CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - 7 SCARY r/Nosleep Reddit Horror Stories to tell people you fall asleep to and get weird looks

Episode Date: July 22, 2022

CREEPYPASTA STORIES-►0:00 "The Strange Woman in the Window" Creepypasta►18:50 "I found a VHS tape of a man threatening to burn the world" Creepypasta►45:50 "The Rumor That Ruined My Life" Creepypasta►1:06:40 "For therapy, my wife and I had to share five secrets. Hers were darker than expected" Creepypasta►1:50:45 "Don't Play The Joker’s Wilde Game" Creepypasta►2:24:05 "1:26am- There is motion at your front door" Creepypasta►2:44:00 "I see a finger poking out of the sofa" 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►Pete Novak: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/6B1YxSUGGESTED 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-

So she just sits there? I asked. And you're just staring at her, like a creep. No, no, no, it's not like that. It's like she wants to look at you, you know, grinned Reggie. She shows off her legs, her white little panties, she throws a red hair around. That doesn't make you any less creepy. She knows I'm there. Hell, last time she smiled at me.

She smiled at you, I scoffed. A human woman actually smells. I smiled at you. You, Reggie. I get a hell of a lot more smiles than you, he teased. And I swear, she smiled at me. I'm telling you, I'm in love. Tinder not working out for you, super likes not getting you anywhere.

If I had to choose between a random woman smiling at me from a window once every two weeks or getting a match that isn't a bot on the Tinder meat market, I'd choose Window Girl ten times out of ten. I'll drink to that. And so we did. shots of tequila and a game of pool later, we said a goodbyes. Then he disappeared. One day, he was just gone. No messages, no logins, no goodbyes, no witnesses, no indication of him going anywhere. There were rumours of him being attacked. There'd been news of an

up-and-coming mass gang harassing a neighbouring town, but nothing was confirmed. The police did a decent job bringing in the usual suspects, but nothing came of it. They even had search parties looking around the old campgrounds. There was talk of having a diver check the lake, but I don't think they ever did. Of course, they were following all leads. All leads were that one thing Richard rambled about on that last night when I saw him, the pretty girl who'd smiled at him from a window. It was a struggle to find out anything.

anything about her. This is a big town and Reggie traveled pretty far from work to home. I must have traveled that same road a hundred times back and forth, looking for whatever window he could have seen her in, but he wasn't very specific. There were apartments, houses, rentals, motels, hundreds of windows all along the road. How would I know which one he'd been looking at? I started taking Reggie's road home every day. from work, just to see if I could see what he saw. It was a hassle, but it gave me a pretty good idea about where he'd look and what he'd do. It wasn't a long way out of my ordinary route, and I wasn't planning on doing it forever,

so I told myself I'd at least try. Six weeks after his disappearance, I was ready to give up. The police already had. The case had gone cold, and there were no more least. leads to follow. One night as I followed that same damn road, I stopped at a corner to get a Coke. Standing with a cold can in the evening breeze, a thought struck me. Maybe the woman wasn't just someone he happened to see randomly. Maybe it was someone he'd went out of his way to see. Someone slightly off his usual route. Like someone you might see when you step out to get

a Coke. Right across the street from the corner store, just above a book store, was a small apartment. It had this wide window alcove that overlooked the street. There was someone sitting in the window. She wasn't all what Reggie had described. She wasn't flaunting her underwear or flipping her hair around. She was this 20-something young woman cuddled up in the alcove, reading. She had these big dorky glasses and long brown hair, not red like Reggie had said. Striking green eyes, just like my first crush had had back in middle school. Still, I couldn't help but to stare. This had to be her.

This was the woman Reggie had talked about, and I could see why he'd fallen in love. It was damn near impossible not to. I must have stood there for the better part of five minutes. I had every intention to check the address, so you lived there, and to try to find out all I could about her. And yet, all I did was stand there and gawk as she gently turned the pages. Then, as soon as her head moved in my direction, I looked away and hurried back to my car. It was embarrassing to say the least. I could still see her in the rearview mirror as I got back out on the road.

I talked to her the next day Or maybe the day after that Whenever I could work up the courage And maybe find out a bit more about her I did find out a few things That corner apartment wasn't a rental So someone owned it It hadn't been sold in the past 20 or so years

So whoever owned it Had lived there for a while It was one of those older houses in town And there were pictures of it From all the way back in the 60s even the same bricks I only slightly paled by the sun the following weekend

I went back during the day this time the window was empty I took the time just to walk around and check the place out see if I could get a name I took the time to check out the bookstore under the apartment there was this old dusty

place that I'd seen for years but never actually bought anything from it was run by these two older men bickering about some nonsense in one of the back rooms. As soon as I entered and that bell rang, I saw their two heads peeking out. Hey, I called out. You are, you the owners? They looked at each other, paused and sighed in unison.

One of them, the one without a lengthy beard, approached me. You're looking for something? he asked. It's about the... Uh, the apartment. I don't know if you... They both rolled their eyes. The man in the back shook his head and went back to his computer. Of course you are, the beardless old man sighed.

I'm sorry, we can't help you. I'd appreciate whatever you know. You've never talked to her? I haven't even seen her. Sorry. My partner told me he'd seen her brother once. I could hear the jubilant... I have from the back room.

I got the feeling that they'd had this discussion a few times already. I'm sorry, they keep to themselves. We don't want to bother them. Have they ever been down here? Bought anything. I saw her reading. Might have, he nodded. But I wouldn't know.

I don't ask every customer where they live. Maybe we ought to start. He gave me an apologetic shrug and returned to the counter. I thank them. Waved. and left. I asked around the neighbourhood, random people on the street, passes by who seemed familiar with the area. At one point I called out to a half-naked woman sunbathing in a yard. I talked to a dozen or so people, and no one had anything clear to say about the woman who lived above

the bookstore. Some claimed she lived alone, others said she lived with her brother, some thought it was a father or her husband, but it was clear she wasn't living alone. One man claimed he'd seen an older woman walking around up there, so maybe it was a whole family. Then again, they didn't seem to have a car, and no one seen them leave. I was getting a funny feeling about the girl living there. It wasn't a large apartment, so I couldn't imagine so many people living there. one or two, sure, but three, four? No way.

I decided to take matters into my own hands. It took me a lot of stomping around to build up the courage, but I made my way up the stairs to the apartment door. The name on the door just said, Moray. Strange family name. I stood outside a door for a solid minute before I knocked. Had I known she wasn't home, I wouldn't have bothered.

I knocked two more times, but there was no one to answer. Instead, I just stood there like an idiot. If I had had any paper, I'd left a note. I did take mental note of the other two apartments on the same floor being empty, though. Strange. I started by going by that street regularly, once a day, waiting for her to show up in that window again. Every day, sometimes more than once, I passed that street.

I was starting to wonder if I was still doing this to find out what happened to Reggie, or if I was genuinely interested in that woman I'd seen in the window. Maybe it wasn't even the same person. After all, she looked nothing like the woman Reggie had described. It took me two weeks of diligent watching to finally see her again. But when I did, I nearly got in an accident. I slammed on my brake, shocking the driver behind me. I parked outside the corner store, and I just stood in the middle of the dark street, gawking at her.

It was the same woman, same brown hair, another book it looked like, and she'd cuddled up with a blanket. There was a cup of something warm next to her, fogging up the inside of the window. I could see those emerald eyes all the way down the street. She was magnificent In a moment of onset stupidity I waved at her I couldn't help myself To my surprise

She turned to me She put down a buck Tilted her head and met my gaze She looked bored Frustrated even There I was some random man on the street waving at a young woman In the privacy of her home

I was being an idiot Then she smiled at me And I fell in love This warm genuine emotion She was so happy to see me She was eager to meet me I could tell I had to go see her

I ran across the parking lot Crossed the street and went around the back of the building But as I put my hand on the door to the apartment complex I felt a tiny drop of a wall water in the back of my hand. For a moment, it made me stop, just long enough to think. As one drop turned into a hundred, I snapped out of it. This was too strange.

I'm not a bad-looking man, but finding myself running across the street and knock on a stranger's door. That ain't me. I wasn't being myself. Maybe the same thing had happened to Reggie. I wiped the rain from my face and went inside. I hadn't even noticed the strange blue mesh bags used for garbage piled in a corner of the hallway. This time, I felt a bit more observant. But I still walked up those stairs, and I still knocked on that door.

Not just to see a pretty face, but to ask questions. This time, she was home. I knocked three times firmly. Come in, a soft voice spoke. I just want to ask a few questions. questions, I said, about a friend of mine. Come in, the voice repeated. I took a deep breath and felt the handle.

It was open. This wasn't right. A lone woman letting a strange man into her apartment at this hour. Sure, this wasn't a big town, but this was just odd. Shouldn't she at least meet me at the door? I couldn't see a shine from the peephole. She was nowhere near the door. door. She wasn't even looking out.

Do you mind coming out for a sec? I asked. It won't take long. Come in. I'm sorry to bother you. It's just... Come in. My stomach slowly turned as a chill crept of my spine. I let go of the handle and backed away. I'm sorry. Can you hear me all right? I think the door... Come in. Oh.

She heard me. No way she didn't. Was she mocking me? I need to talk to you. I'm not coming in. No response. A shadow suddenly blocked the light from the people. Someone was looking out at me and I hadn't even heard a move.

I took a step back, leaning against the wall across from the door. I should leave, I said. I'm not... Come in. This time, The voice was harsher, insistent. It wasn't an invitation anymore. It was a request.

I felt my heart skip a beat, and I'd just get backing further and further away from the door. As I reached the stairs, I heard a mechanical sound. A click, a lock. I peaked down the stairs. I could see someone by the exit, a shadow locking the door from the outside. Reggie? I didn't get time to think as I heard her creaking sound. The front door was opening.

She was coming out, and whoever they'd been downstairs disappeared into the night. Come in! This time the voice was dark, bubbling, like someone speaking underwater. All I got was a short glimpse. A gorgeous brown hair hiding a strange face Scaly skin that changed tint As I looked at it

Too many eyes Some blue, some brown Some striking green The components of the beautiful woman I'd seen Scattered about something Wrong I would have stared at her forever Had I not been instinctively backing away

I lost all balance As I reached the edge of the stairs And I tumbled backwards It felt like an instant, like no time passed at all. I was suddenly on the ground floor looking up the stairs. I was bruised, my leg twisted. Behind me, I could feel the front door. Locked.

Come in, I heard from the top of the stairs. Come in, come in, come in, come in. Her face peaked around the corner. It was rearranging, making itself pretty. discarding old teeth to regrow new ones little white molars dance their way down the stairs only to turn to dust she was changing hair colour to black

and a skin to a Mediterranean tan she was starting to resemble my first girlfriend I closed my eyes and turned to the front door I heard clumsy footsteps slowly make the way down the stairs behind me as I pounded on the door I screamed for help forcing myself to my feet another footstep. Come in.

I kept screaming for help, pounding on the thick glass. Come in! There was a sudden heat near me. Someone warm and inviting. The smell of exotic fruit shampoo. Something resembling a hand reaching out to me, brushing against my jacket. Then someone stepped out,

one of the old men from the bookstore, the bedless one. Instantly, I heard the footsteps behind me turn hurry back up the stairs. The man unlocked the door as I scrambled out of the complex. My twisted leg couldn't support me, so I fell flat onto the pavement, crawling backwards, away from the thing I'd seen and smelled. The old man looked confused. Call the police, I stammered. Call them to...

Oh my God. The old man brought out his phone and darted the emergency number. He kneeled down next to me, putting his hand on my shoulder. Are you okay? he asked. Did the man do something to you? What? The man? That young man by the stairs? Did he hurt you? I just sat there on the pavement. I barely even moved until the police came. I told them I'd been attacked. I told them there was something wrong with the one living in the Moray apartment. I told them about Reggie, about the girl in the wall.

window. I must have just kept babbling on and on and on as they took me away back to their squad car. The owner of the bookstore just looked at me apologetically and waved goodbye, giving a short statement to one of the officers. I don't think they did a damn thing to whoever or whatever lives in that apartment. I think they did nothing, found nothing, and just chugged it up to me being hysterical. I'm getting mixed messages depending on the officer I ask about it. One says no one lives there, another says they're out of town. One claimed it was some sort of storage. No one has given me a straight answer. I think Reggie is still out there. I think something was done to him, but I don't know what. I think he lost himself to whatever lives in that apartment.

And sometimes to this day, I stop by that corner store to see if there's someone in that window. And sometimes... There is. I studied the VHS tape. It was one of those popping shells, the ones that have an open slot in the center, we can throw in a camera cartridge and watch your home movies without having to process them at a film store.

It was exactly what I was looking for. Any idea where this came from? I asked. No, the man replied, wiping away about a quarter of sweat that had gathered. sweat that had gathered in his beard. The rest of it kept dripping on the remainder of his strange wares. He watched me with utter disdain, but I gave it another shot.

Really? Where did you find it? Like, come on, a little bit of background would be nice. It's not a boutique buddy. You're at a flea market. You either buy it or you can get lost. It's too hard to deal with this detective nonsense, he said. But then, probably because I was the only customer at his stall. his tone softened. Got it from a storage unit auction. That's all I can tell you. I don't keep track of this stuff.

I just sell it. That's all the information I needed. I paid the man and took my mysterious prize home. Back in the early 2000s, I consumed YouTube vlogs like there were fine caviar and I was a Russian oligarch. There was just something about being able to kick back and become an invisible observer

in someone else's existence. that really got to me. Don't get me wrong, I was in some desperate basement dweller. I still had a functioning life of my own. But when evening came and all of my responsibilities were checked off, I'd jump behind my computer desk and take a break from reality. I'd sit back and watch hours upon hours of other people's lives. I watched a lonely man beat cancer,

a promising student struggling with pills, a teen mother who cracked under the press. pressure of a new responsibilities. I watched people overcome and spiral and regress. I watched slices of raw humanity from all across the globe from the comfort of my own home. I got to get a taste of fate I never would have considered otherwise. A bunch of people speaking to inanimate objects reminded me that the world outside was faster than I could ever conceive.

Then the internet money rolled in and ruined it all. As soon as the people bearing their soul into the camera lens realized that they could get paid, all of the honesty seeped out of their videos. They built up the drama to get more views. They started hiring editors to make them look good. They started to advertise products that no one really needed. Whatever bond I felt are the lives that I have observed for so many years. It was broken. That rawness of human stories that I craved was gone.

