CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - CHILLING r/nosleep Reddit Horror Stories to drain the night away

Episode Date: January 11, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORIES-►0:00 "My friend and I made up 'The Elevator Game'" Creepypasta►19:09 "My apartment was the cheapest rental in the city. Today I found out why" Creepypasta►32:27 "My Neighbor's Farm Animals Stopped Moving" Creepypasta►49:05 "My Grandpa Doesn't Sleep" Creepypasta►1:14:36 "I'm a Marine Biologist Studying Blue Whales. They Are Not The Largest Animal" Creepypasta►1:34:55 "My Squad Received a Distress Call From Watchtower-1. What I Saw Haunted Me Ever Since" Creepypasta►2:05:17 "I received an emergency alert that said I'd been abducted" 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►Will Kosman: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/RqanrSUGGESTED 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-

It seems really weird now, five years later. Out of all the games Alex and I made up, this one, was the strangest by far. I don't even know how he came up with the idea. It was probably Alex that thought of it. He was always the one thinking up the new cool thing we'd do. He was the finiest of this friendship, if you will. No, now that I think about it, it was my idea. No wonder it backfired.

The game was actually pretty simple. I think it was the placing of the new elevator in our apartment block that played the part in the making of the idea. It was one of those elevators that are designed to look super smart and classy, but in reality was really cramped and hard to get from point A to point B with. You've seen the type. Metallic doors, metallic buttons, soft red light shaped like triangles above the doors that indicated if it was going up or down. Just generally very uncomfortable and very inconveniencing. the annoying ping sound it made whenever it stopped on a floor,

someone made it that much worse. At least they didn't play cheesy music. Long story short, the elevator sucked. Alex was quick to point this out when he first saw it. Dude, this elevator is stupid as hell. He looked very proud of himself for having used a bad word, like any self-respecting 10-year-old would. Still better than your place,

I returned and pressed the annoying metallic button on the left side of the door. The obnoxious red light for down lit up in an instant. And that's when I got the idea. It started as something a kid would ask themselves. What would happen if we could make both a light shine? I thought to myself at first. Somehow it turned into,

what if someone inside the elevator and outside the elevator on different floors press different buttons at the same time? I offered my earth-shattering, groundbreaking question to Alex. I proposed, we try it. And so, the game was born. We used to be the cool kids that had decent smartphones in fourth grade, and we used them for the game. We would make a call, and one of us went in. The quality of an elevator call is atrocious, as you may know,

but it was just good enough to count down from three to know when the other is pressing their button. Usually, the one on the outside counted. The deal was, your finger had to be on the desired button, so you could press it immediately. The one on the outside, me more often than that, would be on the seventh floor. We decided, decision may or may not have been influenced by me living there, while the one on the outside would call the elevator down to the fourth floor. Then, attempt to press the button to the third.

It worked well enough for us, I guess. It was almost uncanny how determined we grew to sink up perfectly and make it happen. In the beginning, we only gave it five tries before we grew bored. with it. The next day, however, Alex himself wanted to go back and try again. I teased him, but I had to admit to myself that I was pretty hooked too. We gave it 10 tries, then 15 the next day, then 20. Eventually, we would spend up to two hours just trying to time it perfectly. The neighbours hated it. The ping sound was loud and it irritated them understandably. We were huge jerks now that I think about it.

We usually did this crap starting around 3 o'clock and anyone who was taking time off from work to enjoy the summer was thwarted by two dumb kids. Sorry. Obviously, nothing ever happened. Whoever was inside the elevator usually just ended up on the 7th or the 3rd floor. Once, Alex succeeded in stopping on the 5th floor.

I remember how we also somehow caused the elevator to block in between the 5th and 6th floors. both events are separate from what I'm talking about. Hell if I know how we manage that. At first, I was scared to be the one in the elevator. I didn't want it to break down with me inside, but after seeing how much fun Alex was having and how nothing ever came up,

I agreed we should take turns. But twice, something did happen. The first time was about a month into doing this ritual. I was to be the one in the elevator. We hadn't gotten yet. yelled at today, which was unusual, seeing as we had been doing this for a little over two hours. Actually, he was deserted in the building. Ready?

Asked Alex in a comical, serious tone. Copy that, ready. I returned in a mock talk, and I could hear him giggling along with me through the phone. All righty then, get in. Alex stifled a laugh. Idiot, I thought affectionately, and went in. The inside of the elevator was dimly lit by three barely functioning lights. When facing the doors, ones inside, the buttons with a different force were to your right.

There was one of these big mirrors that seemingly don't really belong on the far wall. Otherwise, the space was super tiny. My mother and I barely fit in their side by side, not accounting for groceries. I positioned myself in front of the buttons. I put my finger over the number three. "'In position, Sarge,' I said, mockingly. Alex burst out laughing, but he contained himself quickly. There was a snickering too.

It's hard not to laugh at your own joke sometimes. Okay, he got serious. The quality of the connection was getting worse fast. Three? Static. I hoped he hadn't said two yet. Two? This time it sounded more solid.

I drew in a breath and held it. One. I pressed down too hard. My finger sort of slipped and only managed to hit the side of the button. I cursed myself and the elevator started going up to the seventh floor. I sighed. Maybe we should stop soon. Suddenly, the elevator shook violently and groaned. I almost screamed, but the sound caught up in my throat and all I managed was a muffled moan. The elevator screeched to a halt.

The shaking stopped. I shivered. The stupid machine had scared me half to death. Hey Mike, you're right? Alex yelled into the phone, startling me 75% to death. Ah, I'm fine. Don't shout so loud. I looked around nervously and suddenly felt terribly claustrophobic.

It was eerily quiet. I decided cheesy elevator music isn't that bad after all. I'm sure it'll be fine in like five minutes. These things are stupid, we probably overheated it or something. Alex sounded slightly nervous, but he seemed to manage to convince himself he was right. I, however, wasn't so sure. Um, should I press a button? What?

The connection was very bad. Do I press a button? Okay, do it, Alex decided. I hit number six. It should have been the next floor by my case. calculation. This proved to be a mistake. The lights turned off with a loud click that frightened me and caused me to yelp. Uh, okay, what, Mike? I barely made out anything under the static, although I understood the question I didn't answer. I stood trembling like a leaf

in the dark confines of the elevator. The button for six cast in soft red light that reflected off the mirror. This meant that it wasn't a power outage. After some time, my eyes got used to the darkness, and I made out my shape and the dial with the buttons in the mirror. I couldn't really see the doors, but even the things

I did see calm me down a little. This calm was soon replaced by dread. After two minutes of occasionally pressing a button, I began feeling it. The feeling that I'm not alone. that someone is in the elevator with me.

I began sweating and pressing down the button again. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. Alex? I had no idea why I was whispering. There was nothing but static from the other line. Shouldn't I have heard something? Anything? Alex!

I hissed into the phone. Nothing. This had been my fear all along that I would get stuck in the dumb thing. Tears began running down my cheeks, and I pressed the button once more. It wasn't working. Why wasn't it working? It felt like three hours had passed already.

And where was Alex? What was he doing? Shouldn't he be going down the stairs, looking for someone who can help? My eye caught something in the mirror, and my train of thought halted. I looked and couldn't believe my eyes. This was impossible, not only because of how cramped the space was. This thing I was seeing. I'll try to describe it as best as I could.

It was tall, too tall. It was thin, impossibly so. Had it been any creature from this realm, it would have been so malnourished that it wouldn't be alive if it was alive in the first place. It had a dark skin, almost black. It seemed the light stopped dead around it, like the shadow surrounded and or emerged from it.

It had two huge, bright eyes, but somehow their brightness was. well, dark, much like the shadows. They seemed to burn holes in my head from the reflection. I was frozen in place under the thing's gaze. My finger was still over the button, but I realized at once that I wasn't ever getting out of here, I would remain in this creature's realm forever.

I began weeping, frightened, as I finally regained control of my body and press the button as fast as I could manage. The creature stood and moving. The elevator was just as still as it. I'd never get out of here. I'd known it was a bad idea all along, hadn't I? I closed my eyes tightly and awaited my fate.

Suddenly, the doors opened. I could tell because of the light that crawled in the shadowy inside of the elevator and shown on my eyelid. The annoying ping that sounded whenever the stupid machine stopped filled my ears. I opened my eyes widely with a gasp. The mirror only reflected a very very... very scared me and the open doors showing the seventh floor and a petrified wide-eyed Alex. I couldn't believe it.

I was alive. I should have heard the elevator moving though. I don't know what saved me. Maybe it was the fact that I'd hit the button wrong, even though there makes no sense. I have no idea. My guess is as good as yours. All I know is I got a hell of a lot luckier. than Alex.

After I exited the elevator, sobbing, Alex asked me what was wrong, and all I could manage to tell him was I'd seen a monster in the elevator. We obviously stopped playing then, even though Alex wanted to see the creature for himself. I didn't know why. He was just always an adventurer, I guess.

Or maybe, he just didn't believe me. He couldn't really get anything else out of me. I was still very scared, so we went outside instead of just sitting on the stairs. The warm weather barely did anything to calm me. We sat on a park bench and made Alex promise we'd never play the game again. He scoffed at that, but seeing he was the only thing that would get me to relax, he agreed. For about a month, we never played again.

I'm sure the neighbours were happy as could be. In this time period, I stopped using the elevators and to this day I don't. I'm sure that creature is just waiting for an opportunity. After a little under a month, Alex proposed to play a game. I looked at him, horrified, he'd even say something like this, and he just shrugged at me. What? he asked like an idiot. I'm not going back in an elevator, I returned, baffled at his confusion.

Oh, it's that thing. He saw I was about to interrupt, insulted and continued. Listen to me, it was dark and you were probably scared and stuff. It was probably nothing. And even if it was something, I'm not making you go back in the elevator. I just need someone to press the button for me. He was getting all pumped up for an argument. But I thought his words through.

I never really had thought about the events that occurred to me on that day much, mainly because I was too scared to think. I realized he had a point. The thing never moved. Maybe it was my eyes playing tricks on me. I sighed. Okay then, I said, defeated. No, you listen to...

What? Alex paused. Okay, but I just pressed the button outside. I'm not going back in. Alex gave me a wide grin and led the way to my place. I was actually somewhat excited too. I should have never agreed to go back. Why, you ask? Because that day, we did it.

We timed it perfectly. It took an hour, sure. At first, my heart was racing, and I could barely bring myself to press down. But, after a while, I started doing it with ease. I was still wary of the game, but some time passed, and I actually began enjoying myself. And then it happened. Ready? I asked.

Always. Alex returned cheerfully. Good, I said. Three? Alex chuckled and I had to bite my lip. Two? My finger tensed over the button. One.

I pressed down. The other line went completely quiet. Alex, did we do it? I asked in a hushed whisper like he could have known anyway. No response. I looked up at the stupid triangular lights to see where he was headed, even though I couldn't hear the elevator moving. both lights were shining.

My breathing became uneven. I tried to convince myself all that happened was the elevator broke down. Mike? I heard over the phone. I jumped about a foot in the air before realizing I should probably answer Alex. Yes, I'm here, I said, just over the normal speaking volume. Mike, please. I'm scared. I didn't understand. could he not hear me?

This isn't funny, he said, and I heard him sob. Alex, okay, all right, adult, I need a... A loud bang sounded. The sound of a very heavy metallic thing hitting something. My breathing stopped in my throat. Alex? I managed after a minute. The call suddenly hung up on its own.

Or maybe Alex hung up. The red lights turned off. Everything went quiet. Alex. It was gone. That thing had gotten him. I'm sure of it. Neighbors soon pulled around, trying to figure out what made the noise.

Some lady exited the apartment to my left and immediately began lecturing me. I didn't listen. In a days, I reached out and pressed the button. The light for up lit up. After three or four seconds, the elevator doors opened with a stupid ping to reveal the completely empty inside of the elevator. Alex was declared missing. The police never found a trace of him or his phone.

I couldn't talk to them properly, and after the story I told them about our game, they took anything I said with a grain of salt. I didn't know what they thought my motives for potentially lying to them would be, but I couldn't blame them. Even I started questioning my own memory and sanity. My parents couldn't move, so we had to remain in this godforsaken building with this elevator that is a portal to other dimensions. Today is the fifth anniversary of Alex's disappearance. I was alone at home.

I got a call then. I never took the time to delete his number from my phone. And guess who was calling me? It was his number. It was also his voice. Hey, Mike. You ready? He sounded weak.

His voice was void of any emotion, even though he seemed to be trying to fill it with some. It sounded like he hadn't spoken in a very long time. I was too surprised to respond. Mike, are you ready to press it? He sounded even weaker now. I knew what he wanted for me. That's why I'm writing this story.

I'm writing it. so that it's out here somewhere. He wanted me to count down from three so we could get it right again. He wanted to come back to this world. I could feel this in every bone of my body. But I also felt it wouldn't be him anymore. Mike, please, I want out of here.

It's so dark. He didn't sound like he minded it at all. I hung up then and launched my phone across the room. I turned on every light in the house. I'm standing here right now, writing this. I don't think I have any time. He wants out, and that creature also wants out. They're coming for me after I refuse to come help them.

