Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S1 Ep50: Episode 50: Trapped Inside

Episode Date: October 7, 2021

Tonight’s opening horrific tale of terror is originally titled ‘That's Not Rain Pattering Against the Window’, a wonderful story By BearLair64, kindly shared directly with me and narrated here for you all with the author’s express permission: https://www.reddit.com/user/BearLair64/ Tonight’s concluding work of unmitigated genius is ‘Inside’, an original story Ryan Brennaman, again kindly shared with me for the express purpose of having me narrate it here for you all: https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Inside

Hey Ontario, come on down to BetMGM Casino and check out our newest exclusive. The Price is Right Fortune Pick. Don't miss out. Play exciting casino games based on the iconic game show. Only at BetMGM. Access to the Price is right fortune pick is only available at BetMGM Casino. BetMGM and GameSense remind you to play responsibly. 19 plus to wager, Ontario only. Please play responsibly. If you have questions or concerns about your gambling or someone close to you,

please contact Connix Ontario at 1866-531-2600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. To Dr. Creepin's dungeon. Well, you know what they say. What is normal? Normal is but an illusion. What's normal for the spider is chaos for the fly. As we will see in tonight's two feature-length stories.

Later on, we have Inside by the wonderful Ryan Brenneman. But we open proceedings with, that's not rain pattering against the window, by Bear Layer 64. Now as always, before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's stories may contain strong language, as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. If that sounds like your kind of thing, then let's begin.

Amos tossed and turned as he heard a faint noise from the roof, and then a pattering noise against the windows above his head. There were blinds and heavy curtains over them, and it be pitched blind. outside anyway he woke just a little more with the thought that the weather forecast hadn't caught for rain and certainly not hail this sounded like one of those late spring storms almost the wind should have been howling well nothing he could do about the weather so he turned over and fell back into a fitful slumber full of nightmare his crops were ruined and the fields lay barren

before him his animals injured all of the bleeding creatures low and bleated and whine piteously and looked to him for succor. But there was nothing he could do to help. The flesh melted from their frames and puddled below their skeletal forms, that stared accusingly at him with red radiant eyes. He woke in alarm, to an alarm. Farm hours were long. In addition to his normal output,

he had to tend to additional fields of crops meant for a starving world across the ocean. This season he was unable to leave any fallow fields. Everything had to be sown and harvested. There had been a plague of locusts from Africa to Pakistan toward the end of the winter season, and it had now spread to western China and north into the Mediterranean basin. The plant life was devastated. Between that and the Australian and Brazilian wildfires

had panic over an unrelated pandemic. Food production and transportation had slowed to danes, dangerous levels. The world was hungry, and the wilderness suffered. It was up to the few remaining farm belts to feed the rest. He would do his part, though. His farm was a small one. He putted about in the kitchen until his daughter and two sons finally came stumbling down the stairs. His wife had died last summer, so his workload had increased exponentially. The kids were out for spring break, so he'd had free help with the planting. He'd show him. He'd show you. the mercy after the day and let them enjoy the one free weekend before they had to go back

to studying and working full time. Good morning. Hope you all got some rest last night. Anyone else get woken up by the rainstorm? Amos asked his small brood as they each moved about the kitchen, procuring what they wanted for breakfast. He'd given up trying to cook for his own plague of locusts. Well, he'd stopped calling them that, even jokingly after the threat of global famine

to become a reality, but he couldn't help what crossed his mind. I didn't hear anything, his daughter, the middle child piked. I was tired, though, when he stayed up watching videos and chatting. His oldest son just shrugs. Ah, didn't really pay attention. Rain puts me deeper asleep, though. The youngest boy didn't answer. Just settled down to a bolt of cold cereal, his earbuds already blocking out sounds of the real world. Amos didn't bother prompting him.

He knew that one had been playing online games for most of the night. He'd have been wearing headphones and staring at a bright screen in his otherwise darkened room. Nathan, unlike his older brother, Amos Jr., AJ, was not personable with anyone who was not in his gaming circles or for whom he had no immediate need. Amos sighed. He was fortunate in his kids. They got along well enough, but each was. self-sufficient as far as he could tell they were developing well Nathan was 13 and he'd develop his skills and the direction he wanted to go with time his detachment seemed normal for

his generation more of an attachment to machines than to his fellow humans well we plant the last little bit today and then if we get done in time I'll take you all to an early supper in town then you'll be cut loose until Sunday evening Amos grinned around the table and each of the kids, even Nathan, smiled back. Apparently he could hear after all. At least when he chose to. It had been a tough year. A tough couple of years with Glenda first, second then.

He didn't want to think about that. Amos took his piece of toast over to the kitchen door and out onto the back porch to finish eating. He liked to look at the farm, his farm. first thing in the morning while the dew was fresh and he had time to listen to birdsong and the twitters and clicks of insects so calm so peaceful so reassuring to his mind that all was right with the world this morning there was no birdsong the animals were quiet

usually the cats and nanny goats would be letting him know that it was time for milking the dogs would be gambling up to the porch for a quick scratch and then leftovers for their own breakfast. Chickens and ducks would be strutting and waddling about, scratching for anything good to eat. Come to think of it, the rooster hadn't made a sound. Then, with the brightening sunlight, we noticed the yard and the close by field.

They were barren, utterly devoid of greenery, no leaves and buds. The grass of the lawn was cut down to the soil. And the field. The field was gone. Nothing but dirt. He looked around the porch and then walked quickly around the house. Nothing was left of the natural world but greys and browns. Then, below the window to his bedroom, he saw them. Bodies just inches long. Locusts. Valentina, inch, enjoying taking care of her plants on the terrace. The condo she shared with her partner, Pete, sat high above most of the city and it was refreshing to take the morning air and look out on the town she loved so well. It had been a warm night, so she'd slept peacefully to the roar of the air conditioning that hummed and kept her restfully cool in their king-sized bed. Peter just left for work

and she was halfway through her first cup of coffee, anticipating her morning chores as she thought of taking care of the few outdoor, very domesticated plants. She took the last sips and then filled her little watering bucket with the big sunflowers on the side. Pete rushed back inside of the elevators. He had to get to Valentina. He had to warn her. When he'd left the parking garage, there had been groups of people standing around on the sidewalks. Instead of the white-collar minions purposefully marching towards their endeavors for the day,

they all stood gawking and pointing some stood silently in shock others spoke excitedly either to the people around them or into their devices the remaining few wailed and cried out in horror pete stared himself mouth agape for as far as he could see the plant life had been devastated not a piece of green remained even the trees with softer barks had been strict The car pulled in behind him and the driver honked impatiently. Pete exited the garage, carefully made the block and returned to his designated space in the garage. The view had been the same from every side of the complex.

Greys and browns predominated, except where humans had left a few colourful marks of their own. It was worse than the most severe winter. Even the evergreens, the shrubs, were all bare. There were no lingering patches

of green among the grassy spaces, just soiled, dry or moist from the sprinklers. He was all equally barren. He rushed down the hallway to their doors and entered. He knew that Valentina would be devastated, but he also knew that it may be dangerous for her to be out on the terrace. He had no idea what had happened, but it had to be toxic. When he entered the living room, he looked across and saw her. She stood there at the French door. She stood there at the French door, that led to the terrace her curved silhouetted in the morning light a little water bucket with the gaudy flowers on the side lay spilled at her feet she just stared at where her lovely plants had been and out beyond where the city had been green with late spring young edwardo married to his friends

looked up at hoaxe a larger boy who'd been secretly bullying him for the entire school year Definitely not a friend, he thought desperately. Jorge had gotten a gross spurt earlier than most of his contemporaries and had taken full advantage of it. This morning had been hot and Jorge had been particularly irritable. Eddie had gotten in his way somehow and landed in the crosshairs of his pre-adolescent fury. Now he faced the consequences as the bigger boy pushed him for the second time in this latest tirade. one more shove and Eddie

would be against the war in a little travelled area of the schoolyard out of sight of any potential rescuers several other kids stood around encouraging one or the other mostly horrid most all of the main phones at the scene that unfolded this hot spring morning

they weren't particularly loud though no one wanted a teacher or staff member to interrupt their fun Eddie thought he was hearing things his ears had that roaring he felt when he panicked. Maybe Jorge had already knocked him cold. Maybe this was just a dream. No, he definitely heard a loud buzz, a humming buzz, a roaring bar. Then he looked up and saw the strange-looking cloud that moved in an odd swirling manner

towards them. He dropped to the ground in a fetal bowl. The crowd around him just laughed, and Jorge drew back his leg to deliver a contemptuous kid. Then one of the kids screamed, and another yelled out for the rest to, look, as she pointed into the mid-morning sky. Above them, and approaching quickly was a cloud, a shadow that moved swiftly toward them. The buzzing chitter that had become very apparent emanated from that swarm.

