Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S1 Ep52: Episode 52: Horror Stories around the Campfire

Episode Date: October 21, 2021

Tonight's show is proudly sponsored by Manscaped: get 20% Off and Free Shipping with the code CREEP at https://www.manscaped.com/ All tonight’s stories have been kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all We open tonight with ‘Unmanned’, an original story by Chad Austin.  https://www.reddit.com/r/DrCreepensVault/comments/58vjd8/fiction_unmanned We then complete our campfire podcast with two terrifying tales from Mmm-Brainss: ’80 Acres’ and ‘They Knocked.’ https://www.reddit.com/r/DrCreepensVault/comments/54swd2/fiction_80_acres/ https://www.reddit.com/r/DrCreepensVault/comments/54sucd/fiction_they_knocked/

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please contact Connix Ontario at 1866-531-2600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. Well, you know what they say. Once you light a campfire, everyone's a storyteller. As we'll see in my case this evening, three stories told around the campfire. Later on, we have two terrifying tales of horror from brains. 80 acres and they knocked.

But we begin proceedings this evening. with unmanned by Chad Austin 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 Well, let's begin As you might have already guessed

The origin of the term ghost ship Has very little to do with ghosts. It was used to use to refer to ships found at sea without crews. In the early ages of maritime travel, it wasn't unheard of to find a derelict whose crew was washed out to sea by a savage storm or ravished by the plague. In the mind of the superstitious mariner, this suggested all sorts of outrageous stories. Tales of seafaring monsters and sirens, luring unfortunate sailors to their doom, were all too prevalent, overshadowing the more likely causes of piracy and sickness.

I don't doubt the spreading of such ridiculous tales was due in part to those who wished to scare others off the lucrative field of maritime salvage. Even a small ship could net a lucky crew a tidy sight. not including the boat's cargo. Knowing this, how could these silly stories of haunted boats and their spectral crew sound like nothing more than a clumsy attempt to keep you from a fair reward? I could never believe in those sorts of stories. I knew that their kind was meant for children and not a rational person, like a true. sailor should be. But they did interest me. It was fascinating to hear what wicked tales,

some fanciful mind had cooked up and decide just what could have really happened. I never like the retelling of such folk tales, for the spread of these stories only serve to make crews more skittish. I love to dissect them and understand what makes us such a superstitious lot. I thought I understood the mind of my fellow sailor, all the intricate little beliefs and fears that made us human. All it took was one simple story to make me realize my own arrogance. I'm going to break one of my own rules by telling it to you, but try to understand. This, is more for your benefit than mine. Take from it what you will, but don't think for a moment that I'm just trying to frighten you with silly ghost stories. It doesn't matter whether or not

the tale is real, just that you understand the underlying message. There was once a young man who'd grown up in poverty and wanted nothing more than to escape his hard life on land for a more adventurous one at sea. At the age of sixteen, he ran away and joined the crew of a tramp steamer out of New York. Of course, he had to lie about his age, but the captain understood his situation. It was a harsh adjustment for the boy, but he managed admirably. The shifting waves of the open ocean are far less hospitable to a man's stomach than the solid ground of land. As the newest crew member, he had a great many things to prove, and the best way to prove them was to take any and every job asked of him. Unfortunately, these jobs were always the least desirable ones, often tedious and sometimes dangerous.

The boy willingly accepted any challenge offered him. I don't mean to say he didn't enjoy his work. Being worked to the bone afforded him little time to himself, and night watch on the deck gave him ample time for that. He'd often find himself lost in thought as he paced about the deck, staring out over the inking black waters. There was never anything to see upon the lapping waves, but darkness. and it made him feel as if nothing existed beyond what he could see in the ship's running lights. It was on one such night that the boy found it. He actually heard it before he saw it.

The sound mingled with the crash of waves against the hull, giving it a strangely musical tone. It was like the stretching of metal upon metal, but conducted by an orchestra, a strange and lonely yearning call. Also thought the fanciful mind of a boy, not yet a man. In the direction of the sound, he could see the faint lights in the distance. Though it hadn't been foggy that night, the water particles in the air made the light look gaseous and unnatural.

As you can imagine, the boy's fancy was excited by the sight. Though he didn't believe in ghosts or monsters at sea, he was by no means curious. As his ship neared the light, the boy saw that he wasn't looking at his first spirit, but the running lights of a boat, slightly larger than his own, rocking perilously at the mercy of the waves, he couldn't see a single soul on deck.

Its surface was covered in rust and the detritus left from waves above the deckline. As it bobbed up and down upon the unforgiving sea, the boy realized the creaking hull of the derelict was causing the strange musical notes. From just a single sight of the thing, he knew something was very wrong. His call for alarm had drawn the attention of not only the crew still awake, but half of those sleeping. Within a minute's time, over twenty men, including the captain and first mate, stood staring at the lifeless ship.

bobbing upon the waves. Amidst the flurry of excited discussion, the boy caught words like survivors and salvage, but he could not tear his eyes away from the thing. It moved almost hypnotically on the ocean, and the creaking musical notes began to develop a hauntingly ominous quality. He thought it was almost pleased,

When the boy mentioned it to the other men, no one paid it any attention. It didn't take long to pull the ship up beside the derelict and lashed the two together with rope and whatever boarding hooks they could find. The abandoned ship seemed undamaged for the most part and had no trouble floating. Being the one who'd first spotted the vessel, the boy's captain eagerly volunteered to the him for the first party to board it. He was understandably nervous about setting foot on the ship, but his duty was clear.

Ten men, armed with flashlights, flooded the empty deck in search of survivors. The boy stuck to the protective side of his captain, though outwardly he tried to put on a tough face. As much as he hoped to find anyone alive, the searching party found no one. Oh, they found plenty of signs of life, but not one living soul. Clothes left thrown on bunks as if they'd been changed and tossed aside in a hurry. Food left half-eaten in the galley to collect mould.

He'd even spotted a few mousetraps and droppings. but not one furry little storeway could be located. The boatswain suspected the crew had abandoned ship due to fear of disease or piracy, but they found no lifeboats missing. Other theories floated about the crew as they searched, but the boy noticed no one seemed worried about the state of the ship, or of the mounting intensity of the musical creaking.

after finding nothing in the crew quarters and officially deciding that their expedition was no longer a rescue but a salvage they moved greedily to the hold though it was damp the cargo seemed mostly intact the boy didn't know what most of it was but the captain seemed quite excited by their find the rest of the searchers seemed pleased and completely oblivious to the booming, metallic scraping that echoed in his ear since he'd stepped onto the damned ship. It had never been this loud. There was no doubt in his mind that the musical creaking came from here, the belly of the ship. The boy had to slap his hands to his ears to shut it out. Why can't you hear it? He bellowed as he sunk to the floor. Don't you see it's not safe here?