But I still craved it. That's when I started going to flea markets and buying abandoned home movies. What I found on those assorted VHS tapes and unlabeled DVDs was much better than anything I could hope for with YouTube. These people acted completely natural, the awkward pauses, the obvious annoyances, the grumpy people who didn't want to be on tape. It all made it so much easier to imagine that I was the same. there. The fact that they didn't know I was watching made all the difference.

Voyeurism, I know. That's what my girlfriend called it. She's my wife now, and she still calls it that. But what is marriage, if not a dissent, into accepting your partner's quirks? She treats the dog like she's our daughter, and unless she starts breastfeeding, you won't hear me complain. My flea market bargain trips usually get an eye roll out of her, but they was never any yelling involved. As I pulled up the driveway, however, Laura was waving her arms around, yelling. Three hours? Are you serious, Ryan?

Three hours out of the city for some stupid tapes. Betty obediently stood by her, gazing up at her as if she was some Greek goddess. A little sausage tail wagging a bit when she saw me walk up the porch. But after a quick glance, she shook her head and looked back up at my wife. I was just a background character in that dog's life I could have told Laura that all the markets around the city limits were taped out that any unmarked tapes I could find around town usually ended up being recordings of movies from television

with the advertisements still kept in but I didn't this wasn't about the tapes what's wrong I asked there's something broken in Betty's neck I need to take it to the vet and my husband husband decided to drive out to some cornfield and look for some strange tapes. Laura hissed.

The dog shook her head again and again. They aren't strange. They're... Echoes of the therapists that we stopped going to bounced around my school. This was not the time nor place for that argument. Something else wrong? I can't find a passport. Every other bit of documentation I have.

But I've looked all around the house and I can't find a passport. Laura's anger gave way to fear. The dog shook its head again. See, look, there's something wrong with a neck. I was going to ask her why the hell she thought she needed the dog's passport for a vet check. But I didn't. I just shrugged. I haven't seen it.

Well, I hope they'd take us without it, she said, as if the chance for Betty's neck getting checked out without the travel documents was slimmed and none. I'll call you when I know what's wrong. Can you do the laundry? left the whites by the machine, just need to put them in. Laura made a way to the car with a dog. Betty shook her head again. God, I hope you're okay, Laura whispered to a pet.

I'll need a glass of wine when we come back, she said to me. My wife and the dog drove off. I was just about to close the washing machine when I noticed a pair of my red boxes peeking out from the pile of whites. When I took them out, I noticed Laura's blue. university t-shirt. In my haste to get my mysterious tape, I didn't check if the laundry was sorted. It wasn't.

The sorting couldn't have taken longer than two minutes, and for 30 seconds I tried, but my eyes kept quickly drifting to the television in the corner of the basement. The prospect of sorting through my dirty laundry instead of indulging in someone else's seemed like torture. I turn on the tape just to get a glimpse of what I was getting into. Then I'd go and do that thing my wife told me to do. Within seconds of turning on the VCR, I knew I wasn't going anywhere. The tape was exactly what I was craving.

The timestamp in the low right corner read June 14, 1994. We were inside of a fancy house, nice marble staircases and all paintings of mildly imbred aristocrats filled the screen as the camera shook and bobbed around the the wedding reception. Whoever was behind the lens had no idea what they were doing. The zoom and shake of the video made it barely watchable. It was perfect. I could imagine standing there among the fantastically dressed guests,

watching someone swinging around a hulking piece of Sony in utter confusion. A group of children wearing miniature suits and dresses ran by the camera. The boy made faces and giggled. one girl in a yellow dress waved to the lens Jesus Jessica where were you I've been looking for you A host female whisper cut through the hub above the reception I jumped from my remote to turn up the volume I'm just recording stuff

Mary said she wanted a video of today Jessica replied as she zoomed in on a very old man staring out into the ether Well there's a problem the other voice hissed What's wrong The crowd walked around the old man like he didn't exist. Jessica swung the camera at a particularly uninteresting part of the carpet. Merit X is here.

He's freaking out of the gate demanding they let him in. Is it Tard? Jessica pronounced the word Tard with the same intonation one would pronounce terminal cancer. I think so, the other voice whispered. Damn. For a split second, I saw a pair of nervously clasped. hands against the bright blue dress, but then the video cut out. Complete darkness.

My phone dinged. They took us without the passport, thank God. I ignored it and stared at the screen, hoping that another part of the story would flicker into existence. After a couple waves of static, it did. A courtyard with a view of a stunning mountain range. In it, a bride and groom, the woman, a Venus of the 90s, a man had chiselled jawline with too much gel in his hair.

They were smiling at each other, but the camera was too far off to tell whether those smiles were genuine. In front of the possibly happy couple was an array of wooden chairs seating the guests of the wedding. Beneath their feet, a sea of sparkling calm gently swayed. A layer of crystal glass divided the family and friends. friends from the pool below them. A man next to the camera kept on coughing.

Someone next to him whispered something, but that didn't stop the coughs. The couple kept on looking at each other. Then the video cut out. The darkness of the screen dragged on. For a split second, I even considered getting the laundry out of the way. But just as I was about to reach into the washing machine

with Laura's orange stocking, Another image crackled to life on the screen. We were back in the courtyard, but he was in a considerably worse state. Cigarette stubs peaked out of the once impressive stone floor. Empty and sometimes broken bottles were all over the place, and where there was once a sea of calm, there was now a shell of a pool filled with broken furniture. Even smashed up with rough axe cuts,

the dresser and chairs still looked expensive. It was evening, August 19, 2002, and the groom from eight years ago was wearing a dirty pink bathrobe. The man aged a couple of decades. His hair was gathered around his shoulders in thick, greasy clumps. A patchy beard of graying hair now covered his chiseled jawline. You really hurt me, he said. A cigarette hissed in his mouth and a controlled madness burned in his eyes. You changed me

I used to like people I used to want to do some good in this world I could have done some good in this world The man bent down and produced a bottle Off the floor But you hurt me You hurt me so bad I just want to see everything burn

The man continued ranting and raving But as he walked away from the camera His words fell to a static filled whisper I turned up the volume as loud as it would go, but the only thing I could hear was the chirping of cricket, intercut by a steady, bassy tone. Out in the mountains beyond the courtyard, there was a grouping of little tents.

A man was going quietly insane in a fancy house as people across the valley indulged in cheery techno music. I was watching someone go insane on a summer evening. The tape was being, better than anything I could have hoped for. The man in the bathrobe took a pull from the bottle, recoiled, and then smashed the thing against the mountain of furniture stacked in his pool. He screamed.

I heard that part. You ever talk about the fire with Todd? You ever talk about how much you wouldn't want to burn alive? The man was back in front of the camera now. He was swaying from side to side, clearly off balance from whatever was in that bottle. Of course you don't. All you two talk about is vapid nonsense. All you do is waste his stupid lives, stuck in meanness gossip that doesn't matter. But you know what? You know what? The man paused. A gentle gust of wind blew his filthy bathrobe apart, revealing far too much

of his malnourished body. For a second, he tried to pull the flimsy bit of pink cloth back around his jagged rib cage, but with a frustrated sigh he gave up on his drunken hands. Memories of wasted night in high school filled my head. I remember how the world spun, how impossibly bright and quick all the headlights were as I stumbled my way back home, how difficult it was to stand upright with my blood full of booze. Once the body is so far off in the deep end of the whiskey pool, there's only one way to moment's voluntarily regain balance. The man on the television squished his face into an effort-filled wink.

For a blink, I was standing there, in his ratty flip-flops, watching the triple vision of the world focus into a singular, blurry image. I love you, he mumbled to himself. He tore his eyes away from the camera and stared down at his dying cigarette. I love you, but I won't love you for long. No, I won't, because I'll be dead, and you'll be dead, and he'll be dead. The world will burn. The man reached behind the camera and produced another cigarette.

But he didn't light it. He studied the stick of tobacco for a bit, and then put it behind his ear. How much do you know about fire? He asked, reaching down. You don't know nothing about fire, he hissed as he re-emerged off screen. with a jerry can. I've been reading my great-uncle's books. They say old Vernigig was mad.

But could a madman build all of this? Could a madman create an empire out of nothing? Could a madman... He spilled a bit of the gasoline out of the can as he waved around his arms. This calmed it down somewhat. The madman's voice dropped to a whisper. The music across the valley slowed down to a steady, low heartbeat.

I've been reading Vernis' experience. books, and I know more about fire than your feeble mind ever could, he started. The words that the man spoke came out in a controlled whisper, but the ideas that lingered in his monologue flickered with madness. Fire was not a tool that humanity discovered. It was a portal to another realm that our primitive ancestors had stumbled upon and were too simple to comprehend. He spoke of flames as if there were hands, as if the flashed. of chemical energy that burst out of a bonfire with fingers from a different world

that were desperately trying to claw themselves into our realm. My uncle warned of the power that exists in the fire. He spoke of Alexandria, of Pestigo, of Bois to Casier, of fires that ravaged humanity. But he spoke of them as if there were mistakes, as if we were lucky that the flames were put out. He was wrong. The man was a genius,

But in this one essential thing, he faltered. Each time that the burning god emerged, humanity was given a chance of becoming pure, and they spit out the embers of freedom. Every time that the burning god's arrival was postponed, it was a tragedy. But even that tragedy can be brought to rest. He went over to the pool and started pouring gasoline on the broken down furniture.

As he poured, he spoke. but he was far too away from the camera's microphone. The music across the valley started to grow in tempo. The man started to punctuate his inaudible rant with manic shouts. I will summon him, he shouted. With the techno music playing in the background, he sounded like a misguided DJ, trying to hype up a tired dive bar.

After the can ran dry, he produced another one and resumed pouring and rambling. The man might have emptied out his pool and filled it with chopped up furniture, but he was far off in the deep end. Less than a year and a half after I got out of university, I also got out of my first real relationship. Five years of raw connection in the trash and unemployment to boot. I was desperate for any form of affirmation in my life. I bought dozens of pick-up artist books that offer the teach me the secret to making women want to sleep with me. me. Watching that broken man pour gasoline all over the antique furniture, a part of me felt his pain.

It's not that difficult to fall for a cult when your heart is broken. My phone dinged again. There's something in bed his ear. Doctor say he's not serious. She's such a trooper. Laundry done. I barely looked away from the television. The man in the bathrobe was done with the pouring. He was back in front of the camera now. A cigarette dangled. from his lips. He was thinking. Fear broke through the mania in his eyes. He turned around and looked at the festival across the valley. The sun had set by then, but bright flashing lights flashed across the darkening sky from the music-filled tents. The man let out a desperate groan. For a second, it looked as if he would walk away from the fire to be, as if he

would give up on whatever ritual he was trying to perform. But before he could give up, his right hand flew through the air. He slapped himself, dropping his cigarette. After he picked it up, he slapped himself again. I will summon him, he screamed at the camera as he lit up his smoke. And he will burn the world. He took one long puff of his cigarette and threw it into the pool. For a moment he simply stood there

A man in a filthy bathrobe With dark mountains stretched out before him He looked at peace Whosh Boom He screamed in a way that I didn't think was possible For a growing man to scream He screamed and ran through the courtyard

Burning He spun in place like a wounded animal shedding his bathrobe But as the flames behind him started to to consume the furniture, his body propelled him away from the inferno. Screeching and limping, the man ran towards the camera. He knocked it over in his escape, but he kept recording. The fire soon drowned out his agonising cries.

Only his burning bathrobe remained. Out across the valley, the tents lit up with another colour, a flashing of blue and red. For a couple beats of the far-off techno, I could see the sun. iron lights travelling down the mountain road, but the flames quickly cut off my line of sight. My phone dinged again. I didn't look at it. I was so enthralled in the video that I had started chewing on my shirt collar.

Haven't done that since I was eight. The flames reached out into the night sky like clawed fingers. They grasped at oxygen, growing, roaring, demanding more. The fire spread throughout the screen. I tilted my head sideways to see better. The inferno beckoned to me. I was on my feet staring into the television. It was as if the fire was calling for me, pulling me in,

demanding that I joined it in that crackling universe of energy. In the cool air of my basement, I felt warmth. I reached out for the television. You should have seen the size of the thing they pulled out of her ear. We need to be careful when we let her run in the... Ryan? Ryan, what are you doing? Laura stood on the stairs.

Betty squeezed herself past and gave my calf a lick before jumping on the couch. I was... Uh... My eyes shifted towards the open washing machine. Her gaze followed mine. You didn't do the laundry. Great. Absolutely great.

Come on, Ryan, we talked about this. I don't ask for a lot. I just want... It took me a second to realize she stopped talking. As she spoke, my eyes drifted back towards the screen. Out in that burning hellscape, I could see something move. I could see a beak.

Two orbs of blue flames stared back at me. I tore my attention away from the Eldridge God and back towards my wife. sorry what are you watching she walked down the last couple of steps with a controlled anger that cracked as soon as she saw

what was on the television Jesus Ryan what the hell are you watching it's uh some guy was going through a bad divorce I think so he tried to sit the world on fire burn himself in the progress

and now there's as hot as the inferno on the screen was her icy stare cut through me She inhaled sharply, turning her words into cold steel. That miss belongs in an evidence locker, not in her house. Laura stomped away up the stairs, with Betty barely making it past the door before she sland it. I turn my attention back towards the screen. Whatever presence I saw hiding in that fire was now gone.

The flames still tore through the sky with animalistic fervour, but the beast's eyes were gone. The fire roared on for a couple of minutes until its thunderous cry turned into a hiss. A burst of water was softening the flames. Soon enough, firefighters were talking about how they wished they could have stayed at the festival. As they sprayed water over the gasoline-filled pool, one of them proceeded to give a five-paragraph essays worth a description of a red-head bartender he once saw in the 90s. I thought about rewinding the tape, about going back to that moment

when I saw those burning balls of light hiding in a storm of bristling energy but I decided against it upstairs I could hear a court get angrily pulled out of a wine bottle I sorted to the washing machine turned it on and went to get a wine glass I'm sorry I said

she was on the porch puffing on a cigarette with one hand and scratching Betty behind the ear with another. She didn't look at me as she spoke. You can't keep doing this, Ryan. This isn't about the laundry. This is about you not being reliable.

You can't just drop everything to indulge in your voyeurism. I try to remember all three parts of the three-part apology thing that our therapist kept on rambling about back in the day. I'm sorry for not being reliable, and sometimes acting like a child. I'll try to do better next time. Her lack of yelling made me reconsider therapy for a spit second. So, Betty okay now?

