Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S3 Ep110: Episode 110: Urban Horror Stories

Episode Date: January 26, 2023

Tonight’s first horrific tale of terror is ‘The Wild Hunt: Urban Style’, a wonderful story By BearLair64, kindly shared directly with me and narrated here for you all with the author’s express permission: https://www.reddit.com/user/BearLair64/ Tonight’s second tale of the macabre is ‘The Inheritance Game: What would you be willing to do for $300 million’, a wonderful story By Mandahrk, kindly shared with me via NoSleep and narrated here for you all with the author’s express permission: https://www.reddit.com/user/Mandahrk

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BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Welcome to Dr. Creepen's dungeon. Ah, the city. Urban life. Doesn't it make you feel just so safe, surrounded by other human beings? Well, maybe you should rethink this, given what happens in tonight's two stories. Now, as ever before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's stories may contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. Now, if that sounds like your kind of thing,

then let's begin. I wasn't a dumbass like so many other punks my age. I'd managed to avoid Juvie, though, not foster parents. I had no say in the latter. I wasn't born into tragedy or a broken home, just normal folks who lived and worked in the big city. They also died in that city in an apartment fire. So the tragedy and broken home hadn't come until I was 11.

Real shame. They were nice people. and no I didn't have a hand in it. I was riding bikes down at the local park with some of my friends. We all hooped and yelled as the fire trucks and ambulances rolled by the playground. Then another group of them passed. It was something big.

One of my friends pointed toward the area where my home was and at the black billowing column of smoke that rose in the clear early summer sky. Other buildings obscured a direct view, but the direction he pointed was about right for the apartment complex where I lived. I looked over my shoulder. It can't be.

Close, but no way. Let mum and dad have a great view, though. I tried to convince myself. After a short discussion, we decided to ride down to see for ourselves. Several of us lived at the same apartment complex, and we eyed one another in concern. One of the boys said excitedly, Maybe it's a school.

The rest of us cheered, but I already knew better. I had that sensation of my heart sinking in my church, chest until it fluttered feebly rather than beat its normal solid rhythm. This was about to be the worst day of my life, so far. But hey, I was only 11 and a half. Many years ahead, right? As we got closer, I tore out ahead of the rest, my legs pumping the pedals as hard as I could. The entire building was engulfed. There were several residents standing around, some in shock, some craning for a view into the dark orange flames and black. Oh, so black smoke.

I looked and called for my folks. When I didn't see them, I started to run toward the building, but one of the neighbours, an older man, Mr. Gosling, grabbed me. Stop, Robbie. You can't do anything there, but get hurt. I strained for a moment, but then collapsed back against him. Maybe they weren't inside. Maybe they'd gone out, I thought desperately,

looking for an escape from the horrid reality before my senses. Mr. Gosling patted my shoulder. You're safe, Robbie. We'll just have to wait and see. I'm sure your parents are safe too. I'll wait with you. Although the rest of it's just stuff. It's lives that matter.

I don't think I ever really thanked him for that. He was a nice old man. Retired from the army. Always polite to mum. Well, they weren't safe. No one had been inside that building at 2.36 p.m. that day was. Some kind of gas leak. I never really cared to learn.

I only know that it took my folks from me. The rest of that day and many to follow were a blur. The survivors, refugees, were put into a shelter. I was a juvenile, but with all the mess in it being late on a Saturday, child protective services let Mr. Gosling take responsibility for me and help me find my next-of-kin. The only ones I knew of were an aunt and uncle on my mum's side, her sister. Dad's folks were dead and he was an only child.

Moms lived across the country and we heard from them only on birthdays and holidays. So I ended up with Aunt Tabitha and Uncle James, at least for the summer. They decided that they just couldn't take care of a mopee, sometimes angry tween, and just after the funeral, my faraway grandparents had gone silent and remained faraway and unreachable. So I entered the loving arms of the government

by way of the good folks at CPS. I know. You expect me to relate horror stories of abusive foster parents and give excuses for why I turned out to be such a turd. Yeah, in the sing-song, pathetic falsetto, well, I was put through an uncaring system and treated savagely. Yeah, yeah, it's not my thought that I now steal and transport drugs. Well, no.

My parents were good people and raised me to pity victims rather than to be one. Besides, most of the fosters were okay. despite being involved with the government. I was the one who caused the problems. I did everything I could to keep each of them at a distance from day one. My stays usually lasted around six months. The ones that went longer had to do with CPS having to find fosters who were willing to take on a problem child.

Most of them just wanted the extra income that the state paid for being, as their advertisements claimed, caring foster parents for children in need. Well, that didn't make them bad people, but I never stayed in a mansion or even a nice suburb. I didn't care. I didn't need anyone. I could take care of myself. Developed a detachment for possessing material goods once all of mine had been instantly destroyed,

yet I enjoyed the finer things and having them, at least temporarily, until I could find a direct buyer or a fence. I think that the loss of my personal property caused me to lose empathy regarding things. I just didn't value property. Why should anyone else? That made it easier to steal, and it was, after all, just stuff, as Mr. Gosling had said. It was hard at first to turn over items for a profit, but I learned.

