CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - 7 SPINE CHILLING Horror Stories from r nosleep reddit

Episode Date: August 17, 2020

CREEPYPASTA STORIES-►0:00 "I delivered a pizza to a neighborhood that doesn't want to be acknowledged" Creepypasta►17:05 "The Stragview Woods" Creepypasta►37:48 "My wife was convinced one of her eyes was not hers" Creepypasta►57:21 "There are things in the woods that will never be explained" Creepypasta►1:34:59 "Incident in the Woods" Creepypasta►1:54:47 "Working as an Aussie Bush Ranger" Creepypasta►2:43:34 "Fish Clicker™" 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...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPastaCREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only-

There were four minutes left before closing. If I had gone to the bathroom, done my business, and stood in myself in the mirror for a few moments, the ticket would have gone to someone else. If I hadn't had such great look with green lights at the time and my way back from the previous delivery, it would have gone to someone else. If any number of things happened during the day

to prevent me from being at the counter available when that ticket came in, I would have been spared a night of black terror. But we were still open for another four minutes And I was able to take the delivery The order was for an extra large pizza Cooked quote solidly crisp Loaded with as much meat as the dough could handle

The box itself sagged the weight almost cumbersome As I walked out of the restaurant bearing the burden I heard the distant howling of dogs I was sure they had smelled the meat heavy package I drove for nearly 45 minutes The neighbourhood was technically beyond our service area But there weren't any other pizza places closer to it And the order had cost enough for my boss to give it the go ahead

Each additional meat topping was $2 And the customer had ordered enough To have gotten two or three other two topping pizzas But they hadn't wanted that apparently Instead they ordered something that was more lasagna than pizza They hadn't even ordered excesses of cheese or sauce to complement the abundance of meat. It was an unusual order,

but in the two years I worked the job, I had seen a few weirder things. Ordinarily, I described the area as simply rural, but as I pulled under the road that led into the smaller cluster of houses, I found myself applying other descriptive terms to my surroundings. It was less of a neighbourhood and more of a cluster of houses

whose owners seemed to have collectively agreed to distance themselves from a greater populace. Its initial appearance of ruralness was mostly owed to the lack of streetlights bordering the road. I was forced to drive slowly, my high beams on, without any supplemental illumination to assist me in the darkness of the night.

The argument against the ruralness, however, was its proximity to a nearby suburban area, about ten miles back. The houses also resembled those of a residential area, Not at all reminiscent of the ranches or humbly built structures you'd expect to find in the deep country, where streetlights and signage are few and far between. It was really as if a few houses had been plucked from suburbia and planted just outside of it. My GPS had no problem finding the place, which further supported the aforementioned theory.

I wasn't knowledgeable of the area, but the ease with which the app had found it attested to its more modern categories. I pulled up to the customer's house, which wasn't much different from the few others on the street. Literally just one street lined with four houses on each side. The street went on internally beyond the houses, though far in the distance I could see what I believe to be a roadside lamppost. Looking around, as best as I could in the darkness, I saw nothing that gave the idea that more houses would soon be built. built. I saw no plots of land, no construction material or vehicles. The area had been claimed by eight houses and no one else. I left my car, hefting the pizza in my bag as I did so. I was about to head up the paved walkway to the house, which was so ordinarily suburban as to be

unremarkable, when I heard a noise from behind me. Turning, I saw a woman dashed into the front lawn of a house across the street, clothed in a white t-shirt, panties, and nothing else. Something was splattered across the shirt, and from the way she ran, uncoordinated and panicked, I immediately guessed that it was blood. She didn't seem to notice me, was merely fleeing for her life from whomever had apparently attacked her within the house. She might not have seen me, but she did see my car. I had left it running as I normally do, and before I could even pivot to call out to her,

she was inside and speeding away, leaving me stranded. Across the street, the door of the house, which had been left open, was suddenly and loudly shut. No one came out after the girl, and no one emerged from the other houses to investigate the disturbance. My phone had been inside the car, so I could. couldn't even use it to call my boss and explain what happened, nor could I call the police and report what I'd seen. Left with nothing to do but finished my job, I turned around and headed up the walkway to the customer's house. I hoped that they would be able to provide some insight into the bizarre occurrence, and maybe even let me use their phone. I knocked

in the door and it opened a few moments later. There was no one there and the interior of the home was entirely black. I could see nothing beyond the threshold of the door. Nonetheless, I could still feel a presence within, as if someone had opened the door with some unseen means, and was watching me, analysing me. Already shaken by the incident I just witnessed, I stuttered out an announcement. I actually called myself the pizza guy, even though my uniform and sagging box were obvious syndications. There was no immediate response and the weight of the pie began to

strain my arms. I cannot overexpress the sheer amount of meat piled atop that flimsy surface. I couldn't tell you the physics of it but the burden was quickly becoming insupportable and I didn't want to complain to lodged against me for the customer's own carnivorous overindulgence. They hadn't even prepaid online so I I called out the total and leaned against the door frame, while keeping my body outside the house. Natural darkness had no problems coming off as ominous, hazardous even, and the darkness of the inside seemed more than naturally occurring. After a few moments without response, and having grown unsettled by the circumstances,

I announced that I was leaving, with a peter in tow. I couldn't imagine walking home with the weight, neither in my arms nor my stomach. But I wasn't going to end the night having lost my car and my job. I started to turn, but a whisper froze me in place. It had come from inside of the house, sounding as if it had issued from a mouth only a few inches away. But still, that seemingly depthless darkness showed nothing. I hadn't heard what the whisper had said, so I asked,

What? Encranged, and how pathetic my voice sounded. The payment is beneath the rock below you. Take it and proffer the meat. Looking down, I saw the rock. One of those hollow-bottomed decorative stones people often use to hide keys. Kneeling, while struggling with the burden of the meat, I lifted the rock and found several hundred dollar bills.

Uh, one is all I need, but even then, I won't be able to make change for it. I only have a few dollars on me. It was the truth. I couldn't remember the last time I had more than 15 bucks in cash, working or not. Do you have anything smaller? Take it all for your troubles and your confidence. Now, proffer the meat. You'd think a voice whispering from the darkness would sound sinister, would send chills along

your spine and raise hairs on your arms. but not this one. It sounded hungry, but not in some malicious, ravenous way. It sounded old, but not as some ancient evil. It even sounded melancholic, but not as a voice of some necromantically raised thing. It was, in a way, soothing, like the voice of a grandparent luring you to sleep. I didn't feel threatened, even though the circumstances would have allowed for such a feeling without shame.

taking the money, I thanked him or her. Honestly, I couldn't tell. In every way I knew how. I extended the pizza into the darkness, expecting a pair of trembling old hands to reach out and take it. I made sure my grip is firm in the event that the presumably elderly person mishandled and dropped it. But no hands came forth to take the pizza.

Instead, it was seized by some invisible force, and my hands were gently pried away from the box. I then watched the pizza float away into the darkness until it disappeared totally therein. Again, had the voice not been so calming, I probably would have jumped away screaming. I thanked the customer once more and not wanting to overstay my welcome

turned away from the porch. But then I remembered my predicament and bigurginly turned back. Would you happen to have a phone I could use? A girl from across the street stole my car and drove away. It'll take me forever to get back to town. I made my request while standing indirectly at the building, not wanting to insult the occupant by staring directly into that preternatural darkness.

The homeowner did not respond for a while, and though it did not visibly alter, something about the darkness gave the impression that the person within was considering my request. Ah, you mean the world? woman who is a guest of my dear neighbour. Well, we here in this neighbourhood do not meddle in one another's affairs. But I suppose if you intend to merely travel home, not infringe upon one's right to privacy,

I could... Halt the progress of the vehicle. But you must promise me that you will not aid the thief in bringing unnecessary attention to the owner of the home across the street. If she is still in a position to request such assistance, simply take your vehicle and go. Will you promise me that? I couldn't imagine how exactly the largely unseen entity could help me, although I couldn't imagine how they could be speaking so clearly and sound so close without being visible.

Nor could I think of a way for a pizza to have been taken into the home. I wouldn't consider myself stupid either. I knew that something bad had happened across the street and that the customer wanted to ensure the privacy of the matter no doubt to preserve their own general privacy. The woman had looked terribly distressed, frightened enough to simply steal a car rather than go through the formality of asking for help.

My conscience wouldn't let me abide by the customer's terms, but I agreed anyway, simply planning to offer her help once if I came across her. Good. The whisperer was plainly satisfied. He believed I wholeheartedly agreed. I wasn't sure what to expect,

but a hand emerging for the darkness was not something I anticipated. Four gloved fingers came from the darkness, the fifth, what would have been a thumb, hung limply, that portion of the glove being empty. It was a black leather that still piled in comparison to the abject blackness of the space behind it. The four fingers were directed toward the street beyond, and after a moment of pause,

they closed in on the palm. Had there been a thumb, the hand would have formed into a fist. There were no effects or vibrations or emanations, nothing was emitted. After lingering for a moment, the fingers curled and the hand was withdrawn from the open space, returned to the darkness. You will find your vehicle down the road, though it will take a bit of time to come across it. Once there, abide by the terms of our agreement and make your way home. Despite the inexplicable demonstrations up to that point,

I was sure that the customer hadn't actually done anything to the car or the woman who had stolen it. I offered up a half-hearted thanks, but before I could turn away, the hand re-emerged, this time carrying another bundle of hundreds. Again, for your confidence. I accepted the money and added it to the other clump, making my pocket bulge. I figured I could at least use it to hitch a ride home. I thanked the occupant again, then left the property. I took only a brief glance at the house across the street,

the one from which the girl had escaped. There was nothing revealing about its exterior, but it did give off a vague, repellent atmosphere. I continued on, passing by those other houses on that weirdly isolated street. Each seemed perfectly normal in the outside, and yet each had about it an atmosphere of gloom, ominousness, or some other forbidding yet unplaceable quality. My walk beyond that street lasted for an hour before I came across my car. I found it parked just off the road, the front nestled in a small ditch. The lights were on, it had come to a stop mid-drive. I cautiously approached the driver's side, worried that I'd find the woman in a poor state.

And boy did I. What I saw in the driver's seat was horrific. In my years of late-night horror movie marathons, I hadn't seen anything so gruesome. so mortally unsettling. After a considerable amount of time, the initial wave of horror passed, and I tried to piece together what had happened. The car wasn't damaged in any way that I could tell.

The engine was still running. Peering beside a body, trying not to look at the horrible state of her. I saw that there was still plenty of gas in the tank. No lights indicated any issue with the car's operation. The vehicle, had simply come to a stop. When I finally accepted the reality of the situation,

I knew that I could not report the incident or anything that happened that night to the police. I certainly couldn't tell my boss. As delicately as I could, I removed her body from the car and placed it in the ditch on the road. She had no identification, and due to the condition of her body, I can't provide a description of her face.

As I settled into the car I was reminded of the wad of cash in my pocket It was preventing the door from closing I removed it took a single hundred from the clump And wrapped the rest in a pair of earphones I had in my glove box And left it on the road I couldn't bear have the money any longer I didn't need payment to keep the secret

Seeing the state of the woman was encouragement enough Somehow, through some supernatural force, those four gloved fingers had reached across an expanse of miles and crossed the woman's head. Call me a coward, or even a conspirator in a murder. But I won't risk the same thing happening to me by babbling about it to the authorities. I've given no specifics as to the location of that street, around which the houses of the self-exhaired have been erected, and I won't for anything. I drove away, leaving the body and the money behind.

Once back at the restaurant, I attributed my prolonged absence to GPS troubles and gave the $100 bill to my boss. Intercepted in the mailroom of Stragview Prison, March 16, 2009. Hey Mary, it's me, Peter. I really hope this gets to you. They say the mail room checks all outgoing mail, but I hope that this letter. slips through somehow. I've really messed up this time, Mary.

Worse than all the other times. I'm sitting in a 10 by 12 concrete box surrounded by other noisy inmates in similar cells and I have never felt safer in my life. After what happened yesterday, it's a wonder I can feel anything at all. I hate to wait a whole day to write this letter to you because my hands wouldn't stop shaking.

I'm freaking out, knowing that those things are just beyond the face. knowing they could come in at any time and have me. I'm rambling. You probably feel pretty lost. Let me start at the beginning. It's been a long three years behind the fence. I've been doing okay, trying to make my time matter.

But it's hard not to think about what you're missing on the outside. I've been palming around with some guys, guys who are in here for a hell of a lot more than B&E like me. And they'd figured out a way to assist. One of them, Marcus Rees, is actually a pretty big time writer. He says he's written enough novels about crime, punishment and life in prison. Escaping one should be easy. Clyde, he's our muscle, figured we could make it over the fence if we got enough clothes from the laundry.

Booker, who works in laundry, supplied us with the clothes so we could make her escape. We had paid off the white Nash lists to start trouble during recreation. It always takes a long time to set these things up in the movies, but you'll be surprised how quickly it all came together. Booker got our laundry bags stuffed with extra clothes. Clyde and I traded the white nationalist a lot of canteen and personal items for their help. Reese found some books in the library to help us make it over the fence. Stragview is an old prison, an old prison with a chequered past, and it wasn't hard to find books on it and information online in the resource center. Within two weeks, the escape went from something we had been joking around about to a full-fledged plan that we were ready to see enacted.

It was cold and foggy when we made our break. Given the weather, no one thought it was weird when we wore our coats and boots to the wreckyard. We stuffed our blankets under the coats, those coarse wool things they give us the sleep under, and packed whatever food we had left in our pockets. Stragview is surrounded by woods. and we knew we'd be in for a long run if we made it past the perimeter. We each had enough supplies to take us through the night, and when we entered the yard, we were confident that we would make it out.

Reese had been talking to the guys on the maintenance crew. They had told him about a section of fence where the power wasn't working after a lightning strike last month. It was at a junction near the wreck fence, and we knew that would be our climbing point. The ruckus started off at 3pm. Some other white nationalist guys started pretending to fight, and pretty soon everyone was getting in on the action.

When the guards went to break it up, we made our move with the fence. We threw the blankets over the razor wire, and were over the first fence and halfway up the second before anyone took notice. By the time they were organising to do anything about it, we were on the other side and making for the woods. The woods are about 30 feet of over the trees, grassland from the fence. We booked it, hearing the guards shouting behind us, and when a shock and went off, we all heard Bucca fall down screaming. I looked back, seeing him

curled up in the grass and put on an extra burst of speed as a pursuers gained on us. They stopped to secure Bucca, though, and that was when we made the woods and found safety. We all ran in, not stopping when the trees encircled us. But, none of us. could have expected what happened next. Nothing. No one came after us. We heard the dogs and we could see the guards backing away from the woods, but no one seemed to want to come beyond the trees to get us. Ha! These pusses don't want to come after us. Guess they're afraid of getting lost in the woods,

Clyde said. That should have tipped us off right away. We started to move into the woods. The sun set up. behind us as we went. The forest seemed to be mostly pines, their needles crunching underfoot as we made our way deeper into the gloom. It didn't register at first, but the deeper we went in, the more I noticed the silence. Clyde was oblivious. The closest he'd ever been to a forest was a park somewhere in the inner city, but I could tell that Marcus was troubled by the silence. Forests aren't loud, but they usually have some noise.

Birds, squirrels, the joints of insects, anything to remind you that you were in an active ecosystem. We'd been walking for about three hours when I realized something else. We hadn't passed a stream or a river or any kind of water source. I had two bottles of water in my coat pocket and I knew Marcus did too. Clyde had drunk one of his not long after getting started, and if there was no water out here, we could be in for some trouble. The sun was starting to get really low now, and I wondered why we hadn't hit the road yet. Three hours was a lot of walking. We should have hit something by now.

A road, a trail, an old trailer or something, and why hadn't we seen any helicopters either? We had heard no pursuing dogs, heard no air search being content. for three missing inmates. What the hell were they doing? As the sun started to creep over the horizon, that when I first heard the noise. We had been crunching along on the pine needles all day, so maybe it had been following us all along.

I don't think it had. I think it had only started once the sun got low. As we moved, I began to hear something heavy coming down on the pine needles. on the pine needles. It sounded like a bear or a big cat, but I couldn't see anything whenever I looked around. The others didn't notice. They had been arguing. We need to stop for the night, Clyde was saying. He had started to slow down in the last hour and he was clearly getting tired. You don't really do as much walking in prison

as he'd think and none of us were really prepared for a three-hour hike through the woods. Marcus wouldn't hear of it though. I need to get out of these woods. I will walk until I fall down if that's what it takes, but I'm not stopping until I get out. Clyde scoffed. We keep going like this and we're going to end up dead. We need to stop for the night.

Do whatever you want. I'm not stopping, Marcus said. Clyde started gathering sticks for a fire, clearing a place for us to sit while Marcus just kept walking. I kind of wanted to go with it. him. I kind of felt like going with him might be the best idea, but I was tired and I really just wanted to stop for the night. I watched Marcus disappear into the dwindling light and felt sure that I would never see him again. Clyde threw a pine cone at me and then told me to help out,

and the next time I looked up, he was gone. By 7.30, it was dark. By 9 o'clock, you couldn't have seen your face in front of your hand. Clyde and I managed to get a small fire going, and we ate our chips and granola bars sullenly. We shivered in our canvas coats, the garments not providing a lot of warmth, and our blue prison uniforms offered a lot less. The fire was a weak thing,

but if they did decide to send out choppers, then it would be harder to see if our light was low. Clyde had said this too, but I think it was mostly to make up for his weak little fire. The pine needles didn't burn very well, and most of the wood was rotten and full of bugs. We had discovered this when we tried to pull a log over to sit on. It had fallen apart in our hands, wet wood spilling insects all down our arms.