A few of the young people ran, and others joined Eddie on the ground, and huddled in abject terror as the locust swarmed over and ate every bit of vegetation in view. Sanya Liu reporting here. We've been hearing for a few months now about plagues of locusts from all around the world. Apparently many are attributing the insect invasions to some sort of ancient divine punishment. At this, she rolled her eyes in obvious contempt.

The invasive creatures have literally taken a bite out of the planet's farmer. at least in the less developed parts of the world. Until recently, the Americas seemed like a safe haven, protected from the invasive species by the wide oceans to either side. Yet now, we look to our south and find that the croplands in Mexico have been devastated. Areas along the border, the rich growing lands from California to the Rio Grande Valley, have been hit by waves of the devouring little creatures. According to the Department of Agriculture, pesticides seems to have no effect on them.

small communities have suffered the most, as so far we urbanistas seem to be safe. Apparently these bugs prefer to eat blue-collar fare at the county buffet. She sniggered a little and passed the platform back to the studio team. Wow, exclaimed Lea Cole, the studio anchor. Looks like the rural folk will be eaten out of their trailer parks. Oh, hey, onto something less depressing. it turns out that the hip-hop artist Biggie S has been seen out with actresses.

The enormous swarms moved ever northward with the warming onset of summer. Within a month they were destroying the green places of southern Canada. Then, like a light switch, the devastation stopped. The insects did not die off, at least. There were no piles of desiccated little corpses in evidence. They simply disappear. literally went off the radar. It was just as well.

They cleared a swath from sea to shining sea and had done the same across the world, leaving nowhere unaffected. Almost nothing was left. The world would soon be on the brink of starvation of a famine like nothing in the memory of the human species, nothing since the last great extinction. Amos had aged dramatically in the two months

since the locusts had invaded. He was leaned to the point of gauntness, and his hair had begun to grey. The kids were doing better than him, yet everyone had a hollow-eyed look. They had grain stored, but only enough to feed a handful of animals and to replant a small field or two. They'd butchered all of the animals they couldn't feed. When the freezers were full,

they'd reopened an old root cellar from his grandfather's time and filled it with summer sausage and cheese. The last remaining fire animals were those that provided milk. They were given the grain. The chickens and ducks remained, though their egg production was nearly nil. The dogs had disappeared. They had been eating bits of meat along with the rest of the family, but not everyone or everything in the area ate so well,

and the dogs were nice and sleek. In the summer most grass had returned. A few tree sprouted leaves from buds that had not yet sprung, before the attack. Yet the dry heat and the winds had turned much of the topsile to dust, and now blew haphazardly and piled like drifts of snow when it wasn't choking the life from them. They worked with their neighbours, and the community struggled onwards. Commerce, as they'd known it, for their lives up to this point, was over and done. They traded among one another out in the countryside, but did not dare risk wasting food by sending it to the city. Piedon Valentina

struck out just as the madness fell upon the city. They drove as far as they could, and when they could no longer get gasoline, they proceeded on foot. They were headed for the coast. Peter had reasoned that at least sea life would not have been affected. Valentina had agreed with as much enthusiasm as she'd been able to muster since the locusts had changed their world.

Their enthusiasm plummeted when they had to leave behind most of their belongings. They were already hungry and on short rations before they escaped the outlying suburbs of the next large city. They tried to skirt around it since they could see the plumes of smoke and hear the sounds of madness and butchery. They were almost clear of the population centre when they encountered the township. Even here in the distant suburbs, people had already eaten the food available and then the pets. They'd not resorted to other meat for the most part, though. Every little settlement had its secrets.

A group of township citizens greeted them as they approached a barricade across the highway that passed through the micro-city. Welcome, friends. A tall man who, looked as though he'd already been leaned before the plague struck, held up his hand, opened palm facing him. He carried a rifle in the crook of his other elbow, and the other three gate guards were equally well armed. Are you folks coming from the city? Valentina looked annoyed, and Pete could tell that she was about to say something snarky that would likely garner a negative response from the townsfolk. They were tired, hungry and dirty,

and they'd walked all that day to get to this place that looked a little better tended than anything else they'd seen so far. He lifted the very nice leather bag from his shoulder and set it on the ground. Good evening. My name's Pete. this is Valentina. We ran out of gas and we've been walking all day. We're almost out of food. Is there any chance we could shout with you for the night?

We'd be willing to work for our supper. I'm an attorney and Valentina here is great with raising plants. I'm sure she could offer useful advice on growing anything that's left. He finished lamely and with no help from his partner. Valentina darted a glance at him but remained silent. The lean man nodded and gestured for them to stay in place. He consulted with the rest of the group for a moment and then walked back towards them wearing a smile. Look, we don't have much, but we are willing to share.

We still have power and water, and we have several nice homes that have been abandoned. You'll be welcome to stay in any one of them. The food situation is tough, but I think we can get you some community soup. It's what we make from donations by members of the township. He used a radio that looked like a police model to contact someone. A female voice answered, and shortly a pair of women arrived, and, along with them, two of the erstwhile rogue guards, who escorted them to a nice little cottage a few blocks further into a settled area,

near to the police station. The elder, matronly-looking woman, with a librarian's glasses, had carried a small bowl which she presented to Valentina. I'm so sorry it's not bar, but this is why we have. I hope you'll enjoy it. Welcome to the township. Make yourselves at home and get some rest. The couple thanked the township citizens,

who greeted them so kindly, and entered their new dwelling. It was still furnished, though. It looked as though the inhabitants had left hastily. There was no food to be found anywhere. Doubtless the residents had taken it, and the good citizens of the township had scrounged for any leftovers. Out of curiosity, Pete switched on the television,

a nice modern model. There was nothing to see on most channels. He found a news channel, though, and sat down to find out what was happening in the world. Nothing good. Valentina sat down beside him and offered him a bite of the soup. He took a couple of slurps and urged her to eat the rest. He opened his designer leather bag

that had once been filled with legal documents. He thought essential and took out one of their last remaining candy bars. They'd found a miraculously unrated vending machine in an abandoned office building and had taken the remaining items. Valentina munched on the soup which consisted mostly of tiny chunks of meat and salty water. The news broadcast seemed to be a recorded message that had been left running in a loop. It appears as though the insect plague, the locusts, may have started in desert regions around the world. Perhaps buried beneath the sands of time, waiting to emerge.

and devour all before them. This strain is previously unknown. No laboratory has come up with what they truly are. We named them locust just to simplify the terminology. So far no pesticides have worked. Even natural predators like birds seem to dislike eating these creatures. As it stands, the world will be hungry for some time yet. Many areas of the world have already sunken into extreme famine conditions.

valentina nudged him they said that the waterworks maybe we can get a shower find some clean clothes they found that there were still plenty of clothes in the closet of the master bedroom valentina picked out a bright pink nightgown and pete located a pair of shorts and a clean t-shirt they showered and then crawled beneath the sheets for some long overdue rest they were exhausted and slept deeply more so than usual The first Pete knew of the intentions of their hosts was when hard hands clamped onto him and dragged him out of the bed. Strong hands and arms held him while others placed handcuffs on his wrists. He heard Valentina's piteous wails and shrieks as other hard hands and strong arms imprisoned her. She continued to screech until the sound of a fist-striking flesh

ended her verbal protests. They were taken to the small municipal james, inside the police station. There was only one officer left. He decided to throw in with the township council when they deposed the now dead police chief a few days earlier. Tensions were still high. Some suggested that they go out into the countryside and hunt for game, but the counter argument was that animals had to be starving as well. If they lived, they had long since fled or turned into human eaters. The council had to get more people on board, with their plan. They would not eat one another, but these two who'd stumbled into the sediment,

nobody knew them. They weren't real people, not citizens of their new civilization, merely beggars who wanted to further drain the township's resourcing. Valentina sat next to Pete and cried. Her tears long since expended, she sobbed dryly into his chest. The officer and two other males came to get her. Pete fought as best he could but the electronic control weapon still worked and the officer shot the cables into him and zapped him repeatedly far beyond what would have been allowed

before order collapsed back when Pete could have threatened to own this stupid township after the lawsuit he'd file in the end Pete was left on the floor of the cell and had to remove the barbs from the weapon himself he stayed on the floor for a long while

and may have dozed he was unsure he slowly stood and tried to compose himself. Then he noticed that the party had closed the cell door but failed to lock it. The facility was old and outdated. It had no electronic locks. Pete looked around the station before he left. There were no firearms or other obvious weapons,

so he made his way out of the station. Pete cautiously threw the front glass doors and saw no one. He ducked outside and ran to the edge of the building. He stopped and composed himself. if he ran he'd be noticed he had to find and free valentina and then get going and then he vowed to himself these small-town suburbanite weirdos will learn not to trifle with p goulberg attorney at law he looked around as he walked into the rapidly deepening twilight darkness he'd definitely been out for a while they didn't seem to be anyone else outdoors likely they have a curfew he thought He circled the police station and courthouse complex to get a good look at the surrounding area and found that the little township had a community centre on the back side of the complex. He quickly realised that was where everyone already was or was headed, as he saw a few stragglers rushed toward the main entrance, where they were ushered inside by stern-looking citizens who were ostensibly armed.