But no one listened to him. They were all old veterans of the sea. They did not fear the old tales, nor did they fear the rantings of a child pretending to be a man. He yelled and grew violent in his attempt to make the sailors' leave. When they tried to lay hands on him, the boy threw savage punches at his assailants.

It took five men to wrestle him to the ground and dragging back to their ship. Once there, the boy was thrown into a cell. The captain left him with a sad look on his face, placing the keys to his prison, quite visible on a table in plain view. There he stayed. There he for the next two days in a blinding agony with that musical screeching deafening him. On the dawn of the third day, the boy awoke to find the sound faded from what he assumed was distance. Had the crew listened to him and abandoned the derelict after all? As the day dragged on, the musical calling continued to fade until he was left with the silence of his eyes. own ship, silence. No hum of motors or clumping footsteps. No voices. No one had come to give him

his meals. His stomach twisted painfully as the implications ran through his mind. He had to get out. The flimsy frame of his cell's bed came apart easily, offering up a straight metal pot. long enough to hook the table legs. Within minutes he'd pulled it close enough to grab his cell's keys off its surface and throw open his cage. However, the joy of freedom was overshadowed by his growing sense of dread. There was nothing but the echoing sound of groaning metal to greet him. The boy found his ship in a state much like. he'd expected. No signs of a struggle, but not a single sailor on board, but himself.

Just like the derelict, food had been left partially consumed, and clothing left on floors and bunks as if forgotten. What little he knew of the operation of the ship, he could tell the engines and boiler had been left to idle, and eventually. eventually die from lack of attention. It was as if his entire crew had dropped everything they were doing and left without a word. Forty-seven men had disappeared and left no trace. The worst of all was that the derelict he'd been so irrationally frightened of, had gone. In the yellowing evening light, he could see for miles in all directions. But there was nothing he could see, just more ocean. The boy felt oppressively alone in his empty ship

on a cold, uncaring sea. Where had they all gone? Did they take the derelict? But why did they leave him here alone? Was his offence enough that his captain would doom him to death at sea? The boy struggled to find a rational explanation for everything, but rationality was in short supply. Every time he tried to think, that creakingly musical, beckoning sound would play in his head and cloud his mind.

As you can imagine, attempting to run a state, Steamer that required a crew of at least 20 by yourself would be an impossible task, but he tried. It was more or less just to pass the time until his possible rescue, and keep his mind from wandering to less productive thoughts. The radio did not reach far enough to affect a rescue, and he had no idea how to tell where he was anyway. all he could do was to tend to the ship and hope but really it wouldn't matter in the end as the days came and went the waves crashing against the hull began to give him nightmares it was the music of the sea the incessant drumming of the waves the piping groan of the hull in protest and the sad, lonely song of the wind. It all sounded so familiar to him, and as he realized why,

the song had begun to invade his waking world. The lonely, beckoning song of the derelict, but this time heard from the beginning and coming from his ship. It wasn't fear that him turn off the ship's running lights and destroy its beacon. It wasn't fear that drove him to pile as much food and fresh water as he could comfortably fit into his cell, lock himself in and throw the keys over the deck. No, it was resignation. So now you understand why I can't open this door and why I couldn't tell your captain what happened. to the rest of my crew. If I seem calm, it's only because I know there's no helping what will become of me. You've heard the song. I know you have. I can see it in your eyes. You've all heard

her lonely call, whether you realize it or not. But I can tell, you will understand. If you truly want to know what happened to my fellows. Then by all means stay. I suspect I shall join them soon. I have no doubt you'll never hear word from the derelict or my crew again. And anyone who stays on this vessel will likely disappear as well. Laugh if you like. Call this a silly ghost story.

It doesn't matter in the end. But if you want to avoid my fate, then you and your mates need to leave this damned ship. You're probably wondering what brought this curse upon our heads. I did. Was it something in the hold of that devil derelict? Was it something in the air? Or was it really a ghost, ravenous for the souls of the living?

Like I said, I don't know myself, but I have my suspicions. I'm sure you do as well. The superstitions of the past aren't lost on me now, and I wonder if the old belief that a boat without a crew cries out in pain, in loneliness. You can hear it now too, can't you? The song is the call of the one true siren.

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leave my mind. I know there are thousands of people who don't believe in God or the devil. I wish I was telling you a God-fearing story of how an angelic being appeared and changed my whole fucked-up life. But this is not one of those stories. I'm not sure if God is real and if he is I don't know how he allowed such an evil to walk his green earth I do believe in the devil I have met his gaze and I don't think I can ever shake all the hopelessness I saw in those cold black eyes They were endless pools of black. It seemed as if the light didn't even reflect off of them. They were empty, and now that empty feeling is eating at me from the inside.

And I don't know how much longer I can deny him. I can hear his breathy voice on the breeze, and it's calling my name. I used to love small, quaint little towns. Have you ever been to a small town? Well, in case you haven't, I'll elaborate a bit. I don't mean towns of like 16,000 people. I am talking about the towns that have a population of under 1,000. The kind of towns you would miss if you drove by them and blinked.

They are the kind of places that live in. children's books and country songs. Towns where everyone knows everyone and most of the population is stretched out over miles of rural gravel roads. Can you picture it yet? Towns where you have to have a truck because the creek floods when it rains more than an inch. In the winter time these roads remain blankets of white as there are not any plows to to come to the rescue. Hmm, unless the neighboring farmer has a tractor and is feeling generous. I grew up on an 80-acre farm in a small quaint town called Silver.

This town is not much of a town. I can only imagine that it is considered a town at all because of the local post office and the handful of police officers. I have fond memories of the farm. Regardless of the events that had recently occurred, I still can't say I have a hate for that place. My grandparents purchased that land and worked hard to get everything they had. They were God-fearing people, but they didn't necessarily go to church every Sunday. I do recall my grandmother having Joyce Myers on TV when I'd get up most Sunday mornings.

