CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - Scary Reddit r/Nosleep Horror Stories Compilation for a creepy night in

Episode Date: October 8, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORIES-►0:00 "I found a secret bunker deep in the London underground" Creepypasta►42:49 "I Am Not A Twin" Creepypasta►56:19 "I was on a sleeper train. There's this guy who kept on tapping. Then he stopped" Creepypasta►1:15:48"Something Stalks the Old Roads of Montana" CreepyPastaCreepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...CREEPY THUMBNAIL ART BY►Naky Solanki: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/neK1oSUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPastaCREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only-

This weekend I'm in a while I'm not as I'm not on think. Oh, that dossier that morning off must be all moot as I'm too

on think. Oh, van't after I'm a moose as I'm on moose if I'm on think. Have you it to come to come?

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An energy booster to make sure to can't get any more to can't get Bocure Macshot liquid. Fooding Supplement

forc by the apotheker. What is it? Andrew asked. He had noticed me stopping in a small pipe. I reached out and plucked a small piece of red and silver metal that had been perched on a steaming pipe, close to chest height. It was folded into the shape of a deer. My father makes these out of coat cans, I said, holding it in front of my torch.

He gives him to us on Christmas and on birthdays. They're little things, but they build up over time. I have dozens all lined up. he must have left this for us. So we're on the right track, Cass said. His directions are actually right. It had been six days since my father

had gone into hiding in the London Underground, but this was the first time I thought I might actually find him. Quietly, I pocketed a little figurine and tried to kindle the feeling of hope it gave me. He must have meant a lot to you, Kaz whispered. He's kind, I replied.

Everyone hears skittes, and they think psychopath, but that's not true at all. He lives in a scary world filled with voices and strange patterns. He's vulnerable, not dangerous. He must have been having a bad episode to come down here. You said he's done this before, though, Andrew said. At least that means he knows what he's doing. Yeah, I replied.

It's just he was 43 when he last spent some time down here. He's 65 now and struggles with stairs. I held up the bizarre list of directions he'd left me, some of which included ten foot drops onto hard concrete. How's he going to manage this? I've never heard of a telecoms bunker anywhere in this part of the underground, William said. If he's where his letter says he is, Andrew interrupted, flashing his brother a dirty luck. We'll find him.

We know everything down here. Yeah, William stammered, quickly adapting. No one knows the city like we do. "'How deep are we now?' "'Caz asked, after a few minutes of silence had passed. "'Honestly, I don't even know, but I'm going to guess about sixty meters,' William answered. "'There's a kind of quality to the air past a certain depth,' Andrew added. "'You learn to recognise it.'

"'I never even knew this was all down here,' she replied. "'My dad was obsessed,' I said. "'He used to research all the stuff hidden down here, "'but this bunker was his favourite of them all. When I found his directions, I knew what he was going to say before I even opened it. He's the smartest man I've ever met, funny, passionate, and he's... He's just got this spark, you know, but he overestimates himself. He thinks he's invulnerable, and I know he's going to get himself hurt down here.

You're a good son, Cass said. You came to the right guys, William added, turning over his shoulder to smile at me. Silence returned, and I kept my eyes down. trying to ignore the harsh monochrome concrete tunnel and the way it made me feel. Eventually, the two brothers led us to a creaking bulkhead that hung open on rusted hinges. Carefully, Williams squeezed past the stiff door before crying out for us to follow. I soon found myself standing an enormous reservoir, easily the size of about ten football pitches. One of the nearby walls was inscribed to the letters,

ACWW, Ansley Wells Reservoir, 1867 to 1869 and I excitedly told the others. This must be the reservoir he mentions in the letter. All around us dozens of red brick pillars reached out from the water and into the vaulted roof, all perfectly aligned in diminishing rows. Andrew pushed ahead with a map held open in his arms, muttering quietly to himself. It shouldn't be here, William said after glancing at his brother. I thought he would be a small side tunnel,

something are marked, but there's nothing, nothing in any documents about this. I figured he was just crazy. Ahem, Andrew cough loudly, and William immediately shut up. Could you have just not heard about it? Cass added. No, Andrew answered. We'd know about something like this. If there was even a whisper about this, the urban exploring community would be all over it. This, it's incredible. If we knew about this section of the tunnels,

We'd be running tours down here every other day of the week. So would everyone else? But is there a route through? I asked. I mean, if the instructions he left are accurate, then... I mean, doesn't that mean we have a good chance of finding him? Yes, he replied, so long as we find the manhole and ladder your father described.

Come on, William said. And one by one, we all began to march through the ankle deep water. Only, we didn't get very far before something caught my eye. there's something under the water i said what andrew asked i walked over knowing it would be quick to show them then explain the water wasn't very deep and i gingerly reached out to pick up the object it's an axe william said not very far behind me weird he left and i could hear him tell cass not to worry andrew however who had also spotted the unusual marks along the handle stayed right next to me. He gave me a knowing look, and I nodded before dropping the axe back in the water. It was blood, soaked into the very grain of the wood. Click, clack, he'll break your back.

Follow his laws and stay on track. The words were spray painted in stark white lettering across the pitted interior of the drainage pipe. Creepy, cats whispered before nervously chuckling. We all tried to laugh it off as well, as if we could somehow send the fear packing by bad acting. It broke the spell enough for us to carry on. The pipe was wide enough for all four of us to walk abreast, and so far my father's instructions had not failed us. As we expected, we soon came across a rickety ladder rising up from the centre of the pipe to an already opened hatch. It was about a 30-foot climb to the top, and the two brothers wasted no time in setting out to the order of assent.

It was to be one at a time, just in case the ladder could not hold much weight. I was to be last, as I weighed the most, and I patiently waited as one by one the others climbed the ladder and disappeared. Just before Andrew left, he stopped and saw me flick the torch nervously towards the darkness. He and I both knew there'd be a few nervous moments where I would be all alone. Are you okay? he asked. Yeah, sure, I answered. let's just be quick about it. He nodded and began to climb.

His footfalls appallingly loud. I waited patiently for him to climb. Only when he was about halfway up, we both heard a distinct sound from up ahead. Click, clack. There was a single short exclamation amidst the silence. Click, clack. There it was again, louder this time.

I couldn't see further than a few meters in any direction. and my chest was tight with panic. Click, clack. The water had my feet surged. I watched, confused, as it started rising above my ankles. I couldn't be sure, but it appeared to be running uphill. Although I hoped I'd just gotten turned around and couldn't tell up from down.

That made sense, I figured. More sense than the idea that the water was somehow fleeing something in the dark, something out there that had a presence I could feel crackle with an invisible charge. A presence that lingered directly on my mind as if it bypassed the senses and spoke to some primeval need to hide. As soon as Andrew gave the all clear,

I grabbed the first rung and started climbing. Click-clack. I stopped without meaning to. I was halfway up, but the sound was so close I had to look down and check. I could see nothing except churning water. Click-clack. It was so loud this time it didn't even echo, like something spoken just over my shoulder.

I decided not to wait and see and scrambled up the last few wrongs. My grip shaky and clumsy. I kept worrying I was going to fall, but some primal need to flee had seized me and was urging me on. Click, clack, thump. Click, clack, thump something was climbing up behind me. I felt my whole body tense up with terror, and I practically leapt clear of. the last few rungs. As soon as I was clear of the hatch, I grabbed the cover and slammed it shut as hard as I could. Who was down there? Andrew asked. Nothing, I said. Not sure I wanted to

even trust what my eyes had glimpsed, as I panicked in the dark. My torch filled the room with a chalky light. Behind me, a pipe dripped while Andrew swung the door shut with a keening, rusted howl. We had finally found the bunker, and released the door my father described, and found ourselves in a small room. Moving our lights, we saw three carts, the mattresses half covered with bunched up khaki sleeping bags that cast lumpen drifting shadows. In the center of the room was a table with a frayed pack of cards and a 10,000 piece of jigsaw placed face down. I thought it was a World War II bunker, Kaz asked as she lifted an old Wargman CD player from beneath a pillow, unless someone has been down here since.

The last time my father would have come down here was around 1996, I said. The letter makes no mention of seeing anyone living here. He said it was filled with gas masks and uniforms and paperwork from the 50s. We carried on into the next room where we found a small canteen. From there, the bunker opened up into a labyrinth of industrial tunnels, their walls covered with lifeless dials and steel lockers. Choosing at random, we followed one of the tunnels to a small dormitory with just four bunk beds, all unmade and empty. At the foot of one of the beds was an unlatched and open trunk filled with women's clothing.

Buried beneath the underwear and overalls was a small book titled, Millennial Apocalypse, the Y2K Bug, and the Modern Mayan Prophecy. Y2K Preppers, I said. Clearly, it wasn't just your father and knew about this place. Andrew replied. Someone else must have thought it was a great place to hide out. The Y2K bug was the only apocalypse he didn't believe in, I chuckled. How long do you think they were down here? Kaz asked.

I walked up to a nearby cork board where a calendar was pinned and fanned through the pages. The last date marked was October 24th, 2001. The small square crossed off with a purple felt-tipped pen. All the dates before were marked off, going all the way back to January. with mentions of birthdays, anniversaries and even Easter. Did they seriously spend all that time down here? Kaz asked. At least one of them was, I replied, gesturing to the calendar.