I heard a ping just now. The elevator door's opening. Damn it, why do we live on the seventh floor? Hopefully, I post this before it's too late. I want you to be able to be. promise me something. Please, for the sake of everything you hold dear. Never play this game. Nothing is what it seems on Craig's list. Or so I should have known. That's on me. Bill came through the door in an ill-fitting black suit that could have fit a donkey. He was a plump man that

busted at the seams. His chin still sprinkled from the doughnut or pastry he had for lunch. Sorry I'm late. He straightened and fixed his belt, but low his belly, had an emergency. People with greasy slicked back air and seedy disposition are destined to be used car salesman. Unfortunately, this one was my real estate agent. He took me on a tour through the apartment. It was a run-down place, sure, but nothing out of the ordinary. The ceiling sunk in places, mold saturated the wall in air. It tasted like mossy growth, and things were quite damp. though it was certainly not deserving of the cheapest place in the city there was something I wasn't seeing

eh as you can see he hobbled around the lounge making white gestures couple things that fix up obviously the walls and floorboards creak the fridge acting up a little strange couple leaks when the rain comes through I stroked my five o'clock shadow pensively I've been sitting on this place for a while bill something just doesn't add up you know

This place is dirt cheap Dirt cheap He too Fiddled with his beard Freeing some crumbs on my potential new carpet Get you some new appliances Scrum up the mould Sure'll be perfect

I shook my head Bill cut to the chase I stared at him intensely What's wrong with the place Ah He exhaled in defeat Helpless like he was caught in a mousetrap He palms sweat away from his

greasy forehead. There was a woman, old lady. I gestured for him to sit on one of the dusty, out-to-date stools. The Japanese would classify this place as a stigmatized property. Yes, that's what they call it over there. He sat down. Please, explain. Well, it's not uncommon in Japan for a place to be on the market for 20 years after someone

dies a lonely death, or worse, in their home, you know. The public think it's cursed, but the pre-examined. previous occupant wonders the halls. I didn't believe in all that mumbo-jumbo. I only saw dollar signs. To be a student, a rent my own place was a luxury. Well, signing the agreement was contingent on one thing. How the old woman die?

I asked. His eyes scanned the carpet for a while, and he gulped, almost comically. You don't want a no, chap. I started to say something, but he trailed out. I thought about it for a while. Maybe he was right. Ignorance is bliss. I couldn't stay put if I knew I'd been eating on the kitchen counter where she'd been stabbed.

The bed she was strangled in, that I bathed myself in the bathtub she had filled with blood. I could get this place cleaned up without the gruesome details. I reached out to Bill with one reluctant arm. Deal. We shook hands. He gave me a quick nod and a smirk. I smiled too. So, how about you throw in a new fridge?

He threw his head back and bellowed a fat man's laugh. Maybe for Christmas, Jeff. The first few nights at the apartment were drearily usual. Nothing amiss. Most nights after, I consoled myself that I had been dreaming, dreaming the type of dream that Dr. Run had told me about, the ones where I couldn't move, like I was paralysed. He called them by some fancy long names and told me.

me to stop sleeping on my back. I tried to stop, but every time I ended up on my back, and no matter how hard I tried, she'd be there, standing at the end of my bed. Those are the evenings I would begin to pray for, the nights where I'd only see the silhouette of the woman, not hear her. In the following weeks, I would be woken up by gentle clatters, like she wanted to be quiet. She didn't want me to know that she was there. I would hear her steps along the floor in the living room, wondering the house. I heard the water running from the tap, only for a while, and only in the dead of night, like something was...

Drinking. After her while, though, she wanted me to know that she was there, that she was hungry. It was Thursday when I knew she was living in the walls. I sat alone in my room, reading with my back against the headboard. Rain spread against the window beside me, obscuring the bustling cityscape beyond my apartment's eye with glassy droplets. Sucking my cigarette, I exiled and waved the smoke away from my book. Tap, tap, tap.

Something wrapped against my bedchamber wall. It was coming from the living room or kitchen. I put my book down beside me and slinked out to bed. The hallway was dim and silent, save for the sound of the waves of rain thrashing against the window pane. Hello? I called. There was no reply. Tap, tap, tap. I sluggishly pulled myself forward, through the hall and into the living room.

The room smelled sickly, decaying waffes of sour breath lingered in the air. A low globe beamed under the old school tiles of the damp kitchen. The fridge had been left open. I was certain I'd shut the door before bed. When the sound of the rain had been pulled away by the wind, my ears twitched at the sound of the tap left running. I briskly made my way over to the kitchen, the floors creaking as I went.

I turned the tap and closed the door of the fridge. I stared at it for a while. A seed of doubt blossomed in my mind. Was I just forgetful? Lights off. I scanned the lounge and kitchen. Nothing amiss. Jeff, you're one careless person.

I smirked my mistake. Had to get some new milk in the morning. It was probably spoiled. In the hallway, my ears bricked up. Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, something was behind me. I darted down the hall, past the toilet and study room, and threw myself into my bed. It took me a while to catch my breath. The noise came from the apartment.

It was in the wall. My head pounded from my rapid heartbeat. Tap, tap, tap. I heard it distantly through my bedroom door. My pillow fits around my ears snugly. Go away, please go away, go away. For a while, I was buried in my pillow, unable to sleep. The tiredness caught up to me eventually, and I fell into a deep sleep like a daydream or a fever.

Things got worse for me at that apartment. much, much worse. One afternoon started wonderfully though. I called Rosie and we agreed on a date. See you at nine, I talked into my cell phone, combing my hair in my bedroom mirror. Great, great, I'll see you then. I honed a happy tune on my way to the bathroom. If I were in a rom-com, there would have been a spring my step.

Maybe there was. I made my way to the kitchen, a quick snack before dinner with Rosie. No biggie. What a beautiful, beautiful, quiet afternoon. Sunlight beamed a brilliant yellow through the windows. On days like these, impatient city folks stopped their incessant honking outside to smell the roses and the birds sing their song. In the kitchen, I almost tripped on shoddy tiling. My heart stopped.

The fridge was open. Just a crack. My jaw tightened. The birds had stopped singing. All I could hear in my apartment was the forceful whistle of my breaths escaping me. The apple I went to grab was rotten. A contorted mouth-shaped hole had been bitten away at its flesh, yellowing the fruit. Inspecting the apple, I lost my appetite.

Long strands of black hair deeply ingrained in its flesh. I shuddered and let go. It rolled for a while. A single broken tooth had found its way out of the apple and under my floor. That night, I called Rosie again. We settled on a movie instead. Make no mistake, I called Bill, my real estate agent, about the place. I think you can guess how that went.

I had to take matters into my own hands. A few nights later, I decided to wait for it. I sat in the dark lounge of the apartment, finishing the final chapters of my book. Though, when you wait for these things, they seldom come. They come at you when you least expect. Yawning, I pushed out of my chair and made my way into the kitchen. Some buttered bread, a salad sandwich perhaps. My stomach rumbled.

I stopped in my tracks in the middle of the kitchen. Tap. There it was again. How it felt to be afraid in my own home. A distinct sound. One long fingernail meeting plastic. Tap. Tap.

Tap. My hand met the cold metal fridge handle. I didn't want to open the door. I showed my stomach, nothing was waiting for me, but my heart didn't get the memo. It was quiet in the apartment again. My eyes shut tight as I inhaled. The handle turned.

The bridge's seal peeled open with a stomach churning thip. The interior light wasn't on. From standing, I could only poke around the top shelf. It was empty inside, except for a few condiments and rotten vegetables. I wiped one sweaty palm on my leg and bent down to inspect the bottom shelves, rummaging in the cold void of its white shell.

It was clean, yet smelled rotten and sour, the trailing scent of a garbage truck. Extending my arm into the unlit fridge, I met something hairy and brittle in the darkness. It might as well have been a vile, mouldy coconut. I retracted. I could not see anything, though it felt as if a ball of scraggly hair filled my hand like sand. It flowed between my fingers like a soaked kitchen sponge.

She hadn't been living in the walls. An icy grip tightened around my forearm. I shrieked and tried to yank away. The old woman's body twisted and buckled at the joints. One leg was bending backward over her shoulder, the other firmly planted below a jaw. She stared up at me from inside the fridge, slowly reeling me in from my wrist to my arm, like she was a flexible acrobat, carefully climbing a fleshy rope. I tried not to puke.

I swallowed sour spit. Cockroaches scurried from her open lips and spread across her face like wildfire. Teeth clattered as the woman grinned, squeezing one of the insects with a sickening pop in the space where a tooth had been. Maggates exhumed themselves from her fleshy skin, dropping under my sweaty arm like Satan's reign. Frigured, gripping fingers, closed in my forearm, then my bicep, pulling, pulling.

I bent my head up to help steady myself and toe backward. My chin collapsed onto the cold top of the fridge, pulling hard enough to send me flying back, crawling on the floor free from a decaying hand. The woman's face stared at me through scraggly silver and graphite strands of hair, two gleaming white sockets

over a wide, disgusting smile. I kicked the door shut, laying on the floor, my chest heaving. My mouth tasted like bitter acid, and my hand finally let go of the unkempt wire I'd pulled from my head. Many nights have passed since that encounter. Bill still rents me the apartment. When I hang out with Rosie, we always go back to her place. Never, mine. I keep grandmother fed, so she doesn't wonder the halls.

I don't sleep much anymore. but it's okay because I have the cheapest apartment in the city When I'm home I hear her when she's hungry Tap Farms all have their own peculiarities But I believe that Jim Rothers' has to be the strangest I've encountered by far I've lived across from Jim for the past five years or so And he's always been a very quiet and introverted fellow

From what I know he doesn't have a job and he dedicates all of his time to tending to the massive assortment of animals on his farm. God only knows how many animals there are. The man has to be insane. Even though I don't know the exact number, I know that the amount never changes. Even though he eats them, it's almost as if, as soon as one goes, he has a brand new one ready to replace it immediately. I have no idea how the man does it. I have no idea how he upholds the well-being of that amount of animal. all alone.

That being said, is also almost entirely off the grid, save for a few electronics. He sustains himself entirely off of the land and his animals. I kind of admire that. But, aside from the farm's quirks, it's never really bothered me. Until... The animals stopped moving. I didn't even care to point it out at first, and I didn't even think that something might be strange the day the first pig stood still.

It simply did not feel peculiar enough to comment on, and Jim had so many animals that he didn't notice it either. The pig stood at the edge of the fence, staring blankly. It didn't move, even when I went out to collect my mail, and it didn't move when the noisy garbage truck went by. I even waved my arms around in front of it in an attempt to rouse a reaction, but alas, I got none. The pig stood like a statue.

unmoving, unblinking, unreactive. I started to get a pit in my stomach, telling me that something was wrong, but I ignored it and hopped into my car to drive to work. That night, I could barely sleep. I don't exactly know how to explain it, but something was up, something felt off. The next morning, the pig by the fence, had a friend. It was one of equal size and stature, and it stood about a yard away from the first. It stood still the same way.

The first pig was still there, having now not moved for a full 24 hours. The site was quite similar to that of a video game glitch, with the screen bugs and some of the mobiles freeze, only real. They were not dead, simply frozen. There was something odd about them, however, something that almost shouldn't. be possible. I waited to express my concern until five of Jim's pigs were lined up at the edge of the fence,

a new one frozen with the coming of each morning. Oh, hello there, neighbour, Jim greeted upon my knock. I proceeded to explain my concerns to him, but he seemed unfazed by my vocal communication of it. The situation,

oddly enough, didn't strike any of his nerves then, and it didn't even register when I dragged into the edge of the fence to show him. Look, they're not moving, Jimmy. Is that normal? Jim placed his hands on his hips and shifted his weight to his left leg,

tilting his head the same way as he fixated his gaze on the two standstill swines. Eh, that's normal. They like that fence a whole mighty lot. Jim finally spoke, nonchalantly. What do you mean they like that fence a whole lot? They never stand there,

and they certainly don't for 24 hours when they do. Jim looked at me like I was crazy I'm telling you neighbor I know my pigs I know when something's wrong with them they're fine I promise you I'm not fooling you look the flies are eating them alive because their tails aren't whacking them away Jim stepped forward

I don't see anything wrong with them they like that fence he insisted I'm telling you Jimmy there's something wrong with them he shook his head and began to make his way inside his house. Since my mission proved to be futile, I returned home. I didn't sleep that night. I don't know what it was. I just couldn't. I felt a presence and I didn't feel safe. I couldn't allow myself to fall asleep. The next morning, when I woke, there were seven pigs lined up at the fence, the original five plus two more. That was when I decided that on that very night,

I would finally figure out what was going on. I would go over to Jim's yard in the middle of the night and examine the pigs. I couldn't stand to look at them anymore. I couldn't stand to look at their soulless, stiff bodies as they got eaten alive by insects. It was sickeningly fascinating. I couldn't rip my mind around how it could be possible

and I wasn't sure that it wanted to be able to. I waited in my house until sunset. I knew that Jim would be going to sleep right around. And then. He sleeps from dusk and wakes up right at dawn. I wanted to make sure he didn't catch me in his yard, not because I was doing something he'd disapprove of, but simply because I wanted to avoid the awkward encounter. Just to be safe, I waited a few more hours until it was about midnight. When the clock struck 12, I snuck around the side of my house and across the street to where seven pigs stood at the fence. I approached them My line of sight lit up

Only by the dull beam of my flashlight They still didn't move I hopped the fence to get a closer look And they still didn't stir All of the other animals were asleep in their pens But these pigs remained I shine my flashlight around And it was just then that I noticed something strange

One of the pigs had a wound from an insect that bored all the way through its outer layer of flesh, only instead of viscera and fascia. There was stuffing. I easily reached my hand out to touch the spot, and I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I don't know what I was thinking. I brushed off what I had just seen

and moved to investigate further, to see if the animal was even alive. I placed my hand to its chest and physically recoiled upon contact. It had a pulse, and it was breathing shallowly. The last thing I was expecting was a pulse. I don't even know how it was possible. The pig was full of stuffing, but it also had a pulse.