My grandparents helped my father raise me as my mother was in and out of the picture. They were like my second parents. They made me who I am today and I miss them dearly. I truly think they are what helped keep the darkness away. Before I can get into the present, I need to talk a little more about my past. My parents had their problems, and I could. write a whole book about the things that should have and would have been. I do believe the negative actions can let negative things into your daily life. This rule helps spark these

events. My parents abused drugs, mostly pills, for most of my early childhood. They would get messed up at home and if these things got too crazy my grandmother would come and pick me up, which was easy because she lived within a five-minute walk from our trailer. My mother was very drawn to the paranormal, and this has some bearing on why I share this same fascination. She would read tarot cards and dabble in witchcraft. Now, I'm not saying my mother was a full-blown Salem witch, but she has told me she'd participate in spells and seances with her friends.

She also didn't have a full bearing on what she was messing with. This, along with unknown things, led to the event I'm going to try to describe to you. I had to be around four years old when this happened. My parents were suckers, and they would let me sleep in their bed, even though I had my own bed. I remember waking up to my mother screaming. I can't remember anything she was saying, but I remember the tone in voice wasn't anything I'd heard come from her mouth before. She had me wrapped up in the big duvet, and I remember the room being so cold that my nose hurt. She had me wrapped up so tightly my legs and arms had fallen asleep.

She was in the right hand corner of the room, sitting on the floor, and had me on her lap. The bathroom light was on and flooded a portion of the room with light. The light shone primarily on the bed. My eyes followed the light, and what I saw still haunts me today. My father was levitating about a foot off the bed. He wasn't calmly levitating either. He looked like he was being pulled. He was tightly gripping the posts of the headboard, mumbling something I could.

couldn't understand. My mother sat me down on the floor and told me not to move and to close my eyes. Of course, I didn't close my eyes. I was so scared, but I couldn't look away. My mom entered the room with a Bible and began reading scripture and praying. My father began to convulse and flail about, all while still a foot off the bed and hanging onto the headboard as quickly as it started. It stopped. My father fell to the bed after his body lurched forward. I don't remember exactly what happened after this, but I quit sleeping in my parents' room after that. As an adult, my mother has told me that she saw it leave. She'd called my grandmother when she went to get the Bible. She said it was a very dark shadow.

It shot off my father's feet and slithered out of the cracked window in the bedroom the moment my grandmother walked into the house. Now this ties into the story later. The paranormal has always been a part of my life. The supernatural doesn't scare me anymore. It will surprise me from time to time, but I won't allow it to scare me. However, the thing that I've recently encountered does scare me. I can feel it in my bones, and it's like nothing that I've ever felt before. After my grandparents passed away, my father and I inherited the 80-acre farm, along with everything else they owned.

I came down from the city to help my father go over paperwork and get all the affairs in order the day I got the news that my grandmother was gone. It was a happy and sad evening. We stayed in the house that night. We laughed and cried and told stories about the good old days. the house didn't feel eerie at all in fact the feeling of the house didn't change until my grandmother was laid to rest i really think her spirit stayed with us over that week and left after she saw we were going to be okay

and her remains were next to my grandfather after the funeral the family all came back to the farm and we ate and reminisced. With each person that left, the house got colder. I don't mean cold as in temperature. It's as if the atmosphere just began to change. My father was the last person to leave. He helped me clean up and, as he was leaving, offered for me to stay at his house.

I had a bad feeling about staying at the farm, but I declined and said I would be fine. He stood there and looked like he wanted to say something to persuade me to leave with him, but he didn't. I walked him out to the truck and waved goodbye to him. I stood in the opening of the garage door and lit a cigarette. I hadn't smoked for weeks, but this week had to earn him. me a few smokes. The floodlights were drawing what seemed like a million bucks to the area I was standing in. I swatted a swarm of them out of my face and went to the garage and flipped off the light. It was so dark. If you've never been in a rural area at night, you're missing out. You can see

stars. You didn't even know existed. I felt like I could see entire galaxies out there. But when I turned the light off this time, I didn't feel adventurous. I felt scared. I questioned myself. Why are you scared? You grew up here. You've been in this yard when it's dark too many times to count. But there was an uneasy feeling in the air. I flipped my cigarette out onto the gravel driveway, and right as I hit the button to close the garage door, I heard something scrambling around on the tin roof of the garage. I hurriedly opened the door that led into the living room and locked the door behind me. As the garage door was closing, I saw a glimpse of what looked like something's legs. I closed all the blinds and triple check that every door and window was locked.

I went to the interior pantry and grabbed one of grandmother's shotguns and grabbed a handful of shelves from the shelf. I loaded the gun, sat down on the couch and listened. I was holding my breath to see if I could hear anything. I didn't hear anything at first. Then I heard a thump on the roof and then footsteps. I felt my eyes welling up with tears of fear and anger. Then I heard a scratching sound and it sounded like sporadic claws being drug along the siding and roof of the house. I even heard a sharp squeal of what sounded like something metal and sharp.

being run across the windows of the living room. I felt a tear slide down my face. I wanted to call my father, but I didn't want him to be in danger. I didn't know who or what was out there. The cops wouldn't be able to get here for a while. And then they would probably tell me I'd been in the city too long, and it was just the sounds of the country. I don't really know what happened at this point but I woke up on the couch around 6.30 a.m.

The sun was shining through a crack in the blinds but the house still felt heavy. I unloaded the shotgun and put it back in the pantry. I grabbed my keys and my purse and hesitated a little when I went to hit the garage door opener. The door mechanically squealed open, and I cautiously walked outside. I fumbled for my pack of cigarettes and lit one, and walked out into the sunlight. I walked to the side of the garage to get into my car. When I noticed a strange set of prints on the ground, I still really don't know how to describe them. They kind of looked like hooves, but that would be impossible.

I then decided it had to be a large cat and the dry ground had distorted the tracks and that had to be what was messing with me the prior evening. I went to my father's house and didn't mention anything that had happened. We still had a few things to take care of around the farm. The fields needed to be mowed and most of the items in the house were going to need to be packed up. So he rode back to the farm with me. When we got back to the house, I saw something lying in the driveway. I stopped a few feet away from what it was, and my father got out first. It was a lamb, a mutilated lamb.

My father looked it over and then went to the garage and grabbed a large trash bag. Looks like a stray dog chased this guy from someone else's property. he said while shaking his head. I knew no one kept sheep near us and our land didn't border anyone else's land. But I know my father was just trying to justify the clearly odd situation. We worked around the house and were about halfway through the packing and cleaning. We both flopped down at the kitchen table and started to chat.