He approached the building and circled the structure as he looked for a side or back entrance. He was rewarded when a back door near the dumpster proved to be unlocked. He made his way into the dark back room of the community centre. There were boxes and other containers piled all around him. He could see a bar of light glimmering beneath a door ahead. He paused at the door to listen. Pots and pans and people talking. Ah, a kitchen.

They must be getting ready to make more of that community soup. He shuddered, as he, for the first time wondered what to. type of creature had provided the meat and stopped the bowl he and Valentina had consumed. He waited until the voices faded, and then tried the doorknop. It opened. He let the door swing inward slightly and shared the darkness with him, and then gazed through it into the brightly lit adjacent room. It was what he'd thought, a small kitchen. There was one figure still partially in the room,

a plump woman with folds of flesh that had started to see. sag with her in force diet. She stood in the doorway that led out into the main assembly hall and faced toward the meeting that had been called toward her. Pete could hear people speaking, but was more interested in locating Valentina and making their escape while the denizens of the township were occupied. Keeping a careful eye on the strapping woman,

he stillfully looked around the kitchen. He needed a weapon. Then he saw the meekleaver in a large kitchen knife, both still bloodied with whatever feast the cooks are prepared. He determined to take the knife, the cleaver was clearly only useful in the kitchen. The speaker in the other room raised his voice. He sounded like a preacher giving a sermon. Indeed, he was Reverend Hamilton Wright, who spoke with such passion from the makeshift pulpit in the community centre. He was on the newly minted Township Council, and it was his duty to explain

how the feast they were about to share was not an abomination but rather a blessing, indeed a duty to their lord, to survive and to continue to worship and sacrifice for him. Well, Pete didn't pay attention to the quasi-sermon. He was busy creeping. Then in the opposite corner he saw a pile of familiar pink clothing. The nightgown Valentina had used, now somewhat bloodied and thrown into a heap. She would never have stood for that if she had been able to. And he stuffed the back of his hand into his mouth to contain a wretch, as he saw that on the counter that made up part of the corner

was a piece that held long, dark, familiar hair. It was a scalp. It was hers. Pete squatted there, staring intently at the grisly trophy from the woman he loved. The hair that his hands had lovingly stroked so often. He choked back the scream that wanted desperately to escape from his throat, from his soul. He knew that he could do nothing for her, for his Valentina. Just maybe, maybe get revenge.

But first he had to escape. The way was clear and the folks of the township were clearly occupied. This would be his only opportunity, heartless though it seemed to leave her behind. He arose and made it to exit through the, the small storeroom. Behind him, the righteous reverend called on them all to, feast in the name of the Lord. As the crowd cheered, Pete let forth his own internal scream of anguish. But it turned quickly to an actual scream of agony, when the stout woman buried the cleaver in his shoulder. Eddie hunched in the storeroom of the school cafeteria. He and four other kids had been separated

from their parents when the neighbourhood tore itself apart over the last remaining groceries. The school had been closed for several days before the human conflagration, but Eddie and his friends had gone up to visit the playground. Now there were people fighting a battle between them and the way to their homes. They noticed that the doorways to the school were unlocked and decided to see if there were still some food left in the old storage area. Most of it had been raided by the cafeteria workers, but after weeks of thin rations, the kids were able to scrounge some overlooked items,

a can of beets and another of green peas. After their feast, though, they'd heard out at doors crash open, and the sounds of shouting, angry voices, adult voices. Then a gunshot rang out, and they locked themselves in a storage closet. Many of the writers had supplemented their diets with alcoholic beverages. Why, had they done so with intent and in moderation? Grain was grain, but the core members of the group did not comprehend that word moderation. Now the alcohol-fueled rage of the mob had spilled into the last refuge of the innocent,

the elementary school. Many of them had attended this school at one time, and so felt an irrational resentment toward the edivis. They tore at it for a while, able to do little damage to the child-proofs, structure. So in frustration, they set fire to the offices, to the now pointless reams of paper. Eddie and the others heard the fire alarm sound. They huddled together in fear as they crept from the closet. Then the sprinklers opened up and drenched them in coal, stale, stinking water, grown mouldy from years in the pipes. Well, that was enough to break their stupor. Like a herd before predators, they fled. They slipped. They slipped.

and slided down the hallways in panic until they reached the rear entrance opposite the burning offices. They piled out into the vestibule and halted. Through the glass doors ahead, they could see the mayhem and madness of the rioting mob. Then Eddie saw a figure, curled into a fetal ball just outside the front doors. He recognised the poor kid who'd clearly taken a severe beating. he opened the door and with the help of his friends pulled Jorge into the vestibule. He knelt beside the bigger boy, who looked up at him in terror. It's okay, Jorge. We got you. You're safe now.

Sonia had packed her bags and her little toy dog and had flown to the Midwest to report on the Locust Plague. It was now time for her to jet back to the east coast and away from the increasing tensions in the now starving city. The food supplier dwindled and people had gone from afraid To frustrated, to angry and now to insane She walked in a very straightforward manner to the van That the local affiliate had lent to her crew The flight they were about to take Was one of the last of any kind available to go anywhere

It was a chartered commercial liner And they hadn't even offered first-class accommodations They drove past a line of people outside a grocery where There was no food available at retail, and very little now available at any price. The armed warehouse workers, and come gang members, exacted enormous tolls for the merest scraps, and people gladly paid what they could just to get enough to hang on for a few more days. Sonia sniffed in distaste. Oh, I'll be so glad to get back to civilization.

Well, this place wasn't great to start with, and now it's a downright zoo. and the animals are in charge. Maybe it's become more of a circus. They made it to the airport with time to spare, but found that the gates to the terminal were blocked by a large crowd of people who'd had flights cancelled from under them. They were nearly at a riot stage.

There was no food left at the airport, and many of them had been stuck there for days, far from home and resources, desperate to reach home, to families and loved ones. It was a bubbling cordon of huge. humanity, pressed and packed into an ever more confined space. The three news crew members surrounded Sonia, and her little dog and began to force their way

through the crowd. The biggest crew member, whom the other secretly called Big Fat Bob, led the way, and when a few people in the crowd staggered into his path, he shoved a couple of them. There was no point to it. They had nowhere to go in the press of bodies. After a while, the small party was nearly unable to forge any further ahead. The crowd was simply packed in too tightly at the last open gate, the one that they needed, the one for which they had tickets. They managed to work the way forward at a snail's pace.

