CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "Give him what he wants" Creepypasta

Episode Date: February 1, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by ChristianWallis: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comm...​Creepypastas 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►CARLOS VILLAS: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/q9...​SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...​►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...​►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...​►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...​FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta​►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/​►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta​►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPasta​CREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic​ ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic​ ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt​ ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM​ ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only-

I still don't know why I did what I did to Michael. I've thought it over every way I can, turning the memory upside down and inside out until it felt like I was going insane. At the time, a part of me thought it was just a bit of fun. I meant him no harm. I was 19 and hanging around outside a school waiting for my girlfriend to get out

when I spotted the guy in the parking lot. He must have been there to pick up his younger sister. Like a lot of us, he wasn't able to make it to university or even just get a job in the city so he was stuck at home like the rest of us but growing up he'd been a real pain in the ass a special kind of dweeb born out of insecurity and petty jealousy

he hated everyone he hated the smart kids most of all but that didn't stop him from saving some choice words for the rest of us all of us kids were just trying to have a good time smoke a little dope get a little drunk feel each other up Michael would rock up to our usual haunts with the police in tow and then act high and mighty about it the next day. He had thriped in a controlled schoolyard environment,

but on that day, looking at him sat in his car, it dawned on me, we weren't in a schoolyard anymore. It was the real world, and in the real world, there are consequences for your actions. Acting like an asshole, taking people off, well, it's liable to get you a slap around the head. I could see him eyeing me when he thought I wasn't looking. I knew what he was thinking as I sat there smoking.

Had I turned out to be everything he hoped, some loser with no future, no ambition? It may be angry to think of him judging me when he turned out no better. His sly little glances only got worse when Dave and Andy wandered past and I called him over for a chat. He must have known we were laughing at him.

He must have heard us chant his old nickname and clutch our stomachs in faux laugh. after. We were doing it for his pleasure. I could seem squirm. It wasn't meant to go further than that. I just wanted to give him something to think about. I knew he'd spend that night tossing and turning as furious at us as we were at him. But then Andy started throwing beer bottles and I should have stopped him. It was a silly thing to do. Too loud, too angry, too stupid. But before I'd even thought of what to say to Andy, Michael was up and out of him. his car and filming us with his phone.

Please leave the premises, he cried, his voice a little shaky. This is a place for learning, not drunken yops to pick up underage girls. We shouted our own replies about his sister, his mother. Michael called us losers. We called him pathetic. If we'd left it at that, maybe it would have been fine. But it went on until Michael cried something a little too close at home. I hope your dads are proud.

Those words hit a sense to. of spot for Dave. Before I had time to think of what any of it might mean to him, the young mechanic was already charging forward. I figured he just hit Michael, but he slapped the boy hard around the back of his head, hard enough to daze him, and then hoisted the little Michael up into the air with ease. And he ran over and grabbed the boy's ankles to stop him kicking, and we're all howling with laughter and excitement, just waiting to see where this was going. Timeout Corner, David cried. Michael, you're going in the timeout corner, just like a Mrs. Ketcham's class.

Michael was calling us every name under the sun, but when he heard Dave tell me to pop the trunk, his tone changed. In a few steps it took for Andy to cover the distance, Michael went from screaming, to shouting, to pleading, to begging, and then right back to raging.

I later found out he was claustrophobic, something to do with his own dad being a real piece of work. But we didn't know that at the time. We just wanted to scare him a little. We shoved Michael into that trunk Like he was a cardboard box that wouldn't fit It took three attempts to slam the hatch shut

First time his ankle got in the way And that must have hurt But Michael was still determined to make his way out Second time he was his wrist And Michael's voice started to falter Third time we caught his fingers And Michael started screaming like an injured dog I often think about him pulling his hand back into the dark

