CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - The BEST Creepypastas of 2022

Episode Date: January 26, 2023

BEST CREEPYPASTA STORIES 2022-►0:00 "My Mom Thinks She Has A Dog" Creepypasta►17:18 "I'm the only worker at an abandoned theme park" Creepypasta►47:47 "Every 20 years an alarm goes off in my town" Creepypasta►1:23:07 "I’m a ranger with one simple job- Do not allow anything to escape the hole" Creepypasta►1:45:32 "My research team discovered a lake trapped miles beneath Antarctic ice" Creepypasta►2:27:15 "I hunted down the final episodes of my favorite childhood show" Creepypasta►2:50:48 "If you're a property inspector and you see this house, don't go in" Creepypasta►3:19:38 "I was hired to notice things out of place" 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...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/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

My mother picked me up from the airport in the dark hours of the morning. It had been a long flight and an even longer year. When we finally pulled into the driveway, the ranch house I grew up in looked like a little black shipwreck sticking out of the fog. Why is the kitchen light on, I wondered. Mom lives alone. We're here, boy, oh yes we are, my mom shouted as she opened the door. That's hard, I thought. is she talking to me?

I rolled my luggage into the dark hallway. I didn't really need a light after all. I knew the place by heart. The jet lag was hitting hard, and I barely managed the hug and a simple conversation before I had to drag myself off to bed. I heard Mom's muffled voice from the kitchen

as I drifted off to sleep. It was a sweet, co-ing sort of sound, the tone of voice you'd use with the baby. Or, her pet. By the next morning, I'd forgotten all about it. I chucked black coffee and chomped on cereal while my mother and I tried to plan our visit. We'd always been close, but since I landed my dream job teaching in Japan, we only saw each other about once a year.

We had to make it count. Well, that should be fine, my mom responded to the day trip I proposed, as long as I'm home in time to let Cooper out. Sorry, Cooper? Another thing about being away from people for a long time. Differences that you might not notice otherwise, like ageing or personality changes really stand out. And they tend to be changes for the worse.

I felt a pang of guilt looking around a place. It looked more small and worn down than I remembered. Oh, silly, you know, mum winked. Cooper, the dog. I, uh, I didn't know you'd gotten a dog. There it was again, that feeling of time slipping by. Really? Mom scrunched up her eyebrows.

I thought for sure I mentioned it. Well, I'm sure you'll meet him while you're visiting. I hope you two get along. I do too, I thought, frowning. Truth was, I didn't really like dogs all that much. And I was pretty sure that feeling was mutual. I know how attached some people get to their pets, but when I look into a dog's forward-facing predator eyes, my first thought is, creatures like this use the hunt and eat creatures like me. I peered out the blinds at the dead grass and leaning shed outside.

Two shining stainless steel bowls glinted in the winter sun. So is Cooper out back or... Oh, I don't know. He comes and goes. I squinted at something across the way. A missing pet poster stuck to a telephone pole. It was for a cat though. As I got us packed and bundled up for our day trip,

my eyes fixed on a new addition to the house I hadn't noticed in the dark. Either it was a black rubber dog door built for a big dog. My eyes fixed on a new addition to the house, I hadn't noticed in the dark either. It was a black rubber dog door. built for a big dog. Each time it rattled in the wind, a shiver ran up my spine. When we finally pulled out of the driveway, I realized that I was actually relieved to be leaving my home behind, without a sign of Cooper. We arrived after dark, hungry and tired from too much driving with too many stops.

I went straight for the kitchen to prepare dinner, and I was so focused on chopping vegetables that at first, I didn't notice the strange sounds coming from the living room. There we go. Who's a good boy? Who's a good boy? Leaning around the corner, I saw my mom bent over in a rocker, making a stroking motion. Cooper, I figured, odd that I hadn't heard him come in. Mom and Cooper were still at play when I finished the jambalaya.

Or, so I thought. But when I turned the kitchen corner My mom was staring dead ahead at the TV There was a program on about a pair of kids Who'd gone missing from a playground a few blocks away A mom I ventured Can I help with Cooper

Thanks anyway dear My mother nodded and took the steamy bowl out of my hand But he just ran off I'm sure he's around here somewhere He comes and goes Yeah, you mentioned that. I was beginning to feel uneasy again, but I still couldn't say why.

Don't you think it's kind of odd that he hasn't come out to, I don't know, greet me or something? You're the first new person Cooper's known besides me. Mom sighed happily as she dug into a dinner. Maybe he's just shy. That may have been true, but for the first time, I found myself unable to relax

or unwind while visiting home, and it was all because of this unseen, unknown presence that just might pop up at any time. Where does Cooper usually hang out? I asked after a few hours of movies, snacks, and what's new with everybody, chit-chat. I think I'd like to say hi. It makes sense that a shy dog would hide in the basement, right?

I tried to reassure myself as I descended the stairs. The scuffed up wood brought back childhood memories In those memories I always seemed to be running up them as fast as I could Terrified of what I'd see if I looked back over my shoulder But I was an adult now Standing with my shoulders square at the bottom of the steps Ready to turn on the light

And there was nothing to be afraid of Right I gave the chain a tug The basement didn't seem like it had changed at all since I was a kid same dented filing cabinets, rusty cans, old appliances, a smell like dust and oil, and wet fur, Cooper, I whispered. I felt like a fool, I tried again a little louder. Cooper, here boy, Cooper! The cellars damp and chill sank into my bones as I waited for a response.

Nothing. With a sigh, I clicked off the bulb. started of the stairs, and heard something large, padding around in the dark. With a start, I rushed back down, yanked on the light chain. Again, nothing. But I'd heard something out there among the cobwebs and covered furniture. I was sure of it. I waited a solid minute before heading back, defeated.

The movement started again when I was about halfway up, That is, just as far from the upstairs light as the one downstairs. This time, it wasn't just skittering around. It was charging. The bulk of something much heavier than I was made the wooden steps creak and groan in the pitch blackness behind me. I ran as fast as I could, but even so, I felt hot, panting breaths on my shins before I burst into the light of the kitchen.

Mom looked at me curiously. "'H' I gasped. "'Twenty years later, I guess I'm still scared of the basement, huh?' "'Without a word, my mother turned back to the blue glow of the TV. "'Apparently there was no sign of the two missing children. "'Although I went to bed early that night. "'I couldn't sleep. "'I kept waiting to hear movement from the basement or the rubber door flap.

"'I'd almost drifted off when I guess, up my wish. The clatter of the flap, the clack of pause on a hard surface, coming down my bedroom hallway. The sound got closer and closer, then seemed to pass right through my locked door. Whatever it was. It was in the room with me. I sat up straight and turned on the light. I could hear its steps all around, and it sounded too big to hide. So, where was it? It was only when my instincts made me look up that I saw the muddy porporints being tracked in circles on my bedroom ceiling. The chill ran down my spine, that scared pre-sense that comes from being watched by unseen eyes. The invisible thing at my ceiling stopped.

Then, growled. What the? I ran out of the room, heavy porthsteps fast behind. I cried out to my mother, who had dozed off in a recliner. The growling behind me deepened, then stopped. Mom sat up and put on her glasses. Oh, she smiled, I see you've met Cooper. What? I weased.

I heard panting and the sound of a wagging tail scraping across the floor. What the hell was this? I watched invisible paws sink into the carpet as the panting thing patted over to my mom. Its growls turned into happy yelps, as I guess. my mother scratched this belly. Who's a good boy? My mom cooed. I crept closer.

Mom? I didn't know how to begin. Do you see anything? A snarl and a chomping sound cut me off. I felt, rather than saw, that something big had sprung to its feet before me and raised its hackles. Had a set of invisible jaws just snapped by my hand.

Oops! cautioned. It seems like it's still not used to you. I backed away until I was in the hallway, ready to run, then shouted, there isn't a dog there. I don't know where you've got there, but it isn't a dog. Don't be silly. Of course, Cooper is a very good boy. Yes, he is. The pleased yipping and whimpers resumed. It was more than I could take. I went back to my childhood bedroom, slammed the door and locked it. not that it would do any good. When the noises finally stopped, I assumed my mother had gone to bed.

I tried to keep any darker possibilities out of my mind, because, as concerned as I was for her, the truth was that I was too scared to check, too scared of what might happen if I ran into that thing alone in the dark of the hallway, without my mother's apparently protective influence. I sat up in bed with a light on, and an open pocket knife clutched in my fist, not like they would do much good against invisible creature

with claws longer than its blade, and try to stay awake and vigilant. I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I remember was the sag of my bed as something heavy clamped close to me. My nose was overpowered by a reek like damp fur and rancid meat, but I didn't dare to move. For a couple of seconds,

I lay stiff as a corpse, with Cooper's hot breath sweeping across my face. Then, it spoke. Do you want to see me? The voice was guitarl and gravely, like if a bear could talk. See you? I don't, I just... What are you? I whispered.

What do you want? Do you want to see me? It repeated. I screamed. I heard my mother's hobbling footsteps and felt awful for waking her, no matter how horrible the cause. The thing lowered its voice to a growling whisper as my mom fumbled to the door. If you say yes, you can't take it back.

Cooper, my mom put her hands on her hips. Get down from there, this instant. I'm sorry, she laughed. He's just not used to other people, you know. Mom, what does Cooper look like to you? Well, honey, my mom scratched the head. I mean, he's hard to describe. Like a standard dog, I guess.

Why? Why would you ask me that? Well, I stammered. I, uh, can't see him. Can other people see Cooper? Dead silence. Then, how would I know? It's not like I can take him for walks at my age.

What do you mean you can't see him? My mom stalled. That's just ridiculous. Come on, you must have noticed that something's off, I pressed. Like people look at you funny when you call him or play with him outside. Or when the mailmen or Jovis witnesses or Girl Scouts or whoever comes to the door, they just act like he isn't there, right? The thing beside me didn't like this line of conversation at all.

I felt it gently, but firmly. place a paw the size of a dinner plate on top of my stomach. Even with all the adrenaline running, I recognised that signal for what it was. A warning. One of those claws would open up my intestines like a sharp knife slicing through sausage. I don't know what you're talking about, my mom snorted after a long pause. But I could tell that I was onto something. She couldn't see Cooper either.

My mind flashed back to those stainless steel dog dishes out back, to the missing cat sign, to the two kids who'd vanished in this very neighborhood. Mom, I chose my words carefully. How did you find, Cooper? What does he, uh, eat? One day, I just heard him on my doorstep, whining and wagging his tail, so I told him he could come in. Mom put a hands on his hips, and he's not expensive to feed. If that's what you mean, unlike you when you lived under this roof, Cooper takes care of himself. Are you sure Cooper doesn't get into any trouble?

What do you mean? My mother's expression changed to one of genuine worry. Honey, you're scaring me. You don't want to scare mom, do you? The thing snarled, so low that only I could hear it. As it did, it took his claws into my stomach, ever so slightly. Nah, I faked a smile. It was just a bad joke.

I'm just tired. I'm sorry. Well, my mother looked at me uncomfortably. If you still don't feel right in the morning, I can call Dr. Strauss. You know, the one you talked to when you had that incident back in high school. Did you know he's still practicing psychiatry, even at his age? I think he went to class with his daughter, in fact. She's a doctor now too, you know.

I felt the invisible claws. tapping impatiently, am I very exposed belly? Um, I whimpered. Yeah, okay. I'm just going to try to sleep now, and, it looks like Cooper and I are getting along a lot better, huh? You sure are, my mom finally smiled again. It was a tired smile, though.

The years of careworn wrinkles I'd given her were clear, even as she switched off the light. Good night, honey. feel better in the morning. We had the lights off and the door closed. I was alone in total darkness with my mom's special pet. For a time, the heavy mass beside me just lay there, breathing heavily, its claw holding me firmly in place. After my mom's touching footsteps fell silent, however, it nuzzled close.

A huge, rough tongue licked the side of my face. Oh, a muck and growl hissed into my ear. Who's a good boy? When I clock in, the machine is old and archaic, covered in layers of dust. My opening routine is simple. I enter the main gate. I ignore Dave, who's always standing outside the premises when I enter. I make my way to the employee area and change into my uniform at the lockers.

It sounds rather mundane. But once the shift starts, the craziness begins. Back when there was a team, we'd call every day a snowflake shift, because no two days were ever the same. There's a long list of duties and almost never the same task. On top of that, there's no set schedule for when something will need to be done, creating near-infinite possibilities of combinations a night. Most of the tasks are pretty simple, but the issue is that once more simple.

slip-up could cost you dearly. And there's no manual for the job. Survival comes from a mixture of past-line experiences and dumb luck. And since there's not always a set answer, the best I can do is recall some stories from my time here. This way any newcomer can calibrate their mode of thinking similar to mine since I've been the most successful employee to date. Before learning about the shift, it's good to brush up on the areas of

history. The scenic land was bartered from locals many decades ago and swallowed into the site's growth. It used to be a small village, with a few water spots, with solid land for foundations and robust roads. The issue was commerce. The sustainability of the village was ever sinking, so some tycoons barreled up and swallowed the whole village with sweet deals. The idea was simple. Own all the land and develop it more than a pile of filthy peasants could do. Only one stood in the way, a middle-aged local, born and raised on the lands and refused to budge. Sadly, the records are shoddy, so no one knows what happened, but they eventually got all

the land, so he must have settled on a significant settlement or something. A few decades went by, and the project was stagnant. There was no clear goal with the land. They searched for gold, oil. but there was no magically profitable resource to be found. Just an impulse of greed that was a product of the time. That was until good old Walt came along and innovated the entertainment space. By this point, money was already drying up for the old Crohn's.

They took the business model of what Walt revolutionized and blasted out a construction on a fraction of the budget. To say the project was a mess is an understatement. corners weren't just cut, they were sliced off entirely. They had themed areas that branched from the central hub zone, a water park, a ride area, small games, food and entertainment. Everything was slathered in a thin layer of pirate theme. And so, the Bandit Cove Theme Park was born.

Immediately, the place was riddled with problems, problems that became vastly apparent when an influx of guests came in. Many kids were injured at the minor attractions. There were an obscene amount of fatalities at the major attractions before tape was put around the whole thing. Millions were spent to get the land, millions were spent to build it, and millions were given to pay off the lawsuits that followed. The place had no chance to continue. But why is it that a small fraction of employees were kept on, and they were tasked with hiring more, and they then brought in more help? in more help. The park was closed with no hope of reopening. The park was eternally falling

into disrepair. Yet, there was a small team of staff on hand attending to the park. The answer is, I don't know. Either the actual answer was lost over time, or the original staff knew the severity of the situation were the tasks left unattended. I've only managed to develop theories based on the tasks that have been upheld. So, about those stories. Each area has its own unique tasks and challenges. My least favourite is the taming cages. During the brief time the park was open, a prominent attraction was the taming cages.

Back then, foreign animals were a commodity, something people still flocked from miles around a sea. The pirate theme was in full effect here, but it was mixed with a circus aesthetic, a mix that could not look more cursed. Imagine people in full bandit gear but with odd bits of colours and full face paint. It was a free roller coaster down the uncanny valley. The small cages housed many oddities from around the world, but the taming cells were way too small to house any kind of large predator.

However, that didn't stop them from trying. Knowing the full extent of what a lion can do, It's pitiful how poor the entrapment was to keep them in. Every few days, I have one of the few tasks done outside the park. Periodically, I have to visit a butcher in the nearby town. The young ones there seem to serve me with confusion, but the older gentleman regards me as if he knows more than he lets on. Despite this, I can never get a peep out of him.

The one thing that turns heads is that I've never paid with money. I inherited a beat-up old card that I just show them, a silhouette of the park's mascot on the front. They don't scan it or take any information from it. They just look at it and give me the same item each time. A strange bag of meat. I've never tried to identify the cuts. I neither have the knowledge of meat, nor do I want to push my luck. I very quickly learned what happened to curious cats in this job.

All I know is that it never smells fresh. I'm always followed with a horrendous pungent smell. When it's time, I make my rounds around the taming cages. The smaller cages house hunched over silhouettes. I leave a slab of meat just within reach of the cell. Only when I'm safely away did they scuttle over to eat. But is the taming cells that I hate. Because I can't just leave them meat there.

I have to dig my hand in, grab a meaty handful, and throw it. The sound it makes is unpleasant, but is what follows that I hate. The small plastic cave at the back stirs. I hear the grunts and sniffing as something emerges from the hole. There's a dragging sound as it slowly meanders out of its confines and slowly makes its way towards the meat. When it does, it goes. to the same formality. It sniffs it as if appreciating the scent. Slowly it picks it up,

and only when it makes eye contact with me. Does it eat? I have to watch the painted face of what was once a person, slowly guzzle down the hunger flesh. His bandit clothes have long since been stained by years of red drippings. I have to make sure it eats, and it wants me to know who's truly in control. Because, like I mentioned, its routine is only a formality. It could hop the fence with his opposable thumbs and strangely strung limbs, if it wished to.

But it doesn't, and seemingly self-contains itself to save the trouble. As long as it's pleased, it causes no problems. On my way back, I see them. now in the little barriers of the front of the cages, chewing down the red cuts. Pirates, bandits and thieves, their faces are still marked with the paint of their uniform. Some days you just know what you're doing for the whole night. A prime example of this is when the screams start.

When entering the main gate, a good idea is to just stand in the hub area and wait. Silence is golden. A quiet start usually means a calm shift. So, when you hear screams coming from straight ahead, it's a good idea to brace yourself for a long night. The rides are straight ahead from the hub area, rickety old monoliths of ancient theme park technology. During the period these were built, they were relatively inefficient and downright dangerous. Even the upper echelon of rides from this era was marred with issues. issues. You'd be hard-pressed to find rides from this area that hold up since they either don't last the test of time or parks work to modernize outdated rides.

