Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S2 Ep92: Episode 92: Manos the Hands of Horror

Episode Date: August 11, 2022

Today’s phenomenal opening story is originally titled ‘Hand’, an original work by Dr J Vikterson, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all. https://www.reddit.com/user/DrJVikterson/ Tonight’s classic closing story is ‘The Tale of Robert Elm,’ an original work by G1Pringle (AKA Nick Spence), kindly shared with me via the Creepypasta Wiki for the purpose of having me narrate it here for you under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license. https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/User:G1pringle

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We believe OCT scans are so important they're included with every standard eye exam. Book an eye exam at Spexsavers.cavers.ca.caps are provided by independent optometrists. Visit Spexsavers.cavers. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's dungeon. Tell me, which is the true nightmare? The horrific dream that you have in your sleep or the dissatisfied reality that awaits you when you awake. Two terrifying tales to make you question your reality this evening, my dear friends.

Now, as ever before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's stories may contain strong language, as one of those descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. If that sounds like your kind of thing, then let's begin. I remember its face so vividly. It's been branded upon my mind, and the memory thereof brings back the sting and ache of my affliction. I must recall.

My account does not withstand logical interrogation, but do not think that I am mad or seeking attention. You will not know me here, but you will know my story. i use my remaining faculties to compose and expose my strange experience so you two may be aware of the hidden and uncanny forces which prey upon our livelihood and our souls now i will recount my dreadful ordeal starting from the beginning of that silent summer after dropping my twin and my parents off at the airport and saying good-bye i drove back home taking the familiar and confusing back roads On the quiet drive back, I appreciated the vulnerability. I was to live alone in a big house in a heavily wooded area for a week.

Still, there was a thing to suggest a needful concern. I had my terrier, Fred, by my side. Also, the house had an alarm system, and I knew where the firearm was. I was king of the castle, and the associated task were a small price to pay for this temporary independence. Nothing was going to happen, and I was to make sure of it. When I first closed the door behind me, I henceforth perceived a continual strangeness to this new isolation. Despite familiarity, I was never quite accustomed to silence in such a spacious dwelling.

It was so quiet, and I was kept company by the clickety-clack of Fred's claws, the light tick-tock of the foyer clock, and the seldom distant memory of the hours. The house was old, about a century or so. The woodwork would creak loudly underfoot in some spots, but sometimes it would creak subtly on its own. The house had been at odds with gravity for years, and it was slowly settling. Regardless of the haunting loneliness,

I eagerly awaited my overindulgence of the senses. Food, games, and television awaited me. I should have known better, Many of my expeditions into a glowing window were of gothic fiction. The totals were not overly intense, but they were enough to safely sate my need for adrenaline, with the side effect of unsettling my soul on most nights. Despite my difficulty sleeping, all of illogical fear and the house's abyssal silence,

I was optimistic known that this week of summer was all mine. Still, as the first few uneventful days passed, The idleness of summertime freedom proved yet again more bittersweet than anticipated. I could have continued writing an unfinished novel, practice my guitar or honed my other artistry, so I may fulfil the dreams dreamt in my days of youth or long hours of work. The lonely week was my own, and I could have used it. Ironically, what I desired at the time,

each time, each day was nothing but slothful recreation. None of my forlorn past loves were even touched. They collected dust in the dilapidated, desolate corners of my room and my mind. The third night I elected to view something different on the downstairs family room television. Recently that big old box had been giving everyone trouble. For about ten seconds after activating the power, the screen would be emblazoned by multicolored flickering lines until the picture became clear. tonight I did this for about a minute before showing a good picture.

Obviously the piece of junk was deteriorating and chew for replacement, but that was not what troubled me. For a split second during that start-up period, I could have sworn I saw the rough outline of a hand somewhere in that seizure of a display, after blinking before firmly focusing on the screen, I saw no recurrence of what I'd probably imagine. I felt chill at the thought. Feeling even more so once I turned my head and saw the tall floor lamps hanging power-chain,

swaying suspiciously more than normal. Already leery, I stood up and backed away from the couch, with the floor creaking and cracking loudly as I slowly stepped away, intently looking at the corner. I looked behind me. Nothing there. I looked in front of myself again, and decided to see if there was a draft. causing the movement. Indeed, in the corner of the floor there was an air vent, breathing out

cool air, but not hard enough to cause the chain to swing so much. It usually swings when someone walks in or when the windows open, but it was swinging even more than normal. It looked as if someone had started it on purpose. Ah, perhaps I had bumped into it on accident, I told myself, since there was no other rational explanation. There was no possibility anyone else could have done that, and there was no reason for me or the house to suddenly be experiencing such anomalies. The house had been relatively peaceful, and I had taken care of it alone before without incident. I'm just overthinking things, I said as I stopped the chain still. The whole time Fred just stared at me like I was playing a game.

On the fifth day, Wednesday, all was still well. There was no sign of anything abnormal since that incident a few days prior, and I continued my daily routines. The task I'd been charged with included watering the flowers in the morning, checking the mailbox, caring for the dog, and turning the alarm off and on in the morning and evening, respectively. Another chore I was given included being on the lookout for the occasional delivery. Father was an antiquarian of source. He would often buy and sell goods at the local flea market. His collection in the basement included paintings, clocks, statues and various other antiques. During the week, I received a total of three packages and moved them to the basement as directed.

Before leaving, Father had noted that one delivery was particularly large and would need to be taken directly to the basement through the backyard. The house was built on an incline, so the basement could be entered through one ground-level door. The third package arrived on Wedding. The delivery man noted its weight and that it needed to be carried upright, so I helped to carry it around back into the basement. While we moved the thing, he commented on how it scared him at three o'clock when it harshly chime. Apparently we were carrying another clock after carefully resting it against the wall in the basement. I signed for it and bid the man farewell.

Unlike the earlier two deliveries which I'd left in their boxes, I felt compelled. to open this one chiefly because it seemed oddly unstable in its packaging. The bottom of the box had a slight convexity to it, probably due to the copious tape applied by the vendor. After opening it, I carefully removed all of the packing and carported before ensuring the antique was stable on its wooden base. It was a beautifully carved wooden grandfather clock with a golden and silver face. Packing was present inside its glass front,

holding the pendulums and wait securely still. It was currently disassembled. The time was not accurate, around 125 or so. Therefore the man's account of its bell chiming at three o'clock was rather curious. The only explanation, aside from dishonesty, was that this was likely a fake antique with a separate component still functioning inside. Even so, that would be strange since it appeared old and worn. I carefully opened the glass front and inspected for any insecure parts that may form.

Inside it was a paper, detailing typed instruction on assembly. I decided to leave this task for its buyer. Carefully placed the parts and instructions in a vacant spot on the neighboring mahogany dresser, which was covered in other antique clocks. These smaller clocks unsettled the atmosphere with their uncoordinated faint ticking, although they were never noisy enough to be heard from the first floor. I looked outside the basement window once more upon the orange sunset before locking the door and heading back upstairs,

making dinner and then retreating to my room. At about ten that night, I settled down on the couch in the living room and turned on the television. While it started up, I remembered my family would finally return in two days. Fred jumped up onto my lap and we watched whatever I felt like for us. Over an hour. Before falling asleep, though, I began to develop a headache. My left temple was pounding, and both my eyes would see occasional floaters flashing in multiple colours. The inside of my mouth and my left cheeks started to feel numb.

I walked to the kitchen and took an aspirin with water before returning to the couch. Oh, my blinking would only intermittently cause the floaters to subside, but the longer I get my eyes shut, the more the symptoms improved. I suppose that this was sleep deprivation, or a migraine, or both. Too tired to get up, I rested on the couch with Fred on my lap until I fell asleep. I woke up at midnight, but not by my mind's own volition. The silence was suddenly broken by a hellishly harsh tone coming straight from beneath the seat, and then again, and again, and again.