I think about it because it was the moment he gave in, and it makes me feel sick to my stomach. At times, I blame myself for letting us do it. Mostly, I just hate myself for putting him in that place. After his hand slithered into the shadows, we finally managed to close the trunk for good and shut out Michael's hysterical crying. And then we sat, drinking beer,

while Michael screamed and howled. It was a rage, desperate kind of shriek that went on rising forever like a violin crescendo, finding new and dangerous notes of despair. You ever heard a dog scream? It had that kind of animalistic quality to it. Andy would later say it was like an opera singer with his hand caught in a wood chipper. I can't say for certain if it bothered the others as much as me,

but after only a few minutes, it felt like I was carrying a lead weight in my stomach. We talked and laughed and joked, but I don't remember what about. Even as I nodded and replied, I found all my thoughts returning to the muffled cries of the young man trapped in the trunk beneath my legs By the time he stopped

My girlfriend was coming out of the doors And Dave and Andy said the goodbyes Two more beers were sent arcing through the air To shatter into a thousand pieces And they were gone like we'd done nothing more interesting Than just chat about the weather I waited for them to turn the corner My girlfriend had stopped to chat to some of her own friends

And I knew I had a few minutes And I finally opened the damn trunk By now, my stomach was in my ass. That's how damn bad I felt. I maybe even started mumbling some kind of response. God, maybe even an apology. But no one was there to hear it. Michael was gone.

He torn the crap out of the fabric in my car, gouged his long claw marks into it like a ticked off cat. I touched every inch of that trunk like I was trying to find a magician's secret hatch. By the time my girlfriend made it to my side, I'd pulled what was left of the fabric away. I was getting ready to crawl under just to take a look. What are you looking for?

She asked. A head cocked to one side. Uh, nothing, I stammered. He must have. He must have what? I never finished the sentence. I rationalised it, you see. Told myself he'd gotten out.

That was all. Even as I rolled past the lot and I saw Michael's sister staring at his car, looking around for her older brother, I just kept telling myself he'd gotten out and was probably running to the police ready to file assault charges. Of course, that wasn't true at all. From what I understand, Michael's sister had to go back in and call her parents,

who in turn called the police. I woke up the next morning to Michael's smiling, spotty face on the Gazette, the picture cribbed from one of our school photos. It must have been taken at school play with me standing just a few places over. I was nearly sick with guilt, and I tried to pretend that my mind was playing tricks for me. not that it stopped me going over my car with a fine-tooth comb. I'm hardly CSI, but there were a few blonde hairs in the back that I'm sure he must have shed.

And the scuff marks, they were never imaginary. They were real, 100% authentic. I called Dave and Andy, and they confirmed what we'd done. Not that they saw it with the same significance. Oh, he must have got out his all, Andy said. For all we know, he wandered out and straightened to some creepers. car. I don't know what you're so worried about. Is he in your basement chained up? No, I answered. Is he dead and buried in your garden? No. Did you chop him up and feed him to his

family at a town barbecue? No. Well, good. Well then chill the hell out, Andy said. We played a mean prank as all. I'm a proudest moment, sure, but hardly worth going to the police over. I convinced myself of this, because it made a kind of sense. We really had just played a mean prank. He hadn't killed anyone or stuck knives into them like there were a pincushion. But, in the background of my mind, I learned a new mantra. It was when I pictured myself saying to the police, to the press, to Michael's weeping family. It was like a prayer that I started muttering in quiet moments between chores and work, a prayer that's still with me, a nervous tick that I repeat incessantly in hushed breaths, even though I don't always know what it means.

I didn't mean no harm. I didn't mean no harm. I didn't mean no harm. I didn't mean no harm. I didn't mean no harm. They should have carved those words into my skin the day I was born It had saved people who met me a lot of time Lied to my old man and got my little brother in trouble I didn't mean no harm Hit my speeding tickets from my parents until the deck collectors came and took the car I didn't mean no harm Got caught driving home after too many drinks

I didn't mean no harm Lost my first girlfriend after I got drunk one night and sent some messages to a sister on Facebook I didn't mean no harm Hell I got a girl a daughter I don't see anymore after I overslept one night and didn't manage to change her. Her mother turned up one Sunday morning to pick her up and found her watching cartoons in a feces-soaked diaper while I slept off an apocalyptic hangover. The last thing I remembered, I'd put it down to sleep and had a couple of beers.

