Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S2 Ep60: Episode 60: Church Horror Stories

Episode Date: December 16, 2021

Tonight's show is proudly sponsored by Manscaped: get 20% Off and Free Shipping with the code CREEP at https://www.manscaped.com/ We open tonight’s terrifying extravaganza with ‘Parish’ by Jacob Beach. This is part of a collection of stories available to buy in audiobook format, featuring your good doctor as the narrator: https://www.amazon.com/The-Nameless/dp/B084BXPYYW/ref=tmm_aud_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr= We follow that up with ‘The Abbey Near my Town’ by Throw11113away: https://www.reddit.com/r/DrCreepensVault/comments/nxpr29/the_abbey_near_my_town/ https://www.reddit.com/user/throw11113away/ Today’s final phenomenal story is titled ‘Bloody Church’, and is an original work by Thomas Miller, kindly shared with me via email for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all.

Think about your health for a second. Are your eyes the first thing that come to mind? Probably not. But our eyes go through a lot. From squinting at screens to driving at night. That's why regular eye exams matter. And at Specsavers, they come with an OCT 3D eye health scan, which helps optometrists detect conditions at early stages.

We believe OCT scans are so important they're included with every standard eye exam. Book an eye exam at Spexavers.cavers.caps. Eye exams are provided by independent optometrists. Visit Spexsavers.com to learn more. Welcome to Dr. Creepen's dungeon. Just because you meet someone at church doesn't mean they're good. Plenty of demons go to church too, as we may see in tonight's three stories. Later on, we have the Abbey Near My Town by Throw 1-1-1-1-3 away.

We round off tonight with Bloody Church by Thomas Miller, but we begin with Parish by Jacob Beach. Now as ever before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's stories may contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. Then let's begin. As soon as she stepped out of the door, she could smell the autumn air. The smell of dried leaves filled her nostrils.

It was her favorite part of the year. The moon lit up the ground enough to see her feet as she walked along the dark. growl. She took the opportunity to watch her shoes as they stamped down on the leaves, crunching with each step, punctuated only occasionally by the chirp of some distant bird or insect. She found the path with no issues. Once she was more than a few feet into the woods, so she found herself softening her steps, as if not to be heard by something, and she felt her palms beginning to moisten with sweat. She tugged. at her backpack, immediately remembering its additional weight and feeling suddenly taxed by it.

Apparently, she had overestimated how courageous she would be walking through the woods in the dark. She held on to the end of her scarf, interlacing her fingers into the fringes, as if holding someone's hand for security. Despite her fear, she was excited to be going out. She'd never gone on a late-night photography excursion before. She'd heard about an old abandoned church online, and it ended up being surprisingly close to her home. It didn't take too long for the thin canopy of the forest to begin diminishing the light from the moon so that her path was not quite as lit up as it had been. The wind also began to pick up, seemingly more and more as she progressed deeper into the woods. her forehead wrinkled in confusion

she had never been this deep into the woods though so maybe she thought this was normal the girl began to get nervous that she'd taken a wrong turn but she continued walking each step more hesitant and fearful than the last she looked around for landmarks but the only things she saw were trees

she'd not left the path yet knowing that she could make it back home, she continued onward. She zipped up her jacket as the air grew cold around her. Scanning the area to make sure she was not just walking past the church, she noticed that the path had, at some point, faded from beneath her feet. She turned around in a quick panic, hoping to see the path, only to realize that she had noticed too late. The path had gone. She decided then that it was time to go back.

She did one quick turnaround to make sure she was not just making a mistake, but when she did, she saw what she had come for. Directly in front of her was the church. The steeple rose as high as some of the nearby trees, but she could still see the sky through several holes within its roof and walls. The silhouette of a crooked bell hung within the belfry. The entryway consisted of two large doors that appeared to open from the centre. The windows, which probably had stained glass in them at one point,

were just empty holes in the walls, having been broken either from weather or mischievous kids. The sides, to her surprise, were pitch black and looked charred. A few headstones, each in great disrepair, were in the yard of the church as well. She took a few steps toward one of the stones, unshouldering her backpack to take out her camera and gear. She set up a small tripod on the ground, placed a camera on it, and took a photo of one of the stones. She checked the screen on the camera and saw a strange light, like a glare on the lens. She took a second photo, and the glare was still there, only larger, close. it had a vague shape to it she took one more and the shape was recognizable it looked like a hand she changed the angle a bit

assuming she was getting some glare from the moon or off of a piece of shattered glass took a photo and the glare was gone she took the camera off of the tripod and walked so that she was directly facing the church. After finding the right angle, she pressed the button and looked at the screen. The glare was back, and its shape was even more

like that of her hand. Confused, she looked up from the screen and at the church. When she raised her head, she saw the glare again, and it was, in fact, a hand,

a ghostly, white hair. It hung, disembodied, directly in front of her face. She stared at it, mouth open and screamed. It lunged for her. She dodged it, jumping to the side, forgetting her camera. It appeared in front of her again, and she saw that it was no longer disembodied. Its owner, just as ghostly, was now attached to it. It was a strange form, slightly human, but not quite. Its hands were bright white, as was its face. The rest of its body was more translucent,

consisting of ethereal grey strands, creating nebulous connections between the hands and face. The face was as ambiguous as the rest of it, but visibly angry. Its eyes and mouth were oversized and gaping, seemingly forcing fear directly into the girl. As soon as she gained control of her body, she ran directly to the church and hoped that the doors were unlocked. She rushed through and closed the door quickly behind her. She turned to continue running and find somewhere to hide, but as soon as she did, she was met with a startling sight.

She was not alone. There were several people in the pews, staring forward as though listening to some sermon. However, the church was completely silent. There was a man standing up front, right around where the ballpits should be. Were this church not so decrepit? The man had a grey pallor. He looked as though all the life had been drawn out of him years ago. yet there he stood, mouth open, staring off into the crowd, gesticulating slightly every few moments.

He appeared to be preaching, yet no sound came from his mouth. The girl could not believe what she was seeing. This was impossible. She was stricken with absolute terror. First the figure outside and now an entire group. She could not force herself to move. not that she wanted to. She stared, trying to control her breath and her voice,

but a small, barely perceptible shriek, sounding more like a squeak, came out of her throat. She quickly closed her mouth, hoping that none of this peculiar congregation had noticed. She kept her eyes on them. The pastor was the first to react. He closed his mouth and moved his body to face. toward the door. Each member of the congregation as well began turning their torsos and head around to look at where

the noise came from. They moved so slowly that she was uncertain if they were even moving, but all of their faces soon became visible. All of their countenances were contorted into terrible expressions, as though they were all suffering some immense physical and emotional pain. While there were about eight entities sitting in the seats, they only had about three eyes between them. The rest of the sockets were empty, containing nothing but a deep blackness. Some of their mouths were also open, and dark in the same manner as their eyes. None of them made a noise, not even their clothes

shuffled on their twisting bodies. She was staying as still as she possibly could, though they obviously saw her. To her disbelief and comfort, they began turning back around, and the pastor opened his mouth again and continued his mysterious sermon. She took a step forward, and she saw, gladly, that they did not respond this time. This, along with no sign of the creature, outside trying to get in, allowed her to breathe a bit more easily. Behind the pastor, there was an open door that led to another room. That was her goal. She did not want to risk going out of the same door that she came in, as she was sure it was still out there, though she somehow could not see out of any of the windows in the place.

