Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S2 Ep95: Episode 95: Extremely Weird Horror Stories

Episode Date: August 31, 2022

All of today’s five wonderful stories are by The Vesper’s Bell, AKA A. Vespertine, either shared directly with me via my sub-reddit and read here with the express permission of the author, or available at the Creepypasta Wiki and read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license: https://www.reddit.com/user/A_Vespertine/ Please check out ‘The Harrowick Chronicles: Volume I’ available now at a ridiculously low price and well worth buying! https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08M8XZ55J Now onto tonight’s five tales of terror… ‘The Hedge Witch of Harrowick Woods’ ‘The Erebus Project’ ‘My Friend and I Broke into An Old House and Found A Brain in A Jar: It Was Still Alive’ ‘The Mommet’ ‘The Colour of Television Tuned to a Dead Channel’

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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.ca. Eye exams are provided by independent optometrists. Visit Spexsavers.com to learn more. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. It only took us a few minutes to walk to the woods themselves and a few more minutes walking along its edge until we came to the first trail entries.

Five wonderful stories this evening by the Vespers Bell, also known as A Vespers team, one of my favorite authors in this genre. Now, my dear friends, before we begin, as always, a word of caution. Tonight's stories may contain strong language, as well as descriptions of violence and terrific imagery. If that sounds like your kind of thing, then let's begin.

The Hedge witch of Harrowick Woods. My name's Charlotte, but I usually go by Lottie, since my last name's Webb. I'm not embarrassed about it, though. I actually love spiders. I wear spider jewelry, and I even have a few spider tattoos. But I like to minimize people commentant on my name as much as I can. sometimes a name can tell you a lot about a person but sometimes they can be misleading

for instance i have for financial reasons recently moved in with my childhood friend alice faircroft now based on nothing more than her name where would you assume miss alice faircroft lives somewhere fancy right an old british manor house maybe alas the faircroft estate is not but a single white trailer in the somber creek trailer part

To be fair, it's a nice trailer park. There's a perimeter of trees all around it, a lot of trees inside, park centred around the eponymous somber creek, and it's right beside a motel with a gas station and a diamond. Alice has lived there with her mother her whole life, and for the past couple of years or so, I think, with her boyfriend Jack Ashbourne. Since the trailer only has two bedrooms,

I sleep on a couch, or the couch, since he's the only one, which is in the living room. Despite this couch being only 20 feet away from two horny 20-something so you can bang every chance they get and surrounded by neighbours that don't strictly abide by the parks and no loud noise after 9pm rule, I never had any difficulty sleeping there until last night. I think it was around 3am

when I was awoken by what sounded like a cross between a roar and a howl from the woods across the highway. Coyotes and the neighbours' dogs. are the only things that howl around here and they sounded nothing like either of those sounded almost like a person only feral and crazed and that wasn't the weirdest thing about it though oh a really weird thing the thing that really freaked me out was that it triggered my synesthesia gave me these images of a maiden goddess in a sacred grove of a witch's sabbath of a portal to the underworld I've had synesthesia in my whole life, or at least I thought I did, but I've never experienced

anything like that before. I thought that maybe the fact that I was still half asleep, and that the sound was so strange was what had caused the intense vision. But the experience really left me rattled, and I wasn't able to get any more sleep that night. The next day Jack, Alice and I were sitting around outside their trailer, drinking some local craft beer that had been part of Jack's payment for his last gig. Jack's a very, very minor local celebrity,

and when we're not under lockdown, he plays a few sets a week at various dives around the county. I think he also has an album on Spotify, maybe a channel on YouTube or something. Even though I'm pretty sure he only makes enough money to pay for his Mustang, Alice and her mum treat him like a rock star, and seem convinced it's only a matter of time before they're rich. It also doesn't hurt that he's insanely hot and perpetually shirtless,

so I guess it's not that weird that they don't mind putting him up. And, well, he's more successful than I am at any rate, so I'm in no position to judge. Hey, how are you two hear that fucked up howling coming from the woods last night? I asked, staring off warily in the direction of the forest. Howlin, sorry, no, I didn't hear anything, Alice said. Probably just those coyotes, though. Springtime so the boys are fighting over girls,

and the girls are getting a much-needed pounding. It definitely wasn't coyotes. Not even coyotes having sex, I insisted. The strange vision that sounded given me was still fresh in my mind, and was thankfully keeping me from visualizing a coyote orgy. I think it was a person. As someone doing some kind of shamanic ritual or something.

I don't know, but it kind of freaked me out. The, I bet what you heard was the green man. Jack claimed, gesturing with his beer can exactly as you would expect of someone about to start rambling bullshit. He's a primeval nature spirit who was first summoned by a settler which, centuries ago, to protect these woods. He's the main reason Harrog Woods is so weird to begin with. He's probably going to town on some poachers or something. Jack, babe, don't tell her stories about the woods.

She has to live here now. Alice reminded him. They're not just stories, though. There's a real hedge witch leaving in those woods. We've both seen her, he claimed. A witch, I asked, wondering if there might have been any connection to the witch's Sabbath from my vision.

Don't listen to him. She's not a witch, she assured me. We go walking on the trowse sometimes, and once we cross past with a woman with a cloak and witchy-looking walking stick. And that's it. She's not a witch. Just one of those hippie chicks out at the New Age Place

in town. She's definitely not living out there. That's ridiculous. We're not the only ones with Sina, though. Jack insisted. She's a regular on the trails and some other regulars who've seen her do weird stuff, like tracing out the sigils on the trees, hanging charms off the branches or wandering off

the trail and just never coming back. A group of dude bros from Avalon College were hiking and one of them cat called her. What she did was tap her staff to the ground and some invisible poltergeist came out of nowhere and drove them all out screaming like toddlers yeah she can summon command the dead taught animals felt she definitely has a hovel deep in those woods somewhere some real blair witch shit bloody i've been living across from those woods my entire life there's no green men no ghosts and no witches in them alice swore rolling her eyes at jack's

juvenile attempt to scam well then we go hiking there today? I asked, hopefully. I knew it was kind of silly that any similarities between my vision and local folklore were probably just a coincidence. I figured it would be healthier than sitting around drinking beer all day. Oh my God, yes. We haven't been out there since last fall. Alice agreed excitedly, pulling out her phone. Let me just check to see if the trails are open during the lockdown. We'll go. As fate would have it, the trails were open. I didn't have any hiking boots But Alice insisted I take hers

Saying that she could just piggyback on Jack Anywhere there was rough terrain She quickly threw together a backpack We had three walking sticks from the shed That had been hand-carved by one of her neighbours And we were off Well, it only took us a few minutes To walk to the woods themselves

And a few more minutes Walking along its edge Until we came to the first trail entrance Each of us putting a tooney In the donation box as we passed by as soon as we were in I was immediately struck by the overall atmosphere of the forest maybe it was just because there was so little traffic on the highway

because of the lockdown but even just a little way in we couldn't hear anything of the outside world I almost felt like that forest was just a little out of sync with the rest of reality that it was older and more primeval a place where humanity was at the mercy of nature and her servants

The hundred foot tall, centuries-old trees towering over has certainly left me with the impression that we were under the watchful eye of mighty titans who wouldn't hesitate to punish any irreverence. Those woods are so much prettier in the fall, and some of the leaves are starting to bud, so it's kind of cute. Alice remarked casually, apparently not sharing my sense of existential awe.

How big is this forest? I asked, already losing all sense of direction and scale. Oh, only about four square miles, or ten square kilometers, Malice replied, hopping onto Jack's shoulders. Some of the trails are really winding, though. I think there's something like 40 miles of them. Say they make the whole place seem ten times bigger. That's why they tell beginners to stay off the deep trails, but you're with us, so it's cool. Yeah, I said, hesitantly.

So aside from that witch, you guys ever seen anything weird in him? She wasn't a witch, Alice insisted. And no, there's no big predators here, so people just make up monsters to fill the void. Ah, we found giant deer tracks once. Probably from the green man, Jack claimed. Yeah, like you know how to read tracks. They could have been anything.

Alice rolled her eyes. What about that mothman lady looking thing that was perched up in that tree one time? He asked. "'We both saw her.' "'Yeah, but neither of us got a good look at it,' she retorted, "'of sounding a little less certain than before. "'It was just a big bird in poor lighting.'

"'Okay, well, what about that weird ruin thing "'that were on a lot of the trees? "'That that one over there,' he said, "'pointing over at a tree a little up ahead. "'I peered forward and saw that he was right. "'The tree had some form of magical sigil carved, deep into its bark. Once I noticed it, I realized that it wasn't the only one.

Trees all along the trail had similar markings. Now that I'd seen them, I caused the same sort of mental feelings and imagery in my mind that the howling had. It's local tradition. Instead of hearts and initials, people around here carve those things into trees. Don't ask me how I got started. It's nothing to worry about. Alice tried to reassure me.

I nodded acquiescently, but didn't say anything about all the strange vibes I was getting from the forest. We wandered the trails for another hour or so, eventually winding up somewhere pretty close to the middle of the forest. The weird sensations and imagery the woods were giving me hadn't gone away, but they hadn't gone any worse either, so I was starting to accept that it was all just a new manifestation of my synesthesia. Jack, Jack, look! Alice shouted it. excitedly, still riding his shoulders without a complaint from him the whole time. I followed her finger to where she was pointing, but couldn't see what was getting her so worked up. She finally dismounted her boyfriend, grabbing him by the hand and dragging him off the trail, leaving me to chase after them if I didn't want to get left behind.

We were 40 or 50 feet deep when Alice came to an abrupt hold in front of a small circle, a circle of periwinkle mushrooms about seven feet across. Yeah, first shrooms are the seasons, she cheered as she knelt down, plucked off a cap and popped it right in her mouth. Wait, shrooms, you're getting high now, in the middle of the forest? I demanded indignantly. No worries, Lottie, but we've done it before, Jack said as he sat down and took a cap for himself. Trip walking through this place is really cool. Yeah, and these shrooms only grow wild in Harrowick County for some reason. You can't cultivate them, and they won't grow anywhere else.

