CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I explored an abandoned wing of hell" Creepypasta

Episode Date: September 13, 2024

CHECK OUT THE AUTHOR'S BOOK► https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B...CREEPYPASTA STORY►by ChristianWallis:   / i_explored_an_abandoned_wing_of_hell  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...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"-    • "I wasn't careful enough on the deep ...  ►"Personal Favourites"-    • "I sold my soul for a used dishwasher...  ►"Written by me"-    • "I've been Blind my Whole Life" Creep...  ►"Long Stories"-    • Long Stories  FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter:   / creeps_mcpasta  ►Instagram:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Twitch:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Facebook:   / 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

Whoever had carved the door relished in the anatomy of suffering. It was a two-story tall slab of copper set directly next to a cavern wall. Its surface carved with a vast and complex bas-relief that worried the eye. A clawing, confusing mix of human bodies sprawling upwards in a mound of flesh. Many glancing horrified over their shoulders while fleeing something out of frame and out of sight. thousands of them starved and wretched with gaunt faces and sunken eyes

jutting ribs and distended bellies there were rumours that they moved but only when you weren't looking less than a week after its discovery they brought it down with explosives we didn't really know what we'd found at that point although I'm sure a few of us particularly the religious had their suspicions

The door was wrong, all wrong. It just shouldn't have been there. Natural caverns don't go that deep in Britain, not a thousand metres. As scientists, we should have been excited, but we all agreed the door was repulsive. Staring at it too long induced a powerful urge to flee. An ancestral memory may be. The same way our bodies know to avoid. avoid things that crawl and slither, things that rot and buzz and stink of death and decay.

They never told us how or why they found it, nor why the project was classified, only that we had to figure out what was on the other side. When the charges finally blew, they went off like giant firecrackers, a string of them that ran down the gateway. by one, deafening booms that shook the entire cavern. I was left blinking dust out of my eyes as great machines lowered the door, now free of its couplings to the ground. Looking back, some details come easier than others.

The air that wafted out was hot and dry, and I was not surprised. That seemed intuitively correct. I'd admit it to myself or not, the fact was I'd been thinking of the door as a gateway to hell pretty much since I'd first laid eyes on it, and my mental image of hell was oddly medieval. I expected some great big stones, something reminiscent of an ancient castle, rattling chains, the wailing of the damned, the stench of sulphur. even little red devils with horns and pointy tails, but I hadn't expected shelves and books.

That was the first real thing we saw. Shelves, lining the walls that had been dug directly into the same rock as the cavern. Shelves that rose far above our lights, so that when we looked up there was only darkness and dust. but no limits to the endless row and row of shelving. Every last inch covered in books. There were no gaps, just dust and tattered spines of random sizes, leather, fabric, paperback, faded pastels and gold-leaf letters in alphabets both familiar and strange. And it wasn't just the walls.

The floor was littered with random head-high piles of, books all stacked up like some tired librarian had gotten fed up of finding room for them. They made a labyrinth of the place, obscuring corners and doors, and the forward team, myself included, progressed carefully along the stone passageway, listening and looking carefully for some signs that would make sense of the place. There must have been thousands of books, and that was just in the first hallway we explored. Whenever we took one out, we found paper so thin it was nearly translucent, and often inked with strange shapes and letters I couldn't recognize.

Otherwise, it was gibberish. Not that we studied them too long at that first day. Whenever I took one, I returned it quickly. Lifting them up, I always had the strangest sensation that I was doing something wrong, something inappropriate, and I didn't like the space they left behind on the shelves, a gap like a missing tooth, the darkness within swirling like deep waters. Safety in that place felt like an illusion, and touching the books was at risk of shattering it. I don't know how else to put it, except I didn't want to do anything that might draw attention to me. It was as if we were

extremely conspicuous. There were no sounds but those we made. Our own breath, our own footfalls, the shuffle and scuffle of our every movement. We could even hear each other's heartbeats, the discordant

bau-bump of several people's chests being beaten like a broken drum set. And every now and again, a racing, a steady increase in the beat's cadence, as we turned a blind corner or lifted a book just to see what it contained, or looked up at the shadows above us.