I also learned not to steal from Fosters unless I was ready to kick rocks. I didn't get into dope or booze. I'd lived around enough rough neighbourhoods to see what it did to people. However, I had picked up some friends who were dealers and not averse to teaching a juvie how to hold for them and later to transport. By age 17 I still rode bikes and I wasn't scared of much.

Losing all the people for whom you truly care can free one from most fear. What's left? My life. What adolescent truly values his life. That's why the military hiateens. No decent sense of self-preservation. So I put mine at risk regularly. transporting drugs was easier, less risky on a day-to-day basis, and more profitable than thievery. Not that I stopped stealing entirely.

Sometimes an item was too nice and too easily obtained by way of careless former owners to pass up on. All of the Fosters eventually knew me as a thief and a liar, and the religious ones hammered at me about getting on a straight and narrow path, or looking for the light. But none ever caught on to the drug smuggling for murderous gangsters. The dealers like me. I was never curious as to what I carried or what bidness they might be doing. I dress like any innocent kid.

No tattoos, piercings, freaky hair, or anything that would draw official attention or adult eye. They had the good sentence to ride safely. I could lie like a rogue. Someone once told me I had innocent eyes. Whatever, as long as they help me weasel out of trouble. So, that's the general scoop. I was happy that I'd soon be free of the foster care system and CPS. I was ready to close out the current last fosters, the herons,

so I took some items from the lady's jewelry box, a big gaudy wooden thing with carved curvy knots and vines interwoven all over the polished surface. Too bad I'd have to leave it in place. I knew offence who would pay well for that. It would resell as a storage box for some rich dude's personal stash of drugs, or his little equalizer. While these fosters hadn't been thumpers, they were still straight and narrow types when it came to moral behavioural issues. She prattled on about being a responsible citizen.

He hadn't said much, but I knew the look, the one that grown men gave me, a mix of pity, disgust, and contempt. I generally didn't care what anyone thought of me. Who were they to judge? They claimed to be Roman Catholic, but I never saw them go to Mass, nor did they ever drag me to church for a church. which I was grateful, probably catch fire or something. I made good money as a courier between gangs and other crooks,

though I decided that I wanted to look into other criminal activity, maybe cybercrimes. I'd learn to fight on the street and, and thanks to the philosophy of some of my fosters, that martial arts would teach me, I learned discipline. I worked hard at it, and I became a very disciplined criminal. These days I carried a knife on me at all time,

since being a courier could be dangerous, but I knew that robbing people or burglarising homes was super high risk. If I had to cut anybody, I'd be tracked down like a dog. So many choices, though. Just shy of 18 years, I knew I had absolutely more wisdom than anyone else. I had to. So many had let me steal from them. I'd skated past the scrutiny of every adult until I chose to get called.

No foster had ever turned me into the authorities. I'd convince them how sorry I was and how I'd make it up to them. I was looking at a great life ahead. Right. Well, they say that pride goeth before a fall. I wish it did. I'd have had something better to land on on the pavement. The thing is, I didn't fall.

I was knocked off my bike and sprawled onto the pavement. I fell well. I'd done it many times. Nothing worse than some road rash on my left forearm and a bruised left knee. What worried me was the ringing I heard in. my ears and the pain coming from the right side of my head. I was pretty sure that the wet substance now sliding around the side of my face was blood. A rotten bastard, probably some dirty wine bottle. I thought I heard it cling. I shook off the shock and started to scramble to my feet,

but no such luck. There went my wind as a boot connected with my midsection. I rolled and managed to come up on my feet, though still bent forward and on wobbly legs. I tried to see what was happening, and I held up my hands in a feeble attempt to locate and fend off my attacker. Oh, dang, attackers. I saw another one approach from around the front of my bike. That momentary distraction saved me, though. As I turned toward the second, first missed his swing at my jaw and connected instead with my shoulder. I lashed out in a sidekick that caught his left knee and he went down.

Not sure how I did that in my condition, but hey, thanks for the funk jitsu lessons, Fosters. "'Nobber two pushed me, I once again sprawled. "'This time on my button, this time I was able to roll away a few extra feet. "'Good thing. He stepped forward with a knife in hand. "'I was curled up as though I was scared. "'Okay, maybe I was a little, instinct and all. "'And he went for it, stepped closer and bent forward to get in a stick with a knife. "'I let him have it in the face with both feet.

"'He went over backward, and again I was rolling. Then, once more back on my feet, a little dizzy but beginning to catch my breath. Number one had recovered and was reaching behind his back, very obviously for a weapon. I ran forward and planted my right knee in his gut as he pulled out a small pistol. I was able to catch hold of his wrist and pull it to my chest. I bent forward and twisted. Once his elbow locked, I stepped back and hammered it with my left fist. Snap, went the joint.