I glanced out of the window and didn't really. realize how dark it had gotten. I mentioned that we should head back to his house. He looked at me puzzled and asked why I wasn't staying at the farm. I stumbled over my words and then he said, it's a little spooky out here by yourself, huh? He chuckled. We started to my car and loaded a few small boxes that had belongings my father was taken to his house. There was rustling in the overgrown hay in the fields and it was close i told my dad to get in the car he shrugged and opened the passenger door i looked out into the dark field and saw a figure standing in the tall hay now i'm five-foot-five and the hay was a little over my waist the hay hit the figure in the field and the field at about the knees. Even though it was dark I could tell their head was off to one side. It was like they were tilting their head like a dog does when they hear a high-pitched sound.

The figure was very thin and had something on its head. I just couldn't figure out what it was. My father, started to get out of the car, but I locked the doors and slammed my foot on the accelerator. Gravel hit the still-open garage in a cloud of dust trail behind the car. My father was yelling at me, ask me what I was doing. I looked out my car window and saw that the hay was swaying behind the car in the field next to me. The thing was chasing us. I could see that in the moonlight that it had horns, but not like our local deer.

I couldn't place them. I turned my eyes away and my father was staring out with the passenger window. He tapped me on the shoulder, and I turned my gaze to the right. Out in the woods that met the fields, there were sets of eyes. I don't mean two or three. I would say 60 or more. I can't be sure, but it looked like hundreds. My father didn't speak until we were in the house, with the door locked.

After speaking about what it could be, we decided it had to be a deer. It was running by us. The eyes must have just been a trick of the moonlight. The next day my father and I reluctantly headed back to the farm. The tension in the air was almost tangible. After working on packing, my father and I sat out on the back porch and looked across the golden fields. Let's take a walk, he said. I unwillingly dragged myself from my seats on the porch.

I told him to hold on and ran inside to grab my boots. We started to head back to the entrance of the fields that all of the outbuildings were on. As we were walking through the fields again, talking about my grandparents, we caught a waft of something rancid. Now, as you've gathered, I grew up on a farm and have come across dead animals in the field before. My grandfather was an avid hunter and fisherman. so I'd smelled some pretty terrible smells. But this wasn't like anything I'd ever experienced.

It smelled like rot, blood, trash and sewer. I started to gag and my father put his hand over his mouth, but soon followed my reaction. We walked towards the smell. We were standing on an open, relatively flat. piece of land. My boots hit something metal under where we were standing and made a hollow ping sound. My father looked down and then looked at me with a perplexed look on his face. We kicked away the cut hay that had been laid over the area. It revealed a large square

metal plate. Have you seen this before? I questioned. My father didn't say anything he just shook his head we stupidly decided to move the metal plate because that's a good idea right when we did there was an incredibly deep round hole almost like a well it was dark even in the bright afternoon sun the horrid smell was the first thing that hit us. It was like a forceful wind of putrid air. My father and I just peered down the hole. Then we heard a chuckle. It echoed from the hole. I started to back up when I saw something in the darkness. Then we heard a scrambling around like something was coming out of the hole. We started to run, but we stopped entranced by what was happening. All I can remember

are the eyes, all black and sunken into a thin face. I see those eyes every time I close my eyes. I was now on my hands and knees and was leaning into the hole with my eyes glazed. over according to my father. My father bellowed, move, and his voice snapped me out of my trance and I hurriedly crawled away from the hole. My father somehow lifted that metal plate and slammed it down on the hole, and we heard a screech unlike anything we'd ever encountered. It was like a barn owl and a panther, but it was so haunting and low. I put my hands over my ears and my father grabbed my arm and basically dragged me to my car

and threw me into the passenger seat. We drove in silence other than the sound of my labored breathing. When we got to his house he put my bags in the car and told me I needed to go back to the city as soon as possible. He continued to tell me that he didn't know how that whole got there or what the fuck was going to come out of it.

But that he had seen those eyes before. He told me the night he levitated, he saw a shadow at the end of the bed, and it had a hold of his legs, and it had those same eyes. I returned to the city that very evening after I'd calmed down. It's been a few months since this all. happened. I think this thing that had possessed my father is coming after me. My grandparents are gone and there is no one here to protect me. I was looking in the mirror the other day and I swear I saw my eyes change for a second. I saw those cold, dead eyes staring back

I don't know what is going to happen to me. But I know that if you see an 80-acre farm for sale in silver, don't buy it. Please, don't. No matter how much it appeals to you. If you do, you might find yourself looking into those dead, black eyes. And I might be the way. I might be the one looking back at you. I think I'm just going to open my front door and let them in.

At this point, I'm not sure if there's just one of them or a whole group. The knocking constantly rings in my head, even when they're not present. The knocking varies in severity. Sometimes it's no more than a quiet tapping. and other times it sounds like a battering ram is being used on my front door. I'm sitting down against my front door now, and I can feel each knock vibrate through my body every time they slam one of their twisted bodies against my door.

The voices are the most unnerving part. They're ever-changing. Sometimes I hear a child's voice, and sometimes the voice is so low. low and full of bass, that I can barely make out the words that are being said. Sometimes the voice will be a gentle whisper, and other times it is a violent, hateful shouting. This has been going on for the past week. They repeat variations of the same phrases during their knocking.

Let me in. Let us in. Please let us in You have to let me in We will save you Let me in In In

Us in Us in Please In In I just recently purchased a house on the outskirts of St Louis It's not completely out of the city, but I have woods that back up to the backyard, which, for most people, means you live in the boondocks.

The few neighbouring houses are blocked by trees that seem to purposefully divide the properties. I feel like I'm hours away from the city, when, in reality, I'm only about 20 minutes away from the hustle and bustle. I was standing in the yard anxiously waiting for my realtor to arrive with my key. The house was a warm, khaki-coloured, craftsman-style house with a big front porch and a bright red door. I don't know why, but I've always wanted a house with a red door. It just seems so inviting. The shutters were a dark brown,

and that red door was the focal point. I dug in my purse for a cigarette and started to walk to the backyard. The yard had a seven-foot privacy fence that went all the way back to the woods behind the house. There was also a wraparound deck that had been freshly stained a deep mahogany colour. I took a deep inhale from the cigarette and watched as the exhale, old smoke swirled up into the colourful early morning sky. As I walked towards the side gate that led into the backyard, I couldn't help but stare into the woods. I found it odd that the wood seemed so dark, even though the sun was casting its warm yellow light on everything else. I'm not

sure what it was that seemed to be metaphorically calling me, but I started to walk slowly towards the woods. I jumped as I felt a hand, gently grabbed my arm from behind me. I let out a yelp and spun around to find my realtor. She was a petite woman in her 60s, and was wearing a colorful suit skirt number. She looked at me over her glasses, and for a moment I saw concern in her gray eyes, but that quickly left. Didn't your mother ever tell you not to wander off into the woods by yourself? She asked with a seemingly forced chuckle following. You scared me to death, I said, now laughing myself. She smiled and her eyes appeared to be focusing on me, but she seemed to be looking past me. She looped her arm through mine,

dangled the key in the air between her thumb and pointer finger. I gingerly took the keys from her and woohooed into the air. I felt like a kid in a candy store. I gently broke free from her and ran up to the door. I dropped the key the first time. I was so excited. I put the key into the deadbolt and turned it and paused a moment before I opened the door.