I didn't mean no harm. They... Never found Michael. They looked and looked, and yes, they even looked at us. A few people had seen us messing around with him. Some from passing cars, some from tall winter. windows, and the police found out. Our faces are in the local papers and some wider-reaching ones, too.

But it never amounted to anything because the police didn't have a body. His parents made a few public pleas. My car was taken and searched top to bottom. They have it at the police impound where I ought to have picked it up, but never did. A psychiatrist would probably tell you that's guilt. But damn, there's a good chance I left the car to rot, because I just couldn't be bothered. I'm not sure I even know myself anymore. First time I saw Michael after the incident, I was wondering out of a bar, and feeling a little mean, which happens a lot when I drink alone.

I had a half bottle of beer in my hand when I passed this homeless guy sitting outside. He was new, probably a drifter, and just looking at him put all these cruel thoughts into my head. I often think cruel things, and I was getting ready to ignore these ones like normal. except this homeless man he calls out and asks for a swig of the beer I look at this guy and all these pictures come rushing into my head pictures like soda soaking up vomit and pee pictures like my boss talking down to me after I used the wrong mop in the canteen

pictures like the way the admin ladies look at me when I smile at them in the smoking area and then there was this guy sitting there with a blanket on his knees absolutely tilting his head side to side while waiting for an answer sure I said and I threw the beer at him so hard it conned him right on the skull. There was a little peep there for a second,

a split-second cry of pain that was cut short. It made me laugh. It really did. I hadn't meant to hit him, just scare him. But the outcome made me giggle anyway. I was already walking away, feeling a little better, when someone else called out to me. And the sound of their voice made my blood freeze solid in my veins.

Alex It said Pst, hey, Alex It was Michael And I turned Feeling as if the whole world Was about to snap shut In me like a Venus fly trap

I nearly passed out Just crumpled to the floor Then and there I'd spent too many years Telling myself That boy had disappeared on his life Just on a runner After the horizon

To go live in Mexico or Sweden Or who cares Over here He was coming from the homeless man I got closer and tried looking for the voice, but all I saw was a smelly old guy, blood trickling down from his temple. Down here, under the blanket. I pulled it aside and saw a can of lager, open but empty, resting between the man's legs.

That's it, right here. A finger rose out of the empty can and wiggled at me, like he was saying hello. Michael giggled. You found me. What the hell? I said. Michael? Michael, is that you? You bet, he cried.

Look, I need a favour, and I think you owe me given... How the hell? What is this? A magic trick? I reached down and took the can and held it up, turning it over and over, and even shaking it, thinking something would rattle. But nothing did. It's not a trick, Alex. A verny I bulged against the ringpole and glared at me.

It's been a long time, Michael said. chirping away he'd never been in real life Are you gonna do me this favour or not I mean I don't want to point a finger or nothing But whose fault is it that I'm here eh Uh Oh you aren't so witty now, are ya He laughed

I didn't mean no harm He added marking me with a faux dumb tone You say that in your sleep you know Uh huh Jesus hell I know I called you dumb But we both know you're better than all this Uh huh uh huh crap

Come on use your big boy words. I held the can up to my ear and rattled it once more. Stop it! He screamed with the authority of a drill sergeant and I dropped the can without thinking. Damn! Oh crap, sorry! I mumbled.

Sorry, Mike. I picked the can up and focused on the ring pole. A single brown eye was looking at me and I felt myself shrinking before the withering gaze. You're going to help or you're just going to keep trying to make me seasick? He asked. Of course I will, I added. nodding. Anything, anything at all. You know people are looking for you, right?

Did I ask for your bloody advice, Alex? He snapped. If I ever need to know how to get rid of public lies, I'll speak to you ASAP, okay? For now, I just need help. A tiny bit of help, that's all. Sorry. Look, I think even you can manage this. Just pull the can down and... You see that homeless guy? The one you knocked out like a real good Samaritan. Yeah? Put his finger in the hole. What? The hole in the can, he said.

