CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - 9 UNDERRATED 2021 HORROR STORIES that may have slipped between the cracks of how much I upload

Episode Date: January 2, 2022

CREEPYPASTA STORIES-►0:00 "My Grandmother Returned Home From Her Own Funeral" Creepypasta►14:16 "A Cave Diver's Worst Nightmare" Creepypasta►49:09 "When you go to heaven, STAY AWAY from the angels" Creepypasta►1:19:03 "I'm About To Take A Bath. Please, Someone Stop Me" Creepypasta►1:44:43 "The Lamp-Men of Bedfordshire" Creepypasta►2:08:17 "My Son Brought A Human Head For Show And Tell" Creepypasta►2:25:00 "I can't go to sleep and I'm running out of fingers" Creepypasta►3:09:42 "The average weight of the human soul is 21 grams" Creepypasta►3:47:29 "My son's imaginary friend is dead" CreepypastaCreepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...CREEPY THUMBNAIL ART BY►Ryan Gitter: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/wJ...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPastaCREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only-

My parents always used to say that I had my grandmother's stubbornness. Despite being a sparrow-like woman barely above five feet tall, her presence eclipsed everyone else in whatever room she walked into. Hardened by the transient memories of a Dust Bowl-era childhood, she worked to put each of her five children through college, my father included. There seemed to be no force that she couldn't overcome. Death included. But age finally caught up to her.

It started with some minor incidents, such as forgetting the day or names, which we choked up to exhausting herself. It was only when we found her, crouched, sobbing in the garden, at three in the morning, snapped twigs, entangled her hair, and clutching at nothing in her arms. Save him, she screamed. Her unraveling quickened with each passing day, and her once razor-sharp brain was blunted by neurodegeneration. She started to lose any semblance of her current reality, fogged over by childhood memories from a world long past. Her own children became strangers to her, whose hands she would slap away when they tried to help her. She would stumble about, searching for a long-departed family, her cries growing more frantic before she would crumble into a sobbing heap with her knees drawn up to her chin, like a lost child. My parents became her carers, changing her urine-soaked she.

and assuring her confused babbling in strained, low voices. Even in the haze, there was still a flicker of her former self. Whenever my mother would give her a glass of water, she would snatch it in her own trembling hands and drink it, droplets soaking through the baricose vein greying folds of her neck. Being only a child back then, and lacking the adult foresight I have now, I became increasingly terrified of her. Even when my parents had sat me down and tried to phrase the situation,

I struggled to understand what was happening to her. When a spindly arms strained out to hold me, I cringed away from them. The warm woman, who had once baked me cookies and rocked me on a lap, had been snatched away, leaving a screaming, emaciated imposter in her place. She would ride about on the bed, her hands gripping the sheets. Death came as a welcome release for both of us. It had been a closed casket service. Those close to her couldn't bear to see what she had become.

I stood, squeezing my father's hand, outfitted in black funeral attire, as I watched my grandmother being swallowed up by heaps of earth. Her agony still haunted me, along with my own cowardice, that even at the very end, I had been unable to hold her. Everyone there assumed her suffering was at an end. Little did we know how wrong we were. The night after we buried her was rocked by the worst thunderstorm that our country had seen in her. for 20 years, where the grey skies was a glow with ethereal white electricity. I struggled to sleep under the rumbling thunder that rattled the tiles on our roof. I was close to hurling off the covers and frustration,

when my ears picked up on a series of crashes, once that seemed to be coming from inside our house. Having more courage than sense at that age, I crept down the stairs with a baseball bat gripped in my trembling hands. The gaping darkness that awaited me in the bottom of the stairs did little to ease my grown fear. Instead, my fevered mind conjured up a plethora of horrors

that were hidden in it, just waiting to seize my ankles with their sharpened claws to drag me to my certain demise. A flash of lightning illuminated a stumbling set of mud-caped bare footprints that trailed into the living room.

I froze at the angered creek of the rocking chair that escaped through the half-open door. Trembling forward, I braced my claspersed, me hand against the door in a futile attempt to steady my gelatinous legs. Every smothered breath that escaped my mouth burned my overworked lungs as I contemplated rushing back to my room and cocooning myself in bedsheets and pretending it had been nothing more

than a particularly vivid nightmare. But a morbid curiosity compelled me to grab the faded brass handle and twist open the door. As my eyes scanned the darkened room, my rapid heartbeat eased as I made out of familiar shapes of the furniture that crowded the room. But then, my heart halted in my chest. There, hunched in the darkened corner, in a beloved rocking chair, sat my grandmother. The salmon pink funeral gown we had laid as a resting was flaked with soil and stray dark green blades of grass, her bony legs and bare feet blackened with grime.

The immaculate bun that had once pinned back her hair was long and done. Her snowy white strands of hair disarrayed into an unkempt bird's nest. Her arthritis stiffened hands that gripped the arms of the chair were blooded and warned to the point that white bone glistened through split seams of skin from countless hours of scratching at the inside of her own coffin. As a vacant stare fell on me, the faint line of her mouth elasticated into a trembling, toothless grin. Christopher, she weased. I've waited so...

long. The pressure of the scream that had been building in my throat was too much to contain. The sound sent my parents barreling down the stairs. We're unseeing her, their cries soon joined my own in a horrific symphony. No one had any real idea to deal with the insane circumstances we found ourselves plunged into. My father had fiercely refuted my grandmother's ginger suggestions of calling the hospital. He was afraid that he would sentence his mother to an eternity of being prodded with needles and electrodes on a sterile lab table

in some covert government facility. He wasn't going to lose her again. So, we drew the curtains on the room, sequestering her away from the curious eyes of neighbours, the very same who had attended a funeral and left her to sit there. No matter how many bottles of air freshener we sprayed or scrubbed out with bleach,

the stench of putrefaction pervaded the house. Blue bottles soon climbed at the walls, swarming around that forbidden room. A throaty humming of a forgotten lullaby Would drift out through the walls She became our shameful secret One no one wanted to acknowledge But whose strain weighed more heavily on our lives

With each passing day She would just sit Endlessly undulating Oblivious to the conflict her return had caused Humming over the faint blare of the television set The brilliant twinkle in her eyes Have been snuffed out Staring at the walls with a dead and burglars

hervinity. She wasn't even human anymore, just a slowly rotting hunk of meat who had transformed her house into a tomb. My parents' debate grew more fevered, eventually escalating to raised voices and slamming doors. I took every opportunity to stay out of the house, either playing video games at a friend's house or at the local park. Just the thought of stumbling around through the putrid darkness and seeing her undead eyes glint out at me was enough to twist my stomach into knots. As much as I tried to banish her from my mind, one question continued to fester inside of me, along with her. One day, I just couldn't take it anymore. Who's Christopher? I asked. My mother's hand tensed over the shirt she'd been in the middle of folding, crumpling the material.

I shifted around, the temporary release overtaken by anxiety, as I wondered if I ever should have voiced it. She turned to me, the corners of her eyes glistening with a distant grief, that only accentuated the sleepless bags that hung under them. You've heard her too, she murmured. I swallowed. She called me that on the night she came back. Her gaze dipped back to the bundle cloth on the ironing board, unfolding it in a futile attempt to refocus herself on the task. but whatever thoughts transpired through her head sapped her of the ability to focus on anything else she shoved it aside

leaning over the ironing board her eyes started surreptitiously from side to side all too aware of my father's shuffling presents down the hallway as he went to tend to her I know I shouldn't be telling you this but back when your granny was a little girl she had a brother Christopher he was the second youngest out of all her siblings

she was like a second mother to him she even sang to him at night. The faint smile slipped from her face. One day, her mother told her to watch him while she was milking the cows. They decided to play hide-and-seek in the hay-bells together, but their father went out to shift them. He had no idea either of them were inside.

Dred prickled through me. The kind you get at the pinnacle of a roller coaster right before you plunge down at high velocity. I nodded my head, a masochistic sighed, pushing to hear the rest of the story, as terrible as I knew it would be. Your grandmother was only grazed, but that poor little boy was completely run through. She concluded with a grimace.

Five years old, pled out before they could even fetch a doctor. She shook her head. It was an accident. That's what everyone said. But not your grandmother. She always blamed herself for it. A call solemnity hung over us both. I stared agape at my mother.

Her face creased into a stoic frown. The images seared into my mind before I could erase them. I could practically hear her desperate whales echoing in my head. She had been suffering long before her descent. Her cherry smile and razor wit had hidden a pain that permeated her very soul. It was then I knew what I had to do. That night, instead of my usual hasty ascent upstairs, to the haven of my bedroom.

I made a detour to the forbidden room, one I swore I would never again enter. The muscles in my hands seized up as I reached out towards the door, but I forced myself to open it. She sat in the corner of her room, her rocking chair turned to face me as she had been awaiting my arrival.

Her eyes glowed in the faint light from the brightly lit hallway that trickled through the half-open door. Christopher, she beamed. Pushing down the revulsion that burned in the back of my esophagus, I clambered up onto a lap the way I had always done when I had been little. A rigamortes stiffened arms encasing me. I wriggled in a lap at her icy fingertips,

seeming intent on crushing whatever breath was in my lungs. My body eased into it, overcome by the familiar warmth. She wasn't a monster. She was the person who'd stayed up nights with me to make sure there weren't any monsters hiding in my closet. She'd devoted the last years of her life to me. I rested my head against the bony ridge of her clavicle. A sickly, sweet smell of death filtered into my nostrils,

making my eyelids drooped down. She pulled me close, her scratchy whisper, invading my ears. Christopher, I'm so sorry. A voice trembled in the verge of a sob. It was all. All my fault. We shouldn't have gone into the barn. I should have just done, like Mama told me too.

She tucked a messy lock of hair behind my ear with a mutilated finger. The oversized collar slid down her bony wrist, revealing a pink scar that stretched from her wrist to mid-forearm. It's okay, I murmured into a vein-line neck. I forgive you. Hot tears splashed down into my scalp. and she cradled my head in a wrinkled hands. She slumped back with a sigh of contentment, which, coming from her aged lungs,

sounded like air escaping a half-deflated balloon, safe in her arms. I finally succumbed to sleep. It was the pattering of sunlight against my cheek through the narrow cracks in the boarded-up windows that roused me from the darkness. I blinked awake, a heavy, groggy mist of confusion

having settled on me, obscuring the events of the previous night, but with each passing second they acquired further clarity. I turned around to face her, but instead a hollow-eyed skeleton stared back at me. The only thing that kept me from tumbling to the floor were the skeletal hands that squeezed my body like a vice. The rotting skin had slid off her bones, along with a degenerating muscle, pulling onto the floor in a putrid slick. Viscuous traces of vitreous humor trickled from the corners of her empty eye sockets.

There was no more regret, no more grief, no more confusion that had plagued for so long. Only peace. The frantic jolt of my heartbeat eased as relief overcame me. I unclasped myself in my deathly grasp, folding her arms over a chest. I reached up and pressed my lips to her exposed frontal bone. Rest now, I thought. Never leave the line. Something we heard the diving stroke to say.

countless times in our cave diving class. If you can't see the line that leads back out of the cave, then you're in trouble. My brother had become obsessed with cave diving. What had been a casual hobby had turned into a burning passion for him, and because I was his diving body, it didn't take long before I found myself in the cave diving certification class. The first time going scuba diving was wonderful.

I never had imagined. there was an entire intricate world beneath the waves. I could have simply done open water diving for the rest of my life and being content. But that was not what my brother was like. He was always trying to push to try the new exciting challenge, and this had gotten us into trouble more than once. That was why I should have known to pump the brakes when he started talking about cave diving.

There is no doubt in my mind that cave diving could be a wonderful, peaceful experience if done right. But the combination of my brother's ego and the deceptively dangerous pitfalls involved with cave diving should have sent me running for the hills. My brother had spent quite a bit of time searching the different caves to dive around

where we lived. He kept saying the word siphon over and over and finally I asked him what it was. Most people cave dive in springs where the water flows outward and the current will push you towards the entrance. A siphon, however, is when the water flows into the cave, pulling you away from the entrance. It seemed like the ultimate test which was irresistible to my brother, who was in a constant state of having something to prove.

That was why, before completing our certification, we had taken off for an underwater cave in Pennsylvania. My brother argued that we had more than enough training, being certified in advanced open water. For some reason I went along with it. We were headed off to the entrance of an underwater system, referred to as Conkey Hole. My brother had mentioned that it had been part of an old Native American legend back when the Lennepie tribe still lived in these parts. He said that a young man, after being rejected by his love, dove into the hole, and only a pool of blood came out of the other side, miles away, where the underwater cave system flowed out into a bay. At the time I had laughed and rolled my eyes.

After a long car ride, we'd reached the dive site. I was surprised at how deserted it was. It was just a small pond in the middle of Pennsylvania. There was a bed and breakfast in the distance and a Christmas tree farm. But other than that, it was quiet. That's it, I said. I was expecting something bigger. There is an entrance somewhere in there.

he said. There was a fire on his eyes which was infectious. I was starting to see the appeal of going exploring, but I wondered if we really were prepared. It is well known

that only those with proper cave diving certification are allowed to go diving into caves. We were not yet certified. My brother kept saying that because we were certified for advanced open water diving

we would be fine. I was starting to have second thoughts as we approached this murky pond. We suited up and began the dive. The water was a little cold, but I quickly adjusted and became acclimated to my new surroundings.

As I started to look around, my first thought was that there was nothing that interesting, and maybe our trip had been a waste of time. The pond wasn't that big, not more than 50 feet in diameter, and it seemed to be mostly shallow, but as my eyes darted around towards the bottom, I saw what looked like a small fissure. My brother had seen it too, and he immediately started swimming for the entrance.

I followed. Being relatively new, we both had a single tank set up, which only afforded us about 45 minutes of air. The rule was to use a third to explore, a third to get out, and a third just in case of emergencies. That was why we agreed to only be able to be able to. in there for 15 minutes before turning back. We swam closer to the fissure and I was expecting for it to be more pronounced. It was only a small crack, just big enough to squeeze through. These are known as restrictions and have been known to be the end of many a cave diver.

Get stuck in an underwater squeeze and you'll run out of air, especially from all the panic breathing which trains your tank. These restrictions were just the type of thing my brother loved, and he immediately began to wriggle his way into the fissure. He began to kick up the mud that pervaded the bottom of the pond. It was becoming difficult to see him, but after a brief struggle, his body disappeared through the fissure. I was next.

I must admit that squeezing my way through the sharp rock surface with sensitive gear that my life depended on was not my first. idea of a good time. I figured if I could make it through this part, then it might be worth it. I started wiggling my way in. The rock face on the other side was surprisingly sharp. I shimmed on and noticed the turn. I had to rotate my body around to be able to bend through. I kept forcing my way deeper into the fissure, and sure enough, after a time, I broke into the large chamber. The only light was faint coming from the tunnel I just passed through. Only a meter into the chamber turned to complete darkness.

I could see my brother there shining his light around. It was truly a wonder to behold. In all directions going out, there was blackness, and who's to say, how far out it went. I immediately understood my people did this. I shine my light around the entrance, and along the wall, there was mud interspersed with striking orange rocks. It felt like being on another planet.

The light eventually tapered off into the blackness. My brother tied off a line to the rock face and, after making sure it was secure, started frog kicking along the wall. Together we started down what seemed to be a large tunnel, though we could only see one side. Occasionally a critter would swim or crawl by, and gave me a sense of ease. At least we weren't the only things down here.

Something was able to survive. We moved deeper into the cave, frog-kicking, careful not to kick up too much debris, but neither of us was very good at it. Nonetheless, we pressed forward into the large chamber, deeper, farther from the entrance, farther from air. Almost at once, the mucky orange rocks turned into a pinkishew. as if we had entered what seemed like another biome.

Stalactites by the hundreds eerily coated the ceiling, and I gazed with wonder as my light passed over them, only for them to once again fall back into the infinite darkness in which they dwelt. I was surprised to see the occasional smaller, pale crustacean walking around. It seemed like a place so inhospitable to life, yet here it was. My brother seemed eager to see walls around the knee. next corner. We were getting deeper and I looked at my dive computer. We had several minutes left of air, but my brother's kicking made me nervous. He started flutter kicking to get himself deeper.

He was starting to kick up all types of debris. As the cave system went deeper, I could see that it branched off into several directions. My brother tied off the line he'd been laying as we had been instructed. But before I could catch up to him to signal the frog kick, he was already off again. I love diving, but my brother has this nasty habit of turning fun things into competitions. This wasn't the first time that I felt

as though he was acting dangerously during a dive. I was going to really give it to him when we got out. He continued unrelendingly towards what looked like the next restriction. He positioned his body and began to shimmy his way into the crack. This was the part that always made me nervous. Many cave divers

preferred to use a single mount rig or a rebreather called a sidewinder to be able to fit into tighter spaces. Being relatively new to this, we had tanks mounted on our backs. This made it more difficult to pass through the restrictions. What would happen

if you got stuck, and I couldn't pull him out? Going through restrictions while cave diving is very dangerous, yet it allows you to explore a place that may never have been visited by human beings in entire history of Earth. This enticed me.

It was truly the last frontier on this planet. He continued to shimmy deeper and soon his fins fell into darkness. I hovered there in the water for a moment. It can be much more difficult to back out of a restriction than going forward. The last thing you want is to create a traffic jam underwater with limited air. Still, as I tread there alone in this underwater chamber, which seemed so isolated, so far removed from the rest of humanity, so far removed from the comforts and distractions of all the daily minutée,

which present the illusion that being alive in this world is somehow normal. I began into the restriction. The last thing I wanted to do was have an existential crisis alone in an underwater chamber. The rocks were sharp and abraised my suit. I carefully continued to shovel deeper into the squeeze. It was tight. At one point I can only wigger my leg a matter of inches up and down. I wasn't getting used to passing these restrictions.

On the other side, I saw my brother again, shining the light around. He had already tied off another line and started swimming out into the chamber. I logged on my dive computer. We were deeper now, and we would have to turn back soon. We continued on what seemed like an endless maze. It seemed to be a large tunnel carved by an underwater stream over millennia There were massive boulders that we began to weave through

It was magnificent The water in this chamber was pristine And had yet to be mucked up by a kicking Yet as I looked around I noticed that the silt we were kicking up seemed to be drifting It seemed that we had entered a small current I knew he was time to call the dive

but in the distance we both saw something large but very faint as a light didn't reach that far I was just as mesmerized by the objects in the distance as my brother and we kept drifting forward it was then that my brother

ran out of line he swam to the bottom and tied off the line and looked to me wondering whether or not I would tie a new line off I shook my head and tapped my computer signaling to him that we didn't have time to go deeper. His head pivoted back to the object and he strained to see it, stretching his light

hand as far as it would go. He looked back at me and signalled to continue forward, and without any confirmation, he swam out. Never leave the line. I scrambled to tie off my bright orange line to a small outcrop at the floor as fast as I could. What an imbecile. I finished tying off a sloppy bowline knot and took off after him. My light found him still kicking towards the object. Thank God I could still see him. I kicked harder to catch up. Then all at once, he stopped dead. His body began to slowly sink to the bottom as he remained perfectly still. That was when I finally got close enough to see what it was. Through the darkness, the large object was still hard to make out. The borders were hard to discern, but over the next couple of seconds, my

brain put the pieces together and I lurched backwards as if overtaken by some old mammalian defence mechanism. There was some kind of crustacean, or at least the lifeless shell of one that had malted. What was truly horrifying was the size of the shell. It must have been the size of a car. It seemed to have horridly long antennae, and there seemed to be the scant remains of the only remnants of what must have been an enormous claw. It seemed to be some kind of freely large cross between a giant prawn and a lobster, only long and streamlined, so has the fit through the restrictions as we did. I shuddered, as I wondered whether or not this cave system had been dug out by some horrid monster, and whether or not we had intruded

upon its lair. Who knows what type of prehistoric creatures lay in the depths of the earth? It was hard to make out its shape as it was just a discarded shell, and it seemed to be only a piece. My brother swam closer, and I followed.