You've got to try some, she insisted, handing me a cab. My side, accepting the offering, but putting it in my pockets. Thank you. I'm not getting high on shrooms. I've never tried before when I'm out in the middle of a goddamn forest, I affirmed, stomping my foot a little. Can we please go back on the trail? please this is starting to freak me out a little well actually jack and i kind of have a tradition of

fucking in the fairy ring while we're waiting for the shrooms to kick in she admitted with a sheepish giggle oh you've got to be kidding me i said as i felt my face contort into a rictus of horror sorry luddy she apologized well eagerly unbuckling jack's jeans you don't have to watch if you don't want to well, just got back on the trail and take a break on the first bench you find. We'll catch up, I promise. I sighed in frustration, but I didn't bother arguing with them. I knew that trying to talk them out of screwing was fruitless, so I stomped off back towards the trail.

I'd almost made it too, before I heard screaming. It wasn't real screaming, just in my head, but I could still tell that it was coming from behind me. It was faint, distant. and most of all, pleading. Whoever was screaming had heard us, or at least sensed our presence, and was calling for help.

I did briefly consider that I somehow accidentally ingested some of the silo-cahbin from the mushrooms, but the scream was the same kind of sensory association that I'd been getting from the forest the entire time I'd been inside of it, so I knew I wasn't tripping. Now I'll admit that, running off into the forest chasing phantom screams, wasn't the smartest thing I ever did.

At the very least, I should have gotten Jack and hours to come with me. But the screams were just so desperate that they demanded immediate action, and I didn't have the fortitude to resist the impulse to answer them. Even though I was sure I was running towards the source of the screams, they weren't getting any louder. But because I knew the sound was in my head, I didn't really question that. I must have been over 200 metres from the trail when I finally came across something that made me stop.

Standing in the middle of the forest was a pair of cobblestone pillars with a metal arch over them, bearing the word cemetery. That was weird enough in and of itself. What was even strange was the imagery the gate was giving it. In my mind I saw it was a set of onyx pillars, taller than any of the surrounding trees, carved with starving, virtually mummified figures in abject misery.

Instead of a metal arch, the pillars supported statues of an enthroned king and queen, which I automatically interpreted as Hades and Persephone, without anything actually making that explicit. The gate itself was a thick, glowing fog, radiating out a sense of such hopelessness and terror

that I was paralyzed, unable to move towards or away from it. The screaming continued, now clearly coming from the gate. itself. As desperate as they were, they weren't enough to rouse me from my catatonic trance. Without warning, a black silhouette passed in front of the gate, casting a long shadow that fell upon me that seemed to eclipse all other light. The figure looked like some kind of demon woman, a pair of bat-like wings slowly flexing behind her, and I was immediately reminded of Jack's claims

of having seen a winged female figure. I've never been more afraid than I was at that moment. Her demon was the most literal monster I'd ever encountered. I had no idea what she meant to do with me. I quivered, whimpered, but I couldn't bring myself to fight awfully, not even when she started to move towards me. It was then that I heard a woman shouting,

though I was far too frightened and fixated on the demon to catch what she was saying. The gloated form suddenly interjected itself between me and the gateway, holding up his staff and shouting incomprehensible incantations at the demon. The demon recoiled slightly, pausing as if to consider if it was worth a fight. Apparently, I wasn't. With a slight sneer, she retreated from view. The sound of screaming left my mind, along with the image of the gateway, leaving only the out-of-place seminary. gate in its place. A cloak figure spun to face me, and I saw a fair-skinned woman with warm brown

eyes and long, beautiful red hair. Her staff was carved with the same sigils I'd seen on the trees, topped with a crescent moon and crystal chain, and a pentagram talisman hung prominently from around her neck. She was, beyond any doubts, the hedge witch that Jack and Alice and others had seen, I'd just watched her vanquish some kind of demonic hellspawn with nothing more than a glammed-out walking-stick. I then, perhaps understandably, fainted. When I awoke, I was lying upon a lawn chair near the back end of a small cemetery, with a woman sitting beside me and looking down at me with a mix of concern and joyful curiosity.

Are you all right? she asked, offering me a cup of water. "'Where are we? How long was I out?' I asked as I bolted upright, looking around the cemetery in confusion. "'Ah, barely a minute. Not even a hundred feet from the archway. "'You're still in Harrowing Woods,' she assured me. "'I opened my mouth to object, but caught myself. "'I was still getting the same eerie vibes from the cemetery that I had from the rest of the forest. "'If anything, they were stronger here.

The archway I saw. I saw some kind of demon woman in it. I muttered as I blush from embarrassment. The sentence sounding ridiculous as it left my lips. She was Eryneas, a fury, she nodded. The archway is a spirit portal to the astral plane, specifically the underworld. And she was trying to lure you to her. They can only cross over to our world at certain times, or if they're summoned. He must be a very powerful clairvoyant to have seen the portal's astral form.

When I first found it, I can only sense its catonic nature, not see it. I asked Dunlety, I'm not... Can you see him? She cut me off, pointing towards a man with a long coat and a stern gaze, keeping a close eye on me from a respectful distance. He was also... Well, couldn't help but notice, translucent with a pale blue tinge to him.

Jesus Christ, is that a ghost? He's my spirit familiar, yes, and he's not physically projecting himself right now. So you are definitely clairvoyant, she grinned. This cemetery was hallowed centuries ago, so that most people can't perceive it, or if they do, they can't remember it. I have a feeling you'll remember it, though.

I'm Samantha, by the way. and thy familiar's name is Elam. A long-haired brown tabby suddenly leapt into her lap, meowing as if she'd just said something gravely offensive. I'm sorry, my spirit's familiar's name is Elam. This is my animal familiar, Mock'sley, she said, and she scratched him on the head. He plopped down and started purring, seemingly appeased for the moment.

And what's your name, sister? "'But, well, Charlotte, Lottie, if you like,' I stammered, still looking around the cemetery and confusion. I only then noticed that we were right outside a camping trailer with an enclosed awning, solar powers along the roof, and an expansive garden and homemade greenhouse. Oh my God, you live here, you actually live here. Absolutely. I love it out here. It's quiet, beautiful, and full of magic. She smiled

Isn't that what brought you out here? I think so I answered pathetically I heard someone howling out here last night and it gave me this vision like nothing I've ever experienced before I came here to see if it meant anything and ever since I stepped foot in here

I've been getting these powerful spiritual vibes Oh wasn't you howling was it "'Not unless I howl in my sleep,' she smirked. "'These woods are under the protection of a spirit. "'Most people call the green man. "'I suppose he's technically my landlord.

"'If the howling gave you visions, "'then I'd say that it was him calling out to you. "'You probably sensed your presence. "'I thought it would be a good idea to send you in my direction. "'Yeah, my friend's boyfriend, Jack, said it was the green man. "'But it's nice to get a second expert opinion, I said. Jack. Jack Ashbourne, she said with a raised eyebrow. Shirtless guy, thinks he's a rock star, drives a Mustang with tasteless nudes painted on it. Uh, yes to one and two, but

I kind of like the artwork on his car, I admit it. You know him? Yes, and he knows me. He's my girlfriend's half-brother, she replied, sounding a little annoyed. He didn't man. He didn't me when you were talking about this forest I said there was a hedge-wish living out here and well he seemed like talking about you like you were a bigfoot I told her hesitantly she looked a little angry and a little hurt but seemed to be making an effort to keep her composure he's nearby isn't he she said looking towards the forest a sudden grimace swept across her face and I knew that she knew that Jack and Alice was screwing.

Elam, she commanded, hanging her head and clasping the bridge of her nose in frustration. The ghost didn't need any further instruction, immediately darting off into the woods. Seconds later, I heard both Jack and Alice screaming in terror. He's not hurting them, they'll be fine. I'll probably just write the whole thing off as a bad trip. Suddenly she stood up and shouted, those are entheogenic mushrooms jack they're not for recreational use and she sat back down looking exasperated and i'd hurriedly reached for the cap that i had in my pocket and offered it to her no you're

fine to keep it you might actually get some use out of it she said she then reached into her pocket and pulled out a business card i won't keep you here any longer i'm sure you want to catch up with your friends and make sure they're all right but if you're interested in learning more about all of this or in honing your clairvoyance i work at eve's eden of esoterica in somber mori we can schedule a remote session or you can come to visit us after the lockdown's over genevieve and i will be more than happy to help you um thank you i said as i gently accepted the card and thank you for saving me from the archway don't mention it and uh i mean that thinking and speaking of spirits does have a tendency to draw their attention she smirked swallowing anxiously i nodded graciously and ran off back towards the trail taking care to avoid the arch as i did so the cemetery became lost in the trees behind me far quicker than it logically should have but i didn't forget it though or samantha elam the ghost was kind enough to point me in the direction jack and alice had run off to they were scared and stoned but otherwise okay.

Didn't tell them what had happened to me, just scolded them for tripping on shrooms while out in the middle of the woods. Alex accepted that her encounter with Elam was just a bad trip pretty easily, but Samantha was telling the truth about Jack. He knows her, and he knows that was her spirit familiar,

so hopefully he'll think twice before spreading urban legends about her again. I went online to see if I could find any more about her well, I've stumbled into something way bigger than just creepy goings-on in the woods. I need to know more. I have all the Samantha's contact information from the business card she gave me, and I'm going to try and keep in touch with her. Couldn't help but smile when I saw her last name was Sumner,

a very fitting name for someone who can summon spirits and fend off the dam. Like I said at the beginning, sometimes a name says a lot about a person. Hey Ontario, come on down to BedmGM 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 BedMGM Casino.

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the line people don't see blackness or darkness. We see nothing. If you're sighted, you don't see darkness behind you. You just don't see anything at all. That's what it's like for me. I've been completely blind since birth, and vision's always been a very foreign, abstract concept to me. I have never known light or darkness,

but that changed when I volunteered to be a test subject for a project named Teribus. I received a phone call last November from someone claiming to work for a private research firm called Noir Laboratories, saying they'd gotten my information from the NHS. They were looking for subjects with varying degrees of visual impairment to test something they called an luminiferous chamber and wanted to know if I could come in for an in-person assessment. They were willing to pay me 50 pounds just to come in, another thousand pounds for the testing if I qualified.

I had my brother help me research them to make sure it wasn't a scam. We came to the conclusion that it was a small but legitimate operation. It was a little vague exactly what they did, but their primary research projects appeared to be moonshots based on fringe science. That was, admittedly, a bit of a red flag, but it didn't make the prospect of a thousand pounds any less tempting. I figured going in for an assessment couldn't hurt. My brother took me to the clinic because I'd never been there before, but since I had no idea how long it would take, I didn't see any point in him hanging around.

