Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S3 Ep109: Episode 109: The Horrors of Dark Town

Episode Date: January 19, 2023

‘I Didn't Park My Fiat There’ - From an original story by Erin Biff:  https://www.r-ddit.com/r/libraryofshadows/comments/68j3tl/i_didnt_park_my_fiat_there/  ‘Professionalism’ - From an original story by Provider 92:  http://creepypasta.wikia.com/wiki/Professionalism  ‘Noises from Downstairs’ - From an original story by Natalo:  http://creepypasta.wikia.com/wiki/Noises_from_Downstairs  ‘Jenna’ - From an original story by Molly Jackson:  http://www.creepypasta.com/jenna/ ‘Sarah’s Trail’ by Emma Mae  http://www.creepypasta.com/sarahs-trail/  ‘One Mississippi...’ by Hdalby33  http://www.creepypasta.com/one-mississippi/  ‘The Screaming Corpse’ by McGrupp76  https://www.r-ddit.com/r/libraryofshadows/comments/16p005/the_screaming_corpse ‘5 Minutes’ by Whit117lan:  https://www.r-ddit.com/r/libraryofshadows/comments/6iox6x/5_minutes_death_contest/  ‘I Regret Winning the Lottery With My Three Brothers’ by Hayong:  https://www.reddit.com/r/libraryofshadows/comments/5o0zup/i_regret_winning_the_lottery_with_my_three/  ‘The Noose Hanging in my Living Room’ by hartijay:  https://www.reddit.com/r/libraryofshadows/comments/6g1h7e/the_noose_hanging_in_my_living_room_death_contest 'The Undertaker' by Merry Magpie:  https://www.r-ddit.com/user/MerryMagpie  'Something has Happened to my Brother' by Jaysnow:  https://www.r-ddit.com/user/Jaysnowi  'My Aunt Was a Hoarder' by Disasterous Ollie:  https://www.r-ddit.com/user/Disasterous_Ollie

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Now, as ever before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's stories may contain strong language. It's one of those descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. If that sounds like your kind of thing, then let's be. begin. In our first story in tonight's collection, a young woman finishes a long, hard day at work. In her state of exhaustion, she struggles to remember where she'd parked her car that morning. Surely that can't be too big a sign of trouble ahead. Can it? Well, this is dark town, so we shall just have to wait and see. I work in an insurance company. I was in the middle of

to finishing my attempt to perm assignment and working major overtime. My boss, of course, didn't mind as we had a lot of projects to complete, and she needed someone willing to stay and work the late hours. I didn't mind because, well, let's face it, college loans were killing me, and I needed the extra money. My co-worker, John, was also a tempter perl. stayed late with me to help finish the massive project which was due that day. After coming in early, working through lunch and leaving at 9pm,

we had finally completed the project. As we left, John noted that the hallways were eerily dark, even for it being 9pm on a Friday night. I brushed it off with a joke, that there were probably ghosts and, or, demons running a mock. And this was their way of telling us we had to leave. When we finally made it down to the parking lot, I panicked for a moment, as I couldn't see my car.

But as I passed a tree, I realized my tiny fiat was simply hidden behind the massive trunk of the tree. As I walked closer to my car, I noticed that it was facing the wrong way and stopped walking. John, who wasn't paying attention, looked back at where I was standing and asked what was wrong. I... Maybe it's just been a long day. But I swear I didn't back my car into that spot. I said tiredly, shaking my head and continued walking.

You just finished a 13-hour shift with no lunch. You're exhausted and your blood sugar is low. you probably forgot that you part that way this morning. John said, trying to ease my worry. I sighed. Yeah, you're right. All right, well, see you bright and early Monday morning. We waved goodbye as he climbed into his car and drove off.

I stood at the front of my car and, cocking my head to the side, I stared at it. racking my brain, trying to remember how I'd parked it this morning. I rubbed my eyes and, in defeat, I sighed once more, shook my head at my silliness and climbed into my car. It was too warm for an April night, so I rolled the windows down and contemplated putting the top down as well. In hindsight, I wonder if that might have changed anything. If maybe this whole thing never would have happened.

Instead, I turned up my music and drove home. As I was driving home, I called my mother to let her know that I was finally leaving work. She was at the beach house with friends, but it was still good to hear her voice. Hi, Mom, I'm finally leaving work, I said as I rolled up the windows and turned on the AC. Hi, sweetie. long day for you she said over the background noise of what sounded like a few of her neighbors gathered around the bonfire yeah came in early worked through lunch and i'm i paused as i heard a jingling noise it almost sounded like someone clinking two quarters together or shaking a dog's metal prong collar

are you okay my mother's voice came through the speakers of my car's bluetooth Oh, yeah, no, I'm fine. It's fine. Sorry, I'm just really tired, I told her, silently chiding myself for listening to too many horror podcasts at work. Mum went on to tell me about the dogs and how everyone was just going down to the beach house. As she was talking, that same clinking, that same jangling continued every now and now. again. Mom, do you hear that? Hear what? That jangling or clinking, or whatever it is. A Duchess's tags clinking together. I don't hear anything, and Duchess is outside with your father. Okay, it's probably an old spoon down on my floor. Or I'm about to be murdered. Whatever. If I am murdered, at least I won't have to pay off my student.

Mons. Mom didn't find that last comment particularly funny. Your fear is too tiny to fit a murderer. Just remember that, hon. Anyways, I have to go. Have a good weekend. I love you. I bade her goodbye and told her to tell Dad I'd said hi. As I pulled up to a red light and clicked the button to end the call, I glanced at my back seat. I put one of the seats down earlier in the week and I could almost see into the truck A murderer could so fit into my car I said to myself as the light turned green

I kept the music off but rolled the windows down again As I accelerated I heard the jingling again I groaned in annoyance and twisted in my seat to see if there was anything back there. Nothing. It was empty. What the hell?

I said angrily. Another stoplight and the jangling began again. Oh, for the love of God! I said, frustrated. If you're going to kill me, just do it already. Nothing. I sighed in frustration and continued. driving. This time I turned on the music, nice and loud. As I pulled into my driveway, I turned the

music down and rolled up the windows. I was humming the rest of my favorite song and gathering my phone and purse when a hot, searing pain erupted in my ribs. I gasped and couldn't suck in any air to my lungs. My hands went to the source of the pain. and I felt a knife sticking out of my ribs. I couldn't bring myself to tear my head, but I felt someone's breath tickle my ear. Fear overtook my senses, and I sat there frozen

until I forced myself to look into the visor mirror. As I looked into my backseat, my eyes met a pair of blue eyes. A man crouched behind my seat, seat, smiling, and emitted a breathy laugh. I guess a murderer really can fit in your car. He breathed into my ear. For our second story this evening, we remain in the heart of dark town, but moving on to the hospital. A young medical worker comes face to face with an unusual patient, and takes matters into her own hands.

Let's see how it ends. It's called the Hippocratic Oath. I pledge myself to uphold this when I became a doctor. Do no harm is about as brief a summary that can be created for this agreement. No matter who the patient, what they've said, done or believe in, I can never turn them away. It seems like an obvious decision to always help a person in need, but we all get tested at some point.

For me, it was my son's murderer. Four years ago, he rounded a corner in his truck by my son's elementary school, without paying as much attention as he should have. My son was killed on impact, the image of his mangled body on the road, forever burned into my mind. The sickening crunch and assorted screams along with it. The killer walked.

According to the judge, my son was not fully within a crosswalk as he crossed the street towards me, meaning the man was not liable. Absolution from the court must not. have been enough to clear his own guilt, however, as the face that lay in front of me that I will never forget, was identified under a different name. In the three months since he arrived under my care, he has not had a single visitor. Either he cut ties with everyone he knew, or they cut ties

with him. Maybe both, and I don't blame any of them for it. He arrived comatose from a cocktail of sleeping pills, pain medications, and some chemicals yet to be identified. For three months, he has remained this way. But not for a lack of trying to pass on, as much as I want to end his life every day when I see his static face. to stab his eyes through with scalples, to cut him open and remove everything but his black heart. I don't. I care for him like I would any other patient, because I am a professional, and I honour my oath. Every day I check on him first when I arrive, and last before I leave.

I keep him alive because that's my job. He has yet to become brain dead, so I hope he has some idea of what's going on, that I am keeping him breathing, albeit through tubes, because I fulfil my responsibilities, something he never seemed to understand. I hope he's at least somewhat conscious beneath his dead expression,

that time is passing normally for him so he can reflect on his mistake and realise how much worse he is in comparison to the rest of the civilised world but at the end of the day there's nothing more I can do I won't end his life but I can't bring him back to the world either

all I can do is let him lay there like furniture and keep him from falling apart but I suppose I'm lucky in a way. I was lucky to be the first on call to care for him. Lucky that he has no visitors. And lucky that no one at work recognizes that John Doe I put in his room.

As night closes in, I make sure his IV is full enough to keep him resting easy through the night. I turn off the basement light. and take one last look at the chart I brought home from the hospital to read that one section that lets me rest easy as well do not resuscitate revenge it seems in dark town at least

is a dish best served long and slow Now for our next story We move away from the city centre And out into the suburbs A young man Has stayed out too late at night And tries to sneak into the house Unobserved

Let's see if he makes it I walked into the house through the big front door Careful to shut it quietly So I was not to wake anyone upstairs I'd been out later than I'd expected. So I tiptoed cautiously up the stairs, imagining myself as a mouse, quietly putting one foot in front of the next.

I knew that if I woke anyone up, I'd be in big trouble. I'd sculpt down the long upstairs hallway I'd walked through so many times before. Considering how late it was, there were no lights on in my hallway, but I didn't need to see to know where the walls were. I reached out my hand in the darkness and took hold of the cool, silver door handle, and soundlessly entered the bedroom. Just as I'd gone into the room, I heard a noise coming from downstairs.

A million and one thoughts rushed through my mind as I quickly ducked underneath the bed. Everyone in the house was asleep, or at least they should have been. It was extremely early in the morning, and no one knew I'd gone. No one should be up, and that's what scared me. It couldn't have been something falling from one of the cupboards, could it? No, I decided. Definitely not. There was someone else in my house.

I crawled slowly underneath the bed all the way into the middle as to avoid being seen. And then I waited. A few minutes later I heard the footsteps coming up the stairs. One by one, they thudded their way slowly, menacingly to the top, though they weren't anywhere near me yet. I was all the way at the end of the hall. hidden underneath this bed. I glanced to the right, stared up at the glowing red numbers, indicating the time on the alarm clock.

They read 152 a.m. I hadn't realized how late I'd stayed out. The rhythmic thumps of the footsteps, cautiously making their way up the wooden staircase. would have lulled me to sleep if I hadn't been so on edge, nervously wondering who it could be. I heard a door creak open on the other side of the hallway. There were three more doors before this one, though. So I prayed that whoever it was would think I wasn't there,

and leave before they reached the door which concealed my existence for the time being. I looked towards the brown door which guarded the room I was high. hiding in. I prayed for it to stay shut. I prayed that I would remain hidden. I don't care much for tight spaces. So as my breathing became shallower and laboured, I became increasingly more nervous. Thoughts like, what if they hear me? And then, I don't know you're in here yet, floated across my mind I can't know I was upstairs and they were

downstairs they have no way of knowing this is where I am I heard the creaking in the hallway as the next door opened and I heard rustling coming from inside the room whoever it was

was searching for something for me presumably no not for me Whoever it is doesn't know that you're here, although apparently no one was in that room, because before I knew it, the footsteps emerged back out and into the hallway, and the next door was being opened. The slow and nerve-wracking footsteps echoed in my mind.