Any finger, it doesn't matter. Just do it. I nodded and carefully put the can back where I'd found it. I held the old man's wrist with one hand and gingerly pinched the single finger with the other, sliding it into the can like I was slipping a wedding band on. That's it, Michael said. Up to the knuckle, if you can. I pushed the finger in as far as it could go without the metal cutting the old man's skin. I was so close to the poor guy, I could smell the coppery trail of blood that ran down his scalp. The realization made me feel like a real piece of crap.

I hadn't meant to hit him, just scare him. Chance and bad luck meant the bottle had hit him. That was all. I didn't mean no harm. Oh, goody! Michael giggled after I waged the finger in there, good and proper. Oh, and Alex, I have one more favour to ask you. Don't look away.

When it was over, the can looked like a spent bullet, all frayed around the edges like a blooming flower. And the man was. Well, he woke up when the first finger bent backwards at the knuckle, and he looked at me like I was a doctor about to explain some strange amputation. He wasn't angry at me. He just wanted to know, and somehow that made me feel even worse. I'll never know exactly what happened to him, anatomically speaking. To put it simply, that old homeless guy, he got sucked to.

into the can and not fast like explosive decompression either. It was real slow going, painful too, given the noises he made. And the way he ran around screaming and hollering while his arm was just torn to shred. That's something I'll never forget. As a kid, I watched this old horror film and a guy got sucked out into space through this tiny little hole over the span of minutes, and he was just like that, only it weren't cheap rubber and latex skin getting pulted into goo. By the time it reached his elbow

I was trying to help pull it off Somehow he was awake the whole time joints cracking and snapping bones and muscle slowing off like melted wax How no one came to help us I'll never know I screamed for help so long my throat turned raw And I was spitting up blood for days

Just before the end The man went quiet And he looked at me like he was a cancer patient I just knew what was coming The can was up to his shoulder and, without warning, he just slipped on in there. Pop, and the mess flew up into the air, and only the can was left behind. You could see the inside plain as day, and there was blood and goo, and even a tooth,

but there wasn't a whole human stewing around in there, more like a half-glasses worth, but not a whole man. Michael? I whispered, but no one answered. They were gone. Give him what he wants. Dave said, drowning into the phone like a brain dead drunk. Give who? I asked.

You know. We put him in there and he never left. Dave, I said, where are you? Do you need help? Just give me money once, Al, he replied. He'll ask for a lot, but we owe it to him. Click. The line went dead and I was already putting my coat on before another minute it had passed. Dave and I hadn't spoken in years. Hell, it had been a good four years. years since I heard any voices in cans, whatever that was. A dream, I figured, even if I did drive past some very scary-looking cops outside the bar the next day. It was just a dream, I told myself, yet I knew what Dave was talking about, and that scared the hell out of me. I didn't know it

at the time, but the garage Dave owned hadn't opened all day. A string of angry voicemouse were left waiting on his phone, and the flashing red buzzer lit up the small reception desk with godly patience. On, off, on, off, on off. I saw it through the window with my hands cupped around my face. Dave and his family lived above that place in a small flat and I had to break a small window around the back to get inside. Dave was sat against the wall on the cold shop floor.

His chin slumped down over his chest and his legs spayed out in a V. I tried the lights, but they didn't work. The glass crunched underfoot along the way. someone had done a real number on this place rubber and metal who strain about the floor in twisted bits and pieces whoever owned the car Dave had been working on would be mad it was smashed all to hell with panels wrenched off and embedded in the shop walls and floors

the drive shaft was sticking through the back wind shield and the roof had been curled back like a sardine can it looked like it had gone through a Viv's section especially given how ligified flesh dripped off the twisted frames like binds in an old wreck. When I moved around to check under the hood, I saw a dense labyrinth of finely machined parts, I guessed to be the engine block.