Clyde has shaken his arms and slapped at his sleeves and then moved away from the squirming remains as they writhed and on the bed of pine needles. How is this so wet? Clyde asked, I don't remember it raining recently. As we sat in the deepening darkness, I could feel the wet sinking into my pants too. It was wet out here. Had it been this wet earlier? I put a hand to the ground and felt something sticky coming contact with my palm.

I pulled it up to my eyes, squinting hard at the thick dark muck that clung to it and shook my hand vigorously a moment later. Whatever was there, it had seemed to move. I came off the ground, swiping at the bottom of my pants and looking around in the scant firelight. I could just imagine a swarm of insects or snakes moving around me, but the needles-strewn ground looked just as solid as it ever had. Clyde sprang awake, looking around before settling his eyes back onto me. What? What's going on?

He asked a little hoffily. Nothing, I guess. I thought I felt something on me, I said, lamely. He settled back, but he kept peeking at me like he didn't exactly trust me. I curled up on the ground and tried to ignore the moisture that sank into my clothes. I was sure I could feel things moving under me, but I tried to get some sleep. Tomorrow we would find our way out of these woods and be free again. I had no illusions of a lengthy freedom, but once I had no illusions of a lengthy freedom, but once I was to get some sleep.

I wanted to see all of you so badly that I didn't care how long it lasted. As I tried to sleep though, I heard the crunching again. We had been making too much noise for me to be sure, but I didn't think I had heard it since Clyde and I had stopped for the night. Earlier it had sounded big. Now, it sounded huge. Whatever was attached to that foot sounded like it was big enough to gobble us up in one bite. It crunched again, stalking in with slow deliberation.

As it got closer and closer to our little campsite, I lay as still as I could, hoping I couldn't be noticed as the thing dropped its heavy feet onto the blanket of pine needles. When it passed me, I had to stifle a sigh of relief. I glanced up, peeking between my lids, to see the hulking thing as it stood, framed in the meager campfire. It was black, the guttering fire showing a long, sleek body that looked more insect-like feline. Its feet ended in killer claws that sank into the nettles as it strode towards the fire.

Its head was turned away from me, but I could hear it sniffling, filling its nostrils with constant scent and thought for one wild moment that it might be blind. It lowered its head to the campfire and sniffed at it. The breathing agitated as it smelled the alien aroma. Then Clyde began to scream suddenly, and it waved his head towards him. Clyde had been closer to the fire than I was, and he must have come awake to find this huge creature skulking near him. I heard his back pedal through the pine needles, tearing up the earth as he frantically tried

to get away. That was when the beast loosed the most unearthly sound I'd ever hear. It was high and yowly, like a small animal caught in something, and it stomped out the meagre fire as it lunged at him. His screams were muffled as the beast ripped into him, and at that moment, I knew that I was next if I didn't do something pretty damn quick. I lunged up, needles flying as I threw them up behind me, and ran into the dark woods. I was all but blind, the moon providing very little by way of light. I pumped into trees and felt their surfaces tried to catch hold of me The ground itself seemed to drag my boots into it

And I felt the panic racing through me as I raced like my life dependent on it I didn't know where I was going or what I would find when I got there But I knew it had to be better than this After a few minutes I heard something big behind me Pushing me to run faster Trees seemed to whip out at me in the soupy darkness And I juked around them without giving it any real thought.

I remembered when I was seven. We watched Snow White and the old VHS player. I remembered how the Nightmare Forest had terrified you, terrified you almost as much as it had Snow White, and I realized that I was there. I was running through a nightmare and my only hope was to wake up. I don't know how long I ran. At some point I could hear the massive beast chasing me through the woods. another, it sounded as if a whole pack of them were coming after me.

I heard trees break and limbs snap as they flung themselves at me with wild abandon. I felt something sharp rip across my back, but my fear was so palpable that I barely felt it. A doctor would later tell me that I had three long cut to my back that looked like they'd been made with a scalpel. At that point though, I was just happy to be alive. I ran for what felt like ours. My legs burned and my chest heaved, but I could still hear the pack behind me.

They were close. I wasn't sure how I had outrun them this long when my foot hit a hole and sent me sprawling. I rolled through the raking fingers of trees and when I came to rest, I was sure I was dead. The pack would be on me and I would be torn to shreds. I hadn't seen what happened to Clyde, and that was a mercy.

The unknown is much less scarier than anticipated. When the blow didn't come though, I looked back through my fingers to see the edge of the woods. I had come to rest in an open area. The night sky strewn out before me and I was aware of the sound of insects and night birds as they went about their evening. I looked back at the woods

and I could see a small pack of eyeless faces, their head smooth and bullet-shaped, as they gnashed their teeth and sunk back into the woods. My breathing was still heavy, but I flopped back on the grass and laughed despite my terror. I had survived. I was free of the Hellscape Forest. When the spotlight of Stragview found me,

I was almost relieved. I was cuffed and dragged back inside the gates. I didn't resist. Why would I? I had seen what lay beyond the fence and I was in no hurry to go back to it. They took me to medical, cleaned and bandaged my wounds and then took me right to confinement

and dropped an escape charge on me. As I was brought in, the other roommates tried to talk to me, tried to get my attention, but I was as silent as the grave. I lay in my mat and tried to sleep, knowing that my pursuers' eyeless faces would never leave me. I wasn't there long though. About an hour into my confinement stay, two officers came to escort me into the disciplinary room where they hold DR court.

Warden wants to see you, they said. I accepted my cuffs and went meekly. Even at one o'clock in the morning, the warden looked resplendent in his pinstripe suit and little gold glasses. His salt and pepper hair was in the same crew cut he always wore, and the edges looked like he had cut them with a ruler. As he leaned over the desk, I could tell he was more amused than angry. We see the warden from time to time, usually only during important inspections. To most inmates, he's almost a mythical figure. Like a shark, he only comes around once there's blood in the water.

Did you enjoy your little hike? he asked. The lights from the fluorescence glittered off the lenses of his glasses, and for a moment his eyes linked as smooth as the creature's faces. I could give you an extra five years for escaping, you know. You've got two more years, and I can tell that you're desperate to be back with your family. Why else would you run after all? I sat, saying nothing.

He fixed me with a hard look. We have one of them in here, you know. My eyes snapped to his. Over in Quad 2, actually. A little accident, but he's still in there and he's ravenous. I could see one of the officers shudder. An older guy who looked like retirement should have come a few years ago. The doors are sealed, but I'm sure we could arrange a meeting if you really want to see him.

I shivered, not even wanting to know that one of those things was in the fence. What do you want? I asked him, ready for this to be over. and me to get back behind a door. We already have inmate Booker back in custody, and now we have you as well. Inmate Reese and Inmate Dawn are still at large, however. I want to know where they are. For that, I won't charge you with escape.

Refuse, and I'll deny we ever found you. The implications were clear. There would be no evidence of me to find. He would give me to the creature. Clyde is dead. Inmate Dawn. Your creatures killed him out in the woods. I don't know what happened to Reese.

He left before nightfall and just kept walking. I would assume that he's dead too. That seemed to appease the warden, and he nodded at the guards. Taking back to his cell, is under investigation for the next 30 days, or until medical says his back is healed. If he gives you any fuss. He fixed me with a hard stare. You know where to put him.

I'm writing this letter to you in the hopes that you'll read it. It's not right what they've got out there. It's not okay to have things like that loose in the world. People should know about what lurks in the woods around Strague. As I sit here in my cell, I can almost feel their eyeless face is looking at me. I'll doubt I'll ever forget them. My wife, girlfriend at the time, woke up screaming and thrashing in bed next to me, jolting me from a peaceful slumber.

I looked at the time, a glowing 312 a.m. glared back at me. I sighed internally, even as I tried to be outwardly comforting. This was really getting bad. Same dream again? I asked quietly. I already knew what the answer would be. Laura nodded as a breathing return to normal. They're getting worse, Nick, she sobbed.

Every time they're getting worse. These aren't normal dreams. I tried my best to comfort her, but I really didn't know what to do or say at that point. It was getting bad, and Laura was starting to deteriorate from the sleep disruptions. I too was suffering from it, albeit to a much lesser extent.

But I guess as you back up a bit more before I go any further and explain the situation pertaining to these night terrors. Laura has heterochromia. For those who don't know, that means two different coloured eyes. In Laura's case, one eye was brown and the other a brilliant green. It was probably my favourite thing about her appearance at first, but it was a source of endless suffering and anguish for her. You see, she was absolutely convinced that the good thing.

green eye was not hers. Her dislike for a divergent eye was apparent from the time we first met. I had noticed it almost right away, but had refrained from bringing it up. It was probably the first talking point every guy used to break the ice, and I had wanted to avoid spouting generic talking points just this once. She seemed awesome, and I didn't want to screw this up. Turned out, she was awesome. In fact, she was so awesome.

and our chemistry so seamless that her eyes didn't come up for much of the night. But inevitably, I said something about it as the night winded down. I thought this would be one of the few times someone didn't bring it up. She sighed and she looked away. Damn, had I really ruined things with such an innocuous comment? Alarms were going off in my head as I apologised, assuring her that I hadn't meant anything bad by it. I know you didn't, she turned to face. me again. It's just, well, I don't like to talk about it, okay?

I quickly replied in the affirmative, silently thanking God that I hadn't ruined things. I figured that would be the end of it, that she was just self-conscious about it for some reason. If only it had been that simple. Our next couple of dates were perfectly normal. I didn't say anything about her eyes and did my best not to stare. but when the day of our third date came, she cancelled. She had a horrible, piercing headache, don't they? she said. A perfectly understandable reason to cancel any social plans.

I thought it was odd that she seemed almost apologetic for having a headache and assured her that it was fine. But this was not a singular occurrence. It was a couple of weeks after that, the two of us relaxing in a living room, that another headache struck. She was perfectly fine one moment and hissing in pain

and clutching her head the next. Ice-back, please, was all she could muster. She pressed the ice-back against the right side of her face over the top of a green eye. At this point, I wasn't sure if I should stay or go,

and I asked. She told me that it may not last long this time, and that I should stick around for a bit if I wanted to. Sure enough, this particular headache subsided after just a few minutes, but other times they didn't. As the weeks went by, it became apparent that she suffered from reoccurring localized headaches, always in the region of a green eye. One night, she broke down and told me of the horrible blinding headaches that had plagued her since her teenage years. She told me of the searing, throbbing pain, of the

the lack of discernible medical cause, that she had tried virtually every applicable over-the-counter medicine, and even a couple of prescription drugs after begging doctors for relief, all to no avail. Doctors had come to the conclusion that the headaches were psychosomatic. She told me she was at a wits end, that she couldn't take this pain anymore, and that she didn't know what to do. I sympathized with her. I really did. I'd never dealt with recurring headaches or migraines,

but as someone who was at TMJ, I knew what it was like to suffer from serious pain that no one took seriously. And my pain had a diagnosable cause and had been treatable. I could scarcely imagine unflagging pain with no reprieve in sight. I asked her if she had any ideas or theories about the pains.

We all self-diagnosed to an extent after all. She had more than a theory She was certain of the root cause Her green eye True to her wishes I hadn't said anything about her eye Since that first meeting But it was her who breached the topic this time

I think she was just happy to have an open ear listening And we had built quite a rapport by then She told me everything that night Of the headaches and of the reoccurring dreams At first just harmless and scenic visions, but now horrible and frightening. I don't like to talk about my hetrochromia, she began. And it's not because I'm self-conscious about the look or anything like that. But ever since I was a kid, I've had a persistent feeling that my green eye isn't mine.

I didn't want to be skeptical or an asshole as she opened up about her problems. But my quizzical look betrayed my reaction anyway. It sounds weird, I know, but you haven't had the visions and dreams I've had, Laura continued. I asked if she thought the dreams were connected to the headaches. I'm sure of it, Laura nodded. They happen close together usually. She had my attention, and she continued.

When I was a kid, I had initially benign dreams of walking in the forest. When I had those dreams, my good eye was closed. I would only ever, and still do only, see with my green eye during these dreams. There has to be a connection, there has to be, she said with conviction. But the dreams got worse, I asked, genuinely concerned now. At this point, I still thought there was a plausible explanation for this condition, but I was nevertheless concerned. Yes, much worse.

Eventually, I made it further and further to the forest. By the time I was in high school, I could hear furious buzzing emanating from deeper within the woods, but I would always wake up before I found the source. Not long after the buzzing became a part of the dreams, the headache started. They too have gotten worse with time. At this point, I had nothing to say, but was fully captivated. She continued. As inevitable as that was, it's gotten remarkably worse over time.

I still haven't found the source of the buzzing, but I've been getting very close lately. I can sense it, but as I get closer to the source, the headaches get worse. But that's no longer the worst part. The buzzing isn't the only sound anymore. They're calling out to me in some unintelligible language. Even worse, lately, I've been calling back

in that same unknown tongue. Do you know what you're hearing or saying in the dreams? I was getting really alarmed now. Something was very wrong. This was not normal. I was worried for her. Some dormant part of me must,

but the active, incognizant part of me has no idea. I don't know if I want to know, or need to know. I don't know if the key to beating this is finding the truth behind this all, but I have to try to figure this out. How can we figure this out?

I hadn't meant to frame it as our problem. I guess we were closer than I realized. She seemed to briefly smile at that, but kept laser-focused on the topic at hand. By going to the forest, she said, firmly. I'll admit, I was apprehensive about that. Hell, how did she even know what this forest was? How uncanny were these dreams and visions?

I understand this has a lot to spring on you. You don't have to make a decision right away. But please, think about it. I could see a pleading look as she said this last bit. She had put her faith and trust in me. I knew then that I was going to acquiesce to this crazy expedition, but I still needed some time to process everything. But this proposed search was given a giant push closer to actuality that night,

when we slept together for the first time. Her thrashing and screaming nightmares were obviously highly distressing and almost certainly the reason it took so long for us to share a bed overnight. Something needed to be done to address this, and barring conventional treatment, a harmless trip into the wilderness, may be the best course of action. If it truly was all in her head, then maybe this journey would alleviate.

alleviate her condition, a sort of placebo, if you will. One night, not long after, when I had come around to the idea, and we had yet to make definitive plans for the trip, a drastic call to action was issued in the form of the worst dream yet. Oh my God, Nick, Laura said through tears. I remember what they were saying this time. It's getting so much worse. We have to go as soon as we can.

I wearily nodded my scent. And gingerly asked what they were saying, Join us, Laura said fearfully. They were telling me to join them. We wasted little time making haste for the trip after that nightmare. It was fortunate we both had flexible work schedules. We were able to pack up some camping and backpacking gear and head out the very next week.

I thought a forest would be an awfully scant hint to pursue, but evidently it wasn't. With certainty that unsettles me to this day, Laura provided flawless directions without hesitation. Before I knew it, we had arrived at a dense state forest two states over. How did you? I started to ask, more than a little unnerved by this point. I just know, okay?

I decided not to push the issue any further. This was probably even more distressing for her than me. Besides, I had nothing to fear. At this point, I believed it was all in ahead, and that nothing more than a peaceful and scenic camping trip awaited. Once again, Laura took the lead. She walked with an uncanny clairvoyance that could have only been gained from repeated excursions into these woods.

I had to admit, it was getting harder to maintain my skepticism. As we walked, Laura pointed out trees, trails and landmarks that she had seen in her dreams. With unfailing and unnerving direction, we covered several miles before finally stopping for the night. After setting up camp, we both collapsed in the tent in a state of exhaustion. I had plans to sit outside for a bit

and enjoy the sounds of night, but I no longer had it in me. Instead, I drifted off into a sound sleep. At least, until I was disturbed by sounds. Somewhere deeper in the woods, a buzzing sound was permeating through the air. Damn, maybe these dreams were more than just dreams after all. As I started to get used to the buzzing, I made a horrifying discovery.

The tent was wide open and Laura was gone. Damn, I said aloud. Had she gone off in search of the source on her own, in the middle of the night? Had she started sleepwalking? Or had she been taken? I hurriedly put on my shoes, grabbed my flashlight, and stepped out into the slightly chilly night in hopes of finding a trail. I saw what looked like freshly stepped on grass and followed its trail.

Laura? I called out. No response. I kept following the trail. I came upon some thick brush. that had clearly been disturbed recently. This had to be the trail. It had to be. Laura?

I shouted again. This time I received the response. Nick, over here! I took off running in the direction of the voice. Do my best not to trip or get hung on Briars. Where are you? I shouted as I kept running. This way!

The voice was closer this time, but still possible. possibly a ways off. As I ignored my burning sides and continued running, I heard a blood-curdling scream. Laura scream. Oh my god, help, hurry! I shouted that I was coming and renewed my spirit. Finally, I stumbled into a large clearing.

The first thing that caught my eye was a sort of giant hive, almost like one of those massive termite hives. The second thing I saw was Laura. on the ground covering a green eye which bled profusely. Damn, she was hurt bad. I was so engrossed in what I saw that I failed to realize that the corporate was likely nearby and that I too was in danger. As this occurred to me, I became painfully aware of the fact that the buzzing was still present at amplified levels.