That was when I knew they weren't going to stop looking. I fumbled in my pockets as quietly as I could. for something I could use. My fingers brushed against cold plastic. My phone. But then my stomach dropped and my heart sank. Of course, I couldn't call the police. As my attention slowly turned towards the brown door again,

I heard the footsteps approach the door. I watched the light stream in as the entrance to the room inched open. and two small feet ambled their way in. I inched further back, away from them, as a natural instinct, when I was still surprised. This wasn't who I had pictured. These feet belonged to a little boy. The little feet stumbled to the top of the bed. I could feel the little boy shaking the two figures above me,

shaking them into consciousness. I slowly slid my knife out of my jacket's front pocket, readying myself, trying to avoid the light which was now streaming in through the open door and catching the blade. I was surprised. He'd made it back quicker than I'd expected. I was so sick of people thinking this house belongs to them.

The little boy began to speak as I slowly emerged. Mommy. The little voice belonging to the feet whispered. I think there's someone in our house. Well, some people just seem to have a real problem of letting go of the past, don't they? Ah. Others can't help but look forward to the future. And that moves us on to our final story this evening.

Jenna, a young girl, is days away from celebrating her birthday. So, what surprises do her family have in store for her? And what does she have for them? Hey, Ontario, come on down to BetMGM Casino and check out our newest exclusive. The Price is Right Fortune Pick. Don't miss out. Play exciting casino games based on the iconic game show. Only at BetMGM.

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A young girl named Jenna McClure sat on the carpeted floor of the second level, playing in solitude with each of her stuffed toys outside of her bedroom. Jenna was a joyful and quiet child that belonged to a broken family. Her thick, curly locks were of the darkest brown, reaching just below her waist in length. The girl's wavy bangs just barely grazed over her long brown lashes, casting a shade over her large, almond-colored orbs. Her tan skin resembled that of a silky fabric

and she was of a fairly average size for an eight-year-old female. The rest of the world seemed nonexistent as she played and laughed but she secretly longed for someone else to play with. No other child at school or in the neighbourhood would even consider playing with Jenna due to her past.

As Jenna and her friends would play with their dolls and stuffed animals, Jenna was persistent on playing haunted house or murder mystery. Whenever she decided to have her friends over for slumber parties, she would tell ghost stories as night fell and scare the other girls to the point of tears. These things frightened the other kids and caused them to avoid her in every way possible.

But that didn't shake Jenna too much because she was used to being alone. And it wasn't like her older sister Gabby. would play with her. No, don't shoot. Jenna cried, dramatically, pretending to fire a gun at one of the toys. As if on cue, the stuffed cat fell over on its side,

causing Jenna to break into a fit of giggles. Not so loud, Jenna! Her grandmother called from downstairs, and the little girl sighed at the end of her laughter. Sorry, Nana. Jenna loved her Nana dearly, but she was a very strict woman, who didn't think little girls her age should play with toys. Even so, her grandmother always took the liberty of caring for the two girls while their mother was away. Jenna dwelt within a standard house in the suburbs,

along with her sister, dog, grandmother, mother, and her mother's fiancé even came to visit every now and again, although she never saw her mother very often, as she only came around to visit every once in a while, which was typically when she wasn't drinking at her fiancé's house. The only reason her mother had gotten engaged for the fourth time was because she wanted financial support. Paul, her mother's fiancé, was a very wealthy man, who happened to own a multi-million dollar company. Paul was a kind and generous man that treated Jenna and Gabby like they were his own, but possessed an extremely wide history of medical problems. The familiar resonance of the front door opening and shutting made the walls rattle, and thumping footsteps soon followed. The

footfalls ceased when they reached the spot in which Jenna sat. Jenna's eyes trailed upward to her 14-year-old sister's blank expression. A single backpack strap hung from Gabby's right shoulder, her hazel eyes matching the dullness of her appearance. Jenna stared into the eye that wasn't curtained by her ebony hair, then flashed a toothy grin out of pure knee-jerk reaction. Gabby's monotone look melted into a scowl, making Jenna frown and slink back from her sibling.

satisfied with the reaction she got Gabby turned and continued on her way to the bedroom they shared Jenna couldn't help but feel as though she had done something wrong to her sister but Gabby had no logical reason behind being so cross with Jenna

except that they each held a separate biological father because of this fact Gabby wouldn't think of Jenna as a real sister so she certainly wasn't going to treat her like one things were seldom in jenna's favour but she held on desperately to the remaining happiness she had left like her soon-to-be stepfather jenna's ninth birthday was in two days and she couldn't wait to celebrate it with a party no persuasion could be made with any of her friends to attend the gathering but she made the entire household promise to come so Jenna was content

All she desired was to share her special day with family and toys Minutes turned to hours of fiddling with dolls and Jenna still hadn't heard from or seen her mother all day The warm Friday sunset eventually faded over the horizon Jilting the land to be lit with only a bright full moon The time for sleep drew near and a tired yawn escaped Jenna's mouth as she tiptoed into her bedroom. The room was dimmed with a colourful nightlight,

casting thin shadows onto her sister's sleeping form not far away. Taking extra precaution not to awaken Gabby or her grandmother across the hall, she soundlessly slid over to her white dresser and pulled forth some pajamas. Once she slipped into a violet nightgown, she crawled into bed and curled up to her tattered, stuffed fox. Gabby's bed and Jenna's bed were parallel to one other, with a white nightstand separating them. Jenna had a large plethora of toys that occupied her bed, but her fox was the overall favourite. Jenna's mother had given her the little fox as a gift for her sixth birthday, and Jenner's mother had given her little foxes a gift for her sixth birthday, and Jenna hadn't parted with it since.

It didn't take too much for Jenna to nod off, snoring lightly as cricket sang from outside their bedroom window. The girl tossed and turned in various arrangements during the night, seeking to expel the strange nightmares. Jenna typically had odd dreams, but this occasion was exceptionally brutal and realistic. Vivid images of her man. mangled and mutilated family members attacked her subconscious. But what bewildered Jenna the most

was her mother's fiancé, because he didn't seem to be harmed in any way, but merely sprawled out on the ground, twitching and gasping for reasons unknown. Otherwise, the concept of death had never particularly disturbed her, and it had always come across as interesting. The next morning, Jenna woke with a start, her lurching into a sitting position on the mattress at the sound of a feminine shriek resonating throughout the house. Her erratic breathing came to a halt when she noticed the absence of her elder sister in the room, and only a lumpy comforter resided where Gabby once was. Throwing her blankets to the side, Jenna hesitantly emerged from the bedroom and into the hall.

Gabby, are you there? She piped up, the word somewhat slurred by her loose tooth. Her small feet patted against the springy carpeting to delve further into the morning's events, finally coming to a standstill when she arrived atop of the stairs. She could perceive a commotion of some sort arising from the dining area downstairs, but deafening sirens that screeched in the distance ultimately convinced her to scramble down the staircase Jenna quickly peered over the stair rail into the kitchen her eyes immediately beholding the scene before her the man that was meant to be her new father was extended along the tile floor twitching and gasping uncontrollably

Jenna's mother was pacing from one end of the kitchen to the other, compressing her inky hair into her slim fingers. All the while Gabby was kneeling on the ground, her hands holding Paul's head in a gentle manner. Jenna couldn't seal the tears that flowed from her eyes and cascaded down her puffy red cheeks at the sight. The sirens gave an indication of being closer than before. flashing red lights flooding through the windows at an identical pace.

Jenna's grandmother immediately bolted toward the front door from another room and hastily yanked it open, allowing doctors and medical assistance to speed into the house. Critical determination etched onto each face. Jenna took note of how Paul had ended all movement by now, his face taking on a grayish hue. during the time they lifted his body onto a tall gurney. A young brunette woman that wore black medical scrubs approached Paul's body and removed the stethoscope around her neck,

placing the round end on his chest to inspect his heartbeat. Strangely, things seemed to settle down quite a bit. After much discussion between the grown-ups, Jenna observed in confusion as they drew a white sheet over his head, probably so he wouldn't get cold. None of the doctors or nurses acknowledged Jenna's presence while speaking to her mother in hushed tones. But it didn't take long for all to file back out and head off from the house. Toting away, the only dad she had left.

Jenna's mother trailed after them hurriedly, not bothering to give her daughter. so much as a passing glance before slamming the door on her way out. The sirens of the ambulance did not recur. Jenna furrowed her thin brows and set a fearful gaze on her Nana, who ordered the two sisters to play upstairs until told otherwise. They reluctantly abided their Nana's orders and trudged up the carpeted stairs, unable to fully grasp the situation. The atmosphere felt tense and awkward to Jenna.

Her little ditches fidgeting nervously as Gabby remained silent. Gabby sauntered her way into her room, feeling the uncomfortable eye set on her while plopping herself down on the bed. Jenna followed close by, standing inaudibly beside her sister. What happened to Mr. Paul?

"'Mama and Paul are coming back, right?' Jenna inquired sheepishly, her voice faltering some at the end. Gabby arose from her position on the mattress, towering over the little girl as an unnecessary bile simmered within and overthrew her emotions. "'Don't you get it? "'Mum doesn't care what happens to Paul. "'Just as long as she gets ownership of his company,' she hissed,

striding toward Jenner in an attempt to seem intimidating. It's all fun and game to you, isn't it? Paul isn't coming back? I doubt he ever cared her you anyway. Any guy who has money can take advantage of mom. Besides, I don't think he would bother wasting his time on an ignorant, naive little brat like you. Your mom will never be a mother to me,

so don't you think for a second that I will ever call you a sister? And with that statement, Gabby jerked her hands forward and rammed her palms into Jenna's shoulders, knocking the girl clean off her feet. Her arms flew from her sides to catch and hoist her weight on instinct, but the action was proven futile. Jenna's head made harsh contact with the bottom corner of her white bed frame, producing a sharp cry from her. Jenna was well aware that Gabby tended to unleash her anger on others, but she had never attacked anyone physically like that. Jenna could only lie on the floor, stupefied by her sister's endeavour to harm her.

Gabby, however, wasn't phased in the slightest and stomped out of the room without another word exchanged. Jenna was speechless when more tears proceeded to fall. now accompanied by ones that resembled pain. Small droplets of crimson blossomed where the wood of the frame had lanced Jenna's skull. So the girl shakily stood from the ground to retrieve a paper towel, bitterly muttering. I never want another dad ever again.

The day dragged on, with no sign of Jenna's mother or stepfather for hours. Jenna and Gabby were served a few snacks here and there, but breakfast and lunch would disregard it. Once again, the grandfather clock chimed in the house, this instance, signalling that of eight o'clock. Jenna felt obligated to steer clear of Gabby and entertained herself by petting and pampering her toy fox. She couldn't bring herself to rat Gabby out for the act she had committed. Gabby genuinely unnerved Jenna and Jenna wished greatly for Gabby to like her so she kept her mouth shut

it was just a little push as far as Jenna wanted to think Jenna's head snapped up at the creek of the front door opening and she was up and rushing down the stairs in an instant she stood eagerly on the bottom step poking her head around the end of the railing to view her mother and Nana. They both sat at the kitchen table,

chatting emotionally over a glass of wine. Jenna made up her mind to leave them be and perched herself quietly on the final step. Her head hung low. She only overheard a conversation about financial problems and funeral prices in their discussion, but she eventually caught on to the situation

more tears began to swell in her glossy orbs to which she quickly wiped away there was nothing more jenna yearned to hear so she sluggishly returned to her room struggling to keep her bloodshot eyes open along the way Gabby was already dozing off as per usual leaving Jenna to perform her nightly routine in silence. She was pushing herself to the limit in an urge to stay positive. After all, she had a birthday the following day, and she had once promised Paul that she would always keep smiling, no matter the circumstances.