Each of us kept having false starts because there was always this expectation that you were going to see something. Soon, any second now, squeezed between two books or dangling overhead. It took more than six hours before that corridor opened up, And when it did, we were dumbfounded. We emerged into a vast and terrifying mezzanine, made of ancient rock, overlooking a chasm with no visible bottom. Just floor after floor, filled with shelves, filled with books, millions, billions, and all along those distant walls and stories were little openings that led to more corridors like the one we just emerged. from. So many that it was like staring at a roughshod beehive. To look up or down or anywhere

was to be faced with more books than anyone could read in their entire lifetime. We took our first break on that mezzanine. While radios didn't go very far in that place, we'd had the sense to carry enough wire to allow for a hard connection. And while using that, we contacted the main research site and updated them on the situation. We were to keep going for another six hours and turn around. A day, no more, was the plan. Even that felt like too long. I wanted to leave.

I wanted to confirm that somewhere was a doorway that would lead back to reality, because ever since I'd entered that place, it felt like I'd entered a nightmare, a place where reality was plastic. I told myself it was simply the scale of it all, the weirdness. But it was more than that. The very air down there felt thin. There were six of us, three scientists and three soldiers.

The soldiers responded to the situation with silence and an alertness that bordered on paranoia, constantly scanning the dark with their rifle-mounted lights, flicking the beam from one high up shelf to another. Fidgeting, exchanging dark looks. In a way, I was thankful, but it put me on edge too, and I couldn't relax at all for the first half of our little break. I guess it was natural that the scientists got talking. This was partly to fill the quiet,

but also partly to try and convince ourselves, we were excited about the implications of this find, whatever those may be. Rewriting history, archaeology on a new level, that kind of thing. It didn't take long before we convinced ourselves to take a closer look at those books. I'll admit, it didn't come easy, but we did a pretty good job of convincing ourselves that we weren't really afraid. We started slowly, taking one book down, opening and then quickly replacing it. But then, with false bravery, we took more, and more came down, until each of us was sat cross-legged with several books stacked up on either side, waiting to be read.

I remember at some point I must have grown tired and looked up from my own pile, because I noticed Dr. Ashling muttering quietly as she traced some words with her fingers. What have you found? It's Latin alphabet, she said. First one I actually recognised the letters for. German maybe? None of us were linguists, so we were simply doing our best.

But upon hearing bay mentioned German, one of the soldiers came over and looked at the open page. Germanic, but not German, he said. You speak it? He nodded. My father is German, and I don't know what that is, but it isn't German. Is any of it familiar, Beyer asked, while handing the book to him? After a brief nod from his CEO, Lieutenant Michael, he took it and began flicking through the pages.

I think this is the word for death. A sort of rough misspelling maybe. This one is... I guess it's a bit like wanting, desire. I don't know. Not all the words seem like they're in the right context either. So, there are a variety of languages and alphabets, but as of yet, nothing we can make sense of.

What about you? Any luck? Bayer asked me. And I looked down at the book currently open in my hands. Some kind of sibilic, maybe, I shrugged. I'm no linguist. We definitely need Dr. Sellers on the next expedition. I'm sure he could offer some insight. What about you, Dr. Rosenstein?

The third doctor in our group, a little bald man, had been sitting quietly the entire time we spoke. The third scientist in our group, a little bold man had been sitting quietly the entire time we spoke, frowning. and one of several books that lay open before him. I assume he was just curious, like Bayer and I. Grant, I said, trying to get his attention. Hey, Grant, have you found anything? His silence unnerved me. He wasn't just captivated.

Sweat was prickling his forehead, and veins bulge the longest temple. He had gone pale, and his eyes were wide, and his lips cracked and dry. The soldiers, picking up on the same strange signals I had, stood a little more upright. Dr. Rosenstein, one of them asked nervously. Doctor, can you hear us? The nearest soldier reached out and placed a hand on Grant's shoulder, and the little man looked up at us like he hadn't even realized we existed until that moment. At first I thought he was relieved, the way he was staring at each of us.

with a dumb grin on his face. But I soon realized something wasn't quite right. Oh, he said with an anxious laugh. Oh, right, of course. His eyes started between us. Of course, sorry, I didn't mean to alarm you. Right, I said. Well, we were just talking about the books.