Let's keep going, William said. I want to get a sense of how big this place is. We carried on exploring for at least another two hours. We found another dozen beds, although not all looked used. One of the larger rooms had been turned into a kind of communal living room. space, complete with tables and benches, and another was a small gym filled with fold-up exercise equipment. Surprisingly, very little of the bunker was dedicated to living space. The vast majority of the rooms were used for storage, and we found whole walking freezers

filled with desiccated and ranted meat that swung gently in the dark. Beneath them, people-sized sacks of grain and oats were stacked like firewood, their contents mushy and rotten. There were generators, water filters, distillation units, lathe, presses, six kinds of fuel, books, and enough medical supplies to shame a hospital. There was even a room with half a dozen UV lights wired up over some long dead plants.

This wasn't a half-assed effort at a surviving at the end of the world. They'd been tremendously well prepared. But now, they were gone. Despite searching for hours, we kept finding new doors. new rooms and even whole new floors. The bunker seemed endless.

Eventually, William and Andrew decided we needed a break. I was standing at the threshold of the fourth sub-level, desperate to continue locking from my father when they convinced me to step away and return to the entrance so we could regroup and discuss what we'd found. Begrudgingly, I agreed, and we began retracing our steps, only for something strange to catch our attention from up ahead. It was a sound coming from the air.

entrance up ahead. I turned the corner with my breath held, waiting to hear that dreadful sound I'd heard in the tunnel. Only what I found was somehow even more surprising. Dad, I cried out, rushing ahead to greet my father. He looked startled for just a moment, but he didn't turn to greet me. He never took his attention from the door that he was so desperately trying to pull shut. His face looked stretched out of shape, and it took me a few seconds to realize it was because he was scared in a way I'd never seen before. Dad, it's okay, it's me, I said, taking a step forward. These are my friends.

We've come to get you out. No, he cried. We have to close it. We have to stay. I was about to ask why, but then I heard it. Click, clack. Without realizing, I became a man possessed and rushed forward to help my father. spurred on by the memory of that presence in the tunnel.

From where I stood on the other side of the door, I could see nothing, but I knew everyone was confused and crying out their questions. I ignored them, pushing as hard as I could on that rusted bulkhead. Click-clack. I heard Kaz scream, and I was suddenly thankful I was behind the door. Suddenly, William and Andrew were beside me, white with terror and pushing with all their might. Kaz joined in two, and with all of us added in.

the door finally swung shut and my father twisted the lock, sliding thick metal bars into place. I thought you said there was nothing down here, Kaz cried, turning to face our guides. What the hell was that on the other side of the door? I decided to let William answer that and instead turn my attention to my father, who is now on his knees, gasping for breath. What's going on? I asked. I'm so sorry, he said, tears in his eyes. And with that, he shoved me aside and ran sobbing back into the shadows. Is it a person? she asked, staring through the tiny porceles embedded in the door.

Does it look like a person? William said, his tone close to exasperation. Well, it has two arms and two legs, she answered. There's a head, I think. It's just waiting. Well, it must be a person then, he said with a facetious shrug. When do you go out? and ask them about the weather.

We don't have the answers, Andrew said, stopping the argument before it began. We don't know anything, but I think if we all took a vote, no one here will want to try and get past it. I certainly don't, I said, aiming my response at Andrew. Maybe we'll just get to laugh about this when we're back on the surface, but for now, I can't think of anything worse than going back out the way we came. At the very least, I'd like to try and exhaust all other options, because whatever is out there, it's scaring the ever-living hell out of me.

Do you think there could be another way out? Kaz asked. It's worth checking, I replied, and I still need to find my dad. This place is one of the largest underground facilities I've ever seen, Andrew said. It makes sense it'd have more than one entrance. Is that what I think it is?

Andrew asked. We huddled around him and stared at the hap has its sketch on one of the walls. At a glance, it looked. like a squirish mushroom on the top of a heavy wine cork. But the more I stared, the more detail resolved themselves. Dorms, cooking, food, grain, Kaz muttered, as she squinted to read the faded writing beside it. First level.

It's a map, I muttered. The preppers must have been exploring this place just like us. That's what I thought, Andrew replied. But look, floor two, they've got storage, fuel, cleaning supplies, electronics, and floor three there filtration, water, distillery, UV lamps. On floor four, there's just sewage. But it keeps going, William said. He pointed towards the lower levels on the map.

The lines were rough and covered with question marks. The map was clearly unfinished. There's more here, I said, showing everyone a notepad I'd been flicking through. Floor five, some metal caskets, vases, nice paintings, duplicates, of ones have seen in the London Museum. Museum ones fake. These ones real? Vault to protect valuable culture perhaps. Floor 6. Funny looking computers. Don't need to worry about 2K bug at least. They run on vacuum tubes. All busted up. Floor 7. Loud machines down here make my teeth itch. Purpose question mark? Floor 8. Filing cabinets everywhere. Mostly empty. Some government documents remain. All redacted.

logo in department thoroughly scrubbed British and American flag and wall Both look weird Wrong colours, wrong number of stars Wrong stripes Illuminati Floor 9, too dark to see Torchlaw and Battery

We'll return later Could at ease he stairs to another floor How deep is this place They don't make a single mention of a way out Cass said But they didn't explore it all I replied Is that even possible? she asked

How could they live here all this time and not explore it all? How big is this place? If I didn't know any better, I'd say it was built from the bottom up. Well, we'll just have to see for ourselves, I said. During our descent, we each made our own worrying observations. Katz, for example, observed that many of the paintings on floor five were not duplicates, but rather slight variations of famous paintings. When asked if they were fakes, her response was a little strange.

No, I don't think so, she said. This, this is a near perfect carbon copy of one of the early sketches of Monet, except it's a full canvas painting instead of just a preliminary outline. Well, maybe the fraud used the wrong version, William asked. I doubt it, she replied. The sketch was unearthed just a year or two ago. We carried on, stepping over obsidian caskets, redwood trunks, human-sized irons, and mouldy sagging canvases

until we reach floor six where we found ourselves surrounded by an unusual army of upright machines with glass faces. They looked faintly like computers but liked any kind of interface that I could recognise. As described in the journal,

a few of them had dusty and cracked vacuum tubes, but others liked them. I might have thought them little more than novel antiques were it not for one of the machines that bore a tiny inscription reading magnetic resonance safe display.

I didn't tell the others. The anachronism confused me, but I didn't know what it meant. As it was, we were forced to hurry through floor seven to avoid the wretched smell of ozone emanating from an army of humming machines. The glass portacolus is glowing her peculiar blue that prickled the skin if you stray too close.

William even burned himself wiping some dust from one of them, and in doing so revealed that a strange four-fingered streak along the glass had somehow been made on the inside. It was almost a relief when we found floor rate filled with nothing but endless filing cabinets. Unlike the journal description, we found them to be empty, and were left to silently make a way through their disorderly arrangement, zigzagging through them

until, finally, William cried out. Where's the stairway the journal mentioned? God knows, I replied, this place is a maze. I'm not even sure I want to find it, Kaz said, a voice carrying strangely in the dark. Why is that? I asked. If there's another way out, there's another way in. I can't say why it hadn't occurred to me before, but the thought hit me like a breezeblock.

I stopped dead in my tracks, as did William and Andrew, and only Kaz was left pottering around, oblivious to the effects her sentence had on us. You don't think, Andrew muttered. guys, Kaz said, I think I found something. She was stood by a wall of lockers that had been pushed over and dragged to fill a small stairwell. It had all the makings of a hasty and desperate barricade. Should we? I asked.

Click. What immediately followed that sound couldn't have taken longer than a few seconds, but there were a million thoughts running through my head and the events played out like in some kind of slow-mo. and the harsh silvery light in my torch the air thick with raining moats of dust one of the cabinets was thrown and sent tumbling down the pile I became paralyzed by an electric terror that seized me my eyes wide and my mouth open in a silent cry

clack another locker was lifted up and thrown aside falling end over end like a domino click clack a hand emerged from beneath a pile of twisted metal his palm pale and strangely large. It pushed more and more of the lockers away, until, at last, a head appeared.

It was dangling lopsidily from a broken neck of a slight pair of milky eyes and a drooling mouth. That sagging, wretched head was adorned with a policeman's helmet, and from the neck down, he wore a button-down constable's uniform like something straight out of the Victorian era. Bound to his hip was a strange-looking baton connected to a rusted power pack by dozens of coiled copper wires. He was huge, not muscular, just huge, like he came straight out of a different world.

His enormous groping hands looked big enough to crush my skull, and as if ready to signal his intent, the monster's head snapped from right to left. Click, clack, and then he took a step forward. William acted first, leapt forward into a running jump to kick the strange figure back into the stairwell, but it was like a moving tree. He struck the giant with a quiet thump and fell backwards under the floor. He was scrambling to get up when the constable's giant head wrapped round his head and lifted him from the floor. Wasting no time, Andrew ran forward, pulled free a knife and began trying to frantically free his brother.

But the blade did nothing. No blood, no pain, no changing grip. It was like stabbing its straw. I felt a gentle tug on my sleeve and nearly screamed, but the hand that reached up and gricked my own felt warm and somehow familiar. I glanced down, showed my father staring up at me, finger pressed to his mouth. He was crouched in darkness. He pulled me away just as Caz started screaming and a loud crack reverberated through the dark.

