Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S1 Ep32: Episode 32: Friday 13th Horror

Episode Date: June 3, 2021

Tonight's show is proudly sponsored by Manscaped: get 20% Off and Free Shipping with the code CREEP at https://www.manscaped.com/ Tonight’s collection of terrifying tales of horror are written by the wonderful Nick Moore, shared with me via his sub-reddit and read here with his express permission. https://www.reddit.com/user/nmwrites/ We open this podcast with ‘The Thirteenth.’ https://www.reddit.com/r/TheCrypticCompendium/comments/n5258k/the_thirteenth/ Today’s second fantastic offering is ‘Forever, a Drug.’ https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/bdx6rc/forever_a_drug/ Our third tale of terror is ‘I Can Read Minds, Someone Is Trying to Kill Me.’ https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/b25ie5/i_can_read_minds_someone_is_trying_to_kill_me/ Tonight’s fourth story is ‘I run a cursed images website, the recent submissions are scaring me.’ https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/dieyvw/i_run_a_cursed_images_website_the_recent/ We follow that with ‘My Mother-In-Law was poisoning me, then I found out why.’ https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/ad5zto/my_motherinlaw_was_poisoning_me_then_i_found_out/ We round off tonight’s proceedings with ‘The Black Cloud.’ https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/ccorqq/the_black_cloud/

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The brain has corridors surpassing any material place. Six terrifying short stories for you this evening, all from the pen of the wonderfully talented Mr. Nick Moore. And we begin with the 13th. And before we begin, as ever, a word of caution. Tonight's stories may contain strong language, as well as description, as of violence and horrific imagery. If that sounds like your kind of thing, then let's begin. This is going to sound like an urban legend, like some myth echoing around a diseased brain that you should disregard.

It isn't. My handshakes and the gun in my hand feels heavy, but I know there's only one way to end this, and this is it. First though I need to tell you the story of the 13th, before the darkness stills its way across the floor before I'm faced again with my nightmare. It seems like a lifetime ago at this point, but in reality half a dozen years at most have passed. I could easily find the exact date the moment my life shifted so wildly off its axis, but I'd rather not at this point. Marking the days would make all of this too final, too real. I'd rather let the past disappear into the haze. I would prefer to lose myself in most days. Six of us drove to the lake that weekend.

Two couples, Tracy and I, best friends as we were, the fifth and sixth wheels that everyone always wondered about. I'd ask my friends to plan the weekends, helping a nice environment and a little liquid courage would finally give me the courage to tell her how I really felt to spill the feelings I bottled up for so long. I wish I could reach back through time and grab that young man by the collar,

tell him to find another way. Be brave, I'd say. Be bold. The rest doesn't matter the way you think it does. I can't, though. Nope. Some mistakes you can't unmake. Come, excuse me a minute, will you?

This drink isn't going to freshen itself, and I need to steal myself for this next part. My schedules that summer were scattered and random, but we all lined up a Wednesday to Tuesday stretch we booked off. The house sat on the side of the lake with a beautiful view of the water. surrounded by trees and fresh air it was truly the perfect place to rent for a week i couldn't even see another house when i stood out back spent the first night drinking around a bonfire me trying to work up my courage and failing each time on thursday though thursday was the big mistake we ventured into town to visit the local bar scene something scott said someone he'd bumped into at the gas station recommended well i wish i could remember that night but it reappears oh it reappears over the bar scene something scott said someone he'd bumped into at the gas station recommended it well i wish i could remember that night but it reappears only in bits and pieces, fragments of some other timeline I might have once lived.

I do, however, remember the guy we talked to, young, our age, someone local, talking about the area at some point the story is shifting to scary local legends. He told us about the 13th, some legendary beast that appeared only on Friday the 13th, which the next night happened to be, how it rose from the lake and targeted those who knew about it. He laughed and pretended to be scared, at the moment felt foolish and light. I remember Scott getting sick in the bathroom, helping him to the car, smelling the cinnamon of a fireball shot in his breath as he pressed one of those tiny bottles, now empty, into my palm, telling me to keep the change. At the time I half-heartedly wondered where he got it, or how long he'd carried it around.

I remember him announcing on the drive back that he left his lucky quarter at the bar, and then singing out of the window, some old tune with the words changed. I wish I could remember it now, but it happened in another life. Life. We were alive. The next night was magical. That's the night I remember. We grilled burgers and had a fire outside, and the memories are so infused with vitality. There are nights now when I wonder if so much of this really happened. But not that night. The air in my memory still hums with life. At some point Tracy and I found us, alone, our friends generously giving us the space we needed. I got her a blanket and we sat together, both daring the other to speak.

You don't get to know the words that passed between us. There are all of that life I still have left, a conversation that's etched upon my soul. The one thing I'll depart this mortal coil with. You can know that after we spoke those words, we kissed. And in that moment everything in the universe clicked into alignment for a moment, only for a moment, but then again in life can be both ephemeral and cruel. You can know that it was only a minute later when she jumped up, scratching her arms. The blanket I'd found was down, and she was allergic.

Feathers. What a dumb, damn thing to decide the course of one's life. She decided to shower, and I volunteered to make the trip up the road to the convenience store to find some Benadryl. I would have been there otherwise, of course. But if I had, I would now be counted among the... the useless and the dead as well. The house sat silent when I returned, too silent. A fog had come off the lake in a way that didn't make real sense to me. I hadn't been gone that long and the door to the house sat open. A feeling of dread in my gut told me something there was terribly

wrong, but I couldn't tell you what. I recall walking to the door, turning as I entered to realize I could barely see the car just feet away. My shoes hitting the pooled water inside and wondering if the shower was somehow leaking, as though all the water might be nothing more than a mechanical issue. I remember finding the bodies, too. Lifeless and bloating, horribly bruised and soaking wet. Pale, devoid of life. The police called it a chemical leak from some abandoned underground tank, a freak accident, a nonsense story designed to put on a report, and they knew it. I found myself alone while the coroner's worked, my closest friends in the world all suddenly snuffed out. I don't exactly remember the decision to start drinking after I left the police station, but I don't want to remember it either.

Something makes sense in the moment, a path he is supposed to follow. I don't even know which bar it happened in. I shuffled from one to another as I got cut off, but the old man had gentilize and explained the 13th to me. I shouldn't have told you, he began, but he thought he protected you. I was too drunk to recall the exact words that passed, but the old man told me I'd be targeted now. Every Friday the 13th I'd find myself hunted by the same beast that had killed my friends. I had to leave a small bottle of alcohol and a coin outside my door on those nights. It was somehow ward off the beast.