It's a miracle in and of itself that they still stand. So it's always a terrifying prospect that I sometimes have to operate them. Shrews screams light up the night and you have to follow the source when they start. It takes a while, sound bounces strangely in the park, so it's easy to get lead in circles when the source is in reality nearby. And it's a nightmare when you find one. Sometimes they're hidden in the overgrown foliage, so I often jump with a start when a gentle rustling rises from near me when on the hunt.

It starts slow, but winds up until it stands upright. slowly, it emerges. The rotted, beat up remains of a child. Their skin is run raw all over. The direction of scraping differs from many angles. They join to click and pop with each motion. Yet they still move with slow efficiency. When they see you, they will not stop following you. This is what you want. Once I get the attention of one I work my way to a ride Which is essential

I make sure I get far enough ahead That I can get to work You don't have to worry about losing them They always seem to find you And the screams tips you off if it's close Another staff member made that mistake They darted off and hid Hoping to just wait them out

But it doesn't work like that They were found where they hid no footprints leading in but slow, deliberate red footsteps leading away from the body. It takes a few times the kick-start a ride, but they all somehow still function, if just barely. Once it's set up, I sit down on a car seat and wait. Now comes the worst part. I have to wait but pay attention to when the child shows up. They'll slowly come over and one of the first.

two things will happen. Either they sit down on the cart next to me, or they keep walking. If they keep moving, this means that they're not in the mood for that particular ride, and you have to get up as fast as possible before they reach you and run to another ride. The night will consist of doing this until you find the right one for the night. Often it takes two or three attempts, and though I've been lucky enough to get it in one, Sometimes I'm unlucky and go through several cycles of each Until they finally stop

When they eventually do settle down You need to make your way around back to the controls And hit go It's a horrible feeling when you know what comes next The ride grinds the life The mechanical whirring chokes and sputters It picks up speed and the joyous yells start It's the most innocent childlike sound it'll

make. This doesn't last long. It will happen whether it's on the first turn or final bend, but it's inevitable. Something will go wrong, and the cycle repeats over. The child will be flung from a great height and will be lost in a random direction. It is destined to crash and settle somewhere until it stirs awake and screams starting the whole cycle once more. It's always somber when the task is over. The screams fill up so much of the night that the silence can be deafening. Only the mild purrs of the machine remain, which needs to be shut down. Let me tell you about Dave.

I mentioned earlier that my routine starts with entering through the main gate. ignoring Dave and making my way inside. That isn't an exaggeration. Always ignore Dave. Back in the day, we tried the time when he arrived. Every shift, he'll be standing in front of the gate like he's the first in line to get in. And so, we tried to find a time he wasn't there.

We tried arriving half an hour earlier to the shift, then an hour, then more. No matter how obscenely early we showed up, He'd be there. Yet, he wasn't there when we'd leave. He has the image of the most passive man you'll ever meet. A simple, middle-aged white-bred person. Sweater vest over a clean press shirt, khaki trousers, and some comfy-looking loafers.

Dave is the most unassuming man you can imagine. But I think that's what makes him passively terrifying. His clean demeanour stands out from the juxtaposition of his. the rundown and abandoned park. His polite tones don't match the grim nature of the job. His words are smooth and persuasive. But you must never listen to him. Often when you enter, he'll try to ask you questions about the park.

When is it opening if you could come inside, whether a particular ride or attraction was open? Some have tried to answer his questions to get him to leave. But this often proves to be a mistake. It's better to just walk by as sternly as possible and get away from the gate. But sometimes, you can't. There are days when you have to sort something at the ticket kiosks or return to the hob area. This is where it takes full advantage of your presence.

He'll offer help with whatever you're doing. Tell you he knows secrets unknown about the park, that he can save you from every threat you come across, and all you have to do is go back outside. It sounds easy to avoid. You'd think this is the easiest of tasks, but as far as I'm aware, he has the highest body count of all the dangers.

He isn't dangerous on his own. He uses present danger as a means of persuasion. When you're chased by an escaped bandit clown hungry for meat that you no longer have, would you rather face them or friendly or Dave? Despite knowing how dangerous he is, it always seems like the best option in a dangerous situation. His tongue is smooth and his weight is sharp. He knows just the right things to say to get your attention even without danger present. So in a make or break moment, he's scarily good at tipping things in his favor.

One of the number one rules of the job is never to leave the gates when Dave is still around. He'll never try to hide or trick you. He won't change the clocks to get you to come out prematurely. He only ever wants to get you out of his own accord. He can be great for conversation though. Over the years, I've had quiet nights when we just talked about life. It's given me solid relationship advice, helped motivate me in personal projects, he even helped with some of my coursework back when I was in college.

He'll always try to turn things to get you outside. despite the pleasant interactions, and every time I have to politely decline. Dave doesn't seem to age, no matter how long it's been, but this might be something only I've noticed since I've been here the longest. At the end of the shift, he's never there. This is a good indication that it's time to leave. His absence tends to signify that all dangers have ended. But this added to the enigma of him always being there

when we arrived. So years ago, Akali challenged this paradox. His goal was simple. Stick around at the end of a shift and see when Dave comes. We all told him not to. We were pushing our luck every night. Why push it further? But no, he was adamant about solving at least one mystery.

We never saw him again. We chalked this up to another body count for Dave and noted to never try that stunt for future employees. If you want to know the worst place to be during a shift, it's the water park. Built over the small natural lake of the old village it was supposed to be the namesake of the pirate theme they were going for. The area was called Treasure Lagoon.

It had a mix of attractions for both old, and younger generations. Pools and slides twisted around the outer regions whilst the main attraction, the pirate's flute, stands tall in the centre. But there's a reason why most water attractions aren't built on natural water sources. The safety measures were shoddy at best

and due to depth disparities, kits were quickly lost to the depths of the water. They built protective grates over the particularly deeper parts, but somehow kids slipped through and got trapped. The worst were the kids who got caught on sharp cuts and metal that jotted out from the great sides. All it took was a barbed hug to latch onto a kid's swimsuit, a quick panic and they lose their breath and disappear below the depths.

There were eight reported deaths, though I feel that they only reported bodies found, not disappearances. Many tears were shed here. and they still haven't stopped. When you hear crying, you know it's time to attend the water park. At first, the sound of water is almost soothing. It flows around in the loop of the layout. But it'll be there, the faint cries of children.

There will be a lifeguard station, and in there are numerous long poles with reinforced metal ends. I have no idea who supplies. them, but there's never an excuse not to have one. Follow the sobs around the base. An important detail is never to stand at the edge. You may be tempted to approach the streams to hear better, maybe even to take a peek. This has cost us many members of the team.

The sobs are quiet, almost inaudible, but keep walking along and eventually you'll find a sort. Now, you wait. Eventually, they'll reach out. Arms, pale blue and slimy, dark veins streaking all over them. The voices were well in agony as they thrash around the edge. Do not let them touch you. Though they are small and childlike in size, they are powerful. You'll eventually become desensitized to the next part. Slowly approach the edge, raise the pole and gently push them back down. The trick is to estimate where a head should be. The whales will soon peter down into a sob before bubbling away into the depths.

I lied about becoming desensitized. It hurts me every time. For how long it takes for the sobs to stop, you have to keep circling the waters doing this. An easy night should end after a while. However, sometimes, the moans lead all the way to the pirate flute ride in the centre. If this happens, it's just easier to run. There used to be a staff member who knew what to do when this started, but that knowledge is now lost.

If you stick around too long, you'll see the sea of arms. No one knows the consequences. of letting them run loose for a night, but is the only option we have right now. A lot of what happens in the park runs off sound cues. Dave's soothing voice cooing you to come outside, the screams from the rides,

the cries from the water park, but the loudest by far is the sirens. You have to remember, the park was inspired by Walt Disney's original Magic Kingdom, built in 1955. That's only 10 years after the end of the war. Tensions were still high for some people. This rang true with the owners.

We must have been paranoid with the number of sirens they placed around. They look and sound like air raid sirens, so it's only a theory that they were actually about the war. They're practically at every corner, ready to fire off at a moment's notice. There's no mistaking when they go off. The whole park lights up with sound I once saw someone's ears bleed because of them

The first time I witnessed it I was doing the roller coaster chase But as soon as they went off The child thing just slinked back into the bushes Even the creatures that roam the place Know when it's time to hide away They don't Blair at full volume for long Just long enough to make its announcement known

Then Peter's off sufficient for you to start running. Even when you're going at full force, you can hear it. There's no doubt that it's coming. The cracking of small shacks splintering in the distance, the slamming of body parts heavier than anything known in the wild. The behemoth of the park wrecks its way in, wildly flailing about in agony. When the siren start, you have a small window of time to run. Take any head start you can because it's the only reprieve you'll get. The creature slinks on many limbs, fleshy tendrils that slap about wildly. You can outrun it on paper.

It's fast, but it lacks direction. My theory is that it can't see, choosing to feel around. That's why he thrashes about so much. But it's shown bursts of high intelligence at times. So take what I say with a grain of salt. The problem with running is endurance. You have to evade it for a long time, sometimes all night. Therefore, finding a sustainable way to escape is vital.

You get desperate for escape. I've even been tempted to run out to Dave. He promises so much when you're desperate, and when he offers a reprieve from the behemoth, it sounds like a fresh of breath air. Though, after hearing of someone once taken adoption, I intimately prefer the behemoth over him. What makes things complicated is that sometimes the same thing won't work twice.

Gary was adamant he had the perfect spot. He claimed it worked every time. I was on shift with him when a siren player happened. At the end of the shift, I went up to his spot, a little reinforced stall that was designed for pellet gun shooting. Gary was just a smear of red pace when I arrived. I talked about all the destruction it brings about. What always baffles me is when I come back the day after, everything is as it should be.

Not in a pristine brand new way, always the same condition things were before it rages through the park. This isn't even the most confusing thing to me about the park. I have way too many questions, and not a short way. read of answers. I've mentioned the branching paths from the hub area. Each has its challenges and events, many that I've still not spoken about, and probably more than I've not even seen myself. But there's an event that starts in the center area of the hub. From the Ferris wheel. It's constantly spinning for a start. Even if all the power goes out because of the Goliathiels or when we knock off the generators, it's always running.

It's a very passive danger compared to most. The only time it's claimed someone was when a new hire decided he wanted to ride it. We waited at the base, keeping an eye on his cabin. When it came back around. He was gone. Never to be seen again. But that's not what I wanted to talk about. See, there's a rare event.

It's only happened twice for me in the ten years I've been here. It's signalled by a light coming on in one of the cabins It's a good idea to glance at the wheel every so often Just in case it comes on when you're not ready But when it does come on It signifies the arrival Of the backwards man The backwards man is a figure that walks

Well backwards Not only that he talks, moves and interacts with everything in reverse He's very passive and friendly sounding. Granted, you can't understand what he's saying, but this only lasts as long as he's not mad. It's not what you do that makes him mad. You can poke him, run from him, ignore him, that doesn't set him off. The thing that aggravates him is when he sees something not in reverse.

Well, I guess to him, we're the ones in reverse. and when he sees something not right, he goes after it with full force. This raid is simple. Just walk backwards, don't talk, and keep things simple. You can pick something up,

put it down, and that's okay. But don't you dare drop it. It's hard to fake reverse gravity. He'll come after you for that one. If you pull your phone out your pocket, that's fine. But if you try, say, record him

to reverse the footage later. Well, you're pressing record. Then the video captures. That's backwards to him. That's a no-no. The force he exerts is beyond this world. The air crackles with electricity

from how fast he snaps towards you. Whenever he hits you, you'll be lucky if any part of it remains. A slap on the wrist would literally put half your body against the wall several feet away. His methods are rather gruesome compared to most of the other threats here

Personally, I just like to wave, smile And then walk away The whole Occam's razor About the simplest solution Often being the best Rained Supreme here I make the job sound like it's a mess And in some ways it is

Days are inconsistent I currently work seven days a week My social life has been in ruin But the pay is good You're heavily looked after, though I'm still not sure by whom. But right now, I need help. It's getting exhausting because I'm the last one left. I'm doing everything.

And in this job, tiredness kills. So, if anyone's interested in a night shift job with great benefits, it doesn't matter where you are. I'm pretty sure they're so desperate they'll ship someone in. from across the world, just please. I need help. I'm exhausted, and if something happens to me, the next generation will have no guidance.

And I dread to think what'll happen if there's too many slip-ups here. We can't afford anything. Getting out. Every place has its own strange traditions, customs that seem normal when you're there, but completely outrageous. or downright bizarre to anyone outside the circle.

But when bonding with others from small provinces, my village always tops the conversation. My drum card for this is the alarm that sounds every 20 years. We were never outright told not to tell anyone, but it was heavily implied. A sort of silent agreement that this stays within the confines of our little village of Pendleton.

But is too good a story not to tell. I was young when I first witnessed one, about three years old. All I remember is the bustle of the village as we all entered an underground lock-in. Despite how thick the walls and doors were, we could all still hear it faintly. The blaring of the claxons echoed around the village. Growing up, I'd see them. Tall poles with conical shapes on the end, facing various directions. There were no visible wires which made you assume that.

they were hidden inside, but there was also no opening for maintenance. Despite this, they functioned perfectly every time they went off. There was no department for them. No one knows what grid they were wired to. They're just there and they exist. It was just the fact that everyone accepted, though what wasn't accepted was a common consensus for why. For the next 20 years, I'd occasionally bring it off. and what people felt and knew drastically shifted from person to person. When I started high school, I'd walked to school every day. Driving wasn't and still isn't a common commodity in the area.

Pendleton was small enough for driving to be more of a flex than a necessity, so a regular routine for many kids was to meet up with others on the same route and the group built up as we near the school. By the time they reached my house, There'd usually be four to five kids already built up, ready for me to add to the number. For the most part, the route was always the same. But due to the swings in weather, it was sometimes better to go down alternate paths. The tighter alleyways would provide cover from particularly harsh winds that plague the winter months,

and when he went this way, we'd sometimes see the church of many. This wasn't some grand cathedral. It was a function room where many middle-aged men would meet for a few beers. Drinking early in the day is universally seen as inappropriate. But they always argued it was for religious reasons, and somehow they always got away with it. We sometimes peeked through the windows out of curiosity. We'd only heard rumors about the place, so we knew very little.

However, we knew that the whole organisation was based on the alarm. which sounded every 20 years. They were known for holding public events around the village. It honestly felt more like a themed community centre than a religion, something that gave our little area and identity. But you could never say this to them. If you bring up their so-called relaxed worship, they'd argue you out the room about the importance of the organisation.

They would even go as far as to make you thank them for saving the town every 20 years claiming it was their doing that things weren't worse when the alarms went off. As you can imagine, it's not impossible to prove their claim, but equally impossible to prove otherwise. Quite honestly, the whole thing would be forgotten about for long periods. Something that happens every 20 years doesn't exactly bring about a sense of urgency. But sometimes, in school, a kid would bring it up and talks would start all over again. There'd be a new theory thrown in and jokes around the room each time.

But this is where Isaac always stood out. If you ever brought up the alarm with him around, he'd say the same thing. The alarm is a hoax. Something to understand. Our town isn't exactly 100% on the grid. It's known about by the government, but so disregarded that we've managed to uphold a sort of autonomous zone, separate from outside influence. Because of this, we still have some kind of royal family, but to actually call them that is an overstatement.

They're just a lineage of the founders that have passed down power through each generation. They claim they know the secrets of the alarm, but say it's kept from the public for the village's safety. This is another point of contention, but we'll save it for now. Just know that this family has a lot of power in this village, but for the most part, they're well liked, since they're very involved with the growth and development of the land. This doesn't stop the rumours, though. Isaac had one thought when it came to the alarm. A hoax. His theory goes that it's done to subjugate the population.

Every 20 years, they assert their dominance by sounding the alarms and seeing the, who obeys, a simple routine that lets everyone know who's in charge. You see, anyone who doesn't seek shelter in the town's bunker is never seen again. During my later years in school, I met a girl named Edna. She was sweet. The village was small, so meeting new people was rare after a certain point. People exaggerate when they say a place is so small. that everyone knows each other, but some of the more busy people might literally have done that.

I met her during a school outing. The years in school were split. She was in the year below, and this particular trip was mixed with a few years. By the end, we were inseparable, and this carried on after the trip ended. I very quickly met a family, and we all got on well. But one moment really stood out to me. and that's when the alarm was brought up. I only brought it up off-handedly at the dinner table. I mentioned that someone at school was talking about the church of many, being caught, being drunk and disorderly again,

and started raving about the alarm like it was urgent, and the table sort of grew somber. Her parents didn't seem to want to say anything, but Edna put the silence out of his misery by explaining their side of things. Apparently, she had an older brother, James. James had heard a rumor about the alarm that was still around. The idea is this.

If you stayed out during the alarm, you were met by the spirits of the village. If you went to them with a wish on your heart so strong, it'd be granted. James had a wish, something he never shared with his family. Well, James snuck away when the evacuation. were happening. Edna's family couldn't find him, but it was too late to go searching, so they had to hope James was okay when the alarms were going off. They searched and searched afterwards. The whole town had gotten involved, but James was nowhere to be found. The idea of something supernatural happening during the alarms wasn't a foreign idea to people, but Edna,

but Edna's family had their thoughts. James would never have wished to be away from his family. So, if he stayed out to make a wish and was gone, the spirits could never be good. They were evil and had to be hidden from. I once talked to my dad about the alarms. My dad was a run-of-the-mill handyman. If you needed something done, he'd either be able to do it or figure it out. He was able to figure out any practical issue if you gave him enough time.

