Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S1 Ep48: Episode 48: Missing Person Horror

Episode Date: September 24, 2021

Today’s feature length episode is '' This is how I became a missing person and why no one will ever find me'', an original work by Eliott Dresher, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all. https://www.reddit.com/user/Eliott_Dresher/

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We believe OCT scans are so important they're included with every standard eye exam. Book an eye exam at Spexavers.cavers.cavers.cai. Eye exams are provided by independent optometrists. Visit Spexsavers.com to learn more. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's dungeon. Ah, life. Well, you only live once, but as they say, if you do it right, once is enough. What lengths would you go to to make sure you do it right?

A question that tonight's story raises. This feature-length episode features a work of Elliot Dresher. This is how I became a missing person and why no one will ever find me. Now, as ever before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's story may feature strong language, as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. If that sounds like your kind of thing, then let's begin. Speaking from personal experience, I think it's very hard to think about missing persons without getting sad or even depressed. And I'd argue that's why almost everyone chooses to not think about them or forget about them as soon as possible.

People are good, really good at forgetting things. It's probably a self-defense mechanism like how you pass out if your sense of smell or sense of pain gets overloaded. But, well, to put it simply, people have and always will be programmed to care about themselves first. Yep, I said it. People are selfish. You can boil it down even further to this. People suck. Funny how I'm posting this is a scare. story and that's going to be the hardest part for all the keyboard optimists out there to believe.

See, I am a missing person and no one's ever going to find me. First off, though, you can call me Jenny. That's what everyone called me while I was in high school before I left and, no, I'm not an orphan. Both of my parents are still healthy and alive, last I checked, which was only a couple of months ago. It took them three years to finally stop looking for me. Well, the missing person posters were another level of depressing to look at, especially since I haven't looked like that picture they used for them in a good while. Keep one of the posters with me wherever I go. Beneath the picture of my face, the posters read my over-the-top name plus some details.

Have you seen me? Genevieve Shale. Jenny. 17 years old. date of birth October 31st 1998 last scene 5th of November 2015 at 445 a. last scene wearing Levi jeans a gray sweatshirt with no visible logo black night tennis shoes with a white Nike logo and a silver necklace with the piece symbol last seen by her place of residence addressed below and surrounding forest please contact Edward or Diana Shale, if found, or with information leading to her return. Contact details and reward information below. The picture they posted all over town was me smiling at the camera, after I'd blown out the

candles on my cake. The numbers one and seven were pink and white wax on top of a chocolate cake, and I was wearing a purple party hat that should have started to feel dumb to me after I'd turned 12. I was a late bloomer, you could say. I had brown hair that crept down my my neck and a round forehead. I had blue eyes back then, and that's only part of the reason no one recognises me now. I was born on Halloween, so in the picture I was wearing a, well, I was dressed like Velma from Scooby-Doo with an orange turtleneck sweater. I didn't wear glasses, so it was a pretty decent full shot of my face. The reason it hurt to look at those posters when I came back to town to check on my parents was because even though the posters only showed a blue one of the

low-up of my face. The full picture, I remember, was me in between both of my best friends, Nisa and Jasmine. Nisa was dressed up as Daphne from Scooby-Doo with an orange wig and purple headband, and Jasmine was Scooby, complete with dog ears and a dog collar that she'd just bought from a pet store. Every bit of it was stupid, and that was probably one of the best days of my life, right up until we made the decision to go to the orphanage that night. God, that was a good time. Me and my two nerdy friends dressing up like characters from a show we were way too old for. I'll tell you what happened to Nisa and Jasmine when it comes time for me to do that. But as monstrous as I feel for checking on my parents and being unable to tell them I'm alive,

seeing my two friends cropped out of that picture, and knowing they're not around, made me want to vomit. They're not dead. At least I don't think they are. It was Nisa's idea to actually go to the orphanage. You can't blame her. It was more a traditional coming-of-age ritual in our town to head to that creepy place. I'd only lived there for a year, so Jasmine and Nisa brought me up to speed on the old building and rotting on the edge of town. The Borden Sykes orphan house was built in 1870.

The American Civil War had left a large majority of the younger population of our town without fathers or older brothers. The town had fought for the south, so think of that what you will, but the one objective fact I can tell you is that so many of the teenage and adult male population of the town went off to fight and got killed that the town very nearly dried up there weren't any plantations around so no one owned more than one or two slaves

and those that were there either got jobs from the people who used to own them or they moved away north or out west the orphanage was named after two families lost all their male members in the war as for who paid to build it I've got a theory, but I know for sure that that kind of money did not come from anyone in a dirt, poor town. So it was Halloween and my birthday.

Using the trick or treating as an alibi to go out that night. Fortunately, Halloween was on a Saturday that year. So I had my parents' permission to stay at Nissa's house for the three of us to go and hang out. We were three giant nerdy friends. So we did actually go trick or treating in my neighbourhood beforehand, and we each brought a bag of candy. to eat while we explored. I was chowing down on a tiny bag of sour-patch

as we left my neighbourhood behind and started the three-mile walk to Jasmine's house. With no cars or bikes, and in those ridiculous costumes, we made it in 40 minutes. We had a solid couple of hours before we were supposed to be at Nisa's house, so if mine or Jasmine's parents called Nisa's house,

they'd think we were still out trick or treating. We walked fairly fast to Jasmine's house where we'd stashed out changes of clothes beforehand. Jasmine was an only child, and her parents were out of town that weekend. Changed quickly, and within five minutes we were driving in Jasmine's car to the run-down part of town. I sat in the back as Jasmine and Nisa reviewed the rest of our plan. We get in, we get out, Nisa spoke, and Jasmine nodded behind the wheel. Thirty minutes there, 30 minutes back.

We need another half hour to walk from Jasmine's head. house to mine, so we need to change back into those costumes and my parents don't know what's up, and your parents don't know what's up. My parents gave up on me years ago, Jasmine said sarcastically. Yeah, they just left me alone to do drugs all weekend. Nisa and I laughed. The truth was I'd been dreading going to the orphanage. It was creepy, and no one really knew the history behind it. So the added layer of mystery made people create urban legends about it. that changed with the times. In the 60s, teenagers supposedly flocked to it

because they believed it was impossible to get pregnant there because of the curse, so they called it. I believed that one until I actually sat through history class and learned everyone used birth control back then anyway. I confronted Nisa for making me believe that one, and they still made fun of me for being so gullible. The building itself was condemned, which I learned from Google,

not renovated since the 1890s, and it shut its doors permanently in 1940, when an identified arsonist had tried to burn it down while over 20 children were still inside. The 1970s had rumours of devil cults, but there was no proof, not even any fake images of people in capes or masks like I expected. For some reason, the blatant absence of proof

made me want to believe there was something messed up back then, but I couldn't make myself believe it after falling hook, line and sinker for the story about the 60s. My internet sleuthing brought up nothing in the 80s or 90s, except constant delays in the city tearing it down, always promising to do it sometime in the next five years. Well, that had gone on for over 30 years, and every now and again it made the news about how the city council promised the thing will be gone forever before they reached the ends of their terms. So, guys, I spoke up in the back seat for the first time since we'd gotten off the highway into the back roads with nothing but trees. on either side of the car. Is any of it actually true? I expected them to mess with me or string me along for another ridiculous story. But to my surprise, they sounded too tired to do that.

No, Jasmine Yon. Nothing other than the fact that is condemned in a death trap. The woods rotted so much it's impossible to walk on the second or third levels. And my older brother almost fell through the floor when his friends tried getting up the stairs. I was, there. It was crazy. How long ago was that? I asked. So, another yawn interrupted her. Seven, seven years ago. There was a noticeable pause in the car before Nisa spoke up. Jazz, join me to drive the rest of the way back to town? You sound like you're running on fumes. Shut up, Jasmine responded, shaking her head. My car, my adventure. Well, we're here to scare the shit out of Jenny on her birthday, so it's her adventure.

Yeah, I agreed. It's my adventure, so lay off the drugs, you meddling kids. We hoar laughed at my Scooby-Doo reference. None of us ever doing any drugs besides testing a bit of weed from time to time. Not that it makes any difference any more to any of us, but going out to this abandoned building was about the most hardcore thing any of us did. yet other than Jasmine's folks, none of our parents really trusted us. I had Facebook and Twitter that I didn't use because my parents forced me to give them my

username and password. They were logged onto those accounts more often than I was. I didn't delete them because I didn't want them thinking I had some other social media I was trying to hide from them. I also knew my mom had our cell phone provider, sent her and my dad copies of all my text messages and location history. So I gave my phone to another nerd acquaintance, who was also trick-or-treating and wasn't up for an adventure to the orphanage. Nisa had done the same, so that way if either of our parents tried to track us down by our phones,

they'd see nothing out of the usual, unless they stought us why we were supposed to be trick-or-treating, which, to be fair, I imagine they wished they had done looking back. Having over-protective parents taught you how to plan little rebellions like this. Jasmine was the only one with a phone, in case we did need one. All right, Berthigal, tell me this, Jasmine asked in a stupid, spooky voice, and pointed at the endless trees passing us by. Would you like to walk home through this in the dark? Well, that would sure be an adventure.

We got to the orphanage as the sunlight was pouring through the bare tree branches. We thought we might run into some urbex fence that sometimes, frequented the orphanage, or some students our age who had similar ideas. But that night, there was no one else. Weeds had overgrown the space in front of the structure, and it looked like someone had torn out the saplings, a community service centre had tried planting in the front, leaving a bunch of blotchy holes. The building itself was miserable looking, and it must have taken a curse to hold that dilapidated wooden structure together into the modern era. Whoever had arranged to have the place built

A truly paid top dollar And perhaps the most frightening thing was The idea that this place had lasted almost 150 years And had not collapsed on its own Even when someone had tried to burn it down From top to bottom There were three levels with four windows on each floor About 70 feet up

The black-towed roof had clearly bleached white After decades of the sun bearing down on it Its painter chipped or fallen away a long time ago and on the outside there were almost as many boards missing from outer walls as the place still actually had debris and broken glass littered the grass at the base of the stairs leading up to the double doors out front one of which was missing it was too dark to see inside from where jasmine parked so we started a walk when i noticed jasmine was still standing by her car what's up i asked not coming no jasmine yawned again

I need a nap. I didn't sleep last night, and I hate to admit it, but driving back with no sleep in the dark would be too bold even for me. You can sleep on the way back, Nisa protested. Me or Jenny can drive while you take it easy. Not going to happen, Jasmine said firmly. No one drives my brother's old car but me. He made me promise that no matter what before he left for college. And he raised me more than our parents did. No secrets between us. and we always kept our promises to each other. I'd take a bullet for that guy. Same goes for either of you. We had to break Jenny out of Alcatraz to get her here tonight.