He seemed to have figured out that it was just the shell as well. hovering over it, we looked at each other. I thumbed the dive. The dive signed to head to the surface. To my relief, He nodded, and we began to swim back.

Suddenly, I felt the line go slack. The only thing this could mean is that my knot had come and done. My brother noticed this and we looked at each other once more, this time, in horror. I tried to remain calm and think of what to do. My brother started desperately flutter-kicking his way back towards where we had come from, but as I looked around with my light there seemed to be a hundred different ways to go

still we had tied off another line relatively close by we just had to remain calm and work our way back I was happy that I still had two-thirds of my oxygen left my brother was moving fast and I was having a tough time keeping up the harder I kicked the more carbon dioxide was building up in my body

I knew that I should slow down and breathe but my brother seemed to be swimming faster still. He seemed to be desperately looking for the other line. I could feel my head start to swim, and I knew that if I kept pushing myself, I would pass out. I slowed down and kept my light on my brother's fins as they became fainter and fainter. I tried yelling through my regulator,

but it was too late. He was out of sight. There I was, drifting helplessly. my line dangled there, limp in the water. I remembered what the cave diving instructor said. It is panic that kills people. I had to remain calm. I floated there for several seconds, just calming myself down.

My breath started normalising and I started to gather my wits. I had to figure this out. I had to swim towards where I thought my line had come from. The thing was that given the slight current, where my line had come from might not be. right. Still, I had little choice. I kicked back in the direction I came from, straining my eyes for a sign of my brother. I continued onward, checking my dive computer. I still had time. My light traced all of the walls, and I tried to make a mental note of any anomaly,

anything that stood out, but everything seemed the same. Underwater rock faces that seem to look just like the last. I continued out into the blackness. I could feel myself starting to panic again. I just had to find the other line. My heart soared as I noticed the other line from a distance. I swam towards it and gently held it. My brother had found it.

He may have been causing it to move, yet the line remained limp. I searched all around, but it was nowhere. I knew I was going to have to make a decision soon of whether to look for him or leave him and get help. Something inside told me that if I went to get help, it would turn into a body recovery. It is all well and good when death takes someone you don't know, but at the prospect of losing someone you have known your whole life and care deeply about, it becomes very real.

I knew I had to go back to look for him. I knew that I had to use my reserve air to search for him, even though it would likely mean that I would die too. Still, leaving your brother to die Isn't a choice you can make I reeled in my line And went to tie it off again When I noticed another line

Had been tied off some metres away I hadn't noticed it before As it was blocked by a rock on the way in I quickly swam over and inspected it The first thing that stood out to me Was how old it was It looked like it had been laid decades ago I didn't have time to think to

much about it. The line led off into the blackness, and I could only wonder where it went. The line moved the tiniest amount. I grasped it gingerly with my hand. Sure enough, there was something on the line. I started to swim along its trail, always searching all around me for my brother. Eventually, the line led to a hole in the bottom of the chamber. As I approached it, I could feel the current start to pick up, and I realized water was pouring into the same. hole and if I wasn't careful it would take me in. That was when I noticed something poking out of the lip of the hole. It was my brother's hand.

He was there hanging on desperately trying to get out of the hole. My instincts told me to reach out for him, but I knew that I would share his fate and we would both perish. I was his only hope. I had to use my head. My heart was pounding and I started breathing faster. No doubt this would be using up much more air than I could afford. Still, if I was able to free him, we were both likely get out of this unscathed.

Maybe he would even have finally had his fill of thrill-seeking. I reeled in my line and tied it off thoroughly to a nearby rock. I made sure that it was right. I then began inching towards the hole backwards, keeping my hands on both the old line and my new line. My brother's hand remained clenched, like his life. dependent on it, because it did. I continued to back up, over his hand. I could feel my legs being pulled into the hole with a much greater force than I anticipated.

Just as I expected, my brother's other hand swung around from my thigh and latched on. The moment had come. I began to pull. It was work. Together we started to ascend out of the sump. Just then, I felt the old line break. All in a second, both me and my brother were hanging from one hand. I let go of the old line and started to pull my way up with a line with both hands.

It was working. I continued to inch out, little by little. I was hyper-focused, just looking at my hands. I was so fixated, I didn't notice that something else had entered the chamber. I didn't notice until it was too much. late. To my horror, the line went slack again. My eyes darted up in disbelief. Barely visible in the darkness was a gigantic white claw. I only saw it for a split second as my brother and I went tumbling down the sun pole. The currents were strong and we were pulled along into a larger,

wider chamber. The current in this tunnel was even stronger and we tumbled along like debris caught in a river. In fact, that is what we were. We were stuck in an underwater channel being swept downstream. There was no way out now. Even if we managed to stop, it would be impossible to fight the current this strong. I tried to look at my dive computer,

but I was still spinning around uncontrollably. Occasionally, I'll be thrust into a wall. On the third or fourth time, the light strapped to my hand, struggle rock, and the light went dead. Together, almost at once, we were swept out of the tunnel and into a free fall. It was hard to say how far we went. It felt like hundreds of feet, but in reality it was probably more like 40.

Upon landing, the water crashed on top of me and pushed me down further. I kicked out and started swimming for the surface in the direction I hoped it was. It was hard to tell in the complete darkness. Breaking the surface was a great feeling. I treaded there for a moment before I carefully withdrew my backup light from a secure pocket. I turned up my light and looked around.

I never knew such large chambers could exist under the surface of the earth. It must have been the size of a gymnasium. I saw a pile of rocks in a far corner and swam for them. At least I could rest while I thought about what to do. I swam for the rocks,

having no idea how deep the water blowing me was. I tried not to think of the creatures that would be lurking below my feet. Thoughts began to race through my head as I climbed out of the water. Was that really a claw I saw? How did it know to cut the line? If the claw was that big, how big was the creature it belonged to? How could a creature that size live in such a place? I swept the water with my light, hoping to see any sign of my brother.

I... I was alone. I finally looked at my dive computer. I was surprised to see that I still had a third of the tank left. There was no way that I would be able to get back out the way I came, but at least I was in a large chamber with breathable air. You never know how much oxygen is in these isolated chambers underground, but I still felt fine,

and I figured it was better to save the oxygen in the tank for when I would need it, though I knew my chances were slim. It was hard not to fixate on the fact that I was trapped, and likely, dead. All I could do was distract myself and try to break the problem down. I still had yet to see any signs of my brother. I scanned the water's surface with my light.

I knew I couldn't weigh much longer. I had to go in and look for him. What if he was trapped from running out of air? I was almost certain he had tumbled down the drop into this chamber. I shined the light near the base of the waterfall. There was nothing except the constant rush of water. I put my mask back on and walked with my fins back to the water's edge and waded in. I broke the surface and started scanning around with my light.

Chamber was enormous above the surface, but below it was even more vast. For as far as my light could see were rooms within rooms. Thresholds which split off into what looked like hundreds of other passages. Indeed, were enough for the horror. horrifying trip to get here. This would have been a cave diver's paradise. This was an entire unexplored world, something coveted by cave divers alike. There were several piles of large rocks underneath the base of the waterfall. I explored this further ahead, though keeping a cautious distance. My brother was nowhere to be found. It was starting to feel

hopeless, but I just concentrated on the task at hand. I had to find my brother as fast as I could, without panicking or overexerting myself. As time went on, it became more difficult to stave off the panic. I was breathing too fast, and I knew that I was going to run out of air soon. I knew that if I wanted to make a real play to escape this place, I would need every second I had left. My only hope was the final way out for the oxygen I had, and if that failed, hunkered down and hope that someone found me in that godforsaken chamber,

my eyes frantically darted around sweeping the different cave formations and tunnel entrances. Something caught my eye leading into one of the tunnels. A bunch of debris and silt had been kicked up and it seemed to lead into the tunnel. It was only some 30 feet away, and though I knew this may be my last foray into the water I may have, I knew that it was my best hope. I kicked over and started into the tunnel. visibility was poor and the tunnel broke off into many different directions but the trail was clear I simply had to follow the trail of silt that had been kicked up by what I was praying for was my brother

I came out into a large chamber covered by the floor and ceiling with stalactites and stalagmites I remember learning that if an underwater cave had these then at some point it had been a dry cave This did little to mitigate the panic that was creeping up more and more every kick forward. I'd abandoned the cave diving rules at this point. I'd forgotten about running the line altogether. I suppose it was irrelevant

where my corpse would end up. I started to lose control of my breathing. It was getting faster and faster, as if it truly started to sink in how doomed I was. I stopped myself and sank to the bottom of the cave floor. Just breathe, I thought to myself. The diving instructors couldn't have made it more clear to me during the hours upon hours of training I'd had in my life.

If you panic, it's over. I stood there at the bottom and took a moment to simply calm down. Afterwards, I regained my composure and opened my eyes. Sometimes it is when we aren't looking for something that we find it, and no matter how hard we love, look, we can never seem to find our glasses that we were wearing in the first place. If I hadn't stopped looking, I certainly wouldn't have noticed it glimmering there. It was my brother's light.

One of the rules of cave diving is to have at least three lights. If your first one dies, you have a backup. If you drop you second, you have a third. Many cave divers take four lights. Knowing my brother, he hopefully had two. but seeing as I didn't see one on him when he went tumbling into the sump it was possible that this was his second and last light without the case it was likely he was feeling around blind

the thought of my brother panicking on his last breath spurned me and I set out again with figure the trail of debris has subsided and at this point I was flying blind I had no idea where he might be in this maze I knew I was nearing my limit and if I wanted to make it back to the chamber with air I would have to turn back I chose to continue the likelihood that I would be found in the coming days

was slim at best and I knew it on the other hand what if my brother was stuck or worse after choosing to continue around the next corner I shine my light around and saw my brother kicking towards me but what was the biggest feeling of relief I had ever felt in my life turned to fear as I noticed he was shrieking through his regulator

he grabbed me and pulled me back the way I'd come I then looked beyond him and my heart sank I was overwhelmed with the impulse to flee and did so as fast as I could because my brother was being tired by two enormous prawns they must have been as long as a car, and they were gaining fast. My instincts took over at this point. It was more reflex than anything else.

We kicked hard away from those creatures. My shiver ran at my spine as I thought of the long, pale, lobster-like bodies crawling along the walls of the cave, almost like a centipede. I knew that if they caught us, that we would be eaten alive. Suddenly, the prospect of running out of air seemed almost trivial, as if it would have been a natural conclusion to our lives. There was nothing horrid or brutal about it. I wasn't going to die in that

hellhole and neither was my brother. We would fight. He was ahead of me, but being guided by my light, as it was clear he had lost his. We rounded the corner into the room full of stalactites and back out into the larger tunnel. I dared not look behind me. I pointed my light around the corner, but there down the tunnel were three more giant prawns. The horrible pale bodies clawed towards us. The terrible loud shriek came from behind us, almost as if the prawns were communicating. We were cut off. Our only hope was the delve deeper.

This next stretch was the time that seemed to last forever. It was simple. It was one goal. Stay ahead of the prawns. Around another corner and into a vertical shaft it got smaller, and as it did, I could start to feel a current pulling us deeper. We came to a restriction, and I flashed my light back and saw the prawns tearing towards us. This was it. My brother and I started desperately squeezing ourselves into the restriction, forcing our way in as fast as we could.

It felt like getting out to the water with a sharp nipping at your heels. Sure enough, as if things couldn't get any worse, we both became wedged. My brother pointed to his tank, and I knew what he meant. We had to ditch the tanks to fit. Together we unclasped, and I was surprised to see that it worked. He managed to pull his through, but mine was stuck, and I mean stuck. I ripped at it, but soon the prawns were on it, though the hole was too small for them to squeeze through. To our horror, they started digging.

It suddenly became clear these creatures had built this lair. My brother signalled for me to let it go and we would body breathe, sharing what was left of his tank. We let go and began drifting together in the current. It seemed even stronger than before. We continued body breathing, though I could see the tank was empty. Breathing started to become more difficult as we exchanged glances. He took a long, deep breath and handed me the regulator, indicating I do the same.

Together we tumbled down this underwater chamber on our last breath. The tank had run out. We ditched it to the bottom of the floor. At least, maybe in the next couple hundred years, this cave system might be matte and we might be found. And at least our fates will be known. It was strange, but there was some comfort in this. Everything started to become cloudy as the carbon. dioxide started to build up in our bodies.

My brain started to desperately cry out for air after only about 30 seconds. A headache started to creep in. The current carried us around another corner and I couldn't believe what I saw. It was light. It was a light at the end of the tunnel. I thought about where I was,

in some underground chamber below the earth, below the surface, soon about to have drowned. How could I get? that what they said about seeing a light at the end of the tunnel would be so literal. Though, as I tumbled closer, the details became clearer. It looked so real. That was when I noticed the ceiling had changed. There were air bubbles around the top.

Then there were large pockets. Then there it was. The surface. Together we swam up and breathed. How foolish it is to not appreciate something so wonderful as air. We filled the lungs as the current brought us the rest of the way and dumped us out in the cave system

altogether into a larger body of water. The sun was shining over what seemed to be a large desolate lake. I can't remember if my brother started it or I did. But once we were out of the water, we both started laughing

hysterically. Neither of us took her eyes off the water out of fear that those monsters would have somehow wriggled their way out of their underground lair. It's often said that the earth has been matte. But I can tell you from my own personal experience

that there is still so much we don't know about our planet. There are still many forgotten nugs and crannies that lay in the depths. And maybe they are better left, alone. It was a bloody mess.

After the 12-car pile-up on the freeway, it was a miracle I was even conscious. albeit just barely. There was only one hospital within a 30-mile radius, so all of us were sent there, some via ambulance,

others by helicopter. Overwhelmed with the influx of patients, the staff scattered all over us. I was in a bed normally reserved for the lesser injured out in the foyer, as were some of the others involved in the crash. We were separated only by thin curtains

as surgical team struggled to keep us breathing. If I'm being honest, at the time, I couldn't even remember my own name, let alone what had happened. It all felt so surreal like a dream I couldn't wake up from. We're losing her. Those were the first three words I comprehended since arriving at the hospital. They came from a doctor operating on a young girl in the bed to my left. Through blood vision and a small gap in the curtains, I could just make out of features. She was maybe six years old, with long blonde hair, blooded and in critical condition.

She looked so familiar, but I couldn't figure out why. As I stared, and came to me. My daughter. Yes, my daughter. She looks just like her. That was it. She reminded me of my daughter, Leslie. I smiled, but then I remembered last time I saw her.

She was in a casket as she and my wife were both lowered into the earth, victims of a car accident themselves. Did I cause this? Was I trying to kill myself? As the pieces were coming back to me, I remembered the accident, though I couldn't quite place how it all started. Still, it posed the question. Did I do this to be with them?

Did I want to die the same way they did? No, no, I can't be. I would never purposefully harm others. Unless I was intoxicated I could now taste it and faint leftover residue of alcohol on my tongue

Oh God no, please no What have I done? Just then the sound of a flatline rang through the hospital It was her, the young girl She was dying A slew of doctors rushed over

Including some of my own There were chest compressions the kiss of life and a few shocks from the paddles, but it was no use. I watched in horror as her head tilted to face me, lifeless and cold. Something happened when I saw this girl die. Something I can't quite explain, whether it was a result of my trauma or the medicine I was administered. I can't be sure.

I only know that I cracked. Leslie, no, my little girl, please no, you have to save her. my heart broke and my sanity along with it. All I could see was Leslie, lying on a stretcher and away to the ER, lying on that slab in the morgue, and finally, lying in a coffin at the funeral. Some staff ran over and helped me down as I stood up in an attempt to run to the girl's aid.

They were about to inject me with a sedative, but it was too late. I was in pretty bad shape, just barely hanging on. This sudden burst of movement, did me in once and for all, and my flat line was the next sound echoing through the halls. My time was up. And that was that. Fade to black, lights out.

It was all over. At least I could finally see my family again. Little did I know. Things would not be that simple. It was instantaneous. There was no tunnel and no light at the end of it. No portal to water. through or pearly white gates to enter.

They simply opened my eyes, and I was there. It looked like an ordinary room, covered from corner to corner in a lavish, white overlay. It wasn't what I would call vast, but it certainly was large, approximately an acre of coverage, if my depth perception could be trusted. After a moment or so, a man appeared before me, late fifties maybe. Gray hair, grey mustache, turn of the century attire. I took a step back, startled by sudden arrival. Don't be frightened. We never could get the hang of subtle entrances.

Sorry about that. I remained silent, unsure of how to respond. Well, I'm sure you have your questions. Fire away. He was right, I did. Where are we? Who are you? He smiled. Ah yes, the usual query is This, my dear friend, is heaven And I am an angel

Here to transition you through the process Process I asked Yes, the process of death It was coming back to me The accident, the hospital And that poor little girl So I

Didn't make it He bore a look of concern I'm sorry to say, no, you did not. But please, if you'll accompany me on a little tour, I can show you to your room. You may have died, but this is the best place you could have ended up, I assure you. He started walking to the opposite side of the room. I followed, but continued asking questions. So, this is the heaven?

I made it here. But didn't I cause that terrible accident? He chuckled. Cause it? No, Jack. Even in your drunken state, you were trying to stop it from the side of the road, yelling over to that lunatic

swerving all over the place. The memory was coming into focus. I wasn't driving. I was walking along the freeway with a bottle of whiskey in hand, making the trick to my wife and daughter's crosses where they died years ago. Inebrated, I couldn't run away fast enough

when the cars finally collided. caught in the wreckage as soon as the fireworks began. The man watched as the revelation washed over me. Remember now, Jack? I nodded, relieved that I wasn't the reason those people were hurt. That brought me to my next question. A more pressing matter. My wife and daughter, are they here? Can I see them?

The man offered me an apologetic look. I'm sorry, Jack. they've already transitioned. Charlotte and Leslie are no longer with us. My heart sank. For an instant, I had hoped I could see them again. Knowing the truth crushed me. I had to know more, to know that they were okay.

When you say transitioned, what does that entail exactly? Does that mean they moved on, that they're at peace? We reached the end of the room where there was a single red door. The man grabbed the handle and opened it. gesturing for me to enter. Well, let me show you. Without any other options at my disposal, I hesitantly walked past the threshold of the doorframe,

and the man followed, shutting the door behind us. He then walked ahead and turned back to me with his arms outstretched. Welcome to our Hall of Operations. There was a tinge of pride in his voice as he said this. Hall of Operations. I asked, confused. Please, right this way. We walked down the corridor, and he pointed out the various rooms along the way,

all identical to one another. I looked through the small windows of the doors and saw people, some of which I recognised from the crash, lying on the tables within, unconscious. There were others in the rooms with them. The hands held over the bodies as a steady stream of blue, glowing particles was extracted and absorbed, from what I could tell.

I don't understand what is this. The man was now grinning from ear to ear. This is where the magic happens. A mutually beneficial transaction between angel and human. We fulfill your wildest dreams. And in return, you give us a peace of your soul. For the first time since arriving in heaven, I was now worried. You want a piece of my soul.

soul? Am I hearing this right? He put a hand on my shoulder, undoubtedly in an effort to calm my nerves. Don't worry, Jack. It's a mostly harmless procedure. You won't feel a thing. Mostly?

I pushed his hand away and took a few steps back, scared of what I'd gotten myself into. Jack, please, listen to me. As angels, we require the essence of human souls to sustain our life force. from birth as a measure of evolution, a piece of your soul is sectioned off from the rest. You technically don't even need it.

It was always meant to be passed along to us in the hereafter. It's the only part of you we can access. His explanation seemed genuine. I stood still and lent him an open mind as he continued. While we extract this piece, you'll be locked away in your own mind. We can create for you your own personal heaven. anything or any place you want, and it's yours, and even trade if there ever was one.

Upon hearing this, I gathered my composure and asked a question, So you could reunite me with my family? If that's what you want, then yes. Just know that it won't actually be them. It's all a fabrication of the mind, a very powerful one, but a fabrication nonetheless. I was vulnerable. My wife and child were gone.