Beyer thinks hers might be in a kind of German or Germanic language. He nodded like this made perfect sense. Yes, I imagine so, he replied, while looking around the shelves that towered over us. Lots of languages, I'd say. And then, without really missing a beat, he added, They are sins. Group fell into silence, as each of us tried to make sense of what he just said. In the meantime, he stood up and stretched,

like it was the most natural thing in the world. What are you on about? I said once it became clear he wasn't going to elaborate. It's fairly obvious where we are, he said, while leaning forward and eyeing us darkly. And these books are a list of all our sins, one for each of us. So there will be books in German, both contemporary and historic German, like the one you found, Dr. Ashling. But there will also be books in Russian and French and Arabic. and Chinese, not just contemporary tongues either, ancient Egyptian, Phoenician, Babylonian, Aramaic, Latin,

and of course, lost languages, ones that we never found but existed anyway. All of them, all the transgressions of the world are right here, recorded in the sinner's original tongue. By now, the soldiers had stepped a little closer, and Bia and I were sharing deeply worried looks. Grant seemed to be in the middle of breaking down, speaking frantically and anxiously, convinced of his own meaning, we're not really saying anything of sense. Grant, I think we need to go back. The real fun thing is that I think you'll find books in languages that don't exist yet. He blurted, this isn't just a record of sins in the past, but all of them, every last one.

even the ones we haven't committed yet. Grant, I'm going to have one of the men go back with you. If that's okay. I think you might not. These are mine, he said, or gesturing to a book in his hand. All of them. He laughed. Not just the things I did.

Petty transgressions, all recorded with names and places, and even little diagrams. But there are even sins I only ever thought. things I wanted to do and he added while giggling hysterically since I've yet to commit he flicked through the pages at random

and giggled maniacly at something only he could see although there aren't many he cackled as he turned to the final page tears welling in his eyes just one actually the last one the last sin

I'll ever commit. Grant, I said, I think you... Before any of us could react, he dropped the book and took a running leap over the nearest edge. This is the way we came, right? Bea stood at the threshold of a corridor, a light tracking wire that snaked into the darkness. That's the cable we carried in here with us,

one of the soldiers said. But... The young man looked over to his CEO, Lieutenant Michael, who had a compass in hand and didn't look happy. It's not the direction we came, the older man said. We came south, so we need to head north. That would be this doorway. He nodded at his second corridor, embedded in the rock wall. This has to be the way, Bia said.

I trust this cable a hell of a lot more than I do a compass. us, anything could be interfering with that thing. Besides, we know the cable leads to HQ, because it's working. We spoke to them only a few minutes ago via this wire. It has to lead out of here.

That makes sense, I added, but I marked the way we left with a piece of chalk, and that mark is over here. I pointed to a third doorway. Damn, Michael muttered. Regardless,

I vote wire, Bear said. I trust it the most. It's a physical connection. I guess I vote wire too, Michael I did. Me too. But what do we do if we're wrong? I asked. What does that even mean?

Did something move the wire or the door? We all went silent for a few moments as we contemplated this. When nobody offered up an answer, I eventually grabbed my backpack and I eventually grabbed my backpack and hold it up. I guess we don't have much of a choice either way, I said. Do you really think there's a book in here for everyone? he asked, and it was the first any of us had spoken in a few hours. So far, we had all been walking, fixated on the gloom ahead and behind us, watching carefully for some sign that our fevered imaginations were right to suspect something lurking in the dark.