Lisa describing my living situation as a prison. Hurt me more than they probably did Jasmine, but I kept silent. Don't back out now. Jasmine pointed at the sinking sun, which we could only glimpse through the trees. No time to argue, she said calmly. We've got 20 minutes before we need to be back. on the road to keep your little bank high schedule. Like you said, get in, get out. I'll be here waiting. I hate you, Nisa said, grinning and shaking her head. Jasmine shrugged and smiled before she got back

into the vehicle and rolled her seat back. She tossed me her cell phone before closing the car door. We heard the door lock, and for some reason that surprised me. The car light shone onto our backs as Nisa and I turned towards the orphanage. Why'd she lock the car? I asked quietly, even though there was no way Jasmine could hear us. God, I've got to spell it out for you, Jen, just like everything else. Scary forest miles from town.

By herself out here, sleeping in an unlocked car. Sounds like a genius bland to me. The words were so pointed, it surprised me. Sorry I asked. I let my head dip as we walked before Nisa put her hand on my shoulder. Hey, my bad, I didn't mean to be a jerk. I just spent a ton of time trying to figure out how we'd make this happen. And, well, Jasmine goes and...

She laughed, Riley. And actually thought about your well-being on your birthday. You still want to do this? What? Do you still want to check this place out? I know me and Jasmine have been on your ass about not seeing it. Everyone says you have to see it, you're not a real small-town teenager if you haven't even been to places like this well we could go now

and i don't know start a movie at my place get there early and give my folks some peace of mind sure you want to do this i smiled at how sincere she was being nisa was neurotic and sometimes acted obsessive but here she was offering to throw the whole plan away to make me feel better i consider her off of a very seriously and it hit me how closely I valued my friend's niece and Jasmine. Jasmine's speech about being completely loyal to her brother and us made me feel like I had something to live up to. I'd grown up an only child, but my parents had lost a little boy before I was born. My brother's name was Logan, and he died when a drunk driver hit him right in front of the school

as he was crossing the streets. When I was growing up, my parents drove me to and from school every day. They refused to let me walk to the bus stop or get me a car until I left the house, and they drove me everywhere. And probably would insist on driving me to prom and graduation too, no matter how much I kicked and screamed and pleaded for them not to. When I thought about that, I got angry, and I made my decision to go along with the plan. I'm sure, I told Nisa. I want to be able to say I went one place without my jail wardens knowing. Nisa smiled and looked relieved

Okay, let's pretend the last few minutes didn't happen Fair enough, I agreed I looked away from Nisa I had to stare up at the tall orphanage And I involuntarily swallowed Because of how big did it look up close Suddenly my chest was very tight And I paused

Get in, get out I whispered to myself One of the dothed double doors was missing, and Nisa poured out a flashlight she'd bought at Walmart. She handed me another one, we walked into the foyer. Some light bled in through the windows, but without the flashlights, everything would have been for nothing. The floor was covered with glass shards and a mangled metal-looking thing that looked like a chandelier before it must have fallen from the roof. A double staircase went to a

walkway directly in front of us, and it actually reminded me of the first room in Luigi's mansion. For some reason, thinking about video game ghosts didn't liven my mood. I saw holes in the stairs where it looked like something heavy had broken through the steps. That must have been where Jasmine's brother had fallen through, trying to get to the second level. Floorboards creaked, bits of glass broke beneath our slow and methodical footsteps. With the chandelier behind us, Nisa led me through a door in between the two staircases. I heard the movements we were making over wooden glass, the sounds of our breathing, but absolutely nothing else.

It's strange how acclimated people get to ambient sounds in the background of our lives, air conditioners, fans, televisions. This was the first time I'd been in a place that made no sound of its own. The door was literally missing, and no animals or birds had made shelter in this place, not even bugs. Why did that, of all things, scare me? I flashed my light to the corners of the hallway. Nisa was leading us through. No cobwebs, no flies, not even ants. This house was falling apart, but didn't all those cracks mean that things could get in and live here? There was some graffiti in the corridor, and even before I read it, I had a brief sense of ease, knowing that at least

other people had been here before me. The words on the wall were red spray paint that had peeled away mostly, but I could make out a few words. Hail Satan, moffolds! I laughed nervously. It was stupid, but it felt good to see. Nisa nodded at me approvingly. Perhaps worried that this environment would be too much for me. Whatever she wanted to show me up ahead was probably pretty cool. Took another look at the red letters. My eye caught some smaller letters that were carved into the wall, almost obscured by the peeling paint. Satan is in the basement,

waiting for you. A chill ran down my back. I'd done enough research on this place to know that there was no basement. I took a closer look at the letters and wondered if the carving or the graffiti had come first. Had whoever made the graffiti written over the message or had whoever carved the letters in the wall meant it as a reply to the graffiti.

And the idea that someone was carving messages like that into the walls, not long after someone had spray painted on them, was much worse to me. Jenny, come on, Nisa whispered. Why are you whispering? I whispered back. She pointed at the graffiti. So Satan doesn't hear us. Right. I didn't laugh this time and followed her through another door.

This led into a barracks-looking room, with beds lining the two sides of the windowless room. Our flashlights revealed all the actual mattresses were gone, and only the bed frames remained, most of which were knocked over and out of line. It felt cramped and tight in there. No privacy, huh? I felt myself somehow relating to the kids who lived here. No, this way. We're almost out of time.

Hurry. There's one other thing. We can come back another day, I guess. Well, I didn't imagine that happening within my parents, but instead of contradicting her, I had a question. Nisa? Yes. Is there a basement?

Never seen one. Did you see what was carved into the wall? That message? Yeah, a few times. It's full of crap. If there's a basement, there's no way to get to it, unless you're Satan. Well, what would be the point? I knew from my research that no one had ever actually died in the orphanage,

not even when someone had tried to burn it down. my mind ran through a bunch of non-related pieces of information thought about the complete absence of any photo-evidence of the rumors about the orphanage from the past fifty years for some reason that made me go back to the story that people could not get pregnant and connected that to the fact that there were no bugs anywhere to be found in this decrepit place surely one was just a story and the other was just me not looking in the right places so why did it feel like those two things were interrelated. Nisa shone her light over her watch and walked quickly. The board's creaking ever louder. Shit, ten minutes left. Let's go.

I followed her half-heartedly. Hey, Nisa. She turned on a hill. What? Dumb question. Why aren't there any bugs or animals or even cobwebs? Am I missing something? She opened her mouth to say something.

but a sound made both of our hearts drop. A terrible crack and snap erupted beneath our feet, and the entire floor wobbled beneath us in an unstable way that in about half a second made me feel seasick. Every other floorboard fell away, and complete darkness showed itself beneath us through the remaining floorboards. The sound of wood hitting something hard below,

like cement or asphalt, briefly registered, but I was too stunned. Nisa's horrified look of disbelief probably reflected my own. The floor had moved as though it was suspended from something, but that couldn't be because there were no chains or anything holding it up to the ceiling. I tried to take a step backwards, but a whining creek made me put my foot back where it was. The whole thing reminded me of those movie scenes where people are standing on thin ice,

except in this case it was a rickety floor that sounded like it had no foundation and was finally ready to snap. Slowly, Lisa said, almost too quiet for me to hear. Go slowly. I was too scared to speak. I was holding my breath because I was afraid breathing too hard would cause the bores

to give way beneath me. I locked my knees, almost drop my flashlight as the floor squeaked terribly with every small movement I made. Jenny! Her voice, her voice, was a pointed whisper.

Jenny, we need to leave now. Yeah, I thought blankly. Time to go. I suppose my birthday had finally come to an end, and for a moment where I was probably delirious. I imagined falling through the floor had not been on Nisa's schedule for my birthday. I can't move.

I was almost crying. I closed my eyes tight and started shaking. Jenny, snap out of it. The door's been. behind you. I can't go if you don't go first. I opened my eyes to see her leaning forward, and I saw her face turn pale as even that small movement made the terrible sound of a board cracking away beneath her. She moved quick as her footing gave way before she managed to catch herself. I looked away because I was so afraid she'd fall, and I'd watch her fall, but

then I heard her voice speak to me in a completely different tone. Oh shit, she spoke in a tone that sounded embarrassed. Then she spoke in an exhausted but calm voice. Jenny, stop panicking. Look. I cracked my eyes open and saw her annoyed face. I found the basement. She said as though she was telling the punchline of a joke.

She hopped into one of the holes on the floor, and I let out a shill scream before I saw her stop falling. She was standing in a hole no more than two feet deep. I just breathed in and out as I wrapped my mind around the fact that neither of us had thought to actually look how far down the drop was. The concrete foundation had pipes and metals intertwining beneath us. Okay, I said, swallowing and wiping away the tears on my cheeks that filled me with deep shame. Farns over. I shone my flashlight beneath me and took a casual glance.

below to see piping and padding. And, a book. I pause for a moment, noting again how there were no spiders or bugs or anything even beneath the floor, where I could clearly see dirt had mixed with the foundation. The wood was clearly rotting, but where were the termites? My gaze found the book again between two rusted pipes. It was brown, and if I had no flashlight, it would have been hard to see. I grabbed it as if drawn to it, lifting it out and taking her closer look. It was leather-bound and smelled off old paper, beaten up pretty good, too. I started flipping through the pages, looking for, well, nothing in general. What's that? Nisa approached me casually and sighed in annoyance when she saw what I was holding. Is that a book? She asked

accusingly. No, put that back. Right freaking now. I've read too many stories about curse books. So have I, I replied distantly, unable to take my attention off of it. The handwriting on the first few pages was pretty terrible, and I couldn't make out any clear thoughts. I kept looking through more pages because it looked like whoever was writing was getting better with time, and Jenny, put it back. She put her arm on my shoulder, and I blink three times as if I'd been awoken from a lucid dream. I tossed the book back into the floor and shivered involuntarily.