I had just died myself, and I had no idea what was going on. That's why, in this moment, his honesty was enough to earn him my trust. That and the promise of what he offered. I don't care. I just want to see them again. He nodded in agreement. Very well. Follow me to your room, and we will begin the process.

We walked past at least another hundred doors or so, and that's when I noticed her through one of the windows. It was the girl, the one who had died next to me in the hospital. She was standing in a corner as an angel closed in on her. My parental instant kicked in, and I burst into the room without any hesitation. What's going on? I demanded. The angel looked to the man behind me. It's all right, Lucian. He knows her. Lucian turned his eyes to me and explained

She's frightened, that's all I was trying to help her The young girl continued to car in the corner Probably scared and confused With no idea where she was Or what was happening to her I took a deep breath and reeled back My initial aggression

Now knowing what it was she was going through I walked over and kneeled down in front of her It's okay What's your name? It was silence at first, but eventually she spoke up. Abigail, you can call me Abby. It's lovely to meet you, Abby. I'm Jack.

She was still nervous, but I could see the apprehension leaving her eyes as I continued to comfort her. You know, Abby, I have a daughter around your age. Her name is Leslie. You look a lot like her. Her face grew curious. Really? She asked. Yes, really.

You're the spitting image of her. If I didn't know any better, I would say you were twins. She laughed and I with her. Abby, I made a promise to Leslie. I told her time and time again I would never let anything bad happen to her. Tears forced their way out and down my face. Why are you crying, Mr. Jack? I wiped my tears away and did my best of Vegas'

smile. I'm going to make the same promise to you, okay? These men might seem scary, but they're not here to hurt you. They're just going to put you to sleep and give you the happiest of dreams. It's confusing, I know, but you have to trust me. I won't let anything bad happen to you. She looked up at me and stared with an intensely serious look painted on a face, as serious as a six-year-old could look. You promise, right? Another tip. tear rolled down my face. I may have broken the promise I made to Leslie, but I could make up for it now,

at least in some small way. Yes, Abby, I promise. With that, Abigail was no longer scared, and the man and I left the room and continued down the hall. She's not going to feel any pain at all, right? The man answered while continuing his march forward. No pain at all, you have my word. A few moments later, he stopped in his tracks.

All right, Jack, this is it. We were at my room. It was the same as the rest in every way, but it somehow felt tied to me. Perhaps I was just projecting. After all, this was to be my final resting place. Or was it, I wondered. Say, what happens after the procedure is complete? The man looked at me, puzzled, when it's complete.

Yeah, what happens then? Do I stay in my dream world? His eyes rolled a bit and his lips scrunched up in contemplation. Is that what you want, Jack? I thought it over for a moment, but the answer was clear. Having an imaginary Charlotte and Leslie was better than not having them at all. Yeah, that is very much what I want. He smiled. Then it settled.

Now please, lie down on the table. I did as instructed. So, who will be my angel? He pulled over a cart of utensils in preparation. You're looking at him, Jack. We're all assigned specific souls. You're one of mine. I took a closer look at the utensils.

though knives, scalples, scissors and something that looked akin to an oversized nutcracker. What is all that? I asked, growing worried again. It's okay, Jack. While we do have access to this particular piece of your soul, it's still difficult to get to. In the later stages of the extraction, we'll need to clear off some of the skin and bone for easier retrieval. His words were no comfort, and he could tell.

Relaxed, Jack. Like I said earlier, you won't feel a thing. Soon, you'll be with your wife and daughter again, as happy as you can be. He placed his hand over me to begin, and I try my best to forget about the strange tools next to my head. Before he could put me to sleep, another angel walked in unannounced. Sir, the fragmenter is full. What do we do with the solace while it's being emptied? Hearing this, I sat straight up on the table.

Fragmenta? Is that where I'm going after this is done? The man sighed and looked over at the angel who had barged in. You bumbling idiot. This one's still awake. We almost add him. That means. Abigail. I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know. The angel rushed off. I followed suit and stood up to make a run for the door. The man was too fast. He lifted me up and pushed me against the wall with incredible strength. Not so fast, Jack.

You're not going anywhere. I'll rip that soulpiece out with or without your cooperation. His eyes, they turned a dark shade of red and his teeth. They became razor sharp as his mouth opened wider

than any humans could. My eyes started down at the table by his side. He was almost within reach. You're lucky, Jack. Not many people have seen an angel's true form. I managed to slip my arm out of his grip and grab one of the knives. Without a second thought, I lodged it as deeply as I could into his leg.

All at once, his face reverted to normal and he began writhing in pain, letting go of me and falling backwards in the process. I immediately ran out of the door and down the hall as fast as I could. The promise I made to Abigail replaying in my mind every step of the way, I couldn't save my family from this terrible fate. But I could at least save her. In the distance, I heard the man stumble out of the room and shout to command. Get him!

Doors opened and dozens of angels left their post to chase after me. Luckily, my head start was enough to escape their grasp. I was able to reach Abbey's room with just enough time to open the door and shut it behind me before the stampede of celestial beings reached my position. Once inside, I looked to the centre of the room. Abigail was on the table, awake. That meant the extraction hadn't started yet. Lucian was standing at a side with a cart of utensils now looking over at me, baffled.

What's going on? he asked. I didn't offer him any answers. I simply ran over, picked up Abigail and grabbed another knife from the cart. I then stood in the corner in a frightened stance, ready to fend off any would-be attackers. Mr Jack, what are you doing? I looked at Abigail with a half smile. Abby, I made you a promise. I intend to keep it.

She looked so confused. But you said, I interjected. I was wrong, Abby. These are not good men. Don't worry, I won't let them hurt you. Close your eyes and look away, sweetie. She hung her head over my shoulder and hugged me tight. I didn't know what I could relist.

do to help her, but I would be damned if I didn't try. Just then, the man burst into the room, limping with a flood of angels following behind. Jack put her down. She is of no consequence to you. My blood was now boiling. Like hell she isn't. You will not touch a hair in her head, not if I have anything to say about it. Lucian made a move towards me.

I raided myself. Lucian, don't. It's all right. I can handle it. Lucian backed off and the man limped forward. I stood my ground. Jack, what do you plan to do exactly? Fight off all of heaven's angels with one silver blade?

I pointed down at his leg with a knife. It hurts, doesn't it? With this, I can hurt you. Him and the other angels in the room laughed. Of course it hurts, Jack. But allow me to show you something. Watch closely. He snapped his fingers.

And the wound was gone. No tearing his clothing. No more blood dripping from his leg. He even walked about in a circle to show me it had truly healed. You see, Jack, we can do anything we want. Even this. He held his arm forward and the knife was pulled to the air by an unseen force landing in his hand. I was now defenseless.

I held on to Abigail as tightly as I could. You can't beat us, Jack. You're ours now. He stepped forward. I looked over at the scared girl in my arms and thought to my little Leslie. I remember the fun memories I had with her and my wife, as well as the horrific aftermath of losing them. A specific memory bubbled to the surface and stood out above the breast.

It was one of the many times I visited those crosses on the side of the freeway. It was dark, well past midnight and Christmas Eve of last year. There were no cars on the road, not a single one. Everyone was with their families for the holidays, rejoicing and partaking the festivities. And here I was on the side of the road paying my respect to the family I no longer had. There would be no more holidays for us, no more anything at all. I looked down at the unopened bottle of whiskey in my hand.

I was five years sober up to that point, didn't even drink the night they died. It wasn't how they would have wanted things to go. At least that's what I told myself, and I believed it. I believed they were still out there somewhere looking down on me, and that kept me holding the wheel steady. But I realized, in this instance, darkness all around me, not a single soul in sight, that I was truly and utterly alone. They weren't with me.

They couldn't be. They were gone. They're dead, Jack. These words, now truer than they had ever been before, repeated in my mind as I stared down at the whiskey. It was as if the bottle itself was speaking them, taunting me to put it to my lips and drink away my misery. And you know what? I did just that. Half the bottle was gone in mere seconds.

I swear I didn't even feel the burn as it swam down my throat Or maybe it was just dull in comparison to the immense anguish I already felt Either way the guilt broke through and came through in waves Bringing me to my knees directly in front of the wooden markers that memorialised my loss Charlotte Leslie I'm so sorry My face and neck was soaked in tears and whiskey drool I'm sorry that I'm so weak

I can't do this without you. It should have been me instead. Oh, we should have been me. I leaned against the crosses and sobbed louder than I ever had before. Leslie, I couldn't protect you. My little girl. That was my lowest moment. A reminder of my failure as a parent.

There was nothing I could have done to prevent their accident. But that didn't stop me from blaming myself. I took one more look at Abigail as the man took his foot. final step in our direction. Wait, please, wait. To my surprise, he stopped. What now, Jack, going to grovel for your lives? No, I said.

I want to make a deal. The angels laughed again, louder this time. Oh, Jack, what could you possibly have to bargain with? My soul, I stated plainly. We already have access to both your soul pieces. You'll have to do better than that. I quietly prepared myself from my final offering. I would be handing over everything to these foul creatures,

as much as I didn't want to. It was all I could think to do. No, my entire soul, the whole damn thing. Send her back to earth, intact, and when she eventually dies, she's off-limits. Agree to these terms and my soul is yours. An angel chimed in from the room's entrance. That's not even possible.

We can't take more than a piece. The man spoke up. Actually, it is. The other angels now adorn looks of astonishment. It was clear that the man knew far more than them, things that were apparently above their pay grade. We can take an entire soul, but only at the full consent of its vessel.

even then is a difficult surgery. Still, I'm willing to give it a go. The benefits are weigh the risk. Jack, are you sure you want to do this? It'll be no walk in the park. You have to be absolutely sure. It won't work unless you give in completely. I nodded.

Yes, save the girl. And I'm yours. A grin I can only describe as being sinister stretched across his face. Very well Jack, you have a deal. Without warning, I became lightheaded. I saw the man and the angels standing there, but they were now blurred, out of focus. I quickly put Abigail down before succumbing to the dizzy spell

and ultimately collapsing to the floor. Oh my God, his breathing, is back with us. My vision was still foggy. I could only make out the faint silhouettes of individuals huddled around me as a wavered in and out of consciousness. He needs oxygen, stat. After a minute or so, I passed out altogether. The next thing I knew, I was waking in a hospital bed,

a nurse swapping out fluid in my IV. Oh no, I'm alive. But Abby... Oh, you're awake. Glad to see you back in the land of the living. Things were really dicey there for a while. I had to know. Girl, who was next to me? Is she okay?

What happened? She looked concerned. I don't know, sir. Please calm down. Any sudden movements could break her stitching. It was my fear that they revived me before the deal could be struck, before Abigail could be saved. God, I hope she's okay, wherever she is.

Can you find out for me? Please. Her name's Abigail. Before she could respond, another nurse showed up at the entrance of my room, holding the hand of a young girl. It was Abby. That's him. That's the man. She ran over and hugged me. The nurse with her chimed in.

I'm sorry. She just insisted on seeing you. Say as he helped her in the crash. Abigail turned around. Not the crash. In heaven. The nurse laughed a little. Oh yes, my apologies, in heaven.

Abigail looked back at me and smiled, the same way Leslie used to. Thank you for saving me, Mr. Jack. She dislocated and she went off with the nurse. A tear fell from my eye as I watched her leave. Not one of sadness, but of joy. Abigail was safe. The only conclusion I can draw is that the angels made good on their teal, just as I was being revived.

With that said, they will more than likely show up at some point to collect on it. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow, who knows. Whether I like it or not, those are the terms I agree to. I've been through some serious hell in my life, with a loss of my wife and daughter, and now I'll have to go through even worse when my soul is removed. I'm sure of it. Like the man said, it won't be a walk in the world. the park. Still, seeing that smile, something that wouldn't have been possible a short time ago,

I would do it all again. I would relive every second of pain I've ever felt and still make the decision to go through more just to see us safe. It's all they would have wanted. I never imagined myself as a homeowner. Like a lot of people in my generation, I saw having a house on my own as an impossible pipe dream. And besides, I didn't want to get tied down or take on even more debt. But the house on 242 Mortary Lane changed all that. Of all the cringy, cliche things I did after my last breakup, the only one that doesn't hurt to think about was applying for a job in a town on the other side of the country. It was a Hail Mary. But all I wanted was to get out of the toxic mess I was in and into a place where I didn't know anyone, and nobody else knew me. A fresh start.

The video connection must have been bad enough that the interviewer couldn't make out my hungover eyes or hear the quaver in my voice, because I got the job. Although I was intimidated by the high paying responsibility, I took to it better than I'd hoped. My new co-workers were kind, quirky people who helped me to meet people and come out of my shell, and soon I'd fallen in love with the town we all called home. I was so sure about my new life that I started looking for a house to buy after only one year. I soon discovered that rent is astronomical

in this idealic little Pacific Northwestern town and real estate prices are sky high. Even with my high salary, I doubted I'd ever be able to save enough for a down payment while also paying rent, bills and my student loans. Every place I found was either so expensive or so shoddy that it became a sort of dark game among my co-workers to see you could find the worst house for sale. When I first saw the ad for the Morbury Lane House, my first thought was, Okay, what's wrong with it?

The split-level ranch house with a white siding and a hard-wood deck was located in a semi-forgotten neighbourhood sandwiched between the more developed parts of downtown. Nothing suggested that crime was a problem, and the price was so low that I was sure someone had forgotten a decimal point. I booked a walk through immediately. The place was solidly built and spotlessly clean. The friendly agent explained that it had stood vacant for a few weeks since the death of the former owner, an older woman who lived alone. Apparently there were no suspicious circumstances surrounding a death. She had simply drowned in the bathtub.

I wondered if that was the reason for the spotlessness of the place. It was as if the cellars had wanted to scrub away every last memory of the former occupant and her death. There on the back of my neck stood up as I peered into the darkness of the bathroom. Would I really be okay living in a place where someone had died recently? I told myself that I was being silly, and in my countless moves from apartment to apartment, I had surely shared a space with the newly departed dozens of times. Suddenly, I wasn't so sure about all this, until I walked out the door and turned around to look at the place one last time.

I imagine myself walking in the door after a long day of work, homely golden lights spilling out from the wide windows, maybe a dog or a spouse to greet me at the door. The agent grinned and held out the paperwork expectantly. He already knew. A few weeks later, I was moving in. My finances were pushed the limit, signing for my first mortgage felt like signing my soul away to the devil, with slightly worse consequences if anything went wrong. But as my pen hovered above the dotted line, I reminded myself that I'd never find an opportunity like this again. It warned to my heart that several of my co-workers volunteered to help me move in before I even got around to asking them. Like big kids, we skidded down the vacant hallways and socks, built stuff with my heaps of cardboard boxes,

and shared Peter while we stared at the bare living room wall and joked about how I could redesign the place. With a hot slice in one hand and a cold beer in the other, the laughter of friends reverberating to the empty rooms. It felt like all was right in the world. I'd finally made it. Dude, my manager exclaimed, wiping his hands on his pants. I think he might have a leak.

He'd just come from the bathroom. frowning I followed him back down the hallway. Sure enough, a steady. Drip, drip, drip, drip, resounded from the bathtub faucet. No matter how I fiddled with a knob, nothing happened. Until finally, the dripping stopped of its own accord. I resolved to call the plumber in the morning, and before long, I was leaving my friends out the door from the first party in my new home.

Exhausted from the tension and effort of the day I collapsed under my clean sheets without even getting undressed or taking a shower contentment washed over me as I drifted the sleep in the blue night watching the ceiling fan spin in slow circles above her light was on in the bathroom how strange I went to investigate

my footsteps echoing down the long corridor it was the dripping again too but this time the drops sounded like they were splashing in water. I pushed the door open. The bathtub was half full of beautiful, clean, aquamarine water. It looked so pure and warm. A light steam rose from scrubbed white surface of the tub. Forgetting my concern about who or what had turned on the light,

I reached down with my hand. The water was perfect for a bath. The fat wrinkled hand that grabbed my neck from behind Was bloated to twice the size of what a normal human hand should be With irresistible strength, it jams my head beneath the surface of the water The more I splashed and fought the more oxygen I lost Until finally I was taking deep gulps of bathwater The hot liquid is pouring into my lungs

I awoke with a start The house was silent No lights, no drips No horrible dead hands just me with my hands on my chest soaked in sweat I went to the kitchen for a glass of water trying to shake the horrible dream from my mind the sweet crisp liquid was delicious

and brought me back to my senses it was normal to have nightmares in a new place especially after I made such a big deal about the previous owner's death I was letting my own head mess with me after another cool glass of water I returned to bed and fell into a dream homeless sleep. It took me about a week to realize I was subconsciously avoiding my own bathroom.

I usually worked out at the gym across the street from work and showered there. I brushed my teeth in the shortest time possible and took care of other necessities in the smaller, toilet and sink-only bathroom on the lower floor. I didn't think that I was still having nightmares about it, but maybe I just didn't remember them. Maybe I didn't want to remember them. Something had to be done. I went to the local store and bought the gaudiest, most garish stuff I could find. A hot pink shag rug, a lime green shower mat, a cow-themed fluffy towel set, and for some reason, a bunch of tiny cactuses.

Once I decorated, I drew myself a hot bubble bath and sank blissfully into the warm water. I closed my eyes and sighed. If this was facing my fears, it wasn't so bad. I splashed around in the bubbles until I got bored, then went to drain the water. As my eyes opened, I swear I glimmed something grey and swollen, floating just beneath the bubbles. When I swirled them away, however, it was gone, whatever it was. I tiled off, content with my conquest. I was feeling so confident, in fact, that I'd hopped back under the dating app I'd give it up on a wall back,

and sent a few messages. To my surprise, I soon had a date. After a few beers and a long walk around downtown, we ended up in bed at my place. I had never had anyone's stay the night at my home before, and even though we just met, it felt good to fall asleep with them, nozzled up against my chest.

I woke, sometime in the night, however, to find them gone. I brought myself up on one elbow and scanned the blue dimness of my bedroom. Had they just left? I crept to the window and opened the blinds, peering out into the lush, lamp-lipped suburban street. Gricking floorboards made me spin around. A shadowy figure leaned against the doorway. Hey, my date purred.

Hey, yourself, I gasped. You scared the hell out of me. You could have told me your grandma lives with you, you know? They mentioned as they came back to my bed. My blood turned to my. twice. What? I whispered. Yeah, they snorted. I almost walked in on her in the tub. My eyes locked on the blackness beyond the open bathroom door at the end of the hall. A shape, somehow darker than darkness itself, oozed out from the doorway. Although it made

no sound, it looked and moved like a crawling, bloated human corpse. Eyes like pale bulbs glared at me, full of hate, before lumbering off down the stairs. You're all right, my date asked, oblivious to the horror behind them. Yeah, I murmured, just a little spout. I quickly shut the door. I pulled the covers up high, snuggled close to my date, and closed my eyes tightly like a child, afraid of what I might see if I looked again.

In the morning, the floor outside the bathroom, was soaked. When my date left, I did too. I didn't have it in me to stay home alone with a shadowy hallways and nothing to break the silence except the sound of dripping water. Instead, I went to the library. I'd always looked down on the crazes who believed in exorcisms and psychics. Now I was looking them up online.

First priest I asked about an exorcism, laughed and hung up. The second told me I was paying a just price. for a life of sin. The third, an older man with an Irish accent, was much more kind. He suggested I put up a crucifix, place a Bible under my pillow, and pray each night before bed. And if that didn't work, call him back. Most of the psychics, oddly enough, had busy or disconnected numbers. One wanted payment just to talk to me, another promise that she could cast out the demon without leaving a trailer. If only, I'd mail $200 to a Pio box.