So, Jenna did whatever it took to make herself smile again, remembering fondly the sparkly and multicolored party decorations she had for her birthday. and even if Paul wasn't there, the rest of her family had given their word, and Jenna's faith remained with her family on that. Unfortunately, the nightmares tumbled through Jenna's head in her slumber yet again, mirroring those of the night previous, but this time they didn't trouble Jenna in any form or fashion. The dream seemed strangely comforting, and it was almost as if she didn't have to be alone anymore, omitting that she actually was alone. Something didn't quite feel right, but it made her smile. The next morning, Jenna didn't hesitate to jump straight out of bed,

already smiling in an anticipation. She took one quick glance over at where her sister would have been, doing a double take. Gabby wasn't where she'd left her. But another vacant bed was left over. Shrugging her shoulders, Jenna skipped to her dress and ripped her open the bottom drawer. After sifting through the contents of the compartment for a while, she pulled out a purple dress for her party. The dress had thin straps at the top,

the bottom flowing down to her knees, and a few rows of purple ruffles were aligned vertically on the bottom half. The words, happy birthday were stitched across the chest in big white letters, with a few loose strings fluttering as she moved about. Then she slid on a pair of flat charcoal dress shoes, each shoe wearing a little black bow at the tip. Lastly, Jenna brushed the tangles out of her long hair and raced clumsily down the stairs, where she presumed everyone would be waiting. To Jenner, Jenna's surprise. She was accompanied only by an empty living room. Dartsing her eyes around

in puzzlement, she wandered into the kitchen, supposing her family must be waiting in another room. Again, she found a lifeless area of the house. Jenna began to panic and investigated the space for any sign of their location. While she searched, the girl came across a small note that was taped to the fridge and curiously plucked it from its place. Jenna read the note aloud. Girls, your mother and I have gone out to eat with one of your mother's employees, Mike. Be back soon. Sincerely, Nana.

She had difficulty pronouncing a word or two, but understood what it meant. Although, the note didn't share anything that concerned Gabby's. whereabouts. Gabby! Jenna bawled, placing the note on the kitchen counter. Gabby, are you here? She asked again, raising her volume. But her inquiry fell on deaf ears as no response came. Jenna's eyes fell to the floor. Maybe she's at her friend's house. She'll probably be back soon.

She assured herself tugging on the refrigerator door. There was a vanilla birthday cake from the icebox that Jenna set neatly in its respective place on the table, removing the lid to put nine candlesticks into the saccharine food item. Paul had allowed Jenna the choice of her own cake at the grocery store earlier in the week, along with the purchase of a small present that she wasn't admitted to open until after they'd eaten the cake. She gathered up her favorite toys at the table, hung her birthday banner across the dining room wall, set purple flowers along the counters and walls, and a little glitter never hurt anyone. Jenna managed to finish up within half an hour, right about nine

o'clock in the morning. With a glimmering purple cone hat strapped to her head, she sat herself down at the kitchen table. Jenna didn't even want to leave the table until her family got back, so she kicked her heels and patiently awaited their return six times the grandfather clock rang informing inhabitants that the sun would begin to fall in the sky but jenna had not moved from her spot at the kitchen table no one came home in those nine hours or even took into account the girl's birth she is deathly quiet inhumanly motionless, barely blinking her sunken eyes that continuously stared at the white wall in front of her. The clock's ticking pendulum was the only noise made throughout this subdued house, almost mocking her loneliness. Jenna knew she needed to smile, but she felt numb, like something inside of her had broken. Her eyes flickered down to her. the chalky pairing life that rested innocently next to a bowl of fruit. Her fingers soon crawling

forward and grasping it tightly. She then carried out her nearly disregarded promise and smiled from ear to ear. During the next few hours, Gabby came marching up the back porch from her friend's house, jamming her key into the lock on the back door. Hey Max, she greeted her daughter. She greeted her dog, petting the fur on his head. However, Max only snapped and snarled at the door in return, instead of jumping and barking happily as he normally did. Gabby rolled her eyes, wrenching the heavy door open and closing it after her. Crazy dog, she mumbled and threw her bag down on the floor. Right away, she noticed how eerily silent the house was. but didn't think much of it.

Mom? Nana. Gabby hollered out, recalling her mother's car that was parked in the driveway. Of course, she knew her sister had to be somewhere near bar. Jenna, plodding over to the stairs, she scanned the different rooms that she passed, ultimately finding no one. Jenna!

Her voice was lowered as she said. stepped cautiously up the staircase, skimming her hand over the beige wall. While taking wary strides toward her room, a flimsy object of some sort crunched under Gabby's foot. Cocking a thick brow, the teenager bent down and lifted a purple party hat from the ground. As she was examining the specks of red that dotted the paper headwear, a small. A small, a small, Small but audible thump originated from behind her wooden bedroom door. Gabby shot a menacing glare at the door, tossing the hat into the other direction. Jenna, I know you're in there.

She flung the door open in annoyance, a fragment of hallway light spilling into the iron-lit room. An awful, metallic scent permeated her nostril. when she entered, but she simply dismissed the fact. Gabby fingered the wall on her left to flick the light switch, discovering that someone had stuck countless layers of tape over the switch to keep it off. Oh, you've got to be kidding me, she grumbled, stepping off to the side and peeling the tape from the plastic. Suddenly, the bedroom door slammed shut, causing Gabby to nearly leap out of her skin.

She could just faintly hear a heavy breathing in front of her, prompting her to take several steps backward. Gabby's heart began hammering in her chest, her nerves dancing frantically to the beat. Jenna? Come on, this isn't funny. She received no reply from the darkness that surrounded her. In a rather abrupt manner, the switch to the lights was clicked on without any further warning,

triggering Gabby to squint her eyes in the haze of brightness. Once they adjusted to the lighting, Gabby's eyes widened to the size of her bald fists. Jenna was poised a short distance away. A wide, malevolent grin plastered onto her smooth face, one that seemed luminescent compared to the rest of her dark aspects. Her chocolate mane was matted,

scratches covered her limbs, and flakes of dried blood clung to the skin on her cheeks. A fresh, crimson substance coated the, majority of her legs and dress while she clenched her stained glistening kitchen utensil in her right hand her other arm cradled a bloodied stuffed fox who lacked a single button eye with white stuffing protruding from the ribs in its fabric jenna's shoes left scarlet footprints in the tan carpet as she stalked toward her sister. Realization slowly dawned on Gabby,

and it took every fiber of her being not to scream when she laid eyes on the room around her. Smeared handprints of red lined the walls. Lamps were knocked over, and assorted items were strewn across the floor to insist the obvious signs of a struggle. The intense odour shot uncomfortably icy chills down Gabby's backside, adding to the below ambient temperature that this specific room held.

Jenna, look, I don't know what the hell is going on here, but you better tell me where Mom and Nana are right now, Gabby demanded, beginning to back away from the short ago. Jenna's smile seemed to increase, and she paused a few feet in front of Gabby. What's the matter, sissy? You aren't smiling. Jenna cooed, taking another step.

Do you know what happens to people who don't smile? Gabby's face paled significantly, the adrenaline in her system, causing her arms to coiling defense, as she set aside her dignity and implored. No, please, get away. Come on, Jenna, we're sisters. This is crazy. Jenna chuckled through her gritted teeth, a wry smile sculpting her lips.

Oh, is that so? No, I don't think it is. Your mom will never be a mother to me, so don't you think for a second that I will ever call you a sister? She taunted her older sibling, using the reminiscent command in a sing-song tone. Gabby's feet appeared like they were glued to the floor, a look of unadulterated horror sweeping over her refined features as Jenna continued.

You know, you were right, Gabby. It's all just fun and games. Jenna was small when compared to her sister, but she was nimble and accommodated plenty of energy. Gabby's screams emanated throughout the house for the duration of the night, haunting echoes sounding as though she were pleading for hours, even if she was lifeless within minutes. The magenta candles on Jenna's birthday cake were the only source of light in the house, with each of Jenna's immobile family members and blood-soaked toys gathered around it.

everyone wore radiant party hats thanks to Jenna and were thoroughly dressed in red they all sat at the table in a near pitch black kitchen but Jenna was the only one capable of singing her birthday song when the time came she couldn't have undone the bow on Paul's birthday gift quick enough revealing a sparkly set of ruby earrings which she swiftly drove through her unpierced earlobes in the excitement of owning her first pair. The pain and the god-awful scent didn't trouble Jenna in the slightest, given that she was finally alongside her family. And her sizable grin suggested that she was the happiest she had ever been. On our last visit, we ended up in the suburbs and witnessed some poor unfortunate events that led to murder. This time we venture slightly further out and into the largest wooded area of Darktown. And specifically to a path known as Sarah's Trail.

What secrets does it hold and what might we find there? Let's see. I've lived in this town all my life. and I've never experienced anything more life-threatening and horrific than when I traveled through Sarah's trail. I was only 16 at the time, and a real adrenaline junkie. To me, the trail was just a convenient path that made travels from my friend Chloe's house to my house shorter in time. The trail began near the local Walmart, where the back of the store led into a forested area, and it stretched all the way to the other side of town, where most of the housing complexes were.

including mine. My history teacher had told us one day during a lecture that the trail was the remains of what used to be railway tracks, constructed for the old railway system, but rotted away after years of neglect due to the business being sued in the 1920s. Apparently there had been a train that derailed, killing about 200 people in the spring of 1923.

This was because the track had not been laid properly, and the business neglected to do that. fix them. But that wasn't the only dark history behind the trail. If you ask locals about the trail for those who had been living there during the summer of 1967, they would tell you the story of Sarah Ann Blewer. She'd been in grade 12, a real ambitious art student. She'd worked on the church mural downtown. Her signature painted among the rest of her peers as remnants of a lost-spirited youth. One night she decided to sneak out, which, according to her mother, in later interviews, was unlike her to attend the end-of-year party being held by the prom queen

of 1967. During the party, Sarah decided to leave early and make her way back home using the trail, her mind in a drunken state. People at the party claimed that they didn't even see her leave. Of course, at that point, they didn't even see her leave. Of course, at that point, they were They were all probably so drunk they didn't know which way it was up. They found out the next morning that Sarah Blewer had not returned home that night. Posters were put up, search parties organized. My grandmother, who told me the story, had been part of the search. She told me how they searched that whole stretch of trail, all areas of the forest.

The town searched for a whole month, but no one could find the bluer girl. One day, a teacher from one of the search parties stumbled upon Sarah's bracelet, lying in the grass a kilometer off the trail. A few centimetres from that was a severed arm, rotted and crawling with maggots. The nails were painted a lime green. Around the arm, the trees and leaves appeared to be smeared in dried blood. The creepiest part about it was the fact that one tree had the words, Them painted on it.

Of course, they discovered it was Sarah's blood and her fingerprints. She had been the one who painted the words. The cops investigated for years, looking for a suspect. They never found her body or the person responsible. Rumors spread around town. Some said she was murdered by a crazed local farmer, and her body was ground up into meat and sold on the market. Others said she was murdered by vengeful spirits of Locomotive 99, the train that had derailed.

Everybody had their own theory on what had happened to Sarah Blewer, and they had their own stories to tell about the trail. A few months after her disappearance, a family spoke up about hearing what sounded like a girl crying in the woods in their backyard every night when they let the dog out. Of course, they were ridiculed for their claims. People thinking it was just a hoax and all. But then more people came forward. A girl named Jessica claimed that she walked the trail home one evening and saw in the distance a strange light that illuminated the darkness. She said that as she got closer, she could hear the cries of a girl.

