CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I stayed in a hotel that wasn't on any review sites" Creepypasta

Episode Date: December 13, 2023

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by ChristianWallis: / christianwallis 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

The festival season is Aangbroken, and that betekent mudder. And so, ging Kim to come to Amazon.com. On the look at a waterdict tent, a comfortable lute bed, oh, so,

knus, and lupart print regalarze. Miao! Now, Kim, he has no longer to make over the modder, just like that the dancing, the modder man there, oh,

wait just even, has he now only modder on? Oh, yeah, only modder. Drove blithe? Goar for. Find what you need you need to be

on Amazon.com. The knock on the van window might as well have come from outer space. Pitch black, parked up on the side of a country road, and in a metal box being pommeled by a storm that had left half the country underwater. My wife and I practically jumped out of our skins at the rat-tat-tat on the driver's side window. I could see nothing except rivulets of water pouring down the window, and a sudden idea of someone leering at us. on the other side made me deeply uncomfortable. I hesitated for a moment before I wound the window

down. Couldn't help but think of hook-handed men and lonely couples stuck in the middle of nowhere. But when I heard the muffled the muffled the worst of my nerves and pressed the button to wind the window down. Wouldn't stay here? The old man shoved his whole head through the window so it could be heard over the storm. I couldn't help but cringe backwards, and I was reminded of being in a safari with a window down, the way the wild beast come pushing in looking for food. Thankfully, my wife, Leslie, managed to stammer out a reply before any awkward silence could fester.

Uh, pardon? Can't stay here, he repeated. This lane will be underwater by midnight. Oh, I replied, damn. I was feeling fairly deflated by this point. I hadn't pulled up in the middle of nowhere to sleep in a van because it was my first choice. We'd arrived here only after spending a good six hours trying hotel after hotel, only to find they were either underwater or booked to the gills with people escaping the floods.

Do you know anywhere we could go? Leslie asked, We just need somewhere to park up. The old man grimaced and shook his head. Not around my land, sorry. I ain't falling for that again. He looked in the back as he said this, as if to gauge who we were.

Might have been the bong, or my friends, Ryan and Meg, lying stoned in a sleeping bag, but something back there amused him. He let out a nasty little snort laugh. No way. And Evan squatters again. Best bet would be the weeping ram, he added.

The what? Hotel, about half hour up the road. What was it called? Leslie asked. The weeping ram? She immediately began typing on a phone, the old man gestured with his hand for her to stop. Won't find it online, love, he said.

Look, you go straight and take the third right. Leslie, diligent as ever, took meticulous notes as he spoke, but I had to fight not to roll my eyes. Something about the old man had rubbed me the wrong way, and once he left, I said as much. Half tempted to just stay here, I said, as I played with the keys in the ignition. He probably just wants us out the area, unhappy with the undesirables lurking so close to his land.

Yeah, but, it's a little. If it floods, we're in real trouble. Ryan appeared out the back, red-eyed and tired, but clearly having paid more attention than I thought. Please don't sink my van. It is literally my only possession in life. He's right, Leslie added. We can't risk getting caught in the flood.

What's this place meant to be like then? I asked. Don't know, Leslie shrugged. I can't find anything about it on a flood. line. Quaint as hell, Ryan said, with an easy-going nod of the head. Old world offline vibes, like some ancient B&B or something. But he creepy is what it is, I replied. Nothing about it online? Leslie, still scrolling, shook ahead. Better hope we don't end up starring in the West Country Chainsaw Massacre, I grumbled. Nobody laughed. So, with a bit of a grimace,

I turned the keys and began to pull the van out of the banking I'd parked on. Leslie smiled and gave my leg a rear-sharing squeeze before feeding me the first of many directions to come. At least we know it has vacancies, I said, as I rode the van to a stop on an empty gravel lot. Is that a thatch roof? Leslie cried while ignoring me. Oh my God, it is! Meg cooed,

a blonde hair and round face, making a brief appearance by the front seats. Let's get in there and take a look. She quickly disappeared back into the rear of the van, where her and Ryan set about gathering their things. Oh, come on, Mark, it is quaint, Leslie said. I couldn't help but grimace. This funny-looking pub we'd been sent to by some stranger was in the middle of nowhere,

