to share more of them. If anyone has any theories or explanations of any of the things. I've mentioned. Let me know. So I came back on recently and was surprised to see many of you found interest in Owen's stories. Sorry it took so long for me to update this, but I wanted to

make sure I wrote the stories as clearly as possible. Let me talk about some of the things you guys mentioned first. First of all, a number of you guys seem to be interested in the sandbars and even threw in some theories. I'll have a story for that later. Owen never mentioned going on any of the sandbars, they were forbidden from even getting near, but that didn't mean there weren't some close calls. Like I had mentioned, the vegetation always appeared different, colour and size. While most were underwater, there were times where he'd tell me about tall plants around them, sometimes even the size of small trees.

It's hard to imagine what they could be. One of you even mentioned there might be the backs of giant creatures as if the ocean wasn't frightening enough. Second, there was a mention that the shark blood patch might have been caused by orcas. While it's a possibility, it's hard to imagine any animal taking on a whole school of sharks, even an orca. Maybe if they were in a group it would be possible. But you'd think there would be orca carcasses too though, right?

Owen told me they'd only spotted shark remains from what was even recognizable. Tough to say what it really could have been. Third, as far as I know, Owen didn't see any stairs on the ocean floor. Sorry if that disappoints anyone. Remember that Owen is only one of many working out there though, and that most of the ocean floor has not yet been fully mapped. The possibilities are endless. Now, let's get on to the stories, yeah?

First story. There were many cases of missing people, and many of them, if not most, typically involve children. Of course, there were some cases with adults too. A particularly disturbing one involved a male diver who'd gone out one Saturday afternoon. His wife would usually accompany him, but she hadn't been feeling well and told him to go alone. When her husband didn't return that night, she called it in. Owens team found the boat the next day. When they boarded, they found the man still in his diving suit. He was freaking out. and had suffered a head wound. He was speaking fast and the team had a hard time

calming him down enough to understand what had happened. According to this guy, everything had been going well until he came back up to his boat. He said there was someone just standing in the middle of it. Their back turned towards him. They were naked, dripping wet and looked extremely scrawny from behind. The guy didn't spot any other boats or anything nearby. so he asked if they were okay and where'd they come from. When he walked up to this person, they turned around and where his face was supposed to be, he only saw a long, vertical line.

This line, according to the guy, was its mouth, which had opened to reveal rows of pointed teeth, quote, like a shark. The guy freaked the hell out, moving backwards and fell overboard, hitting his head on the side of the boat. He said he almost passed out, but when he heard a loud splash next to him, the adrenaline kicked in.

He climbed back into the boat and boarded it up in the cabin. He tried to start the boat, but it wouldn't turn on. He was convinced that the thing had messed with it somehow. He was stuck. Through the night,

he claimed he could hear the thing jumping in and out of the water, waiting for him. Owen's team thought he might have hit his head during the dive and might have hallucinated. One of them even suggested he might have been coming off something. They couldn't say for sure. It's a bit disturbing and one that still gives me chills from time to time. Story 2.

There were times that Owen would see large rock formations in the distance. He tried to get closer, but he'd never be able to reach them. migraines are a thing of course and that's what they would often write them up to be. Owen wanted to believe this as well, but there were times the formations would be the shape of large monoliths. He said if he stared at them long enough, he could see movement happening around them, large bird-like creatures flying about. I want to think there's a rational explanation for this, but it's still really strange. Story 3

There was another case where an older man, about 68 years old I believe, went missing. He was an author on a solo trip, and when he didn't dock on the scheduled date, search parties were formed. They found his sailboat not long after, empty, and his belongings scattered around the vessel. They searched the area for days, but no traces of him were found. Having gathered a small following from his travels, independent searches were done on the side. Surprisingly enough, one of the searches actually found a shoe and watch that might have belonged to the man. This boosted morale and the searches continued far longer than first planned.

Unfortunately, they never found anything else. It's a sad story, but the weirdest part about it? When they first boarded the old man's boat and found everything scattered around, they found the old man's other shoe, upside down on the head of the sailboat. That's the top of the sail. This left Owens' teams scratching their heads. Why and how it got there? Your guess is as good as mine. Story 4

On one of Owen's first times going out on patrol, he overheard someone radio a R.S. He had no clue what it meant, but didn't want to sound stupid. One of the older guys there caught his expression and nudged the others. They called him over and asked if he had any questions. Owen came clean and nervously asked what an RSB was. The guys chuckled, told him to relax, and that they didn't expect him to know the code. They changed course and soon brought him out for a view. Less than a kilometer away, about half a mile, Owen saw the sea take on a lighter shade of green.

Tall plants poked out of the ocean around what looked like a small sandbar. Owen asked them what the hell that was, since it wasn't something he'd seen on any of the maps. One of Owen's buddies, a guy by the name of Brandon, tells him it's a random sandbar. He explains that they'll appear from time to time, so he better start getting used to them now. Owen didn't understand what he meant by them appearing, but Brandon explained these weren't always going to be in the same place

and not all of them would look like this. Sometimes the sandbars would be at a higher elevation. Sometimes the vegetation wouldn't be the same colour or size or even the same type. When he found one, he was to report it immediately. If he ever passed by and it was gone, he had to report that as well. Owen understood,

then asked if they could get closer to get a better look. Brandon chuckled, told him the further away he stayed from them, the better. When he asked why, Brandon told him not to ask too many questions. Owen took this to mean that Brandon didn't know the answer himself.

When he asked if you knew of anyone who'd gotten closer to the sandbars, Brandon declined to answer and said that they were forbidden from getting closer to them. Attempting to stand on them was out of the question. That, if you wanted to stay in the Coast Guard, he better make sure to follow these rules and to never ask a superior about them.

Like he said, Owen would be seeing them a lot. So, Brandon wanted to make sure this was clear. Owen just nodded, not really buying the fact that random pieces of land and vegetation could just pop up or disappear. Brandon had been right though. Owen would often tell me about how he spotted another one every other week. The smallest he ever saw was barely ten feet long,

but it was surrounded by tall, violet vegetation, taking the shape of small trees. The longest he saw was at least the size of a football field. This one was ragged, mustard-coloured vegetation that barely poked above the water. The sandbar was at a higher elevation as well. Owen itched to get closer to one, but he knew better than to disobey the commands. From time to time, he'd try asking around, very casually of course, and never to a superior, but he was always told to ignore them and not to give them much thought.

I always thought he'd get a better answer one day. If he did though, he never told me. Story 5. I can't remember if Owen was actually involved with this next one, but I do remember him sharing it with me one night. There was this scuba diving expedition, mostly made up of tourists, I believe. They took their groups out to one of the better spots where they could see all the good stuff, you know, like the turtles and the colourful fish and stuff.

What the tourists like and all. So the 20 or 30 minutes they charged for are up, and the crew starts blowing their whistle or ever to get the tourists back to the boat. Everyone comes back and they start counting them, making sure no one's left behind in open water and all. This woman and a daughter are looking round at everyone as the counting is happening, and when the crew says they've got everyone, the woman objects. She tells them they are missing one more person.

The crew asks her what she means, and she tells them how her and her daughter have been watching the turtles when another diver in a white suit. came up to them from behind. He motioned for them to follow him, and both did. He guided them through some of the corals and towards the entrance of some underwater caves. They claimed the view was amazing from outside, but the mother realized they were starting to get too far from where the boat was, and was scared they wouldn't hear the crew call them back. She grabbed the daughter and started to swim back. The daughter said she looked behind them and saw the diver floating by the cave entrance,

entrance waving at her. The crew was confused when they heard the story, especially because all of their gear was either blue or black. They counted everyone again to make sure. One of the crew even went back in the water to see if they could find the diver, but there was no one else around except for the turtles and some fish. He couldn't even find the caves they had mentioned. felt uncomfortable when they had no other choice but to go, ignoring the thought that they

might be leaving another diver behind. It's possible the crew called it in and some further search being done at the area, and that's how it eventually got to Owen. But, like I said, I'm not entirely sure where Owen got it from, but I just know it freaked me out when he told me. Story 6 The last story I'll share today is actually a bit funny. It depends on your sense of humour though.

Mine can be a little screwed up. Owen once told me about an anonymous call about possible drug smugglers in the area. Apparently the person on the phone had sounded more ticked off than worried which stood out to the responders. They sent the team out to check it out. While no drugs smugglers were caught,

what they did find was a boat of eight college kids, anchored and high off their mind. So, they gathered these kids upright, do a headcount, take their IDs, search the boat for drugs, ask for their story, the whole thing, you know. So they managed to ID six of them and find no additional drugs apart from some alcohol. The others are either too gone to understand or claim they can't remember where their IDs are. One of Owens' buddies tries to play a good cop on the kids, tells them that if the three can

just come clean and let them do their job, they'll escort them back to land and let the nine of off with only a warning. Owens had one of the girls got really confused at the statement, although she didn't say anything about it. She just had a look, he told me. He thought it was just the drugs at the moment. It took some time, but the remaining three eventually gave them what they needed. Turns out the boat belonged to one of the kids, a gift from their rich yet uninvolved father for doing who knows what in school. The trip was to celebrate the whole.

was to celebrate the whole event, and of course someone had to bring some pot. It seems that at that point on the trip they had cross paths with another boat and a few of the kids had made lewd comments and gestures at them. The other boat had held a family, including younger kids and one teen. It didn't take long for Owens team to put two and two together and assumed that the family had been the ones to make the original call. So they ended up taking these kids and their boat back to the mainland and give the boat owner a fine of $500. As they were exiting the boat,

Owen's team does another headcount, but comes up with eight this time. They stop the kids and count them again, coming up with the same result. They asked them who's missing, but they say they're all there. Not believing them, the team checks the boat

but can't find the missing kid. They decide to call out their names until they get to one that no one answers to. It was something like Merion or Gioran or Giorin. I can't remember exactly so, apologies for that. All the kids are confused at this point, since they have no idea who that is. The girl that had looked confused before tells them that all eight of them are there now. But Evan, the one who tried to play good cop, says that they counted nine.

The kids look at each other and try to remember if there had been an extra person, they'd forgotten about, recalling how they gone to the owner's house in two cars, three in one and four in the other, plus the owner would make eight. That's when one of the kids starts freaking out. He starts yelling about how when they were anchored he remembered seeing this other person with them. He wasn't sure who he was, but didn't want to seem rude and was honestly too high to care. Another one of the kids then remembered as well, so they saw this guy just walking around, taking some food, having a few drinks. He looked like he'd just come out of the water because he was dripping it everywhere.

That's when all the kids go pale, as if they were remembering simultaneously that there had been some wet, unknown guy on their boat for hours. The owner recalled seeing the trail of water all around the boat and getting ticked off because he almost fell. Each kid started telling their own experience with a stranger, from conversation. with them to sharing a blunt. One of them even claimed he'd asked her if she wanted to go to another part of the boat with him for some time alone, but she declined the offer. Despite all this, no one ever questioned his being there.

The team had some trouble believing the story, but they couldn't find the other person and just ended up letting the kids go. Owen told me the story incredibly puzzled, but also half laughing, because he could only imagine how high they had to. be to not question a stranger just showing up to your boat in the middle of the ocean and staying there for hours. These have been by far the most bizarre stories Owen ever told me before passing. His wife and I occasionally meet just to see how things are going. She took his passing quite hard, as did most of us who were close to him, so it helped to have someone to lean on about it.

She's actually mentioned a few things Owen told her about the job in the past. So I wonder if Owen ever told her any stories she didn't tell me. I still do have a few more stories as well. So if you guys want to hear more, just let me know. And like I said last time, if you have any theories that could explain anything I mentioned, please let me know. Thanks for listening.

I know it's been a while, but a number of things have happened that's kept me from being able to write this all down. I'm really glad to know you're all in. enjoying Owen's stories this much. Like in the previous part, I'll start by addressing some of the things you guys brought up. First, as far as location goes, I can say that Owen was in one of the United States major coasts. I'm unsure of the repercussions that could come from having shared Owen's stories, so I want to remain as

anonymous as possible. He still has a wife and kids here after all, and the last thing I want is for something to happen to them if they're ever suspected of being involved with this. Second, someone asked about Owen's passing on the last update, so I wanted to cover a bit more of that here. If you're triggered by the mentions of suicide, this is your warning. Like I said in the first part, Owen began to change a lot from his experiences on the Coast Guard. He was more distant, much more in his head. He'd be distracted often and easily scared. His wife would find him up late at night in his study, reading, researching,

Looking up who knows what. It was troubling because it wasn't the same Owen we knew and cared for. We tried to help however we could, and it seemed to work at times. But overall, we couldn't stop whatever had gotten into his head. One night, Owen just up and left his house sometime after midnight. His wife didn't realize until the following morning. He'd usually spend most nights in his study, so she thought he'd been there all along. We found his car that day in the nearby harbour.

We weren't sure where he had gone until his shoes and clothes were found by the shore. It was too early to start assuming, but a lot of us already had an idea of what could have happened. Still, we went out to the ocean to search for any signs of him while others continued searching on land as well. It wasn't until a few days later when his body was washed up on shore. A lifeguard found him early enough to secure the area before anyone else spotted it. His wife called me sobbing with the news and I don't think I'll ever be able to forget that phone call.