The clock was chiming, despite its disassembly. Each chime felt like a fist beating on my skull. My aching mind was full of fog, so at the time I thought I was correct that there was an active independent component still inside the clock. But why had I not heard it until now? I checked my watch, which showed midnight exactly. But the hands of the grandfather clock did not move during my entire time in the basement, and they would not have corresponded with such timing.

What was happening? My right arm was numb from the weight of Fred, who also worked from his slumber. I started to move, but I noticed the lamp chain swinging again. Interestingly, unlike before, Fred began intently gazing into the corner of the room. He was silent, stiff, and most shockingly, he was cold. I looked at the corner as well.

His head turned towards me as I did this, and then he returned his gaze to the area of interest and growled. The sound I'd seldom heard. His growl was usually directed at silly things like guests at the front door or strangers walking outside. But a growl at something unseen? His eyesight was not the best, and I'm sure he could not have noticed that small detail

of the lamp chain swinging so gently. in the dark corner. Perhaps he sensed me and my delusional fear. It didn't matter what was on our minds. What did matter was what was causing the chain to swing, which I hoped was the floor vent. I watched for what felt like the longest time. The family room clock displayed three after midnight.

Even the sight of the dead television was harrowing since I distinctly didn't remember turning it off. Considering the many inexplicable sights and sounds, my paranoia quickly boiled into a seething panic. Time creeped along slowly. It was five after twelve. I looked in the corner. The lamp's chain was swinging gently,

petually, like a pendulum. Fred had still not moved. I gently pushed his right leg with my thumb, but it did not give way like normal. He was frozen. and I became so as well. I wanted to move, to escape from that position, to just get something, to arm myself.

I wanted to set the alarm, go to my room and lock the door with Fred and a weapon by my side. It would have rather been anywhere else. Why did I stay behind? Why did I forsake the company for my desolate haunt of solitude? My mind was frantic with fright

from something that was lightly not even there. Thoughts are foolish, I thought to myself, and I decided to act. I began moving so slightly out of my seat, but I noticed a sudden thud, loud and close. I froze again at war with myself in my head. There was no way something could be in the dark corner at that time since it was impossible and too congruent with my suspicion.

On the other hand, my God-given senses of natural instinct had triggered positive, confirming something was indeed there despite all the odds. This conundrum instantly shot through my head in a second. I did not sit still any longer. I sprang from the seat, sending Fred leaping from my lap to the floor. He continued to stare and growl at the corner. The fur between his shoulder-blaze was raised high and raised high, and displayed wildly. His eyes were open wider than I'd ever seen before. He was trying to pierce

the darkness to perceive what could possibly be there. It's amazing how vivid the details become when the heart works against chilled blood. These facts I noticed and comprehended within the two seconds it took me to stand, ready to bolt at the very next sensation entering my aching brain. Something was there. I noticed the chain swung more than it had earlier. Now, with more conviction, I believe there was something in that corner. But what was it? How big was it?

What was its reason for being there? I could clearly see, at least above the couch's height, and it was not likely a person. The window above my seat was shut tight. Also, no one would have behaved in some. much away. Even if someone had broken in silently creep into the corner would have been quite a difficult task, considering my presence and the many creaking spots in the floor. Perhaps it was a creature. It certainly would not have been able to open the locked doors. Perhaps a rad of clawed in through the floor vent. Yes, that had to be it. I could not

deduce anything more likely. How foolish I was to think it was an impossible. shoot her. These silent days were getting to me and cabin fever must have set in and altered my thinking. I tried to calm myself down and I took a step forward. The wooden floor squeaked loudly. This was immediately followed by a clatter from the corner, like scuffling and scratching sounds of something much larger than a rat. I picked Fred up and rushed for the stairs. He yelped and turned to bite me, but I carried him nonetheless. Rather than he, he was. Rather than he, he, he was a hearing the noise approaching directly behind me as I fled out of the room, I noticed it was shifting towards the couch. No human could do that. It was a creature. It was running behind the seat.

The window blinds there shook as it moved past, and I heard it scuffle out and up onto the carpeted step of the sitting room adjacent at the couch. Fred barked wildly, and I'm sure I would have to if I were him. that thing was had some heft. I would estimate it was the size of a medium-sized dog from the dense sounds of its alarmingly rapid and rhythmic steps. The couch had only up to a half foot of space behind it. So how big was it, truly?

I wondered if it was a raccoon, but the loud, fluttering noise of its movement was very weird, almost like a continuous crackling. Because of what followed, I could not deduce this situation to be something so much, mundane. I really wanted it to be, but I could not overcome the dreaded atmosphere. Through the continuous high-pitch ringing in my ears, at that time I heard clatter bellowing from the basement below, like items being violently thrown, or as if fully stocked shelves were

collapsing. The sounds were that of breaking wood and shattering glass. Yet this was separate from the scurrying noise from which we sought escape. It was as if hell had opened up, and I was fleeing even the sight of its growing field of manifestation. I knew not whether that thing was chasing me, but I would not take the chance. I decided to go upwards to the safety of my bedroom. In retrospect, it could have been wiser to flee the dwelling entirely

into the blackness of night, although I was unaware of the speed of my pursuer. I could also have run to obtain the gun, but it was on the other side of the house and locked in a safe. Reaching it would have been slow, rendering me cornered and exposed. But I knew I could blockade myself in my own room, and the keys to my vehicle were there. I cannot say the details of my decision were weighed so carefully during my frightful run, but regardless I ran for my room. I dared not use the foyer stairway, since the sitting-room led to you.

directly there. I ran past that, through the kitchen and used the back stairs. All in the meantime I heard the approach of that creature in the sitting room, but I ran too fast to see it emerge into clear sight. By the time I reached the back stairs, it could have been in the foyer for all I knew. Then came the race to the finish line, for my room was equidistant to the foyer and back stairways, and the long upstairs hallway connected both ends. So, with Fred in my arms, I sprinted as hard as possible. To my relief, nothing was in sight, although I could hear a frantic flurry of scratches on the wooden floor of the foyer.

My shoulder slammed into the door from my attempt at perpendicular change in direction. I slammed the door behind me, threw Fred to his bed on the floor and locked the door, and then scrambled to find my pocket knife. I couldn't find it. my room was a blasted disaster a result of months of rueful neglect i ran for the nightstand in the attempt to further blockade the door with something heavy but its weight triple what i'd anticipated due to its contents halted my progress it's in the hallway the damn thing was chasing me without thinking i madly threw whatever i could toward the door then i realized a use for my unwashed linens I dumped the entirety of my laundry hamper at the door and packed all of those clothes at the door crack with great speed. Fred kept barking wildly at the intruder while I kept trying to shush him so I could listen for it. I had it scuff to the carpet right in front of my room.

Then I heard it stop. By holding his muzzle, I shut Fred up for a few moments. I had nothing but the ringing in my ears for five seconds, and then the scratches at the door began. I momentarily convulsed from sheer terror of realizing that this thing was still trying to get me. Fred barked incessantly, yet I did not care.

I could hardly hear at the height of my panic with the pounding of my heart resonating to my eardrums, muffling the world around me. My out of vision was blackening, my strength faltering, but I did not succumbed. to my senses as my brain kicked me to action when I viewed the stupefying sight of the laundry starting to move on its own. Was it possible this thing could fit underneath such a small space?

I sprang to the bed and stripped it bare, hurling the sheets and covers onto the heap in vain attempt to further pack the pile. I still saw movement. In a flash I grabbed my room's small television, tearing it from the roll and slammed it on top of the pile to hold it still, straining my right shoulder and neck in the process. Couldn't figure how to proceed. I was trapped. There was no way out except the window, and I was on the second floor. I could survive the fall, but not without injury. Maybe I could roll as I hit the ground. I considered it, although I'd never tried it before. I dropped the window blinds and looked to the ground below. Even injuring myself, I could climb to my vehicle and drive away if I brought my keys from the room with me.