One of us must have moved it, he told me, not realising. the importance or telling us about it had marked us some sick game that i didn't understand life fell apart after that i didn't go back to school couldn't really i drifted living my life one bottle at a time i is always on the next friday the 13th on the calendar i wish i could tell you i had some purpose during those years that i sustained myself on the memory of my departed friends but that would be a lie instead i told myself that each friend Friday the 13th would be my last, that I would refuse to place the wards, that I would greet the evil that stalk me, but every time I'd hurriedly placed them outside the door before darkness fell,

shaking and cursing myself for my cowardice. I saw it only once in those years, a day I barely placed the protections before nightfall, alert in the shadows nearby, somehow both solid and liquid, huge and menacing, enshrouded in a fog that appeared from nowhere, snarling before it melted back into the darkness. I know I'll see it once more, and I do not look forward to it. Life, though, well, life as a way of stabilising. Nature abhors a vacuum, as they say. I found myself in a town filled with kind people,

found a job to temporarily fill my pockets that turned into a life worth envisioning, a boss with a kind heart who became a friend. Living across the street from Steve, my boss and his wife Karen, I realized that I could see myself in this place. I realized I could see a future again. Maybe I could live. Maybe some old scars could really heal. Steve knew I had a secret.

He felt it in the silence during those moments I stared off into the distance, losing myself in the past. The shadows on the horizon never left me, though they dimmed with time, storms passing just out of sight. Steve had a kind heart. He thought he could help, and one night over too many people. bottles of wine and a meal Karen cooked, I finally broke down and told them about the 13th. I responded kindly, not believing, no, but recognising that something horrible had happened in my past, probably imagining that the police had been right, but my young mind had created some nightmare to explain the things I couldn't exempt. Two months would pass before the next

Friday the 13th, and he never mentioned what I told him again. Still, early that morning I walked silently to his house and hid a coin and small bottle of Albuquer. alcohol outside behind a bush. I'd heed the warnings he wouldn't. I'd ensure he remained safe. For once on a Friday the 13th, I fell asleep and slept deeply, and I blame myself for what happened next. I woke up to a few text messages from Steve, a selfie of him draining the bottle and a message saying that he hoped this would show me that I had nothing to worry about, that I could begin to work on processing the death of my friends. poor steve he was a good man Karen was wonderful the authorities had no idea what to make of their bodies found inside a lot house with a deadbolt still engaged mangled with lungs full of water well that almost kill me well i certainly drank enough that it might have i go to bars and mouth off praying someone would be violent enough to do while i was too cowardly to got beat a few times but nothing with the finality i crave I withdrew, mindlessly diving into the internet, a place I could be drunk and alone.

One night, though, one night I found a thread and it sparked an idea, another bit of life for me. I began searching in earnest, searching for some way to free myself from this. I went down a lot of rabbit holes, found myself facing too many dead ends, but names bubbled to the surface over time, familiar ones. when you're hunting for information on some water monster of law, you can't exactly Google it. You hear about a professor with arcane interests, then hear about him again. The first time you hear a name might be nothing, but by the third, you point your compass towards his campus and head that way. It took three tries before he didn't brush me off, but a professor with an obscure interest in Triskeidecophobia, fear of the number 13, couldn't be passed up. I knew I was running out of time.

The next Friday of the 13th was just two days away, so I showed up at his office and blurted out my truth, and I knew why people were afraid of Friday the 13th, and I had been hunted by it for years. And Professor Gardner, I spent the next two nights staying in his guest room as he drilled me with questions. I think he feared losing me.

I told him about the 13th, and we prepared for that night as I had for years. I wasn't any closer to our understanding, but he took copious notes, circling over and over the facts as I knew them. We would speak, and then I'd watch him pour over maps, books, records, silently putting something together. The afternoon of the 13th found him in a happy mood. We'd set the wards outside and began waiting for it to appear. This would mark the first time I'd looked outside.

Normally I hid from its evil gaze. A celebratory drink led to another, and in a short time the professor finally began filling in the gaps for me, placing my experiences into a broader base of knowledge. I watched the light drain away outside as he began talking. There have been rumours for thousands of years, he said. He spoke excitedly, the wine loosening his tongue. Some people will tell you this began at the last supper, that some evil had already infected Judas, but I'm telling you this is older than that.

It predates Christianity by a great deal. Amarabi's code omitted the 13th law some reference to the darkness lunar cults sought the number 13 to be spiritual but the number has had power for a long time what is it i asked oh he shook his head no one really knows some say a beast some say it is a living curse it has always been kept largely a secret because the more people knew of it the weaker it became the few texts that exist always made that that clear. On Friday the 13th of October, in 1307, King Philip the 4th of France used it to wipe out Knight's Templar. It pops up only here and there afterwards for hundreds of years. It's old, antediluvian, something left over from before the flood. He paused here. Every people to ever live on this earth have had a flood mythology, cultural memories of water destroying the earth. He trailed off as he refil and he refilled off.

his glass. Something different happened when it came to America. We were founded with 13 colonies, which I believe was some sort of homage to its power, perhaps trying to lure it. There was once a 13 club made of powerful men, five presidents even joined, with the stated purpose of improving the number's reputation. But I think the real purpose was to transport it here, or lure it here. Powerful men have believed they could use it for a long time. His voice picked up, he got more and more excited. In 1915 a German U-boat, SMU-28, sunk the British steamer Iberian.

Among the debris the Germans saw a giant, aquatic animal in the wreckage, something resembling a crocodile of monstrous size. I think that represented an attempt to bring it here, and I think it may have succeeded in some way, though, not perhaps as contained a manner as some would have hoped. I looked out the window. The sun had now completely set.

you provided an interesting piece of information he continued the coin and the small bottle of alcohol some offering to protect you it's driven to kill all who know of his existence since in the knowing it is weakened but you've discovered how men used it for so long the flipside to the curse of the knowledge one could tell his enemies of it without telling them how to protect themselves knowing it would hunt them down once they knew genius in its simplicity really We sat quietly for a moment, considering this. Hitchcock tried to make a movie called No. 13, you know. He began. It fell apart and the footage vanished. He paused and I waited for him to resume. But he didn't. I need to use the restroom, I said, standing up. It won't be long now.

I closed the door and splashed water on my face, staring at my reflection, daring myself to be browned. I remember the sound, a click, and then metal meeting worked. I knew, but still I checked the bathroom door, locked from the outside. Professor, I asked, as though there was a question. Your libation and your coin are outside the bathroom boy, he answered, and you're safely locked in. It's not safe to be out there, I pleaded. Oh, not for you, no, but I would greet our guest as an old friend.

