CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - 7 SCARY r/Nosleep Reddit Horror Stories to play while you melt in this horrendous summer heat

Episode Date: August 17, 2022

CREEPYPASTA STORIES-►0:00 "The Mumbling Game" Creepypasta►29:58 "A Stowaway Snuck onto our Nuclear Submarine. The Whole Planet Could be in Danger" Creepypasta►51:49 "Our town holds a dark ritual every year. I messed up one of their ceremonies" Creepypasta►1:08:33 "Don't speak to The Wandering Man" Creepypasta►1:32:23 "The Cover Up Starts Here" Creepypasta►1:51:18 "I found a crypto currency that pays for pain" Creepypasta►2:36:55 "Beware of Blind Murphy" Creepypasta►2:53:16 "My Uncle Disappeared into an Imaginary World of His Own Creation" 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►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-

This weekend I'm from waked I'm all moose I'm not as I'm not on think Oh, that dossier that morning off must be all

I'm too much I'm too much on think Oh, this year Oh, I'm a moose if I'm a moose if I'm not

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Liquid Fooding Supplement Forcxxxxxxxxxxxxxit. You don't find these places often, Roy said, probably only a handful of times in a person's life, at least that they notice. When I asked him what he was talking about, I was already dreading the answer. We'd been roommates for five years, and for the most part, we got along and were good friends. But his interests were weird and varied, and when he got on a roll, he could talk your ear off about some obscure topic that was only interesting for a me. minute or two. And it wasn't like Roy was afraid of shutting me up if he wasn't in the mood to talk.

He called it, turning off his ears, and he meant it. He'd had cochlear implants since he was a kid, and he didn't mind unplugging if he didn't want to listen. I'd gotten to where I tried to steer around getting into long conversations when we ate together, but this time it felt different. He was jittery acting, almost like he was scared of something, or had gotten some bad news. We were just sitting in our living room, eating leftover pasta. But Roy kept looking out the window, like he was expecting someone to break in on us. It was weird, you know, something was wrong. So I asked him what was going on, and he started to say nothing.

But then he seemed to try to. change his mind, told me that you don't find these spots often, but it does happen, if only a handful of times in a person's life. I asked him what he meant, and when he kept talking, this time, I listened. It's that feeling you get. Look, have you ever been somewhere and it felt different than it should? Like more empty or more creepy or just like, you're unsettled but you I don't know why. That's what it feels like. I'm not talking about places that are obviously creepy or dangerous or whatever.

I'm talking about normal places, maybe even places you go every day. That don't feel normal this time. That's when it happens. Sandra's that girl I was telling you about. Sandra told me about this game she played when she was a kid. She was an army brat and she picked it up when she was overseas. Back then she used to play it with a group of kids that told her about the game which they had apparently learned from another bass kid that had come through years before

but they wouldn't actually play it they acted like they had but she thought they were lying they all looked kind of excited and spooked when they brought it up to her not as an invitation for them to all play but as a dare to the new girl or maybe just to impress her they called it the mumbling game. The name didn't make any sense to her at the time. The game wasn't about mumbling.

If you could even call it a game at all. You couldn't play it all the time, or at a place of your choosing. There was no score, no way to compete with others. It was just... Well, it's easier if I just tell you what it is instead of what it isn't. The idea was that there are certain places that on rare occasions will feel off.

Like I said, lonely or creepy or dangerous, in a way that doesn't really make sense. Sandra told me that most people just ignore the feeling or try to leave as quick as they can. But if they stayed, some of those would find a way to play the game. So, you enter a room or a hallway, a parking lot or a building. The places can vary a lot. The only real constants are that feeling that something is wrong and that you are always alone when you find one of... Well, Sandra called them unsettled spots. If you notice yourself alone in an unsettled spot and you decide to stay, what comes next is simple.

You find an area in the centre of the space and you sit down. She said you should sit with your legs straight out and your hands. hands palm down on the ground under your butt, so like sitting on the backs of your hands, but she didn't know if that was really needed, or just in detail the kids had added. Either way, you sit there and you close your eyes, and if you really are in one of those spots, after a few minutes, you'll hear a loud cracking noise followed by the sound of a bell. You can open your eyes then, and you'll know right away if it worked. because you won't be alone anymore.

There will be a person or something that looks like a person sitting or standing nearby, watching you and smiling. They won't talk to you or respond if you talk to them, and they won't approach you at first. They just stare and smile. And sure, maybe by that point you're scared, or at least more than a little freaked out, But at least they aren't going to grab you or even come closer to you.

And that's when you get up and try to leave. Very quickly, you become aware of a few different things. First, no matter how far you go, you won't see another person now. And that feeling of wrongness will stay with you. Second, when you move, this smiling stranger moves with you step for step. You go 20 steps back. They follow 20 steps. But if you go towards them, they don't retreat.

They just keep smiling at you, as though sharing the joke or the secret of the strange dance you're doing now. Back and forth, left and right, you can't shake them. And depending on their gate compared to yours and the directions you take, the gap between you is closing all the time. I'd laughed and asked Sandra what was supposed to happen if they caught you. Her face was serious when she answered me, so the kids didn't like talking about that, not directly, but the couple of times they had, they'd use the Tagalog word, Sampa. She said it meant something like to climb or to ride. I then asked her the obvious questions.

If playing this game got you stuck in some bad version of the world, why would anyone play? and how would anyone know about it if you can't get out to tell them? You can get out, she said, but only by going back the way you got in. If you panic and just run off, or if you get to a place that your new companion has blocked you from getting back, sure, you could be screwed. But so long as you remember and keep your head,

you can usually just go back out the way you came. You'll walk until the bad feeling goes away, and when you turn around, the thing following you would be gone. Sandra said that for days after telling her about the game, the other kids would tease her about it, but it was easy to make excuses as to why she couldn't play, as it just wasn't a very common thing for her to be alone or run across some spot that felt weird.

They eventually got bored talking about it and moved on to other things, and by the next year, she'd almost completely forgotten about the game. It wasn't until a last weekend before moving back to the state that she had a reminder. She cut through the small garden centre at the on-base PX.

It was like a store for military families on the base, so their store wasn't closed or anything and it was the middle of the afternoon. But there was no one else around. That wasn't that strange, but something still caused her to stop. She said the light looked weird And even though she'd been there with her mom a dozen times

She had a scary feeling in a chest That she'd never felt before He reminded her of the mumbling game And once the thought came It had her Before she knew it She was sitting down on the dirty concrete In the middle of the garden centre

And closing her eyes After a couple of minutes she heard a sharp crack Then a bell rang nearby She was scared by then But she had to open her eyes and check right There was a man standing on the far side of the garden centre now Just standing there and staring at her He wasn't dressed in fatigues or a uniform

On one of the outfits the people in the store usually wore Everything he wore was was grey, grey pants and shirt, even a grey fringe of hair around a pale scalp. Maybe it was her imagination, but the teeth he showed as he smiled at her, even looked grey in the light. Her reaction was immediate. She jumped to her feet and started to run out of the garden centre, casting a glance back to see if he was following.

He was. His strides long enough he could keep pace without fully having to run yet. and that's when she remembered the rest. Hard as it was, she made herself stop, and as soon as she stopped, the smiling man following her stopped too. Shaking, she made herself think of how she'd come into the garden centre, and when she'd first started feeling the strangeness

that had stopped her in the first place. It had been just a few feet before she entered the chain link area where they kept the mulching fertilizer. And to get back there, she was going to have to go closer to the man. Much closer. She was just 11, but I think she was a smart and brave kid.

Told me she walked slowly, every step tense, as she watched for some sign of him moving towards her. He didn't move a muscle at first, just stared and smiled, his eyes following her, as she crept nearer. It was when she was just a few feet from being past him, that the smile fell away and his lips began to move.

She could hear him speaking, but the words were too low and deep for her to make out anything. Walking faster, she passed within ten feet of him, but he just watched and mumbled as she went past, until she reached the point of moving away instead of moving closer, of course. then he began to turn. She bolted, running back the way she had first come, knowing that at any second a cold grey hand would close on a shoulder or neck. The feeling of wrongness had been gone for a few seconds

and she could see people moving around the parking lot now. And when she finally slowed down and looked back, the man was gone. Sandra said she never forgot a. about that afternoon, but she'd never seen that man again either. Said she figured she'd gotten away in time and that she'd left the game behind when she escaped. That was 15 years ago, man. Then, last week, she was working late. Her office was empty, but it didn't normally creep route or anything. This time, it was different. One minute everything seemed normal. The next

she felt this. She said it was like a weight settling on her or the air pressure changing way faster than it should. Even after all that time, she knew what it was right away. Her first thought was, it's okay, don't panic, I just need to not play again and leave.

It'll be fine. It was then that she looked behind her and saw the man from the garden centre, staring at her and smiling, just ten feet away. She ran, of course. Of course she ran. But like I said, she's smart.

She made sure she left the same way she'd come into the office, and she was bigger than when she was a kid, with a much longer stride. She managed to stay away from him until she got out to a car, and by then the feeling and the man were gone again. She said at the time she was too freaked out to think straight or make sense of it. She hadn't played the game again,

so why had the man come back? It wasn't until she calmed down and thought about it some more that she realized the truth. She had never stopped playing. Sandra said that she thought these weird places, these unsettled spots, were places beside or underneath our world.

They looked similar, but they were wrong somehow, and the things that lived there were wrong too. She said that when she left the spot in the garden centre, that bad version of the world and the thing following her hadn't just ceased to exist. And maybe it hadn't stopped following her either. It attracted her over the years, moving behind the world and getting closer when it could. And once it was close enough, it just had to wait until she was in a spot that wasn't right, a place where she could see it again, and it would finally reach out to take her. I didn't believe any of this, of course.

I thought she was pulling my leg at first, or that she was messed up on drugs or something, though I'd never known her to even drink much, let alone anything that would make a delusional. But the more she talked, the more upset she became, and the more determined I became to try and help her. When just trying to convince her that it had just been a false memory or a bad dream didn't work, I suggested that maybe it was a real guy

who was just been stalking her since she was a kid, had finally tracked her down again and snuck into a building maybe. She started crying then, said she'd already considered that, even had security pulled the footage from the office that night. It showed her during the time she started to run away, but the camera couldn't see the man,

that followed. I wanted to say that was proof it was in her head, but I knew it would just make her angry and she'd pull away. Instead, I told her that I believed her, and I tried to help her figure out what we could do to fix it. What I didn't tell her was that I was going to try and play the game myself, so I could honestly tell her it was BS and maybe convince her to get whatever help she really needed. I wasn't sure if I get the chance

if I was going to do it honestly Just like everybody I've had times where a place felt weird Or creepy And I wasn't sure why But not like often or anything And if I didn't run across One of those spots

I either couldn't play the game at all Or I'd have to lie to her And act like I'd found an unsettled spot after all But that nothing had happened Funnily enough I walked into one on Saturday. I was down in the archives at the library, pulling stuff for that paper I'm working on.

It's always super quiet down there, and maybe some people think it's creepy, but I've always liked it. It felt very at home, you know. But as I walked back to the shelves, that changed. It was like I'd walked into a different climate or something. I was confused at first.

And even when I thought to the game, I didn't really think I'd found an unsettled spot. But I did think it was close enough that I could tell myself I wasn't lying when I told Sandra I tried the game in the right kind of place and nothing happened. Roy fell silent, staring at nothing for a minute as I waited for him to go on. When he hadn't, I threw a napkin at him. Well, did you do it? Did anything happen? His face was pale when he turns a look at me. Yeah, it worked. It was just like she said.

There was this girl standing there when I opened my eyes, a bit younger than us. I thought she was just a student at first, and she was actually kind of cute, smiling at me the way she was. And I was sitting in the middle of the floor like a goober after all. Licking his lips, he went on. But she didn't say anything. or move, didn't respond when I said hey to her, just stared,

and smiled. I started to get scared. I took a couple of steps back and she took two steps towards me. I wanted to just run, but I remembered what Sandra had said. So instead, I cut over one row and then went forward.

She'd gotten closer, of course, and when I tried to cut back over to the aisle, I needed to go out of the way I'd gone in. She was only a few feet away, not smiling anymore. Mumbling, I frowned at him. Could you hear what she was saying? He shook his head. Here?

Not really, but... He sighed, pointing at his ear. Look, I got these implants when I was 12, but my hearing had started going when I was like five or six. I learned to get by through paying close attention to what I could hear and by reading lips. Even now, I still look at people's lips a lot when they talk. I was scared witless and in a hurry, but it didn't stop me from seeing some of what you were saying.

What was it? Trembling, he looked up at me. It said it would always find me, and that it was okay that I couldn't get away. because I was already there, that I'd always been there. Sitting back, I puffed out of breath. Get lost, dude. That's a creepy story.

You should write that down. He stared at me for a moment in disbelief. It's not a story, you asshole. It really happened. I got away from her, at least for now, but... Damn, man. Sandra's gone. Gone?

What do you mean gone? Like she's moved or something. Standing up, he started pacing the living room, hands clenching and unclinching into fists. No, like, she's disappeared. When I left the library to find her, to tell her, I believed her. She wasn't at home. Doesn't enter her phone. That was four days ago, and she hasn't been to work or anywhere else.

No one knows where she is. Damn, man. I'm sorry. I didn't know. Did you call the cops? He nodded. I talked to him. So did her parents in Iowa, who also haven't heard from her.

They're actually heading out here tomorrow or Thursday, I think. Okay, well, yeah, I mean, maybe they can help you find her, and I'm glad to help too. Roy was already shaking his head. You don't get it, man. They're not going to find her. It's not like the cops found some sign of someone snatching her or something. She just disappeared, because so. Something is different now.

I raised an eyebrow at him. What do you mean? He kept pacing, his eyes flicking to the windows again, and then to the far corners of the room. What are the odds of me finding a weird spot so soon after her telling me about them? It's like her telling me about it, infected me or something, or the guy after her told one of his buddies to start trying to get to me. Give me a door and see if I'm dumb enough to step through. Roy let out a bitter laugh, which I was, and now this woman is after me, probably looking

at me right now, waiting for a chance to push me back into that other version of things and run me down. He glanced at me, his face haunted. That's what struck me last night. Sandra's gone and they're after me. So I have to stay vigilant, staying crowds, avoid spots that are strange. and I need to put distance between me and that girl. Roy gave me a humorous smile.

Maybe that's why it took the guy so long to find Sandra again. Maybe it has to be walking or running. You know, steps. If you ride or fly, maybe they have to just stop wherever they are. It's only when you walk away from them that they can try to catch up to you. He shrugged. Damn, I don't know.

I know that I plan to be gone before her parents get here. They're probably going to think I did something to her if I disappear, but I have bigger problems than that right now. I just... He led out a sigh. You're my friend, and I didn't want you thinking I did something to hurt someone when I'm gone. And... His eyes widened. Damn, now that I think about it, maybe I foot you in danger just telling you about it. I mean it as an explanation, a warning even. But maybe, I'm just... just making it worse. I... I need to go. I tried to stop him, but he wouldn't listen. I hadn't realised it, but he'd already packed some bags before we sat down to eat,

and within a couple of minutes he'd grabbed them and left. That was three weeks ago, and I haven't heard from him since. Sandra's parents did come by a few days after my last talk with Roy, and the police have talk to me since then too. Like he predicted, they are suspicious that he suddenly disappeared, but they don't have any evidence he did anything. Like the rest of us, they're just scared. I haven't slept much since all that. I found myself dozing off at work or taking odd naps when I'm at home without meaning to. It was yesterday when I woke up on the sofa in the middle of the night.