But then, I realised, I could not bring Fred. His small body would not withstand the fall. The wrapping at the door continued. I could hear it digging like a knife into the wood of the door. My thoughts grew more desperate as seconds ticked by. Then I had an idea. The mattress. I could toss it out of the window, hold Fred in my arms, and jump with him outside to the cushion below. Preparing to enact my mad plan,

I snatched the keys and went to the window. Its handle did not budge as I cranked it, and the brittle thing broke under the stress. I tried the other window, but the handle was blocked by a poorly place. desk, far too heavy to move. I tried the first window again, and the stump of its broken crank could not be turned by hand. My attempts to do so caused me to cut my fingers. The deep, harsh scratching, and crunching at the door continued to grow in intensity, and I became horrified

at the thought that the thing could somehow be digging through. My instinct pushed me to drastic measures. The cold sweat, gnawing stomach-ate, and electric jaunt in my back drove me to act without thinking. I grabbed my old dusty guitar from the corner of my room and bashed the window open. All night air beckoned for me as I seized my mattress and clumsily cast it to the ground below. Before my big move, I'd made sure I had the keys and my wallet. Next, I put up some spare shoes of my clothes at the window glass would not hurt me. Then, what I was to do was to simply grab Fred so we may leap to safety.

And then the sound stopped. I turned a gas to the silent door and saw that a new vertical crack had emerged from behind the pile of clothes. I stared for seconds in silence, only interrupted by Fred's occasional barks. Then the clothes started to move again. As my unthinking body shook, I saw something emerge.

This movement was a blur, but I could make out some details. Its overall colour was that of rust or dry blood, it had a central, irregularly rugate body with no visible face or eyes, and it had many appendages, of which I thought I saw five in total. This was unexpectedly large, as the span of all its spindly limbs was nearly the size of an adult human torso. In an instant the thing lunged from its position and grabbed hold of me. In a whirlwind of screaming shock and terror, I tried yanking it off of my leg, but somehow it latched onto my hand. It was biting me with what felt like a hundred needles. In bewildered agony, I beheld my enemy.

Its limbs were regularly segmented and joined it like that of a crab, Arden pointed, with a blade-like sharpness to the underside. Most nauseating and vile was its body's underside, revealing tens or even a hundred small, jointed limbs reaching to scoop its prey towards its underbelly's centre. I heard the crunching and cracking of its chittinous joints and the cracking sound of its own limbs against itself. The five blade-like legs were cutting deep into my arm,

just past the wrist. It was as if the very very little. very hand of Satan was gripping mine with the full intent of yanking it off. My terror was exacerbated by the permanent implication. It is not common for anybody to imagine what it's like to live ever more without a dominant hand. In my frenzies struggle against the creature, I slammed it against the window opening sharp glass. I picked up a pen and jabbed it into the body of this thing repeatedly. with a mixed feeling of frighten relief,

I saw the thing splay its limbs outward and release me. Without thinking I used my other hand to knock it out the window. Oh, curse the thought that its fault was cushioned by my mattress. I immediately turned my attention to my bitten hand, or what was left of it. It was intact, but hanging to the rest of me by chip bone and crimson threads. I was losing blood fast. I took my shirt and shaped it into a makeshift sling by holding it in part with my teeth.

With my good arm I put the other one into the sling. I took another shirt and wrapped it around the wound as much as I could with one hand to prevent the loss of blood. It took some careful, yet quick and excruciating work. I looked out and could no longer see the creature, which must have scurried off. I have no idea where it went, but I was not going to fight it. out. I had to flee, but I was worried the thing could come back and kill Fred. I wanted to take him with me, but there was little I could do with just one hand. Kicking my guitar out of the way, I opened the closet door, led him to it, and closed the door after turning on its light.

I sealed the bottom crack shut with linings like before, as quickly as possible. I took a piece of paper and wrote with my functioning hand, Fred in closet. i wade it down in plain sight so it would not go unnoticed i struggled to escape through my shoddy blockade i fled down the hall back down the stairs and to my father's room i knew where the safe was hidden in a corner of the room behind many things and i prepared to obtain my defence but the unfeasibility of wielding a gun i'd never shot with my non-dominant hand slowly manifested in my mind as my pain and lacking dexterity became more and more apparent. Gritting my shirt in my teeth, I reluctantly left for a lesser weapon, a large kitchen knife. The fastest way to the vehicle was the front door, yet that was precisely where the creature had fell. I had no idea exactly where that otherworldly health-spawn was, and it very well could have been underneath my means of escape.

angrily biting the cotton in my mouth, I resolved to not take even this chance. I flew in the opposite direction to the backyard exit, and I ran around to the street, taking care to look around for any threat. Clearing the house without being caught was fortunate. I carefully slid the knife handle in my pocket to conceal it, and prevent incorrect perceptions of my intent. My jaw-muscles spatterned. from the continual strain,

worsening the painful pounding in my temples. I ran in the dark, looking over my shoulder constantly. The humid night fog obscured the road from my dilated eyes. I had to hurry before my troubled heart would succumb to the ongoing loss of red. I cannot place a value

to the number of endless minutes I ran on that path, not meant for footsteps. Gradually, the ringing in my ears quieted, and the headache start. I felt so tired. My muscles were starting to relax a little too much. I had to support my broken hand with my other arm as my jaw went slack and I gasped for air. My heartbeats felt irregular

and the world began to spin around me. I was delirious by the time I finally encountered a driver passing me in the nights. The insuring events blurred as I was spirited to the near. The near. nearest hospital. Some vital arteries and nerves were spared, making partial reattachment more likely than if it had been cut clean off. They still had to salvage some nerves, vessels and skin from other parts of the body to ensure even some functionality, but it will never be the same. I realise, as I type this document one-handed, that I am forced to say farewell to my musicianship and artistry. The most I can make of my disaster is to share my discovery that life is indeed too short and fragile to squander aimlessly.

Still, did not know exactly how or why this happened. Was I cursed for contact with that infernal clock? Was it a cruelly divine judgment for past transgressions unatomed? Or was the creature some demonic stairway hiding within an antique? No research would save my desire for answers, and the baffling impossibility of that thing's surreptitious arrival and departure still burns my soul. Aside from the crises of my struggling health and new-found handicap, life resumed healthfully for others.

The note was found, and Fred was safely rescued from my closet. Everyone I knew still wondered exactly what had transpired. The story, too fantastical. to share with those outside the family was that I was attacked by a wild beast but my folks were to know of the tale in its trueness my family does believe me

as the aftermath of evidence was too apparent for even sceptics to deny my door was chopped open at the bottom in a size large enough for that monstrosity to squeeze through a black trail of staining icor manifested on the thing's path of pursuit tracing from my room all the way down the stairs, through the foyer and sitting room behind the couch,

and finally to the air vent underneath the lamp chain. No further evidence of that black slime was ever found elsewhere, not even in the basement or the front yard. The family has changed their behaviour around the house, for they have cautiously searched but have found no other sign of the beast. They can't sometimes see mother looking out the window at night. more often than before I've seen my twin praying with

Hans' glass Father has spent sleepless nights working out the slow and expensive process of our relocation The basement's contents were eventually removed but Nobody descends to it anymore Without good reason

I was the first of my family To venture into the bottom level After the incident But I will never again For it was during that descent When I beheld a ghastly sight in the area underneath the family room. The insidious truth began chilling my blood,

and my arm worsened its aid. The clatter I'd heard during my flight from the faceless creature was the travesty I saw before me. All manner of antiques collected by my father over the years was strewn about the basement, and the collection of clocks were toppled, broken and no longer keeping time.