My father grabbed me and stared into my mouth. eyes. Silently, he mailed for me to follow. Hesitating, I turned back, but all I saw was a confused display of criss-crossing lights and the desperate sounds of a struggle. It's the only way, my father whispered, and much to my shame. I followed. I wasn't sure what to expect, but it was my deepest hope he'd take me somewhere safe. In reality, he dragged me into a small knock made by the endless rows of cabinets, and he made us both crouch down in the darkness. There wasn't really anywhere to hide properly, and all we could do was hide and wait and hope that whatever was looking for us wouldn't lock very hard. It felt like a long time waiting there. It was a terrible tearing

sound, like paper being ripped end to end, screaming turned into painful whales, then griefwrecked sobs, and at last, quiet, despondent, silence. Whether the others had hidden, ran, or died one by one, I couldn't say. A broken headlight lay somewhere in the floor, where it cast dismal shadows, and I nearly gasped when I saw the wretched silhouette of the helmeted giant taking another step. Click-clack. Each footfall was punctuated by the stomach-churning sight of the monster's head snapping from side to side. I swear I could feel that thing looking for us in the darkness, the same way you can

feel someone looming over your shoulder. It was like a person magnified, not just in size, but in spirit and intent. With each step it took, my father tightened his grip around my waist, until, and last, the terrifying crescendo came and passed, and I watched the faint blue shadowy outline of the ghosty constable passed by our hiding spot without turning to look our way. It's not stupid, my father whispered, so quiet there was barely any breath to his hushed plea, only the wet sounds of him, mouthing the words. It knows we're still here. Be quiet. He moved ahead of me on all fours, and I followed. He turned left at the end of the lockers towards the stairwell, and I nearly panicked at the thought of turning my back on the monster that still click like somewhere in that very room.

I couldn't say if I was particularly stealthy. My breath was held most of the time and my heart felt like it was battering against my roof cage. But we reached the stairwell in safety. And I blanched at the feeling of something wet and warm along my hands and knees. But my father didn't stop. And in fact, he made sure to turn and beck him for me to follow.

Even as we passed the pulp remains of one of my former party members, the tussled blonde hair made me think of William. But the bubbling mess of broken bones. bones and pulped flesh meant it could have easily been Andrew, or even both of them crunched together like two corpses fed through a trash compactor. Feet first and on our stomachs we backed down through the hole in the barricaded stairwell. The last thing I saw before my head tucked beneath the portal was a light glowing in the distance. With horror, I realized that the monster had lifted up some kind of lantern to bathe us in light.

clack. Please do not be alarmed, it cried. Its voice, a robotic transmission that sounded deeply warped. Even from afar, I was certain it came from no human mouth, certainly not the slacked, drooling orifice I glimpsed on its face. It was the kind of voice you'd used of four civilians into a bomb shelter, or even out into a firing line. I inherently distrusted the speaker, and whoever had authored it into this world.

Travelers do not panic Risk of contamination is minimal and tropic parasites are not present in this location Goosehead infestation is under control Please present yourself for examination by an officer Vigilance is the price of safety This is our last resort There is no other refuge

Does he eat them? I asked Staring at the rose and rows of cages Filled with desiccated remains Some had been split open at the left legs like wishbones. One had been forced through the unyielding metal bars and caught brutally in the process. But most looked like they've been starved to death. Approaching one, my father bent over and picked up a piece of paper and held it up to me. It was an unremarkable form with dozens of boxes, only they've been filled in with a desperate scroll and

the fingers that gripped it had clearly been wet and greasy. Arrest Report 203-887. Infraction. failure to present prescient ID to arresting officer Non-compliance with the police is grievous offense Initial scans show lack of vaccination nanites Translocation without prior vaccination is grievous offense Personal possessions suggest culprit has stolen from locals Breaching integration protocols is grievous offense Suspect details are described below

Name Screw you Citizen ID number What the hell are you on about initial statement What the hell is wrong with you? Let me go Notes from arresting officer I'm very cold

In the corner of the room There was a bizarre copper coffin That stank of decay and mould Wired up to a strange machine That hummed like those who'd found in the glowing Blue Room From the size of it I guess it belonged to the policeman chasing us

Although I could scarcely imagine Why the floor was riddled With rusted and bent nails That would pierce the flesh of anyone who lay within Then again, I remembered Andrew stabbing at the forearm and producing only a vague cloud of dust, and I realised that whatever was hunting us clearly had a high pain threshold. We carried on downwards, passing through what I considered to be the policeman's workshop, and into a larger laboratory like structure and a meeting hall plastered with faded propaganda posters.

One showed a smiling policeman, much like the one who chased us, looming over a medicine figure who was too faded to see. Behind the policeman was a red-handed cartoon of a woman clutching his coat-tails for safety. See in a goosehead, find your nearest recond officer. And in smaller print beneath, reconstituted officers are immune to the anthropic blight. Seek one immediately if you believe a goosehead is in the vicinity. Do not touch the infected.

The policeman in the poster was enormous and clearly alike to the one who haunted us, but his head was set normally and he looked quite cheery. His face was alert, intelligent even. Close by, another poster showed a similar-looking policeman, looming over a London skyline, a stern paternal expression worn on his face. The poster read, Even the meekest man made of the heart of a lion,

stand up against the plague, resist the anthropic parasites. Science can elevate the flesh, but this nation needs your spirit. Something worse than death stalks London. Do you have what it takes to stem the tide of parasitic acid? assault. Keep your country safe. Keep your family safe. Inquire about reconstitution at your local constabulary. I turned my light to the final poster. It depicted a rowdy-looking soldier

winking at a woman who walked past with a smile. Just below was another panel showing him at a clinic, the doctor vomiting while the soldier's skin slowly started to drip from his bones. The locals may look like us, they may talk like us, but they are not from our world. Follow translocation protocols. Keep your family safe. Keep your country safe. Do not fraternize with the natives. I jumped when a few seconds later, my dad spoke aloud.

I turned to see him holding a piece of paper in his hands. He read from it aloud. Word came down from HQ on what to do with Officer 217. Support told me that recond officers without executive function are a nightmare to contain. So I guess we're not the first to deal with this. They say if we ship him back They'll be able to kill him It may seem small with everything going on

But with the future so uncertain We can't have a recon Walking around in eternal pain It's dangerous to everyone And not to mention Very cruel As soon as the next safe opening comes along We'll send him back

If there's still an HQ They can sort it out If not Then at least we don't have to worry about him Giving us away By the way I saw you practicing in your mirror your accent is getting better.

Any day now, an all arrange a visit to the surface. What the hell does that mean? I asked. God knows, he answered, before taking my arm and leading me to a stairwell in the corner of the lab. When we descended, we found ourselves at another floor that strongly resembled in metro station. It bore the sign. Outpost, 18997. But graffeted underneath were the words, The last stop, nowhere else to go.

Gas masks littered the floor and the railway was clogged with a thousand bleached bones whose screaming skulls looked out from behind cracked and broken visors. They were all reaching for the platform. Turning my light on, I could just about glimpse of broken down carriage some distance away. Like the other machines in this place, it bore strange Tesla coils and copper orbs and I imagine once crackled with electricity and power, but which were now either. either thick with rust or covered in sickly verdigris. I nearly gasped when a breeze flowed through the tunnel and touched my hair.

For a fleeting moment, I thought about abandoning all scents and running into it with open arms and joyful cries. But we were nowhere near the surface, and why were all the skeletons fleeing towards us? Dad, I asked, finding myself able to give voice to the thoughts for the first time since we've been reunited. What the hell is this place? Just a bunker, he sighed. I thought, I don't know what I thought, just about anything except this. I'm starting to think, he gestured towards the tunnel, that that tunnel doesn't lead home at all. At least, not our home?

Right. Click. Damn, I hissed. Clack. I thought there'd be a way out, my dad said, his face bunching. up close the tears. Oh God, I'm such an idiot. I thought I'd be safe. I thought, come on, I said. We simply have no other choice. The tunnel ended in a wall. Only the breeze kept on coming. It smelled odd, a little like the dust-filled air of a construction site.

Dad reached out and touched it, and we saw the whole wall ripple like water. If we hadn't been running for our lives, we might have felt awe and wonder. Click, clack. here we go i said taking a deep breath dad turned a look over his shoulder at the source of the noise only to pull his hand back from the illusory wall it didn't come back alone something was on the end of his finger something that looked a little like the spots you see in your eye on a sunny day or like the little worms that haunt the corner of your vision only it wasn't flat like those visual flare-ups it was thick three-dimensional and about the size of a very size of a little worm's that haunt the corner of your vision only it wasn't flat like those visual flare-ups it was thick three-dimensional and about the size of a leech. It looked a little like something alive and made out of the mixture of jelly and the rainbows you see on oil. Before either of us had a chance to ask about it, it began to enculf his hand. Damn, damn, damn, damn, he hissed, get it off, get it off. Dad tried to flick the thing off like a bit of snot, but it didn't react to the inertia or even gravity. The way it bubbled and moved around his skin, it didn't even look like it could interact with his hand, like it wasn't

made out of the same matter as the rest of us. It got about halfway up his arm before he started screaming. Click-clack. The constable was visible now, working harder to keep its feet steady on the mountain of bones. He was taking its time, but then again, we didn't have anywhere to go. So, what was the rush? Get it off, Dad screamed, collapsing to his knees. He held his arm up, and I saw there a hole was punched clean through his flesh like he was a piece of Swiss cheese. By now the worm thing had swallowed his whole arm up to the shoulder, its quivering translucent flesh expanding by the second. Every second or two it would seize up and appear to strain with effort,

and another geometrically perfect hole would be punched into my father's flesh, bisecting bone and muscle like it was nothing more than paper. Infestation detected, the constable cried, and I turned to see him closer than every person. before. Biological vessel has breached translocation. Containment protocols have failed. He reached down and grabbed my

father's skull like it was in orange, and he lifted him off the ground effortlessly. Recone officer 217 preparing for unscheduled emergency translocation. Click. The monster's head lurched towards me on his broken neck. Do not attempt to flee before the

arrival of further police presence. Doing so will only increase the severity of your sentencing. Remain where you are. Clack. The neck snapped back, and without further delay, the monsters stepped forward into the rippling wall, taking my screaming father with it. It is not, it turns out, all that uncommon for people to go missing in the underground. Andrew, William and Kaz were not asked after, at least not by the government.