I have known the words for some time, just not how to sum it so I could use them. After this, it will be in my control. I begged through the door, but part of me knew what would happen next. Minutes passed before I heard anything. It sounded like a trickle of water that slowly grew to a roar, and I felt a pressure that reminded me of diving to the bottom of a problem of a problem. pool. The professor remained confident in his abilities, and he began chanting words, words in a language I'm sure it died out long ago. I heard his chants grow louder, take on a plaintiff tone.

I could imagine the thing filling the room before him, with him believing he had some way to stop it. I heard his word stop suddenly, just as I heard the horrible wet sounds that followed. Time passed again after that night, when I was out of options. I don't know what the professor did wrong, if he spoke the wrong words, or if some other weakness cursed him to a watery death. But there did not exist much hope for me. The greatest and perhaps only source of information in the world had been snuffed out. So I did what I do best, lost myself in a drink. I don't know how the universe decides to push these things together,

whether some greater force nudged me in a certain way, or whether it was simply the luck of a man who'd spent too many evenings in too many filthy bars. I considered the knife in my hand, silver, taken from the professor's study before I left. It had something carved on the blade and seemed very, very old. I don't know why I took it, but it brought me some comfort. The old revolver with bizarre, ancient-looking bullets was in my hotel room. There existed no practical way of carrying the giant thing, but they seemed important to take, though they might simply be mementos from a man preoccupied with the past.

I mostly laid low these days, grabbing a bunch of stuff from the scene of a violent death as a way of attracting attention, even if the manner of death was so strange. I heard him while I studied the blade. His voice still the same as that first night. Only this time the tone remained light-hearted, talking about spring training, pitches and catches, truck day, normal life, no tales of darkness and woe. I sat there all night, watching him from across the bar, waiting for him to leave.

When he finally did, drunk and tired, I tell just behind him. Most people are oblivious to these things, men especially, and he remained blissfully unaware of my presence until I pushed him into an alley and pulled a knife. His eyes flickering from surprise to fear. You kill my friends, I hissed, and now I'm going to kill you.

His eyes full of fear a moment before, changed to acceptance. I deserve this. He began. I didn't protect your friends well enough. The knife shook in my hand. He kept talking. His story began in a town hunting a nightmare the residents didn't understand.

They all protected themselves from it, the way a few families had been taught by a stranger decades before, but it found ways to strike the unprepared, the foolish, those who made mistakes. Over time, the residents created an elaborate plan to kill it, but only being able to strike a bit of, on Friday the 13th meant months would pass when movement on such a plot remained impossible.

In the meantime, the plant in town closed. People left and those who remained were just trying to hang on to life. His mother had lost hope, and he grew worried that she would stop protecting herself, that she would find it easier to choose to see what lay on the other side than face another day alone. The beast seemed too strong, though. Not enough people knew of it,

so he hatched a plan that, in his young mind, seemed perfect. He decided he'd target a group of tourists. He would lure them into town, protect the house they stayed in, and tell them of the beast. Their safety would be guaranteed, and it would grow weaker in the telling. He would sit unguarded in his home, and when it appeared, he would try to kill it. He didn't know Scott had stumbled across the bottle and the coin, didn't know that even, as they sat in the bar that night, Scott had dropped the coin in the bathroom already, that he would do a shot by the jukebox and hand off the empty bottle to me.

He didn't know his plan had already failed, so he sat alone the next night, waiting for a beast that had already focused on more bountiful prey. He finished talking with tears running down his face, and closed his eyes, waiting for what came next. I stared at the tip of the knife, still pointed at him, considering. I stare at the knife tip again now, in his hand. He twirls it as he waits for the beast.

Two men who might be able to slay this nightmare once and for all. So you know now, and in that knowledge it grows weaker. Place a coin and a small bit of libation outside your door tonight, and you'll be safe. He wants me anyway, and my door will remain unguarded and open for the nightmare that will darken it soon. I'm ready for it, and this time I'll succeed, or I'll die trying. Hey Ontario, come on down to BetMGM Casino and check out our newest exclusive. The Price is Right Fortune Pick. Don't miss out. Play exciting casino games based on the iconic game show.

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Forever a drug. I want to get high tonight. Scott was bordering on junkie status, and I was always wary about spending time with him, normally in the filthy apartment of some deal of friend while he got shot up. It seemed like he was bordering on a collapse, and I was scared of doing the same.

I don't know. What are you thinking? On the other hand, I'd been despondent since breaking up with Ruth. Maybe something to take my mind off the pain would help. I knew she was better off without me. I was just holding her back. Maybe at Jared, sir. He says he wants to try something new. This made me feel a little better.

Jared was probably the nicest dealer Scott knew and his stuff was generally sourced well, plus his apartment was at least somewhat clean. You know I don't fuck with needles. Yeah, man, it's fine. Nothing like that. I showed up at eight with three beers in my system that had failed to calm the nervous energy I was feeling. Whatever, it's fine. It's going to be fine.

Jared was happy to see me and pour me a whiskey. I felt a little weird and sat down at the table. He put three black pills down in front of us. Of this from a trusted contact overseas, he began. He said it's like nothing else. He smiled. I thought the three of us could test drive it before I put it. in an order, see if it's really worth it. The stuff's called, forever. Scott laughed and downed a pill.

Jared and I followed suits. I sat down and stared at the TV, waiting for it to kick in. It was fine. I felt really mellow and sort of like the room, and me with it was stretching in a weird way. We all wound up falling asleep. I woke up the next day feeling fine and we parted ways. No big deal. Certainly nothing life-changing. Years passed. I never left town. Never really did anything. I could never kick smoking cigarettes either.

Well, it wasn't a surprise when the doc told me the blood I was coughing up was cancer. Shit. Too late to do anything. I was alone when I took my last breath. I woke up back in Jared's apartment. Sun streaming through the window. What the fuck? I'd hallucinated an entire sad life.

Was that the truck? I mumbled something at Jared and Scott and walked outside. What a weird dream. I decided I could do more. Maybe that was a wake-up call. Applied to a job I didn't think I was qualified for. Got it. Stop screwing around.

