Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S2 Ep74: Episode 74: Weird Community Horror Stories

Episode Date: March 24, 2022

Tonight’s opening tale of terror is ‘My Home Owners Association Seems to Be a Little Too Passionate about Enforcing its Rules’, a wonderful story By Mandahrk, kindly shared with me via NoSleep and narrated here for you all with the author’s express permission: https://www.reddit.com/user/Mandahrk Our closing nightmarish tale of the macabre is the award winning ‘Burnin’ down the Ozarks’, a brilliant original work by Baron Fist, shared with me via the Creepypasta Wiki and read to you all with the author’s express permission via the CC-BY-SA license: https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/User:Baron_Fist https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Burnin%27_Down_the_Ozarks

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Question posed by tonight's two stories. 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. If that sounds like your kind of thing, then let's begin with... Homeowner's association seems to be a little too passionate about enforcing its rules. Oh, it was the perfect house. Building the craftsman style, it was a beautiful amalgamation of wood, stone and brick. Its solid walls were adorned with broad windows that welcomed the early morning sunlight.

It had a pillared porch made of old and stained wood that stood overlooking a lawn so well maintained and resembled a green carpet. A gravel driveway led up to a garage that was a small. set up next to the house the rooms were spacious waiting to be filled with dreams and memories it seemed like the ideal place to raise a family in it if only we had better neighbors we had our first encounter with the homeowners association on the very day we moved in the sun being fired down upon us as we removed our boxes from the truck i'd rented into the house my wife and daughter were inside sorting through the boxes just suddenly which one

ones to open first while I was out on the driveway, taking a short break from the tiring work to admire the gigantic oak tree that stood in the corner of the property with one of its thick branches sneaking up to a window upstairs. I didn't even notice when she snuck up on me. Oh, it's a beautiful house, isn't it? I jumped, startled. Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I turned around and squinted, putting my hand up to my forehead to protect my eyes from the fiery sun. It was a woman, early to mid-forties, short blonde hair in a wavy bob cut. She was dressed professionally in a pencil skirt suit and had a leather binder in her hand. With a smile, she extended her hand.

I shook it. Hi, I'm Amanda. I'm the president of the Homowners Association here. Hello, Amanda, I greeted her. I'm Irfan, Irfan Abbas. I guess we're your newest neighbours. A smile grew broader. Seems to be that way.

Although I'm not your immediate neighbor. Not if three houses down the streets. She chuckled. Glad to have you in our community, If I. Hope you and your family come to love this place as much as we do. I sure hope so, I replied. Never thought we'd make it to a gated community. Oh, it's absolutely perfect, she gushed.

There's a great school just within walking distance. The HOA maintains its own childcare centre And we even have a common swimming pool And a tennis court just around the corner I read about it when I signed the documents for the house I admitted It truly does sound like a dream Like I said, it's perfect

She giggled I wouldn't change it for the world Well I flashed her a warm smile But probably the best thing about living here are the people She added We truly have a sense of community here, you know. We all look out for each other. If anyone needs anything, the rest of us are always willing to help.

I hesitated. Yeah? She frowned. Oh, is everything okay? Yeah, no, no, I said hastily. Everything's fine. I didn't want to tell her about our next door neighbor, who didn't really seem at all happy to see us.

He sat in his cane chair Next to the big flag Proutly fluttering from a pole Mounted on the deck With a permanent scowl on his face As we moved our luggage into the house Oh yeah, don't mean David, do you? She flushed, slightly embarrassed

Please don't mind him David's harmless He's just been a little down Ever since he lost his son He died there, you know, in Afghanistan She leaned forward And added that last part in a whisper We're from Iraq

I clarified. Right, right, she replied dismissively. As I was saying, he's a lovely person. Just give him a chance. I'm sure he'll come round. I nodded. Sure. So, um, if there's anything else? Well, I really do have a lot of work to get done today. Oh yeah, um, before you go.

I looked at her as she fumbled with the clasp of her binder before pulling out a crisp white paper. Here. She handed it to me. This document contains all the rules that the members of the HOA are supposed to follow. Standard stuff about lawn maintenance, house upkeep, and trash collection. My eyes scanned the document. Sure.

Please read it carefully. I will. No. Please. Do read it carefully. I looked at her in confusion. Like I said, I will. Well, her hands shot up like a viper and she grabbed my wrist.

I winced at the vice-like grip she had on me. The smile was gone from her face, replaced by a disturbing mix of fear and frustrated impatience. I must repeat myself again, Mr. Abbas. It's imperative that you read the rules very carefully. She was breathing heavily and had a manic look on her face. There were other residents who refused to follow the rules, or just too lazy to. keep up. Some of them had to eventually sell their houses and move on, and they were the lucky ones. I freed my hand and clenched my fist repeatedly. Are you threatening me right now, Miss Amanda?

Her eyes widened. What? No, please try and understand. Everyone in this community has to follow the rules. Me, you, no exceptions. Bad things start to happen to us if we don't. Things that are, entirely out of our control. She tilted her head and suddenly pointed at David's house. Was she trying to suggest No, can't be. I'll say it once again.

Please take this seriously. There's absolutely nothing strange about the rules themselves, but the consequences of not following them can be painfully out of the norm, because like I said, this place is perfect. But that sort of perfection always comes

the cast. Well, I was getting very weirded out by this conversation, so just nodded as seriously as I could. We will take this with all the seriousness that it deserves, I promise. A smile crossed her face again. Jarring just how quickly she switched expressions. Well, welcome to C-Stor Ridge, Yer-Fan. I decided not to tell my wife about the strange talk I'd had with the president of the H-O-A, at least not while our daughter was around. We could talk about nutty Amanda's strange behaviour and superstitions later in the evening when Abida had gone to bed, arisened. As I strolled into the house,

I saw my wife and daughter sitting on the floor and laughing as they chatted away. Oh, I could feel tears welling up in my eyes as I saw how happy and relaxed they looked. We'd seen so much, been through so much, and to finally be safe and comfortable like this was more than what we could have ever dreamed about. All worries and doubts faded from my mind.

I was just relieved we were all together. Baba! Abida exclaimed when she saw me, her hijab almost slipping off her head. I smiled, placed the document Amanda had given me on an unopened box, and went and joined my family. We spent the whole day trying to make the house livable. We tackled the bedrooms first, and after Abida chose the room upstairs near the oak tree,

I assembled a bed and then moved on to our room down the hall. By the time the sun began to go down, we set up the two bedrooms and gone through most of the work in the kitchenery. We ordered pizza for dinner, and after we ate it, we played a game of Uno before retiring to our bedrooms. There was a lot to be done the next day, not just the packing, but I had to get in touch with my boss, and we had to look at high schools for Abida.

I was so preoccupied with everything that my encounter with the eight CHOA president in the morning completely slit my mind and I didn't tell my wife about it. I would come to regret that. A lot. I was having a fitful sleep, teetering at the edge of weightfulness when a terrible screech ripped through the silence of the night. I sat up straight, my heart racing as another screech erupted and then another, followed by faint sobbing. I took a deep breath to calm myself down. My wife moved. I put a hand on her shoulder.

Don't worry, I got this. It's mitre. She grunted and mushed her head against the pillow. I yawned and rolled out of the bed, put on my slippers and walked out of the room towards Abidus. I flipped on the light switch and saw my daughter sitting up on bed. Her knees drawn close to her chest, shivering and whimpering with a blanket wrapped around her like a cocoon.

Hey, I said gently as I glided over. and sat at the foot of a bed. It's okay. You're safe. She sobbed harder, tears streaming down her cheeks. It's okay, Abida, I repeated. You're safe. Nothing's going to harm you, okay.

Her body got racked with shivers again. Abida, I said. I need you to breathe. Can you do that for me? She nodded. Breathe in. She inhaled. Now hold. One, two, three, four. Now breathe out. We went through her usual exercises.

I asked her to breathe deeply, had her dig her toes into the bed, then asked her to think about the time we'd gone out to eat ice cream in Baghdad, back when her brother was still with us. She began to calm down. I wondered what had triggered the attack this time. Maybe it's a stress of moving into a new home. I didn't have to wander for long, because she told me soon after I hugged her, and it made my blood wrong cold. There was someone at the window, Baba.

I froze. I swear, I'm not lying, she cried. There really was someone there. I jumped out of the bed and raced to the window. There was nothing out there. Only the leaves of the oak tree, scraping against the glass. I spotted the branch of the tree. It was thick enough to support the weight of a person. I couldn't see what he looked like. He just looked like a shadow, but I knew he was there.

He was tapping against the window and didn't stop until I screamed. Fear crashed into me like a hurricane. Could she be telling the truth? Why would she lie? She has no reason to, and she's never lied about something like this before. My mind let back to the conversation I'd had in the morning with Amanda. Could this have something to do with what she was telling me about? No, that's not possible. Bubba, you believe me, right? Yes, Abida, I believe you.

Of course I do. She gulped, put her trembling hand up and pointed at the door behind me. Because I think there was someone downstairs as well. I looked at her in stunned silence, half expecting a hand to slither out of the darkness and wrap itself around my neck like a boa constrictor. Beads of sweat trickled down my brow. I heard first steps, but I wasn't really sure. But then I saw that shadow at the window. Go to your mother, I said fiercely.

Lock the door behind you and call 911. I waited until she'd hurried over to her mother, watched as the door shut behind her with a soft, click and then prepared to move downstairs. My thumb hit the switch on the wall to my right, and the staircase was instantly bathed in a dull orange glow. But beyond that, there was utter darkness. From where I was, it looked like a living thing, shifting and swirling, ready to swallow anything that touched its infernal blackness.

I took a step down and flinched as the floorboards creaked. I swore under my breath and hoped that. the intruder hadn't heard me. I blinked, a sweat, trickled down my jaw and wondered whether I was doing the right thing. Should I go downstairs and check? What if I get attacked? I shook my head. Well, isn't it my job to protect my family? I bolted down the stairs, ignoring the painful creaks and groans and rushed over to where I thought the light switch was, fumbled around for a couple of extremely tense seconds before feeling relieved and my fingers found it my index finger slick with sweat pushed the switch down the living

room was blasted with light I scanned my surroundings the doors were locked I was alone oh my daughter seemed to have imagined it all or at least that's what I thought until my eyes dropped and I noticed the floor in the middle of the living room on the floor someone would use mud to scroll the word welcome the writing was sprawling occupying the space of a small coffee table

there were muddy bootprints that went back and forth from the word probably made by the person who made this little sign I tracked them and my heart sank when I saw where they led to I thought they'd lead to the front or the back door but no They led me to the locked door of the basement.

Part two. Well, I'm telling you, Mr. Abbas. There's no one here. I didn't reply. Just silently watched as the flashlight dipped and wove across the walls of the basement. The small room was cramped. The clutter of the previous owners stacked in it

from floor to ceiling. A faint smell of mold clung to everything like glue. But there was no trace of any intruder there. You saw the boot prints officer, I pointed out. The cop, a Joseph Gorochki, pulled his hat off and scratched his bald head. Are you absolutely sure that your daughter wasn't the one who drew it at all? I gritted my teeth in frustration. Once again, my daughter is not well, but you could be damn sure she's not crazy.

He put his hands up to pacify me. Oh, I didn't mean it that way. But you have to understand. All signs point to it having been done by someone on the inside. Now we've searched the house, top to bottom. Found all the doors to be locked. And you of yourself confirmed that that's the way they were before we arrived. I mean, you opened the basement door in front of us, right?

I nodded solemnly. Right. He made a show of peeking behind a dust riddle table. So that it means that this was done by someone on the inside. And as you say, you have a daughter with a history of PDSD, panic attacks and a whole assortment of mental illnesses. I cut him off. It wasn't it. Please, Mr. Abbas, he said a little firmly this time as he stopped and looked at me.

You should be aware that there are consequences to filing false complaints. Please make sure not to call 911 unless there's an actual emergency. I wanted to argue with him, but what could I say? none of this made any sense how could anyone have gotten in when all the doors and windows big enough for someone to squeeze through were all locked shut and I definitely knew that it wasn't Abida

if you had done this consciously or not I would have known I still remember how badly the stairs creaked and how loud they sounded in the silence of the night look uh perhaps you need a therapist more than the police I didn't respond to that comment and just followed him back upstairs, shooting one last glance at the dark and foreboding-looking basement.

A tall cabinet stood in the corner. An ideal place for someone to hide him. Well, if only its doors hadn't been ripped off. I shook my head and stomped upstairs, reminding myself to replace the incandescent bulb hanging by a string from the ceiling so that I wouldn't have to stumble around in the dark the next time I'm there. Back in the living room, I found Officer Gorochke's partner, officer Schmidt, talking to my wife, who was seated on the only sofa we'd unpacked, protectively hugging our daughter. Are we done here? Joseph Gorochki asked. Yep, his partner replied, flipping his pad shut.

Please, Mrs. Abbas, if there's any actual emergency, don't hesitate to call us. She smiled at him and then shot me an angry look. What was that about? I followed the two cops outside and waited as they got into their car and drove off, lighting up the dark street in quiet flashes of red and blue. The neighbourhood looked so calm, so peaceful. I could hear crickets chattering away, oblivious to the danger my family had just been in. Hard to believe that an intruder had come to our house,

in a place that looked so deceptively safe. As I walked back in, I noticed Abida wasn't there. She was probably back upstairs, but not my wife. No, she was still sitting exactly where I had left her and just lit into me the moment I came in. So, she remarked, anger dripping like molten wax from her voice. When were you going to tell me? Tell you what? I asked, confused.