And the grandfather clock, supposedly disassembled before was the most horrific item among the mess all clocks were out of place save for that infernal thing defiantly upright whatever force had ensued that midnight had sicked the devil's hand upon me it had sent so many valuable antiques crashing against the floor that had also affected this machine in a most impressive and horrible way I found that repulsive, vile monolith, fully assembled with both hands resting on the number 12. Hey, Ontario, come on down to BetMGM Casino and check out our newest exclusive. The Price is Right Fortune Pick. Don't miss out. Play exciting casino games based on the iconic game show. Only at BetMGM. Access to the Price is right Fortune Pick is only available at BetMGM Casino. BetMGM and GameSense remind you to play responsibly.

19 plus to wager, Ontario only. Please play responsibly. If you have questions or concerns about your gambling or someone close to you, please contact Connix Ontario at 1866-531-2,600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. BenMGGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. The lights of the Seattle skyline suddenly ignite as the city comes alive of the sounds and sights of night. In a run-down bar, a lone man sits beneath the hum of the fluorescent overhead light as he holds his whiskey in his shaky hands. The man is an enigma.

He appears at the spade habitually at 10pm and leaves just before dawn, ordering the same refreshment each time, a tall glass of Irish whiskey. Never speaking words far from, the usual, or the occasional grunt or whisper, he is a shadow to everyone. To the passerby this man is just a nobody. He is merely a bum who went down on his luck and turned to the bottle like many before him. To those who know, however, the man's name is Robert Elm, and he has a story to tell. The night was fraught with frigid rain and sleet.

The typically lively spade was deserted, except for Robert. He sat in his usual spot, back left table, facing the wall, punched over his beverage in total silence, save for the hum of the light and the drumming of the bartender's fingers on the metal cash register. Over the years, the Elmer drifted in as the sun dipped below the horizon. The bartender had grown curious of his motives. Though he told his customers the same old, lost his job, wants to unwind, excuse.

In his heart he knew there was something off-kilter about the whiskey-loving shadow. Tonight would be different. The bartender bit his lip, took a deep breath, and approached his loyal customer. The barkeep placed his hand on the table and inquired in the friend's the friendliest of tones. How are you doing? Robert jolted upright as if he'd heard a gunshot. He slowly lifted his head and peered deep into the bartender's face with his wide grey eyes. He possessed an unsettling and powerful stare that pierced the air in a way the bartender had never seen before.

His mouth slowly stood open as he grumbled. Fine. And you? The bartender was stunned. He had expected the old geese's usual response of a few quiet mumbles, but was greeted by a question that was startlingly normal. I'm just fine, the bartender said. So, mister, I've been meaning to ask you. Elm's slowly greying eyebrows perked with anticipation.

Why do you come here all the time? The drunk had chuckled and asked in return. Why do you care what an old man like me does with his time? because the bartender said with a look of confusion you've come to my bar at the same time of the night every night for the past twelve years and i'm just now hearing you speak well i think that's good enough reason for me to ask the old man burst into laughter that lasted nearly a full minute finally his outburst died off and he asked you wanted to know why i wasn't talking yes yes of the bartender. It's been a riddle I've been trying to figure out for years. Robert sat his drink on the table and said, well, well, new friend. Honestly, I was waiting for you to

ask me that question. Now that we have that elephant out of the room, have a seat across from me. The bartender obliged, took a seat across from his new acquaintance out, with a look of sheer amazement on his face. He asked. So, Let me get this straight. You've never said a word to anyone in this bar for twelve years because you were waiting for someone to come to you. Yep, the shade replied as the bartender gave a short laugh and continued. Well, sir, what have you been waiting for so long to tell someone?

Robert Elm looked the bartender square in the eye and said. Oh, my story, of course. The bartender gave a quizzical expression as the drinker went on, never breaking his gaze. The story of why I ended up here. The story of how I narrowly escaped death itself. And since, well, since I don't see anyone else here, you, sir, are going to be the first one in a long time to hear my tale.

Oh, you're in for a treat. The old man cracked a crooked smile. Well, let's hear it then, the bartender said. And Robert chuckled again. That's a spirit kid Grab a drink and get comfortable You're in for quite a tale And so Robert Elm began his story

It all began back in November 1962 I was living in a small town in rural Iowa But then everyone knew everyone else like family It was a safe place That's why my family settled down there Back when the area was a barren patch of farm out Through the entirety of my teenage years, I was chasing a girl named Elizabeth. Oh, I can practically see her now.

As time went by, our relationship grew. After high school, we bought her uncle's house on 4th Street and slowly learned to live together as a soon-to-be-married pair. This was a struggle, to say the least. Back when I was a younger man, I had a fiery temper that seemed to grow as we became closer to one another. I remember one specific instance When I heard she'd wrecked my dad's fort I hit her across the face with a trash can mitt

I'd never regret anything more in my life It wasn't even her fault Every morning for the next month I'll come downstairs to see the pale red bruise on her face And immediately get too choked up to speak There was a wonder she kept me around One night everything fell apart I don't even remember why, but she left me on the side of the road and told me to

Find your own way back home, you sack of crap. I remember my heart sinking as she pulled away. I began to wander the side of the empty country roads. I'm unsure of how I got so sidetracked, but after about an hour of hysterical rambling, I'd ended up halfway into one of those cornfields bordering the only road in and out of town. There I was. sobbing profusely, lashing out at the corn stalks with my fists, and wailing Elizabeth, and I'm sorry, at the top of my lungs, with only the birds and the occasional scarecrow bearing witness.

I hobbled aimlessly for what felt like I was, screaming and crying over what I put my beloved fiancé through, till I decided to sit down in a barren patch about 15 feet across, to catch my breath and form an apology for my eventual homecoming. After inspecting the area for any size of danger, I laid my head down in the soft dirt to rest my eyes. Several hours of blissful tear-free sleep passed before I was pulled away by the rustling in the storks. One heart skipped a beat and a chill ran down my spine. I bolted upright.

Before me, a massive shape garbed in a shimmering black cloak slid out from the rows of crops. It moved towards me slowly, as if it were floating across the ground, though its feet were clearly visible and it appeared to be human. They had dark, pale, wrinkled hands that hung at its side as it drifted closer. It drooped its hooded head and spoke squarely into my face in a dry monitor. Good evening, traveller. Stunned. I got up from the dirt and asked. Who are you? He answered. Just a man on his way to a meeting. Well, I looked at him, bewildered. Why are you here? I asked. He looked up and said, I enjoy taking the scenic roots, so much more

peaceful than the hustle and bustle of the roadside. Now, what I'm wondering is who you are and why you are here. As I look back, I'm surprised at how eager I was to reveal so much myself to a total stranger. Oh, my name's Robert, I said sheepishly. Oh, my girlfriend dumped me out here because we got in a fight and I hit her, she cried and, and... And the tears were welling in my eyes again. Say no more, friend, the man interrupted as he waved his hand.

I offer you a proposition. You may come with me, attend my meeting, my friends and I shall cheer you up, and we will take you back. back to your home in the morning. How does that sound? Well, the smile slowly formed on my face, as I thanked the hooded figure. I reached out to shake his hand for his patronage, but he quickly recoiled, claiming there was no need to thank him. Together we made our way through the remainder of the field and into the forest that formed an insulated border between patches of farmland. As we walked, I had more time to examine my new friend's figure. He was a

titan of a man to say it at least, with hands that could easily cover my own twice over. Blending it in the trees themselves, he towered over me, what I assumed to be well over seven feet. And he moved with surprising agility for someone of his size, darting through the branches and over a route at a speed had tad slower than a jog. I had to walk nearly twice as fast to keep up. His robe still shimmered as they did in the cornfield, though the moon was no longer visible. Oddly, no matter how fast the man moved, his hood never failed to conceal his face. Growing bored of silence, I struck up conversation. So, um, what's your name? I asked. The man glanced down at me and said,

Oh, you may call me Lombard. It's one of my many monikas. Okay, Lombard, who are these friends of yours? What is this meeting and where are we going? I'm just a meeting, friend, held here in the woods with some close acquaintances of mine. You needn't worry about it, Robert. Think of it as more of a party. It may take your mind off your troubles. And it was at this moment I realised what I was doing was the exact opposite of what society had taught me. I was found lying in the field and decided to walk off of some strange hooded man to go and meet his friends in the woods.