She ended up running back to her friend's house and getting a mother to pick her up. But the scariest count was the one that happened to a classmate of mine. Jimmy was coming home for my party one night, taking the trail by himself. Apparently, as he got closer to the end of the trail, he could hear the screams of a girl. He described them as painful, desperate, shrieks for help. Then, as he got closer, he could see in the distance a girl. He said she wore a pink dress, her skin pale as day. She had reddish blonde hair and red eyes that were blue.

bleeding. She had stood frozen in the middle of the trail, staring at him. He told me that her mouth had been open, eyes wide as she screamed at him. Blood dripped down from where her arm had been severed off. Jimmy had run down the trail, not bothering to stop until he got back to the party. He swore he would never take the trail ever again. So, why had I taken it? To be honest, I was a skeptic. Sure, Jimmy was a great guy, but he always drank too much at parties. And people like to make up stuff like that for attention. Besides, that particular night, Chloe and I had been home alone, as her parents had been out of town for a party.

And my parents worked out of town, so they couldn't pick me up. So the trail had been the best option. I'd left Chloe's late, around 10.30 it must have been, and made my way to her backyard, where the trail began. I remember that particular night had been really hot, and I'd taken my blue hoodie off, hanging it off of my shoulder as I walked. The woods had been pitch black, the only source of light coming from my flashlight. It was an old grey thing that barely lit the path. So, I was pretty much in the dark. I must have been 20 minutes into my walk when I began to feel cold. I was confused as there was no breeze or any source for the cold air. It was like all of a

sudden I was freezing. I pulled my hoodie on. My body's still cold as I walked faster. I was looking around now. The dark suddenly feeling suffocating. My heart began to race, adrenaline rushing through my veins. I sped up as the woods grew darker around me. The flashlight had suddenly begun to flicker, and the stream of light dulled. I hid it against my hand rapidly, the light still flickering. The path was black now, the outline of the trees around me. The night sounds suddenly became louder, the crickets chirping in my ears,

the sounds of a twig snapping. I was extremely on edge. I gave up a my flashlight and instead began to run, my heart booming in my chest. And that's when I saw it. A light in the distance, illuminating the end of the trail. It was a green light smoking like dry ice.

I had frozen in place, the fear overpowering me. The shapes of people. People walked out from the lights. It had been a row of six black figures with pointy heads and pure red eyes. I didn't know if they were human or not. It was too dark to tell. They moved slow, almost like zombies, towards me.

I could hear whispers around me suddenly, like they were in the bushes at either side, like they were surrounding me. I began to turn to run. when I came face to face with bloodshot eyes and pale skin. A girl stood right in front of me, her white eyes staring at me. Blood covered her skin. Her mouth was wide open, her teeth all missing as she screamed. Her right arm dangled like it was lifeless.

Her left arm was missing, a bloody stump in its place. I gasped, falling backwards as I ran off the trail into the woods. I had to get out of there, off that trail. My reasoning skills were clouded by my consuming fear. I must have tripped a couple of times through the woods over branches and bushes until I finally made it to a backyard. The back porch light was on, and it looked like people were in the house. My lungs had burned from my escape.

I made my way to the house, looking behind me in fear. I jolted as the figure stood a couple of meters away, just watching me. They were motionless, pure, black. I began to run again, tripping over the porch steps. I banged the sliding door, tears falling from my eyes. I turned around again, intimidated by the figure's red, motionless stairs.

The owner of the home had opened the door, shocked at my fear. It was a woman whose husband had been out of town. Her children were sleeping and she said she was up late getting laundry done. She asked me what had happened, why I was so scared, and if I wanted to call my parents. I told her about the people in the woods, how they were still out there watching the house. She investigated, looking from behind the sliding door at the woods. I told her they had pointy heads and red eyes. She began to look at me skeptically, replying that she saw nothing.

I couldn't believe it, going to look to see for myself. I thought maybe the glass made it hard for her to see, so I was prepared to point them out for her. But, to my surprise, they weren't there anymore. The woods just stared back at me, dark and normal. The woman had asked for my telephone number and had called my mother. She left work immediately, coming to pick me up across town. She'd interrogated me, asking if I'd taken any drugs or alcohol,

got into anything I wasn't supposed to. I begged her to believe me, but what I saw was true. The next day she caught the local police station and gave them my statement. I searched the woods looking for the pointy-headed people and the bloody girl. They found nothing. They concluded, in their minds, that I was either crazy or looking for attention. My story was also passed around school, people calling me crazy all the way to my graduating year. That was 1999.

Now I'm a 34-year-old writer, still living in town. I chose a house, however, closer to downtown and away from the woods. Despite that, I find myself travelling the forest during the day, searching. I have obsessed over that experience, trying to figure out an explanation, going through tons of articles at the library, hundreds of books on the story of the town. I discovered more about the town's history. During the First World War, there had been an elementary school just off the trail that had burned down one day during class. It killed 11 students and a teacher who had been

trapped in the growing smoke and could not find their way out. The ages of the dead students were between five and nine. No one knows how it started or who was responsible. Then, in 1950, three teenagers hung themselves out near the falls, deep in the woods. A surprise to the residents, who described the students as full of life and ambitious. None of them had showed previous signs of depression or suicidal thoughts. Yes, it seems the town had a dark side, all connected to those woods. I speculated for years, trying to figure out the reason for all of the deaths. I still don't know why so many horrible things had occurred near that, or how it connected to my encounter. The only thing I was sure was that the girl I saw in the woods that night was Sarah, and her spirit must be stuck in those

woods forever, suffering. It made me sad, thinking about how she had to spend eternity roaming the woods where she had died. And what about those pointy-headed people? The image of them painted in blood always popped into my brain. Did they kill Sarah? Did they kill the teens? Did they burn the school? What were they? Were they even human? All questions still unanswered. And did I even want to find the answer? Those things that are in the woods are evil and are better left hidden.

I know that. But part of me needs to know, needs a conclusion. That's why I'm writing this as a possible good by-note. I know what I'm about to do is dangerous, and I honestly don't know if I'll come back from my trip. I just know that if I don't go to the trail tonight, if I don't discover what those beings are, the unknown will make me go crazy. So, I say farewell to my family, and I hope they can forgive me for leaving, and finally see that all those years I was right about the woods.

I love you, Mom. I know that even though you thought I was crazy all these years, you continue to care for me and stand by me. Dad, I'm happy that you and mum are still together all these years, and I hope you can both forgive me. I just want someone to believe, so that whatever evil is out there in those words can be revealed and that no more death or destruction can occur.

I can't live knowing what I know, just standing by as innocent people die. And for the people reading this other than my family, I'm telling you now, if I die in those woods, it was the evil that killed me. You need to know that the trail is a death sentence, and that Sarah still lurks,

her dead red eyes watching anyone who walks past. All of their dead eyes are watching. I'm telling you. You never ever walk Sarah's trail. Unless you want your blood spilled around the leaves and trees of the woods. Never ever walk Sarah's trail unless you want to become part of the forest and part of them. Well you heard everyone, better stay away from Sarah's trail. But that's not the only place where we're going to find strange going on.

A little further off, just by the woods, we now come across a young girl who's trying to keep safe during a thunderous lightning storm. One Mississippi, two, Mississippi, three, Mississippi, four. Your child may be gone, but there's no need to more. I live in an isolated place. The big old neighborhood where the homes are further apart and ravines cut out of you. yards deep. My house is isolated even more from the others, separated by a screen of oppressive pine trees, swaths of dead grass and acres upon acres of ragged trails. My parents never let me explore those paths. They said people often lost their way, even in our neighbourhood, why just last month

a little girl had disappeared during a massive storm search. My parents had been incredibly distraught about it, moaning about how important it was to heed those warnings. Word was, she was never found. I was smart enough to listen, though. I stayed inside, under my covers and watched as the lightning tore jagged, white hot paths across the sky. A few moments later, the jaw-tingling boom of thunder would sound. My parents were asleep in the room above mine. They taught me how to gauge the distance of a storm, wait for a flash of light to fill the night sky, count by Mississippies, and divide by five. For every five seconds, the storm was a mile away. I had a tough time with numbers other than five. We were only just learning how to divide in school. I counted

to ten Mississippi this time before the thunder rolled over me, filling my ears with a cacophony of brass roars. The sound didn't scare me. In an odd way it was rather comforting, affording me the false security of the brick and glass that separated me from the elements. Neither the blinding light

nor the deafening tremors could reach me. I looked up at my ceiling, watching the shadows of the trees shutter across the rough white paint, an eerily beautiful sight. My ragged, fleece blanket was knotted in my arms, and my head cradled in an overly plush pillow.

I lay prone, waiting for the next crash of thunder. It filled my ears at 8 Mississippi this time. I rubbed the blanket with my cheek, struggling to do the math, about a mile and a bit away. As the thunder died away, a different sound permeated my perfect silence. A creek followed by a dry scuff. then silence again my neck hair's prickled and i curled in harder against myself another flash spread throughout the room i felt thankful feeling the familiar fear of nature's staggering power wash away any unease i counted again clutching my blanket close five mississippi the storm was closing in the thunderer harbinger of the damage that would

Another flash illuminated my room through the big window opposite my bed. I made out the purple outlines of the sparse trees beyond, shuddering briefly as I imagined being out there among them. At least I had my home, my room, my bed. Another peal of thunder washed over me, four Mississippies later. When it died, I heard yet another creek of the floorboards. I remained frozen, convincing myself there was no threat if I could not see it. A fresh flash of light blazed through my bedroom, and for a fraction of a second I made out a flicker of movement just to the right of my window. I stared at that spot in my bedroom, trying to detach some imagined entity from the well of shadows formed by the corner of my room.

Just as my eyes settled on the darkness of that spot, A new flash bloomed within the darkness and I was blinded once more. Groaning, I squeezed my eyes shut. I wasn't scared of thunderstorms. Dogs were, other kids were. Even my parents jolted from the occasional crack of thunder. I did not. I observed them, measured their distance, took comfort from them.

It took me a few moments to discover what was. was wrong with that last flash. No thunder echoed after it. I tried to recall my count, but realized they hadn't done it. I waited for the next spire of lightning to blaze across the trees beyond and actually sighed in relief when it did. But in that moment something else caught my attention. As the lightning filled my room, a secondary burst of light seemed to pop up just beyond the fringes of my window. I peered hard into the trees as their purple, black outlines were electrified across my vision, but nothing else appeared. With another groan, I buried my head against my pillow and peeked out from under one guarded eyelid. The thunder rolled across my room

at a three Mississippi count this time, but again, an eerie creek seemed to dog at its heels. They scanned at my window, searching for any flicker of movement, but none appeared. There was nothing there, only Mother Nature in all her awe-inspiring power, waging a war of electrified plasma and sonic concussions against the earth. I began to doze. My guarded gaze dipped in and out of consciousness, blurring and refocusing on the window. In my mind, I kept up the tally. wondering when the storm would hit us.

Those flashes bombarded my eyelids, casting spectral outlines of the trees against the weird red void I got when I tried to squeeze my eyes shut. I found I was reaching out more with my ears for any discrepancies, cataloging the thunder's ripples just as a flash flickered across my reddened vision.