Ah! "'Wah!' went pistol-peat. "'Dunk!' went the crappy pistol onto the pavement. I pushed him to the ground, where he curled around his injury, and I picked up his pistol. I started appointed at number two, who had risen, was closing in with his knife. He was too close. I had no time to even raise it fully,

but I pressed the trigger, and the loud crack of the pistol sounded, as his blade sliced into my left forearm over the road rash. I managed not to scream, but that was only out. of adrenaline and the clenching of my teeth made for a nice grunting growl though sounded tough enough to me step back into the side as he advanced forward but suddenly he collapsed the bloodstain was growing way too rapidly at the top of his right leg i'd hit his femoral artery and broken his pelvis all i knew was that this situation was foo barred i got that from some movie or trashy novel maybe mr gozzly well I look more closely at my two new friends

Mr. Broken Arm, formerly Pistled Pistled enough to start screaming Oh shit, fuck! Repeatedly and in that order A bleeding guy lay there, clutching his groin and praying? I had to get the noise to stop. It would draw attention. People could dismiss a single gunshot, but a shot followed by screaming,

well some good citizen would call get some 911 up in here. So I did the best thing I could think of, and kicked a field goal with the screamer's face. And got him to stop yelling, and gave me a moment to study the situation. I looked back at the bleeder. His head was back, and the blood was starting to pull.

So much blood. Then I recognized him. He was a member of one of the local gangs, who called himself Arania, a spider. He had a tattoo of a black widow spider on his. neck. I guess he didn't know it was a female spider. That would mean that the other one was Fayette, ugly, since they constantly worked and hung out together. Faya was pretty ugly to start. Facial tats and piercings didn't help, nor had the kick I delivered improved his features.

I casually pointed the pistol at his unsavory countenance, and asked simply, why? He leaned forward, clutching at his arm, spat out a tooth, and then he, and leaped out of tooth. Are you dead, motherfucker? We were just going to give you a beat down. Oh, you fucked up, though. Now you're going to be dead. I just continue to gaze. And I flake the muzzle of the pistol upward to encourage him to answer my question.

Jagger says, your last lower was light. You get beat down because it's your first problem. And Sunny and he crew are going to be dead. Now you dead too. Surprisingly, that's all the explanation I needed. Jagger was the leader. a field branch of whatever trashy gang, and Sony was the leader of another trashy gang that supplied drugs and other criminal necessities to other gangs. I'd delivered for Sony for a few days

past, and he or one of his thugs had hoes me when they hose Jaguar. For that matter, Jaguar's turds may have hosed me. This was going to be bad for business. I didn't care if the gang's warred and killed one another, but that meant no regular business for a courier until it It was straightened out, and the relative peace was restored. Money was the primary motivation for criminal gangs, but they had to have street cred. A non-fatal hit on Sony, or dusting a few low-level associates, would be enough to satisfy what passed for honour and allow for a parley, as long as no one who mattered was dead.

That's when I heard Arania's death row. Well, I'd heard one before, when a foster's elderly relative died while we visited her in hospital. "'Foo, bah. "'I didn't even look. "'Just picked up my bike and flew. "'Here, run, Mother. "'You still gonna die!' "'Phio screeched as I peddled for my life,

"'literally for my life. "'I pumped the pedals furiously "'and headed in the same direction I've been going. "'I still had a delivery to make, "'and it was to a party that was linked "'to neither Jaguar nor Sony. "'I know it's crazy, but when things go sideways, "'some odd notions pop up into the old melon,

As I rode as hard as I could, I thought about what to do. Get rid of the gun. Might be handy to have it for protection, but I didn't like risking gun charges. After the delivery, where should I go? Should I warn Sony and crew? I didn't like to get that involved, and I certainly didn't want to take sides. I'd lose all my business. What would I do about Arania?

Chances were that Jaguar's group would dispose of him unless they thought a gang funeral was in their best interest. I didn't have to worry too much that anyone would tell the police. They'd rather take care of it on their own. I should have off-fail and figured out a way to dump both bodies. I'd have had that junky odd ride with the stereo system and super-bright headlights that were worth more than the car itself to haul away their carcasses. Foo. I'd likely have to blow town, but I needed to be clear of the Fostis and 18,

so CPS didn't label me a runaway. Still a few weeks to go. Right, I keep the gun for now, but I needed to check the load and condition. Likely, Fayae wouldn't have taken care of the thing. Right, just a glitch or two. All I had to do was stay alive and avoid Jaguar's bunch for a while. Probably Sonys, too, in case they wanted a scapegoat. Note to self. If I ever become a gang leader, pick a better hander than Jaguar or Sony.