This, she yelled, picking up a sheet of paper and waving it around angrily. I winced and squeezed my eyes shut. It was the document that Amanda had left for me, one that I'd forgotten to tell Rabia about. How could you, Irfan? How could you hide something this important from me? It just slipped my mind. Sliped your mind, she thundered.

Something that affects your family's safety just slipped your mind? Wait, how do you know about this? I asked. That list of rules didn't contain anything strange. It was just your average HOA staff. So how does she know about the implications of those rules, the ones Amanda had warned me about? That police officer was nice enough to warn me, she replied.

Here he told me everything. He's been patrolling this community for a while now and knows everything that there is to know about this place. Everything that my husband should have told me. I learned from a stranger. It's just nonsense, I mumbled. Excuse me? I rub my eyebrows.

You actually believe in all this, do you? That just because we didn't follow some random rules, we're suddenly being stalked by something supernatural. It's ridiculous. She looked at me like I'd groan another head. Yahrabia, you saw what happened tonight, didn't you? Someone was in our house. They broke in through the door.

that were still locked after they left. I sighed. Funny how you take Allah's name and then state your belief in superstitious nonsense in the same sentence. Well, she glared daggers at me. I tried to de-escalate. But there's a reasonable explanation for all this, Rabia.

I promise. There's no such thing as ghosts or jeans. You know that. Her bottom lip quivered. I'm scared. I'm so scared. I can't lose her too. I just can't.

I won't survive it. I sat down next to her and took her in my arms. Nothing's going to happen to her, okay. I promise I won't let it. She sobbed into my chest as I rubbed her back. I went back to our bedrooms to lie in our beds and waste the night away trying to catch some sleep that would always be just out of reach.

Before going up, I looked at the welcome scribbled on the living room floor and promised myself to scrub it out in the morning. I spent the night in Abida's room as she went and slept next to my wife. Lying in her bed, I turned on my phone's flashlight and read the rules over and over again. Rules for Residents of Seastone Ridge.

1. Grass in the lawns must always be cut shorter than 5 inches. 2. trash collection is on Monday mornings Garbage bins can only be placed outside after sundown on Sunday evenings but must be taken back in by 7am on Tuesday 3 garage doors cannot be kept open for more than 15 minutes

if no work is going on inside 4 reasonable noise limits cannot be breached between 9pm and 7am mowing the lawn is not allowed in this time period 5. Any structural modifications to the house require the approval of the HOA. 6. Only shades of colours approved by the HOA can be used to paint the houses. I rack my brain and tried to remember if we'd inadvertently broken one of the rocks, but I just couldn't come up with anything.

Noise, arbitrary screened, but that only happened after the intruders came. garage door. We were moving in, ergo, working. Maybe the grass. Sure, it could be shorter, but it's not like I'd measured it with a ruler. I've insorted at the fact that I was even entertaining such ridiculous notions, switched off my phone and closed my eyes. Sleep never came to me, as it had been chased away by fear and the resultant adrenaline. Anger was also bubbling in my stomach. How dare they try and traumatise my daughter. Exhausted and asleep deprived, I shuffled downstairs when the darkness began to dissipate and the sun started climbing the horizon. Well, I pretty much scrubbed the living room floor clean

when Rabia joined me after finishing up her morning prayers. She was cold with me, which was understandable, but at least she didn't seem as angry as she was the previous night. As she made breakfast, I started unpacking our stuff. The living room was pretty much done by the time Abedah came downstairs for breakfast. We ate in silence, well, mostly. I'm sorry, Baba, Abedah whispered. It's my fault. It isn't, I replied.

It isn't, okay. I believe you, we believe you. We're going to find out whoever did this and turn them over to the police, okay. Tears ran down her cheeks as I squeezed her hand. Rabia looked at me approvingly. After breakfast I had a short conversation with Rabia and decided to go out and talk to our neighbours about what had happened last night, to check what it was all about and whether it really was an isolated incident or half an often repeated pattern. I didn't find Amanda as she'd gone to work, even on a Sunday, but I didn't meet any other people. And surprisingly, maybe, perhaps not so surprisingly, the conversation always went the same way.

They greet me with a smile on their faces, engage in some awkward small talk and get really uncomfortable when asked about the rules and possible intruders. You should follow the rules. Always follow the rules, they said. None of them claimed to have seen the police last night. The more people had talked with, the more suspicious I became. They were clearly hiding something and I was damn sure it had very little to do with anything unnatural, because that's just impossible. Perhaps the most interesting and illuminating conversation I had was my next-door neighbour, David Easton.

It was the one I was least looking forward to, considering he'd been the most hostile to our presence. There was no wind, and his flag drooped on the pole in a morose manner as I went up to his door, which he opened before I could even knock. The wrinkles on his face churned as he grimaced at me. Hi, I said.

I'm... He interrupted me. I know who you are. Oh, well, I was wondering if you... You don't belong here. I blinked. Excuse me. What?

You don't belong here, he repeated. Vains writhe like worms under his skin and his eyes flitted around. I'll leave. I packed my bags and take my family and drive until C-storm Ridge was nothing but an insignificant speck on my rear-view mirror. Thanks, but no. Listen, friend. He said costically. There are things you don't understand about this place.

Things you couldn't even dream about in your worst nightmares. Leave, or you'll regret it. and then he slammed the door shut in my face. I was in a daze as I lumbered back to my house. There were a thousand different questions zooming around in my brain, a thousand different possibilities that bloomed in a dizzying mosaic. What was happening here? Was there actually something supernatural tormenting the residents of this community?

Or were they all in on it, trying to drive us out of here? But why? Nothing made sense. Each alternative seemed more outlandish than the previous one. I told Rabia about my meetings with our neighbours. She looked very frightened and even suggested just moving out at this place. I reminded of what it had cost to get here and how we'd be in a very precarious financial position if we just upped and left.

She wasn't convinced, but she did go silent after that. After lunch I went around making sure that we were religiously following the rules of the HOA, just to be extra sure. I even measured the length of the grass with one of the rabbit as rulers. Checked the lock on the garage door, made sure that the garbage bin wasn't visible from the outside,

and then went back in to continue unpacking. Just to be sure, I even made a phone call and got the locks changed. Well, things escalated that night anyway. We continued the sleeping arrangements of the previous night. And so after dinner, I took the trash bin out and retired. to Abita's room.

I was so exhausted that my very bones were aching, crying out for some sleep. Even the thought of someone climbing the oak tree and staring at me through the window wasn't enough to keep me alert. I fought hard against the inevitable wave of drowsiness that washed over me. I wanted to be awake in case we got a repeat of last night. And we did. My eyelids were drooping. I was on the verge of sleeping when I heard it.

footsteps inside the house on the staircase they were slow but drawn out and deliberate like the intruder wanted the attention each step led to a creek that was abnormally stretched out

stomp as floorboards made my heart flutter each time they groaned and shifted under the weight of the intruder he must have been halfway up the same stairs when I jumped out of bed and darted outside the room. I double checked and made sure that Rabia and Abida were safely locked inside our bedroom before approaching the staircase.

Boom, boom, shivers ran down my spine as the man rushed down the stairs before coming to an abrupt stop. He was at the landing downstairs and I knew he was watching me, even if I couldn't see him, shrouded as he was by the darkness. I felt horribly exposed under the soft light that spilled out of the bathroom behind me. With trembling hands, I flipped the lights of the stairs on, and my heart pretty much exploded when I saw who, no, what was standing there? It was a man, I think, just all in black with long, matted locks of dark hair

that seemed to frame what looked like the skull of a goat, stripped down to its bow. with sharp horns that protruded from it and curled half a foot above him menacingly. The eyes of this goat-faced man were large and glowed under the light. My knees wobbled in fear and I almost collapsed. And then he bleated. It was shrill, loud, exactly like a goat. My heart raced so fast in my chest, I was afraid I was going to die there and then. There I was. At midnight, in my own home, my sanctuary.

There was a terrifying goat-faced man bleating at me. I was in mortal danger. My family too. I'd never been this friend, not even back in Iraq. Just then when I thought things couldn't get worse, they did. Boom, boom, boom, boom. An explosively loud sound thundered from the outside and continued in rhythm. It was like someone was beating an infernal drum. It was a momentary distraction.

The sound made me turn to my left to look at the window that opened up to the lawn outside. When I looked back, the intruder, that thing, was gone. But the sound didn't stop. I bolted towards the window in Abida's room and peered outside. And there he was, the same goat-faced man, beating on our garbage bin with a hockey stick. Just a couple of seconds ago he'd been right in front of me, in the house, and now suddenly he was outside. I rather, he'd been outside, beating on the bin the whole time he'd been staring me down

inside. I hesitated, the fear stopping me from moving, but not for long. I hurried out of the bedroom, taking his side. second to knock on our room to ask Rabia to call 911 before flying downstairs, skidding across the living room floor and flinging the door open. He was still there, standing next to the bin that he'd emptied out long ago. Trash littered our lawn. He glared at me and began bleating again, the obnoxious sound echoing in the street outside. I don't know what came over me, but I ran towards him. Fear and adrenaline were making.

me act irrationally, but I didn't get very far. I must only have taken a couple of strides when someone turned on the sprinklers. My vision blurred as the warm water crashed into me, and when I shielded my eyes to see clearly, I noticed that he was gone, vanished into thin air again. By this time, Rabia had turned on all the lights in the house, including the ones on the porch. She ran outside and screamed when she saw me. I looked at her in confusion before my eyes dropped to my hands.

They were dark red, just like my clothes. And that's when I understood what the sprinkers had been spraying wasn't water. It was blood. Hey Ontario, come on down to BedMGM Casino and check out our newest exclusive. The price is right, fortune pick. Don't miss out.

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He assured us that a patrol car would swing by at night and they'd come down immediately if things went wrong. His partner, on the other hand, tried to pull me aside to warn me about those rules once again. I exploded. You will do your job. now, Officer Schmidt. Thank you very much. Find out whoever is doing this instead of trying to scare me and my wife with your bullshit campfire stories, okay? Well, he looked flabbergasted. I'm just trying to help. I put my hand up to stop him and noticed it we're still trembling. Don't, or I'll file a complaint of harassment against you. We're scared enough as it is. We don't need you to pile on top

of all that with your nonsense. He tried to say something, but Kadochki stopped him, flashing him a look of annoyance. Hey, leave it, we're done here. The two cops turned on the sprinklers and collected a bottle of the blood that was now saturating the lawn and drove off after the paperwork was done. I stripped off outside, run my wet clothes as much as I reasonably could before going back inside. Rabia refused to so much as even look at me. I figured I'd talk to her after I cleaned up and so hopped into the shower upstairs.

When I came back out, I found Rabia in the room, hurriedly tossing Abbot's clothes into a small suitcase. What are you doing? I asked. Leaving. Leaving. Yes, she muttered. You honestly don't think I'll keep my daughter in this place anymore, do you? We talked about this yesterday. No, she snapped.

You talked, I listened, and I'm done listening. We're leaving now. Slow down a second, Rabia. I said, trying to get in her way. Let's talk about this. It was in our house, Irfan. She yelled, a voice cracking as she shoved me aside. It was in our house.

Again, two nights in a row, and you still don't know how that thing got in. It's madness to stay here, just madness. things are under control I said the cops are involved we're gonna put an end to it okay put an end to what she asked her eyes widening in his aspiration a goat-faced man sneaking in through locked doors sprinklers gushing blood you think the cops can help with that they can't it's it's the work of the shaiton I sighed oh for fuck's sake "'Don't cuss at me,' she spat.

"'You know I'm right. "'You saw it with your own eyes. "'How can you still stand there and say that whatever is going on "'can all be explained with logic?' "'Dam it, Trabia. "'Just because we don't know how this asshole is sneaking "'and doesn't mean it's the devil,' I replied, "'not quite believing myself.

"'The incident has shaken me to the core, "'allowing doubt and fear to slip in through the cracks. "'There are no such thing as ghosts and the devil. it's humans and I'm going to catch them, I swear. And you'll do it alone, she stated firmly. I won't spend another second in this cursed house. And where exactly will you go? A motel or whatever, any place that's not here.

So you'll run away. That's what it takes to protect my child, then yes, I'll run like the wind, she answered. How long are you going to keep running, Rabia? I asked. My jaw clenched. We've been running our whole life. Half of Abedah's childhood were spending cramped bunkers and in the back of trucks. She can't keep living a refugee's life. We have to settle down. For how long are you going to force her to live without roots? As long as it takes, she shot back, because at least she'll be alive this way.

I don't. She cut me off. I won't let you do it. I won't let you get her killed too. She screamed that last part. She was practically frothing at the mouth when she said it. She gasped, instantly regretting what she'd said, but it was too late. The damage was done.

Her words had cut deep, like a butcher's knife, carving pieces out of my soul. I looked at her. blinking to stop tears from pouring out. Do you think... Do you think it's my fault our son is dead? Oh, I didn't mean that, she said hastily. I didn't. It was getting hard to breathe.