Exhaustion must have dulled my senses, because at some point I began to realize that thunder didn't always match up with the lightning flashes. Sometimes it would just be the flash followed by a creek. I'd struggle to erase the creaking from my mind, burying one fear under another, but it was getting harder to ignore. Fear paralyzed me, keeping me from reaching out into the darkness of my room to confront my suspicions. I kept gazing out of the window, praying for the next flash of lightning. lightning. Instead, the next flash popped up to the left side of my head. I saw in the window an

outline of some sort, vaguely humanoid and thin. I yearned for it to be a tree, but a growing sense of dread took hold of the logical part of my mind. It was something far worse, remaining still as a mannequin, I peaked from the cubbyhole of my covers and under my eyelid, and applied the lightning distance principle to this new phenomenon. A flash, ten Mississippi, another creek. Another flash, seven Mississippi, another creek. Each pulse of light bringing to fruition the thing's gangly black limbs in my way. window. It was getting closer to my house. There was another flash, this one coupled with a lick

of lightning, five Mississippi. I couldn't hear the creek this time due to the thunder, but when the booming roar died away, I almost screamed. There was a breathing sound, raspy, dry, almost hungry. It was coming from my left. It was coming from my left, again. I clenched my blanket to my chest, trying not to sob from the revelation. The figure was in my room. I had been observing its reflection in the light of the flashes. Another blaze of light charged the room for a moment, followed by an additional creak. Ice coiled around my spine as I felt my covers gently crinkle and my mattress dip ever so slightly. Another flash accompanied by that disgusting breathing and a very faint wine of a Polaroid camera. I didn't move, couldn't move. You don't

roll over to face a terror. It went against every animalistic instinct we had. Instead, I lay there, feeling long, slender fingers, coil around my sheets, and the things wait shift even closer. I squeezed my eyes shut, abandoning my peephole. Lightning bloomed once again against my window, and the outline of something grotesque, hunched over my bed, took shape against my eyelids. He breathed noisily, the camera dangling around his neck and his shirt unbuttoned. I shuddered as I felt his mouth touched the base of my neck, and then his tongue slip up along the back of it. In the window I could see him practically smothering me, his greasy clothes ragged with dirt and mud.

He had a scratchy beard and his breath smelled of rotting meat as he placed one gnarled hand on my thigh and began brushing upwards. His lips hovered just above my ear. ear, pulling back my dark hair and touching the skin. I wondered where you disappeared to, he said in a crusty whisper. Thought them woods claimed you. He rolled me over fully, a malicious grin splitting his pockmarked face. Glad you survived. He held up his camera.

We're going to have some fun now, right? I stared back at him, wordless. He rose the camera to his face and took another picture. Then he screamed. I guess he must have finally seen my face. The flesh sloughed off my skull. The tendons wrapped tight around my right cheek and jawline. The black socket of my left eye gazed back at him, condemning and joyful.

He stumbled back. back off the bed, blubbering like a baby. I slowly followed. He'd come for me the month before, during another storm. He'd taken pictures of me for, God knows how long, warming slowly into my bedroom and stealing me into the night. He knew the paths that twisted every which way beyond my home. Sure, no one would ever find us, but I'd escaped. I fled into the wood during that storm, but soon I too became lost. I'd fallen asleep, counting, counting for eternity, and then I had awoken once more. It was during another storm. I knew where to go.

My parents' grief could never be mended, but I could still make things right. I knew he'd come searching, crawling back to my room. room like a cockroach, and here he was, sobbing pitifully at the foot of a little girl's bed. I stepped off the bed slowly, watching him scramble back towards the window. There was nowhere he could go. A flash of lightning glinted off my alabaster skull, echoing through my mind as I knelt down beside the creep. Mercy does not await you, I intoned in a dry voice.

Your remains shall never be recovered. Never relinquished, never put to rest. He looked back with wild yellow eyes. I rested a skeletal hand on his shoulder. Now come. Let us have some fun in the woods. He cried out as my grip tightened. then screamed blindly as my fingers pierced into his tendons,

hooked his collarbone and dragged him behind. He kicked and flailed, writhed and sprayed garbled prayers into the night. But the thunder drowned him out. He couldn't stop me. Deep into the woods we travelled, further than any sane human might go. At some point he passed out from the pain. The camera still downed.

angled around his neck, filled to the brim with memories of his past atrocities. I came to a stop in a small clearing, where a tree split by lightning sat. There I slung the bumbling creep at the base of the tree and slapped him to make sure he awoke. He looked around blindly, crusty features thick with fear. I lifted him into the splinter trunk of the oak and pierced his unlawful. arms and legs with shattered wood. There he screamed and fucked, but unable to move as I stepped forward and took the camera from his neck. One picture, a flash in the night, I murmured, raising the camera to my socket and taking a candid. That is all anyone will remember you by.

I stepped up and wrapped my fingers around his greasy neck, before slid. slamming the camera into his mouth, shattering his teeth, and lodging it into his jaws. Pictures continued to roll off, illuminating his chest and throat as he wept and struggled weakly. I backed up, smiling, remembering the pictures he'd taken of me. I counted the time between each flash, slipping further and further into the woods. One Mississippi, two Mississippi. 3, Mississippi. Lightning flared and thunder roared, and I disappeared into the night.

Police would never know what happened to the little girl who disappeared. There would be an area-wide search, missing posters the whole nine yards. But no one would ever find anything. The only thing the parents found that was remotely interesting was a bit of dirt in their child's bed, in a room that had been locked for weeks, and a single solitary photograph buried under her blanket, a picture of a shattered oak tree, and one simple phrase written on the back. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four. Your child may be gone, but there is no need to mourn.

Hmm, in that story, revenge really was best served cold. Now, in the final of our three stories for this evening, we move a little further out towards the city cemetery, where the goings on are even more strange. A young man recalls the events of the past and his time spent in the cemetery. On the last day of July, 1993, I saw my first reanimated corpse. I'd been spending my summer vacation with my grandfather, they had caretaker for the largest cemetery in the county, while my parents were overseas visiting relatives. In exchange for a weekly stipend of $75,

I was to spend my mornings performing various chores around the cemetery grounds, including cleaning moss from cracked and floges. forgotten headstones and collecting wilted, sun-bleached flower arrangements for the garbage. That particular morning was spent preparing for a burial and helping my grandfather repair a headstone that had been vandalized over the course of the previous night. We'd been working on it since mid-morning, and when we finally finished the sun was high in the noon sky. After we finished cleaning up, I went to look for a comfortable spot to take my lunch break

and read an old Lovecraft collection purchased the day before from a used bookstore. Meandering through a field of monuments and headstones, I made my way towards a weeping willow tree that stood out against the dark, coniferous forest that ran the perimeter of the cemetery. Before the willow, there was a small green tent, folding chairs, flowers, and a rectangular mound of dirt. Remnants of that morning's burial. A small green aluminum size.

was pegged into the dirt a few feet from the opening. Its tarnished copper lettering identified the graves' inhabitant and lifespan as Grace Phillips, 1914 to 1993. Finding the shade of the tent to be inviting, I made myself comfortable on a couple of the folding chairs beneath it. I wasn't two pages into the story, Dagon, when I heard what I thought was a strange muffled sound of thumping, beginning to resonate from the capped burial vault in the grave before me.

I looked at the hole and immediately dismissed the thought that I'd heard a sound coming from it. I was about to go back to reading when I heard it again. Curious, I set down my book, walked over to the edge of the grave, and listened with intense concentration. A few seconds later, I was rewarded with not only more thumping, but a stifled scream. Terrified, I stumbled backwards,

tripped over a row of chairs, and then bolted across the cemetery towards the memorial garden benches where my grandfather usually ate his lunch. I arrived, out of breath, and panicked. I told him of the thumping and screaming. He looked at me like I was insane and had me lead him to the grave.

Go get Henry, run, boy. I sprinted through a maze of headstones and mausoleums, towards the large aluminum storage garage that housed both the cemetery's landscaping equipment and a small office. A moment earlier, my grandfather had knelt down beside the grave and listened, just as I had done before. He would later describe what he heard as the most unnerving experience of his life, a voice from beneath a burial vault cap. I burst into the office, startling Henry to drop one of the bags of peat moss he was stacking in a wooden bin, splitting open at his feet. Damn it, why do you... I didn't let him finish. Between gasps for air, I told Henry that my grandfather needed him right away.

Sensing trouble, he quickly forgot the bag and we took off running. Henry followed me with as fervent a pace as he could much. master for a man of his age and stature. When my grandfather spotted as coming, he shouted for Henry to bring the goddamn backhoe around. Henry, who had worked for my grandfather for 20 years and had never questioned one of his orders, ran down the graveled road to where the backhoe was parked away from that morning's mourners.

I joined my grandfather, who then proceeded to lower himself into the grave and straddled the vault. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted into the vault. Hello? Can you hear me? We're going to get you out of there. He was answered by a muffled shriek. Off in the distance, I heard the back hose diesel engine sputtered to life with an oily ground. Minutes later, Henry piloted the machine over the stone-pegged horizon. Its dented chrome exhaust pipe belching a thick cloud of blue smoke that trailed behind it. When it arrived, I stood back and watched as my grandfather instructed Henry, who manipulated the backhoe's arm into position over the grave. Henry jumped off the idling machine and removed a chain harness hanging from a makeshift steel hook on the side

of the cab. He connected the harness to a loop of steel, welded to the bottom of the scoop, and then climbed back into the backhoe. My grandfather directed him to slowly lower the chains into the grave. Hooks dangled from the ends of the four rusted chains as the back hole lowered the harness down into the grave. When the hooks were resting on the surface of the vault's cap, my grandfather waved for Henry to stop. He secured the hooks to the rebar loops protruding from each corner of the lid and climbed out. Henry brought the backhoe steel arm up with a hydraulic wine, lifting the cap off the burrowing. vault. The rumble of the engine had drowned out any audible sound of movement, and it wasn't

until the cap was resting on the grass beside the grave, and the back-hose engine switched off, that we could hear the blood-curdling shrieking and furious thumping from within the stained, hardwood casket. I watched in terror, as Henry reluctantly climbed into the grave, straddled the vault, and used a screwdriver to force open the locking mechanism securing the caskets lid. As soon as the lock was sprung, the top lid sprung open and caused Henry to scurry from the grave with a startled grunt. He cursed under his breath as he came to his feet, beside my grandfather, and beheld the ghastly sight before us.

My grandfather told me to look away, but I could not keep myself from staring at the loathsome display. The elderly woman in the casket was thrashing her hands around in a wild frenzy, as if she was fighting off an invisible attacker. Every muscle in her body twitched with uncontrollable spasms. Her eyelids fluttered, her irises and pupils concealed by white plastic caps, the mortician had used to hold her eyelids shut. yellow-tinged skin

sagged over the emaciated sunken face screams came through curled lips and teeth artificially clenched with a criss cross of white suture thread the wig she had been buried in had slipped off

exposing a railroad track of stitches that orbited the back of her head an autopsy had been performed her brain removed and weighed her head crashed against the burial vault as she spasmed, opening a deep gash on the side of her head. Pink embalming fluid welled up and dripped from the wound.

Jesus Christ, what's wrong with her eyes? Henry asked, his voice wavering. My grandfather ignored the question. Shut and love the gate, Henry. If anyone asks, we're closing for emergency maintenance. get the gas can and some matches from the office on your way back. When he returned from the garage, Henry joined my grandfather at the edge of the grave. He handed the gas can to my grandfather.

We watched with numb shock as he emptied the entire can into the grave and over the woman who was still very active and was now hissing at us. He tossed the can aside and snatched the matches from Henry's nervous, shaking hands. stands. Stand back, he commanded, as he pulled a match from the book and struck it against the thin, brown strip on the back. He used the match to light the rest of the matches in the book. It flared to life in his hand, and he flipped it into the grave, igniting the gas with a loud, whoosh! Even though I was stunned by the unexpected blast of heat, my eyes never left the sight of the impromptu cremation.