I stood up and immediately felt like it had a cold or something. Pressure worked into my chest, and pain erupted in the back of my jaw. I put one hand against my head and shot the other out, having lost my balance all of a sudden. Jenny? Nisa asked breathlessly. Jenny, what's wrong? I don't feel good.

I felt like an invisible wind was blowing right through me, and out of nowhere I knelt over and dry heaved for a few seconds. I wanted to stand up and wipe my mouth, but I couldn't. Instead, my legs gave out from underneath me, and I crumpled onto the wooden floor, which creaked as though mocking me at the weight it could suddenly support. I was short of breath and Lisa was freaking out, digging the phone out of my pocket and telling me she'd get help.

I heard I run out the door to call 911. The pressure was building in my chest and I felt like I'd explode. Alone in that room, all I could hear was a sound of my own shallow breathing. But then I saw something was standing over me. It was too dark and my fallen flashlight only illumined. the bottom half of it. I saw a black piece of fabric partially concealing a set of pale, human-looking legs. I didn't see any shoes and black pointed toenails reflected in the light as though they'd been polished. I couldn't move, but I could vaguely move my eyes upward.

I saw the top half of a woman wearing a black dress, and this thing knelt down beside me. It had slender hands and black fingernails that looked wrong somehow. But then I saw its face. It had eyes that looked like they were covered in pitch. It had eyes that looked like they were covered in black. Not black pupils, but just pitch black. The face was long and strangely pretty, but way too pale to be a living person. Onyx hair trailed down its sides and back.

Way too much hair for a normal person to walk around with unless she carried it. I blinked in astonishment when I realized that, well, that the stitched garment this thing was wearing, clearly stemmed from the hair growing out of its own head. As my mind tried to make sense of whatever the hell I was seeing, my eyes returned to the face. She was smiling at me with her forehead crinkled. and it dawned on me, she felt sorry for me for some reason. She was holding the book.

With one of her hands, with the sharp black fingernails, she lifted up one of my arms and placed a book in my grasp. Holding that book made the feeling of being crushed by a giant rock go away a little, so when I could suddenly move again, I held onto it like it was a life raft. I passed out before I could get another look at the thing that had given it to me. i don't remember the ambulance ride to the hospital but they did tell me that they had to sedate me before i'd let them take the book from me and in my sedated dreams i could see nothing but i heard nisa and jasmine's voices saying that phrase from before coming from a different directions get in get out get in get out get out i woke up in the hospital room with my mother sleeping in one of the chairs by my bed

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She was quietly snoring away. The painfully sterile air stung my dry throat, and the electronic beeping I heard was coming from standard machinery to my left. An IV was attached to my left arm, and I felt plastic tubes in my nose pumping rich oxygen. I tried talking to my mom, but what came out was a hoarse croak. I started coughing, and that's what actually was. my mother.

Genevieve! My mother was so stunned. She took in an ugly sob and rushed to my side. I was half conscious, but my mother kept crying while hugging me softly. I was too weak to sit up and hug her back, but I did lift my arms and wrap them around hers. It was an emotional moment. I don't need to go over the exchange I had with my mother when I first came out of the coma.

It was perhaps the most sincere she'd ever. been with me in my entire life. Well, she didn't read me the riot act for sneaking to the orphanage. She didn't become upset with me for blatantly lying more than half a dozen times, to her and my father both. Nothing I expected to happen when my mother caught me doing something like sneaking out actually happened. After she called my father, to inform him I had awoken after two days, she filled me in what had happened after I'd lost consciousness. Nisa guided 911 on the path they needed to go, and they rushed me to the General Hospital in Charleston via helicopter Medivac, only for them to discover I seemingly made what appeared to be a full recovery on the way

there. Blood tests and subsequent CT scans found no explanation for the sudden heart attack I had experienced. My medical history offered no catalyst for this event, and although the first responders who arrived to save me confirmed on the record I was suffering from what they described as a major heart attack that should have struck someone three or four times my age, no one managed to explain how it had occurred or why no permanent damage was evident. I knew, though, the book. The book I'd picked up and tossed away. The book that woman-looking creature handed to me after Nisa left to call 911. I didn't ask about the book because that struck me as a bad idea, and deep down I had a dread feeling I'd see it again either way.

what happened to nisa and jasmine my mother's face hardened a bit into something i recognized but then it turned into a look i only remember seeing when she talked about my deceased brother jennephine she put a hand against her head and she did something she only did when she had bad news she called me by my nickname jennie jasmine's gone missing I blinked, and after a few seconds I realized I was gaping at my mother, unable to speak at all. I closed my eyes, hoping this was a dream. Missing? That's not... What are you talking about? I felt dizzy again, and the machines on my side sounded like they'd suddenly come alive.

A ringing beat went off outside my room, but I didn't pay too much attention because I was so stunned. A nurse barged in on us. Miss Shale, Mrs. Shale, what's going on? The nurse saw my devastated expression, and when she found out my mother had broken the bad news, she scolded her for telling me so soon after my heart procedure. Procedure? I asked. Wait, Mom, start at the beginning.

What happened? You should be resting, the nurse insisted. You were only taken off general anaesthesia several hours ago. Your immune system is vulnerable, and stressful experience could make you even more susceptible after you're released this afternoon. Let me speak to my daughter alone, my mother said sincerely. I'll take it easy on her, I promise. The last thing I want to cause is more harm than good.

The nurse acquiesced and left the room, and after rubbing her temples to calm herself down, she began. My emergency airlift of the hospital in Charleston, South Carolina, had brought me there around two in the morning. By then I was coming out of the mild sedatives and experiencing moderate seizures. But the doctors were amazed to discover that what I was experiencing were not seizures, but what they described as prolonged night terrors. I was in a state of unconsciousness, but my body was jerking around on its own,

lashing out at anyone or anything that got too close. That's when they busted out the real elephant tranquilizers called general anaesthesia, and immobilized me with leg and arm restraints. CT scans revealed I apparently suffered from a condition called Wolf Parkinson White, which means I was born with an extra-electric pathway connecting the two halves of my heart. Well, there's nothing good about it, because that electrical pathway basically acts as a pacemaker when a pacemaker is not needed. The doctors ascertained that the electrical pathway caused my initial heart attack, and they prep me for the relatively simple surgery of removing the pathway. It wasn't open a heart, thank God.

All that was required was the use of a catheter. They inserted the device into a vein on the inside of my leg, not far from the groin, and snaked the metal fishing cable straight into my heart. They then used a harmless electrical charge to fry the electrical pathway, linking both halves of my heart and removed the catheter the only evidence of heart surgery i had was a bandage on the inside of my leg where they placed the catheter so how long was i out i asked about two days my mother responded they took me off the sedation the day before but strangely i didn't regain consciousness because my body didn't eat through the drugs as quickly as normal people

did. Well, they chalked it up to me having a weak metabolism, but that detail seems strange to me. And then she told me about Jasmine. I thought I saw her and Nisa talking to the police. Was I dreaming? No, my mother told me. Jasmine went missing yesterday. Your father's been calling me. He's still back in town. His boss wouldn't give him the day off, so we had to drive back last night. Well, you found out at work this morning that your friend drove off late last night and didn't come to school this morning. So there's no formal missing person announcement because, well, she hasn't been missing for 24 hours yet. But the poor girl's parents have been calling everybody, including your father and I. If they don't find her, I imagine the police will want to interview you when you're better, since you two are so close to.

A knock at the door interrupted my mother. We both looked at the entrance to my hospital room and hesitated. Mrs. Shale, may I come in? It was one of the nurses. Yes, of course, my mother replied. The nurse popped in and told us that I had a visitor. Is it my dad? I asked excitedly before the nurse could finish. No, it's not. Oh, he's still driving over, my mother said. He shouldn't be here for another hour. He says he's a family friend, the nurse offered. He said his name was, Greg Kurtz. Mr. Kurtz?

I recognised the name of the man I'd worked for in town the previous summer. That was before I'd met Nisa and Jasmine, and at that moment lying on my back with an IV in my arm. That felt like a lifetime ago. My mother asked if I fell up to seeing him, and I replied, confused by curiousness, that I was. The nurse led Mr. Kurtz in a few minutes later. He was very old,

past 80, balding with some white hair remaining and very skinny. He had a kind of grandfather's face and was fun to work for in his old antique shop. My parents had gotten me the job, but I never asked how they knew Mr. Kurtz. My mother greeted him kindly. Greg, hi! She hugged him, and he hugged her back. It's been a while. And I asked to see you, Dad.

He said warmly, while he was hugging her, and while she couldn't see him. see, his face changed. My boss looked at me with a grave intensity. I'd never seen before. He tried mouthing something at me, but I didn't understand it. He and my mother released one another, and he put his kind face back on. It's a four-hour drive, Greg. I guess Genevieve must have been your favourite worker. Oh, she was a pleasure to have around. He shifted his kind mouse to me. How are you feeling, Janavit? Mr. Kurtz had never called me by my full name. Something was up. In that split second, I decided I wanted to hear whatever Mr. Kurtz was dying to tell me. I'm good, Mr. Kurtz. Doing better. I looked at my mother.

Mum, can you give me a Mr. Kurtz a second to catch up? Oh, he came all this way. Of course, she replied. I'll go call your father and see him. how he is. She closed the door behind her. Mr. Kurtz looked over at me without meeting my gaze and sounded mournful. I hope to God this isn't my fault, Jenny. Mr. Kurtz, what do you mean? I asked, surprised at the man's tone.