I assured him I'd be fine on my own, and I'd call him when I was ready. In retrospect, that was a mistake. They were ready for me as soon as I got in. I consented to them viewing my medical records, orally answered a questionnaire, and then pricked my finger for a blood test of some kind, and submitted to an eye exam to confirm i was a hundred percent blind during the questionnaire i did

hear a very odd sort of mechanical whirring voice when i asked what it was they told me it was an old scanner someone was using at the time i assumed well they meant a document scanner after all of that i was given a one-on-one interview with a woman who introduced herself as miz noir i stifled a chuckle at one I assumed to be a very obvious pseudonym, given her company's name and its mysterious nature. But I suppose there are people named Noir, so maybe it was just a happy coincidence. I finished going over all your information and test results, and I think you'd make an excellent test subject for Project Eribus. She said as I heard the creak of expensive leather upholstery from her sitting down in her

office chair. I couldn't help but take note that the guest chair I was in was of much lower quality, which told me a great deal about how Ms. Noir viewed her underlings and test subjects. She smelt strongly of Kashmir, so I presume she was also well-dressed, along with smelling fastidiously and immaculately clean. Her voice was fairly young, mid to late 20s, she spoke in a properly aristocratic King's English accent. I suspected she was a posh little trust-fund baby

who used her familial wealth to finance this particular start-up of hers. I assume you have some questions before you agree. I heard her say, and realised I'd zoned out while she was still speaking. Well, I'm not really sure what the project even is, I replied, nervously fidgeting with my folded cane. A luminiferous chamber just sounds like a fancy name for a dark room. Hmm. Have you ever heard of anechoic chambers, Marissa? She asked me over the sound of her fingers softly tapping on a touchscreen.

They're the most soundproof space in existence. the quietest places in the world. They're so quiet you can hear your own organs move. Most people find the experience quite unnerving and can't stand to be in one for more than an hour. Well, electromagnetic anechoic chambers exist as well, and they don't have the same psychological impacts as the acoustic ones do.

Our illuminiferous chamber doesn't just block all light, doesn't just absorb all light, but it is literally a space where light cannot exist. Photons are still created and survive long enough to enable chemical bonds between atoms and molecules, but are obliterated so quickly that if you shone a torch right into someone's eyes, it would never even reach their retina. Abliterated? By what? I asked, curiously.

Have you ever heard of luminiferous ether? She asked in reply, taking a sip of what smelled like saffron tea, and never asking me if I'd like some. Um, yeah, I think so. It's a discredited theory about light existing solely as a wave in an otherwise undetectable medium right. I said, uncertainly. Discredited isn't the term I'd use. Scientific theories are never fully proven or disproven beyond dispute.

They're merely adjusted to accommodate new evidence, she said with authority, her teacup clanking against the sorcerer as she put it down. Oh, yeah, of course. I smiled weakly wondering what kind of pseudo-scientific. I got myself involved with. So, you're saying that you're a luminiferous chamber works by modifying the luminiferous ether so that light can't exist inside of it? That's the gist of it, yes, she answered, a chair creaking again as she leaned back in it.

And as a result, it's the darkest place in the universe. Do you know that the human body is luminescent in the infrared spectrum? That means no matter where a person goes, they always have light with. them, even if they can't see it. But just as the sound of an anechoic chamber makes previously inaudible sounds quite noticeable, we found that the absence of any ambient light at all allows for the emergence of some rather novel phenomena that have hitherto gone unobserved. What kind of phenomena? I asked, suddenly concerned. For the sake of the experiment, I'm afraid I'll need you to be going in completely blind,

she replied. I waited a beat for her to say, no pun intended, or no offence, but she said nothing. Well, um, am I going to be in any sort of danger? I asked. Not physically, no, she assured me. Psychologically, though, it's a bit unclear. All of her other subjects, all cited, found the absolute darkness extremely disquieting and were unable to tolerate it for more than a few moments. You, though, well, you can't see dark. miss. You see nothing and we'd like to know what effects, if any, are. And we'd like to know what effects, if any, our chamber has on you. And I'm not going to be exposed to any kind of

dangerous radiation or chemicals or anything like that. It's just aluminumiferous ether, I asked, hoping I wasn't coming across as too incredulous. Yes, and it's completely harmless, she promised. All you have to do is sit in a dark room for as long as you can, and you'll walk away one thousand pounds richer. I pondered my options for a minute. It was obviously the quickest, easiest thousand pounds I would have ever made. But what if it was dangerous? There was no such thing as luminiferous either, so Miznar clearly had one or two screws loose.

Whatever this luminiferous chamber actually did could very well be dangerous. But then again it might not be anything at all. She did say that there had been other test subjects, and unless she was blatantly lying about that, then surely one of them would have notified the authorities had they suffered serious harm, or the next of kin would have if they died. Right then, so where do I sign? She slid me away for a non-disclosure agreement, in braille and non-brail versions, and after reading them I signed and initialed wherever she pointed my hand.

I've been told I have a doctor's handwriting, but just my own. making a mark is good enough for legal reasons. Once the legalities were out of the way, she laid me down the hall into Project Erebus' illuminiferous chamber. I was walked straight into it and told to sit down upon a chair without being provided any description of the device itself. I can echolocate a little bit, though, and I got the impression that the chamber was round, maybe a couple of metres in diameter, with a very hard and smooth shout. Once I was in place Miss Noir slid the door shut

And it sealed with a distinct hiss That made me a little nervous Since it led me to believe the chamber was airtight But otherwise I didn't notice any change I'd assume that it would be a sensory deprivation chamber Of some sort But I could still hear muffled movement on the other side The voices were largely indistinct

But I did hear Muz Noir give the very clear order To turn off the lights And turn on the dark The chamber started to hum, a very eerie, unnatural humming that wasn't quite like anything I'd ever heard before. It sent a chill down my spine. And that's when things started getting really weird. Have you ever heard white noise that you didn't notice was there until it stopped?

I suddenly felt like something was gone, something that had always been there but I'd never noticed, like a fish who never knew what water was until they were taken from it. The perfect darkness that I felt enveloping me was creepy, but not immediately alarming. It was an alien sensation, and I didn't know what to make of it. As it grew stronger, I increasingly got the impression that it was something abominable, something Eldridge, something that wasn't supposed to exist that couldn't exist under the laws of the nature as I understood them. And then I realized why this new sensation seemed so very foreign to me. It was sight.

I wasn't just feeling this otherworldly darkness. I was seeing it. I don't understand how, but the first and only thing I ever saw was the primordial darkness inside the illuminiferous chamber. I was horrified and confused, but also curious, so I didn't ask to be let out of the chamber just yet. I stared into the impenetrable darkness as deeply as I could, and the longer I did so, the longer I got the feeling that something was looking back at me. Now that I could see this darkness,

it or something in it could see me. I took a sudden, deep, reflexive gasp, loud enough for my echolocation to let me know that the chamber was no longer seemed only two meters wide anymore. I couldn't sense the walls at all. I think that was because my brain was devoting all available processing power to make sense of this vision of darkness. People like me who have been blind from birth or a young child really do have more acute non-visual senses because our visual cortexes have rewired themselves so more thoroughly process our remaining sensory input. Now I was experiencing the opposite of that. All my other senses going numb as my visual cortex attempted to fulfil its intended purpose.

It really was a cruel irony. I could see for the first time, and there wasn't one photon of light to see with. When I most needed my remaining senses at their keenest, they were dulled as the novel darkness demanded so much analysis from my brain. I tried to fight it, tried to listen, tried to echolocate to figure out what was in the darkness with me. Instead, I felt hot, fetid, rancid, breathing on the back of my neck. I screamed and jumped out of the chair, my only thought to bang and scream on the chamber door

until they let me out, or I knocked it down myself. But it wasn't there. It should have been just one or at most two strides in front of me. But it wasn't. The darkness I'd found myself in was somehow far larger than the chamber itself. Terrified beyond all reason. I ran as fast as I could, not knowing what lay ahead, but desperate to escape from whatever. was behind me.

But I couldn't escape. It wasn't chasing me, for I heard no sign of pursuit, but I couldn't gain any distance on it. No matter how fast I ran or in what direction, I could still hear its ragged breathing right behind me, still smell the odor of death and decay it carried with it. It was in the darkness, a part of the darkness, and I could not escape that darkness.

It became harder and harder to breathe as a stench of the thing intensified, and eventually I dropped to my knees, gagging and retching, at the mercy of whatever was there in the dark with me. I unfolded my cane and started swinging it around me, and at last ditch effort to defend myself. But it never made contact with anything solid. Who's there? I demanded, tears of desperation pouring down my cheeks.

Maybe in response to me, or maybe not. It came closer, close enough that my echolocation was enough to get a vague sense of its dimensions. It was an uneven oblong shape about the size of a person, suspended vertically about a foot off the ground. It was pockmarked with various orifices that weezed out foul-smelling vapours, the entirety of its form expanding and contracting greatly with each laboured breath. It shuddered in what seemed like pain with each exhaling. but was otherwise quite lethargic and sluggish. It was right in front of me now, mere inches from my face.

I was shaking, trembling, sobbing uncontrollably. What was this thing, this bizarre, otherworldly alien thing? And what did it want? Did it mean me harm, or was it simply investigating an intruder into its territory? I just wanted it away from me, and since I couldn't flee, I decided that my only option was to push it away. Retticently, I slowly raised my hand and placed it upon the entity's body.

Its flesh was soft and moist like kneaded dough and warm like it had been left out to rot in the hot summer sun. It didn't react to my touch, so I pushed my luck harder and gave it a subtle nudge away from it. It didn't move one inch. Instead, I felt an eyeless human face emerge from the mass. its mouth hanging agape and a skew. I screamed and fell backwards,

trying my best to scuttle away but still unable to put any distance between myself and that thing. And then the face started singing. It wasn't screaming exactly, but a ghastly unnatural-sounding wail that carried with it the slightest hint of harmony to indicate that it may have been music. And then another voice joined the chorus,

and then another and another. It sounded like the creature was forming new faces all over its body, every one of them singing their soul, shattering him. More voices came from behind me. Another one of the creatures emerging from the darkness already with a multitude of faces to join in the choir. At least three more drifted in from the sides, and I was completely surrounded now. Their voices just grew louder and louder. I clasped my hands to my head in a desperate attempt to block it out. they're going to deafen me, I thought.