Owen had been my best friend, someone I'd grown up with and always had by my side. It still remains one of the worst days for me. His wife asked me to come with her to identify the body. When we got there they pulled the covers down. I saw Owen. It was him, just as he had been when he was alive, and this in itself was confusing. I had assumed that Owen had drowned after all, and therefore had assumed his body would be, well, messed up in some way. Puffed and big, or just something signalling decomposition.

Yet Owen looked like he was still Owen. No large skin, no unnatural colour. You could have told me he was sleeping, and I would have believed it. The medical people told us he died of a heart attack. I tried asking more questions, but they didn't tell me anything. If they told his wife, then she never shared the information with me. Now, for today's stories. Story 1

A dinghy is found by a cargo ship. Inside is a man, along with the body of a child. The man tells the investigators that he was the captain of a large sailboat. boat that had been caught in a bad storm and sunk down. The sailboat had apparently held a family of four, along with the man and his own wife. He claimed to have found the body of the child from the wreckage and attempted to resuscitate them, but had been unsuccessful. He explained that the father of the family had hired him to take the family to a nearby

island for a vacation. With no other survivors from the incident, they have no option but to believe the man. Five days later Owen and his team are doing patrol when they get a report of a kid being picked up from a small inflatable raft The kid was badly burned from the sunlight

Dehydrated and basically on the verge of death Any longer And she wouldn't have lived to tell a story From what Owen told me After the girl recovered She told the investigators How she managed to escape a sinking sailboat

in the middle of the night after waking up and finding the vessel sinking. She told them she'd been with her family on vacation and how she found both a mother and father dead on the deck after waking up. The captain was there and he told her to go back down to the cabin and stay there until he told her to come up. Scared, the kid obeyed. She looked at her parents one last time and went back down. It wasn't until the water got up to her waist

that she decided to go back up. The captain was gone at this point, as were the bodies of her parents. The boat was soon to follow them. She didn't wait for that to happen though, and quickly rushed to get the inflatable raft on the water. When asked how she managed to survive all those days, she said that the, quote, chubby dolphins had brought her food once a day. They usually swam around her in the days, and at night the bigger things would swim below. When asked if she could describe what they look like, the kid said she never actually saw them, only their shape far below the water.

It didn't take long for the investigators to put the two stories together and start searching for the man. They eventually found him in a hostel. He'd checked in under a false name and had used a razor blade to take matters into his own hands. A further look into the man's history would reveal a series of suspicious incidents he had done. been involved with, which included previous wives and insurance money. It seems as though as soon as the man found out the kid survived, he'd gone to the motel to end it. With her family gone, the kid went to stay with an aunt in another part of the country.

Owen said she looked fine, thankfully, but the entire story itself was a tragedy that stayed with him. Story 2 There's a lot of creatures out in the ocean. Owen saw multitude to them through the years, sometimes from far, sometimes even close enough to touch them. He knew which ones were safe

and which ones could easily end you in under a few minutes. Shark sightings came and went, but one thing, Owen told me, was both majestic to sea, but also scary as hell if they were too close, was whales. One particular story involved a guy

who was kayaking just out in the open ocean, for some reason. His family reported him missing after a few hours of not having heard from him. Searching goes out and finds the man stranded on a boy. When they asked what happened, the man tells them how things had been going well until this massive whale just knocked him out of the kayak and proceeded to sink it. He all but stared down at the animal before swimming faster than he ever had before to the boy

while the whale chased him down. The man had looked at Owen and told him. him it was the biggest thing he had ever seen. I know this one wasn't actually scary, but Owen and I had a great laugh about it for a few nights. Story 3 This next one is probably one of the freakiest stories Owen told me. I can still picture him shaking as he told me what had happened. I can't say it didn't freak me out as well, but it was one thing to hear it and a completely other thing to experience it.

Owen said it started out with a search for a missing boat Two sisters had gone out to the ocean for a day off and away from everything Hours had passed though and no one heard anything back from them Teams were dispatched to search for the girls And Owens was a three-man team with Brandon on board as well The team searched for the rest of the day But none by air nor sea could spot the girl's boat Night had fallen at this and Owen's team was called back

They decided to do one last sweep of the area before returning. Keep in mind it's pitch black at this point, since they're not near the coast at all. Owen told me the boat was going really slow, and he and Brandon stood outside, looking around with searchlights, when he suddenly started to feel dizzy. He was about to tell Brandon when the boat came to a halt. Owen recalled being unable to let go of the side of the boat, fearful he might fall.

But he yelled out to Brandon. Brandon shouted from another end of the boat and told him he was feeling, quote, heavy as hell and couldn't move his legs. Owen was about to tell him he felt the same way when a high-pitched sound burst through his eardrums. He taught me it was like someone blowing a whistle through a megaphone right on your ears.

He fell to the ground, screaming for Brandon, but he couldn't even hear his own voice through the noise. He looked around trying to find the source. His mind raced to figure what could even make a noise like that. Just as he felt like his head might explode, the sound started to fade. Owen regained his composure, although his ears were still ringing. He met up with Brandon and the third member of the team who were asking themselves what the hell just happened. Obviously, neither of them had any answers.

They didn't sit on it for too long and agreed to head back to. to land immediately. If they were to try to figure it out, it would not be in the middle of the pitch black ocean. It was barely a few minutes later when they began moving when Brendan told the third guy to kill the engine. Owen didn't ask him what's going on, but he shushed him and asked him to listen. For a moment Owen only heard the sound of waves hitting the boat. The wind had died down and the ringing in his ears was all but gone.

Then, in the distance, he heard it. Whaling. Someone sobbed in long, whining noises. Owen tried to hear the direction it was coming from, but he couldn't pinpoint it. Whatever it was, he heard it all around them, and it was definitely growing louder. The three of them stepped out, and as soon as they did, the whaling stopped. called out using the names of the girls, but there was no response. The three of them looked at each other for a minute, then Brandon tried to call out the girl's names again.

The name hadn't even left his mouth when the most fear-filled shriek blasted around them. It was the closest Owen came to messing his pants that night. Owen said the thing was deafening. The third guy ran back inside and turned the boat on. The engine roared to life. as the shriek flat out stopped. They rocked forward, but the engine died again, along with the searchlights and all of the lights inside the boat.

Yeah, they were actually in the pitch black now. Brandon was cursing now. The other guy was trying the radio along with Owen. All three were on the verge of panic when they hear something. A soft voice. I get chills just remembering how Owen told me how it all went down. He said it was a girl. voice, loud and clear, speaking outside their boat. It said, help me, please help me.

The three of them looked outside, and even in the pitch black, they could see the silhouette of a person. There was submerged at their waist, their upper body stuck out of the water and appeared to be facing them. There were some sniffles coming from the silhouette. They were sobbing. Brandon asked if they were all right. But Owen felt like something was off. He tried to tell him, but Brandon walked closer to the edge. Brandon asked if they could swim closer to the boat. The silhouette didn't move, but they heard it again.

Help me, please, help me! Followed by a number of sniffles and sobs. Owen told me a wave of fear passed down his body, and he froze. Brandon stopped right where he was, just a few feet away from the edge. Owen shouted at it, his voice breaking, and asked what it wanted. The two of them waited. The silhouette still didn't move. He could hear the sniffles, but he realised that the noises weren't coming from the figure.

He whispered at Brandon when it happened again. Help me, please help. Followed by the sniffles and sobs. Owen and Brandon didn't say anything to each other. They just both ran back inside and shut the door behind them. The crying, the sniffles. It wasn't coming from whatever that silhouette was. Something else was making the noise.

Owen said, whatever it was, had been surrounding the boat, repeating the sounds over and over again. Each time, the noises sounded closer, and the last one sounded like it was right by the boat. The three men stayed inside the boat for a few. minutes, the third guy trying to get the boat to turn back on. Suddenly, the light came back, the motor roared to life, all three of them jumped at the power returning. They didn't waste any time and put the vessel on full speed back to land, not stopping or slowing down until

they docked. But Brandon and Owen both asked some of the others that had been out if they had seen or heard anything weird, but no one could say that they had. Say what you want to say, but Owen was freaking the hell out when he told me about this, and I still think it's scary as hell. I don't even like to mess with the dark in my own home, but I can be a little brave from time to time when I get hungry in the middle of the night. But the dark in the middle of the ocean, where you can't run away or leave,

and have no idea what might be waiting for you in the water? No. Hell no. As for the sisters, they didn't find them. They did find what some thought could have been the remains of their boat, but I never found out if it was verified or not. Story 4. So I mentioned last time how I tried to see if Owen's wife had any stories he might have not mentioned to me.

Long story short, she didn't. At least she said she didn't. When I asked her about it over the phone, she got really quiet. I had to make sure the call hadn't dropped until she spoke up again. She suggested I speak to Brandon if I was interested, as he wasn't in the Coast Card anymore and even gave me his contact info. She said Owen had mentioned Brandon a number of times, and if anyone had stories to tell, it'd be him.

I had actually spoken to Brandon once before in Owen's funeral. He hadn't been looking too well, and mostly remained secluded from the bigger groups there. It was a short conversation, if I could even call it that. He'd come up and offered his condolences, then retreated and disappeared from the funeral entirely. It's something that stands out to me even now. When I called him, the line remained quiet on the other end. I said, Hello, again, and a low voice asked who was calling. I introduced myself and asked him if he remembered me from the funeral. He ignored the question and asked what I wanted. I got to the point and brought up some of Owen's stories, casually mentioning the sandbars. He cut me off.

Shut the hell up. You need to shut the hell up right now, he whispered into the phone. I wasn't sure what to say, but he continued, you need to meet me tonight, 8 p.m. he proceeded to give me directions rather than an address and then warned not to answer any unknown calls. He hung up. I was confused, but also concerned that Brandon might not be doing well. He sounded paranoid,

and the warning was bizarre on its own. Did he think someone was listening to us? I considered not showing to the 8pm appointment, but something told me I should. The directions he gave led me to a small load of, local diner. Not many people were in, but I spotted him in one of the booths in a corner. He wore a dark jacket and a hat that covered half his face. He looked up when I walked in, so I could recognize him, but I barely did. He had a long, wavy beard and heavy-looking

bags under his eyes. He'd lost weight as well, which only added to how bad he looked. He told me a lot of things, some that I'll disclose after. of the stories. But man, this whole thing is freaky, honestly. One of the stories he told me was actually the previous one I just shared with the silhouette and the noises. Brandon helped fill a lot of the blanks for me. This next story talks more about a time before Owen had joined in. A new guy had joined their ranks recently, and they were out in one of their first patrols. Let's call this guy Jerry for clarity. So, they're pretty out there. And Jerry was just keeping an eye out for anything when he spot something and quickly goes to tell the others.

When the rest of the guys check it out, they chuckle amongst themselves and actually get closer to it so Jerry can get a better look. If you haven't guessed now, Jerry spotted one of the sandbars. As they get closer, the team gives Jerry the explanations and warnings as they did with Owen. If you see one, report it. If it disappears, report that too. never approached them. They made sure he understood before going back to chuckling and laughing about them. I actually asked Brandon why they laughed, but he said it had been a thing they did.

No real explanation to it, and they couldn't really ask about it. Jerry seemed to understand the rules, but like anyone else, he had questions too. How could he not? Hell, Brandon admitted he had questions too, but most were never answered. Of everything he had asked though, there had been one thing that had jumped out at Brandon. It wasn't even so much the question, but how he'd asked it. So no one has been on them before? Keep in mind, this was at a point when all the guys were laughing about it and the serious tone had dropped.

Brandon told him he hadn't liked how Jerry asked the question, almost as if he was taking it as a challenge. Brandon even went as far as talking to the more experienced member of their team about it. He told him that he would be keeping an eye on him, but not to worry. Brandon remained skeptical about it and would actually keep an eye on Jerry for some time. Nothing happened for some time and Brandon eventually backed off. That was until Brandon was away for some time. He said he didn't even remember why he was away,

but when he came back, he noticed Jerry wasn't there anymore. He asked some of the guys, but they told him to talk to the more experienced member about it. They didn't want to say anything that wasn't theirs to say. When Brandon asked the experienced member, he said that Jerry's wife had a miscarriage and that he'd gone home. Brandon didn't buy it and continued to push the guy for more answers. He didn't understand why the others wouldn't have just mentioned that to begin with and why Jerry had never mentioned his wife being pregnant in the first place.

The experienced member didn't like this. He dragged Brandon into a room and locked the door, then ordered him to sit down and keep this stuff to himself. Brandon didn't understand what was going on at first. The guy sat in front of him, scratching his head, rubbing his head, trying to get the words together. He told him they weren't supposed to be discussing this, but he asked Brendan if he remembered the warning about Jerry and the sandbars.