How on earth can this be your fault? Do you believe in coincidence, Jenny? I thought for a moment, deciding to take the question seriously. Um, no. How about luck? Yeah, I guess I believe in luck, I said. All the mind's bad. He smiled sadly before taking a seat.

Why did you drive all the way over here, Mr. Kurtz? That intense look he walked in with had returned. Did you see a pale-looking woman with black eyes? Black hair and sharp black nails on her fingers and toes? He leaned forward in his seat and stared at me. Dead, serious. When I realized I hadn't answered in a minute, and my jaw was quivering, he leaned back in his chair and rested his head on one hand. He nodded solemnly at me.

Oh, I spent the whole drive trying to think about how I was going to explain all of this. But I still don't know how to start, other than this. You and anyone who came into contact with that woman are in grave danger. I need you to think, Jenny. Did either of your friends see her or do you? touch her, the woman with a black eyes. I don't know, I said, nominally. She, it was the last thing I remember seeing before.

Before, I thought I saw Jasmine and Nisa talking to the police outside the orphanage, but that felt like a dream. It wasn't, Mr. Kurt said firmly. You were watching your friends through her eyes. That's crazy, I said, quietly. His face recoiled when I said that, and he narrowed his eyes. Oh, I saw that one coming.

He sat back in his seat and sighed. Jenny, did you know that the orphanage was almost destroyed when someone tried to set it on fire? Specifically on October 19th, 1949. I blinked and suddenly felt afraid. Not of Mr. Kurtz, but just afraid in general. Yeah. I'm the one who started that fire. Huh? I said dumbly. I stammered for a couple of seconds.

Why on earth are you telling me this? Because I tried to kill the woman you saw in the orphanage. And I see now I failed. He let out another pained breath of air and scratched his cheek. This is why I brought up luck in coincidence. I don't believe in either myself. Somehow I'm not surprised she decided to choose someone I cared about. Choose, I asked.

Choose what? You, he said gravely. The thing you saw is basically a malignant spirit that wants to steal your body and merge its consciousness with yours. If I'm right, there's a little bit of her in you already. That's what made you sick. Whatever these doctors have done to try and help you, it hasn't. "'They said they fixed the problem in my heart,' I said weakly. "'I didn't want to believe him, but each time I tried to think of that woman's face,

"'I couldn't wholeheartedly put any value in the medical treatments I had received.' "'Ah, the doctors had no idea what was wrong with you,' Mr. Kurtz rebutted. "'They search for something they have no idea of what to look for. "'They found a pre-existing condition that sounded like he could fit, and they spun it the right way to your parents to avoid looking clueless. I want to top it off. Weakening your immune system has accelerated the process. Wait a minute.

You're saying that whatever I saw, it's germ like a cold or something. Well, I'm not going to pretend I believed him right away. I like to read books and horror stories on the internet, like a lot of people, I'm sure. When I responded the way I did, it was as if I was humoring him. I wasn't open-minded back then. I thought I was, but no one's really as open-minded as they like to think there. No, no, it's not a disease if that's what you're getting at.

The thing afflicting you is entirely spiritual. As soon as you came into contact with her... Who is her? I asked sharply. He swallowed uncomfortably. Her name... She's called Gertrude. and she as your friend, Jasmine. He waited to see if I'd respond to that.

Well, it didn't ring a bell. Is that supposed to mean something to me? I grew agitated very quickly as my rationality started using its defense mechanisms. Is any of this bullshit supposed to mean anything? Jasmine is missing. She's my friend. She's a living, breathing person. I don't know what you're doing.

Jenny, please. "'Stop!' I said, almost hissing. "'I want you to leave, Mr. Kurtz. "'I want you to leave right now. "'I'll scream. "'Just get out!' "'Mr. Kurtz let his head drop, "'and he looked at the floor for what must have been half a minute.

"'He looked like he wanted to say something else very badly, "'but he probably saw that I was serious about my threat to scream. "'He stood up and stared at me one more time "'with his grandfatherly face, completely heartbroken. "'Before he opened the door, and left. I let out a shaky sigh of relief. My mother's voice called after Mr. Kurtz,

but the old man walked down the hallway briskly without saying anything. She poked their head into my room, but I pretended to have fallen asleep. She closed the door again, and kept talking to my father on the phone in the hallway. I thought about all the stories I'd obsessed with in my life. I remember Gandalf telling Frodo about the dark lord, and he hardly believed it.

Morpheus told Neo he was the chosen one and he wasn't even willing to walk on the ledge of a building on faith I played with the idea that I was being narrow-minded that Mr. Kurtz really was the sage character you see taking protagonists into unexplored places or realms of impossible thoughts but this was reality and truly good people only lived in fairy tales

and the Bible there was a story where the dumb kid thinks the house is haunted when ghosts knock on the walls and the adjacent rooms are empty. But then the dumb kid learns that Dad was a serial killer keeping living people in the walls. Bad people used urban legends and ghost stories against naive people with wide eyes and used their willingness to believe against them. And now Jasmine was paying the price, wherever she was.

If Mr. Kurtz was crazy or just lying, then my friend was missing because someone had kidnapped her, or she'd run away without waiting to tell me. The world could be fantastically awful without having supernatural elements. Maybe Kurtz had kidnapped her himself somehow, and this story was his way of luring me into a trap, too. Even that was too awful for me to accept. But what was my alternative? If he was telling the truth, if that guy was speaking objectively true facts, then what?

It dawned on me that I had to decide then and there if I was on one side of the fence or the other. But I record a line from another story by C.K. Walker I'd obsessed over, and as my head spun with conflicting thoughts, I mouthed it partially from memory. Something, something, and should I go, or should I stay? My fate's the same either way. A dry, humorless laugh left my mouth. This wasn't a story to me. This was my life. This was my life. Mine. At that moment, I didn't care if the evil causing my life to be undone was human or supernatural. I covered my face from my hands and started to quietly cry. What the hell is wrong with me? When my father arrived, we skipped the tearful reunion and I begged my parents to get me the

hell out of that hospital. My father gave me a weak smile when I asked that. And before I knew it, we were speeding back away from Charleston and that hospital. back towards town. I fell asleep in the car, and Jasmine's voice haunted my dreams. All right, birthday girl, tell me this. Would you like to walk home through this in the dark? That would sure be an adventure. I worked with a start and sat upright in the car.

My father asked me if I was all right, and I said I was and went straight back to sleep. I remember being half asleep when we got back and I tiredly threw off the clothes my parents had me change into back at the hospital before I collapsed in bed beneath my blankets. My mother brought in a plastic bag and told me it was all the things the doctors in town had sent to the hospital in Charleston. I nodded, not really paying attention and on my way to sleep. When my mum walked out, I sat up and gave the bag another look. I suddenly felt less tired and more anxious or something. Got out of bed and crossed my arms as I closed the distance between myself and the bag.

Inside were my clothes from the night we explored the orphanage. There was my cell phone, dead, and, as tired as I was, I wanted to see the messages from Nisa or, well, from Jasmine. I picked up the jeans out of the bag, hoping my charger was in there. And sure enough, it was, and it was on top of something that made me jump. The book. The same book from the orphanage that I'd touched and thrown away moments before I was. I'd had my heart attack. I pushed the bag away violently and stared into a corner of my room for a few

moments. I was wearing very little and the air-conditioner was on full blast and my teeth chattered in my mouth. I threw on my pyjamas and looked around the room into each dark corner. I even opened my closet and poured out some of the clutter in there. Finally, I looked under my goddamn bed with the flashlight from exploring the orphanage. That was in the bag too. And other than a couple of discarded socks and a piece of trash or two, there was nothing. Nothing. So why couldn't I convince myself that I was safe in my own room? I plugged in the charger and attached my phone. The battery icon came up telling me it needed a few minutes to juice up. The book was in the bag and I stared down at it. Books don't cause heart attacks, I told myself. Mr. Kurtz and all of his ghost stories were crap. But Mr. Kurtz hadn't

even mentioned the book. I didn't know how to feel about that. Did he not known about it? Would I have felt better if you told me the book was cursed, and therefore I could rest assured it wasn't? My phone was at two percent by now, and at least functional. I went to the group chat of myself, Nisa and Jasmine. The last conversation the three of us had had was talking about going trick or treating. The last chat was written by Nisa from today. Nisa Krisler. Jazz, where are you? Your dad called my dad and they're freaking out.

Other than myself, Jasmine was the only one in the group chat, and she had neither seen nor replied to the message. I had a text message from Nisa and four missed calls, one voicemail. The text read, Hey, I got my mum to give me my phone back to send you a message. Let me know when you're out of surgery. I'm worried sick. The calls were from last.

later on. And I guess that was when Nisa learned Jasmine was missing. The voicemail went like this. Jenny, I hope you feeling better soon. Listen, I feel terrible about what happened. We fucked up your birthday, and I'm so sorry. And Jazz isn't answering my calls or texts, and no one's seen her all night. I don't know what to do, and I don't know who else to call. I'm sorry, Jenny. I'm so sorry. Nisa sounded like she was close to tears by the end of the message. I immediately tried to call her back, but it was 2am and I got sent to voicemail. Hey, it's me. Yeah, I'm okay, I said, pausing for half a second to wonder if that was completely true or not.

Just give me a call in the morning. I have my phone now. I sent her a text message with basically the same thing. Then I looked in the bag of the book again. I couldn't admit to myself that touching it had done anything to me. but I couldn't deny the fact that something about it was just wrong. I held my breath and lifted it out of a bag, using the jeans as a cloth to avoid touching it directly. I flipped it open, and even if reading it was cursed,

I took pictures with my phone and read those, trying to minimise the time I actually spent looking directly at it. Now, if digital pictures of a curse book are also cursed by association, that I'm probably doomed no matter what. I'll transcribe here what I could make out from the pictures. For such a thick book, there were only ten entries, most only a couple of lines. January 17, 1926. Miss True adopted me today, gave me this book to write it,

told her I didn't know how to read or write. She tapped me on the head and said, Yes, you do. And so now I did. I knew she was a witch. always knew. Hope she doesn't eat me. Hope the story is about Miss True.