Oh, please, God, no, I can't be blind and deaf, please, no. Helplessly I laid in the darkness, enduring the acoustic assault of the strange monstrosities that it accosted me, with no means or hope of escape. Mercifully, seems that the technicians attending to the experiment were neither ignorant of nor apathetic to my plight. In an instant, the singing stopped and the darkness was replaced by the complete, absence of sight that I'd known all my life. My ears were still ringing from the ghoulish music, so I didn't hear the door open, and I barely heard the lab assistants as they tried to console me and help me to my feet. What I did hear was the same mechanical whirring I'd heard earlier,

this time accompanied by a bunch of excited jargon that meant nothing to me. They were scanning me and had scanned me earlier, and were perfectly fine with doing it without asking or telling me. It made me wonder if I hadn't just escaped from one den of monsters to another. A little over half an hour and a quick debriefing later, I was back in Ms. Noir's office. My hearing was back to normal, but I was badly shaken. I didn't fully understand what I just experienced, and I still don't. I heard Ms. Noir walk in and smelled that she had a mug of steaming hot chocolate with her.

This time, though, she put it down directly in front of me. "'That's from my personal stash. "'You won't find that in any shop you'll ever set foot in. "'On the house,' she said, "'a soft hint of sympathy in her voice as she sat in her chair. "'What the fuck just happened?' I demanded. "'Marissa, I think I owe you an apology,' she sighed. "'I thought that since you were blind,

"'the effect of the chamber would be negligible, even non-existent. "'It seems it actually affected you more. severely than our sighted subjects, likely because you didn't have the luxury of confusing the darkness you were seeing with something mundane. How could I see anything? And what the fuck was in there with me? I demanded. The darkness, the pure, true darkness created within the aluminum chamber is primordial, so fundamental that any conscious entity can perceive it with or without visual sensory organs. She claimed, dubiously, has a lot of it. As a very conscious entity, he can perceive it, for what was in there with you, that's a tad more speculative at this point.

We think that they've made some form of dark matter, a shadow ecosystem, and maybe even civilization composed of a kind of matter that doesn't interact with our own. We're completely invisible to each other, at least under normal circumstances. But when we create a space of true primordial darkness without any photons, that appears to allow for at least a degree of interaction. Our sighted subjects, they experienced things as well, but not like you. I think it may be because you experienced the darkness in a way that they just didn't, and maybe through some kind of observer effects,

you and those creatures became more real to each other than was ever otherwise possible. I let a word sink in for a minute. Those creatures, those monsters I'd encountered in the chamber, were everywhere. They were everywhere we just couldn't interact. with them. I had experienced something that was otherwise impossible in that chamber, encountered the denizens of a shadow earth that I never should have met. Bloody dark matter aliens. And you didn't think that was something I needed to know before I agreed to this, I asked bitterly. You said all I had to do was sit in a dark room. I could have lost my hearing. I could have

been killed. Yes, it seems our initial risk assessment was a bit off. "'We're willing to compensate you for that financially,' she told me as I heard her flip open a check-work. "'So long as you understand that none of this invalidates your liability waiver or non-disclosure agreement.' I scoffed in disgust and reached for the cocoa she'd given me. It was rich and delicious and did calm me down a little. Even if I could somehow find a lawyer who'd take on such an outlandish case, or a court that would hear it, What chance would I have in a lawsuit against a firm with the resources to literally bend the laws of physics to their whim? Yep, I understand. I nodded with a dejected sigh.

Ever since then, I've been a blind woman who's afraid of the dark. I sleep with my bedroom light on now and always carry an LED light in my purse, because if I'm in the dark too long, I start to feel that same warm, fetid breathing on the back of my neck. I think Ms. Noir was right about there being some kind of observer effect involved in this. The shadow creatures and I know about each other now, and we can't unknow each other. This anchors us in each other's realities just enough that we no longer need perfect darkness to interact. Just regular darkness is enough for us to start to faintly perceive one another. Maybe they don't actually mean me any harm. Maybe they're as afraid of me as I am of them.

but I don't think so maybe it's just because they're so strange but I can't think of them as anything other than monsters I suppose that one day when the lights finally do go out I'll find out for sure my friend and I broke into an old house

and felt a brain in a jar it was still alive damn it Jess you told me this place was abandoned I'm out I cursed as I took Turned my back to the stately, well-kept house that was very obviously not abandoned, making me lose whatever nerve I thought I had. Jess and I were, what you might call, disenfranchised youths.

Our prospects for the future were pretty bleak, and we were pissed about it. With things only getting worse for us this year, we decided that we were finally pissed enough to do something about it, or at least pissed enough to do something that made us feel like we were doing something about it. Our plan was to raid what we believed to be an unoccupied home of our town's wealthiest resident, taking anything of value we could carry while tearing the place up to send him a message. Well, ostensibly anyway. Looking back on it, we were just lashing out, with no real reason to believe one act of petty theft and vandalism

would be the impetus for any great social change. It would more likely be the impetus for us spending the rest of the pandemic in prison. I never said it was abandoned. I just said it was unoccupied. Jess insisted as he grabbed me by the shoulder. It's a guesthouse where Chamberling keeps any out-of-town guests when his mansion is overflowing with pussy. I'm pretty sure Chamberlain's gay, actually.

I muttered, disinterestedly, turning my attention back to the house to see if there was any merit to what he was saying. There was a squat, stone, rectangular house that looked to be about 50 feet by 40. two stories plus an attic in a basement. That gave it at least 4,000 square feet of living space,

and twice that if the attic and basement weren't just for storing wine and antiques. But it was the spacious, well-lanscape lawn that really made me doubt it was vacant. Weeded flowerbeds, trim bushes, and grass that had clearly been mowed within the last week were enough to make any hooligans looking for an easy target think twice. You're missing the point, eyes.

It's a guest house, and he can, can't exactly keep his Illuminati bros somewhere shabby, how can he? Jess asked. If we'll make you feel better, we can stake the place out for a bit, but I'm telling you, no one's home. I let out a reluctant sigh, fought in my arms across my chest as I considered the admittedly quiet house. Even if no one's home, there's no way it's not monitored by security, I insisted. It isn't. Chamolin values his privacy, as anyone who's into as much. messed up shit as he is would. Jess claimed. There's no live monitoring, just security cameras that feed into an encrypted on-site hard drive. How would you know that? I asked, skeptically.

That was a new story about it a while back, he replied. There was a whole court case or investigation or something, trying to get access to his surveillance footage. It wasn't about this place in particular, but that's how he operates. Look, this is the safest of his properties to target because he doesn't waste his bodyguards here when there are no guests. What the fact does he care about the maid and gardener popping in to keep everything looking swanky? No one's going to be watching the camera feed, and even if they do look it over, we're covered since we got these. He gestured to his now completely non-suspicious bandana, which he wore because he thought that the nose wires in the face masks were 5G antennas meant to increase adenochrome production, or some bullshit like

that. Even if no one's watching the surveillance cameras, there's still be motion detectors and entry sensors that will alert Chamberlain's goons to a breaking, I argued. They'll be here in minutes. Not without video confirmation, they won't. They've got other priorities. Just counted.

Chamberlain's got his mansion, his villa, his financial firm, his luxury apartment building, his hotel, his country club. I think the strict club, and probably shit we don't even know about. His security isn't going to be in a rush to check. out what might just be a false alarm on what for him is basically a spare mattress. They'll take their sweet time, which means we can take hours. I sighed, trying to figure out if anything he was saying actually made sense.

He really was piling a lot of assumptions on top of each other. For all we knew, we'd already been spotted and flagged as suspicious by the most advanced security AI money goodbye. But the news report he mentioned did ring a bell for me, and it made sense that Chamberlain wouldn't risk anyone spying on him through security cameras. He also owned a lot of real estate, so it wasn't unreasonable to assume that a comparatively small guest house would be a low priority for his security force.

Maybe, just maybe, they wouldn't come running right away. The thought of the dragon's smorg, exploding into a murderous rage upon noticing a single cellist had been stolen from his massive hoard, suddenly injected itself into my mind. Let's find some place we can watch the house unnoticed until after dark. If we don't see any lights on, we'll go for it. I proposed.

I was actually trying to save face, since even if no one was home, I was sure the lights would be automatic. An unlit house like that would be way too tempting to burgle. Jess agreed, and he faded back into the trees that shrouded the entirety of the property, mostly shielding it from public view. sunset came daylight faded and yet not one light in or around the house was lit up it became so dark it was actually hard to make the nearly mansion-sized house out in the gloom what did i tell you man no one's home jess declared as he started heading towards the stone fence they started to object but couldn't think of anything to say if chamberlain didn't even care enough about this place to put the lights on a timer then jess Jess was probably right about the security being lax. I jogged over to him, and together we hopped the fence and sprinted across the spacious lawn. "'Watch out for the co-pond,' Jess warned, as we narrowly avoided walking into the decorative pool.

That's more of what I'm talking about right here. Chamberlain's real mansion's got peacocks and flamingos and shit, and he was riding horses at his villa. A co-pond is some cheap-ass landscaping for someone as loaded as him. "'Yes. "'Have you been to Chamberlain's houses?' "'I asked, curiously. "'What?

"'No. "'What the hell would someone like me be doing in places like those?' "'He scoffed. "'As far as he's concerned, "'people like us aren't even qualified to scrub his toilets. "'Well, it's just that "'this is starting to sound kind of personal. "'I thought we were just trying to stick it to the man or something,'

"'I explained. "'That is all we're doing, "'grabbing what we can and shitting on the rest. from someone so rich they wouldn't even give a damn if we burn the whole house down. Just claimed as we reached the back door. He tried turning the knob, but it turned out that the maid did lock up on a way out. He reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked to be a pair of improvised lockpicks that he'd learned to make from a YouTube tutorial.

You've done this before, right? I asked, skeptically. I've been practicing yet. Don't worry, I'll have this open in a couple of minutes, he assured me. I sighed and as the seconds ticked by, I started to wonder if bashing the door down or breaking a window would make enough noise for a neighbour to call the police. Fortunately, it seemed I had underestimated him, and he had the door open in barely a minute. I froze expecting some kind of alarm siren to start blaring, but there was nothing but silence in a dark hallway before us.

Far from being emboldened by our level of success so far, a feeling of the feeling of the of dread began to wash over me. I call me paranoid, but this is starting to feel too easy, I said, the anxiety notting in my stomach, pushing me to the verge of vomiting. As, how many times do we have to go over this? Chamberlain not spraying for decent security on this place

is no weirder than an average guy leaving a tool shit on us. He insisted, his tone growing irritable and impatient. Get your flashlight out and let's go. We're wasting time. With a reluctant nod, I fumbled with my flashlight and followed him into the house. The back hall led directly into a large living area, with furniture arranged in a way that reminded me more of a ski or hunting lodge rather than someone's house. Holy shit. Check out that TV. It's almost a hundred inches. Probably like 8K, I said in an excited whisper. Without saying a word, Jess unsheathed his crowbar and started smashing it.