Brandon said he did and the guy told him he'd been right he didn't go into the details of how it happened but he said Jerry had somehow done it he'd gone to one of the sandbars the guy told Brandon they'd seen him on it waving dancing on it just looking around Brandon only assumed he must have swam to it

because the guy wouldn't answer how Jerry had reached out without the boat Nothing happened to Jerry in the short time he was on the sandbar And when he came back, he was all smiles Telling them how someone had finally gone on one The guys asked if he was all right If he felt anything or had seen anything Jerry told him there had been a slight sense of vertigo

When he stood up on it But it quickly went away His body had felt heavier And there was a feeling of dread As if he'd turn around And find someone standing behind him Other than that, nothing really happened. He chugged everything to be a mental thing

because of how mysterious the sandbars had been made out to be. When he heard about this, the more experienced members confronted Jerry, told him he was an idiot and clearly didn't know how to obey clear orders. It was hours later when the call came through about Jerry's wife. He hadn't even known she was pregnant.

That's a sensitive issue on its own. But apparently Jerry really loved his wife and wasn't about to jump into any conclusions. He headed out to see her just as a storm brewing. Bad storm, the guy had said. The type that knocks down big-ass branches all over the roads and makes the ocean go crazy. Last he heard of Jerry, he'd made it to the hospital and was going to look for his wife's room number. After that, there was nothing. The experience member told him that was all he knew.

Brandon asked if it was because of the sandbar, although he admitted to me that it sounded insane to even ask. But the guy didn't respond directly, just saying that, bad things happen when people get too close. He didn't want to hear from anything about Jerry after that. To this day, he has no clue what happened to him. Story 5 These next ones aren't exactly stories, but Brandon mentioned some of the most awful. things he'd seen out there. Most of the things he told me

involved the recovery of bodies. In the ocean, most bodies tend to sink as they get filled it with water and if they wash up on shore, they're usually eaten by animals. However, there were times when they'd somehow find bits and pieces of people that appeared to have been left behind

by some unknown predator. Out in nature, he said, your age, beliefs, gender or race didn't matter. If you got lost, chances are something would be coming view one way or another. He talked about finding the bodies of so many kids and a lot of the elderly too. Clothes were torn from wherever the creatures decided to take bites out of the bodies.

Their skins pale and grossly deformed, eyes bulging out, if they still had them. It was part of the job, he'd said, and with time one was desensitized to the horrors of death they'd see. Some had stayed with him though Memories like pictures in his head would not go away He listed them to me As if their order had been memorized in his mind The body of a surfer who'd gone missing months prior His arm and part of his torso had been ripped off

A GoPro camera was still attached to his head He had washed up on shore one morning No one knew how the body had managed to not sink to the bottom of the ocean or how it had stayed in one piece apart from the arm and torso. The GoPro was still functional, didn't provide any clues and the last video was entirely corrupted.

The upper body of a teenage girl. After the tide had gone down, they found her arms sticking out of the sand. Her hand was bent in an abnormal position and everything below her waist appeared to have been ripped off. A pair of severed feet in an inflatable raft.

They belonged to two different people. Nothing else from either one was found. The body of an elderly man found by scuba divers. His clothes were gone. The body was entirely intact somehow, except for the head, which had been removed at the neck. The remains of a child, body and all, except for the eyes and the eyelids,

which had been removed. The autopsy later revealed, the body was also missing a kidney, the large intestine and both lungs. Story 6 This last story involves the search for a lost vessel after a storm. Brandon was working with a group of divers on this one. The diving team in his group was made up of three people, two men and a woman. The three went under in the later hours of the day

while Brandon and the crew stayed above waiting for their return. Time passed as the diving team didn't seem to be fulfilled. finding any sign of the vessel when their communication was suddenly lost. It would have been fine had they only lost contact with one of the divers, but they lost contact with all three. Brandon panicked, but the veteran of the group advised that he needed to relax. If they didn't hear back soon, they'd radio for assistance. Brandon was still pretty new himself when this happened, so he did as he was told.

It wasn't too long after that when they heard someone come. up from the water, followed by loud gasps of air. He rushed to the side of the boat and spotted the three divers. Their masks were off and their gear was missing. The team helped the divers back up and Brandon could immediately tell something was off. The veteran member spoke up first though and asked what happened and where their gear was. One of the male divers explained that the group had seen a shape on the ocean floor that they thought might have been the lost ship, so they moved in. He said he wasn't sure how or when it happened,

but at some point the three got separated. He tried talking to the team above, but that's when he noticed that contact had been lost. He sought to keep going either way, realizing that he was bound to run into the others if they were headed in the same direction. As he got closer, he said he started to feel... Bad.

He described the feeling as if he were falling in the way, asleep. His vision clouded, but he remained fully conscious. He noticed the closer he got to the object, the worse he felt. It eventually got to the point where he felt like his body had gone completely numb. Only then did he decide to turn back, but the feeling still didn't go away. The gear began to feel heavier then, causing him to struggle even more on his way back. At one point, he said he even and let himself fall because his limbs started to burn from the effort. He continued to struggle until he finally got close enough to the surface to lose the gear and swim up.

He claimed he didn't see either of the other two divers until he came out of the water. The veteran member stared at him for a moment, his stern expression never wavering, then turned to the other two and asked if that's what happened to them. They nodded without adding anything else. Although it was weird as hell Brandon still felt like more was off The expression of the two diver's faces told him there was They not only looked scared

But also confused and slightly disoriented The veteran member gathered the entire team And ordered them not to mention this to anyone They hadn't found any sign of the ship And that would be tragic But maybe others had had better luck The dive was the stay between them only and the gear had accidentally been lost in the ocean

Brandon thought someone would question the order any of it but no one spoke up or said anything regarding it so he saw no other choice but to agree as well he wasn't done though and when they got back to mainland he went to talk to the divers he found the two in one of the rooms

the woman was crying and the man looked similarly distraught They tried to pull themselves together when he walked in But Brandon told them to relax And asked them what was going on The man tried to tell him they were fine Just still shaking up by what happened But the woman wasn't having it She said they needed to tell someone

The man tried to argue And they went back and forth for a minute Until he finally caved The woman looked up to Brandon And started to tell him How for the most part everything that the other diver had said was right except for the part where they got separated.

What they told him was that after they lost communication they approached the shape on the ocean floor. They didn't know what it was but right before they turned back they realized something was coming towards them from the shape's direction. They tried to out swim it

but it was fast. When they looked back whatever it was had pulled down the third diver They tried to reach down for him, but whatever it was, took him all the way down and then more, as if the body was swallowed by the earth. The other two made a swim for the surface, ditching their gear until they were out. It only took a second for them to realise the other diver was there too. The team helped them onto the boat, and the rest was what Brandon had seen himself.

When she was done, the only thing that came to Brandon's mind was where the man was. Not the diver, but whoever it was that had come up with the two. Brandon told them he needed to tell the veteran member about it and they agreed. The team looked for the man everywhere, but they never found a trace of him. It was all kept between them, with a veteran handling it with the higher-ups, and nothing was ever done after that. As usual, this was much more longer than I anticipated, but he felt necessary to properly go over the things that Brandon told me.

When he was done, he cautioned me about sharing these stories with anyone. He could understand my curiosity, but it wasn't in my best interest to attempt to share these stories or even tried to look into them. He went over this whole bigger powers at play speech and different theories he had about them. There was a point where he began to get paranoid, looking around the diner, looking at the windows. He said I'd been there too long, and that I needed to lay low now that they had probably seen me with him. I didn't know what to say to him, but he pushed, made me swear I wouldn't go around making dumbass calls like I had with him. At least for some time. He said, if I needed to talk to him again, to come to this diner and leave a note taped under the exact same table we sat on.

He said it might take a while, but eventually he'd respond. Then he got up, left a few bills and left. I'm not going to say I believe him, but after some thought, I've decided that I'll be taking a break from these stories now. Owen was truly one of my closest friends, and I feel like I've shared so many of his stories already. There's more, of course, but for now, I believe it's best to let it be. When I was a young man, I enjoyed going for walks through my small town. Though I lived in Red Elm all my life, I never grew up. I never grew bored of its landscape.

I loved to bask in the fresh air as I walked, the sun warm me my skin and a gentle breeze rifling through my hair. I waved at every person that crossed my path and had a smile on my face more often than not. Life wasn't perfect, of course, and my journeys on foot weren't entirely by choice. I had little money and didn't own a vehicle, but the future looked bright. I'd recently completed high school and started working at the town's only grocery store and I knew in time I'd be able to save up enough

to afford a down payment on a modest car unlike my classmates who left small town life behind in the days following our graduation ceremony I had no desire to ever leave Red Elm I didn't lack ambition I was simply happy to me the thought of spending

the rest of my days in the town I called home sounded like tranquil, uncomplicated bliss. Later, I would reflect on this optimism and feel stupid. Sunlight had yet appeared through my window when a frazzled co-worker called to ask if I could cover her shift. Her son had become ill during the night and she had rushed him to the hospital, leaving her unable to come into work and our store short-staffed.

Eager to make some extra money, I told her I'd be there and so. speedily dressed. Hunger gnawed at me as I walked to work. I'd been in such a rush that it didn't have time to eat. I thought of the egg and sausage sandwiches, the stores daily served for breakfast, and my stomach growled audibly. If I got there early enough, I'd have time to quickly devour one before my shift began.

There was a shortcut through a nearby pasture that I usually avoided, but we'd get me to the store with minutes to spare. It was untended and overgrown. likely teeming with rodents and serpents and other small creatures and unassuming foot would loathe to step on. Though the idea of such an encounter was enough to make me shudder, I didn't want to spend a lengthy shift combating an appetite that roared louder with every passing hour. I decided to cut through the pasture, a choice that would have a staggering, irreversible effect on my life. I could practically taste the coffee.

I was planning to drink when I tripped over something unseen. I let out a yelp of surprise before regaining my balance. Praying that I hadn't incurred the wrath of anything fanged or venomous, I looked down and saw a human hand. Its rigid, pale fingers adorned with painted nails like slender pink ovals. Shock seized me, I grasped and stumbled backwards, my heart racing as I stared in disbelief at the horrifying discovery. my clumsy foot had uncovered.

With shaking hands, I parted the waist-eye grass to find a woman lying there, the rising sun reflecting glassily in her lifeless eyes. Crushed blades of grass rested beneath her body and clung to a long blonde hair. Her wax and lips were slightly parted, as if she'd been in the middle of her final sigh when she died. The woman's askew legs were bruised

and she was barefoot, her toes polished with the same delicate shade as a finger, fingernails. A bloom of blood had blossomed above a heart, staining the fabric of a pearl-covered dress with crimson. I remember running home and babbling my panic into a phone. Officers arrived shortly afterwards, bringing with them yellow crime scene tape and questions. I answered them all as best as I could in my rattled state. I explained that happening upon a body was the result of taking a shortcut on my way to work. But they insisted I accompanied them to the police station anyway.

I was in no position to decline. The interrogation lasted for hours. I never stopped professing my innocence. It wasn't until they spoke to my boss and co-worker, both of whom confirmed I'd been unexpectedly called into work that morning that the police finally started to believe me. The local coroner soon strengthened my alibi. He determined that the woman had likely been killed during the previous evening,

while I was working a shift that began at noon. The store security cameras confirmed that I never left the premises until I headed home at around 11 o'clock, making it impossible for me to have committed the murder. Back then, DNA technology was still in its rudimentary stages, but I provided them with both a sample and my fingertips, neither of which appeared on the woman's body. To my great relief, I was no longer considered a suspect,

But my troubles had only just begun. Though I was innocent in the eyes of the law, the rest of Red Elm was far less charitable. Rumours spread throughout the town like pestilence. Accusations were whispered into the ears of anyone who would listen. At work, the customers, who I'd so often greeted with a smile, now averted their eyes or fixed me with an acidic, distrusting glare. Many of my co-workers avoided being in my presence while others politely tolerated me with apparent weariness, fidgeting and uncertain of what to say.

Even my boss, a man I was proud to work for and considered to be a father figure, seemed visibly uncomfortable around me. People I thought with my friends turned their backs on me, afraid of being tarnished by my undeserved reputation. I felt unwelcome everywhere I went. One day I came home to discover that my front door had been vandalized. Killer, streaks of red paint spelled out furiously. Get out! My landlord charged me for the damage. I didn't protest, afraid of severing my already tenuous grasp on my lease.

The stigma of renting to a purported murderer had him itching for a reason to be rid of me. I felt like I was wasting away with every passing day. The walks I had once looked forward to Now felt arduous Every step that brought me near the pasture Was a reminder of the tragedy I had unearthed And how it had so drastically altered the course of my life

I thought of the woman constantly What was her name? Where was she from? Did she have hopes and dreams And people who loved her before someone took a life And left her out to rot in unkempt grass Were it not for my co-workers' fever child and my empty stomach, she might have lied there undetected for years. I followed the meager coverage of the case in Reddhams' small local paper

and learned that a stalled investigation had so far failed to uncover her name, much less the identity of her killer. She was buried in an unmarked grave. Many times I considered placing flowers on it, but feared the act would be interpreted as an admission of guilt and create a spectacle. Eventually, not even my nights were spared from the misery that had consumed every other facet of my existence. I began to dread closing my eyes, afraid that I would be assailed by yet another vivid, unrelenting

nightmare the instant I drifted off to sleep. Each terrible dream consisted of me lying helplessly frozen in bed as the scent of grass and soil permeated the air. woman would hover over me, so close that a dangling hair brushed against my terrified face. Her forlornity was palpable. She wept sobs of grief, racking through a pale body, as tears rained down sharply on my skin like shards of ice. I would grip my sheets in fright and would feel only clods of pasture dirt between my fingers

instead. Please, I begged night after night. Tell me what I can do to stop this. but she never said a word. The years dragged on, each of them lonely. As the Internet's landscape grew, so did my desire for answers. One particularly melancholic afternoon, I worked up the courage to head to the library and use their computer.