Sonia all the time remarking on why these literally great unwashed masses were behaving in such a selfish, uncouth manner. When they made it to the gate, armed officers greeted them. The people at the edge of the crowd resentful, let them through. They showed their special passes, and there was some attempt at screening them. Two of the crew members carried large camera bags as carry-on luggage, and Sonia, of course, had her personal bag, complete with its nervous little occupant, who, unbeknownst as Sonia had urinated on most of her belongings while they navigated the crowd, and they checked everything

else with the loan baggage handler at the ticket counter. There's someone in the crowd noticed the little dog that had peered curiously from Sonia's shoulder back. Hey, that woman's taking a dog on the plane. There's no room for more people, but you'll let that dog go? Most people couldn't see the dog and thus comprehend how ridiculous the statement was. Their resentment and hunger had been building for far too long to submit to mere reason. Someone else shouted, hey, if those jerks would leave some bags, then another person or two could fit on board. while the mob's IQ plummeted with every further screech until a large man at the front yelled hey rush him have followed his own advice so do the rest of the mass of humanity

sonya and two of her crew were lifted into the air by the wave of pressing bodies like so much flotsam on the tide big fat bob heavy as he was rode the wave for a short time but then sank beneath the trampling feet of the herd. The little dog cowered inside the shoulder back, now dropped and kicked over to rest against a wall. Just as he scampered out of the bag, a young girl scooped him up and the bag and crouched in the corner of a pillar embedded in the wall as the crowd passed them. Her new best friend peaked out of the bag for a quick lick of her face and then ducked back inside to safety. The world continued to tear itself apart for months until finally there was still. no one left who was able to fight and no resources over which to strive. Disease set in amongst the large population centres where bodies lay rotting in the streets, at least those that hadn't

made it into cup-pots, and yet the earth healed. People brought in what seeds they could, and the spring buds grew in the northern hemisphere as the four buds bloomed in the southern. It was a struggle, but after seven long years, the 2.8 billion remains, the two point eight billion remains. remaining homo sapiens stopped the plummet into savagery and chaos. While it would be a while before they could rise, they greatly slowed the fall and knew that with cooperation, they would level off and regain some stability. No one spoke much about the horrors of the first few years,

or if they did, they whispered and shuddered and disgust at their own actions. Amos had died in year two from heart failure. Nathan had disappeared shortly thereafter. He said something about going down to the Gulf Coast. A.J. and Madison each found spouses and settled into farm life with the new seeds that their plants had finally produced, and from those that had been stored before the locusts arrived. Many trees survived, and even some wildlife had managed to make it. They once more had cattle and goats and chickens in large enough numbers that they could sell some of the excess products, at least to their neighbours.

No point wasting it on the cannibal savages in the city. Horre's family had not made it through the riots. Eddies had, and adopted the boy, along with several other lost children. Things had been tough. They'd done things, eaten things that no one wanted to remember, that caused them to avert or lower their eyes when even a mention was required. Yet the kids had almost all made it to their teens and beyond. eddie and horre shook hands and then embraced as the brothers they become eddie was headed off to the citizens watch academy he decided to serve with the entity that had replaced the police and other first responders in their area

he had finally gotten his own growth spurt and it was fortunate for horre that eddie was not one to hold grudge it in the far north of canada sam walker and the other two members of his team of researchers stalked along a game of the game of the same of researchers stalked along a game of trail formed by animals that had survived when the locusts decided to disappear and had left behind enough plant life that it had actually flourished it had even begun to spread to friendly acclimes to the cell he and his team had been left relatively unscathed since he'd been in a government control facility before the disaster and its immediate aftermath the team was now assigned to the search for locusts It was paramount that they find where the insects had gone to ground. They and other scientists deemed worthy of protection had researched the many small corpses left behind

when the creatures had flown into vehicle grills or hard structures head first. They were definitely not a known species of locust, but their habits were similar. They huffed and puffed as they crossed the latest hills and stared down toward the crevasse that was their destination. According to the information they had, the split in the earth lightly contained caves and holes and other possible hiding places. As they cautiously approached the edge of the drop, he turned to his two companions, both of whom looked exhausted.

Do you hear that? They each stopped and caught their heads to listen more closely. It sounded like buzzing and chittering, clacking. the noises of vast numbers of chittinous bodies rubbing together we found them william exclaimed in excitement the theories have proven true amazing that they are alive after so many years in this environment well after all they started in hot dry climates in deserts William had time for a short shriek, followed by a hideous gurgle before the flesh was stripped from his bones. His companions fared no better, and joined him in their short shrieks and gurgles as the swarm of carnivorous locusts that had metamorphosed over the past seven years, engorged themselves after their initial waking, and then formed into an enormous cloud, sworn for in hunger. It wasn't the night's cold kiss that kept Daryl awake that lonely November night. To tell the truth, it had been quite a while since Daryl Hutchinson had succumbed to any kind

of restful sleep. It was obvious early on, however, that this wouldn't be like any of those nights. No, it hadn't been the cloying thoughts of his beloved Amber, who had decided to leave him in his time of need, nor was it the two open bills on his counter. Two months rent for his shit-box apartment that remained unpaid. Surprisingly, it also hadn't been the thought of the looming third and final bill that would, in two weeks' time, arrive in his mate. All thoughts of his daily troubles had been scraped from his mind, driven out by an internal intruder. It was a peculiar itch, deep inside Daryl Hutchinson's ear.

It hadn't started as an itch. He'd woken up that morning with a strange congestion in his last. left ear. It felt tight, like a drop of water had become trapped inside. But no matter how hard he'd shaken his head, nothing came out. The day had gone on, Darrell just had gotten used to it. He was certain it was an issue that would resolve itself and require no extraneous action. That had been the day, though. Half of the night had passed with Darrell staring into the dark ceiling in frustration. Somehow, the congestion had evolved into a troubled semi-symmy. The itching came in awful waves that made him shudder from head to toe.

It was deep inside his ear, much too deep for any of his large fingers to chlorats. He knew. He'd tried all of them. He'd reached, dug, poked and prodded, but the itch only got worse. At about a quarter past four, Daryl understood that the congestion wasn't getting any better. He could barely hear the sound of his own burrowing fingers anymore. wondering if he was just simply going mad, he snapped his fingers just outside his ear. The snaps were audible, but only just. It wasn't ideal, but it was manageable. Then the itch turned into pain.

It almost took a whole minute for Darrell's drowsy mind to even register the scratching-like sensation that had grown within his ear. Darrell moaned in frustration and discomfort as he sat up in bed. It wasn't like any earache he'd had before. They turned his whole ear roar, and that pain throbbed into the base of his skull. But this pain was different, precise and localized, surely nothing more than a progression of the irksome itch. The pain had caused him more anger than anything else,

so he lashed out and brought his palm to bear on the side of his head. Not once, twice, but three times. It sold. nothing and only served to exasibate his predicament. As the pain dotted the inside of his ear, Daryl stood up and plodded towards the bathroom, scowling into the darkness. Seeing as how everything else had failed, Daryl was willing to do just about anything he could to get some decent shudder.

He stepped into the bathroom, turning on the warm water in the sink. The uneven sound of running water was relaxing and welcome. The pain actually relinquished for just a moment as Darrell reached down to the water. He let it run through his fingers for a moment, and he savoured the walk. Coughing his hand, he collected a decent amount of water, and he bent down as low as he could. There was something in his ear. Of that, Darrell was certain, and he was ready to wash it out. He tilted his head, ready to dump every last drop inside.

"'Stop!' Darrell shot upwards with a gasp, dropping the water into the sink. The voice had not been his. Darrell swung around, leaning backwards over the sink to see who was there. The doorway behind him was empty and silent, but that didn't ease his racing heart. Daryl reached out quickly with his arm, awkwardly searching for the light switch.

The lights uncovered nothing. The only occupant of the bathroom, was Darrell. The only sounds were the running water and his own raspy breaths. He was alone, but that voice had been as real as anything. He wasn't sure what he'd expected. An intruder, amber? Each seemed as unlikely and as troubling as the other.

Daryl shut the door, realizing that beyond it, obstructive shadows still hung on every nook and cranny. Isolated in the light, he should have felt better. The pressure pushed on his ear, and he felt the pain return once more. Despite the unpleasantness in his ear, the only thing Daryl could focus on was the evanescent voice. Had he just imagined it? For good measure, he checked the bathtub, stripping the shower curtains away in a fearful burst. Empty, there was no one, and nowhere else to hide.

The water, still running behind him, Darrell tried to massage the tiredness out of his face. He tried to bury his thoughts of the voice beneath layers of doubt. It came again. Turn off. Dalry jumped, turning quickly to his left. The voice, the quiet voice had come from there. He'd heard it for sure this time, as surely as he heard the water running behind him.

Yet it didn't make sense. No one was there. No one at all. Couldn't decide whether the voice had belonged to a man or a woman, but neither stood beside him. The arrow could see through the crack in the curtains that the window was shut, and a quick check showed him that it was, indeed still locked. Hearing through the curtains, the outside world was almost too dark to see, especially with the light reflecting from inside.

Yet there was no way the voice had come from out there. It felt too close, too intimate. It had been like someone had whispered into his ear. Turn off water. Who? Daryl jumped, screaming at someone unseen. Who's there? Turn off water.