Maybe I could give my current one. I made it to my delivery location, and almost missed my contact in the dark end at my considerable speed. Elle looked at me oddly. What up, coyote. You look like shit, dude. That's when I realized I was exhausted from my mad ride, and the sweat and blood on the side of my head must have looked pretty nasty.

My arm must have looked even worse. No wonder no one else had accosted me. I probably looked pretty frightening. Not cool. Blood would draw official interest. I grinned and took my payment. You know, Elle. I cut it too close in front of a car and had to ditch.

My bad, but I hurried over. I want to keep my customers happy. I knew that was a lame answer, but my mind was racing again. I was trying to settle down and concentrate, but now that he mentioned it, my head did hurt. So did my arm. Well, he let it passers. Your business.

I thanked him for the payment, rode off in a new business. direction. I needed to change up my route. By now, Jaguar's crew would be on the hunt. No pun intended. He was named for the car, not the cat. Well, same as Sony was named for the stereos. Dumbass gang names. Well, I was named for a cartoon character, which was cool. First, I rode to a nearby park. He was closed at night, but there were some public restrooms behind a feeble fence. I could fade this one. Any cop or security guard that spotted me? I could claim a serious call of nature and face it, nobody likes to talk about taking a dump. I slither through a hole in the fence that most good citizens would not even have noticed.

Fortunately, the lock on the structure was already busted. Some hood rat may already have had the same bright idea, so I proceeded with caution. I was alone and took a little break to get cleaned up, and do a preemptive strike on the actual call of nature. I took a look in the mirror after I'd clean my wounds. I needed a change of shirt, too much blood. I took off my outer long sleeve, tore off the clean right sleeve, and ditched the bloody mess in the trash, clean side showing. No one would look closely in this neighbourhood, especially not a cleaning crew getting city paint.

I was wearing a black wifebeater underneath. Not great, but it would have to do until I could snag something better. I used the relatively clean sleeve to bandage my left forearm. Definitely not good, but I was a little bit of the But until I could get something better, the reflection in the mirror showed a large, dark figure looming behind me. I stepped aside and turned to face him. It. Whatever. Nothing.

I looked around. Still, nothing. Just a quick, goose flesh-inducing chill and a slight shiver. No one in the stalls, and no one could have gotten out of the main door that quickly. Clearly my mind was playing tricks on me. I fled the facilities and resumed my ride. I knew of the frift store nearby. There were donation bins on the side of the building.

Maybe I could get a shirt or jacket or something. I didn't dare go into the local Wallywall store. How many crooks get caught on camera? The dumb ass once. Nobody bothered to monitor thrift stores. I just had to hope that the local homeless population hadn't beat me to the best pickings. Wow. I realized I was competing with homeless people for resources.

I'd maybe have to re-evaluate my life's calling. Definitely getting out of the drug courier business, at least in this town. Founded a faded but serviceable long-sleeved work shirt in the bin. Things were looking up again. As I donned my new apparel, I thought I saw something move inside the shadows cast by the bin from the parking lot lights

that were amazingly working. Maybe a dog or cat, but it seemed bigger. They had definitely been scratching noises from claws, on asphalt. I felt a cold shiver. I was giving myself the creeps for no reason. I'm sure I killed someone and had a pack of gangsters after my blood. Gangsters known for their torture skills. Still, no reason to get freaked out. There were no large shadow figures on my trail, just my rattled, wine-bottle, bashed brain playing tricks. I stopped at a nearby convenience still have to get a drink in an energy bar. I thought, well, I might also like to get some peroxide

or rubbing alcohol to clean out the gas on my arm, maybe even some gauze or something clean. Well, the place had one of those bulletproofish glass cages around the counter. Some dude was sitting behind the glass jabbering into an ancient cell phone. He gave me a glance and went back to his conversation. Just as well, no real scrutiny. I found what I needed and plopped everything on the counter. I had to hold up each item so he could scan them through the glass. He never really looked at me, just continued talking.

into the decrepit phone. The place smelled like someone who poured straight Fabuloso on the floor over fresh urine and didn't bother mopping. Stench burned my nostrils and made me a little nauseous. I started to leave through the single battered but working glass door. The other was locked tight and blocked with a rack of off-brand chips, or to stop grab and go thefts and slow down robbers for the too obvious security camera. I realized that I'd be walking from a brightened interior into darkness. There were stickers and advertisements plastered all over the glass, so I couldn't see outside. I paused to peer through the few open spaces on the none too clean glass. Just inky blackness.

Weird. There should have at least been some lighting from the yellow-tinged pole light out front. Well, I pushed hard on the door to clear a path if need me. They ended up stumbling out onto the crumbling pavement of the sidewalk. I quickly looked in each direction. Nothing but the pole light. and a bat chasing some insects near the bulb. Another shiver.

