CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - 7 TERRIFYING r Nosleep HORROR Stories to steal your sleep tonight

Episode Date: April 19, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORIES-►0:00​ "My daughter is scared of the monster in her closet. She should be" Creepypasta►14:25​ "I'm a babysitter for the supernatural" Creepypasta►47:52​ "I keep my sisters decapitated head in my closet. She’s always hungry" Creepypasta►1:06:25​ "I volunteer on a crisis hotline. This is the caller that made me quit" Creepypasta►1:23:50​ "I just got a job at a mattress store. They keep nightmares in their warehouse" Creepypasta►1:46:16​ "I Went Back To Pasadena, California. The Gates of Hell Were Open" 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/CreepsMcPasta​CREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic​ ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic​ ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt​ ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM​ ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only-

Oh, leung, that I'm in three days. I'm all moor as I'm more on think. Oh, that to seeer that morning off-moot, I'm all mooh as I'm just on there's not on think. Oh, this is I'm all moor as I'm on thinking. Have you it mollick on up-gown to come? Give you yourself then a boost with biocure maxhot liquid. Three up-puppendant plants, magnesium,

iceer, an energy booster to immediately be able to can clallet. Bio-cure, max-shot liquid. Foodingsupplement, forcry-mare-by-the-apot-liquiet. past the blaring light of the hallway. I could only see her silhouette. There's a monster in the closet, she said. My wife was more awake than me. She started to get out of bed.

No, my daughter said. You don't go, mommy. Daddy is braver. Peter, you hear that? Apparently you're braver. My wife mumbled as she slid back into the covers. I am, I said. The girl talked. after a mother with the overactive imagination.

This wasn't the first time our daughter had woken us up in the middle of the night with abstract fears, and I feared it wouldn't be the last. As I dug my slippers out from beneath the bed, I convinced myself that with a bit of rational thinking, I could put an end to these 2 a.m. wake-ups. It's the squiggle again, she whispered, dangling her legs from the bed. The squiggle was just another in a long list of creatures that would hide in my daughter's closet.

There were goblins, there were bears, and, after a fumbled explanation of world politics, Osama bin Laden shared the closet space for about a month. That night, it was the squiggle. She kept on looking at the closet door, expecting me to open it like I always did. But I didn't. Instead, I sat down next to her on the bed.

Can you describe the squiggle to me, Annie? I said She looked back at the closet As if she was asking it for permission to speak It doesn't feel real She finally whispered Well Annie That's because

It's like spaghetti But with eyes and it's on fire Her eyes were filling up with tears again It doesn't feel real It's like a drawing And drawing that no one should ever draw It doesn't feel real Annie, have you ever considered the squiggle doesn't feel real

because it isn't actually real? What does consider mean? She asked, wiping her tears. It's when you think about something really hard. It's when you think about something you thought was true, but you think about it really hard and you realise it's not true. The thoughts of the closet drifted from her face.

She was no longer a scared child. She was a young mind trying to make sense of the world. Do you ever consider things? Yes, I said, all the time. And does it help? When I was about your age, your grandfather used to take me to the lake every weekend. One time, while we were out swimming, he told me that there was an angry octopus that lived inside of the lake that ate little boys. I got so scared, I refused to get back in the water.

And was there an octopus? No, your grandfather was just playing a trick on me. There was never any octopus in the lake, but I didn't believe that. The octopus felt real to me. After hearing your grandfather's story, I was sure I could feel the octopus in the water. I was sure he was there. But then you considered that he wasn't there, my daughter said thoughtfully. There was awe in her voice, as if I'd revealed some grand cosmic secret to her.

You considered, and you weren't scared anymore. A bit of the summer breeze drifted in through the open window. My daughter no longer seemed scared. I felt like a good dad. Do you want to consider that maybe the squiggle is just a figment of your imagination? What's a figment? It doesn't matter. Just consider that there is no monster in your closet.

Okay. She shut her eyes in concentration. For a moment she struggled with the thoughts, but then her eyes opened. She smiled. Thank you, Daddy, she said. Outside, the sky was a chaotic smattering of stars. Somewhere, off in the distance, a police siren crawled into the night.

I was the only one looking at the closet. Not scared anymore? I asked. No, I consider the squiggle might not be real, and now I'm not scared. Great, I said, got up. Good night, Annie. Good night, Daddy. She pulled her unicorn covers over herself and shut her eyes.

I looked at the closet. It was covered with cartoon horse stickers that had fused themselves into the wood. The closet would forever remain covered in ponies. It perplexed me how anyone could be scared of such a harmless piece of furniture. Hey, Annie? I said, eyeing the closet handle.

Want me to check inside of the closet? She sat up in bed, confused. Why? There's nothing there. Another rush of pride went through my lungs. The talk had gone better than expected. For all times' sake, I said. She laughed at me as if I was ridiculous for suggesting that something might be in the closet, but she sat up in bed to get a better view.

I grabbed the handle and prepared to swing the door open in a theatrical fashion. But I couldn't. I was positive that there was nothing in the closet. I knew that the squiggle was just the product of my daughter's imagination. I even found the idea of spaghetti with eyes to be a bit funny. Yet, somewhere deep within me, a primal fear bubbled. I was consciously aware that the closet was empty, but there was doubt in my heart.

Daddy, she asked. Are you scared? No, I said, I'm not scared. I pulled open the door and defiantly stared into the abyss of tiny dresses and coats. For a brief moment, my rational mind took control and chastised me for being overly dramatic. But then, in the darkness of the clothes, I saw movement. I saw that blasphemous must be. monstrosity which confounded my entire perception of the universe. I saw that horrid nightmare

pried from the depths of God's fever dreams. I saw the squiggle. The visage of the corroded flesh stole the blood from my face. Its sickly eyes stared deep into my soul. My knees became weak. I couldn't stand in the same world that the monstrosity existed in. The unyielding pressure of an incoming faint pushed my body off balance. Before the curtains of reality came down, I remember swaying toward the closet. My face became intimately familiar with one of the cartoon horse stickers

my daughter had attached to the furniture. With a dull wooden thud, I lost consciousness. I awoke to the sensation of frozen peas pressed against my forehead. The lights were on. I was on the couch in the living room. Next to me sat my wife.

one hand on the makeshift iceback the other gripped around a phone should I call an ambulance she asked no I said no I'm fine you're shaking I was

the after image of the horror was still bouncing around my skull the unexplainable madness that I'd witnessed was still sending twitches through my shivering muscles I'm fine I repeated What happened?

My mouth felt like it was full of battery acid. There were no words to explain the ghastly fiend that I had seen hiding in my daughter's closet. I wanted to scream, I wanted to pray, I wanted to beg the heavens for some sort of an explanation to the cruel images that were seared into my mind.

I fell, I finally said. I'm fine. Are you sure? Yes. She lifted the frozen peas off my forehead. It doesn't look like you'll need stitches. Good, I said.

I wasn't there. I wasn't sitting on the couch being tended to by my wife. I was somewhere else. I was standing, stark naked, before a cruel world I never knew existed. A horrible blizzard of incomprehensible shapes was freezing my bones. I was a frail worm, face to face with the Goliath of the abyss. I was nothing in a world that meant me harm. Yet suddenly, past the fear, past the soul-shattering features of the abomination,

something recognisable took hold. A familiar worry grasped my being. I sat up on the couch. Where's Annie? Sleeping, my wife said. I came as soon as I heard the crash. The blood from me cut scarred her for a bit, but she was tuckered out enough to fall asleep.

I got up and moved straight towards my daughter's bedroom. My fear of that horrid creature had not passed. With every step towards a room, my jaw clenched tighter and tighter, but my legs carried me regardless. I needed to make sure my child was safe. She was lying in bed, deep in her dreams. The unicorn covers were pulled over her face. A closet was shut.

Are you coming back to bed? My wife's touch made me flinch I couldn't keep my eyes off the closet There was a dark spot where my forehead met the furniture I'm going to clean up the blood I said don't wait up Are you sure you're fine Yeah I lied

The down cloth from the kitchen didn't make a difference I was too late My blood had soaked into the cartoon horse sticker The red splotch would be a permanent feature and my daughter's closet. I would always be reminded of what I had seen. I considered whether the creature that I had seen could have been a byproduct of a lack of sleep,

but the thoughts refused to take hold. The body of the creature had managed to seem both impossible and unavoidably real in the same stroke. I knew that I could not sleep unless I convinced myself the horror had never been real to begin with. With my mind turning faint again, I touched the hand.

of the closet. My vision was starting to blur. A familiar sound of static started to buzz around my ears. But I didn't let go of the closet door. I needed to confront reality. I needed to believe that the squiggle wasn't real. The empty closet did not lighten my heart. It simply reminded me of what I saw. It simply made the memory of the burning bush of flesh and eyes shine brighter. The squiggle ran away. She looked at me. She looked at me. me from a unicorn bed. There was a calmness in a voice, we suggested the hellspawn we had both witnessed

wasn't a thing worth worrying about. You saw it? You saw that, that thing? She nodded her head. After you hit your head in the closet door, it crawled over you and jumped out the window. Crawled over me, I yelled, louder than I should have.

I could hear my wife switch on the night lamp in the bedroom. Yeah, I'd like, replied, casually. The squiggle went over your tommy and out the window. It's okay. It's not real. The thought of those wet strands of flesh crawling over my body made me feel incurably violated. My abdomen was no longer my own. It belonged to that horrible nightmare. But you saw it? Yes. And you're not scared? No, she said, smiling. I considered whether the squigger was real,

and now I'm brave like you. I wanted to grab her and tell her that she should be scared. I wanted to tell her that what she saw, what we both saw, was something that should inspire whales and despair. But her innocent smile made me turn away. Her fragile mind had made peace with a squiggle. I was the only one being haunted. Good night, Annie, I said, closing a window and locking it.

Goodnight, Daddy, she replied, descending back into a blanket. it. My wife was standing in the doorway of the bedroom, concerned. I told her I couldn't go back to sleep. I told her I needed to be alone. I told her I was going to watch some television. The screen is tuned to the static of a dead channel. The astray is full and the bottle is half empty. We live in a universe that means us harm. We live in a godless world where unhealthy abominations hide in little girl's closets. Regardless of how much I drink or how hard I try to rationalize. I cannot convince myself otherwise. All of the windows in the house are shut and locked, but I can hear the bird starting to sing outside. A new day is

starting, but I am unable to face it. I cannot carry on knowing that thing is somewhere out there crawling through the grass. I drink more, praying that the liquor will help me forget. I drink more, desperately hoping that I'll be able to convince myself that the abomination was a trick of the eye. I drink more, knowing it won't help. My name is James Holden, and I'm a babysitter for the supernatural. No, really, that's my profession. The only difference between me and a teenage girl down your street is my clientele. I've been in the business for seven years, and I've babysat for almost any paranormal species

or family you could think of, and some you've never heard of before. Werewolf, angel, banshee, dwarf, elf, fairy, fay, golem, etc. Each one unique, each one with its own dangers. Don't get me wrong, I love my job, but that doesn't mean it's not challenging or safe. It all started seven years ago. I was that aforementioned teen, living down the street, babysitting to make money on the side. It was a moderate business. I mostly babysat for the same few families

with the occasional stranger who had been pointed in my direction by my regulars. It wasn't the best income, honestly. For the most part, my rate sat right on or slightly below minimum wage. It was a good job for me. It let me earn some spending money without taking up too much of my time.