"'Dude, what the hell? "'Do you have any idea what we could get for that? "'We can't smuggle a hundred-inch TV out of here. "' Use your head!' "'He just sighs me, as the television fell off its mount "'and crashed to the ground. "'I then moved his way into the kitchen "'and started smashing what I could only assume

"'was antique bone china, "'something which was definitely transportable and portable. "'Not personal my ass,' I muttered under my breath. "'Rather than joining him "'in whatever catharsis he was trying to achieve, I slowly moved my flashlight across the living room in the hopes of finding something worth pocketing. My beam settled on a large 19th century portrait above the mantle, depicting three well-dressed businessman.

The one in the middle looked like Chamberlain, tall, slender and handsome with dark brown hair, dressed all in reds and that same punchable smug-smirk on his face. I assumed that he was his great-grandfather or something. I knew he had roots in somber mori going back again. couple of hundred years or so. The frail man to his right was older, with bushy white hair, pale greyish skin, and a pointed beard and nose. The only thing about him that didn't look old and fragile were his vibrant green eyes. I got an odd sense of deja vu then, like I'd seen people who looked like that before, but I had no idea where. The man on the other side of the portrait

was the shortest of the three, but also the heaviest, looking to weigh more than the other two-putting. together. There didn't appear to be any neck connecting his round head to his pear-shaped torso, and he had a moustache and hat that were both small enough to be slightly comical. It suddenly clicked in my head that this must be the Crowley and Chamberlain that Chamberlain's financial firm was named after. It seemed that the Chamberlain line was the only one still around, an idea that made me more than a little uneasy. "'Jess, hey, Jess,' I hissed, hoping his little temper tantrum in the kitchen was drawing to a close. "'What?' he gasped between breaths.

"'I don't know what's going on with you, but right now I don't care. I just came here for the loot,' I reminded him. "'Let's go upstairs and check the bedrooms for jewelry or something.' Jess nodded and sheathed his crowbar. He didn't look excited, just resigned at the fact that, when he was gone to the same, he didn't look excited, just resigned to the fact that what he was doing wasn't actually going to make him feel any better about whatever was bothering him. We crept quietly up to the second floor, though I don't know why. Since Jess's little rampage in the kitchen hadn't brought anyone downstairs, it seemed safe to assume the house was deserted.

Once we were upstairs, I just turned the first doorknob in front of me, expecting to find nothing more extraordinary than a neatly clep spare bedroom. Instead, what I stumbled into was some kind of 19th century laboratory. It ran most of the length of the second floor, and I suspected that maybe it had at one point been multiple adjacent rooms, since there were a couple more exits into the hallway further down. There were tall bookshelves holding well over a thousand hard-bound tobs, alongside shorter, sturdier shelves for jars and vials of strange liquids, preserved specimens, and unsettling-looking artefacts. There was a writing desk, a telescope, and three workbenchers, none of which had any chairs by them.

The section of ceiling was missing at the far end, enabling a mechanical lift to ascend into the attic, and lightly down to the lower floors as well. Throughout the room was a haphazard collection of steampunk-looking contraptions of all shapes and sizes, the crown jewel of which was an actual brain in a vent. The brain, along with a little bit of its original spinal cord, was buoyantly suspended in a clear bubbling liquid.

The vat was mounted on a wheeled podium made from dark oak and polished brass. The front side sported several closed panels and an analogue interface of glass dials and ebony knobs. Beneath and beside the panel was a pair of shells, each of which supported a folded-up mechanical arm with a claw-grasper. To one side of the vat itself was a polished gramophone horn, and on the other side was a miniature Tesla coil. On the backside, there was an accordion-like bellows, constantly rising and falling, which was presumably what was aerating the vat.

Strangest of all, perched on top of the vat, was a vintage bowler hat. What the fuck? I muttered as I stepped into the room, taking in the bizarre scene as quickly as I could. I spun around to Jess, who looked just as confused as I was. Did you know about this? No way, man. I swear, this is some Jules Verne shit or something, he replied, slowly stepping towards the brain in the vats.

I'm not a doctor, but this brain looks real to me. This thing isn't just some Halloween decoration or something. It's an actual preserved human brain. That's so fucked up, man. Why would someone preserve an actual person's brain like that? I asked, shirking away from the abomination in mortified horror. Like I said, Chamberlain's a fucked up dude, Jess replied, a devilish grin spreading across his face.

Yes, dude, what are you thinking? I asked. I already knew what he was going to say. Only that this freaky thing here must be a hell of a lot more irreplaceable than a TV or some dishes. he answered, raising his crowbar to smash the vat to smithereens. Before I could object, the Tesla coil sprang to life and shot him with a bolt of indigo electricity, sending him tumbling backwards and crashing to the floor. What the fuck? he screamed, clutching his torso in agony. The brain began to glow with a ghostly blue aura, tendrils lapping out of the vats like a plasma ball,

and the podium rolled itself on creaking wheels towards us. Well, Lance, I was hoping not to have to play my hand, but you've gone ahead and forced the issue. A monotone voice boomed from the gramophone horn. Jesus Christ, you're alive, I screamed. Better, alchemically reanimated, he boasted. A proprietary concoction. of proto-plasmodic rejuvenatives and protectance was all that was required to keep me from the dread

Persephone's realm. I told myself that it couldn't be real, that it was some remote-control prop someone was using to scare us, but the brain, the undeniably real human brain, was able to move about inside the vat with the ease of lively fish. It was moving itself with that inexplicable aura that flickered when it spoke. I tried to think of everything I knew about cryogenics and brain computer interfaces to find some possible rational explanation. But there wasn't one. I was staring in a glowing, disembodied, still-conscious brain in a vat that was telepathically controlling a clockwork lightning-shooting automaton.

As, run, Jess asked, pleading with me to leave him behind. I wasn't ready to leave him just yet, though, so I tried dragging him towards the door. Another bolt from the Tesla coil Not only slammed the door shut But locked it as well Demonstrating far more precision Than should have been possible I'm sorry, jents

But I'm afraid an Irish goodbye is quite off the table The brain informed us Allow me to properly introduce myself then I am Professor Whittaker C Crowley Or at least what's left of him A cult scholar Alchemical consultant and science "'Sylent partner in the enterprises of Seneca, Chamberlain.

"'Sylent partner,' I scoffed. "'Well, the thing had the volume control of a darling.' "'Yes, I am aware of the irony of that title,' it screeched. "'Your friend is dying, "'so I'd advise you to watch the sass if you expect any help from me.' "'I looked down to take a good look at Jess. "'I saw that the brain was right. "'He was bleeding out, no doubt about it.'

I nodded my head in sombre agreement, slowly rising to my feet and lifting my hands over my head. Can you help him? I asked softly. No, S, please. I know what this thing does to people. I won't be one of his experiments. Jess ranted as he coughed up blood.

You make it sound like I'm some kind of mad scientist. The glowing brain in the vat chuckled through its gramophone. The pattern of arcing light forming the... the outline of a smile. As horrifying as it was to look at, the implications of what Jess had just said sunk in nonetheless. You know what this thing does? I asked him coldly.

Jess, what the fuck have you gotten us into? Oh no, I lied. I'm sorry. I was in pretty deep with Chamberlain, but that's over now. I swear to God I didn't know that this was where he kept that thing. Just screamed as the red splotch on his chest grew larger. Struggle all you want, boy, you'll only bleed out faster, Crowley said as he wheeled over to his shelf of potions.

His bronze graspers unfolded it and began preparing a syringe. Do you feel him yet? Cold Hades grasping at you, pulling you down to his underworld. Oh, you don't want to spend eternity there. Trust me, I know. But one shot of this, your brainstem and your consciousness can stay bound to your central nervous system forever. Granted, if you've yet to master astral projection, the experience seems to be less than idyllic, but I'll leave it to the philosophy majors to debate if it's worse than literal hell.

"'That's—don't let him stick me with that stuff, man,' just bleated, tears of existential terror streaming down his cheeks. Crowley was coming straight at us now, his Tesla coil already crackling, ready to put either of us down in an instant if he needed to. My eyes darted around wildly for any possible weapons, but the only things in reach were monstrous deformities preserved in formaldehyde. I grabbed one and held it out like a crucifix between us and Crowley, hoping he was smart enough to realize what I was threatening him with. What are you doing? he demanded, of the fact that he did. backed up a bit while turning down his Tesla car suggested he knew exactly what I was doing. But this is formaldehyde. It's flammable, even explosive right?

I asked. Do you pull any more of your palpidine crap on us, and your whole lab goes up in flames? Crowley made a sort of sighing sound with his bellows and shut his Tesla coil off completely. Now, drop the syringe, I ordered. This time, Crowley had a little. hesitated. Drop it. I'll set it down.

It would be a shame to waste it, he said as he placed the needle onto the nearest table. Jess started to laugh, and with his last remaining strength brought himself to his feet. Now, my friend and I are leaving,

and you're staying here, got it. I asked, authoritatively. Noaz, you're the only one getting out of him. "'Jess said, picking up a jar "'with a pickled polyphemus inside. "'I'm dying no matter what, "'and I'm not going to die for nothing.'

"'Before I could say anything, "'he charged at Crowley, "'smashing the jar right over the Tesla coil. "'I watched in horror as the two grappled each other, "'crowly's graspers crushing Jesse's hands, "'but Jess slamming Crowley against another shelf, "'bringing multiple jars of formaldehyde down on both of them. Either in panic, desperation, or just a short circuit, Crowley fired his

Tesla coil, immediately sparking a blaze that engulfed them both. Run! was Jesse's final word to me. There was nothing I could have done to save him then, and so I ran. I ran past them out of the door down from the one we'd come through, down the hall, down the stairs, and out the back as the second floor burned behind me. I'm not sure how I managed to jump the fence without Jess's help, but I did. Adrenaline, I guess. The next day the news reported that Jess had died in the fire. They said the fire was arson, that Jess was the arsonist,

and made no mention of a secret laboratory run by a floating brain. I don't know if Crowley survived the fire. I don't know if he managed to inject Jess with whatever that stuff was, or if it really did what he said it did. I also don't know if Chamberlain knows I had anything to do with a fire or breaking where I left town in a hurry anyway gotten pretty far north, pretty remote but maybe not remote enough

there's a real nice gold sedan parked across from where I am right now probably too nice for anyone who lives nearby well if the worst happens to me I just want to make sure that a public record of what really happened exists somewhere where. Jess wasn't an arsonist. He died trying to kill an abomination that never should have existed in the first place. I only hope for both of our sakes, for all of our sakes, that he succeeded. The moment. Every day on the bus ride to school through the country, I would see it. The moment. That's what we called it, but no one seemed to know who called it that first.