I glanced cautiously over my shoulder and held my breath as I typed the case information into a search engine, hoping to discover new developments. It was then that I learned the hideous rumours I had been unable to shrug off for so very long had made their way onto local message boards where they were poured over by prying eyes and subjugated to speculation

nearly every post was filled with fantastical outright lies I saw him at the post office the other day he gave me such an evil look you think that's bad her friend said she overheard him gloating about getting away with it when she was doing her grocery shopping and to think they still let him work in that store.

We can only hope that something strikes him down before he hurts someone else if he hasn't already. I feel so terrible for that poor girl. Refresh my memory. What was the name again? I walked out of the library, went home and packed my bags. Though I was sickened by the gossipers

who had congregated to spread fabrications and stroke the salacious flames of outrage, the person I was most angry with was myself. I was a fool to have ever believed that I could have a second chance at life in Red Elm. My idolized view of my hometown had tainted my perspective. I saw now that the people of Red Elm would never forgive me for the crime I hadn't committed, and no amount of patience would ever bring the finger pointing to an end.

The revelation was crushing, but freeing, for it allowed me to see that my only real option was the start over somewhere new. I drained my savings account and left town in the middle of the night telling no one of my plans. I acquired a new name using a method that wouldn't leave behind a trail for vultures to follow.

Hair dye, glasses and a scruffy beard disguised my features enough to render me unrecognisable. With my departure came a promise I made to myself that I must never again look up the case online. I would never be able to move forward with my life so long as I continued to glance back at the ruins of my past

smouldering behind me. When I laid my head onto the motel room pillow and closed my eyes, I expected to resume the familiar nightmares. To my great surprise, I slept peacefully for the first time in years. At the time, social media was limited to internet bulletin boards and blogs

considered archaic by today's standards, making it easier to hide my former identity and harder for others to find me. I settled a few towns over and into another small community. I worked a series of our jobs before discovering my hidden talent at carpentry. An apprenticeship granted me the opportunity to forge a new career with my own hands. Soon I'd earned my first contract and began to make more money than I'd ever made before. By then, the bad dreams had ceased entirely. Eventually, I met a woman named Claire when a family hired me to do some woodwork on their home. She was wealthy, educated, and well-travelled. In other words, we had nothing in common. But, in spite of our differences, we felt deeply in love. Claire sensed that there was a darkness inside of me,

though she never pressed for details. One night I was in the verge of telling her everything but she only shook ahead and told me that whatever had happened back then didn't matter to her. It was the man I was the day that she loved. I proposed shortly afterwards. We married and built her home together on a remote patch of land. I woke up every morning with the same sort of bliss I'd felt

during those long ago days of my youth. There was always a fear that I'd be found out, that I'd lose everything I held dear all over again. Though I was happy beyond measures, I still lived each day in a state of caution, even as time marched on without incident. I never forgot about the woman in the pasture. How could I? But I held my ground and remained firm, and for almost 20 years I never strayed from my vow. then I learned I was sick My diagnosis was grim

I was informed I didn't have much time left And that there was little that could be done Besides keeping me comfortable Life became a succession of pills and appointments It wasn't long before I found myself bedridden That's when the nightmares returned The terror I felt when the woman reappeared in my dreams was indescribable.

The years had done nothing to soothe her pain. They'd only made her angry. The tragic beauty she possessed that morning in the pasture had now withered away into a skeletal grimace. Her decomposed skin resembled thin parchment as if the slightest touch would undoubtedly pierced through the fragile surface of her flesh and sink into the decaying organs inside.

Insects writhed along a scalp and festered in the brittle strands of her hair The overwhelming stench of rot filled my nostrils. Though she no longer had eyes, I could feel her gaze of hatred bear into me. She was as silent as ever, but her message rang clear. I would be joining her soon.

The dreams continued as my health declined. I felt as if I were being consumed by an intense torment that would kill me before my disease did. I decided to break the promise I'd made nearly two decades ago. If I found out everything I could about my life's greatest mystery, perhaps the nightmares would once again vanish

and I could spend my remaining days in peace. I waited for Claire to fall asleep before I grabbed my phone. This time, the search results were more expansive. While I was saddened, though not particularly surprised, to see that the woman was still unidentified and a killer never captured,

I managed to find a blog post written about the crime that contained information I hadn't read before. I scrolled through the page hungrily. One of the strangest aspect about this cold case is the blooded earring found clutched in Jane Doe's left hand. The victim's own ears weren't pierced, leading the police to theorise that the jury belonged to someone else. This information was only made public after a journalist covering unsolved murders in the region obtained the case file. The Red Elm Police Department was subsequently criticised for what was perceived as a mishandling of the investigation.

Little information was provided to the press and the only suspect left town before seemingly vanishing into thin air. At the time authorities weren't able to extract a viable DNA sample from the earring. The journalist discovered that the jury was later lost with law enforcement describing their failure to preserve evidence as regrettable. My phone slid from my grasp and landed in the floor with a loud clatter. Claire stirred beside me. What's wrong? She murmured sleepily. Dred guided my gaze to the jagged scar, trailing down Claire's earlobe.

Darling? Her eyelids began to flutter open. Are you all right? I thought of the life I'd had long ago in Red Elm. I thought of the new existence I'd carved for myself that would soon be be coming to a close as I approached my final days. I thought of everything I'd lost and mourned, and everything that I'd gained and treasured.

I thought of my wife, who I loved more than anything, and the woman in the pasture, who I'd never stopped thinking about ever since that fateful morning. Why did you do it, Claire? I asked softly. Her body stiffened, a feeling of doom washed over me. I knew in that devastating moment that I was right.

An eternity of silence passed before Claire finally spoke. After all this time, she said quietly, her voice so unnervingly calm that it sent her chill slithering down my spine. Does it even matter? My face felt wet. I realized I was crying. Does anyone else? Does anyone else know?

She finished for me. Yes, my parents. I felt as if the world had begun to crack a part around me. The flicker of warmth in Claire's eyes that had greeted me every morning throughout our years of marriage was now gone, replaced by a cold, passionless stare. The truth is, I've never understood why I have these urges.

She continued in an even tone, as if we were discussing a casual subject they've been there for as long as I can remember Mom and Dad taught me how to keep them quiet and hidden But when I got older They eventually grew too loud to ignore My heart pounded in my chest I felt as if I couldn't breathe

Who was she? I asked dizzily I drift her passing through town Claire answered with a shrug If she ever told me her name I can't remember it now She sat up and stared at me with an expression that made my stomach twist into knots of tension. I suppose you want to know what happened.

I nodded weakly. I met her at a bar. I was drinking a lot back then. Alcohol wasn't a flawless distraction, but it helped. Claire ran a hand through her hair and gazed ahead. She told me that she was leaving in the morning and what was. some company in the meantime. She said she didn't like to be alone.

We drove around for hours, drinking and talking. Eventually, we wound up on a dirt road. She was drunk by then and said she felt like she was going to be sick. She got out of the car and kicked off her shoes before stumbling into a nearby field.

As I followed her into the tall grass, it occurred to me that it was unlikely anyone would miss her. Claire frowned, as if lingering on a memory, that brought her no pleasure. Afterwards, I went home and told my parents what I did. Mum cried, or Dad yelled at me for being sloppy. They cleaned up my mess and made sure money was placed in the right hands.

Neither of them have looked at me the same way since. Mom wanted to send me away. But Dad... Claire sighed. You know how Dad is. He wouldn't hear of it. Anything to keep up appearances. Every fibre of my being trembled from a surge of emotions.

Shock, betrayal, disgust. You... Ruin my life, I whispered. I know, Claire replied without hesitation. But I tried to make it right. I stared at her in confusion. Beads of sweat trickled down my forehead. What are you talking about?

Claire raised the brows and gave me an incredulous expression as if mystified at how I had failed to understand something exceedingly obvious Sweetheart she said coolly Where do you think all your job contracts came from I felt as if a bucket of ice water had been flung into my face Claire reached forward to caress me and I recoiled Nearly becoming entangled in the sheets as I tumbled out of bed careful

Claire exclaimed Remember what the doctor said about over-exerting yourself I've earned those contracts before I even met you I gasped defensively pain searing through my chest Claire rolled her eyes Why does it matter to you how you got them Haven't you enjoyed making money

Didn't you feel like you deserved it after everything you've been through I gripped my bedside table And shakily rose to my feet You're lying I protested falteringly My skin so slick with perspiration That my big clothes had grown damp She shook her head

No, I'm not We've been watching you Ever since Dad's contact at the Red Island police station called To tell him that you were brought in for questioning When you came here It was the perfect opportunity to make life easier for you Dad made certain you were given everything you needed For your career to advance

Why why would you do that? Because you staying content and busy meant you were less likely to think about questions that we didn't want to have answered. It worked, didn't it? My knees buckled. I braced against the wall to keep myself from falling.

Is that why you married me? I asked faintly. So I'd always be within reach to manipulate like a puppet? Yes, Claire answered. unflinchingly. But you don't have to look at it so cynically. In a way, you and I became linked the moment you decided to walk through that pasture. I stumbled towards the doorway, but in my weakened state, Claire was much faster. In the blink of an eye, she'd thrown me

onto the floor. I gasped as a fresh burst of pain shot through my chest. Stop it, Claire demanded. I don't want this to be any more unpleasant than it has to be. She began to rummage through the bedside drawer filled with my prescriptions. Why are you doing this? My voice was so frail that I could barely hear myself. Don't you love me? Claire's eyes glimmered in the darkness of the bedroom. She loomed over me with a medicine bottle in her hand.

Open your mouth, she commanded menacingly. I feebly swatted at her, but she pinned me down effortlessly. I pressed my lips tightly together, tears running down my cheeks. You did this to yourself, Claire stated coldly. I gave you everything you could have wanted and made it so you'd never have to struggle again. All you had to do was leave the past where it belonged and not get fixated on some worthless, nameless, dead. Suddenly, Claire froze. The bottle fell from a grasp and spilled onto the floor.

No, she whispered. It can't be. I turned my head and saw the woman from the pasture creeping towards us. Every bit is decayed and full of rage as she was in my dreams. I tried to scream, but the only sound that escaped my mouth was a rattling wheeze. Powerless to stop her, I squeezed my eyes shut in defeat and awaited whatever agony she would inflict upon me. But I felt nothing.

When I opened my eyes again, I saw that the rotting woman had moved past me and was heading for Claire, who was now helplessly pressed against the wall. Her face contorted into an expression of horror. I had never seen her afraid before. Get away from me! Claire shrieked. She leaped over my prone form and lunged for the doorway, only to scream when the woman sank her skeletal fingers into Claire's ankle.

She fell to the floor and crawled into the door. and crawled into the hallway, leaving behind a trail of blood droplets. The woman followed. I shut my eyes again when I heard the sound of flesh tearing. Something wet dripped onto the floorboards. Claire's tortured screams rang throughout the house before she mercifully fell silent. I summoned what remained of my strength to slowly drag myself along the floor towards my phone. I was reaching for it when a gentle hand touched my shoulder.

I looked up and saw the woman leaning over me. This time, she was spectrally beautiful. Her flesh was once again intact and smooth where it had been ruined by rot only moments ago and a formerly withered features had been returned to her. The colourless death that had overtaken her in the pasture was now replaced with a warm glow radiating throughout her body. She smiled at me,

her eyes full of sympathy, and understanding. I knew then that she meant me no harm. I'm sorry for what happened to you, I whispered. I looked down into the screen of my phone. There was no one I wished to speak to and no questions that I wanted to answer. I could already feel my life beginning to ebb away. I glanced back up at the woman. I don't want to die alone, I told her.

you stay with me? Please. She nodded. By the time you read this, I'll be dead. After spending most of my existence either being disbelieved or having to hide, I've decided to dedicate my final hours to writing down my story. I want others to know the truth about what happened, not for my own sake, but because in an unmarked grave in a small, quiet little town, there lies the body of a woman who deserves justice. I implore you to never forget her. I am no longer scared to die, for I know that when I close my eyes for the last time, I'll find myself in Red Elm. It'll be just like it was when I was young. A peaceful smile was spread across my lips. I won't feel any pain, and the sun will shine on me once more. I'm coming home. A few years ago, I was in the

market for a new car. My car was starting to fall apart. Problems were rampant and the prices just kept getting higher and higher, and it was obvious that I was just dumping truckloads of money in a bottomless pit by this point. I was 19 and had already put over $10,000 into fixing the 1993 Corolla, and with the odometer reading approximately 300,000 miles, it is long past this lifespan. The original plan was to get a new car. I was in a comfortable position financially, had a decent paying job as a sales rep, and made much more than the average bloke around my age, and wanted a reliable SUV.

My friends and I always went out to the desert, national parks in California where I resided and was sick of getting teased for having the worst car of the bunch. I was about to go to the dealership and buy a new 2016 Highlander since I was very loyal to Toyota, but decided I would thumb through the classifieds to see if there were any gems that were a few years old enlisted for a great price. It was mostly junkers, people looking for cars, a couple false advertisements from companies trying to offer overpriced and unfair leases on new cars. but then I stumbled across an advertisement that caught my eye.