The dog wagged a tail at the mention of her name. Oh yeah, she was a real trooper, held still for the dock, shook a bit but didn't move ahead at all. Everyone in the lobby kept on saying how cute she is. Asking about Betty would always get Laura talking. We finished off the bottle of wine, watch some terrible reality TV show, made love,

and now Laura is sleeping on my chest. Betty's curled up by her feet and seems to be having a dream that involves a lot of biting and running. There's a nice summer breeze outside. I should be sleeping. The thought of going back to the basement and rewining the tape was there

as soon as we finished the wine. But Laura wanted to watch some scripted reality TV show about hot people looking for love and a beast. and I figured I'd be a good partner and indulge with her. The question of the sentient inferno disappeared during our little fiery bout of passion. But now they're in post-coital and cuddled up, I can't let go of the memory of those hungry claws. She's a light sleeper, so if I move, she'll wake up and be disappointed, and I don't want to disappoint her. She might have a weird relationship with a dog

and a horrible taste in entertainment but I'd probably be burning furniture without her Maybe she's right Maybe the video does belong in some evidence locker Instead of our basement All of this is bouncing around my head And I can't get any sleep So I figured I come to this little insomniac corner of the internet

And vent for a bit I'm torn between the mystery of what that desperate man brought into our world and being a decent husband. My wife just mumbled something about how I should go to sleep. I think the light from my phone is keeping her up. I think I should just go to sleep. There used to be three of us. We were the only kids who lived on Lantern Street, by far the poorest neighbourhood in town.

That was a long time ago, and I haven't thought about it in ages. But a few weeks ago, something happened that just... Well, it changed everything. But to get the full picture, we have to take a step back. Lantern Street originally had another name, but no one calls it that. It was always just Lantern Street. It was the only street in town where they refused to fix the damn streetlights. So instead, the locals put up solar-powered lanterns.

It had this dark and ominous feeling to it. Some parents refused to let the kids play there, as it was on the far side of town and in a poor area. Still, kids interpreted this in the worst way possible. A dark street at the end of town, we are not supposed to go? Of course there was something wrong with it. That's where we lived. Me, Dawson and Abbey. Abbey was the oldest and her.

had four years of me. Dawson was about two years older than me. At that age, those numbers meant something. It was true. Our parents weren't that well off, but we made two in our own way. We couldn't play any video games, and we had to use the computer at the library. But we didn't mind. We didn't know any other life. The three of us did pretty much everything together. I was an only child, but I was a only child. But I was a little child. considered those two to be my brother and sister. We were the Lantern Street kids and we stuck together no matter what. During Halloween we had an ingenious idea. For one night we took down all the lanterns so we can have a completely dark street. If kids wanted to pass

from the north side of town to the west without crossing the highway, they had to pass by lantern street. We figured we'd make sort of a toll and really spook the place up. It was the only time of year when kids regularly passed by after all. See, we had this neighbour. He lived on his own with his two cats, and he had these strange paranoid delusions. For example, he only accepted mail if it was directly delivered to him by hand. He refused to drink that water without boiling it. He covered all his windows and cardboard.

But the strangest thing by far was that he thought the government was that he thought the government was going through his garbage. His solution? To bury his trash in his backyard. It created this awful stench and everyone living next to him had complained about it for years. But, just like the streetlights,

the city did nothing. This was our meal ticket. This creepy, paranoid nobody. We started spreading rumors around school. We started saying that he was chopping kids' heads off and burying them in garbage bags in his backyard. We even named drops some kids who'd moved out of town years prior, implying that they might have never made it out.

We were trying to give Landon Street a bit of reputation so that when Halloween came around, we'd be there as brave protectors and guides for those who wanted to pass through safely. All it took was a few pieces of candy. That way, we could just stand around and do nothing and still get a ton of candy. It was brilliant. When Halloween rolled around, we dressed up in cheap costumes that we made ourselves.

All our parents were working night shifts. Abbey was a pirate and Dawson was a ghost. I was trying to be a gangster, but it was just my Sunday finest with a fancy hat. I'd painted a mustache on my face with permanent marker. Big mistake. We'd taken down all the lanterns. Abbey was placed up front to play up how scary the street was and letting people borrow handheld lanterns,

which we'd just taken from around the street. Dawson was in the middle of the street, pretending to be a lookout and, making sure it was safe to go through. He paused kids passing through sometimes just to play it up and asked them to hurry up when the strange man was on the move. I was at the end of the street To take the lanterns back And take our fair share of their candy as payment

Hell we placed an old shovel on the sidewalk outside his house Just to make a point Sharp old thing still And I gotta say It was flawless Even the kids who had their parents in tow got in on it It was this harmless Halloween kind of thing to do It was just stupid

bit fun. No one really believed the stupid rumors about the guy kidnapping kids, so instead they just kind of went with it. We were the lookouts and we were handsomely compensated. No one would be taken by the spooky man with a shovel tonight. I've never gotten more candy on Halloween than I did that year as a lookout on Lantern Street. Eventually, we noticed we'd started something we didn't completely control. Some kids got genuinely disturbed by the rumours, and even though the lanterns were put back up, some kids asked us to be lookouts long after Halloween was over. After all, our neighbour was often seen with a shovel in hand.

It was pretty much the only time you went outside to bury garbage bags. Whenever someone had to pass through Lantern Street, it wasn't unusual for them to ask us to watch their backs. Hell, it was free candy and Pokemon cards. How could we say no? This influenced the street at large, though. Some parents were genuinely worried when they heard their kid talk about some strange man threatening to kidnap them.

The rumors were like a death from a thousand cuts. Every new rumor or alleged sighting had an effect, and it came to the point where my parents told me to just stop talking about it. They rarely cared, no matter what I did. so to have a serious talk with them usually meant someone had pressured them Abby and Dawson had a similar experience we agreed collectively

that we would no longer provide lookout services but even though us lookouts try to distance ourselves from the rumours it was too late our neighbour was a genuinely strange man but he wasn't dangerous he just kept to himself a lot and didn't trust the government

That was enough for the rumours to take on a life of their own, which is why we knew there would be trouble when we saw a police cruiser parked outside his house. This was a man who genuinely distrusted government officials and the police. There was no way he would cooperate or comply. He refused to let them in without a warrant, and he refused to talk to them. It all escalated to the point where,

after three days of officers trying to reach a peaceful solution, they finally got their warrant. I have no idea how, but this is a small town. The result. He locked the doors, barricaded the windows, and refused to let anyone in. Four police cars were parked outside, and it was starting to look more and more like a siege. Everyone was locking out their windows, despite officers yelling at us to stay inside. I could hear every word shouted from a megaphone from my bedroom window. Finally, they broke the front door with some kind of sledge.

I don't know why he did it, but the second the police entered the house. He fired at them. Someone got hit. He didn't stand a chance in an open firefight. It was over in seconds. I'd never heard a sound like that. Three houses away, I could still hear the screams and I hid under my bed. I probably stayed there for half an hour, just waiting and holding my breath.

I could still hear the gunshots echoed down Lantern Street. Word got out that the rumours weren't true. Sure, he'd buried garbage bags in his backyard and there was a lot of strange things in his house, but nothing particularly illegal. No drugs, no bombs, no plans to kidnap. up innocent young children. It was just this paranoid shut-in, deluded into defending his home

with a legal purchased weapon. It was chaos. No one wanted that property. It was torn down within a year. When the next Halloween came around, there were new rumours about Lantern Street. They spoke of a psychopath ghost, evil spirits,

and a vengeful murderer. The fact that an odd but innocent man had been gunned down was not the story. Among the kids, he was still scary from beyond the grave. God, we were dumb. I thought a lot about it. Being responsible for someone's death just felt unreal. As a kid, it was difficult to even grasp. No one talked to us about it, checked if we were okay. There were no counsellors for dirt poor Lantern Street kids. And Abbey and Dawson? Well, we just didn't talk about it. I think, in a way, that we tried to believe in our own rumours.

We tried believing in our own lies. In time, Lantern Street outgrew us, and even the lanterns themselves went away. There were new streetlights put up, and a convenience store was built on the empty lot. Rumours started growing more obscure, and over time, the street was just known as the place where they shot that weirdo. But as the years passed, we left it behind. Abby moved when she got into Minnesota State, and Dawson moved cross-country to live with his long-distance girlfriend.

And me? Well, I moved to Minneapolis to pursue her career in law enforcement. I guess I was inspired. That was my life, until a couple of weeks ago. I was coming home from a long day of work. As I parked my car on the driveway, I noticed several streetlights had gone dark. One more was flickering, about to go out. It brought my mind back to those days with Abby and Dawson being lookouts on Lantern Street.

I looked them up on social media, but I couldn't find any active accounts. Abby stopped posting about four years ago, and Dawson stopped two years after that. I couldn't find anything about them. It took me 45 minutes of intense googling before I found Abby's second account. On a final post dated four years ago, people were commenting on how much they missed her. She was dead.

I got this awful feeling in my stomach. I couldn't find anything about Dawson, but from the way people were commenting on his images, I got a feeling that something had happened. something people weren't too keen to talk about openly. As the clock crept closer to midnight, another light went dark outside. I was wide awake as I got in bed that night. For the first time in years, I slept with the lights on.

It was just too dark outside. As I drifted off to sleep, there was a sudden pounding on my front door. I jumped out of bed as the sound stopped. It was so strange. I started thinking I'd imagined it, so unexpected. I put on a t-shirt and crept closer to the front door. No one in sight, but every light down the street had gone dark by now. And there, on the side, I caught a glimpse of a pale light.

A lantern, perhaps. This I could buy my mind for a solid week. I waited for the street lights to be replaced. but no one ever came. It was history repeating itself. I'd looked up as much as I could about Abbey and Dawson, but I couldn't find any specifics about their passing. The only thing I found, which might be the weirdest thing about it,

was that they had both died on their birthday. The same year they turned 31. That got me thinking, and I dug a bit into the case of her old neighbour. Turns out he was just 31 years old. when his house was raided. That just gave me the creeps, seeing as my 31st birthday was coming up. I started noticing things.

The street lights were just the first thing. There had been holes popping up in the front yards around the neighborhood. When the garbage truck came around last Thursday, there were no garbage bags to pick up. They just collectively gone missing, causing much confusion. But the most telling thing, by far, was a solar power.

a lantern, I noticed hanging from a bird's tree across the street. Every night I anticipated a pounding on my front door. I'd only heard it once, but once you start anticipating something, it is hard to relax. I'll be the first to admit I wasn't handling it well, and it felt silly to talk about. It was all just superstition and coincidence, right? Sometimes as I drift off to sleep, I get the feeling that someone was standing in my room, someone showing themselves just as my eyes closed. Sometimes I twist my head and spring my eyes open, hoping to see him. But he was never there.

But as soon as I drifted off to sleep, I jolt back up again, expecting something to happen. Last Sunday, something did happen. I'd been to dinner with a friend of mine when I got back home. only to see my entire front lawn covered in holes. A sturdy odd shovel was leaning against my front door. At first I was terrified, but it gave way to anger. I asked my neighbours about it, but no one had seen anything. Most had been out, working.

I didn't want this to intimidate me. But it did. It absolutely did. I just stand there looking out my window, as if the holes in the yard would fill themselves in. There were more lanterns in the bird's tree across the street. Some people had even started carrying them. And maybe I was imagining this,

but I'd started seeing a few more stray cats than usual. And was that a blue sunflower growing next to my mailbox? That night I brushed my teeth before bed. There was another pounding at the front door. This time I'd jump to action. I brought my handgun with me and ran. I pulled the door open, only to see two faces I barely recognized. Dawson and Abbey.

They were my age, just standing there, holding one lantern each. In their other hand, they were holding some kind of fabric. It wasn't until much later that I realized it was their old Halloween costumes. A white sheet, a homemade pirate hat. They just stared at me with these blank, expressionless eyes. They didn't blink. Dawson wasn't even looking directly at me. His head was sort of turned away.

I didn't even notice I was aiming my handgun at them. And still, I couldn't put it down. Something in me was screaming at me that this was a threat. I just couldn't tell how or why. Abby raised a lantern, giving me a better look. She had this long scar across her neck. Jagged, nasty thing. With the lantern, she pushed her head into place.

It was slowly sliding off her shoulders. She'd been decapitated. I took a step back, forgetting how to breathe. They were just standing there, illuminated by this pale light. For a few seconds, I just looked at them, trying to make heads or tails of what I was seeing. Then, they moved. Dawson was first.

He stepped right on in, letting his head fall all the way off. It bounced of the stairs, leading up to my front door with a meaty smack. He left his old costume behind, dropping the lantern, and just came at me with his arms outstretched. Abbey stayed behind him. I was a breath away from firing when something turned my whole world upside down. Someone tripped me from behind. someone who was already inside. He must have gotten in through the backyard.

For a moment I just laid there, looking up at the ceiling. I felt a foot pressing down in my hand as I dropped my pistol. A headless body came into view, and the faint light of a solar lantern casts soft shadows over me. There were so many hands and feet. I still have trouble recognizing how many there were. Your birthday is coming up, Abby weezed. Get your affairs in order.

She didn't move her lips. She didn't move her eyes. And looking down at me, she had to use both hands to keep her head in place. Inches from my neck, a shovel slammed into the creaky floorboards. Someone pulled a bag over my head. It smelled like candy. I heard footsteps as they just left me there. I think there were three of them, all in all.

It felt like that day when I'd hid under my bed as a kid, just waiting until it was all over. That was me again that night, just waiting long after it was over. It must have been over an hour before I dared to move. I just curled up into a fetal position and cried, All I have to prove that they were ever here is a shovel. I've reported it as a home invasion, and I'm taking time off of work, but there isn't much time.

If the pattern holds up, something awful is going to happen to me, and I don't have the slightest idea how to handle it. I can't eat, I can't sleep, I keep dreaming I can't breathe, and I sometimes wake up with this immense pressure on my neck. I don't know if this is all just nonsense. I don't know what will happen. But just in case I go away and stop responding, I want there to be some kind of record of what I've seen. And if you know Lantern Street, and if you know me, please, just try to do something, anything.

For me, it is too late, but it might not be for others. I'm posting this not long before I turn 31. If I don't return, you know what has happened. Look out for the broken streetlights. Pay attention. Maybe visit a priest. I'm just hoping I'm crazy. I pray that I am, but I don't think I am.

Did you do it? Did you mail them? Terence leaned against my cubicle and raised an eyebrow. Uh, I was going to put them through the letter box, I said, struggling to remember when and what I told him. seemed like a waste of time to go to the post office and actually mail them. She'll get them all the same. He nodded.