It wasn't that cool outside, and the heavy work shirt was adequate for mid-September. But like earlier, this chill seemed to come up from my bones and radiate outwards. Oh, but my wounds already infected. Oh, what had been on our ania's blade? Just regular crust lightly. Had he used it to cut drugs and fell to wipe it off when done.

And then I was just freaked out again. Well, it had been a freaky night so far. and it was still early. I decided on a route back, home, to the Fosters. I'd have to cross my original trail back through Jaguarist territory, but maybe they had other targets tonight. Maybe Sony? Well, who knows?

I took off and rode toward my last foster home. As I went, I noticed that the streetlights were working, but almost no light came from the businesses and homes on either side of the street. Weird. It wasn't late enough for people to go to bed, and besides. In this hood, nobody turned off outside lights. I'd hope to take as many alleyways as possible to avoid car traffic. Cars that might hold angry gang turds.

However, as I approached the first alleyway on my planned route, I saw that it was dark. Too dark to risk. The left-hand detour around it was also dimly lit. The right-hand street was clear. No-brainer. I turned right. I'd just have to adjust the plan a little.

As I rode along, all of the streets and alleyways that would have led me back to the left and back on track, either dark or obstructed in some way. Junk cars. Groups of random hood rats standing around burning trash cans. A couple of dumpsters. This was getting old. Up ahead there was a larger avenue. It was well lit and I saw a few vehicles go by in either directions.

No choice. I'd have to risk the bigger, busier roadway. The last alleyway I passed was full of what an old pulp novel I'd read referred to as Stogey and Gloom, pure darkness, like in a cavern. Were those eyes? Orange glowing eyes? And I almost crashed into a parked garbage truck. Another chill.

And this one wouldn't shake, so I picked up the pace to warm myself with exercise and put some distance between the alleyway in my body. As I made it to the wider, more brightly lit street, MLK, I was finally able to turn left. I realized that there was a plastic convenience store bag dangling from my right wrist. It was banging against the bike and throwing off my balance just a little. I pulled into a covered bus stop with shadows on one end, but mostly illuminated by a nearby streetlight.

I took a much-needed seat and took care of my bod, not that I even tasted the empty calories I wolfed down. The bus stop and indeed the surrounding block was empty in silence. cars went by at various speeds but no one seemed to pay me any particular attention just people going about in their evening i'd found a small bottle of isopropyl alcohol at the store i douts the wounds and the cheap gauze bandage i procured then wrapped and taped my arm stung like crazy but it smelled good and made my arm feel warm i used a little more to douse the cut on the side of my head just a pressure cut but it was over a major goose-egg lump that was painful to touch. I used a citrus tasting energy drink to wash down a couple of painkillers, then gole up a candy

bar to chase down the chips I'd already finished. The crappy store hadn't had any energy bars. What a dump. Junk food aside, I was feeling pretty satisfied that I'd handled my crisis and prepared to get back on the bike when I noticed that not only were there no people around, there was nothing living. No strays, no rats, no bats, not even any bugs. except for the sounds of autos and the occasional

from the base on their stereos. Nothing. Then the chill came rising up from my bones once more, and the shadows began to deepen and seemed to expand towards me. I heard a vague and distant rumbling sound, almost like thunder in my ears. The only way that remained lit

was the direction I'd intended to travel, so I hopped on the bike and began to pedal, not insanely fast, but I quickly geared up to a good speed. MLK was a large thoroughfare that led to places where people worked for a living, so it was better maintained than most of the streets in the area.

I cruised along until I was back near to where I'd run into Ariana and feel. And then I saw it. The black SUV that crept along across the street. The windows were dark tinted and the carriage was underlit in rotating

colours. It was Jaguus' crew. I looked desperately for a place to ditch and hide. The ditch. I rolled my bike into the ditch along the side of the road, laid it flat and stretched out prone beside it. The grass was damp and muddy, but it beat being spotted by those animals.

Certainly beat having old tires thrown over my still-breathing body and set on fire. I couldn't risk getting up to look around, so I just laid there, panting, whispering over and over. Keep going, keep going, keep going. Naturally they turned on to MLK and headed in my direction. Oh, Fubar! I ducked my head into the wet grass and stiffened. They drove by slowly, but no more so than they'd be travelling on the cross streets.

Oh, they kept going. It was hard, but I waited. This block was the only nearby stretch that was ditch rather than sidewall. I needed them to get far enough away that they wouldn't look back. Hopefully they'd turn and I'd turn, and I'd. be out of their line of sight. But no, they kept going. Eventually I felt like I could safely get up and get going. Not too far to go now. I hopped on and started pedaling. I knew I had to change roads in case the searchers turned back. Besides, I had to go a few more blocks to the west, my left,

to get back to my foster's neighbourhood. I started looking for a well-lit left turn off of MLK, but all the ways were either blacked out dark or blocked. in some way. Then I caught a flash of light out of the corner of my eye. I looked over my shoulder. Foo, bar, indeed. It was Faya's beater with the super bright headlights. I heard the engine roar as whoever was driving flawed the gas pedal.