He felt like the walls were going to close in around me and swat me like a mosquito. I waved her off and marched out of the room, tears blurring my vision. Weising with silent sobs, racking their chest. I stumbled down the stairs and exited the house before collapsing on the doorstep and weeping like a newborn. I cried as the grief crashed into me all over again. I cried for my boy, cried at the helplessness I felt at not being able to protect my family,

cried until my wife came and sat down beside me before hugging me. She held me and rubbed my back as I blubbered some nonsense about wanting her to trust me. She then led me back upstairs and made sure I went off to sleep. I wasn't even aware of any of it. I had a decent enough sleep that night. Fear, despair and anger fought a losing battle against exhaustion, and I was able to get a bit of rest. It was almost ten o'clock when I woke up.

I ran downstairs. They were still there. Abedah was helping her mother unpacked. My heart fluttered as an intense wave of gratitude and love washed over me, making me shiver. I caught in sick that day, promised to join work when I fell better. My boss was understanding and told me to work from home until I was well again.

We went to Abida's high school after I finished getting dressed, or what we hoped would become her high school. She had very bright chances of getting in, and it was the first bit of good news we'd received after a horrendous couple of days. Seeing the excited smile on my daughter's face as she took in the sights of the campus and made me forget all the messed up stuff I'd see in the night before. In the afternoon I got a call. from Officer Gardoxsky, who told me that the blood results had come back.

It wasn't human blood. No. It belonged to an animal. A pig. Whoever had put that in our plumbing system knew what they were doing. They knew who we were, what our beliefs were, and wanted to intimidate us keeping that in mind. When I told this to Rabia, she freaked out and insisted on making sure that we were still following the HOA's rules.

She obsessively read that nonsensical document over and over again. I spent the day with her ensuring that everything was in order. We cross-checked the colour our house was painted with the approved list of colours, made sure that the garbage cans were not where they shouldn't be, they never were, checked the lock on the garage and even mowed the lawn when we didn't need to, at all. I tried to explain to Rabia that we'd followed the rules to a tea and that whatever was happening here clearly had nothing to do with any of that. It just made her madder and even more obsessive about the rules.

She went out and visited our neighbours herself and came back defeated after learning nothing new. Nothing other than follow the rules. If I'm being honest with myself, I think somewhere deep within me I was lying to myself that by following the rules I wasn't being safe or just doing it for Rabby's sake, but I was starting to believe that our nightly tormentor might actually be a monster. It was very important for me to disprove that once and for all, and so I replaced the light bulb in the basement in preparation for the coming night. I was going to get some answers, one way or another.

We stayed in the rest of the day, finished setting up the house, had an early dinner, and went to bed after watching some Netflix. I sat on a chair next to the bed in Abida's room, waiting for our nightly dulliance with the intruders to begin. I'd vowed to myself that, if nothing else, I was going to find out how the fuck he got into the house despite the locked doors.

And I did, and what I found froze my heart. It didn't take long for the nightmare to begin. I wasn't even close to midnight when the intruder announced its presence. The sound was short, sharp and rhythmic, like something metallic being repeatedly smashed against glass. I sat up straight. The source of that sound was somewhere to my left. I turned my neck just a little, and I saw it.

He was there pressed up against the window, tapping with his gloved hand against the glass. As he saw me looking at his goat-like face, he sped up the tapping until he was knocking on the window in a manic frenzy. My entire body shivered with fear. Move, move, move, move, I screamed at myself, but fear had taken complete control over my senses, and this terror only deepened when he started bleating.

The sound made my blood run cold. It was so unnatural. How could any human being make that noise? Was my wife right? Had I really been messing with something supernatural? He punched the window in and tossed something inside, and smoke began flooding the room with a sharp hiss. Violent coughs exploded from my chest as the smoke stung my eyes and made them water.

It billowed out from that one point, rising until it brushed against the ceiling. So I dropped down and began crawling towards its source. My throat was so parched that each cough scraped against it and threatened to rip the skin off, yet water gushed out of my eyes. I ignored my discomfort and crept crawling forward until my hand wrapped. wrapped around the thing. It was small, cylindrical and so hot it seared my skin off. I winced, but fought through the pane and tossed that smoke grenade right out. The entire room had been filled with thick plumes of smoke, but the fire alarm never went off.

I got up, leaning against the wall to support myself as my chest kept getting racked with lung rattling cops. Reaching the shattered window, I leaned out and saw him. He was a on the lawn, standing still and staring at me. I cursed under my breath, turned around, and began running down the stairs. The smoke bomb had shocked me, but there was still time. I could catch him, find out who he was. I bounded down the stairs, fumbled the keys, and threw the door open, and stumbled outside. Fuck, he was gone.

I went around the outside of the house, ducked under a branch of the tree, and groped around until I found the shell of the smoke grenade, tucked under a slightly overgrown route. As I was inspecting it, I felt light on my face. I looked up. He was there, in the room I'd just been in,

framed in smoke and light that he'd just switched on to grab my attention. I froze, not quite believing my eyes. There's two men, I told myself. Of course that was it. What the fuck else could it be? There's no way he'd moved from out here on the lawn to inside the bedroom just like that, right? That mask was so damn terrifying.

Thick black locks contrasting against the shining white of the goat skull. Those curving horns that oozed malice. I shuddered. He moved, disappearing into the smoke and snagged me out of my fear-induced stupor. I ran back to the front door of the house. leaping through the open door. I was there just in time. Just in time to hear the basement door being slammed shut.

I dashed towards the door, frantically turning the knob, only to find the damn thing locked. What the fuck was happening here? I didn't know, but I knew that I'd find the answer down there. Before going down into the basement, I went back to the front door and locked it, and then jogged upstairs to check. on my family. They were fine, if a little scared. They didn't know about the smoke grenade yet,

as most of it had already dissipated. I think I know how they're getting in, I taught Rabia. I have an idea, and it's the only one that makes any sense. What are you talking about? she asked. No time to explain, I replied. Call the cops, I'll be right back. I didn't wait for a reply and bolted back down the stairs, only coming to a halt outside the door to the basement. I marveled at the fact that I could still run like that at this age. I shook my head and unlocked the door, and I shut it open only to be greeted by foreboding darkness. Time to unlock the secrets of this place.

I took a deep breath, turned on my phone's flashlight, and began climbing down the rickety wooden stairs. I skipped past an unobled. old study table, moved to the center of the room before pulling on the string of the bowl. Warm light with a yellowish hue flooded the room, and I immediately began my investigation. I tossed the old junk around, dust riddle tables, boxes full of kids' toys, stacks of ancient books and so on, and kept on stomping on the floor, kicking up small clouds of dust in the process. I didn't stop until I found it, just behind the tall cabinet with its

door ripped off. As my shoe smashed into the ground, a sound echoed. The ground was hollow, and I knew why. I dropped down to my knees, swept my hands on the filthy floor until my fingers brushed against something astonishingly small and metallic. With trembling hands, I pulled the tiny latch of the trapdoor open and peered down into a small tunnel dug into the floor of my house. Rule number five. Any structural modifications to the house require the approval of the HOA. Part 4 It looked like some oversized worm had borrowed into the floor of my basement, carving out a little tunnel to be used at its leisure. It wasn't too big or too small. There was just enough space for an average-sized man to squeeze through.

I made a split-second decision, clutched my phone tight in my hands and dropped down into the the hole. My feet landed instantly, such that the upper half of my body was still out in the basement. I crouched and crawled into the tunnel through the small fissure near the bottom. The hard ground dug into my elbows and knees as I propelled myself forward. It was cramped, and I could feel the weight of the earth pressing down on my back. The tight, narrow confines of the tunnel made old memories flash through my mind. I remembered hiding in bunkers, huddled together with my family, watching with trepidation as the world shook around us as planes were overhead and dropped bombs that made dust angrily lash our heads and necks. I shook my head to clear my mind.

Can't think about that or I'll pass out in fear, I thought. It was so overwhelmingly dark down there that even my phone's flashlight struggled to light up my way. I couldn't see the end of the tunnel. How long was this thing? Where did it lead to? Who built this? Why? I had so many questions bouncing round in my head that it made my neck hurt. I pushed all thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand. The more I pushed my way through, the more isolated from the world I felt. All it would take is one rumbling, one little yawn from the earth, and I'd be gone forever in a flash, buried under a mountain of debris.

I could practically taste the mud in my mouth, feel it constricting my lungs. I had to stop every now and then to breathe. There were even times when I wanted to turn around, not that I could really, and just wait until the cops arrived. But there was something niggling at the back of my mind, telling me that I had to see this through myself. After what felt like an eternity,

I came upon an opening in the tunnel. I slithered out of it like a snake and found that the passageway had become large enough for me to get on my hands and knees. Sigh and relief as oxygen rushed into my lungs, I began to look around. It seemed impossibly long and went both ways.

I popped out somewhere in the middle of this larger tunnel. Once again I wondered who built this, and for what purpose? I picked a direction and began crawling. My confusion only deepened when I noticed other branches snaking off from the passageway, not dissimilar from the little hole I'd just crawled out of. Did they lead to other houses?

What the fuck? There was a whole network of tunnels right beneath that, our feet. Must have taken a lot of time in planning to build this. But why? I knew I'd find the answers at the end of it all, so I kept on pushing through after returning to place a handkerchief next to the hole that led back home. The end arrived rather suddenly, as it usually does in life, and I smacked into it head first. I gritted my teeth, rubbed my head, and waited for the pain to subside before groping around above me for a trap door. nothing but the immense weight of the earth.

I turned around and went back the way I'd come from. I reasoned that both sides couldn't possibly lead to a dead end. This bigger passage had to lead somewhere. And it did. At this end of the tunnel I found myself crouched down just beneath another trap door. The opening here was much larger and a reason that this is where the dig must have begun. Well, here it goes, I thought.

Just one little push and I'd have all my answers. As I prepared to uncover the mystery surrounding Seastone Ridge, I hoped and prayed that our nighttime intruders weren't waiting for me just out there because that would be a joke of a way to die. I took a deep breath and nudged the trap door open. Just a crack and peered through the tiny slit. Well, it looked like another basement, but who's? I tried to check my surroundings as much as I reasonably could,

and when I was reasonably sure that no one was there, I flung the trapdoor open and climbed out into the basement. The place was quite unlike ours. For one, it was clean. There was no clutter, and secondly, it was a wine cellar. Rows upon rows of floor-to-ceiling shelf stocked with delicately expensive liquor filled up the room. Where the fuck was I?

Well, I didn't have to wait. long to get an answer. I was debating with myself as to what my next step would be when I heard it, keys jiggling as one is being slid into a lock. I slipped into a dark corner and waited. The door swung open. Light from the hallway beyond poured into the basement, footsteps clicking on the stairs. I saw heels and in the hem of a red cocktail dress. And then the laughter. High-pitched, jovial. I recognized it, didn't have to see her face to know who it was, to know whose house I was in. But I got the confirmation anyway as she came down and switched on the lights. I ducked and hid to avoid being seen as she started searching through the shelves,

trying to pick out some suitable liquor for her small house party, allowing me the chance to get a good look at her face through the gap between two wine bottles. It was Amanda, the president of the Homeowners Association of Seastone Ridge. My heart hammered in my chest. What does this all mean, I thought? As president of the HOA, she's got to be aware that there's a tunnel underneath her house, right? Was she the one who's been tormenting us all this time? Using her basement as a launching pad to send that asshole our way.

But maybe not. Maybe it was someone else, and she's completely unaware of it. One of the other residents, or even a former resident, who built these tunnels to purve on his neighbours, and these modifications broke the rules and released some supernatural entity. But that was ridiculous. You can't pull something like this off

without anyone else figuring it out, right? Surely the others know, and if they do, why don't they try to correct the damage by filling these tunnels up? That would have been my first response if I'd known that these tunnels released some subterranean monster. Besides, if that's really what happened, Why aren't the other houses getting harassed with the same intensity that we are?

There was only one obvious answer, and it all went back to Amanda. I didn't stick around for long. As soon as she left the cellar, down I went into the tunnel, crawling my way back to my house. I couldn't for the life of me figure out what was happening here. Was it really Amanda? Were the others involved? Why were they doing this? It seemed like the more I uncovered about the community,

more questions that popped up, like a messed up game of whack-a-mole. I was back in my house before the two cops arrived. They took the used-up smoke grenade as evidence and promised to try and track down where it had come from. They said that a patrol car had come by, but must have missed the intruders. I didn't tell them about the tunnel. I wanted to keep my cards close to my chest and think this thing through. There was no one in this neighbourhood that I fully trusted apart from my family. I saw the cops off, gist my daughter good-night, and talked to Rabia, who didn't once ask me why I'd change out of my suddenly filthy clothes before the cops had arrived.

That intruder is not going to come into this house again, I stated, fully feeling the confidence with which I'd said that. She raised her tired eyes at me, exhaustion and a tiny flicker of hope on her face. How? Are you sure? I kissed her on the forehead. It'll be over soon. Trust me. The next morning found me at my neighbour's doorstep.

I'd thought long and hard about this, and it arrived at the conclusion that I needed to have one more conversation with the guy. It was a surprisingly windy day, and the American flag flew proudly from its pole as I knocked on David Easton's door. It's you, he remarked blandly after opening the door. "'You're still here?'

"'Yes, I am,' I replied, putting my hands on my waist. "'What do you want?' he asked roughly. "'I was wondering if you had an axe or something. "'Why?' "'Well, I'm thinking of cutting down the oak tree next to my house.' "'Did you get permission on the HOA?' "'No. "'You'll be forced to pay a hefty fine.