Only thick blackness was visible through them. As well, She certainly did not want to stay in this room any longer than she absolutely had to. Slowly, she continued her walk down the centre aisle between the pews. As she walked by the seats, a few of the patrons did turn again and stare at her. But they seemed not to mind her presence, regardless of the horrified looks on all of their faces. They were both men and women in attendance, and even two children. The men were in dirty, tattered suits, the women in moth-eaten, wrinkled dresses. The children wore miniature versions of the clothes the adults were wearing.

All of the clothes, she noticed first of all, seemed to be fashions from quite some time ago, though several of them appeared not to be from the same era. However, what most interested her was that they all showed signs of having been burned. She remembered that the church looked burned down on the outside. She could not understand how they didn't get out. The building was only two rooms with easily accessible doors. She walked on, getting quickly used to these strange onlookers. She even found herself muttering and, excuse me,

as she walked between the pastor and his congregation. In her newly achieved calm, she was able to look around a bit. She surmised that, were it not for the fire. This would be a beautiful church. The pews had beautiful carvings on their sides, or what was left of them, and there were ornate, though rusted, candelabras on the walls with lit candles in them, though the flames look strange and unnatural, casting a light that seemed too bright for the tiny flames. Apart from these mysterious lights, it reminded her of a quaint little country.

church. She made it into the back room beyond the sanctuary, and she felt herself drawing a breath sharply. There were three people, women, she assumed by their shapes, crouched around in an attempted circle, frenetically moving their heads and hands. Their posture looked as though they were trying to pray, but their movements made it seem like they were looking for something. She thought that if she stood very still She could hear a mumbling sound coming from the strange ceremony But stillness for more than a few moments let her know that this noise was only in her mind Just the sight of them caused her heart to race and her breath to leave her chest

Having lost the calmness she'd gained from the previous room She looked at them carefully and she could see that their clothes and she could see that their clothes and and hair too, had signs of having been burned, try as she might not to make a sound. She could not avoid stepping on a board which protested loudly under her foot. The movement of the strange lady stopped, and they looked over toward the sound. Their faces were even worse than those she had previously seen. Much of their hair had been burned off. None of them had any eyes or noses

And their mouths had been melted shut Into the most terrible frowns she'd ever seen She held still due in large part To the fear gripping her body Hoping that they would soon go back to their previous activity Like the people in the pews To her dismay however Each of them quickly crawled over to where the creek came from

Holding her breath, she hopped out of their path. Holding her breath, she hopped out of their path, trying her best to absorb the shock of her jump by bending her knees and waist. The women once again moved into a circle and began their worship or search, whichever it may have been. She kept staring at them, unable to look away as though her gaze was anchored to their terrible form. When she was finally able to pull her eyes away from them, she caught sight of another doorway and began creeping towards it, making sure to test her weight gradually on each board she stepped on. She felt a breeze coming from this direction,

and as she got closer, she was able to make out some moonlit foliage, so she knew that this door led outside. She continued toward it, but not without trepidation. That thing that chased her into this church had not followed her in, so it could very well still be outside, and probably was. The door seemed miles away from her. After painstakingly tiptoeing to the door, she slowly, carefully opened the door that led to the outside.

A small, cold breeze blew in onto her hand. The cool, comforting air of autumn belied the horror that she knew was present in these woods. The breeze increased suddenly, ripping the door from her hand. As it swung, she saw a small twister of the reds and yellows of the leaves that had fallen, held together by the same tenuous grey matter that she had seen between the hands and face she encountered just minutes ago in front of the church. As she stared, she felt a change in presence behind her. She looked back and saw that the three forms which were just searching the floor

were now huddled together in the corner of the room, staring at one another, yet glancing outside, half covering their faces, watching for the object of their terror, yet hoping not to see it. Their fear soon became her own, as she watched the terrible swirls grow and darken. The face appeared within the centre. It resembled the strange face from before,

but was far, far worse. In and of itself, its appearance was not terribly frightful, and yet it filled her with terror, the likes of which she had never before felt, far beyond that which she thought humanly possible to endure. Its eyes grew, and became deep voids of nothingness, however no light could be seen coming from behind them.

The mouth, likewise, grew much larger, and into a sadistic sort of grin as leaves and sticks careened around the strange face, trees bending in toward the epicenter of this being. Such an evil, terrible presence, unimaginable. surmising that the church must be safer than outside she mustered every bit of willpower she had and ran back past the three women carrying in the corner into the sanctuary

she continued past the pews now empty as the congregation sat together behind the pulpit as if trying to hide and toward the door she tried to open it hoping this small head start would be enough to escape the entity which plagued all of them. She pounded on the door, but it would not budge. Scared and frustrated, the girl let out a scream.

As if on cue, every flame on each candle in the place grew at once, becoming several inches high, licking the air violently. She looked over at the huddled mass of people. Their faces, now in the bright light, seemed more pathetic than unnerving. The light, she noticed, was steadily increasing. She took a glance over at the candles and saw that their flames were growing too large. The wax itself was being consumed by fire, dripping flaming globs onto the floor, which was now also on fire, though already burned to charcoal.

The flame spread quickly, moving on to devour the pews and walls of the church. She looked again at the people. They were staring at the flame, preoccupied, and had seemingly forgotten about the terror outside. All of them stared, but one, one of the smaller ones, a child. This child looked only at the girl. Once the child realized he had made eye contact with the girl, despite his lack of any actual eyes, he gestured to the girl to join the group.

She was hesitant. While they seemed harmless so far, she still feared their grotesque appearance. The heat of the fire, however, could now be felt, but the group of parishioners was further from the flame than she was, so she quickly but cautiously joined them, seating herself next to the boy. He held out his hand as if requesting to hold it. Once again, finding herself struggling with fear,

she knew she would not be making it out of these woods alive, so she convinced herself to hold the boy's hand. To her surprise, it actually gave her some comfort, even though his skin, if one could call it that, was rough and flaked away at her touch. The congregation, and now the girl as well, tried their best to squeeze against the wall, delaying the inevitable as the all-consuming fire inch closer to their position in the room. Her entire mind was wracked by the pain and heat, engulfing her feet and legs. This was by far the worst way she could imagine to go,

though she would no longer have to imagine it. However, it was still better than being outside, subjected to the horrible wrath that awaited any who would dare exit. She could feel her consciousness fading as the pain became too much for her. But for a brief time, her entire body went numb. shock was setting in. The doors, which had previously been immovable, then crashed open. She stared out the door and saw the swirling leaves caught in the torrent of the horrible presence

which seemed to rule the forest beyond the confines of these walls. Its face appeared, unholy and twisted, staring at her and the others, apparently laughing, as she faded into unconsciousness while her body was taken by the flames, ultimately adding another member to this place of worship's otherworldly parish. 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's 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 1866-531-2,600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. BenMGGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. There's a small abbey just on the outskirts of the town I live in. It's in the West Midlands, pretty close to the Welsh-English border.