situated in a small valley between two stony hills, with a view overlooking and overgrown field below. The land might once have been used for farming, if only for grazing animals, but now it looked desolate and dingy. Rain-lashed thorns and thistles and spiky thickets of grass were just about the only thing we'd seen in our headlights on the way up. And sure, the weepen ram was somewhat quaint with his expansive that's roof and a hand-painted sign of a pain-looking sheep that swung fitfully in the wind, its lump and white plaster facade,

adding to the medieval rustic vibe. But I got the feeling the place was going to be full of cobwebs and spiders and dust and miserable old locals with no sense of humour. And where the hell were we? The stormy night had eaten the road behind us, erasing all sense of time and place,

as we drove down a muddy gravel lane, until out of nowhere the turning the old man had warned us about, appeared and led us to the pub. With the rest of the country running in circles because of the storm, I couldn't shake the feeling we'd crawled into a forgotten corner of the world, one best left alone. Did people really come here to get drunk or stay for the night? Did people drive here to come to work, or to eat or cook or serve? drinks. It wasn't just out of place with the internet age. It seemed out of place with civilization itself. My suspicions were confirmed once inside. There was barely enough room

for the four of us to cram into the small, poorly lit corridor. So Ryan peaked ahead and found the main drinking hall off to the right. Passing through, our feet scuffed an ancient stone floor, and I noted the horsehair plaster on the walls that likely predated the First World War. It reeked of mildew and damp, and yet the air seemed dry and musty at the same time. There were only four tables and two booths for drinkers, and a dark hardwood bar that some potato-faced man likely served booze from. But for now, it was all deserted, no patrons, no bartender. The only sign of life was the faint flicker of light from the candlelight sconces.

Oh my God, this is crazy! Megan cried, grabbing Liz's arm to draw attention to the light fittings. Look at that! Leslie agreed enthusiastically, but I tuned it out as I walked up to the bar and ran a finger across its greasy grain. It was dusty as hell, like it had gone unused for years. behind the counter were a few racks for spirits, a couple taps and a single door that led into some unlit space.

Could have been a kitchen or a storeroom, at no way of knowing. But I stared into the darkness and felt an uncomfortable sensation gather in my stomach. It looked like something was moving back there. But why would someone be lurking in the dark? Do you think the owner's back there? I didn't hear Leslie approach, so I couldn't hide my fear when she spoke, jumping like some spooked child. She made no mention of my overreaction, not even a chuckle, and for some reason that bothered

me more than if she'd teased me about it. Let's see, I said, and went behind the bar and into the darkness. Using my torch as a light, I scanned the room, seeing a dusty old kitchen with pots and pans that hadn't been used for years. Left to right and left again. I looked carefully for some sign of life. I was sure I'd seen someone moving around. I stepped deeper into the kitchen, and when my light caught the leering grin of an old woman, It took all my resolve not to cry out.

Without meaning to, I dropped to my phone. I went to pick it up while stammering out the best greeting I could, given the circumstance. Excuse me, I cried, unable to shake the image of the strange-looking face I just glimpsed in a dark room. Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude or anything, it's just we were directed here by... The word stopped dead in my mum. mouth when I stood up and brought the light up. There she was again. That old woman, eerie grin and wide eyes, pallid white skin, hands held together in front of her

like an elderly headmistress supervising some exam. And she hadn't moved since I'd last laid the torch on her. Not an inch, not a millimeter even. There was no motion to her. No breath, no reaction. not even the constant darting micro-movements of the human eye that are barely perceptible, but always, always there. Somewhere, my mind told me this must be a mannequin.

Not a person. Too uncanny, not right. And yet, it couldn't be. She was so lifelike. I couldn't help but take a few steps towards her, noticing faint, downy hair along her. cheeks, liver spots by a hairline, and a thousand other details that I refuse to believe were the product of some crazy artist working with wax. But her eyes did not even dilate

when the torch glinted directly off their glassy surface. No human could stand in darkness and have a torch beamed into their eyeballs and not even flinch. It just wasn't possible. Oh my God, I muttered, before realizing I had to show the others this incredible find. Slowly, I backed out to the room, not yet willing to turn my back on that creepy thing, and found the others admiring the old wood-burning fireplace in the corner of the room. Any look back there? Leslie asked when she saw me. Jeez, guys, I cried breathlessly. You won't believe... I was interrupted by the urgent cry of a brittle feminine voice.