"'The HOA doesn't—' "'Fuck the HOA.' He paused for a long second, and then his icy facade cracked into a most satisfied grin. Wait just a second now. He shut the door on my face, and I tapped my foot as I waited for him to come back out. He didn't take long. Must have only waited a couple of minutes before he was out, a keychain dangling from his belt. An axe is not going to do it, you know.

He said as he started walking towards his garage without explicitly asking me to follow him. we're not at the age where we can bring down a tree just by swinging her arms speak for yourself old man i muttered he laughed thankfully we have tools that can just help us get the job done without throwing a back set he slipped the key into the padlock and pulled the shutter of his garage up i'm surprised amanda hasn't asked you to bring your garage to the 21st century i said oh my house was here before the h-o-air was formed he replied She can't touch me. There it is, he said, pointing to the power saw placed on a shelf next to his pickup trunk.

This beautiful slice through that wood like it was butter. He yanked open a couple of drawers, looked through some more shelves and retrieved two safety goggles and some flat objects I've never seen before. What's that? I asked. Tree fell in wedges, he answered. Make sure that damn thing doesn't come crashing down on your house. I leaned back to my house and we went around to the side until we reached the oak tree. You really want to bring the whole thing down?

He asked as we stood in the shade of the tree. We could just cut down that branch over there. He pointed to the one that slithered its way up to the window upstairs, the one on which that intruder had been standing when he threw that smoke grenade in. I stared at him. How did you know I have a problem with that one? He shrugged. We stretched the power cord of the saw

through a window and shoved it into a socket in the living room. I winked when Rabia shot me a questioning look, and she shook her head. Once I was back outside, David gestured at me to put on the safety goggles, and then revved up the saw before beginning the cutting process. It took a while, but we sliced that offending branch off, and it crashed into the ground. That fucker wasn't getting in that easily anymore.

It made for some decent firewood, Davy remarked when we were taking a rest, surrounded by wood and sawdust littering the lawn. Yep, it would, I mumbled before raising my voice a little. You know, I met a lot of people here when we first moved in. They all said the same thing. Welcome to the community. Nice to meet you, blah, blah, blah. And then they warned me about the HOA's rules. Every single one of them, except you. He looked at me blankly.

You were warning me, weren't you? I asked. I mean, honestly, warning me. You knew what was wrong with this place and wanted us to get out, to save ourselves, right? He looked away, before gently nodding. You seem like good, honest folk. May no sense to let the darkness of this place infest your lives.

Then why do you stay here? I continued. If you know what's happening here, whatever this is, why stay? Too many fucking memories, he answered. Spend my whole life here. Raised a family. Blaster family.

I'm too old to move out now. I paused and began picking at the log of wood next to me. I heard that you lost your son. He tensed up before his shoulders deflated with a long exhale. A century's worth of exhaustion in that one action. It was an IED blast. Didn't even get the chance to bury him properly. He paused.

I'd spoken to him the night before. His leave had been approved. My boy, he... He was so excited about coming back home. Annie did, just not the way I wanted him to. He sniffled. I lost my son, too. I replied after a couple of heavy seconds.

I still remember it like yesterday. He didn't want to go to school that day. He was faking a cold. I blinked, letting tears fall from my eyes. If I hadn't forced him to go that day, he started to tear up as well. I continued. I saw it happen.

I was there to picking up from school, heard the plane fly overhead, felt the cloud of dust in my face. That smell of charred flesh, desperately sifting through the rubble. My voice began to cry. I found him, you know. He was so broken, my son he...

Couldn't finish my sentence and just broke down crying. David joined me in letting out his grief. There we were. Two fathers who'd lost their sons to what was pretty much the same war, dealing with and pondering over our loss halfway round the world. My chest felt incredibly lighter after having talked with David, and I assumed it was a little bit of a lot of him. the same for him. We cleared the lawn of the fallen wood and carried it back to his truck.

He said he knew how to get rid of it. I was just glad it wasn't littering my lawn anymore. You really should leave, you know. He remarked, once we were back inside his garage. It's far too dangerous to stay here. Might be, I replied, but I can't run away. When we came to this country, my daughter made me promise that we wouldn't run away anymore. Whatever is is, we'll face it head on. His eyes hardened at that. Well then, you're going to need some help. He beckoned me to follow him as he led me to the back of his garage to an iron safe fixed into the wall. He used his keys to open it and pulled out a small pistol, a Beretta M9. Know how to use this? he asked. I nodded. Had to learn along the way.

"'Good,' he said as he pushed it into my hand "'before going back to the safe and getting me a small box of bullets.' "'Are you sure?' I asked. "'Yep,' he replied. "'Do what you can to keep your family safe for your father. "'And maybe when this storm blows over, we can get together for a drink.' I shook his hand, typed the gun into the waistband of my jeans, and walked away before I wound up crying once again.

The air was sizzling with tension as I walked back into my house. I could feel the gazes of the other neighbours like little daggers at the back of my neck, some with a mix of fear and curiosity, others with naked hatred in their eyes. Was that anger because we were still here, or because they'd noticed I cut down the tree, a gross violation of the H-UA's rules? David was right. A storm was brewing in Seastone Ridge, one that would forever change the community. I spent the day with my family, assuring them it would all come to an end the following night. In the afternoon I sat on my computer and got some work done before spending the evening with my family.

My wife cooked up some delicious cussie for dinner, and the lamb was so delicious it made me forget about my worries while I was eating it. And it was Abida's favourite dish too. Rabia only worked as hard as she did to cook it to see her smile. Oh, there's nothing a parent wouldn't do for their child's happiness, is there? I know I'd do absolutely anything, and that's why after Rabia and Abida had gone to bed, I was sitting on a chair in the dark basement, off to the side of the trapdoor with a gun in my lap. That fucker was going to have a nasty surprise when he tried to sneak in this time.

Half an hour before midnight. I was wide awake, tensioned. turning my stomach in knots, body drenched in sweat, hands trembling with excitement. I heard it, shuffling movements just beneath the floor. The trap door moved. I pulled the gun up. Took game. A slight groan, a soft creak.

And the trap door open. Part 5. The trap door swung open with a practice. practiced ease, and dark suet began to emerge. Even in the darkness of the basement, the white of the goat skull stood out bright enough to easily be spotted. The intruder began pulling himself up. Hey, I whispered. The man gasped, startled. He turned sharply. A flash of light, a loud bang. The body jerked over backwards as the wall behind him was painted red. I waited a second for the ringing in my ears to clear before getting up and trotting towards the body. I crinkled my nose at the stench of gumpowder and checked his pulse and confirmed that he

was dead. It must have been one terrifying death. Imagine getting out of a tunnel into a basement to attack a family day after day, having the full confidence of knowing you are going to be alone, and then suddenly one day you're not. It just so happens to be the very last. last day of your life. I had no sympathy for the man I'd just killed. I did what I had to do to protect my home and my family. Leaving the body alone for a moment I got up and poured on the

string hanging from the ceiling, allowing harsh yellow light to flood into the small basement. My actions felt far more real when taken out of the shadows and examined under the light. My heart raced and my legs wobbled as I realized I'd just killed a man, something I hadn't done in over a decade. I closed my eyes and counted to ten to calm myself down. When it felt like I was back in control, I crouched down over the oddly contorted body and began pulling the mask off. It was heavy and the substance with which it had been made was hard, like it was made out of actual bone. I pulled it off and stumbled back when I saw who it was that I was was looking at, who it was that had been invading my house, and who it was that I had just killed.

It was Joseph Gadochki, the cop. I swore under my breath. This man had been showing up each night, promising to find the intruders when he himself was the one tormenting us. But why, though? I searched the corpse, patted his pockets, and retrieved his ID, his wallet, a phone, and some lockpicks. As I continued searching, his shirt bunched up and I noticed some tattoos on his belly. With clammy hands that were shaking wildly, I pulled his shirt up to get a closer look at these tattoos.

My heart sank. His entire torso was tatted up. Swastikers, iron cross, his imperial German flags, hateful phrases like Blut and Er, Weissmacht. His body was a canvas for neo-Nazi imagery. Of course they wanted us out. They hated us for who we were. It was a miracle they hadn't tried to kill us yet. Wait a second, I thought. If this guy was here, then that means his

partner was involved as well. Of a king course. There were two of them. They must be working together to give the false impression that there was only one supernatural monstrosity. It was probably Amanda, who told Schmidt to repeatedly warn Rabia about the rules, to try and reinforce the idea that there was some otherworldly evil entity prancing around in the neighbourhood. All those bastards! The terrible screech pierced the silence that had enveloped the basement. Fuck you. It was Schmidt. He was in the house. I whirled around and began running up the stairs. Flinging the basement door open, I darted to my right,

slipped past the furniture of the living room and arrived at the foot of the stairs that led up to the first floor. Another scream, followed by loud banging, like a hammer pounding a slab of wood. I sprinted up the stairs, taking them two at a time, my chest burning from the lack of oxygen. They arrived at the landing, turned and looked down the hallway.

There he was, swinging away at the master bedroom door with an axe. By all his grace, the wood was so. strong I was still holding on, though some wide cracks had started to show. I took a deep breath to steady myself as Officer Schmidt continued bringing his axe down on the door. I couldn't rush this. My family was just beyond that door, and I couldn't with a hundred percent certainty, assume that they weren't in the line of fire. I couldn't miss. I had to get the bastard with this one shot. I brought the gun up, exhaled, waited from my head. I waited for my hand to stop shaking and squeezed the trigger. The bullet hit him in the back of his neck and he

folded, slumping against the door with a sickening crunch. I tucked the gun in my belt, strode over to the body and pulled it off the door. Popping his mask off, I confirmed that it was Officer Schmidt's body before getting up and knocking on the door. Rabia, I said, my voice shaky from the adrenaline. Open the door. It's my me. I heard footsteps, and then the door was thrown open. My wife and daughter jumped into my arms, and I comforted them. It's over now. It's over for good. Side-stepping the corpse of Officer Schmidt, I brought my family to Abida's room and gave them a quick rundown on what had happened. Abida looked horrified at the scale of it all, while Rabia seemed angry that I didn't tell her

about the tunnel, or the gun that David had lent me. I was going to be in a lot of trouble, and it was going to be in a lot of trouble for the lies and the secrets, but I was fine with that. I had my reasons for going about things the way I did. They both gauped at me in shock when I told them that the HOA was behind all this, and that the two men I'd just killed were the cops who'd been coming to our house under the pretext of helping us, and they were, in fact, the reason why we called 911 in the first place. I wasn't finished talking when the bedroom windows in the room were lit up with flashes of red

and blue. Looks like the police are here, Rabia stated, relieved. It's finally over. But my eyes widened in alarm. What's wrong here, Fon? she asked. I put my finger on my lips and told her to be quiet. I tiptoed over to the window, the one that opened up to the lawn, and not the one that was smashed last night.

Pulled aside the curtains and peered outside. There were two cop cars and dozens of people, our neighbours out on my lawn. How did the police get there so quickly? We didn't call them. And that means it must have been one of the neighbours. And the fact that they hadn't done so in the last couple of days, but chose to do so now, made anxiety worm its way into my belly. Were there other members of the local law enforcement who were involved in this shit? While my suspicions were confirmed when I saw Amanda chatting with me.

the cops. They're not here to help us, I whispered. What? Rabia asked. They've come to finish the job. I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket, and it nearly gave me a heart attack. I breathed out in relief when I saw who was calling. Hello, I said, answering the call.

Don't let them in. David's voice crackled into my ears. There, Nazis. I said, I know. Yeah, yeah, they are. I heard gunshots. Did you... Yes.

He paused. You need to get out of there. They won't let us, I pointed out. You have no choice now, he said, cutting the call. I deliberated on our options. Should we do as David says and try and escape? Or try and reason with them? Well, there's no way we can talk.

not after I'd killed two of them. Try and fight and wait for some good police to come out. But would they? How many cops are in on this? And could we last until then? I had just the one gun who knew what they were packing. Mr. Abbas, a loud voice boomed, cutting off my chain of thought. I crawled to the window and peaked outside.

One of the cops was speaking into an electric megaphone. We received a complaint about gunshots from your house. If everything, it's... Amanda snatched the mic away from him. You killed them, didn't you? She shrieked. You'll pay for this, you mother. Oh, I'm going to slaughter you all.

There won't be enough pieces of you left to bury, you goat fucking piece of shit. She threw the mic back at the cop and screamed at him. He looked offended, but nodded his head. He signalled at the other cops and they began moving towards the house. I panicked, took the gun out and pushed the window open and fired at the invaders, emptying the clip in one goal. I was terrified, but my aim wasn't that bad. They were running in the open, and I got two of them, one in the eyeball and the other in the neck. Blood sprayed out of their wounds like punctured water blooms, and they both crashed into the ground ungracefully.

My wife and daughter let out muffled screams of fear. The remaining cops retreated, finding cover behind their cars as the other neighbours scattered away like ants from a flooded nest. Some would return, however, lugging rifles and pistols of different makes. Together, the cops and residents of Seastone Ridge began their assault on our home, trying to turn the walls of our house into swish cheese. I fell down and hugged the floor, instructing my family to do the same. The world exploded around us in a hail of deafening gunfire. Shattered glass, bits of concrete, splintered wood rained down on us as bullets mercilessly punched into the house.

