Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S1 Ep19: Episode 19: Night Shift Horror Stories

Episode Date: March 4, 2021

 Want a free case of 8 excellent Belgian Craft Beers from Beer52? Go to https://www.beer52.com/creep and cover just the postage costs of £5.95  Tonight’s opening tale of terror is ‘Why I'm No Longer a Prison Guard’ by Beardify, shared on the Creepypasta Wiki and read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license: https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Why_I%27m_No_Longer_a_Prison_Guard http://www.reddit.com/u/beardify Second up we have ‘I'm a Night Janitor for a Haunted Elementary School’ is an original story by f4c3m3l73r, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all. https://www.reddit.com/user/f4c3m3l73r   Tonight’s third terrifying tale of weirdness is ‘I'm a night security guard, and I just watched surveillance footage of my own death’, an original four-part series by Mr. Outlaw, also kindly shared with me for the express purpose of having me narrate it here for you all: https://www.reddit.com/user/Mr_Outlaw_/ We round off our podcast with ‘My Friend’s Dead Dad Haunts me’ is an original story by Mordley, once again kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all. https://www.reddit.com/user/mordley

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please contact Connix Ontario at 1866-531-2600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. It was none other than Vincent Van Gogh, who said, I often think that the night is more alive and more richly colored than the dead, but it might seem that way until you work the night shift, as we will learn in tonight's four stories. We begin with why I'm no longer a prison guard by Beardify.

Then we have I'm a knight janitor for a haunted elementary school by F4 C3M3L 7.3R. After that we have, I'm a night's security guard, and I just watched surveillance footage of my own death by Mr. Outlaw, before rounding off with my friend's dead dad haunts me by Mordley. Now, as ever before we begin, a word of caution. The night's stories may contain bad language, as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. If that sounds like your kind of thing, Then let's begin. Now, to clarify, I never set out to work in corrections. I graduated from a private, expensive university with a degree in philosophy.

I'd chosen the school because of how the campus looked in fall, and I'd chosen the major because my girlfriend, at the time, wanted me to go into law. When the dust settled, I was back in my Appalachian hometown, minus the girlfriend, plus $60,000 of debt, wondering how the hell I was going to scrape a life together. My family treated me like I was still a teenager, and it wasn't long before their silly rules and needling questions about my future grew too much to bear.

I couldn't stand to see the smug. How the mighty have fallen faces of my conservative uncles over one more Thanksgiving dinner. No, I had to get out, and job sites were just smeared with the listings for, name redacted, correctional facility. I was skeptical at first. The pace seemed too good to be true, and my friends never missed a chance to regale me with horror stories about jail. Yet the HR people were friendly and helpful at my brief interview, and the facilities seemed modern and professional. I had some moral qualms about working in a for-profit prison, but, like any sell-out, I convinced myself that having $600 in the bank granted me some ethical wiggle room.

On my tour, I learned that the complex had been big. built in the 1850s and had been played with scandal and corruption until the tight-bund, smartly dressed corporate rep said proudly, it was bought by our company in the 70s and reformed. We run a very tight ship here. The overall effect, though, was a Frankenstein building, Shawshank Redemption by way of Steve Jobs. Later, when I tried to find architectural diagrams of the place, it was clear that it had been renovated and rebuilt so many times no one was sure of anything

really. The place sat on a twisted, tentacular maze of pipes, basements, dead corridors. Imagining those dank, lightless tunnels provided plenty of nightmare fuel on my first days. Well, it was worse, and at the same time, not as bad as I'd feared. The prisoners were from a different world than mine, and they knew it. Getting a rise out of newbies like me was one of the few entertainment options in their sterile, sunlight-free world. My first walked down the cell block, a Jamaican drug-runner

who'd shot two kids and a drive-by ran to his bars and spat blood at me, laughing as I sputtered and tried to wipe it off. I later learned he was HIV-positive. On the other hand, my co-workers understood how difficult the first days could be and presented a pretty united front.

As days went by, I came to understand the prisoners better too, their culture, how to interact with them, and the fact that they were humans like me. Things got so routine, to be honest, I got a little bored. It was hard to socialize with the other officers. I had no interest in who won the game or how to keep a wife in line. I just started looking at things, trying to really see what was going on around me. And in this silent, solitary mode, I began to notice something strange.

Power among prisoners is determined mostly by stature, either social stature in some gang, or because of some exploits, or physical stature, as in the ability to beat the daylights out of someone. There was one guy in the yard, though, who didn't fit the bill. A slight, tanned white guy, clean-shaven, with grandfather wrinkles and silver hair styled like corporate executives. Unlike the other cons, who'd lift weights, huddling circles gossiping or play basketball, He would walk briskly around the yard or do some kind of methodical, yoga-like stretches. Sometimes he would just lay staring up at the clouds, or mark in a little notebook he always carries.

I thought prisoners weren't allowed to have pencils, but something about the guy made me keep my distance. Our Ice Age ancestors lived as prey for millennia, and now I think it may have been those instincts that kept me away from Dave. Whenever I asked about him, everyone knew immediately who I was talking about. Ah, that's Dave, came a reply, followed by a hasty or stay away from him. And that was where the information stopped.

Any further inquiries were met with vague answers at best, or not so vague threats at worst. Like having a job? Like having a face? The CO told me finally, then stop asking. I know I shouldn't have, but curiosity got the better of me. I waited until one of the computer terminals was unwatched and searched for Dave. Nothing came up. I searched his ID, his cell number, everything.

It was like the man didn't exist. And in our metadata-driven world, that's quite an accomplishment. We amass huge dossiers on cons. Crime, gang affiliations, sexual habits, next of kin, an NSA wet dream. There wasn't even a date for Dave's arrival here. I kept watching, and the morning. I watched the stranger things got. It was a windy day in October, grey and dreary, plastic bags, dead leaves and junk,

rise like hanged men in the double fences of the yard. Dave was squatting alone with his notebook out. I walked behind him on the pretext of doing my rounds, and I was amazed by what I saw. Dave had sketched a caterpillar with a skill like da Vinci. On the opposite page was an illustration of a dandelion with the same artistic and scientific detail. Something about the way he shuffled made it clear he knew I was there. As I trudged away, I felt his electric blue, intelligent eyes burning into the back of my head. Brain boiling, boiling like a pot of worms, I thought, and had to stop the mad laugh building in my throat. The other prisoner stared.