Fingers jutted out of every shadowy crevice, and delicate mechanisms were chocked with hair and skin. I thought of the old man and the can and felt my gorge rise. Something about the scene looked familiar, and I was wondering what that was when a flash of colour caught my eye. I backed away to get a better look and, angling my light, I saw a small red shoe dangling from a bumper by a lace.

It was the kind of thing a girl of eight or nine would wear, and it was dripping with blood. I thought of Dave's wife, of his family, of what he said on the phone. Dave, what did you do? What I had to. I looked and Dave was staring right at me, blood filling his mouth. He looked so pale in my. my light, I didn't know if he was just close to death or an actual talking corpse. What happened here? I asked. It's like a bomb went off. He stared for a while longer and then

lifted his arm, pointing to the car. I think his back is broken. My voice was like acid in my veins. It definitely wasn't Dave who'd spoken. He was still staying at me like a drunk on the side of the road. His classy eyes vacant of all thought. Over here, Alex, Michael said, and I followed the voice to the engine block. Woo-hoo! A small finger wiggled at me out the black cylinder. Yes, that's right. Look, I need to help.

I know it's a lot to ask of someone like you, but you got to admit, you kind of owe me. Sure, I mumbled. I was dumbstruck by the strangeness, sure. But looking back, I can also. remember a kind of haze, a crippling guilt so powerful, it was like standing on the surface of the sun, like there was enough power in Michael to snap me into like a bundle of raw spaghetti. Anything you want. Good, Michael said. That's what I like to hear. What I need is for you to grab Dave, pull him over,

and popping down against the engine. Anything, I repeated. You're a good guy. You know that, Alex. Michael said, Just try not to screw it up. I half-expected Dave to put up a fight, but as I stepped over, he just looked at me like we had a job to do. Not really thinking, I gave his shoulder a tug, and he fell over.

His head hit the floor with a loud crack. Poor guy. His eyes rolled around like I'd turn his brains to omelette. Don't worry, Michael cooed. There was nothing important in there anyway. I deserve it, Dave slurred. Shouldn't have hesitated when it came to my little girl. That was selfish.

It was, wasn't it? Michael agreed. So selfish. Dave groaned as his eyelids fluttered and his breathing slowed. It was hard work dragging him, but I got him there. I had to prop him up, awkwardly, against a slab of metal like some kind of upright pillow. It was a clumsy job, but good enough. A single thumb emerged from the darkness and gently rubbed a trickle of drool from Dave's lip. Alex, Michael said.

I think you know what I'm going to ask, don't you? Yeah, I nodded. I won't look away. And I didn't. I didn't have a bad childhood, but it sure had its moments. Despite a father with anger issues and a mother with gin and a veins, it wasn't too bad. The only time where I truly felt singled out for a cruel and unusual punishment

was the time my cousin locked me in an airing cupboard. I'd had a wicked time with night terrace grown up and it was no secret among the family. I think he thought it'd be funny, or that maybe he'd find something out about me. I don't know. Looking back, it was the first time I ever understood what real cruelty was. It was a small space he crammed me into.

God, no bigger than the inside of your standard washing machine. and dark, obviously, pitch black all around me, and you've got to understand that to a kid, the universe ain't ordered and sensible. Things just happen all the time. Old dude you liked who gave you candy every weekend. He's dead, sorry. Come home to a crying mother. No one will tell you why.

Wake up one day and your old men won't go to work no more. You won't say what happened, but everyone's crying and it soon turns to fighting. Do you know what a promo shun is? Well, your best friend's dad just got one, so now you'll never see him again, ever. The universe is chaos. You will suffer without wanting and joy. To me and you, being locked in a room or a cupboard, probably ain't a big deal. Kick down the door, scream, cry, holler, shout, bide your time, do what you got to do.

But I didn't know that. I was six and strange things happened to me all the time. How was I to know my aunt would hear? and come open the door in just ten minutes. I didn't know someone would come for me. I didn't even know whether this was part of the damn plan. For all I knew, I was right where my parents wanted me, and my suffering was the desired outcome.