I looked up the beam of my flashlight illuminating the light, a massive swarm of small creatures. They appeared to be fairies or sprites. They were humanoid with intact like wings and couldn't have been more than five inches tall. Individually they were probably harmless, but there were hundreds of them. My flashlight set them off.

They became frenzied, apoplectic even. They let out a shrill, piercing shriek. I dropped the flashlight in my impulse to cover my ears. Before I could do that, do or say anything, though. They were on me, clawing and biting me. It is to this day the worst pain I felt. The venom from their fangs and claws felt like fire, scorching my skin and muscles. It was exponentially more painful than a wasp sting, and I was being repeatedly stung by hundreds of them. I swatted furiously, but it was no use. I glanced to my knees, too weak to fend

off. Just when all seemed lost, I heard another voice, a human's voice, but in an alien language. Laura was speaking to them and what I can only imagine was the language in her dreams. The horde stopped. They hovered about 20 feet above, not moving anymore. To this day, I don't know what she said. She refuses to say, and I'm not sure I want to know. We have to go, now, Laura urged as she stumbled to her feet.

With considerable effort, I stood all the way up. My left arm, which had apparently taken the brunt of the attack, was swollen and dark red. My vision blurred at the sides as Laura and I supported each other, stumbling slowly through the brush. I struggled to navigate the brush that I had blazed through just minutes earlier. My left arm was completely numb and limp now. hanging uselessly at my side. I would like to say that we made it out of the woods under our own power. But the last memory of those woods I have is collapsing to the ground.

My vision fading to black. I woke up in the hospital three days later. Apparently our vehicle lacked the required state park permits and the rangers had looked for us. They found us about a half mile from our tent. Thank God my trail had been so conspicuous. I was lucky to be alive, or so I was told. The combination of exhaustion and the venom had nearly done me in.

And speaking of the venom, its potency baffle the hospital staff. They sent samples far and wide, but I highly doubt they found a match. I lost most of the mobility in my left hand from the damage that venom inflicted. I suppose I'm lucky I didn't suffer a more severe impairment. As for Laura, the damage to a green eye was too great to save it. It had to be surgically removed, which was fined by her. She has a glass eye now, a glass eye that, at a steadfast insistence, is brown. As for what happened to her that night, she had indeed sleepwalked, only waking up at the clearing.

We don't talk about this much, but recently, I've been thinking about it more. often. You see, we've been trying for a child for the past few months and we finally conceived last month. I pray to God that both our children's eyes are the same colour. It was almost 15 years ago now that I first met one of the most interesting people I know. True to that nature, I also met him in one of the most interesting and unexpected ways. I was out hiking on a trail in washers, It was a remote area, but one which I was fairly familiar with. On that particular day, I decided to venture far beyond the hiking trail I normally took just for the sake of exploration.

After some time, I entered a sunlit gully, which led up to a local mountain, rife with blooming conifers and serene, glistening pines. I was alone that day, and felt my soul rejuvenate a bit with every breath of fresh mountain air. fresh mountain air. After probably 20 minutes, I was well off the beaten trail and I found something worrying. I was about to take another step when I paused mid-stride, seeing a circular, jagged, metal ring, laying just behind a small shrub. It was a good thing I didn't put my foot down, as the ring proved to be an improvised bear trap. The hell are you doing out here?

A gruff male voice suddenly shouted from somewhere unseen. I looked around trying to find the person who had spoken when he chose the step forward and revealed himself An older man sporting a long grey beard Then emerged from the brush He had amber skin Long greyish black dreadlocks And a scar on his right cheek

He wore a raggedy brown coat That looked hand woven And old jeans patched in multiple spots By mismatched fabric His eyes burn like campfires And his hands clutched the bolt-action rifle while his lip cradled a sizable wad of chew. I asked you a question, son.

What are you doing here? After fumbling and my words for a moment, I was finally able to piece together a response. I was just out, hiking. Sorry, I didn't know anyone lived out here. The man seemed to silently inspect me for a moment. I felt my pulse sore in my chest as I wondered what he intended on doing.

We were, after all, completely alone out of the moment. there. You see that trap back there, son? He pointed to the same trap I'd narrowly avoided stepping on a minute earlier. I nodded and swallowed hard. He tilted to the side and spewed a mouthful of tobacco spit into the dirt. Guess that means I got to hide him better. He stared at me, completely deadpan, and I found my heart plunge into the depth of my

stomach. I thought he was a maniac hellbilly cannibal, Hell bent on having me for lunch then. But then, he suddenly burst into a fit of raspy laughter. I was left there, confused, and partially horrified as the man continued to cackle for several seconds. Oh, I'm just kidding, son. He wiped a tear from his eye and recomposed himself as I continued silently debating whether or not I should run like hell. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and smiled at me.

apologies buddy my wife always said my sense of humour is a bit dark i eyed the man over and he suddenly seemed less sinister than he had a moment ago there was a sense of jubilence in his gaze like he was genuinely happy to see me it's hard to explain but he kept me from running i forced to laugh myself good thing for both of us i guess this hiking has given me a major case of swampass can't imagine i'd tell you to laugh myself i've forced to laugh myself good thing for both of us i guess this hiking has given me a major case of swampass can't imagine i'd taste too good. The man burst out into laughter once more, and this time I joined in. In that moment, I knew I had found a new friend. The man formally introduced himself

not long after as Mark Hastings. After conversing for a while, he told me that he had lived in that particular area for a couple years at least, though admitted he didn't know exactly how long he'd been there. He said he left the city behind in and seemed quite surprised when I told him the current year was 2020.

Mark's accent was something which struck me as quite interesting, as it was one I couldn't quite pin down. He had a slight southern drawl, and yet also sounded as though he may have had a bit of a British influence as well. He pronounced words like Again as Again, and had a strange vocal inflection. The best way I can really describe it as the way someone speaks in all black and white movies, proper and yet somehow country.

We got to talking and he told me more about himself. He said he used to do construction back in the day, but when his wife got sick with cancer, he really changed things for him. He said she battled it for almost three years, but eventually lost the fight. Afterwards, he was left alone with a mountain of medical bills to account for. Rather than pay them off, an attempt to move forward,

Mark shows a different path It's funny, you know You work your ass off for years Begin building the life you want With a woman of your dreams And then it all just falls apart For no good reason Then, when you're at your lowest

Good old Uncle Sam comes in And slaps you with a bill You ain't never gonna pay back So I say to hell with them To hell with her taxes and debt Out here, I'm truly free There ain't nothing left for me in the real real world anyways.

There was a distinct glimmer of pain behind his grey eyes as he said it, and I felt myself feeling sorry for him. He wasn't at all what I expected when we first met. Just a normal guy whose life fell apart through no fault of his own. In a way, I found it sort of admirable. The system beat him down, and rather than just accept it and be a good little wage slave, He left it all behind with one big middle finger. I visited Mark pretty regularly after that and tried to make the trek out to see him at least

once a month. He always seemed to have a smile on his face when I came to visit. Soon enough he even invited me back to his cabin for a fresh meal and some drinks. I was a bit hesitant at first, but decided to accept. Pardon me, expected him to prepare a meal of squirrels and tree bark when he first offered. I couldn't have been more wrong. Mark made us a fresh rabbit stew with some homegrown potatoes and bread he had made from scratch. On top of that, he even made his own home-brewed ale to wash it all down.

It was surprisingly delicious and really made me admire Mark more for his resourcefulness. He wasn't just some half-ass camper. He was truly a man of the land. His cabin was reminiscent of one that would have been used by early 18th century. century trappers. A handcrafted stone chimney was his only source of heat, while animal belts covered the walls and strips of meat were drying on his jerky rack. There were two couches in the main room, constructed of whittled wood and bearing hand-woven pillows stuffed with feathers. He had no electronics of any kind, claiming he didn't need those technologic

doohicies anyways. Mark had two bloodhounds, Raleigh and Daisy, that lived there with him, and were his only real companions. I eventually asked if he ever missed civilization or got lonely out there, but he immediately refuted the question. For a while, yeah, but not anymore. It's easy to forget about society when society already forgot about you. I really grew to admire Mark and even cherish our friendship. Over our many meetings, he would tell me stories about his life,

told me all about his business and his wife before she passed. The way he spoke about her in particular truly broke my heart. He was a man who met his soulmate and built a life he loved with her, only to have it all roped away by the cruel hands of fate. More than anything, though, Mark was always ready to tell me how much he hated the government. I think that was what made me like him the most. One night, he and I were drinking some of his home. brewed honey ale and chilling around his campfire. He had just got done telling a story

about a five-point buck that he had narrowly missed a few weeks earlier. He finished it with admitting that he heard some weird, loud noise from the woods that scared it off before a good fire. That detail got me thinking, and since I've always been a fan of the paranormal and whatnot, I figured I'd go ahead and ask him. You ever seen anything really creepy out here? Mark's eyes opened wide and he immediately lowered his mug from his lips. He wiped the suds from his bushy beard and stared down at the campfire for a couple of seconds. I could tell he knew exactly what I meant. He then chuckled and wrapped in his chair with a smug grin. Zack, I tell you, you don't know

creepy until you spend some time out here. He then began to tell me a story of when he at first began living out there. He said it took him close to a year to finally assemble his cabin, at least partially. During that time he and his dogs were living in a simple tent. Mark said that a couple weeks after living there, he said he started noticing something odd. Every once in a while, he'd wake up to find mutilated animals just outside the perimeter of his camp.

Usually it was just small creatures like rabbits, birds and squirrels, but it didn't stay that way. Over time, Mark began finding more and more corpses left at his camp. He thought it was the work of a Puma at first, despite the fact that the corpses seemed to retain most of the meat. He quickly rethought that though, when he found an actual Puma corpse one morning. He said most of the animals had slash marks along their sides and necks, and many had been disemboweled. He began thinking it was the work of some deranged person, but even that thought didn't last long. One night, as it was preparing to turn in for the evening, he had a rustling sound coming from

within the forest. He dug down underneath some timber in hopes of catching a glimpse of the culprit. Both of his dogs were already chained up for the night, so he knew it couldn't be one of them. A figure then emerged deeper in the woods. Mark said he didn't see the entire thing, but he could tell it was bipedal and scrawny. I asked if it could have been a bear with mange But Mark claimed it was way too skinny for that He said he'd seen sick bears before

And they looked and moved nothing like that thing Mark initially planned on trying to shoot it But after seeing that he admitted He didn't think that would have been a good idea The creature dropped something on the perimeter Which Mark discovered the following morning Was the corpse of a raccoon The thing's head then tilted

and appeared to stare directly towards Mark They just stared there in silence for several seconds Until the dogs began snarling voraciously from inside the tent They must have caught its scent And the thing suddenly crouts on all fours and dashed off back into the woods As the dogs went ballistic Mark didn't know what he had seen that night And apparently never saw it again

To me, it sounded like a Wendigo or Skinwalker based on his description. I told him that, but he had no idea what those things were. He seemed to think the thing was actually leaving him gifts, but I wasn't so sure about that. I asked him about the typical creatures as seen in creepypastor and television law. I mentioned the Wendigo, Skinwalker, Slender Man, the Rake, Sirenhead, and some of the well-known others. but Mark didn't seem to know anything about any of them. He did, however, know about something called The Whistler.

Apparently, ever since he had been out there, he heard an odd whistling sound on occasion. It started off as little more than a dull, barely audible noise in the distance. He said at times it would come closer, and at others it seemed like it was further away. Mark thought it was a bird for the longest time. But one night he found the truth.

He was chopping wood, when suddenly the whistling noise emerged. This time it was different, and this time it was closer than ever before. Suddenly there was a rustling noise from behind him. Mark spun back, but only saw a few branches bristling back and forth. He then heard the whistle again, louder than ever before. He looked up, and there it was. About 20 feet up, in a large oak tree, with some kind of figure. Mark described it as kind of human with a head that looked like some screwed up eel.

He said he saw the thing stare down at him with beady black eyes. He just froze, and before he could do anything, the thing suddenly leapt from the tree. It crashed into another one further away and continued whistling and crashing as it blended into the depths of the woods. didn't know what to say to that. I have heard legends about the whistlers out in the woods, but never heard about anyone having actually seen them. The way he described it, he sounded quite creative, and I wondered whether he was capable of an imagination so elaborate, or if he had actually seen what he claimed. I asked him whether he thought this whistler was the same creature that was leaving him corpses, but he just shook his head.

Without being prompted He told me another tale About hearing voices in the wood sometimes Sometimes it was that of an old man Sometimes that of a young girl And sometimes He didn't sound human at all I wondered whether my new friend was perhaps

schizophrenic or suffering from some mental illness That caused him to hear these things I obviously didn't tell him that But his claims had to be met with some amount of skepticism What do you think it was? Mark leaned back and his head swiveled on his shoulders. No clue, son, and part of me hopes I'll never find out. He went on to explain that he continued hearing voices on occasion,

but never saw who or what was making them. He seemed to think all the voices were coming from the same entity though. Without being prompted, he took the conversation an entirely new accusatory direction. It's the goddamn government, Zach, messing with things they got no business messing with. He then delved into a conspirator rant about how the government, and specifically the guys in black trucks, there were up to some really shady antics. He said that they knew about the gates in the forest and had been actively trying to open them. He didn't elaborate on what exactly he meant by that.

You see them out here? You know, government, CIA. C. I was confused. C.A? C.A? he asked. It was my turn to look confused then. Yeah, central intelligence agency.

You know, men in black, M.K. Ultra and whatnot. Mark still appeared slightly puzzled. I didn't understand how a guy like him, who hated the government to such an extreme degree, had apparently never heard of the mother of all conspiracy agencies like the CIA. like the CIA. He then seemed to have an epiphany and his eyes lit up in recognition. Oh yeah, I forgot all about them.

He then laughed and shook his head as he downed another swig of ale. My memory ain't what it used to be, I'm afraid. God damn, how could I forget them? Well, in my defence, they don't carry no badges out here and their vehicles don't exactly advertise who they work for. He paused and rubbed the back of his neck. but you've seen them out here?

Mark met my eyes and nodded. Oh yeah. Mark told me that one time he'd been tracking an elk through the woods in late autumn. He followed the trail for a few miles when he suddenly heard a noise coming from a grove up ahead. He sounded nothing like a bear though and more like several people arguing. Mark crept slowly forward, taking care and taking care

not to disturb the foliage and remain out of sight. After a couple seconds, he saw the outline of several people emerge in the grove. One man was on his knees in the centre, or four men in black suit surrounded him. The man on his knees had opened wounds and bruises upon his face, and his clothing was torn and tattered. He was begging for the other's mercy, but they didn't appear to be the forgiving type. Two of the men were speaking quietly to one another,

while the other two stood watch over their apparent captive. The man on his knees was dressed in white, with Mark describing his clothes as looking like a surgeon's uniform, or maybe the attire of someone from an insane asylum. He listened but couldn't make out what the two other men were talking about, but they were clearly arguing. The man on his knees appeared to be weeping softly. Mark said he didn't know what to do.

know what to do, and, before he could do anything, one of the two men who had previously been arguing stepped away. Without a word, the man stepped behind the captive, lifted a pistol to the back of the man in White's head, and pulled the trigger. Mark described seeing a splash of red, but said the weapon made a lot less noise than he thought it would. The man in white went limp and fell face first into the dirt. Oh my god, I said, mouth falling agape as Mark concluded his story.

I eyed him closely, but didn't see any aura of boasting in his eyes. They didn't twinkle like that of a man who tried telling a fabricated story to simply amaze and repress an audience. He didn't meet my gaze at all, as a matter of fact. He just clasped his hands in front of his mouth and stared into the campfire with a somber gaze. It was clear to me that he was either an accomplished actor or what he had witnessed truly haunted him. Poor boy couldn't have been much older than you. I wish I would have done something, but I just ran. He shook his head and his eyes seemed to glaze over.

I just stayed quiet, as there was nothing I could think to say. After a couple moments of lingering silence, Mark finally spoke again. Zach, I gotta tell you a secret. He looked me in the eye, and I gulped down the lump in my throat. I don't particularly care for the government. I chuckled and Mark let out a small laugh. I think you've mentioned that once or twice, I replied with a laugh. Yeah, I suppose I have.

But it's not just because the IRS is after my ass. It's because of the things like what I saw that day. It's because government corrupts by its very nature. It takes what it wants and destroys those who oppose it. Ain't no justice, no considerations and nothing you can do about it. Now, I don't know the details of what they were disagreeing on that night, but I guarantee you that boy didn't deserve what he got. I nodded, but wasn't entirely convinced that he witnessed what he thought he had.

You sure is the government that did that? Could have been drug dealers or mafia. Mark hunched his shoulders and gave a snide chuckle. What's the difference? I chuckled, but didn't have a response. Well, I see why you'd think that, but that's because you ain't spent as much time out here as I have. But what you don't know and what no one is supposed to know.

It's about the tunnels. I peaked an eyebrow at that comment. Tunnels? Mark grinned. and nodded back. There are a series of tunnels that run deep below the earth. Gotta be a couple dozen of them within a few miles of us. Government knows about him.