Grant seemed to think so, I said. Then what are the odds he picked out his own book? I mean, if he's right that there are, what, a hundred billion books or so? More, I replied, if he's right about the library containing future sins as well as past. Pretty slim odds then, she added. What are you thinking? If he did find it here, I don't think it was a question. coincidence, she said. Up ahead, one of the soldiers came to a sudden stop, fist raised as he

muttered something to the others who knelt and lifted their rifles, aiming at the dark. What is it? I asked. You don't hear it, Michael called back. All of us stopped and listened carefully, straining to pick out some meaningful sound from the white noise of blood, rushing through our ears, and the... thumping of her own hearts. Sure enough, it was there, a gentle rustling. Without speaking, all of us moved as quietly as we could along the corridor until we came to the source of the strange noise. A door, one that hadn't been there on our way in, left ever so slightly ajar. Rifle raised, one of the soldiers used the barrel to nudge it open a little further.

Oh, damn, he said, his voice loud enough to send echoes down the hall. The sound came as a shock, and Michael pulled him back, ready to admonish, when we all saw what had been waiting on the other side. Another corridor. Only this one had shelves, lined not. Not with books, but severed heads, desiccated, pale and gaunt, row after row, all sitting neatly next to one another, evenly spaced, their skin paper white in the harsh glare of our lights, and all of them with cloudy eyes. And they were speaking. Soto Voce little whispers.

They muttered in a discord of wet lips, no breath, no lungs, only the action of robbery jaws to sound out syllables and consonants that were lost in the rustling cacophony. The sound was horrific, wet and dry and deeply unsettling, as it worked as way under my skin until I felt the strangest urge to lash out at the heads. but curiosity overrode disgust and I approached one, winting briefly when it fixed me with its cloudy eyes, but I didn't stop. I got close enough to see every detail of its flaking skin, its roomy eyes glaring at me with such strange emotion. For my own sanity, I reached out and picked it up, noting with disgust how the

stump of his neck left mottled brow fluid on the shelf behind. I guess I just wanted to know if it was fake, but its skin was cold, and his brow furrowed with anger at my touch. And as soon as it was in the air, every other head stopped their muttering and fixed me with such foul expressions, I quickly put it back down again, relieved when the murmuring resumed.

Still, its eyes did not look. Leave me. What the hell? B whispered. What is this? Michael asked as he scanned the upper shelves with his torch. On and on they went, as far as we could see. What the actual hell is this? Slowly. A strange thought began to form in my head. Blink, if you can understand me, I said, while kneeling down to look at the head I'd picked up. Everyone else in the group suddenly stopped what they were doing and turned to see the result of my little experiment.

Blink. Okay, okay, okay, okay. I repeated while trying to calm myself down. Right, once for no, twice for yes. Do you understand? Blink, blink. Right, okay, uh... I look to the others for suggestions.

when B piped up instead. Are these books a list of all our sins? Blink, blink. One book for one person? Blink, blink. So, what are you? She asked. And this elicited a scathing look from the severed head.

Yes or no questions, I told her. One of the soldiers, the youngest one. The one who helped translate the German stepped up and spoke. Is this hell? he asked. Blink. Blink. Is this your punishment? He added. Blink.

If this isn't the punishment, he said, What is? All the heads stopped them muttering and began to emit the strangest noise. Their faces twisting upwards and warping into grotesque. of joy, while their mouths moved up and down in a particular sort of rhythm. When I realized what they were doing, I felt a terrible sensation of cold dread creeping down my entire body. They were laughing at us.

There was no door. The wire slipped through a tiny hole at the base of a wall that blocked off the corridor. All of us were stunned into silence for minutes, until at last, Lieutenant Michael's shone. He shook himself free from the shock and issued an order. Davis, get H.Q. on the line. One of the soldiers knelt down and began to remove the communication set from his backpack. Within a few seconds, it was set up and he was speaking into the headset. H.Q. Can you read me? Over?

Uh, I can read you. Well, I guess the wire still leads to HQ, I said. Try checking the wall for seams, Michael told me. See if it moves. Hidden hinges or something. I don't know. Then turning back to the soldier with a headset. Tell them we've encountered an obstacle

and we want them to send another team in to get us. Oh, and tell them to bring explosives. If this thing opens, I said, or running my hand along the edges. I can't see how. It's pretty solid. Unlike every other wall we'd seen so far, this one was made of red bricks,

but that didn't mean it was somehow mobile either. It seemed as sturdy as any brick wall I'd come across. Well, it came from somewhere, B cried, while trying to peer through the hole the wire disappeared through. Damn it, I can't see anything. HQ, the soldier said, we're going to need some assistance. There's an...