Once again, the third time was the charm. Chanting and bird song were in the background sounds on my next phone call. I could practically smell the incense to the phone. The pleasant young woman had a smooth, reassuring voice and promised to meet me the same evening for a reading of the house. If she couldn't solve my problem, the visit would be free, she said. Apart from earth-tone clothes and some tasteful jade jewelry, there wasn't much of the stereotypical psychic about the woman waiting in my driveway.

when I returned from the library. She looked more like a professional art instructor than a hunched crone in a shawl who played with crystal balls. With a smile, she shook my hand. Her name was Amy. We took a seat on the stoop while I told my story.

Amy was a good listener. I've never been around bad ones to know the difference. She seemed to be taking mental notes as I spoke. I was neither too judgmental nor to believing in responses. When I'd finished, I stood, went inside and held the door open for my new psychic friend. It was eerie, the way Amy stood perfectly still on my porch, like she was preparing herself for something. She took a deep breath, and the shadow of her hair hid her face as she stepped inside.

So, the bathroom where all this started is right upstairs. I began, leading the way up the carpeted steps. When I turned, however, Amy had frozen again, like she was a statue in the middle of my living room. I sighed, then waited. Amy? I asked finally. There was no response. I trudged back down the stairs, worried that she might be having some sort of attack. Her eyes were closed.

It was difficult to tell if she was even breathing. Amy, I bingered again. I reached out to touch her. her arm. The screen felt loud enough to shatter glass, and it kept going. Long after Amy should have worn her throat roar or run out of air. Tears roll down her cheeks from wide open eyes. I shook her, slapped her, and when that didn't work, dragged her out of the house. The moment Amy's feet touched the porch, her face returned to normal. She backed away, tripping from my open doorway.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, she whimpered. I can't. Amy, what's going on? I called after her, alarmed. What happened? I can't. She shook ahead, walking dizzily toward a car. She locked herself inside and started the engine.

You need to get out of this place. Greyish black smoke poured from the exhaust of Amy's second-hand car, and she peeled out, clearly eager to get as far away from me as possible. I was left standing helplessly in the driveway of my, apparently cursed, or haunted or something else. Fear turned to anger when I went back inside and walked through my empty rooms. This was a good house. That psychic's freak out was probably either a joke, a scam or a bid for money. What I needed to do was surround myself with light, noise and people I trusted.

I suggested a party at my place, the very night in the chat group I shared with my friends and co-workers. I tied it up and ordered some pizzas, glaring defiantly at the bathroom more often than not. If the ghost thought that it could handle my drunk office buddies, it was welcome to try. I was surprised and heartened by how many people showed up, but I noticed that a lot of them gave me these lingering, worried stairs. Maybe all this business with my new house and its unwanted guest had affected me, more than I thought. Carol, my boss, pulled up in a pickup truck with a football table in the back. DeMarcus brought karaoke. Before long, I was less worried about the dead old lady and more worried about a noise complaint. Clattering, curses, and tone-depth voices brought the house to life.

And yet, I was filled with a feeling of foreboding. I drank more than I should have. The wall I leaned the games was smooth and cool beneath my hands. Why hadn't I always walked like this? But the hallway swayed, the bathroom felt like an infinite distance away. The bathroom door was closed, but the lights were off inside. I opened it with my body and plunged through the darkness for the toilet. I ran right into wet, bare skin. I shrieked, jumped back and threw on the light.

I think Carol and DeMarcus. caught half naked in the middle of their trist, were more scared than I was. We all blushed and stood in awkward silence, until I raised a hand to my mouth to hold down a wave of vomit and pointed out. The bedroom's down the hall, I groaned. I'm gonna. When I woke up, someone had laid me on my side on the couch. My mouth tasted cut and dry and sour, and the darkness seemed infinite.

The digital clock flickered in the blue night. I heard the sound of running water from the kitchen I staggered in to find a Marcus bent over the sink drinking water straight from the tap Have you tasted this stuff? He garbled It's delicious Once you start you can't get enough

I grunted Without looking back a second time I opened the fridge and chugged some whole milk A cure from my college days It was probably just a myth But I was counted on the placidant on the placebo effect. The tap was still running when I went back to sleep.

The next thing to wake me was a piercing scream. Clutching my head, I stumbled toward the kitchen and the source of the sound. Carol had a hand over her mouth, sobbing. DeMarcus, or what was left of him, was still drinking water.

His belly was hideously distended. Liquid feces covered the floor around him. but his dead lips were locked in a vice grip around my foreset. Even so, the water that escaped ran down his bloated body to join with a lake that used to be my kitchen. Then, it was my turn to scream. Carol was already in the phone with the police beside me. She even stayed with me when they arrived, and, during the brief interrogation, Mitch might have been what saved me. I was in shock and could barely even answer their questions with her.

Yes or no, without a help. I won't go into the details of the cleanup, the investigation, or how I took some vacation to visit my parents for a few weeks. I barely remember it anyway. The only thing I remember clearly is seeing the marquis' twisted, waterlogged body each time I closed my eyes. Terrified as I was by the presence of my house, I had to go back. It was that, or declared bankruptcy and lose the life I'd worked so hard to build. With everything that had happened, I'd accidentally ghosted, for lack of a better word, my date from the app. I'd had a lot of sleepless nights the thing since then, and I realized that the date, they were the only person who had actually seen the presence in my house.

With that in mind, I sent them a long apology message explaining what had happened, and asking for their help. I knew that I had no right to expect a response, but... I got one anyway. Call me, the message said and included a contact link. Alex wasn't the name they'd given me on the app, and the number on the app wasn't what I remembered either, but the photo was the same. I was impressed.

Alex agreed to meet me at the house when I arrived. It felt good not to walk into that cool, shadowy silence alone. I looked around nervously as we sat down on my couch. The place reeked of industrial cleaner I could swear I heard a dripping noise But the truth was that I was afraid to leave the room And go in search of whatever was making that sound At first I only thought it was targeting me

Or that it would go away over time I admitted But after what happened to DeMarcus Drip What was that I wondered Alex held a chin thinking, We're both in a lot of danger,

they finally said. If you brought me over here thinking I could get rid of whatever this is for you, you're going to be disappointed. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before, but I do think it prays on people when they're alone,

when they're vulnerable. I figure it got your pal de Marcus while he woke up drunk and thirsty in the middle of the night. It tried to get me while I was half asleep going to the bathroom. So, maybe if we face it together,

Drip, drip. Are you hearing that? I blustered. Hearing what? Alex asked. You're really freaking me out now. I stood and stormed over to the stairs. That sound, like water droplets.

I pointed an accusing finger at the second-story bathroom. It's coming from in there. I didn't dare go alone, and Alex knew it. They held my hand while we walked down the hallway. The dripping became louder and louder with each step I took until I thought I'd go crazy from it but Alex clearly heard nothing eyes shut tight

I gave the door a push the bathtub was full of pristine crystal clear water one by one droplets made ripples in the glittering surface which seemed almost a glow with its own soothing light as soon as I saw it I knew that I had to play

punch my head into it. The cool, clear liquid would wash all these bad thoughts. It would leave me pure and clean and innocent, like a cherub. In the perfect porcelain beneath the water, there were no shadows. The next thing I remember,

I was dragging myself on the hallway carpet, soaked from the waist up. I was fighting, screaming, doing anything to get back into the bathtub, and Alex was doing all they could to stop me. "'You're drowning yourself!' he screamed. As I finally came back into control of my body. For a while, we both lay there, panting, the open door of the bathroom looming hungrily at the end of the hallway.

Finally, Alex broke the silence. Dude, have you thought about just getting rid of the bathtub? What was exactly what I did. I had to go into even more debt to do it. but by that point I was willing to pay any price I found myself hovering around the workers as they did their remodeling full of guilt for what I hadn't told them and what I was afraid might happen

nights I spent at Alex's place we started seeing a lot more of each other since they'd saved my life showers I took at the gym the way water blasted from the showerhead that swelled down the drain still filled new the kind of nameless dread but the racket of the locker room and the presence of other people helped. So did, shutting my eyes. When I did, it was harder for my brain to imagine a grey, bloated female corpse standing right behind me in the shower box. Finally,

the job was done. The workers hauled everything to some scrapyard when they left, leaving no trace of the room where the former resident had met a sorry end. Life returned to something resembling normality, and while I continue to shower in the gym, I've been able to come to terms of the strange events at 242 Morrill Lane, enough to write about it. Until this evening, I thought I put it all behind me. Around sunset, a junky-looking pickup truck pulled up in front of the house. I could hear its rattling exhaust from the kitchen. The driver and a few ragged passengers got out, pulled a tarp off of something and started

unloading it onto my yard. It was a bathtub. her bathtub With horrified glances at the thing they just dunt The trespass has sped off I don't know if they bought it Stole it or scavenged it I don't know how they came to know its origin

But it's back I find myself looking over my shoulder Out the window at it while I type The darker it gets The more shadows seem to flood from the top Toward my front door And I'm afraid of what I'll see in my window if I look away too long.

A swollen, drowned face, round and rotten as an old pumpkin, a mouth bleeding an endless flow of water. Now that the moonlight is touching it though, there's something beautiful about that old tub. The way it sits there, bone white on the lawn. It looks so peaceful. I think I'll go lie down in it, feel the pale light to my skin. After all, it's been such a long time since I've had a proper bath. In the summer of 2013, a man named Mr. Wright had sent me an erratic letter

depicting his fears of a local anomaly that he called the Lampmen of Bedfordshire. At first, I struggled to decipher his messy script, but I was taken aback by his claims. According to Mr Wright, his quaint town of Little Barford, Bedford, Bedford had been tormented by the Lampman since the 40s, and the residents had simply accepted it. Mr. Wright didn't seem to know what the cause was, but stated the town had strict rules and curfews to keep his two dozen occupants safe. Mr. Wright had shown his concerns ever since a young girl had recently gone missing. When I first told Mr. Wright that my urban myth tumbler was used to submit to

and that I never actually visited the towns, he refused to believe it. In fact, he became far more assertive, and rather than suggest I see Little Barford, he demanded it. It wasn't until a further fifteen minutes that I figured out that Mr. Wright wasn't a gentleman who lived in a quiet town with his loving wife and kids. Instead, he was a 15-year-old named Ronald Wright. After I pointed out his poor grammar and asked for ID, he soon came clean. Although Ronald had been lying about himself, he had been very truthful about Joyce Byrne, who had disappeared just a few days before his first email.

After finding out the truth, I firmly rejected his proposition. Knowing he was a kid knocked out all formality I had, and I ignored his further emails. I can't say the story didn't intrigue me. In fact, I debated posting it to my Tumblr, but on the weird off chance that it was real, and I decided not to. I even researched into the small town of Little Barford and only found articles under construction of the power station 50 or so years ago.

December soon came along and I had finally forgotten about Ronald. His emails had been directed straight to my junk box automatically. However, just days after Christmas I'd set foot inside the junk box searching for a voucher code my uncle had gotten me and came across a recent email from Ronald with a subject I broke the rules, the lampmen are coming for me, and opened it.

The title was intriguing, and the fact who still emailing me caught my interest. In the email, Ronald addressed his previous emails and how I'd been ignoring him, and even went as far as the predict I hadn't been reading them. Ronald spoke about how nobody else had gone missing since choice, but after months of no reply from me, Ronald had gone out at night in hopes of finding running choice. Ronald laid out a few of the rules the town had been following, and they read. 1. Do not go near the lights off the road path at night. That is a lampman. 2. If you see a lamp post that does not belong, do not approach it.

3. When navigating road at night, use a lantern. If you see a tall source of light approaching you, you must drop the lantern and hide. It might be too late. 4. At night. curtains must be drawn tight. If you have electronics on, make sure the light doesn't lead outside. They will find you. Little Barford was mainly a long road

lit by the orange glow of candlelit street lamps, each scattered carelessly at our distances. Fields faded into the dark abyss, but the light pollution of nearby towns brightened the sky. Despite this, the sky was painted with an abundance of bright pinholes. The taxi stopped at a row of bungal. glows, each one covered with an aged thatched roof.

It was as if the town was frozen in time. Ronald pulled me inside frantically, and his eyes were wild with fear. Did you break any of the rules? He screeched with urgency, his pre-bubescent voice and shockwaves through my body. No, no, don't worry, I reassured. Ronald relaxed lightly, but the atmosphere remained thick and suffocating. Before I'd gotten to take my coat off. he had shoved an unkempt and small green book into my hands.

The dyed leather flaked off of the spine and some of the pages threatened to spill out. Ronald stared at me with impatient hues and wordlessly nodded at me as if permitting me to open it. Inside was the name Sheila Wright in neat cursive ink. Your mother's, I asked. Ronald shook his head and silently flipped to a page with a folded corner. in the top right was a date 2nd of August 1940 and underneath

it read Mother and I closed the curtains this morning and read by electric light We no longer need the fire from the lampman to read during the dark Father wasn't as excited And he left for his new job of the power station in a huff

This evening we did not offer our fuel To the lampman And mother turned on the heater as a special treat I wonder if the lampmen Will go hungry I bit my lip in anxiety, my teeth scraped at the dead skin. Ronald watched on with huge eyes as if I hadn't gotten to the most crucial part. I flipped to the next page.

3rd of August, 1940. Father did not return last night. I wonder if he lost his way. Mother said that he would be back soon. As it got dark, I saw the faint glow of one of the lampmen. He was not far away. Instead, his flames had grown dull. I snuck some fuel out to him and he seemed grateful.

4th of August, 1940. The Lampman from last night came back with others. Mr. Evan, the next door neighbor, threw water of them and screamed at them to leave. It seems like nobody cares now that we don't need them. Sheila's diary contained a lot of information, and massive details you'd expect to be in a teenage girl's diary and only brief information about the Lampman up until the 10th of August. Sheila's dad had been missing for over a week at that point

There had been no sign of him And a few other locals had disappeared Including Mr Evans Who had gone for a night time walk Sheila had continued to feed the lamp in oil each night And in return they guided her home a few times After spending evenings at a friend's house And even a return of broach she had lost

She had noticed that the nights She failed to supply them with kerosene People had disappeared into the night Many people began to fear the lampmen And soon enough A list of rules was spread around the small village These were the same rules Ronald had informed me earlier Plus an extra one

I had almost missed it My eye threatened to skip past the familiar words But when I spotted the number five My heart and body froze Five Do not miss a feeding night I flipped a page to find that it had been ripped out.

Ronald, I said through dried lips. What happens when you miss a night? I asked. The young lad stared at me. Lips spread wide and straight in a look of pure guilt. His ghostly features washed into the pale wallpaper behind him. I don't know. People disappear, and most of the time, it's the people just driving through.

There was still part of me that refused to accept the situation. Every fine detail about this town and its apparent lampmen technically made no sense and read like a local folk tale. Where's your grandmother? I felt like the only sentences that left my mouth ended with a question. She died near Easter, he admitted, just before I emailed you. Ronald played with his fingers and nervous disposition. We found a body in the woods and near where she used to drop up the kerosene.

She had a bad liver. she sat from drinking some nasty stuff when younger. I removed my coat and headed into the living room. Ronald's house had a strange homeliness to it. Vintage pictures lined the wobbly walls as well as furniture and decorations that didn't belong in this century. The smell of damp and petrol was covered poorly by candles. Did you keep feeding the lampmen?

I asked. The sentence felt foreign and I struggled to push it past my lips. Until recently, nodded. I can't buy kerosene. I just used what grandma had stored. I just used what grandma had stored. That night, I slept in the spare bedroom. As much as Ronald tried to hide it, I knew that the bed once belonged to Sheila. Ronald's mother had worked the night shift, and luckily for me, didn't dare step into a late mother's room, even if snoring leaked through the cracks of the door. At first, it was difficult to fall asleep. Everywhere in the house still.

of fuel. The spare bedroom was the worst for this. In the middle of the night, I turned on my phone's flashlight to discover a party of fuel containers under the bed, all empty. I'd found this when I dropped my glasses accidentally. When I pulled them back up, they were coated in a strange substance, something too red to be kerosene, but too watery to be paint. Whatever it was, it was the source of the stench. I spent the next day studying the diary as a if I had a test coming up. I'd have liked to get information from the locals, but there was an odd sensation of strangeness and anxiety

that came with a thought. Despite that, it seemed like all the information needed was laid out before me, all thanks to Sheila. Night 2 is where it got interesting. Despite my unwillingness to speak with the locals, I was brave enough to venture outside. It's strange how social anxiety works like that. Ronald had begged me not to go, but on to the little box of kerosene that I had brought earlier,

I had felt like I had solved the issue. I left Ron's house at 9pm. The road was much darker than my arrival, and I could see the sky much clearer now. I didn't dare think about the details behind it out of fear itself. The stink of kerosene followed me into the woods as I used my phone screen to make a dim light. It was almost too dark to see, but I knew I'd tempt danger by using. using the torch function. It felt like I was traveling through the woods from miles,

but I was confident I had retraced shoeless steps despite the low visibility. The trees came to a stop, and I found myself in an open space where the grass had turned to stone. Ahead and in the darkness sat stone monuments, most resting at a height above my knee. The air was heavy with a smell similar to gasoline,

just like the smell had run or tells, and the further into the woods I'd travel. the more pungent the smell. Sheila had offered no instructions beyond this, so I placed a bottle on one of the stone structures and returned the way I had come. Beyond the trees, just metres away, an orange glow leaked between the trunks,

and I called out, Run, over here! My feet began to move on their own, and I travelled forward in a brisk walk. Bizarrely enough, the smell became more aggressive. The closer I got to run, the more my brain hurt at the intensity. Only, it wasn't run. The closer I got, the better look I got.

The light saws sat around 12 feet. I hid that little run would never reach without miraculous methods. I didn't stop walking. The mystery of light in the middle of the woods fueled my curiosity and the excitement of lampmen being real caused waves of electricity to soar through my body. with steady steps I made sure not to trip over overgrown

roots my body swung 180 degrees at the sudden crack of a branch just meters away and behind me at the stone structure stood three street lamps the figure surrounded the fuel I had left and I watched as one of them

took the container with lanky and ornamented arms it opened what it could only describe as a window to its face and poured a bit into it The flame inside weakened into a slight orange glow, and it shrieked her tone so high it felt like daggers had stabbed my ears. The two other beings stepped back in shock as the others threw the container into the foliage ahead. It didn't take a genius to figure out something was wrong. I ran faster than I ever had before, back through the woods, back through the small town and back to Ron's house,

who stood in shock with his mother as I burst through the door. You can imagine the shock on Ron's mother's face as I burst through. However, she was surprisingly accepting when we explained the odd situation. Ron's mother, who introduced herself as Marie, was more than happy to discuss the topic and even provide insight into details we hadn't known prior. After a cup of tea, I explained what had just happened and how the lampmen had rejected the kerosene I supplied them. There was some left upstairs?

asked Marie. Shock painted across the delicate features. No, I bought some, I informed, and Marie let out a sigh. She bit down on her bottom lip as she decided whether to share something with us. It's not just kerosene, she uttered. Her lips froze in place, and it made a speech difficult to understand. I waited in silence for her to continue. My mother mixed it with blood. "'Excuse me?' I stuttered.

A laugh bubbled up at my throat as the bizarreness tickled my sides. Marie's face remained silent, a perfect poker face if it wasn't for the hint of concern in her eyes. I straightened my back and cleared my throat. Go on. She mixed it, one liter of blood to five of kerosene. I watched on as Marie crossed her arms. She couldn't take it in her old air. I tried to help her, but for some reason they rejected mine.

She stopped. The air was strangely heavy, yet empty. I couldn't help but guess that maybe that's how Sheila passed. Unlike Marie, I did not have a great poker face, and as soon as my eyes landed on Ron, she tensed up. She explained that he wouldn't do it out of fear of needles, and the little venom in a word hinted that she could not hide a frustration. The rest of the evening was equally strong.

stressful. There was a constant back and forth between both mother and son, as Marie pushed and pressured Ron into facing one of his fears in return for saving his town. Both parties looked towards me with pleading eyes, as if they were begging me to side with them. But I couldn't. If Ron didn't try this, then what would happen? People had gone missing. Sheila had informed us of that, but did we have any evidence. I couldn't side with either. How could I? I was stuck in a modern-day ethics dilemma. Who would stay behind if there were ten spaces in a lifeboat but eleven people on the ship? Who perishes so the others can live? Is there a way to fit everybody in the lifeboat? Ron stormed up the stairs in a hoff and a tearful-eyed Marie stared at me. I avoided eye contact.