The moment was an old scarecrow, sitting atop the shallow valley my bus route cut through. The field it was intended to guard a long ago being abandoned, surrendered to grass and weeds and wild growing Indian corn. Backdropped against it was an old woodlot filled with too many dead trees to count, long overdue for felling. Perpetually perched in those naked branches was a murder of crows, inexplicably indifferent to the insidiously imposing scarecrow beneath them. The first thing that most people would probably notice about the Mommet was that it had been deliberately and irreverently placed on a life-size cross. Its outstretched arms had been bound at the wrist of the horizontal beam, its body sagging under its own weight in an undeniable mockery of Christ's

crucifixion. Even more bizarre was the fact that the Mommet's head had been made from a leather plague doctor's mask topped with a white-brimmed black hat, combined with dark gloves and a tattered black cloak on its outstretched arms. The moment had apparently been made in the image of the crows it was meant to fend off. We kids told counter stories about where we thought the moment had come from. Of course, the most common and most cliché story said that the farmer who lived there had caught a man sleeping with his daughter. He murdered him and hid the body in plain sight as a scarecrow, covering the face with the only mask he had at hand, which, for some reason, happened to be a plague doctor's mask.

A related story came that it was the farmer himself who was the Monmouth. Having grown fed up with a murder of crows that could not be deterred by old clothes off with straw, the farmer grabbed his shotgun and took aim at them. Well, he killed only one before they descended upon him in a murderous frenzy, hanging his corpse upon his scarecrow's post and decorating it with bits of stolen clothes as a memorial to their fallen brother. Others say that the Momits was a First Nations man who could shape-shift into a crow. When the European settlers came, he ran afoul of the first white witch he met,

another local legend by the name of Eleanor Flanagan. During a ritual, he swooped down and snatched her wand out of her hand, but that wasn't enough to stop her from cursing him into a permanent juxtaposition of his crow and human forms. My favourite story, though, says that an entire coven of witches had been holding a Sabbath in the woodlot and caught a man who dared to peep at them as they danced naked around their fire. When he invoked the power of Christ to defend himself, they acquiesced by nailing him to a cross, and since he'd seen them naked,

they draped him, scalped a toe, so that not one inch of him would ever be bare again. Well, I could go on, but suffice to say that making up and retelling stories about the moments was a popular activity during my childhood. As kids, we were all terrified of it. Every day, twice a day, we all went silent as we drove down Mommet Lane. Most of us tried not to look at it, but some just couldn't help themselves,

and at least once a week someone would shout out, It moved, sending us all into fits of hysterics. Everyone claimed to have seen it move at least once. Some of us were lying, some of us just thought we had when it was really just a trick of the light or the force of the wind, but some of us really did see it move. I know that now. When we were kids, we said that if anyone ever saw the Mommet when they were alone, it would kill them.

So we regularly dared each other to go to the top of the playground hill by ourselves. On a clear day, you could just barely make out the shape of the crucifix in the distance from the top of that hill. What everyone wandered, and no one ever seemed to know, was who had actually made the Mommet. and why was it allowed to stay up? It was a simulacrum of a crucifixion, morbid enough on its own and disrespectful to any Christian denomination, and children as young as four were forced to witness it on their ride to school. We were all terrified of it, and it gave us all nightmares.

But there never seemed to be any discussion of removing the moment. There was no official record of who had once owned that land, and no official explanation as to what was. why no one else seemed interested in buying it. Surely the township, if not the county, had the authority to remove it, and even if they technically didn't, who would object to the removal of an eyesaw from an abandoned farm? But my parents didn't see it that way, though. When I brought the issue up with them, they dismissed it as juvenile. All the stories and rituals around the moment were just normal silly games that children played, and the moment itself was harmless.

It was a landmark even. After all, what would we call Mommet Lane if there was no Mollet? Besides, the school's mascot was a scarecrow, so the children couldn't have been that scared of it. I was just making too much of things. Every other adult I spoke to seemed to be of the same mind on the matter and assured me there was no course of action I could take that would result in the Mommet being removed.

So I kept riding past it on the bus, falling silent each time, doing my best not to look at it. sometimes I did of course couldn't be helped but I and seemingly I alone was the only child who never saw it move eventually I graduated eighth grade

please hold your accolades and from there attended the high school in town their mascot was the periwinkle Pines Porcupine which as far as I was concerned was a marked improvement over a scarecrow I never had to drive down the Mommet Lane or see the Mommet again.

But as the years passed, I thought about the Mommet less and less, and one night while leaving a friend's house, Mommet Lane happened to be the shortest way home. By then, my fear of the Mommet had largely subsided. I just wanted to get home as soon as possible, where I can't say I didn't have a desire to face my fear and prove my childhood phobia wrong.

It was a mostly clear sky with a full moon that night. Well, the world looks so different under the light of a full moon, familiar and alien at the same time, like some kind of nocturnal fairy country, a world that you don't quite belong in. As I drove past the abandoned field, I slowed down, turning my head to the right to look at the moment for the first time in years. I don't think I'd ever seen it in the dark before. Sure, there was the occasional school play held after hours, but if there had ever been one during a full moon, I deliberately avoided looking at the moment on the ride home.

Now, though, I deliberately look straight at it and saw that it hadn't changed one bit. Its cloak form fluttered slightly in the night breeze, moonlight glinting slightly off the glass of its eyes. Its cross itself a miracle for never having collapsed. It was creepy, sure, but harmless. I let out a sigh of relief and was just about to turn my head back to the road.

when I saw it tip its hat and nod at me. I screamed, slammed on the brakes and craned my neck, desperate to confirm if what I'd seen was real. I saw that its hat was on its head and its arm nailed to the cross, with no indication that it ever moved. I stared at it, barely blinking, waiting for it to move again. When it didn't, I got out of my car and squinted at it from the edge of the road, staring for several minutes at the very least, but it still didn't move.

At this point a rational person would have accepted that they'd imagined it, gotten back in their vehicle and headed home. But something in me snapped at that moment. That thing had tormented me since I was a child, and I wasn't going to put up with it anymore. Well, if no one else was going to take it down, then I'd do it myself. I didn't care if I got charged with vandalism or trespassing. I didn't care if people thought I was.

crazy. I just wanted that thing gone. I threw open my trunk and rifled through my emergency kits and some leftover camping supplies for a hatchet and a lighter. If I couldn't cut it down, I'd burn it down. With the hatchet in my hand and the lighter in my pocket, I marched across the field and up the valley of ripe Indian corn, my heart pounding in my ears as the moment implacably gazed down at me all the while. I refused to take my eyes off it. My hand poured, and I was poised to swing the hatchet defensively should the need arise. By the time I was standing right in front of it, it still hadn't moved again, and I'd calm down enough to reconsider what I was doing. It's just a Halloween decoration that no one ever took down, I said to myself, shaking my head

at the ridiculousness of it all. Before heading back, I paused to take a good look at the obscene straw man, since I'd likely never be that close to it again. I considered taking out my phone and taking some photos, but thought better of it. I wasn't technically supposed to be there after all. The moment was tall, but still within the range of normal for a man, about six and a half feet. The body was also very manlike in shape, more so than should have been possible for old clothes stuffed with straw. It was easy to understand why most stories about the moment said it had been made from a corpse. As I continued my inspection, I noticed that its cloak, mask and hat were all in fairly decent condition,

far too decent condition for items that had been neglected outside for decades. The glass of the mask's eyes was unshattered. All the rivets along the length of the beak were still in place, and the leather was so fine it could have been used to make a pair of dress shoes. The hat was likewise in near mint condition, and the tatters in the cloak, which had been obvious from the road, appeared to be merely decorative. Most distinct, though, was the deep black coloring of the moor. Decades of sunlight should have faded them to a much lighter shade, and yet they remained an inky, obsidian black.

I was so perplexed by the moment's inexplicable condition that I actually took a step closer and dared to place my hand on its torso to see if I could deduce what it was made from. The cloak was smooth, supple leather, exactly as it had appeared to be. But when I pressed harder, I found that the body possessed a firmness that was quite unlike straw.

I turned my gaze upwards to its outstretched arms, nails the size of railroad spikes driven through its wrists, its hands are spayed open and poised to grasp anything that might come too close. So then I realised that my favourite story about the Mommet couldn't have been true, because the Mommet was not wearing gloves. Rather its hands were covered in black, avian scales With long, curved talons, glistening in the moonlight For all intents and purposes appearing to be giant crow's feet.

I stumbled backwards, my nerve wholeheartedly diminished by this revelation. I wanted to run away, but I didn't dare take my eyes off the moment just yet. Then it slowly raised its slumped head, curiously cocking it sideways at me. I spun around and bolted, and the instant I did so the crows roosting in the dead trees behind the moment awoke with a cacophonous coring and a thunderous beating of their wings. The murder swooped down upon me before I could get to my car,

pecking and scratching and flapping all at once. I swung my hatchet wildly, but raise a sharp beak swiftly, pried my fingers from its handle, and it was lost to me. screaming I dropped to the ground and curled up into a fetal position, shielding my head and torso as best I could against the onslaughts. After a few moments they relented seemingly without cause, and when I dared to raise my head I saw the moment free from its cross, towering over me while blocking out the moon,

a little more than a vague silhouette in the night. It bent down and picked me up, slinging me over its shoulder and carrying me off. I flailed my limb. kicking and pounding at it, but I couldn't escape its grasp. Oh, I screamed and screamed in the hopes that someone might hear me, but the murder erupted into a coring chorus that completely drowned me out. The moment it carried me past its cross and into the woods,

and everything went as black as crowfellas. When I regained sight or consciousness I'm not sure which. I was deep within the woodlot and tied to the trunk of a dead tree. The rope around my waist and arms was old and coarse, and reeked of crow guano and stale blood. I looked up, and in the dappled moonlight I saw the murder of crows perched all around me. If I tried to scream or shout, they'd core in unison to drown me out like they did before, destroying any chance that someone might hear and come to my rescue. I looked down and I saw that the tree was encircled by scarecrow posts fashioned from fallen branches

and spools of twine. All but one was decorated with an unstuffed flannel shirt, straw hat, and animal skull. Only the post straight ahead of me lacked a scarecrow, and I could only assume that I was intended to fulfil that role. I briefly wondered why I hadn't just been killed straight away, but the perverse reverence of the setup that surrounded me made it clear my death was intended to be highly ritualistic. I looked around for the moment. but it was not to be found. Perhaps it had been compelled to return to its cross before someone noticed its absence.