I could see the woman still flailing in her casket, even as she burned. The plastic caps on her eyes melted down her blackening face, like tears of white paint on cracked asphalt. The sutures on the back of her head snapped, and her scalp curled back as it burned, exposing ivory cranium. The embalming fluid in her body boiled and foamed from cramped.

in her charred skin. It took 20 minutes of the woman to stop moving. She and her casket were still smouldering when we recamped the vault and quickly filled it in. When we had the backhoe parked in its usual space next to the garage, we collected ourselves to the confines of my grandfather's office. We sat in silence at his desk as we pondered what to make of the horror we had all just witnessed. My grandfather broke the silence. He stated that we were to keep the day's events a secret

that we would all carry to our graves. Before the end of the summer, we would find two more of what we began referring to as moving burials and had cremated the reanimated corpses. We never spoke of the cemetery's secret to anyone, nor did we discover the reason for the atrocious of things we found twitching and writhing in the ground. Two weeks ago, my grandfather died from a two-year battle with lymphoma.

In accordance with his last wishes, he was buried in the same cemetery that he'd spent so many years caring for. I visit his grave every day when I'm sure no one is watching, and I press my ear to the ground and listen. We joined a man who has a little time to reflect on the decisions of his past and how they have led him to his current predicaments. Five minutes. That's how much air I have left in here,

give or take a few seconds, of course. I don't have access to a clock to see how long I've been in here. I do know this room holds enough air for roughly ten minutes total, once sealed completely. I wasted my room. my first five minutes trying to escape. A feat I am well aware is impossible and actually quite stupid. I've resigned myself to this fate, unless she has a change of heart, which is doubtful

to say the least. She caught me completely by surprise. I'm almost in awe of her planning. I never once suspected she was anything other than what she appeared to be. I guess that's why they say you should be cautious of who you meet online. Four minutes now. That's if I can remain calm. I know what to expect,

but will it keep me from pounding my fists against the door when my chest gets tight? Who knows? We'll see soon, I guess. She knew just how to cater to my tastes. Blonde hair, blue eyes, goth chick. Something about the light, dark contrast appeals to me. It helped that she looked familiar.

I couldn't quite place who she was at first. She played a good role and got the best of me. She knew just how to make me feel comfortable, how to stroke my ego, and lull me into a false sense of security. She seemed fragile, broken, and desperate. just how I like them. I guess she just seemed easy.

Three minutes. I don't know if it's in my mind, or if my breaths are becoming harder to pull into my lungs and less satisfying once they get there. It's only a matter of time now anyway. She was so charming to me, so sweet and humble, but she held that broken air about her.

Like she would do anything I'd. told her to. I even considered asking her to join me in my work as an assistant of sorts. She was just so damn obedient, not like the others before her. She didn't try to run off or act like a bitch to me. I think that's what did it. That's what made me let my guard down. So young and beautiful, my old eyes were blinded by lust. and strangely hope for the future. Hope that she would be the one that I could keep, teach and mould into the perfect life mate.

Life can get lonely for a man of my tastes. Two minutes now. There's no denying that the oxygen level is dropping. My chest is starting to burn and panic is clawing at my brain, insisting I try again, insisting if I plead long enough she'll open the door. I've kept it at bay so far. I know a pleading won't work.

She sees me for what I am. We'd been dating for a few weeks when that feeling of deja vu I got with her started to really pick at my brain. It practically overwhelmed me. But in my line of work, questioning these things can get pretty messy. If I do happen to recognize someone I knew before, well, that's just something best left unsaid. I finally placed her at the last second, right before she sealed me in here. She'd wandered into my study as I slept, opened this hatch, and then waited for me to come looking for her.

How would she slip from her restraint so easily? How would she know where to find the secret lash to release this hidden vault? These are questions that will haunt me now in this final minute or so of my life. The air is hot now, thick and almost completely devoid of oxygen. My chest is burdened by an unbelievable weight, and black dots shower my vision. It won't be long now. Such a shame that I didn't recognize her face just a day sooner. It would have been her in here, struggling to breathe her last.

But it's too late to think of what could have been. There's barely even time to think of what is. She hid in wait until I was in place, staring perplexed at the open vault. Then she made her move, knocking me over the head and shoving me in here. I only just had time to turn around and glimpse her face, framed by the doorway, eyes flaming with hatred. Only then did I realize where I'd seen that face before. Years ago, she was my first. I was young, reckless.

I know now that I was also too kind. I forced her inside this same vault that will come to be my tomb. but I let the little girl live. She couldn't have been but three years old. There's no way that she could have incriminated me, and at the time killing a child was a little too much to stomach. So, I drugged her, blindfolded her, and left her on the side of the road a hundred miles away.

I'd never known what had become of her. Until now, my final thought is my vision fades. and my chest feels about to explode is of those same hate-filled eyes staring up at me from the face of her mother. They say we never forget a face and how true that seems to be

pity was a little bit too late for him and now we move on to a family of four brothers who are rejoicing in the excitement of a huge lottery win. But, as we are in dark town, we'll see that not everything ends well. Three years ago I won the lottery, and within four months, I'd learn to never trust anyone. My three brothers, Jerry, Paul and Joseph, and I won the Powerball lottery. We claimed it anonymously,

and split the $399.4 million between the three of us. Of course, after taxes, we only took away around $71 million each. Every week for 10 years, we'd been throwing in $50 a person. Some weeks we'd win a couple of hundred dollars, but others would only take a couple of dollars. Despite losing money, we would still throw up. throw in the same $50 week after week without a second thought. The very hope that someday we might be able to just live comfortably without having a job was more than enough motivation for us. So that's why we

never gave up or even gave the $50 expense a second thought. We started the lottery pool when I was 24 years old. It became a thing one Christmas morning when we all realized that we were spending around $300 a month on lottery tickets already. Now, before you judge all of us, I want you to know that since we were young, our father had spent almost all of his paycheck on lottery tickets. We captured that same passion, but luckily for us, it was in a more moderate way. Joseph and I have always been the closest, since Paul and Jerry were both more than seven years older than us. Joseph and I only had a two-year gap between us. It meant that we argued and

fought the most, but at the end of the day we never complained about having to share a bunk bed with each other. No matter how much we argued that day, we would still talk to each other until we fell asleep every single night. We were the ones that actually got everything set up for the lottery pool, and he was the one that convinced Jerry and Paul to join in so that we could have a better chance. We made ourselves a few simple rules in case we won and how we would go about getting the tickets. Number one, we always used randomised numbers, chance above luck. Number two, we would buy the tickets in a turn-based system. Jerry, Joseph, Paul and then me. number three no matter who turned in the numbers we would always split the winnings 25% each number four if someone was unable to participate that week they would not be included in the winnings for ten years we faced almost constant failure the most we won was around twelve hundred dollars but if you added up all the money we'd spent

until then. It felt like we were just throwing our money away. For some reason we still kept doing it without any sort of hesitation. The person who was in charge for that week to purchase the tickets always found the $50 from each of the other people. So, ten years later, and I went into the convenience store that was right by my house and purchased the 200 quick-pick lottery tickets. At Wednesday, I sat in front of the TV while the numbers were being called. I wrote the numbers on a notepad and scanned through every single ticket. When I found one ticket that matched every single number and in the right order, I stared at the two pieces of paper.

I checked the ticket over a hundred times just to make sure that the ticket I was holding in my hand was the impossible goal. my brothers and I were shooting for. I called all of them within ten minutes. And within an hour, all of them were standing in front of me, staring at the lottery ticket. Paul asked me if I was pranking them, but I convinced him that I really wasn't. Jerry's whole body was shaking with what seemed like absolute excitement. And Joseph walked up to me and gave me a hug while telling me that all of our lives

would finally get better. We all decided that the cash option would be the best for us to split it equally. And once we got the cash, the first thing we did was split four ways on a new house for our mother and father. I have never seen them so happy

than the day that we surprised them with their new house. My father fell into tears while trying to explain how much it meant to him. While my mother gave each of us hugs while telling us how great we were to them. With all this newfound money,

life was great to me until a month and a half later when Paul was found floating in his outdoor pool. His neck had been sliced open with the head of a rubber duck poking out of his open neck. Joseph came over to my house the next day to deliver the news. and when I heard about it

I just wanted to cry over the loss of Paul we may not have been close but he was the one that always made sure we did our homework and that we made good decisions every time any of us thought about doing something reckless

Paul wouldn't try to stop us but he would try to talk to us and tell us that he thought what we were doing was absolutely foolish The paranoia didn't really sink in until the death of Jerry two months later. He was found in the middle of our local park, clutching a rubber duck. His stomach was ripped open with both of his feet stuck into his midsection. He had been dead for eight hours before someone noticed that there was a dead body on the park bench.

The day after Jerry's dead body was found in the park, I noticed that Joseph had stopped talking to me altogether. Just to make sure, I texted him over ten times and called him three times, but I never got a response. I remembered playing with ducks with Joseph in the bathtub when we were younger and took baths together. I remember that Jerry and Paul would always make fun of us for playing with such childish toys in the bath, but we were never really affected by the bath.

their taunts. I didn't want to think it was Joseph actually killing both of our brothers, but I didn't really have any other person to blame. I know I didn't do it, and I know that we claimed the lottery winnings anonymously, so all of my worry was on Joseph. I know that we were family, but you don't know what people will do for that extra bit of money. We all had more than enough money to live off, but obviously Joseph didn't think it was enough for him. For the next two weeks, I double-checked everything I did and everywhere I went. I was filled with paranoia, since I knew that Joseph knew where I usually like to go and what I like to do. I kept staying vigilant until yesterday. Yesterday, I woke up to the news.

of Joseph's death. He was found with a knife cut from his neck to the bottom of his midsection. The bottom half of a rubber duck was stapled to his stomach and the top half of the rubber duck was sewn over his lips. There were two words cut into his forehead.

Little ducky! When I heard the news of his death My blood ran cold, and I found myself filling with an overwhelming sense of panic. Little Ducky, that's exactly what my mother used to call us. Hmm, was that a case of keeping your friends close but your enemies closer? No one can be trusted in dark town. So, on to our final tale this evening. A man, unhappy with the appearance of his home, decides to do a little bit of decoration, but not in the way that most of us would imagine.

I walk past the noose in my living room every day. It's been dangling from a hook I've hammered into the ceiling over the coffee table. For four months, I've walked past it every morning as I leave the house, and every evening when I come back from work. Learning how to fashion the thing was easy. I almost couldn't believe how many DIY videos were on YouTube. I made mine with an extension called. I didn't hang the noose to kill myself. Not then.

Really, I just wanted it up there for comfort. To have a reminder that there was something there that would let me escape everything if the time came where I needed to. It was like having a radio that you'd. you never played or a chair you never sat on it was just there a piece of furniture waiting to be used things have been not so good for a while not finding a lot of fulfillment at my job haven't spoken to any friends in god knows how long but worst of all my wife started cheating on me earlier this year The guy she cheated with is in his twenties, bartender from in town.

Fella at least had the decency to wait until I left the house to fuck her. But they still made it pretty obvious to the neighbours. She would scream loudly, I've been told. Her and I hadn't made love in over three years. Hell, he only even spoke to one another maybe once or twice a week. On the day that I found out When some sheepish neighbor took me out for a drink And broke the news to me

I put up the noose I did it while she was sitting on the couch watching TV She said nothing As I stood up on the coffee table Humbered the hook into the ceiling And draped the knot extension caught over it I stepped down Looked at her

gave a little smile and left the room. Not one word was said. The two of us walked past the noose every day for the next few months. Sometimes I'd find her staring at it, concerned. But she never said anything to me. Her demeanor towards me became a lot friendlier. We started talking more often. One night we even had sex.