It read, 2001 Jeep Rangler 1,100 miles, perfect condition, 500 OBO. I've never been a fan of jeeps. They seem to burn through fuel way too fast and have problems that Toyota would never have. However, it was only $500 and a thousand 100 miles on a 15-year-old car is wild. plus something about the perfect condition intrigued me.

I was curious how a 15-year-old vehicle could be in perfect condition. I decided to reach out to the cellar and get more information. Hey, I was looking at your 2001 Jeep Wrangler. Can I come by and take a look? Within minutes, I had a reply waiting at my fingertips. Sure, followed by their address. I'll be home in an hour. The car is in the front.

feel free to check it out. Perfect. They lived about 10 minutes away from me, so I had time to get ready and call my friend Dave, who's a mechanic at the local auto shop, and see if he notices anything fishy about it. There's no way a car in perfect condition with only 1,100 miles on it could be $500, right?

I arrived to the property, and to my surprise, the car appeared to be in perfect condition. It has a metallic silver paint job that looked not a day old The windows were as clean as they were when they got out of the factory Though no scratches, dense or damage of any kind I took a peek inside the vehicle It was spotless

Not a single stain, dark hair, crumb Or any evidence that it had been used at all I got on my knees and looked at the tires Which appeared to be brand new and with the same factory wheels that jeeps come with. The bottom didn't appear to have any damage or any sign that there was something off. What do you think, son? I jumped and banged my head on the bottom of the car upon hearing a voice. Oh my God, you scared the hell out of me. I thought you would be an hour. Ah, sorry, honey. I just got back from the shops. Do you have any questions? The face that startled

me was that of an older woman, who seemed to be about 80. She had a hunch and walked with the cane, but her skin was just so pristine. There wasn't a wrinkle on a face, not a wrinkle on her hands or arms, and had a coat of red nail polish over her fingers that looked pristine. Just as I started to hoist myself from below the car, I saw Dave pull up in his supra. I've always loved being in that thing. It attracted attention everywhere he went. I don't know if that was on purpose. Either way, it was great. He got out and introduced himself to the woman who shook his hand and called herself, Dot. I extended my hand out for a shake. Her skin felt smooth as babies. If you couldn't see her hair and hunch, you wouldn't be able to tell she was a day

above 20. There wasn't a blemish to be found anywhere. It was admittedly a bit unsettling. I talked it up to really lucky genetics, looked at Dave and asked, do you mind if my body takes a lock under the hood? The woman blushed and said, Oh, of course dear. And Shakily handed me a set of keys. The Jeep key looked as pristine as the car, and had no scratches or signs of use at all. I pressed the button to unlock the doors and pulled the hood latch from inside. Dave walked up and lifted it up. You're going to like this, Danny, he said as I got out of the car and headed over to where he was. The engine bay was as clean as the rest of the car.

Every component looked to be unused and perfect. He pulled out the oil stick and it was clean as if he had just changed it. The windshield wiper fluid was full and clean. and the filter was brand new. There wasn't a single nick or dust particle under the hood. How did you keep this car so clean, ma'am? He asked the woman, a bit apprehensive. It seemed he thought this might have been a stolen car,

taken from a dealership or a showroom. It was my husband's car. I've never set foot in the thing, honey. She began walking towards the hood. He always had a thing for these machines, you hear. I never really liked them I don't have my license he always was out here

vacuuming fixing something cleaning another she chuckled and looked right in my eyes I suggested he marry her if he loved her so much he died shortly after so the wedding never got around her happening but I told him I'd make sure she found a good home

he loved his car more than anything even me I'm afraid I decided to pry deeper. Cars? She didn't reply, and started walking inside. If you want to take it for a test drive, feel free. Let me know when you've decided if you want it or not. She smiled once more, then disappeared through the doorway of the huge home.

I wondered if she lived alone or had children to live with. It was such a big house for one little old lady. but she didn't seem very eager to share anymore. I jumped in the driver's seat opening the passenger door for Dave. The engine started fine. The gears seemed to shift like they do on the first drive and there wasn't a single weird sound. The station that played was an AM station, some kind of classical music.

I decided to let it be since it wasn't too distracting. As we drove down the street and around the board, blocks, it got more and more confusing. There wasn't a single problem with a car. It was the smoothest ride I'd ever had. What do you think is up with this car? Why is it so cheap and so clean? I asked as we started to circle back to her house.

Dave shook his head. I don't know, man. It's the cleanest car I've ever seen. Runs better than my supra. I would absolutely take this. Plus it's a jeep. those are badass. You want a girl? You'll get one in this thing. I laughed and said, Should I buy it instead of a Toyota? As I pulled into a driveway. If you don't, I think I might just buy it myself.

We both shared a smile and got out of the car. I started walking towards the front door, pulling out the envelope in my pocket with five $100 bills. Do you want it? Her voice from behind me stalled on me once more, causing me to drop the envelope and caused me a very obvious jump. Damn, lady, you gotta stop sneaking up on me, I laughed and continued. I'll take it, I have 500 in cash, is that okay? She took the bills out of my hand and said, Everything you'll need is in the glove box. I shook her hand once more.

Dot's hand was as smooth as last time and looked like it in the nils. ever seen a day of wear. She had a crimson band on a ring finger and a matching pendant swinging gently from her neck. I took the jeep's key off the keychain she handed me earlier and gave what was left back to her. She smiled and took the keys out of my hand. As I turned away to head back to the car, I heard her yell, much louder than I thought the woman's voice could project. Wait! I turned around immediately and looked at her quizzically. Don't change the station. She smiled at me once more, a smile that seemed disconcertingly large and waved goodbye.

I kept my gaze for a moment longer, then we walked back to the car where Dave was standing. Your car now, eh? Yeah, she's all mine, I smiled before shifting my gaze to the car, then back on Dave. She told me not to change the radio station. Do you think that there's a reason for that? I thought about it for a moment and shrugged. I assumed she just really likes classical music. I wouldn't think too much of it.

That seemed to resonate with me, and I hopped in the car and waved a Dave, who did likewise to me. I turned on the ignition, half expecting the entire car to fall apart as I did, but everything was smooth as last time. The radio picked up once again, playing classic instrumental

and I turned it down a little bit before putting the car and drive and heading home. I've now owned the car for a year. It seemed almost too good to be true. I was getting nearly 50 miles per gallon which is insane for an older Jeep. I had zero problems with any component.

The tires were always inflated to the right PSI despite my frequent off-roading and reckless driving. It handled high speeds beautifully and it felt so right, so much better than my corolla did. I felt like a real man driving this thing around. At first, I thought the whole don't change the radio station thing was a sham. I was planning on burning some songs onto a CD and putting it in the CD slot later, but decided to just let it keep playing classical music.

The station she had the car set on was so strange. I couldn't find any information about it online, and the music seemed to pick off right where it left off when I was last in the car. I was tempted many times to test changing it, but I started to question whether there was something else going on. You know, something a bit abnormal. Maybe the station was significant to the car's perfection. It seemed to be flawless and the reception for that station was always strong.

Even when I went to the desert for a few days or underground in parking garages. I started bringing earbuds with me when I drove or a portable speaker when others were in the car with me It wasn't perfect But I decided to just let it be I could survive without playing music through the car speakers Plus the classical music wasn't half bad It seemed to get faster as my car spread up

And slowed down as I slowed down I'm sure it was a coincidence or something But it was fun to keep track of Plus, there were no adverts, which is something I absolutely hated on the radio and television. I was planning on my first huge road trip with the people I cared about most. It would be me, Dave, Stoss and Stoss's girlfriend, Amber. We all loved nature and exploring, and the Jeep seemed like the best car to take together. So, we planned on going up to Northern California.

We would leave after I got off work at 5 and just cycle through. shifts of driving and sleeping until we made it to Shasta National Forest and explored down California until we made it back home. I was super excited, as we all were. Plus maybe we could do a bit of off-roading in this seemingly immortal Jeep. We were said to leave in about 24 hours. I made sure to bring a really good sound system so nobody got bored or tried changing the radio.

Amber and Stoss had never been in the Jeep before, so they were wouldn't know anything about the classical station. I don't know if Dave remembers. He's never said anything when I drove him in the past, so I'm sure he did. Just in case, I put a little piece of duct tape over the auxiliary port and the CD player. That way, nobody would put anything in before I stop them.

I've never been one to believe in supernatural things, but I knew that I had to keep that station playing, no matter how badly I wanted to change it. I picked up Dave first, then Stoss and Amber were a bit higher north, and we set off. I left a bit later than expected because I had to address something at work, but it was no biggie. The minute Stoss got in the car, I knew this was going to be a long ride. What the hell are you blasting on the speakers, Dan? I laughed and turned the speakers up a bit to try drown out the classical music.

I was a bit annoyed with Stoss's comment, but thought not. nothing of it. He put his ear up to the speaker on the rear left door where he was seated and shook his head disapprovingly. I thought about telling them about what the woman had told me, but decided to wait. We cruised onward. By this time, the sun was starting to set and we were getting close to Joshua Tree. Although I would have preferred to take a straight trip on the five northbound all the way to our destination. Amber wanted to see Salton Sea, so we took a bit of a detour to get dinner and see the biggest sea in California. There was a traffic accident near Indio, the way Google Maps was telling us to go.

So I decided to take a detour through Joshua Tree and stop for a bathroom break and changed positions a bit. Throughout the trip, Stoss and Amber occasionally made comments about the classical music. I eventually shut them down and told them the story. Amber seemed to understand, but Stoss didn't. waver his stance one bit and choked it up to being a crazy old lady trying to scare me. As I got out of the car on the side of the desert road, Dave got out with me and we spaced ourselves out to pee with some privacy. I walked about 20 seconds to the bush and Dave did his business right behind the car. I started to walk back to the car, pulled a hand wipe out of my pocket and

started to clean my hands. I saw Stoss fumbling with the radio stations. I broke into a sprint towards the car, but it was too late. Not everyone likes classical Danny Boy, he mocked and shuffled through the stations. Stoss eventually found an R&B station that he liked and started dancing in the passenger seat. I had a really, really bad feeling in my chest as I started the engine, but to my surprise, it started up the same as it had before. I, embarrassed that I believed a silly message. that an old lady yelled at me, disconnected the speaker system and let him have his way.

We had about 15 more miles of driving through Joshua Tree and the 62 would be in sight and I would let Dave drive for a few hours while I rested since I was beat from work. Even though everything appeared to be fine, I had this really bad feeling in my chest. I felt like something was off about this car. About that woman. How did a 15-year-old car not have a single speck of dust in or out? The car was a bit dirty now, but the exterior seemed never fade, and I hadn't accumulated a single scratch or dent in the car since I bought it.

Either way, we treaked on, talking occasionally about what we would do in Shasta, or mocking each other. Normal stuff. Hey, Danny, how much longer until we get to the freeway? they've asked from the backseat. I took a minute to look at my phone, but there was no service, and the map was in a constant state of reconnecting.

I couldn't see our location. The entire area was a sea of grey and white loading symbols filled the map. He was right in asking. It had felt like we were driving down Joshua Tree Road for much longer than 15 minutes. I looked outside, and the road seemed to go on forever.

Not one car had passed us since we stopped to go to the bathroom. If we don't see it in five minutes, we'll turn around. I'm sure we're almost there, I said, shifting my focus back on the road. At the same time, I noticed the odometer was gaining shockingly quick. When we started the trip, the Jeep had about 10,000 miles on it total. It now had about 100,000, and we didn't seem to slow down one bit. I started to freak out and looked back at Dave, who was sound asleep. It must have been a mechanical glitch, which happened sometimes, I told myself, and kept on.

But the odometer did as well. It was at 700,000 miles when I yelled, Dave! Dave jumped awake and looked at the odometer, then at Stoss, then me. Turn that radio back to the classical station, he said, looking right. into Stoss's eyes. I remember the number. It was 999 a.m. I shoveled up to 920,

930, 940, 950, 960, 970, 980, 990, 1,000. I tried to fine-tune the doll back, but it jumped to 998. I tuned it forward and it brought me to a thousand again. I can't find the station that it was on, I said, defeated. I decided to turn the car around

and see if we can backtrack our steps and take the route Google originally told us to take. As I did, I heard a noise coming from the bottom of the car. Simultaneously, the windows cracked. All of the windows. Amber screamed, and Stoss looked around in shock.

Dave had grabbed the vehicle's manual, but the radio page was torn out, of course. Her motioned to speed up, but eventually realized that I was not in control of the speed. It was increasing, currently at 70 miles per hour and was not slowing down. The handbrake, Dave yelled and pulled it. To my fear, the handle completely popped off and the car didn't slow down one bit.

As the speed increased, we all began to brace for impact, grabbing whatever backpacks or duffel bags we could find to cover our heads from glass and debris. The car was going 100 miles per hour, the brake was jammed in place and wooden move and the gear shifting knob didn't budge one bit. In the last attempt to save us before the car accelerated past 100 miles per hour, I turned the steering wheel slightly to the right and the car violently shook us as we crashed through cacti, bushes, rocks and unsafe mounds of dirt along the side of the road. Eventually the car began to slow down and I motioned for everyone to jump out while we could.