Aren't true. January 19, 1926. She yelled at me for not writing yesterday. Never knew her teeth were sharp. Asked if she's a vampire. She shook her head. Miss True never lies, so they say. Or said, back in the orphanage.

Saw her in front of a mirror a couple of times, and sure enough, saw double. At least there aren't two of Miss True. Not really. Wish I knew what she is so I could ask her if she is one. January 20th, 1926. On a train now. Miss True hates trains. Might be scared of them. Wish I could turn into a train. January 21st, 1926. We made it to New York. Saw her kill someone this morning after we got off the train. Didn't some. suck his blood at least. She had me help her put on a dress, I really like the look off, and then she ripped a door off its hinges and set a man on fire in his bed by flicking at him

like she flicks my ear when I'm not paying attention. Blankets didn't burn. Next man we talked to looked kind of like the guy she flicked, but this one handed her a hundred dollars and didn't ask how Mr. True can walk with all that hair covering her face. Said, good job, Gertrude, and asked if I was her daughter or something. Said I was a little. adopted, and he said he didn't get the joke. January 22nd, 1926. How does curly red hair grow straight and black all of a sudden? Couldn't find any freckles in the mirror anymore. January 23rd, 1926. Trained to Illinois today. Miss True taught me how to braid my new hair. Don't know where it all came from. Chopped off the red parts and threw them away. That was sad.

january twenty third nineteen twenty six addendum miss true says i'm not writing enough says she's not reading but says i'm not writing enough okay i asked her why she picked me head feels my head feels funny thinking about it you're the girl always picking fights with the kids you're the girl with scars on her chin from picking fights with all the other kids no one else was ever going to adopt you because you're always picking fights with the kids you're always picking fights with the other kids, and no one's ever going to adopt you because you're the girl with all the scars on her face from picking fights with the other kids. Not a single person would miss you if no one ever saw you again. I hate you, Miss True. If you're reading my diary when I'm not looking, I hate you. But where did all the scars go? January 24th, 1926. Vivid. My dream last night was vivid. I tucked myself into bed, but I was already asleep, even though I was tucking myself into bed. Giss myself on the cheek and tap my forehead, kind of like the way Miss True does to me.

Went into the bathroom, and when I looked down, I was wearing that dress. Miss True is always wearing every day all the time. Instead of undoing the buttons, I snapped my fingers, and the dress fell apart into a million threads, but none of them looked like they landed on the floor. My shoes were gone too, and my toes had that sticky black poland. on them, I heard some rich folks just invented. Miss True's rich, but I heard that stuff was hard to come by outside of New England, and we're in Mexico this week.

If she does have some, I never see her using it. In the dream I got the water going in the bath without letting it get warm, and got right in without shivering. And Miss True made me take a bath. It took her 20 minutes to make that water warm, by holding her glowing hands directly in the water, but nothing like that happened in the dream. Does Miss True not get cold at all?

I'm writing this in the evening. I think I woke up late. I sure don't remember this morning or the afternoon. February 5th, 1926. Trains, trains and more trains. Miss True said someone was chasing us and we had to keep switching. Apparently I don't need to keep writing in the book as much anymore, but I'll still try.

I'm talking and writing and using words I know no one taught me. I started writing with my left hand because I do everything with my left hand, but then Miss True tapped me on the head and said it'd be easier to write with my right. Miss True never lies. I hardly recognize myself in the mirror at this point. Every night as soon as I close my eyes to go to sleep, the dream starts. But I don't think they're dreams anymore. No, not any more.

I may be a stupid ten-year-old, but... but I can only dream of putting myself to bed and then getting ready for bed so many times. February 23rd, 1926. Miss True doesn't let me come with her on business anymore. But if I run around a lot and sleep, I can watch it anyway. I'm not completely blind to what's happening to me. I'm just afraid to actually admit it. March 5th, 1926.

Miss True's gone. The man chasing. us broke in through the window, and he had a long knife, almost as big as me. Miss True rushed at him, and the man pushed his knife all the way through, Miss True. I saw it come out of the other end, below her shoulder, looking like it'd have mud on it instead of blood. Never saw Miss True that angry before. She started chasing the man around the apartment, yelling and snapping her fingers, and the fire started. I thought it looked funny when she finally caught him and picked him up by his ankle.

but people must have heard that scream on the moon. It was so loud. She threw half the man out of the window. He'd entered, and the other half was burning in a corner, but somehow it wasn't spreading. I was staring at the hill to the knife in Miss Drew's chest, when she shook my fingers and said we had to go. Holding one of my hands, she snapped her fingers again,

and the fire on the man's body did actually spread to the walls and floor. I hope no one else got hurt, but everyone was running out of the building with us, and no one noticed the knife in Miss True because her dress fixed itself and now she only looked weird rather than wrong. She picked me up like I wait nothing, and she ran really fast before a taxi got us. Miss True flicked the driver on the head instead of paying him, and we didn't say anything as he drove us to the train station. Mud instead of blood was all over the seat, and the floor of the cab. It was coming from Miss True. She looked older, and I didn't think.

that was possible before then. Miss True, are you all right? I asked. She smiled, showing off her jagged, pointy teeth, which had mud on them, and her black eyes, which I thought only came out at night. She shook her head to answer my question. Even at the end, Miss True never lied. Her black eyes turned normal, and I saw green pupils in a bloodshot gaze. I didn't ever think that was possible, either. A train was departing, instead of buying tickets Miss True put me on her back and asked me to hang on. I did, and before I knew it, Miss True was climbing the side of the rear train car,

and she punched through the window to unlock the side door, while she dangled on the side by one arm. When we were both inside, she fell forward like a dog, and a pool of mud started forming beneath her. First thing that turned to dust was the dress, then her black hair. I almost reached out in time to touch her, but the skin fell off the bones. there was a smell so bad in the air it knocked me out. When I woke up to the sound of the train still rumbling beneath me, she was gone.

No mud, no bones, nothing. The long knife was as clean as a whistle on the floor. This diary was in my hand, even though I was sure I left it back in that burning apartment. It didn't look like Miss Truer carried it in her dress. I stood up and saw I was bigger than before. I looked down and bit my tongue. And all these teeth drew blood like nothing. Need to be more careful.

And seeing I was missing something, I snapped my fingers and the familiar dress appeared. There were more men like the one in the apartment waiting for me when the train arrived in the station. I returned their friends long coochery to one of them, and used my fingers to kill the rest. Right now I'm just waiting in a soup kitchen with no idea what I'll do next. Just make sure no one sees my eyes. it's all my teeth. I'll probably have an idea when my dreams come to me tonight.

Wish I'd ask Miss True what my name was while she was still around. Forgot to write it down. Jesus, I muttered as I finished reading my picture of the last journal entry. I put my phone down for a moment and rubbed my eyes. It was even later now and my heart was beating fast. After my eyes adjusted to the darkness again, I saw the book still closed the way I'd left it. Well, I thought. Chalk one point up for Mr. Curtis bullshit. I owed him an apology. I couldn't make myself believe a conspiracy about planting this book for me to find and driving an eight-hour round trip just to not mention it. I needed to go to his store and at the very least hear him out. I only hoped it wasn't too late. Whatever happened to the kid in the book after she stopped writing fascinated me. it happened before mr kurt said he tried to kill her i wonder if the one who'd written this book was the same one that handed it to me the night at the orphanage mud instead of blood i murmured weird really weird my phone vibrated it turned out i had a message

from jasmine good job finishing the journal leaving for good in the morning last chance to see me again jenny i know your folks will see this and i'll see you folks will see this and i'll I don't care. We're out of time. Wanted to contact you otherwise, but you won't get to sleep. You know now how I know. Okay, meet me at the usual. There's a cop car on your street. Don't let him see you. I read that message 20 times at least.

First thought. Someone killed Jasmine and took her phone and was watching me from the window. Second thought, that was impossible. Unless they had tiny cameras planted in my room or they'd hacked my phone and saw the picture. as I'd taken of the journal. Third thought, somebody had tortured or interrogated Jasmine after kidnapping her,

and they knew that our usual place to meet up was a riverbed in the woods behind the houses across the street from mine. Fourth, thought, even if any or none of that was true, going to that spot was a horrible idea. Possessed or kidnapped, nope, it's a boat.

I started to get out of bed to go to my parents' room. to show them the text message, and see if we should call the police, but I didn't make it. Sleep hit me. I don't mean like the fatigue that makes you slowly drift off to sleep. I mean, I fell into unconsciousness without even realizing it, like something had pulled me into it. In that dream I was Jasmine, looking into a hand-mirror I vaguely remembered her owning. Her blue eyes had black spots on them, and her face was foreign-looking to me. I didn't recognize it, but I didn't look too closely.

She was holding a piece of paper with writing on it. My heart sank when I recognized the handwriting from the journal, and I vividly remember the panic I felt within the dream when I read the words. Not a dream. Help me! Last chance, Jenny. I saw she'd been stabbed, and the hilt of a knife I somehow knew to be a kukri was sticking out of her.

I woke up from the deepest sleep. of my life. I checked my phone. I'd been out for two minutes, no more. I tried calling Mr. Kurtz because he was my old boss and his phone number was in my contacts. Nothing, not even a voicemail. I went into the bathroom to splash some water on my face, and then I saw the changes. The brown hair that went to the base of my neck had grown twice as long, was now half-brown, half black. My skin looked like I just walked through a giant powder puff. I look different, not completely different, well, not yet, I suppose. I looked at my fingernails and I wasn't surprised to see they'd painted themselves on the top and bottom while I'd had two minutes of sleep.