I'd heard something, hadn't I? I was disoriented at first, and when I looked around, I saw someone standing near the kitchen. My first thought was a happy one. Roy, is that you, man? The figure didn't say anything, didn't move, and walked up a bit more. I realized the silhouette looked shorter than Roy's would have been. Heart pounding, I reached over. over and turned on a lamp.

It was a teenage boy I'd never seen before, just standing there, staring, and smiling. I thought of Roy's story immediately, but I didn't understand. The room, it felt weird, the air felt thick and electric, and even though I'd lived there for five years, everything seemed slightly off, slightly alien. No, I hadn't played the game. I was just sitting alone with my eyes closed, asleep, and what had woke me up? It might have been a bell. I stood up shakily.

Hello? I tried to make my voice stern. I was the adult after all. What are you doing here? No response. Just staring and smiling. I wanted to yell at him or run out. through the sliding glass door, but I forced myself to stop and think.

How had I come into the room before I fell asleep? Had the room been weird then and I didn't notice, or had it changed while I was asleep? I didn't know if it mattered, but I knew I'd come in through the front door and sat down on the couch to watch TV for a few minutes, and I hadn't gone back up since falling asleep. That meant I needed to go past the kitchen to get to get you. get to the front door and get out the way I'd gone in. That meant I'd have to walk within a foot of the thing that was watching me. It was hard to even take a step forward.

I didn't know what would happen if it touched me, and I didn't know if he could grab me while I was moving toward it so long as it didn't take a step, assuming all these rules were actually rules at all. But I had to try something, and I couldn't stay in there with that thing. So I forced myself to take a step and then another and another,

angling myself toward the wall farthest from him while making sure I travelled toward him more than I went to the side. The boy seemed to tense once or twice as though anticipating being able to step forward, but every time I'd correct enough that he had to stay still. His smile seeming to widen a bit

as I drew nearer. I was ten feet away when he began to mutter and mumble under his breath. His lips moving slow at first and then more quickly as I got closer. I was pressed against the wall now, sliding along it, knocking off a picture and raking my back against the light switch in my effort to stay as far away from him as possible. It was working so far, but my fear was that as soon as I was past him, he just turned and grabbed him. me before I could get the door open and get away. Drawing even with him, I stopped. He had to turn to face me, less than two feet between us, but he hadn't reached out of hand yet.

My next step. It'd be on me if he could reach me in time. It was hard to think. I was so scared. He looked like a normal boy, but he still seemed wrong. Much like the room looked normal, but didn't feel that way. I could hear his voice, and I thought I could make out a few words here and there, him saying I should just go with him, that it didn't matter because I was already there.

God damn it, no, I couldn't listen to that. I had to get away, but the second I... No, I was looking at it wrong. The time didn't matter. The space did. If what Roy had said was right, I just had to take it. a big enough jump that he couldn't reach me in one step. A big enough step to get to the door, open it and get out with my next one.

I looked to the front door and then back at him. I could see him tenting, getting ready to pounce. His legs were a lot shorter than mine, but his arms were long, and I had to stop overthinking it and just go. So I did, shifting my weight to my weight to my heart. right foot, I did a side jump as far and as fast as I could. When I landed, I would have fallen before my shoulder slamming into the front door, the knob digging into my hip painfully as I slid aside and started to turn it.

Opening the door, I looked around. The boy's fingers were inches from my back. I could try to close the door behind me, but I had no way of knowing if it would stop him or even slow him down. I'd just get into the hall and run back the way I'd come. Leaping forward, I could hear him behind me, mumbling faster. One step, and he seemed to grow louder, two, and he was more distant. There was silence by the fourth, but I kept running.

Only when I reached the end of the hallway did I realize the oppressive feeling was gone. Opening the door to the stairwell, I finally looked back for my pursuer. As far as I could tell, it was gone. When you live a broader submarine, life is different than it is on dry land. We live our days in six-hour increments. Each block of time set aside for work, training, relaxation or sleep. As a non-qualified submariner, my off-duty hours are spent entirely on getting qualified. I've got a stack of papers with blank signature spaces.

listed beside things that I need to demonstrate my competence in, everything from fire safety to periscope operation. After a month aboard the nuclear submarine, I only had a handful of things signed off, and was anxious to get everything else done before the time limit expired. That didn't leave much room for sleep. Only about six hours a day and no time to relax either. All I did was practice and study.

It was starting to wear on me badly. That was why my eyes had bags under them, why I was having trouble focusing, and why I didn't immediately notice the strangeness of the pale face sitting next to me in the crew mess hall. The table was full of other people, but it seemed as if I was on an island alone with this man directly beside me, his moist sweaty elbow knocking unpleasantly against mine. Pass the salt, he spit, his words coming out as if underwater. Now. Okay, man, geez, hold on a sec. I reached for a salt packet and handed it to him. More, he gurgled back to me.

His voice sounded so strange. Surely he was just messing with me. I tried to ignore the weirdness of it all. Fine, take them all. I'll just sit over here. here and eat bland eggs. I passed him the whole stack of salt packets and stood up to grab a napkin, just to get a second away from the man.

When I got back, my seat was taken by someone else. A qualified submariner, who would simply push my tray aside to eat his own breakfast in my place. I picked up my tray and avoided eye contact. I didn't want to make any enemies or get into any confrontations, and if there was one thing that set people off on the sub, it was bickering over private space. Instead, I just looked around for another open seat. The only problem was, there weren't any. My commanding officer was eating his breakfast, and I hesitantly walked over to speak to him.

Excuse me, sir. What is it? He asked in a dry, annoyed-sounding voice. Sorry, sir, it's just that. There's no way to sit. Give me a break. There are exactly enough seats. You aren't looking hard enough.

Either that or somebody snuck aboard a storeway. The group of seamen around him giggled, and I felt my face getting hot. Of course there were enough seats. This place was a well-oiled machine. Nothing was ever overbooked or out of place. Sorry, sir, I'll look again. I turned around with my train hand and took another glance around the room, expecting it to just be as full.

But there was one empty seat now. Where the gurgling man had been, the chair was empty. Taking his spot, I found the seat damp beneath my ass. And that was when I became sure that they were messing with me. Whoever was responsible, they were definitely hazing the new guy. I didn't give them the satisfaction of saying anything. Instead, I simply finished my breakfast in silence. That night, I couldn't sleep.

All I could hear was the creaking sound of the hull expanding and contracting. And beneath that, a faint, almost imperceptible knocking, like someone was outside, begging to be let in. Knock, knock, knock. The following day, I was doing more training. There was always more training. This time it was fire preparedness. I was working with two other non-qualified submariners

and an officer who was overseeing us. He would be responsible for signing off on our abilities. So I was careful with how I spoke to him, being respectful and polite at all times. We were just about to finish the fire hose exercise when I saw the gurgling man from the day before. He caught me off guard. causing me to jump with a startled fright.

The man was standing in the small, cramped room where we were training, watching us from the shadows in the corner. I hadn't noticed him before that. It was like he had just appeared there. I felt a hard slap on the back of my head and looked to see the officer who's supervising us was standing directly beside me,

giving me a hard, angry look. Do you know what happens to a vessel at sea, a fire, he asked us. His voice cold as ice. Uh, it burns, I said, hoping that was the answer he was looking for. It seemed like it was, since he smiled. That's right, it burns, fast and hot. You have seconds to react, then you die. Do you want to die? No, sir. Do you want your friends and fellow crewmen to die?

Burning and agony while they scream? my heart rate increased and my throat tightened with fear. My eyes darted back to the corner where the man had been standing, now gone. The pale, sweaty man from the cafeteria who had wanted salt, who had demanded it in a gurgling, water-logged voice. The officer smacked me on the back of the head again, a little harder this time. You're still daydreaming. If this was a real emergency, you'd be dead right now, them too.

He pointed at my training partners. I'm sorry, sir. Not sorry enough. You can attempt fire safety again in six weeks. Until then, the three of you can take turns on bathroom duty. The other two guys looked at me angrily, and I silently apologised. But it didn't matter. I could tell they were furious.

Not just about being stuck on bathroom duty. It was more about the stress of having one more thing on our plates to stop. study for. One more thing to check off our list that should have been done already. I had been looking forward to crossing fire safety off my to-do list. The other guys had probably been looking forward to that too. I tried to ease the tension when the officer walked away, hoping I could explain what had happened. I'm really sorry, it's just... Hey, did you see that weird guy watching us from the corner of the room? That's why I got distracted. I think he's messing with me for taking his seat in the mess hall yesterday.

The two recruits looked at each other with concern written across their faces. Then the taller, blonde guy on the right grabbed my shirt collar and threw me up against the wall, looking mad. Are you losing it, dude? There's nobody here but us. He gestured around the empty room, looking at his body. We should tell the captain, guys got a screw loose. I became immediately defensive, trying to avoid embarrassment. No, sorry, I'm just tired. I didn't see anybody.

I was daydreaming, like I was a Brant said. Sorry, guys, it won't happen again. The two of them walked away, looking over their shoulder and muttering about me. I got the feeling I hadn't convinced them. Over the next few days, a suspicious feeling would grow into a near certainty. as I kept getting strange looks from almost everyone on board. Maybe I was just getting paranoid, or maybe it was a lack of sleep from constantly studying and practicing.

Or maybe it was those damn never-ending knocking sounds. Whatever it was, I could feel my mind gradually slipping. The noises were keeping me up during every hour I spent in my bunk. It was like whoever was making that sound was doing it intentionally to keep me awake. But that didn't make any sense, since it was a sound made by machinery or pressure or something like that. At least, I assumed that's what it was. It was never steady enough to anticipate a rhythm. That was the worst part.

It was persistent, though, and getting louder all the time. The bunk would be silent for a few minutes, just long enough for me to relax. Then the knocking would start suddenly, loud enough to wake the dead. dead, sounding like whoever was doing it was right beside my ear. Then the hole would start to creak and groan, machinery would click on, and carbon dioxide scrubbers would work to life, and then the knocking would begin again. It was like an unwanted orchestra of ear-splitting sounds every single night. The bags beneath my eyes were turning into full-bone suitcases, growing larger and darker by the other day. When I arrived at the mess hall for breakfast, I saw it was filled to capacity once

again. This time, I didn't say anything, instead just grabbing a tray and lining up for my meal at the counter. I just hoped by the time I went to sit down, there would be a seat available. The scrambled eggs and bacon sat at my plate looking greasy and unappetizing. The toast not even warm enough to melt the cold lump of butter sitting atop it. Feeling queasy, I turned around to inspect the room. My vision was blurry from tiredness and I felt dizzy, like everything was spinning. The constant motion of the sub beneath the water was making me feel sick. The nausea compounded by my total lack of sleep.

A pale, sweaty face was staring up at me from one of the tables. It was him. He was looking right at me, taunting me. He picked up a piece of bacon in his shiny fingers and crammed it into his greasy mouth, chewing with his mouth open. Smiling at me, his teeth grinding red meat, fat and gristle. He picked up a packet of salt and poured it into his mouth. Nobody nearby seemed to notice or care. Whatever appetite I had before was suddenly gone, watching his greasy lips smacking up and down.

As discreetly as I could, I deposited my food into a nearby trash gun, then wandered back towards the bunks. The hair stood up on the back of my neck, and I felt like eyes were on me, so I turned to look back. Several people were staring at me, their skin pallorous and slimy with moisture. One of them I recognised as a seaman named James. He had been kind to me on the first day I brought the son. up, introducing himself and showing me around. But now his eyes looked cold and angry. I saw a mark on his neck like a vampire bite, but with three red dots instead of two,

in a triangular formation. All I wanted to do was get away. I couldn't deal with what I was seeing. I told myself if I could just sleep, everything would be normal again. So I got into my bunk and closed my eyes, not caring that it was. wasn't my turn to nap, only knowing that sleep was an imperative. But it wouldn't come. Instead, I laid awake, listening to those knocking, creaking sounds. It were persistent and man-made in their pattern somehow, like Morse code, or perhaps like an ancient tribal drumbeat,

telling a story of a man lost in the wilderness without fire, wondering the dark without light. There was a new sound as well, like fingernails dragging across steel. Getting closer, moving towards me steadily. I didn't like that new sound one bit. I kept expecting someone to come and wake me up from my unscheduled nap, but nobody did. Instead, I fell into a dreamless, drifting, restful state of unconsciousness. Before a loud, bang, startled me up from my bunk.

It was dark, and I couldn't tell what time it was. It felt like I had been sleeping for too long, though. However long it had been, it was too long. I got up on shaky, unsteady legs and moved in the darkness towards the door, silently so that I didn't wake the others in the room who might be sleeping. The sub-grown and creaked as I walked, the blackness of the room, total and suffocating. When I opened the door, it should have revealed a brightly lit mess hall, but instead everything was cloaked in that same eerie darkness. Hello?

I called out into the black, empty space. No one answered. I tried the light switch, but it didn't work. Getting scared, I went into the bunk room and began to pull open the curtains, which closed off each bed. They were all empty. But that was impossible. We rotated shifts constantly, so someone was always in the bunks. The lights flickered on for a moment, and my heart stopped in my chest.

As I saw a dark shadow of someone standing at the end of the aisle between the rows of bunks, watching me. And then the lights flickered off again, leaving me with that eerie after image. Who's there? I asked nervously, but the room was silent and no one answered. Growing increasingly afraid, I edged out of the sleeping quarters and shut the door behind me. The crew mess was dark and silent, but I knew it well enough to find my way through it. Whatever was happening in this area of the submarine, it was probably just this section. They were doing a drill or something up in the control room. probably. Unless there was an accident, unless they abandoned ship without you.

No, that was impossible. The narrow staircase which led up to the control room was just ahead and I felt my way through the cramped room, grabbing onto furniture and stepping carefully past each table. Suddenly I heard the door of the sleeping quarters opening up behind me. Hello? I creaked open wider, but still no one answered. I felt as if eyes were watching me, observing me in the total darkness. I hurried along again, barking my shin on the corner of one booth and crying out in pain, then hobbling along towards the stairs.

A rustling sound came after me. They were close and getting closer. Finally, I reached the staircase. and started clambering up the steps as quickly as I could, slipping once and banging my knee hard against the steel plank. Scrambling up to my feet again, I heard the thing moving behind me and recognized its gurgling breath.

It was the man from the cafeteria. Not a man, something else. His wet, crackling, inhalations were unmistakable. What did you do to them? I screamed, emerging from the stairs. and rushing desperately into the control room. Sweat was pouring from my face and my legs were shaking with fear. Just leave me alone!

As I said those words, the lights in the control room flickered on, revealing the typical crew in all their usual places. The captain was standing in front of a monitor, pointing at some object on the radar. But he turned around at the sound of my screaming voice, acting as if the lights had been on the whole time. What is the meaning of this seaman? He asked, approaching me with a skull.

You better have a damn good reason for interrupting attack exercises. It felt as if I were waking up from a dream, but it had all been too real. Sir, looking back over my shoulder, I saw nothing. No one was pursuing me. I suddenly remembered a nature show I'd seen about octopus. how they can change colours to mimic almost anything. It allowed them to turn nearly invisible as a defence mechanism. Just like that day when I'd been doing the fire training

and the man had appeared out of nowhere, only to disappear again. An octopus could also compress themselves down and could squeeze through almost any opening. Maybe that was how this thing had gotten inside. Was it possible this thing was some sort of half-octubus? half-human hybrid, a vampiric shape-shifter, turning the crew into more like itself. I remember the three-sided bite on James's neck the day prior, and nodded to myself, thinking this was likely the cause.