Daryl opened his mouth. But words. never came. He only screamed. Inside his ear, the pins had turned into molten daggers, and shocking electric pain coursed through his skull. Clutching his ear, his legs buckled, and he shrunked towards the floor. The pain stopped momentarily, as the voice crept in once more. Stop. Pain, granted a brief respite, Darrell reached for the counter, and he pulled himself back up. Heaving, with tears blurring his vision, Darrell wasn't sure what to do. Then his respite was over, and the awful ear-splitting pain burned him once more. Fueled by reflex and instinct, Darrell obeyed the voice. He turned the

forcet, and both the water and pain trickled away. Good. The foreman. The foresight. The foresight. The voice was almost indescribable. It had no emotion. Dowel couldn't decide if it was pleased, upset, or even just apathetic. The words just were. They existed on the fringe of his eardrum, with each word, each syllable vibrating and humming like they were plucked from the strings of a little guitar. Good. Sleep. The words gave it the emotion the voice had lacked. They gave the voice and identity. Good, it had said. It was good that Daryl had given in.

It had been something that the voice, the unseen entity, wanted, and Daryl had obeyed, and that was good. The uncomfortable, perverse thought tore Daryl from the ground, but the moment he got to his feet, his world started to spit. A nasty onset of vertigo took control. His legs gave only the slightest, tired warning before they gave out, allowing Daryl only enough time to brace himself against the bathroom's wall. Sliding downwards, he soon came to rest on the cold tile floor, sitting slumped against the wall. The pain had subsided, but the intensity of the assault remained fresh and tender in his mind.

He rose his hand towards his ear, not terribly sure of what to do next. Trembling, he tapped his earlobe with the same quivering motion that one might touch a red hot stove. No pain came, so he touched it again. Taking a chance, he massaged the outside of his ear, bottom to top, and then relaxed. He was okay. Curiosity and sanity begged him to push further. Darrow wanted to put his finger inside his ear, maybe massage the areas that were still

a bit sore. The congestion lingered like an echo inside, and the itch had only grown worse. Yet, the idea of the voice in its wrath held him back. His hand fell to his side. He sat there until morning. He didn't sleep, but his mind had wandered far. The sun had risen in an unconscious blink of the eye, and only when the bathroom had become bathed in sunlight, a darrell returned to a awareness. The warmth was a lie, magnified by the window. Outside, November cold rained. Inside the bathroom, however, the sun's beams were sweltering and blinding. Dowel stood up slowly, relieved that the vertigo had seemingly dissipated. He leaned on the counter as he tried to comprehend what had happened to him. The events, the horrors of last night, seemed impossible

in the light of day. It was still the same pressure within his ear, but nothing more. No pain, no discomfort even, and no whispers. A little light-headed, Darrell sat down on the toilet next to the window, crouching forward as he thought. What could it have been last night? He'd never experienced a nightmare that had felt so real and that he couldn't recall waking up from.

The sun warmed the left side of his face, as he pondered. In the light, the terrors of the dark faded into memory. The memory could be mistaken. I'm fine, Darrell muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. Then, the reminder that he wasn't. Mooh, memories returned from the ethereal as the all-too-real voice whispered a stern order into Darwin. his ear. Darrell took to his feet quickly, not for the voice's benefit, but out of his own uneasiness. There had been no one beside him. It wasn't possible, but his madness had followed him into the light of day, the voice said again. No, hot. Darrell felt the side of his face. The warm touch of the sun was still imprinted there. Go! Darrell stumbled backward out of the bathroom.

He muttered madness under his breath as he made his way into the main room of his apartment. Leaning over the kitchen counter, he brought his palm to his ear three times. Each time he desperately tried to change reality with his words. He groaned, this isn't happening. It's not real. No, I'm fine. Before he could utter another word, strike another time. The pain shot through his ear again, like someone had shoved a hypodermic needle into his brain. Daryl screamed for God as he fell to his knees, but God didn't answer. There was only the voice.

Stop, it said emotionlessly. Fine, I find. You, fine. The pain tapered. We, fine. Gasping, Darrell fell. out pressured to disagree. Pulling himself up, he realised that nothing made sense.

For a moment earlier, he'd wondered if the voice in his head had truly been that. Perhaps it had been nothing more than a psychotic break caused by his insomnia or anxiety. He wished he could be happy that it wasn't that. The voice was certainly real, tangible in his ear. But Darrell couldn't take any joy in knowing that his own mind hadn't fractured. The fact that the voice was something real terrified him far more. But it also gave him a certain idea. If it, the voice, was a real thing and it could hear him,

then maybe the voice was something that he could talk to, something he could reason with. Where are you? Darrell asked, with his eyes scanning the room. Of course, when he wanted a response, there was nothing but silence. He asked again Where are you? Show yourself Here

came the response Inside Darrell felt his throat tightened He'd been right He could talk to the voice But he became suddenly unsure If he would like the conversation

It was madness Inside Darrell asked Repeating the intriguing word you came a response horrifyingly inside you Darrell couldn't speak confusion gave way to uncomfortable feelings of invasion and violation something, some entity that could hear him talk to him and hurt him

was inside his body what? Darrell started, unable to find the words what are you? This was a question that the voice didn't answer, at least not in the way Darrell wanted. Me? It was the only clue that Darrell ever got from the voice itself. It was more than enough to get him heading for the door.

Stop, said the voice, as Darrell put in his coat. Moving, stop. Daryl didn't listen. He didn't even dare say it, but he needed to go see someone, anyone, a doctor, a priest, a goddamn psychiatrist if he had to, but he knew reluctantly that there was nothing more he could do. That was his aim, but as soon as his hang and touched the doorknob, Darrell understood one crucial fact. The voice was in charge. Pain shot into his head like wild lightning, and in a moment Darrell was nothing more

and a sobbing, writhing, writhing mass upon the floor. There was something the voice needed to make absolutely clear. No, it said. Stay. Daryl shook his head in denial, but the voice was adamant. Good. Stay home. Say.

Dard. No people. Good. Its words soon started to overlap each other, as if spoken by multiple beings all at once. They became overwhelmingly atop the crippling pain. A cruel lecture from an even crueler teacher. When Darrell started to scream, louder and louder, the voice told him, "'Stop, screams, pain, loud!'

The more Darrell screamed, the worse, the fire-hot embers burned inside his head. The voice repeated itself again and again Until Daryl understood He bit down hard on his lip Stifling the scream The voice finally allowed his suffering to cease The pain flowed away from the epicenter in his head And Daryl felt its tingle creep across his skin and muscles

From his neck all the way down to his feet Before it eventually faded into nothing good it said quiet good when he was allowed to get up darrell looked to the door and he felt a twinge of discomfort in his head with the same unwillingness of a man held at gunpoint darrell collapsed onto his couch and he stared blankly into the ceiling as the day passed darrell would learn the voice's rules the first came when he tried to open the the curtains. It had taken a while for Daryl to even move again after coming to turns with a monster inside him, and he wondered what he could still manage. There had to be something he could do to ease his situation. Perhaps if he'd open the windows, he could signal for help. Some way to obscure that, perhaps the voice wouldn't recognize right away. However, this attempt resulted in a painful

scorning. It came in a quick, whip-like lashing to stay his hand. Closed, the voice said. Dark. Like dark. The scratchy voice inside his head also rebutted when Darrell tried to shower several hours later. No wet. No water. The creature inside him feared the water more than the light or the heat, he found, as its particular temper tantam inside the bathroom lasted twice as long as any had before. All the better to send the most urgent message possible. Water bath. Darrell hadn't intended for the shower to rid himself of the voice,

and he was curious as to its limits. He remembered the outburst earlier, and apparently the thread of water cascading all around him was too much. Darrell found that the voice didn't have nearly as serious a response when he simply removed a bottle of water from the refrigerator. that was perfectly okay. Lost for other options, Darrell had, of course, considered using his phone to contact someone on the outside. It was hesitant. The excruciating agony he felt at the foot of the door wasn't something he wished to experience again. The voice made it very clear that he

was not to attract attention to himself from the outside in any way. So, what could he do? As the day stretched on, he couldn't stop from staring at the phone, it lay charging on the kitchen counter, easily accessible. Every scenario who ran in his head ended the same way, with him on the floor crying for the sweet release of death. There was no way the voice would ever let him contact the outside world. Darrell never expected, however, that the outside world would try to contact him.

It made him jump when the phone sprung to life. As soon as the ringing began, the voice expressed its painful displeasure. Noise. What is? It asked. I have a phone call. Darrell hissed through clenched teeth as he stood up. No answer, the voice demanded. No.

Darrell, bearing his teeth, found strength in his own frustration. It was strength enough to momentarily overcome the pain in his head and the fear in his soul. He walked to the phone. I know you want me alone. Isolated, right? Dowel asked. Certain he was right. Yes, the voice said.