Marriage is tough, he said. How long? Sixteen years. He whistled between clenched teeth. That's a fair stretch. We had to do counselling ourselves. Nothing serious, you know. But it's easy to stop looking at the other person as, well, a person.

Sharing secrets is a good way to open that communication back up. That was a fair point, and I nodded to show my agreement. Not that I wanted to get into any of this with my boss. It was personal business. I wasn't even entirely sure how he knew we were having problems, let alone what homework we'd been given by the therapist. Look, I began to say, while gesturing half-heartedly to my computer, I've got work to, what did you write?

He asked, what was your secret? The question caught me off guard, and I'm sure my face showed it. But Terrence was unfazed. Come on, tell it, he added. I decided to lie. I wrote that I don't enjoy a cooking as much as I say I do. Oh, please, he groaned while rolling his eyes. We both know she doesn't do the cooking.

How? The thing about marriage, he said, while suddenly pulling over an empty chair and sitting on it so close to me that our knees touched. The thing is, you've got to learn to trust one another over and above anything else. Does that make sense? Up close, I could see sweat beating on his forehead. No, I stammered. Put it like this, he said.

You haven't had her first secret yet. You might be wondering if she was going to post it to you, like the exercise required, or if she was going to slip it onto the kitchen table one morning, or if she would just hand it to you one on one, no expression, nothing to say other than a, this is yours sort of thing. But that doesn't really matter, does it? You need to learn to trust that she's going to get it to you no matter what.

That's the bond between you. So why concern yourself about the details? Why worry about the how and the why of it all? You need to put your faith in her. Still smiling, he reached into his pockets and removed an answer. elegant cream envelope the size of a playing card. My name was written on the front in my wife's perfect cursive. Terence gently placed it on my lap and went to get up.

But as he leaned out of his chair, he stopped just as his face was closest to mine. I've had that in my pocket since the day I hired you. He said, before walking away with cheery confidence. astounded, unnerved, but not quite afraid. Not yet, anyway. I opened the envelope and read what was inside. Unlike you, Terence has never had any choice in the matter. What the hell?

I muttered, and I stood up to try and find where my boss had gone. He was standing in his office, staring right at me, one hand on the sliding door that leads to the balcony outside. He smiled and gave me a wave before opening them and stepping out into the open. Then he began to jog and like a swimmer taking a dive he jumped headfirst over the railing.

They laid a rubber sheet over what was left of him. I wondered if at some point someone would have to come along with a special equipment and scrape my boss off the street. Until then they couldn't just bag up. him, not in that state, and certainly not all of him at once. I think it'll be best if you don't drive home. The police officer was a stern woman in a 40s,

luminescent yellow jacket, hooded eyes, a thin line for a mouth. I found it hard to maintain eye contact with her. You've been through a lot, she said. Do I need to make a statement? I asked, and the jittery washed out sound of my own voice surprised me. Helpless and afraid. Like a child after a big temper tantrum. The CCTV footage is fairly clear cut, she replied. We might contact you at a later time, but we can't see any reason this won't be ruled as self-inflicted. Right now, I'm most concerned

about you. Do you have someone you can call? She glanced at my wedding ring. No, I said, with a firm shake of the head. I'd like to see a doctor first. That's the smart thing to do, the policewoman replied. You look like you're in shock. She took my arm and guided me to her car, a bright yellow monstrosity. I'd grown up hiding from cars like that,

ducking under bushes and stopping out joints or emptying cans of flaga into the soil. Climbing into the back felt incredibly wrong, but I let her guide me into my chair and felt oddly grateful for it. What I wanted in that moment was for the world to start making sense again. She seemed to exude their confidence,

like she'd seen it all and knew what to expect. She turned the ignition, and it started to rain. I thought of Terrence's remains, going runny in the water, swirling down drains like raspberry ripple, and I had to shut my eyes and clear the images. Are you sure you don't have anyone to call? The policewoman asked.

I opened my eyes and saw her angling the rearview mirror to get a good look at me. My wife's away on a work trip, I lied. I'll talk to her after the doctor. I just don't want to worry her about nothing. She appeared to chew on this for a while before speaking again. It's hard, she said, having a spouse who's always away. for work. My husband, when he did come home, oftentimes it felt like he weren't even there at all. Quiet, disinterested. Good with the kids, but when it was just us, he shut down. I nodded,

unable and unwilling to engage in conversation. He was a good man, just not a feely-feely kind of man. Mind you, if I had one of them, I probably wouldn't like. I zoned out, put on my head against the window and closed my eyes. I focused on the sound of rain against the glass and let my mind go blank. Unlike you, Terence has never had any choice in the matter. The words were an intrusion, and I sat up straight to try and stop them sticking. All it takes is a look now and again, or a gentle squeeze of the hand, or even just the fact he comes home at all. I guess what I'm trying to say is that love isn't always expressed the way you expect it to. Geez, I thought, she's still going on.

I mean, look at a dog, right? She continued. They expect love to be expressed by sticking a nose of their ass. But over time, they learn that being scratched behind their ear is just as good. The food, the water, the shelter. Our love may not be in the same language, but they understand it just as well. They know, and that's what I think you need to take forward. forward with your wife. Same way a dog owner has to make lots of decisions on the dog's behalf,

when to have a bath, when to go for walks, when to be disciplined, when to be castrated, when to be euthanized. Well, your wife has to make tough decisions all the time too, and you may not understand them, but you just need to remember that it's all done out of love. Thoughts were trickling into my mind a little too fast. What's happening? What did the letter mean? Why is this woman saying these things? Why does she look so afraid? I looked outside and saw that we were pulling into an old industrial estate. In the distance, the city rumbled.

But out here on the other side of the river, there was muffled silence. Even as a kid, we didn't come to places like this. Where are we going? I asked. I tried to get a close lock of my surroundings. The rain was so heavy that the world had turned a sudden twilight, and I could barely make out the shape of the road through the water-dabbled window. She laughed. You've been staring at the window so long,

but you haven't once looked at the seat beside you. My heart sank. I could have sworn the seat was empty when I got in. Surely I would have noticed. I looked and saw it. A letter. You should be a little more observant, she said, as we rolled into an empty lot. Its sole occupant, a red brick building with faded white letters.

Even through the rain, I could recognize their name on the side. It belonged to my wife's family, a long-abandoned milk bottling plant. Then again, maybe not. Who knows? She let out a nervous cackle. Maybe being unobservant is what's kept you alive for so long. A little dumbstruck I reached over, took the cream envelope and opened it. Everything I have, and by extension, everything you have too,

is because of them and what we do on their behalf. When I looked up, the policewoman was gone. I hadn't heard the door go, and the keys were still dangling in the ignition. but the engine was no longer running. I took the letter into my pocket, next to the other one, and noticed an umbrella and flashlight had appeared on the seat beside me,

where the envelope had sat just moments ago. I wondered if it was possible that I'd zoned out enough that I'd failed to notice the policewoman leaving, or even leaning over to put a few things on the back seat. It didn't seem feasible, but then again, my head felt all wrong ever since Terrance had approached my desk. Maybe my memory was just a bit spotty.

Maybe I'd miss the policewoman leaving and wondering off somewhere. Maybe she had an answer that meant all this would make sense. I just had to find her. I opened the door and stepped out into the rain. With nowhere else to go, I approached the old bottling plant. It was a mishmash of just. jagged chimneys and broken windows, its walls covered with threadbare graffiti that screened obscenities at the world. Once upon a time, they'd bottled half the milk for the city in those walls.

Other properties with a family name still dotted the city, some still active, others abandoned like this one. All of that was my wife's domain, the sole daughter of wealthy parents who didn't even live to see her enter a teens. She'd been running the family's estate since before we met. She was an impressive woman, my wife. I'd seen old men with bulldog faces sent scuttling out of our kitchen with their tails between their legs. Rich and powerful men put in their place by the woman I shared a bed with.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't find it thrilling. Hello, officer? I shouted the words into the darkness with one hand on the doorframe. Thunder boomed behind me, and the rain fell even harder. I could hear it inside the building, where it must have found its way through cracked tiles and broken windows. For some reason, the sound made me think of camping. Inside, an old conveyor belt took up most of the floor, trolleys full of old milk bottles.

One had overturned and coated half the ground with smashed glass that crunched under my shoes. Up high, I saw an office that overlooked the work floor. A metal stairway that once led to it had since collapsed and lay in one corner. A heap of rusting iron. Unless someone climbed the wall or brought a ladder, that office was off limits and had been for decades. An isolated island that drew my ground. curiosity.

When I show my torch at the window, I caught sight of something retreating from the light. A passing shadow maybe, an animal, I hoped. But it killed any desire to try and get up there. I cried out once more in the hope that I'd find the policewoman and I wouldn't have to stick around for much longer. Hello? Is anyone there? I spun in a slow circle and listened carefully.

My light found some graffiti covering an entire wall. They don't like the light. The words plucked at something in my chest and left me feeling hollow. Was this the same they as in the letter, I wondered. I glanced back at the office window revealed nothing, although I wasn't even sure why I looked. What did I expect to see? Beneath the graffiti, I found a set of stairs that led to.

to a lone door, a scrap of luminescent yellow fabric hanging off the door handle. Is anyone down here? My voice sounded increasingly desperate. I had to push hard against the door to create a gap big enough for me to squeeze through. With just my head around the jam, I got a glimpse of the obstruction. Dozens of old boxes and filing cabinets had been dragged and dumped against the frame, a poorly constructed barricade. I climbed over it, carefully picking my foot holds like I was descending her deadfall.

On the other side was a derelict corridor with broken bulbs in the ceiling and peeling wallpaper. Several doors ran along both walls. I dried the closest room and found a 70-style office with most of its fittings removed. Plaster had been smashed and wires were in the process of being stripped. A few plastic bags full of copper wire were piled up against the wall. In another corner lay some cardboard flattened like a bed. I wondered if whoever had slept there was the same person who'd gone looking for copper, and if so, why had they left it all behind?

The only other thing of note was an old safe as tall and wide as a man. Its vault door, ajar. I pulled it open and found that the safe was hollow and without a back. Behind it, a hidden tunnel carved into soil, its walls buttressed with sagging wooden beams. Screw that, I muttered quietly before pushing the door shut and moving on. The next room was almost completely empty. No carpet or linoleum, not even plaster on the walls. something rust-brown stained the floor in a metre-wide splash.

It surrounded an old drain like a halo. Nearby was an old dentist's chair with frayed leather straps that had been turned over on its side. For a second, I thought I can taste the spray of aerosol blood, but I put it down to my imagination. I tried another door and found an empty space with three boxes covered in a white sheet stacked against the wall like a pyramid. It was a display. Hundreds of handprints had been pressed onto the plaster behind it, printed in either blood or feces.

I couldn't tell. They radiated outwards like an explosion. Hundreds, maybe thousands of hands. And they varied in size from an adult man's to the chubby paws of a toddler. This was not the work of a single crazy person. It felt religious. cult-like, the workers perhaps? I approached the altar and saw that there were faint imprints of dust

where objects had once sat central to the entire scene. When I turned to leave, I caught sight of another message that had been scrawled on the wall behind me. Those who dwell in the dark, love you. Beneath the words was something that resembled a cave painting of a maggot crossed with an elephant. This was another nope moment for me, and I left the room as quickly as I could,

terrified at the way the darkness seemed to solidify as my mind processed the words. There were a few doors left, three on the wall opposite me, and one at the far end of the hall. I consider checking each one, but I found it hard to imagine the policewoman waiting patiently in one of these rooms with a sensible explanation.

I was about to try anyway, when I heard the faint clink of glass bottles rolling around the factory floor. I hesitated, not sure what the best response was. It was probably just a policewoman up there, I told myself, but feverish imaginings kept me from running up there to find her. Slowly, the corridor filled with a smell that made my nose, wrinkle in my eyes water. Sour milk poured over sun-baked roadkill.

It inspired a disgust, more powerful than anything else I'd experienced. An evolved repulsion meant to keep curious apes away from black carrying shapes lurking in the undergrowth. Every instinct I had was at war with a rational part of my mind, and in the ensuing panic, I froze. The paralysis only broke when the barricaded door jerked open an inch. Something was on the other side

and my mind raced with images of what I'd seen that day. Not just the altar or the gurney with the bloody straps but Terrence as well. Broken, smashed, pulped smiling fearfully as he leaned close to my face. What forces could

make a man do what he did. Before the door could open any further, I decided to hide, carefully slinking towards the office and the secret tunnel. I opened the safe and tried not to panic at the sound of the barricade coming apart just a few meters away. I'd already turned my torch off by this point, but a copulent green shimmer was slowly filling the entire basement. I slid inside the metal box. and tried to pull the door shut behind me. Not all the way. I had images of myself suffocating.

Quietly, I maneuvered through the tunnel with my breath held. Much to my relief, it was barely 50 feet long. On the other side, a room. Stone walls straight out of an ancient temple. Ancient slabs of stone, as big as a man, laid on top of one another. and all around me laid dozens of archways with sloping grounds that led deep into the earth. And yet, juxtaposed against this mausoleum, piled up against the farthest wall, was a misshapen pile of children's backpacks, lilac, pink, green, yellow, red.

Whoever owned the Mario 64 backpack at the foot of the pile would be old enough to have children by now, I thought. but somehow I suspected they never got that far in life. The pile rose as high as my head, and there at the top of the slope was the source of what little light I had. A grill set into the ceiling. I had to hope it led to safety. All thoughts of the policewoman were gone by now. I would have stolen the car if it meant getting the hell away from whatever it made that smell.

The bags made a poor ladder. For each successful foothold I found, it took six or seven failed attempts. I could feel the entire mountain compressed beneath my weight. I stopped only once when that god-awful smell finally found me. I risked the torch and briefly shone it behind me and glimpsed something awful filling the tunnel. I didn't let my eyes linger, not even for a fraction of a second. But whatever it was, it hit me.

my sensory organs like a breeze block. My eyes rolled back in my head. My diaphragm shrank until my lungs screamed. And the next thing I knew, I was hauling myself out of the grill and into fresh air. Whatever was down there, it felt almost radioactive. I had no control over myself. I stumbled to my feet, glanced around the empty lot, and realized I was mere feet from the door

of the bottling plant I'd fled. Nearby lay the police car, although now the headlights are on and the sun had nearly set. I stumbled towards it, desperate to flee. I didn't bother getting in the back. I opened the driver's side and clambered in.