But I couldn't tell the captain that, could I? He'd think me insane, just like the other crew members I'd told had thought of me. Taking a deep breath in, I began to speak candidly. I only had one shot to save the crew, so I had to get this right. I had to convince the captain. It was real. And that I wasn't crazy. Captain, I realised this may sound insane, but I believe something has gotten aboard the sub.

It isn't human, whatever it is. It can change shape to look like one of us. It can make itself invisible, and it's infecting the crew somehow. Trust me, I know how this sounds, but this may be a new species, sir. something never seen before. We need to be careful. The captain looked at me seriously for a moment. A stowaway?

Hmm, that's a pickle. I breathed a sigh of relief. He believed me. Maybe the captain had seen things in his days at sea. Things that made no rational sense that would explain... He burst into a belly laugh and my heart sank. He's really lost at James. Will you get him out of here, please?

before he touches something important, put him in the brig. Several others in the control room turned to look at me and stood up in unison. I saw the three-sided bite marks on their necks. Their skin was pallorous and shiny with sweat as they stood and began moving towards me. As their smiles began to widen, they revealed a different alignment of teeth than I had normally seen on a human being. The jaws were now triangular and dominated by three large, needle-sharp teeth, and yet nobody seemed to notice this but me. I turned away and ran, screaming back towards the stairs.

There was no way I could go down, back towards that thing. I had to go up. I climbed the ladder, turning my body to ascend the last ten rungs at the top, then unwinding the hatch. We had serviced the day prior, and were now cruising in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. There was a pretty good chance I'd drag. out there on my own amidst the massive pitching waves of the ocean. But I would take that over the conditions inside the sub.

Clambering out of the hatch, I jumped off the top of the sub and fell screaming into the freezing waters of the Atlantic, with only a life preserver for support. I'm frankly surprised I even managed to grab one, considering my terrified state. Afraid ship happened upon me, and I was miraculously saved the next morning. after a harrowing night at sea, although I'm sure I'll be up for desertion charges when I get home, if I ever go home. Something tells me wherever these things are headed.

I want to be as far away as possible. When we moved into our apartment on Sycamore Street, the neighbour next door told us we were very lucky. She couldn't understand why the former tenants had left, since our unit had the best view in the building. Our balcony overlooked a strip of forest where deer can sometimes be seen roaming. The woods extend up an escarpment

and white stone cliffs can be seen beyond the trees. There's also a cul-de-sac to the left of the forest which dead ends at a path leading into a large park filled with green space. Every year the town has a fireworks display in that park and our balcony has an ideal vantage point for the display, much to the dismay of our cats who cower beneath the sofa during the festivities. But, despite the stunning views afforded by our balcony,

I've discovered another sight. This one not nearly as pleasant as the forests and fireworks and cliffs in the distance. Much like the fireworks display in the park, something else happens once a year in this neighbourhood. down in the cul-de-sac off of Sycamore Street. I just happened to notice it one night, completely by accident. Since I work the night shift, I'm often awake at 3 a.m. on my off days, and sometimes even later than that.

I once heard that 3 a.m. is the witching hour, whatever that means. It was just around that time, and I was getting ready to go to bed, when I glanced out the window to take in the view before going to sleep. What I saw down there on Sycamore Street unnerved me. It gave me nightmares and made me mark the date in my phone when it had happened, as if to confirm to my future self that it wasn't just a nightmare I was misremembering as reality. I looked down onto the street below and took in every detail, my heart pounding fast in my chest

For several long seconds I couldn't breathe There were people down in the street carrying torches Walking in pairs They had long red cloaks which hung from their shoulders like capes Huts of the same crimson colour shrouded their faces in darkness As I watched the pairs of people holding torches I tried to think of possible reasons for this behaviour Was this a late-night prayer service for an obscure sect of Catholicism or an orthodox religion of some kind?

The pairs walked slowly in a procession down the centre of the street, ignoring the sidewalk. They turned left onto the court and marched to the very end of the cul-de-sac and made a ring of flames around its perimeter. A circle of people stood at the end of the street, holding their torches and staring blankly into the centre of the road. Another person began to draw with a sut of their torch on the asphalt, making a large black symbol in the midst of them all. Then they started to sway and chant rhythmically, moving in hypnotizing circles around the dark symbol.

I couldn't see much from the window, so I opened the door to my balcony as quietly as I could and stepped out into the night air. It was hard to see anything Except for the robes and flickering candles I could hear their chanting voices rising up in volume A moment later they began to move again Marching in procession into the house At the very end of the cul-de-sac

After they went inside They didn't come back out I stayed up for hours and observed the home Until the sun rose and my wife came about asking what was wrong. Nothing, just admiring the view. Why are you staring at that house? It's creepy.

Go to bed. It's 9 a.m. Have you been awake all night? I thought about telling her what I'd seen, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I was worried she would think I was losing my mind. It certainly didn't sound like something that would happen in this quaint little town we'd move to. It seemed like something.

out of a horror movie. I went to bed and tried to forget about it, but couldn't. And when I woke up and walked down the street later on, whatever symbol had been drawn on the pavement was gone, as if it had never existed. Over the next year, I couldn't help but recall what I'd seen again and again. I didn't tell anyone, but I looked at that date reminder on my phone regularly. I also checked online to see if there was some religious significance to that specific

date of the year, but could find nothing aside from the fact that May 16th is apparently National Sea Monkey Day, Nickel Day, and Supply Chain Professionals Day, and none of those seemed to explain what I'd witnessed. It was gnawing at me all year, and as the date approached in my calendar again, I couldn't help but one day. if what I had witnessed was a yearly event. It reminded me of druidic or pagan rituals, and I thought maybe it would occur again on the same date the following year, and if a better look at the symbol could explain anything.

I wondered if I could see something if I could get closer. I decided to try. So that night, after a year of waiting, I went out into the forest beside the cul-de-sac. wearing all black clothing and a ski mask for good measure. I probably looked like a criminal casing a house or burglary, but I didn't care. I just needed to see what was going on.

What was really happening on Sycamore Street? I stood out there in the forest, watching quietly as the street remained empty. Afraid someone might see me if I did anything, I remained motionless and resisted the temptation to change. the time on my phone. The moon above was pink and ominous, hanging bloated in the sky.

A rare lunar eclipse had occurred around midnight, and the sky still looked faintly purple and bathed the neighbourhood in an eerie, familiar glow. After a long period of waiting, I almost began heading home. But then, just as I was about to leave, I heard voices rising up under the night air, A low humming chant and flickering torches bobbing up and down could be seen emerging

from behind the houses adjacent to the forest. A procession of road-hooded figures made their way to the end of the cul-de-sac, then made a ring around the end of the road, in much the same way they had a year prior. Only now I was much closer, and could almost overhear what they were saying. I decided to creep a little closer, moving as quietly as I could through the forest, being careful not to step on any twigs or branches, which would signal my location. A figure was drawing a symbol in the center of the road again, scraping the burnt torches end across the pavement and leaving a black mark behind.

The others hummed and chanted rhythmically, moving in slow circles around him. Someone was leading a young woman dressed in white towards the centre of the ring. Who are these people? I whispered to myself so quietly I could barely hear it. And yet they seem to hear it very well.

One of the hooded figures who was much taller than the others spun around and signalled in my direction, whispering something to the others. I was terrified to see several of them go down on all fours like animals, dropping their torches and scurrying off into the darkness like dogs,

sent to track a fresh quarry. They moved to thin human speed, their cloaks fluttering in the wind behind them as they raced into the woods, heading straight for me. My heart skipped a beat and my breath caught in my throat as I froze, momentarily stunned into inaction.

After what felt like hours, I managed to convince my legs to move and began to run, no longer caring about the sounds my feet made or the keys jingling in my pocket. My apartment was not far, only a hundred yards or so. But those things were fast, and they caught a large head start. As I ran, my skin was scraped by passing thorn bushes.

I ploughed through shrubbery, leaping over logs and fallen trees, tripping to the ground and stumbling back to my feet, too terrified to look back. With only a few steps to go until I reached the parking lot, something grabbed me roughly from behind. I was dragged screaming through the forest by something stronger than any man. I was pulled towards the ceremony still in progress. Whatever was holding me was powerful. His hands wrinkled with age and his face shrouded in darkness.

Large black talons protruded from the ends of his fingers and I wondered if this thing had once been a man and if so, what was it now? You were not meant to witness this event, Arred Figuas said once I'd been dragged into the roadway. You have not been initiated yet. It was a woman speaking. She was the tallest among the group.

Her crimson robe fringed with gold. As she spoke, she produced a long, curved knife from the folds of her robes. Give me your hand. I couldn't move. I didn't want to move. The knife looked very sharp. She nodded ever so slightly to the robed figures on either side of me, and they grabbed my hand, holding it out in front of me as I screamed. My mouth was quickly covered by a strong hand.

The woman began to carve something into my palm, blood welling up in the incision, until it made a pool of red, which she had to mop away so that she could finish. All the while, my screaming was muffled by the men around me, holding me tightly. horrendous pain jolted through me all the way up my arm as she dug the point of the knife into my flesh and worked slowly

to finish the symbol when it was done she closed my fist tightly allowing the blood to drip down onto the asphalt of the street it looked like the symbol drawn in charcoal now highlighted with shades of red

from my blood it was an enormous millipede wrapped around the centre of the earth. The ground began to tremble and shake beneath our feet like an earthquake. Everyone around me stayed still, but I was terrified and tried to run. The pavement started to crack beneath me, and I tried to move away, but the acolyte of this strange secret society held me tightly to prevent me from fleeing. Bear witness, you are now one with us. Behold the many-legged god. The woman screamed, the earth breaking open,

to reveal a black chasm of unfalienable depths. Let me go, I cried out, biting the hand of the man who was muffling my screams for help. I kicked his shin, elbowing and thrashing and trying to get away. I don't want to be a part of this. They all gasped as a huge, insectile face began to appear from beneath the cracked pavement from within the dark abyss. No, he cannot be allowed to speak. silence, he'll ruin everything, the woman cried, he mustn't refuse.

But it was too late. Whatever was meant to happen was no longer going to happen as they planned. I guessed that I was meant to be a sacrifice for this huge millipede which they worshipped as a deity, but I needed to go willingly, or at the very least, silently. And now the beast was furious at their insolence. choose me I will be the sacrifice one of the acolytes called out I will do it willingly The massive millipede emerged from beneath the ground Appearing to be the size of a subway train then a freight train

But it never ended it just continued to grow in size each lumpy section of midnight black thorax driven by a huge Disgusting set of hairy legs This freakish body repeated over and over over as it climbed out from the dark abyss, its mandibles clicking loudly as it eyed the figures in robes bowing down the street. Despite its size, it moved quickly, snapping the head off the one man and sending a fountain of blood into the air, then consuming the rest of his body in one bite. It gnashed his teeth and chittered with hunger. The rest of them began to scream, realising the ceremony to appease it, had failed.

elbowing the other robed figure holding me, I managed to break away from the group, running from their midst. I felt a few hands reaching out to grab me, the fingernails digging into my skin and leaving long, bloody marks on my forearms. But I got away, slipping madly away from them with a berserk fit of fight or flight that I hadn't known myself capable of. Looking back over my shoulder. I saw the roped figures being tossed into the air like ragdolls and landing in the mouth of a huge, many-legged worm. Cars were upended and driveways caved into the abyss. A huge crack followed me as I ran, the pavement still splitting wider from the girth of the ever-emerging millipede. Once back inside my apartment, I locked the door in every way possible, barricading it

with a chair for good measure. I pulled the curtains closed, afraid to look outside, afraid that the worm would consume the world. The morning after, the local news reported the event as a sinkhole. Nothing was mentioned about anyone going missing or being injured or even alive by giant millipedes. No deaths were reported. No national or international coverage was done, despite the scale of the disaster. as if everyone in town knew not to say anything, even the media.

It was as if the whole thing had never happened, aside from the gaping hole in the ground at the end of the road. What the hell is going on out there? My wife asked, grogly, pulling up the shades and gawking at the window. She gasped at the sight of her neighbourhood in rubble. A sinkhole, I told her. A very, very large one, according to the news. It's amazing we can be hiding beneath us, just under the surface, a gaping hole waiting to swallow us all up.

Don't be grim, well, so much for a nice view. They'll be doing construction out there for weeks. I gently pulled the blinds closed again, my hands shaking with fear. I couldn't help, but feel as if the rocrow out there was watching us, looking up at us from the scene of destruction. They looked angry And they looked afraid Whatever that ceremony was I don't think

It was meant to be interrupted The final walkthrough had been going great Until it was said We were standing by the barn away from the realtors My husband and I Along with the couple we were purchasing the property from Ralph and Marie I know how it sounds

You'll think I have a school grew loose until you meet him yourself. The old man smiled, awkwardly. Just don't speak to the wondering man. It sounds alarming, but he never gave us any trouble. Ralph looked at his wife, and she nodded quickly. Never any trouble, and we've been seeing him less and less, Marie said.

When was the last time we even saw him, honey? Oh, Ralph poured his beard. I'd say three and a half years ago, and it had been another two before that. I was a little disturbed, but could tell my husband, Howard, was getting annoyed. What are you talking about? Some going to trespasser? He said, frowning.

Look, we're giving you a good deal in this place, because it wouldn't feel right making a fortune to selling it with these circumstances. You're safe here, and that's what matters. But there's a man that wonders these woods. Ralph stared at us gravely, and he has, for some, hundred years. Howard sighed, unnoxiously, and stared at the husband and wife, each in turn with disappointment. Anything else we should know? Ghosts in the attic, blood leaking from the walls.

The couple looked at each other, embarrassed. I know it's hard to believe when we're talking like this, but we're normal folks. We're just giving you a heads up. I'll tell you what. Forget this conversation until you see him. I'm a little sorry I said anything. I just wanted to save you from a fright. Well do.

Howard looked up at me and didn't care to hide his growing disdain. The thing was, I liked Ralph. When we drove all the way from Boston to remote main to tour the property, Ralph actually looked at me where he felled his trees for firewood and explained how the hydraulic log splitter worked. Most men who owned the properties only spoke to my husband when it came to anything related to farm work, I was the ghost.

Howard and I had finally reached the end of a brutal buying process to purchase our homestead in northern New England and I could see why Howard was angry. There were no such things as ghosts to him. Now, our brand new home had some trespasser he'd be worried about. Come on, Jody, said Howard.

He was already walking back to the house. I watched him over my shoulder, but stayed still. I suppose I was more prone to believe in the supernatural. Ralph took off his ball cap and rubbed his bald spot. I'm sorry, we didn't really know how to tell you this. We even thought about rehearsing. He laughed uncomfortably. But I'm deadly serious.

He sighed as if sick of coming across as a madman. When you see him, Don't speak to him. You can say hello, you won't respond to that. But if you say anything else, Ralph stared fearfully into the distance as if looking upon the past. Well, don't. Just ignore him and be sure to tell him too.

Ralph pointed past me to my husband's back. I nodded. Their sincerity made me want to believe them. They seem like regular people who went to start. they were coming across as crazy, and were ashamed of it. Thank you, too, really. I shook their hands, and they both smiled, relieved to be treated normally. I almost thought we were never going to find a place.

Well, I don't think we could have found a lovelier couple to sell it to. Across the lawn from the barn, we could see the lake. It was autumn then, and the three of us were quiet as we watched the breeze and a brigade of birch leaves spinning into the cold water. Ralph closed his eyes and took a deep breath. And welcome, he extended his arms. Welcome to heaven on earth. We settled in fast.