The families had tried to hire private investigators. I understand, but for the most part, nothing looks odd from the outside. They held tours underground in dangerous places. They'd had one or two close calls before, which I'd never heard of when first hiring them, and the police weren't at all surprised it had ended badly for them. And if we even had to come up for much of an excuse, I told them about the drain pipe,

the one with the ladder, and said it had flooded while we were partway through it. After that, nobody asked any questions. Well, except for one. He was a policeman, a normal-looking one. And he turned up at my door three weeks after it had all died down, or wearing a smile that made my stomach churn. He looked decent enough, I guess.

I hadn't wanted to think too much about anything down there, and after telling so many lies, a part of me, started to believe them. Maybe we had nearly drowned. Maybe I'd spent two delirious days stumbling around all half dying of pneumonia. It made a lot more sense. But this guy, he didn't look right. not so much in the face but in the way he looked at me

the way he smiled he said he had a few more check-ups to do and entered my home with a polite manner but one which really didn't let me protest he just entered nodding and speaking the whole time about the weather and the upcoming easing of lockdown and the smell of

good food cooking in my neighbour's kitchen nothing about it was right nothing at all least of all the suitcase in his right hand that looked nothing like the kind of kind of thing a cop should carry. It was old, battered leather, with a funny little lock made of oily brass.

When it clicked open, he kept its inside facing away from me. But I caught a glimpse of some wires, maybe even a glass tube. What are you doing? I asked. Just a test, he said with a smile and a hard-to-place accent. All sorts of things down there, I reckon.

All sorts of funny bugs. Parasites. Just want to make sure you didn't bring any of them back with you. One day, I hope someone will go down and block all that nonsense off. That way, we never have to worry about people getting hurt again. But, uh... Well, some people can be sentimental about history. His eyes turned down towards the mysterious case were filled with tension.

At one point, I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, and he flinched. He tried to hide it. But I got the sense if I reached out in time. touched him, he would have screamed the house down. Only, all of that changed when a little ding rang out from the whirring machine that he wouldn't let me see. Suddenly, the case snapped shut and he was reaching out to shake my hand. Oh, so good, he cried, and I could see the relief in his face was coming from somewhere deep inside his soul.

No infection, he said. Clean bill of health. No, parasites, I replied. Entropic or otherwise? And he stopped dead like I'd slapped him hard. A creepy forced tunist disappeared, and he looked at me with so much sadness in his eyes. Was anybody down there?

He asked. Nobody alive, I answered. We thought as much, he replied. Nothing down there worth saving, I suppose. No, I shook my head. Well, he said. trying but failing to look unfazed. I suppose we're here for good.

And with that, he left, his strange little suitcase tucked under one arm. The park near my house is plagued by urban legends. Most of them are local legends, and the nature of those legends would vary depending on who you ask. I moved here a little over a year ago with my then-fiancee, now wife, Megan. She and I both worked from home

and we moved right in the middle of the COVID lockdowns so we didn't have much reason to go out and explore our new hometown. We were really quick to make friends with our neighbours. The day after my wife and I moved in with our dog, Kaya and three cats, we got a ring on our doorbell and we opened it to the sight of two women, both in their 60s. They were our next door neighbour, Sandy, and across the street neighbour,

May. One had made us homemade gems, and the other made a homemade pie. I love pie, so this was the perfect way to welcome us to the neighbourhood. The neighbours across the street have a gorgeous patio space, and they said they wanted to have a welcome party for us, so we could get to know the neighbours around us. Needless to say, we fell in love with these people, in a platonic sense, of course. I think the neighbours were extra excited about having my wife and I move in because at the time we bought this house we were newly engaged and planning our wedding and talking about having kids.

A fresh young family. All our neighbours are elderly and their own kids have lives of their own in distant places so they were looking forward to having some babies nearby to watch grow up and spoil since they couldn't do it to their own grandkids. Honestly, it's sweet. Over the following year after moving in, we would have gatherings and parties with our neighbours and their friends at least once every couple of weeks.

They might have become like family, and we couldn't be more thankful for their guidance once the lockdown's lifted. May and her husband, Fred, have lived here the longest. They know all the places to go for breakfast, lunch, dinner, dancing, music, movies, hiking, picnics, you name it. However, even still, most of the time when my wife and I decided we need some time out of our house, we just go right across the street to spend time on the gorgeous patio with May and Fred, invite over Sandy and her husband Dale, and we just talk. About four months after moving in, we got a second dog, a great dame puppy that we named Appa, points to all my culture people who get the reference.

He was six weeks old when we got him, and now he was about a little bit of a little bit of a little He was about 10 months old and 135 pounds of pure mischief. He took up a ton of our time to make sure he was trained. A dog this big without good training can and will break everything you own, including your spirit. So there was a period of time where we weren't spending as much time with our neighbours, or anyone, or doing anything, at least until we had the confidence in Apar and Kaya to not cause too much chaos, now we do. So recently the itch to explore our small city has really become more intense for my wife and I. So we have made it a point to go to one new place in our

city every Saturday. Most of them have been places that May and Fred have suggested and they've been right about all of them. When we told them we were looking for a park to take our dogs to and that we had seen one with a trail that led to the woods about two minutes drive from the house, they told us no. quite adamantly. My wife and I were both really surprised by the force with which May had tried to shut down the idea. We sat in silence,

wondering what we may have said to offend her, but she spoke up to explain before we could overthink it. Look, that park is beautiful. Before they built the highway behind our property, we could walk there through the woods. We loved it, she trailed off, but Fred picked up where she left off. It's fine to go there if you stay next to the baseball fields, but don't go on the trails or into the trees.

The park is connected to 75 acres of woods, and when I was working as a criminal investigator, I used to get called out there all the time. Fred and May were not glum people. If they weren't talking with a smile, they were listening with one. But right now, they seemed almost disturbed. And Fred explained why. I'm retired, but we aren't a large city. I still sometimes get asked to come out there and look at a body. More dead people have been found out in those trees than any other park, trail or nature reserve

in the next four counties combined. My curiosity was absolutely peaked. Back in California, my hometown saw a rash of suicides in a single park in one summer. Three of them happened in just a couple of months. They were hung themselves in the trees at the park. Is it something like that? Fred shook his head. No, that's not it.

One of them was about 20 to 30 years ago, but of all of the bodies I've seen laying out there. Coroner always determined something else kill those people. Thing is, we never caught what it was. After the fifth body, people began spreading rumours and it became a local legend. But over the past 30 years, we've had exactly 59 bodies found in the trees near the trails.

May and Fred took turns telling us about the different stories people came up with. Some said the park was haunted by ghosts of a serial killer. Others say they oh so common, it was built in an old Indian burial ground thing. The most prevalent story is that there is a monster living in the woods. My wife and I are not superstitious, didn't believe in the supernatural. Until we decided to go anyway. We both needed out of the house this past week. It had been a couple of months at this point since May and Fred told us the story. about the horrible evil park of doom. We grabbed a blanket and decided to hang out within view of the baseball fields. It was a beautiful day. It was 68 degrees and sunny,

and in the early morning it felt good to lay out on the grass near the fields and get the even mixture of warm sunlight on her skin and a cool breeze to refresh us. However, as it's prone to happen in East Texas, the sun quickly began to get too hot and the breeze began to get too humid. My wife and I still weren't ready to go home, so we opted to move into the shade, just a little ways into the line of trees that separated the baseball fields from the playground and tennis courts. Still, nowhere near the trail toward the very back of the park. We would have to cross through the tennis court, another parking lot,

and around some gazebos with picnic tables to get to the trails. We did, and we continue to enjoy the scenery of the park. It was a small creek about 30 feet from us now that flowed out of the woods and into the small pond near the edge of the baseball fields. Between the mottled rays of sun broken up with the shade and the soft sounds of flowing water, my wife and I found ultimate relaxation. But not before my wife said, You look good today, and this lighting is awesome. Let me get a picture of you real quick.

Now, I don't like having my picture taken. I always feel awkward, but my wife insisted that I looked good and I was honestly feeling pretty good, so I agreed. Do me a favour though. I don't want to be the whole focus of the picture, so get me in there, but do a panorama so we see a lot of the park too. She smiled and took my phone from me and opened up the camera. I went and stood by a tree and let her do a thing. Once the picture was taken, we set the blanket back down and laid back down. We had chosen to leave the dogs at home. Megan was in need of a stress-free time, and even though the dogs would have loved the park, we wanted to just be able to close her eyes and chill and not worry about either of them wandering off or eating something they aren't supposed to.