Due to its smallest and overall, well, let's say, unassuming appearance, It doesn't generate much fuss from the archaeological community and has pretty much been left just to collapse. Inevitably, its old and ruined appearance, as well as its location, it's in a small woodland just north of my town, has generated many an urban legend. The usual stuff like it being haunted or the scene of a murder, but there is more unusual and outlandish stuff like it being the burial place of King Arthur, or that it contained a treasure belonging to some long-forgotten land baron from the Middle Ages. but one legend, well, more like a rumor, than I found most interesting was that it had a large crypt beneath it.

I was a bit of a Spalanka, much to my girlfriend's annoyance, and out of boredom, I decided to take it upon myself to prove whether this rumor was true or not. It was quite cloudy during my drive to the Abbey, though I didn't much mind the rain. The Abbey was in a small clearing

just at the southern edge of the woodland. The roof was gone, and the archer collapsed to be, pieces with bricks and slabs littering the ground. The cloudiness really created an eerie aura around the woodland, and especially the abbey. It gave it this weirdly gothic atmosphere, what you'd expect to see in a hammer horror film. I actually kind of liked it. I stepped out of my car and mentally prepared myself for what was likely going to be a very big waste of time. Oh well, it was an interesting waste of time at least. I entered the ruined abbey. The floor

was still relatively intact, save for the southern corner, where the slabs had cracked away. I began my search for anything that would indicate the presence of a crypt, like a trapdoor or something like that. However, no matter how keen my eyes were, they didn't find anything that indicated the presence of a crypt. The floor, the non-damaged part, at least, was completely solid. I just gave a frustrated sigh. I felt so stupid. I just waited an hour looking for something that didn't even exist. Well, that was what I thought, until I exited the abbey and noticed something on the ground

beneath some thick foliage to the right of it. Clearing away the foliage and getting my hand cut on a thorn in doing so, my eyes widened when they fell upon a door. So there really was a crypt. It just wasn't underneath the abbey. Well, it looks like I hadn't wasted my time after all. Excited at my discovery, I rushed back to my car and retrieved a space. in a flashlight. I broke away the ancient chains that latched the door shut and then with some

effort lifted it open to reveal a long staircase leading deep into the ground. I turned on my flashlight and began my descent into the crypt. My head was filled with curiosity and anticipation at what I'd discover within it. Maybe there really was a treasure down here or maybe even King Arthur himself. As I neared the bottom of the staircase my flashlight revealed a small chamber and in the middle of this chamber there was a tomb. After hearing all those rumours and legends since I was a boy I was eager to see just who dwelt within it. The roof of the tomb was cracked in half,

allowing me to take a small glimpse into its confines. But all I saw was just blackness, so with all the strength I could muster, I took hold of one half of the roof and began to haul it from the tomb. I moved out of the way as it slid down from the tomb and shattered against the stone floor. grasping my flashlight I revealed to myself the contents of this tomb all I saw was just a skull

sitting atop some ash-like substance and much to my surprise this wasn't a human skull it was a skull of a dog or some other canine well it was too big to belong to a dog perhaps it was a skull of a wolf just why in the hell would a wolf be buried in a crypt I reached into the tomb to grab the skull, but quickly withdrew my arm as a sharp pain suddenly erupted in my hand. I inspected my hand and grimaced as I discovered that some of that ash-like substance had gotten into my cut from earlier.

Suddenly, I started to feel extremely light-headed and my stomach started churning. I began to vomit and then clasped onto the floor, violently convulsing until my vision finally went black. I woke the next day. I was outside of the crypt and far away from the abbey in my car. I had no idea exactly where I was. I was in a woodland right next to a stream, and when I looked into the stream, I recoiled at my reflection in the water.

I was naked and completely covered in blood. I wake slowly to the gentle pitter patter of rain and a pale moonlight flooding through my window. I don't have anything to do so I just stay in bed and relax for a while longer. Rolling over I noticed that my husband's already out of bed, though that isn't unusual at all, especially given how distant he's been late. He's always been somewhat distant,

but lately he seems to have forgotten all about me. Most of all, I hardly see him anymore since he always locks himself away because of his work. Just then I tense up in fear, as I hear a soft hissing whisper. Verse one, then two, and before I know it, a whole chorus joins in. It's a madman, one breathes out, getting, No, it's a shepherd.

Hist added it in reply. It's hard to tell where the voices are coming from, but I can tell they aren't in the same room as me. The whispering crescendoes, and suddenly the voices seem to be. administering an oath. Do you pledge yourself, your essence and your Icho, to the bloody chapel, and to Racta Pita? One voice slowly exhales. Do you leave your current form and take on the form Racta Pita has shaped for you? Another voice hisses out rapidly. Do you leave the

road you're currently on and join the blood-stained path of Racta Pita? A third voice grounds. I do Never in my life As such a simple reply filled me with more terror That wasn't another mysterious voice That was the calm tone of my husband I bought from the sheets and sprint out of the room To try and stop whatever is happening

I frantically run from room to room Until my eyes fall upon the living room There bound to a chair in the center of the room is the limp form of my husband. I run towards him, yet stop in my tracks when I see them. Creatures that seem to be nothing more than living crimson silhouettes, the redness within them rippling and reverberating as they move, and surround my husband.

One by one they touch him, placing a hand, a head, or one of the many limbs that they have. Well, right on him. When they withdraw, there's a dark crimson mark wherever they've touched him, and he's grown paler. My God, they're draining his blood. I try to move, but something stops me. Whether it's fear or some effect of the demonic figure surrounding my husband, I don't know, but my feet won't budge. When my husband has no more blood to give, a tall silhouette with twisted claw-like fingers and a horribly distorted proportion appears behind him.

With a swipe of its hand, I hear a rope tearing and see my husband slouch forward. The creature slowly turns towards me, darker spheres marking where its eyes are. Suddenly, though, the creature seems to be absorbed into a mirror that had been reflecting the moonlight across the room, and I am left with the corpse of the man I love. Finding that I can move again, I stumble forward, tears streaming down my face, as I wrap my arms around his now lifeless body. Two years later, without any warning I'm jolted awake by an unseen force. I look around at my surroundings only to be greeted by darkness.