Well, heartbreak can drive people to do some crazy things. It wasn't long before we saw a light in the distance. As we grew nearer, the lights turned out to be a ring of torches, lining a circular clearing containing rows of chairs and tables. An altar draped with red cloth sat in the middle of it all. At each of the table sat groups of people dressed similarly to Lombard. Some of them had their faces exposed and hoods down. Oh, we have arrived, said Lombard with glee.

Sit down amongst the others and help yourself to some food and drink. The festivities will begin soon. I made my way to one of the less talkative groups and grabbed a free seat. As I recall, it was the only seat that wasn't taken. Next to me sat an old couple and a younger man with his hood up. When I asked each of them why they were here, I got, well, a less than I did. response. The couple started cackling as if they just heard the greatest joke of their lives, and the hooded man just grunted something I couldn't make out. Seeing no entertainment in the

people around me, I decided to try the food. There were occasional bits of bread surrounded by meats of all shapes and sizes. Having eaten a feeling meal in town a few hours before this all began, I wasn't exactly starving so. I decided to give the wine a try, which was in goblets sitting in front of each chair. I took a small sip and my mind took a kick in their pants. My vision became blurred with colour and I began to choke on my own tongue. The old woman told me it stops hurting after the third glass and burst into sickening laughter. After about five minutes the effects of the drink finally subsided and I silently poured the rest onto the ground. I didn't think any of them would notice. suddenly a bell rang out and the diners stood up from their chairs in unison and approached the centre of the clearing

Lombard made his way over as he walked me towards the centre did you enjoy the refreshments the guests he asked I held my tongue about my unpleasant experience at the table and said everything was great I've calmed down quite a bit now what's next excellent my friend I'm sure you'll patch things up with that girl after tonight, and I'm glad to have been of assistance to you, but now we have business to attend. We found ourselves standing in the centre of a circle of the hooded guests, all of them with hoods up and hands folded in front of them. Lombard instructed me to sit in the centre of the ring. When I objected, he told me this was just a formality in order for the group to accept my presence among them for the night.

I knelt, as I was told, and Lombard took his place at the crimson altar. As I glanced around me, all of the rogue people seemed to be emanating a strange droning sound that rose and fell as the minutes passed. I looked up at my mountainous guide who turned to face the centre of the circle, and to my amazement had drawn back his hood to reveal a sight I would never forget. On Lombard's long, broad shoulders sat the head of a goat. Jet black, save for a stripe of white between his pale green eyes and spiraling ivory-colored horns that curbed backward behind his ears.

The thing that stood in front of me lifted his hands into the air, and the droning immediately ceased. Lombard's head reeled backward as he shouted into the night. Ladies and gentlemen of the black circle. I present to you The pale The crowd roared With cheers and jubilation On this night

We shall end the torment And bring about a new era of peace For our order The younger man I sat next to earlier Approached the orator I'm a lordship He whispered as he bowed on one knee I witnessed him earlier

He has not accepted the purifier And we cannot continue until he has. He then retreated back to his place and resumed the stunts. Is that so? said Lombard quizzically. Well then, I'm sorry to delay my children, but the sacrament must wait. The circle answered the statement with booze and hows of disapproval. A large member drew a curved blade from his robes and approached me. I attempted to stand but was pulled down to my knees by an unseen force. For the love of Sakra, I've waited my whole life for this moment.

The man shouted as he flipped the knife in his hand. Stop! You fool! You will undo everything! Lombard roared as he latched onto the man's arms. The last memory I have for that night was of the gargantuan tree-like form of Lombard grappling with a hooded man until they both crashed to the ground in front of me. In the tangle of limbs, the handle of the man's knife.

struck me squarely between the eyes and I lost consciousness. I woke in a small sparsely furnished room with white walls and dark brown hardwood floor. Based on what I saw around me, I was able to estimate that the building was built in the late 19th century. I attempted to pull my head from the pillow but was met with a crippling pain in my forehead where the knife handle had struck me in the ceremony in the woods. My legs were sore and felt as though they were filled with cement. It made me shiver that I couldn't figure out what prevented me from standing at the ceremony. My full speech resonated from outside my room as the door opened. A goat-headed lombard strolled into the room and closed the door behind him.

Good morning, my guest, he bellowed. I assume you enjoyed your nap. Yeah, I did, I answered. Right after that friend of yours almost broke my nose. Oh, you needn't worry about him, my friend. His foolish actions have cost him his place in the order, he said, with a reassuring tone. Lombard sat down on the bed next to me, and I instinctively wrenched my legs backward. Damn thy self-friend. I am indeed human, and this is just a mask, nothing more.

But what about everything else? The mumbo-jumbo you guys were talking about. The goat-head, the black circle. I want answers. Now. You have a right to be. frightened, all will be explained to you. Let me start from the beginning. He readjusted himself on the bed to face me. In the late 1800s, two cousins founded a town not far from here.

It was a small farming community, very prosperous, a thriving community until the fever hit. Many died, including the mayor's daughter. In a last ditch effort, the community banded together and stood united against the disease. They burned the village to the village. To the village. ground and moved into the mayor's farmhouse, the house you are sitting in right now. The plan was a success. With all the medical personnel gathered in one area, it was much easier to treat the sick, and soon the fever was eradicated. Out of habit, the community stayed in this house as a single family to this day, of which I am the Patriot. The goat headdress symbolizes the single species of beast that provided us with food and drink during the dark times, and

For your information, it's permanently adhered to my head. We dubbed ourselves the black circle in name of the black table in the dining hall. We would gather around to tell stories of hope to inspire one another. The event you were the center of was known as Neophyte sacrament. We give the newcomer a small dose of hallucinogenic and provoke you to reveal your true feelings to us in order to tell if we can trust you. I was strongly opposed to the sacrament, but I was pressured by the others and had no choice.

The words we used were simply to disguise our discussion due to the circle's lack of trust. As for the actions of Alabaster, I sincerely apologise. Lombard pulled up his massive form and spoke directly to me. Here I am, Valentine Ambrose Lombard II, with nothing to hide at your service. But needless to say, I was awe-struck at the very first.

volume of information that was imparted onto me. Before I could respond, Lombard asked. Any questions? I shook my head just as a woman wearing simple brown robes came into the room, dropped to one knee, and said flatly, you're needed in the infirmary, my lord. Lombard turned to her and stated, I'll be there as soon as I can at this. Did Stefan have a run in with the thresher again? No, she laughed with a smile. I still trained on the floor. Pier was picking on Sylvia again. She snapped and let him have it with her little fists.

I have them both down there waiting for you. The leader gave her hearty laugh. That peer, almost as mischievous as I was when I was a little boy. He turned to me. I'll be back to speak with you later, friend, but now I must deal with this matter first. Get some rest. Both the leader and the woman walked out of the room

shut the door on their way out, leaving only silence in their wake. My head felt heavy, and I decided to take my new friend's advice and rest my eyes. I awoke in what looked like early morning to see Lombards sitting at the desk at the edge of my room. "'Mourning, friend,' he said joyfully, "'come, sit, have something to eat.' He stood up from the chair to reveal a platter of sausage and bread with a glass of juice next to it. I was able to pull myself up from the bed. My legs were sore and my knees locked up, but I hobbled my way to the desk and sat down.