I looked down and saw five points almost cutting through each of my socks, and I didn't need to take them off to know what color they were. My blue eyes had black. spots on them. I pulled down my pants and tore off the bandage on the inside of my leg where the catheter had gone in. Nothing. No sign anything at all that had gone up into my heart through my leg. I remembered what Mr. Kurtz had said about all that anaesthesia, only making things go

faster. I gave myself another look over in the mirror from top to bottom. Shit, I said, but then in panic I raised my hands to cover my mouth. The voice belonged to someone else, and scared as I was, I tried to taught myself back to sanity. This is a dream. This is a dream. This is a dream. Even muffled through my hands, each word I spoke confirmed to me that my old voice, my voice, was gone. I turned away from the mirror, not daring to look inside my mouth to see what I already knew was there.

Strangely enough, I stopped panicking, started getting dressed. whatever was happening to me was going to happen regardless of what I did my parents would have probably died on the spot seeing a stranger wearing their daughter's pajamas in the middle of the night the police wanted to talk to me about Jasmine's disappearance and would be there in the morning I was out of time and out of options my only hope was that even if this thing inside me did take me I could at least stop it from taking her too I resolved that if I could do that much well It was something at the very least.

I put the journal in the bag from the hospital and left a note telling my parents, I was sorry that I loved them more than anything, and this was not their fault. Was it not, though? I squashed my privacy until I went joyriding into an abandoned orphanage where a ghost just happened to have it out for my old boss

and decided I was the one whose life it would steal, whose friend it would take, whose body it was customising, however it wanted, still I couldn't leave an angry note however much of me was left at that point couldn't hate them not honestly I signed the notes with exes and olds I was going to leave it on the unmade bed but instead I'd just let it go the note floated in the air for a moment before coming to rest on the carpeted floor and I walked silently out of my home through the back entrance if my parents did find it, they hid it away from the police, so as to tell them I'd gone missing instead of running away.

I'd meant to sign the note, Genevieve, but I'd accidentally written G-E-R, as the first three letters. Hands trembling, I made the R into an N, and finished writing my real name, wondering if I would forget it too down the road, like the one in the diary. I jumped the fence to get out of my backyard and left my home behind me. One neighbor's yard turned into another. I emerged onto an adjacent street as soon as I could, before someone heard me and called the police. It was very early, but the early commuters would be getting up,

and the last thing I needed was to be reported as a trespasser when there was one missing person already with no suspect in detention. Sadly, I was still discovered by a member of the local watch. He was tall, and I knew he was armed. The changes to my body were still a mystery to me, and aside from what little I knew about the entity having its way with my appearance, I still felt very vulnerable. Hey, stop, he called out to me.

I was wearing a hoodie to hide my transformation, but that also must have made me look very suspicious. Now you doing jumping through people's yards like that at five in the morning. I put my hands up with my back to him and heard him approach. I didn't think he had his gun out, but the time of his voice told me he was willing to use it on someone. You grabbed my shoulder and flung me around. Wait, what? I know you. Jenny, I remember you. His face varied between tones of horror, pity and recognition. I didn't quite recognize him back, even though living in a small town I should have.

That must be in the beginning of Gertrude's mind merging with mine. What the hell are you doing here? Why? He saw my otherworldly appearance. He saw my otherworldly appearance with blue and black eyes mixed with black and brown hair, complimenting the changes to my face that must have been ongoing. He shook his head and looked like he'd stopped trying to understand. I don't know what's up with your costume, and I don't want to know. Where are you going? Then he blinked and his expression turned from confused. A host. Wait just a goddamn minute. Jenny Shale's in the hospital. Who the hell are you? It was almost funny because I did have a logical explanation as to why I was released early from the hospital. But I said nothing because,

if I spoke, my different voice than the one he probably remembered would have sealed my fate. Answer me, he said savagely, but somehow I knew he was more afraid than anything else. Something strange happened to my vision then. It was hard to make out the man's face and clothing because of how dark it was without being under a street lamp, but suddenly I could see the fine edges of his face, which did seem vaguely familiar. His eyes were hazel-colored, and his eyebrows and hair were sandy brown. The neighbourhood through my eyes lit up, but I couldn't find the source of light. What I could see was that the hostile expression on the watchman's face had turned to one of icy terror. He looked at me with wide eyes in a gaping jaw. He'd just seen what had

happened to me on the outside, and as I wondered what he must have seen, he wordlessly drew his gun and pointed at me, still wearing that dumbfounded look of terror. Then he dropped the gun and ran like he was trying to fly. I looked at the gun, then to the running man, then back to the gun at a complete loss for words. I didn't know what to think, but there was also no time to think about anything.

Another moment later the man was screaming for help at the top of his lungs, and from the adjacent street I saw the lights on that. a cop car come to life. No siren, not yet. I backed away at first, then turned and bolted. That cop was still in between me and where I needed to go to find Jasmine, but at that point in time I was too afraid of being caught to remember where I was going, just as long as it was away from everyone. I forget how long I was running, but it couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes. Car lights blared behind me, and I thought it was a police car car car,

catching up with me. But there were no red or blue lights, only regular bright lights flashing on and off behind me. The vehicle they belonged to overtook me on my right. I was running straight down the middle of the road like an idiot, and it swerved into my path. With my new ability to see in the dark, I recognised it immediately as Jasmine's vehicle. The window rolled down, and there she was, exactly as I'd seen her in the vision I'd had in my sleep only half an hour before. Her face and flesh riddled with the same changes as my body. She waved her arm to get in, and I did so without thinking twice. I threw myself into the back seat and slammed the door shut and collapsed on my back,

breathing heavily. I thought I asked you to come to me, not the other way round. The lax voice sounded like Jasmine, and it acted like Jasmine, but the difference was just as noticeable for me. me to see that, like my own Jasmine's voice had been replaced. I was still breathing too heavily to speak. In another moment, we were on the road to a destination I was too tired to ask about. I wasn't kidding when I said I needed your help, Jenny.

Suddenly, she sounded like she was in great pain. She pulled onto the side of the road and put the car in park. There were trees all around us. Do me a favor and pull this. knife out of my rib, would you? Knife, I asked, dumbfounded. Then I remember seeing a knife digging into her in the vision. When I looked up, sure enough, the hilt of a large knife was sticking out of Jasmine's clothes.

They were stained with a brown liquid instead of red. I could see perfectly in the dark now, and I knew that the liquid dripping all over the front seat of Jasmine's car was not blood. Then, in the rear-view mirror, I saw my dark. my own face, and I screamed. My face had moulded into that of a stranger with nothing remaining of how I used to look. It felt like a vivid dream, but I knew that this was not a dream. Nothing remained of my old eyes, and two pitch black orbs had taken their place.

When I screamed, I saw the total of eight teeth in my mouth, four on top and bottom, each one small and jagged like a dog's. It was that strange pretty face that had leered at me at the orphanage, and I knew now that it had gotten what it wanted. But now it was wearing my expression of anguish. Jasmine put a hand to her ear and scow at me. Why don't you try having a freaking knife digging into your lung? Then there's plenty to scream about.

When I made no move to respond, she spoke again. The knife, the knife, Jenny. I'm dying here. I looked at the knife in her side, then looked at her through my new and unwanted face. I shook my head, feeling so weak and full of despair that I was hardly strong enough to hold myself up,

let alone pull a knife out of my friend's torso. Why is this happening? I asked, though not to Jasmine in particular. My head was throbbing so harshly it felt like someone was hitting it with a hammer. Then I shouted. "'Why is this happening?' "'Jenny. Focus,' Jasmine spoke urgently now.

"'Brown troughs of liquid were coming through her mouth and sliding down her jaw. "'She still looked somewhat like her old self. "'It even looked like her eyes were slightly clearer than before. "'This knife is made of metal mixed with it. "'It's poisoning me. I can't get it out.' "'Well, my head was still a million miles away. I grabbed my head and started shaking it back and forth. I was crying now, still begging the question of why this was happening and receiving no answer from the thin air around me.

Jenny! Jasmine was very tired now, more tired than I'd ever heard of. Please, please, you're my friend, and I need you right now. Somehow that snapped me out of it for a moment. I looked through the hands I was holding against my face. I took a giant breath of air and tried to push back my own anxiety, long enough to worry about Jasmine. This... That'll just cause you to bleed out, I said, my voice trembling a bit. She grinned, and I could see her sharp teeth, too.

It worked, she laughed drily. If I was still completely human, this isn't even the crazy part. Trust me. Okay. I said with uncertainty. I trust you. I wrapped my hand around the dagger, and just before I started to pull,

she took my wrist and looked at me with a stressed expression. No matter how much I scream, don't stop until it's out, all right? And I forgot my voice for a moment. All right, she asked pointedly. All right, I echo back. She put some of the fabric of her shirt in her manner, mouth to bite on, and I poured on the knife-hilt, and it was like removing a nail with your bare hands.

Jasmine let out a guttural scream through a clenched tea. Hearing my friend bellow like that was almost more than I could take at that moment, but after a few brutal seconds, I fell back into my seat with a knife in my hands. It somehow held on to none of Jasmine's blood, and in my hands it looked as though it had been polished. It was the color of bourbon, and its curved blade made me shudder. Jasmine had lost consciousness, and then leaned over to inspect the wound. I lifted up her shirt high enough to see the wound, which was just beneath her bra. It was gone. No sign of injury, and only a few troughs of brown blood remained. I wiped the fluid away to make

sure, but there was no sign that the knife had pierced her skin at all. Oh, that really hurt, Jasmine said quietly. I hadn't realized she'd come too. Thanks. Who did this to you? I asked, holding the knife by its hilt up to her. What is this thing? Jasmine looked at me weakly in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes didn't have black spots anymore. If anything, she looked more like her old self. "'It's a knife,' she laughed, but she winced in pain where her wound once was. "'Oh, it's not quite healed on the inside yet.' "'That's a knife, obviously.