My dad was sometimes sought for his advice. His practical thinking translated well to other areas, and he became a sort of counsellor for some. No one had degrees in the village. Knowledge was brought him from outside sources, but no one really left Pendleton for qualifications. Besides, there would be no need. Around here, qualification came from already being able to do the job or apprenticing with someone until you could. This is to say, he isn't stupid. You can imagine education in a place like this isn't of the highest calibre,

but he had a head on his shoulders. When I was younger, he'd tell me the same thing. Every 20 years, there was a monster that would emerge and gobble up any kids who wondered out while the alarms went off. This was a common story told the kids to keep them in check. A lot of people in my school were told that And I imagine my parents were told that When they were kids and so on

Even when I hit high school He persisted with this story But with some added details I imagine that the gruesome notes Were to keep me in check When the childish version lost its luster A fear some parents had As if the alarms went off

When the teens were in the woods drinking If they were too far out They'd never make it back in time This isn't to say they were strict to a harsh degree, but they were often overbearing when nearing the due date. This was because there was no set day. Sure, it was known to happen every 20 years, but there was a wide variance of possible days. People tried lining up the dates toward calendars, ancient time measuring devices, even alternate religious texts, but nothing could predict the exact time and date. so often we all became especially cautious when we knew the day was coming up.

I was nearly 23 and was a few years into my career when we were nearing the date for the next alarm. By village standard, I was considered a man. So I faintly confronted my dad to tell me what he thought the alarm was. He told me what he thought. It's a monster. I resign myself to hearing the same story again but this time he went into much more detail than before he explained that every 20 years

a monster came through and ate anyone who was found this was much of what I'd heard before but he went on to tell me of some of the things he'd heard claw marks and doors where pets were left giant footprint on the outskirts He said that you'd just get laughed out when these things were brought up but a small group of people were really invested in this theory the final point he had was about all the rumours

he brought up one I'd heard before that wishes were granted to anyone who went out into the alarm my dad said that the head family knew of the secret and had actually started the rumours he proposed this ideas of wishes power and new life, all designed to get you outside during the ominous day. He had a simple answer when I asked him why they do this. Every 20 years, it gets hungry and needs to eat.

I mention the pundits that have casual meetups and run the community events, but during the year leading up to the big day, the members of the church of many go into full force. The nice family-friendly events either wind down or a tricks to preach their word. It's almost like the cliche of a timeshare getaway. I was looking for a nice day out with my girlfriend of three years. Though we went to the same school, we met a few years after. Things were well, so I wanted to splash out on something nice.

My usual nice day out was to go to the steakhouse and get something fancy from the evening menu. The guy running the place was really nice And if he knew it was a special day He'd treat you right He made a lot of business from being known As the place to go during his special day Though you should never lie to him If he found out you lied about your birthday or anniversary

Just to get some preferential treatment You'd never get that privilege again Like I said Everyone knew everyone And if word travelled enough you could have a rough time in the village for a few years until you got your reputation back. Wendy and I were up for the same routine,

but I saw a poster on the village board about a pop-up food place on my way to work. It promised foreign food and foreign entertainment. I'm sure it's normal for you to treat yourself to a Chinese at the end of a night of drinking, but here, that was a luxury. To have tasted outside food was something you could talk about for many years with a heated interest of many. You'd have people lying about trying things just to gain a foothold on the social ladder.

So, when word of a travelling Vietnamese diner was put up, I immediately put in for it. Not many people got in, but I aggressively brought up my special day and just about squeezed in. It was the talk of the town, and I found out a lot of the town. people that I knew were going. All seemed to be about my age. Even though I wanted this to be about Wendy, I asked my parents if they wanted to go too. But it was strange. Even though they were on the camp, I've always wanted to try something foreign. They quickly refused. Wendy's parents did the same. We should have picked up and how strange this was, but we couldn't piece together a good reason. The day came and everyone was tense. We were seated in a small auditorium with tables

and chairs arranged so that you could see the stage. We all assumed this was the sea of the entertainment, which we awaited eagerly. The lights dropped and spots were shown on the stage. We were introduced to the head chef, a man with a complexion that was unlike anything we'd ever seen. a very distinct eye shape and jet black hair. He was the real deal. But then he was joined with the others, and it was clear what we'd fallen for. Beside him were two pundits from the church of many.

They introduced the chef and the itinerary of the evening. Some people were looking around, seeing if they could get out in time, but it was too late. The lights came on, and around us were the other members of the church. They were dressed in flares of abnormal red clothes. The faces were rubbed with a tinge of yellowed powder,

and they had taped their eyes on the sides to be more narrow, a caricature of the man on the stage. The head chef seemed very displeased at this, but must have been heavily compensated to put up with our small village shenanigans. The chef was led to the back, and the evening commenced. The heavy propaganda that ran the whole night drowned out the smells of exciting spices Members of the church came up

and had many segments throughout the night They ran many festivals that celebrated local culture One segment was about their contribution to the growth of the town Raising a family here was very prospective Due to the many great events they organised This appealed to the family-oriented people of the country crowd. They also ran events highlighting local made produce that praised local craftsmen. Furniture, artis and alcohols, fresh foods. It was common to have a personal skill on top of

your primary career, so to be part of that growth really appeal to the hard workers. If you ever needed help, the church of many were there. One woman had an accident in which a heavy piece of furniture was dropped and crushed a leg. Her career. died that day, along with her dreams of dancing. So the church ran a fundraiser for her to receive outside help, and with the help of a hospital many miles away, she managed to regain some of her leg function. To this day, she still leads a healthy life.

They hit all the checkboxes. Despite the deceptive nature of the event, they didn't sound too bad. Then they had a segment appealing to the less action. active people of the crowd. You can drink in the morning during the meetings three days a week if you join. It was allowed on work days due to religious reasons as sanctioned by the head family. The rule of thumb was the not get belligerent, but anything before that is open game.

Again, this turned some heads. It had people thinking, maybe it's not as bad as some said. Fear of the unknown is big and circulates predominantly in talkative. circles. The church of many always had an odd reputation where you never knew where their true intentions lay. Their nature was very relaxed, but they had some serious and unknown religious practices. It seemed you only got full details if you were in, and even then you had to be a long-time member before you got any critical information. This caused a lot of distrust from the more opposed members of the public.

The food came out and it was divine. I don't even remember what it was called, nor do I fully remember even what meat it was. It was a blast of spices and sauces, mixed in a way utterly alien to our meat and potatoes culture. The reaction was visceral and how shocking it was. Some people cried tears of joy and having had such an experience.

But after this, it was only downhill. from there. They had more segments on stage. We were receptive to such a fantastic meal and very persuasive points, but this is where it started to get a bit crazy. They raved about the truth of it all, how we could be free from our mental prisons. They put down the common man as being ignorant to the higher truths.

Simple salvation could be had if you joined. The eldest of the group came out. Old Man Ezekiel. He had lived through four alarms, the most out of anyone in the village. His beard hung low, giving him a sage appearance. He wore garb far outdated to the modern times of our province. Old Man Ezekiel went on to come out with something that divided the room. He claimed he survived being outside during an alarm.

He explained it was when he was but four years old having been left by his mother by accident. His eagle claimed what he saw led him to revolutionising the inner circle of the church of many, but these secrets were too much for someone uninitiated. The only way to receive the blessed knowledge was to pledge your life to the church, work hard and earn the highest of trust.

This immediately had the room in whispers. Some had family taken because of the alarm, while others had their biases and theories challenged by the notion of someone surviving. He was heckled with questions. If he survived one, why had he hidden for the others? Was anyone around who could challenge such a claim? If he had this knowledge, why hasn't he tried to stop it? He simply stood there with an all-knowing expression. And only when the commotion died down did he simply walk off stage.

We received no more words. The ball was in our court. By the end, some left and a half, having felt insulted by the ridiculous claim. Others were already fanatical about the cause, already trying to garner more interest in the divided members of the crowd. In the end, Wendy and I left. We weren't 100% opposed to the church, but we hadn't had the drive to seek more direct answers. When we got home, my dad was there to greet me. He asked me how the food was, but I knew he knew what it was about.

He explained what the whole thing was. Every 20 years, they did something like this. They'd run a highly desirable event that garners vast amount of interest, and it's all to push for new members. Those who went to a previous one, or knew about it, were forbidden to talk. warned the newer generation. And so he had to sit there and let us go, along with the others who we told. Nearing the coming day, you can feel it coming. There's an electricity in the air. Less and less events happen the longer the 20th year goes on. People know to keep their schedules

open in case they're caught unaware. Even the church quietens down their excursions in fear of accidentally getting people trapped outside when it happens. But even still, there are the parties. Some parties and meetups happen close to the bunker during the coming months. These events have strict rules to keep running. It sounds weird, but it's encouraged by the head family. I reckon is to keep our small economy stimulated. If not enough people spend, money gets held up and bottlenecked.

They can be music, and musicians are hired, but it can't be too loud. You can drink with no hard liquor, and there's an unwritten rule to never get belligerently drunk. In the past, there have been those reported to have drunkenly slept through an alarm and went missing from not getting in the bunker. Though there's a somber air to these meetups, it's still a much-needed social energy. It can feel like months of waiting, so, Going that long without any stimulation can drive one stir crazy. It's normal to keep your circle of friends from school well after school has ended, which was the case for me.

Every time I went to one of these events, I'd see familiar faces. Edna, who I mentioned before, Kyle, who's in my form, Watson, who's often on my walk to work, and Stegg, whom I'd known since kindergarten. Up until then, talk about the alarm had dried up. Everyone had said their peace many times, and there was never any new information to spark more ideas. But when we knew the day was coming, it had creeped back into conversation like old times. Being more mature, our conversations dropped from wild notions

to more talking about getting past it. We knew the consequences of not following the rules. Other than Ezekiel, no one had ever survived being outside during the alarm, and even then, his claim was heavily scrutinised. We all agreed to just behave until then, keep a low profile and get past it. Simple, right? It turns out Kyle had other ideas. When the date was getting close, he started bringing up some of the old theories from school.

He'd bring up a few. but always circle back to one, that you could make a wish if you survived. Edna immediately flipped out about this. By then, it was known what had happened to James, so it was already a bad move to bring up the alarm, but bringing up the rumour that got him killed was not cool. One time, Stegg went off on him for always bringing it up. We couldn't figure out what he was thinking.

Kyle would try to soothe the idea that it was well. worth a shot, that he wanted it to be true, but Stegg would have none of it. It was during one of his put-downs that Kyle spoke up. He screamed so loud, the pub briefly quietened down. All he said was, but it could bring her back. We all knew what this meant. When Kyle was eight, his mother fell ill. It wasn't immediate, so for three years,

he'd rush home from school every day to be with her. They were really close, so Losing her really took a part of him with her. So, the idea of a way to bring her back, no matter how obscene, was romanticised to him. Even though we all felt for him, we took an opposing stance. We knew he was a bad idea.

To Kyle, though, the prospect of the alarm only coming every 20 years meant it was now or never. So, looking back, I think there was no talking him out of it. He only told me. I was often the one to talk to him afterwards and empathise with the situation.

I did this to make him feel better after a harsh berating from Stegg. So I think this made me his confidant. So one day, after a late-night gathering, he took me somewhere, a small reinforced hut near the outskirts of the village. Over the years he built it. He apprenticed as a builder after finishing school.

So to think he chose that career just for this was an absurd idea to me, but at this point I wouldn't put it past him. I never said anything. I just listened. He went on to explain the rigidity of the thing. It was strong enough to withstand a bomb. The only opening was small enough to keep up the strength of the structure, and on it was a small portal to look outside. His thinking was that he had to see and talk to whatever came to make the wish.

Inside was some food and water, but not too much, since it would only need to last for one night. By his design, it couldn't be locked from the outside. This is to allow fast access when the time comes. Trust was common in the village, so locks were often not needed. However, it could be locked from the inside, and it was a rigid lock. He let me test it, and when it was bolted, my full force barely shook the thing. To say that it was solid was an understatement. Then the day came.

When it was time, you knew. The alarms made a winding up sound like they were warming up. This was your cue to get to the bunker as soon as possible. I saw everyone moving in unison, all making the way calmly but hastily to the one place drilled into us from birth. But while making my way there, I noticed him, and only because I knew to look out for him.

But there he was. Kyle slinking away in the opposite direction. I knew where he was going, and looking back, I could have stopped him. Sure, he could have still escaped if we went after him, but he trusted me when he confided in me his idea. To break that would have challenged my honour of being a friend, something a lot of people took seriously. So I just gave him a subtle nod and wished him Godspeed.

The mood in the bunker is something you can't explain. Only when you experience it does it fully sink in what's truly happening. An alarm is going off while the whole population is hunkered together. But something they never tell you is the commotions that inevitably start. A couple started raving that they had left their pet. They were causing a commotion by the door, begging to be let out while the alarms were still just winding. But they were obviously refused to exit. Then a woman started screaming.

She met up with the kids brought him from the school but couldn't find her son. The teacher explained that he had just slipped away from the class. It was protocol to not go back. There were too many examples of losing a teacher along with a kid when this happened. So it was drilled into them to never go back. This sounds pragmatic on paper, but seeing the pain from a son. screaming parent berate them will forever stay with me. At first, when I saw the burly crew that operated the doors, I was intimidated by their presence.

They were the leading team of the local police force. Crime wasn't a common thing in the village, and when there was an incident, it was often just a civil case that was resolved with words, not action. so when you had a small team constantly trained in physical combat it was rumoured that it was just for this instance the manning of the door during the alarm it's easy to think it just a precaution but witnessing it in person

I was thankful for the time they put in to sculpting their life for this very moment holding down one or two people is easy for someone strong but when the parents corralled the other parents into their cause to get out and rescue their kid. To see the efficiency of the coup being put down was like a well-oiled machine. You'd think they'd be at the limit

when it was nearly two and one per bouncer, but the number grew when another incident happened that they never warned you about. The knocks. The alarm started, and they were loud. You had to talk just below a shout to be heard. So, when you heard faint knocking from the door. You knew they were hitting hard. Only when you listen closely could you hear them.

People left outside, having not made it in time, just outside the door. Though you couldn't hear the words, you could hear the pleading in their voice, begging to be let in. Terms of desperation screamed as loud as they could. Obviously, the humanitarian of the bunch raised a commotion about this. They yelled at the bouncers to quickly open the door and let them in. It'd only be for a few seconds if they were fast. Still, subjugating the writing parents, it was amazing to see how they could still overpower this new group causing an uprising. All the while, seeing how serious they were taking things in the bunker,

all I could think of was Kyle. At first I didn't realise it, but eventually the scream. and bashing outside stopped. Not just petered off, it just stopped. Yet the alarm still rang. They rang for a solid hour before slowing down back into his wind-up sound, then died down entirely. We all stood there in silence for a moment,

taking everything in, almost in disbelief that it was over. Twenty years of build-up, just for that one hour. But there'd been no reports in the past of a false end or a double alarm. So, not long after, the doors were opened, and we were free to leave. The held-down rumbunctious lot were let go with no warning or punishment. It seemed understandable that it was to happen, almost inevitable.

A high point of emotion, but not held against them. Though scratched up and bruised, they left without a whisper. Elders from the church of many loudly raved celebratory words of another successful alarm, though they were largely ignored. Most went back to the daily routine, but I slipped away with one place in mind. I got to Kyle's bunker and knocked as much as I could. I berated with questions.

If he was in there, if he was okay, to just make a sound, anything. But, I heard nothing. I peeked inside through the tiny porthole to try and see him. The porthole offered a wide view of the small room. If he was in there, I'd see him. Then I tried the last thing I could. I pushed the door to open it, and it was locked. The circle of forest is just that.

A circle. About 750 meters in the world. diameter, it's not particularly big. It is ringed by two metres of grassless rock, and then beyond that is the wilderness. Moss and fern and cliff and weeds. The trees and plants that grow inside the circle are thick and strange. It's raining this evening. I sit in my little hut with a mug of warm tea as the rain batters and clatters against the roof. It leaks through in one corner and drips quickly down into a bucket of place there. My rifle rests against my leg. My hut has a direct view to the centrepiece of the forest. A dark, cave-like hole in the middle of a clearing, descending down into the unknown. I tried to go through it once, but my head began to pound the deeper I went down, to the point of agony, actually, and I was forced to retreat.

I don't go down there anymore. Not much point to it. My colleague joins me tonight. He sips from a mug of his own. Ah, he says with a pleasant smile. Delicious. Nothing like a warm mug on a cold day. Mm-hmm.

I reply, scratching my beard. What do you think might be coming up tonight? He asks. Who could tell? Nothing, hopefully. It's been a while since the last one. He murmurs. We're overdue a visitor.

Yeah, I suppose we are. sigh. Visitor is a darkly comical way to refer to the things that clamber out of the hole, coins because of how crushingly lonely it can get at this particular station. I've been here for three months now, another three to go. But of course, I have Robbie here with me tonight, someone to talk to. I've missed him. The rain splashes through the leaves and into the undergrowth, and I take a final sip before setting a mug down. onto the wooden little table with a low thunk. I rise to my feet. Right, let's head a little closer, shall we? Ah, he mutters, glancing out the doorway, into the rain. You know it, brother.

His eyes, fine, are we going to spit up or sticking together this time? It's a no-brainer. We'll stick together, I tell him. I clap him on the shoulder and gesture for the man to head outside. You know how I can get lonely. He chuckles. Right you are, men. And out he goes, rifle in hand. I hoist up my own and out I go. The water splashing against my hood and my shoulders as we push through the undergrowth

and a little closer towards the hole. The reason for this little pursuit outdoors is the rain itself. It is, unfortunately, obscuring our view. And whilst on a clear day, I might be concerned. content to just sit in the hut and wait for one of the senses the trigger. I also don't fully trust the sensor's effectiveness in such weather. So, out we go. The ferns brush up against my camera-clad legs as we approach the clearing, and we take our positions beside the best lookout trees. Robbie is a little off, though. Hey, I say to him, above the rush of rain.

