Creepy - Something Strange Happened During A Routine Power Outage

Episode Date: July 1, 2024

Written and Narrated by: Alicia Atkins***Bonus Episode: "House of Rules"***Story link: https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/House_of_Rules***https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/***Support the show at patreon.com/creepypod***Sound design by: Pacific Obadiah***Title music by: Alex Aldea Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

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Now, this is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy. Creepasas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Creepy presents. Something strange happened during a routine power outage.

written and narrated by Alicia Atkins I still can't explain it what I saw and heard that night I want to preface this by saying that I have no history of auditory or visual hallucinations nor was I under the influence of any mind-altering substance I was a little sleep-deprived, sure but who isn't when you're working the graveyard shift?

That's besides the point, however. I've never been much of a writer, but I will try to lay out some background. I work the night shift as security for a trauma center hospital. It's a job I've enjoyed for quite a few years now. Between joking with the med staff and dealing with crazy, weird, and sometimes funny patients, it always keeps your mind active. Every job has its routines, though, and one of ours was the routine power outage. It happened twice a year, to test the generators and other equipment,

needed in the event we actually did lose power. During these routine power outages, business was fairly normal, such as walking patrols, screening people with a metal detector, vehicular patrols, etc. But there were some exceptions. For instance, all cameras on campus were down. Because of this, we always had at least four extra officers on top of our full crew of eight. Every important piece of medical equipment needed to be plugged into red outlets. Last but not least, half the lights inside and outside the buildings were out. In areas with patience, most of the lights stayed on. But in less inhabited spaces, less and less lights were deemed necessary. There's nothing quite like walking down a half-lit corridor,

while the air around you is still, silent. Normally, no matter where you are in the hospital, you're always surrounded by noise. Machines with almost musical tones, announcements coming from above on the intercoms, patients with their coughing or constant murmuring to their loved ones, and even the subtle ambience caused by the central air system, or a distant sound of a bed being pushed and repositioned. I know that to some, it may seem strange. I know it did to me when I first started, given my history of finding hospitals kind of spooky and uncomfortable.

After a few years, though, the sounds and smell are almost like a security blanket. like it, the constant that will always be there, no matter what high-stressed situation you're dealing with. The power outages, while strange within themselves, break that comfort, if only by a small amount to sum. If you don't know what to expect, it's almost daunting the first time it happens. It always builds up, with an announcement every hour when it's four hours until showtime. Then, the shoe finally drops. The last announcement, calls out above, and it's like the hospital itself seems to heave a sigh, for lack of a better word. It's almost like the world slows. This event is something I've worked through at least a

dozen times, mildly and convenient, but not terrible. That is, until this latest outage. It was a fairly chilly night, freezing to some that worked in our southern town. There was going to be a gully washer of a storm rolling in since, in the south, we get the joy of cold rain and potential tornadoes instead of snow. Maybe that's why they chose that night in January to do the power down, instead of waiting till further in the year. Who knows? I had just started my walkthrough of the southern section of the hospital, doing my usual checking of doors and seeing how the med staff were doing. The next portion of my patrol was the basement. I've surprisingly never been creeped out by the basement, even when walking by the morgue. Others have been, though. I would always chuckle

when walking with someone, whether it was a new officer or a visitor, because they would inevitably comment how creepy and desolate it was to walk the labyrinth that was the basement. I would tell new officers that soon, they would know the place like the back of their hand and would adapt to the new surroundings. To the visitors, I would tell them that you get used to it. Sure, I wasn't immune to the feeling, that creeping sensation. But for me, it wasn't the basement that caused that reaction in me, but instead it was the admin tower, the tower being silent and void of life during our shift. What I wouldn't have given to have been in the admin tower that night, instead of the basement, though. The power outage announcement rang out overhead, but a few minutes later,

the main lights were still on, their fluorescent glow just as bright as always. I was checking the loading dock door when the lights finally kicked off. That was to be expected. What I wasn't expecting was to be plunged into total darkness. I was in mid-step when this happened, and it caused me to stumble. I threw my arms out to balance myself, and, once my footing was secure once more, I reached for the flashlight on my belt. I breathed the sigh of relief as the flashlight kicked to life. Now, I'm not ashamed to admit this, but what I'm not ashamed of this.

while I'm not afraid of the basement, I am afraid of the dark. It usually surprises people when they learn that little fun fact about myself, given that I've always been a night owl and love anything horror. Basically, it comes down to not being able to see. I have poor night vision and can hardly stand straight when I close my eyes in the shower, let alone trying to navigate in complete darkness. Plus, I've always had this fear in the back of my mind of something. being in the dark, seeing my fumbling form with no issue, while I strained to see anything,

helpless to my situation. Hell, maybe all the horror I've consumed over the years really did do something to my psyche. Who knows? Thanks to my flashlight, though, I now had my sense of security back. I walked for a few minutes, still going about my routine of checking doors, while awaiting the emergency lights to come on. I went on like this for a few more minutes still, until I decided to use my radio to contact their dispatch center.