What was going on? I'd somehow lost several minutes. I was back at the gate to the yard. I felt tears on my face, cold in the biting wind. Later that week, I played sick to escape my duty during Dave's yard time, and went to check out his cell. Technically, that was just as illegal as looking up his personal information, since Dave was in Block C and I worked in Block B, but I was obsessed. When I reached his cell, I found it had a door, like a science classroom's, not bars, and that my ordinary key wouldn't open it. Well, the cell seemed normal, apart from the banned items in neat piles inside.

Books and accompanying notes in several languages, more sketches, a chalkboard and advocates, even candles. This was all in clear violation of regulations, but then again, who would I report it to? My CEO had already made it crystal clear how he felt about discussing Dave. There was nothing to do but go back to my duty, with more questions and answers. When I returned to the yard the next day, the weather had cleared, all the sun seemed to put all of us, cons and guards alike, in a good mood. The relaxed atmosphere gave me a lot of time to think about some of my recent decisions. Here I was with a good job, good hours, finally getting a handle on life. And I was going to throw it away for some funny old man.

Oh, I'd been stupid. It was just the time in life, I supposed. It made everything seem so odd and uncertain. I was so caught up in my musings I didn't realize that Dave was not among the other prisoners. I knew he'd been behind me before I turned. I moved with the dread of a child looking under his bed after a nightmare, but I hadn't expected him to be so close. Prison rules state that inmates maintain a certain distance from guards,

and those rules are hard and fast. Yet Dave's face was less than an inch from mine. He stood there, grinning and chuckling his old man's love. Even then I knew that laugh would echo in my dreams. I felt a scream welling up inside, and then burly arms were around me, pulling me into the bright fluorescent lights and away from the horror in the yard.

Well, I don't remember the stern lecture the CEO gave me or the IV drip in the med ward after, the harsh conversations of the nurses. I do remember laying in near paralysis on the peptobismal pink sheets, staring at the room closet, waiting for it to open like a toothless mouth while everyone's backs returned. Faint laughter would echo out, and then, when I woke, I called my worried family and mutters something about dizziness.

I had a sticky bun from the vending machine, barely tasting it or noticing the dark glances of my co-workers. It wasn't until I got home that I found the torn bit of yellow notebook paper in my pockets. It was a da Vinci perfect sketch of me, sleeping in my bed at home. When I compared that drawing to my bedroom at my parents' house, everything matched, from a coffee stain on the table to the pattern of the sheets. I lay all night with the lights on, listening to classic rock and trying to think of other things. After that day, it seemed that Dave and I had a sort of truce.

I wouldn't pay him undue attention and he wouldn't, well, do anything further to me. I knew that I'd been let off with a warning, and not just from the sea up. The nightmare stopped. I moved into a new apartment and started seeing a girl from O.K.K.P. Life, it seems, was going back to normal. Until Salvador, Sweet Rodriguez showed up. Now, Sweet had been arrested at age 19 for shooting up a minivan to complete his gang initiation. In and out of Juvie, this was his first stay in Big Boy Prison.

He showed up with a wild, violent look in his black eyes. He was determined to make it clear that not. No matter how thin and handsome he was. He was nobody's meat for the shower room, and a cheerful-looking old white man seemed like an easy target. By the time I got to them, it was too late. Dave had been staring at a dead tree, motionless apart from a slight rocking back and forth,

and the autumn breeze ruffling his head. Sweet stalked over to Dave and snatched a pencil from the old man's loose grip, snapping it. Do something, bitch. sweet-snalled, bitch, queer old peckle wood. Two husky lifers, as well as all the guards, were running to save the loudmouth boy from himself. It was almost funny in a way, if not for the look in Dave's eyes. It reminded me of a man who finds a fly in his soup

trying to decide whether to eat it or not. Well, a storm blew up that night. Everyone was on edge. The congenial mood we'd had earlier was gone. It was almost a riot when we ran out of grips, and the corridors rang with the sounds of angry prisoners hooting like animals and pounding on the bars. We'd broken up three fights already. I'd been assigned to, wash the cameras. I wasn't sure if it was my history of the day of all just my status as a newbie, but I was left alone in the main security hub, watching the CCTV feeds.

I was hunched up, biting my nails, but couldn't say why I was so nervous. Around midnight, long after quiet hours, something came up that made me freeze. Surely I was seeing things. Frank DeWittle, a hunking lia who'd brutally castrated a paedophile with a lunch tray during my first week, was helping one of the guards carry Sweet Rodriguez down the central hall of Block B. Even if this wasn't a violation of every Prince Ver Transfer Protocol in the book, Sweet was obviously screaming his head off. I buzzed the guard.

No response. No response from anyone. I could only watch as sweet was dragged from block B to block C, toward a tiny room with a door like a science classroom. I was running before I could stop myself, but when I saw the door to Dave rooms close I knew I was too late. It did its job well, cutting off sweet screams just as they began. The Conant Guard could have stopped me easily if they'd expected me to do what I did.

I wouldn't have expected it myself. I snatched the key from my co-worker's hand and jammed it into Dave's cell door, shoving it open with my shoulder. Dave looked up from writings of Epicurus with a bemused expression, as though I were a dog that had padded into the room looking for a petting. And I knew then, and all that was left of sweet Rodriguez was a few flecks of red at the corner of Dave's mouth. He looked up at me and smiled. I'm working on a new sketch, you know.

I was let go that evening. I went through the process in a day. I didn't have the mental fortitude to put up a fight. I never went back or even drove by the prison again. I got a job waiting tables at a local applepiece. My buddy behind the bar lets me polish off unfinished martinis until I'm finally drunk enough to sleep. But sometimes I still wake up crying.

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I'm a night janitor for an elementary school. My work hours are from 3pm to about midnight. Sometimes I stay until almost 3 a.m. when there are after-school activities. I have to help set them up and then clean when they're over, leaving me to clock out and almost dawn sometimes. My designated section has 24 rooms that I clean. Alone.

Lately, it's been getting dark rather early. When the clock strikes six, the sun begins to descend into the horizon of swaying trees and half-lit homes, eventually disappearing. Around the same time, all of the other staff members hurry out of the building, leaving me to my work.

I'm going to leave the name of the school, my real name, any other's real names and the location out of this one because I just want to keep my identity and the image of the school safe. So, for this story, I'll be Tim. Since I work nights, I always get that paranoia that I'm being watched.