He looks up at me. Wake up, man, you can be seen from there. Back up a little. He chuckles and rubs his head. Of course, right you are. We settle down and we wait, and we watch as water pulls and puddles around the hole in the ground ahead. It's surrounded by tumbled rock and stone, though I couldn't say from where. There isn't another rock of such size in the whole circle of forest. Perhaps some moving there long, long ago. It's been another 20 minutes before.

before anything stirs from the hole. Robbie and I just spend the time chatting nonsense. I just think you'd be so much happier if you quit this businessman, Robbie says to me, being isolated for such long periods of time, it's not healthy. How long you got left? Three months, I tell him.

So six months total, half a year in such a place as this? Robbie shakes his head. You need to be around people. Humans are social creatures. Perhaps, I grunt. Robbie opens his mouth to say more, but I cut him off with a quick gesture, pointing to the hole. We both creep a little lower in our position, and watch as a shadow begins to shamble its way from the depths of the hole. The thing is covered in slime and chatters as it appears.

Armoured, brown and disgusting. Two tiny, beady eyes peer out as its antennae twitch and circle around. It rose upon rows of sharp legs. clatter over the rock and slice down into the wet grass and the mud. I feel a swell of revulsion rise up in my stomach, but it's okay. These types are always the easiest. I raise my rifle, Robbie does likewise, and the abomination is riddled with quick holes, its shell and flesh bursting out of the undergrowth as it screeches and fury.

And I suppress a gag. Disgusting, Robbie mutters. Where the hell do these things even come from? I don't bother responding. It's a question we've asked each other countless times over the years. I have my theories. From amidst the ruin of the centipede-like creature

and out from the hall comes a deer. He raises his head and sniffs the air. I raise the rifle and the deer bolts, bouncing and speeding away over the undergrowth. Damn it, I shout, hesitating as I look between the deer, and my colleague. I pointed him. Watch the damn hole. I'll be back. Yeah, chance will be a fine thing,

but the deer is the priority for now. I take off between the trees after it. I raise the gun and fire, exploding a branch as I do so. The deer still hops steadily away. They aren't usually this fast these things. I stumble after it, leaping over ferns and bushes, and the deer makes the mistake of turning sideways to try and run away from me. I take the opportunity to raise the rifle to my shoulder, firing again, with a better chance of hitting, and this time I strike. Black fluid bursts from the deer side, and a strangled, decidedly non-deer-like noise escapes his throat as it crashes down to the ground with a rustle of ferns. I wipe the rain and sweat from my forehead and turn instantly back, chest rising and falling as I hastily retreat.

turn to the clearing. I approach from the opposite side this time and I raise the hand to Robbie. But just as I expected, the man isn't looking. His interest is elsewhere, staring off into the woods. He rises to his feet. Robbie, I shouted him and he swivels to look at me. Are you watching the hole? The man does not respond and movement at the clearing's edge catches both our attentions. An anxious-looking man with a backpack and waterproof trousers shuffles out from between the trees. A crumple map in one hand. Uh, hello, he says, looking between Robbie and I.

I raise my rifle at once, and Robbie does likewise. I begin making my way around the clearing's edge towards my colleague. Barrel of the weapon fixed carefully on the stranger. Oh, hey! He says an alarm, putting up his hands. I don't understand. You guys are Rangers, right? I'm not a poacher or anything like that. He pauses out and awkward laugh. I'm just lost. Honestly, literally. I'm literally lost. Where are you from? I ask him. I'm sorry. The man replies, adjusting his glasses. I didn't realize I had an accent.

A poor attempt at a joke. Another weak laugh. Tell me where you're from right now or I'll blow your head off. I tell the stranger. plainly as I reached my position beside Robbie. Speak clearly. I'm from Ubdbred, the man mutters. What? I reply, jerking the rifle. I said, speak clearly. Ubdbred, the man replies, raising his voice, the terror in his face quite evident.

That isn't a real place, I tell him. What country? I don't... What damn country? This country, off the country. Obviously, please, this isn't funny, just let me go all right. I'll find my own way, please. I exchange a look with Robbie.

Tell me the name of any country hiker. That's all I want to know. The man shakes where he stands as the rain pours down to the trees. He stutters and mutters, and eventually he manages to speak, though his words are a string of nonsense. I take quick aim and pull the trigger. and a hole appears in the centre of the man's forehead. He drops like a brick as black fluid burst and spurts from his face.

His skin twitching and crawling as a massive insect-like leg burst from his rib cage. I spit on the ground. Jesus, Robbie murmurs. I consider chiding the man for allowing the creature through, but there's no point really, so I let it go. The corpse twitches in the grass beneath the rain. Obdebrent, Rob repeat. Do you think it's a real place, or did he just make it up?

A random combination of sounds? Who can say, man? I reply, shrugging. You know, I guess is as good as mine. Robbie says nothing further. We sit side by side and watch the hole for another 30 minutes. We are quieter this time. But still, it's nice just to have his company.

The rain falls. I gotta take a leak, man. Robbie says, breaking their silence. He clambers to his feet. Hey, well, don't go too far. Just pee right there. Hey? I need you alert and active, man.

Just pee right there. Robbie hesitates and gives me a look before shaking his head. All right, man. I'll try not to turn around too fast. I wouldn't want to hit you with my dick and knock you out. I chuckle. as he relieves himself against the tree. A chuckle, which is quite lost

as a horde of shadowy beings begins scampering out of the hole. Action, Robbie, I tell him. Quick, stay alert. The shadowy beings quickly take shape through the rain. They are all exact copies. Of myself.

They don't make a break for the exit. They run to me. Damn. Soldier, one of the cops. copies shouts into my face, grabbing me by the shoulders. Jesus, thank God you're alive. Right, come with us. Immediately. There's still time to get you to safety. I shove him away and raise the rifle. My copy stares at the barrel, then at me, and then swears and throws out his hands. Again, for goodness sake, why does he keep doing this? He turns to another of my copies and gives

him a light shove in the chest. Why won't he just come back? What are we doing wrong? I choose not to partake in this little piece of theatre. I take aim and fire, bursting a hole in my copy's neck. Initially, the blood is red, which is rather worrying, but it quickly runs black as he falls gasping to the floor. The other coppers of myself all retreat and panic. There are five more of them. Robbie, one of them shouts, gesturing to my colleague, tell him to come back already, we can't

keep doing this. Robbie stutters and mutters, and I fire, the copy's head bursts open, down he goes. Two of the surviving copies attempt to hasty retreat, back to the hole, which I find interesting, but not interesting enough to spare them. Down they go, one after the other. Bang, bang! Two left now. They look at each other, and the closest holds out of hand to me.

Listen, he says carefully as I reload. I know this seems impossible and scary. He's right. I'm utterly terrified, though I'm doing my best not to show it. These things really are getting creative. But you have to trust us on this, or at least hear us out. Please, do you have any idea how long you've been gone? The other cop he shouts in anger.

He's not going to listen. It's just like the last time. The closest copy stares right into my eyes. I don't care what the others say, he tells me. I will never leave you behind. I swore it once and it's a promise I intend to. Bang! I blow the imposter to kingdom come.

His comrade panics and slips on the wet grass as he tries to run, and I gun him down. His lifeless body thuds to the ground. His skin twitching in various and unsettling places, as if being pressed or struts. stretched from the inside. I put a couple of bonus bullets in him for good measure.

Robbie looks over to me and studies my face. Are you good, man? He asks after a moment. Yeah, I reply, lying. Yep, I stare at the faces of my copies. Corpses now.

I try not to dwell on it. I glance over to Robbie. Perhaps I've let this little charade go on for too long. Robbie pales and stares right past me at the hole. I turn to follow his gaze. Three figures clamber out. One waving a white flag. Wait, one calls above the roar of the rain. I squint through it for a better look. Don't shoot. It's me again. Another copy. Oh, this one is at least two decades older. A copy of Robbie is with him, similarly aged.

A girl in her thirties walks with him, a fearful expression on her face, and her hands raised. It's my daughter. A sick copy, at the least, and aged up like the others. I throw my hands out, exasperated. What do you want? Listen to me, you fool, my older copy shouts back. This is the real me, the real you, and this is the real Robbie. The real Robbie.

He puts a hand on the copy of Robbie's shoulder, and the other are my daughters. She stares at me, wide-eyed. He looks so young, she says. She calls over. Dad, it's me. Do you remember? Please tell me you remember. Remember, we took the trip to the beach?

He took us to the coast on my 10th birthday. We saw dolphins. She reaches up to a neck and lifts a necklace with a smooth little shiny pebble. attached. You let me keep this pebble. We had it turn into a necklace. Things are about to change, my copy says to me, walking ever closer. Things beyond your understanding, and the truths of his hole barely scratch the surface. It's a passage. I think you've realized this. A passage to places beyond and between. Sometimes to other planes, yes, but the tunnel runs deep, and they loop back around. He slams his hand to his chest. I'm babbling. I appreciate that this might not make

it any sense to you, but we are from the same loop, the same path, looped back around. I take a deep breath. I look this madman in the eyes, with a scent of the rain-washed pine and the drift of rifle smoke in my nose. I take aim, and I fire. Bang. My so-called future self drops to the ground. My daughter screams, and the elder copy of Robbie drops to his knees at the corpse. No, no, he cries, and I take him out as well. The copy of my daughter is the hardest. Shaking where she stands, she turns the stare at me, defiant,

daring me to shoot her in cold silence. It doesn't have to be this way, she says, her voice wavering. I chew my tongue and then I call her bluff. Bang! Down she goes. Just another leaking corpse. Robbie stares of the ruined bodies. The trees rustle in the rain as the blasts of the rifle ring in our ears.

He looks to me. How... How do you do it? He murmurs. How the hell do you do it? I rub a sleeve across my eyes. Do not allow anything to escape, I tell him. It's a rule for a reason.

You do it so easily, he says quietly, the disgust in his voice quite clear. Is that what you think? I ask him. I turn to face him. My jaw set as the rain leaks from my chin. Tell me, Robbie. Tell me if what I'm doing is wrong. Should I be letting these things and these abominations out into the world?

and where do they come from exactly? If where they're coming from is so great, then why leave at all? If there's something worse that's pushing them away, then that's all the more incentive to just keep shooting. I don't know which one of these horrors is the worst, so better safe than sorry. What if they have something important to tell us?

He asks me. Important? Screw him. It's all tricks and lies. The second I let my guard down, I'm lost. And speaking of which, I raise the rifle and point it at his head.

He backs away. Wait, hold on. He laughs anxiously, then stops when he realizes that I'm not kidding around. You've gone mad, he says simply. You've lost yourself, in your head. It's me. It's Robbie. If the things that come out of the ground are benevolent,

then why do they all lie, Robbie? Why do they lie? I don't know what you're talking about. Oh, I think you do, my friend. I cocked the rifle. I've enjoyed your company tonight. I really have. You're a strong imitation.

I'll give you that. But you've missed a crucial piece of information. You always miss something. Robbie is dead. Long dead. Died two years ago. He died defending the people of this place from an abomination that rose out of that yonder hole.

So, I'll be seen. You know, Robbie's face contorts into shock and surprise. Please, he begins. And I put a bullet through his forehead with a loud bang. He crumbles, down he goes, just like the rest of them, that terrible black fluid pouring out and over the grass. Oversized, yet still only half-formed insect legs burst from his shoulders and neck, twitching in the rain.

I lift my face to the sky and take a slow, deep breath. When Robbie first appeared to me this evening from through the trees, I too was surprised to react. It was a potentially fatal mistake, but for one reason or another, the copy did not use his rifle to shoot me. If he was going to use it to kill me, he could have done so in that very first instant. He didn't. So after that, I just played along, keeping an eye on him. As I said, it gets real lonely up here, and I miss that man a great deal, the rain's letting

up a little now. I watch as black sludge begins to bubble up from the hole's entrance, and I return to my hut, sitting down with a sigh in my chair as water drips from the branches and into the bucket beside me. corpses will have melted away by morning. There won't be any more visitors tonight. The black sludge means the tunnels need time to recharge. I reach for my mug and take a slow sip of cold, miserable tea. Three months down, three more to go. You get clearance, I asked as Kim approached my workstation. Some questions about a cousin with a big following on Instagram, but that's about it, she replied.

Not the most normal background check I've been through. I don't really get the big deal, though. They brought me here. Why do I need further clearance just to enter this funny little place? It's about containment, I said. No one thinks you're going to steal equipment or military secrets, although God knows my drones are valuable enough to the right people. I reached out and patted a sleek black hole of the car-sized submersible

laid out on the large workbench before me. They're concerned about more generalized social media leaks what they have here. Well, it's hard to say the least. As Alex briefed you yet? Yeah, he did, she answered. I'm assuming that's... She nodded towards the enormous pressure chamber

that dominated the room. I didn't really think it was true when Alex told me, she continued. They're talking about a possible inland sea that was sealed off 100,000 years ago, right? They say the pressure keeps its liquid. That's the official story, but no one knows.

for sure, I replied. Unlike Lake Vostock, no one knew this place was here until they stumbled across it. Alex's team was originally here just doing meteorological work. How did they drill a tunnel down to it if they didn't know it was there? Kim asked as she stepped past me and went to the chamber's bulkhead. My guess is they were doing something they shouldn't be, I answered, while moving beside her to look through the glass. You'll probably find the US government is up to all sorts down here, and that's why they're keeping it secret. I mean, it's that what Alex told me is true, and that's just, well, not possible. What did he say? He told me the hole appeared on its own, I shrugged. The chamber came afterwards to allow access and stop the water

flooding upwards from pressure. She leaned forward and wiped the condensation of the tiny little window on the steel door. Maybe that's why they don't want us telling anyone about it, Kim replied, maybe they don't know what's down there yet, and they want to know first before celebrating it as a scientific discovery of the century. Kim stood on the toes to look through the glass and into the water below. Beyond was a small room with a floor covering in churning black water that never seemed to stay still. The movement reminded me of an ocean in miniature, with waves that never stopped. Sometimes if I stared too long, I felt a kind of vertigo from the warped perspective, like I was looking down on some colossal ancient ocean from hundreds of feet

in the air. I couldn't help but wonder what made the water move like that. I figured that it must be driven by forces and currents that originated miles beneath the ice, which was a sobering reminder that I was staring at a direct connection to a primordial abyss unlike any other on the planet. Got to wonder what's down there, Kim muttered. I didn't respond. She, she might have continued talking, but if she did, it was lost to me. The whole world was reduced to a background hum that barely registered, or the water dominated my view with mesmerizing force. The currents had changed, and I couldn't say for sure, but for the briefest of moments, it had looked as if the water had been disturbed by something below. I could have sworn I saw

something slithering just beneath the waves. I shook my head and dismissed the thought. Come on, I told her, we've got work to do. What's that? Alex reached out to the seemingly featureless video feed on the 100-inch monitor. For the last 20 minutes, it has shown us nothing but black fuzzy noise as the drone descended into what had been dubbed Lake Saturn. The room stayed silent with anticipation, despite the dozen or so people crowded around me as I clutched the joystick with white knuckles. I didn't see anything, I answered. Probably just noise.

If anything gets close, we'll know for sure. The light on this thing could cut through brick. Why are we expecting to see in this water exactly? Kim asked. I'd be shocked if life down there is multicellular. It's been cut off from the outside world for hundreds of thousands of years. A pale, thin tentacle whipped past. both languid and lightning fast, as if its size and speed was somehow mismatched.

All at once, everyone lurched away from the screens, reacting like the monster might reach through the glass and snatch one of us. For a few seconds, we were all dumbfounded, until the tension eased and people let out astonished gasps and nervous chuckles. A few scientists even cried out in celebration before scurrying away to a smaller desk to agonize over the recorded footage. Well, now we know, I said, utterly astonished. Multi-cellular life. Another tentacle whipped past, and the accelerometers on the drone registered a kinetic shock, not that we saw or heard anything of it. The drone's camera showed only pixelated darkness.

It's just scoping us out, I said, looking intently at the profile of the acceleration on the drone's instruments. The submersible was being nudged a little. from side to side, but it was hardly under attack. It might even be described as a light cuddle, considering the size of the drone and the monster doing it. The encounter lasted a few seconds at most before the squid retreated back into the deep as quickly as it emerged. Jesus, Kim cried,

the ventral camera and lighter instruments measured at 30 feet long. World record for a verified specimen was 22 feet, I said. So, that's a camera. the first record broken on this mission. Kim and I began to laugh like excited children, and after a few seconds, the others joined in. I've never been so happy to be so wrong, she grinned. Life, honest to God, multicellular life. There must be an ecosystem down here. Predators, prey, some kind of base to it, bacteria, fungi, maybe even some kind of plant. The subs descent continued. Occasionally the sonar would pick up passing shapes in the void, but nothing else came

close enough to register visually. It was unnerving, if I'm honest. Even though I was perfectly safe, I couldn't help but imagine myself down there in that impossibly black water, while unseen shapes glided silently around me, just a few dozen meters away. It took another hour before we were within 30 feet of the bottom, in which point I slowed the subs descent. and, using downward-facing ventral cameras, looked for some sign of the lake bed. What finally resolved on the smaller screen was a complicated array of strange and irregular-looking rocks. There were spiraling ammonites and lifeless shells everywhere, strange bones jutting out of what looked like an endless carpet of bone-white death.