596 to base. It was common courtesy to wait for them to respond back, just in case they were busy with a phone call or what have you, and couldn't listen to radio traffic at that time. I waited a moment before trying again. 596 to base. Is everything 10-4? Still, I got no response. Even if they were busy, they would normally call back to inform all officers to stand by with radio traffic.

But what greeted me was utter silence. 596 any officer? Radio check? No reply came. I looked at my radio screen, but saw no issues. I had signal, and I was on the correct channel. It was definitely weird. We've never had issues like this with our radios in the basement. Hell, the dispatch center was even located in the basement, so there shouldn't have been anything interfering with the signal.

No worries, I thought. I'll just stop by there since I'm down here anyways. I can check on Judy and maybe get an ETA on when the emergency lights are coming on down here. From the loading dock to base was about a three-minute walk, but it seemed like the walk stretched on in the illuminated darkness. During this walk, I started noticing what sounded like, whispering. It was very faint, almost impossible to make out, but discernible in the otherwise deathly silent hallway. I brushed it off at first, thinking that perhaps the sound was actually

the last of the air leaving the powered down air system, or maybe even my tinnitus. It wasn't stomping, though. Instead, it was ever so slightly increasing in volume. I tried to brush it off, or block it out like I did Christmas music when I used to work retail. When I tried these methods, though, I felt a buzzing, itching sensation in my skull. I physically cringed at the feeling and started picking up my pace. I knew I was starting to freak myself out for no reason, but I told myself that I would start calming down once I reached dispatch and could see a familiar face. I glanced at my watch and then stopped dead in my tracks.

I... I had been walking for 15 minutes. What the fuck? How is that even possible? I had a smart watch so it should be synced with the time of my cell phone. That's when it hit me. Of course. Why hadn't I tried to use my phone to call dispatch earlier? I knew the phone at base would still be working since the landline was plugged into a red outlet.

I eagerly pulled my phone out of my pocket and... and practically grinned when I saw I had service. The thought occurred to me that no one had tried to call or text me, though. That didn't deter me, but it did make me wonder why. I had been M.I.A. for at least 30 minutes now, and I hadn't heard them trying to call me on the radio. I didn't care, though. I pulled up the number for bass and hit the call button.

But, to my dismay, it didn't even ring once before it played a robotic voice, informing me that my call could not be completed. I then tried to call my supervisor directly on his phone, but was met with the sound of breathy but harsh whispers. My heart sank, and I dropped the phone before snatching my radio off my belt. 596 to any available unit. I cried in desperation. If I could just run into anyone, security or not,

I could laugh this off, chalk it up to the dark messing with my nerves and calm my pounding heart. In a cruel twist of fate, I got half of what I wanted. My racing heart almost stopped when I heard the now familiar, dissonant whispers, now louder and slightly clear, coming from the small speaker of my handheld radio. In frustration, I turned the damn thing off, but it wouldn't stay off for long. Without the whispers, the silence was deafening, somehow even louder than the frantic beating of my heart.

I thought I was having a panic attack, and my vision started warping to a tunnel shape. But with a renewed sense of terror, I realized that it wasn't my vision failing, but my flashlight. The beam, my only savior at this point, was shutting down, slowly, almost as if mocking me, until it finally extinguished. My breasts grew ragged as I fell to my knees, now feeling the ground with my hands in a desperate attempt to locate my discarded cell phone. I felt a glimmer of hope return when I felt the familiar phone case. But that was quickly dashed when I realized that my phone was completely dead.

I didn't know if it was from being dropped to the floor unceremoniously or what. All I knew is that, the way I saw it, I had three options laid out before me. Option number one. I could stay where I was currently. Eventually, either the lights would come back on in all their glory. or someone was bound to be looking for me. This choice meant that, in a way, I was giving up, just accepting my fate and embracing the darkness.