Suddenly the pattern of the carpet was the most excrucied. appreciating thing in the world. Am I a bad mother? She sputtered. Huh? Am I a bad mother if I go against his wishes? He's still a child, so... Marie paused and nervously swallowed a glove of spit.

If I slip in some zipper clone and just take a bit of his blood, does that make me a bad mother? I suddenly became aware of just how harshly my nails were digging into my palms. The stress of being the deciding factor was making my stomach do somersaults. I'm his mommy, and I know what's right, she justified. Did she not know I was basically a child too? How could she ask a 19-year-old what's right? I don't know, I whispered.

Technically, it didn't matter to me what happened to this town. I could just leave. Marie and Ron could just leave. I could get a taxi to the train station and maybe, just maybe, forget about all this after a few months. Marie broke down into complete sobs. Her shoulders bounced with each shaky breath. I still refused to look at her. I need to do this.

I need to. She inhaled deeply. He won't know if he's sleeping. Ron knew. He was gone in the morning. He left no notes or messages, but his neatly made bed and missing essentials were more than enough to tell Marie and me

that he did not plan on coming back. Days past, the coward in me was unable to leave a grieving woman alone in a town full of beast, but my sleepless nights of anxiety and fear have been taken had begun to take its toll by day three. By day four, I received an email from Ron. He told me he was okay and he didn't intend on coming back. He told me to keep away from the town that I don't want to be there five days after the lampmen haven't been fed. I don't think you realize that Despite being gone for four days

It had been five days since they had been fed A shriek rang through the house I sprinted to see a manic Marie pressed up against the door The dizzying sense of gas ran havoc through the house They're outside, they're all outside She shook everywhere They sped into the living room

And pull the curtains open a millimeter At first the daylight blinded me but I could see dozens of street lamps scattered across what was meant to be an empty, crunchy road. My heart dropped to my stomach and joined the tsunami of anxiety with it. Outside every house and on each side of the road stood a motionless lampman.

Shakily, I closed the curtain, but my hands remained with a tight grip on the textured fabric. Damn it, damn it, dammit, Marie coward. The back door, we need to leave, I called out. Marie's back garden led out to a large field The perfect escape from the lampman Marie made it out of the back door first But stopped suddenly

In the distance scattered across the area Were more of them None moving but menacing I gagged on the smell and pulled Ronsmon back into the house What do we do? We can't leave Marie dropped to a kitchen chair And rested a face in her palms Rather than off her and I don't know

I let the silence settle. Lights radiated in from under the curtains and dimly lit each room. It seemed like a nice summer day outside. However, the sky remained a dull grey. The warm orange light that crept in belonged to the lampman, and it served as a constant reminder to Marie and me that we were in danger. We should try at night. Something clicked inside of Marie, and she gained a sudden authority.

We'll go into the field. but there's less of them. If it's low light, we might be able to sneak through. Every hour or so, the lampmen grew closer in the field. Luckily, by the time it was dark, there was still hundreds of meters away from the garden. Marie and I stood in the darkness of a garden as she mapped out our escape route. Once over the gate, the field's grass brushed against my thighs and Marie's hips. Okay, crouch and follow me. We shuffled through the jungle of grass. The blades tick on my side.

my chin and my calves burned from the strain. Marie led us towards the woods. She claimed that if they were out on the streets, the woods would be the easiest method of escape, providing we get past the singular lampman that was guarding it. Once we arrived at a dangerous distance from the beast, it became clear that was when Marie's plan ended. We watched the lampman, hopeful they would just leave,

but that was wishful thinking. Inside the woods, a branch cracked. and it turned to the sound, but didn't follow it. I wondered if they were able to see, or if perhaps they used some other sense. I signalled for Marie to stay still and crawled a safe distance from her. Using my phone's flashlight, I shine a light towards the figure, and it paid no notice. It wasn't the evidence I needed, but it was enough for me to make a rough and desperate guess. We needed a loud, constant noise, not the thumb of a throne stone.

or a crack of a branch, something to scream, I'm here without putting either of us in danger. I unlocked the screen, the brightness hurt my eyes. I then turn on a podcast loud enough to be heard by the creature, and it definitely caught his attention. I hardly had time to react as a lanky monster came sprinting towards the noise, desperate for a kill. Within seconds it closed the gap between us, and in a panic I threw the phone. The screen's brightness had made me blinded. the dark, and just as my eyes adjusted, I was able to make out Marie's silhouette, and very quickly her face was lit up by a warm orange. I watched as she'd die for the phone and stumbled back up

to throw it, but it was far too late. Marie's body was lifted into the air, her screams attracting the attention of the surrounding lampmen, who paid no notice to me as the first one pulled the woman in half. The spread of viscera lit up from the lights. The crimson liquid in guts glistening into the now open faces of the surrounding lampmen, and instead of dim orange lights, their flames grew solid and bright. She had lied about her blood. Shakly and quietly, I rushed into the woods. With each step, the liquid in my stomach scaled my throat like a mountain,

burning my throat. I don't know how long it took me to find civilization, but I didn't dare tell anybody what happened when I did. Police assumed I was some sort of runaway, but once I was ready to talk, they helped me get home. Seven years later, I find a strange comfort in living in a city these days. I know that as long as the streetlights are modern, I am safe in that artificial white glow. If you ever find yourself driving through Little Barford, put your foot down and don't stop until you're far away. That town belongs to the Lampman now.

The call took me totally off guard. Mrs. Fiora, can you please come to school as soon as possible? Mrs. Morgan, the school's guidance counsellor asked. Julian isn't hurt, but he's in a very serious situation. When I asked what happened, Mrs. Morgan said it'd be better to explain when I arrived. Bewildered and unnerved, I feared the worst when speculating what my eight-year-old son son might have done. Julian could sometimes be a bit unruly at home, but never once got in any trouble at school. Julian's teachers loved him, and he appeared to get along with all his classmates,

which made this so unusual. Despite pondering every conceivable scenario during the drive, I never would have guessed what my son ultimately did in a million years. My stomach sank when I saw an ambulance and a trio of police cruises in front of the school. After parking in the visitor's lot, I was greeted by Mrs. Morgan, Mr. Quatro, Julian's teacher, Mrs. Jones, the principal, and two police officers, one of whom happened to be my cousin, Brady. I noticed none of them looked angry. They all had the same disturbed looks of horror and disbelief across their faces. Mrs. Fiora, thank you for coming so quickly, Mr. Jones said.

Where is my son? I asked anxiously. What did he do? He's with Mr. Isbista right now, the school psychologist. Mr. Jones quickly replied. Before I could ask another question, Brady stepped forward and took me aside. Look, their figure would be best if I tell you what's going on. So, brace yourself. Brady said softly, taking a breath before continuing.

Julian brought a head to school. An actual human head. What? Was all like a gasp out after not saying anything for a few seconds. Unsure if I heard Brady correctly. He had it in his backpack. Did you see him leave the house today? I waited with him for the bus like I do every morning,

I said. Unsure if there was a hint of suspicion. in Brady's voice, I had no reason to think anything out of the ordinary was going on. When I asked Brady what exactly happened, he motioned for Mr. Quatro, who slowly walked over to where we stood. Mr. Quatro was still visibly distraught over the incident, as indicated by a trembling hand, which, ironically, only had four fingers when we briefly exchanged shakes. When Brady asked him to recount what happened, Mr. Quatro swallowed nervously before beginning.

The kids were supposed to have show and tell yesterday, but we couldn't get to it in time, so I had them do it today before lunch, Mr. Quatro said. His face contorting with disgust while giving his account. When it was Julian's turn, he said he brought in a... Special friend. He pulled it out of his pack, like it was nothing, in front of the whole class. Julian said the head was his... Uncle Melty?

Brady added. He doesn't happen, Uncle Miltie, I said, staring mystified at my cousin. Did he say where he found it? He said the head was growing from the ground in the woods behind your house. My blood ran cold and mine started racing. I wasn't sure what rattled me more. Julian seeing and physically handling a human head or the grim prospect that someone's remains were discarded

as stones threw away from where my family slept. Julian wasn't allowed in the woods boarding our backyard and supervised, and even when permitted, he knew he had to stay within view. When could he have made such a gruesome discovery without us knowing? Take me to my son. Julian was playing with Legos in Mr. Ice Bister's office when I entered, seeming totally unaware of the situation's severity. Mr. Isbister said Julian was immediately brought here,

while he and Mr. Quadro try getting his class under control. When I asked if Julian explained why he did this, Mr. Ibista's answer sent a sharp chill down my spine. He said Uncle Miltie told him to. Mr. Ice Bister let Brady and I speak to Julian alone in his office. My son was elated to see me and seemed under the impression this was some kind of special occasion. The innocent, unsuspecting look in his young,

long face, so Julian appeared unaware he did anything wrong, which for me made this ordeal extra difficult. Julian, do you know what's going on? I asked while sitting him on the couch. Do you know why we're here right now? Julian's smile faded when he saw how concerned Brady and I looked. Julian, who's Uncle Miltie? I asked when my son's eyes started to wander around the office.

You don't have an uncle with that name. He lived in the hole behind our house, Julian said, nonchalantly, appearing more interested in getting back to playing with the Legos. I'm helping him find a new home. Brady and I looked at each other. Both of us visibly perturbed by Julian's answer. What do you mean, Cus? Brady quickly asked when he saw I was at a loss for words.

Can you tell me where exactly you found the head? I mean Uncle Miltie. Julian's smile returned. I was trying to find a ball I hit really far into the woods and I found him sticking out to the ground, he replied. I knew the exact day Julian was referring to this past Saturday afternoon. Julian and my husband were playing baseball

when he hit an absolute howitzer that sailed into the tree line. Although they spread out to find the ball, my husband said Julian was always within view. It took over half an hour for them to find the ball, and I do remember losing sight of them quite a few times during their search. Julian must have found it then, I thought, becoming deeply unsettled when imagining the naive look in his face when he made that grisly discovery.

Would you be able to show us where you found him? Brady asked, and did you take Uncle Miltie with you the day you found him? Julian shook his head. I visited him again before he told me to take him. He lived where the woodpile used to be. Julian was talking about a large amount of firewood in our backyard. It took a few days, but my husband and I relocated all the wood to another part of the yard.

Its original location was a few yards into the tree line. We wanted to build a shed there, but wound up finding a better spot despite clearing the area. I nodded at Brady, indicating I knew the exact place, Julian described. Julian, what do you mean when he said? He told you to take him. Who are you talking to? Brady asked.

Julian looked at Brady, perplexed. Uncle Melty. He told me when I could take him with me. So you've been talking to this... This Uncle Melty head? Like how the three of us are talking right now? I asked. tightly pursed my lips when Julian...

nodded affirmingly. I don't know what I'd have said if someone told me earlier today my son would bring a human head into school that was also his imaginary friend. Mr. Icebus said Julian may have been severely traumatized by what he found and imagined it had interactive qualities

as a coping mechanism. While Julian was getting looked up by the school nurse, Brady took me to see if I could recognize the head's face. The severed head was being kept in a nice-filled cooler out in the ambulance.

He was in a large, clear evidence bag and looked to have died fairly recently. I didn't recognise the man, who appeared to be in his thirties and had a bloated face with narrow cheeks, large black eyes, Roman nose, thick pink lips, and short black hair.

His eyes were still open, looking in different directions, and mouth hung agape, his tongue partially protruding from between his teeth. The head's whitish-pays skin had patches of mottled skin, darkened veins, and proverbial, deathly grey tint synonymous with corpses. I only looked long enough to verify I didn't recognise the man's face, before having to suppress the oncoming urge to throw up. Julian was medically and psychologically evaluated before we were both interviewed by detectives at the police station. We didn't get home until later that night, and by then,

A forensics team had already set up shop on my property. Brady kept me informed and was at my house monitoring the situation. The whole area in front of my home was cordoned off by a yellow police tape and jam-packed with a sundry of police vehicles. Brady and one of the detectives met me at the perimeter. I kept Julian near me while walking up to Brady and the detective, who had me bring my son inside before he spoke. Our cadaver dogs

instantly picked up the scent and brought us right to the spot your son mentioned the detective, whose last name was Vendetto, began. We unearthed a shallow grave containing the remains of a body, a headless body. Despite largely expecting this, hearing someone confirm it was an actual reality

made it no easier to accept. There was a corpse buried in my property that nobody probably would have known about had we not move that heaping woodpile. A decomposing body, my son had the misfortune of discovering. No child is ever meant to experience those kinds of realities life offers at such a delicate age. Although Julian maintained a reserved exterior thus far,

I shuddered to think what actual thoughts and impacts this experience was having in my son. If it really was where the old woodpile used to be, which was there before I even bought the house, it had to have been there for a long time, no? I inquired, particularly emphasising how the woodpile predated when my family lived at the house. Well, that's the thing, Brady replied, getting an approving nod from Detective Vendetto to continue. Whoever's head Julian found has probably only been dead for seven to ten days tops.

The other remains have been buried there for a while, years probably. I squinted in confusion at Brady and the detective. So they're looking for another body right now? There's two out there? Maybe not here, Detective Vendetto said. We haven't found any more remains yet, but think someone might have dismembered and dispersed another body whose head your son found.

There's no way the head Julian found and the decapitated remains they discovered were the same person. But I couldn't chalk up Julian's discovery happening to be in the exact spot as another corpse they just found being a coincidence. Without any substantiated proof, however, we were only left to speculate. Despite a thorough search of the woods

behind my house and surrounding area, no additional human remains were found. Since the body was on our property, we had to be formally cleared of any wrongdoing. While undergoing that process, more peculiar happenings occurred. Two days after the incident, Brady told me the head Julian found went missing at the police station, seemingly disappeared overnight without a trace. One week later, Julian's teacher, Mr. Guadro, was killed.

Only his severed head was discovered. The man's body was never found. My husband and I kept Julian out of school since that fateful day, and were considering transferring him so we could have a fresh start. hearing news of his teacher's demise, which I kept away from Julian, prompted us to go through with a move. Even before, eventually selling the house, we packed up and relocated to a new town.

Julian adjusted well, despite still receiving therapy to help him manage his understandings of what happened, and always speaking of Uncle Miltie in high regard if it ever came up in conversation. My new home was closer to my job, and Julian made friends quick. quickly at his new school. About three months passed since his show and tell incident.

It was Julian's birthday, who hadn't gotten a chance to call since my morning and early afternoon were filled with back-to-back meetings, calls and appointments. I was already behind schedule and putting the final touches on a report that was 15 minutes past due.

I heard my office door open, which I knew was my final appointment before lunch, keeping my eyes glued to the computer screen, I told my client to sit tight for five minutes, determined to have this write-up finished and sent before shifting gears. I heard him mutter something under his breath in disgruntled tone before walking up to one of the chairs in front of my desk. While finishing the report, I pulled up my calendar to view my meeting's details, since my assistant made some last-minute changes to my morning schedule and fell to specify what they were before going to lunch.

As soon as the appointment opened on my screen, however, I heard. abrupt footsteps of the client walking toward the door. I'm sorry about that. I didn't mean to be rude. Worried my inattempted nurse may have rubbed in the wrong way. I quickly pulled my eyes from my computer screen, just as he was about to leave my office. I caught a long enough glimpse to remember his face.

Long and narrow, with beady, sly-looking black eyes, reddish pink lips that formed in a half-smirk, a balding forehead and short dark hair. adjusting his fleece's tall neck collar, he looked at me with disgust and disappointment before closing the door behind him with his hand. I quickly stood up and tried gesturing for the man to stay, kicking myself for being so inconsiderate and dreading the possible ramifications of this mishap. He looked oddly familiar, I thought, while hurrying across my office, hoping to catch him. I swung the door open, but he was already gone. Stomping in frustration, I slowly shut the door.

Thankfully, my assistant didn't witness that spectacle. Turning back to face my office, I froze after noticing a package on one of the chairs. It was a square box, about 14 by 14 inches, and gift wrapped in plaid red and green paper. There was a card taped to the top of the package addressed my son. Upon reading it, I was hit with a spinning light head in us when it made me remember where I previously saw that man's face.

Dear Julian, wishing you a happy birthday as promised. Thank you for helping me with a new look. Talk soon. Uncle Miltie. I stood there holding the card in my shaking hands, constantly rereading the handwritten notes inside of it while trying to comprehend who was just in my office. However, it was in his face being that of the severed head Julian found, which filled me with paralyzing terror. The man's hand used to shut the office store

behind him, I realized only at four fingers. A normal guy. I have a typical 9-to-5 job at a computer desk, a job which I earned with my straight-sees college career at the State University. I live alone and live a normal, uninteresting, but ultimately happy life. Many people want nice cars, a nice house, but I'm perfectly satisfied pushing the pencil every day and coming home and relaxing with a beer and a book or a TV show. My only real problem is sleep. I have insomnia that can only be helped by being so exhausted at the end of the day that I literally can't stay awake anymore.

I tried everything, from jogging to herbal tea to hypnotherapy. It wasn't always this way. I use this sleep like a baby, but ever since the pandemic, I've just been unable to sleep at night. What's worse is this made my once comfortable life difficult. My boss started to notice my quality of work declining, and some of my co-workers even started asking me things like, I are alright when they see me in the break room. That's a real confidence booster. My only salvation is the massive amount of coffee I drink every single day to keep from nodding off during

work. One day, I was fed up with feeling exhausted every day. I posted on Facebook. Anyone have any tips on sleeping? I seemed to have forgotten how to, with a picture of Patrick from SpongeBob with bloodshot eyes. As I hit post, I heard the microwave beep from the leftovers I was reheating. As I got to the kitchen, my phone buzzed. I looked at the screen, and it was a message from a girl I went to high school with. She was one of those people, added, not because you were friends, but because everyone in your high school

added each other the week before graduation so everyone could stay in touch. Hi Jason, I hear you've been having trouble sleeping, and I'd love to help you. I was startled by how quickly this person I barely knew sent a response. Oh, hey, Becker, I replied. Long time I see. How are you?

Three dots appeared, indicating that she was typing a response. While I waited, I ate my supper of leftover Chinese food and every hot sauce in the fridge. But 30 minutes later, the dots stayed. I figured my app was glitching, so I forced quit and restarted. The dots were still there. I checked my laptop to see if it was a connection problem with my phone, but the dots remained. She must be typing the two fingers, I thought to myself, laughing at it. off, though it did seem a little odd.

I laid down on the couch to re-watch a show that I was on the third season of, checking the Facebook tab between episodes. The dots were still there. I was puzzled and a little bit annoyed, but I watched TV until I was too exhausted to keep my eyes open, which was my cue to attempt sleeping, as usual, at 4 a.m. I brushed my teeth and got under the covers. I couldn't tell if I had maybe nodded off for a few minutes and was startled awake but what I experienced was my phone going off the moment I shut my eyes

it startled me really badly because I always kept my phone's alarm and ringers at full volume since I've a creeping fear of sleeping in a missing work I looked at my phone it was a message from Becker I rolled my eyes wondering what could have possibly taken so long or may be it a response this late. I opened the message expecting to see paragraphs of pseudoscience about essential oils or something, but all I saw was a single link, a link to a YouTube video, and it didn't even have a thumbnail. I was puzzled but curious, so I opened my laptop and navigated to a message clicking the link. A new tab opened with a YouTube video called Cozy Room on a stormy night

with thunderstorm sounds and rain sounds in brackets 10 hours 4K 60 FPS There was nothing remarkable about the video Just some calming noises With a still shot inside of a room with a fireplace There was almost no movement Except for the lightning outside

Rain running down the glass And a subtle flicker of the fireplace The room had to be a digital collage Or a 3D render or something No space was that clean and perfect All of the walls are white and smooth, with no details indicating that the space had ever been inhabited. I also noticed a Siberian husky curled up in front of one of the windows, staring directly at the camera. Unlike the rest of the objects in the room, he seemed to be from a real video, rather than just the still image.