At about 20 miles per hour, I leaped out of the Jeep simultaneously with Stoss, Amber and Dave, expecting the car to soar onward until it was rendered useless. But it stopped only meters in front of where we landed. All four tires were flat and beyond the point of repair. The hood was completely dented. It was barely a remnant of glass on the windows and the paint was scratched beyond buffing. of gas and oil collected under the car and the lights, including the headlights and interior lights, died at the same time.

There was silence. Dave opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. I looked to my left and saw Stoss starting to get up. Amber was the only one who hadn't started to move. With all the energy I could muster, I crawled over to Amber and tried to wake her up. But I was met with no response. She had no pulse. It seemed she had hit her head on a rock of some kind

because there was a huge wound in the back of her head that was bleeding all over the place. I tried to fight the tears but succumbed to them. Amber was dead. Stoss shortly looked over and noticed and immediately jumped up and started walking towards me, anger in his eyes. How the hell could you do this to us?

He screamed in my face, pulling me by the shirt up to see him. Stoss was a big dude. He could easily overpower me in a fight and clearly realized this. You're the one who got us into this, I spit back at him. He threw me against the stationary jeep, which caused a huge den to appear, much larger than my body. Dave, about the same size of Stoss, held him back from coming back for seconds, trying to calm him down. What do we do now?

Dave asked the two of us. I'm not driving this car one more meter. We have no service. Nobody knows where we are. No cars have been by and hours. And Amber's dead over there. He motioned towards the corpse. I'm going to walk down the road

and see if we can flag someone down, I said. It's our only hope. Do you think we'll be safe to stay in the Jeep so we don't get mauled by something? Dave shakily asked. Are you serious? I'm serious! That thing is cursed, or because Stoss changed the radio.

I wouldn't step foot in that Jeep. Stoss started motioning towards me, but Dave threw him back with more force than I expected from him. I put Dave on this one. I don't think it's going to hurt us anymore. Even if something happens, we can just jump out the window, since they aren't exactly in place. Get lost and find someone to help us, Daniel. He spit in his direction and started limping towards the road. I looked back to Cestos and Dave get in the back seat, looking at something in the front seat,

most likely the odometer that I brought up earlier. The car didn't seem to be doing anything other than sitting in the middle of the desert. Maybe it was content with Amber's death, and it would leave us be. I had walked for about an hour, but for some reason there was no road to be found. I didn't recognise the surroundings at all. I had been to Joshua Tree in the past, but this was different. This wasn't Joshua Tree. There were no roads, no rocks, aside from the ones near the Jeep that we almost hurtled into,

no lights, just the endless stars in the sky and brush littering the desert sand. I think it's best to head back toward the car, I thought. Just as I was about to turn back, the light from the moon hit my body, and I saw the number 999 engraved in blood on my forearm. I shuddered looking at it. I know we all got scraped up from the crash, but I didn't notice that the number of the station was engraved on my forearm. Realising it was probably the same for David and Stoss,

I started sprinting back, gripping my leg as I hobbled over brushing pebbles. Just as I was nearing the car, I heard a blood-curdling scream. It was Stoss. I ignored every ounce of pain that cried out from my leg and sprinted towards the car. I saw Stoss in the backseat, curled up in a ball, shaking back and forth. Daniel, help! They took Dave! Who took Dave? I yelled back at him. These things!

They came from the bottom of the car. Just as Stoss said those last words, I saw four black hands crawl up from the two sides of the car. the two sides of the car and reached their arms through the two open windows. Two grabbed each side of Stoss's body and as he screamed my name over and over again, they pulled at his muscular body until he exploded into a bloody mess and his body was no longer whole. The arms took the pieces of his body back under the jeep effortlessly and he seemed to disappear into the exhaust pipe.

I stood in shock as I saw every single. dent, scratch and broken window repair themselves into pristine condition. In what felt like five minutes, the car was pristine once more. Not a single scratch lined the silver metallic body. The windows were scratch-free and looked like they were cleaned minutes before. I didn't know how to react. The car turned itself on and reversed to where I stood. I timidly walked up to the side of the car and put my hand on the door.

The radio was once again playing classical music on station 999am and the interior was completely ridden of dirt, dust and garbage. Our bags were nowhere to be found. It looked as if nobody had ever set foot in it. Just as I was about to get in, I felt a tap on my shoulder. enjoying the stars. The old woman from earlier asked. I screamed and yelled at her to stay back.

She seemed to understand my fear, but smiled. Don't change the station, she whispered, and turned to walk back to the grey Mazda that I didn't realise was parked next to me. The entire setting had changed. The road was now visible. and there were a couple cars passing by. I looked around for Amber's body, but there was nothing except a rock in its place.

I got in the car, buckled my seatbelt, and shifted the car in reverse. I didn't want to drive that car, but I had no other way to get home and definitely didn't have the courage to ask the woman for help. Just as I was about to leave. I froze. The Adometer Ritz.

1,100,100. I have a bad habit of clicking on things I shouldn't. To clickbait articles for the dumbest stuff, I can't help but click on whatever appears on my screen. I should also mention that I'm fully aware I'm 23 and have plenty of computer and internet experience, but for some reason I can't resist an eye-catching pop-up on my screen. I've had plenty of miss apps and have had to get some fairly great virus protection on my laptop to make sure I don't completely screw myself over, but no matter

how many times I've had to purge my computer of viruses, I've continued to feed this bad habit. But what happened last night will make me think twice about clicking on something I shouldn't. Last night started out like every other night for the past two months, lonely and boring. I rent a house of a friend from university, but due to the recent pandemic, I'm left without a job, and my roommate moved back in with his parents indefinitely. So, like most other nights, last night consisted of me sitting on the couch, scrolling through mindless nonsense,

until my ass got numb. It was after a long-winded rabbit hole that started with video game articles and ended with corporate conspiracy theories when an intriguing pop-up appeared on my computer. All it said was, want to play a game? Nobody has won yet?

That's it. There was no fancy text or cute anime girl that clearly had nothing to do with the game, just those words on a white background in Calibri font. I knew it was obviously a scam, a virus just waiting to download onto my computer as soon as I clicked the link. But it intrigued me like all pop-ups do, so I clicked it without hesitation. The page I was taken to was as simplistic as the pop-up.

It was a clean page with a big page, with a basic white background that made it almost barren. There were no links on the side or ads blowing up in my face. I couldn't scroll up or down and there was no hidden text to highlight. The only thing that was there was a line of black text in the same Calibri font in the centre of my screen. It said, The rules of the game are simple. For the next 12 hours you cannot respond to any of my messages.

Underneath the text was a button that said, Play game. I was intrigued by this point and thought, Is that it? How hard could that be? I looked at the clock and saw that it was 8.07pm. I figured that if I started now, I would only need to play for a few hours before I went to bed.

And then most of the clock would run down while I was sleeping. Thinking my plan was foolproof, I figured, why not? And click the button. As soon as I clicked, the text changed to the words, Starting now, you cannot respond to anything that you receive. You may read and close messages, but do not respond. You have until 807 a.m.

Do you understand? Underneath these words were the two options, yes and no. I figured the rules were pretty straightforward and didn't need much explaining, so I clicked yes. The text on the screen changed the say, good luck I was left staring at those words on the white background

this is going to be easy I said aloud to the empty apartment I waited for something to happen for about five minutes but the screen stayed on the empty white page with the same black words I was getting bored by this point thinking that the whole thing must be some joke

and was about to exit the page and find something else to do when a pop-up appeared on the top of my screen Have you enjoyed the game? With the options for yes and no. I laughed. Yeah, some game, I said to myself, instinctively moved my cursor over to no

as an attempt to chastise the creator for wasting my precious time. My mouse hovered over the no for a second before I realized what I was about to do. Ah, tricky, I said aloud to no one in particular. I moved my mouse from the no to the X at the top right of the pop-up and clicked, closing it. My attention was held for about 15 more minutes

before I started losing interest. During this time, I received a few more pop-ups, each asking similar innocuous questions, ranging from, how is your day being to, do you prefer chocolate or vanilla ice cream? Seeing that this was going nowhere, and it was going to be easy to ignore these questions, I closed the page and opened YouTube,

figuring I would just watch some gaming videos while enjoying a nice bowl of ice cream. After about an hour, I hadn't received any more pop-ups and had forgotten about the game. I was halfway through a video when I got a notification on my phone. I glanced at the screen and saw that it was an email. Too lazy to pick up my phone, I opened the second window on my laptop and access my email. The notification looked like it should have been sent directly to my spamming. inbox, but it was in my primary one. It was a sketchy email with random letters and numbers and a domain I didn't recognize.

The title of the email simply said, Do you still want to play? This concerned me. I didn't need to put an email or any personal information when I started the game, so we should not have access to that information. Worried that I had managed to get another virus, I opened my virus protection software and added to it to, scan my computer. While it ran in the background, I looked at the email. The body just said,

I haven't heard from you in a while. I sat there, staring at the screen, wondering how they got my email. After a few minutes, I noticed that my computer scan was finished. Nothing. Zero bugs, zero viruses, all clean. I decided to ignore it. Not long after, I started to start to started receiving more emails. At first, there were harmless questions. What are you doing right now? Why wouldn't you talk to me? Would you consider leaving a review for my little game and more like these? After a while however, they started getting more concerning. I was getting questions about other accounts I had online. Did you ever get the binding of Isaac for Switch? This guy found my Reddit page. I had asked about the game over three years

ago. I scanned my computer again. Clean. Did you manage to change your tire? My search history. Last week I got a flat tire and had to look up how to change it. I scanned my computer. Zero viruses. Do you enjoy your new headphones? My Amazon account, I bought a pair of headphones a couple of days ago. I scanned my computer. Nothing. At this point I was getting anxious. How were they finding all my information? I needed to clear my head, so I shut my laptop and went to take a shower. I must have been in there longer than I thought, because when I got back to my computer, I had over 100 new emails.

I skimmed through the titles of the various emails and wanted to throw up. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest. He had access to all my social media accounts. In some of the emails, he'd attach back. pictures taken straight from my Instagram and Facebook pages. In each one, he asked specific questions about my personal life. Do you miss Sarah? My ex? We broke up about a month ago. Quarantine had put its toll on our relationship. You haven't talked to Sam in a while. Did something happen between you two? One of my old friends from high school. The last time I talked to him was

six months ago on Facebook Messenger. The more I scrolled, the sicker I felt. This guy had found every digital footprint I had ever left and was waving it in front of me like a grade school bully. As I stared at the lengthy list of emails, what amounted to a mocking snapshot of my life since I was first able to use a computer. I started to cry. Ding! My phone went off. It was a text from an unknown number. Enjoy the game?

I wanted to scream. I wanted to respond and tell this person to go screw himself. I wanted to tell him to come face me like a man. I wanted to beg him to stop. But I couldn't. I was afraid that responding would make things worse and I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of winning. I knew I couldn't respond, so I said nothing.

I just sat there and sobbed. Ring, ring, ring. The sound of my phone ring. nearly made me throw it across the room. The call was from an unknown number. I stared at the phone as it rang, letting it go to voicemail. Seconds later, I received another text.

Don't ignore me. Ding, another text. I know where you live. Ding. I know you're alone. Ding. Don't ignore me. Ding.

Another text. This time an image. My hands shook as I opened it. It was a picture of my neighbourhood. It was dark and I could barely make out the street sign, but it was my neighbourhood. Judging by the lighting, it looked like it was taken recently. I got off my couch and ran to the front door to make sure it was locked.

It was. I sighed a breath of relief as I moved to close the windows and curtains and check the back door. Ding! Another image, this time of the front door of my house. I'd recognise that duct taped door knocker anywhere. I sat there and waited for the next text, wondering what it would be. Nothing. No text, just silence for the next three minutes.

Bang, bang, bang! The knock on my front door almost made me scream. If I hadn't put my hands over my mouth, then I wouldn't. of. After holding my scream, I opened my phone to call the police. Ding! Don't call the cops. You wouldn't want to ruin the fun, would you? I called them anyway. The operator said they would be there in ten minutes. I waited while the knocking continued for another rate. I waited for another ten after the cops were supposed to arrive and the knocking had stopped. I waited in silence until I was confident enough to move.

After what felt like an hour, I slowly started making my way to the front door. Looking through the peephole, I saw it a sigh of relief as I looked at my empty front porch. It seemed like the person had gone. I'd had enough by this point. The doors and windows were locked, so I felt safe enough to go to sleep. I was tired and just wanted to sleep through the rest of this hellish game. I slowly made my way to bed. but before I could get in

three loud knocks came from my bedroom window I ran to my kitchen grabbed the largest knife I could find and did the best I could to barricade the door with furniture the knocking continued bang bang bang

he kept going it wouldn't stop it grew louder with each impact on the wood it came from the front door and then the back then the wood then the windows, alternating with every round of knocks. I wanted to yell. I wanted it to stop. I just wanted to go to bed. I didn't get any sleep.