You can imagine how excited I was when I got an offer to watch a set of twins overnight for quite a bit more than my average rate. That kind of money per hour for a whole night was a lot of money to me. I didn't really think about why they offered so much money up front. I suppose they thought that babysitting overnight would be a hassle. However, in my experience, it was actually really easy. The kids would be asleep most of the time.

Really, all I had to do was cook dinner and breakfast. I wanted to get there before the starting time, so I started out early. Making a good impression by arriving early would increase the chance. to them hiring me again. The house was well off the beaten path, and the woods leading up to it seemed heavier and darker than normal. The trees hung over the road,

creating a spotry can be through which the sky could barely be seen. The woods seemed to absorb the noise of my car, letting nature's voice play through the usual shell of engine noise. After too long driving through these woods, the turn-off to the driveway finally came around the corner. At the end of the long gravel drive,

stood the house. It was a large manor and, with the exception of a small yard, was surrounded by tall trees. The trees towered over the house, casting it in a spotty shadow making the residents seem darker and solemn. The garden was tidy,

with trimmed grass and a wooden swing set. The house itself sat three stories high. A stone manor, it leered over my car, its multitude of chimneys stretching towards the sky as if to escape the roof. Uncommonly, the window shutters were all latch closed, which gave the house an unnatural shut-off feel, not welcoming like other houses I'd seen in the style.

I checked the car clock. 7.15. I was 15 minutes early. I did a quick check in the mirror, making sure I was presentable before exiting the car. The trees near the house, unlike the drive, seemed unnaturally quiet, and my footsteps against the gravel seemed loud. Each step grated in my ear, echoing in the silent air.

As I approached the huge, double-wide front door, and raised my hand to knock, it swung open suddenly. I jumped back in shock. The quiet had unsettled me more than I realized. I straightened, as I realized, it was just a woman who'd opened the door for me. Seeing me, she cracked a wide smile. Ah, you must be James, you're early, she noted in a soft foreign accent. Please come in, my girls are very excited to meet you.

I followed her into a large entrance hall, depositing my shoes just inside the front door. The house was brightly lit as far as I could see, powerful lights compensating for the shuttered windows. I followed her through a tall archway, into a brightly lit kitchen. Looking around at the dark marble countertops, I noted the fancy kitchen equipment. Sitting at the counters were two ten-year-old girls, twins, dressed similarly. Hi, I'm Stacey, the one on the right exclaimed in an excited voice. And I'm Stephanie, it's really nice to meet you, the one on the left chimed in. After I introduced myself and explained that it was really nice to meet them as well,

then Mom sent them out, explaining she had to talk with me about the rules of the house. Wow, the girls really seem to like you. She started. I just never realized and never introduced myself. I'm Minerva. I'm so grateful that you agreed to babysit my girls. I've missed so many council meetings. I really appreciate the chance, Minerva.

Your girls seem lovely. So, what kind of council meeting are you after? I didn't usually ask personal questions, but she had brought it up first. It seemed like a good way to improve her opinion of me. She gave me a slight, confused smile. Why, the Council of Witches, of course. I'm second to the High Witch, since the girls, I haven't had the chance to attend a meeting in person. I'm sorry, sorry, I started.

Did you say the Council of Witches? Yes, of course. I thought you understood this. I requested your services because I heard you had experienced dealing with demonic children. My girls would be much easier than demons born. I expected her to lean in, a slight smile adorning her face. Just kidding, she would exclaim. Or the two girls to pop in, laughing hard at the joke,

Mommy played on the new babysitter. But none of that happened. She just continued looking at me with a slight concerned expression on her face. as if I was the one playing a joke. Wait, like you're part of one of those natural covens? I asked, hoping it was that simple, that her expression simply betrayed how serious she was about these new-age covens.

No? She began slowly. Did you seriously not know this, James? I mean, I'm a witch. I sit on the council of witches and have been for the past hundred years. The disbelief on my face must have convinced her. she didn't look any older than 35

no way she was older than 100 I was naive to think that witches had to be wrinkled covered with warts and green skin however if I was going to consider their existence I wouldn't have guessed 30-something year old moms she leaned forward looking directly into my eyes I found myself unable to look away or even move

her eyes seemed larger than normal and contained an unnatural depth of knowledge experience. Her eyes shifted colour, red to green, to blue to brown, as she peered into my very existence. I heard of the eyes being the windows to the soul, but I had no idea

you could look through them. She sighed. You're telling the truth, unfortunately. It's clear you had no idea as a witch, nor that witches even existed. This isn't good at all. I was really looking forward to that night out. What do you mean?

I replied curiously. It would be irresponsible to leave an inexperienced mortal with non-mortal children. I was expecting you to have some knowledge of the mystical and non-mortal. This is very unfortunate. I'm so sorry for wasting your time. I'm happy to pay you half the night for your troubles. I glanced at the wall clock. 7.25.

The entire introduction had only taken ten minutes. It had felt much longer. I considered the dilemma before me, After looking into her eyes, I had no doubt she truly was a witch. It was weird to accept something so unnatural so easily, but the power behind her eyes was undeniable. I considered my options. The easy way out was taking the money. Half pay was really good, considering I hadn't been there an hour.

I could take the money and leave, but that would leave Minerva high and dry, forced to miss a meeting. Minerva had said that her children would be much easier than demon spawn, and I dealt with some really naughty children, some regularly. But I had no idea how that compared to supernatural children. Minerva seemed really nice, but knowing what I did about her, it could completely be an act, or the cool exterior of an insane mind of a lunatic. She definitely held power. The question was, is all really as it seemed? Her daughter seemed pleasant in the little time I met them, and well behaved, at least while their mom was around.

My other option was to try and take the job. I had no idea how hard the job would be, and if it went well, I might be able to babysit for her again. It definitely seemed like she was in need of a babysitter. Beyond that, if a witch needed mortal babysitters, maybe there was a whole spectrum of children that needed a night out and would pay well for babysitting. You never herself had said that mortals were used for such services. This could be my ticket in. It was crazy, a lunatic thought.

But my curiosity and possible future of well-paid nights drove me forward. I'll do it if you let me, I said, trying to sound confident. I really hoped this was the right choice. I had little idea what exactly I was getting myself into. James, that's very sweet of you, but... She started. But, I can see the indecisiveness in her eyes and made a decision. Look, one night can't hurt, right?

I've babysat plenty before. This can't be too different. I'll be very vigilant, I interrupted. Think of it as a trial run. If it goes well, you'll know I can do it. Okay, let's call this a trial run then. I wouldn't even consider this if my meeting tonight was any less important. She agreed, then carried on.

I really have to get going, but there are some things you need to know. This won't be like anything you've ever done before. Before we begin, I need to know. Can you handle scary? Don't answer immediately, really consider this. There are things you are completely ignorant of, and you have to be able to keep a level head. I really had to look in on myself at that point.

This was my last chance to just leave. I could take the money and just go. What things would I see that would have from anerva asking such a question so seriously? Of course I got scared. Everyone did. However, compared to my friends, I noticed it took quite a bit to get me. Honestly, back then, I think if I knew what I knew now, I would have taken the money and walked. I was ignorant and confident, and I remember what convinced me was the thought.

No matter how bad it is, it's only. one night. I was pretty stupid back then. I can handle myself, was my response, for better or worse. Excellent. And she gave me the same striking smile as before. I have written up a short letter

detailing a few rules you must follow. Let me reiterate. You must follow these rules. I left my phone number at the bottom of the page. Call me if anything goes wrong. If you break a rule, heaven forbid. Call me immediately. Got it.

I was feeling better now. It just sounded like she had strict of rules than most parents. After reminding me to read the letter and to lock up, she went off to a conference or council or whatever. After locking the door, I took a deep breath and walked back to the kitchen to read the letter. Dear James, thank you so much for watching my girls. I'll have no doubt you'll find them to be quite the little angels.

Listed below are the rules you need to follow in regards to both the children and the house. This really shouldn't be too hard of a job. The girl should go to bed not too long after I leave and won't wake up until around seven. I should be back at nine. Most of your job will be housekeeping duties in regards to the upkeep of the house.

Call me if anything goes wrong and call me immediately if a rule gets broken. Many of the rules are time-based, so I suggest you set alarms or keep an eye on the clock. Number one. The girls are very good at taking care of themselves. They have already had dinner and will go to bed at 8.

They may want to play board games or cards until their bedtime. Number 2. Follow them upstairs and lock them into their rooms of the night. Have no concern. They have unsweet bathrooms and anything else they might need overnight. Do not unlock the door until 7. Number 3. You may hear knocking at the exterior doors and windows.

This may or may not be accompanied by voices demanding you open the door. Despite whoever they sound like or claim to be, do not open the door until after nine. Number four, you will find every door inside the house closed. This is intentional. If you wish to enter a room, knock three times, then listen carefully.

If you hear any bumbling or mumbling or any unnatural sounds in the room, wait a few minutes, then try again. Number five, once you enter the room, Turn around and close the door. No matter what you see, continue closing the door. You must, for no reason, stop closing the door. Number six, there are a total of three mirrors in the house,

one in my bedroom and one for each of my daughters in their bedrooms. There are no mirrors anywhere you will be in the house. If you find yourself looking into a mirror, stand up straight and spin around until when you look at the mirror, you see the back of your head. slowly back out of the room keeping your gaze locked on your reflection if your reflection looks at you again

repeat the process and spin around you do not have to knock on the door if you encounter a mirror but you need to close the door maintain a sight line of the mirror until the door interrupts your view number seven if you hear footsteps on the stairs or hear something walking toward you find a corner and stand

in it facing the wall do not look for the source of the sounds and do not turn around no matter what you feel or hear. Stay completely still and silent in the corner until you hear the footsteps ascend to the fourth floor. Number eight. There is no fourth floor. If you see stairs going upwards from the third floor,

turn around and walk away. Do not run. Number nine. I recommend avoiding the third floor, but you're welcome to sleep there if you wish. Do not turn on any lights. Use only the red flashlight found in the kitchen. Number 10.

Use any bedroom you wish, besides mine and my daughters. Just make sure everything listed below is complete before you turn in. Number 11. Make sure the fridge is closed, the stove is off, etc. Number 12. Turn on all the TVs at 8.30pm. Try to turn them on close to the same time. The channel doesn't matter.