Quit smoking. Married a nice girl. Had a kid who loved to play ball outside. Didn't even see the truck coming the day. he chased his ball into the streets. But I did. Probably never moved that fast in my life. Fast enough to push him out of the way,

but not fast enough to get myself out of the way. Oh well, what a way to go, protecting someone you love. And I woke up in Jared's apartment. Fuck me. What the hell was happening? I had to short circuit this. I must still be tripping. I decided to throw myself off the bridge,

down the streets. When I got there I found I physically couldn't do it. Something stopped me, so killing myself was out. I had to go home and figure this one out. I wasn't paying attention as I walked up the stairs to my apartment. If I had, I would have noticed the neighbor's kid had left a toy car on one of them. When I slipped and tumbled, I knew it was going to be bad. I woke up in Jared's apartment Maybe this could be fun However long this lasts I can do anything and it's not real

Like lucid dreaming But it lasts for decades So I tried a life of crime Got shot coming out of an electronic store I'm not cut out for that It hurt like hell Screwed around

Party too much Overdosed back to Jared's When it all goes to hell I'd lived 10 or 12 lifetimes when I saw her Ruth It might seem weird to have forgotten her But you have to remember we'd broken up probably 300 years before She was older, divorced

Sad She'd married the wrong guy after I break up And got an abuse for years I was so depressed after our talk I just walked for hours Thinking about how sad her life had turned out I thought I was helping her I found myself in a rough neighbourhood

when I got jumped I didn't hand over my wallet that was a mistake I woke up in Jared's apartment this time I could fix it I bought a bunch of flowers and went to Ruth's she took me back we got married and had a family

we travelled the world best friends oh it was incredible the best life I ever had I died a happy old man Surrounded by family I woke up in Jared's apartment I bought a bunch of flowers and went to Ruth's If I'm stuck in this ground dog day shit

I know what to do You know what isn't boring Living your best goddamn life that you can Twice three times ten times The rough edges get smoothed away You learn when bad news is coming When you need to side step a bad argument just absolute happiness

if you get to choose happiness you choose it every damn time and then one day we were in Paris celebrating our 30th anniversary I'd taken this trip with her 20 times she walked down to the cafe to get me some breakfast the car jumped the sidewalk and killed her that had never happened before

the next lifetime was worse who made it 12 years after our wedding before she got some weird flu variant and died. The next one she was diagnosed with cancer a year after marriage. We never had kids. The next one, her building had burned down the night I spent at Jarrett's. I stood outside with flowers in my hand, staring at the smoking ruins. A filthy old homeless man walked up next to me as I stared in disbelief. Thought you could cheat it, did you?

He says. Thought he wouldn't notice. He did. He started laughing as he walked away. But he did. I watched him as he walked away. He turned back from time to time to smile at me. Well, my lives turned dark.

Friends were killed in horrible accidents. Serial killers struck peaceful towns and ravaged the families of those I loved. Overdose, disease, murder, death. Everything was wrong. The world turned two. Dictators came to power. Wars broke out. Hatred rose. The cities burned. Countries shattered and the world bled. The old man would appear from time to time, though centuries would sometimes pass between sightings. He always laughed at me, told me that he had me now, always smiled at me. I drifted from one dying port town to the next. finding work where I could, drinking away shitty lifetime after shitty lifetime. I was sitting in a bar in the capital of East Scotland, watching some cable news about a genocide in some country that hadn't even existed in most of my lifetimes.

The bartender laughed, and I looked at him clearly for the first time. It was the old man. He smiled at me. Who the fuck are you? I growled. I've seen him. longer than you and he sees you now he laughed again where do i go to find him he laughed go to samar in the philippines not now in your next life when you're still young find beringan he waits for you there he smiled at me and i stumbled for the door i left another dozen years before a boat i was on went down in a store and I woke up in Jared's apartment this time I immediately started looking

for a way to get to the Philippines I sold my car and walked to work for six months eating the cheapest food I could find I arrived confused turns out Beringan isn't a real place or maybe it is I found work under the table making money however I could I asked about the invisible city of local folklore. I asked questions about the law behind it. I learned how many people who'd seen it are victims of demonic possession. I searched for it every chance I got. Years passed by. I lived an invisible life, like the invisible city I saw. The world rotted away, but I still searched. One night I was walking home when a car stopped next to me. I heard a familiar laugh through the window. I looked in and saw the old man.

He smiled at me. I got in the car. We drove for hours. The gas gauge never moved. Finally, in the distance, I saw a gleaming city of light. He pulled over and gestured. I have to walk from here. He's waiting for you in the center of the city.

He smiled. I got out and walked. It felt like I walked for days, but the sun never came up, and I never grew thirsty. I walked into a gleaning, deserted city. I felt drawn to a giant tower in the centre. It glowed with the light, despite having no windows or obvious source of illumination.

I wasn't surprised to find a single door at the bottom of the tower. I entered, began to climb. As I went, I heard a voice, deep and old. I couldn't make out the words. I climbed forever, finally reaching a door. I opened it and stepped inside, facing a giant black abyss. The voice was everywhere now. Every word ripped me apart.

I watched you cheat me. Do you think you could live your lives forever? I screamed. You're with me now. Forever. I destroyed this world. The abyss closed and I realized I was staring at a giant mouth. It opened again.

I thought of Ruth. Then the world went black. I woke up. In the hospital. Scott jumped up from the chair in the corner. Oh dude, I'm so glad you're awake. What happened? It looked over his shoulder.

We were just about to take those pills and take. you threw up all over them and then clasped. Oh man, you had a crazy fever. I looked around. How long have I been out? Four days. Ruth keeps chasing me out of here. Thinks I did this.

He glanced at his shoes. Nurses don't like me much either. Why is Ruth here? She's your emergency contact, dude. It hasn't left your side even to go home and sleep. She's just getting coffee now. He paused and shifted awkwardly. Yum, did you have any cash?

Jared's kind of pissed you puked on his stuff. I heard an excited shriek and barely managed to turn my head as Ruth launched herself at me. I was in the hospital for another four days before getting discharged. Doctors couldn't figure out what was wrong with me. I said it must have been a freak infection. Getting discharged was great. Ruth was picking me up and bringing me to Scots so I could go with him for the first NA meeting. Ruth was picking me up and bringing me to Scott so I could go with him to his first NA meeting.

Seeing him he almost die scared him. He was trying to straighten himself out. And then Ruth and I had a special date plan. Things were getting figured out. We were thrilled for another chance. I walked out to the curb and waited for Ruth to pull her car around. I stood there in the sunlight, feeling alive for the first time in, I guess, millennia. A nurse rode another patient in a wheelchair out to the curb, locked his wheel and walked outside. I felt the breeze on my face and smiled. The old man in the wheelchair laughed. I stared at him and he winked.