While I had a marketing job that was fully remote, Howard's job was hybrid. Every week or so, he would have to commute to Bangor to catch a connecting flight at Boston Logan, where he'd be ferried to some projects around the country. He worked in engineering consultancy, and while I liked my job, he loved his. He said he didn't mind the extra commute, and I didn't mind being left alone in a house where the nearest neighbour was a mile away.

Getting fast enough internet to work from the woods was the biggest hurdle, but after shelling out $200 a month for satellite, we seemed set. I suppose we've been. weren't your average couple who moved from the city to the middle of nowhere, but it made sense. We loved nature and self-sufficiency and didn't utilise the amenities of the city. Neither of us had friends that we saw often anymore, and when it came to family, the further

away they were, the better. Maybe there were signs I hadn't seen before, but it was a month after we moved in that I first noticed something was off. It was late 11 p.m. or so And I sat alone by a bonfire On the lake shore Howard already asleep inside

Being the early to bed Early to rise type I brought my wine to my lips And paused mid-sip There, a half-mile away On the far side of the lake A figure was strolling the shore It was dark

But by the starlight I was sure it was a person. I leaned forward and frowned. There were two other homes in the lake, but the shoreline was largely undeveloped, and the woods that lined the lake were impenetrable with thick pine and aspen.

Was this him, the harmless, wondering man? I changed my sip to a swig and considered. Ralph had said he'd last seen him years ago, and I thought it was strange. he should make an appearance so soon. Then again, maybe this man only wondered at night, and Ralph and Marie rolled. It was likely they couldn't see very far in the dark,

and how often did they sit outside at this hour? I had been having bonfires nearly nightly. It was one of the biggest reasons I'd moved out to the rural woods. You see, when I was camping as a girl, I developed a kind of addiction. An addiction to that sensation brought by the stars and the silence of the lonely vacuum

of visible space Maybe you felt it too Sitting alone at night Far from civilisation Underneath stars as thick as smoke We're faced with a nauseating sense Of our insignificance It's at night with the universe in sight

And for scale That we can see We're barely bigger than bacteria With lives just as brinketing grief and legacies just as remembered. I couldn't get enough of it, of the oneness, of the vulnerability that comes under the vault. Only stepping inside would break the trance. Then, when I woke the next morning, I'd wondered how I'd ever felt so small,

smiling in the sunshine, assured and confident in the enormity of myself. But I had a different sensation that night. the feeling of an animal being watched, the feeling of prey. Something was wrong with how he walked, but it took me a minute to realize what it was. His steps never paused or wavered. The lake shore was not a smooth apron of rock. It was strewn with big branches of driftwood and boulders of basalt. If you were to walk it, you'd go slow as you considered your every step.

I shivered then. In another few minutes, he was difficult to see, and then he turned into the woodline and disappeared into the pines entirely. You're safe here, I remember Ralph saying, Just don't speak to him. I was not afraid of the dark, and I wasn't going to let myself be spooked away from doing what I loved on my own property.

I kept having bonfires at night, while I was determined to not let this man ruin my rural, evenings, I admit, I rarely took my eyes from the opposite shore. It was a few weeks later, and beginning to get cold enough to snow, when I thoroughly began to question the safety of the woods where we lived. I'd finished splitting a quarter cord by hand, I was bent, breathing, while palming my knees. When I noticed it, we had an ancient birch tree just past the woodshed, and its removal was on the to-do list, as it said.

dying with its bark peeling off in scrolls. But sticking out just beneath a bit of bark, something caught my eye. I squinted and walked over. With a finger I pushed the bark back. There was a carving. I frowned. A carving.

Of me. Of my face. It was a crude carving as if done with a fingernail. but I still smiled when I saw it. My birthday was coming up and I figured Howard had to be behind it. He was good at drawing, but I'd never heard of him carving before.

The alarm bells weren't ringing then. I went inside to find him and wrapped my arms around his shoulders as he sat at his computer. I'm very sorry, I found you surprise, I said, but you're very sweet. I kiss his cheek and he smiled. What are you talking about?

I found you're carving out there while chopping wood. He frowned, and I didn't need to hear what he said next to know. I never carved anything. Where? My blood ran cold. I took my arms away from his shoulders. On the dead birch tree. He started the stand.

What's it a carving of? The two of us stood in the cold and stared at the tree. "'This is a joke, right?' "'He pointed and looked at me and laughed. "'Did you do this?' "'No, Howard. I didn't carve it. "'I mean, it's not very flattering. No offence. "'Why is this something to joke about to you?'

"'Ah,' he said, and clicked his tongue. "'You think this must be the wondering man, "'the one in the woods that cookey old couple warned us about?' "'Howard. "'No, no, it's okay. I'll handle it. "'I think I'll give Ralph a... call. He started walking away. Howard? What? I know you're not going to take me seriously, but I've seen someone on the lake shore late at night. You're right, I'm not going to take you seriously,

so why tell me that in the first place? I know what those people said sounded strange, but my gut didn't tell me they were lying. Guess what? I don't think they were lying either, but they believed crap like that, and then tried to scare us the second we finally found a home. people, Jody, or at least not right in the head. And now this? He pointed at the tree. What, did they pull a picture of you off the internet and carve this ear? I don't think so.

Well, who did then? Things weren't the same after that. Both between me and Howard and how I felt on the property. Howard is a sweet man, but I could tell my belief in the supernatural bothered him. Deep down, it probably skisks. heard him. He was rarely impatient and condescending to me, and I was frustrated too. We couldn't afford to just try and sell this place and leave. This was our home, and I didn't want to be afraid of here either. That same Sunday, I was watching television late after Howard had gone to bed.

It was a perfect night for another fire, clear and cool, but for the first time since we'd moved, I couldn't bring myself to sit outside alone. In fact, I'd locked the doors for the first time, and while Howard had noticed, I could tell he was relieved I'd done so and said nothing. I was developing the beginnings of paranoid habits. Every hour or so I would look out the windows, not just the front ones either.

I'd go into the kitchen, the den, the pantry, just to stare into the night. On my last round of looking at, out the windows that night, I turned from the diamond panes of the front door to head up to bed, but paused. I had seen something. I turned back slowly. Just beyond the black with a security light on our garage faded.

A man was standing at the edge of the dark. I gasped. My first instinct was to open the door and yell, but then I remembered Ralph's warning. I threw myself up the stairs and went into our bedroom and shook Howard's foot to wake him. Howard? Hmm. I think there's someone outside. Please, please just come see.

He sighed and rolled so his feet were on the floor. Okay, for you. I stood on the stairs while he leaned to look out the window glass in the door. I don't see anything, he turned back to me. Just at the edge of the light. I stepped past him and put my eye to the glass But there was nothing there My shoulders sank

He was right there I said quietly, defeated Jodie, I'm sorry I was snappy before But this is what I'm so frustrated about Those people put a creepy idea in your head And now you're seeing what you want to see I saw someone I'll order a ring doorbell tomorrow

You can put up a whole set of security camera if you want. This is our home. We need to feel safe here. I'll do whatever it takes for you to feel that way. He tried to lay a hand on my shoulder, but I flinched the way and stayed staring at the window while he went back upstairs to bed. I did order security cameras. Enough for a cartel compound. Camera on the barn, camera on the garage, infrared camera to point across the lake. I was going to feel safe here. Howard was right about that. It was our home. I had to. It cost an entire paycheck, but was worth a peace of mind. However, it brought the opposite. I set up multiple monitors, moved in the coffee maker and turned my little office into a war room. The first few nights,

there was nothing. Then the fourth night, at two in the morning, I saw some. I saw something walking the perimeter of the property. I poked up, splashing my coffee in its cup. Yes, I whispered, yes, yes, yes. I was more related than scared. I finally had this thing. Or so I thought. When I played back the footage, I cursed.

The figure was just out of range of the cameras. I should have shelled out more and bought only infrared. The lights on the garage and made. barn weren't going to be bright enough. I still didn't share anything with Howard. While I could make out what I thought was a face and shoulder of this man walking, I knew it wouldn't be enough to convince him. Howard didn't want to believe.

The footage would have to be perfect. When I first got the cameras, I forsook sleep and let my marketing work slip. I had to capture an image of this thing. I'd nearly become nocturnal and my sleep. deprivation began to scare me just as much as whatever was in those woods. I left the oven on and open, forgot my husband was home, ran the coffee maker without the pot in it. I was a mess and I had to hit the brakes. Instead of staying up and watching live, I decided I'd fast for the footage when I had time the next day. That night I planned to resume my regular sleep schedule. It was around

11 p.m. when I went upstairs, and I jumped when I opened the bedroom door. Howard was mummied in the sheets. The entire long length of him was draped skin tight from head to toe. I raced over to him, but heard his steady breathing and relaxed. I thought that thing had killed him. I was losing it, I realized. I was really losing it. I took two Benadryl and slipped into bed. miraculously, I slept and later woke in a fright to the bedroom door closing. But it was 4 a.m., and I realised Howard was already up to go for a run. I tossed and turned, but couldn't fall back to sleep.

The cameras clawed to me like a siren song. I threw the sheets off me and went downstairs. The house was empty. Howard's running sneakers weren't on the shoe shelf, and I knew I'd have a few. ample time to check the footage without looking like a lunatic. I sat in my chair, but before I could rewind the footage, I froze. On the live screen, the man was staring at the front of the house as still as a street performer, and more in view than he'd ever been. His clothes were thick

and woollen, but his face was hidden from view. Damn, I said aloud, suddenly realizing he was outside with this thing. Howard. Luckily, he brought his phone to listen to music when he ran, and I dialed him immediately. He answered on one of the latter rings. Jody, what's going on? Howard, I exiled. Thank Christ, that thing, that man is staring at the house right now. What? Are you safe? Jody, it's four in the morning. There's no one outside. Go back to bed. I'm telling you, I have him on camera this time. come back, or no, wait until it's light out, don't come back until it's daylight. He paused.

I think you need to go stay with your parents. I'm safe. I'm inside. Just get back here safely when you can. Jodie. His voice was cautious now, as if I was something fragile that could be broken. I'm out of town on a project outside of Dallas right now. Remember until Friday?

I froze in terror as I stared at that thing on the screen. Then who is in our bed tonight? What? I let the phone fall to my lap. Howard was yelling loud enough for me to still hear, yelling about getting out to the house. But I couldn't speak anymore. It hadn't been Howard. It was the shape of that thing that I'd seen under the sheets before bed.

I pictured it staring at me as I slipped. I hung up and walked in a trance to the door. door. It was unlocked. I had sworn I locked it. I clenched my teeth in anger and threw it open. I stared at the man and instead of just looking at the house, he was now staring back at me. What do you want with me? I shrieked horribly. Leave me alone, you creep. You hear me? Leave me alone. His head began to tilt to one shoulder, tilting too far. Oh God, I whispered, oh God. I'd spoken to this thing. I'd broken the only rule. I slammed the door and leaned my back against it. Suddenly there was a horrible howling that morphed into sobs, the sobs of a

grown man crying in the night. But there was something wrong with the noise. It was as if he were only mimicking emotion, like it didn't know what cries was supposed to sound like. Ralph had given me his number, and I fumbled my phone trying to find his contact. As it rang, I managed to turn towards the sound. The crying continued, but that thing was walking calmly towards the house.

Its features were wrong, its legs too long, its hands too big. Suddenly, I saw its eyes the same. size of tea saucers. It smiled monstrously wide, but the sobs continued. Hello? came a confused voice on the other line. Ralph, it's Jody, Jody, Cope, I bought your property.

It's a bit early, Jody. That thing, the men walking in the woods, he drew a picture of me. He came into my house. He's been watching me, and now I talk to him. Oh dear, I heard him stretch. Okay, are your doors locked? Uh-huh. You said it drew a picture.

It carved my face into a tree. Okay, he sighed. I'm sorry. I don't know what to tell you. It ignored me and Marie. But when you spoke to it, what happened? What's it want? When I asked who it was, it showed me what it really looked like.

And I suppose a man isn't quite the word for it. But what does it want? I screamed and braved another look out the window. It was even closer now, just a few feet from the door. I ran into the living room. I don't know, said Ralph. I really don't. I'm sorry to say this, but.

He paused, and my heart leapt as three soft knocks sounded on the door. It sounds like he likes you. There were three of us on the mission. We'd been briefed at the base as dusk fell by an officer none of us had ever met before. You will parachute in tonight, he told us. Your target is a scientist whose speciality is mixing up batches of new and very experimental chemicals for a country whose aims do not align with our own. We would like to do this in person on home soil. You will go in quick and clean and you will extract him.

His location will be provided when you are in transit. it. We were not asked if we had any questions. 30 minutes later, we were on board and in the air. An NCO officer came over to join us. He took out a tablet. This is a satellite image taken six months ago, he said. We were hoping to provide you with an up-to-date visual and had a new image taken 48 hours ago, but there was a dense mist obscure and everything, so this one will have to do. He had a real good old accent That in other circumstances Could have been quite charming

Hunched over in the gloomy interior of the plane It was all business Your area of operation is laid out Around a simple grid system There are low level apartments Running the length of the main streets With shops where the street meets centrally To form a kind of town square

There's a couple of bars as well A clinic, a funeral parlour and a school everything you need for a rich and fulfilling life. Your target lives in one of the larger houses ringing the west of town. These are all in their own grounds. His workplace is another mile out, just on the outskirts. It presents itself as a simple plant manufacturing chemicals for use in the agricultural industry. But, really, it's a research facility.

There are armed guards on duty 24-7 and they can keep patrolling in. in total ignorance of your activity if everything goes to plan. Once you have secured the target, there will be a ride out waiting at your exit point. This is 20 miles south, just over the border and into a country that we're on slightly better terms with. We wouldn't invite them over from here on Friday night,

but we also wouldn't go fetch the shotgun if we saw them in our yard. As for your entry point, that will be the old town to the northeast. There's a bunch of houses here that are long abandoned and a church and a graveyard, both still in use. So the only people who are in danger of disturbing here are the dearly departed. And that's it.

Apart from the usual words of encouragement, if you're detained, there will be absolute denial from our side. You're on your own. None of us said anything in reply. For my part, I've been taking part in covert operations for more than 10 years, and nothing about this came as any surprise to me. Don't get me wrong, it stank, but this was my job. If I had wanted an easy life,

I would have been teaching boardhousewives to play golf somewhere sunny. I closed my eyes, slow with my breathing, and tried to rest. Two hours later, the signal came. It was time to jump out of a perfectly comfortable plane. The descent and landing when it was a descent and landing when, by the book and within minutes our parachutes were hidden and we were moving silently through the graveyard.

A gargle perched over a tomb was giving me a dirty look. I didn't take it personally. Its face was made for scowling. To our left, the church stood shrouded in darkness. The only lights were the stars in the sky and a quarter moon

that suited me just fine. I took a sip of water. hydration is important even for spooks in the night and jogged forwards soon we had reached the edge of the graveyard and the buildings of the town were visible ahead

the glow of street lamps settled on graffiti-covered concrete walls rising two sometimes three stories high there were communal entrances the skeleton of a bicycle lay in the ground near one door there were no lights on

in any of the windows no sign of anyone on the street. I checked my watch. It was 3 a.m. local time. Dawn was four hours away. I signored that we should proceed in single file, hugging the sides of the buildings as we kept straight on down the street. Then it was second left and we would leave the low-rise apartment box behind,

meaning we would be more exposed. But only five minutes from the Target's house. I took lead. Almost immediately held up a hand calling a halt. There was a light in a street level window just ahead. I came up alongside, glanced in. There was a man sitting in front of a flickering TV. I could see him side on.