The only source of illumination in this place is a red light that pulsates every few seconds. I can't see much in this dim light, but what is visible is a damp, natural-looking structure. The walls, which seem organic, are covered in slight indentations with no disson. pattern, rapidly alternating between deep and shallow, wide and thin, sometimes gradually, sometimes instantly. As I'm getting my bearings, as distorted whispering rings out from behind me. I leaped my feet and searched for the source of the noise, but can't see anything beyond what I've already noticed. I begin frantically searching my surroundings, but see only the same odd indentations in the walls, and dim red light. Oh, and something

something moving, something moving towards me, fast. Before I can move the thing is upon me, it looks like a horribly disfigured man, an unnaturally wide jaw, metal, emotionless eyes and proportions that are universally horrifying. Upon getting a better look at its face, I realize who it is or was. That fact alone makes his appearance more terrifying than any disfigurement could. bends its elongated, twisted neck down, until its head is right next to mine. Things breath reeks of many things, but above all the metallic tinge of blood.

Drink the blood and be awoken. Suddenly I find myself screaming in my bed, rocketing up and launching the covers off of me. I clutch my shoulders for what feels like hours, hugging myself and taking shaky, terrified breath. Eventually I take out the journal I've been writing my dreams in and add this one to the Macabre array. I've been dreaming of that place for years now, ever since my John's death. Some nights are better than others.

I simply lay huddled in the darkness until I wake, though the ones featuring my husband's mutilated body are becoming increasingly common. After I finished writing my account, I glance at the photo on my nightstand, morning, morning, remembering a time before all this, a time when my future seemed to be full of love and joy. No, I say resolutely, I can't go back no matter how much I want to. Despite my strong words, I can't tear my gaze away from the photo until I hear seven knocks coming from somewhere in my house.

They sound like someone lightly tapping on glass. There's no one in my house but me, at least no one who should. be in my house. Carefully, I slowly stand up before making my way outside of my room, trying to move as silently as possible. I slowly make my way to the kitchen, where I keep my phone so I can call the police. As I creep through my house, there's another sound, this time a high-pitched chattering, like noises bats make but much louder.

After a minute, it feels like a decade, I finally reach my kitchen. I quickly grab my phone, but notice my cooking knives as I do. Should I get the police involved? I can deal with this. Compelled by this wave of suicidal bravery, I pocket my phone, grab my largest knife and begin searching my house. Join my husband tonight. The kitchen, restroom and dining room all come up clear,

with absolutely nothing out of place. The only room left is a living room. full of dread remembering what had happened to me last time I investigated an odd noise from there I creep to the living room when I open the door and start to investigate the room I almost start to laugh

realizing that I most likely just heard some sort of waking continuation of my dream where my blood runs cold and I see it in the mirror the same mirror I've kept covered for two whole years in the tall mirror is the red silhouette of the monstrosity from my dream standing behind me moves a distorted limb towards me and i see what looks like fleshy branches jutting out of it suddenly the silhouette begins to fill in revealing a face covered in rips and tears each of which resembles a small horrific mouth they all curl upwards into cruel grins as it draws near ignoring the terror well

up inside me, I tightly clutch my knife in my hand and swing around ready to strike the creature behind me, bearing my knife and screaming. But there's nothing there. Suddenly the mirror behind me shatters with a disgusting sloshing accompanying the break. The last thing I remember is feeling the glass shards launch into my back and arms before going unconscious. my eyes to shards of glass and my own blood, I quickly rise to my feet, wincing from the burning sting of the cuts, riddling my limbs. As soon as I've gathered my wits, I bolt towards my front door,

leaving my now bloody knife behind in my panic. I don't care where I go, so long as it isn't there. As I'm running, I notice that streaks of blood have appeared throughout my home, marking the floor walls and even the ceiling with long thin streaks of bright scarlet blood bursting into the cold night air brings a brief relief I'm no longer inside there with God knows what but now I'm outside with no protection this is made much worse by how secluded my house is I suddenly realized that if something happened to me it would be days if not longer before anyone noticed something was wrong This creeping dread makes me wonder if I should call the police.

On the one hand, who knows how all this blood got into my house and what that creature even was, though. On the other hand, I'd look very suspicious calling in about blood that mysteriously appeared, especially after the investigation. Upon hearing something behind me and whirling around to see that blood had started dripping down the window closest to where I'm standing, drawing my phone from my pocket, I quickly dialed 911 and greeted with a cup. calming, 911 operator, what is your emergency? There's something is in my house. It's left blood everywhere. I shakily force out.

The operator quickly responds with a calm set of questions. Where are you? And what's your name? I shakily provide my answers and receive a, don't hang up, help is on the way. You should find a place you can hide until they arrive. Heeding this advice, I dart towards the thin woods near my house. Laying down in a patchy bush, I began to dread what this may lead to.

Not only as the creature that's haunted my sleep entered the real world, but the police are also getting involved, which worries me more than it relieves me, given my history with them. Within minutes, three officers arrived, though. I couldn't help but notice that only two were in uniform. The third is a tired, tall. a tall, hooking man with apathetic eyes and slouching shoulders, who I assumed to be a plain-clothed detective. Finally, hanging up on the 911 operator, I approached the officers from my hiding spot with my hands raised, showing that I don't have anything in them. Immediately I'm led to a more

well-lit area near one of the PF cars and get barraged with questions. Did you hear anything? Where were you when you noticed this? Has anything like this happened before? and all manner of other questions. Thinking it would be best if I don't mention the creature and how I prowl through my house with a knife, I leave those details out of my answers. I'm too shaken up to think through my news story, though, and the officers seem to be able to tell I'm leaving some details out.

From over the officer's shoulder, I can see the detective searching through my room. Through my blood-splattered window, I see him pick up my dream journal and thumb through it, reading with increasing intensity. Eventually he sighs and hands it to another officer before leaving my field of view. Ma'am, hello?

The officer that had been questioning me says, sounding concerned. Are you okay? You completely blanked out there. It looks concerned, but there's something else too. Suspicion. And that's when it hits me. He thinks I did this.

years ago when my husband died some idiot journalist decided to propose that i had killed him without any proof of course still enough to destroy my reputation and get the police involved though they did an investigation while they never found enough to bring me to court many still believe that i killed him suddenly the detective i saw with my journal darts from the front door and starts heading straight towards me before i or the officer even have a chance to respond. He sternly informs me that. You are under arrest for the murder of your husband. You have the right

to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right... As he's saying all this, I go numb with shock. I hesitated to call the police, but I didn't really think that something like this would happen.