He let you go. Make sure he doesn't get his teeth into you again. And then he smiled at me. This time, I smiled bad. I can read minds. Someone's trying to kill me. I can read minds, in fact. Right now you're thinking,

you can't really read minds. Just kidding, it doesn't work like that. In the time I was a kid, I realized I was different. I could tell what people were thinking, and while you might think that would be cool, it's actually confusing in people. think you're scary. I learned pretty quickly not to talk about it. It took longer to figure out how to use it. I mean, people are thinking all the time. If I'm within about 50 feet of them, I can hear

their thoughts in my head. Well, it was awful to get used to. My mom was the only person who knew the truth, and since she's gone, my secret is forever safe. You see, all thoughts sound the same. I don't hear them in the thinker's voice. I hear them in a weird, androgynous voice that sounds the same no matter the thinker. So without some clues, I'm stuck wondering who the thoughts coming from. I spent most of my childhood with all my teachers thinking I had trouble learning, when in fact I was just trying to figure out how to stop the thoughts of the other 25 kids in my class from overwhelming my brain. Anyway, I don't have many friends and relationships are hard.

You might think reading your partner's mind would be great, but trust me when I say you don't want to know everything that they find annoying, unattractive or weird about you, but are too kind to say. It's not easy. Professionally, I figured out a way to use my special gift. I turn myself into an above-average student by realizing I could figure out what everyone else thought the answers were on exams, and I did quite well when I could get some solitude and work on papers myself,

without others' thoughts intruding. I went to law school and opened a small firm with my best friend, Nathan. We specialise in contract negotiations and got a great reputation for our negotiating skills. Well, as it turns out, having someone in the room who can read the mind of the other side helps a lot. Plus, he understands my need for solitude, even if he doesn't know that it's due to me being overwhelmed by hearing the thoughts of others. He just thinks I have a sixth sense for negotiating, which in some ways I guess I do. Sorry, I'm rambling. I'm pretty scared right now and don't have time to get all of this down. My problem started two weeks ago. We're in the

middle of our largest negotiation ever, a merger that would really put us on the map. However, the other side has only met us in person a handful of times, so I've been of limited use, and it's been stressing me out. We're getting ready for a few big sessions, and I know I need to deliver. And not surprisingly, I've been having nightmares almost every night. I was tossing and turning one night when I heard the thought clear as day. It was enough to make me sit up straight in bed. Gonna slip in and slice his throat. One of these windows has to be unlocked. He needs to die. It was the voice that means I'm hearing someone's thoughts. Well, I ran to the window and looked out, but saw no one in the dark. I live alone in a remote area, kind of a necessity of my condition,

and shouldn't be able to hear anyone unless they're near my house. I shook it off as probably a nightmare, still not being totally awake. And the next night, it happened again. As I still looking out into the darkness surrounding my house, I thought I saw movement, but couldn't be sure. Either way, I was done messing around. Someone was sneaking up to my house in the dark with thoughts of murder on their mind. I bought about 20 motion-activated lights that day

and stuck them all around my house well that night several popped on and I heard someone curse in my head I didn't hear anything after that whoever the psycher was and that had taken care of it I still added an alarm system and stayed at the art and started coming to work earlier and staying later

which was easy because I wasn't feeling ready for the negotiation we had coming up The day of the big negotiation came and the office was packed. I hadn't had any other issues at home, but still hadn't been sleeping well with the stress. As I walked into the meeting, I heard one thought cut through the rest. I hate him. I looked around. Could have been any of the 50 people in our office thinking about anyone.

I brushed it off and went into the meeting. Oh, negotiations were brutal. Tons of minutiae. Not a lot of bigger picture stuff. We went for ten hours with only a few breaks. We cleared out to let people run to the bathroom when I finally got it. One of the partners on the other side was going through notes, and I found myself in the room alone with him.

He was concerned about the total amount we were going to push for and thought about how high they were willing to go before walking away. it was a full 15% more than we thought we'd be able to get. I almost ran out of the door to Nathan's office. This is the highest they're going to go to before walking away. I said they'd cross the desk. He stared at the number. Are you sure?

If we push this high and this falls apart, we're screwed. I nodded. I know this will work. It did. That night the whole office celebrated. separated together, hearing the warm thoughts of my co-workers washing through my head was an intoxicating feeling. I decided to duck out on a high note and head home. I walked into the parking lot and headed to my car. And that's when I heard it. Clear as day in my head. Finally a chance to kill him. Can't believe he

just wandered off by himself. I spun around looking for a mass killer. The parking lot was empty. I ran to my car. The next day in the office it happened again. I was in the break room when I heard someone's thoughts. Those damn lights are keeping me away, but I could do it here if I get a chance. No mistake this time, and this wasn't random at all.

I took my computer and went home. Over the next three days, I considered everyone in the office. It had to be someone senior enough that my death would give them a chance at promotion, but junior enough that they felt disrespected for some reason by me, and who had been with us long enough that they felt I was the problem that needed to be solved, with my weird hours and need for solitude. I went through the names a hundred times. I'd check Facebook and Twitter profiles. I barely slept, and had narrowed it down to two possible suspects. I stared at their faces, trying to figure out which one of them hated me so

much that they'd try to kill me. Nathan finally called after the third day I didn't show up at or call the office, worried about me. He asked if I was eating or sleeping. Both answers were no, and I told him that someone at the office was trying to kill me. He said he'd pick up some food, and then we'd figure out how to figure out how to catch this murderous asshole. He showed up with takeout and took one look at me before telling me to take a shower, which I guess I need it. I came upstairs and started getting ready to shower when I heard it again. Damn, I can't believe he installed all this security and then just led me in the front door. I ran to my bedroom door and locked it before looking for my phone.

It was downstairs on the counter where I left it. I'm writing this, hoping someone reads it and can report what happened here. Nathan's knocking at my bedroom door now, asking me to come downstairs and talk to him. I can hear his thoughts though About how he does all the work And my weird lucky guesses get all the credits About how killing me will finally give him the chance To get the recognition he deserves

I don't think I have long until he gets in here I can hear in thinking about how strong the door is And he just remembered that there's an axe By the back door for firewood Our unaccursed images website The recent submissions are scaring me I run a cursed images account. You probably know the type if you spend any time online.