I felt sick. I continued my investigation with the other ones, and I found the results to be the same. I was extremely curious now. It was sickening, but I wanted to figure out how. it was possible. So, I stole one of Jim's pigs.

Don't ask how I did it, because it was difficult, but I managed to roll the swine to my house and into my garage without catching the attention of anything. After a bit of preparation, I placed a pig down on the floor and used my hunting knife to make a white

incision in its abdomen. Stuffing. It was all stuffing. Stuffing encased in a living, bleeding, almost breathing skin. The flesh bled into the white stuffing material, staining it crimson. I pulled some of the stuffing aside, and to my horror, there was something pink and squishy, throbbing. I gagged and turned away upon seeing it.

It was a beating heart with a pair of lungs, endlessly supplying only each other in what seemed to be a perpetual loop. At the top of the system, connected by a few minutes. nerves was a piece of brain that I immediately recognized to be the modular enblankata, regulator of involuntary responses. The thing that I now assumed was key in keeping the system alive. I could hear the heart, and I could see it pulsating in the dim light of my garage. The whole thing seemed impossible.

The animal's entire body was a taxidermy. There were no bones, no other organs. All that remained was stuffing, a wireframe, And, strangest and most disturbing of all, a working cardiovascular system. I was amazed, but also sickened. The fact that someone could taxidermy an animal while still keeping it alive was impressive, but also terrifying, as I couldn't imagine a reason why someone would. I couldn't imagine how it was possible.

I called Jim. He answered the phone with a groggy. Hello? Jim, I know it's late, but you've got to get over here. Why? What's going on? I... I paused. I don't know how to explain it.

Meet me in my garage. I heard the phone hang up, and soon I heard a door squeak open and footsteps rustling through the grass. All right, Bobby, what's up? He asked. He'd arrived in his bathrobe and slippers, not taking the time to dress before he came over. that was understandable.

I walked him over to where I had the pig on the floor of my garage and I attempted to explain without making myself a target for law enforcement. That is not my pig, he tutted, his country troll adding a musical twang to the word pig. What do you mean it's not your pig? I stole it from your yard. He places hands on his hips. I know my pigs, Bobby. That ain't one. I simply looked at him, baffled. I didn't know what to say, and I didn't know what was going on.

Have fun with your science experiment, he shouted from the walkway as he made his way back across the street. I awoke the next morning and immediately went to the garage to check in on the status of the pig that I had stolen from my neighbour, that now supposedly didn't belong to him. It was gone. The mess was gone too. All of the blood that had spewed upon. my incision had been cleaned up, as had the entirety of the corpse. Well, it wasn't entirely gone, as I discovered when I went to check my mail.

It was back in Jim's yard, repaired. Someone had closed my incision and mounted the pig back upright in the place it had initially stood on the other side of my neighbour's fence. There was visible stitching, almost as of a person. A very skilled person had done it. The line of seven pigs was now accompanied by a few chickens The next few days went by as normal

I get up in the morning See a new taxidermy animal in Jim's yard Attempt to rouse his suspicion Be ignored, go to work, repeat Then the day came When the entire farm ceased to function And my neighbour still didn't notice It was about a week after the initial incident

And now every animal on the farm stood stiff and still, trapped in their own bodies, as Jim continued to tend to them as if nothing was wrong. Jim? I'd caught him in the process of milking his cows. Hey, Bobby, he waved to me. You're a little dry today, ain't you, girl? He said to himself, patting the dairy cows side affectionately. I accidentally made eye contact with the animal, and my stomach surged with dread.

I... I start myself I tried to convince Jim that something was wrong multiple times but he didn't notice that anything had changed he was a healthy man and from my experience

he was pretty stable but here he was attempting to milk an animal that no longer had the ability to lactate all right this is getting really weird and muttered to myself as I turn back to go home I entered through my front door

and ran to my kitchen where the window above the sink offered me a clear view of Jim's yard. I took up my phone and died 911. The operator picked up and I did my best to explain the situation. Yeah, it's really strange. My neighbour, I... I don't think he's okay. He doesn't even notice it.

What's the address? I taught the operator the address and she hung up. A few minutes later, the police arrived. I saw the sirens outside of Jim's house, and I saw him explaining with his hands. After a few minutes, the officers climbed back into their cars and drove away. I went over to his yard, where he stood with his hands on his hips. Why do you call the cops of me, Bobby? Jim, I'm really worried about you.

This isn't normal. Your animals aren't alive. Yes, they are, Bobby. This is normal. This is all normal. they still have a pulse, don't they? Those words echoed through my head endlessly. And I'll never forget Jim's eerie tone when he spoke them.

What did the police say? I asked. They didn't see anything wrong, Bobby. He put his hands on his hip. They saw my damn farm as it is. I began to feel sick. I've got to get going. I have a big meeting tomorrow and I need to rest.

I'll see you later, Jim. You two, neighbor. he smiled. I waved and walked back to my house, and the minute I stepped inside the door, I broke to a sprint to the bathroom, and regurgitated the contents of my breakfast. Jim's farm today had done something to me.

It struck within me a kind of sense of dread that you can't swallow. Something was seriously wrong. Why did no one see what I saw? I woke up the next morning and looked out my window, as I usually do. and something was out of place. Jim's animals were there, but he was not.

I went over to check on him, and when I knocked on the door, no one answered. I tried the knob, and it opened. Jim? I called out. No answer. I crept around the house, which was oddly empty. Everything was clean, not a thing out of place. This was strange for Jim.

Everything changed when I ran the corner to his den, and I found him, staring blankly at the wall, frozen as his animals were. Dead. I called the police and reported that I found a body. I stood on Jim's porch as he investigated the scene and got medics to take away the body. The coroner approached me from behind.

You're not going to believe this. But your friend isn't dead. We're taking him to the hospital. What? he has a pulse All I did was look the coroner in the eyes in shock Before walking away I had no words

That night I packed my things and left to stay in a hotel in the city The next morning I planned to sell my house And get an apartment as soon as I could I knew I couldn't stay there any longer When on my way out of town I saw what seemed to be a person dressed in all black, hop the fence to Jim's farm, carrying the stiffen version of him,

still dressed in a hospital gown, back to its proper place. Grandpa doesn't sleep. That was what my mother told me one day, while picking me up from Grandma and Grandpa's house. I often spent my summer nights there, as I happen to live in the same town as my grandparents, and luxury many other kids didn't have.

During the day, it was everything a kid could have. hoped for. He baked cookies, ate ice cream, visited playgrounds. But at night, whenever I left the spare bedroom to get a drink of water, or take a leak, I could often glimpse grandpa in the living room, awake in his reclining chair with a light on beside him, spaced out while watching static flick on the TV. It occurred to me that I'd never seen him go to bed. After one too many 3 a.m. trips to the toilet, I finally asked my mother why ground Grandpa stayed awake in his chair all night. All she said was,

Grandpa just doesn't sleep. You'll understand when you're older. By the time I was old enough to understand that my grandpa suffered from acute and chronic insomnia, I'd stopped spending as much time with him. Instead, I was 16, a junior in high school, and way out of Felicity Alderson's League. The only time I saw my grandparents were at holidays and funerals.

It might sound cool that I had allowed us the drift apart that I had inadvertently cut them out of my life when we live so close in distance, but at a certain point you become too old for playgrounds and cartoons every weekend. Besides, my grandparents were getting old and they had better things to do than look after me. Things changed when I woke up to a phone call at two in the morning. My heart skipped a beat when I recognised my grandma's number, knowing intuitively that late-night calls are never a good thing. Grandma?

Caleb, oh Caleb, please get her quick. She was sobbing. In the background, I could hear things breaking, glass and furniture thrown and smashed. It's your grandpa. He has a gun. She dissolved into sobs, but I didn't need to hear anymore. I told her I was on my way and hung up. I was halfway out the door when I realized I needed car keys. Having just acquired a driving license, I did.

I didn't own a car, so I had to use my dad's. I ran into my parents' room, blurted something about going to grandmas and fumbled in the dark for the car keys. The next thing I knew, I was speeding down residential streets that were completely dead, not a car among them. It was dark, of course, but grandma's house was easy to spot because the lights were on. Of course they were. Grandpa doesn't sleep.

I rushed across the wet lawn in socks, and when I shouldered open the front door, door, a violent blast nearly took off my head. The sound left me momentarily deaf. When I turned back toward the wall, I saw when numerous pellets had just impacted the sheet rock. The blast had barely missed me. Ten feet ahead was Grandpa, aiming a double-barrowed shotgun at me. His white hair was frizzled out and his arms were scratched up, presumably from breaking things. He fumbled to reload the gun, not taking his eyes off me. Don't shoot. It's a little. It's me, Grandpa. It's Caleb. For a moment, there was a vague flicker of recognition on his face.

And then he lowered the gun. Instead of taking a second shot, he crossed the distance between us and grabbed my shirt tightly in his fist. Caleb, he spat, wildly deranged. Caleb, you have to get out of here. They're coming for me. It isn't safe. Who's coming for you? The insomniacs.

I've seen them. They're in the house. Don't look them in the eyes. It's okay, Grandpa, I told him. No one's coming after you. You're safe. This, I was sure of. What grudge anyone would have against my 82-year-old grandpa was a mystery. And besides, this day was a long time coming.

Admittedly, I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner. The man barely slept, found it increasingly difficult as he got older, and was bordering on dementia. Although this escapade had probably sent him over the edge. I reckon this was the final straw before he'd be admitted to a nursing home, which obviously should have happened sooner. I gently eased the gun away from him and he slowly collapsed to the floor, old bones creaking, hugging his arms and muttering under his breath. Beyond the entryway was a living room, although now it was in shambles. Coffee tables had been

flipped, shattered glass was strewn across the floor and an ornate hutch containing Chinaway. had been tipped onto its face. The TV was a frenzy of static. I found my grandma huddled in the corner, shivering and crying. When she saw me come in with a gun, she ran over and hugged me. Thank you, Caleb. God bless you. She explained that she hadn't called the police because she didn't want Grandpa to be arrested or possibly killed.

As it turned out, the cop showed up anyway because the neighbours had reported a loud gunshot next door. Red and blue lights flashed through the glass window of the front door, and when I opened it, two officers were on the porch step asking if I was okay. I explained that this was my grandfather's house and that I'd found him wield in a gun, but he never intended to hurt anyone with it, that he was senile and believed someone was after him. He believed he was protecting my grandma. Erring on the side of caution, the officers wanted to talk to Grandpa about his pursuers. Soon, all of us were in the living room, huddled around an upside-down coffee table. My grandmother had draped a blanket over grandpa's shoulders.

It made him look much smaller, frailer, like a frightened child hiding under the covers. He was now relaxed, but spoke of the incident with great vigor. You must believe me, he implored. They are real, and they are coming. I've seen them in the house. They're everywhere. Don't look them in the eyes. those horrible eyes.

Do you know who these people are? asked one of the policemen. My grandfather leaned forward and said in a whisper, The insomniacs. Even as a 16-year-old kid, I thought he was fairly obvious what the insomniacs were,

a physical manifestation of my grandfather's lifelong ailment, insomnia. They were spawned from a confusing mess of paranoia and dementia, a fear of never sleeping, Now all those sleepless nights and mental fog were getting to him, and he was powerless against it. The police probably understood this, but entertained the notion long enough to pacify my grandpa and put his mind at ease.

That didn't stop them from asking him to describe the insomniax though, and before they left, they'd sketched the depiction straight from my grandfather's overactive imagination. He was a black-bodied humanoid, perpetually in shadow, so you can never see him. the details, with no clothes or any defining characteristics. The only visible part of it were the eyes. Two white swirls, which, according to my grandpa, were always spinning. Looking it in the eyes was akin to being hypnotized to stay awake. Stare at the sun long enough and you'll go blind.

Stare an insomniac in the eyes and you never go to sleep. Before the officers left, one of them pulled my grandmother and me aside. I'm sure it's clear by an hour. but these are some pretty big red flags. I can't force you to take any action, but I strongly recommend that you consider long-term care options for his safety and for yours. He really got off lucky tonight,

and I don't want to get called out here again and find something much worse. With that, he pulled the door shut behind him and we were left standing in the entryway. At the thought of admitting grandpa to a nursing home, my grandmother was tearing up again. I told her it would be fine and that we'd find a solution that worked best for everyone.