There are four TVs to turn on. One in the living room, one in the den. and one in each of the first story bedrooms. Number 13. There is a brown package on the kitchen counter. Using the red flashlight, take it up to the third floor at 9pm and place it in any of the bedrooms. Remember, rules 3, 4, 6, 7, 8 and 9. Number 14.

They should already be closed, but double check all the shutters are closed. Number 15. Go to bed at any time. Just make sure there is a glass of water at the counter at 9. 9.15pm, do not enter the kitchen again until 9.30pm, regardless of what you hear. Just follow these instructions and everything will be a breeze. Take good care of my girls for me. Minerva. After reading the letter, I was wishing she had let me read it before leaving.

This was crazy. What did some of these even mean? Why did there have to be a glass of water on the counter at exactly 9.15? and what sounds was I going to hear? What exactly did the mirrors in this house do? I was wishing I'd been smart enough to take half pay and just leave, but I wasn't, and here I was. I wasn't about to call me never back, not after I said I'd do it,

and especially not after she already left. Damn, I wish I'd been confident enough to call her back home. The girls were very well behaved, just as the letter said. We started a game of Monopoly, but had to stop for their own. bedtime. It was a new experience for me. I had never before babysat kids were so responsible about getting to bed exactly on time. Now it was just me and the house. It seemed unnaturally quiet. There would have been sunlight outside still, but the house had many

shutters and the only light came from the numerous lamps and ceiling lights. I glanced at my watch. 8.25. It was a nice watch, with the ability to set multiple alarm. I went ahead and set the lines for 8.30pm, 9 p.m., 9.15 p.m., 9.30 p.m., and 9.m., and 3.m., and 9.m., which seemed like a lot to me. I went back to the kitchen and had a look around. It was a big modern kitchen, a kitchen island in the middle, a wall of counters to the side, and, of course, a quintessential stove and fridge. Nothing out of the ordinary. I went ahead and found the red flashlight and placed it next to the brown package. I didn't know if I could leave the cup of water out now and just stay out to the kitchen,

or if I had to fill it at the set time. Figuring it was safe to fill it later, I went out in hunt of the TVs. The hallway was almost blindingly bright. Several scene lights and lamps contributed to this effect. She hadn't left me a map or anything. All I knew was that I had to find four TVs. I already saw the one in the living room and figured I could just search all the rooms on the first floor. till I found the other three.

In my head, I had reassured myself that it all must be a joke on the new babysitter. Sure, me never had looked sincere, but any actor could look sincere. My reasoning at that point was that I would follow any trackable rule, moving a package she'd know, turning on TVs,

there would also be an obvious tell. A glass of water would be a visible sign if I'd follow the rules. However, she would have no idea if I looked into a mirror, or if I opened a door, correctly. Actually, she might be able to know through sensors or something. I had no idea how complex this was. I made my mind up. At the first door, I would follow all the rules to a T,

the perfect babysitter. Then I would check the door and see if I could find any sign of equipment. If not, I could just drop the excess rules. I'd met some eccentric parents with weird requests before. I figured Minerva was just one of these, albeit a bit more excessive. eccentric. I found a door and checking the rules knocked thrice. Hearing nothing on the other side, I entered. Turning around inside, I closed the door firmly. I found myself in a medium-sized bedroom with a TV hanging on the wall. Examining the door with all the scrutiny I could manage, no trace of centre equipment was found. Figuring this was all the reason I needed to ignore the rules, I turned on the TV and returned to the hallway.

Two down, two to go. A bedroom and a den, according to the letter. I returned to the hallway and sought out the next room. Coming up to the second door, I barged in like I owned the place. And froze. The scene before me was a gory massacre. It looked like a dungeon out of a horror film, filmed with malicious instruments of pain. Sitting at a tall bench, facing away from me,

was what looked like a wiry man, He seemed indifferent to the scene, and indeed some of the filth appeared to be soaking into his loafers. He looked like he was tinkering with something in front of him, and the quiet clinking of metal could be heard. It was a ludicrous comparison, this man sitting at a bench and the room he sat in. Above his head hung a TV, similarly out of place. He didn't seem to notice that I'd opened the door, so I slowly eased it shut. cringing at the soft click of the latch. I sunk to the floor in sheer shock at what I had seen.

Why exactly did Minerva have such a room? Was I in danger? I had so many thoughts whirling through my head. I wanted to run. I wanted to hide. I wanted to stay still. It's hard to put into words, but that room was scary.

The scariest thing I'd ever seen in my young life. Scarier by far than any horror movie. The simple reality of that room horrified me in ways I never felt before. I took deep breaths and reigned in my wild thoughts, tightening my resolve. I had to know if the rules were the real thing. I wasn't confident enough to enter that room and talk to the man inside. A quick glance at him had been enough to keep me from thinking of trying to converse with him. I was, however, ready to try knocking on the door, with the stupid confidence many teens hold.

I reread the rules to be certain, then precisely and quietly, not three times. I listened carefully, standing stock still. Nothing. I could hear nothing. I, as slowly and quietly as I could, turned the knob and peered into the room with one eye. It looked like a regular bedroom now. I really wanted to stop and question my sanity at that point. but this sight had fueled my determination to follow the rules, silly or not.

Enter the room, turned around and closed the door. Standing there, I took a second to collect my thoughts. When Minerva told me this wouldn't be a usual babysitting job, I had believed her. She looked so earnest and honest. Once she left, I'd come to the conclusion that the rules must be fake or in jest. I didn't want to accept that the supernatural existed. or that somebody could be a witch.

Well, now, I found myself having to accept this reality, if only to preserve my sanity by devoting myself to what I had to now accept as fact. The rules were real, and had to be followed. The house obviously had the potential to be a house of horror. This was clear enough, seeing as I was standing in a bedroom that was but a minute ago a dungeon.

I checked my watch. 8.35. I had ten minutes until I had to take the package upstairs. I turned the TV on, then took a deep breath and exited the room. The hallways seemed more sinister to me now. The once reassuringly bright lights seemed harsher than before. I found the den staying as quiet as I could. After knocking, I heard soft whimpering inside.

Not stupid enough to break the rules again, I waited three minutes before trying once more. This time the den was silent So I turned the TV on and returned to the kitchen Having to wait for the door had thrown off my time And I grabbed the package along with the flashlight Heading upstairs I considered my situation I figured everything will be fine as long as I followed the rules They had to be clung to with a desire for life

Leaving the house was out of the question The rules forbid it until 9 in the morning Luckily for me I only have to be able to be had one task after this, then I would try and sleep the night away. I stopped on the landing. This wasn't right. The rule said the third floor would be dark, unlike the rest of the house. The hallway before me was just as bright as the first floor. I felt a sinking feeling in my gut. This was the fourth floor. I had gone up too far. The hallway before me looked exactly like the first floor hallway, but there was no end in sight.

just a hallway full of doors and lamps stretching on into the distance. I considered what to do. Going back down the stairs sounded like the obvious option, but that might be the very thing that sets my fate. Maybe I had to go forward or even enter a certain room. While I stood there, building up the courage to calm a nerva and tell of my colossal screw up, I heard a sound on the stairs below me.

Step. Drip, drip, drip. step drip step the sounds were coming up the stairs and I wasn't about to meet the owner

of those ominous steps it was too fast they were coming too fast no time to think no time to plan no time to knock I hurried into the first room I were right

as the steps reached the stairs clutching the brown package to my chest I could hear it in the hallway step step I stopped breathing listening closely to the sound. Now it was definitely on the fourth floor with me.

I stood as still as I could. I heard it past the door. Then I breathed a quiet sigh as it continued down the hallway. I took a second to look around to make sure I really was safe. It looked like a bedroom, identical to the first two, except for the dark red colour of the paint. Those steps had convinced me that I had to call Minerva,

embarrassed by my mistakes or not. How ironic, I found myself in this situation by breaking the rules while considering the importance of following the rules I'd been given. I almost wanted to cry. This wasn't. Well, I guess it was what I signed up for. But still, it was crazy. I pulled out my phone, I was reassured when I noticed there were full bars.

I hadn't even considered I might not be able to call, but it was reassuring to see that it was possible. Hello? Hi, um, Minerva. We may have a small problem. What's wrong, James? I went ahead and told her all that had happened. There was no reason to hold anything back, seeing as I'd already called and interrupted a meeting. So, you're on the fourth floor with a brown package and something dripping went past you? That sounds about right. Okay, listen to me very carefully. Three questions will decide. exactly how bad the situation is. She sounded tense, worried. Exactly what room are you in? Did you knock before entering the room? Finally, did you go to a corner when you heard the footsteps?

I felt sick hearing the second question, and even worse on the third. I had completely forgotten the rule about finding a corner after hearing the footsteps. I'm in a bedroom, the first door on the right. I, um... I didn't knock before entering. I didn't find a corner either.

I'm so sorry. I was just so scared. It happened so fast I couldn't even think. I meant to sound strong, but I found myself stammering and almost bulbering by the end of my confession. Oh, thank God. She sounded relieved.

No, James, it's really good you didn't knock, or find a corner. Really, really good. The fourth floor is completely different. It doesn't even exist. It's very complicated, but basically the rules are different there. If you had knocked or entered a corner, this would be a lot worse.

Much, much, much worse. Okay, well, that's reassuring. I tried not to let, just how glad I was to hear that, creep into my voice. So, what do I need to do? You still have the package, in one motion, as fast as you can, open the door and throw the package away from the stairs, then run straight to the ground floor. Count the flights, do not go one too many and end up in the basement.

That would be much worse than the fourth floor, she instructed calmly. Okay, I got it, but what about leaving the package on the third floor? Do you have another one? No, but it'll be okay for one night. I'll do two packages tomorrow night. I wondered exactly what the nature and purpose of those packages were. Sorry about all of this. I should have just followed the rules from the beginning.

Yes, yes you should have. In all honesty, this is the best case scenario for having broken the rules. Not that it makes this any better. It just could have been better. With that, I hung up and prepared to save myself. The whole conversation felt very surreal, but then again, this whole situation was weird. I put my hand on the doorknob and redded the package of a throwing.

Pulling swiftly, I saw a glance of a dark shape across the hall before I threw the package with all my might and dashed down the stairs. Counting carefully, I stopped only when I reached the ground floor, breathing heavily. I checked my watch. Two minutes to nine. Once again, it felt like I had been upstairs much longer than that. It was probably a good thing.

Any longer, and I wouldn't have time to do the water. I ran to the kitchen and filled the glass to place on the counter. Exiting back into the living room, I collapsed onto a couch. I felt exhausted, mentally and physically. It had only been a few hours, but in that time, I'd seen a torture chamber, ended up on the fourth floor, almost ran into a dripping figure, and broke four rules. The next morning came quick, luckily for me.

I had slept in one of the bedrooms upstairs. There hadn't been any footsteps, nobody knocked on the windows, and I hadn't yet encountered a mirror. I was feeling much better compared to last night. I waited until seven, then unlocked the girls' rooms. We were making pancakes. in the kitchen when the knock came.