Someone had set the heaters to run and I was thankful for it as I sat there shivering. Before I put it in gear and drove away. Something nagged at me from the passenger seat. Another letter. I took this one out without fanfare.

I know what they are capable of, and a few children is a small price to pay. I thought of the mountain of backpacks, and I took the letter into my pocket. I'll give you a shot. The doctor grumbled. Not much else I can do. Just a bunch of scratches.

It'll help if you told me what happened. I got shoved into a dumpster, I replied. He merely grunted. as he pulled the cap of a syringe with his teeth before sticking the needle in my arm and pushing the plunger. How's Seffy doing? He asked as he wipes my arm down with a cotton swab. I shrugged. All right, I suppose.

You know since you were kids right. What were our parents like? Cold, funny, clever. Like Seffy, I replied. Uh-huh. After giving me my shot, the doctor stood up. over by his desk, back turned to me, and lazily filled out forms with a scratchy pen. The room was poorly lit and small. Outside, a torrential downpour that, if it continued,

would quickly burst the river's banks and make the news. There's nothing wrong with you, he turned and shrugged. Looking at you, I think you just need a glass of water and some sleep. I'll get right on it. I found it hard to move. I only had one other place to to go. You need me to call a taxi to get you home, he asked. I just, I saw someone died today, I said. Ooh. The doctor nodded like it all suddenly made sense. That was where you work, wasn't it? I saw the news. They brought him here. What? They brought him here for the post-mortem. This place mostly handles the city's dead. He said it like it was the mildest piece of

trivia he knew. Very little treatment actually goes on here. Only a few private patients are registered with us. You can thank Seffi for being on the list. A long silence. Something about this place was creeping under my skin. Maybe it was the poor lighting, darkness behind every door in every corner. Made me think of the stuffy old manners Persephone tore me through every time we visited some distant relative or wealthy socialite. Old money doesn't pour its resources away lighting every room in a mansion and sunlight won't go very far in a house with 62 rooms.

Take the wrong turn and you'll end up staring down a corridor so long it has a vanishing point. Ice cold and eternal twilight. Doesn't matter what time of day it is. Some places never feel bright or warm and the clinic was no different. What few lights were on flickered overhead intermittently, and they only cover the corridor I'd been led down. Everywhere else lurked in shadow.

They don't like the light. I might have something to help, the doctor suggested, after the silence stretched on a little too long. Give me a few minutes. I'll see what I can do. What? He marched out to the room and left me alone. I waited as the seconds rolled into minutes. I felt like a fly stuck in a web,

waiting while the spider attended to other more pressing business. A part of me felt like I should be struggling, looking for a way out of this place. The longer I stayed, the stronger the feeling became. Eventually I stood up, unable to sit kicking my feet for any longer. I looked around, old medical posters of the cardiovascularist them covered the wall, their corners peeling and their colours faded. The doctor's desk was a mess,

papers everywhere. I slid a few over and saw the inevitable. I figured, I muttered when I saw the cream letter lying amongst the things. I took it, hesitated to open it, but did so anyway. After all, it wasn't snooping. It had my name on it. and I recognised my wife's handwriting. They could take anything they wanted at any moment. It read, They do not need our cooperation. They merely enjoy it.

A part of me had spent the drive over putting some serious mental distance between me and what I'd seen in the basement of their old bottling plant. But those words brought it all back like a rising tide that couldn't be stopped. Without wanting to, I retraced the memories, flashes of corpulent green and trembling white. Her silhouette glimpsed in the tunnel.

The face. Jeez, he was almost human. Do you want to come with me? The doctor was in the doorway. He didn't acknowledge the letter in my hand. Do I have a choice? I asked. Yes, he nodded.

But not the one you think. I followed. I could give you a pill, he said as he walked ahead. A left turn, a right turn. He moved quickly through the hallways and downstairs. I felt like I was being led deeper into a maze. The clinic was huge. But what you really need is perspective.

A small room, a metal door as thick as my arm. It was only when the doctor holed open with both hands an ice-cold air washed over me and I realized the room beyond was a walking freezer. It looked like it was full of some kind of body suits, maybe like the ones the hazmat guys wear.

But then I saw the faces. Eyeless, distorted, pale. They glared at me from the shadows. I found my feet rooted to the spot and a wave of panic washed over me. Don't worry, they're just things. The doctor hit the light, and I saw him smiling inside the freezer.

On either side of him, rose of what looked like Halloween costumes, rubbery sheets of human skin dangling in loose outlines of the human form, shapeless and empty. There were many different faces among the racks, old and young, an array of people laid out like appetizers. One of them had feet that didn't reach as far as the rest. A child. Marriage is tough, he said as he ran a finger across one of the racks.

I cringed at the sight of those things in motion. I'm surprised Bersephani bothered with it, given her station. Carefully, like a tailor, he took one of the suits off the rack and held it up for me. Don't look away. His words were impossible to ignore. I examined the front of the suit. A woman in her twenties perhaps It was hard to tell

She had a small scar on her chest Blemishes on her arms and face A ring of blood scabbed around each eye Once the doctor was satisfied That I'd gotten a good look He turned the suit around And I saw a slit in the skin That began at the nape of the neck

And ended at the coxics The knowledge required to fit something As large as a van Into a space this small He slid a finger into the hole and held it open for me to see the crimson underside of flayed skin is a thousand years ahead of you

but to us it's as primitive as rope my mouth went dry I felt parts of me loosen without really changing the doctor's features took on an unusual expression I suddenly became aware that I was looking

had a bad costume and I got the strangest sensation that he had far too many vertebrae. Persephone is asked that you remain unharmed, he said with a mouth that dripped tar. But deals are not made by proxy and she doesn't have the authority to speak on either our behalf or yours. Her value to us is clear. We use her family's assets to siphon meat, skin and pain from your rancid world. Why would we ever extend the same protections to you that we do to her, especially now that you've gone sniffing around our business?

A halo of darkness extending around the doctor, his human form dissolving into shadow until only eyes and a mouth remain, like some psychotic Cheshire cat. I took a few steps back and fell the door behind me. It was half open. I found myself wondering if I was quick enough to do it. if I was ready to test myself against this living inkblot that hurt just to look at. That question, by the way, he said with a voice like grinding rock, wasn't rhetorical.

I turned and slammed the freezer door and locked it from the outside. I stumbled backwards and expected to hear the monster raging against the door. But there was only laughter. The clinic was bigger in the inside than the outside. endless corridors and rooms, cold steel slabs, tables with sharp instruments that hurt just a look at. The place was mostly empty, but occasionally I would catch sight of a passing shadow or hear approaching footfalls, and I would be forced to duck into the same room and hide. Fertive peaks revealed nurses and orderlies wandering past with a casual boredom of someone at work.

They looked human, but I couldn't bring myself. to trust them. Everything in that place had an air of the sinister about it. The rooms didn't help. One of them was like a kennel. Roes and rows of dog crates all lined up. I didn't think for even a second they ever once held dogs. Packs of crayons stuffed into the bars made that much clear. But I didn't have time to dwell too long on any of this. I hadn't forgotten the doctor. He was surely coming after me, and I hadn't forgotten his question. For the first time since the day began, I found myself hoping to see my wife. Whatever twisted game she'd organized for me, whatever sick and inhuman conspiracy she

was embroiled in, she might at least offer some slither of protection. Those had done in the dark, love you. The same words as the factory, only this time they were engraved in a brass plaque and bolted to a door. I pushed past it and looked inside, desperate to retrace my steps out of that damn place. A morgue, or at least some analogue, rows and rows of metal drawers for odd cadavers. In the centre, a steel table with straps for the ankles and wrists. From behind, I heard muffled voices and struggling feet. A young woman was sobbing. Two Audley's dragged her by the wrists, nowhere to run or hide.

It was sheer luck that the man never looked up, too focused on keeping their quarry in tow. I had no choice but to enter the room and begin looking for a hiding place. Meanwhile, their footsteps and the woman's hysterical sobbing continued to get louder, and I realized with the dreadful lurch of the stomach that they were making for the room I was in. desperation gave me an idea. I opened one of the metal drawers and saw a pair of skinless feet glaring back at me. Damn.

I tried another and another until at last I found one empty. I pulled it open and climbed on top, suppressing a reflexive gag as my mind took notice of the foul-smelling fluid that had pulled along the bottom. This drawer was only recently vacated I realized, but there was no time to look further.

I climbed inside, slid into the coffin-like darkness, and then pulled the hatch as close as I could without it actually clicking shut. Just in time, the door swung open and the men dragged the woman into the room and, with little effort, strapped her in. Her screaming only subsided when they left. In a way, I was lucky, because when I finally opened her. the drawer and climbed out. Her renewed shrieks didn't seem to bother anyone and drew no attention. I couldn't blame her for damn nearly losing her mind. She was living through a nightmare,

and the sight of a mall drawer slowly opening and a body climbing out must have come close to pushing her completely over the edge. I ran over and begged her to be quiet. I told her I was stuck inside just like her. She didn't believe me at first, I think. Or at least, she didn't stop crying and shouting for help. Not even when I unstrapped her. I hate to fight her to stop her making a run for the doors. They'll catch you, I hissed in a whisper. You have to be quiet or they'll come.

She didn't manage a response. Both of us were shocked into silence by the sound of footsteps approaching from the hallway. When I opened the drawer, she was lying there. Eyes shut and finally quiet. For the first time since I'd seen her, she was no longer sobbing or screaming. The sound of a captor's raising the alarm and running out of the room must have helped to realize this wasn't some strange ploy. I genuinely helped to avoid a grim fate. Thank you, she stammered as I guided her off the metal slab.

A quick glance at my ruined clothes and she whispered as an afterthought. I'm sorry. It had turned out there was only one empty drawer, and out of pity I let her take it. That had left me one of the occupied slabs, where I had been forced to crawl on top of its occupants and wait there, breath held, as its rotten fluid soaked into my clothes. Let's just get the hell out of here, I replied. I think I know a way, she said. I asked her what that was, but instead she grabbed my hand and laid. led me out of the corridor and down another.

With some trepidation and double backing, she eventually found yet another cold-looking room filled with desks and chairs. I tried this last time, she said, all pointing to a window high in the ceiling, but I couldn't reach it on my own. Do you think you could give me a boost? I didn't even bother answering.

I grabbed a whole bunch of the desk and had used it to break the window. I then knelt down. and knitted my fingers together for her to stand on. She was halfway up with her head and shoulders through the window. When I smelled it. Rotting, ancient. Behind us the door creaked open,

and there was a sound of uneven feet limping across the floor. The woman hadn't seen. She didn't know. She just kept asking me to give her a push. And, as the seconds dragged on and I failed to help her, her words and voice became increasingly desperate. Her hand at my shoulder, the doctor's voice. It wasn't rhetorical, he said once more,

and his words drowned out the sound of the woman's screams as she turned and caught a glimpse of the thing behind me. Why should we extend any protection to you? My front door. It was night time. Beside me stood the young woman from the clinic. When she smiled, it was with too many teeth and blood that seeped from the gums. She pressed the doorbell a second time, and it swung open.

My wife, an earnest smile. Despite everything, she looked homely. Doctor, she said with a nod. Persephoney. That voice coming from a young and feminine face was unsettling. The doctor was rubbing my face in it. He wore the woman's skin with savage joy. They had made me watch him take it.

The doctor shoved me through the door and I stumbled inside. I heard a few quiet words exchanged between my wife and that thing. And then the door was shut and she was standing over me with one eyebrow raised. Tough day, she asked. I could only shiver in response. Come on, let's get you cleaned up. They've been agitating after you for a while, she said as she dried me off. She was gentle with a towel, a kindness I don't think I deserve.

They enjoy difficult decisions. I'm thankful you made the right one. Are you human? I asked. Mostly, she answered, at least where it counts. Over time, you'll become like me, but we'll never be anything like them. We're just emissaries, I suppose. A halfway point.

Do you love me? Of course, she smiled. Why else would I ask that you be given a choice in this matter? I didn't have to. I didn't have to buy a building and fill it with people just so you can go to work every day and feel fulfilled either. Didn't have to pull strings to get your father on the transplant list after his accident last year.

Didn't have to ensure your sister's unpleasant boyfriend met an easy. even more unpleasant end. I've always looked after you, and I was right to. The choice you made today. I mean, it was one thing to save your skin by offering up the woman. That was inevitable, really. But what you've given up for me, that was touching. I remember the doctor's words, wet and dripping,

his voice seething with sadism. You could have your wife's position, he told me. and all that it bestows. But we don't need two caretakers for such a regional empire. She would be redundant. Offer her to us and show us that you are better suited

for the role that she enjoys. It is either that or you will have to find another offering. It won't be half as easy and the reward won't be half as great. We need to find a child, I said. Not just any child,

she replied, before suddenly bursting into smile and tears. Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, she cried as she hugged me. You could have chosen to give them me instead. It would have been easier, so much easier. And this way, I know that you really do love me. I promise you, in the long run, it'll be worth it. I couldn't bring myself to look into her eyes.

Now, are you ready for the final secret? She asked. She handed me the envelope, and I opened it with wet, shaking hands. I am two months pregnant. They like toddlers, she said. The child must be old enough to have some semblance of a personality. They need to understand what is happening to them. We will have to wait until they're at least three years old before we hand...

She kept talking. As something inside of me died. If anyone ever... ever asked me to name the best three people I know, Russell Allison will be the first name out of my mouth. We've been friends since high school and in the 20 years since I've never had any reason to doubt his honesty, loyalty or kindness. He's always just been the best guy I've ever known. He's also the unluckiest person of ever known. Russ's mom ran off when he was a baby and his father spent most of his time either working at his.

welding job or sleeping off a combination of the day's work and the night's booze. He had no siblings and before we got assigned as partners in 10th grade biology, I'm not sure he'd ever had a close friend before. I like to say that his luck changed as he got older and for a while I thought maybe it had. He had a good job at the meat processing plant on the edge of town. He'd started dating this girl, Stephanie, that he was crazy. about, and his father, while still not the warmest guy, had certainly mellowed out in his latter years. But then about two years ago, Russ's dad died suddenly of a heart attack. He was heartbroken,

but between Steph and me, we got him through the part he couldn't get through on his own. I remember how much I appreciated Stephanie back then. She was patient with him, and they really did seem to have a good relationship, better than any I'd ever managed anyway. There was a time when I thought they'd get married and live happily ever after. Six months later, Russ came to me, eyes red and voice trembling. He told me that Stephanie had been cheating on him since before his dad died. And at first I defended her, said he must have made a mistake and that she didn't seem like the type to cheat. but he just shook his head cutting me off, told me that he'd been suspicious for a while,

and when he confronted her, she'd finally admitted it. I asked him if she'd said who it was, but he just shook his head, said he didn't get a chance to even ask before she dropped the next bomb. She was pregnant, and it was Ross's. Breaking up with her wasn't an option, he said, not with a baby on the way. I tried to point out that he could still be a good father without being with the mother. But he wouldn't hear it. Just kept saying he wasn't going to be like his mom.