But truthfully, I didn't know what other option we had. My parents finally showed up around 4 in the morning, delayed by the fact that I'd stolen my dad's car keys and my mum had lost hers. By then, my grandmother and I had cleaned up most of the glass and broken furniture. Grandpa sat on the couch, looking around nervously, occasionally asking me where he'd left his gun. The truth was that I'd hidden it in the garage. but of course

I didn't tell him that I don't know Grandpa just try to relax Let me explain the situation to my parents And by daybreak All of us decided

That a nursing home Was the best option for Grandpa After all It should have happened long before it reached this point Grandma was reluctant to agree But ultimately She knew it was the best thing for her husband

She was worried How he would fare in the nursing home How he would sleep without her But of course, we all knew that Grandpa doesn't sleep. Sunny Oaks was only three blocks away and seemed to be the most obvious choice for us. It wasn't the largest or the fanciest nursing home I'd ever seen, but Grandma could visit Grandpa whenever she wanted, and Grandpa would get the care that he needed.

Three square meals a day, light physical therapy, games, social interaction, and proper attention to medication. That was more care than he was getting at home, and I had no doubt in my mind that Grandpa's mental state would soon take a turn for the better plus the staff was friendly and introduced us to Grandpa's new room with exquisite

confidence While we organised his clothes and toiletries Grandpa peeled back the window curtains and scanned the property for invisible threats He must have been satisfied with what he saw because at some point he turned to us and said Yes yes This will be fine for now

Before we left Grandma gave him a long, tight hug and said that she'd visit him every day as often as she could. She clicked on the TV for him, but as we left the room, I saw Grandpa switch to one of those non-existent channels that plays nothing but static on a 24-7 loop.

The next time I saw Grandpa, it was when we visited him as a family the next weekend. At some point, he'd been given a wheelchair, which I was glad to see, because Grandpa hadn't been particularly mobile in the past few years. We found him wheeled in front of the TV, watching Static when one of the nurses

made his bed. I knew from my first visit that this was Cheryl, a studious lady with a cheerful personality. Just changing the sheets, she said when we came in, though I doubt he'll need them. Your grandpa doesn't sleep a wink. My father reminded her about grandpa's insomnia

and asked if he'd been taking his meds. Cheryl nodded. Twice a day. eight and eight, though they don't seem to be helping much. Every time I'm in here is awake. None of the other residents can keep their eyes open, it seems. She gave Grandpa a gentle pat on the arm. He's too busy watching that darn TV all night.

Isn't that right, honey? Grandpa looked up at her as if coming out of a trance. The first time his eyes had left the television. Only now did he seem to notice anyone was in the room. He didn't say anything. Just smiled. Weekly. Grandma died after Christmas. It was a shock to everyone. Of the two of them, she'd been the healthiest. The medical examiner said it was a stroke. Brought on by what? Nobody knew for sure.

But I think we all knew deep down that putting Grandpa in the nursing home played a part. Grandpa took the news better than I'd expected. If he even took the news at all, that is. He just stared at the TV, watching static crackle across the screen. When I realized that Grandpa was no longer getting daily visits from anyone, I started seeing him more often. I don't know what compelled me to do so. Part of me hoped I'd find him sleeping, that I could rest assured it was even possible for him anymore. But each time I visited Sunny Oaks, he was awake, partially. He was wholly unresponsive and stared at the TV static with red, tired eyes.

Drawl leaked out of his mouth and onto his lap. I picked up the remote and changed it to SpongeBob Before I left the room He changed it back to static Frustrated at him At everyone, maybe at no one in particular I changed the TV back to SpongeBob And kick the remote under the bed

Grandpa made no effort to pick it up He gave no indication he'd noticed the change Something about watching him sit there Dumbly with no emotion and no frustration Made in a rational anger build up inside me. I told him his wife was dead and that he didn't care, that he nearly shot me in the head

because of some imaginary monsters he'd created, that grandma might still be alive if he had a little more effort into controlling himself. After I ran out of things to berate him for, I yelled about all the other things that made me angry. What made me angry more than anything, though, was that by the time I left, he was still watching the TV,

as if he hadn't heard a word. I didn't visit Grandpa until another month had passed. I was scared he had heard me, or even worse, had understood me. By the time I was ready to apologise, I found him recline in bed, staring into space. Cheryl told me that the staff had been encouraging him to sleep ever since they realised how severe his insomnia had become. After that, they kept a close eye on him. His sleeping medication had been changed to something much stronger,

but miraculously, it didn't seem to be helping. I wasn't surprised. Not really. After all, Grandpa doesn't sleep. When Cheryl left the room, I stayed for a while longer. I didn't want to wrestle the old man further from sleep with a useless apology. So instead, I pulled up a chair and sat beside him. I don't know how long I sat there before Grandpa became the most responsive he'd been in weeks.

He gasped loudly, so suddenly that I leapt from the chair, arching his back as if he'd just been pulled from the brink of death. His eyes darted wildly around, lucid and afraid. When he noticed me, he was no longer an unresponsive vegetable, but the same man who had nearly shot me in the head a year ago. He grabs my clothes, pulling me closer. Caleb, you can't be here. The insomniacs are here with us.

They're in the building. You have to listen to me. It's too late for me. but you can save yourself. Don't look them in the eyes, Caleb. It wasn't long before all the yelling attracted the attention of several nurses nearby. Soon, there was a team of people

surrounding my grandpa, trying to restrain him. I backed away until I felt myself hit the wall. One of the nurses brandished the syringe and struggled to stick it in my grandpa's arm. A sedative. But, after several more agonizing moments of chaos, nothing had changed. I knew the sedative wouldn't work.

Look, Grandpa doesn't sleep. He just kept yelling my name and screaming incoherent stuff. So I left. I could still hear him at the end of the hall. And by the time I left the building, I was sure he was still yelling. Yelling. About the insomniacs.

I didn't visit Grandpa for a while after that. I told myself that seeing me might trigger one of his violent episodes. But deep down, I knew I was afraid. not afraid of his delusional rantings, but afraid of seeing him in that vegetable state, staring blankly at static. I hated seeing him that way. It wasn't the grandpa I had known,

and it wasn't the grandpa I wanted to remember. Who knows how long I would have gone without visiting him, maybe indefinitely, until I wouldn't be able to anymore, if I hadn't seen it. The thing. I was waiting at a crosswalk, and my way home from school,

when I spotted something out of the corner of my eye. There, across the street, was a shadow figure. I blinked, rubbed my eyes. It was still there. A silhouette in broad daylight. In the distance, watching me with eyes made of spirals that twisted infinitely into its head. It was hypnotic and chanting.

Voices filled my head. Strange whispers that my mind was picking up as though tuning into a distant radio signal. Then a bus passed between us, and the creature was gone. The voices faded away, and I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. The overwhelming feeling that I'd just seen something I wasn't supposed to made me nauseous. I remember the police sketch depicting an insomniac and recognised it immediately. I couldn't process fully what had happened.

Not right then, but I knew there was only one person who could help me. Instead of going home, I turned on my heel and ran as fast as I could towards Sony Oaks. But by the time I reached my grandpa's nursing home, I found his room empty. The bedsheets had been neatly folded on top of the mattress and the TV was switched off. Frantic, I asked the nurse at the front desk where my grandpa was. She told me he'd been transferred to the local hospital that afternoon when they realised how severe his insomnia was. she didn't think he'd slept at all in five consecutive days which was extremely dangerous for a person his age

instead of thanking her I turned and ran the distance between sunny oaks and the hospital was a long one especially on foot and found myself keeping to the shadows lowering my head sometimes I risked a sporadic glance over my shoulder or a quick sweep across the street becoming increasingly paranoid and what was worse was that I did spot them. High up in the windows, driving cars, reading newspapers. How I'd never noticed them

before was a mystery beyond the end of time. I decided that seeing insomniacs was something you had to unlock, something that shouldn't be visible to the naked eye. At least, I'd never noticed them in all the time my grandfather spoke about them. Strange otherworldly whispers faded in and out my head as a wart, thoughts that weren't my own, threatening my sanity. From the edges of my vision, insomniacs watched me. The spiralized tempting me to look into them. When I finally reached the hospital, I demanded my grandfather's room number and what they had done to him.

I learned that the hospital staff had, in an emergency effort to give him rest, attempted to medically induce a coma, but for some reason was unable to. But I knew the reason. Grandpa doesn't sleep. He was holding on for now, they said, but things weren't looking good. I found Grandpa on the third floor, reclined in a bed, hooked up to a heart monitor. The beeps were slow and steady, coming more scarcely than I thought they should. Grandpa didn't look at me when I walked in, just stared ahead, seeing nothing. I knelt by his

bedside and nudged him gently. Grandpa, you were right, you were right all along. I know that now. Nobody believed you, not even me. But I've seen them. The insomnia. They're real. Grandpa didn't acknowledge that he heard me. I didn't expect him to, but it felt good to get it off my chest. He just laid there, his breathing ragged and shallow. Tears brimmed my eyes and splattered on his bedsheets. Please, wake up, Grandpa, I said, holding his hand with both of mine.

It was too cold, I thought. If you can hear me, please wake up. I'm scared. I should have believed you. We never should have. taken you away from Grandma. You were just trying to warn us. Please forgive me, Grandpa. I'm so sorry. I didn't say anymore, because my throat closed up and I couldn't choke the words out. Instead, I just lowered my head and let the deer drops fall under my lap. I sat there for a long time,

listening to the soft beeps and wear of medical machines. Caleb. I looked up. Grandpa was looking at me, His voice weak, barely audible, but I'd heard it. Shakily, he moved a hand over mine. Don't be afraid, Caleb. Don't be... His voice trailed off, and I had the peculiar impression he was looking, not at me, but through me. Then his eyes clasped over and the heart manager flatlined in a monotonous tone. I shook Grandpa, but he didn't move.

Grandpa? Grandpa, I said in denial. Grandpa, wake up. Please, wake up. The tone was still ringing in my ears as several doctors rushed around me and attended to the body, attempting to revive him.

Nothing took. In the end, I decided it was for the best. It was a rest for which he was long overdue. Grandpa doesn't sleep. We buried Grandpa next to Grandma. The plot was ready to go since Grandpa's passing wasn't entirely unexpected.

It still hurt more than I could have imagined. I thought about all those times we got ice cream and watched movies. I decided that was the grandpa I was going to remember, not the bedridden widower that had spent the last year of his life trying to warn the rest of us about things we refuse to see. The funeral was small, led by the pastor of a church he had not attended in over a year. It was a windy graveside service on a clouded,

summer day. I didn't hear much of the eulogy. I was busy watching the creature at the edge of the tree line, the one with a shadowy skin and spirals for eyes. Ever since I'd first glimpsed the creature across the street, sleep had been next to impossible. The only solace I had from the paranoia was steady white noise, and television static was my only hope for drowning out the whispering voices in my head. I could look at it for hours. and when I was alone in my room at night, I did. It was as easy as tuning to a channel that didn't exist and led myself melt into a void of endless nothingness.

After the funeral, I didn't grieve with the rest of my family. I had already done that in the days leading up to it. Now I was exhausted and scared, dreading a life without sleep. I got rid of my bed because I knew I wouldn't need it anymore. Underneath was Grandpa's shotgun The one I'd taken for myself When we sawed his house after Grandma died I'd already stuck all my dad's car with ammo

In preparation for what I was about to do After all, the insomniacs And what did this to him, to me I would make sure it would never happen to anyone else It was the long road ahead And I was out for blood I left that night I had to make one stop first

I wasn't going to make the journey alone, of course. There was no way I'd stand a chance against all of them. I parked at the front gate and popped the trunk, then remove the shovel. The place was locked and I had to climb the fence to get in. The spiked iron bars tore on my clothes, the ones I'd worn to the funeral only hours earlier. The headstone was just as we left it. But when I put my ear to the dirt, I could hear him moving, breathing. scratching softly below.

I put a foot to the shovel and forced it into the earth. It would take a while to get six feet down, but of course, I knew my grandfather was waiting for me. Grandpa doesn't sleep. Through the course of a millennium, mankind has made an effort to explore

every frontier this world has to offer. Every undiscovered region has been prioritized by humans to conquer, no leaf ignored, no stone and turn. The predetermined notion is that mankind is at the top of the food chain, apex predators with no natural superior, nothing to stop us other than our own willpower.

I mean, we'd made it this far, right? Wrong. A few years back, I embarked on a research expedition studying the migration habits of blue whales in the Pacific Ocean, and while on that trip, I realised that we are in fact not the Earth's apex predators. In fact, we are most likely relatively low on the food chain. Please forgive me, I'm rambling. Let me introduce myself.