I like to joke that my site is the 11th most popular cursed images account. And if you can think of one, it's probably a competitor. Well, I used to run one. It's down now, though. I don't think it matters much anymore. Well, the site was downright simple to run, and I got a lot of submissions. Most days I woke up and checked the various places. people had sent me photos to consider email dropbox Facebook Twitter Instagram once I

had enough followers people made the rest of it almost automated for me I picked out four images for the day and scheduled them to post on my websites once they went live on the website they automatically reposted on all my social media where people shared them and then more people saw them and followed me and sent me stuff I never made any money but I had a lot of followers it was fun the whole thing took maybe 20 minutes a day before work. So what is a cursed image? It's hard to describe,

but it's a photo that makes you uneasy. A picture that, well, as you look at it, gives you an gnawing feeling of dread. I don't like the edited ones, like the pictures where someone's mouth has been photoshopped over each of their eyes. I like real photos. Once they get under your skin and are eerie and unsettling and creep you out just a bit.

the heavy feeling that starts in your gut and crawls up to your head well the first picture arrived just about three months ago I checked my dropbox and there it was 100 dot JPEC I opened it and saw a patch of disturbed dirt in a field at night not a great one honestly and I stuck it in a folder with the rest of the rejections before continuing my day the next day I had another one in the drop box

99.JPEC. I opened it and immediately recognized it as the same place I'd seen the day before. In this one I could see a shallow grave dug in a field, with what looked like a body laid at the bottom of it. This might sound crazy, but it really used to happen all the time. People tried to scare me. They poured elaborate pranks on me. They hoped to get a fake photo on the site so they could brag about fooling me with it.

This one didn't even. even look entirely real. I moved it into the rejection folder and forgot all about it. The next morning another photo appeared. In this one, a horribly flayed body laid on the ground next to a shovel. There was too much blood to see much of it, and honestly it still didn't look real. 98.JPEG went into the rejection pile, though I was amused at this point. I mean, most people either sent one fake photo or overloaded me with them. This was. one was working in reverse order and being clever about it. The next day I got a movie.

97.move. I watched it. I watched it again and vomited. I watched it a third time and called the cops. This one showed the death of the person in the other two images and there was no doubt it was real. The victim had been horribly tortured. They'd been stabbed over and over.

Well, the police were disgusted, but also unimpressed. They took a copy of the files and told me to email them if I got more, but that, well, it was probably a prank. Even if it wasn't a prank, there was no way to know where in the world this had happened. And they probably didn't have jurisdiction. The next day switched back to photos, still in descending order. Each one showed the victim in a cell in the midst of being horribly tortured. Each one was the same. No metadata, nothing distinguishing.

I couldn't even see the victim's face in any of them. I just knew I was looking at a relatively young man tortured for a very long time. After a month, I finally snapped and deleted my Dropbox. The police weren't responding to my emails anymore, even to confirm they'd received them. I couldn't keep looking at these photos. The next day, photo 68.jpeg landed in my Facebook DM, from an account with an obviously fake name and photo, that of a fairly well-known celebrity.

I blocked the account, but each day the photo still slipped through. I changed my Facebook settings so I couldn't receive messages anymore. Then I did the same with my Twitter. I deleted my email address and used a new one that I didn't post online. I also reduced the number of images posted. Well, I had a lot of submissions left over, but people started to complain. My social life suffered I'd come home and lock myself in

Feeling anxious about the arrival of the next day's photo Still The pictures made it through My personal Facebook My personal email A text message on my phone Every time I deleted an account It just showed up in another

Even once I'd never posted online I scanned my computer for viruses But nothing changed 50 forty-five twenty for some reason I was growing increasingly frantic as each day passed feeling that I drew closer to some awful truth I was better off not knowing

seven five two one morning the photo was an email in an alumni account I forgot I'd had the next it printed out of my printer The first photo showed the victim lying in a clean cell They had a bag over their head and seemed to have been just put there

It was horrible to know what followed But it had a feeling of finality somehow The next morning I woke up and realized there was no picture With a sense of freedom I logged onto my website to post the day's photo I saw there was one already there It was a cell I'd seen so much many torture photos in. But now it was empty, clean. An old-fashioned sign that said vacancy hung on the bars. And the file name was zero dot JPEC. I deleted my website and every account I had. If someone

could hack my account, I didn't want it anyway. I threw my laptop in a drawer and called my internet company to cancel my service. I tossed my phone in the trash after that and picked up a new one on sale at a place down the street. I woke up the next day, feeling uneasy, but hopeful. There was really no way to reach me. I hadn't even given the new phone number to my parents. I went to work and settled in nicely. That is until the mail came.

Tucked in along with some packages I was expecting was an envelope with a number minus seven on it. I opened it and found a photo of someone sleeping. I couldn't make out any details. It was taken in a dark room. room, you could see someone in bed, but nothing disinguishing. I got fired about five minutes later, right after I'd unloading on Betty, the nice lady who did our mail. She had no idea what was wrong, and I still feel bad about that.

The next morning I woke up and still trying to figure out what to do with my day, almost slipped on the next photo. The envelope marked minus six had been slipped under my front door during the night. This photo showed the same sleeping figure in bed But this time it was taken from further back I could see the room I saw the frame poster over my bed of my favourite movie The lamps I'd boarded a garage sale because I thought they looked cool

I saw myself sleeping Worse I could see the beer can I left on my nightstand last night Something I never usually did This photo had been taken just hours before, while I slept, by someone in the room with me. I dug my laptop out and powered it on. I looked through all the horrible photos again, this time ignoring the fact that I couldn't see the face of the victim. Now I noticed the scar on my side from where my best friend caught it with a stick in second grade. I noticed the birthmark on the back of my knee, the mole on the side of my neck.

I watch myself be slowly tortured over the course of several months before dying. I watched the video again, realizing the screams were mine, or what would be left of me by then. I'm on the road now, but I don't know where I'm going. I know I have just a few more days before that empty cell is supposed to be full. Only a few more days before whoever or whatever is hunting me plans to begin torturing me to death, slowly. I'm going to run. I don't know if I'm going to make it, but I'm going to try.

Mother-in-law was poisoning me. Then I found out why. Everyone has their own nightmare in-law story, though I couldn't imagine how bad mine would be. As it turns out, the worst thing wasn't my mother-in-law poisoning me. The worst thing was why she did it. I met Craig on one of my rare vacations, and we had sort of a whirlwind relationship.

We fell hard for each other and were married in a courthouse wedding within two months without ever meeting each other's families. Mine visited a few weeks later and after their initial shock, really like Craig. While we got moved in together and figured out married life, I got to hear more about his parents who lived near the rest of his extended family a few hours away, though we never saw them. Well, my work schedule is rough. I work six, seven days a week and my off-day-day-a-week. days were a blur of appointments and errands. I think in the two years before I met Craig, I only left the city once. I finally got a few days off

so we could head to visit his family about six months later. His whole family came over and everyone seemed thrilled to meet me except for his mom, Betsy. She was cold and distant and could sit there without saying a single word to me. It was creepy, but I kept trying

to spark up a conversation. On our last day he announced that we should take an afternoon hike up into the National Park, that their house sat on the edge of. Betsy made lunch, and I was changing to go out when it hit me. Just waves of nausea. I wound up in the bathroom for hours that afternoon. I figured it was just a touch of something, and thought nothing of it. We went back a few months later, and again had a great time, except for Betsy.