Maybe they built him. Well, I doubt that. I think they're just interested by what's inside. And that is? I asked, now on the edge of my seat. Mark scoffed and shook his head. I have no idea. But it's got to be.

be something bad. I was a bit disappointed with that answer, but Mark immediately drew my curiosity back. You want to see one of them? I nodded without even really thinking. Mark grinned. I figured you might. It's a bit late in the day to go now. So, what do you say we head out first thing in the morning? I agreed without hesitance and promised to return the next morning to meet up with Mark. I walked back down the trail that day with my imagination running wild. As I mentioned, I liked Mark and very much enjoyed our conversations. To me, he was somewhat like a compassionate grandfather with a plethora of exuberant stories

that may or may not have been slightly exaggerated. I thought about all he had told me, about the animal carcasses, the whistling thing, the voices and the tunnels. I wanted to believe him, but urban legends abound in our day and age. I was well aware that perhaps he had just concocted these stories after his decades of isolation. I needed to season proof for myself. Due glisten in the leaves illuminated by the crimson sun rising over the hills as I set off the next morning. It was a bit chilly as I walked, but thoughts of the unknown kept me warm as I walked.

Before long, I arrived at Mark and I's usual meeting spot and found him already waiting there for me. He greeted me and without hesitation we began to trek out to his spot We made small talk on the way Mostly about asinine topics like my family and work After maybe 15 minutes of walking We rounded a small bend

Tugged behind a small grove of trees Mark stepped out in front And turned to face me He then grinned and outstretched his hand to the right I followed his gesture And felt my jaw strike the floor There was an opening on the side of the hill that was lined with smooth stone and brick. It was quite enormous, with the perimeter having to have been at least 15 feet wide.

The opening appeared collapsed and the entrance was filled with rubble and dirt, looking as though someone had intentionally, yet clumsily sealed it. This is the tunnel? I asked. Mark nodded. One or many, but it was. wasn't sealed up like this last time I was here. How long ago was that?

Mark shrugged. Don't know, maybe a year or two. I looked back at the collapsed tunnel. It was clear someone had gone through a great deal of effort to construct it, but the construction didn't look like a mining operation. I'm no expert in mining or anything, but I can't imagine they would spend time laying brick and creating such a wide entrance. I'm wrong about that, but the more curious fact was why it had been sealed up.

I thought maybe it was just vandals, but that explanation somehow didn't satisfy. What's inside? I asked. Mark paused for a moment and stared towards the wreckage. He then shook his head and spat into the dirt. Bad things. I hoped he would elaborate on that, but he didn't. I mean, it had to be for someone to seal it up like this, right? That's an impressive hole. Would have taken a great deal of effort. He was right about that,

but I still felt there was information he was withholding from me. You think this is the government's work? Mark nodded. Not a single doubt in my mind about it. Mark's head then suddenly flicked to the side and he stared out into the trees as if something had alerted him. I watched the colour drain from his cheeks as his mouth pursed open.

We should go. I don't like lingering here for too long. I didn't argue, as clearly something had spooked him. He and I trekked back to his cabin, checking his snares on the way back. Mark found a pair of rabbits in his traps, and after swiftly snapping their necks, he slung them over his shoulder. We got back to his cabin, and Mark said to his. to work and harvested in the meat from the rabbit for his stew. I sat around, petting Daisy

in Rally as they slobbered all over my knee and panted endlessly. I don't think I ever told you about the scariest part of living out here, did I? Mark asked. I looked up from the two dogs and stared at him, heart now beating with excitement. Mark sauntered over, carrying the meat from the rabbits along with a clump of chopped vegetables. He dumped the plate into the simmering cauldron on the fire, then took a seat across the fire. I stayed silent as he stared down at the flickering flames in deep thought. There are things out there that people don't know about. Creatures, places and things that would seem to defy all explanation.

The advancement of society and technology has led people to believe they're safe, and for the most part, they're right. So long as they stay out of the woods, those things can't get them. But there is something that can. Mark paused and looked at me dead in the eye. I call it the silence. He paused as if to allow the words to accumulate the dread he felt they deserved.

I had an inkling of an idea where the conversation was headed, but just waited for him to explain. There's been rumours about it for a very long time, and it's something that has been affecting humanity for centuries, if not millennia. People have only just begun to realise it, but if they knew the true extent of what's going on, well, no one would ever go into the woods again. He paused and leaned in to stir the pot a bit before sitting back.

People disappear, Zach. No reason for it, no explanation and no bodies are ever found. The cases seem to defy all explanation, and it happens again and again. Mark then suddenly grunted and began rubbing his eye. Ah, damn smoke. Sorry, where was I? The disappearances, I replied. Mark seemed suddenly hesitant, as if he didn't know whether he should continue.

Yeah, the disappearances. I don't particularly like talking about this. If I'm being honest, it's not really my business, but you're a good kid, Zach, and I know you come out here a lot, and I'd be devastated if anything were to happen to you. Dred crept around me like dozens of little spiders scurrying in my flesh. I couldn't help but raise my guard and wonder where exactly this conversation was headed. Mark went on to tell me about the silence he mentioned. He said If I was ever walking through the woods

And everything went completely silent I was to drop to my knees And put my face in the dirt immediately He said to stay still Until the sound returned to normal And What if the sound doesn't come back? I asked

Spine tingling with anxiety Mark looked me dead in the eye And his words offered nothing Of comfort Then God help you He said no more about the subject, and I didn't push him on it. It was clear he really wasn't comfortable discussing it beyond his initial warning. If he had any theories about what was responsible, he didn't voice them.

The whole conversation had given me a strong missing 4-1-1 vibes, and I wondered whether he was referring to the same phenomenon. Both of us just sort of lingered in silence for a while, as the stew finished cooking. A few minutes later, Mark leaned in and scooped two servings into a bowl, handing one of them to me. The stew was delicious as usual, and I happily scarfed it down as Mark provided his hounds with their dinner as well, although didn't so much as a nibble on his own serving. What do you know about mimics? I don't know why exactly I asked, but the thought had suddenly arisen in my mind.

Mark seemed to perk up, but yet stared back with a look of confusion that seemed to contradict his reaction. I'm sorry, what? Mimics, I clarified. Some people call them impostors or liars, things that look and try to act human but aren't. Mark stared back at me, and a small grin slithered onto his face. Now, what would make you ask a question like that? that. Mark's grin evaporated, and he stared back with something akin to contempt. Truth is, some of the things I'd seen from him made me question who he claimed he was.

There was just a subtle wrongness to him, in a way, I've never felt the words to accurately describe. Just curious, I replied, staring back. Mark chuckled, but without any humour in his tone. tone. Your kind always is. Ever since your brothers took up arms against one another in the war of grey and blue, your curiosity has been quite insatiable. You think this land belongs to you, like this country is your own personal proving grounds to pillage and destroy as you please. His form seemed to shift as he spoke, his eyes shrinking in their sockets, and his skin seemed to twitch.

His teeth bared like fangs over cougar, and his long black hair flowing like a clump of wild eels. He leaned forward in a gaze that no longer seemed entirely human. Zach, there are things out here that your world of science and logic

will never understand. And these things are better left alone. He and I just stared at one another and I found my heart beginning to thump away my chest. I thought, about his words, The War of Grey and Blue. Could he have been referring to the American Civil War?

Why referenced that event specifically? What year did you say you moved out here? I asked. Mark grinned again, now appearing more menacing than ever before. 96. 1896. I shook my head. I don't understand.

I replied, shaking my head. Your kind never does. His voice had suddenly changed, becoming much more high-pitched like that of a young girl. His head cocked to the side, and his grin grew almost literally ear to ear as his mouth stretched impossibly wide. Your kind has conquered this world. Both beast and nature bowed your might. You live in comfort, convinced that there is nothing that can hurt you in. anymore.

His voice had changed again, sounding like a raspy Scottish man with rolled Ars. But you're wrong. His voice had changed again, like that of a young, rebellious boy resisting his parents' wishes in a juvenile defiance. Mark then stood, and his form extended, making him tower over me and the campsite. Even days in Raleigh started altering their form, like they were also simply hiding their true form. I rose and backed away, no longer seen Mark as the friendly hermit I had thought him to be.

I thought that moment would be my end, and that the beast which hid itself in the form of Mark was prepared to devour me whole. Before he did, I had one final question to ask, What are you? Mark chuckled, his form continuing to grow apparently inhuman. He then shook his monstrous head. Wrong question. His voice bellowed forth, spoken in the chorus of a thousand voices all in unison.

I took another step back, wondering what he, it could have meant by that. It then struck me. What do you want? The thing I had once known as Mark stared down at me to an entirely inhuman gaze. To watch. And protect. We stared at one another, and I attempted to understand what was happening. After all he had told me, and his time devoted to actually speaking with me,

part of me almost wanted to believe his words were meant to reassure me, like he was conveying that it was me, or generally humanity as a whole he wished to protect. After ruminating on it for a while, though, I don't think that's the case anymore. Why are you telling me all this? The thing I'd once known as Mark grinned, as if that was the question who was waiting to hear, so that you can tell the world.

And so I have. I left Mark and that trail behind, and I've not been back since. That's why I'm here now, to tell the world as the thing I once knew as Mark instructed me to. I don't even know why or what exactly I'm supposed to be telling. Maybe that Mark is not human, and that there are things in the woods that will never be fully understood, or maybe that he is watching, and that something has given him a great deal of power for some reason.

I wish I had more answers, but I had to share this, regardless of whether anyone will believe it. And needless to say, I don't think I'll be able to. be visiting Mark anytime soon. This happened fairly recently at a wildlife management area near my town. I won't reveal its exact location, but it's in a densely wooded region near the Connecticut Rhode Island border. A favourite spot of me and my friends was a lake in the centre of the WMA we called the

hole, because of its purported deepness. There was a small cluster of picnic tables on the lake's far side where we'd partied at night when it was warm outside. For the most part, I had a lot of wonderful memories associated with the hole, where I had my first hook up, caught my biggest fish, and even celebrated a few birthdays. After that faithful night, however, those memories became meaningless. Not only was the whole our hangout, but we also used it to stash our liquor, tobacco, and other party favours.

On this particular night, there were five of us. Rob, my best friend, Tanner, who lived down the street from me, Uma, a foreign exchange student we befriended, Pam, my cousin, and myself. Earlier that day, Rob and Tanner visited the hall to hide a bottle of vodka we planned on drinking that night, saying they stashed it in the crevice of a boulder along the trail that took us to the picnic tables. Our plans changed unexpectedly when Pam said we could drink at her house. All we had to do was retrieve the bottle, which was easier said than done at 10pm. Uma and Pam stayed in the car while Rob, Tanner and myself went to get the bottle.

Despite this relatively secluded location, the trails were maintained pretty routinely and appeared to have been worked on earlier today. About 15 minutes of walking, we approached the trail's first junction, which either took you around the lake or deeper into the walk. This doesn't feel right, Tanner exclaimed as we came to a halt. We didn't come this far. Did we pass it? Rob and I exchanged glances with mixed expressions of bewilderment and frustration before he replied. No Tanner, we've used that bouldered to hide stuff multiple times before. How do you not know where it is by now?

Rob replied in a tone that sounded like he was asking a question. You were even the one who picked the damn spot. Tanner shrugged. Everything just looks different at night, I guess. Rob grumbled something before we resumed walking. I couldn't quite hear what he said,

but it seemed to anger Tanner. They'd been edgy towards each other all night, so I assumed they had a previous argument they hadn't settled. I'm sure the night's hot, humid conditions also didn't necessarily help lighten the mood. Let's just find it and get back, I added, trying to keep the peace, since Rob and Tanner was susceptible to butting heads.

We've only been out here 15 minutes and I'm already matted with sweat. We walked in silence for another couple of minutes until something caught Tanner's attention. Look at this, Tanner said, briefly stepping out of our headlamp's light and in re-emerging from the darkness, brandishing a small orange chainsaw. Why would you leave something like this just chilling along the trail? Probably because they're coming back tomorrow to finish whatever they're working on. Rob said quickly, winting when Tanner started aimlessly waving the chains were in the air. Just put it down, dude, you're wasting time.

Tanner scoffed at Rob's comment and resumed walking. Nobody's going to mess with us if we got one of these. Tanner said, part joking and part serious. Do you even know how to use it? Rob asked, condescendingly, as him and I struggled to keep up with Tanner, who is lavishing over the newfound sense of invincibility he seemingly acquired from discovering the chainsaw. Tanner didn't respond and did a slow 360 degree spin as he stuck the chainsaw out and lazily swung it horizontally. You're going to kill someone! Rob barked, stopping dead in his tracks during Tanner's graceful chainsaw spin.

despite being well over 20 paces from where he stood. I could hear Rob mumble something like, It's always something with him, or he always has to find something to sidetrack us, but didn't say anything, knowing how arguing was a huge component of Rob and Tanner's volatile friendship. Tanner was definitely the most immature out of us,

whereas Rob was very subtle yet temperamental. I hoped retrieving the bottle would be simple and seamless. so we could get back to the car out of this sticky, heavy humidity without Rob and Tanner engaging in another round of arguments. Rob and Tanner had mixed reactions when we reached the boulder where the vodka was supposedly stored. Tanner stopped rather abruptly while Rob continued walking toward the boulder. This doesn't feel right, Tanna said as he surveyed our surroundings. I really don't think this was the one we left it in, bro.

Tanner and I watched Rob encircle the boulder, before stepping up and inspecting a side that was obstructed from my view. Rob adjusted his headlamp a few times, shifting his stance and arms for nearly two minutes before he finally stepped back and turned towards us. It's not here, Rob said flatly. I told you, Tanner snapped back, dropping the chainsaw, whose clank echoed throughout the forest. We hid the bottle together. Rob barked, anger and frustration growing in each of his words as he turned to face Tanner. If that's where we hid it, why isn't it there anymore? Tanner quickly asked.

I don't know, maybe someone took it. Rob replied while he started walking toward Tanner. Or maybe because that's not where we left it. How do you not even remember? Are you really that dumb? Is your brain really that fried from the barrage of stuff you smoke, snort or pop? That was the last line I heard before zoning the two out while they bickered. I walked over to the boulder and inspected it myself, carefully walking around it,

before beginning to thoroughly inspect the crevice where Rob claimed to have stashed the bottle. There was indeed nothing inside, as Rob claimed. I didn't doubt Rob's story. Figuring Tanner must have been too stone to notice at the time, and some other kids took it for themselves. We weren't the only ones who hung out here. and have previously come across all the kid's stashes in the hiding spots we used. I was annoyed upon realizing we didn't have anything to drink tonight

and dreaded how the girls would react upon learning the news. My trainer thought was disrupted by Rob, uttering something in a screeching shriek, to which Tanner responded with his own banji-like screams. I ran over and separated them, unable to quite precisely decipher what they were fighting about, since they were shouting over each other. While I didn't know what escalated their argument, I could tell, looking at the faces, they were both seething.

Upon separating them, I had to push against Rob, who still tried coming at Tanner, who started stomping back down the path. The last thing I heard Tanner say was a, screw you both, before a quick scraping and metallic thump broke out, followed by Tanner's gasp, getting cut short by a scum. squishy, crunching thump. I felt Rob's body stiffen as he stopped trying to force himself forward.

Leaning back, the fiery anger in Rob's eyes was now replaced by shock and sheer terror, his trembling jaw hanging open as the expression in his face seemed frozen in disbelief from whatever he stared at over my shoulder. When I looked behind me, my headlamp lights shone on Tanner lying face down on the ground, His twitching limbs sprawled out in different directions. A reddish- beige tip protruded from the back of Tanner's head, around which I quickly noticed the pool of blood was forming. I detached myself from Rob as we both stared in disbelief for a few seconds

before hurrying over toward Tanner's limp body. What happened? I started asking frantically to Rob, who stunned, wide-hard expression, hadn't changed. It... It was an accident. Rob managed to spot her out after a few seconds. His eyes unable to move off Tanner. He tripped over the chainsaw and he fell. A heavy knotty feeling formed in my stomach

when I realised the tip jutting out of the back of Tanner's head was the jaggedy edge of a small tree stump, probably about as thick as a silver dollar. There must have been cut down earlier today. Tanner tripped over the chainsaw he was playing with, lost his footing, and landed directly under the stump's pointed tip face first. We have to get help, I said, facing Rob, who was visibly struggling to maintain his composure. Unable to speak, Rob shakily nodded his head in response to my comment as his eyes remained fixed on Tanner's motionless body. Stay with him, can you do that?

I quickly asked Rob, who likely gestured with his head that he would. I'm going to run back to the car, call for help and let the girls know what happened. I'll be back as soon as possible. I didn't wait for Rob to respond and bolted back down the path, trying to run as fast as my feet could take me amid navigating the dark rocky trail. My heart pounded and my mind raced with a recurring image of Tannus' stiff, twitching body, while the reality of what just happened, along with the train. drastic shift of events this night took struggled to set in with me.