My name is Zach Kiegel. I'm a marine biologist that specializes in the feeding, migration, and mating habits of whales, particularly the blue whale. The largest animal on earth. Oh, so I thought. Through all of my years in practice, there was nothing more exhilarating than putting on a diving suit and swimming within an arm's reach of a creature, so astronomically massive, just to be able to poke a tracker in it. It was almost humbling, looking into an eye the size of your head, and gazing into its

soul as it swims past you, leaving a wake that propels you backwards. It gave me an adrenaline rush like never before. I'd embarked on so many expeditions in the past, my most recent accomplishment, being able to determine and predict with 90% accuracy down to the grid point, the location of certain pods during certain times of the year due to the movement and certain swarms of krill. The expedition that led me to writing this story was the test drive of this accomplishment. We were going to see if what I had predicted was actually accurate. We had a small team of researchers, Dr. Sarah Ringer, a fellow marine biologist, Dr. Jacob Akobov, a Russian oceanographer, Dr. Chris Hatfield, an American oceanographer, and myself.

Accompanying us on this expedition was a small crew and a captain whose sole job was to maintain the ship and get us from point A to point B. We got a five-day trip ahead of us. Are you ready, Slugger? said Sarah. Slugger was the nickname I'd picked up a few years back in a colleague's softball game when I proceeded to hit the ball straight out of the park and land us a grand slam, securing my team's win. I think I've had enough time to get my sea legs under me. It's not me you should be asking. I replied, giving a slight gesture to one of the crew members who was looking exceptionally sick. After the team and crew were done preparing for the journey, we all met in the bridge to discuss the location to where we were headed, and what we all needed to do. Since the mission was the test my hypothesis, I was deemed the leader and subsequently gave the briefing.

All right, everyone, listen up. Before we get into it, I would like to thank Captain Ryder and his crew for allowing me and my team to use his crew. vessel. I'm sure if we all do what we're supposed to do and conduct our jobs correctly, we will be able to get along just fine. That got a good condescending laugh going around the crew. Captain Ryder took a long drug of his cigarette and proceeded to scoff. I gave a quick glance to Chris who mouthed to me. Get going, jackass. Rubbing the back of my neck, making it very obvious of my nervousness, I continued. We will be heading to quip point 34 degrees 5099.9. 141 degrees 1339 west.

If my estimations are correct, that should be exactly where a pot of blue whales migrated to. My team will be based in the lower bunks and will be conducting our operations on the upper deck. Why do we have to give up a part of our upper deck for a bunch of white-collar scientists? One of the crew members blurted out. After a few nods of agreement between the crew, Sarah chimed in. Listen, we all know this arrangement isn't ideal, but if, with your cooperation we can get this done as smoothly as possible. Five days there, two days spent studying and five days back. Twelve days. I think we can all make it through that. You all, of course, will be paid by

our company for allowing us to conduct our research on your ship. The mention of monetary compensation seemed to calm them all down for the moment, and, after discussing a few housekeeping details, we were ready to set sail. Two days into our voyage, I decided to walk up on the deck late at night for an evening stroll. The air was bitter, the night sky and moon illuminating the ocean below it. I noticed that Sarah was sitting on a chair, looking out into the water. I saw an empty chair not far from her, so I pulled it up beside her and sat down. Hey, didn't realize I was the only one that liked to come out here late at night.

She gave a light chuckle. I liked her chuckles. They relaxed me. She offered me a cigarette. Oh, no, I'm okay. it, trying to do the whole Nicorette thing, you know. She put the thing back in her pocket, continuing to take long drags off of hers. Do you remember, shortly after we got divorced, when you told me my senile grandma,

God rest of the soul, showed up with presents, congratulating us for getting a dog or something like that, she said. Yeah, I do. Her dimension really got the best of her sometimes. I miss that woman. I probably should have mentioned this before. Me and Sarah used to be married. We met in graduate school

And at our graduation to receive our masters I proposed on stage We got divorced not too long After the death of our unborn child His name was going to be Elliot Fortunately, after some time apart We'd managed to maintain a healthy friendship As well as professional relationship

What do you think he would have been like? I asked Dumb as a box of rocks if he inherited your jeans Sarah said in between laughs "'No, really. What do you think he would have been like if he were here today?' I asked, this time making eye contact with her. Sarah looked out into the water. "'I don't know. I like to think he would have been happy, enjoyed his life.

I also like to think he's looking down on us, not blaming us. I pondered this for a moment. Was he looking down on us? I'd always believed in a god, but was I son actually looking down on us at this moment? We sat in silence for a little while, before I decided to go back to bed. Let me know if you need anything. I'm going to turn in for the night. See you tomorrow, I said in the most kind voice possible. Okay, good night.

She replied, without even glancing at me. Her eyes fixed on the water. Three days later, we started to approach our grid point. The entire team was up on the deck as the ship steamed forward, looking out onto the horizon. Do you see anything? I asked Jacob, as he peered through the binoculars. No, not yet, he said through his thick Russian accent. Wait, blowholes. I see blowholes. Let me see, Chris yelled as he grabbed the binoculars from Jacob.

Yep, that's them. I had done it. My theory was correct. The entire team cheered and high-fived me, congratulating me for my achievement. As we relished in our excitement, Captain Ryder brought the boat to a halt, and we all began preparing. As exciting as this was, it was now time to get to work. We ran down to our bunks,

grabbed our equipment, and started the set-up shop on the deck. Me, Sarah and Chris grabbed our dive suits, our spears to place trackers on the whales, waterproof cameras, as well as oxygen kits. Jacob grabbed his radar system and began setting it up on the deck.

We were all ecstatic to get in the water with these majestic creatures. We could see the pink swarm of krill and the massive whales swimming through them. Right off the bat, I counted six, but I assumed they were a few more deeper in the water. Me, Sarah and Chris kitted up, lowered our boat into the water and gently started the head in the direction of the whales,

which were about 100 yards out, with one of the crew members on board with us to help us get back in. Jacob elected to stay behind in order to confirm if we had successfully placed our trackers on the whale. From there, we could study their movements, how long they stayed in one area before migrating, and, with my now-proven correct hypothesis, predict where they would head next.

We brought the boat to a stop at around 70 feet from the whales, as not to spute them. I was first in. Right, as I submerged in the water, I noticed two adults we hadn't seen previously at around 100 feet below the surface. I heard a splash next to me and saw that Sarah and Chris had dived in.

What do your accounts? Sarah said over the yearpiece. we all had in. Eight, I replied. Look below, two adults, probably letting the females eat first. I guess chivalry isn't dead after all, Chris said jokingly. We admire the creatures for quite some time. Get some photos before we try and plant the trackers, Sarah suggested.

I pulled out the underwater camera and began snapping photos of the whales. We measured two of the females at around 70 feet to get an average size for the pod, and the next step was the trackers. But, right before we began preparing, the whales began to act hard. They were acting distressed, as if something was deeply, deeply wrong. This wasn't normal behaviour for a distressed whale, though. They made the normal sounds a distressed wilders, but they were swimming upwards as if they were trying to escape the water.

They would swim and shoot their heads out of the water, only to fall right back in. Their distress calls got louder and louder, almost as if they were frustrated and afraid that they couldn't get out of the water. I heard Chris over the yearpiece. What the hell is happening? What are they doing? Before I had a chance to respond, I heard Jacob come on the line as well. Zach, what's going on out there? What are the whales doing? Everyone be quiet. Let me think for a minute.

I blurted out over the comms line. The whales began to thrash and jump even higher out of the water. They were getting close, and this is a little. situation was becoming dangerous. All right, everyone, let's go back in the boat. This is getting unsafe. We began swimming towards the boat, but right as we began heading back, a massive tentacle shot up from the deep. Now, when I say massive, I don't mean pretty big. Each suction cup on it was the size of a small house at least. It was Gar-canchuan. It wrapped itself around one of the whales and pulled it down with such force. We descended at least 50 feet.

The whales were going crazy at this point. Distressed calls rang out through the ocean. Krill began swarming everywhere. I could barely see Sarah or Chris. What was that? Chris screamed out. I don't know, I heard Sarah yell. What's going on out there? Jacob screamed into the mic.

The entire scene had turned into utter chaos. We began swimming up to try and reach the boat. But right at the moment, another tentacle shot up from the deep and wrapped itself around another whale. The whale screamed out in. in agony before it was regally pulled down into its watery grave. The water of the pole yanked us down even deeper. He was getting unsafe to be at this depth. We needed to get out of here immediately.

We needed to get us far away from whatever Eldridge horror lurked beneath us. We began swimming up again. Chris, about 50 feet to my left. Sarah. I couldn't find Sarah. I looked panically around me, but there was no sight of her. Where Sarah? I yelled over the mic.

Chris began to look around too. Did she already make it up? He asked. At that moment, we heard crackling over the airpiece. I'm over here. Do you right, Zach? I looked over and saw her about 70 to 80 feet away from me. Sarah, you need to swim in our direction and up now, I demanded.

I noticed there was a whale above her. Sarah, get away from that way. Was all I could get out, before one of those godforsaken tentacles, shot up from the depths and pulled the whale under, catching Sarah in its wake. I began to scream over the microphone. Jacob was screaming like crazy,

demanding I'd tell him what was happening. I didn't care. My ex-wife, the would-be mother of my child, my close friend, was dead. I couldn't compose myself any longer. I began hyperventilating, burning through my oxygen, when I felt something slam into me. It was Chris.

Get yourself together, man. Sarah is gone. We have to save ourselves. It was then we heard the loudest sound either of us had ever heard in our lives. It sounded like a thousand train engines going off at once. 100 nuclear explosions

all happening at the same time. The ocean shook violently. Zach, if you don't tell me what the hell is going on right now, I'm diving in there myself. I heard Jacob scream with all of his might over the mic. Still, ignoring him,

me and Chris looked down. Around 20 tentacles, each at least 2,000 feet in length, with suction cups the size of landing pads began rising up from the depths. As they grew closer, we noticed hundreds upon hundreds of smaller tentacles writhing and wriggling near them more of whatever this beast was. While we weren't paying attention, the massive tentacles had proceeded to rise out to the water. Once again, I heard Jacob's voice. However, it wasn't talking to me this time. In the background, I heard mass confusion between the crew members. My God, what is that?

He spoke. Jacob's voice over the mic must have snapped me and Chris out of our trance because we immediately began swimming upwards. As if despair was destined that day, however, I heard Chris scream out in agony. I snapped my head around and saw Chris have been pierced with a stinger-like limb that had shot out from one of those massive suction cups. I watched as that massive tentacle lowered itself.

down into the ocean, taking Chris with it. It was only a matter of time before I was next. I couldn't stop. I had to swim. Keep swimming, don't stop. I then heard a loud cracker noise. I looked in the direction of the sound and saw another tentacle that had wrapped itself around the ship

I was beginning to pull it under. I saw crew members dive into the water in a feeble attempt to escape the beast's grasp, but similar to the spear that had gotten Jacob, Tiny biological harpoons were shooting out of the suction cups and picking off each sailor one by one. It was as if the tentacles had mines of the roan. As tragic as this was, it was distracted. This was my chance.

I shot myself upward with great force. I saw the ship being pulled slowly down, along with the punctured crew members. I could only assume Jacob was among them. Right as I neared the boat, it came crashing under, nearly hitting me. One of those damn stiggins I shot right through it and pulled the crew member that was on the boat under.

How did it know he was on it? And how had it not gotten me yet? Chunks of wood floated to the surface. I heard another one of those loud guitar of roars and ducked down. The creature had now had its gaping more open and I could see its eyes.

Three, Garchanchuan's set of eyes peered up to the service. Each could have been an ocean themselves. The teeth hundreds, each the size of buildings, razor sharp and designed to kill. The inside of its mouth gave off an orange glow, resembling a portal to hell itself. The light had produced perfectly illuminated the creature. With all of the chaos, I hadn't even stopped to think what this thing might have been.

Due to the tentacles, I just assumed it was the previously undiscovered species of Godzilla squid. But this was no squid. I can't even describe the face. an almost reptilian, Eldridge horror that completely embodied everything awful I could imagine. Its three massive eyes gave us such hate and anger. This thing shouldn't have existed. A spawn of the devil himself.

I watched as it pulled my ship and all of the crew with it into its mouth and swallowed them effortlessly. I stared at it, hoping it would pierce me like it did Sarah and Chris and the crew. I was begging it to, but it never did. It just sat there.

gazing up to the surface with that unfiltered roar anger burning in its eye. He gave off one more ear-piercing roar before he descended into the deep. I sat there, floating, watching it get deeper and deeper, until the very tip of the long tentacle eventually disappeared into the deep. I was at a loss for words. As if an autopilot, I propelled myself up to a floating piece of driftwood left behind from the destroyed boat. Thankfully, it was big enough for me to climb onto. I lay there for hours, completely hopeless, stranded.

I remember thinking to myself, I'll probably die out here, but I was fine with that at this point. I had fully accepted it. That was the last thing I remember. Before passing out, I awoke to the sound of helicopter blades getting closer. Through my blurred vision, I saw a navy vessel in the distance and a helicopter approaching. I had apparently been adrift for two days, completely unconscious, and barely hanging on to life.

Navy doctors were amazed at how I was alive with how dehydrated I was. After a few days recovering, I was interviewed by representatives of the company I worked for, as well as the company that built the ship were on. I had to explain why three of my colleagues were dead and why a ship disappeared, along with the crew, me being the only survivor. It was faulty equipment and poor maintenance. One of the motors overheated and exploded, causing a reaction with a fuel. I was on the deck for a late-night stroll when I saw the stem of the ship go up in flames.