What? I muttered. Animals must have been trapped in the water when it froze over, Alex said. Animal graveyards are common when excavated dried up lake beds. This is normal? I asked. No, he shook his head. Not like this. Not so many. Talk about an understatement, I said, as I began to pilot the drone in an outward spiral. Every camera showed the same thing, an endless plain of jumbled ivory that stretched out in every direction. If there was a floor beneath those bones, we couldn't see it in that low.

location. So what does the squid eat? Kim asked, if everything in the lake died. As if in answer, our port side camera picked up the sluggish movement of a pale white starfish. Slowly it crawled out of the nasal bone of an ancient whale and probed its surroundings. It's 30 feet wide, I said as I squint at the readings on one of the dozen screens. Do starfish come that big normally? Most of the biologists were too busy taking notes to answer, which I took to be and know,

but Alex was polite enough to tear his eyes from the screen and answer. Absolutely not, he said. It must grow so big from a lack of... A fish larger than the drone swept past the screen and the starfish was gone. I had the fleeting impression of glassy transparent teeth and an eyeless face worse than anything found in the Challenger deep. Rinkled and frowning, it was an aquatic nightmare that left me shaking in my seat. What the hell? Kim groaned. Jesus, that was, not that, she said, tapping me on my shoulder and gesturing to another screen. There's

something odd about a hundred yards east, we need to take a look. She reached for the controls and I stopped her. Despite the intense desire to get up and leave, I felt compelled to see this through. I grabbed the joystick and began to navigate on the heading she gave. My eyes so fixed on numerical readouts that I let my eyes drift from the main screen. Oh my God. I locked up, worried, and made a grievous error and damaged the drone. And what I saw made my body go limp. We were looking at a building, a temple, in fact. I couldn't say for sure he was a place of worship, of course, but there was no other way to describe the grave-looking structure with this ancient pillars and decorative flourishes reminiscent of ancient Greece.

Perplexed, I let go of the controls and sat back, head tilted like a confused dog. In the end, I settled for it seemed like the only logical explanation. Is this a prank? Some of the other scientists with me actually agreed. Kim and several biologists all nodding while turning to look at Alex, the head of the facility. But the look on his face made it clear that if this was a hoax, he wasn't in on it. He was pale, eyes wide, every bit as shocked as we were. Why would we do that? he asked us.

How would we even manage it? Those steps are 30 feet tall, someone cried before I could push the point any further. I looked away from the screen to see a geologist stood by one of the dozens of smaller screens filled with complex readings. Can you get closer? he asked me. I took a look at the drone camera and approached the first of 20 steps ascending from the lake bed towards the temple. Pretty quickly, I was able to confirm that each step was a gargantuan slab of stone that towered above the drone. This is real? I asked Alex.

as he stepped closer to me, my voice, an urgent whisper. He nodded. I looked back at the screen and saw that I was still piloting the drone up and over the steps. At the top, it was apparent just how out of proportion the rest of the temple was. The doorway, a great big yawning black portal, must have been several hundred feet tall, and it loomed over the submersible like a man over an ant. Our lights barely penetrated the dark from where we hope. Harvard at the threshold, but they did show a stony floor retreating into the void, its surface

covered in snowy detritus. In the distance, another tentacle slipped briefly into the light before slithering away. Something about its pallid white features in the sunken dark made my skin crawl, and when I looked up at the crowd, I saw I wasn't the only one whose nerves were afraid. The pale faces stared at the screen, unable to look away, but utterly distraught at the implications of what they were seeing. Here was a building at the bottom of the world, standing impossibly tall and impossibly large. It's the way beckoning us to explore further. Should I keep going?

I asked, hoping someone would find a good reason to stop. It didn't matter that it wasn't me down there. I didn't want to push this journey deeper into madness. I was afraid, and no matter how much I reminded myself of the vast differences between me and the source of the images on screen, I could not escape the terrifying fact that the things I was seeing were real. Somewhere beneath my feet lay that abyss, and within it lay a temple beyond all human proportions, and the thought made me feel like my mind was on fire. Keep going, Kim said.

and I knew she was right to. It was the only choice. We need to know. Nervously, I pushed the drone onwards, watching with anxiety as the side camera showed the edge of the portal sliding by our sides. As impossible as it was, I felt as though I was personally stepping into the temple and could feel a cold draught wash over my skin.

I shivered and did my best to push the ridiculous idea aside. The room beyond was massed. too large for our meagre little lights to see much. After a few seconds of nerve-wracking silence, I finally found my courage to ask, Do the instruments pick anything out? I feel like I need directions here. Uh, we're getting something a little south of your position. It's stationary, so it should be... The entire room cried out as the drone's camera was violently shaken, the view reeling as if the whole drone was being thrown around.

Alarms blared from a dozen monitors as every system registered a dozen violations of expected norms. My hands froze up. I was unsure how to proceed. There was a momentary spike of adrenaline as my body reacted as though I'd personally been attacked. And then training took over as I let go of the controls and waited for a few seconds as a flare of bubbles and strange shapes flitted past the lens. The drone can't be damaged easily, I told everyone. Not by an animal. we just need to be patient.

Eventually, the alarms quieted down as different team members worked to shut them off. I watched the accelerometer intensely. I could tell that whatever was attacking the drone was slowing down, probably because it realized its prey wasn't edible. Looks like another squid, someone called, pointing to a dorsal camera

that showed a slimy feeler clamped around the hole. Just wait, I said. It's out of our hands now. But if we're patient, he should just leave us alone. For a few more minutes, the drone continued to move of its own accord, being pulled to and fro by some unseen shape. Occasionally, we would catch a glimpse of an overhead ceiling, covered in detail mosaics of a fleshy-looking mountain,

or of a beautiful stone pillar, cradling an ancient brassiere. But there was no opportunity to study these things in detail. They appeared as fleeting blurs of colour and shape. Whatever was down there was wrestling with a submersible like it expected a meal out of it, but I knew eventually it would have to give up. Look! Whoever cried out didn't need to bother. Whatever had attacked the drone slid around its sleek hull until it faced the forward camera,

allowing itself to be seen in full light for the first time. It towered over us from the main display, like it was somehow aware that we were on the other side of the camera. But whether it was angry, hostile, or just plain curious, I couldn't say. It merely stared at us with an eyeless cone for her head. Slowly, the strange creature retreated from the light. That didn't mean it was finished with us, though. One of its longest tendrils remained stuck to the drone,

which it used the toa's carefully back towards the entrance of the temple. Well, this is exciting, I said after a few minutes past, it's throwing us out of its house. You're not seriously proposing it built that thing, Kim asked. No, I said. Why build steps if you don't have feet? I think it's just moved in. Probably makes for great shelter.

The creature stopped just as it reached the doorway. All of a sudden, it changed colour, flashing from spectral white to a blood orange, pulsating over and over while we all stared at the baffling changing behaviour. A threat display, perhaps, Kim asked. As quickly as it appeared, the squid shrank away, letting go of the drone right by the temple's doorway. A quick glance at the rear camera showed it fleeing back into the darkness. I was about to ask what had happened when a strange cerulean light flooded the doorway. An eye blocked the doorway.

A pupilless pale blue sphere that glowed with malice in the dark. Slowly, it turned her retreated until a monstrous shape glowered down at us. A faint bioluminescence hung around it like an aura, a silhouette faintly visible in the abyss. Its shape was utterly alien. If it hadn't moved, I might have thought I was looking at a plant or a strange rock formation. It reminded me of tumours and wasp nests. I couldn't tell all of its eyes apart from the complicated pattern of dots and frills that covered a bubbling asymmetrical head the size of an apartment block.

It was with ever-rising horror that I had. realized, I had glimpsed simple portrayals of this very creature in the temple mosaics, the implications of which burned at my mind like a hot coal. This thing dwarfed all reason, all sense. It floated menacingly in the darkness just at the limits of the light. Of the rest of its body, there was no sign. But I hated it. I hated it instinctively and without reason, even as I tore myself,

It was a scientific find of the century. It made my skin crawl and my stomach drop, and all I wanted to do was lash out and get the hell away from it. Slowly, it raised the branching, writhing appendage towards the drone. That was when we lost the feed. The wind outside was fierce. The facility we were staying in was situated on a continental plain, not far from a cluster of inland mountains where the wind swept down,

the slopes and sped up, unimpeded to hundreds of miles per hour. It never snowed in Antarctica, but that didn't stop hurricane winds from snatching up tiny particles of ice and whipping them at you with terrifying speed. The effect was a white out, a grey, somber void on the other side of every window that left nothing visible. No sky, no sun, not even the icy floor beneath the main building's elevated foundations. It's almost too much, Kim said after a while. If we just found a jellyfish, it wouldn't be a lot, but people would believe us. But this is like something out of a bad movie. How am I supposed to get up at a conference and show people this footage?

Kim, Alex and I, were sat in the canteen. All the other scientists had wandered off to their own rooms to begin the lifetime's task of going through every reading we had. Every pulse of sonar, every bit of infrared, every minute fluctuation in temperature and pressure. It had to be understood, catalogued, made sense of. In a way, it was probably a comfort to them to hide from the madness by fixating on the minutiae. You know what I think, Kim said. Forget any results, I want to leave and let someone else get the glory. Even if we wanted to, Alex said, the storm prohibits flying for.

for at least another week. Just so long as I can be the first one out, she replied. Maybe when the storm's clear, we can discuss people leaving, I said. But for now, we've got enough data to last us lifetime and enough equipment to analyze. Sir, a young man burst into the room. I immediately recognised him as belonging to the security attachment that had flown in with me. So far, the five or six armed men had kept separate from the scientists. I could have easily forgotten that this.

there was anyone staying in the facility who wasn't a researcher. It must have been an incredibly boring job, at least under normal circumstances. The man who stood before me didn't look bored though. He looked worried out of his depth. Alex was clearly the sir he'd been referring to, and the older man immediately stood up and addressed him. What's going on? he asked. There's been a breach, sir, he said.

Something has entered the chamber. How do you possibly know that? Alex cried. We can hear it, sir. We entered the ground building to find that we had two immediate problems. The first was that the pressurized chamber was under intense stress. In tonal readings showed that water had flooded the room and was applying an incredible force against reinforced walls. So far they were holding, but the pressure was steadily increasing and we knew that sooner or later something would give.

The second problem was the sound that emanated from within. Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk. I flinched each time it rang out, physically recoiling from the bulkhead with fear. I tried to hide it from the others, but looking around, I realized it wasn't necessary. Alex, Kim and the security guard were all equally terrified. Something was inside that room, something that had come up from the lake, below, and was patiently beating a tattoo against the wall with unsettling regularity. I am here, the sound seemed to say. I am here, and I want to meet you.

We need to release the pressure, Alex said. His voice was shaky, his skin pale. We need to. I'm not opening that door, Kim snapped. I looked at the pressure readings and grimaced. It's not giving us a choice, I said. If that structure fails, it'll be worse than a bomb going on. All the more reason not to open it, Kim cried. Think about what you just said. It's not giving us a choice. Do you want to play that game? We don't know what it wants, Alex replied.

We don't know what it is. Maybe, maybe what? She said. Maybe it's here to play chess, to be our friend. Is that seriously what we're proposing? If that chamber blows, I said, we get answers to those questions whether we like it or not. We can retreat to safety, sure,

but it doesn't make any of our problems. go away. Besides, it doesn't have to be the door we open. There are specialised valves to release pressure that we can use to keep it from blowing. Thunk, dunk, dunk, thunk. If Kim had any counter-arguments, they were forgotten. The walls of the chamber had shaken, and something, some screw or bolt, had flung out and struck the ceiling and punched the hole right through. Alex, I said, help me get the pressure valves open. This is insane, Kim cried as a walked over to the nearest valve. Thunk.

The knocking stopped just as my hand gripped the wheel. A look at Alex, showed he was sweating despite the cold. He hesitated to come any closer, lurking a few feet away from me and the chamber. I need help, I told him. Okay, he said, nodding so absent-mindedly, I wondered if he was in some kind of shock. Come on, I cried while pointing to the opposite side to the wheel. Alex was startled by my shouting, but he finally started to walk across the vent and towards me. Alex, we don't need to do, Kim started to say before she was suddenly cut off.

Thunk. A final hammer blow was louder than any other we'd heard. It was like a peal of thunder went off right next to my ear. An explosive punch delivered with perfect timing, and I soon realized in a very precise location. The valve broke open just as Alex had passed the opening. Water gushed out with tremendous force, enough to knock him back. Internal mechanisms were designed to control the flow and they stopped the blow from being lethal. But it was still a brutal strike and he was sent skittering across the floor while the water spewed out in a furious torrent.

I could see him under the black brine struggling desperately and I thanked God he was alive. I immediately ran over to drag Alex away from bubbling water, even as my mind raced with a terrifying realization that whatever had attacked the chamber had done so with impossible insight. On some level, I knew it must be scrutinizing us and it took every ounce of courage just to stay in the room. Alex struggled as I took hold of one of his legs

and tried to pull him out from under the water. I paid it little attention and dragged him clear of the flow intent on helping him. But the insight of a glistening black tentacle wrapped around his head made me recoil and cry out. But the sight of a glistening black tentacle wrapped around his head made me recoil and cry out. I fell on my ass and heard a chorus of disgusted and horrified cries as Kim and some new arrivals took register of the strange growth that enveloped the man's head. It was a repulsive cluster of alien musculature attached to a glistening black tangle trailing back through the open valve.

Get it off, I shouted at the room in general, hoping to God that someone would have an idea what to do. Alex's struggles were already growing faint. Thunk, thunk, thunk. Before any of us could take another breath, there was the briefest sound of tightening fibers before the tendril whipped back into the chamber. It passed effortlessly through the six-inch wide opening and did not slow or even show any sign of a struggle. Not even when, with the sound of silk tearing, it took most of Alex with it.

I had made the decision to withdraw from the study and the site at large. Kim was clearly relieved, and so was I. Whatever excitement we felt over the fine was diminished by the memory of having to, clean up Alex's remains. I knew I would never forget having to lift the body bag only to realize it barely weighed more than 20 kilos. We had found something nightmarish down in that lake and the small encounter we'd already survived were more than enough to keep me

sleepless for years to come. Unfortunately the storm was still raging outside and we had no hope of evacuation by air for at least another three days. Kim and I were kept busy packing up our equipment, but Kim's speciality was data analysis and not engineering, so there were times where the work fell entirely on me. It was on the second night that I told her to head to bed early while I finished up the last 30 minutes or so of work. But only a few minutes after she left, I found myself staring at the chamber that dominated the room like a strange obelisk. The image of that thing glaring at us through the screen returned to me, and was, the shiver, I decided I would finish packing the rest in the morning.

Staying alone in that place for even a moment or two was a stupid thing to do. Stephen? The sound was an electric whisper that made my limbs weak and my hands falter. Equipment hit the ground with a clatter I barely heard. All my attention was on one of the speakers by a station at the back wall. It belonged to one of the geologists who had loaded microphones down in the original dive, I was using them to record an audio profile of the lake below. With everything going on, it had escaped all of our notice.

But as I stared at the glowing green monitor, it dawned on me that the microphone was probably the last remaining piece of equipment still in the water. So why had I just heard Alex speak my name into it? I told myself I'd been mistaken, even as it decided I would sprint the whole way back to my room. Stephen, the voice said, before I could take a single step. Stephen, it's cold down here. This isn't real, I muttered.

I know what the temple was built for. Alex's voice was the wet gurgle of a pneumonia patient in their last days. It made me think of someone drowning a mucus, of a desperate soul consumed by pain and despair. Stephen, he wailed. It won't let me. die. His words hit me like a sledgehammer. For a second, I thought there was nothing in the entire world that could frighten me more. It was then that the door to the pressure chamber swung open. I found myself rooted to the spot with mounting terror as my mind processed

the impossible. An enormous titanium bulkhead, otherwise inoperable to anything except powerful hydraulics had glided open like a creaking mansion door. Black water immediately bubbled forth and filled the air with rolling steam and a clawing stench unlike anything else I had ever smelled. It was awful. A foul mixture of rotting flesh, ammonia and a musty scent that really was unrivalled. Some kind of flotsam came with, pale stripes of strange-looking plants and unrecognizable biological matter. The room I was in was large, but by the time I managed to look down and realised that my shoes were already wet and time was running out. I turned and ran, desperate to outrace the water that was already searching past my feet and flowing towards the door threatening to trip me.

All around me, equipment started to topple, desks dragged along the floor with an ear-cringing squeal while computers short-circuited and fell over. Under other circumstances, I would have been in tears from the loss of data an expensive one-of-a-kind technology. But I was ready to sacrifice anything if it meant getting out of there sooner. I pushed ahead, increasingly aware that the water was fast on its way to flooding the entire place and showed no signs of slowing. Pretty soon I'd be waiting through the stuff at knee height.

The thought had me picking up my way. my pace, but I managed to only get halfway to the door before the lights cut out. Immediately my foot hit something unseen, something that moved. I was sent sprawling forwards, completely blind and fumbling in the dark. Despite the water, I hit the concrete hard and my wrist rolled, plunging me face first in the ever-rising torrent. The feel of it in closing my head made my heart pound with hysterical panic, and for a brief second, I wondered if I might already be dead and trapped in my worst nightmare.

Eventually, the panic passed, and, using my good hand, I got some purchase on the floor and bused myself up with a desperate gasp. With perfect timing, the emergency lights finally kicked in, and the room was suffused in the dim pale glow of rarely used fluorescence. I'd been thrown halfway across the room and was further from the door than ever, but the water had stopped rising and was eerily still. All the different workstations had been shifted to new locations by the current, but were now at rest, bits of equipment strewn haplessly across the surfaces or missing somewhere in water below.

Once I was standing, the only sound was the occasional slosh of water, and the all-pervading drip, drip, drip, quietly, terrified that the movement would attract the tension, I lifted one leg and took a step backwards. Nothing changed above the surface, but for all I knew, a dozen unseen shapes were converging on my position, and I had no way to stop them, or even know how long I had to live. The only thing I could do was stick to the plan and keep moving one foot at a time. I managed another three steps when one of the desks slid a few inches across the floor. It was a gut-wrenching reminder that something was active beneath the water.

It didn't help that all manner of things floated around, ranging from office furniture to unrecognizable clumps of rotting albino plants. Sometimes something would slither past my leg, touching my bare ankles, and I had no way of knowing if it was a living thing, or just some dead piece of floatsome drifting aimlessly beneath the surface. When the door opened behind me, it was a sudden reminder that a world existed beyond that room. It had been barely ten minutes since I heard Alex speak,

but I'd spent that time so terrified that my perception had narrowed until I could only think of things that mattered to my direct survival. I'd completely forgotten that the power outage would have alerted others. I was so fixed on whatever shared that water with me that I didn't even turn to greet my rescuers or respond to their cries.