About halfway back to the parking lot, I stopped alongside the trail and vomited profusely, forcing myself to take a few slow deep breaths before resuming my sprint. I was able to reach the parking lot in under 10 minutes, finding Pam and Uma, still sitting in the car, both fixated on their phones. The girls were startled when I started frantically pounding on the glass, gesturing for them to step out of the vehicle. They seemed hesitant at first, probably thinking I was pulling some sort of prank until they noticed the genuine fear and panic in my eyes. I quickly called the police, saying there was an accident and gave them our location. Pam and Uma were now visibly concerned

and asking what was happening as soon as I hung up with the cops. There's been an accident, I stammered, realizing my body was visibly shaking while I still struggled to catch my breath. Tanner's hurt. He's hurt bad. Where's Rob? Pam asked urgently. To which I noted, he stayed back with Tanner. We have to try and move him, I said, while motioning for the three of us to head back down the trail.

Cops will be here for another 30 to 40 minutes. We have to try and get him back to the parking lot. The girl started asking what exactly happened to Tanner as I took them down the trail. I was so focused on getting back to Tanner and Rob I didn't answer them at first. I eventually spewed a vague response, simply stating he fell and is bleeding really bad, in between short gasps of air or trying to maintain a steady running pace. We returned to the spot where I left Tanner and Rob, but neither were anywhere to be seen. I quickly noticed the stump Tano fell on that was still encompassed by a fresh coating of blood,

which stay in the ground. After pointing it out and catching my breath, I finally had a chance to explain what actually happened to the girls, who responded with disturbed expressions of disgust and alarm. So, where are they now then? Pam blurted, yelling at me like I was the blame for the incident. I don't know, I told Rob to the problem. to stay with Tanner so, maybe he managed to start moving him back to the car? I replied with a blatant absence of confidence in my voice, trying to remain ignorant of the

inevitability that Tanner had more than likely been killed from his fall. Before anyone could say anything else, the sounds of shoveling footsteps, accompanied with a teeth gritting, squishy crunching sound, came from down the path. In the darkened section my headlamp's light couldn't reach. The three of us froze and stared intently toward where the noise came from, the footsteps appearing to get louder. I eventually started making out a human-shaped figure in the darkness that appeared to be taking staggering, stumbling steps, like someone who was deathly impaired.

When the figure stepped into my headlamp's light, all three of us released terrified gasps and yelps and yelps. A gaping, fist-sized hole was in the centre of Tamping, Tanner's mangled bloody face, where he'd been impaled by the stump. His head, hanging limp on his neck and bobbing side to side, looking like a broken toy. He was completely nude with blood streaking down the front of his torso, while his arms remained completely motionless and swayed lazily in conjunction with his discombobulated footsteps. That popping crunching sound emanated every time any one of Tanner's bodily joint shifted.

skin, a death of a corpse-like pale tone, and covered with mottled, greyish-blue patches. As much as I wanted to believe Tanner was somehow alive, it was abundantly clear something wasn't right. I heard Pam and Uma begin whimpering as Tanner took his lurching steps toward us, stopping when he was about nine or ten paces from where we stood. There was a tense stretch of seconds before I shakily uttered Tanner's name, after which his back made an abrupt arch and naturally bending backwards 90 degrees as a popping crunch emanated throughout our vicinity.

Tanner's swift movement made Pam and Irma shriek, after which he started racing towards where we stood. Our fight and flight instincts activated, the three of us swiftly pivoting and bolting back down the trail. I was convinced I heard that popping crunching and Tanner's wobbly footsteps following closely behind us in our dash back to the parking lot. I remained focused on what I could see in front of me until we reached the car. Pam and Irma were crying hysterically as I pivoted and shied my headlamp back down the trail

to see we were no longer being chased, but couldn't shake off the smothering feeling something was watching us within the forest's impenetrable darkness. We all instinctively scrambled toward the car, but paused when Pam asked us about Rob. In the ensuing silence that materialised when she asked this question, we picked up the sounds of soft whimpering that came from a cluster of nearby brushes. Shining my headlamp in that direction, I immediately noticed the figure making subtle movements and quickly realised it was Rob. We found him behind the bush on his knees with his face buried in his hands.

He was sobbing and frantically rocking back and forth. His clothes were covered in sweat, mud, and what appeared to be blood. Rob, I said, in a soft but shaky voice while rarely approaching him. We got to go, bro. Let me help you to the car. It's right. Rob started repeatedly mumbling the same phrase. I don't know what I saw.

It was so real. and I keep seeing it, I couldn't stop seeing it. When I extended a handout to Rob, he became still and silent for a few seconds, before lowering his hand, which I realised were coated in blood and lifted his head. His eyes were missing, when two empty black pits were now in their place,

with blood streaking down his face's entire front side. Anything else I might have heard would drowned out in the girl's onslaught of frantic horrorful, screamed. Uma dove into the car, while Pam race down the road in a full-arm panic. I just completely stood frozen, unable to say or do anything, but stare at Rob's disfigured, blooded, eyeless face. Rob has been institutionalized since that night.

I visited him a few times, but trying to communicate is a waste of time, since all he does is cry or mumble gibberish. I tried asking what he saw that night, but he breaks out into hysterics. Only once did Rob utter something understandable, and what he said still sends chills down my spine. You can't hear the crunching? The last time I visited and asked, Rob started violently smashing his head against the wall, after which I was asked not to return. Tanner's body was never found.

despite a thorough search and investigation. Pam and I were never really the same after that and Uma moved out of town shortly after, never telling us where a family relocated. I never returned to that WMA and ever since visiting Rob Last started hearing shuffling footsteps accompanied with a squishy, crunching sound.

It always happens at night. The noises come from outside and instantly remind me of the movement's tannis limp, mangled body made whenever he moved, which is what I visualise whenever I hear them and close my eyes. I never saw anything on the first few instances I've mustered up the courage to check, and nobody else seems to hear the eerie sounds. It's been sporadically happening in the months since I last saw Rob, but something recently changed about this inexplicable phenomenon

that prompted me to share this tale. Lately, these noises are coming from inside. If anyone ever finds out I'm writing this down, they're gonna kill me. Not in a metaphorical, getting yelled at a bit sort of way. Not in a slightly more serious, getting in legal trouble sort of way. Not even in a sexy way, like getting choked out or cutting half vertically, or beaten to death with my own decapitated arm or something. At least that's what Sidney tells me sexy.

I'm not too sure about the taste though. Nah, if they find out about this, I'm done. No excuses, no final words, no goodbye. So, uh, I'm really sticking out my bloody neck for you guys, getting this information out here. You're welcome. Actually, never mind. There's no need to thank me.

Really, don't thank me. I'm not doing it for you, or for any future tourists who come across this post, or even to save you. the word from the inevitable return of the old gods, tethered as he is to the very ground I'm resting on now. Nah, I'm just really bored, man. It's driving me up the bloody wall.

We don't get much Wi-Fi out here, and our next delivery isn't scheduled for another five days, so I'm kind of running on empty when it comes to reading material. Gordon stuck me on souvenir shop duty for the next week at least, just because I let the not platypus, a giant platypus-looking thing that leads to the drop bears. each of you tourists. He's insufferable that guy is, and a total power trip just because he's the oldest and the smartest, and the strongest, and the most qualified, and probably the best-looking, objectively speaking. Look, point is, I'm bored, I'm young. Daddy issues are manifesting as an urge to stick it to the boss, who, in this case, is actually my little father, and also the entire

Australian government who have poured their hearts and souls and billions of taxpayer dollars into keeping this place under wraps, so I figured why not undo some of that work? Write down a few of my experiences, publish it next time I get a modicum of internet, await my inevitable subsequent death, as at the very least a long-awaited end to the humiliation that is saying, good a mate, the every bloody tourist who walks through these bloody doors. So, if you're interested, then still. Take around. I'll tell you a story. This happened about five days ago, assuming we didn't lose any time to the hot days.

That happened sometimes. I don't know how it works in colder countries, but here in Australia, sometimes it gets hot, like really hot, like thongs melting and sticking to the asphalt hot. And it's worse here, of course. Everything is. a national park about three hours of four-wheel driving out of the nearest town, middle of nowhere, Australia. I should probably describe the place. If you've ever been to the Australian bush, then you'll know what it looks like, on the surface at least.

It's not. Here's a quick crash course. Any colour that once existed has long since been beaten out of our plants by centuries under a vengeful sun. It's a good couple hectares long in every direction, and always a single careless smoker away from devastating bushfires, and it's never quiet. If it's not a cougabora cackling overhead, then it's the never-ending rasp of cicadas and crickets, or the rustle of a creature navigating the dry brush just beyond the tree line. I may not sound too fond in my descriptions, but trust me, it's home.

I can't imagine living anywhere else And all of this is managed by just a small team of park rangers Handpicked for the job by powers unknown The government It was the government They're not slick Which brings me back to five days ago Give or take a few memories stolen by the heat

I was on my desk duty in the souvenir shop As I've already established It's a small wooden cabin by the driveway the only way to access the park via the roads. We've got a few shelves of various wotts and trinkets, like boxing kangaroos and I-heart Australia shirt. But not many tourists survive long enough to actually buy anything on their way out, so I wasn't expecting much business.

I had my head buried in a book, the last one before my stock ran dry, may it rest in peace, and honestly barely noticed the car pull up and the woman entered the store until she was standing right in front of me. Assuming she was one of the endless dream of tourists, I looked up and gave her my most friendly customer service smile.

Good day, mate, interested in a didgeridoo, magnet, or maybe a stuffed koala bear? She looked at the display of rusty magnets and moth-eaten stuffed animals that adorned the counter between us, then turned her gaze back to me and shook ahead. No, thank you, but they're very cute. She was obviously lying to me

There was literally a cockroach running across them as we spoke But her accent was American So I could tell she was just trying to be nice Okay, I said And then returned to my book Job done It took me a few moments to realize She was still standing there

Expecting something Uh, can I do anything for you? She blinked You're not expecting me? I blinked right back. I literally don't even know who you are. She flushed and I realised too late that that probably came off as rude.

Before I could apologise, she was rambling. Oh, I'm so sorry. I should have introduced myself. I'm Lizzie Grundy. I'm the new Ranger. I was told you had an opening here. Sorry, I've put in the application and got accepted and everything.

I thought you'd be a little. expect me. Sorry. You apologize a lot, I said, before my brain caught up with everything she said, and I narrowed my eyes at her. Wait, you're our new ranger? Why the hell were they hire you? That sounds rude, I get it. You'll probably notice I have a habit of sounding rude when not meaning to. I just don't have the greatest grasp on social interactions, but I really did mean it It's more of a compliment of sorts. Like I said, this isn't exactly a normal park. We know exactly normal rangers.

They don't want us doing our jobs. Writing reports about the dead and missing, getting too near what passes as wildlife here, working from an urge to actually look after our forests rather than the want of a hefty paycheck. And this girl didn't exactly look like the type to let weird stuff slide. She was short,

a few centimetre shorter than myself. Embarrassing to admit as a dude, but we can't all be a Hemsworth, with dark skin and brown hair cut just above her shoulders, making a triangle with its volume. Her teeth were white, hair neatly done, clothes ironed, and, I kid you not, her pen was balanced behind her right ear. She was probably a little bit older than me, about 22 or 23 maybe, and carried herself with a posture of a dancer, or anyone cursed to perpetually have a stick up their eyes. Point is, she looked like the sort to use highlighters in her notes, to take notes in the first place. Definitely not the sort to let things slide. So why the hell were they hire her? And now, she was more flush than ever.

Excuse me, what's that supposed to mean? I decided a topic change was in order. Oh yeah, we've been expecting a new ranger. I totally forgot. forgot. She stared at me. I stared at her. She decided it wasn't worth it. Right. Well, cool. Yeah, um, who's in charge here? The boss, I answered. She smiled at me, evidently resisting the urge to bash my head into the very magnets I was trying to sell. Wouldn't be the first time, that's for sure. I guessed as much. I guessed as much.

she responded. But what's their name? Where's their office? I need to introduce myself. I shrugged. We just call him the boss. I didn't tell her where his office was. Not until she knew the rules.

You don't enter the boss's office. Hell, if it's after dark, you don't even look at it. That's actually how the new Ranger position was opened. The boss is hungry and isn't a picky eater. So, instead, I decided to send a, where we send all our problems to Gordon. Look, continue into the park, then go through the gate and the right. That's where our cabins are.

Go to one without any blood stains on the door and find Gordon. He'll help you out. She didn't ask about the blood. Probably to be polite. I appreciated it. Instead, she just nodded slowly and moved towards a glass door that opened into the park. I called out after her, as a last minute thought. Oh, and watch out for the drop bears.

They've been in a bad mood lately. She laughed. I didn't. She stopped laughing and finally began to look a little peeped. Drop bears don't exist. I'm a tourist, not stupid. Those two things aren't mutually exclusive, I responded wisely, speaking from experience. She didn't look impressed.

Well, in my case they are. Thanks for nothing, Lou. I spent a valuable second wondering how she knew my name. Before remembering, I wore a name tag. By then, she was gone, and I could only call out after her. Just don't stand under any eucalyptus trees. They haven't fed for a fortnight now. Evidently, she didn't listen.

We didn't hold her any funeral. It seemed unnecessary, since I was a little. the only one who had ever even spoken to her, a conversation in which she was kind of snappy, might I add. Just dragged what was left of her body to the radiation pit and let Sidney throw in with the others. It was a pretty upbeat affair. It meant the drop bears had been fed and so wouldn't bother us for at least another few days. And because it was an occasion to dispose of an employee, Ava used it as an excuse to bake cupcakes. They were Dead Ranger-themed, squirted with, hopefully, fake blood and guts.

One of them even had a remarkably detailed recreation of a squashed, half-eaten, then thrown up eyeball, just like the real potty did, juices and all. In conclusion, a pretty good day, even if I did finish my last book and have to resort to more creative methods of keeping myself busy. The next day though, at about the same hour in the morning, something unusual happened.

even more unusual than my usual. I was trying to pass time by bouncing a ping-bong ball at the wall, a fan whirring full blast beside me, sweat dripping down my back regardless, when another car pulled up in front of the shop. A woman entered. I stared at her. Whose car is that out there?

She asked. For someone who had been mortared to death by mutilated koalas just the day before, skin strung like confetti across the trees, She was looking remarkably healthy. It looks exactly like mine. I opened my mouth, then closed it. Hello, I said. Hi, she responded.

Very chipper for a dead woman. My name's Lizzie. It's Lou, right? Yeah, uh, you're the new ranger? She beamed. You've been expecting me? I hoped you would. Is there a surprise party?

Sorry, that's presumptuous, right? And even if there was a surprise party, which I hope there is, you wouldn't tell me because then it wouldn't be surprised anymore. I'm so excited to work here. You all seem so nice already. I almost sent her out to get mauled by drop-bears again just to avoid things getting awkward

when there was no party. But, since they'd just been fed, I doubted they'd do anything fatal. Instead, I decided I should do the responsible thing and make her someone else's problem. I stood up. I'll take you to Gordon. He'll sort things out for you.

Fantastic! She cried, clasping my hand and shaking it rigorously. I tried to not cringe at that unexpected contact. It's so nice to meet you, Lou, I'm sure we'll be best friends. Again, it took quite some mental effort

to stop myself from sending her to the drop bears. Right, I said. wiping my hand on my pants. Cool. Uh, follow me. We got to the cabin with no incident and entered Gordon's place without knocking.

He and Sidney were both in there, presumably making out or fighting or whatever else it is that X's do. There was a monopoly board between them. Sidney's face broke into a lazy smile when I opened the door, which quickly dropped to a silent, oh, when Lizzie slid him behind me. me. Gordon's expression remained a tight frown.

Shouldn't you be manning the souvenir shop? He asked. I tried to make my expression convey that whatever was happening was a bit more important than the souvenirs, but I've never been too great at expressions, so I probably just look constipated. Well, I said, slowly. Our new Ranger just arrived, so I thought I'd bring it to you. Okay, Gordon replied. She's here, now get back to your station.

I wiggled my eyebrows at him, desperately trying to make him realize how weird this situation was. Based on Sydney's disturbed reaction, I was probably lucky that Lizzie still stood a little bit behind me and couldn't see my face. But it's Lizzie Gordon, our new Ranger. I said,

packing as much meaning behind me. each word as I could. Yes, he agreed. It is. A very special new ranger. Aw, Lizzie said, sounding flustered. You're too sweet. I'm really just like any other ranger though.

Even if I do have very extensive experience in the area and formal education and... Gordon isn't in charge here. I interrupted her. She deflated. Oh. Look, uh, Lizzie, is it? Gordon said, getting to his feet. He's a tall man, about six or seven years older than me, and more than a head taller.

He's the descendant of the indigenous people of the land, with dark skin and hair, and he's all sharp edges, sharp cheekbones, bus cut hair, bony fingers, except for his eyes. They're soft. Do you mind waiting outside for a second? We weren't expecting you this early, and apparently Lou has something to say. Liz's eyes lit up. I hoped she was expecting a surprise party, but the way she slipped out the door, practically slamming it behind her in her haste didn't make me optimistic.

Gordon raised the brow at me as he turned to me. You, he said, are embarrassingly bad at playing it cool. Playing it cool? I hissed back incredulously. That's a bloody zombie Gordon. A zombie just walked into your cabin. That's badass, Sidney drawled, stealing $100 monopoly bills from the bank. I told you something cool would happen if we threw all the dead things in the radiation pit.