I began to sample the meat. I'll gather your strength. You will need it for later. I've gotten it approved with a circle. I shall give you a tour of the house and the grounds around three today. So, try and get those legs working by then. Lombard gave a quick wave of his hand as he left the room like whim blowing through the woods. I'd finish my odd tasting dish.

after a few minutes. I sat for the remainder of the time, stretching out my tired legs while looking out of the window. The full day of bed rest and a struggle against whatever held me to the ground had left them aching and weakened. An expanse of farmland spread out in front of me, ending at a dense forest. The single dirt road lined with torches leading up to the house. I assume that somewhere in the woods there was the picnic table and the altar, and beyond that the cornfield where I had met my guide and somewhere beyond that was Elizabeth. Home, I sighed. Ready?

I jumped with surprise as Lombard broke the silence in the room. Time had passed faster than I'd expected. Come, follow me, friend. I made uneasy strides into the foyer with a painting of another goat-headed man, a massive chandelier lighting the room below, and rows of rooms lining the walls. Here is the second floor, use for boarding for our members.

The room you are staying in is the guest room. It is not used very often. It overlooks the entrance room, which we will visit later. Is that you in the painting? I asked. No. That is the founder of the Circle, my great-grandfather, Ambrose Garrett-Lombards. What a great man. I wish I could have known him in person.

So he started the whole goat-head thing. I laughed rhetorically. We made our way downstairs, wandering through the entrance room and the living room and the sitting-room, listening to Lombard's tales of him reading stories to the children by the fireside and the witness, and of the old man who was a master of the old grand piano sitting in the living room. I asked him about the double doors at the end of the entrance room, only to receive a response that I should not go in there, as I do not have high enough clearance to enter yet.

We walked outside, we explored the grounds. From the outside, the house was massive. It was clearly some kind of old farmhouse. Made a left turn around the house to find three buildings off in the distance. I asked Lombard what they were for. He said one of them was the chapel, now dilapidated and unused. A small building used for a school, and a smaller concrete building used for storage. Well, I shrug plainly, and we moved on.

I took that moment to ask. Well, sir. What exactly is your job here? Lombard stopped mid-walk to contemplate my question. I am the headmaster of the order, friend. I am many things. Judge, principal, father, doctor. Lots of things, friend.

We walked back up to my room and Lombard instructed me that, now that I know where I am, I can move around the property it will. But only during the day, at night I was confined to my room. seeing as the sun was descending below the horizon, I went off to bed. I spent the next few days wandering the grounds while getting my bearings with the area and getting a sense of location. After speaking with some of the other followers of Lombard, I noticed a constant theme. They never broke eye contact, and they spoke in a very calm manner.

Regardless of age, I would find a clever way to avoid any of my questions, specifically ones involving Lombard, the concrete building, or what happens in the Grand Hall. Seeing that I would never find anything out from the members, I decided to go answer hunting myself. Making more way out to the structure, which was about a football field's length from the house, I decided to carefully inspect it. The building had no windows and a single iron door secured with a large padlock. I was going to investigate it further, but before I could find a way to open a building. the lock. The sun began to set and I reluctantly returned to the house. A couple of weeks of

fruitless investigation passed until I would finally return to my full healthy state. Feeling my strength returning, I began my morning with a quick workout. Lombard entered mid-push-up. So I see you're back on your feet again, he said dryly. Yep, feeling pretty good, I returned. Lombard paced back and forth. I imagine you'll want to go home soon. He sighed. I stood up and looked at the tree-like figure. Yeah, I suppose. I miss you live as well as quite a bit, and I want to make amends.

Good, good. Lombard paused. Robert, if you could say just one more week, we feel like you've become a member of the family around here, and we wish to perform a departure ritual this Sunday, just to say goodbye. he's been one of the kindest outsiders we've encountered in a long time. I walked up to the goat-headed giant, looked him in the eye like he'd done to me so many times before, and I smiled.

I'd be honoured, friend. That night just before sundown, Lombard drifted once more into my room. He spoke in a much more serious tone than before, and his posture created an imposing aura about him. Robert, we are having a ritual in preparation for your departure. I require that you do not disrupt it. Please stay in this room until my return. It is just a kind of rehearsal. I don't want to ruin any surprises.

I quickly nodded in agreement, trying to ignore the sudden change in the headmaster's attitude as he sped out of the room. I'd not been entirely honest with my host during my stay in the house. For every act of hospitality he offered, there was an event or element that would cause a... pang of distrust in my mind. One moment Lombard would provide me with food, and I'd see him teaching the children like a loving relative, but the next I'd noticed the concrete shack, or

remember what had happened in the woods weeks ago. The loving kindness of the members juxtaposed with their unnervingly smooth speech and piercing stairs. Every impulse in my mind told me to run, but I knew I'd never make it far before I was captured, or worse. This mysterious decree had brought my curiosity to its breaking point, and that night I made my decision. As soon as the house fell silent, I removed my heavy workboots, slid the door open, and stepped into the dark abyss. I'd been climbing trees in my neighbourhood park since childhood, and the challenge of scaling the banquet hall's walls came easily to me. After making my way down the stairs, through the foyer and out of the door without so much as a sound, I was impressed with my sneaking abilities.

I ran around to the side of the hall and began my ascension. The climb was easy enough. Several chunks were missing from the old bricks, creating excellent handholds. It wasn't long before I found myself on the roof. From the inside I could hear the same droning sound that I'd heard my night in the woods. I desperately searched for a way inside when I came upon a small hatch that led to a ladder that dropped off in a kind of storage. Hunkering in next to some old boxes, I was able to hear and see the events unfolding below me with startling clarity. The crooked grin grew across my face as I anticipated the truth.

The droning of the hooded worshippers hushed, and the mammoth lombard took the stage next to an eerily familiar altar. He raised his hands like the night we first met as he spoke with gust of. Ladies and gentlemen of the Black Circle, I gather you once again to bring praise to Sacra, and to celebrate the presence of the pale, whose life shall meet its beautiful end on the eve of this coming Sunday. The crowd roared with approval. My friends, I sincerely apologize for them. Lombard growled under his print. The, er, interruption a few weeks ago.

The audience erupted into a shower of booze and shouting. Now, now, my children, I have planned a rehearsal of sorts to show you all how we shall deal with the wretchy pale and drive this scourge from our beautiful order. I present to you the man who is to blame for the delay, Brother Alabaster. Each member how, with joy as they poured a blindfolded man, naked, saverer a loincloth,

with numerous strange tattoos adoring his chiseled torso, into the room and onto the altar. I felt my dinner rise in my throat. Three men in red cloaks fastened the man's arms and legs to the altar, as Lombard reached into a chest behind him. Alabaster was sobbing with fear, and his pleads for help became incoherent screams as his limbs were restrained until one of the men in red wrapped a piece of cloth over his mouth to silence him. Lombard spun around at lightning speed and raised a shimmering dagger above his head. Here and now we give an offering to you, Almighty Sacra, an offering of flesh and blood.

While the bastard was writhing now, the altar glistening with sweat and blood welling at the corners of his mouth as he struggled to cry out. The crowd lurched forward with anticipation, licking their lips with bloodlust in their eyes. Now, for the glory of the mother, he gives his life. Lombard pulled away from the cloth, and the alabaster let out a scream so loud I could have heard it from my room. Help! The gag was pulled back, and he was struck across the face. They pulled the cloth back again, and he cried.

For the glory of the mother, I give my life. And without hesitation, Lombard drove the blade into the man's abdomen, as he resumed screaming with pain and fear. The headmaster made a long cut up the stomach. Look at the bones cracking and flesh ripping as the man moaned in agony. Liquid scarlet spattered the headmaster's hands as it spouted from the gaping wound. Lombard tossed the bloodied knife aside. He then plunged his hands into alabaster's twitching body

and wrenched his arms upward several times until what appeared to be a liver was ripped away. I nearly vomited. Bombard held the dripping organ above his head and shouted, For the glory of Shakra! He plunged the hunk of flesh into his mouth like a wild beast. The crowd cheered with jubilation at the unholy sight. The corpse was unbound and dragged off into a side room.