I didn't like option one. Option two, I used the walls as sort of a guideline, like the ones they use in those regions where the snow is harshest. I knew, for the most part, how many doors there were on each wall, and that most of the doors had a sign with its name on it, in raised letters. This option was all right, but not ideal.

If something went wrong, if I got mixed up or had to switch walls because of an obstacle, I could potentially get all turned around and end up wandering down there for God knows how long. Which left me with option number three. I turned my radio back on. I tried to rationalize that the whispers were probably just something my mind imagined to combat the lack of noise down here.

here. Also, if bass got our radio's back working, even if I could only hear calls come from the radio, it would help ease my scattered mind. It helped me figure out what the hell was going on. There was also the added bonus that the screen of the radio would emit light, enough light that my eyes would hopefully adjust to the darkness, and make things a fraction easier to make my way through. I tentatively turned the knob to bring life back to the radio. My pupils immediately began to drink in the low light that the radio brought. My ears, however, parked up, and to my dismay, the whispers were back in full force. I fought within myself to not panic, and pushed myself forward within the hall.

My legs reluctantly complied, and I was off. I took the same route that should have led me to base. I don't know how long I walked. But I can tell you that I never got that far. My body felt like it had been walking for the better part of two hours. My feet aching. My breasts coming out quick and heavy. I changed course once I realized that this plan wasn't working out quite like I had hoped.

I took a different hallway, located on the backside of the cafeteria, that led to the service elevators in a stairwell. But the hallway, it never ended. It was as if someone. had spawned an infinite hallway. The door that should have led to the elevators never coming into view. I felt as if I was doomed to forever walk this hall, like a rat, whose only purpose in life is to run through a never-ending maze to reach an unattainable crumb of cheese while undergoing

countless tests. My knees and feet ached, the kind of ache that I usually feel five or six hours into my shift. And the whispers. God, the never-ending, fucking whispers. They were constantly getting louder, little by little, while the words only became clear here and there. Most of the time, the words sounded like garbled gibberish. But I began to pick the words out and eventually put together a few phrases, such as, follow me

follow me road to end in the clearest sentence of all we've got something to show you I felt nervous giggles bubble up in my throat and escape my mouth as I marched on

like an old tinker toy that kept being wound up by a merciless child though it felt as if my mind was slowly unraveling itself I began to pick up on a pattern during my infinity march. The whispers got louder and made more sense

whenever I passed one door in particular. The one door you would not want to go through during a power outage. The morgue. Even though I had been at this job for a few years, I had only stepped foot into the morgue a handful of times.

Being security, we didn't have much need to go in there. And admittedly, we didn't really focus on the camera in there either. The door was always locked, and only two departments had the key to it. Whenever a body was picked up or dropped off, it was one person's job to lock or unlock the door, check the information on the bodies, check equipment, etc. Everyone pretty much avoided that door, which wasn't hard since it was the only door in the basement to sport a red biohazard

sticker on its wooden panel. It never freaked me out in the past to walk past that door, never gave it a second glance. You get used to the macabre dance of death when you respond to enough code blues or a gunshot victim that doesn't make it. But in that moment, upon that realization, I was absolutely petrified. My whole body trembled,

and I could feel goosebumps on every exposed section of my skin. Why is this happening? Why me? Why this place? questions that flitted in and out of my mind when I could form thoughts. Though my mind was screaming no, my body moved against my will. My feet continued onward until the door was to my left. My body turned, and with a shaky hand, I reached out and grasped the doorknob.

While my logical side was screaming, no, my curiosity worked in accordance with my body. A small part of me wanted questions to be answered, no matter the cost. The doorknob twisted, and I pushed myself into the open doorway, mentally commenting that the door should have been locked, and cursing my own luck that it wasn't. The door shut with a soft click behind me as soon as I was fully into the entryway of the morgue. This entry room was harsh, knocking the breath out of me with the bone-chilling cold, temperature. I held my radio in front of me like a cross, ready to use its dim light as a poor man's flashlight, but realized with sinking dread that it was dead. I could still hear the whispers, sounding as if someone was right next to me, playing that telephone game. Whispers that

were crystal clear now. They told me the most awful things. How my dead mother's didn't miss me. How painful and alone my last pitiful moments on earth would be. How much of a fucking failure I was. I wanted to just end it all there. Everything seems so pointless. But beyond the entry room, further inside the morgue, I heard a new noise, a grunting, slurping, sickly sound. My body moved along, like being washed away in a roaring rush of cold river water. Between the thick darkness and the cacophony of whispers, I was broken, in body and mind. I was a shell, my tears from earlier dried on my face, like a faucet being turned off. So, on I went.