I walked into the house. and breathed in deeply. Everything had just been cleaned. The dark grey hardwood floors look like sheets of glass due to them having been freshly waxed. Everything was perfect. I turned to see my realtor coming back

from her car with a bottle of wine in the crook of her arm and two dainty glasses in her opposite hand. I waved her in and she made her way to the kitchen. She sat the bottle of wine on the counter and said, Ha! Champagne is overrated. Through a grin. She pulled a corkscrew from her pocket and handed it to me. I'm afraid my strength isn't what it once was.

She smirked, and I quickly opened the bottle and poured each of us a glass. It was nearly 8 a.m. in the morning, but in celebration of me buying my dream home, I thought a glass or two was fitting. After sipping on the glass of wine and chitch-chatting for ten to fifteen minutes, my realtor said that she had, unfortunately, an early showing with some very snarky clients and couldn't afford to be late. I shook my head in understanding and walked her to her car.

As she got in her car, I saw her stare into the woods. do be careful out here my dear she said and gently squeeze my arm before completely getting into the car i thought this was odd as she knew i was originally from an area much more rural than this one and i was very comfortable in this setting she sped off rather quickly and i was left standing there with a hand on my hip as i thought about what she had said I turned to walk back into the house and, as I did, my peripheral sight caught movement in the direction of the woods. I shot my gaze in that direction, but was met with nothing. I put my hand on my forehead and started to laugh. I walked into the house and casually walked through each room.

I ran my hand up the banisters I made my way upstairs. I walked to the window that looked over the front yard and pulled my phone from my pocket to check the time. 8.30 a.m. it read. The movers would be here within the next 30 minutes. I walked into one of the two spare bedrooms and was met with a view of the woods. I thought I saw a small figure, maybe a young boy standing in the still dark woods. when my concentration was broken by a loud knock on the door. I gasped and took a second glance to the edge of the woods and was met with nothing.

There was nothing there but trees and brush. I shook my head and chuckled as I walked down the stairs. I opened the door to find the movers. They'd shown up early, which I was thrilled about. I was extremely ready to get all my things into my new house. It would really make it feel like home. It took the move as about two hours, and now I was left with a house full of furniture and stacks of labelled boxes.

I wasn't sure where to begin, but I figured the kitchen would be the best place to start. I started to unpack my dishes. As I was putting the glasses into the cabinet a sharp, sudden knock startled me, and the glass I was holding fell to the floor, shattering into small teeth-like shards on the tile floor. I let out an aggravated sigh and started to walk towards the door. Right before I touched the knob, another loud knock rang from the door.

I hesitated and pulled my hand away from the door. I slowly inched my hand towards the knob and flung it open to find. Nothing. I walked out to the porch and looked around, and I didn't see anyone, or anything, for that matter. I shrugged it off and decided to go back to unpacking. Maybe it was just a local kid playing a prank. As soon as I was in the kitchen, I heard another knock on the door. I was a little aggravated at this point

and stomped to the door and flung it open to find a middle-aged woman and a little girl peering from behind her. I smiled and introduced myself. The lady seemed nervous, but nice. She was holding a plate or a platter of some kind with plastic wrap over it. She extended it to me with a small smile,

and I found it was a plate full of the plate full of the same. of cookies. I gently took the platter from her hand and thanked her. I lived down the road, and I saw the moving truck here earlier. I hope I'm not interrupting you. I just wanted to come over and be neighborly. I'm Margaret, she said, as her eyes darted around the porch. The little girl had her thumb in her mouth and was still peering from behind her mother. I really appreciate the thought. I love it out here. The woods in the back are nice, and I don't think I have anything to worry about any new neighbours. I chuckled, but stopped when I saw the look on her face.

Her face was very pale, and she seemed uncomfortable. I hate to rush off, but I have to get started on lunch soon. She started to turn to walk down the porch steps, but she suddenly turned back around. You'd just be real careful out here. It gets a little spooky at night. She gave me a half-smile and grabbed the girl by the hand. She nearly jogged to the street and soon disappeared as she made a right turn out of my driveway. I stood there with the door open for a few minutes and found it so odd that she was so nervous.

It was like she was scared or worried. about something. Surely I didn't scare her. I'm in no way intimidating. Just an average-sized woman. I'm five-foot-five and 150 pounds. I made my way back into the kitchen and sat the cookies on the counter. I spent the rest of the day unpacking and getting the house in order, and everything was quiet. I decided that I should just throw a pizza in the oven and call it a day. I'd taken a week off work to enjoy the house. I was a homebody and didn't really use a lot of my vacation time, so I was going to enjoy the time from work. I went into the living room and turned on the TV for some background noise. I had my nose buried in my phone, but I enjoyed the white

noise. The oven timer started beeping and I made my way into the kitchen. I walked through the foyer to get to the kitchen and as soon as I walked by the front door, I heard a knock. This was a very quiet knock. And if I hadn't been right by the door, I don't think I would have even heard it. I didn't open the door, I just walked up to it and leaned my ear in to listen. Again, I heard a light. knocking. I unlocked the door and opened it, but left the storm door closed and locked. I didn't

see anyone there. I turned the porch light on, and out at the edge of my yard, outside of the light from my porch light, was a figure. I focused on it for a few minutes, and it looked like a young boy. I looked down to unlock the door and when I look back up the figure was gone I could only assume that this kid was somehow initiating me into the neighbourhood by playing some knock and dash or something

I took my pizza out of the oven and luckily it hadn't burnt to a crisp I walked back by the door and this time instead of a knocking I heard the voice of a child hello is anyone home the voice said from the other side of the door

I unlocked and opened the door to find a young boy standing there he was kind of looking at the ground and he was holding his hands limply at his side are you lost do you need me to call someone for you I asked him I started to unlock the screen door but I stopped the boy repeated the same

same phrase. Hello? Is anyone home? His voice was very flat and it seemed almost rehearsed in a way. I thought this was very strange so I tapped on the glass to get his attention and asked, Are you okay kid? With the first tap he started to slowly raise his head up when he did I was met with the scariest eyes I've ever seen. They were black, pitch black and empty. He stared at me before saying the same sentence, but this time it was slower and deeper like it was in slow motion.