There were black dots on his face. They were moving, and I realized with disgust what they were. He had flies crawling. on his skin and going into his mouth and his nostrils, and he was not reacting to this in any way. I indicated we could move on and did not bother ducking down as I walked past the window. I did look back at the others and mouth the words, corpse. It looked like he died sitting on his backside, watching the stupidity box and no one had noticed yet. Maybe when he started the smell, the neighbours would get the building owner to do something

about it. We carried on and reached the turning without encountering anything else of note. The tightly packed buildings fell away. There was open space ahead. Wasteland to our left. Actually, not wasteland, I realised. There were goalposts for soccer at either end of a concrete strip. The trees and bushes that looked on their last. last legs, but had clearly been painted in some kind of orderly pattern. It was a park, a pretty grim one, but still. Sir, one of the others whispered and pointed to the right. This park, like parks all over the world, had benches.

There was a man sat on one of the benches. He wasn't moving. Out for the count, I thought, sleeping rough. Maybe he had a row with his wife. and she would not let him back in, or maybe he'd been too drunk to make it home. We had no reason to wake him, and I was about to signal move on, when one of his legs jerked. I swore under my breath when I saw what had caused this. A rat had one of its teeth clamped to one of the man's ankles and was pulling at it.

I moved closer and saw with horror that there were another two rats on the man's stomach. They chewed through his clothes and his skin and were eating his innards. And the man was not moving. He must be dead as well, I figured. I could also see by now that his eyes were open, but that meant nothing. People died with their eyes open all the time. The others were as transfixed as I was by this hideous sight. Leave it, I whispered.

They nodded and turned away. I was about to do the same when the man blinked. I would have sworn on everything that I hold dear that he did, that his eyelids moved. Only dead men do not blink. I'd imagined it. I must have. Sir, a new whisper broke my chain of thought. Do we move in the target's house now?

I turned away from the man at the bench and the rats feeding on him. Yeah, I replied, let's get this done and get out of here. We continued in silence. The houses around us were each in their own small grounds. Cars were parked by some. The Target's house was dead ahead. It was darkness, heavy wooden shutters covered the windows. We circled it, checking for alarms, cameras.

But there was nothing. I gave the signal to go in. The door took three kicks to break, and that was it. We were inside. The darkness stretched on, a longer hallway, past closed doors. There was no reaction to our forced entry. No one had cried out or attacked us. Either the house was empty or the occupants were hiding.

The memories of flies and rats understand. heard on skin and flesh flashed through my mind. I forced them away, ordered, each room searched. We found him in the bathroom, huddled down inside the shower basin. The shower curtain was drawn as if it would make any difference. The target was in his 50s and wearing a cheap looking suit. He had on little round spectacles and his grey hair stood up at crazy angles. and he was crying and shaking.

We're not going to hurt you, I told him. We're going to take you for a little ride. Introduce you to your new best friends. Think of it as a move up the career ladder. Pep talk given. I smiled, my best, non-threatening smile. He shook his head. No, you don't understand, he said.

It's not you I'm frightened of. Not you I'm hiding from. It's them. He had lost me, but I did not have time to try and understand. We needed to get moving. I grabbed his arm, began to pull him to his feet. Sir, one of the men interrupted me. We've got company.

Where, I asked. Out on the street, we have eyes on them through the broken door. Dragging the target along with me, one hand clamped over his mouth to muffle his continuing protest. went to look. There was a figure out there. Distant but getting closer. I couldn't make out any details. Male, female, young, old, armed a civilian. I gave the order quietly. We'd go out the back. We made our way to the rear of the house. Before unlocking the back door, one of the men opened the window shutter tightly, just enough to see through. He swore, then said, There's more.

I looked past him. Through the narrow lines of exposed glass, I counted three figures all heading our way. Make that five. Did you invite your friends round for a party? I muttered into the ear of the target. He looked at me. I saw pure terror in his eyes,

and I made an instant decision. I needed information. I'm going to move my hand. I told him, and you're not going to cry out for help. You're going to tell me what's going on, agreed. He nodded, and I took my hand away. He gulped and said,

As long as they didn't know I was here, I would be safe, but they must have seen you, and now they're coming. You keep saying, Vey, I snapped at him. What do you mean? There used to be ordinary people who lived in this town. Until the accident, he began, then broke down in tears. I'm so sorry, he sobbed.

I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I kept at him. For what to happen? There was a leak, one of the new chemicals I was working on. When it mixed with the outside air, it turned into gas. Everywhere was thick with it. The people in the town thought he was just a mist, and after a few hours the wind had carried it away.

That was just the beginning, the beginning of the nightmare. He was about to go on when I heard footsteps behind me. There was someone coming through the broken front door. They were not alone. More figures were crowded behind him, all trying to force the way through at once.

As the first of them stepped closer, I realized that the fact that the mission had been compromised was the least of my worries. Something bad was happening here. something hideous. The figure that was just now feet away from me had once been human. Now it was an aberration.

The skin of his face was hideously pale and covered in open, weeping wounds. Its eyes were bloodshot and filled with hate, and its hands were outstretched in front of it, clawing at the air as it dragged itself forward. As it moved, a low, guitar or groan drifted from in between its lips. I reached for my weapon,

accidentally leaving the target free to slip from my grasp. He sprinted towards the back door. I'll get him, I yelled. You repel these things. I had no name for them then, no understanding beyond the fact that they were real. I turned and ran after the target.

Behind me, the sound of firing filled the narrow space. Ahead the target was through the back door and running into the grounds. I emerged close behind him and saw that he was surrounded. The five had become dozens. There was a mob of the things. Their distorted moans rose into the night as one sickening voice. Their hate-filled gazes were all turned towards the target. The scientist we had been sent to spirit away.

He was turning in a circle. staring helplessly as the things came closer. Then they fell on him. They bit and tore and ripped. I looked away. I could not bear to sea and staggered backwards into the house. There was no sound of firing now. The hall was a sea of things.

Somewhere amongst them were the men I'd come on this mission with. I could only hope they no longer felt, no longer understood what was happening to them. One of the things looked up from its frenzy, its face was stained with blood, and a strip of flesh hung from its mouth. It saw me. Its eyes widened,

and it lifted its arms slowly and pointed a pale finger at me, and moaned. Others looked up at this and began to detach themselves, began to creep towards me. I broke free of the reverie which terror had forced on me, and darted through the open door towards the showers. There was an uncovered window, I shattered it with my fist. Ignoring the waves of pain in my

hand, I dragged myself through. There were trees ahead, a clear route to them. I did not hesitate. I ran and pushed through the thick undergrowth, then dropped to the ground and lay very still. I had remembered what the target had said of about being safe because they did not know he was there, until we'd crashed in, I thought bitterly. Back at the house, the things were still gathered outside. Some held bones from which they gnawed the last traces of meat. Others looked around, seemingly in a daze.

One turned its face to the sky and screamed. A primal, grotesque howl which sent icy waves of fear rushing through me. I thought that night would never end But eventually I could make out the faint light Of a new day at the edges of the sky The light brought new sounds A low mechanical rumbling which I recognised The first tank came into view soon afterwards

From the markings on it I realised for the first time What country I was actually in There were six tanks in total and they were followed by armed men wearing hazmat suits. I watched from my hiding place as the assault began. The advancing force rained down destruction on the things, which stumbled and shuffled towards them.

Then the tanks rolled on over flesh and bone, and the house itself, demolishing all with the force of its armoured motion. The tanks and the troops continued in this way, destroying everything in their path. I understood. They were raising the town and everything in it to the ground, hiding all traces of what had happened here. I knew my country would do the same.

There will be no official records of the mission, and if I did not return, my personnel file would be falsified to say that I died on a training exercise. I would be given a military funeral and sandbags would be placed inside the coffin to weigh it down. and if that happened I thought my mind racing it would also give me the chance to start again under a new name to live a better life somewhere new nightfall is close I remain still and hidden and I have made my decision

I will walk away into the darkness I will no longer exist this testimony will be all that remains. The screen, the same one that had lit the young man's face a pallid blue, painting his tortured features like a bad Halloween decoration, showed a column of numbers that ran down the left-hand side. The rose started on 318.23 and ended on 83,290.86, each entry increasing by small but seemingly random increments. At the bottom, bottom was an old-school block cursor flashing over and over. I was still trying to make sense of it

when the text turned the lights on and began to work while Jack, my partner, approached. He made a despondent sigh as he swung the desk chair around and got a good look at our victim. Jeez, he cried. Be careful where you stand, I said, gesturing to the pile of old tissues and tied up plastic bags, the contents leaking care. over the floor. Jack nudged one of the sudden lumps with his foot before looking to me for confirmation. Diapers, I said. Why? he asked. Nature called, I shrugged. What happened to this poor guy? I pointed to the legs, the tripophobia's nightmare. A pen had been used to punch holes in the fleshy muscles of his thigh. There could have been a thousand holes in each leg,

enough to render a sponge-like effect. They were clean the close he got to his crotch, and so gangrenous by the knee, I was surprised nothing had fallen off. Any idea who did this to him? Jack asked. Him, probably. He's still holding the pen. My partner checked and quickly looked away with grimace.

Could someone have made him, gone against the head, that kind of thing? Why not, I said, but there's nothing to say there was anyone. else here. Besides, there's worse hanging around. I'd stay away from the kitchen if you ever want to look at a microwave the same way, and those diapers have all sorts of funny stuff in them. Nearly got pricked by a needle earlier. All of it suggests self-inflated injuries. I think that if someone made him do this, it was through the computer. He lived on it. A few years ago, he dropped out of college to stream

some game, got caught up in some crypto investing, and then lost so much money his parents had to remortgage. Eventually, his downward spiral led him here. The apartment was one room and too small to even be called a studio. It was a run-down hellhole with peeling wallpaper and a sagging ceiling. I understand very little of that explanation, Jack said, but I think I got the gist. He lost out, went recluse. I nodded. Fancy himself some kind of mathematician, I think.

I flipped through one of the kid's notebooks. $1.38 seconds, I muttered. Whatever that means. So, was he nuts, or was he coerced? he asked. Maybe both, I said. But you got to figure he was in that chair for a reason. The caller, his sister, by the way, said it all started after he got into something new about a year ago. A package from a friend he'd been excited for.

I'm guessing it's got something to do with this. I bent down to the tower and pulled out an off-white USB. The screen immediately turned black. Huh? Jack grunted, and I could see that it was perking up a little now that we had a lead. What's on the drive? Let's find out. They weren't happy, but they did it. They made a copy, I said, placing two cups of coffee down on Jack's desk.

They said it was a silicon brick, no firmware, no OS, and when they cracked it open, they complained it was full of wires that connected to nothing, and it was all riddled with bits of soldered metal made into random shapes. You should have seen their faces when they put it back together, plugged it in, and the forensic program just sprung to life and started copying. They looked spooked. Well, it was plugged in at the scene and doing something, Jack said. Something important must be on it.

Hopefully they'll find where it came from. They've got the original, but this copy. I held up the new drive, is ours the take. Without asking, I spun Jack's laptop around, made a point of closing his 38 open tabs and plugging in the drive. Some of those pages were research, Jack said, hiding a smile with a quick sip of coffee. I was about to say something.

Some minor upkeeping of this running joke we'd been sharing for years. When the computer beat and reset with a stuff, startling thunk. You could hear the hard drive go dead with a little click, and then after a few seconds, the screen came to life. Ritt coin. Each letter was typed out one and a time. The font's huge and green like a bad vision of the future from the 80s. After a few seconds, the words were erased and something new was written. Let your wealth be writ. upon your flesh. And then again on a new screen, enter bank details below.

There were several underlying spaces asking for input, and I noticed they were just enough for a bank account. I'll get a card from forensics, I said. Something that scammers... Ah, screw that, Jack said, grabbing the laptop and typing away with one finger on each hand. Anyone wants to ruin my credit score, they're free to try. He punched in his details, and, after a few seconds of tiny wearing motors, something new flashed up on the screen.

1,914.45. Well, Jack cried, genuinely surprised. That's my balance. I checked it this morning and there it is. Start of the First World War with the end of the second for change. They shouldn't be able to get that from an account number, I said. Maybe it's just a coincidence. Jack looked at me like I was an idiot

Ain't no coincidence I've been hacked He said that last word Like it was both dirty and hilarious I've heard what people can do on the internet Stealing identities So Now what? He asked

They're gonna drain my account and use it to retire early I heard there are some real nice super yachts going for just under two grand I tap the keyboard nothing happened I don't know I said I don't know what's next

Jack scratched his head and reached over for his coffee he took a sip and we were both surprised when the screen changed 1,911 0.72 It just went up

he cried I saw I said but I don't understand it's what free money maybe it's a crypto mining thing I asked, hijacks the computer to use it to mine and then deposit a small feedback into the user's account. Like another language, Jack mused as he took another sip of his coffee.

Once again, the number went up. 1,911.96. Wordlessly, I slid my glass of water over and he took a sip. Nothing changed. He tried the coffee once more, winting at the heat. And there it was. The number jumped up again. Jack realized first.

It was always a little better at seeing things through another's eyes. Without saying another word, he held his hand over the cheap linole floor and slowly poured what was left of the coffee over his skin. He hissed at first, but through sheer will, kept his hand there until the last dregs of coffee had drained. Before I could shout at him, he nodded towards the screen. It's pain, he said, drawing his hand on his shirt. The balance increases with pain. That's why he was hurting himself so bad. Every poke with that pen was another deposit.

You need to go to forensics ASAP and tell them to check the kid's account and then mine. I want to know if something's out. actually been deposited. It'd be a hell of a joke if this turned out it was just numbers on a screen. Huh? Chris said, staring at a screen as Jack plucked her hair and the tally went up.

Well, you look at that. It had been an arduous few hours convincing the computer friend's guy we weren't messing with him. Bank statements were pulled out for both Jack and I picked him, and we formatted three old laptops before he was finally willing to even consider

that the stick was the real deal. Jack accepted the premise the easiest, because he knew the least. All computers were magical to him. I knew enough to be skeptical. But Chris, our resident expert, was completely baffled by the whole thing. I just don't understand where it's coming from, he said.

We've got accountants on that, I replied. But why? he cried. Let's accept the cash is there. It's real. Why would anyone pay for? For what? Pain? Maybe it's like proof of work, right?

I asked, leveraging my night's research into crypto in the hope of offering some insight. Maybe they don't want computational work to prove the new blockchain is authentic. Maybe they want pain. No, sure, whatever, Chris said, throwing up his hands in the air. But that still doesn't answer how. This machine is a brick as far as it. internet is concerned, no webcam, no Wi-Fi. Can you do it again? He turned to Jack for the last part and mind pulling out another hair. I don't have unlimited supply, Jack groaned before

yanking an eyebrow hair-free. Sure enough, the computer's tally went up once again. Chris stared at the screen for so long that Jack wandered off and began poking at the vivisaded computer's that lay all around us. All right, guys, Chris said, suddenly sounding unusually helpful. Leave it with me, I'll have to see what I can dig up. Something inside me tensed up at Chris's suggestion. I wanted to instinctively say he couldn't have it, but that was ridiculous. How could he help without keeping hold of it for at least a few days?

One look from Jack told me he hadn't registered anything strange about the request. so I decided to just let it go We'll leave it to you Jack said See you Chris But Chris didn't even look up at us He was already wheeling the USB drive from one laptop to another While muttering to himself What's eating you? Jack asked as we waited in the elevator

Did you know Chris gets migraines? I asked What of it I don't know I shrugged but he gets them down near daily, spends hours each night in pain. Huh? You don't think, I asked. I doubt it, Jack replied. Chris is a smart guy, long way from poking holes in his legs and jerry-rigging his microwave to cook with the door open.