The ground by my feet was littered with various animal bones, dead leaves and gnawed cobs of corn. I had no idea if it intended to come back to murder me or if I was just meant to slowly die of thirst, but I knew that I couldn't squander whatever time I had. Though my arms were tightly bound to my sides by the rope, I was able to move my hands enough to reach into my pockets. To my relief, I found that both my keys and the lighter were still there.

With one hand, I carefully poured out my key ring and flipped open a small pocketknife I kept on it. Then I started soaring at the rope from the bottom up. It was slow going, and I was constantly glancing up at the murder of crows overhead to see if they'd interfere. Well, crows are smart, but fortunately those crows weren't smart enough to realize what I was doing. Thread by thread, the rope began to fray, and eventually it was weak enough for me to snap it by brute force alone. And that's when the crows went crazy. Shrieking loudly, they descended upon me in a mad frenzy. Ducking, I dropped to the ground and rolled to the boundary of the ritualistic circle. Whipping out the lighter, I set fire to the first flannel shirt

I could. Fortunately, it was dry and caught flame very quickly. Oh, the crow's cause immediately changed from the aggressive to a mix of caution and anger, but none of them dared to get too close to the blaze. I grabbed a post by its base and pulled it upwards as hard as I could, freeing it from the earth it had been embedded in for God knows how long. I ran towards a circle, setting each of the other posts on fire, starting with the one that had been intended for me. The crows were in pandemonium now, but despite their ruckers,

I could hear a large creature crashing through the brush towards me. It was the moment, of course. I saw it emerge from the darkness and into the moonlight, its wicked talons poised to claw my face off. I didn't give it a chance, though. I swung the burning branch I was holding as hard as I could and struck it across the head, knocking it to the ground and sending its mass flying into the sacrificial circle.

What I saw was an ashen, wizens, hairless human head with beady black eyes and the broken remnants of a beak where its nose and mouth should have been. Shaking its head in pain and disorientation, it looked up at me as I stood firmly with a burning weapon in my hands, as though trying to assess my threat level and importance. It then looked over at the rest of the burning scarecrow's, and with only a moment's hesitation sprinted off to douse the flames. While I ran off in the opposite direction, out of the woodlot and across the field and batts my car. I abandoned the scarecrow on the side of the road and sped out of there at over 150 kilometres an hour,

constantly checking my rear-view mirror for any signs of a pursuing were-crow. But the Mommick didn't follow me. I got home without incidents, and that was technically the end of it. I followed the local news to see if there was anything about the Mommick going missing or a fire in its woodlod. but there was nothing. As far as I know, no one even found the burnt scarecrow I'd left by the rose.

I can only assume the Mommet collected it itself. I've given a lot of thought on whether or not to tell someone about what happened, and I don't think I'm going to. The Mommet is dangerous, yes, but it's managed to avoid getting found out for this long. Even if I could convince the relevant authorities to go and investigate it, I have a sinking suspicion that they wouldn't find anything out of the ordinary, or that if they did, they wouldn't admit it or be able to remember it.

I still don't know exactly what the Mommet is or what it's capable of, but I know he were always looking out over Mommet Lane. I took another drive out there last week, this time in broad daylight with my doors locked and the biggest axe I could fire and propped up in my passenger seat. I looked out my window and saw it at the top of the valley, exactly where it had always been, its mask back on and in perfect condition.

There was nothing to indicate that it had ever moved, or that there had ever been a fire in the woods behind it. I could have almost convinced myself that the entire strange incident had never happened at all, had the moment not once again tipped its hat and nodded at me as I drove past. The colour of television tuned to a dead channel. Nash paused for a moment to look up from the unlit,

pothole-ridden street to the crumbling shell of an office building towering over him, just to make sure he'd really seen it. And there it was again, a flicker of white and grey light from a window on the fifth floor, unmistakably recognisable as the comfortably familiar and wholesome glow from a television. That didn't make any sense, though. That building had been one of the first to shut down when it became undeniable that this Rust Belt City's heyday was behind them.

It hadn't had electricity since before Nash was, born. Even if someone was just squatting or doing drugs up there, they wouldn't have brought up a whole television and power supply with them, would they? Nash glanced around to see if there was anyone else to see what he was seeing, but the street was deserted. We looked back up at the strobing, mesmerizing light, the only light on the entire building, and seemingly the only light within view at all. It was like a campfire burning on top of the highest point in all the realm, broadcasting its location to everyone for miles around. Not a smart thing to do,

considering what a very unenchanting realm it was. Smart or not, something was making and powering that light, possibly something worth pawning. It was possible, probably even, that the people who put it there were still around, and not at all unlikely that they might be dangerous. But Nash wasn't exactly a pusher over either. It was also just possible enough

that the people watching that television were too starved or strung out to put up much of a fight. Reaching into his hoodie's pocket and concealing his butterfly knife in the palm of his hands, Nash moved in to investigate. The building's front door was unlocked and, in fact, didn't seem capable of closing properly to begin with. Nash didn't risk giving away his own position with his phone light and made his way using what meager starlight managed to slip through the filthy windows. As difficult as it was to move quietly through a near-pitch-pitch-pitch,

black building that he'd never been in before, he somehow pulled it off. He made his way to the nearest staircase and climbed up to the fifth floor, and from there it wasn't hard to find his quarry. The hallway he found himself in was illuminated by the same white and grey flashing light that he'd seen from below, only far brighter. It poured out of an open doorway less than halfway down the hall from where he was standing. He listened cautiously for a moment before approaching, but heard no sign of human life. Hugging close to the wall and creeping as silently as he was able, he made his way towards the beckoning lights.

He very slowly peeked his head into the doorway and saw a room completely devoid of human occupants. It was completely devoid of anything, actually, other than the television. It was a beauty, though. An old-fashioned box set that looked like it was from the 50s, though its apparent name of inglorious retrovision, indicated that it may have been a recreation. He had a dark wooden exterior with a convex screen on top, speakers on the bottom and a pair

of dial controls in the middle. He even had a pair of rabbit ears for picking up extinct analog television signals. The screen was on, displaying nothing but static snow. Well, this was perplexing, however, since the television didn't appear to be plugged into anything. What in the hell? Nash murmured as he stood over the antique device, staring down at it in befuddlement. without warning the snow flickered for a few seconds before displaying a black and white title card

accompanied by the speakers playing dramatic music nash took a step back in surprise before actually reading the screen underage serial killers in my neighborhood it's more likely than you think a public service announcement from the offian occult order well nash only had time to read it once before the title card was replaced with the black and white image of a young man standing on a picturesque suburban street. He looked to be about twenty years old with lean, feline features and slick black, black hair. He wore a dark suit and held a lit cigarette in his hand. Mothers, fathers, I like to speak with the little ones for a moment, if I may.

The man said in a soft hug, below him flashed the words, James Darling, Master Adamer, Plainswalker, confirmed to Demi Eldridge. But don't tell anybody. Hey there, Sport. Sportettes. If you're anything like me when I was a boy, you probably can't wait to go out into the world and do your civic duty by depopulating it of a few undesirables. It's a fine thing, to be sure, not to mention fun,

but if you're young and unprepared it can also be very risky. But you don't have to take my word for it. What the fuck is this shit? Nash asked with a bemew smirk, sitting down in front of the old television to watch this surreal show. The scene cut to an image of a young woman the same age as the man,

with the same feline features and dark hair, worn in pigtails as if trying to project an air of innocence. She was in a 1950s dress, matching the overall feel of the show, though her face was less somber than the man's have been. She seemed elated, actually. Almost expectantly so. Mary darling, do you remember why you started killing

at such a young age? The man's voice. asked from our screen, Of course, James Darling. It made me feel powerful. She answered, Chippily. She held out a cigarette for him to light, to which he kindly obliged.

As she took her first puff, the words, Mary Darling, Mistress Utterman, Plainswalker, confirmed Demi Eldridge. Seriously, don't tell anyone, it's a secret, appeared at the bottom with a screen. Well, it's not easy being a little girl, you know. You feel so small, so helpless, so frightened.

so dependent on those bigger than you and yet always scared that the same size and strength you depend on might be used against you well i didn't like being scared i wanted to be feared i wanted to be the scariest thing walking on two legs that i would never have to be afraid again and how did you go about doing that mary darling the man asked with knives the woman smiled the scene cuts of what looked to be a prepuscent mary slowly pulling out an artisanal butcher's night from a wooden block stuffed full of equally ostentatious knives, staring it with an ear-to-ear smile. Oh, you remember what a beautiful set of kitchen knives Mommy had, don't you, James Darling? Of course I do, Mary Darling. So many beautiful knives, and you weren't allowed to touch them because you were a boy. But I had to learn how to cook. That's all Mommy ever used them for, though, making us food.

But every time I held those knives, I felt safe. Every time I cut or slice something with them, especially meat, and especially when it was juicy, I felt powerful. So long as I was holding one of those, all it would take was one well-timed, well-placed thrust to end someone's life, no matter how much bigger they were. I know you understand how emboldening, holding even a small knife can be. She said this last sentence, staring directly at the camera.

Nash glanced down at the butterfly knife in his hand, unable to suppress the unsettling thought that she'd been addressing him directly. But suppose they had a knife, the man proposed. What then? Knives only empower those willing to use them for that purpose. Mommy proved that, the woman replied, a cheerful expression fading out slightly, momentarily distracted by some bitter memory. But even if someone else did have a knife and was willing to use it, it wouldn't matter.

And why is that? Because nobody, and I mean nobody, handles a knife like me. She grinned. I knew that if I had a knife with me all times, I'd never need to be afraid. But Mommy would notice if any of her knives were missing, and she wouldn't have proved of me running around with them. So, I had to get my own knife.

I was seeing cut back to young Mary, this time gleefully looking over a glass display case of hunting and pocket knives, as happy as a kid in a candy store. Well, you were with me, I think, when I bought my first knife. Yes, you definitely were, because I remember making you promise not to tell mommy or daddy that I had it.