Well, she wouldn't talk to me, though Craig brushed it off and said she was just getting to know me. He finally said we could rent jet skis the next day and explore a lake in the next town as a way to get out of the house and unwind, which made me feel better. I was excited to tell everyone where we were going, but it wasn't to be. After eating, I got so sick I could barely walk for the next two days. At this point, I started to get suspicious. No one else was sick, and we'd all eaten the same food. It seemed like Betsy must have been up to something, but it wasn't until our next visit, when a night in a romantic cottage, another hour up the road was cancelled due to me getting sick that I was sure.

Betsy was poisoning me. Craig said that I was insane. He said it must be an allergy to something his mum used in her cooking, which actually made sense, though I never had time for an appointment to get it checked out. Still, I decided on the next trip that I'd make a big casserole and bring it with us. If I cooked the food and served it, nothing could be added. Well, I hadn't had two bites before I realized. I left the wine I was drinking unattended while I was heating up the casserole,

and my stomach was already doing flips. You know what happened next, and it was not pretty. I was so sure his mum was poisoning me, and I confronted Craig about it. I told him I wouldn't visit his family again if she was there. It was our first big fight, but he finally said he wouldn't force me to visit, and we could figure out how best to deal with the situation. She'd never been nice to me, so it wasn't a lot. The next time I got off, we decided we'd head to that little cottage we'd rented before and not been able to use.

We were driving right past his family's place, and it seemed rude not to stop, so we compromised and bought some pizzas. I even decided just not to drink anything unless it was water from the tap. We got in and threw pizza on our place when one of his cousins arrived and everyone briefly left the food unattended. I realised my mistake almost immediately and decided to try and experiment. Craig and I both had two slices, so I just switched our plates while everybody was in the next room. Craig was so sick, I was really worried about him. The drive back to the city was awful.

We had to pull off a lot, and he was a mess. We'd been back home for three days before I broke down and told him that I'd switch the plates. I've never seen such anger before. The rage in his eyes is something I'll remember for the rest of my life. He shoved me into a wall and then came flying at me. He threw me over the couch, but I somehow managed to grab my keys and phone and ran out of the door, not even wearing shoes. I got lucky with the elevator and made it to a friend's place safely, finally turning off my phone after I'd missed his 47th call.

I had no idea what to do, or when it would be safe to go home. It was the scariest time of my life. It was two days before I turned my phone back on, and when I heard the message from the police, I drove upstate immediately. Craig was dead. Betsy had shot him after he broke into her house and charged at her with a knife. I learned then that Craig had been married once before, and his wife had died on a tragic hiking accident. Craig had made a lot of money in the life insurance payout, and Betsy always suspected Craig had killed her,

and was nervous about letting him be alone with me, especially out in the remote area he was so familiar with from his childhood. So, she ensured that every time he planned an outing that I'd be sick. It wasn't easy, but she didn't think I'd believe her, as no one else had ever shared her suspicions about Craig. I found the life insurance policies he'd taken out on me without my knowledge afterwards, and refused to press charges against Betsy. She was only trying to protect me.

I still visit her from time to time when I need to get out of the city. I love her cooking, the black cloud. Did you know that in 1911, wolves killed a wedding party of 118 people in Russia? The New York Times described the survivor seeing a black cloud moving rapidly toward them across the snowfield. Back of hundreds of starving wolves that slaughtered them while they traveled to what was supposed to be a celebratory banquet. I've been thinking about that story a lot lately. Well, I won't say where I am. The government's probably looking for leaks,

and I need this warning to stay up for as long as possible. The information's too important to keep hidden. Animals have been acting strangely for a while, skittish, like something had spooked them. The neighbours in our little rural village complained about the strange lights in the nights. We all had ideas, the kind of idle chat that we're really good at. The winter had been too warm Maybe there were crews

Looking to build that factory in the next town Probably teenagers with those damn fireworks Drinking beer and being stupid The night it happened Was a full moon I remember walking home From visiting a friend earlier in the evening And being amazed at how well lit everything was

In the moonlight I was too far from the first attack To hear the screams But the news the next day shocked me Wolves had attacked a cat campsite nearby, 15 people had been killed and another eight injured. While this wasn't unheard of, the loss of life was extreme and we were all shot by it. However, there weren't any more attacks. People healed, and we mourned and then moved on. The second month was much

worse. My neighbour's cousin had moved in after the attack so he could recuperate, and the neighbour had complained to no end about the inconvenience by which he meant he couldn't hit his wife when he had a relative staying in his house. I heard his screams when it started. I remember looking at the window and seeing a giant wolf chasing him out of his house and being frozen by the sight. It was too large, unnatural, deadly.

I locked myself in the basement for the night and prayed for morning. Sunrise brought only an awful news and heartbreak. Our village was not large, and the 55 deaths shook it. Another 37 people were injured, and no one could explain how a pack of large wolves had descended across such a distance without being noticed, nor how so many of them had gotten into people's houses.

I began to hear dark whispers, rumours that the survivors had been touched with some dark curse, that they were to blame for this. For the next month it seemed like we sat on a powder cake, the whole community counting down the days until the next full moon. Not sure how many people were killed that night. I know that the soldiers arrived, next morning and we were told that we were being relocated to a small city close by where we could

be protected. Just a temporary safety measure while the government killed an especially violent pack of wolves. After arriving in the city and been inspected for wounds by an army medic, we wound up in makeshift shelters. Villages throughout the surrounding area had been emptied into the city and anyone who'd been bitten by a wolf was moved to a special quarantine at some camp outside the city. I never saw any of those people again, but I assume they're now dead. I spent a long day in line waiting for an examination. Another day spent in line waiting for my allowance cards for food and water. The third day I queued up for temporary housing and made a comment without thinking about

how I'd still be in line when the next full moon rolled around. I've always been like that, prone to making comments without thinking. My last relationship ended when my girlfriend asked if I ever thought. thought about getting married and I said no the guard who heard me yanked me out of line just as an old university classmate recognized me while walking by turns out he had an empty apartment I could use that was already furnished for once my mouth had worked in my favor I glanced with the glee as I walked away from the swirling serpentine line of people waiting for housing the entire thing was a giant hectic mess.