They're not dead things, Sidney. Gordon said, with the air of a man who has said this too many times. Their casualties who we respect and we mourn their tragic passings. I've always wanted to make out with a zombie. Sidney mused with the air of a woman who couldn't care less. Sydney is only a little shorter than Gordon, but far more lanky, all sharp elbows and knobbly knees. She hasn't brushed a blonde hair for years, and it sticks out in all directions, less wrangled into a messy bun.

Her cheekbones are wide, and clothes are always loose and baggy. She's been at the park for the longest, besides me of course, and we know each other pretty well, even if I doubt her romantic tastes. I tried to gently pour their attention back to the issue at hand. Shut the hell up and pay attention to the issue at hand. That is a zombie. Is it though? Gordon wondered.

I mean, if it was a zombie, then wouldn't it come back all messed up? Her body wasn't exactly pretty. There was a silent moment, as we all recall the state the body had been in. Gordon's features were respectful. I tried to stop myself from looking as disgusted as I felt. Sidney let out a contented sigh. Here's what we're going to do, Gordon said finally. Lou, get back to the shop.

You're not escaping your punishment just because of a small undead infestation. Sydney, distract Lizzie. I'll burn a sacrifice to the boss and ask him what we should do. You're leaving me alone with a zombie? Sydney sounded far too excited about this and a smile grew predatory. Never mind, Gordon decided. Sydney, you're going to the shop. Lou, you can look after Lizzie.

We both protested, each for very different reasons. But Gordon wasn't the sort to accept no. And if I was a little peeved about having to spend the rest of the day trudging around with the reincarnated, absurdly organised, an annoyingly talkative park ranger, could you blame me? And if I just happened to accidentally stray near the old liarbird nesting area,

could you blame me? And if Lizzie happened to hear the voices of her loved ones crying for help from beyond the tree line, just out of sight, and was unable to fight the all-consuming compulsion to go and save them, well, could you really blame me? Gordon blamed me.

He called me homicidal, which I thought was a bit rude. Sydney was also pretty mad, but over said she understood. Apparently, the trees told her that Lizzie was destined to die anyway, so it wasn't really my fault. I told her she should probably stop taking drugs. Then she got mad.

Now, I'm on souvenir duty a week longer, which I think is a bit unfair for a single murder, but it was probably because of how I insulted Ava as well. I felt a bit bad about that one. Ava is the final ranger, and a bit of an odd ball. Her hair is as bright as mine is dark. a brilliant orange colour

that sits around her head like a halo she wears a pointy hat and speaks to the trees and she's the only one that the drop bears won't hurt I think they're not platybuss likes her she's probably the nicest of us all even if she does have the highest

kill count or those poor children but that's a story for another day I'll finish up this story first honestly you can probably see where this is going I don't know why I keep trying to build suspense. The next morning I was in the shop,

bored to the point of reenacting Titanic with a stuffed animals on the counter when a car pulled up out front. I put down the animals with an exasperated sigh. A woman entered the shop. Whose cars are they out there? She asked. They both look exactly like mine. That was three days ago.

We've managed to keep her alive since then, which is a good thing, because those cars out front are starting to pile up, and they all have the same number plate. That won't look good the next time the cops pay us a visit. She doesn't seem to remember anything about her first two appearances, and we're trying to keep it that way until we figure out what's going on. The boss has finally accepted our offerings to him, so Gordon's going to talk to him about it tomorrow.

See what's happening. For now, the rest of us are just trying to make sure this girl doesn't come across, anything unto ward around here, because she doesn't seem the sort to keep the secrets we need kept. That's all for now. I have so many stories to tell about this place, so I'll probably write a follow-up or two. Tell you more about the Not Platybus, or the Radiation Pit, or the Cute Bonnyip, or the Bilobong, or Roger the Red Black Spider, or the clones of all the Prime Ministers that hunt small rodents and children at night. Or maybe I'll keep you up to date with the Lizzie situation, or tell you why this place exists, who the boss is, who's keeping

us under wraps. But that's all for another day. For now. Good night. I wasn't expecting so many questions on my last post. Someone called Livson even said, I seemed like a cool guy, and by God they kept me smiling all day. Of course, they also call me weird, but I don't have much of a semblance of normal, so I suppose they may not have been wrong. A few of you also expressed interest in the radiation pit, and I was going to answer, but then realized that I actually don't know all that much about it. Like at all. It kind of just... Exists.

And, since it's been a constant in this place for as long as I can remember, it's never really occurred to me to look into it further. But for you, my adoring fans, I decided to go poking around for a bit. Only one problem. I had to bring Lizzie with me. When we spoke to the boss, he said that I had to be the one showing around, so now I can't go anywhere without her shadowing me and taking notes.

The boss also said I couldn't kill her again, because he can be a downer like that. I told him I can't make any promises because she can be really annoying, but he ate three of my toes and a finger, so I decided I should probably do as he says. At least I get off souvenir duty now, I suppose. Don't worry about my toes though. They're growing back already, and it was only a little bit of insufferable agony. Built character,

I reckon. We set off yesterday at about 4pm. We were supposed to leave in the morning, but some tourists were freaking out about their kid being chased by former Australian Prime Minister Tony Abbott or something, and we were held back until midday, at which point we decided it was save her to wait until after 2pm, because you never, ever go out in the sun at 2pm. I wouldn't wish that I'm my worst enemy. Lizzie suggested we wear sun cream if I was so worried about getting burnt, and I told her getting burnt was the least of our worries at 2pm. But she just laughed.

She does that a lot. I don't think she realizes how things work around her yet. The pit is about a half-hour trek away from the park's entrance. in our cabins, along one of the many bus tracks formed under the trampling of decades of feet. You can tell when you're getting close because your hair starts to singe, especially in your nose. Then your eyes start to water. Then if you loiter nearby for too long, your fingers start twisting of their own accord, and little black spots grow that almost look like eyes.

I have never hung around beyond that point, but one time an old ranger disappeared while checking up on the pit, And we had ten new, skin-coloured snakes hunting tourists in the area, with a hard shell over the head that almost seemed like fingernails. It was Liz's first time at the pit, and she wasn't taking it well. What the hell is this? She hissed when we reached the edge, scrunching her nose at the searing odour that wafted out from under the tattered blue tarp. Is this...

Is this a garbage pit? In the middle of the forest we're supposed to be preserving? No, I said, it's not garbage. It kind of is, I guess, since we throw most of our trash in there, but that's only because the pit likes it. It eats most of it within the day, so it's not like we're littering. I don't litter, I'm not a monster. Then what is it? It's the radiation pit.

She looked at me, then looked at the pit, then back at me. Why is there a radiation pit in the middle of a park? I didn't like the way she called it our park, but I had more important things to focus on. I don't know, I responded, on tying the tarp from the trees around the pit. That's what I'm here to find out. We have to cover the pit with a new tarp every Friday

since it manages to eat through them in the span of a week or so. One time we forgot. Reed, Gordon was on holiday and a bunch of koalas got into it. It's always bad news when something living gets in there, because they don't come out the same. That's how the drop bears came out, the little buggers. Luckily, they were the only animals that have managed to get in on our watch.

Actually, scratched that. There was that one time that Sydney threw in a red-black spider, one of Australia's deadliest, in a heroic attempt to create a real-life Spider-Man. Needless to say, it didn't end as she hoped it would, but for a sentient six-foot-tall red-black, Roger is actually pretty chill. Anyway, I ended the top

and whipped it away from the pit before it could fall inside and be eaten. Hesidently, with a single beat of sweat rolling down a forehead, Lizzie peaked over the steep drop and dusty earth. The hole was absurdly dark for its relatively small depth. Even in the middle of the day, any light that managed to fall in there

vanished without a trace. leaving only a void of nothingness that compels you to fill it with something. I've seen people try to throw themselves in there just to fill that void. The darkness ended about 20 metres down in a writhing mass of green tubes, which exuded a weak neon light that stood no chance against the darkness. I knew that as she leaned over the edge, the tubes would turn to her with remarkably pitiful expressions for hollow, translucent masses with no faces or discernible features.

She stuck out her lower lip. Aw, they look so sad. I almost recommended she'd go down and help them, but remembered what the boss had said. Besides, if she went down there alive, who knows what would come back out again. So instead, I just said, I've seen them stripped flesh from bone,

and she turned away from them, making a face. Why are we here? she asked, because I don't think we should be anywhere near that thing without hazard suits on. I didn't want to tell her about the post I made or any of my true intentions in case she tattled on me

and I got my tongue ripped out. I'm bored, I said instead. She looked at me sideways. There have got to be better ways of entertaining yourself than getting radiation poisoning. Oh, I don't think it's actually radioactive, just live, probably. I said to comfort her, but from the distressed look in her face, I guessed it didn't work.

Besides, I continued, if you had brought any books with you, then I wouldn't have to find any way to entertain myself. She scowled. We'd had this argument before. Considering she brought literally three cars up here with her, even if she didn't know it, and considering just how much of a nerd she looked like with her uptight expression, a neat uniform, I find it ridiculous that she brought not a single book with her to hold me over until our neck supplies drop. I had finished my last one a few days before at that point, and there's really not much else to do out here a lot of the time, especially when Gordon takes a special delight in giving me the boring work.

We came up here to help people and our planet, she said tersely, not read. I didn't tell her that none of us were here for that reason except for her. Oh, actually that reminds me. You know the cars that she brought up with her? There were three of them, all identical. Sure, to become a problem at some point is she kept dying and showing up again without her memories. Well, they're gone now.

Just the day after my first post, I looked out to check the parking lot, and boom, they're gone. The tie tracks lead out to the foliage, even though all the trees and undergrowth should have made passage in such a large vehicle impossible. I didn't investigate further. If people want to drive out into the brush without proper gear, well then, it's their bloody funeral.

Not that they'll be getting a funeral, of course. Just a nice new meal for the pit. Anyway, we spent an hour or so poking around the pit. Now that I was out there, I really didn't know what I was looking for. Lizzie began taking notes. She takes a lot of notes. But this time I actually appreciated it, because I'm pretty sure that's what you're supposed to do when you're investigating things.

I tried sparing one of the tubes on a long stick with a sharpened end. It let out a wheezy death cry, then lost its glow, and the tubes around it immediately turned on its corpse. They savaged it, and it was gone within a few milliseconds. Then they turned on the stick, swarming up it in waves in an attempt to reach my hand and the freedom beyond. I shook them off. Lizzie suggested taking photos, but I told her she should never take photos out here. It's not safe.

I think she thought I was just trying to be contrary, because she didn't speak to me again until we left. When we got back to the main camp, Lizzie split off to head to a cabin and get cleaned up. I continued on to the souvenir shop to laugh at Sydney's boredom, since she had become forced and man the desk while I took care of Lizzie. When I arrived though, I was mildly put off to find that her day had probably been far less boring than my own. She was engaged in a battle with a flock of rabid magpies who flew about the small wooden shop in a cloud,

bombing over shelves and into windows with the grace of a blind poodle. Every now and then, one or a few would swoop at Sydney, claws poised at her eyes, but they would always be beaten away in the last second. If you want my eyes, she shrieked, brandishing a toy didgeridoo like a baseball bat. Then come and get them, you maggots! A coordinated team of five magpies chose that moat to swoop at her, and she managed to hit them all with a didgeridoo in one epic sweep. Then, using it like a molten pestle, she ground their prone bodies under the floor below,

smearing blood and guts and various other fluids into the half-rotted floorboards. It was pretty bloody, and there's really no old. other choice in swooping season. I ducked into the shop and armed myself with two polished boomerang souvenirs, using the end of one to spear a bird that was swooping at me with an ear-piercing shriek.

Seriously, why did they make the edges of these toy boomerangs so sharp? Within a few minutes, most of them were dead, and those that weren't had fled back to their nest to plan the next offensive. We wiped down our weapons with toilet paper from the dropped toilets outside and put them back in the shelves,

most of the bird gore removed. So, I said, panting and wiping guts from my eyes. How was your day? Ugh, she groaned, wringing blood from her hair. So eventful, I didn't get a spare moment. Uh-huh, I said, feeling annoyed. First we have to chase out Tony Abbott, because you get up leaving dead kitty parts around the front driveway

and scaring away the tourists. Uh-huh, I said again. feeling even more annoyed. And then Roger came by and we had to catch up. He tried to rip me open and lay eggs in my gut, but apparently he's found himself a cute boyfriend, so that's nice. She continued. Uh-huh.

And then these magpie showed up, of course. It's swooping season. It's always swooping season. I sighed, cursing my luck. Of course, the one day I'm off desk duty is the day it becomes interesting. Is that all? I asked, somewhat defeated. Oh yeah, and then the old god tried to awaken again and the boss had to whip out his tentacle.

Kind of heart. That's my dad, I reminded her, wondering how the day could get any worse. She didn't seem to repentant and Homers decided to kill her before I remembered that she can't actually come back like Lizzie could. And I would probably miss her if she was gone for good. So yeah, that was my day yesterday. Pretty normal, all things considered. But I wanted to let you all know. that I'm making an effort to look into things you want to know about.

I'll ask the boss about the radiation pit next time we find a worthy sacrifice, so I can find out more, since he's been here longer than all of us. And since there was an interest in the comments, I think next time I'll tell you the story of Ava and the Birthday Massacre. Until then. See ya.

So, uh, I'm mad. For days, I put it with having nothing to read. Literally days of being bored out of my mind, shout up by Lizzie and humiliated by Sydney's content exploits. But I put up with it, not just out of the goodness of my heart, but because I knew that Davo was going to be coming down on Thursday with a monthly supply drop,

and I'd get some new reading material. Plot twist. It didn't happen. See, the park is a good few hours out of town, and before Lizzie, Gordon was the only one with a driver license and no psychopathic tendencies while behind the wheel, looking at Sydney with that one.

Seeing as he doesn't have the time to take the drive every couple of weeks, that fell to Dave. Dave, or as we've come to call him, Davo, was the only local barmy enough to drive up here every month with some supplies, you know, food and whatnot. He's middle-aged, average height, white with a beer gut, a bit boggung, honestly, but kept the racism to a minimum

and was always nice enough to bring a few spare books for me whenever he came up. And now, of course, he's gone and gotten himself killed. It was the bunny-yp that got him, based on the, uh, specific region that was missing from his body. The penis, the bunny-yip ate his penis. It's weird, because it's not part of the actual legend. Bunny-yps haunt billabongs shore, and eat unsuspecting human to draw too near, but there's nothing about them specifically aiming for there. That's just our guy.

Then again, who am I to kinkshame? Still though, we don't know why he went down to the billabong in the first place. It was a good hours trek from where he left his car, abandoned in the middle of the road. The liebirds wouldn't have led him that far, and definitely wouldn't have let the bunny up steal their meal. And we can't imagine him going there by his own accord. His keys were still in the ignition, and he's a local. Even if he doesn't know at all, he knows enough to stay the hell out of our bushland. Anyway, the government authorities in charge of the cover-up.

It's always more thorough when it's a local, confiscated the supplies who was going to drop as evidence, including, of course, the books. The bloody guy couldn't wait long enough to deliver the books before he went on his little suicidal hike, and I've been fuming for days. Since the others have to eat and all that, the locals roped a new guy into Dux. doing our deliveries. His name is James and his family have only just moved into town so they didn't know just how dangerous the job would be. I want to feel bad for him, but I'll reserve my pity until I assess his book selection. Any John Green and I'll

throw him to the Prime Ministers myself. He showed up on Sunday. We were expecting him, so Lizzie convinced Gordon to convince the rest of us to throw him a little welcome party in the souvenir shop. set up the radio and dusted the shelves. We washed our uniforms and combed our hair. Ava had even put some lipsick on Roger, the red back, but Gordon convinced that Lizzie wasn't ready for that yet. Despite having been around for almost a week at that point, nothing strange had yet to happen while she was watching. I mean, except for those two times she died, but that doesn't really count. Point is, we've decided as best to ease her into it

for as long as we can, and a six-foot tall, sentient spider isn't the most subtle of peculiarities. James showed up at one in the Arvo, his ewe pulling up, filled to the brim with canned guts that none of us liked. I looked at him, sizing him up, East Asian heritage, long cheekbones and slick back hair, tall too, almost the same height as Gordon, who rushed out to guide him inside before the 2 a.m. Sun came out. That was where the rest of us greeted him. Hi, I said. Hey, he responded.

He had a Melbourne accent. What brings you here? I asked. He shrugged. I don't know. Seemed like a good job to ride through my gap year. You look about 25 years old, I responded. Gordon put his face in his hands.

So, I guess that came off as rude. Oops. James, unfazed, just shrugged. Yeah. He said, well, sometimes gap years last longer than expected, like a few years, or almost a decade. He shrugged again. You know how it is. I didn't know how it was.

I never went to school, but James seemed cool and I wanted to fit in, so I just nodded along. I changed my mind about him when I asked him about the books, though. Apparently none of the locals had thought to clume in on that particular tradition, so he didn't bring any. He promised to bring him along next time, but I'd already decided that I hated him and retreated from the conversation to glare at the distance behind the counter. The others all seemed to like him.

Ava kept giggling at everything he said, wrapping her hair around a finger suggestively. He was kind of cringe, I'll be honest. But none of us were going to point it out to her. She's just too nice. It's impossible to willingly upset her. Kind of makes it funny that she's the one of us with the highest kill count. Actually, it reminds me, I was going to tell you guys about that, wasn't I?