An obstacle. Over. Roger that. What's the obstacle? Uh, a wall, he replied. Tell the next team to bring explosives. Over. A wall?

Just send the team ASAP. The soldier cried. Our way out is blocked. Over. Well, I can confirm we are en route to your position. Just one question. H.Q replied. What's that, over?

The young man replied. Why do you keep saying over? Suddenly, the voice changed. It began to titter and giggle. At first, quietly, then louder and louder, like a mean kid laughing at a prank. The cruelty and his high-pitched voice made my skin crawl, and I was about to snatch the handset myself and begin demanding answers. When there was the strangest sound,

A heavy grinding, like stone turning against stone. Before I could even ask what it was, B fell backwards from where she crouched and quickly leaped up into a standing position and ran off into the dark like a maniac. The effect on the group was chilling, and I stared back at the wall, desperately trying to understand what I'd seen. Williams, go get her! He barked at one of the soldiers before turning at me and crying, What the hell is her problem? I... I don't know, I stammered.

Christ, Michael hissed, before snatching the handset of the confused young soldier. Listen, he growled into it. I don't know who you really are, but you need to get someone in charge, right? The sound again, loud and heavy. The grinding of heavy... rocks being moved, and tiny stones came raining down in a cloud of dust. Something up there had disturbed them, and we all stood in silence as they plinked off our helmets. Is it just me? Michael said, while looking towards the wall, or is it somehow closer?

Hard to say, I replied. I don't... The wall moved. A sudden and terrifying lurch forwards, one that startled us all and made me trip over my own feet. Terrified, I scrambled backwards from it as fast as I could, while the handset continued to radiate that malicious laughter. I think we need to go, I said, in as calmer voice as I could manage. The wall moved again, and this time it did not stop. The young soldier with a handset did not react fast enough. It came forward so quickly that it had him within seconds and knocked him to the floor with a heavy thump.

And then it rolled over him as it was. Well, if you're anything like me, as a child, you might have wondered what happened to someone who got caught in an escalator at the very top. I'm sure you know what I mean. Light was so poor So I still didn't really understand what happened Only that there was a lot of blood And while it was quick It was not quick enough

Because when the wall was about halfway up his spine I could still see the pain registering in his eyes And that was the last impression I had Before Michael grabbed me by the collar And practically threw me back the way we came and we ran, plodding one foot after another. I don't know how long it went on for, but it was as if time seemed to stretch on

in the way that only pain and tedium can induce. There were moments where, as I struggled to force one foot in front of the other, I wondered if I'd actually been running for days, not hours. There was no real way to mark the passage of time. Only monotony. Books went by in a blur, the floor was featureless stone, the rhythmic sound of my feet lost all meaning, and behind me, the wall, ever advancing with a horrible sound of grinding rocks, promising pain and nothing else.

The only thing I could actually focus on was the exhaustion, and that was self-defeating. More than a few times, I wondered if I should just give up. And to this day, I still have nightmares where I'm being chased down that corridor. It wasn't a quick pace, but it was quick enough, and there were no other routes except ford, and therein lay the torture of it. Behind me was death, moving at a brisk jog, and ahead of me was nothing, just darkness broken by erratic motion of a torch, and the entire time, Which I would later realise was a good two hours.

The only thing I could think was when am I going to lose this fight? When am I going to collapse? Or give up? Imagine my relief when, up ahead, I heard a familiar voice cry out. What is your problem, lady? And when I saw them, the young man held B by her shoulders while she tried to drag him through an open door. That was when I remembered the little courage.

with a severed heads. Not exactly the kind of salvation I was hoping for, but it'd have to do. Together, Michael and I grabbed both of them and threw us all through the opening. Seconds later, far too close for comfort, the entire corridor we'd been running through went pitch black. The wall overtook our positions, and we were left panting and exhausted on the floor, where thousands of severed heads looked at us in an enormous. When we looked back the way we came, we saw that nothing but pulsating flesh, a wall of it, hot and sticky, and threaded with sickly blue veins.