Mistakes were made, well, mistakes were always made. The atmosphere in the city was chaotic. The local priests began to warn about how we were being punished by the gods. They stood in front of the churches and shouted that salvation lay within, that they offered the only protection from God's wrath. Soldiers with rifles stood on every corner. Again the countdown to the full moon set everyone on edge. One of the largest churches announced it would serve as

a sanctuary, locking their doors to protect the flock within. I turned in early that night and barricaded the door. I don't know how many people in that church were being bitten, and I don't know what it must have been like when they turned, when the crowd realized they were locked in with them. I do remember the screams and the sirens outside. I remember the explosions and gunfire in the distance. I remember the next morning too, with all inhabitants ordered to appear for inspection, watching those who'd been bitten being taken away. And the morning after that, when the soldiers were gone, we were told that they built fortifications around the entire area,

a barricade to keep this problem in. I heard they shot anyone approaching it. We were alone now, and there were other dangers beside the walls. A group of hard men announced that they'd formed a local protection squad. They searched homes for people who'd been able to be able to be. bitten and were being sheltered by protective families they beat those who they thought were hiding from them and collected weapons and food for distribution they were a hard-drinking violent bunch and the citizen reused to tough rule and buckle quickly they hung those who they

suspected of having been bitten throughout the city as a public show of how they would protect us well the internet had been blocked since we moved there and every day i watch the news in a vain hope that that our situation had been noticed by the outside world. Second a city not my own, caught between a malicious ruling class and a pack of supernatural wolves, I prayed for deliverance. On the night of the next four moon,

we were all ordered into our rooms at 3pm, long before sundown. I heard that the protection squad had found a bunker they were safe in. Someone said that only the two titular leaders, Anton and Xander, had keys. I heard that they lot themselves and their goons underground, waiting for mourning,

while wolves streamed into the city like an oil slick cut through water, a line of darkness that you know will remain long after it appears to dissipate. Those who were living in less secure home meant a quick fate, and I watched from above and cried. I prayed for deliverance from my brutal reality. The Protection Squad inspected us again the next day, and again the day after that. Now they would stop people in the same.

streets and order them to disrobe. You can imagine the liberties they took. The bite victims who they hung seem to include a disproportionate amount of their detractors, but I said nothing, as in truth I was terrified. I prayed every night for a sliver of hope. It didn't come. It was almost four weeks later when I rounded a corner and watched Anton beating a man. What are you doing? The words had escaped my mouth before I realized I was speaking the scene in front of me was clear I saw the woman crying the man her father standing between her and Anton bleeding Anton paced over to me and placed a hand on my shoulder this doesn't concern you carry on friend I looked at the pleading eyes of the man and looked at my feet I my words

cut off as his fist hit my stomach didn't I tell you to carry on. He snarled as he circled me, looking for an opening to exact more violence as I tried to curl into a ball. He kicked my side, and then my head. I heard a scream as the man threw himself onto Anton's back. I heard shouts and footsteps. A crowd had surrounded Anton, holding him back from attacking the man. And then, laughter. Anton announced he was ready for his prize fight against the walls. The crowd dispersed quickly, leaving us alone. The man and his daughter shuffled past me.

Thank you, he whispered as he went by. I clenched my eyes shut until I was sure I was alone. I wanted for the pain in my body to subside. Minutes passed. Finally, I opened my eyes. There on the ground in front of me, laid a key. It was days before I slipped through the city to the site of the bunk where Anton and his men would take refuge.

I tested the heavy door of the bunker and found it locked. I looked around and, finding myself still alone, I pulled the key from my pocket and inserted it into the lock. It turns. Relocking the door, I hid the key away and hurried back to my apartment to think. We were all ordered to our homes at 3pm again the day of the full moon, and I thought out my strategy. The plan was flawed in a hundred ways.

and I couldn't fathom how it ended, if not in my death. I watched the streets empty, first of citizens, then finally of the protection squad searching for stragglers. The sun grew lower in the sky, as I changed into a pair of dark clothes and grabbed a hammer. At dusk I slipped through the door to my building and began my journey. I slinked through the empty streets, hearing the distant howls begin. My plan was simple.

unlock the door destroy the lock with the hammer run back to my apartment before the wolves got me while stranding the evil men in the bunker without a safe haven it was a dumb idea the light dropped out of the city quickly

few streetlights still came on and all of the buildings appeared lifeless though I knew they were teeming with life hidden behind boards and crouched under beds I arrived at the bunker and smiled I'd made it. I walked towards the door when a sound made me turn. A wolf stood behind me. The beast was giant. I've seen a mastive once before and this creature was at least twice its size. I clutched the

hammer in my hand, trying to decide if I could fight it off when I saw another behind it and then another. A tear ran down my cheek and I dropped the hammer. I would not serve. survive this night. There are bad men in there. Again, the words poured from my mouth before I realized I was speaking. The wolf stared at me. In the bunker, I came to unlock the door, I continued. You can eat me, just let me unlock the door.

In that moment, the wolf inclined its head ever so slightly. I took a step backwards and then another. Moving slowly, I pulled the key from my pocket and inserted it into the lock. I turned it and opened the door, stepping to the side as I did so. I felt a breeze as the large animals flew through the door into the bunker and heard the confused screams from within. I waited until the wolves poured back out of the bunker, away from me and left the city.

I walked back to my apartment unharmed and spent the night staring at the ceiling. In the morning I walked out of the city. I heard bits of confused conversation and knew I had hours before anyone tried to exert control. I walked into the woods and kept walking, picking up bits of a trail here and there. I slept under the stars and walked further the next day, finally coming to a small camp that night.

The people who greeted me were warm and friendly. They explained the changes they suffered through how they were trying to control their hunger to harness it. They did not wish to harm the innocent, and in me they finally. finally found an ally who might understand. I'm writing this from a small government office in the western barricade. There are four of us inside now, posing as soldiers.

There have been enough reinforcements that no one knows who exactly is supposed to be here and who isn't. The next full moon is in three days. When the three men with me turn, the guards will be distracted. I'll open the doors for the rest of the pack and will be through the barricade. The priest said the walls were a... punishment from God. Now I realize he's right. There are a way to punish the evil in the world, to wipe away the unjust.

We're building something beautiful. After this full moon, we'll be free. And then, maybe we'll be at your home for the next one. There's a lot of evil in the world, and the pack is hungry. So there we are for another week at Dr. Creepen's dungeon. many thanks to the author Nick Moore for that fantastic collection of stories and as ever

I leave you with one small request wherever you get your podcast from please leave a few nice words and a five-star review it really does make a huge difference so that's it for one week but I'll be back again same time same place I do so hope you'll join me once more

until then sweet dreams and bye bye