Hello. Good. Other people are bad, right? Other people can help me. People? Bad. bad people it spoke as if a child

if I don't answer the phone then people will come to check on me and I've got that I can tell them it's fine that if they come then things won't be fine okay this made the voice relent pain fell to a light simmer

Darrow's hand crept upwards and across the counter the voice offered no resistance but it granted no permission Darrell's fingers lay, twitching, inches from the phone. They were poised, ready to grab it in a heartbeat. All he needed was the voice's permission. Answer, the voice conceded.

Daryl grabbed the phone in the blink of an eye, and in the same moment the pain came once more. The voice wasn't finished. Left ear. The voice eased up, allowing Daryl to answer the call. It was from Amber, just like he'd hoped it would be. Obeying the voice, Daryl raised the phone up to his left ear. If bad, the voice warned.

Pain, worse. Were, it punctuated its point with a sharp, brutal snap. Darrell winced, but took it. He had to. Both of them, Daryl and the voice, listened as Amber spoke. Are you there, Darrell? she asked. Hello?

Speak, whispered the voice. Say, fine. Daryl couldn't. Hearing Amber's voice, even as muted as it was, brought a tear to his eye. It was impossible to remember the bad times. The fact that this was the first time he'd heard her voice in nearly a month, the day she walked out,

The way she cried when she looked at him. It was different now because he needed her. I'm here, he said, grinning. I'm here, Amber. Hi. There was a pinch in his ear. Say, fine. Stop. Yeah, hi, Amber continued. What the hell are you doing?

What? Daryl asked. Still too happy to hear Amber to even focus. on the angry tone of her voice. Don't want me. I just heard from Tom and he says you're about to lose your damn apartment. Is that true? Tell. The voice interrupted,

uninterested in anything she had to say. Yeah, it's true, Darrell said. Have you found anything yet? Amber asked. Anything at all? Where have you applied? I've been looking, Darrell lied. He had to stall time,

but he had not. no idea how long the voice would give him, nor how long Amber's patience would last. He had to find a way to tell her something was wrong, a way that wouldn't let the voice know. Darrell had gathered it was intelligent, but to what extent? What could he get away with? He turned his gaze to the guitar in the corner of the room. Hey, he said, did you know you left your guitar here when you left? guitar

the voice echo no the voice hurt Darrell as Amber confused asked what the guitar's yours

why would I take it no focus we're talking about you you need a damn job Darrell are you okay the pain wheezing of Darrell abated long enough

for him to respond as the voice ordered I'm fine I feel fine. I just know that you love that guitar. You not make her hear. The voice stated. She know can.

Darrell knew what it meant. It had caught on. It knew what he'd tried to do, and it wouldn't allow it. Stop, talk, it ordered. Tell fine, stop. Darrell took a deep breath as Amber's voice came into his ear like a calming wave above the scratching whispers of the voice. Forget it. I need to tell you something, okay? So you listen, got it?

Darrell nodded, humming as simple, hoping the voice would allow it. It hadn't stopped ranting, and its orders were escalating in intensity and frequency. Any moment now, Darrell knew it. The voice would have it. enough. I miss you. But you made it clear the last time we taught. You don't want any help. None, but I don't care. I don't. I care about you. God damn it, you need to pull your egocentric head out of your asinine ass for two seconds. Stop being so pathetic. I have a friend who can set you up. Look, they're looking for tech guys. They're looking for you. I know that getting let go sucks. I know, but here's your chance. You can pull yourself out of this.

I'm just holding the rope for you. Please, baby, please. All you need to do is tell me right now, do you need my help or not. Darrell opened his mouth, yearning to yell out, to scream out. Yes. God, yes, I'm sorry, I can't do this anymore.

I'm stuck. Save me. But the voice told him, No, tell no, help, no. His inside simode like hole. As the tears came they blazed like fire. He had no choice. He was no longer in control.

There was only the voice. I'm sorry, Daryl whispered. Good, said the voice as Daryl started to weep. Damn you, Daryl! Amber started. She continued to tell Daryl how disappointed she was and how simple it could all be. All the while, the voice ordered, one thing. Stop, talk, dumb, stop, done, talk, done, talk, stop. The words came all at once, drumming inside his ear, and Darrell whispered, wondering, can you hear it? What? Amber asked.

Can you hear it? Darrell asked again. He heard Amber sighed. Listen, he's. He if you need me, when you need my help, I'll be here, okay? I'll be there for you, but you have to ask, got it? You won't, the voice said simply, can't, done. Then Daryl was certain he died. The voice hurt him, leaving him no choice but to clench the foam between his fingers. The call ended as his fingers squeezed down hard on the screen, and Amber was gone. Not even a week goodbye escaped his lips, only a short-lived hiss of sorrow. He was alone, trapped, and at the complete and utter mercy of the voice. Several days passed. Daryl remained like a walking corpse within his apartment. There was little that the voice still allowed him to do. He existed as nothing more than a shout.

a vessel for the entity that pulled the strings in his head. Darrell felt like he no longer existed. There was only the will of the voice. For Darrell, the first day had been the worst physically, but after he'd learned the rules, the voice had significantly fewer reasons to harm him. The lack of pain was hardly enough to restore any sense of hope in the mound, however, for Darrell felt more worthless than ever before.

every day that passed damaged him more and more as hope faded away. The voice wasn't fond of activity or movement of any kind. It would allow Darrell brief moments of freedom and short spans of mobility when he woke up or whenever he needed to use the restroom. For the majority of the day, however,

the voice preferred it if Darrell lay upon the couch and sat there until it was time for bed. Television wasn't allowed. for the voice didn't trust the sounds of other humans so close. It was alarmed at the prospect of anyone else entering the room and getting close to Darrell himself. In fact, Dal found that he was unable to enjoy anything that made noise. The voice had already expressed its displeasure at the use of his phone,

and the one time he tried to play his guitar had ended very poorly. Each time he plucked a string, the voice would very quickly reprimand him. The voice is persistent and consistent. human control, drove Daryl to a point of explosive frustration. Thinking he could push through the pain and preserve some sense of purpose, normality and humanity in his life, Daryl tried to play more. The voice didn't yield, and Daryl was forced to give up after only five notes. In a violent outburst, it was smashed into tiny pieces. The strings curled up and useless lay against the splinted neck.

After four days of subservience, Darrell had a realization. There had been four days of silence and isolation. Each morning he wondered to himself if Amber would show, and if some miracle would bring her to his door. Surely she would come and check on him eventually. Yet, each night fell without a single knock upon the door. Amber wasn't coming for him.

it took a little more than a week for Daryl to understand that she'd been completely honest during the phone call she was done unless he reached out to her first that was something he could not do and that realization led to another everything he had ever done had been on his own no one had introduced him to Amber he'd walked up to her on his own he'd asked her out on his own beyond her he'd made his way through college on his own he'd gotten his job on his own he'd gotten his apartment on his own waiting for amber was foolish and so was the voice he would finish this on his own swiftly and decisively it hated the sound of flowing water but it still allowed him to drink silently from bottles that was the voice's final mistake darrell was certain it feared the water and nothing fears anything without reason. Maybe that's all it would take.

Just a little water. A fast baptism. He could do it quickly, before the voice even realised what was happening. If it worked, he'd be free. He would have freed himself. What if it didn't work? Daryl didn't even want to imagine what would happen next.

He couldn't fail. He wouldn't. Removing a bottle from the fridge, he moved swiftly. He lifted the lid off in a moment, and he tilted his head. Yet, a further moment's hesitation as he poured the water into his ear, and the game was over. A drop fell, but nothing more. There was a roar in his ear. Dare you water!

The voice screamed. Stop now. Daryl screamed in return. as the pain started, like a fire eating its way towards his brain. He wasn't sure if it was the water, or perhaps blood that sloshed about in his ear canal. He wanted to stop, to let the voice win, to take the horrible ache away, but he couldn't. He wouldn't let it win. He knew he could do it. No, Darrell stammered, his teeth clenched in awful agony. I'm done. I pour this, you're gone, you're gonna leave.

No, it replied confident. Never leave, only pain. Somehow, like demonic hellfire, the pain worsened and Darrow quivered to his knees. Holding the water bottle firm and high above his head, he held on to his hope. He knew he could do it. You're scared, he said.

Scared, scared of the water. You will drink. down? No, it said, only pain. And then it added another word. A new word that the voice had learned. Kill you. Kill if. Darrell trembled. The pain had gotten worse yet, but at the moment that's all that it remained. Pain. He had to believe, hope that it couldn't get any worse than that. He couldn't kill him. I don't believe you. He tilted the bottle, but before anything happened, the voice spoke once more, no longer screaming.