You'd think I'd be scared of dying in there. But as I screamed so loud that my lungs turned ragged, well, it wasn't dying I was thinking about. It was living. It was spending my whole life trapped in the dark, in the cold and lonely outskirts of existence, when no one would come to get me. How long does a person live?

80, 90, 100 years. To a kid, it doesn't matter. It's all the time you got, and when you're six, you have a lot of time. And there I was, in a space so small, I couldn't stand or lie down or lift my elbows more than a few inches from my side. By the time my aunt arrived,

I'd broken two fingers and dislocated a shoulder. Panic can do that to you. I remember her looking so, sad and worried and confused. She asked me why I'd done it, let myself get so crazy, but I wouldn't say. If she didn't know already,

she'd never understand. I only did what I did because of something that, deep down, all kids know, but then they grow up and forget, or at least you're supposed to. You're never alone in the dark. There's always something waiting for you in there.

You're not meant to remember that fact as an adult. It's meant to burn away until it's just ash. But something about Michael had set the thought of blazing me again. Maybe it was when I locked him in the trunk. Maybe it was when he first came back. But as time ticked on, I was starting to feel like I could just about glimpse something in the corner of my eye. Like I had a taste of the truth and it was hurting me.

Physically hurting me like a knife was in my skull being twisted around by a great big, greasy fist. Sometimes I'd find myself staring at shadows and trying to look beyond the dark, the place beyond, the place I'd seen first-hand as a kid, the place that Michael had slipped into, or more likely, dragged. I didn't expect her to grow up like that. Andy was sat next to me, his feet up on the dashboard with a cigarette between his lips. Trying not to make him look, I pulled to my sleeve and wiped away the blood collecting around the corner of my eyes.

I'd been staring at the footwell for the last hour or so, refusing to blink. If Andy had thought me crazy, he didn't say. truth is he didn't look so hard either he'd had a wife once upon a time a real battle axe Dave and I used the joke that if it weren't for the fact that we saw the two of them in the same room we would think Mrs. Andy was just a husband in a wig

but Andy liked her he did he liked her a lot and by the time we finally saw fit to contact each other I was pretty sure Andy had already given his beloved over to Michael she's looking good he smiled biting the tip of his lip like a cherry pip.

I looked at the young woman walking down the street, and I shrugged. I hadn't had thoughts like that for a long time. Looks like him. You can see the family resemblance, I said. Do you think you can see us? Do you think he sees everything we do? I don't know, I replied. I'm not sure he's even human anymore.

Well, you better hope he is. Andy scald, otherwise this plan is shot. She's a pretty thing, though. A couple of ways we can show him we're serious. I wouldn't do that if I were you, I replied. We need to show him what he can lose if he doesn't leave us alone. What do you mean? I mean, let's try and scare him, yeah, not make him mad more than he already is.

Whatever, now come on and get ready. Andy said, sitting upright and slapping his thighs with excitement. Here she comes. Something about this experience was wearing on me. The last few weeks had started the smudge together. I wasn't even sure how it got an answer. out of Dave's place. It was like my brain had purged all those events from my memory, and yet, if I closed my eyes, I'd see skin-colored wax melting through a sieve.

It made me ill every time, but it wasn't just that rolling inside my head, making me nervous. It was Andy. He had a nasty little look in his eye. The girl was on her way home from college. She was all grown up since I'd last seen her, standing outside of school, looking around for a missing brother. she looked like she had grown up on the straight and narrow and I could see a satchel bouncing around her hip that was full of thick-looking textbooks. It was bizarre, but right before we snatched her,

right before Andy lunged out of the car to hug her waist and throw her against the door, I remember thinking, good for her, getting an education. And then Andy punched her so hard, her head snapped back against the car window, and she went out cold, sliding to the floor. I got her, Andy growled, as he,

bundled her into the car. Come on, move it, move it. We can't just sit here forever. I turned the keys and pulled out to the alley we'd been hidden in. When I looked in the rearview mirror, I could see Andy staring down at Michael's sister. He looked insane. Don't, I said, and I gently pulled Andy's hand away from the girl's hair. He'd spent the last few minutes caressing a head like a bowling ball. Isn't the whole point to scare him? He asked, flashing me a toothy grin. It's me you're scaring right now, I said. Just wait.