I totally forgot. Here you go. So, this happened about two years ago. Ava had only just started working at the park and was a hot new thing. Unlike Lizzie, who no one likes because she's uptight and annoying, and also maybe immortal. Ava was actually cool. And we all wanted to spend as much time with her as possible, to the point that arguments over who would patrol with her would sometimes get pretty ugly. See, Ava is a free spirit.

She has bushy red hair and wears a pointed witch hat and speaks in a dreamy tone like she's got her head in the clouds, and sometimes she steals teeth from bodies before we throw them into the pit and swallows them like panadol tablets. She's pretty badass. She can also apparently talk to nature, which we all thought was BS. until one time she ran into the knot platybus, and it didn't eat her eyes and tongue, as it has a penchant for doing.

Just gave her a weird sort of nod, and then melted back into the bush, the spurs on its back legs glinting in the harsh sunlight. Before Ava came, one of the many odd routines that we had to keep up while working was preparing the birthday parties. Now, don't get the wrong idea. We don't actually let children at their parties up here.

That would be messed up. But even though our no party's rule was very clear, the locals all knew enough to stay away regardless. On the fourth of every month, we always found ourselves preparing a children's birthday party. Whose party, we never knew. We didn't even know why, or on whose order we were doing it. It just happened. We'd wake up on the third and know it was time to prepare, and what to prepare, and how to prepare. They were always fairly typical Aussie birthday parties.

Lamingtons, fairy bread, sausage rolls and party pies, always either under or over-cooked. Those store-bought cakes that every Aussie kid knows. You know, the ones from Coles. Vanilla, chocolate or caramel, with lines of chocolate dribbled over the top. We never knew where any of it came from. Davo certainly never brought it with him, since we would have eaten it ourselves if he had. It all just showed up, and we all knew where it was. And then there were the parties themselves.

The adults, they didn't really matter. They were there, don't get me wrong, but there were background noise. The old white guy at the Barbie, for example, a retired mom handing out lollibugs. You could only see them out of the corner of your eyes. The real centerpiece of the occasion was the children. It was never clear whose birthday it was, but it was always the same kids. We recognized them all, even if we couldn't describe them. And they never aged past that squishy state after five years old, but before ten, even as

the years passed. When Ava's first birthday party rolled around, the children were enthralled with her. They played with her hair, pulling it straight and watching it bounce back, and some of them stole the hat and busted around between them. Ava bought all of this with a calm half smile, far more composed than I would have been. She's cool like that. It was, all in all, going pretty well. Things started to go downhill though, once the birthday cake came out.

Usually, as I said before, we'd use one of those cool cakes for this part. The kids loved them, and so did we. If we had to throw a party every month, you can be sure we'd always help ourselves to a bit of the This time though, we were surprised to find that Ava had something else in mind. See, when she'd learned that we were going to have a bunch of kids over, she was ecstatic. Ava loves kids, and she loves making them happy. So, instead of relying on the usual cake, she decided she'd do something to make this particular party special. She baked her own.

It was a marvel of a birthday cake. Three-tiered, the color of velvety mud, decorated with bright green leaves made of icing. It was a work of art, and the kids went insane over it. They practically trampled each other in an effort to get the first slices, ballingtoned them on napkins and poking each other with plastic forks. Needless to say, they were all very impressed, and as soon as the opportunity arose, Gordon went to retrieve his own slice. What's it made out of? He asked, digging his plastic,

plastic fork into it, admiring its silky texture. Oh, you know, Ava hummed absently, smiling at the children's excitement. Just the usual, eggs, butter, flour, sugar, vanilla extract, a little bit of arsenic, some cocoa powder. Gordon pours this loaded fork hovering centimeters from his mouth. Sorry, what was that last one? Coco powder? No, no. The, uh, the one before the...

that. Oh, Asnick, it's my mother's recipe. Gordon nodded slowly, lowering his fork and studying this slice with a new weariness. Huh. Then, the kid started dying. It was pretty ugly. You know, convulsions, crying, blood coming out from a wide variety of arrasies. I won't go into details, since the others all seemed pretty upset. None of them had eaten any, but apparently, watching dozens of small children die horribly inspires some pretty negative emotions. I don't know why.

It meant more leftovers for me, after all, and I helped myself as they died. The cake was good. Ava's mother was onto something. The arsenic led to a nice, tangy aftertaste. We didn't have any more birthday parties after that. And that's the story. But before you go, I've got one more thing to talk about.

I promised I'd keep you all up to date with everything happening currently. So I should mention that something weird has been going on. Like, even weirder than normal. It's been a pretty nice break from the monotony, if I'm being honest. See, since my last post, I've been... Missing moments. And that's not in the normal way. Like with hot days.

no everyone else remembers and they don't often last full days just a few moments here and there and when I come to it's with a taste of ash in my tongue and black dirt under my fingernails and it's been getting worse I honestly think I lost the whole two days at one point that's how long the other say I was gone for at least that's why this update has been a longer time coming than the last but But I haven't forgotten you all. I'm just dealing with it. It's just weird, you know.

And I'm not used to the weird stuff around it actually affecting me. That's all for now though, I guess. Sorry to leave on a bumer note. It's probably nothing. It usually is. See ya. Ever played Cookie Clicker? If you haven't, the concept at its basis level is very simple.

You open the game in your browser. you click on the cookie and you gain plus one cookie. You do this a whole load and then you can spend the cookies you've accumulated to purchase in-game upgrades, auto-clickers and the like. It's one of those addictive time-waster games. Fish clicker is kind of like that. Similar premise. The pixelated white silhouette of a fisherman walks slowly across the screen through the drizzle. A low-quality nightstorm sky of three interwoven colors. colors, wavers behind him.

Dark blue, dark grey and black. He comes to a stop in the middle and takes a seat. He pulls his fishing rod from his back. He pauses, and his silhouette seems to shake for a short while. His body alternating between three or four slowly quivering frames. Then he eventually cast his line. The end disappears through a hole in the ground. I found the game in an undiscovered website gems thread

on Ask Reddit. I was waiting the result of a potentially rather embarrassing sexual health check to be frank, and I needed something to distract me, to occupy my thoughts. Something of low effort and repetitive. The suggestion for FishClicker was right

near the bottom of the thread with a single upvote. I'm not sure if anyone else even saw it. The user provided no accompanying commentary, literally just the name of the game, hyperlinked to the website, it's I thought, screw it. With a name as stupid as fish clicker, it must be good, or at least interesting. Nothing so far had caught my eye, and I was right near the bottom of the thread anyway.

I might as well. So I took the bait. The link took a while to load. Longer than I'm used to, given my connection speed. I was actually about to give up when the screen finally changed. All of it. The whole screen at once. The task bar at the bottom and the search bar at the top both disappeared without my command.

The screen showed only black with a small line of pixelated white text, alone and bright in the middle. Game cannot be stopped once begun. Press escape to close. Enter to continue. Game cannot be stopped once begun? What does that mean? I won't be able to pause it. Or is it one of those one-time-only gimmick games where you have to read.

start your router to start again once you've lost or died or whatever. Regardless, my curiosity was piqued. I pressed enter. The above screen with a pixelated fisherman played out before me, and, once his line had been cast, a menu of sorts appeared, a column that took up the latter quarter of the screen, maybe a little less. It was full of curious, shadowed shapes and objects in the top half,

and the lower half showed only empty item boxes in grey. The fisherman became at once much smaller, a small sitting figure in the rain and beneath his 8-bit night sky. A layer opened up beneath him, this one entirely blue, and little silver fish could be seen swimming about in it. Beneath this layer of animated water was only darkness.

Layers left locked, perhaps. The lamp in the corner of my room flickered. I needed to get that thing replaced. I didn't think we had any new bulbs in the house. I thought about going to my housemate, but she's away, visiting parents this weekend, so I ignored it and played on. Or try to at least.

It wasn't immediately apparent what I was supposed to do. I mean, the game is called Fish Clicker, so I tried clicking on one of the silver fish. But nothing. I tried another, but still, nothing happened. The game wasn't even making any sound. No music, no sound effects, just silence. The sound of rain, the real rain,

tapping softly but steadily against the window behind me, was the only noise in the room. I tried clicking on the fisherman. The rough, crude shape of a fish appeared in the top left of the screen, about two inches by one inch in size. basically made of just an oval and triangle and a couple of white lines, like a child sketch. I try clicking on this. Plus 1 appeared by the fisherman in small white text and it floated up into the sky before disappearing as the number 1 became fixed in the menu column to the right.

I clicked again and the same plus 1 appeared, though in a different spot this time on the fisherman's other side. It floated up, then disappeared, and the one to the right changed to a two. Okay, I thought to myself, I get it. Just what I'm looking for. Click, click, click, click. Repetitive. Something to distract my thoughts. I wasn't a huge fan of the game's ambience, but that was fine.

I clicked a whole load more. Sometimes, but not always, one of the fish swimming about in the layer below the fishermen would disappear with a click, and a new one would swim on from off screen. I kept clicking, and the number rose. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, not yet at least, but there was something off about this game. Something that unsettled me in a way I couldn't quite explain. Maybe it was the silence or the setting.

I shot a quick glance at the little fisherman, sat alone in the rain and the dark. I gently chewed my tongue for a moment, then kept clicking. One of the shadowed little objects in the column to the right became visible after a while. Its sprite changed from all black to a combination of dull colours, browns and greys mostly. It looked like a bag of worms. I hovered the mouse over it and a little text box appeared alongside. Superior bait it read, 100 fish. I clicked on it and the sprite disappeared.

along with the aforementioned amount of credit from my bank. A line of white text began to write itself across the screen, just about the fisherman. There was actually some sound accompanying it this time, a noise which made me jump because of its suddenness. It was a series of monotonous tones, only subtly varying in pitch, kind of like the sound effect when reading text in Animal Crossing. It read,

This will help me catch. The message hung in the air above the fisherman for a few seconds and then vanished. I found that clicking on the crude white fish in the corner of the screen now yielded me two fish instead of just one. Once I'd reached a certain number of fish, 333 I think, another layer appeared beneath the first. The first, not including the fisherman and his stormy sky that is. This layer was a slightly darker shade of blue than the one above it, and the fish sort of the fish sort of the one above it. and the fish swimming around it were a little bit bigger. The fisherman's line, a single string of pixels which previously extended to the bottom of the first layer,

now continued and extended into this second, darker layer two. I continued to click. The fish counter rose. Another sprite in the menu column emerged from its shadow. This one looked like a little replica of the fisherman himself. Hovering my mouse over it, the accompanying text box read, Spirit, 250 fish. I clicked it.

The fisherman did not say anything this time, but I noticed that the fish counter had started creeping up by itself. Every second, the number would automatically rise by one. Huh, so an auto-clicker then. I get it. I was starting to get into it. It was just the kind of game I needed. Click, click, click, click.

The lamp in the corner of my room flickered again, but my eyes were focused on the screen. A third layer opened up. Again, a darker shade of blue than the former, and above the void of black beneath. Locked layers, I'd come to presume. The fish in this layer were longer than the previous ones, and despite still being crudy made of the same pixels, their animation seems smoother somehow. A new upgrade appeared. This one was pinkish.

it sort of looked like a brain hovering the cursor over it revealed the upgrade's name clarity I bought it but at first nothing happened as with spirit

there was no accompanying message from the fishermen it didn't seem like my fish counter was rising any quicker either and then I was suddenly aware of a sound some actual in-game musical ambience Was it music? I moved an ear closer to the speaker. There was definitely something. I listened to the soft sound of the rain against my window

and I cranked up the volume. I moved my ear a little closer. It was faint, very faint indeed, but there was something playing. Not music, but sound effects of some sort. The sea. It sounded like, the ebb and flow of the tides of the ocean, ever so gently at the edge of my hearing.

My heart had begun to beat much faster. My hands began to dampen with sweat. I was tensed, my fear of jump scares, making me suddenly conscious of the computers maxed out volume. I quickly hastened to crank it back down just in case, when something flashed up on my screen. The image was not particularly scary, nor was there any accompanying sound, but the The surprise alone had me exceiling in despair, pushing myself back from the screen and raising my hands in automatic defence.

It was a face. Pixelated and of low quality. But a face nonetheless. A white outline on the dark background overlaid across the layers of water and the menu. The face was of a middle-aged man. The fisherman, perhaps. And frame by frame, he opened his eyes. His expression was difficult to discern, but it was not a happy one.

He looked troubled. I could not take my eyes from his. His mouth opened and closed. That same sound from earlier, the assortment of tone noises in a random array of low pitches played out from the speakers. I am sorry. The face closed its eyes, and motioned. comprised of three or four frames, then disappeared. For a moment, the game seemed to freeze.

Then, the fisherman adjusted his hat, and the game continued. What the hell? I realized that I had been holding my breath and allowed myself a welcome intake of air. This was creepy as hell. I tapped the escape key. I decided that I was going to look for a wiki or something, see if I'd accidentally stumbled into a horridor. of some sort. But the escape key did not work. I tried it again, to no response. The fish

counter ticked steadily upwards. I tried the Windows key, F12, Alt F4, nothing. The counter ticked upwards. I tried Control or Delete. I tried again, but there was no response at all. I blew some air out of my nose and pushed back my chair. My phone was downstairs. I'd leave my room, go and get it, and look for a wiki. Except... A curious thing happened then. The thought of standing and leaving the room disturbed me. The notion of abandoning the fisherman to his post.

It filled me not only with a terrible sense of guilt, but one of a deep and lurking dread. I felt it spread like an oil spill throughout my veins as I watched the little fish swimming about in their water. layers. I don't know where the thought came from. I don't know what it meant. But I settled back into the chair,

rolled it back up to the computer. The rain tapped against the window. I ask you now, what would you have done? Would you have kept playing, knowing what I've shared with you up until now? Or would you have forced your computer into shutdown and just gone the hell to bed?

I chose the former. Screw it. I wanted a game to occupy my thoughts, and I got what I wanted. I'll keep playing. Click, click, click, click. The fish counter ticked upwards. More augrades revealed themselves to me as the time passed by. Another superior bait sprite, another spirit sprite.

The counter was rolling up the speed now, even without the constant assistance of my relentless clicking. A new sprite appeared from its shadowed outline in the upgrade. grade section. A light in the darkness. It looked like a little animated torch, a flashlight. Grey body, yellow light projected from the front. I bought it and the fish counter began rising in the dozens with every passing second. That same series of monotonous tones, the tones up varied, only slightly in pitch, began to play through the speakers, alerting me to another message from the fisherman. I glanced up at him while the white text typed itself out above. This will help guide the way. It hovered still for a moment, then disappeared.

It was at this point that I realized I was actually sweating. Not that my room was particularly hot. It was actually quite cold in fact. I wiped my forehead and clicked on. Layer 4 revealed itself to me. The animated sprites in this layer were little grey mantar rays, and the water, following the pattern, was a darker shade of blue than the one that preceded it. Click, click, click, click. And the sounds of the ocean, distant and faint through the speakers, became a touch clearer. I purchased some more upgrades, more superior bait, more spirit,

and, as the counter of fish reached the hundred thousand, milestone, a new upgrade appeared. It looked like an 8-bit bottle of... Pills. I hovered the cursor over it. Cope, it read simply. I bought it. And the distorted tone played as a message appeared up with the fisherman.

This will help ease the pain. I was actively nervous now. The game was doing something to me and I didn't like it I didn't like it at all but I had to keep playing I couldn't explain it but I had a duty here

I had committed so I clicked on each click of the whitefish now garnered me over 100 into the bank each time my counter was shooting up time passed by and the next layer appeared

As you can expect, a darker shade of blue and the sprites this time look like little hammerhead sharks swimming silently through the deep. To accommodate this layer, the others, including the fishermen's, all became a tad smaller. Click, click, click. The layers did not grow smaller as I unlocked more of them from then on. I had to use the scroll wheel to cycle through them.

I had to scroll up to see the fisherman, for instance. and as detailed, each layer was darker than the last. Whales swam in the layer beneath the hammerhead sharks, then giant, eerily shifting squid, then anglerfish, disturbing little things. The mouth slowly opened and closed, jaws distending, revealing lines of sharp, pixelated teeth.

The fish counter was well into the millions by now. I bought more upgrades as they became available. Some I had to say for, some I could purchase instantly. A new sprite of a shining hook. Needle point hook. The fisherman's accompanying message read, This will help me catch.

A sprite of a battered brown coat. Coat. This will help me weather the storm. A sprite of a sharpened blade. Razor blade. This will help me ease the guilt. Jesus. ease the guilt?

What the hell was that supposed to mean? The next layer appeared. It was filled with long, monstrous, armored fish. The faces ended in beaks. The torsosos were covered in plates and fins. I get on playing. Click, click, click. The counter continued to rise sharply upwards.

The layer beneath revealed itself. The creatures at this level were not ones immediately recognized. They were all little spirals, moving in strange, illogical directions. A small, writhing mass of pixels could be seen at the end of each of these spirals on the outside edge. I purchased another spirit. I purchased another upgrade similarly styled as spirit, but coloured in grey. This one was called Resolve. Click, click, click, click, click, click. I realised then at some point, over the past couple of hours, my lamp had flickered one too many times and had died. I was sat in the dark.