I crawled out of the bedroom and motioned to my wife to follow me. I spotted Abida shivering on the floor, her ears covered, eyes squeezed shut. I grabbed her leg and shook it. She kicked and pulled her leg away. We have to go! I screamed, trying to make myself hurt over the gunshots. No! I shook her leg again. finally getting her attention.

Her eyes were wide and the whole body was trembling. Oh, damn it not now. It would be beyond terrible if she were to have a panic attack with all this going on. We have to go, I mouthed at her, and she nodded. Good. I told Abedda to stick close to me and we began moving downstairs. She was still shaking so badly, it both scared and angered me. Those Nazi bastards

As we crawled down like worms Bullets punch through the wall Allowing moonlight to filter in Lighting up the staircase in the process It was terrifying One stroke of bad luck One misstep and we were dead But luck was on our side that night

Not theirs And we made it to the bottom safely Surprisingly enough As we reached the living room We noticed that bullets were no longer entering the house though the gunfire continued unabated. I didn't figure out until later what had happened. The pause in bullets whizzing past us gave me a bit of confidence,

and I got up on my hands and knees and sped up as I made my way to the kitchen. Abida and Rabia followed suit, reaching the door that opened to the garage. I got up and shoved it open. Get in, I yelled, opening the car doors, the gunfire sounding even louder in the garage. Don there! I pushed them onto the floor of the car, in the space between the front and the back seats.

After making sure they were safely tucked in, I leapt into the driver's seat. I revved the car up before clicking the button to slide the automatic garage door open, thanking the stars that it wasn't like the door David had in his garage. Muzzle flashes brighten my vision as the door went up, revealing the outside to me. I noticed many bodies sprawled on the ground, far more than I'd last seen. What had happened here? I got my answer when I pressed my foot on the gas, zoomed out of the garage and entered the street.

The cops and the HOA were no longer firing at our house because they were busy shooting at David's place, who had surprised them and laid waste to about half their numbers. As the car skidded on the asphalt and made a sharp turn, out of the corner of my eye I even spotted Amanda lifelessly slumped against a cock car. It seemed like David had another gun hidden away. somewhere. Stay safe, my friend, I thought, as I tore through the neighbourhood, leaving the grotesque

war behind in the rear-view mirror. They peppered us with bullets, blowing out the rear windshield, but we safely made it to the front gate of Seastone Ridge, only to find it, locked. The staccato gunfire had trailed off to the odd shot here and there. I climbed out of the car and tried to pry the gate open, when the bullet sparked against it, inches from my hand. I ducked and hid behind the car. Racing against the hood, I pushed my legs against the gate after pulling the latch open. Another bullet smashed into the side of the car. I swore and took my gun out of the glove box. It was empty. I slid the magazine out and began shoving some bullets into it. The security guard of the community jumped out from behind a wall and

began jogging towards us, a rifle in hand. Oh, damn, not now. Not now. Not like this, not when we were so close. Baba, Abbottis said, her head rising. My eyes widened. The car got close to the car, brought his gun up. He had her in his sight.

But I was quicker, and my aim was perfect. I opened up a hole in the middle of his forehead, jumped back into the car, and drove out to the neighbourhood. That night our neighbourhood was witnessed to unbelievable carnage. Over a dozen corpses littered the streets and probably worth millions was destroyed.

But that wasn't the worst of it. No. David, that clever bastard, baited some of them into coming down into the underground tunnel and set off a minor explosion, burying them alive. And that marked the end of that assault. The events of that night had far-reaching consequences for our small town. The local police department was utterly destroyed, many of its personnel, including some senior officers, were exposed for having links to local neo-Nazi gangs.

Some were arrested, some were fired. Others got away with plausible deniability, but they never bothered anyone again. Over half the neighbourhood was put behind bars, at least those who survived. We finally found out what Amanda and her coterie wanted. Their plan was to establish a semi-autonomous white nation state that had very limited contact with the outside world and allowed no minorities. They screwed up by not buying off the realtor, I guess. One little mistake and Amanda ended up with a hole in her face, courtesy of one David Easton. Oh, he survived, by the way. Tough bastard escaped out the back door while they were invading his house.

He was upset about having to do all that repair work, but civil lawsuits ensured he didn't have to spend much out of his own pockets. We moved back into C. Stone Ridge. The money we got from the lawsuits was enough to put Abida through college and rebuild the house from the ground up. Rabia, bless her soul, stayed with me despite my utterly reckless behaviour. We got counselling and have come out as a stronger couple. Things are different in C. Stone Ridge now. The HOA has been disbanded. A Korean family has moved into Amanda's house.

There's genuine happiness in the air now. It feels like a real neighbourhood, with barbecues and all. And sometimes on the weekends, David and I sit out on his deck, drink beer, and talk about our children. Burning down the Ozarks. Another day, another dollar, towards beer money. I thought as I pulled into my company's parking room. As I walked into the office, I heard the gruff, deep voice of my manager Jerry say, Hey Bob, you're going out of area today.

Out of area, meaning I was going to be driving to the middle of nowhere, get maybe one job completed, and have to be back here by Sunday. As I was pondering my shitty situation, Jerry walked up to me and slapped me on the back like a mildly alcoholic dad who doesn't know the meaning of too hard and said, You hear me, Bobby? Yep, I'm making less money for the good of the company, right? Jerry's brow furrowed.

The sarcasm in my voice was almost beyond his grasp, but eventually he got it. Listen here, your little ass clown. The company will pay you double for your gas. Take your drive into account for your bonus and give you a free service for your truck. They treat us good if you do good by them. Jerry, I, portly, bawding, middle-aged, middle manager, gave the same speech and the same tone to anyone who'd ever complained about doing anything extra. Of course, though, I had to ask him why the heck I have to ask him why the heck I have to do. to do it today.

It is Roger, Jerry said, referring to the guy that worked the northernmost tip of our area, decided that he hated you and called off this morning. Yeah, but why am I the one

who has to take his work? I asked. Marley surprised of Jerry's own sarcasm. Because I think you're a limp-dead asshole and needs to learn him some work ethic.

Don't go talking about how you served in the Marines and you worked hard of blah, blah, blah. I fought in the golf under General H-Sh Norman Schwarzkopf and I know hard work. People like you turned the Corps into a bunch of pussies.

Oh, Jerry, if you didn't notice, was a Marine like myself. But he served in the Corps in the time before the Pussy Generation, as he so eloquently dubbed millennials. But to be honest, he was a warehouse manager, like he is now, while when I was in the Corps, I was busy dodging and pissed off Taliban snipers and IEDs to screw him. Yeah, I know, Jerry, I'm a pussy because I actually wore my body armor, but anyhow, before we start a dick measuring contest, where the hell am I going? I asked, trying to avoid our normal arguments. Jerry sighed and said, out in the Ozarks near Grand Gap.

Grand Gap, literally a post office in a general store smack dab in the middle of a massive forest. This place is on a side road driveway that goes for about to be a small road. two miles off of AR-7. The customer needs two rooms done with a satellite dish set up. Jerry finished. He sounded like he may have felt bad because he knew how much I hate setting up those dishes. On top of that, the chance of us actually getting a signal for the satellite was little to none. So, I'm driving 120 miles out to the mountain so I can tell some backwards inbred that he can't get his TV because of the trees.

God, must have been a murder in a mass life, man. I complained. Yes, Jerry, I friggin' know I'll be compensated regardless. A couple of minutes later I loaded up my truck and started the long trip north into the mountains and away from the safety of familiarity. I knew the drive would take well over an hour and a half on relatively empty roads, so I started to let my mind wander. I'd been with cable satellites and more for about two years now, and it still amazes me

I haven't quit and or killed myself yet. The hours suck, the pays subpar, and I've been. The upper management spends most of their time on their knees sucking off the big cable companies, begging for scraps. Now, you may be asking yourself, how the hell did a combat veteran with access to the GI Bill and four years of leadership training end up installing cable in Arkansas? Well, the best way to answer that is, instead of taking classes and getting a skilled labor job, I wanted to be a badass. At 18, I only wanted one gig, the infantry. gives you the ability to act under pressure and learn how to lead men into combat. But when you get out, most jobs want people with applicable skills.

So I tried college. A state school filled with former professionals turned professors, expansive libraries brewing with information, companies from all over the world recruiting to get the pick of the best candidates. Oh, and girls, lots and lots of girls. I probably don't have to tell you, but I only paid attention to the last one. You see when you spend four years of your life surrounded by dudes, plethora of chicks in yoga pants kind of distracts you. Seriously, being the only non-bearded, non-vaping alpha male on campus got me laid a lot. Like I'm talking Ron Jeremy's hairy ass would have been jealous of me.

Well, for my frequency of fornication, not my GPA. But shit happens. And I got this gig while I was directionless. Oh, directionless, by the way, is the word used to describe me by my, court-appointed therapist. I'll leave most of the details out, but some punk bitch decided to tell me not to sleep with his girlfriend while I was at state. I decided him eating my fist would be the best way for me to convey my feeling of distaste for his sentiment. One thing led to another, I have to go see a shrink for my PTSD. PTSD my ass. I liked what I did over there. Get up,

go on patrol, possibly shoot some Hodgies, and go back to the FOB. Simple. Now life's complicated. Got to pay rent. I have to be politically correct. And I can't shoot anyone, even the people who drive slowly in the left freaking lane. Well, whatever. Maybe I'll be lucky, and whoever this customer is will be a super hot art student, staying at her parents' cabin for winter break. She'll answer the door half naked. Take one look at my manly frame, hopefully ignoring the patch hanging over my belt, and invite me in to help her keep warm for the winter. I let my thoughts wander, thinking about the pretty blonde, maybe brunette waiting for me. Looking back, I really wish that was the case.

As I got closer to the address, the GPS on my phone started acting a bit finicky, but it was able to steer me to the right driveway. Well, driveway was a word, but it was more or less a dirt path shrouded by old as hell white oak and cottonwood. I heard leaves and pines crackle under the weight of my truck as I steered down the narrow track As I drove deeper

I noticed that this part of the forest was dense And it barely touched See I went camping in the Ozarks Every year with my dad until I was 17 Almost everywhere we went You could tell the woods have been affected by people in some way You know, random piece of trash Carved initials of young lovers

Tire or human tracks and all that shit These trees, this path and everything it encompassed seem to have remained unscathed, even though someone apparently lived out here. It was strange to say the least, especially because there seemed to be no tire tracks going up the driveway. The path dragged on and on, and it seemed to narrow out to the point where I didn't think I could fit my truck on it much longer. Then I saw a small patch of brighter earth and an open area about 200 yards ahead of me.

I silently thanked the man upstairs, that I wouldn't have to lug all my equipment through the woods. As I approached the opening, I caught my first glimpse of the house, or better yet, a shit pile that I'd be working on today. It stood, well, slumped, at around two stories, with rotted wood siding, and maybe two out of ten windows not smashed in.

The front lawn was just dirt, leaves and pines scattered around. I couldn't freaking believe my eyes. God, how am I supposed to install TV boxes when there's no power, I thought. I guess it's probably some redneck with a makeshift wind turbine strapped to a tree. Probably going to ask why he can't get his NASCAR. I scanned for the front door and I saw a dilapidated plank

covering the largest of the house's orifices. I decided that was my best bet as a front door. At this point, I was just honestly hoping no one was home. There was no car. Everything was overrun and I couldn't possibly be a decent source of power anywhere on this property. but God was definitely not on my side that day. As I approached the front door,

I saw movement beyond one of the non-smashed-in windows. I may have seen some shit overseas, but someone actually living out here in this busted house couldn't be someone I wanted to be alone with. But if I didn't at least try to complete the job, I wouldn't get paid any bonus. As I arrived to the plank door, I slowly reached my hand to knock,

but before I could reach it, it swung open. Behind the door was a person, at least what was left of a person after spending a few months at a concentration camp. This guy stood at six foot tall, no more than 120 pounds. Wide as a ghost and seemed to be made of only bones and thinly stretched skin. It looked like someone had sucked all the fat and sinew out of his body. But the creepiest part was his eyes. They seemed empty, the pupil so expansive that I couldn't make out the color and barely see the whites. I realized I've been staring and looked down at my paperwork.

Good morning, sir. Is this the residence of Mr. Vidher? I barely got it out before he opened the black hole that was his mouth. Why have you come? His words rolled off his tongue, heavily laden with a thick, syrupy Scandinavian accent. Here I was trying to install a satellite for Count Dracula. He doesn't ask me what I want or who I am, but why have I come? Who the hell says that?

I'm your cable technician. Here to get your TV set up, my stammered. It was all I could do to get out of his pitch black eyes staring right through me. He continued to stare for what felt like an hour until he opened the hole in his face. Oh yes, come forth into my house. I'll show you where you'll be working, but be warned. I do not like anything in my home touched. Your business here is the television's office.

only is that understood. This guy looked like a freaking skeletal, and sounds like a James Bond villain, I thought. Well, aloud, I said. Yes, sir, I won't touch any of your stuff, or nignacs or personals. Just want to set up the TVs and head back to Little Rock. He stared at me for a second

and turned back towards the dark house, beckoning for me to follow. As I trailed my gaunt host into the ramshackle house, I couldn't help but notice the nauseating sense, of decaying meat, mixed with a tinge of rustic copper. It was as if I'd wandered into an abandoned slaughterhouse, and I could smell the years of blood and decomposition of millions of animal parts. Don't think like that, man.