Nothing but survival could find purchase in my adrenaline-addled mind. It wasn't until I heard feet splashing past me and saw several men stomping past, guns raised, that I looked up and saw Kim reaching out to touch my shoulder. What happened? she asked. Did you open the bulkhead? I must have been pale as a ghost because when I looked at her, she froze up a little,

like my fear was contagious. Shut it down. I hissed between clenched teeth. Even as I lifted one leg to continue, my painstaking backwards walk. Explosives, grenades, anything. Shut it down. It'll freeze on its own anyway, she replied. The heating rods have turned off.

That's probably why it hasn't flooded this whole room up to the ceiling. Why did you open the door? She repeated. I didn't open anything, I whispered. Kim, we aren't alone in here. What? He said, you aren't alone up there. Kim's eyes went wide as dinner plates at the sound of Alex's voice coming from the speaker.

Screw this, I cried while grabbing a hand and turning to run the last few meters back to the door. As I turned away, one of the men inside the room cried out and went down. But I didn't turn to look back. Not even when gunfire rang out and ricochets ping the wall nearest my head. Instead, I forced lead and feet through the grimy water, Kim in tow, and did my best to ignore the screams. When we reached the door, I threw us both out onto the metal walkway beyond and went to slam the door shut, but was left struggling against the water that continuously poured out. Help, I cried, reaching out to help Kim from where she had fallen.

What about the men inside? She looked inside at the same time she asked the question. By now the gunfire had stopped, but there was still the sound of struggling feet and crying men, along with crashing furniture. With a whip-crack sound, one of the men that had a terrible scream, and Kim jerked back from the doorway, her face covered in blood. Shut the damn door, she screamed suddenly. Whatever she had seen had clearly changed the mind, and I was glad I'd missed it. I was only grateful that she'd joined me in pushing. it in. Are you sure it's all done in there? I asked. The water's all frozen.

Kim nodded as we stood by the tour to the ground facility. It had been two days and we'd stayed in the base a few hundred meters away, refusing to answer any of the other scientist's questions and threatening hell on anyone who dared to go look for themselves. It certainly hadn't earned us any friends, but we didn't care. Our evac was just an hour out. and were all too ready to leave that god-forsaken continent. But there was still one last job to do. Using a crowbar, I wrenched the door out of its frame. Kim made a passing comment that whatever lived down there

could have easily gotten out if it wanted to, but I just ignored it. I'd know I've known what the thing could or couldn't do, and for once ignorance was enough for me. Whatever its motivations or choices, it had been content with taking the men we'd left behind and no one else. To my shame, I only felt relief about this. Stephen, I'm so cold.

My mind is falling apart. I can feel bits of myself sloughing, though I... What are you? I can't see you. Where am I? What was that? Something's coming. Jesus Christ, why won't I die? Kim faltered at the sound of their voices.

She looked at me with terror, and I knew she'd seen the same thing written on my face. You were right, she said. They're still? I nodded. I could hear them when I came out to check the door on the first night. I don't. How are they? Are they down there?

She cried. I don't know, I shook my head. But there'll be a team here soon. They'll find the tunnel frozen. over, the facility destroyed, our data centres ruined. But this, I gestured to the room with the voices within. This will demand further investigation, she said. How can we get them to stop?

Do you have a plan to help them? To get inside the room, I had to step up under a solid foot of ice that had frozen. Emergency lighting had failed entirely by now, but there was enough daylight to make the gloomy place beyond visible. The heads, Kim stuttered as she looked at the array of corpses. They're all gone. How are they? I don't understand either, I said, as I carefully shoveled over to the farthest workstation.

It was there that the voices cried out from an overturned speaker, but we can't help them. I hesitated for a moment as I took out the wirecutters and found the cord, leading to the ruined pressure chamber. Even now, the men hadn't stopped being like a discordant mob of hellbound souls. They were pleased for help and desperate insults born of desperation. I wondered for a split second if there really was something we could do. But that would involve drilling down to the lake

and beginning this nightmare anew. This wasn't some errant animal we were dealing with. It was intelligent and cruel. and older than we could possibly imagine. Even worse, it could toy with dead men and keep them alive to prolong their suffering. There was a forgotten god down there. It needed to stay forgotten. I cut the wire and the voices stopped immediately.

But they're still down there, Kim said, her voice, an injured whisper. With deliberate slowness, the wire was poured from my hand. and back into the chamber, before disappearing through a pin brick hole in the ice. And so is something else, I said. Let's keep it that way. As I pulled up in front of the shop, I had to recheck my directions. It was a dingy little hole in the wall, stuffed between a dollar general and a computer repair shop. It looked like it had just existed here since the creation of the first VHS tape.

The windows were covered in thick yellow paper. and the outside was caked in a film of old dirt. The sign on the door said open, but it was barely visible through the dirty window. There was no way this place had what I wanted. When I was a kid, I remembered watching a show on cable called Children of Men. As a kid, the premise of the show appealed to me.

The show was about kids living on an island out in the Pacific, trying to survive day-to-day trials. The producers had gotten 40 kids from all over America, ages 10 to 12, and dropped them off with supplies and instructions on how to survive. The host, Chris Mansworth, was a survival expert, and he would create challenges every day for the kids to complete. There were four teams of 10 kids, and the winner of each challenge got something cool for their area of the village.

I watched the show religiously as a kid every Saturday night right after the Simpsons the show would come on and I would be enthralled I always imagined that I was on the island with them surviving day to day the challenges were also neat too

they had the kids gutten clean their own meat dig wells by hand build rafts for the raft race and make aqueducts so their village could have running water it was a neat idea but the show just stopped after eight episodes. No new episodes came out, and the station never gave a reason. This was before

the internet, and there was no way to check for updates online. So, the show slipped off into obscurity, and my 10-year-old self just forgot about it. I remember the show again a few years ago when mom sent me a box of my stuff from the attic. There were a couple of old VHS tapes in there, and between Batman the animated series and the Teenage Meeting Ninja Turtles were eight tapes with handwritten labels that read, Children of Men. We had a VHS recorder when I was a kid, and I could remember recording my favorite shows to watch later. I was excited to get to see the old show game, the memories flooding back, and I started

looking for a VHS player among the tapes in the box. There wasn't one, but a quick trip to Goodwill and $15, and I had a gently used VCR hugged up to my TV. I watched all eight episodes back to back and fell in love with the show all over again. I remember the kids I liked. Robert and Catherine were my favorites, but many of the kids had also been given a lot of screen time, and it was hard not to like them too. As I watched, I found myself wanting to see how the show ended all over again. As I watched the show again, I began to notice something. a little darker under the surface too, something I hadn't noticed as a kid. The village was divided into four teams, green snakes, blue birds, red foxes and brown mice.

The teams had mostly been divided up by background, which seemed very divisive to me as an adult. The green snakes did most of the hunting for the village. A lot of their kids had a rural background, while the brown mice did most of the farming, and gathering because they came from a farm background. The Red Foxes were in charge of construction and upkeep. They were the smarter kids and they worked with the Bluebirds who were in charge of food management and cooking the meals. Every team had a representative who sat on a council.

Robert sat for the Greensnakes, Catherine for the Bluebirds, Marco for the Red Foxes and Cherin for the brown mice. As the show went on, it became apparent that Robert didn't trust Marco. and with good reason. Marco and Shireen had formed a kind of alliance of their own, though most of it was because Marco bullied her into doing what he wanted.

Robert and Catherine set up their own alliance, and Robert started holding out food to sway Shireen's decisions. The village needed food, and Robert pointed out that he and Catherine were the ones providing it. Robert and Catherine wanted a fair split for everyone,

but Marco tried to split them into a class system that would put his foxes in the higher tier. Robert didn't like that, and it became clear that if Chris hadn't been there, we would have seen a lot more fights. Robert was a big 12-year-old, a stocky bruiser who won battles with his fist most of the time,

and Chris had separated him from Marco more than once. Marco was smaller, but definitely had charisma. He had most of the mice and all the foxes on his side. and I wasn't sure how I missed all this tension as a kid. It all came to a head in episode six. Marco was caught hoarding food in the Red Fox Village. It wasn't just food that the other teams had been bringing in either. He had been taking the comfort foods from the canteen that brown mice ran for the village

and storing them in his hut. Robert discovered this and took Marco prisoner, demanding he'd be placed on trial. The whole village was in an opera. but Marco agreed to be confined to a central cabin until the council could rule on his trial. Chris was setting up the whole trial as an episode 8 draw for viewers. At the end of episode 8, the council found Marco guilty, and the episode had ended with a lot of shaky camera work,

and the Red Foxes storming the podium where Marco was seated. That was how the show had ended. The little bell chined overhead as I stepped into the time. The store looked like a throwback, sharp-looking rickety shelves that were covered in plastic VHS boxes and thick dust. The shelves held VHS tapes, Betamax and DVD cases that were arranged neatly amongst the filth and dust. A quick look showed that they were all in alphabetical order like some ancient library. The shelves fronted on a glass display case that held murky wonders within. On the counter was a television, an ashtray stacked with old butts, and the greasy store clerk who smiled at me as I approached.

You the one who called about the tape? He asked, showing a mouthful of stained teeth. I had searched for months on my own. I'd taken to the internet in an attempt to find something, anything that would give me some closure. Wikipedia told me that only eight episodes were aired, but twelve had been intended. As I dug deeper, I began to see that the show was a mystery all on its own though. The list of children that had been in the show was woefully incomplete. Marco and Robert were there, so were Catherine and Shireen and Chris the host.

But none of the other children were even named. No one except Chris Mansworth had gone on to do anything after the show, and his only contribution was his death a few months later. His wiki said that he had often known. off in its hotel room and foul play was not suspected. As for the last four episodes of Children of Man, however, there was no mention. So I took to the usual online sleuths, Reddit, 4chan, TV message boards. No one seemed to have the answer. Most people had never even heard of Children of Man and the ones who had were more interested in my copies than the last four episodes.

Apparently, the episodes were never compiled or released for purchase, and the only means by which the show still existed was on VHS tapes like mine. I had several offers for them. One guy wanted to give me $500 per tape, but I declined and told them I'd post copies of the tapes for free if they wanted. That's how I met Charleston Hammer 462. He was a user on the hometown board of Reddit. He saw my post and the posted videos and got in contact with me about the place I was currently in. Heard you looking for a certain tape.

In my line of work, when you're looking for something, you go talk to Reggie. He owns a shop in Burlington, South Carolina, called Video Time Capsule. If you want a band episode of a 70s drama or a never-aired documentary from the 60s, you talk to Reggie. I read the message a few times before responding. Thanks Charleston, but these episodes aren't just unhaired. They're unknown. No one has ever seen them.

I don't even know if they exist and the story you're talking about is over 400 miles away. I figured I'd never hear from him again when I hit send on the message. It took him an hour to respond. What you're after is very rare. I used to watch children of men myself when I was younger. It ended so abruptly that it's been an internet mystery since the net was just well and message boards. I didn't learn about the last four episodes, though,

until I met Reggie at TVCon. We got to talking about all TV shows, and, after a few drinks, he told me that he had the last four episodes of Children of Men. That piqued my interest. Have you seen them? That response took a little longer.

I have. It's some pretty different stuff. I won't ruin it for you, but if you value the way you remember children of men, Then don't watch it. There's a reason these episodes never made it to wear. Here's the number to the store. If it's late, call him anyway.

Reggie keeps weird hours, and sometimes that store is open 24 hours. He's an eccentric dude, don't doubt. But he has what you're looking for. The number was at the bottom of the message. Yeah, I said, no longer sure about what I was doing. Yeah, I called you about the complete. complete series of children of men? He nodded and reached under the counter and slapped a plain white case on the counter.

All eight episodes recorded it airing, he said, his eyes studying me. I frowned. I'm after the last four episodes. His picky eyes glinted behind the grease-smeared glasses. There are only eight episodes that aired. And you told me that you had the other four episodes that never aired. He smiled and did ghastly things to his porcine face. I had to be sure come to the back.

And with that, he disappeared behind a curtain into the back of the store. I walked around, hesitating for a moment as I touched the curtain and followed him. I'd come 400 miles. I might have saw go another five feet into hell. The phone rang six times and was just a few. about to hang up when someone answered and spoke through a mouth full of food. I didn't understand him, but once he swallowed whatever had been in his mouth, he tried again. Video time capsule, where your memories are always on sale.

What a tagline. Yes, I was looking for something specific. The sound as something being stuffed into the speaker's mouth and loud chewing assaulted my ears before he continued. aren't they all? What's you looking for? Clearly, customer service was not their strong suit. Episode 9 to 12 of

Children of Men. I heard something hit the floor and the speaker cursed loudly. Yeah, uh, you must be mistaken. There were only eight episodes of children of men. Look, I said a little hotly. I was told that you have things that no one else does.

I want to see these episodes. I don't even want to buy them. and I was told that you have them in your possession. Is there any way that I can just... $500. The voice returned, and the tone was not one to be bargained with. In cash, before I'll even let you see him. I agreed.

Despite the outrageous price, and now I was here in this grungy shop prepared to go into the back. The back was worse than the front. DVDs and VHS tapes were stacked in teetering piles The back room was lit by only a few dingy overheads, and I could see an old TV casting its glow from the back. The floor was riddled with trash, and I swear you could hear the mice scampering around to get out of my way. What sort of videos could I find here? Would this place give me anything but heartbreak?

They seemed like a set-up to a thousand scary stories, and I suddenly didn't want to see these mysterious artifacts. But, like anyone else who comes this close to finding the thing they want, I needed to see them. Reggie was waiting for me by the TV. He had an ancient set that looked very similar to the one my parents had owned. On top was a VHS DVD combo player and a set of rapid ears that stuck out like a weather vane. There was a wooden chair in front of it with a little blue pad in it. Reggie held his hand out. 500, he said.

How do I know it's authentic? Look, I could get in a lot of trouble for owning this, okay? This would put me in prison for life. If you want to see those episodes, then I need the money. I were doing business here or what. I handed in the money, and he popped the cassette tape in and walked away. Not joining me? I asked. Not for another 500 bucks, kid.

I heard the curtain rustle as the show began. Episode 9 gave us a recap of the trial and then the storming of the stage. When the show started, I noticed a distinct lapse in film quality. Whoever was operating the cameras was much shorter than the usual crew, and they seemed barely able to handle their heavy rig. Finally, the camera had Robert in frame, and he began to fill us in on what was happening in the village. It's been about three days since Marco's trial and his escape,

Since then, Fox Village has been separated from our village. They took most of the brown mice with them, and now they tried to raid us every night for food. Something is going on over there. We heard shouts this morning and... But at this point, the shouts got louder, and Robert ran off screen as the camera tried to follow him. We came to the edge of Red Fox Village.

Many of the huts that were once on the verge had been burnt out, making a kind of barricade between them, and the rest of the village. Many voices were cheering as something swung from the tree. At first, I thought it was an effigy, a dummy maybe, but then I realised

that it was Shereen. She swung like a grotesque windchime in the space between the villages and Robert shouted for Marco to stop being a coward and come out. Some of the kids were crying, but everyone on the other side cheered and shouted,

Treat her or faithless at the swinging body of Shireen. I sat, glued the TV, unsure if any of this was even real. It was night when the next recording resumed. It seemed that whoever was running the camera wanted us to see the raid. The night vision on the cameras

showed kids with torches fighting other kids who were leaving their storehouse in a hurry. The kids with torches hacked at them with machetes, blood flying as they connected, and some of them dropped as they were stabbed or hacked to pieces by the blades of the other children. The rest of the episode was mostly uneventful. Lots of shaky cam, lots of crying,

and at one point someone dropped it and didn't pick it up for several minutes. As the episode ended, I was left looking at my own stark face, looking back at me. What had I just watched? There was no way that could be the same show. Things have gone very Lord of the Flies in the village, and as the tenth episode started, I wasn't sure what to expect.

Episode 10 started without preamble. There was no recap, no theme music, and the footage looked unedited. We see a much more professional camera crew and Chris Mansworth trying to bring some order back to the island. They're coming up through the shallows, Chris and about ten adults coming up in the dark towards the village. Chris was talking about how this had gotten out of hand and how they were going to try rescue the children. As they came into the seemingly empty village, Chris cupped his hands and began to shout at the empty huts. He told them that the game was over and that it was time they went home. He told them there was a boat that would take them home.

Still, no response. He moved deeper into the collection of straw huts. The fires burning low and around them, and that was when they struck. Kids with spears and machetes came screaming out of the darkness, and the cameraman backpedaled furiously as the adults were taken completely by surprise. Blood flew, legs were soared off as the pint-sized savages hacked and chopped, and Chris Mansworth was buried under a pile of children as he screamed and flailed. As the cameraman tripped and went down, we see the shape.

of children standing over him as the spears came down. The episode ended abruptly. I was speechless. What the hell had happened to them? These were kids that had been doing challenges and making friends. The rivalry between Robert and Marco had always been the most serious part of the show. But now they had devolved into savages. The 11th episode was about ten minutes long.

It opened on a stationary camera shot of the same space they had held the trial. Marco was on his knees before the camera, and he looked bad. His left eye was a puffy mass of bruised tissue. His left ear was a bleeding stump. His nose looked to be cut jaggedly. He was weeping silently, and his ears were thick and bloody. Robert stood behind him. He'd always worn a white football jersey in every episode I'd seen him in.

but the garment was stained red and brown now. He bled from several places on his chest and when he raised his machete, it was with obvious pain. This morning, before the sun has risen, this dog attempted to attack our village. He violated the rules of war as agreed up by he and I. We agreed to a battle between our two villages at dawn. This snake tried to attack us in the night and lost. Thus, his village is forfeit.