mindlessly moving forward until I reached the section where they kept the bodies. What I saw there? Jesus fucking Christ. I don't know what I saw. In that cold, desolate room, I saw a figure with naked, bloodied, torn bodies strewn around it. Some details on that night are fuzzy, like my mind is trying to shield my soul from just how hard. horrific everything was. The figure looming before me was almost humanoid, in a way. Almost. The tall, lanky figure almost glowed in the darkness. Its skin luminousant, like it hadn't seen sunlight since the dawn of time.

It crouched among the bodies. Its jaw split in half and cracking open bones like one does to pistachios. The skin on its body was taut, its bones threatening to pierce their skin. And where one's chests and genitals would be, it was just a mass of slash-scarred tissue. And its face. Its fucking face. Above its split jaw, the creature had no nose, just a flat canvas of skin. The eyes, sunken black chasms. with pin-prick white dots for pupils,

that seemed to sear through your very being, right into your soul. Besides the feast it was having on the corpses, I could also make out ghostly figures shackled behind the monstrous being. The souls of those who walked on this plane not long before winding up in the morgue, now bound to the hideous creature. It made me watch, unblinking, my eyes stinging from both lack of moisture and the cold, while it finished its gruesome meal,

every now and then letting out disgusting grunts of pleasure. The sinister beast kept eye contact with me the entire time, as if my twisted emotions were the piestaresistance. This went on for what seemed like a lifetime. Before finally, the thing stood up from its meal and spoke to me. When it spoke, I realized that it was the source of the whispers, as if every soul it ever took formed words with it. I hope you are enjoying this as much as I am. It said, before admitting what one could interpret as a chuckle, if that chuckle were made with dry vocal cords.

Something in me snapped, and finally having autonomy over my body once more, I fell to my knees, my watery torrent resuming once more, as the tears streaked my ashen face. Why? Was all I could croak out, the sound of my voice pained and low in the metallic room. Why not? Was the last thing I heard, before darkness consumed my vision, and I lost consciousness. I don't know what happened after that. I wasn't found until hours after normal power was restored,

and base was flipping through all the cameras to make sure none had malfunctioned during the outage. They found me locked inside the morgue and a crumpled heap on the floor, catatonic, and still clutching my radio in hand. Of course, they asked me what the hell happened. Why and how I disappeared for hours, and how I had gotten inside the morgue without the key. I couldn't tell them the truth. I know that what I witnessed, what I felt, was impossible.

So I lied. Made up some bullshit story about how someone must have come in during the outage, caught me off guard, knocked me out, and then stuffed me in the last place someone would come looking. As for the morgue, when they entered to get me out, they found out that all the bodies that were inventory to be there were now gone. The whole thing was chalked up to some sicko stealing the bodies. Hence why I was attacked and hidden.

It doesn't matter. I haven't been back to work since. I've been using up all my PTO and sick leave to not only process what in the hell happened, but also maybe figure out what it was that I saw. I've looked into several topics, some logical like momentary hallucinations or lapse in judgment, some topics more on the paranormal side, such as something called the Rake or indigenous legends. Nothing quite matches up to what I saw exactly. I still have so many questions and very little answers, just some theories.

Why me? Why our hospital? Why that particular night? Did I just snap and dream up some nightmare scenario? I want so desperately to say it was my mind playing a cruel trick on me, from lack of sleep or pushing myself too hard at work. The alternative is almost too much to bear. As much as I want to deny what happened, I know it was real.

I know. Because now, if I'm in the dark, or if it's too quiet, I hear those now familiar whispers. The whispers tell me bits and pieces of what happened that night. What I can't remember and what I wasn't conscious of. They tell of things to come. This creature has been doing this for centuries, waiting to feast in the dark, in the stillness of the night.

I fear that this is what awaits us after death. Not heaven nor hell, but a dreaded limbo where we remain here on earth, tethered here, until it comes to devour us. That no one can escape this fate, no matter how just or righteous you are. I can't eat, can't sleep, can't enjoy the night skies anymore. I've tried to fight through this, come out stronger on the other side. I just can't anymore. I'm too tired. If this is what awaits me after death, then why prolong it?