This guy's probably a hunter. Lives off the grid and finally decided he missed ESPN and called us up, I thought. But the smell wasn't the only off-putting characteristic of Mr. Vidher's home. It was the decor, or rather lack thereof. The front door opened directly into what can barely be described as a living room. The only sign of the natural human lived here was a decrepit rocking chair that looked like it was the sole survivor of Dresden. The wood was badly scorched, and the only parts that weren't burned were heavily frayed. I felt like if I sat down in it, I'd be pulling a thousand splinters out of my ass and wiping flecks of charred wood off my pants for eternity.

I took my eyes off the chair and finally saw the TV I'd be connected. the receiver to. Now I say TV sarcastly because I'm pretty sure the set I grew up with 29 years ago was more advanced. I saw that the ancient beast still had the original wood paneling and everything. I hope to God I had some sort of adapter in the truck because no way I was telling Dr. Frankenstein I didn't have the parts. Now, this is the first television. It is a zenith from 1949. I was told your company specialized in connecting new age media to these types of T-Empers. to these types of TV sets. Am I correct?

Mr. Vidher turned and looked at me with his empty eyes as he asked this. I should be, I can always figure it out. I lied. The oldest TV I'd set up was from the 90s. I am so screwed, I thought. I'm going to punch that punk bitch, Roger in the freaking throat as soon as I see him.

Asshole better buy me a beer for calling out. Good. be very disappointed if I do not have my shows. Vidher, I think, smiled as he said this and put an intense emphasis on very. He let me pause in the living room to assess the back of the TV. One look was all I needed. One look told me I was utterly fucked. This TV did not have a single connection I recognised, but I had an idea. The job description I'd received for Mr. Vidher stated he did not want satellite on the roof. He wanted it on a pole,

and from my experiences with these types of mounts, there is a high chance that this guy won't get a signal, or the ground ain't right for a mount. All I had to do was take my satellite reader and pretend there wasn't a trace of a signal. Oh, and I forgot to mention, explains this guy he wasn't getting his shows until my manager came out and verified it.

Yeah, fuck it. Jerry can die for the company he loves. I'll get over it. As my spirit started to light it, and my mood turned from depressed and terrified to less depressed and slightly hopeful, my customer decided I was staring at his TV for too long. I'll lead you to the next TV. Hopefully this one will not take too long for you to study.

He sounded pissed, so I gave him the go-ahead to bring me further into his creepy-ass house. So I saw the power outlet behind the TV, but no power lines to the house. Is there a generator connected somewhere? I had to ask because I didn't hear the loud hum of a generator, nor did I see any sign of power being run to the house. My host turned to look at me with his vacant eyes and hissed, how my homework should not concern you. As he said this, I could see what little blood this guy had in his body rush up to his face.

He was angry and seemed barely able to contain it. He turned back around and started heading further and faster towards the back of the house. I was about to apologize as I thought to keep up with him, but something caught my eye. There was a picture on the wall, one of those old-timey portraits you see in people's grandparents' house. I could only get a quick look, but from what I could tell, even in black and white, one of the men in the portrait looked exactly like Mr. Vidhair, like to a tea. The only difference was the guy in the picture had normal eyes and didn't look so disproportionate. I couldn't be him.

This picture had to be from the 1880s. or something. Weird hair stopped abruptly before I could finish studying the picture and pointed toward an open doorway to our right. He said, this is where the last TV is, and it is exactly like the first one. Do you need to stare at it incessantly, or will the information I have given you be enough? As he asked this, I could literally feel the sarcasm and frustration pouring out of him. Oh, what the fuck is this guy's problem, I thought. Then aloud, I said, with a false smile. Just knowing the type and where it is will be enough for me.

The weirdos seemed satisfied with my answer, and took me a bit further to a back door, flanked by two more busted out windows. He opened the door and walked through them to the backyard, which was as equally dishevelled as the front. Okay, sir, I know you want the satellites somewhere in the yard, so I'm going to go ahead and try and find a signal. I'll come knock on the door when I do.

He looked at me, said, I will stay outside. You seem young and I generally do not trust the youth. The fuck, he is supposed to respond to that. I looked over at Mr. Creep, he and said, um, okay, well, it's kind of boring, but feel free to watch. No other way to follow someone telling you he doesn't trust you. Well, who could blame him, I was planning on saying there was no signal, even if there was one, and going home. As I started wandering around the yard, hitting random buttons on my signal finder to further help my goal of pretending to find a signal, I was able to take in more of my host.

His eyes and ugly-ass-faced kept me from looking at what he was wearing. His clothing looked as worn as he did. His long black coat was covered in Irish penance and his white. Button-up shirt was slathered in old stains. Jeez, this guy really is all kinds of fucked up, I thought. As I was wandering around the yard, I also noticed something else. that was a bit suspect. Every three to five yards or so,

there seemed to me little holes recently covered up. It was like he was planting a garden, or maybe some trees. Well, I would have asked, but he was clearly not much of a conversationalist. After about ten minutes of drifting around and hitting random buttons, my host's eyes never left me. I decided it was now or never to tell him I had no signal. Sir, I hate to say this, but due to the trees in the area, I have no line to your provided satellite.

To me, the only option would be to remove some of the foliage. I was barely able to finish before the anger flashed in his big dead eyes and the blood rushed to his face again. You will not touch any of my trees. They are precious to me. As he screamed this, he closed the ten-yard gap between us in three steps. And you will give me my shows. He was so close to me by this point that the lifeless,

holes on his face were mere centimetres away. Okay, this was my final freaking straw with this goddamn psycho. But alas, I'd lose my gig if I blew up on one more customer. I took a deep breath and said in my best customer service voice. I understand you're upset, sir. I think the best way to resolve this dilemma is to try and get my manager out here. To myself, I thought. Fuck, Jerry.

Let's see how tough his old core is when he meets this criss. crazy mother. As I said this, Vidha seemed to settle down and the blood stopped pooling in his face. Very well, but you must know I care very deeply about my forest. You mustn't harm it in any way. He said, still containing a hint of his anger. What needs to be done next? Well, I need to go get the proper forms you to sign, and then we can go ahead and call Jerry, my manager. Don't worry about the trees. We won't touch them. I said, trying not to smote. work. Is this Jerry as insolent as you, and as uncaring about Moe Forest? He asked with heavy disdain. I looked up at him, trying with all my might not to look pissed and said,

only slightly sarcasticly I might add. Not at all. He's a perfect gentleman, and he loves trees. I mean, the guy has at least 12 in his backyard. Somehow they satisfied the tree-loving psycho. Okay, well, I'm going to run over to my truck and get the forms. One of me, me inside i asked hoping he'd say no and i wouldn't have to go back into that terrifying place no i'll be out here waiting as he said this he seemed to root himself on the spot he was standing like his trees and remained unmoving i took this as my sign to get the fuck back to my truck and get jerry's fat ass out here not wanting to go through that horror show of a house i took the long way around the side and back to the safety of my waiting truck.

As I passed the side of the house, I saw something that caught my eye. A massive painting was hung on the wall, possibly being the only object not completely dilapidated, but still very creepy. The painting was of a massive tree, but it looked like all the branches ended with a human head with no eyes and dripping out blood.

But the trunk of the tree decided it had to outdo the branches in the most fucked up contest ever. The trunk was shaped like a man whose legs were firmly rooted into the ground His body straight as an arrow and its arms held high in the air Turning into the aforementioned branches But the face of the trunk man took the cake for the macabre challenge The mouth was locked in a permanent scream Spewing rivulets of blood that pulled up at the tree's roots

The eyes were wide open seemingly fixated on the branches above as if in a trance with the gorse stained scene going on above its head What the I mumbled to myself If you were smart Bobby you'd leave But alas I'm a dumb redneck grunt from Little Rock And I refused to leave

Until the paperwork was signed I had bills to pay So I decided to ignore the massive evidence That this place was probably not too safe And continued onto my truck As I approached my truck I couldn't help but notice that it looked significantly lower

Now before you have to ask yes my truck was lifted and I may or may not be compensating for something regardless of my inadequacies as I got closer I saw that my two front tires had gone flat I said aloud to myself me sideways how the I nearly yelled that last fuck but I kept it down so I wouldn't have to deal with vid her I walked over to my now useless vehicle and inspected the tires and when I realized what had happened I silently cursed myself Since I'd been so busy trying to avoid lugging equipment around, I hadn't noticed I'd part directly on top of an upraised tree route.

Now I had to not only make Jerry come here, but I'd need him to pick me up some spares. He was going to be pissed. I took one more look at the depressing sight that was my lifted 24-inch custom tires and opened the front cap. I started fumbling around with my little folder filled with different paperwork until I found the right documents. Thankfully, I had one copy left.

First good news of the freaking day. The shitty part of the no-signal process is that you need the customer to verbally confirm with the manager that they want the site to shoot confirmed. You don't ask me why, probably some legal bullshit. As I started making my way back to the yard, this time I took the site that didn't have the creepy-earst painting on it. So I arrived again to the backyard. I couldn't help but notice the absence of Mr. Vidhead. Oh shit, I muttered to myself. I headed towards where he was last standing.

Maybe he was taking a leap behind one of his precious trees, and God knows there was no plumbing in that horror house. I made my way towards the end of the yard, carefully avoiding the little mounds and started scanning the tree line. After about 30 seconds, I started to turn away and make the walk to the front door, hoping that he didn't want me to come inside. But as I was turning, I caught a glimpse of something. black billowing about a hundred yards away in the woods. I moved in a bit closer and further away

from the house and could sort of make out the object. God, it was Vidher's jacket. As I took a closer look, I then saw a black boot only a few feet from where I was standing, another roughly 30 yards past that. Did this guy just strip down and wander into the woods? Well, this was it. The weirdest this freaking day of my life. Oh, you may be thinking, why didn't I bug it and flagged down the first car I saw and get the hell out of Dodge? Well, the answer is, I'm an idiot,

and I'm curious by nature. Also, I couldn't just leave a job. It would apparently jeopardize a trust between my small company and the big ones we contract for. My next step would be to call Jerry and figure out what the hell I need to do. I pulled up my phone and hit Jerry's number. As I waited for the familiar

gruff voice to ask, What the phone do you want? The phone cut off. I looked down at my screen and saw the dreaded call was lost tag pop in front of the screen. Fucked me right in the goddamn ass. I tried again and this time it wouldn't even ring once. I started wandering around the backyard, hoping there was a stronger signal somewhere.

I finally gave up. My efforts were fruitless. It dawned on me that Jerry was with one of our new guys today. up near Mountain View, about a hundred miles east of where I was and a good two-hour drive. Well, on top of that, the call service may have been even worse out there. No other manager was in today. Even if I could get service, they wouldn't pick up. My only option was to call the dispatch office for the satellite company.

The folks over there have about zero sympathy for us not completing a job that was given to us, but having someone at least be aware of my situation may stop me from being canned. I made my way to the front yard and thankfully family. a single bar of service. Just in case I tried Jerry again, but not. I started scrolling through my contacts list and found the number I was looking for.

It started ringing, thank God for small miracles, and thankfully I heard a pleasant female voice. Thank you for calling Northern Star. The number one satellite TV provider in North America. How can I assist you today? Wow, all this time saying I got someone a call and I had no idea what to tell them exactly. um yeah i'm a contractor out of little rock and i um have a bit of an issue with my current appointment

i waited for a moment and i heard the lady sigh and say in an annoyed voice you try calling your manager oh these freaking heartless of bastards i needed a small amount of assistance but it was too much of a freaking problem to take a call s o p dictates you speak to your manager before calling us i've heard that a hundred and 50 times. I wanted to say, bitch, he has no service. I better got this call going,

but instead I tried a more diplomatic approach. I apologize. I know this isn't standard, but I can't reach my boss. He's out of service. I waited, praying she'd have some sympathy in her heart. Okay, sir, I'll transfer you to our area dispatcher, prepare to hold.

And like that, I was sitting there in the middle of nowhere listening to the soft melodies of logins and Messina while I waited for the dispatcher. The music abruptly stopped and I heard an equally pleasant yet male voice on the other end. Hey, this is Jack. I heard you got a problem out there in Little Rock. Thank God this guy wasn't a dick. Hey Jack, I've got some weird stuff going on out here and I'm definitely nowhere near Little Rock. I'm in the Ozarks, deep down in some backwood stuck at an MIA customer. I blurted out.

Oh, it's it, the job number. Here it is. 306-742. I heard Jack typing away at his keyboard, and a few mouse clicks later, he said, Okay, Mr. Vidhair. Oh, yeah, he's totally out of your work area. How'd you end up out there?

A freaking call-out, man, I said, realizing these phone calls may be monitored, and I should ease up on the cussing. Okay, so you said he is M-I-A, like, He isn't at home? No, Jack. I went to my truck to grab some stuff. I mean, shit, stuff.

I came back and this guy was just gone. Weirdest part, though, I saw a trail of his clothes leading out into the forest. Like, his clothes. Yeah, man, his clothes. From what I could see, it was his jacket and both his boots. Even I was starting to think this was made up. There was no way this guy believed me. Well, I'm looking through all my notes here,

and there's not a single S-O-P. explaining what to do if a customer wanders off into the woods. When I'm pulling up some satellite images of the area, and I do see a small pond formation about a half-kilometer from his house. Maybe he went swimming. As he said this, I could hear him stifling his laughter. But I know this sounds crazy. There's a whole bunch of creepy-ass stuff going on around here.