The knocking lasted most of the night. There were times when it would stop and I thought it was over, only for it to pick back up. I watched the clock as it went from five to six to seven until it finally reached eight. I watched the clock as each minute went by. ignoring the consistent dings from my phone as I got text after text. 805, 806, 807. That was it? It was over? I had won. No more text. I waited another three minutes until 8.10, just to be sure.

I pulled out my phone, opened the text and started typing. Screw you, I won. Silence. No text. It was over. Ding! It was a picture of the website. There were the words on the white background in the Calibri font. Starting now, you cannot respond to anything that you receive.

You may read and even close messages, but do not respond. You have until 8.7 a.m. Do you understand? Ding! Same text. I stared at the message, trying to understand their meaning. I stared at them for what I stared at them for what you. stared at them for what felt like forever, until it finally hit me. Starting now, I had clicked

yes. Ding! Another text. See you soon. In the early days of February, just before my senior year, I was prompted by my father to undertake a rite of passage as he called it. I was to be left alone to fend for myself in a section of Tennessee's Cherokee National Forest for three days and two nights. I was against the trip from the beginning. Sure, I liked hunting and camping, but this was extreme, too extreme for my tastes. But it was a tradition, passed down from father to son in my family for generations. Who was I to break tradition? So, against my reservations and against the feeling that this was a stupid idea. I packed on my backpack, grabbed my 30-06 bolt-action rifle,

and climbed into the cab of my dad's pickup. It was a long drive, broken only by stilted attempts at conversation and the heater going full blast as the tires rolled past endless concrete. I was a little ticked off and my dad was basically forcing this on me and our uneasy silence only made the hours feel like days. We only stopped once at a gas station about 10 miles from our cabin. The stench of unleaded and a cheap, convenience store hamburger would be the last remnants of civilization I'd see for the next three days.

I mechanically swallowed my burger and sloped down the watery coke filled with too much ice as we'd turned off the highway and got on the rural backroads. It was 50 miles of dirt to my dad's cabin that his grandfather had left him, which would, in turn, be left. to me. It was tradition after all. But I wouldn't be getting the luxury of a cabin, no. We were parking the truck and my father was driving me up deeper into the woods on a four-wheeler to a random, undisclosed point. I would then have three days to find my way back. If I succeeded, I'd become a man in my dad's eyes and we'd also be getting a new swimming pool

for the summer. It was bribery. But I would be going into my senior year in August, and having a big pool would cement my popularity. It was vain, and I was doing this for mostly selfish reasons, but I wanted to make my dad proud. I stepped out of the toasted truck to the calm, frigid forest air. The cabin was a small two-story log affair, worn from age, but obviously well maintained. A new wooden wraparound porch had been built last summer, and was in need of stead. that we'd never gotten around to, but otherwise the cabin was pristine. It was a tremendously peaceful place, far removed from the troubles of civilization, and I felt

like I was intruding on hallowed ground. I brushed off the shiver that crawled down my spine and putt in my long coat to my neck. Immediately, most of the chill went away, and I shook off my unease. I didn't want to admit it, some primal part of me relished the opportunity to put all the survival skills I'd been taught over the years to the test. Before I could take a step to the cabin, my dad came around to the front of the truck and held out his hand. Thomas, hand me your bag, he demanded, in a curt, no nonsense tone.

My dad and I looked so much alike in the face, the same unruly dark hair and deep-set eyes, but I could never hope to measure up to his terrifying drill sergeant voice, As he told me to hand in my backpack, I did so without question, and he immediately went inside, telling me to wait on the porch. I marched across the wood and sat in the rocking chair while my dad bustled around inside. Potts and pans clanged and metal scraped against metal as he worked, breaking the sounds of the forest around me. For half an hour, my dad busied himself with my bag before the screen door creaked as he ambled back outside. I loaded everything you'll need for three days in the bag.

You have a couple days food, but it's only for an emergency. I also added a flare gun for an actual emergency. My dad kept his voice rough and only used that tone with me when he wanted me to really pay attention to him. He had a good reason. As fun and full of tradition as this experience would be for me, I was still spending several nights alone in the woods and in the untamed wilderness.

Anything could happen. He handed me back the bag, and it was stuffed full. A lot had been added to it, so much that the strings strained against the nylon fabric. I hefted it onto my shoulder, and though it was much heavier than before, it was encompassome or unwieldly. I could carry it all day, and I don't think it would bother me. After he handed me the pack, we unloaded the four-wheeler from the back of his truck, and we set off up the small walking trail next to the house.

From memory, the path went on for dozens of miles and followed the stream as it snaked through the wilderness. We rode until the dirt road ended and humanity fell away into the deep woods. The road got bumpy as we wound around trees and over small rocks and for a minute I was afraid of hazards. My dad was an experienced outdoorsman though and he knew these woods well.

A few hours later, we'd apparently reached the destination. It was a small clearing nestled under a corpse. The remains of a previous campsite long since put out rested in the centre of the dirt, surrounded by a circle of rocks. I was up here scouting a couple weeks ago, so I know the route I'd take to get back, he said, cheekly. Be careful son, and call me if there's an emergency. I'm only a few hours away, and I should be able to see the flare if they're

trouble. Yeah, because I'll be able to get signal out here, and replied, holding up my now useless phone. Well, there's always the flare gun, but I'm confident you'll be fine, and besides, the flare's only really there if you decide to give up, he said, laughing. With a parting wave, he departed, rolling back down the mountain and leaving me stranded in the woods for three days. The first thing I did was take inventory and catalogue my belongings I ended the pack and carefully emptied its contents onto the ground I had a pair of long johns some extra socks and underwear

a box of matches a hunting knife and miniature shovel a zip-locked bag filled with a blend of spices a canteen of water two days of vacuum-sealed rations and water pouches and the flare gun along with my hammock and blanket I had everything I needed to make camp and survive if my hunting skills proved to be lacking. I had over 30 miles of wilderness to hack through before I hit the main road and could circle back to the cabin on the main road. Dad told me it should take at least two days, three if I didn't get lucky with my hunts. I had a few more hours to kill before nightfall and I wanted to get some miles in and find my bearings.

The best bet, I thought, would be to hike. along the stream until it ended. It was somewhat close to the trail, but not on it, as that would be cheating, but it would give me an excellent landmark to keep me oriented. So, with mild hesitation, I packed up and set off through the woods. It had been a good couple months since I'd last been in the woods, and I never been this deep in them. It was quiet, only disturbed by the rustling of trees and the occasional scuffle of an animal. more nearby as I trudged over rough ground and rocks. Staying near or on the trail would have defeated the purpose of the experience,

so I stayed off it as much as I could and only travelled through the woods themselves. Of course, it slowed my progress considerably and I only managed to walk about two miles before I started thinking about stopping. I would have to hunt before it got dark if I didn't want to go hungry, and I only had an hour or two before the light fell in. enough to make hunting impossible. After searching around for about 10 minutes, I found a good spot

to set up camp for the evening, and I dropped my bag, grabbed my rifle, chambered a cartridge, and double-check the safety. My game was Rabbit, since I didn't have the tools needed to string up and gut a deer. I set off and crept

through the brush, looking for signs of a nearby den. Rabbits are most active at dusk or dawn, so it was the perfect time to hunt them. Less than five minutes later, I found signs of rabbit trails in the underbrush a few hundred yards from camp. I leaned against the tree, just waiting. The rabbit I wanted appeared half an hour later, hopping out of the brush without a care in the world. It was a plump eastern cotton tail. It stopped and sniffed, giving me my opening. The crack of my rifle

pierced the air and the cotton tail dropped dead. I'd hit my mark, taking it in the neck so as they not spoil any of the meat. It was a decent-sized rabbit, more than enough for dinner. I bagged it and went back to camp. Light was fading as I reached my campsite, which made fire priority one. I grabbed the mini-shovel and took a small pit in the center of camp, spreading the loose dirt around the perimeter. I picked up a bundle of sticks and kindling just clearing the campsite, which gave me ample dead wood to burn.

So I piled a bundle in the ground with some dead leaves and twigs and got a nice fire going. When I had light to work by, I cleaned the rabbit, making sure not to perforate the bowels and remove the organs and skin. I walked away from camp and buried the offal and hide in a small hole next to a tree. When the meat was cleaned, I rubbed some spices under the water. the meat to remove some of the taste of game and skewed it with a stick I'd sharpened. While the meat cooked over a makeshift spit, I tied my hammock to the only trees close enough for it to work.

By the time my bed was ready, I had to turn the meat and get it ready to eat. A sprinkle of seasoning garnished the piping hot meat, and I dug in when it was fully cooked. I wasn't the best cook, and didn't have the right tools and ingredients, so the meat was a little dry and bland, but filled me up nicely, and I washed it down with a swig from my canteen. I even had leftovers. I wrapped them up in a cloth and sat them by the fire, ready to be eaten for breakfast in the morning. With nothing else to do for the evening, and night had fallen an hour ago, I decided to turn in for the evening and get an early start in the morning. I had many miles to cover, and would have to hunt again at some point the next day for dinner. I nodded

listening to the sounds of the forest as they lulled me into a deep sleep. In the morning I woke up refreshed from one of the best night's sleep I ever had and was eager to take on the day. I was in such a good mood that it took me a few minutes to realize something was off. In the middle of packing up my hammock and gathering my supplies, I couldn't help but notice that the leftover rabbit was missing from next to the fire. I searched around for it in vain, thinking the wind was. must have caught it and blown it away from the camp, but there was nothing.

I chugged it up to a wild animal, but that unsettled me. Dears don't often eat meat, and I don't think that a deer would get anywhere near my campsite. The smoke from the embers of the fire would have been enough to keep most animals away. Black bears were common enough in the forest, but they should still be hibernating during this time of year. now, there isn't anything larger than a deer in these woods, so unless it was a coyote, it had to have been a deer. But there were no tracks anywhere around my campsite, so no answers came to me.

I had packed up my camp and went to relieve myself when I found something that confused and terrified the hell out of me. I went to pee by the tree where I buried the awful of the rabbit last night, and right where I buried them was a hole. It was rough, with long claw marks gouged deep into the dirt as if something had ripped into the ground to get what I'd buried. I'd buried them deep enough to not attract the scent of wild animals, and I'd never seen claw marks like the ones next to the tree.

I didn't know what to make of them. Wild animals weren't that smart, and they were skittish by nature. No animal would risk getting close to a human unless they were starving. and no human had claws like the ones I'd found. Without hesitation, I grabbed my rifle and racked a cartridge. The air was calm and birds sang through the treetops. It was a lovely morning and I was petrified. I walked the camp in a circle, spreading out, searching for any tracks or signs.

The only ones I found were some deer tracks about 100 yards from the camp that were at least a day old. there was nothing else even remotely resembling the marks I'd found. There was nothing for me to find, and even though I was freaked out, I still had to hike back to civilization. As the miles wore on, I began to rationalize the experience, thinking it nothing more than a hungry animal looking for food and brave enough to sneak into my camp. I just hadn't buried the offal deep enough and some critter had smelled it.

That's all it was. As the day wore on, there was nothing to differentiate my delusions. The woods were normal, no ominous warnings, no foreboding feeling, just nature, alive and well in the midday sun. I managed to bag another rabbit, purely on coincidence as it scabbled out of the tree line. I snapped off a shot and my aim was lucky. I'd taken it in the head, which left little of its skull behind, but it left the meat ripe for the taking. I'd made good time through the woods, so I stopped and quickly clean the rabbit,

leaving the offlin skin where they lay. If something wanted to eat them, then let it. After the rabbit was clean, I wrapped the meat in a cloth and stowed it away. I was hungry from the hike, and the fact that my breakfast had been stolen that morning, but I wanted to put some more miles under my boots before it got dark. I wanted to be far away from my campsite, just in case. As the sunlight faded from the canopy and my aching feet demanded a break,

I found a spot to set up camp. It was a small campsite nestled up against a rocky mound that stretched skyward for a couple dozen feet with a slanted shelf near the top. I felt comfortable having my back to the wall and abrasive trees next to the rock ensured I could set up my hammock. I raided the campsite,

building a roaring fire twice as large as the one last night just to scare away any nearby animals and cook the rabbit to perfection. I was ravenous and scarfed down the meat with gusto. Despite my hunger, there were still plenty of leftovers again,

but this time I was careful to stow the meat inside my pack, which I kept next to my hammock. Exhaustion had worn me down for the many miles I'd walk that day, and I was eager to get some sleep. I laid my head on my pillow, and was out like a light. The stillness woke me, like a veil of silence had been draped over the woods.

Not a single sound rose from the forest floor other than the rustling of leaves in the wind, not even crickets. Animals instinctively go quiet in the presence of predators, but this was unlike anything I'd ever felt. felt before. I lay in my hammock, straining my ears to listen to any sound I could. There was nothing but the wind. The fire had died out, leaving only coals that sparkled every time a stiff breeze rolled in. The moon was fat in the sky and gave me ample light to see by as I stared up at the trees. For some reason, I was terrified to get up and look around. My rifle was

next to me, resting just by against the tree. I could grab it in seconds and there was a round in the chamber, but I couldn't reach my gun, couldn't do anything other than stare straight ahead and try not to move an inch, because I realised something was watching me. It started as a tickle of paranoia on the back of my neck as my hair stood an end,

but it grew to fear as sweat. beaded on my forehead. There was a presence in the woods. Its eyes were on me, and it was angry. Pure, unadulterated malice oozed from just beyond my sight. Something was watching me.