It was a good choice overall, because it instantly put Megan and I in a better mood. I rested my head on her stomach, and she used it as a way to prop up a book. She read, and I began to slowly drift into daydreams. After a minute, I opened my eyes and realised how heavy they became. But I figured it wouldn't hurt to take a quick nap. So I let myself drift off until I heard a distant call of the name. Apper! My eyes shot open, not just because of the name I heard called,

but because I recognised the voice that called it. My voice Just as soon as my eyes had opened My wife had pulled a buck away from my head And looked at me Was that you? Megan asked No but I heard it too I left in my head and looked around

But there was no one else around There were a couple of cars But I couldn't tell from this distance If there was anyone in them At least until one began to pull out of its parking space and head toward where the park exited onto the highway. Maybe it was them. They might just have a dog named Appa, too.

They were probably trying to get him in the car to go. Probably, but they sounded so much like you. I wonder if there is cute. I chuckled. My wife was flirting, which meant she wanted a kiss. I leaned up to give a one before I rest my head back on a stomach and closed my eyes for only a split second. Kaya!

my voice yelled. It still sounded just as far, but this time, angry. I sat straight up and my wife closed a book. Okay, what the hell? I said to my wife, this can't be a coincidence. She put a book into a purse and stood up, and I sprung to my feet and began to look around. Again, I couldn't see anyone. The cars that had been in the parking lot by the tennis courts had all left, which meant that there was nobody between us and the trails.

I got this nagging feeling that if there was a killer out in those woods, they likely felt a little more emboldened to come further out of the trees now that there was nobody else in the parking lot between us in the woods. As mentioned before, this is East Texas, and we aren't a big city. It's mostly rural, which means it is a safe bet that most people are carrying a gun. I have no exception to that rule. I put my phone back into my pocket and used my thumb to feel for it. for the gun, but I didn't lift my shirt to show it, and I certainly didn't draw it. I just made sure it was there in case I needed it. It's time to go, I told my wife, as I knelt down to grab a purse and handed it to her.

Luckily for us, we parked near the baseball fields, so we were able to head in the opposite direction that it's my voice was coming from. I kept looking over my shoulder, and though I never saw anything, I could swear. There I heard the rhythmic sound of snapping twigs following us out of the trees. It stopped once we reached the grass clearing, and we heard nothing once we began walking across the pavement of the parking lot. We got in the car and drove home, and I was so thankful to hear my dogs excitedly barking when I began to unlock the front door.

My wife and I both stepped in and checked them out. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Nothing in the house seemed out of place. Everything was as we had left to be. it. We were able to relax a little more over the next several minutes. We began to speculate together about what the hell happened, but we didn't really come up with any answers that made any sort of sense. The logical explanation was that it was someone we knew messing with us, someone who knew our dog's names, and just happened to spot us in the park and thought it would be funny to play a

prank on us. But that didn't explain how their voice sounded exactly like mine. I didn't really get an answer. Until this morning, when I started flipping through my phone and looking at the pictures we took this past weekend. I take a lot of pictures of my wife and dogs, but I stopped when I got to the panorama my wife took of me in the park. I thought it was an uncommonly good picture of me, where I looked less awkward than I usually doing photos. I zoomed in on my face and considered posting it to Facebook. But then, I began looking at the rest of the photo, where I was still zoomed in. And my heart began to pound when I got a closer look at something between the trees.

I am not a twin. I sat back, intrigued. He was tapping the corners of the table, left. Right, left, right, left, right, in perfectly spaced intervals. It was almost hypnotic. It wouldn't have caught my notice, if not, for the look of utter concentration and anxiety on his face, as he tapped carefully with the two fingers of each hand on each corner. I put my shades on so that I could observe undetected.

I bought mirrored shades just for this reason. I'm not a creep. I just like to watch what others do. the quirks they have, and the little details in their actions. Okay, I realise that still sounds kind of creepy. Well, it's people watching anyway, and nothing more. I find human behaviours fascinating. The door to the train carriage slid open,

and the noise of the tracks and buzz of conversations crowded in. I looked at the passenger opposite me, still dedicatedly tapping on the table's corners, but now with an increase in the intensity of his frown. Hi there, a chirpy young lady was at the door. Her presence poured into the room, energetic, lively, unstoppable. I contemplated pretending to be asleep. Then I saw the distress roiling on the tapers face

as he tried desperately to keep his beat going, determinedly ignoring the lady. I sighed, then plastered a bright smile on my face to match her sunshine vibes. Hey, we got the bottom bunks. I hope that's all right. Both top bunks are free for you to choose. Great, thanks, she smiled at me. Then her gaze drifted to our fellow carriage bunker. She looked confused, then concerned for a moment.

She opened a mouth and I immediately spoke up. Let me help you with your stuff. I grabbed hold of one end of a heavy backpack. That did the trick. She shifted her tension back to me and grabbed hold of the other end of a backpack. We heaved it into the upper bunk. Thanks.

She looked back at the tapper, but this time she didn't try to say anything. She just raised an eyebrow, then turned to climb up the ladder into a bunk. I looked back at the tapper. He was now saying some words in time to the taps. Each word spat out with a tap in a curt, almost frantic manner. I couldn't help it. I wanted to look away, leave the carriage. Give him some space to do whatever it was he needed to do.

But I was getting really curious about the tense words he was expelling under his breath. So instead, I shifted from my comfortable space at the end of my bunk and sat at the table opposite him. I put my head down on the table and pretended to take a nap. I could now make out some of the words. Do not, never. I couldn't tell what the rest of the words were. He was pronouncing the word in slightly varying ways, as if attempting to say them in the perfect way, enunciating every phoneme the words held. I kept my head down, just listening to his words and taps, and, without realizing it, somehow drifted off.

I don't remember what I was dreaming about, except for the last scene. I was walking down some steps and realized that the ground wasn't there. I walked off the last step and fell. I joked awake. I must have startled him. He stopped his tapping. He looked at me as if registering my presence for the first time. We stared at each other for a moment or two.

Then he looked down to the corners of the table. I could already see it happening, him getting distressed about his tapping ritual being disrupted and falling back into a frenzy of tapping and chanting. Hey, nice to meet you, I said before I could think it through. He looked at me with a tinge of surprise. In the bunk above him, the lady turned to a side and looked curiously at her interaction. Hey, he said softly, looking nervous and uneasy.

Where are you headed to? I get my tone light, pretending not to notice his hands clutching the corners of the table. End of the line Oh, that's a good two days away Yeah, he said, nervously running his hand through his hair Then immediately gripping tightly on the corners again Hi-ah! He turned around quickly at the sound of her voice from above.

The lady was climbing down the ladder to join us. Great to meet you guys, she chirped. Her enthusiasm seemed to physically repel him. He leant away from her, while still holding onto the table. was edges. Hey, you're up. Nice to meet you too, I said. She gave me a wide grin, which faltered a little when she turned to him. He did not meet her eyes. His tension and anxiety were palpable. Well, I'm going to have an early dinner. Check out the food at the dining car. You guys want anything? No, thanks. Let me know if the food's good. I get my voice upbeat, matching her energy.

She smiled and gave me a thumbs up, then left the carriage, closing the door behind her. There was a long silence after that. He seemed stiff, unsure what to do. I was pretty sure he was fighting the overwhelming urge to tap in the table corners again. It's important to you, tapping the table edges and saying the words just right. I kept my tone as non-chalant and non-judgmental as possible. He looked up at me with a mixture of surprise and anger, which quickly dissolved into puzzled wonder,

as he realized I was not making fun of him. Yes, I need to say it just right, need to tap it, just right. I need to do them both, just right. I wanted to leave it at that, and go back to my relaxing journey to my next destination. It was, after all, a year-long break for me, my epic vacation, but my professional instincts took over. Why do you need to do them just right? I

I just need to He stared resolutely down at the table What would happen if you didn't do them just right? He seemed discomforted by the very thought He shook his head That's not okay It won't be good What if you didn't do them at all

I could almost swear I saw the colour drain from his face Bad, bad things would happen What kind of bad things? I don't know, but bad things. Very bad things. I know it. I nodded. It's a terrible feeling.

You know something horrible would happen. You stop. You refuse to do it, and you can feel the dread in your body. This inexplicable paralyzing fear. It builds until you snap and do whatever it is you need to do to ease it again. He looked at me with the first signs of actual interest since our journey began. Yes, exactly that. I nodded again, then added.

I was that way with lights too. I had to switch my lights on and off, on and off, until I was thinking exactly the right thoughts, in the right way while the lights went off. Otherwise, I was convinced horrible things would happen. I gently smiled at him. But one day, it got too much for me. I didn't want to live my life repeating my actions over and over,

to ward off some unnameable event. So, I just stopped. I switched off the lights while thinking a bad thought, sat down, felt the fear come crashing down on me, felt like I was suffocating with fear, with horror, with this intense dread that convinced me I would deeply regret not getting things just right, that I'd somehow cause him horrible destruction.

I looked up at him, his expression was unreadable. But nothing happened. I continued. Nothing bad happened, even though it felt so real, felt like it was going to happen. He stayed silent. I cleared my throat nervously. I worked with others too, who had these issues when I was a psychologist. They felt these things too, the fear, the terror, the urge, the need to do, whatever their fear was telling them to.

I trailed off. His expression was becoming a familiar one. He was frowning. He seemed to be finding the right words to say. You're describing OCD. I know what I have seems like OCD. I've been diagnosed with OCD. It's not OCD.