Hello in there, it's Minerva, I'm back. A muffled voice came from the front door. Both the girls had frozen. I caught the eye of Stacy, and she slowly shook her head. I remembered the rules. She would be back at nine. I wasn't to open the door until nine, despite who was at the door. I considered calling out, but, judging by the reactions of the girls,

silence was the best course of action Hello The voice came again Starting to sound annoyed Will you please let me in I forgot my housekey last night We all stayed still Come on

The voice was angry now It's Minerva You have to let me in I want to see my girls Still we waited Finally we heard the thing Person Whatever it was moving away from the house

The girls relaxed and the pancake making recommenced. I didn't want to ask the girls, but I was curious as to what would be impersonating. That's more or less the end of the story of my first time as a supernatural babysitter. I could bore you and describe how Minerva finally came home and explain that she would refer me to other such families and how I accepted.

But I won't, mostly because, despite my efforts, I didn't really learn anything important from Minerva at the time. One day, Minerva would explain much to me. But that's a story. For another time. It happened eight years ago. She was out partying with some friends, and they stupidly decided to take a drive.

All of them were pretty intoxicated and rowdy, so the whole night was a bad idea even before it started. As of friends who survived tell the story, they were blasting music and all dancing. They decided to go off road, heading towards the cows and hills that cover the outskirts of our tiny town. They were going just a little too fast

and ended up in the middle of a bunch of cows. As they swerved amiss one, they ended up in the path of a tree and my sister's head slammed into it as they passed, completely decapitating her. Out of fear, they didn't go to the cops whenever it happened. They came to our house first.

My other sister, screaming and crying from downstairs, is what woke me. My dad told me to stay in bed, but a 10-year-old isn't going to listen to that, especially whenever there is that much commotion in their house. So I slowly crept down the stairs, but no one else was really paying attention to me. No one in our family has ever really paid attention to me since that night. I saw her girlfriends covered in blood splatter, makeup running down their faces. I saw her friend, Randy, carefully holding something wrapped in a blanket, tears falling down his face. I saw my other sister punching a boyfriend Sam, and not once did he try to fight back.

I saw my mom unwrapped the blanket and fall to her knees in shock. I saw my dad run up and tried to cover my eyes, but it was too late. I saw her head, completely smashed and unrecognizable. Her eyeballs were broken. blown out. The only way you knew it was her was by her strawberry blonde hair, now caked and matted in dirt, grass and blood. I will never forget seeing that. I relive that night almost every time I close my eyes to go to sleep. Randy got charged with involuntary manslaughter, among other things, but he got let out early for good behaviour. Our family doesn't hold it against him,

but he definitely held it against himself. He took his own life less than a month after getting released. Sam ended up getting an alcohol problem, and most of her girlfriend struggled with substance abuse and mental health as well. It was just as hardened them as it was on us. I heard the phone call that started it all. It was the call where she planned on sneaking out that night to go to the party, and she didn't know I was home whenever she made the plans.

Oh, Mikey! She yelled as she turned around and saw me. You scared me. I didn't know you were home. I thought you had soccer practice. They cancelled it, I said from a bedroom doorway. I was going to ask you to make some pizza rolls. Uh, yeah, sure. I'll make you some in a minute. Just go play some video games or something. She threw a phone on the bed and started fidgeting with her hair as I turned around to head down the walkway. Hey, Mikey, wait.

I turned around just as she poked her head out of her door. Did you hear that phone call? she asked. I nodded, knowing what was about to happen, because it had happened so many times before. It was normal to me at this point. Do you want me to go get you a new game this weekend? I grinned ear to ear and eagerly nodded as she smiled as well. Our agreement understood. And so I went and played video games, just as I had done many days.

after our secret agreement. She had done this many times with my other sister and I, because we tended to always catch her making plans she shouldn't be making. It had become natural to us, so we didn't think anything bad could ever come from it. Her head didn't show up until about three years ago. I was at home alone, once again playing video games like I always do. I mostly did it as a distraction at this point, though,

because whenever I was home alone, I swore. I could sometimes hear her calling my name. Now, I legitimately hear it, because she's in my closet. But for the longest time, I thought our house was haunted with the ghost. Either that, or I was just haunted with the memory of her. There was a ring at the doorbell, so I paused the game I was playing, and rushed down the stairs to see who it was. By the time I got there, whoever had left had seemingly disappeared into thin hair. They left a plain cardboard box, nothing specific or special about it.

I figured it was just another package of my mums, another one of the million things she had ordered off of Amazon, so I put it in the side table by the front door for her to open later. It wasn't until later that night, whenever she finally opened it and laughed at the prank I'd pulled on her. Mikey, there's nothing in this box. You really had my hopes of my sweater had finally come in, though. She laughed and then handed me the box.

I furrowed my brow at her before asking, What do you mean there's nothing in the box? And why would you think it's a sweater? I carefully shook the content to the box. It's too heavy to be a sweater. You're really going all out on this joke, huh? She replied as she walked towards the kitchen. Open it for yourself, jokester.

Her insistence that I was joking confused me even more, considering I could literally feel the weight of whatever was inside the box just by holding it. It definitely was too big for a sweater, and I don't know why they'd even put a sweater in a box this size. Before opening it, I was still sure that it was just something my mom had ordered that she'd forgotten about. So I carefully put it down on the coffee table so as to not damage whatever was inside. I opened it back up, and immediately the smell about knocked me off my feet. Whenever I actually looked inside the box, it took my mind about a minute to register, that it was my sister's rotting head, considering that's not a normal thing that people just see every day.

I sat there for at least three seconds staring at it, before I screamed so loud, my voice began to crack. My mom came sprinting back into the living room with a look of terror in a face, screaming at me to tell what happened, but I couldn't form words from the shock. I just started sobbing hysterically and pointing at the box. She jerked the box up, and I winced in reaction, fully expecting for the head to accidentally fly out with how hard she jerked it. There's nothing in here, Mikey, she said angrily. She threw the box down on the coffee table,

as if it was as light as a feather. But I still heard the thud of the head bouncing in the box. Can you stop with these stupid jokes, please? She snapped. Before she realized, I was legitimately terrified. It was her turn to furrow of brown in confusion, and she sat down beside me and wrapped me up in her arms, shocking me as it was the first time she had done it in years.

Honey, what is going on? She wiped the tears from my face and softly moved my head, so I was looking her in the eyes. A million thoughts went through my head at once. Was I going crazy? Why could she not see it? should I tell her what I'm seeing? Would she think I'm crazy? I decided not to tell her because she had enough stress on her hands as it is

and she didn't need more stress added on with the possibility of an insane child. I shook my head as a response and mumbled an excuse about there being a bug on the box. I could tell she didn't believe me, but she didn't question me any further. She just held me until I stopped crying. I will admit that I forced a few more. tears to come out, just to have some more time with her. From that day on, I didn't try to show her or any other family members, partly out of fear that one of them would see the same horror as I had, and partly out of fear that they

wouldn't, and I would be deemed insane. I did try to show a few friends over the years, let them hold the box and try to guess what was inside. They all thought it was a joke as well, because clearly there was nothing inside. I hid the box in my closet, and it only took a few months for her to begin speaking to me. It started one night when I was struggling to sleep. I kept feeling like her head was staring at me, even through the cardboard box and the door of my closet. I tried to ignore it and distract myself by thinking of happy memories of her before she died.

All of the times we stayed up watching movies past bedtime, whenever she would take me to the park to play as a little kid, and all the time she would play hide-and-seek with me. I was thinking about that one year we had to spend Christmas Eve with no power because the snow had knocked it out and our parents lied to us and said Santa, just had to borrow the power to fuel his toy shop machines. That's when she decided to speak, simply saying,

I miss the snow. I assumed I was just hearing things whenever she spoke. I was nearly convinced I was fine, Finally, fully off my rocker. But then, after I sat there for a minute without responding, I heard a usual aggravated gasp that I had heard so many times before as a child. Are you just going to ignore me, Mikey? I literally came back just for you, so that's kind of rude.

I heard the walls of the cardboard box being thumped, as if her head was being rocked back and forth. My eyes went wide in terror as I tried to decide if I should just keep ignoring it. "'Micie, let me out of this box now!' I shut up and out of my bed at that moment and ran towards the closet, jerking the door open. I didn't know if anyone else could hear her, but I didn't want to risk finding out. I didn't really know how to explain my dead sister's voice, suddenly yelling at two in the morning. The box was covered in flies, the smell was absolutely dreadful,

and I almost puked when I felt the wetness of the box, but I grabbed it anyway out of fear of her, angrily screaming again. I placed the box on my desk. I grabbed a random towel off my floor from my shower earlier and placed it next to the box. I didn't really know how to grab her head, so I tried to smoothly roll it out of the box instead, causing her to become a makeshift bowling ball and nearly knocked everything off my desk. Hey! she yelled in anger once again, and I hurriedly shushed her.

I used the towel to grab her head and position. it so it was facing my bed before sitting down to face of myself. Her eyes had been closed whenever I first found her, but they were open now. They looked as dead as she was, but they were still slowly blinking. I started to softly cry, and she did the best to calm me down, as well as a decapitated head of your sister could. I struggled to look at her, but I got used to it over time. We ended up spending the whole night talking

and I caught her up on how life had been since she had left us I kept asking her over and over to explain how this was happening but she refused to tell me I honestly believed that when I fell asleep that night I would wake up and it would be the day the box had came I would realise it was all just a nightmare and the box would be delivered with a sweater or another random item my mum had ordered

honestly the first few months were great Once I got past the smell and the overall appearance of my sister, it was almost like having her back here with me. No one else ever noticed the smell, so I finally decided I was the only one who could see her. The pandemic really helped, because masks helped me deal with the smell, and I had more free time to spend with her. I was afraid her head would keep on decaying until she ended up leaving me again, but it always seemed to stay at the same amount of grotesqueness and rotting.

It didn't become a burden until she started crying that she was hungry. At first, it was a guessing game on what she wanted to eat. I brought her just about everything in the fridge, and she turned it all down. I asked her if she wanted things from the grocery store, and even spent all my money on her favorite snacks from when she was alive, only for her to turn it all down. It wasn't until a bird flew into my bedroom window by chance one afternoon that I finally began to realize

what a dreadful thing her appetite was. She started yelling for me to get it for her. I tried to argue at first, but, as you can guess, she won in the end. Whenever I gave it to her, she started giggling, which quickly turned into a maniacal laughter

that she had later told me was from the joy of finally having a good meal. She completely devoured the bird, bones and all, and it disgusted me so much that I had to sprint to the bathroom to throw up. From that day on, she demanded I bring her dead animals, and for a while that was enough. I tried to find other alternatives for her that seemed less cool,

like raw sushi, for instance, but she acted like me suggesting that was like chopping of her head again. She slowly grew bored with the animals and started to demand more, though. Whenever there would be new stories on TV about missing, children, she would fantasize to me about eating them. How good they would taste, how tender their flesh would be, how full it would make her feel. I don't really understand what part of her gets full, but she insisted human flesh would make her the fuller she had ever been. Her fantasizing turned to brainstorming and she thought out ways for me to catch a most desired meal, and I tried to

refuse her first, just like I did with the animals. I really, really did. But then she started to make me feel guilty for a death. She knew I felt responsible, because I never told her parents that she was going to sneak out, and she heavily used it to her advantage to get what she wanted. And now, here I am, a full-blown child kidnapper, just about to feed my sister's decapitated head.