I was frozen, unblinking, as my part was. feelings for my seemingly kind friend were shattered. Before I could process what was going on, I heard Lombard address the members. No one is going to speak of this to our guests, and regarding the pale, I'm going to see how our friend is doing, he said with a chuckle as the cloak men and women overflow with laughter. I was back on the roof before Lombard could even leave the state. With my heart thundering, I bolted back to the roof as fast as lighting and heard myself across it. Using my prior climbing skills, I tucked my legs in and rolled across the grass. I only sustained few minor bruises. I ran around the side of the house,

out the stairs and back into my room just as I heard the Great Hall open. I heard Lombard's thundering and footsteps as he climbed the stair and approached the door. The door opened and the giant's eyes met mine. Good to see your evening was a relaxing one, friend. I shrugged and said, that better. Had a strange nightmare.

Really messed with my head. Hey, how did your ritual go? Playing dumb with him as best I could. Lombard nodded. All was well. The congregation is eagerly awaiting this Sunday's celebration. Enjoy your rest, friend.

I could still see little bits of hastily wiped away viscera clinging to his mask. Lombard shut the door as I heard the rest of the worship who's coming into the entrance hall. I sat and pondered my situation. I was trapped in this god-forsaken place for one more week and then they decided to kill me. I had one week to discover what was really going on here and seven short days to plan my escape. The next morning I woke up early and ran off to the library, thinking that would be a good place to learn some information. The place had a wealth of books, everything from war and peace to pat the bunny.

I wandered the endless shelves until I reached the back corner of the room. All that sat on the last dusty shelf was an old book with a leather cover. Nothing about it caught my eye, save for the title. The Book of Secre. I remember in the mysterious name from the horror of last night, I snatched up the scripture and scurried out of the library unnoticed. I sat at the desk in my room, flung open the ancient volume. Before me sprawled mounds of text in old English. I thought it was in

English. It was still difficult to understand as I trudged through chapters of sacrifice and law. I found not much beyond useless gibberish about ceremonies, well, a few of which I recognised, the method in which one is to fasten a goat's head to their own, a full-page print of a slender woman sitting on a throne with what looked like blood splattered around her mouth. Below it read, Sector her holiness. I returned the book to the library and decided to scour the grounds. Seeing as there was no way I could budge the padlock on the concrete shack, I instead made my way into the chapel.

The door slid open easily enough, and inside was what appeared to be a graveyard of old boxes and furniture. After searching for a few hours, I found nothing of interest among the stacks of rotting wood. The schoolhouse next door yielded similar results. A few desks sat in simple rows with a teacher's desk with a plaque bearing the name Master Lombard and a chalkboard at the front of the room. Nothing else. Feeling defeated, I emerged from the building when something caught my eye. In the grass at the door of the concrete building sat a shining padlock. My heart leaped into my throat and I sprinted towards a shack. I reached for the iron handle of the door when it suddenly sprang open. A short stubby man emerged quickly, shutting the door. He noticed me and pushed his back against the door and then spoke. Oh, no, no, no, boy, don't go in there. This is not a place for the outsiders.

Turn back around, boy. Go back to your room, lest I called for the headmaster. I sighed and grudgingly returned to the house. Though I was distraught over this defeat, I returned to my bed and met sleep with open arms. During the following days I felt my sanity slipping away as I slowly came to grips with my fate. I stayed in bed most of the days, refusing to eat and trying to relive as many happy memories as I could before Sunday's inevitable blood-lidding. Several times during my stay I'd seen people running for the woods, but they were almost immediately apprehended by groups of men clad in red cloaks. I feared the same would happen to me. I decided against making a run for it.

Eventually pulling myself up on Saturday night, I thought about my situation once more. Clasping my hands together, I contemplated how I could possibly survive. By the time I shut my eyes, I'd summoned my last shreds of bravery and constructed a plan with a mental image of the house, so I'd know my best route out of this place. Shocking my plans away in my head and taking a deep breath, I surrendered to my subconscious. I rose late on Sunday afternoon. Unfitting for one's final day on earth, but the inevitability of death weighed on me and kept me in bed.

Lombard entered the room around six o'clock. Are you ready to leave us, friend? We are making preparations for the ceremony now. When you are ready, please approach the painting at the other side of the second door. Slide the painting to the right, and it should reveal a staircase. The staircase leads to my chambers. I need to perform the finishing touches for the farewell. I nodded quietly as the door closed.

For a few moments, I sat and considered my plans. Sitting, sweating and breathing heavily, I made my decision. I snatched one of the pencils from the desk drawer, slid it into my right boot. Following the giant's orders, I climbed the hidden staircase and entered a large circular room. The walls were lined with bookcases, with a massive desk resting in the centre.

On the desk sat piles of papers and a typewriter. Moonlight flooded in from a window above it all. Lombard greeted me with a hearty laugh. He told me to remove all my clothing except for my pants. I obliged and slowly inched toward him as I began unlacing my workpiece. My left sock and boots sat on the floor next to me and I began to work on my right.

Glancing behind me, I saw Lombard looming in anticipation. I smirked and slowly stood the pencil from my boot. Without hesitation, I drove the pencil with all of my might into the titan stomach. Lombard buckled from the strike and dropped to his knees. I heard blood gurgling in his throat. I snatched the typewriter from the desk, slid it across the desk as hard as I could, and smashed it across Lombard's face.

We had master clasped to the ground in the puddle of his own blood. Turning, I was about to make my way out of the room, when I heard quiet laughter emanating from behind me. I spun around to see a bloodied lombard rising from the carpet. His mask was now distorted and blood-souled. You, friend, are smarter than the average fool we drag off to this place. He croaked. I gritted my teeth.

I'm leaving this place. I know what happened a week ago. Now tell me what really goes on here. Lombard chuckled. As you wish, what I told you about our history that morning was in fact true, though there were a few things I left out to keep you under my thumb. Those two cousins who founded the town are closer to us than you think. One of them was my great-grandfather, and the other was yours. Medicine was no longer well. Medicine was no longer working to drive away the blight of my ancestor, great visionary that he was, decided to turn to, well, other means of treatment. He found an old book amongst what he'd found sightseeing in the old country. You seem to be familiar with it, which outlined how to give praise to an ancient goddess, Sacra. In exchange for a human life, Sacra would save another. We soon began

using her divine will to save the community. However, your great-grandfather, blinded to reality by his morals, left the village. Just before the birth of his child, he made a vow to Dyalis, the brother and polar opposite of the glorious sacra, god of morality and justice, that his bloodline would be forever devoted to the eradication of our order. This whole ordeal has been our effort to destroy the one human that can destroy us and end the bloodline one sand for all. I shook my head at all his story and asked, so, so all of this was planned? How much of this is a plan? How long have you people been trying to do me in? I shall get to that in a moment, but here is a secret you will truly enjoy. Normally, one of your blood could cause a member of

our order with an aura as dark as minded. dropped dead at a single touch. I took this into account when dealing with you. I've been nullifying your power with the one thing that will weaken it, human flesh and blood. I went white at Lombard's statement. He began to laugh even harder. That's right, friend. I've personally slipped a bit of human into each of your meals since you got here. You never even knew. Oh, your ancestors would be proud of you. Little did he know, I hadn't eaten in days. I flung my hand out and grasped Lombard's wrists. Rrenching down, I felt a texture similar to squeezing down on raw meats. The giant roared as droplets of liquefied flesh dripped onto the floor. I apparently still had some power.