As the winner, I sentence him to death. Please, Robert, Chris Mansworth's voice can be heard off screen. The show is over. You can all go home now. Back to your parents. It doesn't have to end like this. As Marco cried his terrible tears, Robert looked at Chris off screen and turned back to Marco. The show is over. This is our home now. He brought the machete down. Marco cried out and fell face first to the ground.

Robert fell on him, hitting him with a machete again and again. Blood sprayed from the struggling kid. And when Robert looked back to the camera, his face was splattered in gore. He reached out and the camera went off abruptly. The last episode was only a few minutes. It started with a shaky cam journey through the jungle. The runner was being pursued. I could hear the footsteps behind him.

As the runner got to the shore, he jumped into something and pushed out into the water. The wooden deck of a boat came into view, and as he drifted out, I could hear oars working in the water. He sat the camera on the seat, and as he rode, the faces of children could be seen in the surrounding jungle.

Then everything went dark. The tape clicked, and the TV went back to static. I left it in the VCR and stumbled out the back room. Reggie was sitting behind the counter and locking up at me with something like sympathy. He held something back towards me and I saw. It was my money. I shook my head and stared away from him. I'd bought a ticket and I'd paid the price.

You gonna be okay? He asked. Yeah, so. So, what happened to the kids? They just left them there. Reggie shrugged. The Coast Guard picked Chris Mansworth up two days later. He was drifting in the ocean and looked extremely rattled.

He wouldn't tell them how he had gotten out there or where he'd been. When he got back, he gave the tapes to the studio. And the next time anyone saw him, he was dead. And the kids? The studio never pursued the show. They never sold the aired episodes, and never even tried to air what Chris brought back. They just made the whole thing disappear. I suppose there's an island out there full of kids who went to be on a TV show and never came back.

The parents were likely told there had been an accident or something. The whole thing was hushed up and eventually people forgot. You'll forget one day too, he added, as though it might help. As I lay in bed now, trying to forget the horrible things I saw. I hope I do forget, but I doubt I ever will. So, if you happen to find an island out in the Pacific, maybe one full of locals that just don't look right, turn your boat back out to sea.

Those natives are not friendly. Up until last month, I'd spent the last three years working. as a property inspector for a national real estate company. They had over 500 houses across the three-state region I covered, and between me and my boss, Willie, we were supposed to check them all at least once every two months. That meant making sure there were no leaks, no notable wear and tear, no problems with water or electrics where they were turned on,

and of course, making sure no one was getting inside and either squatting or vandalising the owner's property. It wasn't a bad job, and while the work had been described to me as part guard, part plumber and electrician, honestly, it required very little beyond showing up, taking notes and pictures if I saw something that looked weird, and then reporting it to Willie.

Simple stuff we might wind up doing ourselves, but the company had specialists for anything more complex or dangerous. And as for trespasses, I'd never found a single one my entire time working there. But then, eight months ago, I went into a house that was new on our rotation. This wasn't unusual, of course. While some properties seem stuck in some permanent limbo of not being rented or sold, there was a fair amount of turnover with most of them,

and every new two-month rotation inevitably brought some different houses with it. From the outside, this one was a lot of. particularly noteworthy, a single-story ranch house with faded white vinyl siding that went back further than you'd have thought from the street. To quote a common willyism, it had a real ass on it. The yard was in decent shape, though I could already see recommending whoever was cutting it coming by more often before the house started being actively shown. And while it could definitely use a good pressure washing, a circle of the exterior didn't lead me to check off any problem. spots or needs for repair.

Then, I went inside. Opening the door and crossing the threshold into an empty house can feel a variety of ways. Most aren't really noteworthy at all beyond a bit of stale air. Some places are stifling hot or unexpectedly cold, musty or just thick with dust and the stench of roach or mouse droppings drying in the shadows. But this place, when I stepped through the front door, I immediately noticed that the air felt thicker inside. Almost as though I had jumped off the ledge of a pool into water, I was now trying to walk among the bottom. I felt a moment

of panic at the sensation, reaching for the light switch, before remembering that the electrics were still off here. The house had been bought at a foreclosure sale, and it might be weeks or months before the company got around to turning utilities back on and putting the house with one of its agents. Mottering her curse, I dug out my flashlight and turned it on. It was early afternoon outside, but you couldn't tell it in here. Everything was murky and grey, the beam from the light seeming dim and feeble as it pushed out at the shadows crouched in every corner.

Grumbling, I pushed my nerves down. I'd gotten over the unease of going into empty houses in the first couple of weeks of doing this job, and I wasn't going to feel. freak myself out now. I wouldn't find anything different in this house than I had in a thousand others. And if I did, all I had to do was leave and call Willie. Not a big deal. Walking down the front hall, I turned to the right.

Brownish-looking carpet and bare yellow walls. No sign of any damage or anything having been left behind. This place had 12 rooms according to the sheet, and I tended to work. front to back. So, before going through the door in the back wall of that room, I crossed over the main hall to the left-hand room. This was a smaller room, also brown carpet, green walls, nothing of note. Moving to the door on the far side, there should be one more room, a larger living room area that, I paused in the doorway as my flashlight landed on something. It was an old rocking horse with a wooden body and rockers of peaties.

black paint and a molded plastic head that was faded with age, but still identifiable as a snarling face of a black stallion. The leather saddle on the back of the horse is what stood out the most. Unlike the rest, it seemed to be in very good shape, with the luster of the dark brown skin seeming to almost glow under my light. The embossed golden lettering above the yellow stirrup was legible even at a distance. I felt my stomach tightened slightly. Something wasn't right here.

It wasn't uncommon to find some trash or other things that the house cleaners had missed on a first inspection. But how would they miss something like this? Stepping back through the other room and into the hall, I reached for my notepad and hesitated. Normally I would write down things as I found them, but I didn't want to here. I didn't like the sound of focusing my attention on anything other than my surroundings. Of making... I hesitated and then forced myself to finish my thought. Of making myself vulnerable.

Clenching my jaw, I stepped further down the hallway. I knew I was being stupid, but it didn't matter. Nerves had me now. I needed to finish doing a quick sweep of the house and get out. The fourth room, empty. The fifth and sixth were the same. Then, in the seventh room, there was a television sitting in the middle of the floor. A pretty old one, with a small curved screen of thick glass surrounded by a heavy wooden cabinet.

How the hell had they left this sitting here? I felt a dull sense of fascination looking at it. It really was old and kind of interesting. Probably an antique that might be worth something to somebody, even if it didn't work out. Grouching down, I gave the large metal channel doll her twist, each number between one and nine making a satisfying click as it ratcheted by. Shining my light back across the front, I stopped when I reached the screen.

The glass. The glass had lines, ridges in it, six lines trailing down as though someone had run their fingers through clay. Though these marks looked as though, they'd been made by something melting their way into the glass as they went. I shivered and stood back up. My momentarily forgotten fear back stronger now. It was nothing.

Plenty of houses had weird stuff left behind, right? Still, I was ready to be done and get out. Glancing around the room again, I moved on. Room 8, clear. Room 9. The last one on the right side of the house, so far as I'd. could tell had some peeling wallpaper, but no signs of water damage or mould behind it. I crossed back over the main hall into room ten, and at first I saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Then I turned to look in the corner and saw the naked man crouch there, grinning at me. In that first moment of shock and panic, I took him in fully. His head was crudely shaved, with thin patches of hair still whispered. from a scalp covered in cuts and scabs. His face was thin and lean, except around his eyes, which were red and puffy. Even now, as he stretched, cracked lips wide to show me twin rows of grey teeth. He was crying, his body shuddering with a faint sound somewhere between laughter and a sob. Oh no, I know. The next moment I was running for the front door, and I didn't stop until I was back outside

and in my locked car. I called 911 then, waiting in my car for the cop to come and get out the trespasser. It took half an hour before someone showed up and when they did, they looked skeptical. I'd made the mistake of telling 911 that not only was there some guy in the house

but he was naked and crying. At the time, I thought it'd make them come quicker, but instead it had made them think it was some kind of practical joke. The officer, was polite, though, asking me a few questions before telling me to wait it outside. I could tell by his expression, he didn't think he'd find anything, and as soon as he stepped back out, I could see that his suspicions had been confirmed. Still, when he came back to the car,

I forced myself to ask if he saw the guy. He offered a slight frown. No, no sign of anyone in there now. He gestured toward me and the car. He gestured toward me and the car. car. You've been here the entire time you said, since you left the house. When I nodded, his frowned deepened slightly. Well, this is the only door in and out that I saw, so unless he climbed out a window, I don't know where he would have went. He let the unspoken implication hang in the air for the moment, before giving a shrug. Still, let us know if you have any further problems and they'll send someone back out. I wanted to argue. to try to convince him.

But I realized there was no point. What could I say? And what did it matter? I was done for now. And when I talked to Willie, he'd know if there was anything else we should do. He'd been working that job for over 30 years, and there was very little he hadn't seen after all.

Where did you hear about it, kid? The internet. I stared at Willie in confusion. We're at Breckons, a diner we met at once a week to eat breakfast and compare notes, and I'd just finished telling him about the house and what I'd found there. I'd known his expression had changed as I talked, but at the time I'd chalked it up to him being concerned about what I'd seen. Now that I was done though, he seemed not only tense, but almost angry.

What are you talking about? He took a sip of coffee as he studded me over the cup. Look, I'm not calling you a liar, but if this is some prank you're trying to pull, just tell me now. I won't be mad. Where did you hear about the hollow house? I looked at him blankly. Willie, I don't know what you're talking about, I swear. What's the hollow house?

Sitting down the coffee, he sighed. I believe you. You're a good kid, and I've never known you to be a liar. And hell, I don't know if anyone talks about it on the internet in the first. place. I just figured that it might be on there somewhere like every other damn thing. He gave a small shrug. I learned about it at first the same as you. 20, maybe 25 years ago. I went into that house, on the outside, looked just like the rest, and then I saw the TV. Back then, it wasn't so old-looking as it would seem now, with everybody having giant

things they hang on their wall. But it was still old and hard. that it had been overlooked. I felt my eyes widen. You mean you saw this say? He cut me this lock that said hold off asking questions until he was done explaining something to me. I fell silent. Rubbing his eyebrows, he went on.

Then I saw the rocking horse, just like you described, down to the Nick's best deed and everything. By this point, I was starting to get skittish, but I was quick to get spooked back then. and I told myself that's all this was. His hand trembled slightly as it trailed down to clasp the other on the table. But then, I saw the man.

We didn't have cell phones back then, and they encouraged us to threaten people and bully them out when we could. Not hurt them, but make it seem like we might. He shook his head as he looked down and had his coffee. The guy just kept on staring at me, laughing and crying at the same time. just eyes locked on mine while I got in his face and yelled told him I get rough if I had to Willie gave a bitter chuckle

all while try not to be myself he brought his gaze up to mine that's when the guy's eyes shifted away from me he was looking at something behind me now in spite of myself I couldn't help but break in and ask what was it what was behind you will his face visibly pay No, I don't want to talk about that.

Looking away, he licked his lips. Anyway, I got out, went into all the buddy of mine that worked for the company what I'd seen. He'd heard of it before too, and he knew what people called it. The Hollow House. I frowned. Okay, if this is all true and you knew this place was messed up or haunted or whatever, why didn't you warn me before I went in there? He gave me a little smile and shrewd me.

chuck his head. No, you don't understand. It's not the same house. It's never the same house, at least on the outside. Never in the same spot. Same past own as nothing. Believe me, I've looked into it some and over the years I've talked to half a dozen people that have run across it too. Every one of them describes seeing the same stuff on the inside, but they're in different houses all around the country over the past 30 or 40 years when it happened. Sitting back, I let out a slow breath. How is that even possible? What is it?

Willie spread his hands out and gave a deeper shrug. I have no idea. Not keen on finding out either. Leaning in, he lowered his voice slightly. That's why, the couple of times I've run across it since, as soon as I know where I'm at, I beat feet back out. And from then on, that place gets my stamp of approval. without me ever going closer than riding by to make sure it hasn't burned down.

He held my gaze a moment. And there's exactly what you need to do too. I nodded, but I could already feel my stomach tightening. I... I don't know, man. I can't lose this job. Even if it's all real, maybe it's just creepy, right? Like, you've never gotten hurt from it, and... I trailed off as Willie unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled it up. The first time I found the hollow house, I left with this.

Just above his left elbow was a scar. The flesh there dark and hard, like a shadow had been tattooed across his skin, in the shape of a grasping hand. He reached over now and gripped my arm. It's not just a spooky story, kid, and you just got lucky this time. The five or six people that have told me about going into the hollow house, I've heard another dozen stories over the years

about people that disappeared doing this job. How many of those do you think went into one of these places and didn't get out quick enough? I was nodding now, terrified. Maybe it was how scared I looked that caused him to make the offer. Look, I'll just adjust our schedules, okay? Put that house in my rotation.

I snapped back a little out of my shock. Willie, you don't have to... He was already raising his hand to stop me. No, no, it's fine. I'm used to it, and I know the signs well enough now to get out fast. Besides, I don't plan on stepping foot in that place. And as long as I've been here, no one's going to hassle me if they find a problem I don't report.

He pointed at me. Not that you can let your guard down. If you stick with this job, you'll run across it again at some point. Sighing, I nodded. Yeah, sure. Sure, but... Are you sure? When he looked at me this time,

he only met my eyes for a second before looking away. Yeah, kid, I'll be fine. For the next few months, everything went back to normal. I knew from the schedule that Willie would have visited the hollow house twice, but he never mentioned it,

and neither did I. I was grateful to not have to go there myself or risk making my inspections, but I felt guilty for passing the risk onto him. Still, every time I went into a new house, there was now a moment of fear and tension while I tested the air and looked for signs of something being off. Nothing ever was, but that nervous anticipation never left me entirely, and that was enough to take the edge of the guilt at what Willie was doing for me, especially since I felt sure he wasn't actually going

inside. The next month, a new corporate policy came down from the National Office. To ensure that every property was being reviewed thoroughly, we were to take at least three photos of the interior of every house we inspected, including at least one that had a laminated property form in the shot. These forms were in every house, listing the address, property ID number, and various other details like square footage and local agent conduct information. Every form was unique and were usually taped to the counter in the kitchen, meaning that you couldn't just use a form from another house. My stomach dropped as soon as I got the email. And when I checked the schedule, I saw that Willie was supposed to be checking the hollow house again two weeks later.

Enough time for me to talk to him when we did our weekly meetup, for us to come up with an answer. Or if not, for me to at least offer to take the house. house back. No, kid, it's fine. I'll figure something out. I frowned. Look, I don't want to go in there either. Maybe I can fake the pictures, right?

Make a new copy of the form and take a picture of it taped to a different counter in a different house, not like they'd ever know. He looked thoughtful for a second as he considered it, and then shook his head. Won't work. They don't store the info on these forms in any computers we have access to, so we'd have no way of knowing some of the stuff like the local realtor that's listed without seeing the form. Besides, I know the way the suits think. They started those forms five years ago, made a big deal of putting them in the same place in the house and making sure every place

had one. I wondered why at the time when they could just give the info to us and the real estate agents. Glaring, he stabbed at a piece of egg. What do you want to bet they were already planning this? Took pictures of the forms and the counters. so if they ever decided to do what they're doing now, they'd have something to catch fakes. Isn't that kind of paranoid? Well, he shrugged. Only if I'm wrong.

And I don't put much past a man looking to squeeze a dollar. Hell, I don't think it's a bad idea if I'm honest. He sighed. Just damn inconvenient. Well, I mean, I can go in and do it then. It can't be bad in there all the time, right? How else were they ever put the forms in? Sell these houses.

His eyes flicked up to mine. I don't know that they ever do sell them. I've kept an eye on the ones I've found over the years, and best I can tell, none of them have ever actually sold. They just drop off the lists after a while. No idea why. And I'm not going to look if I don't have to. He nodded as he chewed.

Still, you're right. It can't be like that all the time. Maybe I'll hit it lucky, and I'll take a bunch of shots of their damned form when I'm in there, enough to dole out until I've retire. Stomach in knots, I pushed out the question I didn't want to ask. Are you sure? Willie hesitated, and in that brief pause, he looked frail and old. When he spoke, his voice was steady but low, barely above a whisper.

Yeah, kid, I'm sure. I wanted to call Willie after his next check of the hollow house, but I held off. I was going to be meeting him for breakfast the next day, we'll make it into a bigger deal than it was already. Maybe the house had gone back to normal, and either way, he'd have let me know if something had come up, unless he never got back out. I tried to push the thought away, but I couldn't. Finally, I gave in, calling him that night. The phone rang several times, and each second I could feel it getting harder to breathe.

What if something really had... Hello? Willie, thank God, man. I... Sorry, I just knew you had the house today and wanted to make sure you're okay. Huh? Oh, yeah, it went fine. I sat down as relief flooded through me.

Good, good, so... You got the pictures he needed? It all went fine. I'm just real tired. Going to beg off the meeting tomorrow, if that's all right. I frowned. Other than one time when he was down with the flu for two weeks, Willie, I never missed one of our breakfasts.

You sure, man? Need me to bring him anything? No, I'll be fine, thanks. We need to go now. I went to say more, but I heard the click as he hung up. I worried about him over the weekend, but it wasn't until I got a phone call the next Tuesday that I knew something was really wrong.