I don't know what the wall was, but something about the meat behind the stone made me think of hungry coral. It was a trap, Michael hissed as he inspected the horrible mass. I don't know how, but we were led down the wrong path. It'd swap the cables or something. I don't know. But we were lowered down there like rats. Where's Davies? The other soldier asked.

He's gone. Michael said. What? The older man gestured to the wall of meat behind us. Whatever the hell that thing is, it got him. It looked like a wall, but it could move. and it just steamrolled him. Thanks for the warning, by the way, he growled at B.

But she showed no sign of understanding him. Instead, she was sat on the floor and shaking, clearly in a state of shock. Where now, sir, the remaining soldier asked, and Michael grimaced. Where do you think? He spat before gesturing at the route forward. The only direction that's available. The heads made for strange companions. They followed us with their eyes, but did not stop their muttering.

It was grating, to say the least, a noise you could ignore for maybe an hour or so. But pretty soon, the papery rustle of their ancient lips was the only thing you could focus on, no matter how hard you tried to push it out of your head. At least navigation was simple. Forward. the only way to go. We walked for about six hours before we took our first break. The corridor was wide, but we stayed away from the heads and slept in a row, head to feet,

while two of us stayed on watch, six hours each. I decided to stay up along with Michael and B, and the other soldier tried to rest. B had barely come out of shock during the journey, speaking a little to. towards the very end. She told us in a broken way what she'd seen while kneeling by the wall. Teeth, she said, and a face, although she wouldn't or couldn't elaborate on those two statements. I was left with a sense that she had seen something that had come down close to leaving her completely insane.

Even as it was, I doubted she had a full recovery in her. She almost looked like a different woman, baggy-eyed, thinning hair, or maybe it was just the conditions down here. Michael didn't look too great either. I had to assume I looked pretty rough too, especially after that run. It had exhausted me, broken me, not just the physical exertion, but the nightmare of it. The reason I elected to stay and watch first was because I didn't want to sleep. A part of me was worried I just dream about being back in that hallway, running from the moving wall, and I didn't want to revisit that place ever again, not even as a dream.

There were moments where I came so close to just giving up. I don't think I'd ever really experienced despair like that before. not the kind where you feel your knees buckling and your neck turned to rubber as your head bows. It must be what people stranded at Seafil when they lose their strength that keep treading water. So instead, I stayed up and tried to ignore the muttering of the heads. He even tried talking to Michael, but he didn't have much to say. I could tell losing Davis back in the corridor had bothered him. Hell, it bothered me, and I hadn't even known the guy.

But I swear to this day, I can still see the look on his face as Rock met flesh, and his legs and hips just... Disappeared. In the end, I had only these kinds of thoughts for company. And lots, and lots of time. So, it probably shouldn't come as too much of a surprise. surprise that I eventually fell asleep. It wasn't for long, ten minutes at most, but it was enough time for me to wake up and see something drag the sleeping soldier's body into the darkness of the nearby shelf, his head lolling unnaturally to one side. The movement was gentle, quiet,

but clumsy too, like a child pulling a ragdolle stealthily out of a bar. I looked over to Michael and saw he'd fallen asleep as well, so I nudged him with my foot, and he woke up with a sort of lazy start. Only when he looked at me, confused for a few short seconds, before slowly registering the look of terror on my face, that he seemed to realize what was happening. I'm not sure what I expected him to do, really, but he was the leader and well-armed, and I didn't want to be the one who had to figure out what to do next. Possibly because there was a part of me tempted to just sneak off.

To leave the young man to his fate, maybe even be, if it just meant I could survive a little bit longer. In truth, I was relieved when Michael leapt into action immediately. I didn't want to be a coward. He jumped up and grabbed the young man's foot, and I ran over and grabbed the other leg. And together, we tried to pull him back. I didn't mention it to Michael, but the way the soldier's body felt when I grabbed it,

the muscles were too relaxed, too heavy. I don't know how to explain it, but if you ever end up in the unfortunate situation of moving a corpse, you might know what I mean. A living body supports itself, a dead one. It's just meat and water. and somehow feels so much heavier for it. He was dead. Still, we fought on.