He began tapping again. How is it not like OCD? I'm sorry. I didn't want to jump to any conclusions. I just want to understand what's going on. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. all the while still tapping. It was a long while before he spoke.

When I stopped tapping, bad things do happen. Or they do begin to happen. But I've always stopped them in time by tapping again. Could you tell me more? Tap, tap. At least he wasn't back to spitting out those words. I've tried to stop before. Of course I tried to stop before.

You think I don't know how this looks to others? You think I want to live my life. enslaved by these acts. I want to hang out too. I want to talk to others. I want to be normal. But I can't. I've got so fed up.

I've tried to stop so many times. But every time I do. Something happens. I didn't speak. Just waited for him to continue. Weird things happen. Strange things I can't explain. His breathing was quickening.

He was obviously terrified by his recall of the past. I tried it one. at home when I was still a student. I thought it when the urge came, when the fear hit me, and I knew that it was time for me to tap again. I knew I needed to do it. I tapped for a bit on the sides of my bed. Then I stopped. I felt wrong, all sorts of wrong. I felt terrified, but I refused the tap anyway. Then, then the room just started creaking. My floorboards did, my cupboard, my desk. Everything was creaking. Then my textbook fell off the table. I had to start tapping again. Something horrible was going to happen. I knew it. I started tapping again and it all stopped.

I get my face neutral, unassuming. I nodded. I tried another time when I was dating this girl and I just wanted to be normal, to have a proper relationship, to not have to run away and do my stupid rituals when the urges hit. Then, we still. I started hearing footsteps. We didn't know where they came from, just footsteps near us. Though there was no one else. The footsteps got louder, closer and I had to go. I had to leave.

I ran off and found this lamppost. It felt right. I started to tap on the sides of it. And it stopped. The footsteps stopped. I was starting to feel a little bit unnerved. That must have been terrifying. It was tough enough for me to stop.

Having those weird things happen, no wonder you can't stop. My word seemed to hit him hard. He started blinking away tears. It was really tough, but I want to stop. I want so badly to stop. I want everything to go away. I want to be normal. I want to be free.

I want to be able to have a conversation with my train mates. I want to walk to the dining car, have a meal and not be stared at like a freak. The tears kept spilling from his eyes. I felt a tingling, salty sensation at the back of my throat and a heavy pull in my heart. Do you want to try? Here, with me here, we could face it together. His tears gave way to proper sobs. I didn't know what to do.

I just sat there, looking at him silently. When his sobs subsided, he lifted his red and eyes and regarded me for a while. I do. I do want to try. Please, maybe it'd be better with someone else around. I let out a small sigh of relief. I was hoping he'd be willing to try. I couldn't deal with the thought of him going about his life, living the way he did.

I just want to point out another thing that could help us along, I said. He watched me expectantly. It can really help to think of what's the worst thing that could happen, then compare it to your life as you're living it now and be okay with the worst thing that could happen to rather face that possibility than live as you're living now he seemed uncertain scared for me it worked

I thought well the worst that could have happened would have probably been someone dying the world ending severe injuries and whatnot and I realized I'd rather just let it happen get it over and done with than to keep doing these gestures these repetitive actions being a slave to my fear. I needed to be done with it, whatever the cost. He considered my words with grave expression.

Then he nodded. I'm willing. It's been too long, too much. It's not allowed me to have a proper life. I smiled at him. Then, let's do it. He looked at me, still tapping the sides of the table. Then his jaw tightened.

and he nodded. A few moments passed before he stopped tapping. He put his hands flat on the table. We waited. The first few minutes seemed to take an immense toll on him. His face was pale and cold. Sweat beaded his face.

His breaths were shallow and quick. More time passed and he seemed almost ready to relax. Then the lights in the carriage flickered. He seemed to almost jump out of his. skin. He reached out his hands to the corners of the table, but I grabbed them and placed them back on top of the table. I pressed down on them for a while, then let go. He had to do this himself. The lights went out. I took a few, deep, calming breaths. This was a coincidence. I knew it logically.

This was a highly unfortunate coincidence, but that was all it was. And if I could help him through it, he could be free from these obsessions and compotions for the rest of his life, released the less controlled by them. I grabbed his hands to make sure he didn't start tapping in the dark. He whimpered a little. He couldn't see my face, but I smiled at him nonetheless, hoping that I could send him some reassuring vibes. Then the train jodded to a halt.

I began to feel the cold pricks of sweat on my own face. I realized my face was tensed up. I grabbed on his hands tight. I forced myself to relax. He grabbed onto my arm once I lessened the pressure on his hands. Despite my fear, I felt heartened. He was determined not to tap no matter what. He sat in the dark silence, ignoring the aura of doom and fear that had settled around us.

Then we heard the breathing. Something was breathing heavily on the bunk above him. A cold needle of fear pierced my heart. We stayed incredibly still. The breathing came downwards. Whatever it was was right next to him now. We could hear the rough wafting of air as it breathed onto his face. I heard his breath quicken as his hands clamped painfully on my arms.

He still wasn't tapping. I felt a deep respect for him, even as I contemplated my impending doom. Then the raspy breaths of whatever it was shifted. It was by my right here now. I could feel it. It was strangely cold. Every time it breathed in, there was a wet rattling sound. When it breathed out, my ear was grazed by a sharp cold gust.

It stank. It had a horrible rotting stench about it. But still, we grabbed hold of one another's arms, refusing to let go, refusing to tap. I don't know what came over us. What made us so emboldened as to continue resisting. despite the insane things going on in our carriage. Was a mistake. It's cold, mocking voice slithered into the quiet of our carriage.

You will suffer. I was beyond convinced at this point that it was anything related to OCD. Are you willing to pay the price for your insolence? It hissed. Do you accept credit cards? The word slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it. My blood froze in my veins, as the possible repercussions in my stupidity struck me. Then the carriage was flooded with light.

The lady was back. Our savior. Hey guys, the food was great. She took in the scene of us clasping each other's arms in death grips. Oh, wow. Okay. You guys sure bonded without me. The cold, heavy air began to disperse. A light whisper caressed my ears. I'll be back for you. Then it was gone.

Its presence ebbed away, just like that. He looked at me with shock and relief on his face. Yeah, we did it, he said, smiling at me in gratitude. A pure joy began to light his face. He looked like a whole different person. I smiled back at him, shrugging off the disquiet I felt. Yeah, we did. County calling Unit 4?

My radio chirped. 4, I responded. Unit 4. Respond Code 2 to a one-car motor vehicle accident. Old Route 33 in the area of Mile Marker 44. Call a state he hit a deer. Vehicle, inoperable. I sighed and put down my phone, putting my Chevy Tower in gear

and gently pulling out of the parking lot I was comfortably sitting in. Unit 4 copies. Responding, I said, into the radio, putting it back into its holder. Roger Unit 4. Time of Dispatch, O239. Working third shift has its perks. Slow nights, not much to do, especially in a rural county here in Montana, where the only crimes seem to be boredom. Having been born and raised here, I knew this area like the back of my hand.

I could navigate it in the dark. Hell, blindfolded, and I could tell you exactly where I was. I was solely from the ground I was standing on. Not much really happened of no tear. The people kept to themselves. They were friendly, humble and kind. Some people worked in the city close by, but most worked in their farms. They were hunters, homebodies, people preferred by their own solitude,

rather than the hustle and bustle of bigger cities and towns. The county I worked in as a deputy sheriff was large, so large in fact that it took over an hour just to get from one side of my patrols. or route to the other. It didn't bother me, and since most people here own firearms, break-ins and property crimes were seldom. Our job was mostly to wrangle up the trunks at closing time and chase the cow that always seemed to wander out of their pastures.

Tonight seemed to be no different. A passing motorist hit a deer. Quite common, really, especially with a large amount of space between houses and people. Animals pretty much had free roam with a place. But I come to learn quickly. Tonight wasn't like most nights. Tonight would show me that solitude, while often brings peace, can also bring horrors untold. The red and blue lights of my tower pierced through the moonlit sky,

while the terrain changed from asphalt to gravel and dirt. Old Route 33 was never paved. The county maintained it, but decided to keep the tradition of dirt, same as how our settlers travelled back in the day. The bumpy road shoveled me in my seat, making me groan with each bump. I passed mile marker 6. I still had a long way to go before reaching the motorist. Reaching for the stereo, I winced as the usual station I listened to was only an ear-piercing static.

Weird, I thought to myself, reception usually stays until at least marker 20. I thought nothing of it, turning off the radio, and instead listening to the gravel and dirt pushed from underneath my tires. The headlights of the SUV pushed far ahead. along with the flashing lights on the roof of my patrol car, giving me a clear view of what was ahead. I didn't go too fast. I mean, after all, how far could an inoperable car really go? It'd still be there when I got there. Besides, the last thing I need is to hit an animal and ruin my car trying to get to him in the first place.

I sighed and leaned back in my seat, wishing that morning would come and I could fall asleep. The miles kept coming, passing Marlmarker 17, not even halfway there. If it weren't for the constant shaking and rumbling of the loose stone and rocks beneath a car, I'd have easily drifted off. The road, straight as an arrow, kept going, and going... And going... Wait, since when was that tree on the side of the road, I asked myself. A white birch tree, beautiful and standing tall.

was always on the west side of the road. It was one of the few trees on this road. But tonight, it was on the east. I slowed my cruiser to a stop, checking the GPS on the windshield. Oh, I'm heading southbound, I softly said to myself. That tree was never on that side. I sat there, looking at the tree. It was the same one I had my first kiss under.