Couldn't be fear. An idiot had a broken arm. Well, I had no choice. I had to get off the road. I turned into an alley that had been shrouded in darkness. Now a door opened on one. side and enough light streamed out that I was able to ride full speed ahead. Fayo's ride wouldn't be able to fit, but I didn't want to catch a bullet in the back.

I rode until I found a cross street that was lit. What's going on with the lights in this town? I tore up the street and followed the path of light down several more twists and turns. All the while I tried to stay on narrow streets and alleys. I could hear Tyre screeching several times as Phil. His new driver, the old one was dead. and I walked through that part of the city on our little game of Cadden Mouse. Unfortunately, I was the mouse.

I dodged him again by fleeing into a narrow dark alley. This time there was no light, and I was sure I'd find a place to hide or run in a direction where they couldn't see. I was feeling giddy and started to laugh when I slammed into the front driver's quarter panel of the black SUV. I went over the handlebars and slid across the hood. Oh, great. Hood rats really loved their rides.

Burning tires for me, I thought. At least sliding across the hood was better than slamming into the pavement. I rode off the hood onto the pavement, on the passenger side, mostly on my feet. I was momentarily confused. How'd I managed to do that? Why wasn't I already dead? I hope there's a surveillance video. This would look great on social media or news media if they whack me on the spot.

I steadied my stance and stood erect to see. see around me, looking desperately for a place to run. Big Ray unfolded himself from the passenger side of the SUV, and his scorpion, Jagra's main enforcer, let from the driver's side, clearly infuriated. I thought, these guys were full-on badass murder for higher gangsters. Then another door opened in another nearby wall, and like once more spilled forth. It was a back door to a restaurant. I bolted toward it. I ran past a tired employee who splashed garbage on me as we lightly collided.

Fortunately, Big Ray was slow, in mind as well as body. So it took him a moment to register the situation, decide what to do and act. The Scorpion was not slow, but he tripped over the remains of my bike and was even more pissed. Oh, great. Now I was definitely going to be tortured and eventually murdered. Still, I did my best to delay that fate as I dodged into the kitchen. The faintly fishy smell of Asian cuisine nearly overwhelm me as I dodged through the kitchen and slipped and slid along the wet floor.

Big Ray wasn't so lucky. He slipped on the slick surface and fell. I looked back in time to see him catch his fall on his right hand, his gun hand. Well, I knew it was his gun hand because it was filled with a gun. However, I could see the pain on his face as his arm gave way. apparently 350 pounds coming down on a wrist joint may cause it to break i didn't know whether to cheer or cry another broken bone on my tab with these guys i almost took a wrong turn into a storage area but an employee was in the way he gulped at me jaw hanging loose and hands fumbling with the items he carried

i slowed carefully entered the dining area of the restaurants i didn't want any more attention and I knew that Scorpion was unlikely to shoot me in the middle of a restaurant with ten or fifteen witnesses. At least that's what I hoped. As I passed the aquarium near the front entrance, bullets impacted the glass and the water and the poor fish burst out onto the floor. Better than me, I thought, as I ducked and scampered around the front wall and out of the front door. Escobion hadn't needed to chase me into the dining area. He simply stopped at the kitchen doorway and sent bullets to do his work.

I ran out onto the sidewalk. The light was better to my right, so I took off in that direction. I didn't care where I was going, just away from the bullets and murderous thugs. I expected either a scorpion or Theo to run over me at any moment. I took a few more turns, and finally had to slow to catch my breath. I was no runner. I saw a patch of darkness to my right, and heard the rush of water. It was one of those pedestrian bridges over a drainage creek.

right direction The lights on either end were out And the shadows were deep But I needed to get out of the way of the hunters A little darkness might be my friend I crossed out onto the bridge And paused I leaned on the rail

Just catching my breath As the harsh sounds of my own breathing Fated back to normal I had a new sound from under the bridge And my first thought was Druggy Camp But the sounds didn't seem natural. The chill came into me and stayed in my bones. I heard wet, slavering noises come from just

over the edge of the rail, a heavy panting and an intake of breath into enormous lungs. The drop-off was a good 12 or more feet to the water in the creek, yet the head that rose in the darkness to gaze at me from just under the rail was clearly attached to a body that stood in the water. The heavy, slime-covered hand that reached over the rail from the darkness, the hand with the foot-long razor claws, was there to finish the job that Jaguar's turts were unable to do. I backed against the opposite rail, as though those few feet would make a difference to this gargantuan beast. No place to flee. Freezing was out of the question. Fight!