That unlike him, the baby was going to know from the start that it was loved. I let it go after that. What else could I do? It wasn't my choice and he'd already made up his mind. And surprisingly, for a time he seemed... Well, if not happy, at least... at peace with his decision. And he was so excited about the baby.

I still found it hard to be around Stephanie with everything going on, but I'd meet up with Ross to make sure he was doing okay and give him a sounding board for all the big life decisions he had coming his way. When Carmen came, everything seemed to change. Ross wanted me to come over more, and at first I was hesitant. But to my surprise, it wasn't as awkward as I'd been afraid of. The baby was the focus now, and seeing the two of them seemingly getting along and happy,

well, it made me happy too. And when they asked me to be Carmen's godparent, I didn't hesitate to say yes. But eight weeks ago, things started to go sour for us again. He got laid off from his job at the plant, and with work hard to come by he wound up delivering groceries for a couple of the local supermarkets just to make ends meet

I offered to help but he wouldn't hear of it told me he'd take the help if they really needed it but that for now they were okay and maybe they were at least for a time

but I could see the cracks forming between him and Steph she hadn't gone back to work since giving birth and her attempts at finding a job in the past couple of weeks hadn't borne any fruit. I wasn't sure how to feel about their growing distance or whether I should mention it to either of them. Then, one day last month, it ceased to matter.

Stephanie had been driving to a job interview when she lost control of a car on a sharp curve near the highway. Her car stopped when it hit a large oak tree head on, but she kept on travelling, making it through the windshield and 30 feet of scrubbed grass before finally coming to rest. I took it hard, but nothing like Russ. He had been grown strange already, but after Steph died, I went over to see him and check on the baby every day,

and I will say he was doing a good job on taking care of Carmen still, but he seemed haunted. He barely ate or slept, and while he would always welcome my visits, he usually just sat in a corner, quiet and fidgety, as though he was anxiously waiting the next bad thing that would surely come. Maybe he was. I felt sorry for him, so helpless to make it better. I tried to tell myself that with time, things would get better. With time, he would come back to himself. But I wasn't so sure.

I'd lived and seen enough to know that sometimes a person just broke for good. Some trauma, some betrayal, some string of bad choices or terrible luck, and they were just never the same after. Something vital inside had been too badly bruised to ever fully heal. That's why I got so excited when Ross called me one night. He told me he had something to show me, something he was really excited about, and he was wondering if I could come over right away.

His voice was still jittery and strange, but at least something had sparked his interest again, however small or short-lived that spark might be. I didn't hesitate. Thirty minutes later, I was in his kitchen, staring down a rusty metal box with a dark slot in the top. It was about the size and shape of a cash box, but there was no visible handle, latch, or even a seam.

Above the small slot was an artist's rendering of a devil wearing clown makeup, one clawed hand gesturing to a logo or name painted in thin, uneven red letters. The Joker's Wild? I looked up at Russell. What is it? Like a piggy bank or something? He glanced at me and then back at the box, licking his lips as he quickly shoed. shook his head. No, it's a game, an old card game. I picked up the box gingerly, turning it this way and that. It wasn't especially heavy, but you could still tell there was something inside. Feeling along the bottom, I felt a small bump that turned out to be a tarnished brass button.

I gave Russell a questioning look. Do you think it's worth some money? Maybe you could sell it to an antique place or look it up on the internet. Might be some rare weird thing people would pay big bucks for. His eyes widened slightly. Oh no, I wouldn't do that. I love it. I've been playing it. And now I want you to try it out too.

See what you think of it. I gently set the box back on the table. Um, yeah, maybe later, okay? I glanced past him toward Carmen's room. Hey, how's the baby doing? Think I can go peek in on... I stopped as Ross gently grabbed my arm. Mark, I want you to try it now, okay?

I want to see what you think. It means a lot to me. I met his eyes and could see that not only was he serious, but he... Well, he looked on the verge of crying about it. I tried to force a smile. Jeez, okay, man. I don't know what the big deal is.

I'll be glad to try to try. it. Pulling out a chair, I sat down. Is this something we can play together or how does it work? He sat down across from me, his face solemn. No, it's only for one person at a time. It's not a normal game. It's more of a prank thing, I guess. I started to ask a question, but he was still going, picking up the box and handing it back to me. That button on the bottom, you hold the box and hit the button. It'll spit out a card with a prank for you to do. Then you just do the prank. I look down at the box again and then back at Russ.

And that's it. How do you win? What's the point of the game? He gave me a small smile. You'll see. It's interesting and it'll make more sense as you go. Licking his lips again, he glanced back at the box. Go ahead, try it.

I felt a nervous twist. in my stomach, but ignored it. This was all weird, bordering on creepy. But if it made him happy, what was the harm in playing some antique truth or dare game? Screw it, I owed him that much at least. So, I pushed the button. There was a small rustling sound inside the box, and I could feel something staring in the box as a three-note medley rang out from within.

Ding, dong, ding! After a moment, a white card shot out of the slot with such speed that I let out a gasp and almost dropped the box. Russ let out a small laugh. It's just a playing card, you baby. He was right. The back of the card was red and gold, decorated with the same lyring devil clown that was on the box itself.

But the front of the card had no suit to numbers. Instead, there was just a single line of dark text. Tell your sister, you hit a car. I read the card again before looking up at Russell. It saves for me to tell my sister I hit a car. He grinned. Well, there you go. Easy enough.

Go ahead and call her. I didn't return his smile. Russ, where do you get this? His grin faltered as he. gave a non-committal shrug. Just found it at work. Well, not at the store, but in the trash outside of one of the deliveries. It was just sitting up on top, and it looked cool.

At first, I was like you. I thought it might be worth something because it's old, right? But then I decided to try it and... Well, it works. I set the box and the card back down. Yeah, but how does it work? And how do you know the rules to it? Did they throw out a manual or something too?

Russ was frowning now. I figured it out. Oh, close enough. Just call her, okay? Just do it so you can keep playing. Grabbing the card, I held it up to him. And that's the other thing. How is it this specific?

What if I didn't have a sister or she didn't have a car? And how old is this thing? Would it even have cards talking about cars? I flicked the stiff paper of the card with a light thwack. And how are the card so new-looking when this thing looks like crap? His eyes had grown wide, and as I watched, his bottom lip began to tremble. When he spoke, it was barely above a whisper. Please just call Karen.

Tell her you hit a car. Swallowing, I nodded. I didn't understand, and Karen was going to be mad and... Damn man, the whole reason I have a car up. my house is because she's still in Poland. It's like the middle of the night there. Can't I just wait to do it tomorrow? Seeing his expression, I picked up the box again. Or how about I just get a different card and... I'd hit the button once, twice, but nothing happened. Ross reached over and took it from my hand. Please, just call her. My stomach was full of cold rocks now,

and I didn't like how he sounded, let alone looked. Damn, okay. I pulled up a number and hit send, silently hoping she had the ringer off, and I'd have an excuse to get out of the whole thing. Mark, are you okay? I inwardly winced. Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, but, well, I just wanted you to know that today.

Well, I accidentally backed into your car, Did a decent bit of damage you, if I'm honest, but I'm sorry. There was a moment of silence before she responded. Her voice more awake now, but also more irritated. Well, okay, did you call your insurance yet? No, not yet, but I will tomorrow morning. First thing. Actually, first thing I'll do is have to call you and apologize for this terrible prank.

Okay, well, thanks for you. for telling me. Next time, just wait until the morning, though, huh? I have to be up in like three hours. Damn, yeah, I'm sorry. I looked at Ross. I just felt like it couldn't wait. It's fine. Good night, love you. And then she was gone. Sitting down my phone, I try not to look as irritated as I felt. Okay, satisfied... The relief on Russell's face was almost painful to see. What is the matter? Why is this such a big deal? He just held out the box. Hit the button again.

I frowned at him. I already tried that, remember? It's out of cards or whatever. And thank God. Seriously, what? You tried it before you did the last card. Try it now. I looked for some sign he was joking,

or that this was all an elaborate prank. But he looked intensely serious as he pushed the box over to me. Shaking my head, I picked it up and tapped the button on the bottom. Something inside immediately began to rustle. Ding, dong, ding! I dropped the box to the table, just as a fresh white card popped out the top. I could only read part of the writing from his position in the slot. Son and cat.

I pulled the card free. Go home and poison your neighbor's cat. What does it say? When I looked up at Ross, I could see fear there and sadness, but also the startings of shame. Ross, what is this thing? Where did it really come from? He rubbed the side of his face anxiously. I'll tell you all about it, just... What does it say?

I felt anger flaring in my chest as I threw the card at him. It says to go and poison my neighbour's damn cat. What is this? this man, are you trying to mess with me or something? punish me. Russ stared at me. No, why would I punish you? I pushed back from the table.

I don't know, but I'm going home. I see you tomorrow. He rose and waved me back down. Please, just please wait. I'll explain it. What I know, at least. Reluctantly, I took my seat. And then he began.

I did find the box making deliveries a few weeks ago but not in the trash I was on the north side of town dropping off to a woman I'd never met before when I got to the house the front door was open normally I'd just call out a couple of times and then head back to the store we have rules about going in you know

but I could tell from the house from the old covered car outside even from the neighbourhood this was some old lady She was probably getting groceries delivered because she lived alone and couldn't drive anymore And were the door open like that Well, I was afraid she could be hurt or something

So I went inside Calling out the name on the receipt Dolores I called it three or four times before she answered Told me to come to the living room This woman She wasn't just old She was ancient

Her hair was a long yellow yellowish white on one side, and the other side just starting to grow out from where it had been shaved. If she was 80 years younger, I think she was a punk rocker or something. As it was, I just tried not to stare as I edged into the room. Miss Winters, I've come with your groceries. I glanced around the room. Everything was clean and tidy. I couldn't imagine she did it herself.

She just looked so thin and frail. But when her eyes fixed on mine, I saw how sharp she was. How there... I don't know. I'm explaining this badly. She just seemed really real, real important. I don't know how or why, or if it was true at all. What I do know is that when she spoke again, her voice seemed young and strong.

Thank you, Russell. I stopped in my tracks. How do you know my name was Russell? She smiled. I must have called the store to see who is coming. Can't be too careful who you open the door for these days. I wanted to point out that she left the door standing wide open, but I let it go. Just then, she abruptly turned from me to point at something on the table in front of her.

The box? Take it, Russell. It's for you now. I remember looking down at the box and the next thing I knew it was night time I was home I thought I got in sick and blacked out or something

but when I checked with the store I'd finished all my deliveries on time and gone home I just didn't remember any of it the funny thing was when I went back through the records of that day's orders there was no order for Dolores Winters I tried to go back and find a house more than once actually

but I've never never been able to. I think it was all a dream, but when I came to that night, that box was sitting on the table, just about like it is now. At first, I was so freaked out that I was just going to throw it away, but I didn't. Instead, I just took it and hid it away in a closet before before Steph saw it. I never did let her know about it, not directly. The next afternoon, I snuck the box out of the house and took it to work, sat looking at it for probably an hour in the parking lot

before I got up the nerve to hit the button. It's strange, but I don't think it ever occurred to me that it wouldn't work. Russ led out a bitter laugh. I got a card just like you. and at first I was just going to dismiss it. I hit the button again but nothing happened and I certainly didn't plan on going to my boss's house and peeing on his front door.

Except I did. I couldn't explain it and I was scared witless of getting caught the whole time but for some reason I couldn't not do it. I felt like I was getting pulled into a black hole or something this terrible gravity kept dragging me down until I just gave in. He put his head in his hands.

I... That's how it works. Once you start, it has you. It won't seem like you've lost control. And then you find yourself obsessing, wanting to use the box, wanting to carry out it. He ladder the wet and terrible core of a laugh into his palms. It's pranks.

It doesn't matter what you want, only what it tells you. I didn't know what to say. He was having some kind of breakdown, or maybe he started taking drugs. Something was terribly wrong. And I just wanted to know how bad off he really was before I decided if I needed to call someone to get him help. Russ, not trying to be insensitive, but this sounds... Well, it sounds crazy, man.

I leaned forward. Look, you've been through so much the last few months. Maybe you're just, I don't know, overwhelmed. His eyebrows knitted together as his gaze turned hard. Don't patronise me. I'm not crazy. Even though I know it sounds that way. He shook his head.

I'm doing a bad job of explaining. Just a second. Before I could respond, he got up and went over to a kitchen drawer. When he came back, he had a stack of five. cards in his hands. Sitting back down, he slid the first card to me, like we were playing poker. I fought back the urge to recoil. This was the first one, like I told you. I followed his gaze down to the card. Urinate on the front door of your boss's home. Then the second, he placed his card on top of the first. Find an animal in your yard and suffocated.

his voice was trembling when he spoke again it it was a grasshopper a big one put it in a freezer bag damn it took so long i was crying by the end but i still did it ross what the hell he ignored me and went on laying down the third card cut off your right pinky toe he gave a hollow laugh this one i didn't mind it that much. It felt like I deserved it, but it was hard hiding it from you and Steph. Remember, I told you I dropped a can of my foot and that's why I was limping for a couple of days. I got it under control with antibiotic cream, but, well, everything would probably be better if I hadn't, right? Don't say that man. I don't understand what... Stop interrupting, okay. For a moment, I thought he might hit me. But then time passed. as though the air had gone out of him.

Just let me finish. This is hard enough as it is. I swallowed. Okay, yeah, sure. Go ahead. He looked at me a moment before nodding. With this one, maybe you'll start to understand. He laid down the fourth card,

and as I looked at it, everything else seemed to fall away. Cut Stephanie's breaks tomorrow morning. I shot up from the table and stumbled back across the room. What? No, you didn't. Tell me you didn't. My chest was burning, and I could barely see as tears swam into my vision. What is this? You wouldn't hurt her. You wouldn't hurt anybody. You say it. You say it right now.