Oh no, just look at you poor things. The old woman appeared behind us as if out of nowhere, and my stomach hit the floor. With a warm smile and gentle, grandmotherly tone, she swept past me and towards my friends, where she immediately began cooing over them. Oh, you're drenched. Look at you. How on earth did you make it up here in this weather? You must be freezing and hungry too.

The others reacted normally, as anyone might when greeted by a friendly old landlady. But I stood rooted to the spot, not sure if what I was seeing was even real. Her clothes were identical to the thing in that room, as was her hair and face. Everything was the same, except for that deep. deeply unsettling expression, that ever so slightly too wide grin that had terrified me just seconds before in the dark was gone, replaced with a surprised but welcoming smile. While everyone was busy being fawned over, I quickly backtracked into the kitchen and shown my light at the corner. It was empty.

Mark! Leslie called, and I went back into the lounge. Mark, come on, this is Bernadette. She's going to show us to our rooms. We're not strictly open for business, the woman said, with what seemed to me to be not quite sincere concern. But I cannot possibly turn anyone away in weather like this. She smiled at Leslie, and then at me. And for the briefest of moments, hidden in the fractions of a second, where Lesley's wasn't looking.

The old woman winked at me. Leslie asked what was wrong and I wasn't sure how to answer. Right there and then sat on our bed where it was warm and safe, just the two of us. There wasn't much, if anything, wrong at all.

It felt all too easy to ignore the strangeness I'd just experienced, so that's what I did. I shrugged it off. Told Leslie, everything was okay and settled into bed beside her, but not before locking our door. After that, I crawled under the covers, pulled my wife close and shut my eyes.

Sleep came surprisingly quickly, although there were a few flashing images of that deathly white face haunting me in my dreams. I couldn't say what woke me. I came to with a faint impression of a loud noise just outside the room, suddenly aware of a cold breeze on my right side where Leslie should have been. Now, she was gone, the covers thrown back and the bed beside me empty. Disoriented, I pulled myself upright and immediately went stumbling to the door looking for her. Arms wrapped around my bare chest to stay warm, I poked my head out into the corridor and saw nothing except darkness.

Again, that's subtle, almost subconscious idea of movement in the inky black. Leslie, I called out and waited, straining to hear something, anything over the roaring of the rain against the pub's ancient walls. Something might have moved around in response, but I wasn't sure. It was like listening for voices in white noise. the brain can play tricks on you. Nervous and wishing that I could just crawl into bed and pretend that nothing was wrong,

I went back into the room and got dressed and turned the lights on. When I returned to the corridor with the help of my room light, I could now see the doors of the other guest rooms stretching down the hallway before fading into darkness. And there at the very threshold of the light, was someone's phone. The screen broken and the edges dented. I picked it up and could tell from the astrological stickers on the back it belonged to Meg.

The door to her and Ryan's room was empty. And looking inside, I saw that the bed was ruffled and unmade, and Ryan's phone was still plugged into a power bank near the mattress. But where were they? and why was there only one of his trainers lying upside down halfway between the bed and the door? It was like he'd been trying to pull his shoes on when something interrupted him.

What the hell? I muttered quietly as I panned my torch across the room. God, I wanted this little nightmare to be over with. Ever since, I'd seen that terrifying old woman standing in the corner of the kitchen frozen in place like some lifelike wax dummy, I felt as if I walked right into the twilight zone. But I didn't know how to go about it.

All I could think of was to go back out into the corridor and try crying out for Leslie. Les, Les, come on, where are you? This time. There was a definite sound. A muffled but clearly audible thump. that came from one of the doors off further down the hallway. It sounded like it had come near the stairs,

and that made sense. If the others were off moving around, they weren't going to stick around in the empty guest portion of the house, just empty doors and creaking floorboards. No, they probably go downstairs to find the old woman. I paused at the top of the stairwell and waited, listening for some confirmation that the others were, were safe and sound. I hoped I might hear them laughing and chatting, maybe sharing a drink.

Guys, another thump. This time it definitely came from below. Quietly tiptoeing like some scared child, I slunk down the hardwood stairs, pressing my feet to the edges of each step, where I knew the wood would be strongest and least likely to make noise. Down one floor and down another. The sound of something moving deep within the building drew me on further into what felt like a nightmare. But I couldn't just turn back. A part of me remained convinced that any second reality and common sense would reassert themselves, that everything would snap back into place where it was meant to be. I'd find the others laughing and enjoying a drink.