It was passionless and neither of us finished. But, hey, it was something. Neighbours told me Mr. Hot Shop bartender was still coming over, but less frequently now. There was a different kind of screaming going on whenever he was over, constant arguing. Things weren't going so good with them. I just went about my business,

but always focusing on the noose. Soon, I kept thinking to myself. Soon. All the neighbours, God bless them, sent me letters telling me to keep strong that my wife was in the wrong, to consider leaving her and finally finding happiness. All sorts of nice things were said.

How, I didn't deserve her, how she was a terrible person. How I shouldn't let this get me down. but even being surrounded by all this kindness nothing comforted me as much as the noose did it was a guiding light for me a sign of comforts it still is even more so now one day i'm sure i'll use it i'll have to cut the wife down from there first though she's been keeping it warm for me since she found all those nice letters. I walk past the noose every day. We visit Credence, a young boy whose mother is about to give birth to his siblings, but as we know, things are never quite as they seem here on the streets of Darktown. So, what does it have in store for

young Credence. Let's find out in our first story this evening. What in heaven's name have you done? The shrill voice echoed off the walls of the small room. Credence flinched. Taking a moment to make sure he wouldn't be caught, he pressed his eye back to the keyhole. Inside the bedroom were his mother, father, the township priest, whom he'd been instructed to call father as well, and two fat ladies who were something called midwives. The priest was glowering at Credence's mother. She was exhausted after her labour and could do nothing except look at him with frightened eyes. Credence wasn't exactly sure why the priest was yelling at her or why she was crying.

He wanted desperately to run into the room and hug his mother, but he didn't dare. ages ago when the fat midwives had arrived and helped his moaning mother into bed his father had grabbed him by the shoulders and told him stay put so he had through four hours of horrid screaming he'd waited outside the door frightened but curious now the house was silent save for the joint wailing of the newborns and the priest sinner blasphemous wench. The priest shrieked, waving his Bible this way and that. My wife is no such thing. Greetings his father roared. The priest rounded on him.

Really? Explain that monstrosity then. The priest pointed at the bundle in one of the midwife's arms. A red, squealing, contorted blob squirmed inside the blankets. The two twin girls were conjoined. Between them, they shared two arms, a torso and four legs. They cried pitifully, life already bringing them pain so fresh into their existence.

When Credence's father said nothing, the priest grinned in triumph. He pointed at Credence's mother again. You've had relations with an incubus woman. In the name of the Lord. would be stoned for your sins. Credence gasped. He knew, even at seven years old, what stoning was. How could his mother have done something to deserve that?

He began to cry quietly, torn between wanting his mother and obeying his father. Credence jumped at the sudden loud noise from the front door. It seemed to shake the entire house. The adults on the other side of the bedroom, room door were immediately silent. Credence swore that the blood rushing past his ears had never been so loud. He was almost thrown to the floor as the door he was leaning against opened. His father stepped out into the hallway, listening.

Inside the bedroom, the priest began to pray quietly. The knocking repeated, more insistent this time. Credence watched as his father walked down the hallway to the stairs. and disappeared down them. Moments later, he heard the front door open and then shut, as if his father had let someone inside. Hmm, odd. They weren't expecting guests.

Credence, come here! His mother wheeled to him. But Credence could not move. He'd spotted something climbing up the stairs, and suddenly felt like the air around him had turned to glass. If he moved, he could cut himself. What Credence saw next plagued his dreams for weeks after.

A lithe creature came into view. Credence couldn't tell if it was a man or a lady. The thing barely looked human. It was thin, downright skeletal in certain places. Its hair was long, black and greasy. Its skin, or the little that could be seen of it, was ashen grey like a corpse. It was clad in a white shirt and dark slacks.

Despite the circumstances, Credent's thought it looked very fancy. Its arms were covered in white bandages, its fingernails long and black like talons, and its eyes. Its eyes were covered by black goggles. The thing stalked toward Credence. It bent its head sideways, as if confused by his presence.

Credence shifted under its gaze, his stomach dropping straight through the floor. He was certain that this monster was going to do something terrible. But then, the thing was moving away from him and into the bedroom. The priest shrieked as it entered. Oh, you demonic pest!

Without so much as turning its head, the thing grabbed the priest by the face and flung him across the room as if he weighed as much as his Bible. He collided hard with the wall, producing a very satisfying thump, before slumping to the floor. The unruly distraction seemingly out of its way, the creature turned to the midwives, who were now trembling with fear. It moved toward them slowly, but with purpose. It reached for the twin girls Who had become considerably quieter Since it had entered the room

Heart in his throat Credence startled himself By finding his voice Hey The creature stopped Turning its head to face Credence As if to say Yes

Will you heard us The creature shook its head And Credence wandered for a split second how the damn thing understood him at all. He swallowed hard, choking out another question. Are you really a demon? This time, the creature merely shrugged. It turned its attention back to the babies, reaching for them and gently pulling them out of the arms of the stunned midwife. It pulled them to its chest with surprising tenderness, a small smile forming on its lips as it rocked the twins gently back and forth.

Credence half expected the thing to start cooing at them. After rocking the babies a few moments more, the creature gently placed them on the bed. Then it did something Credence thought was very strange. It pulled out a coil tape measure from its breast pocket and measured the baby's length and width. Once that was done, the creature gently picked up the twins again, depositing them with care in the arms of his mother.

Then it strode from the room, through the hall and back down the stairs. The front door shut with a bang. As soon as he was sure it was gone, Credence ran full tilt into the arms of his mother. Hot, fat tears streamed down his cheeks as he frantically demanded to know what had just happened. His mother held him tightly, inside. That was the Undertaker. The what? Undertaker. It's a, well, a spirit of some kind that lurks in our town. It's a death omen, said Credence's father, as he reappeared through the doorway.

It comes to a house and measures someone for a coffin. Then it leaves and comes back again when the coffin is done. Usually the poor sod is already gone by the. then. Credence couldn't believe what he was hearing. So, the babies. His father nodded solemnly, and his mother began to weep. The twins lived for two days more, every second of it painful. It was almost a relief to everyone in the house when they took their last shaky breath. At the very least, the babies weren't suffering anymore. After their passing, Credence stayed home to comfort his mother while his father went to announce the death to the priest. The priest had been adamant that the twins were still a Cambian,

but had held off on stoning Credence's mother, apparently being flung into a wall does wonders for judgment. His father hadn't been gone ten minutes when that same knock from a few days before echoed through the house. Credence got up and tiptoed to the front door. His father had told him, when the undertaker knocks you best answer and he took that advice to heart people who didn't answer the door made the undertaker angry and that wasn't ideal he opened the door and sure enough the undertaker was

waiting on the other side under its arm it held a very tiny coffin it extended the sad little pine box to credence who took it without a word and promptly shut the door. That wasn't the last time Credence saw the undertaker. Occasionally, he saw it knocking on the door of some unfortunate person's home. Sometimes it had a coffin, sometimes it didn't. It came back to his own house, twice, once to measure his dying grandmother, and once to measure his older brother who'd caught rheumatic fever.

As the years went by, people began to desert the tiny town. Credence saw less and less of the Undertaker. When he finally moved away from the town, he hadn't seen it in almost three years. He was glad to be rid of the sinister omen. But a small part of him was upset, as if he was homesick for a place fraught with bad memories. So, he began to tell the tale of the Undertaker to his nieces and nephews, and eventually, to his own children. The story continued down the line for generations, eventually lending itself to my tender ears. And who am I? Well, I'm not giving out any personal information to strangers,

but I can tell you that I am Credence's descendant, and now, like my mother, uncle and grandmother before me, I too have passed on the tale of the death omen, the undertaker. Take what you will from this old story. Believe it or don't. I don't really care. But I'll advise you to remember if the undertaker knocks, you best answer. Ah, so good of credence to pass on the traditions to the younger generations. Now we move on further through the streets of Darktown, finding ourselves at the house of young Alex, a boy who's tired after a day of fishing with his older brother. He goes to sleep and sleeps well,

but wakes the following morning to find that circumstances have changed greatly. What does the future hold in store for him? Let's find out. I'm going to start the story off by saying it's completely true. And you can choose not to believe me, but I'm telling you it really did happen. I'll start the story six months ago. My brother Jake and I were fishing at a lake not too far from my house, trying to catch

some salmon. It was an awesome spot, and he would take me there a lot. He took me lots of places, and he used to hang out with me quite a bit. He was my big brother, my best friend. But that day, everything changed. While we were fishing, he got a mysterious call from a block number. I couldn't hear what the conversation was about as he walked off to take it, but it sounded tense. It was getting late, we hadn't caught anything yet.

So once the call ended, we both agreed to head back. When we got home, Jake headed off to his camper van, which was right out the back of the garden. It was a beat-up old thing, but he really loved it. Some nights he'd let me stay in there, and we'd play video games. It was nicer on the inside than the outside, as he'd done it up pretty nicely with a little bit of money he had from doing freelance photography. He was pretty good, too. He didn't make much money, but he was doing what he loved. I was, well, still am, only 16, so I just worked at the local McDonald's.

I didn't make much either, but it was enough to keep me happy. Anyway, Jake headed off to bed, and I did too. I was pretty tired, and I had to work the next day. I headed past the kitchen to get to my room when I saw my mom in the kitchen making some dinner. How was the fishing, honey? She said happily. It was great, Mom.

Didn't catch anything this time. You never catch anything, she exclaimed. I laughed and headed up to bed. You're not hungry? She added. No, we already ate, I replied. Jake and I had stopped off at the long. local McDonald's on the way home. I shut my door and landed on my bed, falling into a deep sleep.

The next day I woke up and headed out at the back to ask Jake if I could borrow his car to go to work for the day, as I knew he didn't have any jobs on that week. However, I was shocked to find my dad brick paving a stone area where Jake's caravan used to be. I stumbled in my tracks. Oh, where's Jake? What happened to the caravan? I asked confused. My dad turns to me with a confused look. What are you talking about? He asks in a grouchy voice.

The RV. Where'd it go? I replied confidently. Don't know anything about no RV boy. He continues placing bricks down on the ground. I head back inside to see my mum in the kitchen again, but this time she's staring out of the window, facing the front of the house. "'Hey, Mom. Where's Jake? And what happened to the caravan?' I ask.

She turns to me with a worried and confused look. "'Honey? Who's Jake?' My heart sinks into my chest. She opens the fridge and starts making breakfast. "'Urude? Your son, Jake,' I say cautiously, as if to remind her. She ignores me and continues by opening a jar of peanut-buck. butter. Mom, are you joking right now? She interrupts me. Honey, stop. I don't know anyone called Jake. Is he a friend of yours? I stand in the kitchen with a both scared and confused

look on my face. My mom was getting older. Maybe she's just forgotten for a second. But, how could you forget your own son? And that doesn't explain why my dad didn't know what I was talking about either. Don't worry about it, I said, heading off up the stairs. I walked through the hallway and looked at the large array of family pictures along the wall. My chest tensed, and I felt butterflies in my stomach when I saw the pictures had been rearranged, and some were even missing. I couldn't see one photo of Jake anywhere.

My parents were obviously playing some kind of joke on me, I thought. I rushed into my room and grabbed my phone. I looked through every one of my photos. Not one photo of Jake could be found. I swiped through all my contacts and couldn't see his name anywhere. Even all our messages were gone. I was freaking out. This had gone way too far.