Brought back to my senses by the clicking of handcuffs being closed around my wrists. You can't do this, I cry out. I've already had to go through enough thanks to your investigation. You can't just do it again. My cries fall on deaf ears, however, as I'm loaded into one of the squad cars and driven off. My trial was vague and unorthodox. The contents of my dream journal were examined in minute detail,

teasing the specifics of each sentence apart, and although the charges formally brought against me was the... murder of my husband, he was hardly brought up. When it was all over, I ended up here, alone in the padded room with nothing but my thoughts and the constant pitter-patter of Audley's bustling through room to room in this madhouse. The doctors have me on something called Trasadone that's all but stopped my dreams and put me in therapy with Dr. Tudor,

a serious yet kind man who sift through the contents of my journal page by page, trying to find out why my dreams began. He seems to care about my recovery, though. It's probably just an act. I'm interrupted from my thoughts when my cell door swings open and an orderly step through. Mr. Tudor has scheduled a therapy session today. Let's get you over there.

She says in a kind yet pitying voice. I'm sick of the pity in people's voices. The unceasingly demeaning quality of the orderly's turns might actually be driving me mad. Sighing, I pick myself up and begin walking in front of the orderly on the way to Tudor's room. Despite my incarceration here, I'm not insane. At least I don't think I'm insane. The orderlies don't treat me with the same caution they treat other patients at least,

yet they also don't think I'm quite sane either. They give me my trazardone despite my protests and keep a watchful eye on me. More than anything, they seem to simply pity me. This is the place now. I want to trust you to let yourself in, okay? The orderly jokes, acting as though being allowed to open a door on my own is a special privilege. Despite my annoyance, I control myself and smile back before slowly opening the door and stepping into Tudor's office.

I'm greeted by the same slightly decrepit room I always am. The stained and threadbare rug, old ragged wooden desk and an other. and barred window are exactly as they always are and i can only assume tudor will be as unhelpful as he always is the window overlooks the front of the asylum and to the right of the window is a vast key rack with keys for every wing and very likely every room of the asylum please take a seat tudor calmly says i believe today we can cut to the heart of why you're here nervously i take a seat wondering what exactly he's talking about. According to your file, you suffer from delusions and hallucinations that compelled you to kill your husband,

though on an initial investigation found insufficient evidence to bring you to court. New evidence did prompt a trial, which ended in a guilty verdict. He slowly states, as my blood begins to boil. Now, normally, I would never bring up an event like this to my patients. however you've shown remarkable recovery during your time here. Tudor hesitates. I think it may be beneficial to go over what happened. Clenching and releasing my right fist, I force out and, of course,

knowing that this will be just like my trial where others tell me what I'm thinking and why I'm thinking it, well, ignoring any arguments I offer. First, I must ask. do you think he killed him well there's no harm in confessing here you've already been convicted tudor inquires that in my emotions finally get the better of me i reply with an angry of course not i would never do something like that he'd say i'd try tie up my husband and bleed him to death i'm not saying anything comes a cold reply the court is if you can't talk about this I'll simply drop the subject but it will reflect poorly on your recovery.

Taking a deep breath, I force a calm term, and tell him that we can keep discussing this if he thinks it would be beneficial. Ah, excellent, he replies. Now I want to make one thing as clear as possible. Your husband, John's death was not as suicide as you seem to believe. His only wounds were slit wrists, yet he'd been drained of all his blood. Not only that, but the coroner found evidence that he had been bound at the arms and the time of death. Every session is like this, him repeatedly telling me I'm insane, even though I've done nothing abnormal since arriving here.

The more he says it, though, the more I'm starting to believe it. It can't really be possible that demonic creatures emerge from a mirror and heard my husband, can it? I still refuse to believe that I killed him, though. it can't have been me, and just can't. I begin to lose track of Tudor's lecturing when a single phrase catches my attention. If we can manage to maintain your current progress, it is possible, likely even,

you'll be able to be released, perhaps even by the end of the year. I'm shocked. I might be released, before I can ask for specifics, or even how that can be possible, given what I was charged with. The clock strikes the hour,

bringing our session to a close that'll be all for today miss wilson please follow the orderly batchy room following the orderly i once again begin to question if i truly am insane at the same time though my house was covered in blood the night i was arrested there must be some truth to what i've seen there's no way that something like that could happen with no outside force not to mention how sudden all of this was up until july John died nothing like this had ever happened. The night after that, I began having horrific nightmares for two whole years, though. Glancing to the right, I see something that makes my blood run cold.

Through a window in the door of another patient's room, I managed to catch a glimpse of it. The patient has ridden that cursed phrase, Drink the blood and be awoken on virtually every surface in his room. It's written in a blackish red liquid and he's curled up and trembling in the middle of the room. For just a moment I could swear there were tendrils coming from him. Within the blink of an eye, they're gone, though, and I speed up to get as far away from him as I can. Back in my room my mind is racing with questions.

Two people can't really have the same delusions, can they? It shouldn't be possible that my hallucinations and my dreams have also been seen by him. I was beginning to believe that I was insane, but if another person is seeing the exact same things, then it can't be an hallucination. But that would mean that everything I've seen is real, and my husband is a lie? I need to know the truth. I'm going to start trying to avoid taking my medication whenever I can. I've heard whispers among the more lucid patients about ways to dodge their medication. I need to begin having my dreams again.

It's the only way to find out what's going on here and discover what happened to my husband. I've been successfully avoiding my medication for several weeks now and the dreams have been slowly returning. I still haven't seen the creature. Well, my husband. I can't help but think it's only a matter of time before he appears, though, and I don't know what will happen when he does.

I've seen more of this structure from my dreams, now that I'm willing to explore the system of never-ending organic caves. I've seen creatures and hieroglyphic-light ruins carved into what I can only assume to be massive bones. Slowly closing my eyes, I drift off into sleep. When I open them, I'm greeted with what looks to be a living church, lit by the same pulsating red glow from my other dreams. Before I know what I'm doing, I begin walking down a chapel aisle, pews of writhing flesh and cartilage on either side of me.

There's a bone altar at the end of the aisle, covered in a flowering red cloth that seems to be sculpted from blood itself. Seeing this, I gradually begin trembling as I approach the altar. Out of curiosity, I take a closer look at the cloth. A recoil as I realize that the cloth is a network of thousands of interwoven capillaries coming out of the centre of the altar. Scarlet Blood still sings through the veins and they pulsate along with the familiar red light.

Above the altar is a massive mirror. Its surface tins red and a fibrous black growth binding it to the wall like a chew. I lean in further when I begin to see something through it. This can just be a coincidence. An angry voice yells through the mirror, causing ripples in its surface. The ripples ground.

gradually seem to take form and two blurry human outlines and a vague room appear in the mirror. You expect me to believe that dozens of patients have the exact same hallucinations. You honestly think I'm dumb enough to just chalk all this up to a random chance. I could see one of the blurry figures lean in towards the other, and even through his distorted form, I can see the anger he's feeling. Looking around the figure's murky surroundings, I noticed the familiarity. of their environment. The patchy carpet, cluttered desk,

and an iron barred window. This is Tudor's office. Then that means that one of the figures is probably... Not just that. Even when they're completely recovered, you forced me to hold them here. Judah yells at the other figure,

startling me from my thoughts. What the hell are you even doing this for anyway? None of you have anything to gain from holding them here. As Tudor finishes his tirade, the other figure finally begins to stir. We provide your funding. That should be all the reason you need not to question us, but since you demand more, the figure suddenly hesitates, looking quickly around the room. Oh, cover that mirror, he says in a hushed frenzy tone.