Maybe the girls had gone off for a chat and Ryan followed, and now I would do the same. Maybe there'd been a medical emergency. Meg might have fallen and the others were attending to her. Anything might explain why I had woken up on that floor alone,

crying out only for no one to reply. A lifetime of experience had taught me that childish fears went away when you shone a light at them. Then again, I had never experienced anything like that woman standing in the darkness. On the ground floor, just as the tight spiral staircase opened out into another hallway, I'd spotted a gentle amber glow. It came from an open doorway some way down the corridor. I was drawn to the first sign of life I'd seen since waking up, and pushed the door open, hoping to find my friends gathered around.

of fire. Instead, I found something out of a surreal nightmare. Dogs, cats, foxes, rabbits. 40, maybe 50 animals lined the walls and shelves. Stiff cotton stuffed faces and glassy eyes glaring at me from every nook and cranny of a cramped, humid room. Of course, in the country, it isn't uncommon to come across something like this. We'd stayed in a hotel in Scotland just a few weeks before, with an enormous deerhead mounted over the bed. But this room wasn't some big showy affectation. It felt private,

like someone actually came to that place and sat on the single, empty chair looking for comfort. And no one would have ever been proud of bagging these animals. No majestic deer or threatening bears. Instead, these animals were all of the sad and small variety. There was a Dalmatian in one corner, its head slightly misshapen, a weasel missing two legs on a cabinet, a badger with no head, and enough rabbits to make a warren. All of them riddled with myxomatosis that left them ugly and deformed.

This was not some grand display of nature's majesty. It was, at best, the showcase. of an amateur taxidermist who scavenged Britain's motorways for his subjects. So where was the amateur taxidermist, and where were my friends? Hello? I had to force the lone word out of my mouth. Again, I was looking for that sense of reality and normality. I wanted to dispel the childish fear that was gripping me tighter and tighter with each passing second. Sure, things were weird, but so...

Something moved. My heart ceased as my eyes darted left and right, desperately trying to make sense of what my mind insisted could not have actually happened. The room was well lit, but so full of dusty fur and old furniture, it was impossible to say. Too many shadow-lined shelves, too much space to keep track of. Was I sure anything removed at all? I took a step further into the room and tried to make sense of it all.

If I had seen something move, where? My gut told me the movement had come from the corner with a Dalmatian. I took a closer look at it and grimaced. I love dogs, love them dearly, but I didn't love that one. For a start, it was dead. whoever had set out to remake it might have had good intentions but come on

you can't just stuff Fido full of sawdust and call it anything other than a pile of dog-shaped sawdust draping the poor animal's skin over it does nothing for me except make my skin crawl and that goes for good taxidermy

the kind you might find on display in some eccentric's house but this Dalmatian was all out of shape Its abdomen bulged irregularly, its eyes pointed in different directions, and its glossy, open mouth didn't bear the welcoming smile of a friendly canine, but instead the slack-open-chored expression of some malicious idiot. The sound that I'd been following returned, this time closer than ever before. It sounded like it had just been outside the hallway. I went and checked, staying close to the doorway. where there was at least sufficient light.

There seemed to be nothing. But when I turned back to the room full of animals, I felt a terrible, overwhelming sensation of wrongness. The Dalmatian was gone. In the dark, something brushed against my leg, and I heard the tell-tale click-clack of a dog's claws on hardwood floor. spinning on the spot I tried to follow it, but caught only the faintest hint

of a white and black animal fading into the darkness of the corridor. My torch illuminated only three steps of the basement stairs. Looking up from the very bottom was the Dalmatian with its strange lumpen head. The rest of it remained in shadow. He waited patiently.