Whoever was playing this joke on me had been through my phone and that was a big no for me. I ran back down the stairs Seriously, Mum Jake's obviously gone through my phone Haven't you guys heard of privacy? Come on, where is he? I say, slowly losing my patience.

Alex, you're worrying me. Are you feeling okay? She says softly. I look at the clock and notice the time. Whatever, I'm late for work. Can I use your car today then? I asked. What's wrong with your car? she said, confused.

I don't have a car, I say, exhaling and rolling my eyes. What about the Nissan? She points outside. That's Jake's car. I snap at her. Whatever, I'm taking it anyway. He's obviously not here. I grab the keys off the kitchen bench and head to work.

At work, I couldn't take my mind off Jake. Why would he joke around like this? What if something happened to him? God, what if I was going crazy? Why would he move the caravan? Was he moving out? I had no idea. Then I remembered Jake's Instagram that he used for his photography.

I looked up the name, JJ Photography. Nothing was coming up. Now I was worried. He had over 10,000 followers that took him three years to accumulate. He wouldn't just delete his account like that. Maybe he'd blocked me. I asked the girl I was working with if I could look him up on her phone. But once again, there was nothing.

What the hell was going on? Once my shift was finished, I headed straight home. Still no sign of Jake. Now, I'd confronted my parents many times, and all they did was look at me like I was crazy. It's been three weeks now, and there's no sign of. of Jake anywhere. It's like he never existed. No text messages, no photos, nothing. My parents were starting to think I was going crazy. I needed to find out what had happened to him. I've

contacted the police, but they say he's over 18 and they can't do anything about it. He has the right to go missing, they say. I'm convinced something terrible has happened to him. He wouldn't leave me like this. We did everything together. He had so much going for himself. I was convinced my parents were involved. I would try to talk to my dad, but every time I mentioned Jake, he would get angry and tell me to stop talking nonsense. I asked my neighbours if they'd ever seen him, just to prove that he had existed, but most of them are elderly and would no help at all. I just couldn't find any of Jake's stuff anywhere as it was all kept inside his caravan.

Other strange things started happening around here too. Like, one night I was walking past my parents' bedroom to go to the toilet when I hear them whispering to each other. I couldn't quite make it out, but I distinctly heard my mother say. My eyes widened and I quickly tiptoed back to my room as fast as I could. I lay in bed trying to figure out what she'd meant by that. Had they done something to Jake? Was I next?

I stopped trusting them after this. I knew they were involved somehow. I'm not crazy. I would always catch them looking at me from the corner of my eye. My idiot dad never leaves that garden. He's built a gazebo patio area out on the area where Jake's caravan used to be. I always knew Dad didn't like Jake They couldn't wait to get rid of him

Always trying to get him to move out They were always arguing with him I took pity on him most of the time He had it tough as the oldest child They've always been more strict on him than they ever were on me Then one day while I was at school I remembered something When Jake and I were kids

we used to play down at the old forest at the back of my school. I skipped class and headed to the forest. I was looking for something, an old tree that we used to carve our names into. It was a large pine tree right in the middle of an opening. I rant where I remember the tree being, almost tripping over in the process. Sure enough, there it was.

A large bark-stripped oak tree with letters carved into. and right next to my name was Jake's. I knew it. I knew he existed. I headed back home to confront my parents, but was met with an out-of-place white van on our driveway. When I walked in, I heard people talking in the living room. As I turned the corner, I see a tall old man wearing an even older suit, sitting down talking to my parents while two mean-looking men in white uniform stood on either side of him. The old man, wide-eyed, started talking. Oh, here he is. The man I've been hearing all about. How are you, Jake? My heart stopped. Who the hell are you? My name is Alex, I say as confidently as I can, but it comes out shaky and unsure. My mother and father looked at

each other concerned. Sit down, Jake. Come on. My mother holds out her hand. Yeah, come on, son. Everything's going to be okay. My dad says, walking over to me.

Get the hell away from me, I say, stepping back nervously. The two men look at each other. The old man signalled him to get me. As one of the men approaches me, I shove him away. Come on, Jake.

It's easier if you just come quietly, one of the men says. I tried to run past him out the door, but I'm stopped by my father. That was the last thing I remember before getting pricked in the arm and quickly drifting unconscious. I've been in this facility for six months now. Things are much more clearer now that I'm taking my medication. I understand now that I'm sick, and this is the best place for me. me. That's what I thought until 20 minutes ago, before I received a visit from my parents. They had been coming to see me every couple of weeks, but today was a particularly beautiful day

and I was allowed to go outside in the big courtyard. I was enjoying the view where my mother said she would love a photo of us altogether. She went and asked one of the nurses to take the photo of us, where my father leaned in close and whispered into my ear. He whispered something that shook me to my core and knocked me out of any days the medication had got me under. Such a beautiful day. It's too bad Jake isn't here to take out photo. Say cheese, you guys.

The nurse yells, smiling from behind the camera. My mother, leaning in closer to me, to get in the photo. I stared at the camera with a camera. cold blank expression. I was staring at the camera and my mother gave the nurse to take the photo. The same camera that my older brother

Jake used to use. Well, you'd expect a little more from your parents than that, wouldn't you? What do they have up their sleeves? Intriguing indeed. Now, in tonight's final tale from Dark Town, we

move on to Aunt Helen, a hoarder in the the classic sense of the term. Her house holds many secrets, soon to be revealed to her niece. But will there be a positive resolution to the situation? Let's find out as we once again venture through the streets of Dark Town. Ever since I was a young child, I always remembered my Aunt Helen as being a major compulsive hoarder. The few times my family and I would try to visit her. It seemed as if the mountains of miscellaneous items would get taller and more threatening every time we stopped by. Now, if you've ever seen the TV show hoarders, you'll notice that

many of the featured hoarders are middle-aged to senior women who were overweight and holding grudges from decades ago. That was my aunt Helen. Even though she was struggling with a mental illness, I couldn't bring myself to feel sorry for her. After all, she had brought this upon herself. cluttering up her only living space. If we wanted to help her, she had to want the help we were offering. But every time we'd tried, she majorly declined. Yes, I knew that her husband had died,

but that was years ago. Surely, I would think that by now she would have moved on at least a little bit. It had been several years since I'd last visited Aunt Helen. In more recent years, she'd always declined to show up at family. gatherings and parties. I just assumed it was because she felt slightly ashamed that we all knew about her hoard, or that she could barely leave her house in the first place. It began to worry me as

time went on because I just simply figured that she was lonely, but I still couldn't wrap my head around the whole hoarding thing. So, once a week, I decided that I would call her to see how she was doing. I even considered planning a visit, even though I was terrified of seeing her. what her house actually looked like after all these years had passed. I began calling her every Wednesday, just to make sure she was all right. Even though it took her a while, she always answered the phone, and I never had to call twice. In the background of every call, I could hear the muffled sounds of her crawling over heaps of collected items. It was at that moment that I would always ask her if she was all right,

and she dismissively said, yes, she. she was just fine. I've been calling her for about a month and a half, when my aunt's tone of voice began to get somewhat panicked and afraid. In the most recent, of course, she picked up the phone on the very first ring, which startled me. There's a strange car outside my house.

It's been there for a day or two. I'm starting to get worried, she said. Her voice shaky and panicked. I simply told her to calm, down that everything would be just fine. I wasn't really that worried about her. I was thinking that maybe she was delusional or something. I carried on with my life, not thinking much about what my aunt had said over the phone. That was until the next Wednesday rolled around. I said about my normal routine of calling Aunt Helen. I was surprised that she hadn't picked up the phone at all.

and she always picked it up, even if it was on the last ring. I decided that maybe she was taking a nap, so I figured that I wouldn't bother her. I should just try calling her again the next day. Again I called, but no answer. Now I was really starting to worry. I decided that I should face my fears and head over to her house to make sure that she was doing okay.

The drive wasn't far from where I worked, so I arrived there in about. ten minutes or so. I could see a rusty, peeling, grey van sitting in the street beside her house. I pulled into her cracked, with a driveway, and took a gander at the house she'd lived in for most of her adult life. It was painted a dingy, peeling white, with dusty windows and weathered shingles. It wasn't the outsider, I was the most worried about, though. I swallowed hard and made my way up to the front door, lightly knocking. No answer.

I knocked again, but louder this time. Still no answer. I took a deep breath and decided to step into the house. I began trying to push the door open, but it barely moved. I pushed again, harder this time, and the door only moved a tiny bit more. I tried one final time, using all my strength to push the door open just enough to squeeze myself through. I gagged and nearly vomited at the putrid smell that filled my nostrils. It smelled like rotten food, decay and faecal matter all mixed into one.

I didn't dare shut the door behind me as I trudged slightly deeper into the house. All the lights were on, despite it being daytime, which I found slightly weird. I'd now realised that it was a pile of junk about four feet high, blocking. the doorway. Just looking at the mess and clutter made me begin to feel anxious and claustrophobic. I had no idea how my aunt had managed to wriggle her way around the house. There were piles and piles of junk and knick-knacks piled all the way up to the ceiling. The piles consisted of anything and everything you could ever imagine. Food wrappers and old boxes, stuffed animals with matted fur and mounds of tattered clothes.

I surveyed the scene in disgust, all the while calling out for my aunt. I covered my nose and mouth with my shirt, and began to make my way up and around the huge mountains of forgotten junk. Every time I called out, I received no answer in return. Beads of sweat began to form on my forehead, as a feeling of panic began to form as a lump in my stomach. As I was about to venture into what I assumed was a living room, the smell of rot and decaying. began to grow stronger, making me gag. I thought I was prepared for anything when I walked into

that house, but nothing could prepare me for what I stumbled upon next. There was Aunt Helen, but not as I was expecting to see her. She looked a lot larger than she had the last time I'd seen her, bloated with post-mortem gases. A single bullet wound dotted her head, while swarms of flies buzzed around her lifeless body. The sight and smell hit me like a ton of bricks, and I couldn't help but turn away and vomit. I stumbled outside and immediately called the police, thinking that my aunt had ended her own sad life by turning a gun on herself.

The police showed up shortly after, thinking that it may be suicide as well. The only thing that was strange was that the gun in question could not be found. I didn't blame them, of course, as it could have gotten lost in her heaps of trinkets and junk. It was now up to me and my family to clear out her house as a team. Anything below the uppermost layer began to rot, making it easier just to shovel it all out like clearing ashes from a fireplace. The fridge has been filled with rotten food, and more than a fair share of dead critters and insects.

My cousin and I were able to locate at least two deceiters. beast cats, as well as something unidentifiable. But as I was clearing items out of one pile, I uncovered something even more startling. After removing an old newspaper, a decaying human hand popped out, making me stumble back in fear. I immediately called the police once again, telling them that I'd made another startling discovery. After a thorough investigation over the course of a week. They were able to inform us that the body was identified as a man with an extensive criminal record. The car that had been parked outside when I first showed up was registered under his name, and a few stolen goods were found in the back of the van, as it turns out.

This man had picked the lock of my aunt's door, so he could get inside to rob her. That explains why the door was unlocked when I showed up a week later. The man snuck in the door. It was locked. The man into the house, not expecting to find a huge hoard, but some valuables instead. He had been armed when my aunt caught him sneaking into her house, so he shot her and tried to make his way out, but was buried alive by decades of old junk. I'd always thought that my aunt's horde would kill her, not a bullet to the head, but the horde was like a monster in a horror film, not only consuming her life, but also ending someone else's. And so once again, we reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors

of those wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small favour of you. Wherever you get your podcast 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 in. Again, same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.