Sounds crazy, right? I know it does. You probably won't even believe me, but all of this is 100% percent. true. I wish it wasn't. I truly do. I wish I didn't know the best ways to get a child to trust me. I wish I didn't know the best, most occluded spots that are the easiest to guide a child to, only to snatch them up and into your trunk. I wish I didn't know how to quickly and efficiently chop up a child's dead body. I wish I didn't know how fast it takes a demon to eat a child,

because that's what I've realized she is. A demon. I know this thing isn't my sister, but now I'm stuck dealing with the burden of it. There's no way this pure evil has any bit my sister in it, and I'm ashamed that it tricked me so easily into believing it was her at first. I've started to notice that every time I feed it another child, it gets stronger. It looks less decayed, and it looks like its neck is actually grown longer.

I'm not sure if it can fully grow back its body, but I couldn't do anything to stop. it anyway. It's attached to me now, and as I feel it growing stronger, I feel myself growing weaker, as if it is eating my spirit for energy as well. It already knows I know it's not her, but it also knows I have no way of escaping from it. Any time I tried to destroy it, it never works. The first time I tried to get rid of it, I tried putting it in a trash bag and taking the trash can outside, but it just began screaming. It screamed every day for three days, non-stop.

At first, it was kind of quiet, like you could mistake it for cicadas, but then it grew louder and louder, until it made my ears ring and became painful. I'm very glad no one else could hear it. I brought it back in and tried to burn it. He tried to bite me while I poured the lighter fluid on it, but I gagged its mouth. It didn't burn one bit But they still cried like it was in pain Which I'm convinced was only done to bother me

Because of how much it sounded like my sister I drove it out to the local dump Only to have it appear back in its box Whenever I returned home I even tried to throw it in my neighbour's woodchucker one day And it flew back out the other side Completely unharmed Nothing ever works

And I'm honestly ready to give up I know this exactly what it wants And I'm ready to give it at this point My family doesn't seem to really care about my existence And I feel like if they knew I had a way to stop at that night They would hate me as much as I hate myself I'm ready to give into whatever this demon wants Because I have nothing left to live for

This Is the end of my story sadly She's calling for more flesh and I don't have anything for her. I'm about to go out for another catch, but I know it'll never be enough for her appetite. It grows and grows every day. So, be careful out there

and be sure not to open any boxes that may appear at your doorstep. You wouldn't want to end up like me. I volunteer in a crisis hotline once a week. Most of the time, people who call the line just need someone to hear them. someone to sit in the darkness with them so they know that they aren't alone in their suffering. We get calls from all types of people. Distressed teens, drug addicts, people fighting with mental illnesses, elderly folks who have no one left to share their final days with. Third-party callers who know someone who is displaying suicidal behaviour.

Many of these calls are silent, or the caller instantly hangs up. Most calls centre around loneliness. People going through hardship often feel like a burden when sharing. their pain with friends and family, so they keep it bottled up inside, where it festers and builds to a point where the pain is so overwhelming they would do anything to make it stop. Our job is to listen and help them find options. It's not something I normally speak about, but I had once been on the other side of the line here. After years of struggling with alcohol addiction and a series of very bad choices, I'd hit rock bottom and the same. I'd hit rock bottom and the

this really had been my lifeline. Calling the hotline had been the first step on a long journey, that I'm still far from finishing. But after years of therapy and abstinence later, I feel that if I can be that voice that pulls even one person out of that rut, all that might have been worth something. I remember the first time that caller unknown called me. Our caller ID usually shows the callless number,

unless they intentionally block it. So, I thought it was probably the caller unknown. a police department or some social service representative calling. I work the midnight to 4 a.m. shift. I am a pretty nocturnal guide to begin with, and that shift needed the most help, so I had no problem signing up for it. Call volume is a lot lower during these hours, so it's usually just me and a few other counsellors and one supervisor in the call centre during this time.

Call or unknown first contacted me at 1.27am on February 17th. I answered with my standard. Suicide Prevention Centre, you're speaking with, my name, can I get your name? There was no answer for a few seconds. This is pretty standard, especially with the new callers who don't know what to say once they've opened that door. I am here to listen when you're ready to talk, I told the silent line, take your time. I waited for a bit longer, then her loud, digital static interfere with the line.

The digital static stopped and returned to the regular phone static, then cut out, leaving the line completely silent. I checked the call application to see if the call had disconnected, but the time counter continued to tick. I checked my headset to see if I'd muted or messed it up somehow. The digital static returned, much louder this time, then the call disconnected. I didn't think anything of it at the time, and went on with my shift. as per usual. February 24th at 1.27 a.m., call a.m. caller unknown called back. It was the same as before. A long silence, then loud digital noise, then disconnection.

I wouldn't have noticed it as unusual, if not for the digital noise. I checked my call log and realized that it had come in the exact same time as last week. I figured it could be some sort of spam bot set with the call numbers and a schedule. I messaged my supervisor about it, and he sent me a gift with Chandler Bing from friends, shrugging in an exaggerated manner. My thoughts exactly. One week later, and March 3rd, things got stranger. I accepted a call from a woman, Jane Doe, going through a divorce who was suffering nightly from thoughts of suicide. Her call came in around 1.19 a.m., and we just gotten through the basic risk assessment and the beginning of a story when a voice started cutting out.

The digital static returned, this time even louder than before. I had to pull the headphones away from my ears. The clock read 127 a.m. The digital noise stopped and the line went dead, just like before. Then the normal phone static returned. Are you still there, Jane? I asked. I think we got cut off there for a minute. There was no answer immediately.

Then I heard a man's voice that sounded like he left the phone on the table and was speaking from many feet away. Please, help. Hello, can you hear me? I asked. You sound like you're far from the phone. Can you move any closer? Again, barely audible, far from the receiver, I heard the words. Please, help. Help.

Are you in danger right now? I asked. If you're in need of immediate medical assistance, I need to know your location, or you need to call 911. Please. Then the line popped, and Jane's voice came back. Are you still there? She asked. Yes, Jane.

I'm sorry. I heard someone else's voice. Are you with someone right now? No, I'm alone, she said. Confused. I apologize. for the technical difficulties and continued with the call.

I pinged IT about the issue and they said that they didn't notice any sort of interference on their end but we'd keep an eye out for issues. The next week, caller unknown returned. I answered and didn't say anything this time. I waited through the introductory static

then heard the man's voice. He was closer to the phone this time. He sounded old like his vocal cords were damaged. The words were strained and gravely, as if pushed through broken reeds. Please help. Sir, if you want me to help you, I need to know what's happening. Are you able to hear me? Please help.

Sir, please call 911 if you need immediate medical assistance. I'm going to have to end the call if we can't communicate here. A long silence. Then, as if he had turned speakerphone on, and placed a receiver to his lips. Please, help, blasted into my ears at full volume. I threw the headset off my ears

and the call disconnected. Because there was no number listed, we couldn't place the caller on alert, but we noted it, and I finished my shift. My supervisor said it was probably some sort of prank caller or someone with mental illness

in an obsessive cycle. He didn't have any idea why the cause kept getting assigned to me. No one else had reported a call from caller unknown yet. On my drive home that night, the man's voice was stuck in my head, almost as if I could hear him in the distance. It didn't feel like a prank to me. It was so much pain in that voice, physical, psychological.

The tone was pure suffering, a death rattle. I imagined a frail old man crumbled on the floor of his cluttered apartment without the mental clarity to call 911. He called the one number that he had memorized. Perhaps he'd received help on the hotline before. I took some deep breaths and tried to ground myself. It isn't healthy to take the calls home with you. I did what I could to the best of my ability,

and there was nothing else I could do for call or unknown. It did stick with me, though. The thought that disturbed me the most was how much I wanted a drink to drown out that damn voice. I came down with some sort of flu the next week. By Wednesday, my fever was down, but I still felt too exhausted to stay awake and supportive through the graveyard shift, so I called him for a substitution and took the night off.

I passed out around 10pm into a restless fever sleep and was awoken by the ringing of my phone at 1.28 a.m. I stumbled across my room to the dresser and grabbed the phone. It was said to do not disturb at night. The only way a call could come through as if the caller dialed it multiple times. Unknown caller. My thumb hovered over the accept button,

but I couldn't bring myself to do it. After a minute, a voicemail appeared. I pressed play and held the phone to my ear. Static. Loud digital noise. Silence. Then, a little. low moan. It sounded like a feral cat at first, then wavered as he ran out a breath.

He let out another loud moan through this broken vocal cords. It crescendoed into a scream of agony. I could hear an echo across his room. Please help, please help, please help, please help. The line cut out. I know I should have kept the call for evidence or whatever, but it felt cursed. It felt like having that voice stored on my phone had tainted the device. and by holding it, I was cursed by extension. I deleted the voicemail and powered off my phone. I laid awake in bed, head spinning.

The whole thing felt like a fever dream, and for a while I convinced myself it was just that. I could live with a fever dream. It had been a while since I'd had a drink, but tonight I felt like I'd earned one, anything to get to sleep. I'd work tomorrow. I'd be useless, half sick.

and sleep deprived. Besides, I'd worked hard for self-control these past years. I got out of bed and walked across the street to the 7-Eleven and grabbed a cheap bottle of Jim Bean. I took a few swigs on the way home, then took a couple of classes to put me to sleep. Apart from a hangover the next morning, things were fine, and I was able to move past it. A week later, however, all hopes of this being some sort of flu-induced nightmare faded. I returned to my shift at the call centre. I only had one real call and two hang-ups by 1.15 a.m. I turned my status and not available in our call application

and told my supervisor I was going to take a quick walk. I shut off my cell phone and left it at my desk and went outside. It was chilly that night and I'd forgotten to bring a jacket. I walked along the side of the street for a while. I sat at a bus stop nearby and watched the empty night street. A car drove by about every other minute. I always wondered where these people were driving this late on a weeknight. Maybe other graveyard shifts, coming home from a lover's apartment, or maybe they were wondering.

I'd done my fair share of that. I glanced to my watch. 1.28 a.m. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath and felt the cool air fill my lungs. I'd heard a deep bass of music coming from a black SUV down the street. Then my heart stopped. The SUV came to a stop at the light in front of me and the deep bass of the music cut out, interfered by that familiar static.