At some point, B must have woken up, realizing what was happening and joined in. I remember her trying to reach into the shelf to grab hold of the dead man's arm when she suddenly flew backwards, landing with a hefty thud against the shelf behind her, and knocking a few of the severed heads on their little stumps. Whatever was in the dark,

was clearly frustrated. It wanted its next meal, and it wasn't going to let us stop it. Slowly, a long, inhuman arm reached out and took a hold of the body's groin. Its strange hand had fingers that split at the knuckle one, two, three times. A terrifying effect,

especially given how much each one moved on its own. A dinner plate monster of a hand attached to a a life and muscular forearm devoid of hair. The second I saw it reach out in my general direction, I let go of the leg and fell backwards. Michael continued struggling for a while, even taking out his pistol and firing a few shots into the dark. But in doing so, he left only a hand to cling onto his comrade's corpse and lost his grip. With almost no effort, the body disappeared into the shadow, and we were suddenly

down to three. What the hell, what the hell, what the hell? He screamed. I wanted to say something, maybe even something to comfort him, or maybe an apology for falling asleep. But then again, he'd fallen in asleep too. I didn't know what I was meant to do.

I was in shock, and it was settling deep into me. When B said something from where she remained on the floor, her voice quiet, but oddly insistent. It isn't over. That hand re-emerged, carefully, deliberately.

It placed itself on the floor, revealing more of the pale flesh that powered it, and then came another, and another. And then its head emerged slowly from the dark, and fixed me with eyes both black, bulbous, and far too numerous for anything there can be called human.

And his mouth, a beard made of dirty fingers, grey and bluish, long rancid nails, hundreds of them squirming like mandibles of a hungry spider. Michael opened fire, but he might as well have been shooting hay for all the effect had had.

The bullet struck with a wet thwap, but no actual damage. The creature knocked him aside with pure contempt, and pulled the rest of itself out into the corridor, where I saw it had no legs, but instead relied on several long arms to suspend itself between the walls of the corridor, like a kind of spider. One of these arms reached out and grabbed B, and by the time she started screaming,

it was already too late. Blood trickled from her ears, and there was a sound like a branch snapping. Her entire body went limp, and the monster, dropped her where she fell to the ground. A grotesque, misshaping face, glaring at me with accusatory eyes. The lieutenant screamed as he fired yet again. But then that thing seized him like it was nothing but a doll and lifted him, squeezing so tightly he dropped everything he held,

his gun and torch hitting the ground with a loud rattle. Help me! He screamed while reaching out for me to grab him. jeez, shoot the thing. I ran forward, crouching down in the hope of avoiding its many arms. Already, Michael was being squeezed so tight that blood splurted from his mouth, and I could tell that the monster was having fun, reveling in his torment. I reached out and picked the gun up from the floor

as Michael let out another desperate wet cry for help. But for some reason, my hand stopped mere inches away. I hesitated. Michael's blood was dripping down. I could hear the crunching of his ribs. In my most shameful moment, I grabbed the torch and ran. And Michael's cries followed me, screaming, screeching, whimpering,

sounds of breaking bones and tearing paper, sounds of torture and torment that somehow seemed to last forever. I emerged from the corridor, alone. It took me a few seconds of stumbling on my failing legs to realize that the monster had given up on the pursuit. And then a few seconds more for me to recognize I was back on the mezzanine. Terrified and exhausted,

and contemplating if it was worth trying to escape if it meant having to spend another second alive in that place, I fell to the floor. and began to sob. Maybe, I thought, it was time to take a dive off that ledge, just like Grant had. What on earth are you doing here? I whipped around to see an old man in robes, staring at me like an impolite intruder. Without meaning to, I began to laugh.

My sanity, it was fair to say, was on its final legs. Hmm, he said, while leaning aside to get a look down the long corridor behind. Now, why did you go down there? I wanted to answer, but couldn't quite bring myself to do anything except a laugh and gasp for air. I think you really ought to go home, he said like a teacher, admonishing a child. This place is hell, I cried while rocking back and forth my knees. Yes, he nodded. Yes, good for you.