He just sat there, silently watching me blubber, as I swayed against the kitchen wall. like a sailor and a storm-tossed ship. None of this made sense. It was all some kind of trick or revenge or... As I watched, Ross turned his attention from me to the box. Picking it up in trembling hands, he found the button on the bottom and pushed it. Nothing happened. The box tumbled from his hands to the floor as he clutched his face.

Oh God, oh God. It worked. Thank you, God. His eyes found me again. Mark, I'm so sorry. I didn't have a choice. I couldn't let it happen to her. I stumbled forward to grip the back of my chair. What, what are you talking about?

Fresh tears streaming down his cheeks. He handed me the fifth and final card. Cook your baby or give me to Mark. The box is yours now. It won't work for me anymore. His face sagged as he stood and picked up the box. You can take it with you if you want. Or don't.

I don't think it'll matter. It'll find you one way or the other. He pointed towards the door. Either way, I need you to leave. I can't risk you being around us anymore. If you leave without the box, I'll set it on the door. bench in your front yard. After that, I washed my hands of it. He swallowed roughly. And you, wiping my eyes, I shook my head. No, no way. You don't get to say all this nonsense and...

His expression grew stony. You don't get to decide how this goes. Neither of us do. He sighed and his voice was softer when he spoke next. I... I wrote your a letter, mailed it this afternoon, read it when you get it, and maybe, maybe it'll explain better than I have, but for now, I need you to go. Please, just go. I left the box behind. A half dozen times I almost went back, another half dozen I almost called 911. But every time something stopped me. Thirty minutes after I got home, I got a call. from Ross. Mark, I'm so sorry, I

can't do this to you. I'm going to take the box and try to destroy it. I tried before and it didn't work. But this time, I've still got Pops' old cotton torches in the workshop. I'm going to get it open and melt it down. Kill whatever is inside.

Kill it before I can make you like me. Then he was gone. I drove as fast as I could back to Russ's house, but it was too late. The workshop was engulfed in flames and there was no sign of Russ anywhere. I ran into the house and got calm and out, the wail of sirens filling the air even as I went to call for help.

It took less than an hour for them to put out the fire and find what was left of Ross inside. It took some pushing, but by the next day I'd learned they'd found him curled against the back wall of the workshop, far from any door. Maybe he'd gotten confused in the heat and smoke, or maybe he wasn't trying to get out at all. Either way, one of the cops told me he'd been holding two halves of a metal box against his chest when they pulled him out.

That was on a Tuesday. On Wednesday, I got his letter. Dear Mark, when I first sat down to write this letter, It was out of cowardice, but also out of spite. I know it was you that Steph had the affair with. She never admitted it, but I suspected for some time. The way you looked at each other, made a point of not talking about each other.

I know you both too well, and it hurt me. It still does. I loved you both so much, and to have you betray me like that? But it doesn't matter. By the time you read this, you'll know that I've done things that are far worse than either of you. One of the worst, maybe the worst of all, I'm going to do to you in a few hours. I'll be as honest with you as I can when we meet tonight. I really don't know that much after all.

Only that whatever is inside that box is evil and that I can't stop it. I've tried and I can't and I'm sorry. It's too late for me. It's probably too late for you too by the time you get this. Just know. I always loved you and Steph. That's why I never left her or confronted you. Despite the pain, you were probably the best things in my life.

Until Carmen at least. I can't let anything happen to her. Can't let that thing touch her. And I'll sacrifice both of us to make sure that doesn't happen. I hope you can understand that and forgive me. Your brother forever. Ross, I have temporary custody of Carmen and it will be a lengthy process, but Ross left behind a clear enough will that I should be granted full custody in a matter of months.

I don't know much about taking care of a baby, but I'm getting help, starting classes, and I swear I'm going to do everything I can, to make sure she has a good life and knows how much I love her, how much her parents loved her. Sometimes I worry that they'll find out about Mrs. Turwager's cat. It was dark out when I slipped the antifreeze into the water dish, but that doesn't help my paranoia or my guilt. I remind myself that I did it before Russ called, that the box is destroyed now, and it's all over.

me and Carmen are safe now and then tonight I hear a sound Ding dong ding just a small tinkling of music

I'd only heard twice but still knew right away and it was coming from Carmen's room I ran in and flipped in the light to find the baby gasping and choking her face turning purple panicked

I picked her up and tried to see what was wrong She was choking on something. I stuck my pinky in her mouth and fished out a wad of paper. The dark shade began to fade from the baby's cheeks immediately as she took an easy breath. But my relief was shot through with terror. What was that paper? Where had it come from?

Sitting calm and back in a crib gently, I looked around for the wad of paper and saw it a couple of feet away on the carpet. Hand shaking, I bent down and picked it up. It wasn't a what of paper, but a carefully folded card with an ornate back of red and gold. As I held it up to the light, I could see the clown devil's eye staring back into my own. Unable to breathe myself, I unfolded the card and read its message. Write it all down.

I had a doorbell camera installed after a string of package robberies and burglaries occurred in my town. Since I received packages fairly often, and my house was on a secluded road with almost half a mile between each neighbor. It seemed like a worthwhile investment for the security of my property. I've seen videos of strange occurrences and people doorbell cameras have captured, but never thought I'd be subjected to anything remotely similar to those compilations I've been. have watched, let alone what would ultimately transpire. I could control my camera and doorbell settings, along with view surveillance footage through the brand's app that also notified me whenever I received a visitor.

The doorbell camera detected movement up to the edge of my front yard and sent cell phone notifications if any activity continued longer than 10 seconds. The doorbell camera served its intended purpose over the first few weeks, recording a handful of deliveries I received, the mailman's daily visit, and whenever I entered or exited my house to the front door. The notifications got annoying sometimes, but the peace of mind it gave, allowing me to see who was outside my house before opening the door, made it completely worthwhile. It wasn't until about three or four months after installing the doorbell camera that I received my first anomaly. I woke up one morning.

to find a notification from the doorbell camera app, which occurred at 1.26 a.m. I would have been awoken by the doorbell if whoever it was had rung it, and initially assumed the camera just detected someone walking their dog or going on a late run moving past my house. Although I live in a rural area and of woods across the street for my home, people occasionally stroll by. But this was the first time I received a notification this late.

Intrigued, I opened the app to review the doorbell camera's footage. The infrared vision picked up the figure of a person with long light hair, slowly walking across the edge of my front yard. The person was too far away for me to make out any additional details, but I could tell it was a woman who stared directly ahead of her as she walked. She moved noticeably slow, pausing every two to three seconds before taking her next step, which were more so stiff twitch-like shuffles. At one point, she remained completely motionless for so long I thought the app had frozen,

until I caught the reflections of a few bugs darting across the camera. Three minutes into the video, the woman was no more than a fifth across the six. section of street in front of my yard. My eyes widened when I glanced at the video's time, which read 23 minutes and 48 seconds. I was already getting unsettled by the footage and slowly dragged my finger across the track to expedite the video. It appeared to just show the woman slowly making a way down the street,

never changing a posture or facing my house, and taking those slow, sluggish steps. I was relieved when she finally stepped out of the camera's view, but was left with a deep chill, sensing something about her wasn't right. Thinking it was a one-time instance, I deleted and eventually forgot about the clip. Four days later, I woke up to another notification occurring at the same time. 1.26am This video started out like the first

with a woman walking down the street at a snail's pace a knotty sinking feeling formed in my stomach upon realizing it was the same woman. Looking down at the video's length it read 15 minutes and 20 seconds this time I watched the whole video

the woman crept down the street in front of my house at an anxiously, unnaturally slow pace, maintaining the same posture and direction she faced. It wasn't until the eight-minute mark when her movements changed. After nudging herself forward about her foot, she stood perfectly still for about 10 to 15 seconds before pivoting 90 degrees to her right and facing my house. Sharp chills ran down my spine as I continued watching. After two or three minutes, the screen flickered and she reappeared standing in the middle of my lawn

before the screen flickered her second time and she returned to my front yard edge. I couldn't make out any of her facial details, but noticed she was wearing a light-colored gown which was arguably appropriate for the time of year. The most disturbing part about this particular video was how the footage ended. It literally went black as the woman continued facing my house, never showing her leave.

I tried downplaying it to reasons like a malfunction and started questioning the doorbell camera's functional integrity. I briefly considered uninstalling the camera but didn't want to because of these two videos, which merely showed me something that made me feel uneasy. After all, this was the doorbell camera's purpose, to document any movement on or along my property, then came the third video. It happened over a week after the last one. I woke up later than usual that morning and rushed out of the house so I could get to work on time.

When I opened the front door however, I released a semi-hysterical shriek and stumbled back in my house. The area of my front porch around the door contained large patches of bloody smears and splatter marks, small chunks of skin, and would appear to be red, fleshy meat, along with a set of red bloody footprints that started at my front door and moved down the stairs before disappearing on my lawn. I was about to call the police when I saw the doorbell cameras app notification. I felt nauseous upon reading the time.

1.26 a.m. and struggled to control my trembling hands. as I reluctantly played the accompanying footage. The video started, just like the other two, with the same light-head woman walking down the street in front of my house at that painstakingly lethargic, snail-like pace. I noticed this video was considerably shorter, lasting only eight minutes and nine seconds.

The woman crept about a quarter across my front yard before abruptly facing my house. I grew queasy when she did this, getting swiftly consumed by a smothering sense of dread. She stood motionlessly for about a minute before she began moving forward toward my house. My heart started racing as she made these slow, approximate strides, zeroing in on my front porch and appearing to lock eyes on the doorbell camera. I was about to stop watching and delete the footage until the woman came close enough where I started making out her physical details.

She seemed no taller than five feet and eight or nine inches, was noticeably frail and looked to be about her early mid-thirties. Her skin was wrinkled and blotchy, looking like she hadn't bathed in days and enjoyed constant exposure to the elements. The black and white infrared made it difficult to accurately determine, but the woman's hair looked blonde or bright red. Her hair was bristled and knotty, complimenting the light blue or grey gown she wore,

which was littered with wrinkles, tears and stains of different tones and shapes. A small, round face looked withered and thin, like it aged significantly more than the rest of her body. Her sunken eyes were surrounded by darkened circles and contained as sinister, yet blank emotionless expression, almost giving off somewhat of a dismal aura. Feeling like she was physically walking up to me as I watched the footage, my whole body shook while the woman walked across my front lawn. I gasped when she reached the foot of my porch stairs and noticed she was holding something in her left hand. A large knife. Unable to look away from my phone, the footage showed her ascend my front porch stairs, one at a time,

firmly planting both feet on each step before moving onto the next. When the woman finally stepped onto my front porch, she stood close enough where she was two or three steps from the front door, but far enough where her entire body was within the camera's frame. I still get squeamish whenever I think about the next part of that video. At first, the woman didn't move from a spot and likely swayed in somewhat of a circular motion. She was staring directly into the camera and appeared to be suddenly mumbling something the audio couldn't capture.

This continued for another 80 or 90 seconds. My heart leapt when she slowly lifted the knife, pressed the tip into her forehead, and slowly dragged it down her face. My widened, fierce stricken eyes watched in sheer terror and disbelief as the blade sliced her open skin, blood instantly streaking down the woman's face and onto her gown. The knife's tip appeared to sink nearly an inch into her skin, when it finally halted at her chin, after which she pulled it out, pressed it against another part of her forehead, and repeated the same motion.

Seeming totally unaffected by her self-mutilation, the woman continued staring blankly into the camera, her second cut slicing deeper than the first. She repeated this process five times in total, until she brandished five deep, linear slices that practically obscured the rest of her facial features. At this point, I was so frightened by the footage that tears were streaking down my eyes, and I fought with every urge in my body to abstain from succumbing to an outright panic attack. After slicing up her face, she took the knife and, in two swift motions, stuck the blade one to two inches in each of her socket, gouging both eyes and shaking them off the blade. I grimaced upon hearing that sticky, plop-like sound each eye made

when it smacked against the floor. Having no time to appropriately react as the woman proceeded to start slicing off chunks of her forehead, cheeks and chin. like she was cutting fat of a chicken breast. My nausea peaked when I was becoming extremely lightheaded, convinced I was seconds away from passing out until she finally lowered the knife at her side and stood motionlessly,

her empty blooded eye sockets still appearing to stare right at the camera. I was now staring at a mangled, semi-featureless hunk of meat that barely resembled a human face. Blood continued spilling, from the gaites and gashes this woman carved out, her face and top of a gown completely coated in red, with streaks running down the rest of her top.

She didn't move for another minute, before her blood-soaked lips parted slightly, and emitted a gargled, growled like croak. I gasped upon hearing the deeply unsettling noise she released, after which the woman slowly pivoted, walked off my front porch, across the yard, and down the side. street like nothing even happened. The footage stopped as soon as she walked out of view, after which I hastily dropped my phone like it was a red-hot ember and scrambled away from the front door. I contacted the police who assessed the scene and footage. While the investigators seemed unsettled, she showed no empathy whatsoever and said there

wasn't much they could do as of right now, but would reach out with any updates. They did give me contact information to a clean-up crew that would expunge the bloody mess on my front porch, who I called to set up an appointment. The police gave me no peace of mind, and I booked myself a room for a couple of days, having no desire to be anywhere near my house until the cleaning crew arrived. Despite everything that happened, I decided to keep the doorbell camera, figuring it was still better to know what lurked outside that I couldn't visit. physically see. The incident did make me utterly terrified of checking my phone, fearing I would wake up to another 126 AM notification. The cleaning crew did their job without incident, which I was very satisfied with since they left no trace of the morbid scene I nearly walked into that fateful morning. Days turned into weeks and although I

managed to get on with my life, that looming and dissipatory dread tied to the incident stuck with me. I was always hit with a bout of anxiousness and nausea every time I received any kind of notification, especially from the doorbell camera, regardless of the time. I started leaving my phone at home and would sometimes go for days without checking.

It took at least a month of nothing happening and me working up the courage to finally delete the footage before gaining any sense of normalcy, despite the new vanphobia. surrounding my phone. The police, who, I'm now certain, thought I staged the whole ordeal, never followed up with any pertinent development, and I refrained from telling anyone about the video, unsure how people would react to such a morbid account.

About six weeks after the last video, I returned home late one night from my friend's house. I left my phone charging at home, but noted it was nearly four on the morning. when I pulled into my driveway. Intending on having a quick snack before going to bed, I went straight into the kitchen upon entering my house, which was where I left my phone. While preparing some food, I caught my phone's screen lighting up in the corner of my eye.

Detaching it from the charger, I scrolled to the notifications I had, which consisted of a few miscalls, text messages, social media notifications. and one from the doorbell camera app. The time read 1.26 a.m. My heart sank and my body broke out in sharp trembles as I gazed at the screen.