For what? She wakes up and starts crying, Michael, Michael, come save me? I don't know, I answered, wiping another trickle of blood away from the corner of my eye. We were sat in our old locker room. The school had been shut down years ago and all its students sent to another place a few towns over.

There was no electricity, so we were to bring our own lights. They cast harsh shadows that plucked away at my consciousness, like the aura of a migraine. Please just sit down, I said, and stop pacing. How the hell is this my fault? And he screamed, and he probably didn't mean the words entirely for my benefit. For a brief moment he unravelled and punched the locker door so hard and so often

they'd left an impression of his knuckles as bloody indents. Only when the locker collapsed backwards did he seem to finally register where he was and who he was with. And he sucked a long breath between his teeth while trying to soothe his sore. fist. muttering furiously, he walked over to a nearby sink and washed the blood away. I gave him what he asked for, he said when he finally came back. Did everything he wanted, not just Bethel either, the dogs, the cats, the chickens out back, even the damn feats had to go. If it lived, it went. I just nodded. It wasn't enough, he growled. It never will be.

The girl was awake and she was looking right at me. Her voice had made me think of how funeral home smell. Like it was the kind of thing that had talked to you as you turned to mush in a crypt somewhere. Oh boy, Andy cried, stepping towards her like a boxer in the ring. Here we go, sweetheart. He grabbed a chin with one hand, and he looked ready to crush her head in a single move. Big guy, our Andy. But for some reason, I wasn't too worried about that. It was the girl.

How long had she been listening to us? And the way she looked, she didn't seem right. Even as Andy lifted an arm and sent an over. hand slap barreling towards her. She never looked away from me. She barely even flinched. Michael, he roared, turning to every corner of the room.

We have your damn sister. We have her and we're not afraid to hurt her because we ain't got nothing left to lose. Anything we do now, pal, it's on you. His voice was hoarse like a soldier, screaming bloody murder, like this was a battlefield and he was getting ready to face off

against the final foe, like he had it all figured out. But I was starting to get the funny feeling we hadn't found a winning strategy at all. That's not true, she said. Where's your brother? Andy roared, hitting her again. Tell him to come out. Tell him to come out and face me like a damn man.

What's not true? I asked, my words, frightened whispers. You have plenty left to lose, she answered. Alex, she smiled, her mouth all crooked from where Andy's gorilla fist was crushing her cheeks in his palm. Could you do me a favour? Please. Andy looked at me for a moment like he thought I'd planned some kind of ambush, and her and I were in league. Don't answer her, he said. What the hell's going on? Don't look away, she said. It's important to him that you watch. I want, I whispered. And I think it was right about then that Andy's bluster failed.

I'm sure I saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes before the hand reached out of the girl's mouth and grabbed his wrist. And he cried for me, he cried a lot. Towards the end, he cried for his mother, for Bethel too. But the girl, she never cried. What happened to her was probably just as bad as what happened to him. Even worse. Bodies weren't meant to do that. But whatever hold Michael had over her, it was strong.

I guess it must be so dark inside a person. By the end, she looked like a clay statue of a girl that had been squished by a toddler's fist. those chubby fingers gripping so hard that some parts squeezed out in funny trickles while a other bits split apart and crumbled. I remember looking into a chest cavity when it was over,

looking at the way the shadows made it look so big and vacant. I'm pretty sure her head had been split open in places but it was hard to know what was her and what were just the dripping remains of Andy. I was captivated by the raw destruction of the scene. I must have stayed there for an hour just looking down at her. Sometimes I'd catch a sound

A little bit like a crying man It sounded like Andy But it didn't always come from the gaping hole Made out of the girl's collarbones Sometimes It came from the lockers behind me If I listen carefully I could hear him screaming in the dark

Don't do it again He said I won't Don't try to threaten or intimidate or outwit me I won't I've seen what on the other side I nodded. It's not good, he added.