This is a small part of hell, one that has a slight overlap with Earth, if I remember. I'm assuming that's how you got down here. The door. What happened to your friends anyway? He added. I looked back the way I came and pointed. Oh, he sighed. You know, I left your books out specifically so you'd find them and figure it out.

and I know that bold fellow worked it out. So once you knew this place was hell, why did you waste another second sticking around? I shrugged. Not quite sure what I was meant to say to that kind of thing. We got way laid, I gasped, misled. Fair enough, he replied. Probably you should have done more to make sure you got home safely.

That's partly my fault, although I won't apologize. You entered this place. Didn't you see the door? What part of that was inviting? You have to take some of the blame. I wanted to mount a defense, but I didn't really have one. When it became clear,

the only thing I could do was sob and mutter. The old man's body language softened, and he reached a hand out. Come on, I'll take you back. What about the demons? I asked. The old man frowned. Those weren't demons, he snapped.

This place is defunct. Mortal souls were meant to demonstrate repentance by wondering the near-eternal holes in search of their book. Only when they found it were they allowed to move on. The whole thing didn't quite work out. 86 quadrillion books. Takes a tad too long for the average person to find theirs. So this entire wing was abandoned. And now there are only sinners left behind.

That thing was never human, I cried, while pointing at the corridor I'd emerged from. Nobody's soul looks human, he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Least of all, the sort of person who gets sent to hell. This isn't the place for people who eat meat on Friday or cover their neighbor's ox. It's for the cruel and the malicious, cowards and opportunists. A lot of people in this place have souls that have more in common with Anglos. a fish and trap-door spiders than their fellow man. And it's not a condition that gets better after several thousand years either.

The soul changes, twists. And so do their physical forms. And what about you? I said as I reached up and took his hand. Why do you look so normal? Oh, he said as he helped me up. That's because I built this place. and the last thing I can remember as he gripped me by the shoulder

was the sudden and painful sensation of heat. We woke up in our respective quarters. We, all six of us. I still don't fully understand the mechanics. I tried asking the others how they made it back, but they weren't in a state to answer questions. B was catatonic,

screaming and clutching her head in the hospital, like she still remembered the way that thing crushed a skull like a grapefruit. The soldier who fell to the wall was left paraplegic, even though medical tests couldn't identify a single reason why. Psychological, they said. The other soldier, the one who'd been dragged into the shelves, was comatose. I don't know if he recovered, but he was alive. and Grant was left in a permanent psychotic state, compelled to write on any surface he could over and over again, sin after sin, desperately trying to rewrite the very book that had driven him to madness in the first place.

Michael tried very hard to kill me. He had clear memories of being left to die in the dark. I'm glad they caught him before he managed to work. wring the life out of me with his bare hands. I never found out what happened to him after several men managed to pry his hands from around my throat. Despite everything, I hope he managed some kind of recovery.

The door, it disappeared. Thankfully, with no one on the other side. I know they were planning future expeditions. It is for the best, that kind of thing can't happen again. They have no idea what's waiting for them. In a way, I probably could have convinced myself the expedition never happened. Some days, even now, that's what I sincerely hope can happen. There was no physical evidence, nothing.

We appeared in our beds completely nude, save for a note stuck to my chest. And is this final little touch that stood out to me a stern confirmation. of everything I'd experienced. Return to Sender. Six mortals. Five were damaged in transit. Bodies were repaired to the best of my ability, but I was never good at that kind of thing.

Mines are another matter entirely. Could not help myself in one case. Left fellow mortal to die in the dark, didn't seem very sporting. Don't let anyone say I lack a sense of humour. otherwise no harm no foul best wishes me my heart sank when i heard them read it to me it confirmed my deepest worries no one had been very honest with me since i'd arrived at the hospital they'd kept me bandaged up so it wasn't easy to tell but after i heard that note i finally found the courage to reach up

and remove the thick wads of fabric. Then, with shaking fingers, I finally touched my eyes. Or rather, the empty sockets, where they used to be.