I always chalked it up to my mind, playing tricks on me, since I'm all alone in this building for several hours at a time. But it was right after Halloween when something strange began to occur. It was that time of year

when the trees lose their leaves and take on a skeletal silhouette. Ah, autumn. I started to notice that more and more of the students looked as if they were shaken up about something. Always looking at the floor when walking, quiet,

anxious, signifying a sort of treat. This didn't set well with me. The students were dismissed at 3.30, so I'm present while they're still in class. I'm a first-time father and cared for these children, maybe just a janitor, but I'm not some weirdo or heartless guy who just wants a paycheck. These kids were young, and they needed to feel safe. So I talked with them when I was given the chance. They called me Mr. Tim the vacuum man. I'm in my 20s, so I'm

approachable to a younger crowd, and I felt this brought a sense of comfort to them, rather than some creepy night janitor who is unwelcoming. I saw a child who was walking down the hall and was obviously frightened about something, constantly looking over his shoulder with his eyebrows

raised. I asked quietly, is something bothering you, kiddo? He let out a short yet. help. Whoa, it's okay. It's just me. Is everything all right? I tried to reassure the boy. Oh, hey, Mr. Tim. Yeah, I'm okay, he said nervously. You know, if there's something bothering you, don't be afraid to tell me about it. I can probably help you. I'm Mr. Tim, the vacuum man. He laughed and then said, yeah, I know.

Okay, well, whenever I use the bathroom, I see this tall man smiling at me. I immediately got chills. What? Is it someone in the school? Someone you recognize? He replied. No, I can barely see him. He's all black.

It's like a shadow. But I know he's there. I know it. This could have just been the charing. imagination. I mean, Halloween had just passed, so maybe he was just scared from that, but all of the other students were behaving rather odd, so maybe this boy was really seeing someone, or something, stalking him in the bathroom. That just sounds like it's your imagination, kiddo. I wouldn't worry about it. Maybe it's just your mind playing tricks on you since Halloween just passed. Just try to focus on

your school work more. Maybe it'll go away. I tried to calm him. Yeah, I'll try, he spoke softly. All right, off you go then. But this bothered me. Was there some pervert hiding in the bathrooms here? My mind began to race. I couldn't just ignore this information. My first thought was to tell the principal. When I did, her reaction, as exactly as I imagined. She called the student to her office and asked the child to explain to her what he had told me.

He did, sort of frantically, and this made the principle uneasy. The next day she hired a security guard to patrol the hallways. After about a week, the kids still remained anxious, but never spoke of this figure. No one really pried on the matter anyway.

We just expected this to be some sort of scare tactic to make this person flee, if there was anyone there to begin with. Seemed like it worked. So, the security guard was dismissed, and the staff resumed their cheerful outlook on their jobs, instead of being worried about a creep that may have been lurking in the shadows ready to pounce on a helpless child. Well, I'm just glad this wasn't the case. I remember one particular shift. My calendar read that there was going to be a kind of Cubscouts meeting in the media centre at 615 and basketball practice at 6.30. So that meant I would most likely be here until just before the break of dawn.

But around six, I unlocked one of the front doors for the Cubs Scouts counsellor and the coach of the basketball team. Moments passed and the Cubs Couts counsellor walked through the doors. I greeted him, helped him set up and went back to my normal duties. I didn't have to help the coach, since the gym had everything he needed for sports. I just had to lock the doors once they were done, and refinish the gym floor for all the shoe marks and, well, any trash on the ground. As for the Cups'outs meeting, it was the same concept, just had to vacuum around the used area and disinfect any surfaces used,

along with throwing any trash left behind away. During my normal shift duties, I couldn't help but feel as if I was, was being watched. I kept telling myself that it could have been a student or parent watching me from a distance, but I was in a more secluded area over the building, away from the after-school activities. No, this was different. It felt like someone was nearby. You know how you can hear someone coming from around a corner without hearing their footsteps or physically seeing them? It was just like that. Only all. around me. Once the after-school activities had come to an end, route eight, I made sure every

person was out of the building and locked the doors. The front doors had windows on them, and it was pitch black outside. Once I finished engaging in the last lock, I couldn't help but notice a tall and dark-clothed man behind me in the reflection. I quickly turned her out, only to see that no one was there. What the hell? I thought to myself. I sighed and continued on with my duties. I started with the gym floor and began buffing the floors. This was the job that took the most time, so I wanted to get this done first. As I finished, I turned the machine off, and in the distance, I could hear muffled screams. It was coming from the building.

Okay, something isn't right here, I exclaimed. I got all of the equipment into the receiving room and left the floor to dry, and I could still hear the faint sounds of screaming. It was coming from my section, and I still had rooms to do. I decided to put some headphones in and listen to music, so I could ignore this strange occurrence. I decided to put on classical music as it helped calm my nerves. I started with Moonlight Sonata, a piece from Beethoven, and just let my playlist shuffle.

When I clean the rooms, I normally just focus on what's right in front of me. But tonight, I couldn't help but look around me as if I were to see the man in a corner somewhere. I tried my best, just to ignore it, but when I got to a part of the room located by a window, I felt compelled to look outside. All I could see was just total darkness. Pitch black. Not a street light. No dim and distant lights from home.

Just darkness. And then the power went out. I was absolutely terrified. What I saw outside will haunt me for the rest of my life. It was the most sinister, elongated face I've ever seen in my entire. life. His eyes sunken in, but wide and focused. Rinkled skin with a white complexion and the most menacing smile I could ever imagine, complete with what seemed to be over a hundred teeth that looked like needles. I wasted no time when I ran out of that building without even clocking out or looking back.

I ran outside to my vehicle without looking over my shoulder to see if that thing was following me. and when I started my car I drove out of the parking lot. To the left of me, in the playground, I could see him watching me. He was waving. The next day my supervisor was furious that I just left without clocking out or calling security to lock the doors. I explained what happened, and, well, he fired me. one day on my own accord I went back to that school

and wanted to warn the principal about what had happened to me I met with her and I told her to hire an exorcist or get someone to cleanse that school spiritually because well there is something evil in that school she replied Tim

I don't understand what happened I told her everything how this tall man had scared the living shit out of me how I'd heard screams everything her mood changed she seemed uneasy she let out a big

long breath and began to say there's something I want to show you she went to a filing cabinet and opened it sifting through files she finally pulled out a book it was a yearbook from 1986 What's that for? I asked. She then flipped through some pages and finally stopped on a page that had pictures with descriptions under them.

She pointed one out and said, Here, take a look. What I saw was a tall man mopping a floor with a smile I will never forget. It was the man I'd seen that night. It had to be. My God, I said while shivering. He was the dead. Janet here from 1984 to 1986. I was told he would go into the bathroom

and spy on the kids, smiling at them. My heart sank. I let out a whimpering cough, trying to clear my throat, which was now gasping for air. What happened to him? I asked. She closed the book, looked at me and said.