Hello? Is anyone... As he was saying this, a smile was stretching across his small face. I slammed the door shut and quickly locked it. I yelled through the door, now closed. Kid, just go home. You got me, okay? You prank me. Now, go home, or I'm going to call the cops.

I peered out of the window closest to the door that viewed the porch. and I didn't see any sign of the kid. I sighed and shook my head and slowly walked to the kitchen to cut the pizza. I just couldn't shake how strange the kid was. I've never encountered such a weird kid. Where did he get those crazy contact lenses? What kind of parents does he have? I brushed it all off and decided that I wasn't going to let some bratty, weirdo kid

ruined my first night in my new house. The next morning I woke up around 8am, which for me was pretty late. I was used to getting up at 6 a.m. to get ready for work. My bedroom window caught my eye. I hadn't hung any curtains in my house yet, as it was a pain, and I just hadn't felt like messing with it yet, but I noticed that the window seemed awfully dark. I know the blinds were closed but I could see a shadow through them on the window I slowly poured the blinds up and my jaw dropped there were small handprints all over my window they were brownish black I could assume it was paint or mud there were so many they littered my window only allowing a small amount of light

between some of the fingers of the prints. I threw on some jeans and the t-shirt and walked downstairs. I went to the outside of my house to get a better look. I made my way slowly around the side of my house. I walked slowly and looked on the ground for footprints, or remnants of paint. I didn't find evidence of anyone being in my yard. I peered up at my window and made a very scary realization that I'd not thought about in my early morning state. My bedroom is on the second story of my house. I got that eerie feeling you get when someone is staring at you, and my eyes shot to the woods.

I didn't see anything, but I knew someone or something was there. staring back at me, I made a beeline to the road and started to walk in the direction I'd seen Margaret walking in. I wasn't sure what her house looked like, but I ran into one about a half mile down the rural road. It was by luck, or maybe fate, that she was outside hanging laundry on the clothesline to dry. She didn't notice me at first, and I called to her as I started to head her way. Her little girl was playing with a doll, a few feet away from her. She had a confused look on her face when she saw me, and met me halfway in the middle of her front yard. Oh, what a nice surprise, she said when we were a few feet away from each other. I nervously put

my hands in my pockets and looked at the ground for a few seconds. I was getting ready to speak when she interrupted me. You've had some strange things happen, haven't you? I looked at her intently. How did you know? She walked closer to me and squeezed my arm. You need to leave that house. But I just moved in yesterday.

I interrupted with a sarcastic laugh. She shook her head. I was hoping this time would be different. but I hope that every time someone moves in. You're in danger. You need to leave as soon as you can. I can't help you, or they'll know. She trailed off, and a tear slid down her face.

I scoffed quietly, as I didn't know what to say. Who will know? What are you talking about? I asked, now becoming a little aggravated. There are small handprints all over my second-story window. And some kid has been pranking me, I replied in a louder tone, putting my daughter at risk. My husband tried to help the last owners, and she stopped for a second, and I could tell she was choking back the tears.

Listen, I can't help you. I'm sorry, but you need to get out of that house. Just go home and get in your car and leave before it's too late. turned and hurried across the yard and motioned for her daughter to follow her in the house. I stood there with my mouth slack in awe at what had just happened. This lady has got to be off her rocker. I will admit that what had been happening was strange, but I wouldn't let some punk kids chase me off. I stomped home, mumbling to myself.

I'm sure I looked absolutely crazy. I hope I did look crazy. maybe it would scare these stupid rats and they would just leave me alone. I went down to the basement of the house and dragged my power washer up the stairs and rolled it to the side of the house. I looked up at the window and my blood started to boil. I turned the power washer on and sprayed the window. And to my surprise, the prints were slowly coming off the window. The dark brownish black liquid drips slowly down the side of the house.

house. After getting the weird sludge-like substance off the window and the side of the house, I lug the power washer to my porch and dug in my pocket for my smokes. I inhaled deeply, and my stress started to decrease a little. The rest of the day was, thankfully, uneventful. However, as the sun started to set, things. started to change. The normal night sounds of crickets and peeper frogs were absent. I was sitting out on the back deck smoking a cigarette and rolling the events of the day over and over in my mind. None of what I was experiencing or how people were acting made sense to me. Why was everyone telling me to be careful? This was one of the lowest crime areas

in St. Louis. I threw my head back and exhaled the cancerous smoke from my lungs. I threw my head forward suddenly and, as I did, I heard a loud thump and then a dragging sound starting at the back of my privacy fence that met the woods. It sounded like something big and sharp being dragged down the fence. And then it stopped. I'd been holding my breath for several minutes unknowingly to myself. I started to take a deep breath, and when I did, the fence started shaking. It sounded like a mob of people were trying to knock down my fence. The posts rattled and shook.

It reminded me of what would happen in an earthquake. Only the earth was still. I got up slowly. watching the shaking fence closely and backing up towards the back door. As soon as my hand grazed the doorknob, the shaking stopped. I stood there frozen, unsure of what was going to happen next. Was I dreaming? Or just going crazy?