"'But whoever made it mixed it with dirt. "'Dirt? "'Dirt.' "'She looked at me in the mirror again. "'It was Jasmine's face, but I recognised that piteous smile from before. "'My heart was racing now, was I realised. something was terribly wrong. Dirt from my first grave. I stared at her and I stopped shaking. You're not Jasmine, I said with conviction, you're not her. Not all her, no. She tapped her

forehead. How long? I asked in a quiet voice, but with cold fury. I almost put the knife I was holding back, into her, but I decided not to. How long have you been lying that you're her? I don't lie, she said firmly, not to the people I wind up sharing ahead with. Tell that to the kid in the journal, I said, bitingly. You did give it to me. Ah, the kid in the journal, she replied, acting to be in awe of what I'd said. She eyed the bag with a book I'd brought with me. somehow I'd forgotten to drop it. Why don't you hurt me that book?

I was going to tell her to go to hell, but to my horror, my arm moved on its own, completely against my will. It removed the book from the bag and handed it to her. I was frozen in my place, the knife in my hand, but unable to use it. She took the book and flipped through the pages. I wish I'd written more about it,

she said, sounding mournful. I am the kid in that book. There was a bit of magic left over in it, and you needed something that worked when those doctors couldn't save you. I protected you the night you came to the orphanage. She put the book in the shotgun seat and looked back at me in the mirror. My name was Serena back then, in case you're curious, not as it matters much anymore. And the woman she called Gertrude, I'm her too. I decided a long time ago that I would stick to that name.

how many lifetimes I lived. For the past seven years, I've been Jasmine. And in another moment, I'll be Jenny. You hate Genevieve, so I hate it too. Shut up, I said. Please don't do this. Just let us go. Jasmine and I never did anything to deserve this.

I'm not doing this because I hate you, Jenny. Gertrude said, sounding a bit more like Jasmine. Stop talking like her. but you're a monster if any of what i've learned about you is true you stole children to to use and take advantage of you stole their lives what lives she stared out of the window into the night serena was dying from influenza before i adopted her the orphanage couldn't afford to vaccinate the children and they weren't to throw her out let me ask you this who do you think it was that made jasmine give up drugs before you met her her brother he supplied her if i hadn't gotten involved after her brother took her to the orphanage she would have overdosed and you would have been robbed a close friend before you even moved here then she looked at me oh and then there's the naive girl with a heart condition that will kill her before she turns twenty my blood turned to ice in my veins she nodded grinned next year you would have had a seizure without any warning costing you the use of your arms and legs I've seen it before things would go downhill from there you are going to die

she looked at me in the mirror with no visible expression what I need to know is are you going to take that lying down you're lying you're a liar I said trembling but still unable to move You're holding my friend hostage. You made me look like this. I don't believe you. Never believe you. Good, Gertrude said simply. Only a maniac would.

God knows I never asked for this. Wait, I begged. Please, don't do this. My parents, you can't do this to them. Your parents don't care about you, Jenny. Not really. This stark statement threw me back. You don't know what you're talking about, I replied.

When you're gone, what will happen to your parents? She held up one finger. They'd be devastated in a way. She held up a second finger. They survived their grief. Chalk one up to human resiliency in the face of crippling tragedy. She held up a third finger. They're young enough to have another child.

They'll have a baby boy, hog. girl and how much do you want to bet that that child will never be let off the leech she held up a fourth finger they won't forget about you or ever forgive themselves but they will leave you behind and that was all i could take shut up shut up you don't know anything my parents would never i couldn't finish the statement i knew what she was going to say before she even said it it's what has happened to your brother? Was that my fault? I'd always hated him for making my parents so over-protected of me, but now I saw that from his perspective. If the dead had perspective, well, I'd stolen his life. His parents didn't appreciate the protection that at the very least would have let him grow up.

I'd never met Logan, but I'd never felt more regretful in my entire life than I did for realizing how much animosity I had had for him deep down. She held up a fifth finger. Everything I just said would happen anyway if I let you die of your heart condition. You're wrong, I said bluntly, unable to completely believe it myself. You don't know that.

You can't know that. I don't need any help of yours. I don't want it. She let out a deep breath. Then she rubbed her temples with her hand. The truth is, it doesn't matter. what either of us want. Another few moments

will be stuck together no matter what. I can't reverse that now even if I did want to. That's not the point of this conversation. There's something else I need to ask you to do. She met my gaze in the mirror again. She gave me a rueful look that made me almost feel sorry for her.

I've actually grown fond of Jasmine. Don't kill her. No matter what you think of what you're about to learn, I asked that of you. Respect the deal I made with her. Before I could ask anything else, she snapped her pointer and pinky fingers together, and a blinding light overwhelmed my senses. I clasped back in the car seat, and a million images from hundreds of lifetimes fill my mind. Lives, deaths, love, heartbreak, every element of a human life happening over and over again in front of me over many generations.

I saw Serena the orphan cast out by the orphan house. I saw a girl that I somehow knew to be Mr. Curts' sister, and how he killed her when he learned what was happening to her. But then I relived Jasmine's entire life. Her parents were aloof, and her brother was manipulative and arrogant. He taught her to act spitefully and disguised it as being strong. Her first cigarettes came from her brother. Her first weed and first dope and first heroin

all came from her familial provider that she ignorantly worshipped. Gertrude's essence had chosen Jasmine and peaked into the back of her consciousness, forcing her to give up drugs, but unable to see her brother as anything more than a hero. When Gertrude finally grew strong enough within Jasmine to consume her body and soul,

Jasmine begged to be spared And offered me in her place The trip to the orphanage Had not spread Gertrude's essence to me It had been Jasmine hanging around me for that year Every sleepover, every movie night Every time we'd hung out Gertrude had been growing stronger inside of me

The changes I was so horrified of seeing on the outside Had taken place within me long ago Before I'd even planned to go to the orphanage Gertrude saw me the night I came to the orphanage and caused my heart attack to allow herself to finish spreading within me and now that she and I were one Jasmine had earned her freedom

No sooner did I begin to wrap my head around the centuries of information Then I felt a burning explosion in my gut I opened my eyes and found the kukri sticking out of my body rammed squarely into my heart. Jasmine was still in the front seat, but nothing of Gertrude remained in her. She was crying like a child who'd gotten caught doing something naughty.

I'm sorry, Jenny, she sobbed. I had to. I couldn't let her take me. I promised my brother I wouldn't die. I'm doing this for him. You have to understand. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

She was speeding down the road. separating from Gertrude, proved to be abrupt for her, and, as weak as I was in the back, I could at least feel myself shaking, and I knew I had at least a partial grasp of control. Jenny! She kept looking at me in the rear-view mirror, the saddened shocked face behind the wheel apologising over and over again, as though the guilt was coming in wave. The ringing in my ears drowned out, and I felt unconsciousness coming quick. The crushing pain in my chest from the knife Jasmine had stabbed me with was even worse now that I was on the receiving end.

I raised one arm and blindly looked for the seatbelt. The car was going faster the more Jasmine panicked. Despite the maddening pain in my chest and the obvious lethality of a knife in the heart, well, my hand found the buckle, and I pulled it across my waist. Jasmine's expression changed from naughty child to envious brat, and it looked like her lips were phrasing a question. Probably what I was doing, but the ringing in my ears was deafening. I had no idea what she actually sent.

With the last bit of strength I had, I reached forward, clapped my hand on the steering wheel, and the car swerved off the side of the road. I'm not religious. I've had to spend the last few years trying to live and make sure no one sees that I have, pitch black eyes. and if you get past how creepy that is to have

I promise the reality of it is much more annoying than anything else you may imagine being possessed is much different than I imagined personally I don't have voices in my head I don't have dramatic mood swings at least I don't think they are and other than the impossible change I experienced with my physical appearance

I feel the same on the inside there's that one really good story from the Bible where Christ is able to command a demon out of a man just by telling him to leave. I like that one, and it sticks out in my memory because I actually met Nisa and Jasmine by going to church. I don't remember it word by word, and this isn't going to be a story where I look up Bible quotes and jam them awkwardly into the story, but that sound has resonated in my mind ever since. The first time I met Jasmine, she was possessed, and neither of us knew. and there we were listening to a sermon about forcing out demons.

Oh, if only it worked that way. Gertrude was there in the background the entire time, spreading to me like a silent cancer. And Jasmine was the one who let her do that. After I pulled on the steering wheel of Jasmine's car, the vehicle skidded and did a few circles in the grass beside the road before coming to an abrupt halt as the car's right side slammed against a tree. The airbags in the front and back seat inflated, and I broke my nose.

I heard the loud snap and crack, and released a muffled moan of pain. The knife sticking out of my abdomen was already up to the hilt, so at least it couldn't go in any deeper. I heard Jasmine mumble in pain as well, and for a few seconds neither of us could do anything except wait for the airbags to deflate. Hers went first, and I saw her quickly unbuckle her seatbelt and flee from the car. My airbag was gone a moment later, but the pain in my chest and nose felt like someone was punching me over and over. She sprinted away, and I followed.

Again, looking back, so much of this event felt like a dream at the time. I decided before causing the crash that I wanted to kill Jasmine because she sold me out, and as I chased her with grievous injuries, I managed to pursue her at a fast pace. and slowly closed the distance she had on me. Both of us wearing our seatbelts had allowed us to walk and subsequently run from the crash, which was behind us at that point by at least half a mile. We didn't speak, we didn't shout.

We didn't offer each other any one-liners or cliché taunts. There were no park or tree climbs or ninja acrobatics. I just chased her until she couldn't run anymore. That took about twenty seconds of her sprinting, and me running with a knife sticking out of me, and a broken nose. I heard the cartilage snapped back into place on its own, moving beneath my skin like there was something crawling underneath it. I caught up to her, after only a few seconds, grabbed her, tackled her, and we rolled

onto the hard ground together. Before I knew it, my hands were around her throat, and Jasmine's eyes began to bulge. She tried hitting me with her hands, but I was so enraged, so beyond the point of noticing anything, that I hardly cared. Then an inexplicable sensation came through me. The adrenaline coursing through me gave out, and my grip around Jasmine's neck loosened. I stared at her in complete confusion as she coughed hoarsely. I stood up and inspected myself. Had I been drugged? all the desire I'd had to kill Jasmine for selling me out to the demon possessing me. I could find nothing of the hate I felt for Jasmine.