And of course, you talked the salesman into selling it to me and keeping his mouth shut about it. You always were better with people than I was. It cost me two whole dollars, two whole months of allowance money that I saved up and paid for all in quarters, but it was worth it.

It was such a beautiful folding knife perfect for keeping secret. I kept that knife on me at all times, I even slept with it, and no one was ever the wiser. And how long before you took your first life with it? The man asked. The scene cut again to young Mary, this time repeatedly stabbing another young girl in the torso,

weeping and screaming the girl begged for mercy as she impotently tried to fight back. Blood and bits of viscera soaked her dress and splattered onto a cackling Mary, whose eyes and smile beamed with psychotic, manic delight, at what she was doing. Oh, what the fuck, what the fuck?

Nash shouted as he crawled backwards from the television and stumbled to his feet. That's it, I'm out of here. He turned around, colliding with the now closed office door. Oh, what the fuck? He shouted again. He hadn't closed it,

nor had he noticed if there had even been a door to close. He frantically turned the knob, but it was locked from the other side. He slammed the door with his shoulder once, twice, three times, but it wouldn't break. He spun around with the intention of picking up the television and throwing it through the door, but froze when he saw Mary staring at him from the other side of the screen with an annoyed expression. She and James had paused their interview, but the footage was undeniably still playing. We're not done yet. She said, her tone firm and commanding.

Sit down, Ducky, and let us finish. Nash swallowed nervously, but obeyed. Didn't know exactly what was going on, but he couldn't deny that Mary was clearly addressing him directly, and that he was in no position to refuse her demands. Mary smiled as he sat down, and then turned back to her twin. You were saying, James Darling?

How long was it before you used that knife to make your friend? first kill, he asked, the same scene playing as before, this time Nash remaining still for its duration. Oh, not long, that's why I got it after all. She shrugged. I never started with animals, you know. I started with people straight away, seeing people writhing in agony because of me, begging me for their pathetic lives, helpless as I end them with a final thrust of my knife. Oh, it's orgasmine. She repossioned her head slightly, making sure she was looking gnash right in the eye. Oh, and addictive. I'm a binge killer, and I've gone up to three months in between binges,

but my binges are wild, let me tell you. I've killed thousands of people in my time, for no other reason than I enjoy it, and they can't stop me. Oh, and I'm sure that's the part that has our audience a little confused right now, the man interjected. how can a little girl with a knife be so unstoppable? Mary smiled widely and blushed, demurely averting her eyes from the camera. It's because we had a secret playroom, you and I.

When we wanted to, we could turn out closet door into a portal to get to it. We weren't just little kids in there. We were guards. Well, it was a good place to hide stuff too, stuff like cigarettes or bodies. When the timing worked out, We lure people over to our house without anyone knowing, show them our playroom and kill them. We took who we could get, but we both like killing girls the best.

They just scream better. And back in those days, especially, they tended not to fight back as much. Well, that's how it was for the first few years, but eventually the high rate of disappearances started attracting some undesirable attention that made us nervous. I didn't want to end up like great Uncle Lawrence. Luckily, that's when you, clever boy, figured out how to change our playroom's portal to any door or hole we wanted,

and the world was our oyster. Okay, what? Nash asked, rubbing his eyes at the retrovision seemed to be putting an unusual amount of strain on. I thought I'd walked in on some stuff, but now you're babbling about portals and pocket dimensions. I don't get it.

What are you people want with me? "'Ah, it seems we have our first audience question, Mary, darling,' James said. "'Would you like to answer it?' Mary again made direct eye contact with Nash, a wickedly eager grin spreading across her face. "'With a demonstration,' she beamed, and without warning she lunged forward, passing through the screen like it wasn't there.

She grabbed Nash by the wrists, and before he could offer even a token display of resistance, she had pulled him through the screen and onto the other side. There was no colour there on that side of the screen, or was black and white. But Nash was so confounded by what had just happened, he scarcely noticed. He took in his surroundings in a confused, frantic blur, trying to make sense of it.

Above him the entirety of the sky was overcast with the same static snow he'd first seen on the retrovision screen, only now the ever-shift in black and white dots form the most unsettling and repugnant patterns if he gazed at them for any length of time around him was a neighbourhood of identical houses with identical lawns and identical fences either as a satire of the monotony of suburban planning

or just a genuine lack of creativity on the part of its designers Nash sincerely hoped it was the latter standing over him were the darlings James and Mary, looking exactly as they did on screen. Cigarettes in their hands and a predatory sparkle in their eyes. Stay back, stay back, Nash screamed as he wildly waved his butterfly knife through the air. The twins exchanged smug glances with one another. Do you want to take this one, James Darling?

Mary asked politely. I did make a bit of a pig out of myself on our last hunt. Already forgiven, Mary, darling. James assured her. Besides, you've been the star of this little documentary of ours so far. It'll be a terrible creative decision to shift focus now. Mary smiled, sharply turning her head towards Nash, her gaze steely and shark-like.

You call that a knife? She asked quietly. This is a knife. She brought out a ten-inch butcher's knife with a clip point from the sash of her dress. With a well-owned aim, she threw the knife, impaling the palm of Nash's right hand with it. Dropping his own blade, he screamed in agony, clutching his injured appendage as close to his chest as he could without impaling himself further. You're welcome, Mary said.

She held out her right hand, and the fallen butterfly knife flew into it as if her possession of the blade was an inviable law of physics in her world. Remember what I said about knives, only empowering those who are willing to use them for that purpose? You've got a knife now. A proper knife. So if you can't use it to protect yourself, that's your own fault. You a fucking psycho bitch, Nash wailed, crimson blood dripping onto the monocoled ground below him. Mary took a deep inhalation, savoring the scent of it. So beautiful.

Too beautiful not to show in all his glorious technicolor, she mused. You've got two options here, Rambo. Fight or flight? If you pick flight, I'll give you a head start of 30 Mississippies starting now. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi. With a sharp cry, Nash poured the butcher's knife free from his hand, letting it fall to the ground as he tried to stem the flow of blood. Mary was still counting, her voice taking on a notable tone of irritation at Nash's casual disregard for such a lovely knife.

Well, he wanted to punch her to beat her into a bloody stain on the pavement. He really did, but some primal instinct told him that Mary was not wholly human, and that his best chance for survival was to run and hide. So he did, leaving the only weapon he had behind. Mary stopped counting, and she and her brother glared down at the abandoned knife with disdain. Very poor tactical decision on his part, James said with a shake of his head. That's going to cost him. Severely, Mary growled, breaking into a sprint and snatching up the knife as she chased after her prey.

As Nash ran, he dripped a trail of blood behind him. It's brilliant, vibrant redness amidst the otherwise-grossed. grayscale world, creating an all too obvious path for his tormentor to follow. He didn't bother trying to break into any of the houses. Even if they weren't locked, Mary would just follow the blood and he'd be trapped. And so, he just ran. Didn't know what else to do. He kept his head pointed forward, not daring to look up at the abominable sky. When he heard the sound of Mary's feet pounding against the pavement as she chased after him, he didn't look back. His eyes glanced. He advanced side to side just enough to see that the houses he ran past were not vacant.

Forlorn, barely discernible silhouette stood in the windows, observing the outside spectacle with a fatalistic but morbid curiosity. When he dared to stare at them for more than an instant, he saw that they were made from the same television static as the sky. That was when the front doors creaked open, and the static started pouring out of them like an English fog. It obscured everything around him, growing thicker and thicker by the second. He could feel it as a tingling on his skin and hear it as a buzzing in his ears.

Worst of all, there was no avoiding the patterns now. Patterns in the snow formed a mutating raushash test of impossible alien shapes before his eyes and incomprehensible whispering in his ears. They weren't threatening in the way that Mary was threatening, but through the mere act of being, they implied an existential horror far greater than being slaughtered like a lamb. The static itself soon overwhelmed his senses, blinding and deafening and numbing him to all else. The dread sapped his limbs of their strength, sickened him so horribly that he began to vomit. He didn't even know if he was still running anymore, or if he'd fallen to the ground,

but he'd have a vague awareness that he was weeping. and screaming, desperately trying to block out the static. He was only snapped back to reality by the sensation of Mary's butcher knife carving into him. Technical difficulties, please stand by. Well, boys and girls, I hope you all learned something today. Sure, hunting your fellow man for sport can be a hoot, but it can also be downright dangerous. Mary and I were fortunate to have a secure, killing ground and larder, but many of you probably aren't so lucky. And I certainly hope none of you

are lucky enough to have a ped-vogat horse to fall back on if you find yourself in a tight spot. Remember, if your quarry gets away or someone finds their bodies, you'll get caught, and then it's game over, Burko. It's best to wait until you're old enough to be licensed and registered, 18 to 21 depending on your jurisdiction so that you can kill safely and sustainably. I know that may seem like a long time, but with a little patience, one day you'll be able to kill with the same skill,

gratification, and impunity as Mary here. Mary laid naked upon the ground. At some point in her frenzy, having discarded her dress and taken the opportunity to bathe in nash's blood. Nearly every inch of her was crimson now. Her body the only patch of colour amidst the grey that surrounded her. Her chest rose and fell as she panted heavily.

Her belly gorge with her favourite cuts of meat. The shredded remains of Nash's body was strewn about her in a haphazard manner. Mary having done to his flesh what the thing in the static the forgot-house had done to his mind. She slowly raised the knife to her mind. mouth and licked it clean, Ruby rivulets dripping down her tongue as she savored every last instant of her kill.

Stay sanguine, America. Good night. James knelt down to his sister and extended a sweet martini garnished with a maraschino cherry. Well, thank you, James, darling. She said as she accepted the refreshment.

Sorry about the mess. Should we clean it up before the next take? "'Ah, let's leave it in. "'An Easter egg for the more eagle-eyed viewers, "'like the munchkin hanging himself in the Wizard of Oz. "'James smirked as he sipped on an old-fashioned cocktail. "'Oh, looks like the retrovision's got another bite. "'Is our leading lady ready for an encore?

"'Can I do the whole interview like this, "'but just act like it's completely normal?' "'She asked, excitedly, pulling the cherry off its skewer with her teeth. it'll freak him out so much. The slow and sadistic grin spread across James's face. His naked, blood-spattered sister and the black and white retrovision was the most salacious idea they'd had in a while.

Hmm. I think a little splash of color is exactly what this production needs. 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.