By the time the begging came out of the car speakers, I was sprinting back to the parking lot at the call centre. Please, help, echoed behind me. I could hear the two guys arguing and trying to retune the radio to get their music back, back, but I didn't care to hear any more. I jumped into my car, forgetting about the shift altogether, and floored it away from the call centre, leaving my phone and bag at my desk. I made sure the radio in my car was off.

I didn't know where to go. I didn't want to go back to my apartment, because I feared I'd hear that curse voice coming through any speaker I had laying around in the cluttered mess of gadgets I kept laying around. I drove as fast as I could to the outskirts of town, just past the state line, until the road became more wooded and the lights of civilization faded behind the hills. I pulled over at a gas station off the interstate and filled up. Head still spinning, I grabbed another cheap bottle of whiskey to calm myself. This wasn't an issue of cheating on my sobriety.

This was a medical use to maintain my damned sanity. I pulled over on a county road and dove into the bottle. I got out and stared at the stars until the whiskey made them spin. and my nerves began to call. It was impossible. All of it, I needed to talk with my therapist. We hadn't spoken in months. I hadn't felt the need for any more support lately,

but maybe I did still need help. Maybe this was the first of many delusions and some part of me always knew I would lose it someday. The familiar feeling of hopelessness began to creep back in, but I took another drink and cut it off. I wasn't that person anymore. I'd fought hard to climb out of that hole, and I had the tools to keep myself out now.

What I needed now was to sleep, and then come up with a safety plan for myself. I got back into the car and turned around, heading back home. It was a dark county road, no one around for miles. I knew I'd be sober enough by the time I got back into areas where people would be driving. I was thinking about that.

when my head dipped down. Thinking about how easy it would be to slip off to sleep later and wake up with a new plan, a new direction. Then, I heard that sickening thump. It bounced me a few inches out of my seat, then again as it hit the rear wheel. I slammed on the brakes and came to a complete stop. The road behind me was illuminated red with my brake lights,

at the edge of that hellish glow, the humanoid figure wriggled on the ground. I stared at my rearview mirror at the man I'd just run over. An elderly man were in a blue baseball cap and an oversized jacket that was mostly torn from his broken body. His neck was twisted at an unnatural angle. The light from his shattered self and glinted in his pupils. Then came the moan.

That soul-shattering cry of anguish. Please, help, he spluttered through his broken trachea. My mind went blank. The clock read 2.27 a.m. My foot lifted off the pedal and his body faded into the darkness. But those two glinting eyes remained in the rearview for what seemed like Miles. I don't even remember getting into bed that night, but I woke up the next morning in my apartment. An officer appeared at my door and I was certain that they knew.

what I had done, but it turned out to be a wellness check from the suicide prevention centre after I hadn't returned for my things. I told him I was okay, just dealing with a personal crisis. The officer didn't give me any grief and filled out a quick report. A news article came out later that day in the neighbouring county that one of their older residents, known for taking nocturnal walks, had been killed in a hit-and-run accident. I realised that they were in different time zones, an hour behind us. I looked at the photograph of the man, alive and smiling, thought about his kids and grandkids, thought about how long he must have laid there on the road, gasping for air, begging

for help. It's been a few weeks now, and it doesn't seem to matter where I am every Wednesday morning at 127 a.m. Somehow, his call for help will find me, and I know there's not a.m., there's nothing I can do now. Maybe if I hadn't been drinking, maybe if I hadn't been so dumb scared of that voice, if my flight instinct hadn't kicked in, I wouldn't have just left him there. I wouldn't have ever received that call from unknown caller. If I hadn't been alive. I may never understand, but all I know now is that I can't take any more of these calls, these pleas for help. It's all I hear, and no more.

amount of booze can drown it out. I don't think I can take it anymore. Your job is the sell, sell, sell, said my new supervisor, leading me across the showroom floor. Think you can handle that? He turned around and looked at my plastic name tag.

Danny? I gave a thumbs up. Good, he snapped. Then continued walking. We were on the ground floor, sandwich between two. long rows of beds. It was only 9.20 a.m.

But the store was already a beehive of activity. He spoke over his shoulder as I followed him up a metal stairway, one step behind. Sell as many mattresses as you can. That's where the profits are. If the customer, CHRP, isn't biting. Offer discounts. If that doesn't work, throw in some new sheets or an extra pillow.

Chirp! I wanted to say something about the weird chirp sound you kept making. But I held my tongue. We reached the first floor Where the mattresses lay stacked on top of one another Like playing cards There are no breaks You get 45 minutes for lunch

Be back on time Jep, don't call in sick Don't screw around Don't say anything rude in front of a customer And remember Your bonus depends on how many mattresses you sell Nothing else counts He paused

Am I going too fast for you Nope, I got it I said confidently The storeroom is through there He gestured towards a set of double doors marked warehouse, staff only beyond this point. Do not go back there for any reason, ever. I catch you in there, you're gone. You need something from the back.

Come find me. Chap, you'll pay to stand out here and sell, understand? I nodded. Probation lasts six months. If editing point during that time you aren't hitting your sales targets, which you probably won't. You're gone. Chab, got a problem with that. I bit my bottom lip.

and shook my head. Good. Any questions? Nope. As he ticked a bunch of boxes on his clipboard, I couldn't help thinking he was one of the weirdest-looking people I'd ever met. He was bald and pale, with bulbous eyes and narrow lips.

Okay, your training is finished. Go sell some damn mattresses. With that, he pulled out a key card, held it up to a panel alongside the door, then disappeared. At the front side of the building, a wall of plate glass overlooked the parking lot. Tooked away in the far corner,

was my piece of crap car. If I hadn't needed the money so badly, I might have already handed over my name tag and told my ass or supervisor to show it up his ass. On the ground floor, my new co-workers scrambled around, trying to make sales. I figured I best do the same.

And so, not knowing anything about sales or beds, I made my way towards a couple arguing over headboards. Turns out, I was a natural. Before the end of my first week, I had already hit my monthly sales quota. The bonuses were insane. I made a commission on every mattress I sold, so I pushed the most expensive brands relentlessly. My co-workers couldn't understand how I did it. A little into my second week, as a wave goodbye to a family of four who just purchased a new set of bunk beds,

a smooth voice spoke from behind. So, this is the guy. I spun around. A tall man with sharp features was standing alongside my supervisor. The guy reeked of wealth, his suit was tailored fit, and his hair perfectly groomed. He extended a hand. Pleased to meet you. My name. Cher is Mr. Johnson.

For a moment, I stood in shock. What's the matter, Danny? My supervisor snarled, gritting his teeth at me. Too much of a big shot to shake hands with the boss. I smiled and said, Please to meet you. Then, as an afterthought, added, Sir.

Mr. Johnson's hand was so large it enveloped mine. Please, call me Frank. He threw a hand around my shoulder and guided me down one of the aisles. So, I hear you're quite the salesman. Pride swelled in my chest. I try my best. He laughed. Try.

One week in and you were already, chirp, uncourse to be the top salesman in for this entire quarter. I couldn't believe it when I saw the figures. I said, I've got to meet this wonder kid. I blushed, slightly embarrassed. How are you finding it here? Cherp, everything to your liking? It was a strange place.

The warehouse staff gave me the creeps. They never spoke or laughed or did anything. Besides, chirp, that is. I still hadn't figured out what the hell was up with that. One time, two of them wheeled out a pallet full of mattresses for one of my orders, and I tried to start a conversation with them. They both looked at me like I just peed in their corn flakes. My co-workers were friendly enough, although we were usually all too busy trying to make sales to take much notice of each other. Uh, yeah, I said, a slight tone of hesitation in my voice.

Everything's great. The village idiot isn't giving you any problems. He subtly gestured towards my supervisor, who hovered across the way like a fly, searching for a solid landing spot on a slippery turd. Nope, I said. Good, good. Well, he gives you any problems, just reminding the salespeople are king. They're the ones who keep the lights on around here.

Chab! He turned towards me and shook my hand again. As we stood face to face, I realized Mr. Johnson was much older than I first thought. his face had that uncanny valley quality where at a glance you think he's in his mid-thirties but upon closer inspection you realize he's probably just got a great plastic surgeon keep up the good work

he winked at me and gestured towards my supervisor a moment later the two of them disappeared into the storeroom the praise from Mr Johnson was like a shot in my arm after meeting him I went from strength to strength The sales bonuses rolled in I even treated myself to a fancy new car Soon it was almost the end of the month The store closed at 5 o'clock

And commission on any sales made after that Wouldn't be issued until the next payroll That was a problem I'd had my eye on a hundred inch 4K TV And was coming up just short of the cash I'd busted my ass all day Flogging as many mattresses as I could 20 minutes before closing time

When I didn't have a second to spare A nasly voice said You were two Chep minutes late Getting back from your lunch break yesterday I turned to see my supervisor Chep We're not paying you to sit in the break room

scratching your balls all day He snapped Make sure you get back on time As he stormed off angrily I spotted something out of the corner of my eye His key card The asshole dropped it I slipped it in my pocket swiftly

The thought of that dick Frantically searching the whole building for it Gave me a feeling of great satisfaction Just then a heavyset man wandered into view A look of boredom frozen on his face I raced towards him Excuse me sir can I He held up a hand

No upselling Just get me six memory phone mattresses Two king-sized one queen and three doubles That 4K TV was as good as mine. I told the guy I'd meet him at the counter, then sprinted across the store, searching for all the products he'd mentioned. But I had a problem.

They were all out of stock. Of all the rotten luck. I needed my supervisor to wrangle the warehouse guys and get the order brought out pronto. I searched the ground floor. No sign of him. I covered the first floor, the bathroom and break room. room, still nothing.

Where was that asshole? All of a sudden, I had an idea. I still had his key card. I'd no doubt feel his righteous wrath for setting foot in the forbidden warehouse, but I'd also have a fat pay slip to help soften the blow. I rushed towards the double doors, where I held his card against the wall panel. A red light blinked green. Then the door opened.

A short hallway led me to the main. warehouse where rows of shelving units stretched towards the ceiling. I checked my watch, ten minutes until closing. Across the bay, a man wearing a blue jumpsuit was loading boxes onto a metal pallet is back to me. Hey, I shouted, racing towards him. He either didn't hear me or pretended not to. When I reached the other side of the bay, I poked him on the shoulder.

Hey, where do you keep the... He spun around so fast it made me jump. Uh, hi. He took a step forward and tilted his head to the side, eyes wide. Chirp! Look, I know I'm not supposed... Chirp, another step. I moved backward.

Hey, I needed to get me... It was then that I heard footsteps echoing through the bay and noticed more men in jumpsuits heading directly for me. I had the distinct impression. They weren't there to help me. They weren't there to help me find what I was looking for. I threw my hands up. Everything's cool.