You're not meant to have a body here. Makes you indigestible. It's been a real struggle, Al. You owe me for what you did. More than just a single lifetime, because thanks to you, I'm not going anywhere, am I? No. It was a rhetorical question, Al.

Sorry, you should be, he said. Are you worried? The words pulled me away. I've been staring at my feet the whole time. My eyes drawn. to the patch of shadow beneath my seat. The train shut it gently as it traced the railway's curve, the lights flickering weakly.

I could feel the air growing heavy. What's your name? The woman sat beside me and smiled. She was old and spoke with a sympathetic authority. Alex, I said. How are you feeling, Alex? Not good, I answered. And to my surprise, I burst out crying.

not good at all I'm Beatrice the old woman said but you can call me B thank you B do you have anywhere safe to stay Alex I nodded wiping the snot from my nose are you going there now

a few other passages abroad were looking at B like she just approached the hungry lion they'd spent the journey doing everything to avoid me treating me like your typical lunatic I never tried to hide anything never tried to hide who I was or what was going to happen but they always thought I was talking to the voices in my head

they didn't know I was speaking to the shadows they didn't know how real it was do you need any help getting home B asked is there anyone I could call for you I have no one I said feeling my heart break a little at the admission when I looked up at B I saw the tunnel fast approaching I reached out and grabbed B's hands so tight it must have hurt. She looked worried, so concerned.

Her eyes darted around looking for what had scared me. When she realized what had scared me, she looked relieved. Oh, it's okay, she said. Are you claustrophobic? I'll be here the whole time, but don't you worry? The darkness always passes. The train into the tunnel.

There are a few gasps, one even from B, who must have wondered. Just like all the others, why the shadow that enveloped us was so devastatingly black. That was the last noise any of them made. There were no screams, only a whoosh of displaced air, like I stood next to a speeding truck on the highway. Something enormous had just passed me by, and it took all my strength not to scream.

There were other things too, smaller predators floating behind in the shoal, scavenging what little remained. They would ignore me if I stayed perfectly still, So said Michael. When the light returned, there was hardly a sign that there'd ever been anyone else aboard. The sole exception being the severed hand of bee that remained clutched in my fist. Even in plain daylight, I couldn't bring myself to let go.

I just kept holding on, hoping and willing the past few minutes could somehow reverse and undo themselves. I didn't want to be this person. I didn't want to be responsible for anyone's suffering. But you are. Michael said. And when I looked back down, there he was. You are very responsible. Not if it could happen without you.

You think that things would be like this if it had just been Dave or Andy on top of that car? No, Alex. It was you. You remembered what lives in the dark, and they remembered you. I let go of Bees' hand and it fell to the floor. I'm sorry, I said.

It's too late for that now, Alex. You carry this darkness around like a luggage And the holes you make are getting bigger every day A lot of those people are still in one piece Do you know what that means? They're alive And there's no time here No death, no entropy

They will always be alive And the things that live here Just love flesh Can't eat it But they sure do love playing with it Something alive, something whole That's like Christmas They spent a long time playing with me

but I'm not so sure old B will be able to strike up a deal like I did no escape for her I should kill myself I whispered you can Michael said

but where do you think you'll go hell I asked oh Alex he laughed hell implies another option but this is all there is just an abyss the abyss and the things that live in it

you don't have a lot of time in the light. Nobody does, but that's why it's so important you put it to the best use. And, as we've already discussed, everything you have really belongs to me, doesn't it? It does. So, what are we going to do? I'll give you whatever you want. Good. And I could hear the smile in Michael's voice. There's another stop soon. Just a few more people. Then we'll move on. Gotta change it up, well. We don't want to draw too much. attention. After all, there's so much more you can give me.