This guy's terrifying looking. The house is barren except for an almost 70-year-old zenith and a rusty-ass rocking chair, and not to mention this painting, I replied. hearing the frustration in my own voice. Painting, Jack asked, either moved by my tirade or trying to avoid a confrontation with a crazy person.

I couldn't tell, but he definitely sounded less light-hearted. After he asked this, I gave him a brief description of the picture I'd seen, what the guy looked like, and even the weird little mounds, and for a fleeting moment, he was silent. I don't know how to tell you this, but as long as he wasn't adjuded to you or under the influence of alcohol, he's going to need the paperwork signs. Jack stated, a matter of fairly.

But to me, that would be absurd. This whole situation sounds crazier than a group of shithouse rats, and I think you should call it a day. I mean, I wouldn't want to be there, and I'm sure your company would let it slide if you said you felt uncomfortable. I like this guy. He didn't just state the guidelines and hang up. He reacted in a logical manner and said something a non-office drone would say.

I thought I'd made a company man who thinks like an actual person. Well, I'd say the solution would cover the rest of my problems, but I've got another issue. My two front tires are blown and I only got one spare, I said, hearing the defeat in my voice. Well, don't worry about it. I'll contact a local... As Jack was about to offer me my salvation from this mess, I heard the high-pitched scream of a woman coming from out in the forest. The last time I heard a scream like that, some civian Afghanistan had found her kid torn to shreds by an IED. Bobby, are you all right? What was that? I could hear Jack, but my senses were dialed up to ten, and I could feel goose flesh forming on my skin. Bobby, did you hear me? What the fuck was that?

Jack asked again, but this time I answered. Yeah, some lady screaming bloody murder right in the goddamn direction, that weirer walked in, I whispered, trying to keep myself unnoticeable. Jack, my mind's telling me to run down this driveway and don't look back. But if I leave some woman out here to some horrible fate, I'll hate myself for it. Bobby, everything about this place sounds horrifying. But that had to be a neighbor or so...

I cut Jack short this time. Man, you got the sad images. There ain't a single freaking person around except for crazy eyes out there. He hadn't upstairs. Could have been keeping a chick up there for all we know. And the minute I left, he grabbed her and took her to the woods to... I couldn't finish the sentence.

I was already all nerves and thinking of someone getting killed or worse out there might have put me over the edge. Jack, by the time the cops get out here, if someone's getting hurt, I think I need to go out there. I couldn't hear Jack on the other end. He was contemplating what I just said. But if you're dead set on wandering off into the woods and confronting whatever's out there, go grab your Bluetooth and bring me along for the ride. I'll try to call the local PD on the other line. Jack said

I honestly thought he would at least try to stop me Okay Jack I will Let me get some stuff from my truck I responded Thankful I wouldn't be fully alone I made my way again to my truck And reached under the seat to grab my piece

I'll call me a bandwagoner But I do love me a Glock Put the gun in the front seat And put my Bluetooth in my ear Jack You hear me? I asked Those Bluetooth earpieces were finicky at best and I didn't want to lose my only companion.

Yeah, I got you. Are you sure you want to do this? Now he's asking. Yeah, man, some poor lady might be getting hurt out there. It's a specific duty, I said, trying not to reveal how terrified I was. I grabbed a magazine from the toolbox and started pushing 40 caliper rounds into it. I slammed that bad boy in the pistol and pulled the slide back with an audible click. Do you have a gun? Jack asked hesitantly. You bet you're sweet ass I do. I'm in Arkansas and we actually have the right to defend ourselves out here.

I'm not judging, but I'm just glad you have some protection. I mean, SOP dictates I have you fired, but the situation seems to call for a gun. Thanks, Jack. A hint of a smile formed on my face as a question came to my mind. Jack? Yeah? Are you in a cubicle right now? I asked, thinking of the irony of a guy wrapped up in his pre-death coffin, listening to me embark on an adventure, or quite possibly my ultimate demise. That's really what you're going to ask me, not like, hey Jack, can you call the cops? Or, hey Jack, can you convince me not to walk into the scary woods towards a screaming person?

Or, why are you condoning this, Jack? He blurted out, sounding a little exasperated. I can answer the last. I spent eight years in the army and my old lady wanted me to take a desk job when he had a kid. Now I'm stuck crudding away behind a desk, hoping for just a taste of something interesting. Well, I felt for the guy, I mean, I'd rather be in a temperature-controlled office building, not worrying about monsters or whatever the fuck was out there. But still, I'd probably rather die than have to make small talk with a bunch of office drones every day.

So I guess I was on the fence about who had it worse. Oh, and no, I'm actually in management. and just took over for one of the guys who's sick. So I'm not in a cubicle, you prick. I'm in my own office. I have a window. Jack said triumphantly, I couldn't help but laugh a little.

I looked like this guy got screwed by a call-out too. The walk from my truck to the edge of the forest was less than a football field, but every step felt like a mile. I could feel my heart beating in my throat, and my stomach was turning to knots. The perspiration on my forehead started to drip into my eyes as I made my way towards the tree line. I decided that maybe talking while I still could

would alleviate some of the fear that was building up. I wiped the sweat away from my eyes as I said the first thing that came to my mind. So, Jack, what'd you do in the army? I had a sigh on the other end of the line, and then, after OCS, I went straight to job training in civil affairs, then airborne, then air assault, and lastly ranger school. After four years, I made captain,

went to Psiops and transferred over to first special forces command. Another odd question to ask at a time like this, Bolly. The first part sounded rehearsed. He'd probably got asked that a lot. Yeah, I'm just trying to build up courage here. Syops, huh? Passing out flyers or doing shady shit? I asked, hoping I didn't sound too judgmental.

With none of the lightheartedness I'd heard him speak with before, he stated, Shady shit. All my experiences with anyone even support personal in special forces was generally negative. They were always trying to be mysterious and act like whatever they did was secretive or clandestine. In reality, I was probably a 23-year-old NSA intern with a pimpled face and thick-room glasses that had more security clearance than these super-soldiers. And I know Cyops guys probably really do some weird shit besides yelling at Taliban on a loudspeaker,

so I'd give him the benefit of the doubt. Well, I definitely passed out my fair share of flyers on my first tour with Syops. Jack continued with a hint of a laugh. You seem to know a thing or two about the military. You serve? Yeah, man. USMC. O3.1. I said with gusto.

I heard another sight, and Jack stated, Well, if you survive, I'll buy you dinner. A gallon of glue and a brand-new box of crayol would sound good to you. I let out a laugh. Some of the fear assuaged and said light-heartedly. "'Fa, fuck you. "'Not my best come back, but I just reached the edge of the forest, "'and the humour I'd felt moments ago had dissipated

"'and was replaced by that stomach-knotting fear. "'Oright, Jack, I just made it to the... "'And again another ear-piercing screen "'came from farther into the woods. "'But unlike the last, this one didn't finish. "'It seemed to be cut off at the last second. "'It was go-time, and I started running full tilt into the unknown. "'Bobby, quit running.

whatever's out there is going to hear you coming. Besides, whoever was screaming doesn't sound like they made it. Jack whispered into my ear. See, that's the difference between a guy like me and a guy like Jack. I think tactically and in the short term. Jack, obviously a strategy thinker, decided that there was no point risking me or our chance to stop whatever was out there

for someone who was probably dead. Fuck it, though. Maybe this girl was hot and if she wasn't too jacked up, I might get a blow out of this. He, uh, don't hear you slowing down, Bobby. Yeah, that's because I'm a crayon-eaten Marine, and I want to kick something. Another scream, followed by... Help me, please, so...

The rest, cut off by another scream from the speaker, followed by a vulgar tearing sound, and a noise I can only describe was a bucket of chum being dumped out on a dry dog. The screams this time came from maybe 30 yards ahead of me, but the sounds had stopped completely, making everything eerily quiet. I heeded Jack's advice and slowed my sprint to a walk. I got down and started low crawling to where I thought the screams had come from. As I inch closer I could feel the roots and sticks, making small cuts on my stomach.

It was as if the whole forest floor had turned against me, but the pain subsided when I smelled something familiar. Rusted copper. Blood. I saw a large tree in my path who could make out a clearing beyond its massive base. I inched behind the tree and took a quick glance into the clearing, I felt bile reached the back of my throat. Vidher had his back to me as he was lifting up an axe

and bringing it down on the body of a rather rotund and definitely dead woman. I guess you're never too fat to be kidnapped. He kept bringing the axe down over and over again on this lady's already decimated corpse, blood misting and squirting out of her newly opened orifices. I also caught a glimpse of what had made the splattering chumnoys. About three feet away from her body, it looked as if her stomach was torn out and all of her innards were spilled onto the ground. It was a squirmy mass of intestines, kidneys and other organs,

all leaking blood and other fluids. The smell of blood, half-digested food and shit from her punctuated colon and permeated the air. It was so strong I felt as if I could taste it. Jack, I whispered as quietly as I could into the Bluetooth. This guy disembowed a chick and is chopping her to pieces. Jack didn't respond for what felt like ten years until I heard a quiet munchy.

Sorry, I didn't catch that. Got bored waiting and grabbed a snack. Snickers really do help hunger pangs, you know. Oh, fuck Jack. I'm out here with you. watching some woman get butchered by a psychopath and you're eating a snickers i whispered trying my hardest to keep vid hair unaware of my presence sorry bobby you weren't saying much and i needn't a snack you're still alive so nothing too crazy happened jack stated matter of factly avoiding the topic of the

horror show in front of me he continued also i uh think i'm on to something i did some research while you were fucking around in the woods and i think maybe i know what you're dealing with But you ain't going to like it, brother. I was getting impatient and trying not to retaste my daily egg McMuffin, so I said as quietly as I could while expressing my annoyance. What? Just tell me, I doubt I can be more creeped out than I already am. Well, behind the tree, the mounds, and Mr. Tall, dark and terrifying. I think you're dealing with the evil Danish god of the forest,

Jack said without a hint of humor. What the fuck are you talking about? I asked incredulously and possibly a bit too loudly because Vidhe suddenly stopped hacking. Oh shit, this is it. This is how I freaking die, I thought. But the footsteps in sudden death never came and the hacking resumed. Jack then spoke up. Well, that was close, so anyhow, I'll explain what I found.

I went on to some sort of occult Google. I've never seen this search ending before. and basically you type in a description of a monster or whatever shit you're dealing with, and it tells you what it is. I'm pretty positive from what you've told me that you're dealing with a Danish forest guard, who happens to be an evil prick, like super evil. He requires pieces of a thousand corpses to build his army of humanoid tree monsters.

So, for example, if you were to dig up those little mounds you saw, you'd be fighting fingers, toes, ears, and other human parts used as a seeds to grow his, far as friends. As Jack was speaking, I poked at a mound near my foot. As I did, the loose pile of dirt revealed a piece of a human ear or tongue or something. I don't freaking know. I'm not a doctor. Jack continued. Next up is what he looks like. See, his body isn't a tree per se, but it's a tree with a face screaming his commands and look into the heavens. Oh yeah, there's severed heads on the tips of his branches that spell blood to help his tree babies grow. Any of this sound familiar?

Jack stated, sounding almost amused. Sick fuck, I thought. A loud, I whispered. So Vidher is some sort of nut serial killer trying to complete his masterpiece of a god he worships. After asking, I took another peek around the tree and saw Vidher, bend over and pick up the lady's head. He then walked over to the other side of the clearing

and poured out a massive ladder while balancing the blood-soaked head under his arm. Every time I looked out from my little cover, it seemed as if there was more and more blood. I would say it was just from that chick's cut-up and body, but it seemed as if the whole clearing was covered in fresh, undisturbed pools of blood. And that's when I realized that I'd hidden behind the wrong fucking tree. I looked up and saw the backs of hundreds of severed heads. If I hadn't seen that painting, I would have thought they looked like coconuts, but I knew better. and as to stillly defy that what I was seeing was real, a huge glob of blood spewed out of one of the heads

and landed in the clearing with an audible splat. So here I was in the middle of the Ozaks, leaning against some crazy effigy of a forgotten guard with a psycho no more than 15 feet away from me lugging around ahead. This is definitely within the top five of the worst positions I've ever been in. Jack then spoke up on the headset.

Hey, so here's something. else in case your day wasn't already ruined. Apparently, Burstuk, that's the guard, by the way, as a psychic that he grants immortality to for their service. The servant is described as being of great height, little girth and eyes as black as coal. That describes Vidhar, right? I swear Jack sounded almost excited about all of this.

I took a quick glimpse into the clearing, and Vidhair was failing at his balancing act and trying with great intensity to grasp both the ladder and the head. I took his moment of distraction and slowly made my way back towards where I'd come from and to get to a safer vantage point. Jack, I made it back about 20 yards. Can you do me a favor and call the cops? I don't think I can do much more for that lady.

I whispered, still trying to keep quiet. Yeah, I'm just going to further ruin your day. I've tried about five times. Each time I try reaching the town you're in, The call goes dead. Try calling the police out here in Manhattan to see if they could do anything. Well, they laughed and told me they can't do much for someone in the middle of the Ozarks. I think you may be on your own.