Won't you? It said. Won't. No, you. Daryl stopped. And he waited. Pathetic. It said, in a tone that almost perfectly mirrored ambers from before.

The first time. the voice had ever expressed anything similar to an emotion. Weak. Failure. Darrell shouted. You don't know me. Won't, poor. Too weak.

Lost everything. Stop, Daryl groaned. Stop. Alone. No help. Won't risk. Sad, boy.

I'm going to kill you, Darrell screamed. Failure, Darrell. Failure, pathetic. Poor water, die. Failure. Darrell screamed, and he threw the water bottle across the room. Water sprayed against the walls, and it pulled onto the floor as he went. The pain started to recede as the drop of water trickled out of his ear.

and the voice offered its comfort. No need help. It said, I hear, we okay. It was wrong, and Darrell finally knew it. He could have poured the water, but at what cost? He was alone, and he was a failure. It had all been true.

He'd lost his job, and in the aftermath, he'd become stuck in a hopeless rut. He believed his whole life that he could succeed entirely on his own merit. It was a fool's notion. When he lost that belief, he didn't know how to pull himself out of the rut he dug. His ego had eliminated all possible options.

On top of that, he lost Amber too. He drove her away, even though she'd given him every chance. He had trapped himself. He couldn't even laugh at the irony that by the time he'd figured it out, he was still trapped, trapped by the voice.

If the voice was right, and it could kill him, and he couldn't risk it. Not alone, not by himself. Going it alone had taken everything from Darrell, and he refused to let it take his life. He cried, and the voice said nothing.

It allowed him his moment of acceptance. Darrell was glad. The voice thought, wrongly, that he had given up. Amber had called once more since the first time, and although he desperately wanted to answer, the voice had pulled his reins tight. He wasn't allowed to talk to anyone, or no one but the voice. Darrow had many interesting conversations with the entity that possessed him.

When the voice felt like speaking, that is, Why are you doing this to me? Daryl had asked once. To this question, the creature simply replied with, Oh. To most questions, the voice gave similar, simple responses. Darrell still couldn't figure out if it was simply because the thing was daft or because it was intentionally secretive.

I wished he would tell him more, but some of the things it didn't say told Darrell more than he needed to know. The voice had given him lessons earlier, and they were meant to restrain, Daryl. Yet, in his confinement, Daryl started to listen and learn. In the week that had passed, Daryl had learned three things about the voice, three things that Daryl believed might give him an edge. The first was a realization that Daryl had known from the beginning, hurt the implications of which he was still trying to sort out. whenever the voice spoke it wasn't a completely internal sound

he heard it in his ear and very specifically he only heard it in his left ear whatever it was it seemed limited to his left side the same side that housed that awful congestion that's why it made him answer the phone there

so it could listen in it was also the same reason that it reacted so violently to the droplet of water He didn't change the fact that he couldn't remove the mass, but it was a start. Lesson one, the voice was located inside his left ear. The second lesson came when he realized that when the voice was speaking, it remained incognizant of changes happening outside his body. Whenever the voice spoke in his ear, Dow found that he could move and do things unmolested.

He discovered this by accident as he was walking around the apartment, one day. The voice started speaking to him, responding vaguely to some question Daryl himself had posed, and at the time Daryl had decided to remove the sock. Daryl realized, right before the voice stopped, that he had placed his right hand on the front door to balance himself. Knowing the front door was strictly prohibited, Daryl was surprised that the voice took no action against him. It simply acted as if nothing had happened. Curious, Darrell had experimented. Asking the voice, another question, he touched the door again intentionally this time.

He found that, almost without fail, when the voice was speaking, it had no idea that any action outside had been performed. However, when the voice stopped speaking, if his hand was still on the door, it offered nothing but hostility. It was also worth mentioning that the voice couldn't hear his thoughts. Any comment or question had to be posed audibly to get a response. He thought many, many times of pouring boiling water into his ear and roasting alive whatever spirit or demon thrived inside him, knowing how much it feared the water. The thoughts never elicited a response.

If he posed the question verbally, however, he got a slightly less pleasant retort. Darrell thought it was curious. whatever had attached itself inside his body like a parasite wasn't all-knowing, and it didn't have complete access to his head. It was curious, but incredibly welcome information. Lesson two. The voice had blind spots.

The final lesson, and the one that intrigued Darrell the most, was that the voice didn't seem to be able to read. Darrell had only received and neglected one call in his week of imprisonment, but many more messages had been sent by text. There had been five, at least, and just about all of them had been from Amber. Each time the phone buzzed, the voice told Darrell he couldn't answer. The voice had believed their vibrations to be the same vibrations that came from phone calls, until Darrell tried to explain otherwise.

He picked up the phone, with the permission of the voice, who was actually quite curious about the so-called text messages, The voice ordered he'd hold the phone up to his face, and Darrell obliged, displaying the latest message. The text was from Amber. Ignoring me isn't going to stop time. He had paused after it vibrated, waiting for a stern response from the voice. There'd been nothing. No pain.

Instead, there was a curious whisper in his ear. What say? "'What's what say?' Darrell asked. "'Words. Palm, say.' Darrell understood. The voice had seen the phone. It saw that there was a message there, not a call, and it understood that there were words.

It just couldn't read them. "'It's just amber checking in,' Darrell responded curiously. This, of course, initiated the same angry reaction from the voice, and Darrell was hesitant to look at any messages again, yet this gave him the most important bit of information yet. Lesson three, the voice couldn't read. For days, Darrell thought about what he could do to stop the voice. He could put earmuffs on, something that muted the voice, blinded it,

but, well, that idea was quickly discarded. If Darrell rolled over onto his left side at all during sleep, then he would feel the voice is ral. If anything covered or even approached his left side without the voices expressed permission was greeted with rage and venomous hostility, especially since the incident with the water bottle. It was all too risky.

So, what was he to do? The plan was hatched in a dreamless night, more than a week and a half after the voice had first spoken to him. Darrell understood that he'd done so much on his own, just about all he could. It just wasn't enough. So, what was he to do? The plan was hatched in a dreamless night, more than a week and a half after the voice had first spoken to him.

Daryl understood that he had done so much on his own, just about all he could. It just wasn't enough. He could enact any one of numerous plans, but the voice held him on a leash that was far too short. He couldn't solve it all on his own, and he knew pain was unavoidable. There was no scenario where the voice didn't hurt him, and he accepted that. He was done, sitting in his rut. Now, he couldn't leave, he couldn't call anyone, and the use of his phone was prohibited. Daryl could only pick it up if the voice ordered him to. He decided to remain there and rest. The plan would remain safe inside his head until the sun rose. He took that time to think

it all through. If he messed it up, any of it, then it was incredibly unlikely that the voice would be as short-sighted the second time. He waited until the next morning to put it into action. As soon as he was up from bed, and the voice ordered him to move. Out of the bedroom and into the darker living room, he made his move. long will this go on for? Darrell asked, moving swiftly to the kitchen. He heard the itchy, awful whisper of the voice, until, die. Me or you, he asked, moving across the room to where his phone name. Either, the voice said, as Darrell picked up his phone and placed it deep into his pocket. sounds lovely darrell said praying the voice remained clueless darrell threw himself down onto the couch there was no time to waste he just had to buy himself about twenty seconds so lying on his left side with his head raised above the couch's singular pillow darrell asked it another question do you hate me no the voice said don't hate

"'Ho!' "'What do you think about me?' Darrell asked the last question, and he immediately led his head fall to the pillow. The voice spoke to him, but it had no idea that it was trapped. As it spoke, Darrell pulled the phone from his pocket and opened the texts.

"'Love, home,' the voice said, as Darrell found the unanswered messages from Amber. "'Home, calm. home obedience. Darrell could tell it really struggle with the last word, but he didn't know if it did so because the word was large or because the voice had just discovered that it was blind. Sit up, it ordered.

It knew, but Darrell still needed a few seconds. He typed furiously, but the voice wouldn't have it. What do, it said? Why move? Sit up now. The sizzling started. The warning shot. Wouldn't remain so forgiving for long.

The voice barked the orders into Dowell's ear, but he almost had it. He could feel the pain build and build as the voice his patience dwindled and dwindled. Just one more second. There! Dowell sat up, tossed his phone back towards the counter, and the pain subsided.

There was silence and a tickle in his ear. The voice returned, anxious. What sound? Crash. It asked without inflection. Fo. It was nothing, Daryl lied, unsure of how the entity had guessed it had been the phone. Use foe. Daryl couldn't decide if it was an accusation or a question.