I could switch on the main light to the room, sure, but I didn't want to leave my seat. I did not want to leave my post. And the curious sensation that the light would not work, even if I flick the switch, played tumult with my emotions. Where this sensation came from, I cannot say. But in that moment, I was comforted by the idea that the light would still work if I wanted it to. If I rose from my seat and tested the switch, only to find it did not bring the light on accordingly, then my fears would be confirmed. My fears that the house had gone dark and I was powerless to return the light.

The not knowing was, I decided, better than the potential of knowing. So, I played on. The layer beneath the one with the spirals was too dark. I could see movement, but I was unable to adjust the screen's brightness, and the creatures were too similar in shade to the water's deep blue to tell what they were. But in relative terms, they were massive, bigger still than the whales a few layers up. I squinted and leaned close to the screen. I watched the unknown beings steadily shift through the dark of the depths.

They made me feel small, very small indeed, and bitterly cold. An alien shiver passed over me as I cracked my wrist, massaging the joints of my hand before clicking on. There was only one new upgrade available at this level. A spirit that resembled, disturbingly, the creature from the painting, the scream, drawn in red pixels. I felt a wave of anxiety as I brought the cursor over. to it. This one was called guilt. I bought it. I heard the sound of those shifting tones, and I scrolled back up to read the fisherman's message,

but there was no message. The sound played, but there was no accompanying text. Instead, the fisherman's sprite had begun to shake. Slowly, in three or four alternating frames, but I don't know how else to describe what I was seeing. the fish counter had stopped rising. This went on for a minute perhaps, couldn't have been much more, and then it stopped. The fisherman stared and the fish counter continued to tick upwards.

The next layer of sea was pure black, only darkness. I could see nothing at all, not even shifting shapes, and I felt like I was there, with a rain on my window, in the cold and empty darkness on my room. I felt as if I was there on that unknown shore, alongside the fisherman above his world of the watery deep. The fish counter was well into the hundreds of millions. I gave my hand of rest and watched as it flew up of its own accord. 900 million, 950 million, 99 million. As it passed over the billion mark, two new upgrades appeared together.

The verse was titled with a familiar superior bait. But instead of a bag of worms, it showed a pixelated white hand, reaching down from the sky. I couldn't be sure, it was hard to tell. I purchased it, and the fisherman responded with this expected line. This will help me catch. The second upgrade now available was a new one. Unique, a little brown-green frog. This one was the most expensive so far.

It would clear me out, essentially. I hovered the mouse over its sprite to see its name. Merlin. Merlin the frog, I muttered out loud to no one in particular. I pressed down on the mouse with a heavy click, paused, then scrolled up to see if the fisherman would make a comment. To my surprise, Merlin had appeared next to the fisherman, on the opposite side of the fishing hole,

and the tones played out through the speakers, but it was not the fisherman who spoke. It was the frog. The text appeared in green above the animated creature. What kind of a fisherman loses more than he catches? I watched the text hover above the frog for a moment, then disappear. And the fisherman replied, I do what I can.

I swallowed, but my throat had gone bone dry. Merlin replied, how many more must you lead to despair fishermen. A pause. For a moment, I thought that might be the end of the exchange. But then, if they knew the danger, the fisherman replied, they would not play. And beneath a layer of pitch darkness, a new layer appeared.

The screen scrolled down of its own accord to reveal it, but this one was neither blue nor black. It was a deep, dark red. And the sprites that floated about within it, twirling and floating grotesquely, looked like little people, misshapen but bipedal, human proportioned. They could be nothing else, surely. They drifted silently in the dark red water.

It was horrific. Once the initial wave of nausea had subsided, I leaned closer to the screen, eyes wide. The little humans didn't appear to be swimming in the same way that the fish were. As I described it, drifting was the better verb. I glanced over to the right. The fish counter no longer displayed a rapidly increasing number. It did not even appear to show a number at all anymore. Not even.

Not in the traditional sense. It fluctuated wildly between symbols. Some numbers sure. Some were upside down. some were not properly aligned but there were also foreign letters letters from an unknown language

and random keyboard punctuation some I recognized the backslash the hyphen the semicolon others I did not three upside down commas in a rough triangle a sideways omega symbol and upwards pointing arrow with the leftmost fletching missing

countless more scrolling and disappearing and changing my heart was a hammered in my chest. The white sketch of the fish on the top left had changed to red. The room had become colder, and the ocean called louder. Unable to tear my eyes from the screen, I continued to click, clicking on the white-turned red fish, but my clicks yielded an unexpected error. I was only given a plus zero. Plus zero? The number appeared in red alongside the fisherman. Then it rose up before disappearing.

I tried again. Plus zero. Click, click, click, click. Each time I was given nothing but a plus zero. I watched the sprites of the little humans flailing steadily in the deep and dark of the Red Sea. It made my skin crawl. They were trapped there. I could feel it.

A part of me was down there along with them. Lost in the terror beneath the waves Click, click, click, click Plus zero, plus zero plus zero plus zero A new upgrade eventually became available I don't know how much time had passed It looked like a rough pixelated emoticon A round face

Eyes closed and crying but smiling I brought the cursor over to it It was called Memory of the Forgotten I held back a sob and ethereal sadness had crept up upon me with the encroaching dread. What was I supposed to make of this game?

What kind of game created such a response in its players? The question was whether I truly wanted to know any of its disturbing truths its secrets lost within the code. I purchased the upgrade. The tone began to play out and I scrolled up to see the accompanying text Merlin was speaking

His words appearing across the ocean above him In green Accompanied by that same series of low tones You will never catch you There are too many The fisherman replied I will catch every one of them

I can always find help The frog replied At what cost comes the help Fisherman I need it I do what I can I do what I must An eye for an eye

A pause Why do you taunt me Merlin It does not have to be this way You bring me nothing but dismay My hands are clean fisherman Are yours The conversation ended there

I did not know what to make Of these cryptic messages It was infuriating actually My mind hurt With a swell of emotion within I was so close to understanding I could feel it. So, so close,

but the finality still eluded me. Try as I might, I could not understand. I was missing too many pieces of the puzzle. Click, click, click. A new upgrade revealed itself. It looked like an a-bit ray of light through a storm cloud.

It was called hope. Unfortunately, as most of my earnings had gone to Merlin the Frog, I could not afford it, so I decided to save up. I would purchase it when I could. All of a sudden, the red sketch of the clickable fish began to flash intermittently between red and white. The fisherman began to shake, faster this time, not like before. I clicked the fish and following a brief pause, a plus one appeared alongside the fisherman.

It floated up a little, then banished. The fisherman's sprite moved in a way, I had not seen before. It was too quick for me to really work out what he was doing, but he turned quickly to his original position and began to speak. The text above him read, I am able to catch them, Merlin, you see? And Merlin, after a beat, replied,

An eye for an eye. And a new upgrade appeared. This one was rather confusing. The sprite was unresolved. only small, but there was a lot packed into it. If I lay my face real close to the screen, it looked sort of like a stone head, kind of like those heads from Easter Island, upside down in front of a circle of deep blue. This one was called Beneath.

I tried to purchase. The rain beat suddenly harder against the window. A chill passed through in the form of an icy and unwelcome shiver and a message of appeared in the middle of the screen. Are you sure? The text box read, there is no way back, game cannot be restored.

And I was given the option of yes or no. And for me, the decision was clear. Was I terrified? Yes, I was. But something had awoken inside me. Something ancient and powerful

and I had to know. What exactly I had to know I could not say, but I had to keep going. Compulsion urged me forwards. It urged me beneath. I clicked yes. And, after a moment of silence, Merlin began to speak. The text appeared above him in green,

backdrop by the stormy, pixelated sky. How many more must you lead to despair, fishermen? Then he turned and hopped to the right, until he eventually disappeared off screen, leaving the fisherman alone. The big sketch of the clickable fish in the top left changed from red back to its original white. The screen itself began to scroll automatically downwards then, back down, deep down, and I felt the sensation of being dropped, like on a roller coaster or in a lift and elevator. Down we sank, down through the darkness and past the layers of blue and black.

and of red, and into a new layer that had appeared beneath. This one was like one of the previous, entirely black. My heart was pounding, and I noticed that the symbols and letters had disappeared from the fish counter, and numbers returned. So, I clicked on. Click, click, click. There was something in the black layer, in both of them, I was sure of it. Maybe lots of some things. see them, but I could feel them.

They were there. A new upgrade appeared to me after a while, except it wasn't entirely new. I recognized it, the sprite of the brain, like the one from near the beginning of the game. It was titled as it was before. Clarity. I hesitated, but purchased. For a moment there was nothing. and then, even though I'd sort of been expecting it,

it still made me start in horror. The pixelated, low-quality but bright outline of the face, the face of the middle-aged man, the man I have assumed to be the fisherman himself. He appeared at once at the centre of the screen. His eyes opened, his mouth began to move, the speech sound played, and the text scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry forgive me I will catch you I promise I'm sorry I am sorry I will catch you I stared back into his eyes

as an animated tear rolled down the side of his cheek and the face disappeared I sat in silence in the darkness of my room the rain washed down the window and I clicked on Click, click, click, click, more upgrades. I lost complete track of time.

More layers. Click, click, click. The layers had reversed their pattern. Instead of becoming darker with each subsequent level, they were becoming subtly lighter. Beneath the second layer of pitch darkness was a layer only slightly brighter. I could again make out vague,

shifting shapes, massive shapes, long and silently writhing, little pin-bricked pixels of light were dotted randomly throughout. Although, they didn't look like pixels. They looked like actual lights, tiny, distant and far away. And yet, as I watched them shiver, I felt that I could reach out my hand. I could press it through the screen and I would be there amongst them in the darkness. The light, like stars all around. I would see them for what they were. But I did not touch the screen. I cracked my wrist,

massage my palm, and I return my hand to the mouse. Click, click, click, click. The layer beneath was home to creatures with heads like the scores of elephants. The bodies bulged as they swam. Tenticles slither out between them. Their eyes were black and cold and hollowed.

The layers beneath showed me distorted starfish, massive and slowly swirling. Sometimes the ends of the limbs would break away and form into pulsing circles. The circles would dissolve eventually until they connected with another free floating circle. Then the combined result when it snare wanted the starfish and crush it down into nothing. The layer beneath that was filled with creatures that looked like twisted lobsters but swam like snakes. Their heads and backs would regularly open into a form resembling two crossed hands, fingers spayed, before reclunching, writhing, writhing in the depths. And the layer beneath that was occupied only by a single black line. From the left of the screen to the right, all across the entire layer.

It wavered slightly, gentle arcs rolling along it. Occasionally, little clouds of pixels would burst from its sides and disappear into the surrounding water. I hated it. I hated all of them. But I could not look away. I could not bring myself to stop. I realised I had enough in the bank to purchase the Hope upgrade, except when I hovered my mouse over it, I saw that the upgrade was now entirely free and its name had changed. Hope for the lost, it was now called. I bought it and scrolled up to read the fisherman's text. I have cast too deep, he said.

Then, forgive me, I will find another. I will seek their help. I will catch everyone. Find another? Another what? I glanced back to the sketch of the fish again. I clicked it and the plus spawned. 160,255 I had become accustomed to floated up from beside the fishermen before disappearing.

I wondered about the plus zero it had shown me earlier. I wondered about the fish's sudden change from white to red, then back again. It had only been red on the red layer. It had only shown me plus zero on the level with a red sea. That had felt like, I don't know, like I was actually progressing the story, if there even was one. But now, what was I doing now? I was just going deeper, deeper and deeper and deeper. Click, click, click.

I unlocked a new layer. This one showed only shadows of colossal claws, kind of like a crabs, but longer, thinner, hungrier, all intertwined and clustered, claustrophobically around each other. They shimmered and shook in the deep. The layer beneath showed shapes that changed and shifted as they swam across the screen, from strange spiraling cones, genetic cubes, to shimmering helixes. Helixes with long arched fins protruding from the top and the bottom,

then to clouds of pixels, then back to the cones. Or not. The patterns were not regular. And the layer beneath showed only a fetus. Singular, alone in the dark, an embryonic fish-like shape. shape with a disturbingly pre-human form. It trembled within its membrane. Pieces of this membrane shell broke off into the water at semi-regular intervals. And I was cold now, so terribly, terribly cold, slick with icy sweat.

But I could not bring myself to stand. I could not look away. Click, click, click, click, an upgrade appeared. was I would come to learn the final one. The final one that would become available to me at least. The sprite was a pair of eyes, glowing white in the darkness. Hovering the cursor over it revealed its name. The truth.

I could not afford it, so I continued to click. Click, click, click, click, click, click, click, click, click. The fisherman spoke again, unprompted, but I have ceased to care. I need the truth. I do not wish to awaken her, he said. She is not ready. But his words were of no consequence.

Click, click, click, click, click, click, click, click. The darkness of my room, the darkness beyond the window, and the darkness beneath the waves were unending. They were eternal. I was one with them. I disconnected from Times Road, and the upgrade became affordable. The truth. With a shaking finger, I clicked, and the sun was taken from my bank, and I was greeted with

a message, a text box. Not available at this level of play. I sat there, stunned, my eyes dry and staring. available at this level of play. What the hell? And then I was angry. I swore at the fisherman. I cursed his game.

I clicked him furiously. I clicked on his head again and again and again. Click, click, click, click, click, click, click, click, click. Reveal the truth to me, fisherman! I screamed at the screen. Reveal it! He did not respond. But the screen scrolled down of its own accord.

I felt that familiar and nauseating drop. It took longer this time. Down I sank, down, down, down below, and another layer revealed itself. This layer was white, and a single, angular, pixelated red face floated in the middle, a woman's face. And this was no simple three or four frame animation. There was no repetition here. The expressions in the face shifted and changed and shimmered in constant flux. She snarled at me. Her mouth opened.

What must have been her lips pulled back. The layer changed the black and a jaw distended wide. I could feel her staring at me. I was there with her in the deep. I could feel the void around me. In a cold panic, I tried to escape. I scroll desperately back to the top of the screen. The speech sound effect played out in my ears.

varying tones, and the text appeared above the fisherman's spot. I say the fisherman's spot, because the man himself had vanished, as had the sketch of the fish in the top left. They had both disappeared. I was alone. The text read, forgive me, I will return. The screen scrolled back down again, faster now, much faster, and I knew in a frantic moment moment that I would see her. I would see the terrible red and screaming face, but I could

not look away. And there she was. The screen went black. The barriers of my computer screen became meaningless as the darkness became one with the darkness of my room, the darkness of my void. And only the face shone before me, red and angry, her jaw cracked wide and eyes empty. There was a score up high and a health bar, both in red, but the score was changing of its own accord. I was adrift in the void. I threw out a hand, I clicked. I was clicking the various dark shapes that had become to leak from the face's mouth. Sometimes the clicks would raise my score, sometimes they would lower it, sometimes they would take points off the health bar, and sometimes the health bar would vanish entirely. It was a little. It was a little. It was a

making me sick. My stomach lurched in distress. The rules did not make sense. It's not fair, I whispered as the darkness filled my mouth and my lungs. I was never told the rules. They were never explained to me. I could feel the immense and incalculable pressure of the deep weighing down on me. What would happen if I lost? What would happen if I lost this horrible game? And what would happen if I lost this horrible game? And what would happen if I I won. Was it possible for me to win? Was this the end? It didn't make sense. Who are you? I choked out. The face replied. I was the first. The text shimmied out and read. Then he will never save me. And she screamed, a noise that vibrated through

the void and hammered through my head and my heart. and I can't take it. I no longer wish to play. I do not want to play. I can't do it. I just can't do it. I refuse. I see it in my mind's eye,

the power button, and I reach out to heavy hand and I force it through the darkness and I press it down. I hold it down for a long, long time and the screen cuts out. My lamp flickers back into life in the corner of my room

and I stare trembling down at the computer on my desk before me. I blink and look around my room. I turn and stare out the window. The rain is stopped and the sky is pale. The sun has begun to rise over the horizon. I blink again, heavily and realize how horribly, horribly tired I actually am. I return my gaze to the dead screen and laugh suddenly.

I run my hands through my greasy hair. Jesus, I say out loud, laughing in bitter relief. One hell of a game, a hell of a game indeed. And I stagger up into my aching legs, my joints cracking. I stumble into the bathroom. My reality fades in and out, becoming merged at the edges with my impending dreamscape, even as I stand there brushing my teeth. The content of the game, mixing and merging with my exhausted consciousness.

And I returned to my room and collapse into bed, falling asleep within seconds. My dreams are of the deep. And when I am awake, I see the truth. Slowly, fearfully, I rise to a reluctant stand. Bitter with regret, but knowing where I now belong and what I must do, I head to my desk. I took my laptop under my arm and leave my room, making my way down the stairs steadily. Step by heavy step. I passed by a mirror.

I had taken my eyes, my eyes that are now glowing a bright and terrible white. I resent the fisherman and what he has done, but I do not blame him. I pushed through the back door into my garden, beneath a dark and swirling storm sky. The grass of my garden is gone, as is the fence and trees and all of my neighbour's houses. There is only rocky coast, wet, grey stone. I do not turn around, but I know that if I were to do so, my house would be gone. The rain falls as I approach the hole in the ground, a fisherman's hole. I can see silver fish swimming about beneath.

He will be back soon, says Merlin the frog from his position by the hole's entrance. An eye for an eye. And I prepare to jump head first down into the icy water below.