Well, except for me, buddy. If it's any consolation and you get killed by a crazed devil worshipper or his pet tree god, well, I'll avenge you. Okay, Jack was either the calmest mother in the world, or he was truly enjoying all of this. So what the hell should I do, Jack? and why the fuck he was so calm Jack took a deep breath and spoke calmly, almost coldly

put two rounds in his chest and one in his head I highly doubt this guy or his tree are actually anything supernatural just a nudge job who is obsessed with Danish folklore and to answer your question I spent a large amount of my life

fighting some of the most violent despicable terrorists on the planet some lady getting her guts spilled out and a skinny weirdo serial killer cutting people's heads off isn't too far from the shit I've seen. Damn, this dude is hard, I thought. Probably the best dispatcher I could have had today.

Aloud, I asked. Okay, but what if they're... Well, they are, you know, supernatural. Once again, in that cold voice, Jack spoke up. As per the article on these guys, you'll need to set aflame the old God Burstook, and the servant will again be mortal. So said Burstook on fire,

before he comes alive and then shoot Vidher. Easy peasy. Damn, I bet this gung-all ass army man wouldn't be so tough if he were here facing this thing alone. When he sounds confidence, I've got to have some faith, I thought. I close my eyes and kept my back to my new cover. You're going to do this kid? Just go up there, tell him to freeze, put a few rounds in him, and when the cops finally show up, just say he charged you.

Oh yeah, I should mention this call. Isn't being monitored, and you probably shouldn't mention parts of this conversation happening. Jack said. Okay, I'm ready to put this asshole down and get the hell out of here, I said, hoping I sounded less terrified than I felt. You got this buddy, Jack said, trying to motivate me. I started back towards the clearing with the nightmarish theme and a rotting pile of innards as quietly as I could.

As I got closer, I could see Vidhair on his ladder, fumbling to place the head on top of a branch. If it wasn't so horrifying to look at, You think he was just an ordinary guy, puts in around in his backyard, not a sociopath burying and hanging parts of desecrated corpses. I gathered up what was with my shot nerves and bellowed. Hey, dick back. Vidhair turned his head toward me as I snuck up behind him. Get down off the ladder, slowly.

Once you hit the ground, turn around and put your hands up. I felt and sounded like a testosterone-fueled cop. It was almost as cool as being a testosterone-fueled marine, but instead of listening to me, Vidair hopped down off the ladder and turned to face me. With a devilish snare, he said, Is my TV ready, cable boy? He laughed at my perplexed look. What?

You think I should fear you and your mortal weapons? As he was speaking, he started toward the axe that was resting between us. Lord Bustuk granted me the gift of an unending life. as long as I facilitated his rebirth in our world and assisted him in becoming the ruler of the forests once more. He was no less than five feet from the axe when I yelled. I'm warning you, Nod Job. Do not take one more step,

I will fucking spray your goddamn tree puppet with your fucking brain matter. In my ear, Jack shouted. Nice line. Where'd you hear that, a movie? Ignoring the psycho in my ear canal and keeping focus on the psycho reaching for the axe in front of me, I took a few steps back so as to avoid any axe-wings if Vidher reshrit. You are a fool, boy. I've been rebuilding the garden of Burstuk for over a century.

Many mortals have tried to stop me, but their bodies and their glorious life's blood belong to my lord. And soon Burstook's revival will be completed. But you, you will never bask in the glory of my lord, for I shall bring down his justice and let his children bathe in your blood. As he said this he charged forward, reaching for the axe. I warned him not to move, but he made his choice. I felt the welcome feeling of the gun recoiling in my hand

and the vibrations it sent up my arm. My aim was I bit off, but all three rounds found a home. The first two ripped into his stomach, filling the already stinking clearing with the smelling of rotting meat and faecal stew, and the third snapped his head back as it buried its way between those black as night eyes, fulfilling my promise of spraying his precious tree with his brain matter and skull fragments. Vidair crumbled in a heap on the ground, adjacent to the leftover pieces of the girl he'd butchered earlier.

I heard the crackling on the Bluetooth. Is he dead? Jack asked. Again, with that ice-cold voice he'd donned when he was talking about taking lives and stacking bodies. Well, I was pretty sure, but I started walking over to make certain I'd be facing manslaughter charges in my near future. I was a foot away when Vidhasan bolted out and grabbed my ankle. Pain shut up my leg. His grip was like a bear trap. I put two more rounds in his skull,

which caused his head to once again violently flail backwards, smashing into the ground. But his fucking hand stood strong. I reached out and grabbed the axe and took a powerful downward swing, severing his bony appendage and releasing the pressure on my ankle. I don't know if it was the adrenaline nor the fear, but one thing I finally noticed was that he wasn't bleeding. Five bullets in a detached hand,

but barely any blood, just a small trickle from the axe wound. I swear I saw brain and skull fly out when I popped him in the head. Jack, he isn't freaking bleeding. I put five rounds in this asshole and chopped off his hand just a few drops. I said desperately trying to express my confusion. From what I can read, the servant will drain all his blood to feel. the early parts of Burstook's development. Jack said, finally with a hint of worry in his voice,

Bobby, I think this might be the real thing. As Jack spoke the last word, Vidhair's eyes turned towards me as the holes in his face healed themselves. He let out a guttural laugh and roared. I have already proclaimed. I have been given the gift of immortality by the great Lord Berstuk,

and no corporeal weapons can scathe me. If you heard him, he stays down for a minute. Do something and get the fuck out of there. Jack yelled through the headset. And he was right. I picked up the axe before Vidhe could make a move and brought it down onto his skull, splitting it almost clean in half. And I saw what was left of his brain matter to spill out onto the forest floor.

There's not where he's getting up any time soon, I said into the mic. I cut the fucker's head clean in half. Still, instead of admiring your morbid handiwork, why don't you get the fuck out of there? Jack yelled into my ear. He was right. I started booking it through the woods, hopefully towards my truck and the large can of gasoline I keep in the bed. Even though I was at most 200 yards away from my truck, my swollen ankle kept me from getting there quickly. Vidhair was probably already healed up and fixing to feed me to his tree.

Luckily I had Jack help keep my shit straight as I made my way back. fact to my waiting ram 1500. When I made it, it's the art. I went around the side with the painting and made sure to give Bustick the bird and said, I'm going to burn you down, motherfucker, and all your little tree babies. And your servant vid hair. I'm going to gut him slow. Just you wait, bitch. Talking to a painting, Bobby? Jack chirped in my ear. You may need some therapy when this is all said and done. Way ahead of you. Apparently I have PTSD, I responded. "'Ah, don't we all?' Jack said, with a bit of humor in his voice once again. While we were talking, I made it back to the ram and started sifting through all my junk looking for my gas can.

"'Found it,' I said triumphantly. "'And my lucky lad is in the dash. "'Jack, I may not die today.' "'You should set your standards a bit higher. "'Let's hold off from celebrating until you ice the treemaster and his psychic.' "'Heard?' Jack asked. "'Heard,' I responded. "'Slightly annoyed.

let me have at least a second to chill. But I grinned to myself as I pulled out the naked woman-shaped light I'd had since I was 18. It was the last birthday gift I'd gotten from my pops. Yeah, he was that kind of guy that brought his son a tick-covered lighter that had nipples that glared in the dark. I love my pops. All right, Jack, I'm taking the long wall back. Hopefully I don't run into Vid-Hare. If you do, just put a few bullets in him and keep moving.

Jack said, back with that frigid voice of his. I studied my way back towards that god-awful scene in the woods, doing the best to remain quiet and unseen. The pain in my ankles subsided, or my mind had given up on trying to tell me to lay off it for a while, so I was able to move a bit quicker. My ultimate goal was to get back there and find vid hair, still split open like a pinnacht. Made it to about ten feet out when I saw a familiar, semi-nude man standing in the clearing, as if he was waiting for me. I guess no luck on him still spilling guts on the dirt

Jack, fuckface is standing again I'm gonna pop a few more rounds in him, maybe hack off a foot Don't waste any time man Who knows how close Burstook is to coming back Put around in Vidheir's skull and set that fucking tree on fire Jack commanded he was right I charged forward and before Vidhair could react I placed another round between that little shit's eyes

He crumpled back to the ground and just for shits and giggles I grabbed the axe and swung it right back into his skull. I turned around to face the nightmare tree and tried to figure out how to go out burning down this monster. Bobby, from what I can tell, all you're going to do is set the trunk on fire. I should take care of it, Jack instructed from the headset. Also, it says something in the article you should probably hear. Do not speak to the old guard because he can and will bend you to his purpose, so don't talk to the tree. Oh great, I'm going to get Jedi mind fuck from a talking tree. I can't wait to tell my shrink.

And that's when I first saw this thing's face. It was just like the painting, but more expressive, angrier. I started pouring the gas on the base of the tree trunk, which added another wonderful smell to this already shit and death-filled clearing. As I poured the last of the gas onto Bustuch, he decided then he was going to speak up. Hello, Robert. His voice sounded like Barry White after a bout of laryngitis. Why do you attack me? Why have you heard my faithful servant?

We mean you no harm. All we want is to bless the world with my glory. I looked at the old God's face while he was talking, but not once did I see his mouth move. It was as if he was speaking into my mind. Don't talk to him, Bobby. just light him up and go home, I thought. And then his voice spoke up again.

Robert, you have accomplished nothing since leaving your warrior class. I can grant you immortality and a life of bliss. New woman every day. Your coffers filled with limitless gold and power over all other men. Take my root and drink deeply from my life's blood and your every desire will be fulfilled. As he said this, a spigot formed on his side. trunk directly in front of my face. Jack, the tree's talking, I mummelled. Don't listen, Bobby. Jack

yelled from the headset. He's just distracting you. He doesn't need two slaves. Think about it. As Jack was yelling, I felt myself drawn to the spigot-shaped root protruding from Bistook's body. Fight it, Bobby. Don't be a goddamn window licker. For some reason, being accused of licking windows has pulled me back to reality, and it's almost too late. Mid-hair was sneaking up behind me with the same axe I'd spilt his skull with twice. At the last second, I dodged his swing by jumping backwards into Burstook, as I felt the axe swipe past my face. As I dodged the attack, I dropped my lighter into a tangle of Bustook's roots. I was able to lift up my 40 and pull the trigger four times, but only three rounds came out of the barrel.

The last got jammed in the chamber. I watched as one of the bullets struck right where his heart should be, but this time Vidhair didn't even go down. He stumbled slightly and moved closer, laughing maniacally the whole time. Fool, Bastuk is close to being completed, and his power has fueled me to unprecedented strengths. Now be still, and I will end this quick, Vidhair proclaimed. Okay, then do me a favor and answer two questions, won't fight anymore. I said in my most defeated voice. Vite has seemed to ignore my request until.

Let him speak, my faithful servant. Bestook boomed. His weapon has ceased to be useful and can do us no harm. His begging for life will amuse me. I heard in my ear. What are you doing? Run, he can't be that fast. Jack begged.

Ignoring Jack, I got onto my knees and discreetly grabbed my lighter while feigning injury. Dying on your leg. is how pathetic vidhair mocked ask your questions and be done with it i looked vidher in his dead eyes and asked why would you ever let me distract you as i asked vid her this question i hit the starter on my pops old lighter and dove forward as i felt my ass being scorched from the burning gasoline flames an unholy scream erupted in my head causing my ears to ache and my head to spin i will tear you limb from limb I will come back and take your head as my first throat Burstook couldn't finish his sentence because the flames had reached his face I saw as the

bark that was his flesh charred and burned the hole while he was screaming in my head I was able to shake off the shock and turn my attention back to Vidhair hopefully he was no longer immortal he just stood there staring at his mask with tears welling up in his eyes Why have you done this? You could have been a part of the great Lord Bastuk, but you have slain him, Vidhear cried. My last act as his servant will be to avenge him and take the life of. Before I let this asshole finish his sentence,

I unjammed my glock and shot him in the stomach, just so I get the chance to watch him die slowly. I look down at Vidheer, and it seemed the spell or whatever it was begun to wear off because he looked like he was in pain. His intestines are spilling out of the gaping wound in his gut And I finally saw the right amount of blood Starting to pool in the dirt

In a weak voice he said My whole life In servitude to my lord Ended by a low man A servant As he spoke I saw a blood trickle out of the side of his mouth I guess a bullet fragment ended up in his lungs What I felt now was the right to

time to ask my last question. Oh yeah, before I forget, before you die. Why the fuck did you order satellite TV? I asked, hoping that I'd finally find out why I was out here in the first place. Vidheir smiled a bloody smile. Looked me in the eyes and said softly, I missed the view. That Raven Simone is a hoot. Well, I thought my opinion of this pathetic shit couldn't get any low. When he said the view was the reason my ass was out here, I emptied the rest of my magazine into his skull, spraying his fucking brains for the last time onto the forest floor. Jack, it's over. The trees burning up and vid her empties insides onto the ground.

If it wasn't for you, buddy, I'd never have made it. I hear you a drink, brother. Let's add into the mic. So, an ancient deity and his undying sycophant killed by an out ofish, shaped foremarine turned cable technician. Who the hell would have thought? Jack says. I'm glad you're okay, buddy, but

looks like the local PD finally noticed. They gave me a holler on the other line. That freaking chief of police gave me a serious tongue lashing, yelling about the crazy not blasting off rounds in the woods. Fuck, I'm about 85% positive. I just saved the world, and I'm probably going to be arrested for murder. I complains. Well, if it makes you feel better,

I'll probably get Pop for helping your ass out. So, want to be prison roomies? Jack asked, with a hint of humour. I grunted in response as I heard the distant sirens. Ah well, at least I won't have to install a cable anymore. 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 favour of you, wherever you get your podcast wrong, 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.