Yeah, but sometimes the darkest pits of gentle slopes. That came a kid, I reckon he started off small before he got all creative. Yeah, I nodded, creative. I couldn't escape the feeling of dread building up in my gut. What if Chris started out just letting his migraines do their heavy lifting? That'd be something. Hell, it'd be a force for good. Guy was in pain anyway.

Might as well make money. But the payouts were small. Anyone could see that. That kid hadn't earned billions. He'd sold his health and his sanity for what seemed like a money. for what seemed like a pittance in comparison to the suffering he went through. And yet, the potential of earning cash for pain? The idea stayed with you.

Every ache in your gut and every twinge in your spine could have a dollar value attached to it, and who wouldn't want that? I knew I would. But would the average person just sit back and let it tick upwards day to day, content to live on whatever meagre payout is through their way? I told myself that's what I'd do.

I'd be smart, but I also knew you could go through a lot of pain and heal up just fine. Wouldn't it be better to take some time and figure out what the USB stick really wanted? Once you knew what sort of injuries gave the biggest payout, then you could plan out a safe way to make as much money as the body could physically handle. And it was probably that kind of thinking that led that kid to start experimenting with sharp things. He hadn't even made a withdrawal. He just kept letting the money pile up. Something about that struck me as truly insane.

I could tell the implications hadn't completely escaped Jack, because he pursed his lips for a few seconds and finally offered an opinion. Remind me to check up on him tomorrow. It's mine! A gunshot rang out and everyone ducked around the barricade. Even the paramedic being wheeled into an ambulance flinched, and he was doped up on painkillers. He'd been shot just 15 minutes ago, but he was still a lucky man. Whoever was up there had fired blindly around a corner and clipped his leg.

Could have easily been a lot worse. Above us, a pale-looking head stuck out the window and screamed, It's mine, it's mine, my flesh, it's written on my flesh. I noticed Jack's hand on his holster. He'd never fired, of course, way too dangerous. But damn if it wasn't tempting. The ratty-looking asshole had spent the last few hours taking pot shots at cops and doctors

after wounding the first response team. They'd been on their way up there, reporting to neighbours' complaints of a missing person and an awful smell. When he first opened fire on the very people supposed to help him, Any news on the infrared? Jack asked. I looked towards a special response team. A large man in a black visor gave me a thumbs up. He's alone, I said.

No hostages. They want to take the shot. I'd like it if we could keep him alive. Could they disarm him? How the hell are they going to do that? I asked. But before Jack could reply, the officers around us began to cry out and our attention was back on the shooter above.

Didn't take him for a jumper. Jack said, as we watched, his skinny torso wriggle his way out of the tight confines of the open window. You think it's like the last one? I asked as I gestured with one hand for the clean-up crews to get ready. He's been yammering on about wealth written on flesh. I don't know, he said. Can't really get a payout if you did. Just doesn't make any kind of set...

The pup finally pushed himself past the point of no return, and his body entered free fall. My memories of it, in hindsight, are tugged and stuffed with too much detail. I can close my eyes even now, and the image, and imagine the look on his face and the neon lights of our patrol cars flashing against his back, none of which I would have been able to actually see. Still, the memory is very ingrained in my mind, and I suspect most of the vital and lively details have been layered

on fresh with each new recollection. What I do remember for sure is thinking to myself, What the hell is in his mouth? Half a second later, I found out. It was a bit of rope he'd been slowly feeding himself for a few days. I don't know how that works exactly, but the text assured me that it's something the body can easily do. Bit of training with your gag reflex and just about anything.

can pass your gullet, and then, if it's long enough, it goes right out the other end. It was that end he'd tied to the fridge just before he jumped. How are they? Jack asked, and it was a grave sign of how bad things were that he, of all people, would be asking after the clean-up crew. Angry, I said. Not like angry-angry, angry, just not very happy. Jack walked over to the window and looked outside. Yeah, I get that, he said. Anything off the doctor's looking at the guy?

Ah, yeah, I replied. Confusion, for sure. No post-mortem, obviously. Although they're adamant it's coming. Guy can't possibly survive those injuries for much longer. Still, they did as we asked and looked for prior injuries. We've got what looks like a lot of broken bones, many partially healed, just one break piled on top of another.

It's a miracle he could walk, let alone do that. I gestured to the fridge that had been dragged away from the wall before it was used as an anchor. Although at least some of that distance had been the result of his dead weight hitting a snag in the rope. I shuddered at the thought and let my eyes roam the walls. They were covered in hundreds of thousands of the same simple equest of. repeated in a brown greasy scroll, each one slightly different. $1.12 equals 35 seconds, $1.14 equals 39 seconds, 87 cents, 26 seconds. I tried to focus on the numbers, tried to make sense of the clues,

while recalling the ancient history of entry-level stats. Normal distributions were part of a general scroll in some parts, along the with what looked like some kind of Bayesian equation. But none of it stuck for long in my mind. My eyes, no matter how hard I tried to keep them in one place, kept coming back to the glowing CRT monitor on the aging kitchen table. 252,038.136, 252,000-39.09.

It was still rising. But for all that he'd gone through, the shooter had barely earned 250K. Scrolling up, I found his grand finale. It netted him just over a few grand. It was so little, it felt like a deliberate act of humiliation, and my eye began to rise. I took some satisfaction in watching the numbers disappear when I yanked the thumb drive out. Then, when I thought that wasn't enough, I started kicking the crap out of the tower. Whoa, whoa, whoa, Jack cried out while stepping over.

Calm the hell down. This is bad, I said. Whoever made this knew what they were doing. Right now, it's just two guys. But if it gets big, the desperate, the greedy, and the plain old stupid will line up around the block to play with this thing. How the hell do they even know? I cried, and I could hear the anger. in my voice. How does anyone even know the guy in the other end is hurting himself? I didn't

usually find myself fraying at the ends like this, not in front of Jack, who had a good 15 years on me, and was the kind of guy who you always wanted to see you at your toughest. But after what we'd just seen, there was a helplessness building up inside my chest that felt like being buried alive. Calm down, Jack said. I'll finish up here. You go home and get into bed. You go home and get into bed, get your head straight. I'm going to hear that noise every single night for the rest of my life. Yeah, well, you're not alone, he replied, and I'm not sure if you meant to or not, but he found

the one thing that managed to comfort me. It was 11 a.m., and I'd been in bed for six days, using up my annual leave when the phone rang and Jack's name lit up on the screen. Jack, I groaned, surprised at just how bad my voice sounded. It's me, he said. I need you to come in. I'm not doing that, I said. Not until someone threatens to fire me.

Tell me when someone who gets paid more takes this case off our hands. Did you know Chris has been working from home all this time? My heart sank. No? Well, he got permission the day after we saw him last, you know. The day we gave him the stick with Rick-coin. on it. Then three days ago, at about lunchtime, he stopped responding to all emails and stopped answering his phone. His friends are talking about him like he might be ill, but... Jack didn't have to

finish his thought. How long has he been home? I asked. Three weeks. Damn. Okay, I'm coming in. Chris? A few heavy knocks, and we heard nothing in return. We weren't exactly light touches either. Jack's hand boomed against the woods so hard I thought the door would bow inwards. Chris, I cried again, but there was still no answer. No surprise there. Jack grumbled as he stepped around the stony front garden and tried to peer into the open windows. Who's he live with? Parents, I said.

Originally, anyway. They passed away a few years ago, so I'd have to guess the place is all his now. No wife. Nope, I shook my head. Doesn't look like there's anyone else living in there. Jack replied, stepping back from the grimy pane. Back way in. Let's look, I answered, while moving towards a rusted side gate that led to a small and stony garden.

Surrounding the house with decrepit apartment blocks that towered above, lending the garden a feeling of urban mysticism. Like this one overgrown patch of brambles and greenery was the city's dirty. little secret. We soon found a concrete flight of stairs that led down to a cellar door. The steps covered in old broken bottles tossed from up high,

probably by some jealous neighbours. Jack and I kicked them aside while we descended to find the door open. Jack, I said, as we took our first steps inside. The basement was quiet and filled with old junk, curtains drawn across most of it

to try and hide as much as possible from prying eyes. Slowly, we made our way through it, while my heart took the tap dancing in my chest. When are we going to someone else with this? With what? The case. Oh, he grunted. We'll have to see.

Maybe it goes big, viral, like you said. In which case, we won't have to do a damn thing. It'll be out of our hands in no time. But so far, these guys, they've all had some kind of connection. Fingerprints show those two drives were handled by the same person at some point. I was working and IDing them

when I heard the news. Maybe whoever left those prints, maybe they're the source. If so, we could stop it before it gets bad. I couldn't do it. The voice was startling enough that I went for a gun I didn't have. God bless Jack.

He hadn't let me command. I hated to be someone he couldn't count on, but it turned out to be the right choice because I would have fired into the source of that voice without hesitation. It was one of those Microsoft Sam jobs, robotic enough to almost be funny, but loud enough it damn near scared me witless when I first heard it. What the hell? I muttered. Nick, Jack, I hope you find this, the voice said without intonation.

At this stage, Jack drew his gun, albeit in a safer and more sensible way than I could have, and he stalled quietly over to a small knock covered with a red curtain. He peeked inside and let out a soul-draining sigh. Slowly he pulled the curtain aside for me to see. We found our head of computer forensics slumped in a desk chair, facing two screens. One was a text document, the other was Rick Coyne. A muddy splash of brown and red across one of Chris's shoulders spoke of a fatal bleedout, one that must have occurred days before.

It soaked his clothes, the chair and the floor, draining him so thoroughly, he looked like something dragged out of a lake. I had to assume it was rigamortis that kept him upright, but his pose was unnervingly natural. The robotic voice spoke up once more. I'm unborrowed time, it said. It's a text file, I said, pointing to the other screen. A note said to read out loud. A letter, I think. It must be on a loop.

I miscalculated. Jack bent down and picked up a kitchen knife, covered in rusty blood. Self-inflicted, he asked me. I have wanted to die for so very long, the voice said, almost in answer to Jack's question. But I was scared. When I saw Rick Coin, I thought the money might balance out the pain. I left instructions for it to all go to charity.

If my death could help people, I thought it would make it easier. I have tried before, but could never go through with it. I always thought of the bad I'd be leaving behind. I thought Rick Coyne could change it, make it easier knowing some good would come. come of my suffering. At first I tried pills, but it did not work, so I took more and it still did not work. I tried to hang myself, but I stayed there alive for two days before the light fixture broke. I tried my wrists. I tried electrocution. In the end, I used a knife. I thought it would be definitive, opening my neck up ear to ear. I was wrong. I have been bleeding out for two

days and I am still not dead. Something is slowing it down and the numbers keep rising. I am alive even as my body shuts down. Soon I will have no blood, no oxygen to work the cells to move my muscles. I hope that will be the end. But if it was so simple, I should have died days ago. At least I have time to think. And I have a theory. I think the money is secondary. It is just the way to get you started. I had been stood, rooted to the spot, as the weight of Chris's words sank in. He had entered himself, and we'd given in the tool that had pushed him past the threshold.

The thought of it left me dazed. Even Jack, not a man often given to flight of sympathy, was shocked into silence by the thought of this man's death. It is giving us time, the voice continued. Pain in the exchange for time added onto your life. The money is just a law. The real payout is time. The worse the pain, the longer you'll get added onto your life. And if you hurt yourself bad enough, the pay becomes self-sustaining, even as the injuries kill you.

More suffering means more time. More time means more suffering. My only hope is that if the program is a problem is. interrupted, the cycle can be stopped. If you find me, Nick or Jack, or anyone, please pull the drive. I'm still aware somehow. I should have died days ago, but I can see the numbers still going up bit by bit. In the end, I think it will leave me here, stuck in a rotting shell. Whatever this thing harvests, it isn't just physical pain. It's leading to something darker. I think something is out there and it is.

The document ended. The final statement left unfinished. Both Jack and I looked at the Ritcoin screen. You don't think he's actually in there, do you? I asked. Somehow, the tally was still increasing. Without saying another word, Jack bent down and pulled the drive out with an angry grunt. Just like that, the monitor went dark.

and a heavy silence filled the cellar. I don't know exactly what prompted the following. Maybe it was a shift in temperature caused by us opening the door, or maybe just a build-up of gases. But as soon as the clicking of the computer had stopped, Chris's body fell forward out of the chair. He hit the keyboard face first, and there was a blurt of computerized consonants spoken

before his body awkwardly gaved into the gravity and landed on the floor with a wet thud. Jack dropped the drive and stamped it into pieces on the floor. Tell me he wasn't still in there, I cried, that all that nonsense about having extra time was just his brain running out of oxygen and he was just rambling. It was gases or some post-mortem twitch or something.

Just coincidence he fell, he replied. But I don't think even he believed that. Maybe he had, or hadn't realised at this point, but it was firmly in my mind the jumper we'd seen just a week before had died in hospital hours later while we were still in his apartment. Had that happened at the same time I'd pulled the USB drive? I told myself it was impossible, but everything we'd seen so far was impossible. Call this in, he said. We've got work to do. They should have burned this place down years ago.

The evergreen high-rise was notorious for its squatters. It was a place where a certain kind of person went and the city preferred them behind closed doors rather than out on the very public and visible streets. Before being condemned, the people who lived there were tenants. Now they were called squatters. To Jack and I, the evergreen high-rise was the hiding place of our supposed distributor.

It had taken days to get an ID due to the partial print match, only to find out the owner's listed address was no longer accurate. After that, we had to work our usual contacts and informants, and they helped, but they could only get so far. Rumors and hearsay was what we had to go with, leading to a list of several squalid hellholes we'd been forced to traips through one by one. Evergreen was by far the worst. "'Wan't to take the elevator?' Jack smirked as he asked,

"'both of us stopping to look at the wrenched open metal doors "'and the black water flooding the shaft. "'I tried looking for the car, but only saw my reflection cast in inky ripples. "'They said the seventh floor, right?' "'Above me, somewhere, a door slammed shut. "'We both waited for sounds of footsteps, but none came. After a few more silent seconds, Jack spoke up again in a hushed voice that still sounded far too loud in the derelict lobby. Let's get going.

I found the climb up easier than Jack, who huffed and puffed after a few short flights. I considered asking him if you wanted a break, but I didn't fancy the idea of hanging around in that graffiti riddle stairwell. It would have been bad enough if we were alone in that concrete tomb. But we weren't. The sounds of fleeting feet and locking doors told us that the inhabitants of Evergreen were well aware of our presence, and most likely watching us. So far, we could be thankful they were staying out of our way, but I wondered if it was just because they hadn't figured out what they wanted to do with us yet.

When we reached our floor, we both waited by the open door for any signs of an ambush before venturing into the dark, torches raised. Over here. Jack walked over to a closed door and put his ear close to the gem. He was listening to something, and as I got closer, I heard it too. There was a gentle thrumming behind the door, and an occasional blurt of bright and colorful electronic music. Gun drawn, Jack tried the handle and found it open.

He took point as he entered and found a bare apartment with a carpet ripped up. The only sign of habitation was a computer station set up in one corner, its five multi-sized monitors lighting up the room in an array of neon blues and pinks. A screensaver was looping over and over as a little pixelated cat chased mice, bursting into joyful song each time it caught one. Nick, I see it, I said. I'd seen it the second I entered, a patch of shadow that seemed to eat the light from our torches.

It had been a person, once. Some part of my rational mind told me this had to be true. Two arms, two legs, a pair of crusty old jeans tied around the waist with string. Thinking of the first case and the needles he swallowed and passed, I checked the victim's hands. Sure enough, there were several shots of glass clutched in their fist. That explained the distended belly that hung toad-like below a bony rib cage.