The channel's name was cosy sleep for dreamlike sounds and restful nights. I laughed a little. It really took a four hours. was to find this YouTube link. I decided to play along though and tapped out, okay, I'll give it a shot, thanks, and hit send.

The red receipt showed up as soon as I sent my response, but she didn't seem to have anything to say. Allowed's back of the video and noticed that it said live in the bottom left corner with ten people watching. Chat was disabled.

I figured that made sense, since everyone would probably just be sleeping anyway. I put my laptop on a small table that I kept next to my bed and started watching. What struck me first was how soothing the sounds were. It was almost as if they were too good to be coming out of my tiny laptop speakers. Despite how off-putting the aesthetics were, there was something kind of nice about it. I was surprised when I started to feel drowsy and a deep sleep overtook me. I opened my eyes feeling refreshed and invigorated. The sun beamed into my room through the curtains, looking brighter and pretty than ever.

I looked to my phone. I'd only been asleep for four hours. I was surprised, but I guess four hours of deep, dreamless sleep amounted to more than what I usually get, which is 8 to 10 hours of naps, interrupted by anxiety attacks. I checked my laptop to see if the video was still playing, but it had run out of batteries at some point while I was sleeping. I only have one USBC charger. So often, when I go to bed, I'll choose one device over the other to get charged.

Last night, it was my phone's turn. I figured I'd head to work early to try earn some points with my boss. On the train, people were friendlier than usual, as if seeing me made the days a little bit better. It was subtle, but I noticed it. That day at work was different too. People noticed my restedness and said things like, Jason, you're so perky today. I didn't even end up drinking coffee.

Halfway through the workday, I decided to thank Becker for the video recommendation. Hi, Becker. I don't know how, but I think your video cured my insomnia. Thank you so much. When I had sent, an error appeared. You can't respond to this message. Did Becker block me? I thought. Just then, my co-worker. Seth tapped me on the shoulder.

Hey, uh, me and the guys are going to grab lunch. Want to join? He asked. I gladly said yes. Seth was a good-looking guy, and the little rainbow flag that he kept at his desk was a signal that maybe I had a chance with him. I let Becker's strange measures

slip into the back of my mind as we boarded the elevator. Lunch was good, and the rest of my workday was more normal than I could have anticipated. No, getting yelled out by my mind. boss, I finished all of my tasks and I was even able to leave on time rather than usual one extra hour I needed to make up for my tiredness. When I got home, I quickly made myself some dinner and then started to get ready for bed. I figured I'd try again tonight to get even more sleep, so I brushed my teeth and got under

my covers. Then I plugged the laptop, which was still sitting on the table next to my bed. I was greeted with the YouTube page that said, this premiere has ended, which made sense. I figured I just refreshed the page and started from the beginning. But when I did,

the page said, this creator has deleted this video. Although that was weird, usually people leave videos up after they've premiered them, but I figured there must be other channels like this one. I put into the search bar, cozy house with rain ambience,

and was greeted with literally thousands of videos, nearly identical in content, with slight variations, from hundreds of different channels with names like cozy ambience, sleepful, cozy spaces, comfy rain channel and so on. My first thought, as usual, when I discover a massive niche that I was unaware of was, who the hell is making these videos? I clicked on the first result and watched it for a few minutes.

I was again greeted by a barely realistic room, with a few props, a looping fire and a window overlooking some impressive scenery. I stared at the window, feeling the strangest thought that someone was watching me through the screen. I didn't feel the sleepiness that the video Becker sent me cause, though. The sounds weren't hitting the same as the video from last night. I went back to the previous page and clicked on the next link. Once again, I was unimpressed. I didn't feel the drowsiness or the comfortable hypnosis, hypnosis of the previous video.

I knocked to the table with frustration. Maybe if I just tried to sleep, it'll work, I said to myself. After all, I'd been almost asleep already when I got the link from Becker. Maybe in my tiredness, I remember the video being better than it actually was. I left the tab open and I shut my eyes, trying to let the sounds of raining wind carry me away like they had the night before, but it just didn't do the trick. After hours of tossing and turning in frustration, I got out of bed to get a glass of water from the kitchen. Looking at my YouTube history, I found the video from the previous night. It was still

deleted. I went to the channel, cozy sleep for dreamlike sounds and restful nights. This channel doesn't have any content. I was weirdly upset about this, probably because the night before was the best sleep I'd had, since, well, becoming an adult. I hit the subscribe button and the bell button just in case they decided to re-upload it. Before I could even put my phone back in my pocket, I got a notification from YouTube. Cozy sleep for dreamlike sounds and restful nights will be live in 10 minutes. Ah, so it's like a nightly street. dream thing, I thought allowed.

I wondered where it was based, starting at 4 a.m. like it did. Back in my room, I sat down and directed my laptop to the cozy sleep for dreamlike sounds and restful night's YouTube page for the stream. It said there were nine people waiting. I wondered, why a stream? I seen things like that all the time. Creepy past the channels or Chill Beach running on a live stream, hundreds watching, none of them talking.

Maybe it brought people a sense of togetherness, knowing that some stranger out there was experiencing the same thing as you. I decided then that the nine others watching were my new friends. I wondered how they'd stumble upon this particular channel and been awake to listen with me that night. In a few short minutes, the countdown was over, and the show started. Comfortable, funny rain with candlelight and ocean sounds, 10 hours, 4K, 60 f pf p. Yes, nice, serene. A room appeared, much like the one from the previous night, but with different stuff. There were two windows in the centre, a fireplace flickering, and a doorway on the left side of the room.

Through the window I could see the ocean, but not in a way that made sense. Video of the ocean playing behind the windows as though no consideration for realism had been made. Everything had a strange blurriness, a dirty quality reminiscent. of all PlayStation games, and the walls were tinted blue from some light I couldn't see the source of. The noises swept in through my speakers. I could hear ocean sounds and a gentle breeze,

and if I focused hard enough, fire crackling and a clock in another room. It was so vivid that it actually sounded like it was coming from my kitchen. I was impressed with the spatial technology that had clearly been used to make the illusion so believable. Part of me wished I could have. could go inside the strange room and maybe through the door, explore the surreal little

house a little. I laughed to myself, knowing how preposterous that was. Before my thoughts got too carried away, I noticed a bundle of fur sitting in front of the right window. It was the husky from the previous night, only this time he was facing the wall away from me. I had no idea how I'd managed to miss it for almost a full minute. He looked almost completely out of place.

in the scenery. Everything else looks C.I. or AI generated. The dog, on the other hand, was filthy and emaciated, like an old dirty rug draped over a pile of discarded bones, and was clearly either from a stock video or something the creators shot themselves. The more I stared at the lump of fur, the more I began to notice that he was breathing. He inflated and deflated with haggard breaths, and I could hear it, ever so slightly. It didn't sound like a dog breathing. It was like the pain breaths of a diseased man. I suddenly felt that deep tiredness from the previous night.

I folded a bit, trying to get a closer look at the animal. But I felt so overcome with exhaustion at that moment. I remember as my eyes were shutting, I could have sworn I heard someone running, and the dog was starting to stand. As if I just blinked, it was suddenly the name. next day, and it was bright in my room. Really bright, actually.

I looked at the screen on my laptop. Thanks for tuning in. Stream ended five seconds ago. The clock in the lower right said, 2pm. I had two missed calls and four mistakes for my boss. I called a cab and frantically texted her. I'm so sorry, I was sick this morning.

I'm on my way to the office now. She just responded with an eye roll emoji. I'll work late, I promise, I'm on my way now. I needed this job. It kept me comfortable during the pandemic, and honestly, I hadn't worked that long enough I have any real influence there. See you soon, Jason.

As I left my apartment, I noticed a piece of paper taped at the door. Keep it down, signed your neighbour. I didn't have time to think about the message because my cab was outside. When I got in the office, my boss looked mad. I started apologising profusely, but she dropped the act and laughed at me. It's okay, Jason, we all have those days, she said, patting in the shoulder.

Anyway, it looks like you got some much-needed rest. A wave of relief hit me, and I started doing my daily rounds of QA and SEO. I actually felt really amazing, all things considered. I never slept for ten hours before. At around 5.30, my acute co-worker, who asked me to lunch the day before, asked me if I wanted to grab a drink with him and his mates after work. I'm sorry, I can't. I'm working late tonight, I said. No, he isn't, my boss chimed in, startling me.

But I was so late, I said. Like I told you, we all have those days, she said with the sincerity and compassion I wasn't used to. enjoy the afternoon guys she said leaving with a purse and popping on her sunglasses boss's orders i guess people treat you differently when you don't have dark circles under your eyes the evening was great i got to know seth and his friends a little better and i even made the whole group laugh a handful of times that's a successful night out in my book as seth was ordering the third round of beers i got a notification from my phone sleep for dreamlike sounds and restful nights will be live in two hours. Had it really gotten that late? I apologized, saying I had to duck out early and called an Uber, wishing my new friends a good weekend. Seth yelled something about making it a weekly thing,

and I hid the fact that I blushed as I got into the car. As we pulled away from the bar, I opened YouTube on my phone to check on the stream. It said nine people were waiting. I quietly closed the app and locked my phone nervously. It felt like those people were staring at me, even though I had no reason to believe that. I even debated whether to tune in or not, because it felt so... ...off?

The strangeness of the situation had been in the back of my mind, but I'd been so distracted that I really hadn't processed it yet. Had I really looked at my computer exactly five seconds after the stream ended? That seemed really strange. and how did I sleep through my alarm? Two calls and four texts. I kept my volume all the way up, never had my phone on vibrate

because I was terrified of this happening. When I got back home, I made a beeline from a laptop. The screen was on. This is pretty normal. Considering notifications can wait the screen if they're high enough priority. But it felt weird seeing the previous.

This stream has ended, message staring back at me. I clicked on the channel, and saw the thumbnail again. Nine waiting. For some reason, that really bothered me. Were these the people from the previous two nights? Why were they tuning into this?

Two hours before it starts, were the chat disabled? I started to feel very unsettled. Then something clicked and I felt really silly. Obviously, this account used bots to generate its initial views and some kind of algorithmic AI to generate the videos themselves. This whole thing must have been a content farm

which explained the odd appearance of the videos, the weird dog and the offbeat titles. Snapping back into reality, I made myself a quick snack and settled in for the night, laughing and my own imagination getting the best of me. Cozy sleep with dreamlike sounds and restful nights will be live in 30 minutes. I decided to watch an episode of my show before bed,

looking forward to sleeping in tomorrow without fear of getting in trouble at work. Gozy's sleep for dreamlike sounds and restful nights will be live in ten minutes. Time seemed to be moving faster that evening. I clicked into the YouTube tab and brushed my teeth, made my bed and got in it. As the stream began, I got under my covers. I watched the video populate with more of the odd scenery I had come to expect. This time, something was off.

It was a completely empty room with a wall. window on the right and an unlit doorway at the back. The walls were grey and looked like they'd been made by stretching out images of walls in Photoshop. The window was so deep that you couldn't see the outside. It was more like a small hallway that sat halfway up the wall than a window. The doorway in the back was dark, darker than I thought my screen could be. It was almost like there was a complete black rectangle cut out of my screen. I was so confused for the visuals and it took me a moment to notice that this seemed to be no sound. I turned up the volume on my laptop and listened closely.

All I could hear was a distant, cold wind. I looked at the name of the video. Throne room, 10-hour stream, 10 people watching. My unease from earlier came back, this time tinted with genuine fear. Why would a stream that delete all of his videos have bots? Just what the hell was this? I heard that strange breathing sound again, deep and slow and sickly. My eyes darted around the screen, looking for the source, that emaciated dog, but I couldn't find him.

I don't know how, but I just knew he was beyond that doorway in the deep blackness. It felt like he was watching me. The tiredness overcame me with almost violent power. I couldn't keep my head up. As my head hit the pillow, I saw the number in the bottom left up date. Nine people watching. Before my eyes shut like bear traps, I used the remaining bit of energy I had to yank the power cord from a laptop. In what felt like an instant, my eyes shot open and I was screaming at the top of my lungs in a pitch-black room.

I shook my head trying to snap out of it, but I couldn't stop. My throat was on fire as though I'd been shouting for hours. There was a loud pounding at my wall. Keep it down, for Christ's sake. It was my neighbour. I looked at my phone. It was 4.15 a.m., exactly three hours and 15 minutes after the stream had begun. I was still gripping the power cord in my laptop.

I'd been unconscious exactly as long as. long as my laptop had been on. I gripped my chest, hoping to calm my pounding heart. My shirt and mattress were soaked in sweat. With a shaky hand, I plugged the power cord back into the computer. The screen came to life with exactly one frame of what had been playing on the screen before the computer died. And my jaw dropped. I couldn't be sure of what I saw and heard. I thought the audio might have been glitched, but it sounded like a fraction of the a second of dozens of voices screaming in agony, and on the screen for barely a moment, I saw a bleached white face filling the entire frame, twisting in agony, eyes locked directly on

where I'd been sleeping, then immediately an error message. The image was so bright that it seared itself into my eyes, leaving an after image in the center of my vision while I hyperventilated in my bed and backed into the corner of my room. Thinking quickly, I muted the spirit. speakers in case the stream came back again. I will never figure the face I saw in that one frame. I couldn't tell if my memory was deceiving me, making me think

it was worse than it actually was, but the after image that stayed in my vision said otherwise. The face was only barely human-looking. It was missing its nose, not like it had been severed, but as though it had been made of clay and flattened down with someone's thumb.

Its enormous mouth was wide and horrific grin, and his teeth teeth were dull like a cartoons, and unevenly embedded in the cavernous walls of its flattened cheeks. His tongue writhed against the screen like a drowning fish, and the more I thought about it, it was as if someone had flattened a human face between two panels of glass, like a slide under an enormous microscope. The image faded from the back of my eyelids, and with my shaking fingers, I refreshed the page. Cozy Beach Bungleau with wind sounds and rain 10-hour stream 60 FBS HD

9 people watching The layout of the room was identical With the door in the middle of the window on the right The style of the room was completely different though Cheesy fake-looking bamboo textures covered the walls And there was a generic white couch against the left wall With that emaciated husky lying in front of it staring at me

At the window, I could see a heavily compressed looping video of a palm tree being assaulted by rain and wind. The doorway in the back remained as dark as before. A pure black, darker than one I thought my laptop screen was capable of. Perhaps if I'd gotten the OLED model, it would make sense. But this was a work laptop, about as cheap as they get. I reluctantly took a screenshot and tried to brighten the image in Photoshop. I suddenly felt sick. The faint but unmistakable silhouette of a humanoid shape stood in the doorway.

It hit like a lump of clay smushed beyond recognition, and his body so misshapen that I couldn't tell if I was seeing it from the front or the side. The worst part was the eyes, beady and uneven. I looked back at the video. I could see it now. The figure stood in the doorway, almost impossible to discern in the inky dark, It was only visible because of the even darker black behind it and its subtle movements. It twitched and shivered unnaturally, and it was immediately clear that it was real,

not a stock photo like the other things in the room. The speakers were turned off, but in my mind I could hear it, the awful breathing, pushing air in and out of that perversely mischapen head. I slammed my laptop shut. For the rest of the night I laid in bed, too scared to move. My eyes were locked on the cracked closet on the other side of the room. I kept imagining that grotesquely bent thing lurking in the shadows and that horrible, diseased wheezing. When he was bright enough to see inside of that closet,

I led out a deep sigh and shut my eyes hard, losing consciousness almost instantly. I found myself in a pitch black room, naked with only my phone. The screen was cracked beyond usability. I shone it on the wall to try figure out where I was. The walls were made of big, uneven stones, which were dripping wet. The ground was hard-packed dirt.

When I tried to look at the ceiling, I realised that there wasn't one, or that it was so high up I couldn't see it. When I tried to find adjacent walls, I couldn't. It was as if I was standing next to a stone wall that went in either direction forever. My first thought was that maybe I was outside somewhere but that was impossible. The air was too stiff to be outdoors

and there wasn't a single sound except for a deep droning noise coming from somewhere very far away. Perhaps a cave, but what cave has perfectly smooth flat walls? Before I could finish my thought a light appeared in the distance some height of the floor.

I followed it, not knowing what else to do. As I approached, I saw that the light was coming from the attic window of an entire house that was somehow inside this enormous enclosed space. I'll never forget the feeling I got when I looked at that house. It was like a normal suburban house, but it was out of place, surrounded by hard-packed dirt floor with no natural light whatsoever. When I approached it, I noticed something odd about it. It was built from an egg-show white, marble-like material.

No, not built. Carved. Every detail, from the cladding to the bits of dirt, to the wood grain on the door, were all intricately carved out of a white, hard material. I couldn't tell if it was stone or plastic. I reached for the knob, expecting it to be inoperable, and to my surprise, it twisted. With a clack, the door opened. I examined the hinge of the door and found that it too was made of the stone-like material,

as was the latch, the lock, all of it. It seemed impossible to imagine that such an intricate mechanism could be made from such a material. My dim phone screen barely illuminated the white hallway, which glinted mysteriously in the dark. The inside, including the furniture, was all carved from the same white material. Even the art and photographs were recreated in painstaking detail in hard white.

I picked a photo frame of the counter and a chill across the back of my neck told me that I knew these people. Seeing the photograph embossed in the material was so strange. It was a family, a mother, father and daughter. I tried to imagine what kind of tool could carve every hair on someone's head and this surface.

The more I looked, the more I thought that it almost seemed like something a 3D printer would produce, but much more detailed. A disquieting scan of a real-life object reproduced in a soulless white plastic, harder than any metal or stone. I put the strange object down, accidentally brushing against a piece of mail, and it left a clean slice on the back of my hand. At this hardness, something as harmless as a sheet of paper was like a giant razor blade.

It was so sharp that I didn't feel any pain, just the warm blood dribbling out of it. I show my phone on the stairs. I didn't want to, but it felt like I had no choice. I started making my way up the stairs, noticing the white rug, glistening in hard white, down to the individual fibers. My footsteps echoed in the hollow white stairway

And as I entered the second floor It occurred to me that my ears were ringing At the landing, I rounded the corner And suddenly the walls of the stonehouse felt more like a deep ancient cave A fear set into my chest As I teased one of the doors open More of the same white

This time in the shape of a kid's bedroom Glistened before me The twin-sized bed, toys, bears, a half-finished puzzle, all of it was pure and white and hard. It was as if someone had made a 3D model of a bedroom, but had disabled all the textures and lights. The closet in the corner of the room was ajar, and its darkness menaced at me. For no reason other than a feeling in the pit of my stomach, I knew that someone was watching me from the darkness. I slowly shut the door and continued down the hall, and as around the corner, I was met with a light that had brought me here, shining through the doorframe at the top of the attic

stairs. I heard a rhythmic noise coming from the attic. Thump, thump, thump. My heart was beating hard and my throat was dry. The light drew me slowly of the stairs. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the door to the kids' room crack open. I didn't dare pay any attention to it. I knew that something was watching me, and it wanted me to notice.

Thump, thump, thump. As I got closer to the door, it started sounding wet, like someone pounding on a plastic bag of vegetables with a large rock. I heard the door to the kitchen room open wider. I recognised the sickly breathing coming from behind me, and a bar to me knew that if I stopped pretending to not hear it, I would soon have long, sharp fingers ripping through my body. I continued up the stairs and time stretched on while the thing watched me,

and as I opened the door to peer inside the one lit room, my heart dropped. There was a woman inside. Her hair was in a neat bun at the back, and she was sitting on the floor, repeatedly smashing a stone teddy bear against the skull. Several other fingers and toes were scattered around the floor in a circle around her.