I had a knife. No, I had a gun. I had no time to curse myself and not checking the thing earlier, but it was now time to do or die. Fortunately the monster was in no hurry, and although its blazing orange-yellow eyes reached to just below the rail, it had to awkwardly reach over it, like a small child reaching onto a counter to find a cookie. Huge, but not huge enough. Maybe short arms, hard to tell with a black of them black monster against a very dark backdrop. Probably not too bright either. I thought, smugly as I poured the pistol from my pocket. I pointed at the eyes and started blazing away at the

thing. Damn, an actual Tronfandra bridge. On my mind insanely gibbered as I fired the five remaining rounds into the lump of the face. Six rounds between those and the one that had taken out Arania. The magazine would have held thirteen. Phil is truly a dumbass. I was now out of rounds and my sanity was soon to empty from my mind as the rounds had from the pistol. The hand that pulled back over the rail to shield what passed for a face on that thing, I flung the pistol over the rail in between where the eyes of the beasts had resided. I heard the wet slap as it struck, followed by a splash as the water absorbed and obscured that little piece of evidence.

The sounds were probably my imagination, as I was already at the far end of the bridge and beating feet towards the next working street, my ears ringing from the gunshots. I again slowed to a walk after a few more turns. The chill had finally faded. I was getting pretty warm. However, I'd figured out what to do. Stay on the path of light.

Follow the brightest lights on the pathway home. When I did this, all was well. When I was tempted to look into the shadows, dark figures with fiery eyes stared hatred and menaced towards me and I caught the faint clatter of hooves and hard feet rapidly approaching. And I even have heard hounds baying. Well, I followed the lights, and I was at the edge of my neighbourhood. Just a few blocks from home.

Yeah, sure, the fosters, the hernes. They'd given me a home, and I'd just started to appreciate that for the first time in many years. Then the bright headlights blinded me, and the roar of a pair of edges sounded as Theo and his scorpion closed in from a side street. I was in a brightly lit four-way intersection. So close, but it would end here. No way to avoid the showdown. No torture, though, I decided as I pulled out my own knife.

A long kitchen affair that I had kept hidden in a leg sheath inside my pants' leg. The scorpion piled out quickly. Big Ray rather slowly as he gingerly cradled his right wrist in a makeshift thing. What to see such a big man display vulnerability. to. Fayo had picked up a new partner, and so much for his brother, Harani. I couldn't recall this guy's name. It looked like a rat that had decided to walk up right, grown to five-six, and joined a street gang, like splinter from the mutant turtle show. Fayo smiled hideously through the new gap in his teeth. I told you, you have gone to die. The scorpion gritted

through his still intact teeth that were grotesquely covered with a gold grill. You fucked up my ride. I might have killed you quick, but now you gotta pay. Big Ray just looked pained and serious, but he gripped his pistol in his left hand. Splinter didn't have any particular axed grind. He was just along for the hate ride, but he pointed to Tech Nine vaguely in my direction. They lined up in the street like some freak-show version of the Earps in an old Western movie. His Scorpion gritted out in his best movie Gunslinger voice.

You put down that knife boy and come with us. You can ride with me in the car, you fucked up. Big Ray may even let you sit on his lap. Theo gave what, passed for a laugh with him. Splinter swallowed and gaped, and Big Ray looked confused and a little nervous. Then I saw that closing in faster than they were, was the darkness, that stitchy and gloom again.

The rumble and thunder of hooves and hard feet in the distant baying of hounds on the chase. Shadowed figures took form and writhed and raised arms and hands and claws in a nightmare throng that crowded in behind the crew of killers. It took a moment for Einstein and Scorpion to notice the changes. After a moment, just as he connected a synapse and started to speak, his comrades finally registered the encroaching darkness and the figures within it. Again, like a movie, they all turned round in unison and peered into the

frantically dancing dark that was upon them a dark made of hunters from the realm of nightmares blazing eyes razor claws and rows of gnashing teeth heads crowned with antlers and horns hard feet and hooves so many of each came into focus and sounds began to emerge from the maelstrom of inky figures grizzly snapping and clashing baying snarling howling and a chittering laughter of pure devilish delight shattered the silence over Jaguars' unheroic crew of hunter killers. They screamed in unison, and three of them fired the weapons as they clutched. Fio had Arani's knife clutched in his own good hand. He dropped it as his good hand fell limply to his sight.

I noticed a satisfying puddle formed near his right boots. And the screaming abruptly halted. The other sounds faded and then stopped, but the darkness did not dissipate. An enormous figure stepped forward. His head was crowned in antlers, yet he was clearly a man. The other beings huddled in behind him, each anthropomorphic in some way. The giant pointed at the gangsters and his minions swarmed forward to shred the would-be hunters with the teeth, claws and other appendages of the true hunters.

When they were done, there was nothing but a few shreds of flesh and bone and satisfied belches that could be heard from some of the hunters and hounds. Then the antler-crowned hunter turned his head to face me. He rumbled in a thousand voices and won. Tonight, you were to be our prey. These mortal fools tried to take you in their own feeble version of the true hunt. I give you credit for making it past midnight, and since my pack is satisfied their hunger, you shall have respite.