I tried to warn people, but the fire quickly spread, and I had no choice but to hop in a lifeboat. The fire reached the boat and burned away most of it quicker than I could lower it. And by the time I reached the water, I was left with only a piece of driftwood. What's what I told them. It was either give them a BS story that they'd be. could put in their headlines, or tell them truth and be deemed delirious and traumatized and admitted to a psych ward. I used to not believe in monsters.

Biblical stories from the ancients of Leviathans and horrors beyond our understanding. I thought it was all make-believe. As I sit here typing this now, three years later, I still refused a step foot in the ocean. I retired as soon as I returned to shore, using the money I'd saved up to live within my means for as long as I can. Every now and then, I think about my colleagues, especially Sarah. I like to think she's looking down on me

with our would-be child, just like we talked about on the deck that one night. If you're reading this, the ocean is an untamed, lawless, alien world that lives subsequent to ours. The bloop, the strange recordings from the deep,

cataclysmic movements attributed to glacier or tectonic plates? Before you immediately write those off, just remember, I have seen what lies beneath. The Deepwater Horizon was one of the biggest man-made disasters in the world, holding the infamous title for being the largest environmental disaster in the history of the US, ever since its fatal explosion in the Gulf of Mexico, 41 miles offshore from civilization. What they don't tell you is that the Deepwater Horizon, caught in one of the worst disasters the world has seen

wasn't the only one like many others recorded in the documents and files known to the press and public. For highly classified and non-disclosure agreements that I've signed, I am expected not to be revealing this publicly. Unfortunately for me, I do not have much time left in this world. Recently, I've been diagnosed with stage 3 lung cancer from specialists and doctors alike, with the excessive heavy smoking that I'd

picked up as a stress reliever to get away from the memories and nightmares that had been plaguing me ever since that damn search and rescue operation to Watch Tower One. Speaking of which, Watchtower 1 wasn't the original name for the OUrig, as they had changed its name several times to avoid whistleblowers. As such, I, unfortunately, cannot disclose the true identity of the facility to avoid those who poke their noises into the operation that had longed and yearned to forget. This is purely my recounting. and guilt reliever to get the weighing matters off my chest before I leave this godforsaken world for good. You see, on November 4th, 2018, I joined the CDC, also known as the Centers for Disease Control,

with the mindset and pretext that I would be of aid in curing diseases, giving medical attention and relaying medical supplies to those who are living in disease-ridden third-world countries. For the first two years, that was the case. Baving my way through college and earning my biomedicine degree after the army, naturally, the CDC seemed like a good job offer to take up, with it being the apex of healthcare professions after my graduation. When they had accepted my job application, I was thrilled to say the least. Nonetheless, I would not be working for them as a standard health scientist, during which I was informed that a field in the CDC was lacking in manpower and workers, demanding that

if I were to take up the job offer, I would be part of a security task force team, specialising in crucial search and rescue missions, an escort of personnel from the CDC and civilians alike. It wasn't the kind of work that I had in mind when I joined the CDC, but it was a high-paying job for a beginner like me at the time, so I just thought it seemed like a good job offer, with the encompassing fact that I had been training and serving in the military, so I was pretty well suited for the job. The third field assignment that I had received earlier came with skepticism. code name Operation Hammerdown.

Alongside with my team of five personnel in total, consisting of four security officers and me, was supposed to receive a distress call coming from an offshore deep water oil drilling rig, also known as Watchtower 1 in the Atlantic Ocean, to rescue and secure two geneticists and the rest of the rig personnel, who run board at the time of a seemingly aggressive encounter with an unresponsive mutilated figures coming aboard the platform from the vessel that has been seen to have fatal injuries, covering the entirety of their bodies, exhibiting rabid and hostile behavior in terms of jerky and shuffling motions towards the crew. Those who had tried to establish physical contact with the figures have been seen to also exhibit sudden violent and aggressive tendencies within a couple of minutes,

and therefore have been quarantined and separated from the rest of the crew on board. The massive scientific research vessel had coincidentally crashed into the drilling rig during a hurricane-like storm in a sea at 2200 hours and had gotten stuck and lodged into the pillars, as documents and recorded information about the call state. The distress call came in at around midnight, as the connection had abruptly halted from unknown reasons, possibly from the storm itself. Gearing up my issued equipment and loading a fresh magazine into the M4 carbine, I strapped and tightened the bulky black tinted gas mask around my face as a dunder heavy, yellow rubber hazmat suit with an accompanying tactical vest at the outside, strapping considerable lints of heavy-duty duct tape around my wrist and legs

and sealing them up to prevent air from entering and escaping. I exited the decontamination chamber, drenched in the cleansing water and the heavy downpour of the rain as the roar of the Black Hawk helicopter greeted me as it resounded throughout the slippery landing pad, with occasional thunder that boomed in the distance. The rest of the security team waved to me, all clad in the same yellow protective suits,

sitting in their respective seats. Upon boarding the helicopter, the ground crew outside gave the helicopter one last exterior check before giving an all-clear thumbs up to the pilot and co-pilot, before shutting the metal door in a quick and swift slam, locking it into place. Torrents of raindrops, the size of bullets, pelt at the top and sides of the helicopter vigorously, sounds at their impact drowned out by the blade of the helicopter, as it gradually hovered above the ground before taking off. Call signs, background static and garboured voices chatted over.

the communications radio built into a hazmat suit, as the shaky chopper ride to the oil rig was carried out, mostly in silence, apart from the constant droning of the radio and the howl of the helicopter blades. I thought that our weapons would protect us. I thought that this mission was just a simple extraction operation. I was so wrong. Roodly stirred from a short power nap by the shrill announcement of the pilot, implying our arrival, the helicopter shuddered against the force of the unrelated downpour of of rain, stealing a glance at the electronic clock hanging on the wall of the helicopter. It read in brightly lit red numbers, 3.23 a.m.

The exterior window of the helicopter was covered in a thick layer of water, as the world outside the helicopter was shrouded in vast, thick and black void, with nothing except the mesmerizing wave-stricken ocean as far as the eye could see through the dense curtain of rain. Vulture 2-2, platform coming into view. Feet dry in 20 seconds. The pilot radioed. The surrounding void of darkness, engulfing the sea,

gradually became brighter and brighter, as a massive behemoth of a structure, seemingly rising out of the sea, came into view outside the blurry water-splatted window. Ah, we have an unvisual status on personnel in the rig. Break? The words came over the radio, slow and drawn out,

as the helicopter circled around the brightly lit drilling rig, with a massive visible black reefer vessel half-sunked and stuck into two of the platform pillars, causing it to slightly bend and tilt over to an unstable angle. My jaw hung agape as another unsettling image of the rig soon came into view, this time at the landing pad. The offshore helicopter used the transport personnel from the shore to the rig was seen sprawled flat on the landing pad,

raked tail dangling over the edge, and the body of the rest of the helicopter torn to shreds with the choppers blade hanging loosely at its sides. scratches and damage could be seen visible on the wrecked middle bird laying on the pad, as giant violent waves slammed against the concrete pillars of the rig, causing the lights of the infrastructure to flicker each time from the impact. Copy that. Radio check, standby. Switch the secure channel over, the co-pilot radioed.

The overhead doorbuzzer sounded as the interior of the helicopter lit up in a dazzling red light. Two of my squadmates, Corporal Jackson and Sergeant Volker's, from their seats with assault rifle strapped tightly to their vest as they simultaneously gripped the handles and heaved both of the adjacent doors open with grunts. Gusts of stormwind and rain whipped around in the interior as I and the rest of the task force prepared ourselves for insertion. Greenlight, go, go, go! Thick black fibre ropes dropped down from the top of both helicopter doors as Corball Jackson and Sergeant Volgers were the first to grab onto the ropes and slide down. I followed suit after

them as the rain violently pelted against my fogged up gas mask, I'm struck in most of my view. Swiftly sliding down the rope as my boots slammed onto the metal platform. I quickly drew the M4 assault rifle and switched the safety off, as I noticed my other two teammates who were already in position, assault rifles trained on a rusty metal steel door a couple of feet away. Sounds of sliding and boots hitting the wet ground could be heard behind me, as the other two squad members, Corporal Staples and Specialist Maxion rendezvoused with us. rifles crackling and clicking into place, as the whole team followed into combat stance, weapons drawn at the ready.

Whiskey 3, this is Vulture 2-2 at Bingo Fuel. We're bugging out of here for refuel and resupply. Godspeed, over. The helicopter hovered above us for a second, before rising up and circling the rig for another minute, before soon flying back into the distance, the sounds of turning blades quickly disappearing and masked by the incessant pinterbatter of rain and thunder. The surroundings around me were grimly lit by the overhead lights of the rig as a loud, stressed, groan of the infrastructure echoed throughout its walls and floors.

Sarge raised his hand and motioned for us to toggle the flashlights on our guns to operational as he took the lead and walked towards the metal door, with the rest of the team still vigilant and following after him. Approaching the worn down and corroded metal door, we stepped aside and divided ourselves into two sections, each on either opposite sides of the door and pressed against the crime-coated wall awaiting further instructions.

Breathing heavily through the fogged-up mask, I could still make out the powerful lingering smell of decay and decades of rusting metal as the platform squeaked noisely under our weight. Sergeant Volker's motioned a countdown with his gloved hand mouthing the numbers whilst carrying his rifle in the other hand as we mentally staled ourselves for a breach into the facility. On my mark,

Three, two, one. Breach. The metal door flew forcefully open on its hinges with a slight dent in its body, from Sergeant's leg kick, as we noisily chambered through the doorways, guns and ice transfixed on the front as everyone piled into the small corridor, dimly lit with constant flickering of overhead lights. Room cleared. The small corridor, basked in yellow-green hue by the lighting,

led to a metal-grated flight of stairs leading downwards, as we cautiously stepped over the debris stream flooring, the sounds of constant dripping rainwater, leaking from the metal walls fading into the background as I followed behind Sergeant Volkers, with the rest of the team trailing in a single file after us. Upon descending down the flight of stairs, we were instantly hit in the face

with an unmistakable, strong, sickly metallic smell of blood, concentrated enough to permeate and filter through our gas masks, causing one of the team members training behind us, specialist Maxine to bend over and gag as he used as a saw rifle to leverage to keep himself from falling over. Jesus Christ, what in the world actually happened here? Specialist Maxine remarked through the radio,

the distinctive sounds of his coughing mixed with a fuzz and the white static emitted through the speakers. Clenching the weapon tight in my hands, I showing the flashlight attached to the barrel of the gun onto an unlit section of the corridor, with the beam of the light falling upon a frame of a person dressed in a matching orange reflective taped jacket and pants lying against the wall.

I momentarily started in my tracks as I stared in shock at the scene that lay in front of me, dread gripping tightly at my sides. Figure spotted 11 o'clock, I briefly announced, stepping towards the figure, weapons still drawn and aiming down at it with a barrel flashlight. Advancing towards this person, I'd noticed that the surrounding walls and floors he was lying in were coated in a sickly, crimson red liquid, and the sickly smell of blood, growing more and more concentrated,

the lingering, oppressive feeling of dread, growing densely in the pit of my stomach, the closer I stepped, the sounds of my boots softly clanking against the floor. The rest of the team stuck behind, guns trained on the body. Sir, are you all right? I kneeled down and gripped his shoulders,

as I gently shock him. The rifle clutched in my other hand. No response As I slowly tried to lift up his face I held one gloved hand around his chin For better support As I repeated my question Sir, do you

Oh my God I record backwards in disgust and terror Let him go from his chin As he limply slumped back forward Hordes of tiny wriggling maggots and brownish red liquid dribbling out from his mouth And onto his lap As they wriggled about vigorously in protest

To the beam of light that shone upon them What the hell? What the actual hell? What happened to him? Corporal Staple said in disgust through the radio, his expression turning sour. Eyes glued upon the dead body lying in the corridor. Sergeant Volkis exchanged glances with specialist Max in

as he inspected the dead body, leaning in for a better look. Poor guy seems to have died a long time ago, most likely one of the workers on board the rig. His head bending over and picking up a small identification card and slung loosely around the worker's neck, examining it. Let's get moving.

We've got business to attend to. After a couple of minutes, I'm making a way to the end of the dimly lit corridor, we came across another huge metal door, this time with an accompanying faded label, which read, cafeteria. I tried the greasy handle, as the huge door remained wedged and locked tight. Suddenly, a shrill, feminine, ear-pacing scream,

and animalistic house could be heard coming from the other side of the door, as soon as I tried to jingle the handle for the second time. I flinched by instinct as the whole team jolted, weapons trained on the door. But as soon as the chilling screams and howls resonated through the corridor, it had stopped as quickly as it had started. Hello, miss, please respond. We are here to help you. I shouted through the metal, holstering my weapon, as I cupped my hands against the door to amplify my voice.

My pleas for a verbal response came empty-handed, as the muffled sounds of shuffling feet and slow metal scraping against the floor could be hurt from the other side. Damn, we've got to get to her, she might be injured. Corporal Jackson said beside me, stepping forward as he lifted the barrel of his rifle and aimed in the direction of the metal handle.