Sying, Tudor's figure approaches the mirror, coat in hand, before the figures and scenery suddenly vanished. leaving nothing but my own reflection figuring that that's all the mirror will show me I attempt to leave the altar and investigate the rest of the church but find that I can't move my feet looking down I realized that a black growth just like the one around the mirror has enveloped them suddenly the mirror begins to ripple like water slowly changing from my reflection to a new face entirely and the thing my husband stares through the mirror of me, bearing a grotesque and mutilated grin.

This time it's far more than a silhouette or a blurry figure, and I can see every minute detail. All proportions are off, with massive shoulders and long skeletal limbs and fingers that are little more than mere bones. Protrusions that resemble tree branches, yet made of a sickly yellow flesh, grow from it. the same protrusions I saw on the man in the asylum.

Again it intones the same thing it did on that fateful night. Drink the blood and be awoken. This time it's different though. I don't know why but the words provoke just as much fascination as terror. That fascination soon vanishes though as the black roots holding my feet in place turned bright skylight and I feel a searing hot pain surged through my veins. I awake in tears. I can feel it, the burning hot Ike from the church, pulsing through my veins.

It hurts so much. I need to get it out as quickly as possible. They don't allow anything even remotely sharp in my room, even if I am recovering, but they can't take my teeth. I slowly sink my two incisors into the soft webbing between my thumb and forefinger, wincing as they slowly sink further and forefinger, whinsing as they slowly sink further and furtive. further, first bruising, then cutting. My upper teeth make it through the first, and I feel warm, crimson blood flowing onto them. Soon I have the flap of flesh off entirely, and spit it out before sucking on the wound,

trying to get the icor out of my veins. Oounce after ounce, I await my relief, until suddenly the metallic taste of my own blood is replaced with something else entirely, something indescribable, that I can't help but drink against my better judgment. With every drop I swallow, my senses sharpen and my comprehension broadens. This must have been what John was telling me about. Drink the blood and be awoken.

As suddenly as it had all started, it's over, and I'm left with nothing by my own metallic blood. I stopped sucking the wound and wince as the sickening pain spreads down my arm. I should be glad. The pain from my hand is nothing compared to one. what I was feeling with that in my veins, but while drinking it, everything was so much clearer. I began to understand what's been happening to me.

I still only know fragments, but it's still more than enough to boost the fascination I was beginning to feel to extreme heights. The dreams let me see it. The being my husband must have been worshipping when he died. I don't know how or why, but when I'm sleeping it's as if I'm inside of it. Settling into bed in the hopes of revisiting Racta Peter tonight, I realize that the God and the church are one singular being. I'm kept in a straitjacket when not under supervision now.

I'm still able to dodge my medication, and my dreams have become far more lucid, however. I dreamt of a macabre creature, something I could become if I pay the tithes the church demands of me. Something similar yet different than my husband, being with rough, leathery skin, membranous bat-like wings, skeletal fingers,

and silver-reflective orbs in the place of eyes. Something powerful and ageless. I've already begun the transformation through my dreams and through drinking Racta Peter's Ichor, but the trials will only become harder from here. I can't go further while trapped in this sterile hell. I've begun planning my escape, but I still don't know how I'm going to do it yet.

Tud has a key rack with all the asylum's keys in his therapy room, but I'm almost certain that even if I could get one, you'd notice it was missing before I didn't have a chance to use it. I'll also need some sort of weapon, which is obviously difficult given I'm not even trusted to have my arms unbound anymore. For now, however, I simply contemplate my dreams. While they're still largely bizarre, macabre patterns have begun to emerge.

The church is organic, but almost completely static as well, with almost nothing moving in the mirrors, which I've begun to see more and more of, being the only consistently changing feature. The mirrors are always held in place by odd growths, and have a red surface that ripples and reverberates as though it were a fluid. Sometimes they show scenes from everyday life, like a family having dinner or someone getting themselves ready for an event.

Other times, however, they show bizarre and matured, carbure things. A man tormented by the light of his deceased father's soul, a paranormal circus full of eyeless performers, or a woman peeling a skin off to reveal her true face to several horrified onlookers. These have all appeared in the church's array of mirrors. The most interesting feature of my dreams is the creatures that have begun to show up more and more frequently, possibly as a result of drinking the Ickel. They've been tall and lanky with long, razor-sharp talents, immensely large and impossibly deep jaws and metallic silver eyes with moonlight reverberating within them.

I've seen them ripping the walls away at the church and shoveling endless amounts of flesh into their gaping mauls. I don't know if they're attacking the church, or if this is just them kind of bizarre ritual. Suddenly, I'm jorted from my thoughts by a noise from the door. Ranstein comes an orderly's tired. voice. A somewhat difficult task due to the straitjacket before shambling to the door. The door opens and the orderly helps me out of my restraints before I join a long line of fellow patients. Slowly we've been making our way to the cafeteria. When we get to the cafeteria,

I go through my usual routine of getting and choking down the food they serve. Ever since I've discovered my taste for blood, everything they've served here has tasted like ash. Once I finally forced it all down I begin to plan my escape again I'm going to need some sort of weapon if I want to escape but I just don't know where I could get one If I can get my hands on a knife And the key for my ward then I should be able to escape at night

When the number of orderlies is practically a skeleton crew Unlike now when the cafeteria's fire exit has several orderlies surrounding it I stop my planning when I look up and see the man who written the church's message, drink the blood and be awoken in his room. He is extremely pale and thin as a rail, and has shaggy hair that casts a dark shadow over his eyes, which dart around the room fearfully.

He gets his food, limping to the most remote location he can find to eat. Deciding that I might be able to learn something from him, they slowly rise to my feet and make my way over to him. An orderly shifts his gaze onto me, but makes no move to stop me. as I inch ever closer to the fearful man. When he sees my approach, he begins to shrink away from me,

and his eyes stop darting around the room and lock onto mine alone. I sit down next to him and ask, What can you tell me about the church? Which prompts a shudder, but not an answer. What can you tell me about the church? I ask once again, more forcefully this time. I don't know anything about that, that thing. The poor man quietly stutters out.

He stares at me fearfully and looks like he hasn't even blinked since he saw me. Feeling a completely new and foreign hatred spread through me, I slowly lean in towards him and whisper, Based on what you wrote in your room, I'd say you do. The poor man begins to shake. I can't muster up any pity for him. I know that we aren't like them anymore. Like, well, like them people.