Then a boy leapt up from the other side of the fence and balanced in a crouching position on the thin fence. fence post. My eyes followed the border of the fence and similar-looking children started to appear. They seemed to be leaping up from the ground to the top of the fence, which was impossible. My fence was seven feet tall. They were both boys and girls. Their skin was very pale and had a grayish tint to it. Their clothes were worn and dirty, and their hair was matted and unkempt. Their eyes were the worst part. They were deeply sunken into their emaciated faces, and the eyes were completely black. They all sat there, silently. I don't even think they were

breathing but I can't be sure the boy closest to me was the one who was at my door last night I still had my hand on the doorknob and I knew I had to make a quick decision I didn't know who or what these kids were but they were not normal I decided that I would open the door as quickly as I could and then run inside lock the door and call the cops if things escalated. I did this all in one swift turn of my wrist, and as soon as the door creaked open, the boy closest to me grinned,

and leapt off the fence and cleared the seven-foot gap from the fence to the deck. I barely had the door closed when he slammed into it. He had his face pressed up against the glass, and he was banging on it and screaming. It wasn't like any sound, and I have heard a human ever make. The shrillness of the scream brought me to my knees,

and I put my hands over my ears and started to yell, Stop! Over and over! As quickly as this happened, the screaming came to an end, and I could hear the children murmuring. I removed my hands from my ears and held my breath as they were speaking quietly. Please let us in. Let me in. You have to help us. Don't you want to help us? It sounded normal at first, but then their voices started to distort and change, and every child seemed to be speaking on a different octave, but all in unison. Let me in. You have to let me in. I'm hungry. We just want to chew your skin. Please me.

Then the knocking started. It wasn't just at the door though. It was everywhere. It was on the walls, the roof, the doors, the windows. Between the knocking and the words, let me in, and let us in, would come through. I crawled over to the kitchen island and sat behind it. I couldn't be seen in this position, and I pulled my knees to my chest. I fumbled in my pants pocket to get my phone.

I typed in the numbers 911 with a shaking hand. The line ran once, twice, and then they were static. Hello? I stuttered out. They're not going to be able to help you. A unison of children's voices came through the speak. They're not coming. No one can help you. Let me in. It in. Let us in. Then the phone cut to an ear, shattering static. I dropped my phone and I started to yell. Why are you doing this? Over and over. Tears started to fill my eyes and mascara trailed down my cheeks.

I covered my ears and started to repeat in a whisper to myself, This isn't real, this isn't real. It was the last thing I remembered about this night. I don't know when the knocking stopped or when I fell asleep, but I woke with a start lying in a ball on the kitchen floor. My back and neck ached, and I let out a quiet moan as I rose to my heart. feet. I placed my hand on the small of my back and slowly walked to the counter to make some coffee. The fuck was up with those kids, I thought to myself. I hate to call them kids, because I knew they

were so much more. Perhaps some old evil was merely taking the form of something innocent. My next thought was, What the fuck am I going to do? I peered out the glass panes of the back door and found it covered in streaks of fingerprints. I shut as I replayed last night over and over in my mind. I grabbed a cup of coffee and slowly unlocked my door. I waited for a few seconds and peered.

out of the window. I didn't see any sign of movement other than a few birds fluttering from one side of my fence to the other. I cautiously opened the door and again waited for a few seconds. I didn't see anything, so I continued outside. I left the door open and stayed within a few feet of it. I stared into the woods and some of the branches of the tree closest. to the fence rustled. I squinted to make out the outline that was barely visible. The woods

were so dark. It was like night. Never left them. I started backing up to the door. The cigarette barely held in the tips of my fingers. There was the boy. It was standing on the thick

branches of the tree. He stared at me with a cold look on his face. The kind of look a predator has when it looks at the prey. Screw you! I screamed, not caring if my neighbours heard me or not. The boy started to laugh. It started as a childish giggle, but soon changed to a dark, throaty, bellowing laugh.

I backed slowly into the door and slammed it shut and locked it I went to sit my cup down and I nearly missed the counter and scrambled to correct it and shakily sat it down I thought about calling the cops again but what were they going to do

what are they going to say when I call them and tell them and I have little demonic children harassing me I almost laughed at this thought myself Then another thought hit me, a priest. I could call a priest. That's what people do in the movies, right? I grab my phone, and after a short Google search, I called the closest Catholic church.

An elderly man answered. I could hear his voice in his age, but it was warm and caring. How can I help you? he robotically said as if he'd said it a million times before which I'm sure he had

I need help I have something demonic or paranormal going on at my house I didn't know what else to do I stammered calm down my child

the church is always willing to help an individual bless a house to get rid of the darkness What is the address of the activity? I can see if we can arrange a blessing. He replied warmly. I replied to him with my address, and the line went quiet for a few seconds.

Hello? I asked to make sure I wasn't experiencing the same interference I'd faced last night. I'm still here, my child, but I'm afraid I can't help you. We've been to this address on multiple occasions, and the evil that lives there, cannot be defeated.

I can only give you my advice. Leave that place now. I'm sure the activity is already escalating at an alarming rate. I don't need you to tell me what's happening, as I already know. It's always the same. Strange children who stay in the darkness of the woods during the day. I can assure you those are not children. I cannot say it enough.

Get out of there now. May God have mercy on your soul if you choose to stay. You will not win this battle. After this, the line clicked, and I was met with the drone of a dead phone line. I just stood there with my mouth open. I started to hyperventilate. My head started to spin,

and I stumbled to the living room and flopped down on the couch. My vision started to blur. And that was the last thing I remember. I woke up violently from the couch and took in a deep breath and sat upright. I looked at the clock above the TV and it said 7pm. 7 p.m. How can that be? I called the priest at 9 a.m. What happened? I jumped up and grabbed my purse and my keys and headed to the car.

I ran to the car and fumbled to put the key in the ignition. I turned the key and nothing. Not a sputter or a click. Just nothing. I slammed my hands on the steering wheel and gripped it tightly in my hands. I reached into my purse from my phone. I thought I'd call a friend to come get me. I went to unlock my phone and the screen lit up for a second.

And then it went black. I repeatedly hit the power button and nothing. My bottom lip started to quiver and let out a spew of very choice words. I then realized that the sun was nearly all the way down. I had to get back in the house. Peered around the yard and I didn't see any sign of the kids. I opened my car door and took off in a sprint towards my house. I looked to my right

and what I saw made my heart drop. It's the boy. He's running but he's down on all fours. His body seemed bent in all the wrong places and he was gaining on me quickly. I took a leap up the small. flight of stairs and flung the door open. I turned to look and saw that the boy's face had changed. It was no longer a young boy. It may have resembled one, but his head was twisted all the way

round. A big, gaping mouth was at the top of his face, where the eyes would be, and it led down to a nearly non-existent nose, and finally to those fucking black. eyes. He let out a screech and leaped towards my arm. His sharp angler-fish-like teeth sunk into my arm and I instantly felt a searing pain travelling up the length of my arm. I screamed out in pain and anger as I fell down and landed hard on my tailbone at the entry of the door. I kicked the thing repeatedly in the face and it squealed in pain. and release my arm, but not without ripping my flesh as its teeth left me. I shut the storm door quickly, and it ran up the stairs and slammed into the door.