And it hated me. It's a hard feeling to describe the anger that was directed toward me, but I knew what it was on a primal level, something instinctual. right alongside the fear of being alone in the dark. I knew that feeling too. The presence persisted for a few minutes and didn't fade.

Sweat poured down my neck as I fought to stay still. Eventually, the silence and fear got to me, and I had to do something. I couldn't take it anymore and leapt from the hammock, hitting the ground hard. I ignored the pain radiating from my arms and scrambled from my rifle, scanning all around me, trying to find whatever it was. As I spun around, I saw it, perched on the rocks above me. For a single split second, a flash of neon blue eyes stared back at me from an angular, too pale body, before it slunk out of sight. My heart pounded in my chest and my head felt fuzzy, like ants crawling over my brain.

It became hard to breathe and I fought to keep from passing out. I was scared out of my mind because whatever that thing had been wasn't human and it wasn't an animal. It was a monster. I didn't sleep that night. I built up the fire and huddled around it, clutching my rifle till morning. Screw tradition and screw these woods. I was heading back to the cabin at first light and I wasn't stopping until I reached it. Nothing else happened through the night.

But as dawn broke over the mountains, my nerves were shot to hell and my eyes ached with a strain of keeping them open. I stumbled to my feet, kicked out the fire and slung my backpack over my shoulder. I left the hammock tied where it was and set off towards the stream. I was going to follow it to the trail and I'd be back at the cabin before nightfall. It took an hour of walking, stumbling over uneven terrain till I found the stream. and from there I found the worn trail. I followed it for a few hours as the sun rose high in the sky. I was so tired, but the fear of death and that monster

were the only things that kept to me putting one foot in front of the other. I was hungry, thirsty, and beyond everything else, utterly exhausted. But I kept pushing forward, no matter how slow and tired I was. I still had the rabbit tied up in my pack. but I couldn't stop and eat. As the day wore on, I began to recognise part of the terrain and I knew I was close to the cabin.

I was so elated that I didn't pay attention to where I was wondering and rolled my ankle on a small rock that jutted out from the side of the trail. I lost my balance and careened off and hit my head on a nearby tree branch. Everything went black. I awoke to dusk.

I'd been out for a couple of times. of hours, whether from the blow to the head or the exhaustion, whichever it was, I was still in the woods, and night was coming quickly. The monster never appeared during the daytime, so I thought I was safe in the light, but light was running out and I still had a mile or so till I reached the cabin. I picked myself off the ground and dusted the dirt off. I grabbed my rifle, checked that it was still loaded, and flick the safety off. My finger stood a millimeter from the trigger, and I kept my head on a swivel as I hastily jog the trail back to the cabin. Relief swept through me when I saw the wraparound porch come into view. I nearly sagged to

my knees as I reached the cabin, just as the lass of the orange bled from the purple skyline. I had made it back. Dad! I yelled as I ran up to the porch. Dad, we got to go. I ran around to the front door and stood stock still as my blood ran cold. The door to the cabin was wide open and my dad was lying halfway inside and halfway on the porch. He'd been mauled. His body was nothing but ribbons and scraps of flesh that only half resembled what a human should look like.

I stared in silence, my mind not comprehending what I was seeing. He'd been wearing the red and black chequered flannel I'd gotten him for his birthday. It was the only way that I could tell it was my dad. His face had been ripped from his skull. Two white bone peeked out from his empty eye sockets. The stench was ungodly, a mixture of fresh meat and the iron tang of blood filled the air. I clutched down my stomach and held bile on the wooden floorboards. sinking to my knees as my throat burned raw as I heaved my guts out.

Absolute panic gripped my sanity and took it for a joyride as I tried and failed to come to terms with the fact that my father was dead, had been ripped to pieces by whatever was outside, stalking me in the dark. I had to leave, had to get as far away from that place as I could, or else I'd be next. I screamed wordlessly, and backed away from the porch. I turned and ran to the truck.

It was my only avenue of escape, and I had to hurry. Night had already fallen. I scrambled the driver's side of the pickup and yanked the handle hard enough to break it, but it held and opened the door after a second of sticking. I climbed into the cab

and threw down the visor, where my dad usually kept the keys, but they weren't there. The only other place they could be, was in the pocket of my dad's jeans, and I would have to get them. Stealing myself at the inevitable, I clutched my rifle tight and exited the vehicle. I knew I had to be fast, knew I needed to already be far away from the woods, but my feet wouldn't carry me any further.

I stared at the mutilated remains of my father and tried not to throw up again or break down in madness. Come on, you can do this, just put one foot in front of the other. Do it now, my rational mind screamed at me, trying to override the panic I felt at that moment. I stepped forward, an inch at a time, and before I knew it, I was back, staring down at my dad. I breathed through my mouth, not being able to stomach the smell again and crouched, careful of the sticky and drying blood. I squinted through my eyelashes

and patted my dad's pants The keys were in his left pocket So as quickly as I could I stepped to the side and dug through them My hands clutched around the metal keys And I yanked my prize free Nearly stumbling from the force With a key in my hand

I bolt it from the porch and back to the truck I just wish I'd been faster As I reached the open cab flesh thudded against the wood and I turned searching for the sound movement from above me drew my gaze

and I finally got a good look at would have been chasing me through these godforsaken woods it was on the roof of the cabin clinging to the side of the slanted roof with ease the monster was humanoid but it crawled on all floors like an animal

its skin was pale white like paper and thick and rough leathery on almost, but what marked it as being something inhuman was its head. It bore ethereal blue eyes that lit up the night and a large arrowhead face that tapered to a point near its mouth. Its mouth, which opened, revealing thousands of miniscule needlepoint, silver teeth, and rose stretching down its throat.

The creature's eyes never left mine, and clinted it with malicious intelligence. It upturned its too many teeth into a gruesome smile. I didn't think, didn't panic. I just reacted, raised my rifle and fired. The bullet whist past its head and tuck it in the shoulder. Bright white blood splurtered from the wound and splashed across the roof of the cabin to drip down the shingles. It let out a high-pitched shriek of pain and record from a shock.

It slid down the roof and into the tree-line, faster than I could line up a second shot. When it broke from my line of sight, I sprinted to the truck, tossed in my bag and rifle and slid into the driver's seat. Thankfully the truck started on the first try and the engine roared to life. I flicked on the high beams, through the truck in reverse and spun around as fast as I could. The shadows of the forest writhed in chaos as I sped down the trail, going too fast for comfort. my mind and nerves were shot.

It was all I could do not to floor the pedal and speed away as quickly as I could. I was driving recklessly, taking curves too sharply and doing everything in my power not a fishtail into a tree when a thud landed on the roof of the truck

crumbling the aging metal. I screeched, panicked and jerked the wheel, trying to throw it off. I spun the wheel too much and clipped an overgrown tree in the process. I tried to over-crack to myself, but only ended up slamming the side of the truck into the tree line. The truck crunched to a halt, the passenger side crumbling like a bent can as tree branches snapped,

sounding wooden gunshots through the forest. Whatever it was on the truck, it was flung to the side as we crashed. It flew off the hood and hit a tree further into the forest. Bones cracked and when it fell to the dirt, it left a smear of white blood across the bark. I tried to start the truck again, but it just groaned and wouldn't turn over. With a half growl, half grown, the creature picked its bleeding body off the ground and glared at me, its neon eyes glowing even brighter as it shrieked and clawed toward me. I grabbed my rifle and left the truck.

I could follow the monster by its eyes alone, and I perched my rifle on the hood of my truck and took aim. It was slow as it crept toward me, giving me pull. plenty of time to line up the perfect shot. I had my cross-hares centered right between its eyes, and I rested my finger on the trigger, a split second away from firing. The creature led out another scream, much higher in pitch than the others,

and my body jerked on its own accord. My hand spasmed, and I squeezed the trigger. My shot went wide, flying off into the woods and thudden into an old tree. That had been my last bullet. My rifle only held four shots, and I hadn't brought any extra ammo. I squeezed the trigger again and again. Terra grinned me as it slunk along the earth,

leaving a milk-white trail of blood behind it. I threw the gun at it and ran for the truck, for the knife in my bag. I wasn't going to let it get me. I wasn't going to end up as food as a mutilated corpse like my dad. I was going to kill it while myself if that failed. I wouldn't let it eat me. The thing was on me before I reached the cab. It slammed into the side of the door, pinning me as I was halfway through the door.

I lunged for my bag as the monster opened its jaws wide and bit through the metal door like it was cardboard. It ripped a chunk free and spattered on the ground as it eyed me with rage and hunger. My hand closed around my bag and I tore the strings, grabbing the knife that was at the top of the bag. I slid it from its sheath as the creature was poised by the I slammed the knife to the hilt in the side of its face, just below its glowing blue eyes. It reared back in pain, sending a mild pounding shriek of pain splitting through my psyche. It stopped my heartbeat for a second as it jumped away from the truck and tried to dislodge the knife from its skull. I thought then that I'd landed a lucky blow and it was going to leave,

that I'd be able to get back in the truck and escape the forest. But more howells joined the first. and two more of the monsters slunk out from the shadows. This is where I die. It was the only thought running through my head. I couldn't run from them, couldn't fight them. I was going to die, but I wasn't going to make it easy for them.

I grabbed my torn bag and ran into the woods as fast as I could. I was desperate to escape, but the howls and thuds of too many legs padding through the dirt behind me told me I wouldn't escape. They were close at my heel, and the only thing that saved my life that night was gravity and my own clumsiness. I tripped on a branch and tumbled to the ground

as one of them sailed over me, mouths wide as the thousand needles closed around empty air. It hit the ground a few feet away and turned, eyeing me up. I backpedaled, but hit a tree as it lunged the second time. With nothing else in my hands, I brought my bag up as it clamped down, throwing me to the forest floor. Its teeth closed around my bag, ripping the nylon to shreds. But my mini-shovel got lodged in its throat, and it couldn't close its mouth all the way.

Clothing and food poured out of its jaws, and I scrambled out from under it. My hand hid something plastic as I crawled away from the creature, and even in the dark of the woods, I couldn't fail to make out the bright orange handle of the flare gun. It was a long shot, but it was the last weapon I had, and I clung to it as I stood up and ran away. I didn't get very far

as the monster chumped through the metal shovel like it was a toothpick and spat out the remains of my backpack. It howled in rage and ran for me. Knowing I had one shot, I stopped, dropping to my knees, and fired. Daylight split the night

as my eyesight was obliterated by the burning red flare as it streaked through the air and hit the monster in the face. Like it had been doused in kerosen, the creature went up in a gulf of flames. Its flesh sizzled and popped like grease in a pan as it cracked and blackened in seconds. It howled in agony, screaming such a high-pitched sound that my ears bled

and I fell to my knees as my consciousness waned. By the time I rose to my feet and whipped the blood from my ears. It was dead. It was now nothing but a charred carcass burning under the crackling fire. The flare was still burned, illuminating the night,

and showed me the other two creatures that had crept upon us. I was out of weapons and out of hope, but they stayed back, just at the tree line, watching me and the flaming carcass of their friend. Fire,

was their weakness, it seemed, and even though I had no more flames, I bluffed them. It was the most reckless thing I could have done, but I had no other options left. I raised the empty flare gun, and they flinched. They took a step back and stayed low to the ground, like they were ready to bolt. I pressed my lock and took a step forward. They turned and ran as fast as they could, deeper into the forest, how long as they did so. As soon as they were out of sight, I ran myself. I ran as far as my legs would carry me, not caring about the scrapes and scratches from the branches,

whipping at my face. I only cared about my own survival. I hit the road leading to the highway and ran for hours. There were too many miles between me and the highway, but I didn't care. I just kept running. By the time I hit the page. it was daybreak and I knew I could stop running but I kept on because I had nothing else but the run if I stopped it would mean accepting what had happened and I don't

think my mind would survive I ran until I hit the gas station we'd stopped at only three days ago what felt like a lifetime ago the gas station attendant took one look at me out of breath with bloody torn clothing and called the police He was kind enough to give me all the water I wanted while I waited for the police. I drank it in silence while I sat, huddled in and myself, trying to calm my raising heart and not to think. It took the cops nearly an hour to arrive from the nearest town, and when they did, I finally had to tell them my story. They didn't believe me, because, of course, they wouldn't. I sounded insane, raving about monsters and glowing blue eyes and white,

blood like a madman. However, the officer was patient and kind, taking down my statement word for word, despite the skepticism on his face. I told them where to find the cabin, the truck and everything. They found it all right where I told them it would be, but there was no sign of the creature I'd killed, not even ashes. My dad's body was also gone. The only sign it had been there at all, with the bloodstains. The police choked it up to a wild animal attack, attributing my story to just be that, a story by a scared teenager who witnessed an animal kill his father. The reporters, the kids at school, hell, even my mother, they didn't believe me. But I know the truth.

I'm not crazy. There's something evil in that forest. Whatever it was, whatever those nightmares, were, there's more than one of them, and they burn just fine. If you camp out in the Tennessee forest at night, be careful, learn from my story, and for the love of God, carry a fire source.