He slowly turns away from me For the first time since he saw me As though he couldn't stand looking at me any longer It's your eyes Fains underneath them are practically barging You haven't even blink once since I saw you walking over here That's surprising to say the least Without realizing it I reach a hand up to rub my eyes

Only for it to encounter a dry and ridge surface And for migraine-like pain to shoot through me I'm changing faster than I'd realized I need to escape. Looking over the cafeteria, I notice an unattended knife, just within the hope. Realizing that I won't get a better opportunity than this, I decide to try and get it, though with all the orderly's present, it won't be easy. As I'm getting up to get the knife, I can't help but ask the man one last question.

You said we aren't human anymore. What are we? Turn him to face me, he opens his mouth to speak. Before his eyes open wide and he begins screaming, pointing at me and shrieking about my metal eyes. An orderly eventually holds him off, but his screaming agitated enough patience that lunch ends early today. And a dozen orderlies are called in to send everyone, including me, back to our rooms. If there was any chance of me being released, it probably died as soon as he began screaming. My meeting with Tudor is tomorrow, and based on this instance.

and the figure in my dream ordering him not to release patients. I'm guessing that I'll have to rely on my plan to escape rather than illegal release. As I'm waiting in my room from my appointment with Tudor, I begin slowly blinking or at least trying to. As my eyelids close on my dry, rough eyes, a piercing pain shoot through my skull, as though I'm sliding my eyelids over sandpaper. Any minute now an orderly will escort me to Tudor's office where I can start start my plan to escape by stealing the key to my ward that he keeps in there.

It's odd to look forward to another therapy session, but fortunately this may just be the last one I have to go through. Just on time I hear the slow plodding of an orderly's feet approaching my door. Next comes the slight clinking of a ring of keys, and after what feels like in eternity the door finally opens, revealing a tired-looking Audley, tucking away a deep red key. Time for your appointment. He states in a completely flat tone before helping me out of the straitjacket and escorting me to Tudor's office. On the way there I see the fearful man from the cafeteria being transported on the stretcher, a cloth strapped to his body, covering everything but his face. His eyes are wide and unmoving, and for a moment I think he's dead. I'm proven

wrong, however, when I noticed something writhing under the canvas over him. He always is a little. He heartlies are heading in the direction of the solitary ward, where patients too dangerous for uncontrolled interaction are sent. Averting my eyes from the man, I quickly arrive at Tudor's office. All I must do is grab one key off the key rack, and I'll be one step closer to freedom. As I walk in, Tudor quietly tells me to take a seat, rather than his usual warm greeting. Once I'm seated, Tudor launches into yet another lecture, albeit with far more hesitation. and an almost fear foretold. I nod and contribute the occasional platitude whenever I feel I must,

but for the most part I try and think of a way to distract him. As my eyes fall on a large bookshelf, stocked with encyclopedias on medical and psychological knowledge, I have an idea. Excuse me, Dr. Tudor. I gently interrupt, trying my best to put on the meekest voice I can manage. Yes, what is it? Judah replies, seeming very tense.

The way he's looking at me almost makes it seem as though he's afraid of me and wants me gone. You see, sir, I say, fidgeting my fingers. You put me on a medication to help me avoid dreaming. Trazodon, right? Judah only mumbled something in agreement. Well, lately I've begun having the same dreams again, so I was wondering if there was a stronger form of Trazodone I could take. Tudor sits back and seems to ease up as he contemplates my question.

After some thought, he gets up and moves towards the bookshelf with a curt, I might have what you need. This is my chance. As quickly as I can, I steal over to the rack where Tudor keeps his keys. The sound of Tudor working through his book to the section he needs sends a nervous sweat down my face, since he could turn round at any moment. I frantically look through the keys, searching for the dark, red one that unlocks my ward. Suddenly I notice an empty hook and realise that my ward's key is gone,

likely stashed somewhere by Tudor in case something like this ever happened. Just then Tudor turns back to me and in a nervous tone. Why are you standing? You looking for someone? Looking for something? Well, caught off guard all I can come up with to reply is it bland. It's nothing. just then when I'm fully paying attention to Tudor for the first time all day I noticed the dark red key hanging from a key ring at his waist how the hell am I supposed to get it from there hiding my newfound frustration I calmly sit back down and resume listening to Tudor's lecture all the while trying to figure out some way to grab the key off him to no avail

I may have to spend longer in this prison than I'd hoped The changes can't be delayed, though. The timer rings bringing the session to an end. Despite normally being very punctual, Judas stools today. There's one thing you need to know before you leave today, Judah says, hesitating every few words. You don't know what happened in the cafeteria

and some enlightening conversations with the asylum sponsors. I'm afraid you'll be moved to the Sargery War tomorrow. I'm completely stunned. I expected not to get released or get another level of restraint, but not to be moved to the solitary ward. I need to escape tonight, but I have neither of the two things I need. Anyway, Tudor interrupts my thoughts. That'll be all.

I silently exit Tudor's office, walking back to my room with the orderly that led me there. As we approach my room, I noticed the king, and noticed the ring of keys on him, and realize how dumb I've been. The orderlies in my ward have the same key Tudor has, so I can steal it from one of them rather than from Tudor. If I had a knife, it would be relatively easy, but since the fearful man's breakdown made that impossible, I don't know what I'm going to do. What I do know is that, whatever I attempt, I must attempt it tonight, or I may never make it out of it. At this point there's only one way I could escape. I'll have to kill or at least subdue an orderly

so that I can steal their key and break out. I can probably trick an orderly into coming into my room by making them as an emergency or that I'm in horrible pain. Even though it might be my only chance of escape, I'm still queasy at the thought of taking her life. Wait, what am I thinking? immortality, power, and the chance to join my husband once again are all within my reach.

Why would one life, life I know and care nothing about, be worth sacrificing all of that? I'll take an orderly by surprise once they're in my room alone, and I'll finally be able to escape. Night patrols, or at least what I've been able to see or hear, are nearly non-existent here, and any orderlies in my way will fall just as easily as the first. Some tiny part of my mind is horrified with these thoughts, yet a far larger part of me can't wait for what's about to come. I still don't have a weapon, though. I could try and use my bare hands, but that's far more of a gamble,

and if this goes wrong, I'll probably be here for the rest of my life. Could the church help me? When I get back to my room, I close my room. my eyes trying to have one last dream before I have to start my escape, desperately hoping that I'll get something or anything from it. Eventually I finally feel myself begin to drift on. When I open my eyes I'm back with a racked up it. This time I'm in a long, tall hallway made of sculpted flesh and supported with arches

of bone. Dotting the walls at random intervals are hundreds of the same mirrors I've been seeing, each showing some unnatural scene. Some show miracles, some show tragedies, but they all contain a paranormal feat. On one particularly large mirror,

a bizarre man appears to resurrect a corpse before a rapturous audience. Even with my new mindset, these sights horrify me. Why are they doing this? Why are any of these killings necessary? At that moment I see a mirror that shows me.