Her blood was the first bit of colour I'd seen in hours. Despite her face being mangled beyond recognition, and her eyeballs and teeth exposed in a horrifying wide-eyed stare, I knew in my heart who it was. It was Becca. From behind me, I had a disgusting, deep laugh and the patter of huge, misshapen feet ascending the stairs behind me. I leapt into the attic and merely caught a glimpse of the lumpy-headed entity

bounding up the stairs, its eyes white with sadistic hatred and joy, and its entire body moving in an unnaturally elastic manner before slamming the door shut and locking it. Immediately, the thing slammed into the door, chuckling like some kind of demented seal and pounding the door without mercy. I turned my head to Becker, who'd finally stopped slamming the stone toy into her head. In an almost calm trance, she noticed me and slowly picked up one of her severed fingers like a pen. She scribbled a message on the floor. Not dream. As the door burst open and I was thrown to the floor,

I caught one last horrible glimpse of the creature's bulbous head descending upon my body before awakening in my bed. My final screams and its laughter still echoing in my ears. My bed was soaked of the sweat and my leg muscles were brutally sore. My shaking hand gripped my phone. I navigated to begers. Facebook page. It had been deleted.

I felt an awful dread building in my stomach. A Google search of a name returned news results of a young woman who'd been missing for several weeks. I clicked on one of the articles and the headline said, horror scene in small town, a blood bathed with nobody. The photo under the headline was a three-story house in my hometown with caution tape surrounding the perimeter of the property. It was the house from my dream.

There was a video attached from the matching news broadcast. A woman's voice played over shots of the house being combed by the police. A horror scene in the sleepy town of Peabody, Massachusetts, a murder without a body straight out of a slasher flick. She spoke in that stereotypical news reporter voice. The camera cut to a shot of the chief of police giving a press conference. We are shocked and saddened by this tragedy. It cut to a photo of Becker.

The woman's voice came in again. The victim, Becker Sanderson, a 28-year-old woman and beloved mother and member of a community. It cut back to the press conference where an older man was shakily reading from a prepared statement. We know you're out there, sweetie, and we will find you. The man said, his hands quivering. He took off his glasses for a moment to wipe the fog and tears from them. and to the sick, disgusting monster who took our baby away. Please, just let her go.

Let my baby go. He started breaking down in tears while another woman came up to the podium to help him down from the stage. The host's voice came on again. It's unclear if this was a murder or a kidnapping as the scene was a bloodbath with several of her severed fingers and toes being discovered in rooms throughout her help. At that moment I locked my phone. I didn't need to hear any more. I knew.

She wouldn't be found. I spent the entire day silently trying to process the previous night. Every little sound startling me. I didn't shower or eat, and I couldn't even take off my shirt for fear of closing my eyes that long. I was on high alert and sleep deprived and terrified of something that I couldn't even comprehend. As the evening turned to night,

I felt a dread set in. I tried so hard to stay awake, but as I passed out, I found myself again in that infinite dark room. When I shine my phone's flashlight, there were rows of plasticy houses as far as I could see. I knew he was out there, watching me. I ran in a random direction as fast as my legs would carry me, and I could find a lit-up house. When I saw a marble house with a light in the window, I headed in through the front door, slammed it shut and tipped a bookcase over to block it. Immediately I heard the thing slamming on the door and breathing loudly.

I ran to the kitchen to try find something to defend myself with. A knife block, perfectly recreated in white, tormented me from the sterile counter. I grabbed the longest, sharpest knife I could find and held it close to my chest, as I hid with my back to the fridge. Wake up, wake up, I whispered to myself, shaking wildly. I heard the piece of furniture that I barricaded the door with slide mercilessly out of the way as the creature made its way inside. I was so scared I didn't even want to hear it breathing, let alone see that perverted smile.

Without any thought, I took the knife and stabbed myself in the leg. I awoke immediately in my bed, with a pain searing through my leg. I ripped off the cover. A long gash ran through the length of my leg, and an equally long tread of red soaked into my sheets and mattress. I called an Uber and wrapped a towel tightly around my leg with packaging tape. The Uber gave me a board and impatient look as I lint into the back seat of a van with extra towels to prevent any blood from getting onto the upholstery of a car.

At the hospital, the nurses struggled to get me to calm down, asking me how I'd managed to cut my leg open. I rattle unhysterically about cutting myself in my dream as they peeled the ruined towel from my wounded leg. We're just going to give you something to calm you down, I heard as the nurse's struggled to keep me still. I saw a nurse flicking a needle and realised they intended to sedate me. I struggled and shouted that I couldn't go back to sleep.

I felt a sharp prick, and I was back in the endless, unnameable void, surrounded by perfect, lifeless houses. I quickly tried the nearest house. house, but his door was locked up tight. Peering through the window, I could see a man inside, tears staining his cheeks and blood covering his hands. I looked closer and realised most of his fingers were missing, as well as one of his eyes,

and the stubs were bleeding profusely. He held a knife in his mouth and attempted to cut off his thumb to no avail. I called out to him, and he just looked at me with sad, insane eyes, and went back to his work of fruitless self-harm. As I watched from the locked door, he tensed and started screaming, his voice muffled by the knife handle lodged in his teeth. He tried to kick his way across the floor as a bulbous, fleshy thing emerged from the cellar door, mocking his struggles with his own deformed body. The creature lacked any arms and legs and shambled across the floor, gaining on him fast.

Before I could register what was happening, it had latched onto his leg with its gaping mouth. Only a few thin black hairs adorned its pale fleshy head, and it forcibly swallowed the man's foot and then his leg. I heard bones crunching, but its teeth didn't close around the man's leg. He was crushing his bone with just its throat and giggling like an overgrown toddler. At this point, the man dropped the knife and screamed in agony, trying to gnaw of his finger. I ran as fast as I could away from the horrible sight. The man's screams hung in the air. as though I was still mere feet away from him.

I needed to find a way to wake up. After checking ten doors, I finally found one that opened, and I immediately looked for a weapon in the kitchen. The first thing I found was a pair of white stone kitchen shears, and I stabbed myself in the leg with them. I stab myself again and screamed out in agony, but I didn't wake up.

As I wound up again for another strike, something wet caught my elbow and I dropped the scissors. They shattered on the floor. I looked behind me and saw it sucking on my bent arm, inching its way closer to my shoulder. Every agonising inch brought with it impossible pressure. I was so scared that I grabbed the broken remains of the scissors and did the one thing I could think to do. I awoke to a room full of nurses, screaming and panicking. Warm pain filled my face and I couldn't see out of my left eye.

No, I didn't have a left eye. I destroyed it, and fresh blood sprayed out over the blue garb of the medical personnel who surrounded me. They screamed among themselves and at each other, each of them swearing they hadn't been anywhere near my eye. They shuffled around wildly, getting gauze out of the jaws, trying to start the bleeding, throwing away gloves that put on new ones, pointing fingers as they went. The only one who was calm was me. It was out of reach, for the time being. That was last week.

And I'm writing this to try stay awake. I always hear them breathing, and I feel them peeking at me from the corners of doors. Every time I start falling asleep, I must injure myself more and more in order to wake up. If I slip up and fall asleep and I can't find a weapon, I'll use whatever I can. doors, gravity, a piece of paper, even my own teeth. I can't go to the hospital to have my injuries treated. They might put me under again, and I can't destroy my other eye, or I won't be able to run from it next time.

The pain is the only thing that reminds me that I'm awake and away from it. It's become a kind of comfort. If you're wondering why I haven't asked myself, the reason is simple. Becker died before I ever entered that place. But I saw her. Death isn't the end. That place is the end.

I'm cutting this short because my eyelids are starting to feel heavy. And I'm running out of fingers. Well, what do you think about that? Excuse me? The drunk across the bar had waited until Gareth Brooks was whining down on the old world at her in the corner to settle over to me. bringing the stink of nighttime street, a noxious cloud of menthol and cheap liquor with him.

I said, what do you think, ever see something like that before? He stabbed a finger at the smudged and crumpled half-page of ad print, torn from some local penny saver, tapping a staccato little drumbeat with one dirty nail. Probably some kind of scam? Amused, pushing it away with the flat of my beer. A chance to start selling Herbalai for Luloro had of the trunky-o car or something, you know.

He slashed precariously in his seat, ice spinning like glassy marbles. Some kind of scam, sure, he slurred, slapping what looked like a crisp pair of $1,000 notes down by my elbow. A scam, with 16 identical brothers and sisters stacked up at home. How's that for a scam? Christ, are those real? I turned one over in my hands, tracing a finger along the unfamiliar contours of Grover-Cleven's profile. Bank certified and all. I've been trading them in for smaller bills all week.

He called for another beer. I looked the guy up and down, this sloppy bum in his old thrift store suit, and grabbed across the bar for that scrap of the classifieds. So, what? I asked skeptically, as I skimmed the out again. You really went? You let this Dr. Kendall guy just buy your soul? The drunk nodded. Roll the an empty Heineken bottle between his palms. Easiest payday I ever had, too. In and out in a few minutes. What's he do?

Some kind of black mass voodoo stuff? Make you sign your name in blood? Nah, it's all legit like. Operates out of this little junk shop over in the 10th ward. Should see the place. Anyway, you go in, answer a few questions. The guy hands you an envelope full of cash and you're done. All under the table, tax-free.

You should give it a try, huh? The address is right there. There's gotta be a catch. Nobody just gives away thousands of dollars for nothing. The drunk belched hot in my face. Exactly. I figure it's some promotional stunt, some contest for the internet or something.

You should give him a call before this thing falls apart, I'm telling you. Easiest money I ever made. You can say I sent you. I don't know, man. I picked absently at the damp cocktail napkin in front of me. Sounds sketchy Suit yourself, kid

The drunk swiged down the last of his beer And lurched unsteadily to his feet Does it Feel any different? I asked as I watched him settle his tab Not having a soul, I mean The drunk was silent for a long minute You tell him I sent you, huh?

He mumbled finally Tucking Dr Kendall Zad into my front shirt pocket And giving it a firm pat If you decided to go, tell the doctor I sent you, okay? You tell him, tell him it was me who recommended you right. You won't forget? Um, yeah, sure, man, sure. You got a name?

But the drunk was already gone, rolling a path with a little clumps of late-night drinkers, laughing wildly and tossing wadded up $20 bills over his shoulder as he moved toward the exit. A week later, I took an Uber out of magazine street and found myself in my own. front of a dilapidated old stucco building, just a couple of knocked-together rooms, really, with peeling and faded gold lettering slapped across a dirty plate-clasped window. Dr. Candle's consortium,

purveyor of fine and exotic oddities. A bell jangled overhead, announcing my arrival into a ruined kingdom of chip ceramic dishware, sagging furniture and kitschy costume jewelry, the picked over remnants of a thousand forgotten estate sales, all stacked haphazily and dim, corners or left and mouldering dusty velvet pillows, under scratched placidlass displays.

Everything stanked faintly of mildew and neglect. Hello? I called as I made a full circuit through the Warren of narrow dusty shelves, piled high with broken and mismatched junk. Anybody here? Something catch your eye, sir? The voice that spoke at my elbows was thin and tremulous, belonging to a roomy-eyed scarecrow and a moth-eaten cardigan, and crushed house slippers, who'd shuffled silently in from some backroom marked,

employees only. Oh, I nearly dropped the little salt server I'd been fiddling with. No, sorry, I, uh, I came because of your... Perhaps you're looking for something to brighten up the home. You know, I've got a lovely copy of leading the swan around here somewhere. Sixteenth century, Michaelangelo's masterpiece. Hang it in the house of an enemy, and they'll waste away in a matter of days. Very lovely colours.

Um, no, I'm not... You have a more discerning eye? How about an original, 1902 gramophone and typewriter co-wax cylinder recording of Alessandro Mureshi, performing Monteverdi's famous Lament from Leoneuriana, guaranteed to give whomever it's played for the most wonderful nightmares, best price in this side of the Mississippi. No, I finally managed to find my voice and interrupt his sales pitch. I'm here because of, uh...

Well, someone showed me. your ad, but one in the penny saver? He said it should come by. The old man leaned forward and wrinkled conspiratorially. Up close, he looked like a dry crabapple, all withered and red, with a mass of ugly burst capillaries under the skin of his nose. Ah, yes, I see. Of course.

You don't have an appointment, but I'll look the other way this time. Go ahead to browse a bit more, and shall we get down to business? we uh we can start i guess he crooked a gnarled finger and i followed him back to the front of the store there are a couple of rough wooden stools on the opposite side of the counter and he indicated i should take a seat so he said steepling his fingers you wish to divest yourself of your anima i mean

are you for real i've done arm around the gloomy shop this place what you say you'd do here dr candle blink thoughtfully you seem surprised i shrugged just how can you claim to buy something like that a soul something you can't even like don't people need them do you need your appendix he touched his lower abdomen how about your spleen or gallbladder truth is the human body is perfectly capable of grinding away from many years plus or minus a few of those original components. The soul's a lot like that. Absolute hardware. So, what are you paying all this money for then? If they're so useless. What's the catch?

Dr. Candle's genial smile slipped fractionally. I'm something of a collector, I suppose. Only instead of a library of rotting books or piles of old coins. Well, I prefer to collect the intangible. I felt the long, buried Catholic schoolboy stirring in me. But don't our souls belong, like, to God or something? If they do, and you believe that, then what's the harm inhumoring, an eccentric old man? And what about the money? I asked.

That real, too. Dr. Candle's smile reappeared in full. His teeth were the colour of crumbling old piano keys. I wanted to reach out and run my fingers across his teeth. Maybe he panned out some Mozart on them. them, but I kept my hands folded on my lap. Of course, we pay top dollar here. So, how much for mine?

I shot a nervous glance back toward the front door. The old man reached out and clapped my wrist in a vice grip, turning it palm up. Before I could react or cry out, he raised my hand towards my face, forcing my middle and in his finger to his open mouth. I felt him sucking furiously. his red-hard tongue, racing like a thing alive, up and down the length of my fingers, and probing at the dirt under my nails. Hey, I spluttered, jerking free and jumping to my feet.

What the hell? Get off me. You're crazy. This whole thing's too weird. I'm... 32,000, interrupted Dr. Kendall, wiping his lips with the back of one hand. What? He rummaged under the counter and came out with a tattered plastic grocery bag, filled with those loose cringled dollars in every denomination. You asked how much your soul was worth. Well, based on my assessment, I'll give you $32,000 for it. Right now, cash.

Have you ever earned that much money before? I sat back down, watching the bag carefully. What do I have to do? Oh, nothing too strenuous, said Dr. Kendall. Just lean back and close your eyes. Yes, like that. Good. Peaking is no fair.

Relaxed. Excellent. Now, I want you to tell me about... Oh, let's see. How about your first kiss? What do you want to know? I was feeling less confident with the arrangement by the second. Just describe it.

Whatever you can remember. Go ahead. It's starting. I took a deep breath and thought about all that money. Okay, her name was Stephanie. I was 12 or 13, and we were in a garage. It was night. I don't remember where her parents were, but it feels like we had the place to ourselves. It was raining

too, I think. Something rustled behind me, and I felt the hair on my neck prickling. Keep going, said Dr. Kendall. Please. We kissed and I, uh, She tasted like fruity lip balm, Jerry or something. She wasn't pretty, her nose was too big, and the whole time I was thinking about another girl. Her sister, I have a friend, wishing she was that girl.

Yes, yes, I can just about see it. Dr. Kando's voice seemed too close in the dark. I could smell the stale, mothy stink of his clothes near my face, could feel his fetid breath against my ear. But when I jerk my eyes open, There he was on the stool opposite me, hands neatly gripping his knees. Shall we start again? He asked with a smile.

It won't do to keep interrupting the process. Reluctantly, I close my eyes. Tell me about your earliest memory. I don't think... I remember the unfamiliar sounds coming through my parents' closed bedroom door at night. I remember the feel of the old carpet against my hands. hands and knees as I crouched there, listening at the crack to the grunts and the yips. It sounded like the dog when I pulled on his tail.

You're doing wonderfully, Dr. Kendall spoke from behind me now. Somewhere high and away, his voice barely reaching me in the dark. There was this crack in the door, I heard myself saying, under the knob. I remember watching them through the crack. My mom and dad, they were naked. I thought they were dancing or playing a game without me. game without me.

Something tugged inside my guts. A hard, quick pull like a hot needle being threaded through my navel. A spool of jagged wire starting to unravel behind it. I wanted to open my eyes, but Dr. Candle wouldn't let me. Keep going, he said. I don't think I want to. Almost got it. I...

I saw my mom all mashed up against the headboard and bent awkwardly at the neck. She was floppy. back and forth with these little wet smacking sounds, and I thought she must be hurting, but my dad was laughing and growling, gleaming like a machete in the dark. And then I think my mom, she must see my eyes floating in the crack because, because it tore free inside me then. I felt it going for just a second, a little black, empty space blooming where there had always before been something, and leaving an ugly raw hole that pulsed and throbbed, and ached with some unspeakable loss.

And then... It was gone. I opened my eyes and looked around the dingy little shop. Dr. Candle was smiling, wiping his hands neatly with an old napkin. I'm sorry. Did I fall asleep? What were we talking about? You don't remember, he asked. I shook my head.

Excellent. You managed to pull most of it, I think. Rather stubborn. He thrust the bag of money at me and started hurting me quickly toward the door. You'll want to go home and rest. Might feel a little funny for a day or two, but it'll pass. That's it, and I was confused. You're all done, said Dr. Kendall.

Now, I've got to run, appointments all day, you understand. Thank you for visiting Dr. Candle's consortium. And remember, no refunds. The door clang shut. in my face. It was a month or two later, maybe somewhere around midnight. Clocks and calendars didn't mean much anymore. I was in one of the rowdy tourist bars in the French quarter

where I've been spending most of my nights. Lately, I prefer the company of strangers. There was an overpriced cocktail in a souvenir cup clutched in my hand, but I hadn't sipped on it in a couple of hours. Didn't see much point in it. Caveat M-Tor, huh, buddy? I looked up from stirring my drink with a neon green bendy straw and saw a vaguely familiar pair of bloodshot eyes

glaring at me from the next stall. Oh, it's you, I said to the nameless drunk from a lifetime ago. Cavia mTOR, he said again, downing a shot of whiskey. Bya, beware, eh? He went, didn't you, to see the doctor? You got that look.

Knew you couldn't resist. So, what if you were? If I did, I asked irritably. The drunk shrugged and offered to buy me a drink. I shook my head. Yeah, he sighed, pushing his glass around absently with one finger. I'm the same way. You drink and you eat and you screw, and at first everything feels fine.

But then you start to notice little things, see. Food starts to taste funny. Then it takes a fortune of liquor to even get you buzzed anymore. And don't even get me started on sex. Everything's just flat now, like soda left out overnight. The whole world. He snapped his fingers for emphasis. Poof, flat, you know.

I nodded. The drunk was crying now. Fat, silent tears running down his cheeks to nestle in the matted mess of his grain beard. I was only 21 grams, he sobbed, groping from my shirt sleeve. Smaller than a damn golf ball man. You wouldn't think it would leave. such a, such a void, you know. 21 damn grams,

and you didn't even tell him it was me who sent you. That's why you won't help me anymore. I put my arm free from his grip. What are you talking about? A doctor, moaned drunk, bearing his face in his hands. After he took,

after the procedure, I, I went back. He told me he, that he could fix me. If I sent more people his way, he said he'd put it back. once he had enough souls. A trade, he said. You set me up?

I pushed back from the bar and got to my feet. But he lied, said the drunk. He lied to me. I went back after your visit. I asked him to make me whole again. He said he couldn't, though. Said he'd sold it on already. All he gave me was this.

He pulled a folded slip of paper from his wallet, spilling crumbled bills and chains across the bar and slapped it into my palm. Here, I opened it slowly, a stained and yellow bitter receipt. Dr. Candle's consortium, purveyor of fine and exotic oddities. All sales final.