It did not bark or pant like any normal dog. It stared expectantly. And so far, I had followed it only out of some naive hope that it might lead me to my friends. But as time has gone on, as the evening has taken on more and more of that surreal, almost dreamlike quality that made me feel helpless and trapped, I could not escape the feeling the dog was leading me deeper into the nightmare, and not out of it. This was not helped by the fact

that as I'd followed it onwards into the strange hotel, passing old rooms full of rotting knick-knacks and cobweb-covered doors, the strange thumping noise had grown louder and louder like the peeling of a bell. There were times that it occurred to me to turn and leave, to get into the van and just go. Maybe I would have if I'd been in a more normal state of mind,

but I like to think I would never abandon my wife or my friends. I may have been afraid, but I wasn't a coward. Leslie? Again, I hoped that she would suddenly appear. The lights would come on. The ever-present dread would be pushed back. But there was nothing. I stood at the threshold of the basement stairs and knew, sooner or later,

I'd have to follow the dog. Down in the darkness, someone groaned, and it made me realize I could wait no more. A woman was down there, and I was certain it was Leslie who'd made it. As if on cue, the dog disappeared, like it knew I was going to follow now, no matter what. At racing, I descended and found myself in a crowded, dusty basement, full of old rubbish and soggy boxes. The roof leaked in a half dozen places, and with a storm in full effect,

the ground had flooded by about six inches so that my feet were completely submerged in filthy-looking water. Somewhere in the basement, I could still hear the dog's paws cut through the water in a lazy, sloshing canter. I was looking around the basement with my phone as a torch, trying to see where it was leading me when something caught my eye

a stony cylindrical structure in one far corner it was an old well common enough in a house of the era but in an unusual touch it had been sealed shut with a heavy wooden lid something about that enormous slab of blackened timber seemed odd to me

it wasn't merely a safety feature feature. It looked like the sort of thing you'd seal a tomb with. Behind me came another splash. This was different to the quiet patter of the dog. It was like something or someone dropping into the water. I turned towards the sound and saw Bernadette. Her face twisted into another hideous grin, eyes wide and excited. I let out a cry and stumbled backwards. but by the time I managed to get back onto my feet, the old woman was gone. Close to panic, I swept my light around me and found her.

She had moved and was close to my back. But she was frozen again, unreactive, like another piece of taxidermy. I wanted to run away at the sight of her standing so close, but somehow I just knew if I took my torch away. again. She'd disappear, and I might not have time to find her before her bony fingers found me in the dark. Instead, I stayed in one place and slowly backed away. Mark? The sound of Leslie's voice hit me like a freight train. I gasped, turning instinctively towards her, and then back again to find that Bernadette had already disappeared. Aware that she might be anywhere, I focused on my

wife, finding myself overcome with emotion both good and bad, as my eyes took in the strange state of her. She looked pale, disoriented and afraid. She stood there in a t-shirt and underwear, freezing cold, looking almost sick. But at least she was there. At least she was right in front of me. At last, some elements of this nightmare was giving way. Jeez babes, what have I? What have you? happened, I said as I wrapped my arms around her. I don't know, she mewed like a sick child. I had these nightmares and I woke up here. I think I was sleepwalking. I dreamt I was a little boy speaking to something in a well. I had a sister, I had a dog, the voice in the well wanted me to. God, it made me do such

strange things. I couldn't help but look at the well in the corner. Her eyes followed my and she grimaced. I don't like this place. Can we go? God, it feels so weird here. Am I still dreaming? She walked forward and practically fell into my arms. With one arm wrapped around her,

I held her upright and led her towards the stairs. Part of me wanted to ask about Meg and Ryan, but I knew it was more important to get her somewhere safe. We'd climbed just a few stairs. when I heard the sudden sound of someone barreling towards us at a sprint, their feet splashing in the water with stomach-churning speed. I turned just in time to see the old woman, face still twisted, coming out of the dark. Instinctively, I pushed Leslie ahead of me, but Bannadette was more interested in me.

With an icy, hard grip, she grabbed my ankle and yanked me down. my head hit one of the steps and for a brief moment everything went a little wobbly. The next thing I was aware of was water rising to my ears and the sight of the basement steps receding away. Something was pulling me deeper into the dark. I tried to struggle but a hard rubbery hand refused to let go of my ankle. I kicked hard with the other leg hitting Bernadette in the small of her back. To my disgust, my fuller. hit something like densely packed hay or maybe even wood it certainly wasn't flesh

slowly Bernadette turned to face me her head pivoting like an owl while a body kept facing the other way my brother will look after you she said he has a gift for putting people back together after they've fallen apart always had even as a little boy you don't really realize just how hurt you are. None of you do. That's okay. My brother is good at putting things back together. Still facing me, eyes wide and manic. She pulled me towards what I slowly realized was the well in the far corner of the basement. He scrapes away the scars and wounds, and replaces the broken bones and withered muzzles with fresh, clean, perfumed sawdust.