Aside from the spying, he got fired for constantly scaring the children even after Halloween was over, he would make them scream in terror. Those were the screams I'd heard. After he got fired, he would stalk the students, they would go missing. At first, no one thought anything of it, but a detective brought him in for questioning. He was then arrested and admitted he'd kidnapped, raped and killed 15 students. The detective claimed that he was smiling when he confirmed.

He was given the death penalty by lethal injection, and it said he was even smiling as he died. After the horrors of a haunted elementary school, in our third story, we look at the work of a security guard who witnesses something horrible on surveillance footage. I'm an after-hour security guard for a medium-sized downtown office building. Not in a terribly dangerous city. just average glamorous I know on top of that I'm either losing my mind or in the midst

some really strange shit a few nights ago my boss gave me security tapes that he wanted me to look over apparently the guard that I rotated shifts with had quit but it was a bit unconventional

he didn't give anybody any prior notice it appears as if he simply left in the middle his laugh shift, and we haven't been able to contact him since. On the same night, there'd been a break-in, seemingly nothing stolen or damaged, just the front glass door, which was now shattered. Now, I knew about the breaking before and, but not about the guard. It was weird, but this is kind of a shitty job, so it wasn't anywhere near shocking. My boss wanted me to try and identify who'd done it, and said that, oh, the cops are the... lazy and it would take weeks for them to even look at it. His quote, not mine. Sure, it was an

annoying request, but I guess it's on me for not finishing college. It was a pretty quiet night when I got around to it. My boss told me to look it over on my own time, but well, that wasn't happening. So, at around 2 a.m., I finally began watching. It took a lot of fast forwarding until I finally got to something. We were right. The old security guard, Chris, literally got up and left at exactly 2.17 a.m. that Even weirder was that he left all his shit behind. He just walked away. Hmm, okay, I thought. Shit happens, whatever. I kept watching until the break in at 3 a.m.

Some medium-built dude dressed in a stereotypical burglar outfit, ski mask included, took a baseball bat and smashed through the front glass door. I'm pretty sure that Chris never even locked it behind him when he left So that was a waste Also our alarm didn't go off because we didn't have one Go cost wherever you can, hey It's a wonder and I still work here Given the fact that some guy could literally break in

Stab me to death and the cops wouldn't even know about it until the morning But that's beside the current point The intruder walked in and entered the stairwell So I tracked him A bit of a complicated process But I finally found him on the sixth floor That's when he took out what looked like a wire I felt my skin crawl a bit upon seeing that

There's only a few reasons as to why a person would carry wires around in their pockets And one of them stands out as being particularly unsavory He started making his way down the corridor In a manner that I can only describe as methodical purposeful even, as if whoever he was stalking was not yet aware of his presence. Moments later, the door to a room up ahead of him flung open. He reacted quickly, ducking into an adjacent hallway as somebody else came out. Let me tell you, I was not prepared for who it was.

It was me, a near replica. I say near because the guy's face looked borderline emaciated while his clothes barely clung to his limbs. I was more of a muscular bill of myself, but I had been skinny before. I knew what I looked like, and that was it. My copy was wearing what looked like some kind of white heavy-duty jacket. Almost looked like something a soldier would wear in an Arctic climate. On top of that, there was a large streak of red covering his chest. Probably doesn't take a detective to figure out what it was, given the circumstances. He also appeared to be exhausted, with one bony hand holding the wall whilst he was doubled over, exhaling like hell. Eventually, he started moving, stumbling towards the intersecting hallways where the mystery man was presumably waiting for him, hands clasped around the wire.

I found myself instinctively reaching for my phone to call 911, where I was. I realized this wasn't happening in real time. But even if it was, how was I supposed to describe the situation? As my copy passed by, the mystery man pounced on him, but it seemed as if he was anticipating it, my copy that is, and a vicious struggle ensued. Despite my copy's frail appearance, he still managed to hold the upper hand against the mystery man for a while. Let me tell you, I sure as hell can't fight like that. The combination of the military grey jacket and the hand-to-hand training that this guy clearly practiced yielded a few possible avenues of explanation.

But I was going to need a lot more info in order to really understand what was going on here. Despite being pounded on for a good few minutes, the mystery man eventually landed a lucky uppercut that staggered my copy. He quickly took the opportunity, rushing and forcing the wire around his neck, until he went limp. That struggle ended. What followed was,

interesting. You dragged the body back to the room that my copy had come out of and shut the door behind him. I fast forwarded up until today. Nobody else came out. Nobody went in. There was nothing I could do

for the rest of my shift, but just sit there, absolutely flawed. The next day, my boss asked me what I'd seen. I told him a fabricated version of what had happened, that some dipshit high school kids in masks broke the door down for fun. Nothing we can do about it beyond installing an actual security system. He said he'd look into it. Sure he will.

Now, I'd consider just forcing myself to forget about it. That would have yielded more sanity, but some things are just too bizarre to overlook. During my next shift, I decided to take a look at the sixth floor myself. I assumed that it had just be a bunch of cubicles up there, but I was obviously interested in one specific room. Once up there, I started walking around. It almost felt surreal being in a place where something was so strange had just happened. In fact, it got me questioning whether or not I'd just lost my mind for a few minutes,

and if anything on that tape was even real. But I got my answer. when I saw the stain on the carpet. It was barely noticeable, but I knew what I was looking for, a speck of blood from the struggle. I wasn't sure whether it was from my copy or the mystery man.

I kept going down the corridor, trying to locate the room that my copy had come out from. On the footage, it was pretty evident that it had to be the fourth door on the right. I tried the handle, locked. And then I tried something that would most certainly cost me my job, but I rationalised it by realizing that if anyone was ever going to watch the tapes, it was once again going to be me,

kick the door down and headed in. It was a conference room, but one that looked to be under renovation. There were dry paint cans, an unfinished carpet job, and dry wall covering the walls, but nothing unusual. Yet, there was bound to be something. here. For the first few hours that I stalked the room, I couldn't find anything noteworthy. The other way out of the room was a stairwell exit, so it was reasonable to assume that he simply escaped through there. I was about to give up when I stumbled upon something hidden under one of the

desks. A device of sorts, well, maybe. Couldn't really tell you. Despite being rather small, it was incredibly heavy. A cylindrical shape metallic. item. It was smooth all around, save for a few buttons that did nothing when I pressed them. Oh, and a dried bloody thumbprint. I wonder who that belonged to. I stood there, trying to decipher the particulars of the item for an indistinguishable amount of time. But an abrupt noise jarred me back to attentiveness. Footsteps in the hallway. Footsteps getting closer. I was not doing my job. A few ideas regarding the identity of the intruder ran through my head. Obviously, none of them were good and one of them was really bad. In any case, I made a B-line for the stairwell,

and I took the metal thing with me. I didn't go back to the building until about 5.40 a.m., 20 minutes before the end of my shift. To my surprise, the new glass door that we'd installed was still intact. but I definitely knew that I'd heard steps out in the hallway. Maybe they'd found another way in. Maybe I'm just going insane. Well, I'm still holding the device in my hand. What am I going to do with it? No freaking idea.