The smell of freshly-brewed coffee was strung in the air as I descended the stairs. I stretched languidly when I reached the bottom. My body still trying to wake up after a long, good night's sleep. Good morning all, I announced as I made my way into the kitchen. I gave my wife a quick peck as I passed by the stove. Dad, my son squealed, hopping out of his chair and rushing over.

That never got old. Luke was four and a firecracker. I lifted the boy off his feet and swung him around, much to the chagrin of his mother, who was trying to get him to settle down long enough to eat his Cheerios. Notice in Claire's harrod expression, I quickly dropped Luke back into his little chair to finish his breakfast. How did you sleep, little man? Fine. Reggie came to see me last night.

Ah, yes, and how is fine Reginald doing these days? I asked with mock seriousness. His name is Reggie Dad, not Reginald, Luke said, drawing out the last syllable, as if the name Reginald was an absolutely absurd moniker. Apologies. How is Reggie doing? I responded, enunciating the name. My wife shot me a dark look. I knew I shouldn't encourage this new imaginary friend my son had concocted.

Claire certainly did not approve, but I honestly couldn't see the harm in it. He was four after all. What four-year-old hasn't had an imaginary friend? And, as we had just moved into a new home and a new village, I think it was his way of coping with being in a strange place and settling in. The move to Castlewood was somewhat unexpected. My job had offered the chance of a transfer, along with a sizable promotion. It was too good of a deal to pass up.

The drawback was, of course, that the abrupt's change had left very little time for my child and wife to acclimate to our new surroundings. He's okay, said Luke. I glanced up at Luke. Just okay? That's too bad. What did good old Reggie have to do? say. Nothing much, Luke said, slurping milk from his swoon. Just stuff. Just stuff, I parroted.

Yeah, he said he doesn't like you. I feigned distress. No, Reggie, you wound me. I tickled Luke lightly, which resulted in a round of giggles. Well, perhaps I can meet Reggie officially at your birthday party next weekend, and he'll realize I'm not such a bad guy. My son laughed brightly and responded nonchalantly. That's silly, Dad. Reggie can't come. He's dead. I heard the spatula.

My wife was holding clatter onto the stove. We both locked eyes. I paused for a beat before responding. You say, Reggie's dead? I finally asked, looking back to my son. Sure, he's been dead for a long time. My son responded. before spooning another mouthful of Cheerios into his mouth.

Mom, can I go out and play in the garden now? I've finished almost the whole bowl. Claire looked slightly distracted before she nodded slightly to Luke. Yes, but make sure to bring your bowl to the sink first. Yes, Mom, Luke shouted, already running his half full ball of cereal to the sink. He dashed out into the backyard without a second look back. I stared at his retreating figure. "'What do you think that was all about?' I asked my wife.

"'I don't know. Quite creepy, don't you think?' she responded. "'Quite. I don't know how he could have concocted such a story, to be honest. "'I think there's something to it.' "'Clair shot the look of disdain my way. "'Are you asking me if there's a ghost haunting her house and he visits our son at night? "'Really, John?' "'What, you don't believe in ghosts?' "'Of course not. It's a load of nonsense.

please don't tell me you actually believe that. I don't know, I said, with a look of contemplation. I think there's a lot in the universe we don't understand. Who's to say there's not something after death? She turned back to my eggs that she was still cooking. That's ridiculous, John. Anyway, as you've said before many times, it's just a harmless imaginary friend, right?

She looked back over her shoulder at me. Right, I muttered. Only half listening at this point. My mind was on other matters now. I stared at the window, watching Luke play in his sandbox. Maybe I should stay in Luke's room tonight. You know, check it out. Make sure there's not some weirdo sneaking into our son's room at night.

Really? Don't you think that's a little overkill? What could it hurt? It's a Friday night. Mom would be happy to keep him for a sleep over. They can binge watch poor patrol while she gorges on popcorn and sugar cookies. And you can get a night to relax in the tub with a glass of a glass of a night. wine and a good book.

She tried to look annoyed, but I could tell she was intrigued by the idea. This is ridiculous, you know, she says half-heartedly. Come on, you know a good soak and a night to yourself sounds pretty damn good. She rolled her eyes. I knew I'd won. Whatever, but if your mom is busy, it's off. Just as I predicted, mom was pleased as punch to take Luke for the night. She picked him up early that evening

And Claire and I enjoyed a lovely carry-out pizza and cheap wine I sent her off to have a ball bath While I watched some goofy alien show on the History Channel By 11 o'clock I found myself getting sleepy and ready to turn in After changing into my PJs and brushing my teeth I announced to my wife that I was off to Commune with a Dead

In my hoagiest spooky voice She was already in bed Andgrossed in a paperback Have fun, she muttered distractedly, blowing me a kiss. I left the warmth of her bedroom and shoveled down the hall into Luke's room. I flipped on the overhead light and looked around. The pale blue walls sported a large clown mural, which stared back at me with a large, toothy grin.

I shouldered. Why, oh why, did my wife decide on a carnival theme for his new room? There was nothing creepier than a clown, hands down. I walked over to Luke's tiny bed with his striped blue comforter. My feet would hang off the end, but I would survive. I crawled into bed and shut off the lamp that was shaped like an elephant. Darkness enveloped the room, save for a small nightlight in the corner, shaped like a big top. The soft red light gave the clown a hellish glow.

How had I not noticed how creepy this room could be at night? Turning away from the creepiest clown, I lay down and try my best to slow my breathing and relax. I awoke abruptly from a deep sleep to the sound of creaking. I had a moment of confusion as I tried to recognise my unfamiliar surroundings.

Right, Loops room. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and looked around trying to locate the source of the noise. A closet door in the far right corner was ajar. Hadn't it been closed when I went to sleep? Luke's tiny backpack Swung slightly from where it hung on the doorknob Hello, I tentatively whispered

Is anyone there? Silence I turned to my right and my gaze landed On the damn clown I really needed to talk to Claire about that The nightlight still gave off that creepy red glow Making the room appear almost disorienting I looked around the roof

Noting the pile of stuffed animals in the corner and the bookcase by the door. You're not Luke. My gaze whipped back over to the closet. The voice was so quiet, I couldn't even be sure I had heard it. Who's there? I whispered to the closet. Again, silence met my query. I rubbed my eyes.

This was ridiculous. What was I even doing in here? I was working myself up over nothing. I was a grown-ass man sleeping in a tiny bed next to the arguably creepiest damn clown in the universe. I threw the covers back and was about to swing my legs over the side of the bed. When I heard it again,

You're not Luke, I froze in place. There was no denying it this time. I had heard a voice coming from the closet. Slowly, as if I didn't really want to see, I drug my gaze towards a dark, closet in the corner. From the red glow of the nightlight, I saw a tiny, pale face.

Only the top half of the face was visible. Large, dark orbs for eyes, a greyish-white forehead, and a matting of dark hair. The face stared at me from high up in the closet, like it was some obscenely tall child standing just behind the wall. What the hell? Who are you? I stammered. The face remained still.

I realised the eyes had not yet blinked. Are you... Reggie? I asked. At the sound of the name, the face abruptly disappeared and I heard a scrambling noise come from the closet. Where is Luke? The voice was louder and coarser this time, with Luke's name coming out gravely and angry from the child.

He's... not here, I said. glad to hear my voice steady this time. What do you want? There was silence for several seconds. Finally, the voice spoke, softer this time. Want, Luke. I was shocked into silence for a few beats. You can't have Luke.

The room suddenly grew cold and the air crackled. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Before I could say anything in response, I spotted movement at the floor of the closet. it. The white face was back, and I could see it more clearly from this vantage. It was the face of a child, but corrupted. This was not a child. The skin was sickly and thin. The eyes were sunken, almost desiccated. Dark circles surrounded the black eyes. The lips were pale and bloodless and were curled into a

sickening grin. It was the teeth that shook me the most. They were extremely small, thin and jagged, as if each tooth had been broken intentionally to create this horrific and serrated more. The chin rested directly on the floor and the face looked directly at me with an anger I had never seen on the face of a child. It was a face of pure and utter rage. The face stared for a few seconds before the charred creature began to move. No, not move. It slithered, with his limbs tightly by its body. It slithered on its belly from the closet, all the while whispering in an increasingly sibilant voice.

Want, Luke! Want, Luke! I backed up as far as I could, and I lost pressed against the headboard of Luke's tiny bed while the child snaked itself forward. Soon the head and shoulders were no longer visible. I soon lost sight of its pointed white feet as it continued to glide lithely forward. the child was under the bed. I gripped the small mattress with both hands, not knowing what to do. My heart rate was through the roof and beads of sweat had welled up on my forehead.

The mattress jostled as the creature underneath grabbed onto the springs from below, as if it was some deranged bat. The springs of the tiny mattress groaned from the extra weight. Slowly I could feel the movement of the creature as it moved one hand and then the other, until I could finally see tiny, jagged fingernails appear on the side of the bed. I've never understood the term, paralysed with fright. I always imagined the face with a raging monster or axe murderer.

I could easily find the willpower to get my ass in gear and move. But in this moment, the ability to move had absolutely abandoned me, and I was forced to watch in silent horror as the tiny dead hand was joined by another. I shook my eyes tight together, unwilling to have that horrible impersonation of a child burned into my retinas. And it was then that I heard it. John?

John, come back to bed. This is ridiculous. The lights clicked on, and as I finally regained the use of my muscles to turn my head and open my eyes, the visage of my wife came into view. John, are you okay? I stared at her for a beat Before I whipped back around to the side of the bed Where the hands had grasped to the mattress only moments before

Nothing I released the breath I hadn't even realised I was holding I'm fine I croaked All fine She looked towards me where I'd been staring Not seeing anything

She continued Come back to bed I can't sleep without you It gives me the creeps sleeping alone She turned and left, her robe trailing behind her. I waited for a full minute, listening intently for any sound. All was quiet. Hesitantly, I lowered one foot and then the other to the floor.

As I stood up, I fully expected to see a tiny, ragged hand reaching from below the darkness of the bed to grasp my ankle. But none came. I couldn't bring myself to look under the bed. The possibility of course. Coming face to face with that hideous mockery of a child made me feel sick. Instead, I turned around, walked out the room and shut the door behind me. Back in my own bedroom, with my wife sleeping peacefully beside me,

I laid awake for hours, unable to get the face of the child from my mind. Unable to sleep with a fear that I would awake with those small, cold hands wrapping around my throat and that snake-like voice whispering in the darkness. I must have drifted off because the next thing I knew, it was morning. Sunlight shone through the partially open blinds and birds chirped annoyingly outside the second floor window. I rubbed asleep from my eyes as I contemplated the prior evening. I could not let Luke stay in that room again. Not with that, that thing there.

No, I had to do something. I had to protect my son. I grabbed my laptop from where it lay, gathering dust under my nightstand. The damn thing took what felt like hours to load. When I was finally able to get the dinosaur up and running, I loaded up my web browser and began my research. How to get rid of ghosts. The cursor blinked rapidly as if mocking me.

I quickly backspaced and typed DIY exorcism. Okay, that was worse. Cleansing spirits from your house. That was better. I hit enter. The results were mixed, as was to be expected. But I finally found a few websites that gave me the information I needed. A few hours later, I had a plan, and I had a name.

Reginald Ward The little creature was named Reginald after all. It appears that unbeknownst to me and my wife, our home had been the scene of a tragic death of an eight-year-old boy in 1919. Reginald Ward, according to what I found online, had passed away from consumption, or tuberculosis as it's more commonly referred to these days. As distressed as I was to learn that our new home was the scene of a horrific death of a child, I was even more distressed that said child was still in residence. I shuddered to think about what had befallen that child over the past decades to turn it into this thing. My wife poked a head in the doorway, startling me out of my thoughts.

What are you doing? You've been in here all morning. Nothing, I hedged, slowly closing the laptop screen, so as they're not mega-suspicious. Just looking at stuff online. Okay? She drew out the word or gave me an odd look. Yep, she was definitely suspicious. I had the thing quickly. Hey, you've seen really stressed lately.

What if I had my mom keep Luke for another few hours, and you had a spa day? My brow was purged up. Seriously, I do say that spa days were the most useless way to spend your money. My smile was tight. It was true. I thought it was an entire waste of money. You literally got nothing out of it. But I had to get her out of the house somehow.

She couldn't be here if I was performing the cleansing. Nonsense, you deserve it. Go ahead, give them a call and set it up. She couldn't help the grin that spread across her face. You don't have to twist my arm, she yelled as she turned and scurried downstairs to make the call. I stopped myself from mentally telling how much this little outing would cost me and focus my attention back on the task at hand. I felt like I had a pretty good idea on how to get rid of Reggie.

From what I read online, it was better to do the cleansing at night. but I didn't have that sort of time. I had to deal with this now. I made a quick call to my mom to see if she could keep Luke until that evening. After coordinating the time that she could drop him off, I quickly dressed and hurried downstairs. Babe, I've got to run a few errands. I'll be back in a bit.

Okay, I'm headed to the spa in a half hour. They had a cancellation for the deluxe package of the last minute. Isn't that great? I mentally groaned, but pasted a smile on my time. tense face. That's great honey. Have fun. I grabbed my keys and hurried out to my car. 45 minutes later, I walked back into the house carrying my sorted purchases. Claire's car was gone, so I didn't bother calling out for her. I was all alone. Well, not alone exactly. I carried my purchases upstairs and opened the door to Luke's room.

The red curtains were drawn and the room seemed just as creepy. as the night before. The day had turned rainy and dreary, so what a little light came through the curtains gave the room that same, dim glow as the previous night. I shuddered. Shutting the door, I emptied the bag

of items on the floor. I paused to take stock of my hall. A small, wrapped bundle of sticks I was told to call a sage smudging wand, an abalone shell, a large feather, a container of coarse salt, and a Bible. I pulled up my phone, and found the article I'd been referencing earlier.

I quickly reread the instructions through, just to be sure I had everything correct. I first grabbed the salt and sprinkled the line across the bedroom door. This was supposed to prevent the spirit from going into another part of the house during the cleansing. I didn't know if this would do anything, but I wasn't taking any chances. Next, I placed the abalone shell on top of the Bible. The Bible wasn't specifically in the instructions, but I figured it certainly couldn't help.

Again, I was taking no chances. I walked over to the window and pulled back the red curtain. The rain was really coming down now. I opened the window slightly. The purpose of this I had learned during my heard research was to give the spirit a pathway to leave the house. I didn't want to get rainwater all over my son's bedroom floor, so I only opened it a smidge.

That should hopefully be enough. I pulled out a small lighter from my pocket and flicked it on. The small flame wavered in the semi-darkness of the small room. I picked up the smudge wand and lit the end. Red embers glowed as the stick caught fire. I quickly blew the open flame out, but the end of the smudge wand continued to slowly smolder. The red embers causing a fragrant, earthy smoke to emit from the end.

I quickly dropped the smouldering stick onto the abalone shell, and picked it up along with the Bible. With my other hand, I grabbed a large feather. I was ready. I began to circle the room. With each step, I would use the feather to waft the smoke, blank into the room in that thick, earthly smell. I continued to circle the room twice more,

keeping silent as I wafted the smoke permeating the room. After three rounds, I spoke. Reggie Ward, I command you in the name of God to leave this place. You are not welcome here and you must leave. I paused momentarily in my path. Nothing happened. I continued again. Reggie Ward, I command you in the name of God to leave this place.

You are not welcome here and you must leave. Still, nothing. I started walking again. Reggie Ward, in the name of God, I command you to leave. At first, I thought there would still be no change. Slowly, I began to realize that there had, in fact, been a shift. I could no longer hear the rain.

It was as if a thick layer of cotton had encased the room. The air was heavy and dense. I almost had the feeling of being underwater. I could hear my heartbeat increase. Reggie, in the name of God, I command you to leave. On the word leave, I had a thump from the closet. I paused in my pacing and stared over at the closet. The door was slightly ajar.

Thick darkness enveloped the inside of the small closet. Without removing my eyes from the door, I started again. Reggie, I command you in the name of God to leave this place. Another thump. And then, so low I could barely hear it, a hissing sound, not unlike breath whistling from between. clenched teeth. Her deep, long-scratching shortly joined a hissing. Reggie, I command you in the name of God to leave. You are not welcome here.

The hissing became louder, and from the depths of the dark closet, her small, moaning voice. Don't! The word was dragged out in a hissing rasp. Reggie, you must leave now! I yelled towards the closet. Don't. The hissing raspy breath was louder this time. From the darkness of the closet, those two horrible, small grey hands emerged and clasping under the doorframe. John! The sound of my name in that sibilant tongue literally made my skin crawl.

John, don't. I did not comply. Reggie Ward, in the name of God, I command you to flee this house. The top of the small grey face joined the hands. The dark eyes had a wary look. I could have almost felt sorry for the creature, but I did not. Quiet at this time, I again spoke.

Reggie, you must leave. Whips of smoke began to emerge from the small hands, as if there was some great internal flame churning just beneath the skin. The entity did not appear to be able to speak any longer. only that ragged, shrill hiss filled the air. I watched the trepidation as the hands fell abruptly to the ground. I could see sharp nails gouging crescent into the wood floors as it laboriously began to drag its body forward out of the darkness of the closet.

In the light of the storm, and in its weakened state, the creature was pitiful. Gray mothled skin rippled as the smoke drifted almost casually from its surface. The thing lifted its large black eyes to me in supplication. With great effort, it spoke. Don't. I did not have a chance to respond. The smoke enveloped the creature. It swept silently through the open window.

I stood still for several seconds before my knees finally gave out. I'd not even realized at all the process had taken on me until this very moment. I wiped a thin layer of perspiration from. my brow as I looked towards the empty closet. It was over. Later that evening, my wife and I sat on the couch, each nursing a glass of white wine. I had not said much after she got home, and she, relaxed and zend out after a day of pampering, had not pressed. I had not fully processed all that had happened within the last 24 hours. Honestly, I wasn't sure I ever would process it, but to know my son was now safe was solace enough for me.

I took a large swig of the sweet wine and leaned back into the soft sofa. The doorbell rang, and, before I could even sit down my glass, the horrid footfalls of my son rushing through the front hallway reached my ears. Dad, Mom! Luke rushed into the living room and launched himself at us. Chuckling, we hugged the rambunctious boy as he told us about his adventures with Grandma. He was talking so fast. I could only make out every third word. From what I could tell,

they had had a boatload of fun making cookies, playing games, and eating lots and lots of junk food. My mom entered the room at a more sedate pace. Sheesh, Luke, let them breathe, bud, she intoned. I'm going to go see Reggie. I can't wait to tell him about the new puzzle grandma got me. Before I could say anything,

he was already bounding up the stairs and giggling with excitement. My mom shook ahead. He could not stop talking about his friend Reggie all weekend. She sat down on the edge of a chair, nix of the couch, where Claire and I still lounged. Well, I have a feeling we won't need to worry about Reggie anymore, I said. My wife gave me a sideways, curious glance, but I ignored it. It was the strangest thing, though, my mother continued without acknowledging my statement.

When I asked him about Reggie, he said he was dead. I know, said Claire, rather creepy, isn't it? Yes, my mother agreed. I thought so as well. But he said that he was his friend and that Reggie protected him from the others. My gaze shot to my mum. What did you say? Yeah, it kind of creeped me out too, she said.

He said that the others that lived in the attic were mean and tried to come down and hurt Luke. He said that Reggie wouldn't let them, that he protected him and kept him safe. When I tried to press him on it, he climbed up. A cold chill swept over my body. The others? Suddenly, the rasping voice of Reggie came back to me.

Want Luke. Want Luke? It was as if the floodgates opened in that moment, and I fully understood. Reggie didn't want Luke. He was trying to tell me they wanted Luke. The others wanted Luke. Reggie had been trying to warn me.

He'd tried to scare me into leaving. He'd tried to help me to protect my son. I quickly set down my wine glass and snatched the blanket off my legs. Before I could stand up folly, the sound and my son screams met my ears.