The door instantly turned into a spider web of cracked glass. The thing peered in, and then it started to speak. Let me in. Let me in. Please, please. I slammed the red interior door and screamed out in frustration. I pulled my arms to me and wailed loudly. I glanced down and my chest was covered in blood that was pulsing from my arm. I bit my bottom lip as tears streamed out my face. I didn't want to see the damage the thing had done to my arm, but I didn't have a choice.

I slowly pulled my arm away from my chest. and nearly wretched as a large piece of flesh flopped off to one side, revealing bone, tendon, and muscle. I screamed as the air hit the open wound. I pulled my shirt off and carefully wrapped it around my arm. I tied the excess into a knot and yelped out in pain as I used my other hand and my teeth to pull the knot tight. I tried to stand up, but when I tried to get to my feet, I was instantly hit with a wave of light-headedness. I quickly slid back down to the floor. Then the knocking started.

It was similar to the night before. It started on the front door, but soon spread to different areas of the house. Go away! I screamed over and over until my voice was a hoarse whisper. I could hear those things begging me to let them in. I needed to go to the hospital. I'd lost a large amount of blood, and my arm was severely injured.

I continued to listen to what sounded like a thousand different voices at one time. With each minute the past, they got quieter. Maybe I should open the door and just let them in, I thought to myself. Just open the door and let them finish me off. I woke up, still leaning against the front door. My arm ached and I moaned loudly as I slowly sat up. The shed I'd wrapped around it was covered in dark, dried blood. I decided that it was best to look at it and assess the damage.

I slowly unwrapped the shirt and on the last time around I closed my eyes and opened them once the shirt was removed my jaw dropped my arm was perfectly fine there wasn't any flesh hanging on by a thread well there was some dry blood

but there was no sign of a wound at all However, there was a deep, searing pain in my arm. I felt all the pain I had last night, but there was no evidence of any injury, let alone the severe bite wound I'd had last night. I rose to my feet and staggered up the stairs. I turned the shower on and got undressed. I winced in pain as I raised my wounded eye. to remove my shirt. I got into the shower and just stood there with the water running down my back. I started to cry. I wasn't a very emotional person, but I don't think anyone could hold it

together after the events that had happened to me the previous night. I was jumpy in the shower, and I waited for something crazy to happen while he enjoyed this quiet moment. But to my surprise, Everything remained quiet. I got out of the shower, dried off and threw my robe on for my walk to the bedroom. I got dressed and made my way downstairs. My arm ached and throbbed.

I would look at it intently from time to time just to make sure the wound wasn't back. I went to the cabinet and pulled out a pack of smokes and slapped them on the counter a few times to pack them. I decided that I would try to leave again today. I couldn't stay here. I was afraid to reach out to family or the police in fear that I would get a one-way ticket to the looney bin. I mean, what would you do in this situation?

I started to walk towards my front door to have a cigarette. And when I opened the door, I jumped back in horror. That thing was on my front porch. It smiled at me and ran to the storm door and tapped a long, sharp nail on the glass. Good morning, miss. Aren't you going to invite me in? It hissed in a sickening, sweet tone. Screw you!

I screamed at it. I slammed the door and locked it with a shaking hand. They're not going to believe you. No one is going to believe you. You might as well just let me in and end it all. It said in a sing-song voice. I went upstairs and grabbed my laptop off my desk and bounded back down the stairs. The thing was still talking, but I wasn't paying any attention to it.

I went to my email and typed a message to the realtor. I basically told her I'd made a mistake, and I wanted to back out of the house, regardless of the loss I would take. I told her I would leave all the furniture for the next buyer as well. I just needed to leave the property immediately. I hit send and waited. The thing outside was now pounding on the door. It sounded like it was slamming its twisted body against the door like a battering ram. After a few minutes and me constantly refreshing my email,

I got a message back from the realtor. She said she was going to come over and discuss this with me. I started to respond and tell her that it was dangerous for her. to come. But at this point she would maybe be a big enough distraction for me to get away from that thing. About 30 minutes later, I heard a car pulling to the gravel driveway. I peered out the window and saw it was the realtor. She was in her usual get-up, a suit skirt, and she was making her way to the door. I slowly opened the door, and I was expecting for that thing to the door. And I was expecting for that thing to be booking it towards her, and her being brutally mauled. But that didn't happen.

The monster wasn't on my porch, and I looked around nervously as she walked up the porch stairs. Hello, dear. Oh goodness, what happened to your door? She asked with concern in her voice. Oh, just some neighbourhood kids, I stuttered out. I opened the door and she walked in and glanced around. What happened to the previous owners of this house? I asked. She spun on her heel. Well, I'm afraid I don't know, dear. They just disappeared about a week after buying this place. Police found some shreds of clothes in the woods, but that was about it. It was such a shame. They had children, and there was no trace of them either. She said, with sorrow in her voice. I gulped and shuddered at the thought of what really happened to that family.

I want to put this place back on the market. I made a rash decision moving out here. It's way too quiet. I said with a false laugh following. There will be a loss, dear. I'm sorry it didn't work out for you. Maybe you need to give it more time. She started to say something else, but I cut her off.

I don't need any more time. I was wondering if you could give me a ride to a friend's house. I hate to ask, but my car is having problems and call service isn't that great out here. I replied sheepishly. Of course. I'm sorry to hear you're not keeping this place. It's so beautiful out here. She trailed off as she walked around the living room.

She dropped me at a friend's house, and I never look back. I sent a tow truck out to get my car and sent a moving company to get my laptop and clothes from the house. I didn't want anything else. I didn't ever want to see that house or those woods ever again. I bought a loft right downtown with lots of streetlights and people around.

I've done my best to forget everything that has happened. But my arm still hurts from the nasty bite that master gave to me that night. Some days are worse than others, but each day gets a little better. Well, I thought it was getting better. I get those automated emails from my realtor every time she posts a property for sale. I'd been meaning to unsubscribe, but you know how it goes. I was putting a few groceries away when my new email tone chimed from my phone.

I walked over and after a few seconds decided to open it. It was that damn house. I'd been gone for less than a week and it was already on the market again. They needed to burn that house and all the neighbouring woods to the ground. I deleted the email and tossed my phone on the counter. I went back to putting away my groceries, but I froze midway to the fridge and stopped dead in my tracks. I started to hear a persistent knocking on my front door. And 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.