Put you back together one bit at a time. Did you know how hurt you were? Did you see the cuts and scars across your faces and hands? I did. She stopped at the well. With one arm and freak his strength, she effortlessly lifted the wooden slab. And so did he, even in the dark. He could see the bleeding inside and out, full of it, full of blood.

You're all so full of blood You needed help Just like me The smell that came out of that pit Was nauseating And realizing what was about to happen I started to kick and punch Grabbing at any part of the old woman I could

While trying my best to hurt her But all that came away beneath my nails Was papery skin and mouldy sawdust That smelled of rotter and meat. Benedet climbed up to the lip of the well and swung me over the darkness. I couldn't help but look down into the inky abyss where I caught sight of what looked like an oil leak on asphalt, a dark, murky collection of metallic colours, some of which

I couldn't possibly describe in words. Slowly, something strange bobbed up from the foul fluid. A hand, gnarled and foul, began to break the same. surface and reached towards me. Just as I felt like my sanity was going to shatter into a thousand pieces, I was thrown sideways into the water. There was a grunt and a struggle, and I looked up to see Leslie, her eyes clear for the first time since I found her, repeatedly hitting the old woman with a bit of wood.

She was furious and unrelenting as she whacked Bernadette over and over. She had saved me. and for a moment I fell in love with her all over again but the romance didn't last long before my senses returned and I realised I couldn't just lie there desperate to help I pull myself to my feet

and rushed over just in time as well Leslie went for one final swing and Bernadette caught the plank of wood with an unflinching hand slowly she tightened a grip and the wood began to splinter But with all her attention of my wife, she failed and noticed me charging towards her.

With a good shove, I pushed her over the edge of the well and into the darkness below. We had the thick, syrupy plop, and when we looked over, we saw her struggling in the filth below. Two eyes fixed us in the dark from a suck-covered face, and I knew we couldn't waste another second. I grabbed Leslie's elbow and ran. Let's get the hell out of here, I cried as we scampered up the steps. Behind us, Bernadette led out a blood-curdling howl. A few hours later, when the sun was beginning to rise, we had pulled up the van on the side of the road to take a moment to ourselves

and go over the strange events of the night before. The storm starting to fade by now had made a terrible mess of the roads and it had taken us an infuriating few hours just to find another main road as so many of the country lanes were blocked by fallen trees and branches but now with traffic passing us by

and electric lights visible in the distance we had finally found ourselves on the trail of civilization geez I said as the engine died and silence settled over us both. Did that really happen? Leslie simply shook her head. It was a dream, right?

The whole thing. I remember. God, I remember sleeping and someone coming to me and I was definitely awake for my part of it, I replied. I woke up in the middle of the night and you were missing, and I went locking. None of that was in my head.

It felt surreal and all kinds of wrong, but it wasn't a product of my mind. It's hard for me to separate things. When I look back, one moment I'm a little boy scraping squirrels off the side of the road. The next, I'm me in the basement. That terrible old woman stroking my cheeks. I put my arm around her and pulled her close.

Where are the others? She asked after a few moments. I don't know. I replied while shaking my head. God, Mark, we need to find them. Even if we just call the police and tell them where, we need to do something. Do you have your phone? I asked.

I'll call them. No, do you? I lost it in the basement. I turned in my seat to look in the back, where I hoped I might find a spare phone or a laptop. Something I could use to get help. But I froze in place. When I saw Meg and Ryan's sleeping bag, It wasn't empty.

Meg and Ryan, frozen with waxy skin and glassy eyes, lay side by side in the back of the van, holding hands, posed like cadavers or mannequins in some strange display. Dead, I figured, surely dead. They had to be, taken first by Bernadette, hollowed out by whatever lay in the well, and added to the collection. But that was before I saw the gentle murmuring

of Meg's bluish lips, and the way her eyes looked at me as I leaned over my seat to try and hear what strange words she was whispering. It wasn't until I was so close I could feel her icy breath and smell the strange chemicals that soaked her, that I realized

what she was muttering and fevered. Tokerish terror. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.