A classic sign of PICA. How long has he been here? Jack asked. A while, I answered, as I paid attention to the festering mess of scar tissue and coagulated blood that coated everything above the neck and shoulders. The face was inhuman, lipless and skinless. The features warped from what must have been an endless cycle of injury and healing. No soft tissue spared. If it could be peeled, pierced or tenderized, it had been.

One injury laid on top of another for what must have been several months or even years. Even the eyes were lidless and had dilated as such an extreme, they looked all black with no eye. or Sclera. I wanted to be professional, but it made my stomach not and my heart race just to look at. Jack? Yeah. I can't stop thinking about what Chris wrote. Yeah, he said with a wary sigh. Me neither. Whether it's true or not, there's something...

I don't know, spooky about this whole thing, but we need to fix it no matter what. Over by the computer, he nudged the mouse and the screensaver faded to reveal a standard Windows desktop on all but one screen. That one turned black with green text. We'd found it again. Another row of numbers starting small and getting bigger. Well, there we go, Jack said. What did our lucky contestant win? He thumbed the down arrow and the text scrolled for what felt like an ups and aftaintecule.

seen amount of time. Knowing that each row of numbers was another injury made, the weight for the bottom was very uncomfortable. There we go, he said when he finally found the bottom. He got to just under nine million. Geez, you'd think you retire after like, what, three? Probably saving up for plastic surgery, I replied, and Jack gave a tired laugh, the kind you only do with your nose.

8,879,332.79, the screen read. And then, soundlessly, it ticked over again. 8,879,335.26. Jack's hand reached for his gun. 8,879,338.95. I nearly said something, but stopped myself. My mind stuttered like a flooded car engine, and I tried a few different explanations for what I was seeing. But it all came down to what Chris had already told us.

The tally was rising because whoever was sat on that floor, they were somehow still in pain. Quietly, we both waited for some sign of life. When it finally happened. It was fast, lightning fast. whoever or whatever it was that lunged for us with childish giggles that left no doubt as this thing's state of mind it wanted to hurt us broken legs trailed behind it as it shuffled forward in a blaze of shaking lights and terrified cries that i would later realize were mine the sight of that thing coming at us froze me to the spot but jack stepped up gun drawn he aimed and fired and fired and fired and fired and fired and fired, before it could close even half the distance. When the gunshots finally stopped, it came as a relief. All motion and sounds ceased as if the normality of gunpowder cancelled out the madness

we were seeing. Lead and fire versus pain and greed. Jack and I were left standing there in breathless quiet. The tension was so immense that when it finally broke, it did so with a chuckle. and it was Jack who went first. Guess he wasn't dead, he said after a nervous laugh. But, uh, he is now. And how couldn't he be? Half the monster's skull had been pulverized.

Its head looked more like a houseplant than it did a piece of human anatomy. Just like that, all notion of extended lives were washed away, and it felt as if an enormous weight had been taken away. Yeah, I laughed with him. Maybe I've just let this one get to me. All said and done, their bullet did the trick. He isn't getting... The creature sat up.

Slowly, its flower bulb head turned towards us, and it spoke. Would you like to live forever? It hissed, its words shaped by flaps of skin and muscle that I'm not sure ever began their life as part of the mouth. Jack lifted his gun up, but I stopped him. The computer, I whispered. You can skirt oblivion, it tithered. You do not have to wait to see hell to start paying your dues.

Shoot the computer, I hissed at Jack. No need. The thing held out its hand as a gesture to stop us. Mishapen fingers spayed outwards at stomach-churning ankles. I knew you were coming. There is not a soul in this building who hasn't shared in this gift. Do you think you would have made it this far if I hadn't wanted you to? So take the drive and know that the promise of extended life is real.

Am I not proof enough? The creature used a hand to flick back a strand of something that had fallen across the few inches of meat and bone that remained above its jawline. Not only of coin, but of other higher powers. Death is not the end, it hissed, and you can hold it back for a little while, and earn the amusement of what awaits to collect us on the other side. That sounds like a bad deal, I said, as I ran towards the computer and pulled the stick. Only, when I turned back, the monster was still sat there, and somehow, even without a face or most of a head, I could tell it was smiling. Mine is elsewhere, it giggled.

I told you, that one is meant for you, detectives. I turned to the screen and saw it hadn't changed. I was changed. Frustrated, I kicked the computer and found it was a decoy, just an old tower with nothing inside. The monitors must have been wide up to something else. With more time I could have found it, but with every fibre in my body begging me to leave, there was no chance I was going to stick around just to ferret that thing out. But you were right, it cooed. It is a bad deal. But take it from someone. someone who knows what is on the other side.

I advise you to suffer now and delay the next world. Take your time and think up novel torment. Nothing you come up with will compare to an eternity spent with them. Carefully, it dragged itself across the floor to give us access to the door. But they do so enjoy, watching us try. Outside, sat on the hood of our car. Jack and I smoked. Whatever's up there, I said, pointing to the high-rise.

Did you believe anything it said? It painted a pretty grim picture of the afterlife. I don't know, he replied. Nothing else, just another puff of smoke. What do you want to do now? I asked. That thing, its legs were. Out of action, I told him. Disgruntled.

He stood up and walked. to the back of the car. When he came back, he was speaking. How easy do you think those stairs would be for him? Let's say, if it was in a hurry. I don't know, I shrugged. Not easy at all. I finally saw what Jack had fetched from his trunk.

And despite everything, I smiled. It was a gas can and a box of matches. Let's see how they cope. when all their computers are melted plastic. There is a thing called Blind Murphy. As he is blind, so shall you be. Silent in sight, he'll crawl and creep

until he drags you into the sleep. I read the words again, my gaze moving over the soft peaks and valleys of the neat, childish scroll that lined the front cover of the book. It was just an old, worn-down copy of ghost stories, I loved scary stories when I was a kid, and back then it wasn't easy to get them as it is nowadays. This book, this one, I'd actually checked it out before a few years earlier when I was about nine or ten.

It had been too hard for me then, but as my love of stories had grown, so had my capacity for reading them. By 14, I was ready to give it another try, and my excitement only grew at the creepy little poem. I found in the front. It hadn't been there the last time I checked the book out. I'd have remembered it. And I'd never heard of Blind Murphy before either. I asked my friends, Kenny and Roxanne if they'd ever heard of it. And when they said no, I showed them the book.

Kenny just rolled his eyes and said it looked like kid stuff. But Roxanne seemed interested. She read through it a couple of times and then her eyes. lit up. It's a riddle, Kenny puffed out a disgrunted sigh. We were supposed to be going to play basketball, and now I'd gotten Roxy distracted by what he called my nerd stuff, which was his general term for anything we talked about that didn't seem interesting or funny to him. Ignoring him, I asked Roxy what it meant. She flipped the book around and gave it to me. I mean, I can't say for sure, but if you look at it, it's not just a poem or whatever.

Look how it's worded. It's like he's blind and you'll be blind too, silent in sight. I don't know what that means, but then it's talking about him crawling and creeping and getting you and, well, I don't know, knocking you out, putting you to sleep. Like a dog, Kenny interjected, earning a glare from Roxy. Ignoring her, he met my eyes. Come on, it's getting late.

Can we get going? Roxy smirked. I think he's scared. Afraid Blind Murphy's going to come and get him. Kenney's face flushed red. We'd all been friends since fifth grade. But in the last year or two, he'd gotten more and more sensitive

when Roxy gave him a hard time. I'm not. It's just dumb, kiddie stuff. Torn between sympathy and cruelty. I gave in to the latter. Looking down at the book, I started reading the poem, or riddle, or whatever it was, over and over, like a melodramatic spooky chant. Roxy stood up and started echoing it, dancing around Kenny as he fumed. I knew I should stop.

He was going from irritated and a little embarrassed to something deeper. Anger or sadness, or maybe some kind of fear I didn't understand. Or maybe I did understand, at least a little, because my own heart was beating fast now. The words tumbling out faster than I could catch them as I rolled through the lines quicker and quicker. Rox's eyes growing startled and wide as she began to jump and dance and scream the lines loud enough that a distant part of me worried someone would come from inside the library and tell us to leave the outside benches where we were hanging out. I could feel something stretching out between us three, drawing tighter and tighter as everything sped up and the air grew thin.

Screw both! Kenny's words seemed to break the spell for us, not what he said, but the emotion behind it. We'd really hurt him, and as he stalked off, he ignored our yells for him to stop, to come back that it was only a joke. I could see from the direction he was going. He wasn't heading to the court anymore, but going back home. And feeling a stab of guilt, I looked over at Roxy and asked if we should go after him.

She shook ahead. He's just being a baby. He'll be fine. You'll see. The next morning, my mother woke me up, crying, telling me my friend Ken had been killed in his bedroom the night before. The police wound up talking to us. but we had nothing really to tell.

No explanation as to how or why someone got into Kenny's room, drug him under the bed, and then crushed his eyes in their sockets. Roxy and I barely spoke again after that. Kenny's death was between us now, but he wasn't alone. Blind Murphy was there too. I knew I hadn't told the police anything about the words in the book

and I felt sure she hadn't either, not because we didn't think it was somehow important and connected, but because we knew it was. The idea sounded crazy in the daylight, but in the shade of our hearts, we understood that those words, and maybe how we used them against Kenny, had called something to him,

and maybe to us as well. I spent weeks after that, waiting for it to come for me, jumpy, anxious and sleep deprived. I wound up at the ER for a panic attack and that led to therapy and medication to deal with quote, grief issues. It helped some, but time helped more.

By the time I was in college, I'd put enough distance from blind Murphy and Ken that I didn't think about them every day, much less fear something was going to get me. That's... When Roxy disappeared, it was big news when it happened. A pretty 21-year-old is abducted from her apartment in the middle of the night. A roommate said she'd come in from running in the park, all upset and flustered.

But when they'd asked what was wrong, she just shook her head and went to a room, locking the door behind her. When she didn't come out the next day, they eventually got the landlord to get the door open and check on her. There were some signs of a struggle in there, but no Roxy or sign of where she'd gone. Even ten years later, no one's heard from her since she shut the door. Except, that's not entirely true. Because that night, some time between when she got home and when she was shaken, she texted me. We hadn't talked since the summer after high school ended, but I still felt a strange tangle of happy excitement when I saw a name pop up on my phone.

Maybe enough time had passed that we could actually start being... Close your eyes. Close your eyes? What did that even mean? I texted her back a couple of times asking what she was saying, or if there was more to the text. But I never heard back. It wasn't until three days later, the police out there contacted me about the message sent from her phone and I first learnt that she was gone.

Time has indulged my guilt or fear this time. I've known it's more of a matter of when than if, and bleak as it sounds, that inevitability almost makes it easier. Not that I wouldn't stop if I could, but I don't know what it is, or if it can even be stopped. And if I can't do anything to stop it, at least I can try not to worry until it comes. Kind of like dying from cancer or a heart attack,

except cancer doesn't crawl across the ground as it tries to sneak up on you. It was just dumb luck that I saw it at all. The sun had set a few minutes earlier, and I was finishing cutting the grass when one of my Bluetooth earbuds slipped from my sweaty ear and fell behind me. Muttering to myself, I turned and bent down, squinting for it in the deepening gloom. My eyes lit on the earbud for a moment before something a bit farther out caught my eye,

movement in the fresh-cut grass headed in my direction. At first I thought it was a bug or even a small snake, but then I realized I was wrong. The movement wasn't between the blades of grass, but on top of them, something unseen was pressing them down from above, two smaller paths. Patches divided by a much larger patch of depressed grass just behind, as though an invisible figure was pulling itself along, silent and invisible. Letting out a yell, I stood up and took several steps back. The depression paused this progress before course-correcting to keep heading in my slightly new direction. Even without seeing it, I knew what it must be, and I was terrified.

My strongest instinct was to just run into the house and lock the door, but something stopped me. For now, I could see where it was at least, and it was moving slowly, though there was nothing to say it couldn't jump on me at any moment. The idea of that made my heart pound, but I forced myself to just slowly walk backwards while keeping it in view. If I just ran off, I'd lose track of it, and next time I might not see it when it came for me. Still, just walking round backwards forever wouldn't work, and it could clearly track me from wherever it had come from. What else could I... Close your eyes. Rox's last words came back to me, and I almost shut my eyes immediately.

But fear made me hesitate. What if it moved when I had my eyes closed, or what if it knew I closed my eyes and took the chance to leap on me? Shuddering, I forced myself to stay calm. Why would Roxy say to close my eyes? She'd gotten away from it that night, hadn't she? And it had taken a few hours to catch up to her again. What did she know? And how did she know it?

Maybe she'd just gotten lucky like me. Or maybe she figured out. Silent in sight, he'll crawl and creep. Oh damn. Taking another two steps back away from the unseen creeping thing, I forced myself to close my eyes. Immediately new sounds flooded my ears. The sound of it crawling through the dry grass toward me was faint but distinct,

though I could only hear it when the whispering stopped. The low, crooning words that Blind Murphy was whispering to me, Come, come, come with me, sleep by my side and be mine. We will sleep and dream. Letting out a gasp, I opened my eyes. I felt a moment of panic when I realized I couldn't see the depressions on the grass anymore. Looking around, I saw how close I was to the back patio. where there was nothing to mark the thing's passage.

I closed my eyes again. Oh, the things. I opened my eyes as I turned and took several steps to the side. It had somehow gotten behind me again. It was somewhere up in the concrete. Swallowing thickly, I shut my eyes back. Won't miss them, not at all. And you'll be with...

Looking at the... Looking up again, I saw a leaf crumple on the patio from some unseen weight pressing down on it. I had to. My eyes landed on the lawnmower. Marking the leaf as best I could in my memory, I ran over to it and pulled the engine to life. Grunting with the effort, I swung it around and charged at where I thought the thing would be. Terrified, I'd miss it. Suddenly, the lawnmower jumped in my hands as it hit.

hit something. I grabbed the handle tighter and tilted it up until I could push on top of blind Murphy and hear the blades begin grinding down as they cut into some invisible bulk. I held it there for a moment, but it wasn't going to be enough. The blades were already grinding to a halt and I could feel it trying to struggle out from underneath. Looking back, I saw the can of gasoline I'd used earlier in the afternoon. I made the mistake of close my eyes when the fire flared to life. It had struggled out from under the moor as I dumped the gas on it, crawling towards me as I fumbled with the matches I'd found in the shed. But when the match caught, it burned brightly, a searing, purplish flame curling up so quickly that I closed my eyes in pain.

It was then that I began to hear it screaming. I wanted to relish the sound, to savour some revenge. against the thing that it killed my friends. But the sound was too terrible. And after a moment, I opened my eyes and stepped away. When the fire died down, I hacked at the burnt patch of concrete with an axe until I didn't meet any resistance anymore. And then I raked whatever remains into a deep hole

before covering over it. I knew it was dead. I felt sure of it. But I still couldn't bring myself to sleep in the house, knowing it was buried outside. I'd have to figure out something else long term. But for that night, I got a motel room halfway across town. I was exhausted by then, but it still took me hours to get to sleep.

And when I woke up, it was still dark. It hadn't been light that had disturbed me. But motion. The sensation of something or someone crawling. onto my bed. I went to open my eyes when I heard a soft, feminine voice whispering to me.

I hadn't heard it in years, but I still recognised Roxy calling to me from the foot of the bed. You didn't have to kill him, did you? That's all right. That just means there's more room for the two of us. We'll be together again in the sleep. Just let...