I just need some mattresses. Could you maybe bring some out to the storefront? The men spread out into a semicircle surrounding me, periodically chirping. You know what? I actually think I saw some out front earlier. I'll just go double check. Two of the men pushed their shoulders together, blocking my escape. The entire group closed in on me.

huddled in a tight circle. Guys, come on, I've got a customer waiting. One of them grabbed my collar from behind. I pulled away. What the hell? As I spun to face him, someone else grabbed my arm. I wrestled it free. Seriously, cut it out.

They kept moving forward. Now, I'd barely enough space to move. As the first man reached towards me, I grabbed him by the head and shoved him away. Get lost! Go away! The other stopped moving. The man stood motionless for a second. His head tilted away.

Then he slowly turned back towards me. A rubber mask sat a skew on his head, and a giant mandible, the kind you'd see on an ant, was sticking out from his mouth. I froze in horror. The mandible wriggled back and forth, chirping rapidly. I spun around and tried to force my way through the crowd.

But then they piled on top of me. All at once they reached out and grabbed my head, until all I could see was blackness. I woke up, strapped to a wheelchair. Mr. Johnson was sitting on a nearby table, like a teacher waiting to tell his students he was disappointed with their test results. Ah, you're awake.

Hope your hair doesn't sting too badly. I'd heard the boys were a bit rough on you. Chet. I noticed that they'll throb on the back. back my skull. What the hell is going on? I'm sorry about all of this journey. I really, Trip Am. I'd have preferred you stay out of this whole mess. I raised my voice. You better let me out of this chair, well, or you'll what, said a whiny, familiar voice. My supervisor walked into my field of vision, staring at me with content. When I tried and failed to lunge at him, he smirked.

Mr Johnson put up his hands Easy easy easy We're all friends here Nobody has to get hurt I started queasing I looked up at my supervisor Then Mr Johnson What the hell is going on

Why am I strapped to this chair And what the hell is wrong with a guy's mouth Mr Johnson sighed Danny let me ask you something Have you ever wondered how we can afford to sell our mattresses so cheap What does that have to do with anything? It'll all become clear in a second. Didn't it ever strike you as odd

that there are four matcher stores for every ten people in this city? I hesitated. Isn't it peculiar that so many could stay in business? I don't care. Just let me out of this chair. Mr. Johnson gestured towards my supervisor.

I felt a kick, hard enough to bang my head against the headboard. Then they wheeled me through the warehouse. Men in jumpsuit strove forklifts around and loaded pallets, occasionally chirping as they worked. I recognised some of them from earlier. We stopped alongside two men, making a long incision in a mattress. Mr. Johnson motioned towards the men as if to say, Watch this.

Something scuttled around behind my chair, close to the floor. It scurried over the top of my feet towards the mattress. I tensed up. It was something like a millipede, only five foot long and thicker than my damn thigh. I thrashed around and yelled like a ten-year-old girl. My supervisor chuckled. The thing crawled into the mattress, then wriggled his way through the narrow slit. I was panting now.

I don't understand. You will. We continued to the warehouse. You see, Danny, Mr. Johnson said, my species are what you might call a parasite, at least in a larvae state, and we rely on human hosts to incubate our young. I looked at him, astonished. Your species?

Mr Johnson turned towards my supervisor. Show him. My supervisor stopped pushing the chair and walked in front of me. There he grabbed a handful of skin and pulled his face up. His entire skull was actually a rubber mask, beneath which sat a black, hairy insect head with long mandibles and bulbous green eyes. I shrieked, trying to rock myself out of the chair. He leaned in close and clicked his mandibles together, releasing her constant chirping. Cold, foul-smelling liquid leaped from his long mouth and into my lap.

I turned away and pressed my eyelids together. This isn't happening. This isn't happening. My supervisor laughed, then pulled his mask down, adjusting it until his face looks normal. Mr. Johnson put a hand on my shoulder. As you can imagine, humans are... Squeamish about buying host to a parasite. So we have to be careful.

If humans actually knew they were incubators, he thought for a moment, well, there's no telling what they do. That presented us with the problem. We had to figure out how to implant. plant our eggs without the humans realising. So we hatched the plan, Danny. A genius way to sneak into the homes of every last man, woman and child on planet Earth. Can you guess how we did it?

By now, the Millipede thing had disappeared inside the mattress. The men in front of us sealed it up and loaded it onto a pallet. Then they got to work on a second... Mattresses. Mr. Johnson nodded. That's why there are so many mattress stores. Danny. That's why we can sell them so cheap. Making money was never our goal. Across the globe, countless stores are packing up our females and distributing them to unsuspecting humans. In the

continental United States alone, we have 4,000 stores selling 8 million mattresses every year. It's an ingenious system. After the humans fall asleep, the females slip their overpassed a tube through the mattress and implant the eggs. The tube administers a numbing gel that helps the humans get the best night's sleep with her life. The eggs get a so good. The female can stay close to monitor the development. And, if we're lucky, the unsuspecting human recommends our mattresses to their friends,

perpetuating the cycle. We came to a stop in front of a glass wall that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. Behind the glass stood a naked man. It must have been a two-way mirror because he didn't react to us. My supervisor parked my chair, then push buttons on a wall panel.

The eggs can incubate indefinitely, Mr Johnson continued. They won't hatch until subjected to a specific high-pitched frequency. Behind the glass, that sound must have started playing through a speaker because the man pushed both his hands against his ears. A moment later, bumps rose and fell beneath his skin. I felt the blood pumping in the soles of my feet. My supervisor disappeared behind my chair.

We're playing the long game here, Danny. We've already implanted our young into 36% of your species. As we speak, millions of them are lying in bed, perhaps browsing social media on their phones or laptops, separated from us by just a few inches of fabric. A hole tore open in the man's skin as a grub ate its way out of him. It was fat and ripped and stained in the man's blood. More holes opened up in his head and his chest and his arms.

The grubs swarmed all over him Covering him like a pattern of spots Biting off chunks of flesh I could only watch in horror Clutching my right bicep with his enormous hand Mr Johnson kneeled beside me But there's still work left to do

And that's where you come in See, we're already in the final stretch And we need to get as many humans implanted as possible Before we execute the trigger We need salesman Danny Good salesman I'm making you an offer. Join us, sell our mattresses, help us accomplish our mission.

In exchange, I'll spare you from. He gestured towards the window, with a man's scream silently. I took a deep breath, trying to maintain composure. This is insane. What's it going to be, Danny? I laughed hysterically. What's it going to be? How about this?

Go screw yourself. He sighed. I'm sorry it had to be this way. He nodded past my shoulder. A moment later, my supervisor wandered back into view, carrying one of the horrible millipede monsters in his arms. He petted its head, then extended it towards me. I gasped.

Okay, okay, I'll sell. Just don't put those damn eggs in me. I looked up at Mr. Johnson, tears in my eyes. Please, I'll... I'll do anything. The thing scurried into my lap. I felt his weight against my thighs and tensed up. It lifted the front third of its body and looked at me.

It opened its mouth. Then a white tube drooped over its chin. Slowly the tube extended like a deflated balloon taken in air. Mr. Johnson folded his arms behind my back. Here's what's going to happen. This female will lay her eggs inside of you. The toxins will give you a good. night's sleep, then you'll wake up tomorrow morning in your own bed, feeling calm and well rested.

The sting went in. The puncture was painless, almost pleasant. The thing contracted, forcing the eggs from a body into mine. Monday morning, you're going to turn up as per usual and sell, sell, sell. If you act like everything is normal and don't breathe the word about this to anyone, I'll remove the eggs before my species execute the trigger. I promise. Refuse. And, well, he gestured towards the window, where the man had become a human apple core.

First thing I do want to get out of here is going straight to the damn police, I growled. My supervisor threw his head back and laughed. The police. We own the police. I felt rhythmic pulsations going into my stomach and bit my bottom lip. Then I'll go to a doctor and get these things extracted. I'll put them on display for the whole world to see. He slapped me gently. Oh, sure.

Doctor helped me. I've got bugs growing inside of me and I need to get them cut out. You'll spend the next six months in a padded cell knowing the trigger could come at any second. Then I'll do it myself. I'll post it on Facebook up. Mr. Johnson put a hand on my supervisor's shoulder

and pulled him back. Then he smiled at me sympathetically. Look, I'm sorry, Danny, but you managed. has already lost. Soon the bedbugs will inherit the earth. This was decided long ago, but it's not too late to get on the winning team.

My eyelids became heavy, as my head drooped towards my chest. He patted me on the back. Just think about it, okay? The last thing I remember is the unsettling chirps fading into the distance. I grew up in Pasadena, California,

back in the 1980s. My father often worked late as a construction worker to provide for us, leaving me home alone from the age of eight, leading up to when I moved out at 22. My father never asked much of me. He let me wear whatever I wanted, especially through multiple phases. He let me smoke weed at 16,

bought me alcohol for parties, but he always had one strict rule. Never go near the gates of hell. I didn't think that applied to me. me, now there in 42. The Gates of Hell, or more commonly known as the Devil Gates' Dam, had gotten its name from locals due to the natural forming of a horned devil's face in the rock of the dam. It had been named long before my time, and his stories whispered before even my father was born.

Although he never spared me the details, my childhood friends, Mark and Patrick, told me tales of cults and rituals, mainly performed by some sort of scientist and founder of a lab called JPL. Or, at least that's what I can pull from my memory. In 1989, I remember talk of children going missing around the gate, mostly teenagers, but there was one, age 11, just like me, who'd wandered down to the dam and never returned. My father stayed home for a few days when that happened. I didn't think it back then, but now that I look back,

perhaps he was making sure my curiosity didn't get the better of me. and I think if he hadn't been there, I would have gone. The gates have been closed ever since, or at least, that is what I heard from my friends who frequently visited. So, when I headed back to my child at home, following my father's passing, the last thing on my mind was some dumb damn of hell. For the first few days of being in Pasadena, I spent a majority of my time listing my father's furniture on Facebook Marketplace.

I had considered donating it, but he insisted in his will that I get as much money from this situation as I could. He had also made a request that I burned the contents of the large maroon box which sat on the highest shelf of his wardrobe. I remember the same box being heavily guarded by him during my childhood, but I'd been too scared to look inside, despite feeling a draw to it. On day five, I pulled down the box. A thick layer of dust coated the lid, with the contents inside,

seemed to be frozen in time. The box mainly contained pictures of my mother. She was an avid explorer, a secret my dad kept quiet until a hot, hard talk over the phone when I was 39. I scattered the pictures across the floor, according to the dates. From the look of the film, they had definitely been taken on disposable cameras. There were a few pictures of my father too, but never a photo of them together, indicating they were the only two on these adventures.

On the back listed multiple places within California and some of the surrounding states. Caves, forests, dams and abandoned buildings sat in the background of each one until I got to the final one, dating back to just a year

after my birth, around the time she had died. And that's when I saw it. The Gates of Hell. I had never been there personally, but curiosity had gotten the better of me during my adulthood, and I'll admit to googling it once or twice, but it was just to feel the curiosity that stemmed from my childhood.