But I do know what I'm doing next. Time to pay a visit to the old security guard. Chris has to have some kind of answer here. I never knew Chris all that well. He was a work friend at best. I knew where he lived and that was all the information that I needed. I went over to his place and knocked. No response at first.

Didn't really know what I was expecting in all honesty, but I stayed put in my pursuit for answers, continuously pounding on his door. I mean, wasn't it kind of peculiar that he conveniently quit on the night that the break into a place? I must have stood outside his door for about 20 minutes. Logic would dictate that he simply wasn't home, and I was beginning to believe that,

until I heard a noise on the other side. It sounded like somebody accidentally knocking over a pair of shoes. This ass was silently staring at me through the people. Chris, open the damn door, I said, in a borderline threatening tone. still no explicit response he wasn't doing a great job of concealing the fact that he clearly knew something about what had happened and then he slipped a piece of paper under my door in messily scribbled writing this is what it read

can't tell you anything he'll know okay i thought to myself that doesn't sound good I tried knocking for a few more minutes before his neighbours started poking their heads out. I decided to leave before somebody called the cops on me, but I wasn't planning on dropping this. I ran the facts through my head as I walked home. He'll know. I didn't want to admit it, but those words greatly concerned me.

Who the hell is he? I stued on these thoughts as I made my way up to my apartment. But when I got there, I realized that I may have fucked up big time. My lock was busted and my door was half open. Call me a pussy, but I dialed 911-1-1 immediately. The cops came over in a reasonable amount of time and began the investigation. All in all, the only thing that was taken were fifty bucks in cash that I kept in my drawer.

Well, that's what they put on the official report after all. But that wasn't all to the story. There was something else that was missing. The device. In retrospect, the fact that I took it in the first place was a dumb-ass move on my part. No shit it was going to have some kind of tracking system in it. I didn't even know what the hell it was.

This posed a conundrum for me, of course. It was, presumably, the mystery man that had broken in. He knows where I live. He also tried murdering somebody who looked just like me. Save to say, I was probably indicted. The cop said that they would station a vehicle outside my apartment complex in order to keep an eye on me for the night. I wasn't really sure how effective that was going to be, but it couldn't hurt, I suppose. But still, I didn't sleep.

That night there was a knock on my door at around 2 a.m. I nearly shit my pants. But then I heard, police, open up, coming from the hall. I looked through the peephole, and it was indeed the two cops that had been a safe. sign to wait outside my building. One of them chuckled when I opened the door. How the hell do you do it? He said to me.

How'd I do? What? I asked in confusion. He simply scoffed and then abruptly cuffed me. Although tired as hell, I still relentlessly questioned them about what the hell they thought I'd actually done. It was only when I'd waited for half an hour

in an interrogation room, when a detective came in and gave me the answer. Apparently, I'd entered the building that I worked in, knocked the new night guard unconscious, and broken into one of the upper floor rooms. They also showed me the proof, security footage of exactly what they described happening. A person in a stereotypical burglar outfit waltzed in just as the new guard was locking the door for the night. They got into a fight. The mystery man won, but not before the guard managed to rip his ski mask off. Split seconds that displayed his exposed face, yielded all the evidence that they could ever need.

It was me. Again. The footage then tracked him all the way up to the sixth floor, where he entered a room. Guess which one that was. He was also carrying a bag with him the whole time, and it really wasn't a mystery regarding what was in that either. The last recorded footage caught him running out of a fire exit.

I couldn't even begin to attempt to answer the detective's questions. I know I didn't do it. Well, you know what I mean. I just kept trying to analyse what kind of situation this put me in. If the mystery man that I'd first seen was also me, and that means there had been at least two copies of me out there. And they were trying to kill each other. Then the situation with Chris made more sense.

Maybe one of my copies had threatened him. The answer has to be in that device. Hello? The detective bowed to me. You listen to me, Mr. Case? No, I wasn't. He sighed. Look, we're just trying to figure things out.

What was the plan here? I reciprocated a sigh. I don't freaking know. That entire conversation understandably produced zero conclusions. The detective stepped out and left me alone with my thoughts once again. But no matter how I frame this situation, it was always inexplicable, beyond my comprehension. I sat in shock silence for about 15 more minutes before the rabbit hole was dug even deeper. I started hearing commotion out in the hallway, and then gunshots.

The detective suddenly rushed back into the room, looking confused as hell once he saw me. How the f? It's all that he managed to get out. What's going on? I asked him. He just shook his head before coming over and pulling me up, all while I was still in cuffs. Oh, we got to get you out of here. He started directing me towards a back exit while some kind of hell was going in the background. At this point, gunshots were going off.

left and right. We were just about out the door when I saw a bullet go through his skull. I made it out just before him, so I didn't suffer the same fate. But I did see who'd done it. It was my copy, staring blankly at me and standing at the other end of the hall. He fired off a few more shots at me, but they were stopped by the door. Fueled by perplexed adrenaline, I simply started running. I wasn't really sure where I was going, so I just ducked into a nearby forested area. Once there, I hid myself in some bushes. I stayed there till sunrise, and luckily, my copy never found me. I heard police sirens all night.

It was bound to be a lot of explaining to do if they ever caught me. However, I'm sure they'll be just as confused as I am once they view the security tapes inside the police station. once I'd convinced myself that the coast was clear I got up and tried to figure out where I was it was an excruciating process trying not to be seen by anyone given that I still had handcuffs on but I eventually managed to find my way I went to somebody who I knew could help me out in this situation

my friend Jack now Jack was a drug dealer and before you judge me for being friends with a drug dealer let me preface that by saying that he only sold weed and cocaine, and he's never killed anyone before. I'm pretty sure of that. It was about a three-hour walk from the city to his farmhouse, but I eventually made it, finally getting the damn cuffs off in the process. Now, he asked questions, of course, questions that I could not answer. Right after shoveling some food down my throat and smoking a

joint to calm me down, I went on the internet and looked for any news coverage about the incidents. I can't estimate how many cops were killed, but it seemed like there were a lot. So this should have been a big story. But there was nothing. At first I found a few detailing some vague incident near the location of the police station. But after a few refreshes, they disappeared. Somebody was trying to hide this. I can't speculate what's really going on here, but maybe they know something that I don't.