He roared with pain and anger. I continued to twist and yank with my vice-like grip. I felt the crunching and oozing of now gelatinous bone pulling away from the muscle. Suddenly, I jerked with all of my might and gripped onto Lombard's severed hand as the rest of him fell to the ground and arrived in heat. Lombard clutched his bloody stump. Oh, I see you wizened up to my trickery. Clever man that you are. No matter, you will not leave this place alive. I'll see to that.

I shout it to him. You'll never kill me, you might. monster. As soon as I escape, I'm taking Elizabeth and getting as far away from this town as we can. You will never be able to find us. Lombard began his horse laughter again. You'll never be safe, friend. Even when you think you are the most protected, we'll be there, watching you. We will. Never forget. Not even that girl of yours is safe. Wait until you hear that tale. surely you noticed how your emotions distorted when you were close to her. Well, you should know we took the liberty of turning her into a tool of sorts.

We altered her mind to force you into awakening the ancient blood in your veins in order to drive you apart and into the arms of the circle. She was one of the most instrumental tools in our plot. Oh, she was such a naive girl. What a fool. Pretty, too. And with that, I lost it. I flung myself at my captor once again, and pressing my boot into his chest, I wrapped my hands

around his horns and began to pull. Lombard screaming with pain as I pulled at the mask. I felt each stitch pop as I wrenched upward. The titan began to flail his hand and stab at my body, but every contact with my skin revolted in a feeling akin to the man punching a slab of molten metal. With one last ferocious pull, I felt the first. final stitched tear and I flung the headdress against the wall in a splatter of blood and tea. Lombard's body flailed and I ran to the door. His disfigured face writhed as he cried into the air. I swear it, Robert Elm, you will never escape the hand of the black circle.

You will die by my hand. A smirk at my handiwork. We'll see, friend. I promptly sprinted down the staircase. and out of the silent hells. My legs ached from the fight with the giant, but I shrugged off the pain and ran across the grass as fast as I could. As it passed by the Great Hall,

I could hear shrieks of terror and sorrow. I chuckled at the reaction I'd caused. I'll never see that thing again, I muttered. I hurried myself to the concrete shack at the edge of the property. I figured now was a good enough time as any to see if I could get in the mysterious. building. Halfway through the field, I turned to see hooded men with torches beginning their search for me, and I quickened my pace. I was able to reach the unlocked door while the search party went off to investigate the barn and toolshed. Taking advantage of my moment of safety,

slowly slid the door open and saw a rather anticlimatic sight. The room was dimly lit by a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Several barrels stood around the corners and walls. A workbench was fastened to the wall Next to another large metal door At the other end of the room Just as I got to investigate in the room I heard footsteps from behind the second door My heart skipped a beat

And I had no choice but to conceal myself In one of the barrels I slid back the lid and was met with a horrendous stench That caused me to gag uncontrollably Reluctantly I climbed into what felt like Runny swamp sludge and held my breath As soon as I did, the old man I'd seen earlier pushed the door open and hobbled into the room, holding what looked like a corpse slung over his shoulder. He approached the workbench and flung the body under the table. To my horror, he began meticulously working at the body with an assortment of knives, cutting and slicing with surgical precision. The entrance to the room opened again, a group of hooded searches entered, and asked the old man if they'd seen a man match in my mind.

description anyway well he insisted that he hadn't and after scanning the room for a few seconds the men left as quickly as they came I waited stiffly in the barrel holding my breath as best I could taking in brief sips of air and staying as quiet as possible as so as not to reveal my location suddenly I heard the old man mutter to himself oh yes you'll cook up nicely won't you he let out a quick chuckle I gagged again, half with sickness and half with shock. I'd caught the man's attention. Deciding it was time for me to make a move,

silently lifted the lid off the barrel and slid my soap form onto the dark floor. Fear gripping tight, lid in hand. I raced towards the stunned butcher and struck him on the head with a hunk of wood. He dropped to the floor with a dull thud. I snatched the blade from his hand and made a dash for the door, but not before looking at myself under the dim light. My stomach turned as I saw an entire body soaked in a heavy coating of blood and chunks of meat. It drizzled and pulled on the floor.

Oh, it sickened me. Hold him back to urge to vomit and nudge the door open, revealing a dark tunnel, far more organic than anything I'd seen in quite a while. All was silent except for the drips of blood from my skin and clothes. I'll quicker my pace as I heard shouting from far behind me. I held my breath, ignored the looming constrophobia, and soldiered on through the darkness. The near endless tunnel finally opened into a small candlelit room. It's only about 12 feet across with an arched ceiling.

I had little time to examine my surroundings for, when I entered the room, I saw a hooded worshipper with his back facing me, holding what appeared to be an old hunting rifle. Though at first my heart raced as I anticipated my own death, I was stunned to realize that he was unaware of my presence. Seizing the moment I lashed out at the crown of his head with my stolen weapon. The man let out a quick yelp, felt the ground and lay motionless as blood pulled around his hoods. I let the knife rest in his skull and then snatched up the fire-off.

Here's something I can use, I mumbled to myself as I slung it over my shoulder. On the floor I noticed a small metal hatch. Seeing nowhere else to go and remembering the search party on my tail, I opened it, descending the ladder it revealed. The ladder met the ground in an alcove on the shore of a small pond. Near the ladder, I found plastic tubs filled with things like shoes, backpacks, and dog collars among other things. Remembering the room with the old man and the cult's cannibalistic tendencies, the sight of

all these tattered belongings was bittersweet. grabbing one of the largest packs I saw a pile of metallic objects out of the corner of my eye bikes taking a deep sigh I picked up the newest looking one and rode off through the woods as fast as the wheels would spin into the night after trudging onward through the woods for most of the night and subsisting off some trail mix I'd found in the bag I finally arrived in town needless to say my friends and neighbours were amazed by my my return. However, I knew I couldn't stay in chat. Walking up to my house, Elizabeth rushed out to meet me. I didn't even look at her. I continued inside, gathering my belongings, and climbed

into my car, with Elizabeth chasing me the whole way, asking me what was wrong and where I'd been. I ignored her. She looked at me with a face of sorrow that I knew was just a mask, and when her eyes met, I could tell she knew the answers to her questions. I backed out of the drive, made my way to the highway. I never saw that town or Elizabeth again. Many years passed. I travelled town to town, but every time they found me, they always found me. For years I've been running from them, but I doubt I'll ever escape their grass. I've found safe haven in this place for 12 years, but I fear they're now drawing near once again. And I'm too old to run anymore, my friend.

Just too old now. The bartender stared in astonishment. So, that's why you've been here so solitary. Yeah, I fooled myself into thinking that the more I kept to myself, the safer I'd be. The bartender stuttered. And you're drinking. The sacrifice, the liver thing. Is that why?

The storyteller let out a hearty laugh. Yeah, when they do find me and bite into my flesh, I want them to choke on it. The barkeep laughed grimly, and the old man noticed that the moon was low. He stood and dusted off his pants. Well, best be leaving now. The sun will be here soon.

It was a relief to finally share this story with someone. The bartender smiled. It was a joy hearing it. Have a good rest of the night, Mr. Elm. Robert nodded and started for the door. He took the subway home like he had every night, coming home from the bar, shaking his hands to keep the cold away.

After a short ride, he made his way into his apartment building and climbed the stairs. He took a brief sigh and slowly opened his door. After hanging up his coat and scarf on the coat hanger, and taking a seat in an armchair near the door. He looked off into the darkness, and something caught his eye. It was a gargantuan figure with pale green eyes, watching him from the shadow of the apartment.

Slowly the shape plodded forward to reveal a grotesque face and a wicked, mangled grin. Robert Elm sat motionless as he looked up at the being. The thing spoke to him in a laboured, devilish, bro. Good evening, friend. And so once again, we reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories

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

Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.