It was definitely it. It's hard to describe my shock. It felt as if my whole body had grown cold. I had been told my mother died in a car accident when I was younger, but with my dad's strong-mindedness towards the devil's gate, I couldn't help feel as if they were connected. So I continued to look. First, I pulled out VHS tapes.

Many of them had titles to match the other photos, until I came across, Devil's Gate, written in my father's sloppy handwriting. I was lucky that nobody had stepped forward for the dated VHS player and TV my dad had kept over the decades, as I was able to hook them up and play the VHS almost straight away.

The tape was underwhelming, in a sense that nothing happened. What was exciting was seeing my mother in action. Although the quality was awful, I was still able to make out of features and see her as a person, rather than a still image. I teared up. She was beautiful. God knows how my father got her.

But I could tell my dad didn't like these adventures. He did it for her smile. I would too. The video didn't have much to it. They walked around a fence, down the ladder, and stood in front of the gate. It was locked. My mother was disappointed and wanted to climb to the top where there was a small gap. My father wasn't too keen on the idea and offered her a simple,

We all just tell people we went in. And then the video ended. I replay the video multiple times. It felt unreal to see my mother like that. I had no memories of her, but I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed and miss her. That night I went to sleep in my father's bed, emotional, feeling like a little boy that had crawled into his parents' bed during a thunderstorm. The next day, I remembered the box. I had been so worn out emotionally from seeing my mother that I'd completely forgotten about it.

I debated watching the VHS again, but figured it would be unhealthy. I pulled out a slip of paper. Compared to the rest of the stuff in this box, this is. folded up, lined paper had been touched a lot. I could tell by the deepness of the crease and the floppiness of the paper. I opened it up. The handwriting wasn't my father's. Dear James, I can't start thinking about the gate.

I won't be able to rest until I go in. George will need his diaper change when you wake up. There's some food in the fridge for the both of you if I'm not back by then. Yours, Grace. The paper, I now realised to be stained with tears, sat in my hands, while the rest of me remained in still silence. The need to know more overcame me, and I found myself searching through the box for more clues.

Newspaper cuttings of my mother's missing notices were packed neatly in the box, as well as letters my father had written to my mother, despite her disappearance. What was so special about the devil's gate that she had to go that night? I spent the day processing it. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to go see the dam for myself. So, I called up Mark and Patrick, who at first needed some convincing, and soon I was prepared to go visit it with them. I packed some items such as flashlights, emergency flares, a Swiss army knife,

as well as non-perishable foods. Patrick and Mark didn't show up nearly as prepared, claiming they went there as children and it really wasn't a big deal. They showed me the way. It wasn't easy to get to the devil's gate. Perhaps if I was as agile as I was as a child, I would be able to. Our journey started in Hara Mungna Park, which sits just on the border of La Canada Flintridge. I'd gone there and walks with my father a few times.

Its trails were fairly known, but we'd never gone close to the side that met the highway. We took the way that father never took me, over a concrete bridge which had a neshaped bend to it. We had gotten lost at first by taking the tunnel before the bridge. You have to take the tunnel after the bridge. Mark and Patrick laughed it off, claiming that their memory of the place wasn't the greatest. We then ended up in a wooded area again, but this time the path was lined with rocks,

making it difficult to walk steadily. There it is, Mark shouted. He pointed ahead to the exact rock that gave the damn its name. It had hardly looked like a face, but I could see the resemblance. Damn, exclaimed Patrick. He was just a few paces ahead of Mark at that point, but came to a stop. The water. I forgot about the dam water.

Sat between us was a murky green type of pond. Cairns, bottles and debris from trees floated on the surface, breaking the algae-like surface that blanketed the liquid. It doesn't look too deep, I commented. Patrick picked up one of the floating sticks and chapped it through the water's surface. It had to have gone a good three or four feet before he stopped. It goes deeper than that, he said. We stood around for a few moments, and I recall the video I'd watched two days prior. My mother never walked straight to the gate. They went down a ladder.

Isn't there some sort of ladder around here? I asked the two. Mark almost jumped to the comment. The ladder, I can't believe we forgot. everything still looked the same as the VHS footage the gate to the ladder was locked but the fence didn't travel far and was easy to walk around we travelled down the ladder and to the gate to find it locked

the two men huffed in annoyance, frustrated that it was closed it's been locked since the 80s I complained I brought my face up to the bars the cool metal stung the side of my face and I looked up

on into the darkness. I was only able to see a good ten feet worth of graffiti before the rest of the dam disappeared into the void. Well, I guess that's as far as we go, Patrick shrugged. I continued to look into the darkness. Did my mother really go in there? I took a quick look at the top of the gate. There was definitely space to fit if you crawled up there.

Even one of the bars were bent out of place, perfect for a human to squeeze through. George? I turned around to the two, expecting a follow-up to my name, but they'd been stuck in a conversation. George! The feminine voice echoed. It was coming from inside. Do you guys hear that? I asked aloud, putting a halt to their conversation.

They both approached the gate, not willing to press their faces to the dirted bars like me. silence. I felt like a fool. Should we go for a few drinks and catch up? suggested Patrick. We agreed. The entire night, I couldn't get the gate out of my head. The echoing of a female voice remained present in my mind on repeat.

One was as clear as when I first heard it. Mark and Patrick had done well for themselves. They both had families they showed off proudly and full-time jobs that were respectful. I wasn't envious, though. I had lived my life in comfort. Not having to worry about somebody else's needs meant that I could live happily and how I wanted.

We had been drinking in the bar for about three hours now. It was 9.32 p.m. Well, I think that's me for tonight, fellas. I have to pack up the rest on my old man's things tomorrow. I excuse myself, and returned back to my father's house.

I debated burning the content to the box, like my father's. father said, but I desperately wanted to keep the VHSs, just as a memory. I placed a different VHS into the player this time. The camera was on my mother again as she stood in front of a cave. Like the gate, it was also heavily graffeted. My mother was also very visibly pregnant. My father warned to be careful, to which she responded with a carefree. Little George will be fine. It was me. George The voice rang through my head again

But this time It was clear As if someone was actually saying it George Come back I heard it once again The more I heard the voice The more I recognised it

To be my mother's I'm stuck in the gate Please I didn't hesitate I put on my running shoes And grabbed a flashlight for my backpack From earlier and sprinted down there I didn't bother going to the ladder.

Instead, I tended to jump a clearing of the pond to the small island between it. I had made the first jump, but the second was miscalculated. While most of my body had landed flat on the concrete, my legs were sunk into the water. And then I saw it. The gates of hell. They were open. I scrambled to my feet. George!

my mother called. A voice coated with desperation. "'I'm coming, mother,' I called back. The flashlight had gotten wet during the jump and flicked occasionally, but still shone as bright. But despite the bright beam, just like earlier, I could only see ten feet ahead. I walked past the gate. My own footsteps sounded like a giant due to the echo of the tunnel. "'Over here,' she called weakly.

I sped up as fast as I could, with my now wet jeans chafing me, the cool air, Drifted to the tunnel and attacked my drenched lower body. You're nearly here, baby. I can see the light. I felt comfort in a voice. I could almost picture hugging her, the warmth of a hug, taking away the cold, the bit away of my legs and toes. My flashlight caught a silhouette or something, huddled up into a ball. Long, wet air covered the majority of the figure.

Mother, I called. My flashlight flickered, and I could have sworn, I saw her body twist and contort for the split second, but as soon as it turned back on, I saw she was still rolled up. I'm so cold, she whimpered. Come warm mommy up. She didn't move from the spot she was in,

most likely conserving energy, I thought. If I knew you're in trouble, I would have brought my bag. I have food in a thermal blanket, I blabbered. She didn't respond, though. Eventually, I approached her. The fact we were basically strangers, despite her birthing me, made some more goodness in my movement. I'm so cold, she wept. I sat down beside her.

The flashlight faced the wall in front of us, rather than on us. She'd been down here a long time. I didn't want to blind her. But oh God, the stench. She stunk like rotten meat, as if she'd been rolling it every day of the week. When I embraced her, she felt strange, slimy, like the surface of the water outside. I'd figured since she'd been stuck down here, she wasn't able to wash, so she must have been full of algae. And when I completely rat my arms around her, she felt like bones.

Let's get out of here. You need to go to the hospital, I whispered. No, she screeched. Her voice almost rushed my airdrums. I jumped back in shock. I was not used to hearing her like this. Mother, you're all bones. You're bound to be dehydrated and malnourished. I'll pay for the hospital bill. Stay with me, George, she demanded.

Her voice warm but stern. I couldn't take the stench much longer. She had to weigh like 70 pounds from the feel of her. I thought I could easily carry her out of here. I turned the flashlight over towards her. She was so dirty that what was left of a skin. skin looked grey. Stay with me, George.

Stay with Mommy. We'll be happy here. I only need you. I knew I only needed you when I gave birth to you. She rambled on. I didn't listen. I turned her over. It took me a minute to get a good look at her

as my body blocked the light source, but when I shifted my head, the light shone perfectly on her face. She was just bones. patches of skin hugged onto a skeleton while her eyes were clouded. Bone poked through her arms and I could have sworn she was more bone than skin. And her hair. It was thin, matted and most of it sat on her shoulders as if it had fallen out.

Don't you want to live with mommy? She asked. She had noticed, somehow, my sudden disgust through those glazed eyes. I tried to back away. but a bony fingers gripped under my forearm so tight it felt as if she could have broken the bone. I've been waiting for you, George, she continued. Whatever that thing was, she wasn't my mother. You can be like me.

We just have to go see him. He'll be happy I brought you, she called out in desperation. I tried to wiggle from a grip, but I gained nothing from it. He's been waiting. I told him about you. He was waiting for me. Now he's waiting for you. She continued to ramble.

Her grip tightened. You're hurting me, I screamed. The grip's so tight the blood stopped flowing to my hand. You can't keep him waiting, she shouted over me. I grabbed the flashlight and slammed it against the center of a forearm. It smashed through a bone, and she let out an ungodly shriek. And then I ran. The way out seemed much longer than the way in.

I ran while she shrieked behind me. Light and wet footsteps paddled on behind me. But once I got out of the gate, the noise disappeared. She didn't come into the view of the first ten feet of the gate. I waited. The walk home was unsettling. I didn't sleep for the next few days. Instead, I packed all of my father's things away,

and on the final day, I made a large fire in his backyard and burnt the contents of the maroon box. including every single VHS, with the exception of the devil's gate. I have the urge to visit Mother again, this time prepared to take her out of there. Yet, at the same time, I know it's not her. It would just be nice, but for now I have to travel home from work. I went back to the gates of hell in Pasadena, California, and the gates are open. Something pretending to be my mother tried to trick me into staying

And now I'm curious About what I missed out on