It's probably better for me that my face isn't plastered across every TV screen and every local diner. But this also begs even more questions. I'll try and explain the situation to Jack later. Maybe he'll believe me. Maybe he'll think I'm a freaking loon. But as for right now, I don't see a ton of options. My copy is probably searching for me right now. The events that have transpired over the past week have taught me that I really do.

don't know much about the world, but I do know one thing. I couldn't stay at Jax anymore. The few days I've been here have pretty much consisted of me, simply lounging around. I'll admit it, I'm scared shitless to go back into the city. All I know is that my copy hasn't been tracking me. I'm not entirely sure how he found me at the police station, but what matters is that he can't seem to find me now, but a new problem has presented itself. I think some somebody else is looking for me. Last night I was having a cigarette on the back porch when I noticed some kind of disruption in the crop field.

It was dark, and I wasn't paying really good attention, well, initially, so I didn't catch it until it was uncomfortably close. Something was moving around in there, making its way toward the house. I was on extreme edge at that point. So I immediately ran back in. I told Jack what I'd seen, and he subsequently stormed out there with his shotgun. I waited, tensed for what felt like about 15 minutes, and then I was jarred by a booming slug, and then another one. Jack rushed back in, eyes frenetic and locked the door behind him.

What the, he said, sounding petrified. Don't tell me there after you. What do you see? Did it look like me? I asked him. He shook his head. What? No. Like. some dudes in body armour or some shit. I don't know. Look, if they're after you, then you best speak up. That was the issue. I didn't know who the hell he was talking about.

The situation suddenly escalated when I saw flashing red and blue coming from outside. The cops are here as well, presumably drawn in by the gunshots. Oh, freaking Christ, Jack blurted out. Oh, my shit's here. They better not snoop around. And then he turned to me.

Look, if someone's gone on with you, then you should probably leave. Leave, I asked him in disbelief. There's cops out front of weird armored people in the back. But where am I supposed to go? He shrugged. I don't know. We could hear heavy footsteps making their way up to his front door. Oh, I suppose you could take your chances and hide here.

Can't stop you now. And then they started knocking. I made my way upstairs while Jack opened the door and talked to the cops. As I hid in one of the bedrooms, I used dropped on the conversation. It started out calm enough, but it escalated rather quickly. All of their voices started raising at an exponential rate. It sounded like Jack was on the defensive about something. I could make out what he was saying, albeit barely.

There's no one here. All of a sudden footsteps began storming up the stairs. I didn't have time to ask, what the hell, they were looking for me and for too many obscure reasons to probably count. I opened the window and jumped out before they could find me. While I was out there, I considered attempting to steal the police car, but I suppose I wasn't really balls enough for that. So instead, I simply started running. I knew that there was another town that was about a two-hour drive from where I was. But in terms of walking, well, there's just.

just say that I had a trek ahead of me. After about an hour of walking along the empty road at night, a truck stopped for me. Now, under normal circumstances, there was no way in hell that I would have gone with this freaking guy. To put it bluntly, he looked like a serial rapist. But the situation at hand seemed to necessitate it. Plus, it started to feel like I was being followed again.

"'Going somewhere, bud?' the driver asked, with a black-tooth grin. I smiled back. Yeah, you down to give me a lift? Unsurprisingly, he didn't go where I was directing him, instead leading me down some sketchy trail. I started anticipating where my first move was going to be. I'd taken a pocket knife from Jack's house

and was clutching it in my hand as he drove. I decided that the time was right when he stopped us in front of a rusty shack. All right, he said. sounding comically foreboding. Time to get out. I could see him start reaching into his pocket, but I was faster. One jabbed the ribs and he was screaming.

I followed up by elbowing him in the face and dumping his squirming body on the ground outside, but not before I took his wallet. As I started driving away, I could see about four more equally sketchy-looking dudes coming out of the shack. I shuddered. not really wanting to think about what they had in store for me.

In any case, I had bigger issues at hand. I drove to the town that I was talking about earlier, used some cash I'd taken from the guy's wallet to rent a motel room for a few nights. Whilst I was sitting in my dingy accommodation, I started trying to put the pieces together. He was trying to kill me. There are multiple versions of my copy. There were dudes in armour roaming around Jack's Crops.

The cops were looking for. for me. And, well, I really couldn't go back to my apartment. No, I had no freaking clue where this was going. Feeling frustrated, I decided to head out for a few drinks. This asshole had about six hundred bucks in his wallet, so I was going to splurge on a few hynikins. I also found a small revolver in his truck, so I took it with me. Safe to say, I wasn't feeling that safe. I made my way over to the tavern and sat at the bar. I ordered two beers and some chicken wings, because, well, why not?

Just as I was getting relaxed, the bartender seemed to recognize me. Hey, you again, he said to me. Oh, God, no, I thought to myself. Apparently my copy had been here earlier, presumably looking for me. How long ago? I asked him.

Looking confused, he responded. About ten minutes ago. You don't remember? Minutes. Shit. Feeling a bit nauseous, I went to the washroom and weighed my options. I suppose that it made sense to stay, given the fact that the copy had already left. He wouldn't have any reason to come back, right?

As it turns out, wrong. Out of nowhere, I started getting a headache. And my vision went wonky. I mean, I could still see, but my sight was distorted. it. Best way I can put it. Well, it quickly subsided, but the nuisance was replaced by sounds of commotion coming from the bar. It sounded like somebody was arguing about something. It sounded like I was arguing about something.

It was my voice. It was him. The bathroom door suddenly kicked open and somebody walked in, eventually coming to a stop right outside my stall door. I wasn't taking any chances. I pulled out the revolver and fired off two rounds right then and there. I was met with surprised, laboured groans as I climbed out up top. I landed right beside him, right beside my copy.

This was the first time we'd stared each other down directly. Staring into my own hate-filled eyes was something of an abstract feeling. Sure as hell didn't feel right. The headache and vision problems began coming back. I could tell it was affecting him as well. It also looked like he was wearing a bullet-proof vest, so, well, that explained why he was still standing. Fight or flight, I thought.

An extremely quick deliberation yielded flight. I fired off another round at him, the bullet narrowly grazing his ear before running the hell out of there, into the confused and horrified faces of the bar patrons. Behind me, he fired off a few shots of his own. but luckily none of them connected. Zigzagging my way through the streets and alleys,

I took a convoluted route back to the motel parking lot, where I got into my commandeered vehicle and floored it out of there. I only made it about a half hour before the shitty truck broke down. It then took two more hours of walking in order to reach civilization again. Another small town, another dingy motel. And that's where my current situation has placed me. Obviously, I don't see an end inside here. I'm on constant high alerts.