No, I didn't. I couldn't have. It's over there. Just as Darrell pointed to it, it buzzed. It buzzed multiple times. A call from Amber. No answer, said the voice, and Darrell was happy to oblige. A call quickly fell silent, and then another came through immediately after.

Why, call? I don't know why, Darrell said. certain that had been a question. Make stop. I can't. The second call ended and a text message came through. The voice was sick of it. What message?

It asked. Yes, it's a message. Read, the voice said. Darrell hesitated. He thought it almost heard the stressed inflection of panic in the voice's words. Daryl stood and cautiously approached the phone. The voice allowed him to pick it up and examine it. Daryl couldn't hide his relief as he read the message and the voice noticed. What say? It asked quickly.

I'm done, Daryl lied. You won't hear from me again. Real words, the voice inquired. Yes, Darrell lied, reading the last two messages over and over in his head. The message he'd written to Amber, Please help me, I can't leave my apartment, this is an emergency, please come now, I need your help. The message Amber had written to him, I'm coming. Amber was there within 20 minutes, and they were the longest of Daryl's life. The voice had interrogated him time and time again about the messages on his phone. Each time, Darrell held strong and repeated the false message verbatim to the voice, and yet the voice didn't buy it.

Daryl had never felt the voice act this way. It was lashing out at him in frequent, shockingly painful ways. Every time he spoke, he felt the voice gnawing on the inside of his ear like an animal. Darrell had no idea what the voice was, but he knew one thing for sure. It was scared. When the knock county's door came, the voice lost it. It no longer whispered in his ear. It pounded on his eardrum. Who here? It demanded.

Who knock? Gasping, Darrell threw himself towards the door. And through the pain, he looked out the peephole. And he grinned. It's no one, he said. No one at all. It's just a bill collector. Make, go.

away. I will, Darrell hissed. I will, but you have to let me open the door. No, the voice ruled. Don't. Trust, door shut. I have to, or else you won't go away, Darrell said. Please.

The knocking came again, this time with Amber's voice cutting through. Darrell, she asked, concerned. Darrell, open up this instant. I swear this Ben, not be some kind of a game. Daryl brace for it. The moment she spoke, he knew that the voice would recognize her, recognize Amber, and yet the pain didn't increase. The voice was too furious to even listen. No, open. Darrell was done listening. I'm here, he said. Pain spiking within. Hold on. don't open the voice ordered to this darrow responded i will open it and tell her to go away but listen to me you have my word

i know what you can do to me i know the pain you can cause i'm nothing i'm pathetic and that's why you chose me it didn't end but the voice did ease up ever so slightly a sign of trust I know that this will hurt. He pulled the door open, and there before him was Amber. She was radiant. The light from the hallway seemed almost blinding, and cast her in the perfect angelic glow. Darrell cried, for he didn't know how bad it could be.

Are you okay? Amber asked. God, you look awful. Tell her, go, the voice. calmly reminded Dall. He waited. Darrell, Amber continued, holding her phone in her hand.

Don't waste my time. Tell me, what the hell is this all about? Pain, the voice reminded. Endless pain. Darrell heard it, but with Amber there,

it didn't matter. He was ready. I need help, Darrell said quietly. No, the voice scratched. What do you mean? Amber said. Darrell had felt strong, but as the voice went silent, his face crumpled with fear and anxiety.

The tears flowed, and he screamed at the top of his lungs. It's in my ear! Daryl's mind exploded at that moment, and Amber wasn't fast enough to catch him as he fell. Pain became everything. In every vein, muscle and bone of his body. He was stronger than Daryl had ever imagined. Screeching to God above, Daryl could only listen

as the roar of the voice rattled in his skull. Rotten liver. Pay now. Pay price. Kill! The words and sound altogether faded as a black, suffocating void, swallowed him whole.

There, was a lightness. Something was missing. And then there was panic. Daryl awoke, yelling because all he could remember was pain. It was there, the voice, and it wanted to kill him. Daryl was yelling and yelling, but then he understood that there was no reason. There was no voice.

In fact, there wasn't much of anything. His head felt light, like someone had popped a cork. and let all the pain and mush drain out. There was some pain, a residual simmering within his left ear, but it was a comfortable shadow of what he'd felt before. It wasn't what he'd expected at all. He couldn't remember how it had happened, but it was gone. He had awakened.

There was little pain, and he wasn't alone. Easy, Amber said, her hands on his left shoulder. Easy, baby, it's okay. You're fine. You're okay now. Panting, Darrell grabbed her arm and he kissed her hand. The hospital room was empty except for her, and the moment he'd awoken, she'd rushed to his side. Resting his head comfortably on the back of her hand, he closed his eyes again.

He savoured the emptiness inside his own head. It was perfect. Oh, God, he mumbled. Oh, God, I love you. I love you, Amber. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. She said softly. Maybe. Are you okay? How do you feel? I... Daryl hesitated. He wanted to double check that everything was okay. He hoped it wasn't just a dream. He started again with a shock smile because he was sure it wasn't.

I feel fine. I feel free. How's the ear? Amber asked cautiously. I mean, he said, reaching for it. It feels better than it did before. He stopped. His ear was lighter and that was good, but something else was missing, something important. As his fingers crept up his face, they touched something itchy and flat. There was a gauze pad over his ear.

He touched it, poked it and scratched at it. The pad was curious, but even more so was that he discovered something was indeed missing. The scratching of the pad, the rubbing of its coarse surface, and the snapping of his fingers, just to double check. He couldn't hear any of it. I can't hear, Dower said, not out of this ear. Amber nodded. That's what the doctor said, said you'd ruptured your... To be something.

The eardrum. You ruptured your eardrum. Darrell cast his hand over the ear, and he thought back. The voice and the dying sound. An urgency came into his words upon remembering the voice. There was a dioness, and a fear in his gaze. What was in my ear? Amber's mouth hung open.

I am. I... she stumbled, unsure of what to say. Amber, Daryl said, grasping her arm tightly. What did they find in my ear? There was a knock at the door, and a curt... Hello? The doctor, an older man with a tanned face and an exceptionally thin hairline approached. He smiled and held one of his hands deep inside his jacket pocket.

Ah, you're awake. he said, extending his free hand to Daryl. Daryl took it. And much calmer now. Sorry you had a rude awakening. Dr. Hofstead, look. The doctor released Daryl's hand, and he gave Amber a quick nod. So, how are you feeling, Mr. Hutchinson? Daryl expelled a breath he hadn't even realised he was holding. It's fine, except for the can't hear part.

Yes, the doctor said. unfortunately by the time we got to the blockage a significant rupture had occurred on your tympanic membrane it was pretty nasty shredded basically the good news is given time it's possible it can heal itself the hearing loss you're experiencing now may only be a transient symptom blockage darrell asked memories of the first night returned the congestion he'd felt yes the doctor The peculiar look appeared on the doctor's face. Excitement. Do you have any idea what was in your ear?

No, Daryl said quickly. I have no idea what the hell was in my ear. The doctor nodded. Are you squeamish? What? Daryl asked. I said. The doctor pulled something from his white jacket.

Are you squeamish? On Darrell's bedside table, the doctor placed a tiny, clear vial. Inside was what looked to be a stringy cotton ball. He felt Amber squirm in his grip. She couldn't look away, but she clearly wanted to. What the hell's that? Daryl asked. Looks like cotton, silk.

I don't know what it is. Look a little closer, the doctor said. I think this is going to amaze you. So Darrell moved closer, and he looked harder. He searched the white material for something more, anything. He found it. Something moved in the vial. No, said Darrell.

It can't be. He looked to the doctor. Was this it? Yes. It was there and it had established a significantly sized... Can't be it, Darrell said, pulling away from the vial. I mean, I heard... I heard... Scratching, the doctor asked.

It makes sense. In similar cases, it's not off to hear scratching and other noises, especially since this one was set up so close to your eardrum, literally right on it, actually. I've never seen one this established. though, it had to have been in there for a while. Amber leaned forward. Are you okay? How could he be? Darrell wanted to scream at them all. He wanted to tell them about the voice, the pain and everything, and yet he couldn't. Looking into the vial, Darrell was no longer even

sure if he could trust himself. It was too unbelievable to be true. hesitantly, as the doctor explained everything, Darrell leaned forward and gazed into the vial. Inside the tube, nested within a net of milky white webs, said a tiny black spider that gazed vilely at Darrell, plucking at its webs with its feet, like it was picking the strings of a guitar. And so once again, we reach the end of tonight's podcast. 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.