It was the same tree I lost my virginity under. but why was it there? Huh, it must be the lack of sleep, I chuckled to myself, pushing down the accelerator slightly. Although I played it off as nothing, the thoughts still creaked into my head. Why was that there? There were very few trees on this road. Hell, it was known as the rolling road for a reason. You could see for miles an end on either side, not an obstruction in sight.

The road continued on. The light still shining in front of me. I chuckled. I really need to get on a decent sleep schedule, I said to myself, shaking my head to keep the sleep away. I passed mile marker 15. Wait, that can't be right. I just passed 19. I said to myself, stopping my cruiser and backing up.

The sign said mile marker 20. The hell, I whispered to myself. I put my cruiser back in drive and pulled forward. shaking my head once more at what I saw, or at least what I thought I saw. I was getting worried. I knew working the hours I did would at some point start taking a toll on me. But why now? I've been working third shift for over three years. I've kept myself caffeinated. There was no reason my brain would fog twice like that in one night. I looked at the clock on the dashboard.

3.03. I still had three hours left in my shift, and I knew that it was. soon as I got home, I'd be sleeping. Malmarker 22. All right, halfway there, I whispered to myself. Generally, I was a pretty stoke man. Growing up in a military family meant fear wasn't really an option. Emotions weren't either. So, when I was scared, it was answered with anger and disapproval.

Zing, I kept trudging down the road, keeping tabs on the miles ahead, hoping the time would pass faster to clear this. this call and to get the hell of this road and into bed. Another Marmarker sign was coming up. 29. I was getting closer, thankfully. But it didn't read Marmarker 29. Rather, it was missing.

The stump of the missing sign was there. The pole still stood, but the sign was missing. I poured my cruiser to a stop and got out, shining my flashlight on it. Unit 4 calling County, I said with a sigh. There was no answer, which was weird. Each patrol car had a radio repeater in it, which made sure we could always be in contact with dispatch. I checked my radio.

It was on, the channel was right. There's no reason I shouldn't be hearing back. Unit 4 calling County, I said again, this time in a more aggressive tone. No response once more. I pulled out my phone, but saw there was no self-service. Again, this was weird, since there were towers sporadic through the fields, making sure people had contact, even in the most desolate locations here. Nevertheless, I took a picture of the sign,

making a note in the phone to call public works and let them know one of the signs was gone. Probably some kids, I thought to myself. I looked at the photo, making sure it wasn't blurry or anything, but something caught my eye. Two gloon orbs were seen in the far back of the photo. I was shaking and lifted my flashlight to where the orbs were in the photo. My flashlight was powerful, shining far into the darkened night, far into the field. But I saw nothing.

It was empty. And that's another thing. It was quiet, very, very quiet. Even at night you could hear the crickets, the low murmur of a resting animal, even the soft shuffle of an insect's movement. It was that quiet. Tonight, the only sound was the low hum of the idling engine. I looked at the photo once more and back into the field.

Maybe it was just a reflection. Maybe the science holes produced those from the flash, I reasoned with myself. Surely there was an explanation. I didn't want to stay longer than I had to. I got back into my cruiser and tried the police radio once more. Unit 4 calling County, I said nervously. I heard a crackle, better than nothing. But still, no response came from the dispatchers.

I switched the channel to the one that the state police used. They had a barracks in our county. They helped us on calls from time to time. Deputy Steele calling state police, any trooper on the air? I said into the radio. No response An eerie silence once more filled the car That's not right

I said that we're checking to make sure I had the right channel I did and yet no one answered Now I was scared But I still had a call to respond to Putting it back in drive I kept moving down the road Dread filling me as I drove further away from civilisation Mile marker 33

34, 35. I was making good progress, and everything was normal. I chuckled to myself, knowing I was working myself up for nothing. At night, people get scared. People fear the dark. You can't blame them for that. See, I was told it wasn't the dark we fear, rather what could be in the dark.

But, with two bright headlights and enough emergency lights to rival 30 Christmas trees, darkness was no match. And yet, why could I barely see the road in front of me? The previous mile marker signs came from what seemed like nowhere, whereas they should have been illuminated pretty far away from my headlights, even at a good distance. I came up on mile marker 36,

the sign, like the previous, appearing from what seemed like nowhere. But what caught me off guard this time was a crudely painted 66 right after the first one. I stopped my cruiser and got out, sighing. Damn kids, a funny devil number, I said to myself. I snapped another photo of the sign. Do I dare look at it?

Do another set of orbs await me? I needed to make sure it was a good photo for my reports. Thankfully, no mysterious balls of light greeted me from the screen. I sighed and put my phone back in my uniform pocket, looking at the vandalized sign. I crouched down, looking at a crudely spray-painted sign. Wait, that's not spray paint, I said, looking closer at it. Was that?

Blood. Spray paint isn't that thick. It isn't that drippy, unless it was fresh. I reached out of finger daringly and touched it. It didn't smell like paint. No, it smelled of iron. Unit 4 calling County requesting assistance, I said nervously, begging, no, praying for an answer. Alas, none would come, and I was met with yet again the silence of the night.

The temperature was dropping rapidly, and even though this was quite possibly a crime scene, I had to reach that stranded motorist. If his car truly wasn't working, he could get hypothermia in there. I looked at my watch, making sure to note the time for the report. port. Three. Oh, three. That can't be, I said to myself, completely befuddled that no time had passed.

I had crossed miles of land, miles that should have taken me at least 15 minutes to get to where I was when I last check the time. I shook my watch, tapping on the screen. The time didn't change. My phone said the same 303. I stood up and quickly walked back to the patrol car, getting in and shutting the door. in and shutting the door. The dashboard clock said the same. 3.03.

Slamming the cruiser in gear, I floored the pedal. The roar of the engine shredding the otherwise quiet road. I had to make it to the motorist. I had to get the hell out of here. I wasn't sleepy anymore. Adrenaline pumped through my body and fear riddle my bones. Darkness, silence, fear. Three perfect ingredients for a horror movie.

And yet, this was real. It was raw, and it was happening to me. The mile signs flew by me. 37, 38, 39, 40. I was at 40, and I only had four more miles to go. At 60 miles per hour, even though the road wasn't suited for this speed, would let me reach the car in four minutes. That's all I needed before seeing another human.

Four minutes. I let out a sigh of relief. I could do this. I was close. I was going to make it. Through the darkness came a shape. A shape that was in the middle of the road. I slammed on my brakes. The wheel was hurling gravel and dirt all around me while the figure came into view. My breath was arrhythmic, chest tight and heart pounding. A deer. A damn deer. I laughed to myself, taking a deep inhale. Damn, I laughed, running my hand through my hair.

She scared me. The deer was facing me. His tall antlers reflecting slightly against the headlights and emergency lights in my patrol car. I blinked the siren. And yet, he didn't move. He kept staring straight at me, not moving. Come on, buddy, I said, turning on the siren for a few seconds. Again, he didn't move, staying still.

Literally a deer in headlights, I laughed, putting the cruise in park and getting out. Come on, buddy, mush, go, I bellowed. He didn't move, nor did his eyes. I was a hunter. I've known plenty of deer that can spot a human hundreds of feet away. The slightest sound could scare them off. Yet the siren, nor my yelling, scared him. I took two steps forward, hand on my pistol, getting closer to it.

Buddy, hey, I whispered to it, making a click noise with my tongue to try to get his attention. The deer stayed, staring at my headlights, unmoving, unshaken. Stepping heel to toe, making as little noise as possible, I approached the animal. I was mere feet from it, and yet he didn't move. I reached out and touched it. cold very cold fur was warm even after it's dead the fur is always warm i reached the padded side get it to move away with an open hand i gently patted the side of the deer go i bellowed he didn't move he fell over stiff as a board bouncing a bit as he hit the ground he was dead shaking panted I stepped backwards, shaking my head.

The hell is going on, I asked myself loudly, looking around me. I looked up and knew I had to go. The moon and stars that filled the night sky were gone. It was black, like the moon was never a thing, like stars ceased to shine. This wasn't normal. It was a clear night only an hour ago, and the forecast was supposed to be clear.

I took another look at the deer, still laying lifeless on the ground in front of my patrol car. With a shaky hand, I opened the door to my police car, getting back in and shutting the door. Slaming it back and drive, I floored it, moving around a dead deer and racing down the road. There has to be an explanation for that, I thought to myself. It couldn't have just died right there.

My thoughts were racing, desperate to come up with a reason why a deer would have died standing up in the middle of the road. 41. Okay, I'm getting closer. Three more, three more. I panted to myself, stealing myself to reality. Come on, man up. I shook myself, getting myself back into it, shaking away the fear and worry from inside, pacing my breathing to get it normal again.

Sighing in relief, I pushed my head against the headrest, still looking out ahead. Get a damn grip, I whispered to myself, slamming the palm of my hand on the steering wheel. speeding down the bumpy road I got closer and closer the mile marker signs growing in number mile marker 44 I was there still

I saw no car no flashing lights no sign of an accident I slow my speed and reached for the radio unit four calling county I said into the radio not to my surprise

there was no answer figuring I should keep talking, maybe for my own sanity, or maybe someone could hear me, and I just couldn't hear them. Unit 4, Collin County, show me in the area of the accident, searching at this time. I put the radio back into its holder, shining the spotlight into the darkness around me, looking to see if the car veered off the road. Other than pitch black, there was nothing. No vehicle, no dead animal, just pitch black. The SUV kept moving forward, although there was nothing. slow, fast enough to drive by

this motorist. I wasn't sure if I was more excited to be done with this call, or just to know other humans are actually real. With the events transpired so far, I was skeptical. More dirt, more darkness, and more fear.