Adrenaline fueling my paranoia. I think it's paying off, honestly. I've seen the same black sedan drive past my window about four times now. Yep, the black sedan is definitely on my ass. How many people are chasing me at this point? I couldn't find any spare revolver ammo in the truck and I don't think buying a gun is feasible right now. not like my shooting was any good regardless. The sedan just made its seventh trip past my window.

And they're just taunting me at this point. It certainly feels like it. Also, I've been experiencing some weird shit. Not like the headaches or anything, but sometimes I'll blink and the lights to my room will suddenly become darker. Or a window will move over a few inches. What do they call these? Glitches in the Matrix?

Well, to my laundry list of problems. I'm forcing myself not to sleep, since I reckon these guys could probably just break in and shoot me in the head at any time. They know I'm here, so I honestly don't know what they're waiting

for. I've considered running off, but where am I going to go? They're obviously tracking me somehow, so it seems fruitless. I never remembered falling asleep at any point, but I must have, given the fact that I was jarred awake by gunshots,

I rushed over to my window and looked outside, seeing the sedan now riddled with bullet holes and guess who'd done it? Yeah, it was my copy. I'm not sure if he thought it was me inside the vehicle. Maybe he had multiple targets. Whatever. He was certainly after me now. I could feel another headache coming on. Not only that, but the room around me seemingly started to shrink.

Still in a reasonably cogent state of mind, I told myself that it wasn't real. I knew that it wasn't real. It all came to her head when I saw a shadow passing by the curtains. In a rather irrational move, I fired a shot at it. Not really sure what I was thinking there. Probably just pent up frustration. I simultaneously missed and gave away my position.

Still reeling from the headaches, I ran into the bathroom as I heard my door being knocked down. He was in. A hidden, tense silence. As I heard him walk around the bedroom. This wasn't going to work, I thought to myself. There weren't many rooms he had to go through before finding me. Only two bullets left.

I grasped the revolver as he approached the bathroom door. The last room that he hadn't checked. The door suddenly flung open, and I took my last two shots. both misses I was cornered now and my headache was reaching near unbearable heights in a last ditch effort I tried tackling him

thankfully it took him by surprise and we went tumbling back into the bedroom but well that was about the extent of the fight I put up I didn't have any combat experience after all either on foot nor on the ground he delivered a few blows to my stomach I was suddenly laid out on the carpet, with him standing over me, aiming a pistol point-blank at my temple.

Wait, I asked him, trying to come to terms with my obscure loss. Look, you won, but could you do me a small pavement? Please explain to me what the hell's going on. He lowered his gun slightly before smirking. Yeah, sure, at least I could do. So, I got my answer. But I'm still not entirely sure if I fully understand it. He is me.

Not a clone. We were one in the same, just from different realities. He explained how the universe that he'd come from was considerably further ahead, technology-wise, than mine. Far enough to the point where they'd perfected a form of dimension hopping. But in his world he was also a criminal, a large-scale thief. his most recent endeavour, stealing one of the devices that would allow somebody to traverse to different realities. Things went messy during his plan and he was forced to use the device in order to orchestrate an extremely convoluted escape.

And ultimately, he ended up here. But the problem with entering different realities lies in the fact that there will likely be another version of you. And that directly goes against the laws of the natural universe. You see, he and I are identical, but at the same time, we're not. There are subtle differences that set the realities apart, and when they start bleeding together, even in the slightest, well, the universe just can't accept it. At first, the problems are marginal,

but the longer that two different versions of the same entity exist in one reality, the worse it gets. Not just for the two involved, but for the reality that they're inside of, a whole. That's why killing you was top priority for me. He said to me, nothing personal. That's a given, but I can't evade the fuckers that are trying to chase me if this reality begins falling apart. He felt the headaches, haven't you? Seeing the visions. That's the universe saying that one of us has got to go. I can deal with everything else later, but for now, he raised the gun once again. Oh, this needs to end.

Oh, for fuck's sake, I put my arms up in a defensive gesture. He hadn't explained everything yet. Like, why was there more than one copy of us in this reality? Like the one he killed when I first stumbled upon the security footage. But, well, we never had a chance to get to that. Drop the gun. A booming voice suddenly came out of nowhere. At first I thought it was a police.

But I threw that idea aside. I caught glimpses of who it was. Four large men wearing what looked like expensive and militarized suits of armour were pointing massive armaments at us. Across their chests were the white letters, N, C. My copy sighed. Shit.

Before looking at me, eyes filled with annoyance. Now look what you've freaking done. The armored men talked among themselves, before one of them approached us. He took out some kind of device with a holographic screen. Look into this, he said to me.

Without much of another option, I obliged, staring into the centre of the screen as the thing seemingly scanned my face. After a few seconds, it was over. He's the Craig version. Take the other one away,

he said, before putting the device away. The rest of the men restrained and led my copy out the door. I could barely react as all of this was happening, simply standing dead still until the sun came up. When everything was said and done, I finally went back to my apartment,

still in an extreme state of shock. I haven't made any contact with the police, nor have the police attempted any contact with me. So I'm not really sure where that's going. I suppose I should be glad that this whole ordeal seems to have been concluded, but there's one thing that still disturbs me. The last I saw of my copy, he was smiling. It's time once again to round off proceedings, this time with the tale of a haunting parent.

So, I have a situation, well, more of an unusual paranormal phenomena than a situation, which has me puzzled. I'm trying to find out why it's happening to me and what I can do. So please, if it seems like I veer off course, let me know and I'll get back on track. I'll start it from the first encounter that happened that day. Then I'll go on every day I actually had encounters instead of day by day. I'll start with a dream that I've constantly had since I could remember. I'm driving in the middle of the night.

I'm in the hurry to get somewhere. I don't know why. All I know is I have to get there. And then, boom. The car in the opposite lane has swerved into my lane, accidentally clipping me into losing control of my vehicle and crashing into a tree. Me not having my seatbelt on means I go flying out of the car and barely missing the tree, but landing on the hard surface of the asphalt.

Legs are broken, ribs broken. and impaled into my lungs as I lay there. I'm still alive, but not for long. I see a figure approach me, and I muster whatever energy I can to call for help, and everything goes dark. Then I awaken in my room, looking up at my ceiling again,

hearing my dad calling for me to go downstairs while my phone alarm was going off. I muster up the energy, and shake off the pain that comes with that dream. Shut my phone off and get up. I go downstairs to see my father already having breakfast on the table in his work attire ready to go. Morning, my father said. Morning, I replied, while rubbing the sore spots on my body.