It was from the regional office, asked if I'd heard from Willie in the last few days, that he hadn't submitted a report since the middle of the week before and they couldn't get him on the phone. Heart in my throat, I told them no, but as soon as I got back into town that afternoon, I'd go by and check on him. Willie lived in a two-story house on the east side of town. The neighbourhood had gone down in recent years, but Willie always kept his place in great shape. He told me once that he'd been terrible about keeping up the place

when his wife was alive. Too much like his job, he said. Now that she was gone, and with no kids or grandkids, he had lots of empty time to fill. So he decided on doing about. better job taking care of the house she had loved so much. I knocked on the door twice before ringing the bell and I was starting to wonder if he was home

despite his car being in the driveway. Hitting the doorbell a second time I called out Willie, you're in there, you sick or something? Still, no answer. Walking back off the porch, I debated what to do. I didn't want to bother him, but I didn't want want him laying in there sick or dying either. Maybe I should call the... My eyes landed on a rock at the edge of the flower bed, or something that looked like a rock at least. Crouching down,

I picked it up and gave a brief, humourless laugh. It was a hideer key. Sliding back the bottom, I saw the house key nested inside the moulded plastic base. Willie might get mad, but so be it. it. I wanted to make sure he was okay. Fishing the key out, I went back up to the door and put it in. The key turned easily, and calling out to Willie that I was coming in, I started to open the door. I had only opened it afoot when I met resistance from the other side. Looking up, I saw Willie's haggard face peering at me from the gap. His eyes were red and wild as he stared out, and his skin had his skin had his head. sickly sweat sheen glow to it.

He really was sick. Hey, sorry to bother you, man. You look terrible, are you get away? His voice was a hoarse croak, and it didn't take long for me to see why. Black marks, the shape of long fingers, banded his neck like a collar. I felt anger and fear welling up in my chest. Willie, what the hell, man? Did someone hurt you?

He squeezed his eyes shut, tears forming at their corners. No, just get away from here, kid. Don't come back. With that, he stepped back and shoved the door shut. I could have stopped him, but I'd been transfixed by what I saw behind him in that brief glimpse into his house. By the time I realized what was happening, he'd already locked the door and slid a dead bolt, and my yelling and knocking didn't get any further response. I went back home and then called the cops, asked them to do a welfare check.

When I called back a couple of hours later, they said they'd gone by and spoken to Willie, and he was fine other than being bundled up, said he was fighting off a bug and stayed cold all the time, but that he didn't need them, or his nosy co-worker bugging him all hours of the day and night. The cop then mentioned to me that 911 was for actual emergencies and that I should probably just leave the old guy alone. And that's what I did.

Willie never came back to work and after a few more weeks I quit myself. I reached the point where I couldn't go into any new house and it was only a matter of time before they fired me anyway. I didn't give up on Willie

because of what the cop said, or even because Willie told me to go away. I tell myself that those would be reasons enough, but I know better. Willie was a good guy and my friend, and I should go back and check on him again, whether he wants me to or not. But when my guilt is at its worst, when I'm closer driving over to the east side of town or giving Willie a call, something always stops me. The memory of that half-second glimpse into his house

and the picture-perfect image of what I saw there gently swaying behind him. A faded black rocking horse with a brown leather saddle polished to a high sheen and between the seat and the stirrups fine gold lettering so bright I could read it across the two-thous thick gloom.

Nick's best, Steed. As a kid, I was scared of pretty much everything. At night, I'd see faces moving in the wallpaper. I'd see branches slither like snakes. Piles of clothes turned to slump bodies. Lamps look like heads, and the front of cars grinned at me with sinister intent.

I could also hear them. A creaking door would sound like a groan. The wind would scream, the floorboards would breathe heavy sighs. To me, there were ghouls, ghosts and monsters around every corner. Needless to say, I was a nervous kid. Turns out it wasn't just an active imagination. I have a condition. It basically boils down to chronic, overactive paradolia.

You know, the thing. we can see faces in cars or shapes of people in trees. That's Baradolia. It is a sort of defense mechanism that humans have evolved to notice camouflage creatures like jaguas and snakes and to discern the sounds of encroaching predators. But to me, it is about 16 times more noticeable than what is normal for the average person. I see things everywhere all the time. Of course, there were treatments.

By age 12, I had tried six different regimens over a total of four years, and the side effects were brutal. Some would make me irritable, while others would make me hyper-focused. One type of medication just straight up put me to sleep. By age 18, I thought I'd never get a job. I was barely dragging myself through school, and there was no way I'd make it through college. I was on a course of drugs that barely kept me together But they gave me these awful ticks

I'd drop things I'd wake up in the middle of the night My leg would shoot out and trip me I was a mess My mom had to cover the stairs and handrails in grip tape A few years ago I had a standing meeting with the county employment services Every Thursday

I hated it On a particularly bad day, my mom had to drive me there. The meds were kicking my ass. She dropped me off at the end of the street, and just in that short walk to the office, I almost tripped into a brick wall. I was so flustered I knocked over a trash can. But for the first time in a couple of years, I had an interview with a potential employer. I didn't think much of her.

She was just some old woman in a warm coat. She introduced herself as Teresa and told me that she'd heard a lot about me. She offered me a... Trial and a hefty one-time payment. I didn't get a clear idea about what I was supposed to do, but she told me that secrecy was part of it. The only demand she had was that I stopped taking my meds. Still feeling the trash smell.

on my pants, I took Teresa up on her offer. On my first day of work, I had no idea what to expect. I'd been off my meds for a week, and I'd barely slept. It was hard to wrap my head around the world as I'd seen it as a kid. I'd see faces in the walls, in the shadows, in the leaves, in patterns, pretty much everywhere. I'd hear voices and screams in every breaking car, crinkling paper and creaking floors. It was hard staying focused, and I was so jumpy I could barely move without flinching. Teresa picked me up in a grey sedan. She was wearing a headset and kept looking over at the GPS.

I noticed her leg was twitching and that she kept biting her lip. She barely looked at me the whole ride. We finally arrived at a small yard, about a 40-minute drive off. the highway. There were two large trailers and a single-story run-down prefab house from the 60s. One of those things were cheap wood panels and matching broken windows. There were eight other vehicles in the yard, four sedans, two vans, a jeep and a bus. They'd set up warning tape, a command tent with laptops and an antenna, spotlights, and half a dozen crates covered with blue tarps.

There were armed men with assault rifles, security personnel with handcuffs, and a couple of medics standing by with first aid kits and a stretcher. I was swarmed as soon as I stepped out of the car. They fitted me with a headset, protective gloves, a heart monitor, and tagged me with a plastic ribbon around my left wrist. All the while, Teresa was just looking around. a bead of sweat stinging her eye. What are we looking at?

She asked. Three, four. Just one, I heard in the headset. We got it early. You got the spot? On sight, she responded. Any blues? No blues.

We're clear. Teresa finally turned to me. She faced me. Put her hands on my shoulders and talked slowly. This, Seems like a lot, she said. All I want you to do is go inside, carefully, and tell me what you see. Why? I asked, what's in there?

I don't know, she sighed. None of us know. But we think you can see it. Is it dangerous? She shook her head. We don't know. We're trying to get to know them. There was a flurry of instructions. I had to sign a waiver.

They took pictures of me from six different angles. They took several blood samples. They took a swab from my tongue, checked my eyes, and fitted me with a pair of safety goggles. Teresa took them from me just seconds later. Nothing around the eyes, she said. You need to see clearly. They asked me to approach the door

while they were running some kind of diagnostic. weapons check, systems check, ready checks. It felt like we were launching a rocket. I could feel my legs shaking. I'm with you all the way, Teresa said over the headset. You can leave at any time. Just tell me what you see. And I really mean what you see.

A countdown began. At zero, the spotlights turned on, and the entire yard turned into a seat. soundless ghost tone. Everyone held their breaths. It was my turn. I stepped inside, a simple one-story house, three rooms, a bathroom, a kitchen. Someone had clearly lived there until recently. There were still clothes flung over a chair in the living room. The power was off, but the pale spotlights coming in through the windows made it feel like I was walking through a hospital waiting room. My heart was pounding out of my chest. I didn't know what to expect.

But this payday could be the boost I needed to get my own place, a paycheck with four zeros, for a single day of work. But standing there, looking into the sterile living room, I was having doubts. What do you see? asked Teresa, notice anything? No, just... Just furniture. A couch, an old TV, a fancy carpet, nothing out of the ordinary. I just walked around, saying out loud what I was seeing.

As the minutes passed, Theresa was getting impatient. These are just things, she said. I need you to tell me what you really see. I entered the bathroom. And immediately felt this... awful feeling in the pit of my stomach. A noise tickled my air. I looked in the bathroom mirror.

I could see something moving behind me. In a heartbeat, I caught a glimpse of a pair of blue eyes. I turned around screaming. Something, something moved. I flung myself backwards, closing the bathroom door with the tip of my fingers. I stumbled, tearing down the shower curtains and crushing a cockroach. Lying there with my feet in the air, I tried to remember to breathe. Rarely have I ever been so scared that I had to remind myself to breathe.

My fingers tingled with adrenaline. Tell me what you saw, Teresa yelled. What's in there? Blue eyes. It had blue eyes. Did you see where it went? I didn't. To the best of my knowledge, it was still outside the door.

Look again, she continued. Look again, then get out! She had to coax me out of the bathtub. She encouraged me, spurred me on, and reminded me that I had to leave that room one way or the other. It probably took them 15 minutes to get me out of the tub, and when they did, I could barely feel my feet. When I finally opened the bathroom door, I couldn't see anyone.

The hallway was empty. I carefully stepped out, looking around, nothing, standing in the middle of the living room. I felt like an idiot. This was exactly what I was taking my medication for, paranoia and sudden bouts of fear. It dawned on me that maybe I was in. influenced by all the people outside and their preparations. I was walking in here expecting to see something. They'd worked me up, so of course I was seeing things.

But then again, there was an odd painting on the wall that I hadn't paid attention to earlier. It was the strangest thing. It was a sort of thrift store painting, showing two women walking across a bridge on a hot summer's day. It was sort of generic, but I'd been hyper-villigent when I first stepped in. You know that feeling when you say a word over and over so many times that it starts sounding like a noise? That's the feeling that fell over my eyes. The picture started to blur and disappear, turning into swirling colours. And there, in that blur,

I saw those blue eyes. There were small blue dots in the water on the sides of the bridge in the painting. That's what I'd seen. And there, I'd seen a face. Something blending into my sight, disappearing. And for a second, I knew for certain that I hadn't seen this painting when I first stepped inside. And now it knew that I could see it. I felt it.

I slowly started to back out. There's something in the painting, I whispered, in the living room. You sure? Teresa asked. Absolutely sure? Absolutely. Get out. I rounded the corner and heard the floorboards creak.

I could no longer see the painting, and I could sense something. something move. Backing out of the front door and into the cool autumn air, I could feel hands on my shoulder. Armed men pulled me back and paramedics started to check my eyes with flashlights. They asked me all sorts of personal questions, like my name, my mother's made a name and the name of the president. I was told to lay down as I heard a team breach the house with stun guns, cattle prods, nets and a crate. Playing the there and feeling the pressure subside. I just cried and laughed. I didn't even notice

Teresa sitting down next to me. I was given a cold drink and a pill, and I took it without question. You did good, she said, you're done, you're done. What was that? What's in there? Something only a special mind can see. That was my first time working with Theresa. Over the coming years, I will be called in about once or twice a month, and the pay I got from those few days were enough to get me out to my parents' house. Teresa would check in with me weekly, and I had to submit to regular checkups, but more often than not, I was completely off the leash.

I started to learn a bit more about the company I was working for and what they were doing. I started getting payments from Hatchet Biotechnica, the subsidiary of Hatchet Pharmaceuticals. My official title was contractor, a title that was repeated like a name. Teresa started going into greater details on what to look for and how to act. But that first mission was a sort of test to prove myself. I had no idea what I was actually providing, but it felt like my tendency to discern patterns and seeing dangers helped me along. I learned a bit more about their procedures. For example, they were adamant about, quote, checking for blues.

This meant surveying the nearby area to look for some kind of infection, usually taking the form of miscolored flowers, most often blue. But not always. Sometimes tulips, most often sunflowers. Once, they just found a bunch of teeth sticking out of the wall. Whenever they checked for blues, this is what they would look for. Something overtly strange and unnatural. When something like this was found, the whole mission would be called off, and they would use controlled explosives to just take out the entire area.

In more populated areas, they said, up tents and used flamethrowers. I remember once the week before Christmas when six men with flamethrowers were called in to burn down a greenhouse. I'll never forget the way the flames reflected off their visors. To them, it all just looked like flames.

But I saw something else. I saw bodies breathing in the flames. I heard screams in the shattered glass and in the charred remains of melted plastic, I'd see painted faces glaring at me with hateful black eyes. Up until a few months ago, I had worked a total of 33 cases over two and a half years. Every case, I'd step into a location and look for one to three things hiding in plain sight. Up until that point, I still had no idea what they actually were.

Sometimes I'd catch a glimpse of something running past. me or see a pair of blue eyes looking at me from across the room. Every time I just reported it and left. A chair, a fridge, a suspicious window. Hell, once it was a music box. This time, we were just coming up to a house. It was a rainy autumn evening and the area was already set up when we got there. Missora for sale sign, knocked over by one of the jeeps who'd taken a wide

turn. I got suited up, blood samples, plaster, rap, all that jazz. It was set up to be just another job. Although I was still nervous. I was getting better. No blues? asked Teresa. None, said one of the armed men. We're looking at a single tango. You sure, Teresa squinted. First report said six. Secondary reading says one. We might have runners. Notified Gapagos, she sighed, put him on the hunt. She turned to me with a smile, tapping me on the shoulder. In and out. You got this.

I got this, I repeated. Yeah, standard routine. Countdown, spotlights, game on. It felt like stepping onto a stage. As I walked through the door and saw my shadow stretch out across the floor, I felt like a hunter, that I was the one to fear, and that whatever stayed in this house tried to hide for good reason. The floor is crooked, I noted, strange place.

Are you sure? Yeah, I nodded, definitely. I stayed in myself and started checking the rooms one by one. I waited for that strange feeling to emerge. my eyes seeing through the obvious and seeing the picture beneath a picture, the blue eyes emerging from nothing, and the patterns of shadowy figures growing clearer. Just relaxing and expecting that feeling to wash over me

was enough to put me at ease. But I could still feel a primal part of me tickling my nerves, expecting me to panic. But nothing happened. I checked the kitchen, the living room, the bedroom. There was nothing. Just a strange, crooked floor, empty rooms, and the echo of my own footsteps. An empty guest bedroom with a single window.

Through it, I imagined scowling faces in the trees outside. Twenty minutes passed, and I got nothing. I reported to Teresa, and she assured me, we were still getting readings from inside the house. Something was still in there with me, but I hadn't seen anything. I went through cycles of denial, fear and anger over and over. What was I missing? Finally, I just sat down in the middle of the living room floor.

I scratched my eyes, sighed and tried to relax. Teresa, I'm not feeling it. Are you sure? There was no response. Teresa? Yeah, she responded absin-mindedly. Yeah, no, I... We're good.

Hold on for a minute. We're good, I asked. What do you mean we're good? Again, no response. I stomped around for another ten minutes before I went up to a window facing the front yard. It was hard to see the glare of the spotlight. Teresa, I'm coming out. The place is empty.

As soon as I opened the front door, I saw two dozen faces fixed on me. Maybe they were surprised to see me, but it got the sense that there was something else. I could tell something was off. They all looked at me with strange expressions, some neutral, some smiling ear to ear. One of the paramedics just stared at me with some strange expressions. slack-jawed terror. It was as if they didn't know what to feel or how to express it. A hole sunk through my stomach. I got that hollow feeling as my eyes glazed over like I was staring at something false, something hiding a pattern. This was the sense I'd been looking for inside,

and now I was feeling it. In the far back, I saw Teresa. She stepped to out from behind a jeep, smiling ear to ear. Behind the shape of her, her eyes emerged, glowing with a cold blue. One by one, their eyes flared up in a blue glow. And there, in a moment, my paranoid sight registered human-like shapes in the grass around them. Headless, mauled bodies, impostors, lookalikes, mimics, nightmare beings. having tricked us into a trap. One by one, smiles started creeping across their faces, rows of impossible sharp teeth, hiding long tongues.

Their fingers grown longer, the necks elongating. They were losing their disguise, and facing me, head on, unafraid. Nothing was said out loud, not a word, But to me, it was as if the wind itself was screaming for me. To run. I slammed the door behind me and ran. Faces were coming out of the walls. Door handles turning into hands, grasping at my clothes.

My distorted face, reflecting in the windows and mirrors with jawless grins. I couldn't blink. Every heartbeat, a new horror forced my eyes open. There were more doors than I could remember. There were more windows than there should be. The kitchen suddenly had a skylight, and there were four fridges. Countless paintings had appeared in the master bedroom, depicting cruel and blood-drenched horrors.

They were already here, trying to surround me, and my mind was racing to remember what was real and what wasn't. Rushing to the back of the guest bedroom, I remembered there being only one window. Now, there were two. I had to roll the dice, take a guess, do something. As I grabbed the window frame, I imagined teeth slamming into my hands, tongues licking across my palms, white smiles sating their hunger. But this time, it was just my imagination.

I burst through the window and took off running into the woods. Through the night I just kept going My chest hurt from holding the screams in Without my medication Everything in the dark looked like something reaching for me Trying to eat me Trying to grab me Creaking branches sounded like laughter

And howling winds were screams I must have run for hours When my foot got caught between two rocks As I tumbled to the ground Twisting my ankle I saw them descend on me. I felt their fingers scratching me. I writhed on the ground, screaming for them to just let me go, to just please, please let me go.

But after a few seconds, I realized I'd just scratch myself on the underbrush. There was no one there. I was safe. I broke down crying, trying to ignore the twisted face reflecting off the full moon of Eventually, I made my way home. There were no messages waiting for me. All my work numbers had been taken offline. All ways to contact them were just gone.

And there was no information on the firm that hired me. Hattrip biotechnica exists only on paper. There's no location, no contact info, and no names attached. It's all a front. I haven't heard from Teresa since. I think that whoever I've been working for has just assumed that I'm dead. That's why I decided to share this anonymously. Those who know who I am can reach out to me, and for those who don't.

I just have a word of warning. Be observant. Trust your intuition. It might. Just save your life.