I had to be getting close now. The next mile mark a sign had to be coming. I shine the spotlight ahead of me. And finally, I found it. One car Hazard lights on the rear brake lights shining

I could almost cry I was so happy to have finally found it but alone finding another human Unit 4 calling County Code 6 with the vehicle I said into the radio Why bother I thought to myself I ain't responding to you

No response but no bother I put the cruising park and got out I shout my flashlight to the car stepping quietly and slowly towards it. Light grey smoke billowed from the engine block, damaged from the stuck animal. Sheriff's Department, I bellowed. I stepped closer, moving my hand to my holster, pushing down the hood and putting my thumb on the release.

Sheriff's Department, I bellowed again. I stepped closer, shining my flashlight into the car. There was a man laying in the front seat, head rolled back against the headrest. Sir, sir, Do you need help? I asked, taking my hand off the gun and rushing to the driver's side door. I kept my flashlight shined on him, noting his eyes were clenched shut. I took a good look at the man. His face was covered in blood, his hands too. My breathing turned rapid again, taking my eyes off of him for a second to look at the front of the car.

There was no deer, but damn was there a lot of blood. Too much blood for any animal to survive. I wanted to take a closer look, but was startled by the men in the front seat. I snapped back to him, shining the flashlight at him. Sir, and with the sheriff's department, are you all right? I asked him, leaning down. The man's eyes snapped open. And I gasp.

There was no pupil, no iris, white like the moon that still didn't shine. A bloody hand opened the door, nails scratching against the plastic of the handle. Taking a step back, my hand found the holster again, thumbing at the release. Sir, I think you need an ambulance, I said, trying to keep composed. The door swung open, and I gulped. The hand that opened the door was frail, white like a ghost. The nails were longer than daggers, pointed at the end and covered in blood. I brought the light back up to the man as he stepped out, growing and growing and growing.

He towered over me, at least. seven feet tall. The flashlight illuminated his body. Tattered clothes, staining blood, and other substances I prayed weren't human. His legs shook like a newborn deer, covered only by jeans that didn't fit, standing barefoot in front of me. I took another step back, hand on my gun and another on the light. Hey, you've been in an accident. Think you need to sit down, I said. His head snapped left, right, up and down. almost inhuman and how fast he made them. His neck snapped at me.

The soulless eyes somehow pierced through me, shaking me to my core. Sir? I stammered. Then. He smiled. The teeth weren't human. They were sharp, sharp like a shark teeth. They weren't neatly in rows, nor did they have any semblance of structure.

And by God, staying in blood and what looked to be bone and muscle. What the hell? I whispered to myself. He took a step forward, and I took a step back, stumbling but holding myself. Stop, I beckoned, ordering him, although my voice faltered. The man, dare I say man, but the man stopped and looked at me with his white eyes. He opened his mouth, and it unhinged like a snake. Rows and rows of more blood-stained teeth shined through my light,

and a howl of ungodly noise. pierced to the night. The thing brought his head back and cried out louder, making a noise I've never heard before. I took another step back and fell over, landing hard of my back. The thing's head snapped down to me, and evil grins spreading across his mouth that was way too big for his face. One step, two steps, three steps. Stop, I said loudly. Four steps. He was getting closer. Stop! I bellowed again But he didn't

It didn't I had holstered my handgun And pointed it at him He didn't stop I know he saw my gun He had to have Most people will stop at the sight of a gun But he

It Whatever the damn thing was Didn't The thing just took another step toward me The cracking of its bones and body Made me shiver in terror My Glock was shaking my hand, finger resting on the trigger guard.

I will shoot. Stop where you are, I bellowed, getting up on one knee. Once more, the man rolled his head back, letting out another guitar or scream, making my head hurt and my ears ring. The neck of the man snapped back down, an unholy noise came through as his eyes locked onto mine. One step, this time faster, closing the distance. I put my finger on the trigger and squeeze. The gunshot echoed through the night, the sharp recoil stinging my cold hand and the hot shell bounce of the ground next to me. I saw it hit in centre mass, and yet he only stumbled.

He took two steps back, and he chuckled. The damn thing chuckled. I stood up now, knowing high distance, and tried to backpedal towards my car. Another noise from him And those teeth God, those teeth He was now in a full sprint I squeezed the trigger again

Dropping my flashlight to get a better grip on my gun Opting to turn on the flashlight mounted on it Three, four, five gunshots All sent a mass on him And he only laughed and screamed that noise That made my blood turn cold The man stumbled back, looking down at his chest There was no blood from where I shot him

I could see the holes, I could see where my rounds landed, and yet he didn't bleed. Screw this, I whispered to myself, finally making it back to the hood of my police car. I leaned against the vran bar while the man charged me again, not stopping, only lolling his head back and forth, letting out another screech. With ringing ears and two steady hands, I fired again and again and again, pushing him back with each round that hit his torso. The gun snapped back and I pulled the trigger again, but nothing came out. A quick look over my gun determined I fired the entire magazine, all 18 rounds, and yet he didn't go down. He still stood there, flashing those razor sharp and blood-covered teeth. I dropped the magazine, quickly slapping in a new one and releasing the slide, backpedaling towards my cruiser and getting in.

Slamming the door shut, I put the cruise in reverse, not daring take my eyes off whatever the hell was. in front of me. Even through the roar of the engine, the man's screams pierced through, making me wince and shut my eyes to try dull the sound. Dirt kicked up from my cruiser, clouded the sight of him, using this time to spin the cruiser around and floor the pedal, not caring for the damage I was due into the car. I kept looking in my rearview, and the only thing I saw was a cloud of dust, and the emergency lights reflecting off of it. The cruiser buckled and shook, making noises I knew weren't good for it. but I knew I had to get the hell out of there.

Malmarker 45. No, no, I'd turn my car around. Those numbers shouldn't be going up. They should be going down. Malmarker 46666. I was shaking, panting, terrified like I've never felt before. Punishing the cruiser as I sped through the night. The mirror showing nothing, only dust.

I had to have lost it by now. I had to have. Malmaker, hell. Tears clad in my vision. I wiped them away quickly, trying to keep my eyes on the road. The GPS showed I was going northbound. I was going the right way to go home, and yet the landscape proved otherwise. Mile marker, 40.

I was going the right way. I sighed in relief, but I didn't dare to slow my pace, keeping the pedal flawed and the engine roaring. The dead deer was gone. nowhere to be seen where it laid when I came by earlier. I know that it was the spot. And yet, it's as if the deer had simply got up and left right after I did. Shaking my head and wiping more tears, I kept moving, passing mile markers that finally showed the right numbers.

Mile marker 30. I was getting closer, free from whatever the hell I just wandered into. The hell, the hell, I bellowed, slamming my palm onto the steering wheel. My watch lit up. It was still 303. Sobbing and shaking, I kept going, keeping my handgun on the passenger seat for easy access. God forbid that thing appeared again.

There, there was a tree, the tree from earlier. And now it was... On the right side of the road? How did it just move like that? That was on the other side of the road. It can't be. Pull it together, steel. Pull it together, I said to myself.

Do my best to calm down while the road kept going on and on in front of me. Light. I saw a light. A quick peek through the windshield showed the moon and stars, shining bright like they were before. I was getting closer to the main road. I just... I had to make it. The SUV buckled under the dip in the road.

Items thrown all over the cabin as the car lurched back but kept steady. Here we go. Here we go. We got this. and whispered to myself, reassuring myself that I'd seen the end of this. There it was, the asphalt road, the old sign that showed old Route 33. I made it, and as soon as the tires connected to the asphalt, I didn't dare look back, the same as I didn't dare to let my foot of the accelerator.

Cars passed by, pulling over from my red and blue light while I sped down the road. I let out a shaky breath, pulling into a gas station and shutting off the light. Pulling around back, I put my car in park, crying tears of pain and joy, knowing I made it back to safety. County calling Unit 4, the radio called out. I sniffled, so happy to hear the voice again. Any voice really. Go... go ahead, I stammered through tears. Unit 4, disregard the stranded motorist. Caller states he's got the car running and he's all set.

No officers needed. I didn't dare question it. I didn't care to look into it. Unit 4. Copy, I said through panting breaths. Copy, showing you code 4. Time of call termination. 3.03. I looked at the clock. It was actually 303 in the morning.

My eyes never faltered from the clock, staring in fear until it turned. 3.04. I sighed. and put my head against the headrest. I made it. I made it out. I went home. I called out for the rest of the night,

saying I was sick and needed to lie down. I went home and slept, pretending that it was all a bad dream. But I promise you, it wasn't a bad dream. It was real. The bullets fired for my gun were real. The dirt and mud caked on my patrol car is real.

I think... I think I may have accidentally stumbled onto the gateway to hell. I don't know how else to describe the events that occurred, or how the time just didn't seem to change until I was free of that godforsaken road. A final note to you all, having survived what I did. If you ever find yourself from Montana, don't break down on old Route 33.