I was struggling with an orderly, trying to overpower them and steal their key. I watch in horror as the orderly manages to restrain me, and I move to solitary almost immediately. Suddenly the mirror changes, showing a figure that looks like me, but is far too old. They're strapped to a hospital bed, comatose. That can't be me, can it? Does this mean that if I don't escape tonight I'll end up trapped here, trapped in this sterile hell for the red, of my life. No, I won't let that happen. Curling my hand into a fist in my anger, before I know what I'm doing, I smash it into the mirror in my rage. Despite its fluid

appearance, it shatters into dozens of fragments. The pain from my fist being pierced by several of these fragments is sobering enough that my fury is quickly replaced by a lingering malice. I won't let what the mirror showed happen. I'll do anything to escape, no matter what I need to do. This will be the last night I spend in this asylum. Just then, I noticed movement among the mirror's fragments. I bent down to look at what's happening when I notice that they're still showing scenes. They aren't the same one I saw, however.

Each shard is different. Some show me dying in my escape attempt. Some show me escaping into the night. and others show me never waking up from my current sleep. The largest fragment shows my struggle against the orderly, the original mirror showed. This time, however, I do have a weapon, a jagged red and black glass shard. Suddenly, I realize what I have to do, and I scrambled to pick up the shower. As soon as my hand closes around it, my eyes open, I'm back inside my dark asylum room.

everything is normal with one exception the glass shard i grabbed in my dream is still within my palm now carefully gripped so it doesn't cut me i quickly set my attention to luring an olderly to me curling into a ball and loudly complaining about the pain in my torso i'm groaning that my insides are burning and i make sure all those near my room know with any luck a kind of orderly will stumble by and not be able to resist give me a helping hand. When he does, I'll be as good as free. Just then I hear a jingling coming from the other side of my door and a wide grin spreads over my face. Finally, my grin is replaced with an expression of agony as soon as the door begins to open them. The female orderly rushes over to where I lie and quickly asks, What happened? Concern clear in her voice.

Oh, my torso. I can't breathe. I force out between breaths. The jacket's too tight. I can't breathe. From the look on her face, I can already tell I have a right where I want. Okay, hold still.

I'm going to loosen it for you. As she says this, she bends down and starts pulling at the straps, holding my straight jacket a very comfortable type. As soon as one strap is loosened. Now, to a dangerous degree, I squirm, trying to keep the prongs sealing back into the fabric,

keeping the straps in a state where they can be moved. Once all the straps are loosened, I quickly and violently stand and spread out as much as I can, knocking the orderly over me down and breaking free of the straitjacket. What are you... So all the orderly can get out before the rippling shard has found a home in her chest.

She lets out a gurgling cry, blood beginning to seep from her mouth before she goes limp. Seeing the off white of her uniform gradually turned to crimson red and the thickening stream of blood flow from her lips, I feel a hunger awakened inside of me. Licking my lips, I bend down until my face is level with hers. She really was quite beautiful, wasn't she? Leaning in even closer I begin to lap at the blood coming from her mouth.

tentatively at first but gaining impassion and intensity the still warm fluid thrilling me the more I drink the more I drink the greater my thirst becomes until I withdraw the shard from her chest and make a small nick in her neck as soon as I've made it I latched my mouth on and begin dutifully sucking the blood from her just like when I drank Ractor Peters Icore my sense is sharp and far more

more this time. The darkness of my room is slowly illuminated and tiny details I once would have overlooked are highlighted in my new detail. The more I drink, the greater my sight becomes until the blood runs dry and my vision levels out. Suddenly my eyes begin burning with a dull, dry pain, which only gets worse the longer it goes on. Eventually I reach a hand up to rub them, and when I do the dry, ridged surface comes off. with quite a ripping sound and a searing pain that leaves me staggering. Looking down, I see the skin off my eyes, lying on the ground. Wait, how could I see that?

Reaching up, I lightly tap my eye, receiving a metallic ping in response. A massive grin contorts my features. I've taken yet another step towards the church. The other things can't be far off now. soon I'll be exactly what the church showed me I would become. Realising that my one opportunity to escape is passing me by and I quickly creep out of the room and towards the exit. Creeping through the halls, I slowly make my way to the cafeteria

because of its emergency exit. Thanks to my heightened senses, I can hear orderlies hallway away and avoid them before they're even within the earshot. Once I've made it to the cafeteria, I deftly moved towards the exit. Noticing an alarm wired to the door, I reached my shut up and cut through the wires in one quick motion, deftly severing them.

I immediately pushed the door open, receiving a blast of cold night air. As it washes over me, so too does the realization that I am finally free. Taking my first steps through the door, I turn my eyes up to the moon, and immediately let out a cry as moonlight fills my eyes. Stumbling forward, I stopped to figure out what had happened.

Who's there? Soon rings out from behind me, though. I realise my cry must have drawn attention. Breaking into a blind sprint, I run away from the orderly's voice, although with no idea what I'm running towards. As I'm running, I hear alarms start to sound out from the asylum. These noises only drive me to move faster, although without my sight I'm struggling to move without tripping and falling. Just when I think all is lost, I begin to regain my sight.

I see a wooded area near the asylum, and without hesitation, make a run for it. Moving into the trees, I sprint haphazardly, listening in fear to the sound of orderly shouting as they search the asylum and its surroundings, making their way further and further from it. as my vision further returns i run faster and quieter eventually i come to a shallow gorge full of tall grass too thick for any ordinary eyes to see through deciding that hiding here is a risk worth taking i hitch my way down into the grasses laying down in the middle of it and making every possible effort to remain silent after what feels like hours several beams of light sweep the area and i watch as several police officers to search through the woods. They slowly make their way around where I'm lying, being as thorough in their search as possible.

One slowly approaches my hiding place, and I stifle a gasp, as I realize it's the same detective from the night I was arrested. He's staring right at me, straining to hear even the slightest of sounds, as I hold my breath. After what feels like another lifetime, he slowly turns away and makes his way further into the forest, accompanied by the other officers.

I still lay there, but still and as silent as I can, until the sun finally appears on the horizon. Emerging from the grasses, eyes sealed shut to protect them from the sun, I grin in triumph. I escape. I finally escape. I'm far from finished though, and Remaining out of the asylum will be far harder than getting out of it, but for the moment I simply relish my newfound freedom. Now that I'm free, I can continue down Racta Pita's path. Soon I'll understand it all and transform into something far greater than what I am now. Soon, I'll join Racta Pita. And so once again, we reach the end of tonight's podcast.

My thanks as always to the authors of the... 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