My thumb shakily hovering over the notification as I slowly exited the kitchen and started pacing while contemplating whether to view the footage. I took short gasp-like breath upon opening the notification, feeling perspiration form across my forehead and limbs when the video appeared. I initially cantered my head in bewilderment when the still frame only showed my front porch and yard without any one or thing present. The video was only four seconds long,

but put me more at enough ease to hit play. It was a brief clip on my front yard with nothing special about it whatsoever. But the camera picked up two words whispered by a raspy, female voice, Look up, standing in my room's main house. My eyes lifted from the phone screen and settled on the front door. What I saw hit me like a locomotive.

A bloody kitchen knife was stabbed directly in the door's centre. I quickly recognised it as the same one brandished by the woman. I didn't notice this upon initially entering the house because I shut the door behind me and moved directly into the kitchen. I gasped as my phone slipped through my sweaty fingers and hit the floor. My perspiration and trembles intensifying

as I comprehended what I was seeing. I was about to budge, but heard a gargled, croak-like growl come directly behind me, the hot breath of whoever made it striking the back of my neck. This was the last thing I remembered. I woke up on the floor of my main room with a pounding headache and tingling numbness that permeated throughout my body.

Although the knife was no longer in the door, I noticed a small slit-like indentation that could have only been made by one. How real was whatever happened to me last night? Who is this woman? What does she want? Why is she doing this to me? These questions flowed through my mind as I searched every inch in my house. While checking my bathroom, I caught a glimpse myself in the mirror and froze, completely horrified at the reflection that stared back at me. Running vertically down my face were five dark red cuts that I instantly recognized as resembling the ones the woman inflicted to herself in the video.

Upon noticing them, they felt unbearable if I so much just touched them or nudged any part of my face. Another day or so passed before the cut marks finally vanished, after which I immediately uninstall the doorbell camera and nap. Although I live in the same house, I still have no answers for the events that happened to me. I don't think that woman, who, or whatever she might be, is finished with me, but I feel like I sometimes sense her presence. Ever since the night I blacked out, I find myself sporadically waking up in the middle of the the night around 126 a.m. I always feel compelled to gaze out my bedroom window which faces my front yard, but always resist the ominous urge. Sometimes I think I can hear that gargled, croak-like growl, or see the shape of a female form in the corner of my eye. I don't know if anyone

else out there has endured what I went through, but I hope you can take something away from my experience if you are. Or offer any instance. insight on what I should expect, if you have. I work at what was once called a computer repair shop, though the owners changed the branding to tech repair shop a few years back when they started seeing more phones and tablets than actual desktops. It's not bad work overall. About half the problems are really simple fixes, rebooting the devices, getting rid of some

buggy software or app, that kind of thing. The other half we give to Melissa to figure out, as she'd forgotten more than I'd learned in the two years I've been working there. Occasionally we get people coming in with lost and found type stuff, computers or phones that someone left behind or lost. People come in, sign a form saying they've made a diligent effort to find the original owner without success, and then we wipe the device for them when we can. What we don't tell them beforehand is that we usually check the device.

devices before wiping them. Not trying to be nosy or anything, but our boss also doesn't want the reputation of laundering stolen phones or damaging property without the owner's permission. Sometimes we're able to find a way of reaching the owner. If we do, we return the phone to whoever brought it in and tell them the info we found. After that, it's on them to do the right thing.

Other times, the device's owner isn't as easy to figure out. and usually those do get wiped and restored, unless, of course, we find something else strange on it. It doesn't happen often. Once Melissa found a computer with some bad stuff on it and reported to the cops, but that was before my time. And while I'd seen the odd stuff from time to time,

there was nothing that it actually really bothered or freaked me out. But three weeks ago, I came into work to find a phone waiting to be cleaned. The paperwork was signed by Vince Teller. He was a regular. His cleaning company covered the rest stop and parked bathrooms for 50 miles up and down the interstate and over time I was becoming convinced

he was making more money from selling second-hand smartphones than scrubbing toilets. Still, he wasn't a thief so far as I knew. And when I tapped on the glass, the home screen came into view. No pin or nothing. Easy peasy. I did a cursory glance through the phone, but it was either very new or it had already been partially wiped. No contacts, no email set up, no owner info.

To be fair, it was in great shape other than a thin scratch on one corner of the screen. I was getting ready to do a factory reset. When I saw a little icon in the app drawer I didn't want. recognize. It was just a red eye, no name or anything. Frowning, I touched the eye. The screen went black, and then a video began to play. It was in a house, or what looked like a house at least, though it could have been a set or something, as the angle never changed much. The room looked like a study, with big bookshelves along the far wall filled with leather books behind a huge leather sofa that covered the back half of a thick woven rug.

The image quality and lighting was very clear, and I found myself wondering if this was the pre-rendered video opening to a game or... That's when they dragged the woman into view. I never saw her face. Her head was covered by a black sack the entire time, and even at the end it never came off. The rest of her was bare, and I felt myself blushing as I stared at the screen. Was this some kind of niche adult content? But no, nothing like that.

Her captors, her murderers were two men wearing masks and hooded sweatshirts. They brutalized her in just about every way imaginable for ten minutes before one of them stood up and began stomping on her head. I was on the verge of tears by then. There was no sound that I could make out, but the video was enough. This wasn't staged or fake. I just watched them murder some poor girl. Handshaking, I carried the phone to the back where Melissa was replacing her hard drive in a laptop.

When she first looked up, she seemed irritated, but her expression became worried when she saw my face. Paul, what is it? I handed her the phone wordlessly. It had reverted to the outdrawer after the video, was done. So I pointed at the red eye and told her to hit it and watch. Tell me if she thought what I did. Her face paled as she watched the video. And when she was done, she rewounded and played parts a couple more times. Finally, she looked up at me. Her expression's serious. I don't know.

It could be real sure, but it could also be fake. I frowned. How could someone fake that? That's not CGI or something. That was a real person. Melissa shrugged, her voice soft. Yeah, I know, but... But look, you kids are so used to computer special effects and stuff

that it's easy to forget how much more realistic stuff looks when it's real. She rolled her eyes slightly. Not like real, real. I mean like using practical effects, like they used to do more in movies and stuff. I'm no expert But the fact that her face Is always covered

Is suspicious And you notice by the time They stomp on her She's not moving at all Now that could be them Stomping a real person Or it could be a clever edit Where they swapped out a dummy

She replayed that part Of the video See they zoomed in for that part You can barely even see a skin anymore When they start stomping Mainly it's the black bag And the boot coming down That's not hard to fake if they wanted

I nodded Okay, I can see that maybe Despite myself I felt the first time flutters of hopeful relief I didn't want it to be real And I was willing to take any other halfway reasonable explanation Anything else that stands out to you Well, the finger coming out the sofa, I guess

I felt my eyes widen The what? Melissa raised an eyebrow at me you didn't notice. It was pretty obvious in the middle of the video. She scrubbed backward and then hit play. See, to the right where they've got the girl, coming out the back of the sofa. She was right.

It was small but very clear once I saw it. A long, thin finger poking out of the back of the sofa. As I watched, it stretched and scratched at the back of the seat cushion, below it as though trying to find enough purchase to pull its owner free from whatever held them inside the furniture. I could even make out the tip of the finger and nail, swollen and black, like the finger had been caught in something or hammered. I looked back up at her. How does that mean it's fake?

She shrugged. I mean, it doesn't necessarily, but doesn't it seem a bit staged? Like the cameraman wanted to get the finger in the shot? frowning, she didn't look entirely convinced the self. Look, who brought this in? It was here this morning, got dropped off by the toilet king. Melissa grimaced, bloody skis. She sat the phone back down with a distasteful look.

But maybe it's a little horror video, got left in the rest stop for someone to find. Did it have a lock on it? I shook my head. No, it opened right up. opened right up. She looked a little relieved. Well, there you go.

Probably someone trying to make a video go viral or become an urban legend or something dumb. When I didn't respond, she let out a sigh and nodded. But I get why it bothers you. It does me too. Tell you what, give me some time to fiddle with it and see what I can figure out.

If we aren't satisfied it's fake after that, we'll go to the cops. Sound fair? I nodded. Yeah, fair. I was going to check on it later that day, but I didn't want to bug Melissa when I knew she was working on other stuff.

The next day I was off, and I'd resolved to check with her that following morning. But that's when Kira came into the store. We hit it off immediately. She just moved to town and was looking for a good use laptop. We didn't sell many computers, used or otherwise, but I tried to keep the conversation going while technically telling her we didn't have what she was looking for. I kept expecting her to bail, but after half an hour of chatting, we'd made a date for the next night.

I was grinning when she left the store, but my smile faltered when I turned around to find Melissa smirking at me. Okay, Romeo, if you're done making your social plans. for the week, come look what I found on our mystery phone. My face grew hot as I followed her back, partially because she caught me flirting at work, and partly because I really had forgotten about the phone as soon as Kira had walked in. Stomach tightening, I sat down at the work table with Melissa. The phone was there, but instead of opening it, she pointed at a laptop.

Okay, so I pulled some stuff off of it. First, I looked for any kind of information about the video itself or the app. It's pretty blank. Oddly blank. Whoever set it up knew what they were doing, and I can't find a version of the app anywhere on the internet. But either intentionally or not, though I guess it was intentional.

They did leave the video file exposed enough for me to get information on it. She clicked on a folder and pulled up a long string of code I didn't understand. gesturing at the screen she went on. So, this is part of a digital watermark associated with the file, and there's a few things interesting about it. First, this format of digital watermark is designed primarily for streaming videos, and is pretty advanced stuff. I leaned in.

So, like, this video was streamed when we watched it? Like, it was live? She shook her head. No, not live or actively seen. streaming, it's saved in the phone's memory. But I think it's a cash, and the first time the video was played on the phone. It probably was streamed. Doesn't mean it was live then either, but I definitely think it was streamed the first time. Okay, so, does that matter? Melissa pursed the lips. Maybe, maybe not, but it stood out to me when I looked at the

watermark more. Some of this information, it's got spots. the tag and owner, a location, that kind of thing. It's meant to help prevent copyright infringement after all, but all of that's blank. The only field that's being used is a timestamp, which far as I can tell, is showing when it first streamed. And that's where it gets weird. She was dragging this out on purpose, and I had to try and hide my irritation as I played along. Weird. How? Well, the stamp shows a date and time that's three weeks from now, like the video was streamed for the first time on this phone, three weeks in the future.

At, uh, 8.49 p.m. I shrugged. I mean, can't that stuff be faked pretty easily? Frowning, she closed that window. Faked, yes, easily. Not with this kind of stuff. It's all encrypted. It took me a couple of hours.

to get what I got, and even then I just managed to extract some service metadata that isn't even really protected. I wouldn't begin to know how to change that data though. She let out a laugh. Not that there aren't some that could. Anything can be hacked after all. She shot me a sidelong glance, pausing for a moment before going on. Besides, I also found this. Clicking on another file, she pulled up what looked like a screenshot of. What was this? It's a cast list, Melissa burst out laughing. See, it's just some weird online adult content.

Girl victim, killer number one, killer number two. They even have man in the couch, played by Stuart Greenfield if you wanted to check out what else he's in. I puffed out a breath and cleared at her. Damn, you could have just told me that. all the dramatic build-up. Melissa chuckled. I could have, but it wouldn't have been nearly as fun, and I spent most of yesterday messing with it to find that out.

I thought about calling you, but I decided this was funnier. Shaking my head, I stood up. So all the rest of that was made up. She met my gaze, her smile faltering. No, everything I said was true, and whoever cracked that watermark to make it say three weeks from now, they know what they're doing. They should be working on making bank as a computer consultant,

not dropping off weird videos at a rest stop. Could say the same about you. Why are you still here after all this time? She shrugged, low pressure, low stakes, and I don't need the money. She broke into another grin. Plus, I get to torture newbies from time to time. Grimmising, I headed for the door. Yeah, yeah, congratulations, you got me.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go daydream about my hot date. I went out with Kira the next night, and a few nights after. Over the last few days, we've been spending more and more time together, and we've been talking about a trip this weekend. So, when she called me tonight, as I was closing up the store, At first, I was happy and excited. Then I heard a crying. What's wrong?

Did something happen? I... I got a new phone today, right? But I got it at lunch, so I waited to take it out and set it up when I got home tonight. And right away, as soon as I get it out of the box, I drop it. It only has a light scratch on the screen, so no big deal right. But I'm worried now. I turn it on.

wanting to make sure it's working okay. It doesn't go through the normal new phone startup stuff, which I thought was weird. But my main thing is that I'm trying to make sure it's not jacked up, so I try a couple of different apps. I froze halfway across the parking lot to my car. Um, yeah, did it mess up? No, I just, I clicked on this one app.

It was like an eye. I thought maybe it was a camera or something. Instead, it played a video. It was this video of a girl getting attacked and... Damn Paul, I think they killed her. I started walking again. Um, it's... It's fake.

I had that on a phone at work a few. My tongue started growing fat in my mouth. Did you say you scratched your screen? Yeah, it's a fake, really, because it looked... Where? Where in your screen was it? scratched. Um, I guess it's like the lower right side. It's not a big deal. Paul, are you sure it? Her voice became distant as I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked at the time.

9.04 p.m. Hand shaking, I tried to unlock my car door as I brought my phone back up. Kira, listen to me. Lock your doors. Go to your bedroom and lock that too. I'll be over in just a few minutes and I'll call before I knock. But if you hear anyone else, you call 911, okay? Paul, if it's just a fake, then why? Please, I'll explain what I get there. Just stay safe until I do, okay? Okay, just see you in a minute. Hanging up, I put my phone away and use my other hand to steady the key enough to get it in and unlock my car. As I started to open the door, I fumbled the keys again, this time enough to drop them in the dark below. Cursing, I brace myself against the car with my right hand as I leaned down to get my keys with my left.

It was as I bent down that I bumped the door with the top of my head. I heard a short, metallic squeal as the door began to close again, and then my head exploded with a pain as the car door closed on my hand. Grunting, I yanked the door. open and pulled my hand free. The door scraped across the tips of my other fingers, but my index finger had been caught in the first joint and mashed hard enough that hot and cold waves of pain pulsed down my arm with a beating of my heart.

Trembling, I held my hand up so I could see my finger better in the dim sodium light of the parking lot. I let out a small sob at what I saw. My long, thin finger. The tip and nail already darkening as they filled with blood.