I rolled out. at a bed and ran to the bathroom, flicking on the light. It looked like I was alone. Since I was a kid, my great uncle Ivan lived with us in our basement. He's a surrealist painter by trade and his works are beautifully done, whimsical and thought-provoking oil masterpieces, worthy of being stared at for hours. Each time I look at one of his paintings, I find something new that I'd never noticed before. Uncle Ivan is the most talented artist I'd ever met, and yet his work is not even known to the most obscure collectors. I wonder sometimes if he'll be like Van Gogh, and nobody will know properly of his genius until after he's gone.

When he had a stroke and lost the ability to speak, he began painting obsessively, showing the world the beauty in his mind, which would otherwise be lost without words. My parents built him a studio in the backyard for his 70th birthday. They have friends in construction, and we have a large property in the country, so they built him a very big studio with high ceilings, knowing that he would find a way to utilise every inch available. And utilize he did. The walls were painted white with primer, and then he set himself to work. Inside the massive space, he created another world. Within a year, his designs were outlined in black and white, with splashes of color being applied in places. Already, the overall effect was astonishing. It was like entering the surreal

space of his own mind, an Alice in Wonderland world that sparked the imagination and resemble the uncanny landscape of dreams long forgotten. It was when the colours were completely filled in that the illusion became complete. And one day, I went outside to his workspace in the backyard to find that he had vanished. He was gone, and I could make no sense of it. Uncle Ivan?

I called out in the empty echoing studio. But he didn't answer. I gazed around in total wonderment at the huge room he had painted once again. The walls, the ceiling, the floor, alive with colours and images. I tried to find a spot of black and white where he still had to fill in colour and could find none. The field of mushrooms with its gnome inhabitants was so real, it felt like I could step into it and join the merriment of the fairy folks living there. Purple Cloud Mountains rose up steeply to the left of that,

a field of pink cherry blossom trees sloping downward on the other side towards a tumbling river the colour of cotton candy. This led into a sprawling desertscape, which started out in yellows, oranges and golds, and faded softly into the greens and gentle blues of an ocean filled with kelp, octopus, jellyfish, and a myriad of other fantastical aquatic creatures. Gasping, I realised the room was finally complete.

My heart thumped in my chest as I thought about what this meant. This had been my Uncle Ivan's life for the past several years. Now it was finished and he could have been revelling in his masterpiece. I thought he would have at least come to find me to show me that it was done. He knew I was his biggest fan after all. Where was he? The man was a total recluse, a hermit. He never left the property, no matter what, and often spent days straight in his studio working

on the all-encompassing mural. I walked around a fantastical space, becoming lost in the swirling colors and dreamlike images. Even the floors were painted, making it feel like you were completely immersed in the beautiful fantasy world my uncle had made. A sound of birds chirping came from nearby, and I looked up with surprise, wondering how they could have gotten into the workshop. When I gazed up and looked around, my heart skipped a beat, and then another. My knees buckled, and I sat down hard, my jaw snapping shut with the impact. Due moist grass was beneath me, despite never having left the studio.

Strangely, the grass was crimson red, the color of fresh blood. Insects I didn't recognize were scurrying in it, crawling up my arm. They were colorful and otherworldly, leaving rainbow pattern footprints in their wake. The field of towering mushrooms stood in front of me, and he was actually there. It wasn't just an illusion of perspective, an artistic mastery anymore. I could feel the fresh air of my face. and heard birds chirping all around me. There was the sound of a flute playing in the distance ahead,

and gnomes were dancing merrily and singing beneath the shade of mushroom-capped roofs. Purple clouds floated in the sky, and a giant eyeball looked down at me like the moon, winking when it saw me. Too scared to scream, I began breathing heavily. Terrified, my eyes started to start to the sun. search for an exit, but found no way out. It's beautiful here, isn't it?

A voice asked from nearby. It sounded familiar, but I couldn't place where I'd heard it before. I thought you'd like it, my great Uncle Ivan said, reaching out his hand to help me to my feet. Most people didn't understand what I was doing out here, but I could see that you got it from the very beginning. You knew what the purpose of it. of it all was. Standing to my feet, my terror began to evaporate, and I felt a smile spread across my face, despite the surreal situation I'd found myself in. Uncle Ivan, you can talk!

It had been so many years since I heard the old man's voice, I'd forgotten what it sounded like. I can, he said, looking pleased, at least while I'm here. But that's always been the case. Come on, let's go for a walk. We started ambling towards the mushroom village up ahead. The music of lutes and flutes and drums became louder. The gentle tones of singing voices rising up to greet us. I miss talking to you, Uncle Ivan, I said after a minute of silent walking. That's funny, we haven't really said anything yet.

We both chuckled at that. Well, it's hard to find someone you're just as comfortable being quite around as you are talking. And to be honest, I'm not really sure what to say after seeing all this. How long have you been coming to this place? Off and on for about a year. It was more off than on at first. Every time I came across a patch of black and white, it brought me out of it again. But the more I filled in, the longer I got to stay. I thought about this for a minute. It's all the way filled in now. Does that mean... Before I could feel it. Before I could feel it. I was finished my thought, he interrupted, pointing up at the sky and putting his arm around me.

Look, Jordan, it's the spectral dragon. That's what I've been calling it anyway. A creature came up over the purple cloud mountains like the sunrise, and then came crashing down on the hills towards us, sending a flurry of cherry blossoms fluttering into the air like butterflies. The dragon reminded me of a kaleidoscope as it morphed into every color of the rainbow before rising up on an air current at the last possible moment, narrowly avoiding crashing into the mushroom forest below. Its long snaking body extended for miles and was soon lost above us in the clouds. A few moments later, the skyward cherry blossoms fell around us like snow and continued in that way for a while afterwards

until the ground was pink with them. We kicked them up into the air with our feet as we walked like fallen leaves in autumn. The gnomes didn't even interrupt their song as if such things were an everyday occurrence. And I realized they probably were. This place is incredible, I said. No wonder you've been spending so much time out here.

Uncle Ivan was smiling and nodded. seeing that I understood him even more now. But there was something off about him. He had lost weight. His face looked skeletal and thin. The change had been so slow I barely noticed since I came out to his workshop pretty much every day. But he previously had chubby cheeks and a belly which overhung his belt.

Now those things were gone and he appeared gaunt and pale. Come on. I'll show you my house, he said, laughing and taking my hand. Your house? He led me up the slope towards the mushroom village. The stalks of the fungi had windows and doors carved into them with care, and the quaint community reminded me of the downtown of a small medieval village. There were rustic shops with tables out front, a blacksmith and a market stall with fruits and vegetables.

Nooms were going about their lives in harmony and happy. us. In here, Uncle Ivan said, opening the squeaky door at the base of one mushroom. He ducked his head and went inside through the low entryway and I followed after him. Once inside, I saw a tastefully decorated room with furnishings in purple, orange and gold. There was no indication we were inside a mushroom. It just looked like a regular house, only circular instead of square. He went over to a large cabinet and began to pull things from his pockets, shoving them inside the drawers. Just a minute, let me get organized, Uncle Ivan said. He took a large horned beetle from one pocket of his bathrobe and stuffed it into a drawer, then started searching through the other drawers for something. I saw a purple octopus poke his head out of one, and he crammed it back inside. Another drawer sounded like it contained a swarm of bees,

while another made a sound like a train whistle and the roar of a locomotive coming down the tracks. Uncle Ivan slammed that one shook quickly as the chugging, rattling noise of an approaching train became so loud it threatened to burst in eardrum. He breathed a sigh of relief, then opened the bottom drawer, retrieved the polka dot umbrella and unfurled it.

A dozen or so frogs fell out from the folds and began hopping around on the floor. but he ignored them. Okay, all set. How about some breakfast? The two of us set out on the town and met gnomes on the way to a tea shop. They were singing Uncle Ivan's praises, literally. They had written several songs about him.

Moe seemed to proclaim him as a savior and a hero, vanquishing an evil enemy which came in the night. What's were the creepy songs? I asked him as we took a seat at a table outside the tea shop. They kept talking about a monster coming in the night? That's not real, is it? I mean, I thought this place was all about peace and beauty. You can't have good without evil, my uncle Ivan said, raising his hand to call over a known waiter,

Yin and Yang, you need one to have the other. This place couldn't be what it is without an evil underbelly. For heaven to exist, there must be. be hell after all. Our waiter quickly poured our tea, then hustled away, his eyes fearful and his hands shaking as he overheard our conversation. Another member of the waitstaff brought a platter of biscuits and cakes, then hurried off as well, looking similarly frightened by the subjects we were talking about.

Does it always come at night? The monster in the songs? Always. But it's okay. I know how to take care of it. I always protect the villagers here. They need me to protect them. I am their saviour.

His eyes looked to be gazing far into the distance past me, and I was suddenly worried again for my uncle Ivan. I took a sip of the tea, but it did not quench my thirst. I ate one of the cookies as well, but felt no less hungry afterwards. My uncle ignored all the items in front of us, choosing instead to stare off in the distance, and once again I remarked to myself how thin he looked, how unwell. Despite the beauty of his creation,

despite the absolutely unremarkable nature of it all, I was suddenly feeling scared, not just for my uncle, but for me. I wanted to go home, I wanted to get out of this place. Opening my mouth to speak these thoughts aloud, It suddenly grew dark in the mushroom village And the surrounding fungi forest

A huge black cloud Filled with booming thunder Was rolling over us And rain began to pour down Drenching us immediately Nomes ran into their houses And slammed the doors and windows closed Open signs were pulled down from shop windows

And one saying closed replaced them And yet still My Uncle Ivan stared off into the distance Uncle Ivan, I said, grabbing his shoulder and squeezing it. Uncle Ivan, are you there? My heart started pounding faster as his glazed eyes remained fixed on some invisible object in the distance. For a second, I thought he would stay like that forever. But then he blinked and focused on me again.

Oh, sorry, I must have been lost to my thoughts. He looked around and saw the darkness and the rain, and stood up quickly. Dear, oh dear, we should go. Quickly now. Come on, let's go back to the house before it's too late. I thought at first he was talking about going back to the real world and nearly jumped for joy.

I followed after him in the pounding rain and splash room mud puddles as he led me back to his safe house inside the mushroom. It was only once ruined sight that I heard the sounds coming from nearby, growing louder and more distinct. It sounded like the floor-shaking approach of a bear or a lion stalking towards us. My uncle grabbed a large wooden plank from behind the couch and brought it over to the door quickly, his eyes wide and fearful. Help me with this quickly. They'll be here any second.

I hesitated, feeling as if something about this was wrong. But then my fear overtook, and I grabbed the other end of the wooden wooden bottom. board and helped him laid across the doorway barricading it. A second later, the door began to pound and shake as something tried to force its way in from outside. It sounded like claws raking across the wood as the thing roared and banged against the entry with all its might. What the hell is that thing?

I asked my uncle. He was too busy to answer, searching through his large dresser with his countless tiny drawers. Where is it? is it? he shouted, pulling one open after another. It has to be here. It has to be. I ran over to him, looking back over my shoulder at the door as it nearly broken too with the repeated impacts from outside. Now it sounded like not just one creature, but several. Their claws tearing through the wood like paper. Uncle Ivan, we have to get out of here. They're going to get us. As he pulled open one drawer after another, I saw horror

inside each that I would never forget. The dresser had been full of fun and whimsical items from what I'd seen before, but now every drawer he opened had a nightmare inside. A hudded figure reached out with a skeletal arm, a scythe gripped in his bony fist. My uncle slammed the drawer shut before I could emerge. The next had a freakish monster with bulging eyes and squid-like tentacles, which snapped in the air and hissed with a beaked mouth full of many sharp teeth. He closed that drawer hastily as well.

The door we had barricaded shut began to splinter, and I could see forms through the growing cracks in the wood. It seemed as if one more impact would break it open, and we would be murdered by whatever came inside to greet us, all darkness, fangs, and claws by the looks of it. My uncle finally found what he was looking for and pulled it out from the dresser drawer, shouting in triumph.

Yes, I found it. it, let's get the hell out of here. It was a paintbrush and a palette. He began to paint a picture on the wall beside him, working so quickly it didn't seem possible. A few moments after he had begun, there was a beautiful doorway with a blue sky and sunshine. There were trees and green grassy fields rolling into the distance.

Come on, through here, he said, grabbing my arm. I didn't move, though. Something about all of this was wrong, I thought to myself again. Uncle Ivan needed my help, and this wasn't the way to help him. Escaping further into his fantasy world, going one step deeper into this dimension, or whatever this was, was not going to help him. I studied his bony face and looked at his thin, frail hand reaching out to take mine. Come on, what are you waiting for? He asked, looking terrified.

checking over my shoulder for the next impact from outside. This isn't the way, Uncle Ivan, I said, realizing what I meant when I said it. That's not the way home. And I need to take you home. You need to eat and drink and you need to get out of this place for a little while. You can't survive here. You can't live inside this world you created or it'll kill you. What?

No, I can't leave. This is my home now. I need to protect it. The door splintered further with another loud bang as the dark forms forced their weight against the threshold. Do you know what's on the other side of that door, Uncle Ivan? Have you ever waited to see what will come through? Or do you just escape further into your fantasies and run away every time? He hesitated, looking as if you might just jump through the doorway without me,

escaping into that other world never to be seen again. But then he turned to look at me. and led out a deep, shuddering breath. No, I've always run away from it. I suppose I should look at it, though, shouldn't I? We all need to face our fears sometimes, Uncle Ivan, I said, taking his hand. We'll face it together, whatever it is.

He gripped my hand tightly, and we stood waiting for our demise, or for whatever would come next. With a loud crash, the door broke over, and dark forms in the shape of every alpha predator began to squeeze through, looking like obelisized, nightmarish images of their true selves, shadowy bodies with no discernible features except for their teeth, their teeth which were too long and too sharp, gleaming white. As they closed in on us, I focused on that lack of color and remembered those blank spots

in the mural. I thought about home. I braced for the impact and for the teeth which would tear me to shreds. But they never came. When I opened my eyes and looked up, I saw a wall in front of me with a wolf painted in black and white. It hadn't been filled in yet. A ray of sunshine was peeking in through the doorway which led outside, and I could hear birds

chirping out there. We were back in my great-uncle's studio again, and he was beside me, holding my hand, squeezing it very tightly. Both of us let go at the same time, looking at each other and feeling slightly embarrassed for some reason, as if what had just happened hadn't really happened. Looks like you missed the spot after all, I said to my uncle. He looked back at me and I saw tears in his eyes. He wanted to say something back, but couldn't. Instead, he picked up his paintbrush, which was sitting nearby with a palette.

Various colours were on the board, waiting to be chosen to fill in the empty spots, to make the mural really, truly complete. My uncle went over to the spot with his paintbrush in hand, looking ready to fill in the emptiness. As he picked up the brush, his hand started to shake. maybe from hunger, maybe from something else. I laid a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. Why don't you take a break for a little while, Uncle Ivan?

Let's go inside and grab a bite to eat. The mural will still be here tomorrow. He turned to look at me and smiled. Then set the paintbrush and pallet down on the floor. Putting his arm around my shoulder, the two of us walked out from the paint fumes and into the fresh air of the backyard. You know, I said,

I was kind of bummed out when I thought the mural was finished. This project has been such a big part of both our lives the last few years. Maybe you should just leave that one spot blank, like a signature, a reminder of all the time and effort you put in here in the real world. He nodded, his eyes focused and lucid for the first time since I'd seen him that day. Uncle Ivan pointed at a large mountain off in the distance.

It took me a second to understand, but I'd always been able to see what he meant in these muted moments, and I did then too. Yeah, like a landmark, so no matter what, you can always find your way home.