As it stands right now, I'm already living in a cruel state of limbo now because of that fucking monster. Even if I were convinced to keep fighting, I fear my time is running out anyways. A few days ago, I started seeing something. I couldn't quite make it out what it was at first, but it didn't take long for it to dawn on me. In reflections from mirrors, windows, and sometimes even in my laptop or TV screen, I see those two familiar pinprick pupils staring back at me. When I close my eyes, I see flashes of its grotesque face.

I think the creature doesn't want to wait too long for the next fresh meal. Maybe my fear is tantalizing to it. Or maybe, just maybe. It's waiting for me to write this out. To tell you all of our possible shared fate. I'm so sorry. For your bonus episode, Creepy Presents. House of Rules.

I live in a house of rules. I should explain. I moved here three months ago, flat number 27. The flat was a repossession. I never met the previous owner, and to date know I'm only from the post I receive in his name. I could make up stories of him vanishing or his screams being heard in the darkness one night. I could make such exaggerated claims, but this is not a work of fiction, nor is it written

to entertain. I just got a new job, a promotion I'd waited years for. This was meant to be the next step to greater things, but I needed to move quickly to save on the long drive each day. When I found this place, I was overjoyed. It was well located within my price range, and apart from being extremely run down and dirty, it had so much potential. It's a duplex apartment with a guest, restroom and spare bathroom on the ground floor, an dressing room, and several large storage rooms on the top floor. The purchase was a complicated one, doing part to poor record keeping and the loss of deeds and plans of the house.

What should have taken a month from start to finish took four times as long. Because of this length of time, I took several viewings, and each time was amazed by windows in cupboard said I couldn't recall from previous visits. Rooms seemed bigger and lighter, more inviting. Even the estate agent was baffled at a property listing documents were constantly wrong. The neighbors in the block flats are a strange lot. They don't talk. They keep your routines you can set a clock by.

When I first moved in, I tried to invite him to a housewarming. So desperate was I to meet new people. Not one of them came. They get in at the same time every day and never leave the house. I never hear them moving around at night. One of them, a nervous man from upstairs who constantly fidgets and glances around, apologized afterward. He explained his lack of attendance as simply because he wasn't allowed to be.

to. At the time, I presumed he meant by his wife. But now I'm not so certain. As he was the only one I'd gotten to know since the move, I did my best to become friendly, and even felt like I was making headway. Then I made the mistake of asking about the previous owner, to which he made an awkward and short response before making his excuses. I have not seen or heard from him since. The rules as I came to understand them. It became a parent over time. The first was sleeping only in my bedroom. I slept once in the lounge on purpose, dozing on the sofa,

until I woke up to my arm trapped between the sofa and the wall. A wall that was several feet away when I closed my eyes a few hours earlier. I was overcome with a feeling, a very familiar feeling, that I was somewhere I shouldn't be. This feeling wouldn't leave me until I hurriedly stumbled up to bed, where I only felt truly safe when I hid under the blankets like a scared child. I only fell asleep once more in the lounge after that, by accident. I was woken once again with a feeling that I should leave.

They'd be unsafe to stay and that I shouldn't be there. This time, however, a sweater I'd left across the room. room on a radiator was tied around my neck and pulled tightly enough to leave a striking mark on my throat. The rule of sleeping only in my bedroom stands alongside others. Countless others. I learned that I should clean up my dishes immediately when I stepped out of the kitchen after depositing my plate and sat down on a safety pin that was jutting out of the back of the sofa. I learned not to take showers for too long when the water suddenly turned scalding hot and

remained so, no matter how much I desperately tried to turn it off. And then was inexplicably normal temperature when I tried at moments after. I learned that I must hoover and keep the place tidy, that I must not waste electricity, and that no matter what noise I hear at night, I should never, ever explore. Another rule is that guests are not welcome. The last time I had a guest, it was a friend who invited themselves by making arguments to come and see me until I relented. How could I not?

Despite my concerns that I could not err down for the weekend. I spent the entire time terrified for their safety and pretty much drove them away with my strange behavior accordingly. but there were no events. Such things made me bold and I began to relax. I stayed awake until late, played music at night, and did whatever I wanted, even going so far as feeling like I triumphed as the house remained meekly quiet. It was almost immediately after they left that I first noticed the headache and nausea, which became worse and worse as the gas leak continued.