Breach Four quick and loud gunshots wrung out from the muzzle of his barrel as it illuminated the cramped corridor around us in dazzling bright yellow flashes. The sparks flew from the handle itself. The heavy metal door swung, wide open after two consecutive kicks, and we quickly filed into the pitch-black caveteria through

the doorway, breath's panting as the beams of light from our weapons shook around violently in our horrid states. As we fully composed ourselves and calmed down, the entire cafeteria became eerily quiet. Apart from the muffled thunder outside and our breathings through the masks, we scanned our flashlights around in the pitch-black room in search of the sores of the screams that came earlier. I was still breathing heavily through my mask, the steam from my breaths, quickly blocking and quickly limiting my view from the eye holes. The whole room was deathly silent for a full minute, with nobody saying a word with bated breaths. We stood in our positions and used the narrow beams of our flashlights that scan around and

illuminate the surroundings, as light fell over a scene of broken tables, twisted metal chairs, and shattered coffee mugs. Suddenly, quick dozens of flashes of motion were caught in the corner of my vision as I jerked around with my flashlight, trying to get a glimpse of whatever is in the room with us. The beam of my flashlight shone around wildly from one spot to another, where I'd last seen the movements. Hello? Is anyone there? Specialist Maxine announced loudly into the room. But, before he could finish his sentence, his entire body was abruptly caught by a darting figure lunging onto him

from behind, and propelled both of the bodies forward into the darkness, causing him to drop his M4 onto the floor and killing the flashlight from the gun. Help me, I can't see him, get it off of me. His cries for help screeched in the pitch-black distance, and suddenly deafening sprays of gunfire erupted from my right as another one of my fellow teammates, Corporal Jackson, opened fire blindly in the general direction of a sudden figure that a dashed past his beam of light. Contact, he quickly yelled,

and Sergeant Volcker's and Corporal Stables started wildly opening fire as well, and several other figures that he quickly run past the lights, causing the entire cafeteria to momentarily light up in a blinding mixture of yellow and white flashes. Time seemed to crawl to a halt as I blanked out in the heat of the moment. The gunfire flashes irradiating the attacking figures as a caught a glimpse of their misshapen, malformed bodies, similar to that of burned victims, with brownish red spittle flying out from their jaw that hung at an unnatural angle.

What are we fighting? Corporal Staples yelled in panic, was blindly shooting, as his entire body was abruptly grabbed onto and yanked forward into the darkness. His desperate screams for help muffled in the deafening background gunfire. Snap out of it, we've got to get the hell out of here, Sergeant Volga's yelled from the left as he started sprinting back towards the metal door with corporal jacks and hot on his heels, turning around for the last time and firing back into the inhuman screeches and howls of the figures. There I stood, both feet froze into the ground in shock and fear from the events

that had unfolded right in front of my eyes. eyes, as the gruffical man from the sergeant snatched me out of my trance. I considered helping my other two teammates for a second, before silently uttering an apology, and ran after Jackson and the sergeant back through the metal doorway. Howls, an angry, and amelistic screams bounce off the corridor as the huge method door vibrated and held under the bashes and attacks that came from the other side. I was on my knees panting and breathless as I clutched the rifle, my hand trembling in terror. Sergeant Fulkes held the door shut

along with Corbel Jackson as the unrelenting bashing from the other side of the door kept up with their siege to break in. The three of us knew what had to be done next was inevitable as the bashing and thumping of the door started to grow stronger and louder by the second. Sergeant Fulkes was the first to break the silence between the three of us as he handed me his dog tag

without saying a word. Let's do me a favour. Find those geneticists and get the hell out of this hellhole. I'll hold these guys off. Hurry. Corporal Jackson protested as he tried to change the sergeant's mind from his sacrifice attempt. The metal door inched forward in a desperate push to break in, and Sergeant Voges shook his head and slammed it back into place with a loud grunt.

He produced two fragnades from his vest as he clutched one in both hands. There's no time. Either you wanted those two of the deaths to be in vain or the whole goddamn team. Go now, that's an order. The howls in the background faded and mixed into the howlid. of the wind as we passed the previous body lying against the wall in a running sprint and climb the metal stairs, reaching back onto the top side in mere minutes. Slamming the metal door shut behind us, the distant rumble of explosion resonated and echoed through the rig as the entire platform started to gently shake seconds after the blast.

Damn, Corporal Jackson yelled furiously through the suit as he kicked the oxidized metal wall beside us, causing it to slightly dents from the impact. Their deaths could have been prevented, We might have come up with something else if it wasn't for my goddamn idea to breach in. No, no, you did the right thing in trying to save whoever was behind the door. That was the original mission for the entire team. I tried to assure and empathize with him, as the sudden loud clack of the onboard PA system reminded both of us that the mission wasn't over yet.

Hello? Is this a rescue team? We're currently holed up and trapped in the control room. There's a couple of those things trying to break in. Upon hearing the announcement, from the system, Corporal Jackson and I glanced at each other, exchanging subtle nods before taking off jogging towards a metal doorway further down the platform, this time with a directory map nailed to its side with faded description labels. I briefly scanned over and examined the directory with my gloved fingers as it unconsciously trailed down and pointed to a small

location in the map which had an accompanying label that reads Control Room. Over there, Corporal Jackson examined, catching my attention as he motioned his fingers to point in the direction. direction of a woman, clad in a white lab coat, waving at us from a window, situated in a sizable two-story tower. As we hastily made our way to the giant platform tower, the radio built into both of our suits suddenly burst the life, beeping in a quick and rhythmic manner. Whiskey three, Whiskey three, this is Vulture 2-2 on maximum fuel. We'll be on station for Evac and ETA ten minutes, out. I sighed in sheer relief as Corporal Jackson grinned from inside of his mask, as we reached the smashed and warped metal door leading to the tower.

I'll take lead, watch my six, he muttered as we ascended a spiraling grated stairwell, with remnants of bloodstains and tiny pieces of decomposing flesh littering the metal, both floor and walls. The distinct sound of banging, blood-curling screaming, and howlings soon came into focus as we near the top of the stairwell as I tightened my grip on the handle of the rifle. As we ran in the corner in the spiraling sterile wall, we could make out a couple of figures, turning back towards us as they continued their relentless rampage on a metal door, with visible damage and denting on its exterior. The figures, clad in the same working orange uniforms and construction helmets, were seen aggressively and violently bashing their heads into the body of the door,

as one was seen repeatedly running into it with his body at full force, grooms in red blood spilling all over the place, and white tips of rude cage. bone protruding from his back as it continued with the act as if nothing has happened, while screaming and howling frantically. Jesus, what the hell? Corporal Jackson whispered as the figures abruptly stopped in their actions and spun around faster than we could react, as they're dead, glazed over eyes stared right into us, dilated pupils twitching randomly.

Nobody moved for a split second, and as the once human figures finally registered our presence with them, they started frenzily dashing towards us at full speed before we could even react and pull the trigger. In a split second, one of them was closing in on Corbel Jackson, her upper movements jerky and convulsing. I pulled the trigger without thinking in my shock-filled state, the 556 rounds impacting and tearing through her decomposing shoulders and up her head and she was sent barreling to the air and tumbling past Corporal Jackson rolling down the stairs. Corporal Jackson opened fire on the other figures as they were stopped in their tracks by the hail of bullets and tumbled to the floor, still spasming and gurgling out blood as they slowly succumbed

to their fatal injuries. Panting and taking a breather, I cautiously stepped over the bodies laying in the floor, riddled with blooded holes as a small pull of blood emerged from under them, as I gave the metal door several loud knocks. Open up, we were the CDC. I called out, lowering my weapon as a motioned corporal Jackson over to me. Sounds of unlocking could be heard from the other side, as the door slowly instilled open, leaving a tiny gap as an eye peaked out and examined me in Corporal Jackson before swinging wide open, revealing a dark-haired female scientist dressed in a bloodstained lab coat. Her hair ruffled and dishevelled.

Behind us sat a rig worker, clad in the same dirty orange uniform and looking quite rather exhausted. Thank God you guys had finally arrived. We hunkered down here in the control room when the rig went into lockdown. My other partner went out and made the distress calls from the combs room, but she hasn't returned since. Corbel Jackson shot me a pitiful glance, as we both knew deep down, she was already dead. You're the working Jeanette is his scientist, right? I cautiously inquired as she confirmed the statement by nodding ahead. The Evac helicopter should be here anytime soon to

gate guys out. We hope. My words were quickly muffled out by the roar of a colossal explosion, resounding and bouncing off the walls as the entire control room shook violently, throwing us off our feet. Mugs, keyboards, computer monitors clattered and smashed under the floor around us as a light suddenly went out. The room shook once more as the facility fire alarm started blaring. The wailing of the shrill alarm echoed all throughout the vicinity, as we laid on the debris-stricken floor, groaning in pain. Our radios screamed to life as a familiar voice blared to the speakers, vibrating from the intensity. Vulture 2-2 is at the station and in position.

We have confirmation visuals of flames on the rig. get your asses out of here before the place blows up The scientist groaned as the rear worker stumbled to his feet Holding onto the control panel where he lost balance and fell backwards onto the floor What's happening? He yelled as he tried to hoist himself back up This damn thing is sinking probably from sergeant grenades Anyway, we've got to go now Corporal Jackson shouted over the wail of the alarm as he climbed back onto his feet

Grabbing his rifle and speaking into the radio Damn, Vulcher 2-2, this is whiskey. On your feet, soldier, we're going to get the hell out of here. He yelled as he gripped from a right hand, hoisting me up in an instant as he dashed to the door. I grabbed my rifle and helped the scientists up to her feet as the construction worker stood up and followed suit after us through the doorway. Upon exiting the tower, we were greeted with a sight and smell of what could only be described as total anarchy. The metal catwalk bridges ahead of us slung dangerously to the sides, as fiery flurry. flames licked every corner as far as I could see through the clouds of smoke.

Another smaller explosion resonated behind us from a distance, sending fragments of the catwalk, hurling down onto us from above, as we covered our heads with our arms and hands. The lingering scent of copper and melted wires penetrated our gas masks and into our noses as we ran through the thick black smoke, following Corporal Jackson as he led us into a splitting intersection in the catwalk. A distinct and muffled roar of a helicopter could be heard above the sounds of chaos. This way, go, go, keep moving. He called out while dodging the fires as the massive

crane of the oil rig grown loudly under stress, tilting inwards and coming crashing down onto the control tower that we had just been in earlier. Had we not left it sooner, we might have been squash like bugs. The impact of its crash came with the result of the platform tilting dangerously to one side, as we were once again thrown off our feet, this time, thankfully, holding onto the catwalk handrail. How far is it to the helicom? The worker shouted in frustration as he ran in front of me, mouth and nose covered with his arm to prevent inhalation. We're almost there. Move, move! Corporal Jackson shouted angrily as the whirring of the helicopter rotor blades came to focus.

The smoke parted as I could see the military helicopter in all of his magnificent glory, hovering just above the edge of the platform. Door slung wide open as the pilot directed the bird closer to the edge. It sighed, scraping against the paint of the catwalk. Get in the chopper. The radio screamed as we ran towards the helicopter with Corporal Jackson being the first on board followed by the geneticist and the worker.

I was about to board the helicopter when I was suddenly thrown backwards with a catwalk breaking apart and bending into two as a massive reek tilted into an angle which I was now meters away from the helicopter as the pilot desperately tried to hold it together and stabilise. Come on, jump for it! Corbill Jackson shouted over the terrified screams of the scientist

as the helicopter hovered unsteadly the distance between me and the helicopter increasing by the second. I took a deep breath and ready myself as I sprinted to the edge of the catwalk before leaping with all of my might. I fell flat on my chest onto the helicopter floor, my gun clashing to the side as I began slipping on the wet surface of the metal

and slid backwards into the edge of the helicopter. My whole body dangled from the edge, but right before I was about to fall off, a firm gloved hand grouped my arm tightly as Cople Jackson pulled me back on board. I got you. He said, as he hoisted me back up from the edge of the helicopter, the sounds of the explosion still audible from behind me.

We're all on board. Go. Roger that. The asset has been secured. Fulcher, returning back to base, out. The co-pilot announced as the helicopter flew away from the rig, leaving behind the stricken oil rig as it commenced this final explosion in the last few seconds, sending out blinding bright light and a massive cloud of detchus and rubble as it broke away, slowly sinking into the stormy ocean. It has been 19 years since the dismissal of the offshore disaster

as a freak accident. The government covering up the whole story as just a malfunctioning drilling system going on board. I left the CDC and my whole life back there behind for good, given the NDA slip that has kept my mouth shut and prohibited me from even hinting at the existence of this story. My contract has already ended four days ago and I have been debating whether to reveal the story or not

from there ever since. Some things in the world are just not meant to be discovered, and we should just remain blissfully unaware of the hidden dangers that lurk in our very planet. I just hope in my heart

that the poor souls on board the rig during that fateful night rest and peace under the sea, alongside with Sergeant Volker's specialist Maxian and Corporal Staples. That is all that I have for you,

and whatever that you do, please don't go searching for watched how In the end, it was a common human fault that saved me. Despite our differences, socially, culturally, racially, we were all accustomed to each other, at least superficially familiar with anyone we call a stranger, a foreigner, another. Humans, no humans. Humans, no human thinking.