You know, if you keep sleeping in like this, I'm going to have to attach an alarm clock to your head. Sorry, I don't know what it is. It seems like I just can't get enough sleep. Ah, you're just growing. Just got to always plan around these things, though. Like, I don't know, go to sleep earlier or set multiple alarms on your phone or something. He was right, as always, giving me hindsight and how I should handle things.

Though I didn't mind it much because, at the end of the day, they did help, even though some were kind of obvious. We finished breakfast, and we did the usual goodbye hug before we went, separate way. As I'm making my way to school on foot, I see the same three things, basically, landmarks of a sort. I see Benito's tire shop, Tom's Burgess, and that older gentleman standing by the tree off T Street.

He never replies, just gives the glare as I walk past him. His shoes are scuffed, full of holes and covered in mud. He doesn't seem to cause any trouble, so I don't really feel threatened by him. I mean, he's been by that tree for years, ever since I began walking this way. Also, I have about 30 pounds on him, so if he does try something, I doubt it would end well for him. I get to school to meet up with my friends, Todd, Sam, who's a girl, by the way, and Luke. All three have been friends since elementary school. And although we're all the same age, I do look three years older than them.

I usually have a foot in height over them. Also, I've got facial hair on top of it. They tease me by saying I was held back four years, or that I'm a Sasquatch's son. Both are possible, especially the fact that I don't look a lot like my dad. So we all make our way into school. I guess I should explain a bit. Well, it's a normal high school, like seen on TV. There are the cliques, such as the jocks, the mean girls, the stoners, emo, the goth, and the nerds.

But the difference was, nobody ain't. ever had any beef with the other. Sure there were a couple of bullies here and there, but overall, everyone was pretty decent to each other. Being a freshman, it was still a lot to take in. That and the ridiculous amount of homework you have to do. But things weren't so bad for me. I was actually accepted to the varsity football team as a middle linebacker. I'm sure it had to do with the fact in my first year I was already outlifting the team and even some of the coaches. not to do my own horn or anything, but I was already up to four plates on my bench press. And for those who have no idea what that is, it's a little over 400 pounds.

I never liked this sport, but it was a good way to take out my anger on people, while possibly having a chance to go to a good college for free. Anyways, not the point, sorry for going off course. The reason I bring that up is that there is a varsity cheerleader that cheers for our games. Who? For some reason, I cannot stop looking at, but not in that perv way that would make me into a stalker. Like, just wanting to get to know her. Seems so interesting, I don't know. So, every game we're at together, I turn into my awkward wave, and she smiles and waves back. Then I go and crush someone's soul on the field while everyone cheers. But this time, she approached

me. Hi. Abel, right? She asked. Um, yeah, although my friends call me Abe, like Lincoln, you know, because I'm so tall, and Abe Lincoln was tall, and right, I get it. She laughed. I'm Anne. I was thinking maybe sometime we should hang out, like go watch a movie or something. Looking down, rubbing my head, still kind of nervous because she's three years above me after all. Now, don't blame a kid for being nervous, so I look back up, ready to say yes. When I saw the man from the tree behind her, and paused in shock, looking around at the expressions of everyone else to see if they see what I'm seeing, but none of them seem to notice him.

I look forward again, and before I can even react, he spoke. Yeah, that sounds good. We should do a group thing with all of us. it'll be a blast. I repeated what he said to her word for word. She loved that idea, and so did my friends, well, because we're a freshman, and they all agreed, and started making plans and talking to each other.

The chat has started to become more silent to me because I couldn't get over the fact that I'm seeing this person who I'm convinced is a ghost man. He used me like a puppet, But as soon as I said those words, he was gone, and I was staring at Anne's smiling face, and it kind of washed the fear I had away from me. Later that week, we all went to the movies, and just like that, we were always together. Never as a couple, though.

I thought about the idea once, and the thought made me want to vomit. We had a sleepover once as well, with all my friends and hers. luckily one of her friends Kate I think her parents were out of town for the weekend so we had a little more fun with drinks which almost caught one of my friends laid until he puked on her

of course classic Luke but it led to me being alone with Anne while the others tended to Luke and his fountain of vomit that wouldn't seem to end we sat outside to avoid the smell I think the alcohol was starting to remove the illness I felt

when I thought of Anne is more than a friend. She looked up into the stars above us with a smile that was so cute. Your dad's okay with you staying over here. I wouldn't know. He died before I was born. My mom wouldn't be happy. She knew you were here also.

You know, thinking every teenager is wanting to have sex and so on. God, it killed me to ask her to help me get birth control. Look on her face, though. is if I asked her to help me bury a body. She started to laugh, as did I. Sorry to hear you about your dad. It must be tough, I told her. It's okay.

I didn't really know the guy. All I have is pitch is to go off of. But I heard he was a good man and was happy to hear that my mom was pregnant with me. She replied, smiling and looking up to the stars. Oh, anybody would be lucky to have you in the life. You must have known how you were going to turn out. I mean, Miss UCLA University we're talking about, I answered.

She smiled, but didn't say any more. And I had this urge, I couldn't help myself. I hugged her from the sight and leaned in for a kiss on her cheek. Shocked, she turns to me with a look of confusion. Sorry, I couldn't help it. You just looked so adorable with her. I stopped in my track as that same man appeared again, but this time he wasn't talking.

He pounced on me holding my throat in a rage. I couldn't shake him off. It was like I had an elephant on my chest. All I did was go to my side, looking at me while I struggled with this man. How could she not see him? I thought to myself, as I continued to struggle for my life against this psycho. He finally spoke again.

Not her. Anyone but her. I nodded in response. And just like that, he vanished without a trace. I gas for air. Zan helped me up, seeing that there was something wrong with me. Remembering what he said, I broke from her grasp. What the hell did I do?

She yelled. Nothing. I'm sorry. Just don't want to be touched is all. I answered. I think the drink's got to me. I need to go home. I got up and before she could say anything, I walked off.

I don't know what to do. I approach the man whenever he's behind the tree, but he doesn't respond. He just stares. Anne's now freaking out behind the fact that I am freaking out and we're starting to grow more separate. Which, in my heart, something I don't want, I want to be there for her. Please someone give me an idea of what's going on.

So the night shift is not all it might seem, as we saw in those four stories, which I do hope you enjoyed in this week's episode of the podcast. Well, that's it for this week, but I will be back again. Same time, same place next week. I do so hope you'll join me once again. Until the next time, my dear friends, a very, very sweet dreams, and bye-bye.

Oh, and don't forget to leave a five-star review and a lovely, lovely comment wherever you get your podcasts.