Oh, and then I remembered Gertrude's request, and I wondered if I had any say in it at all. A dawning conclusion came to me, and I spoke it out loud like I was reading something. We had a deal, I said, as if amazed by this information. I glanced at Jasmine and I could channel no aggression against her, looking at her clearly and seeing her swollen throat, seeing her terrified of me with her hemorrhaging eyes.

I felt sorry for her. Was Gertrude forcing me to feel that way? Was that how it was being possessed? A million uncertainties forced their way through my mind and I came to the conclusion that I had nothing to gain from standing there all being with Jasmine. If I killed her, I would leave more questions and answers, and I had long-term safety to worry about us. I looked at her again, and sighed.

We're done here. I started to walk away, but she spoke to me. Jenny, she asked through her bruised throat. Are you still in there? I turned back, and although I couldn't take seriously the idea of hurting Jasmine anymore, I put some malevolence in my voice. Absolutely. I pointed to the knife in my chest. From my perspective, it almost looked fake, but I could still feel the blinding pain. Now, take this out before I changed my mind.

Attacking me like that was uncalled for. I leaned down and allowed her to grab the knife, both of us eyeing the other with distrust and disdain. The pain of having that thing ripped out was beyond what I know how to describe. Once it was out, the wound closed and the brown blood evaporated before my eyes, like it was barely real. It still stung beneath my skin, and I concluded that internal injuries took longer to heal than cosmetic ones. Under normal circumstances, I would have been bucked over on the ground screaming, but the pain was almost detached from me, even though it was very, very real. her, Jasmine said, barely audible over the damage I had inflicted on her.

You can't let her keep doing this. She's going to keep doing this. Is she now? I mockingly raise my eyebrows. Would have been hard without a liar helping her, don't you think? Jenny, I'm sorry. She croaked on the verge of crying. I know you're still in there. I know you can come back from this. Let me help you now. "'You better hope I don't ever come back,' I said gravely.

"'She's not the one that bruised your wimpipe just now, Jess. "'Enjoy your miserable life. "'Good-bye!' I turned and saw the wreckage in the distance, "'and I remembered how Jasmine had been so protected of that car hall "'because it belonged to her brother. "'I fought back a bitter anger, "'refused to look back, and walked towards the road. Another vehicle was parked on the side.

I recognised the hatchback from my summer job, and a fresh pang of longing for those times was suddenly replaced by complete shock when I saw Mr. Kurtz standing by the car. He looked at me with a neutral expression. I wasn't sure I liked or not. He was dressed in the same clothes I'd seen him in the other day. His eyes were red, like he hadn't slept,

and as I approached him, I felt an odd annoyance at him. "'What are you doing here?' I asked harshly, "'and tapped the hilt of the knife in my hand. "'Would you like your knife back?' "'He frowned. "'That you, Jenny?' he asked with despair. "'That really you?

"'What are you going to do with that other knife?' "'I asked, pointing at the second blade in his hand. "'He sighed. "'I tried to kill that girl over there so this wouldn't happen. "'I let her find her. you. He pointed at Jasmine, who was lying on her back and watching all of this happen.

These things are drawn to her. There wasn't much of that dirt left from that grave in Lithuania, but it was enough to make two. My mind started to hurt with the centuries of memories he was still bringing to heal. Lithuania brought about a sea of emotions that I'd fought down. And when I looked at Mr. Kurtz, I couldn't think of him as that fun,

grandfatherly figure anymore. He was old, but standing tall, and I knew he had come to fight. We both know you came here to kill me. I said angrily, then I switched my tone to something sarcastic and hostile. Oh, unless you came to try and save scared little Jenny. He shook his head. I know Jenny's gone. Just like my sister.

Remember her? No, I said bluntly. "'I don't have time for this. "'Eather drive away now, or I'll take the keys when you're done with them. "'It doesn't matter to me, you know.' "'Can't do that.' "'You brandished the knife. "'I'm the last one.

"'You killed everyone else that came after you. "'They raised me after you stole my sister, "'and you killed them, too. "'Those were good men. "'Better men than me. "'Much younger, too.' "'I saw a little. a look of pure hatred on Mr. Kurtz's face that almost made me feel sorry for saying it.

Yeah, he said quietly, just loud enough to hear. Very young. I'm sorry, Jenny. Why couldn't you just have listened to me? Last chance. I softened my turn a bit. Don't make me do this, Mr. Kurtz. You're right, he said with a sly grin.

It is my last chance to do this. I'm going to finish what I started and put you back in the ground. No, you won't. Mr. Kurtz pulled out a revolver and fired at me, entering into my torso. Hot pain erupted inside me, and I recognized the same feeling as that of being stabbed by the special knife. My wounds closed on the surface, but in that instant I was murderously angry. Mr. Kurtz dropped the empty gun. he'd only had enough dirt to cast two lethal bullets.

I raised my hand and snapped my fingers before he took a step forward. Flames burst seemingly from nowhere and consumed Mr. Kurtz in an inferno. He ran forward mindlessly and tried to stop, drop and roll, but the flames would not go out or even spread to the grass. His clothes were visibly unaffected, while the man himself continued to scream like no one should. A deep grief pounded in my chest, out of remorse for doing that. But deep down I knew I had to.

Gertrude's powers needed a sacrifice, and if it wasn't Mr. Kurtz, it would have to have been someone else. The fire stopped once Mr. Kurtz stopped moving and died. I fished the untarnished keys out of his fully intact clothes, and tried to pay no attention to the charred flesh and bone. The smell was unavoidable, but fortunately I was able to hold my breath long enough to grab the keys and walk away from the body. My phone vibrated before I got into Mr. Kurtz's car. There was a call from Nisa. A sliver of cell service revealed two dozen text messages and voicemails, not just from her but from my parents as well.

Nisa and all the people who really cared about me were probably trying non-stop to reach me, and I knew they never would. I looked carefully at the device and thought hard for a moment before I dropped it onto the ground and left it there to keep ringing. I gave one more look to Jasmine and her horrified expression

at watching Mr. Kurtz burn to death was chilling. I let my face become a tired, sad smile as I remembered that sermon in church about being able to expel demons just by telling them to go away. Oh, if only, I muttered under my breath, before prying the other special knife out of Mr. Curtis's charred dead fingers, getting into the hatchback and driving away. If only, it was that easy.

I've gotten used to my new life now. Gertrude made a million tiny cachets of gemstones and Spanish silver coins that I was able to find to keep myself washed and out of the cold. not that I get cold anymore. Keeping the eyes hidden is the biggest challenge. There's no way to get rid of them or change my appearance. So I usually just wear sunglasses that cover my two eye sockets and have a paid bodyguard escort me like I'm a blind person. A good set of false dentures hide the gnarly teeth I now have.

But even with all that, I don't go out much. Only when I go to an internet cafe and have my bodyguard read me news articles from my home to It took the police six months to give up on the search. Fortunately, if you pay a man enough, he knows better than to ask questions about me. Mr. Kurtz's passing was listed as a natural death. I was afraid leaving his body there would attract something,

but no news was good news as far as I cared. My parents took three years, but they gave in two and stopped searching. I don't know if they plan on having another kid. Well, maybe they could adopt one, but I hope they do. At least something good would come from all this misery. Nisa went to college, and Jasmine went back to drugs, so I know that none of us talk to each other anymore. It makes looking at that picture on the crumpled missing person poster from my birthday party

all the harder to look at. I hope Nisa has a good life. And for her own safety, I hope I never see her again. I learned, well, remembered, I suppose, a lot about Gertrude. I use that as my go-to name now, but I've never heard her talk to me. If I'm her, or she's me, well, that's a riddle, I suppose, is truly left for me to wonder over. She came from Lithuania in the Dark Ages, and Northern Crusaders burnt her at the stake for being a pagan. she came back and started possessing the children of the crusaders and each time they burned a

possessed child gertrude grew stronger at some point she crossed over to america and milled out by beginning to rent her other worldly abilities as a contract killer conveniently fulfilling the requirements of her unholy nature and building a comfortable fortune as well wherever she went however the Crusaders followed. Gertrude was the one that built the orphanage in 1870, using it to carefully choose children that no one would miss or come looking for. After several generations, the zealots obsessed with killing her, stopped even calling themselves crusaders,

and just focused on trying to kill her for good. They discovered that dirt mixed with her ashes could harm her, so they made a very small number of weapons mixed with a so... and her ashes. I don't know when the time will come, where my body will be used up, but I try not to think about that. I can still feel the pain

where Mr. Kurtz's hollow point bullet splintered into a million pieces below my skin. They're killing me, slowly but surely. I guess the kind old man will have won in the end when it's all said and done. Now you're probably wondering why I'm telling you all this now at the end of everything.

Well, long term, I don't know what I'll do other than survive. Mr. Kurtz was the last of the men chasing after those afflicted by Gertruth's possession, but I know one thing. Jasmine's brother graduated from college. He's going back to our hometown to visit. I've been holding off making a fire sacrifice to sustain myself, but that's like trying not to breathe when you're whatever entity I am. I don't plan on becoming a hitman.

Not yet, at least. It's a little too over the top for me, if you can believe that. Well, like I said in the beginning, people are selfish, and I can't forgive Jasmine for taking everything away from me. So, for the next person to give their life to extend my existence as I am, well, she did do this to me for her brother. Didn't she say that time and time again? I don't care if it's meaningless,

and the burning bits of metal inside me, kill me in the end. No, this is personal. I can't kill her. Her deal with Gertrude prevents that. But I'm just human enough to figure out a clever loophole in her little deal with the devil. I heard she did go back to doing heroin these days. If she still apologises after I kill her brother, maybe I'll accept it this time. Or maybe she'll be kind enough to overdose. So once again, we reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to listen.

Now, I'd ask one small favor of you. Wherever you get your podcast from, please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review as it really helps the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again, same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye. Thank you.