Human behaviour, human ideas. These behaviours and ideas may be strange, especially if exhibited by persons outside of our social or cultural group. we're still able to recognise them as being of human origin. My inability to see the humanity in that thing is what saved me. It's a strange thing to see an emergency broadcast alert issued for your name, especially if you're not a child, and hadn't been gone from your home long enough to be deemed missing.

It's extraordinarily bizarre when the fact that you live alone is taken into consideration and have no immediate peers or contacts who would notice and report your absence. And yet, as I made my way towards my friend's house, who had texted me, asking if I'd help remove some furniture, I received the text alert declaring that I had gone missing. It had even given my last known location, my apartment complex, and an area in which I might be located. But the thing that unsettled me, the thing that made me stop in place and stare at my phone as if it was something unfamiliar to me, was that it also had given the suspected identity of my abductor. The person, the identity of the abductor, was the same as the abductee. According to the text, which had been sent in the same manner as the Amber Alert,

I had abducted myself. My phone buzzed several times and vibrated in accordance to the sequence of buzzes while the text flashed on screen. The puzzling details contained within a box outlined in red. I stared at the screen for several seconds, as if unconsciously waiting for something, before dismissing the prompt. Still, incredulous, I went through my text and at first thought that I'd simply imagined the thing. Somehow, despite having a clear mind at the time, when I failed to find the message in my texts. Then I remembered that I'd never been able to find past emergency alerts in my default text in app,

and after a few minutes of searching through menus, I finally found where they're stored. and despite my hopes and dreams, there the message was, the topmost alert, detailing my self-achieved abduction. Seeing it a second time made me extremely conscious of my surroundings, even though the suspect in question was myself. I'd been walking along on an unlit sidewalk which lined a fairly long and seldom travelled road, at least for this time of year. The direction I'd been going was away from my town, further into the one suburban areas. of the region where my aforementioned friend lives. It was late in the day, around 9pm, but my friend had insisted in his text

that I helped him move some furniture from one room into another, because he was going to be extremely busy at work throughout the following day and wouldn't have time otherwise. Having nothing going on at the time, I agreed to help, and decided to walk over instead of taking an Uber. The night was cool, but not uncomfortably chilly, and I hadn't really had much exercise. early in the day being off work.

I scanned my surroundings, which were admittedly unremarkable at face value, but which had taken on an air of grave gloominess following the reception of the cryptic alert. There was no wind, and this particular area was devoid of housing, so there weren't any dogs howling in the night

or faintly heard televisions, no sounds of civilization. The area was virtually noiseless, pretern naturally silent, and I suddenly sensed that this was not due to the general emptiness of the area, but the work or effect of some greater imperceptible influence. But I had travelled about half the distance to my friend's house, so I figured that I might as well continue on. As I walked, I decided to text my friend and

ask if he received the same alert, wording it as casually as possible. My friend can be a bit of an asshole, and considering that I was undeniably creaked out, I didn't want him mocking me if it turned out to be an error or a joke of some kind. I typed out the message, press send and put my phone in my pocket. I walked several paces, then withdrew my phone again, expecting to find a response. But when I checked the screen, I saw the little symbol that indicates a message hadn't been sent. For some reason, my text hadn't gone through, so I tried sending it again, this time watching to make sure. And it failed.

A chill ran down my spine. My nerves suddenly becoming excited. My party tensed, and yet I still tried to hold onto some semblance of rational thinking. I deleted the message, telling myself that that particular effort was in some way flawed and typed out another message, this time even using different wording and sent it. But just like the previous attempt, the message failed. The little text box greyed out with a red circle intersected by a line sitting beside it. A few moments later, I found out that I couldn't make calls, nor connect to the internet via my 4G.

The mundanity of my surroundings was completely forgotten, and I found myself sensing some vague threat among the shadows. An unknown yet inimical force encroaching upon the atmosphere, its target being the sole occupant of that stretch of road. Me. My shoes were fairly beat. I'd worn them for pretty much every occasion and circumstance for the last few years. And yet, I found myself jogging steadily, even as the battered soles scraped along the concrete, and the frayed shoe strings flopped haphazardly about, threatening to trip me if I made the slightest miscalculation in footing. I was terrified, despite the absence of a known source of terror.

I jogged through an environment made eerie by circumstances, carrying in my pocket an extremely expensive object that had inexplicably failed in his most basic purpose. There was something going on. Of that, I was sure, and my inability to figure it out made the entire situation so much more unsettling. Eventually, the first few houses came to view ahead, their outlines reconciling against the blackness in the distance, lights shining dolly through windows or above porches. I was maybe two minutes away from the neighbourhood and another five from my friend's house, when all the lights were suddenly and simultaneously extinguished,

and a darkness, deeper than before, sprung up before me. I abruptly came to a stop, nearly tripping over my own feet. I felt extremely vulnerable, so I try my best to stifle my panting. The silence had been unsettling, but now, coupled with the darkness, it was oppressive, almost malevolent. I couldn't see anything, couldn't hear anything, total sensory deprivation. I felt trapped at the absolute bottom of an abyss. surrounded by a nothingness that was so total, so wide-spanning, that it became a terrifying presence of its own.

My phone then vibrated in my pocket, making me involuntarily cry-outs and surprise. I gripped the phone, suppressing the vibration, and listened. But I didn't hear anything that would have denoted the approach of someone or something. My cry hadn't alerted anyone. Trembling, I withdrew my phone from my pocket, dimming the brightness as I unlocked the screen. amidst the omnipresent darkness, the screen was like a blinding flare. I felt dangerously exposed, even though danger hadn't yet presented itself. On the screen, another alert message flashed, and my heart skipped a beat when I read the text.

Keep the light on, maximum brightness, you are not safe in the dark. Do not let the darkness envelop you, or she will find you. She is jealous. You will be replaced. The message flashed several times and then dismissed itself. I stared at my home screen for a moment, my mind trying to keep itself from unraveling in terror. My eyes went to the top of the screen,

and my heart sank upon seeing the remaining battery percentage. 12%. I hadn't expected to go out that night, so I hadn't worried about charging my phone. I quickly went to my battery settings, enabled the maximum power-saving option, which shut down any apps for any of the background, lower the screen's resolution

and prevented certain battery exhausting functions from automatically activating. This included my 4G connection. While the battery percentage didn't change, the projected lifespan had. It went from 22 minutes to 54, and I silently whisper my thanks to whom I would design the literally life-saving system.

With nearly every other function deactivated, I increased my brightness and almost screamed as the projected battery life immediately plummeted to only 30-odd minutes. I decided to continue walking, telling myself that I was only a few minutes away from my friend's house, and that I would be perfectly safe there. But upon locking up from my phone, I felt extremely disoriented, as if my surroundings had shifted in the short passage of time.

Even though I couldn't make out anything through the darkness, I was certain that either my surroundings had changed, or I had inexplicably been repositioned to face a different direction. from where I'd been looking before. The silence was gradually broken by a mounting pulsation and I almost panicked before realizing that it was the beating of my own heart that resonated dully in my phone illuminated space.

I tried to calm myself, but hadn't ever been in such a frightening situation before and didn't know any mantras or prayers or mental games with which to calm or distract myself. I stood, petrified, bathed in the glow of my phone's screen while his battery dwindled at his disconcertingly steady rate, now at 9%. With fingers that frantically flicked, pressed and typed, I tried to search through my phone to find any hidden functions or background applications

that might still be running in the hopes of extending the pitifully low battery. But after a few minutes of this and further loss of battery, I realized that I was only hastening the battery's depletion. Terrified, defeated, I went back to the phone's homeschool. and held it close to me. I feared walking in any direction, lest I venture farther from my friend's neighbourhood and be caught deep in the Antarctic territory

when the battery finally ran out. When the battery reached 4%, I started to shake uncontrollably, thoroughly terrified by my seemingly hopeless predicament. A few seconds later, the screen suddenly cut out, the phone not bothering to limp through the last few percentages. Again since, I cried out,

infuriated at being cheated of those last few precious minutes of light of life. I thought for some reason that I would be afforded a few moments of peace before the arrival of whatever horror I'd been warned against. I guess I hoped

that it would have taken its time in manifesting but just as the manufacturer's logo of my phone faded away and the screen assumed a black blankness I heard the quickly approaching footsteps of some otherwise silent pursuer. Thankfully, flight won out

against fight, and my legs obeyed the panicked command of my mind to run. Through visually impenetrable darkness, I ran, no longer caring whether or not I sprinted closer or farther away from what I'd hoped would be safety. Behind me, horribly audible, the footsteps gained. I pursue only a few paces behind me. I've never been much of a runner, had jogged on occasion when urged by friends. But in that moment, I felt as if I were running. olympically.

Control of my body was transferred to previously buried mechanisms of survival, motioned along with its primal efficiency as I fled in Milo's terror away from some equally swift horror. I saw nothing, feared collision with nothing, only wanted, needed to escape that dark-born hunter.

A pinprick of light suddenly came into view, far off in the distance, a beacon of hope, of sanity. My tired legs pushed on, accelerating with renewed vitality. My lungs hastily cycled air. My blood pumped vigorously. All thought, all impulses of nerve,

were focused on reaching that brilliant destination. The footballs behind me were almost in sync with my own. Their owner literally at my heels. But I hadn't looked back. Didn't think for one moment too. The light grew, the area over which it shone was defined. A street lamp positioned over a street corner. I'd been heading towards my friend's neighbourhood after all,

even though it had seemed as if I'd been running for much longer than the few minutes it should have taken me. Half a mile, a fourth, a few feet, an arm's length. I burst into that circle of light, actually felt a difference in the illuminated atmosphere, but before I was fully inside, I felt a sudden and unfightable resistance. I was jerked down, violently,

pulled to the ground by a force much stronger than me. My hip landed on the pavement on the street And pain, unlike anything I'd felt before, shot through my entire body, stunning me But before I could scramble back into the light I was pulled away, dragged into that awful darkness Flight no longer an option, my priorities shifted And an arm came up, desperately swinging at the source of my capture, Still obscured by the darkness.

I felt my hand hard strike against a surface And something led out a blood-chilling snarl My hand, before I get pulled away, was seized, and a second later I cried out incessantly as my wrist was quickly broken. My limp wrist was tossed aside, and my body was dragged under the scope of the light. A voice, filled with savage contempt, then spat out the words. It's my turn. What happened next hadn't exactly been a conscious decision on my part. Only looking back now, freed of that nightmare, does it seem like the only logical sequence of thought and action.

Just as I left the perimeter of light, a thought came into my mind, a memory of times for my phone had prematurely died, kicking the bucket before actually reaching zero. Each time, I had managed to turn it back on and experience a few moments of life before it had properly died again. With this in mind, my remaining usable hand reached across my body, somehow managed to retrieve my phone from the opposite pocket and turned it on.

Desperately, filled with both fear and anger, I jumped the screen into what I hoped would be the face of my attacker. The space above me was filled with the bright whiteness of my phone's activation, illuminating a monstrous image. It was a human face, horribly malformed, but familiar. Despite the warped features, I recognised my own face, staring hatefully down at me. My, its eyes were misaligned, with one too high on the face and the other too long. The nose appeared broken or wrongly grown

And the mouth curved up but hideously As if the cheek had been cut into an awful extension of a smile For the first instant The eyes merely squinted at the suddenly introduced light But then the twisted mimic shrieked awfully And the topmost eye burst into flames Their grip on me was immediately released And their hands went to their face

Trying to slap away the flames Seconds later the entire head was a flame and the hands followed suit not long after. As afraid of the fire as I was of this hideous doppelganger, I scrambled back into the light, ignoring the white-hot pain on my wrist as I put pressure upon my barely working hand. I heard its voice,

my voice intermittently called out for help between shrieks of agony, a natural impulse to help it nearly overcame me, but I was stopped from returning to that darkness by how inhuman the voice sounded, even though it had barely resembled my own, Had it not been so wicked sounding, so not right, I might have gone to it. I entered that circle of light beneath the streetlight and watched breathlessly as that other fainter light faded away into the darkness, and with it the dying shrieks of my monstrous reflection.

Domly, I stood and walked to my friend's house. With my free hand, I knocked on his door, and a moment later he was staring at me with an expression of surprise. Before I could speak, he said, Oh, didn't you get my text? Right after I asked for your help, I texted my boss to see if I could come late, and he said he wouldn't mind. I texted you right after.

I looked at my phone, just as the notification for a text message popped up on screen. But, before I could open it, my phone died. Looking back, I saw the preternatural gloom recede, and the street resumed its ordinarily dark setting. It happened quickly, far too. quickly for me to draw my friend's attention to it. My eyes scanned the street, searching for the other me that I had set a flame.

But all I saw was a thin trail of smoke leading off towards the side of the road, into a thicket of bushes far away. Oh my God, what happened to your hand? I turned to my friend, silently cursing him for reminding me of the pain, and asked, if he had a charger I could use.