I only just made it out before I succumbed. I have so many things I could tell you. Example after example. I don't know where to begin. I need you to look past your skepticism and see that this is real. That this is more than coincidence, more than just child's play haunting. I'm not being haunted. I'm being ruled.

The rules are only a part of it. They're the part I play. The rest is done without me, and not only that, but around me. The walls shift. Doors open some days, but won't the next. The number of windows in my bedroom increased one by one over consecutive nights. And then there was only one again. There's a cupboard at the top of my stairs that changes in size quite.

Quite regularly, one of the most terrifying experiences of my life was when I opened it and saw it went back several meters more than I remembered. When I walked in, somehow the door shut behind me. I groped in the dark, silently reaching out for a wall I knew must be there. Yet my fingers touched only air. I don't know how long I fumbled around, but it was only as my panic attack rose that my shaking fingers found the wooden door. Have you ever woken up in a room with a chair sitting at the end of your bed?

A chair that came from the dining room, which is down a flight of stairs and along a hallway. Have you ever walked into a room and seen a storage cupboard that was not there before? Have you ever observed more stairs on a staircase as you go down them than there was when you went up? Have you ever entered a room looking for something? And then when you gave up and left realized an hour and a half had passed. I have lived all these things. And were I a better, more scientific man?

I would have kept running log of it. I would have found proof. Proof I need to show the world. I'm not crazy. That this is real. That it's a nightmare. I'm living. Five hours of pass since I sat down to write this.

I'd hope to prepare some lunch today and prayed there and no drawing pins in my bread. Like last week when I realized I hadn't hoovered. Instead, it is getting dark. I now live a life of routine, like my neighbors. I just turned off the music. No loud noises after dark is one of the rules. It's the one I hate the most, because it makes me feel so alone. Lights left on in rooms that are empty, or too many in one room, are prone to fusing, or even shattering without warning.

So, I currently only have the glare, the computer screen, the television, and a lamp. Soon I shall be going to bed. the doors that shut behind me as I head up the bedlock and I'll wake up in a room with windows wherever they please and doors that may or may not open to cupboards that can be as small or as big as each variation allows the television in the room I'm in has a satellite connection and with the countless channels

right now all are fuzz of static except for National Geographic. So I am forced to listen to a documentary on carnivorous plants as I type. I try not to dwell on the exhaustion of a beetle on the screen as it tries in vain to escape from the prison that will soon digest it. The remote does not appear to work. It took my pulling the plug from the socket to turn the TV off just a moment ago. And even that I loathed to do for fear that I might stay on never left me.

And I knew that if those images had continued when the plug was removed, I would have screamed to myself into madness. I could push the neighbors to talk more. I could rebel against the rules. I could start a fire and torch the whole building. But truly, I just want to get by. I get the feeling that up until now, I've simply been coached like a dog to do what required of me.

I feel like the punishments could get a lot worse, the occasional demonstration of strength, the enforcement of the rules, and the occasional mild punishment when I transgress, like one taps the nose of a dog when it misbehaves. That is what I hope for if I can behave. Stepping out a line causes me nothing but harm. It's only out of fear and preservation of my own human dignity, that I don't explain here what happens when the house feels like it really needs to punish me. Needless to say, the scar will be with me for the rest of my life.

Which brings us here. I cannot go on. I took the decision to write this with the remaining fight I still have in me. To at least ask for help. I cannot do this over the phone. I cannot write a letter. My only hope is to write it into a story. story inconspicuously and without the details that might draw attention to the content.

All I can hope is that someone sees enough to spot my cry for help, that they find a way to contact me where I can get the lifeline I need to escape. I cannot ask directly. It's too risky. Besides, any form of open rebellion that has been snuffed out of me with pain, suffering, and terror, I fear for my safety, for my punishment for breaking the rules. I'm surprised that I'm being allowed to even get this far. You know, for a thousand words I've written, there hasn't been a power cut or computer error that's lost everything. Perhaps there's still hope.

But the truth is, I'm scared. Scared of what touched my face in my sleep the night before last after I accident left a tap running. Clutching firmly the group. bruises on my cheek that still remain. I'm scared of what left a pair of scissors in my slippers, of what power moves, wooden doors and plaster walls seemingly at a whim. Most of all, I'm scared that by writing this, I may wake up in a tiny room with no doors or windows, a room that grows smaller every time I blink. podcast, including how to submit your own story for consideration.

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