Until the next hunters moon. Then at midnight we shall resume this hunt and finish it. If you survive until dawn, you will be free. I had no idea how to reply. I didn't even know if he wanted a reply. Then I realized what I was seeing and hearing. Maybe all the pressure tonight had caused me to snap. It could be like I thought earlier,

some type of drug on the knife or something someone slipped to me. This had to be a nice. illusion. And with that, the cacophony of hooves and hard feet and skittering claws began once more, and the darkness receded, to be replaced by a normal night-scape with all the light pollution a city boy could want. I stood there, astonished and, I'm sure, gaping like a fool. After a while, I started to walk toward home, and stopped by another spot first, my stash. I took out the jewelry that belonged to the fosters, Mr and Mrs. Hearn. I stuffed it in my pockets and took it home and sneaked in through the front door.

Mrs. Hearn had left a dinner plate for me in the ice box. The next day, I surreptitiously returned the pieces to Mrs. Hearn's jewelry box. Over the next couple of weeks, I pretty much kept quiet and did some chores around the place. I avoided the streets and going into the nearby hood of the house. all costs. I run a few errands for the herds, mostly during the daytime. The gangs are likely returned to bidness, as usual. The gent in Jaguar's crew made him more interested in a peaceful solution. As a mere courier, I'd been forgotten in the mix. I made no attempts to remind any of them that I existed. Apparently, someone had stolen or just taken back the SUV

and beat her at the front of the neighbourhood. Then, one of the... evening in early October. Mrs. Hurne needed something from the store. There's only a few blocks, so I volunteered to go get it. No, ma'am, I have some money. I'll get it for you. She smiled tightly and nodded, perhaps a hopeful look on her face, hoped that I had turned a corner. I'd come to realise that these people actually cared about me, for no reason other than I existed and was a guest in their home. I had to stomp down my initial cynical things. thought of suckers. Well, it was dark out, but I didn't worry.

The streets were well lit, at least on the path I needed to follow. I rode my new bike. High quality one night bought to ride, come the next full moon. When I got back, the little house was dark and silent, and I feared the worst. Damn, the monsters. Shadowfeans, or model ones, had decided to take me after all, and maybe taken or harmed the herons first. I crept up the front steps

and as quietly as possible I opened the front door It was unlocked which was unusual Oh crap, they've already taken them I thought fearfully as I stepped in and quickly stepped to one side of the door Crouched and prepared A small group shouted Happy birthday As the lights came on

A light nearly fainted It was a surprise 18th birthday party The hernes and a few of their relatives and friends greeted me. Mr. Hearn took pity at the look on my face, swept me over to the punchbowl and handed me a cup. I hadn't had a birthday party, one that I was ready to appreciate since my folks had died. I wasn't quite sure how to act, but I managed to get through the ordeal. I think I may even have had just a little, just fun. So, now, here I am sitting in St. tenial part, one foot resting on my dark painted bike. The night's clear and the air is crisp,

if not clean. The clock on my phone display indicates 1159. I had a small backpack with me, just some things I'd need to keep up the pace for the hopefully long night ahead. I'd seriously consider just going down to the army recruiter like Mr. Gosling had so many years previously. Maybe the hunt wouldn't follow me that far Yet I had to see first I had to know for sure that the hunters were just in my mind Something else had surely happened that night a month ago

Maybe I'd outrun the turds and simply imagined the final confrontation Maybe they caught me and I was in a coma dream Maybe I had just freaked out and lost my mind Then I heard something in the distance her rumble and the thundra of hoofed and hard feet and the baying of hounds coming towards me through the scant trees of the city park time to ride grandpa henry was a reclusive man he didn't just like being left alone he hated people with a burning passion something i'm sure was greatly responsible for his ruthless business practices that helped him turn his father's wealth into an eye-popping fortune society returned the favour and he turned into an angry friendless man by the time retirement came calling

out of work out of people who gave a shit stuck in an increasingly loveless marriage he became more and more like ebeneez a scrooge as time went by after grandma nancy passed away he decided he'd had enough of humanity and retreated to his large manner out in the wilderness away from the prying eyes of his mostly greedy family, rival capitalists and intrusive journalists, fully embracing the hermit lifestyle. So, unlike Mr. Scrooge, there was no one around him for miles to try and melt his frigid heart, and he died as he lived, cold and alone. It had been well over a decade since I'd last seen him. Hell, I was still in high school. At that time, my parents dragged me to his palatial house and forced me to smile and deal with his loathsome attitude.

He grumbled, picked thoughts with every little thing my mum did. I went on bizarre, bigoted rants. It was just unpleasant. I only realised this morning when I was packing my bags that it was the last time I was ever going to meet with him. I couldn't work myself up to tears, but I did feel some semblance of guilt welling within me for completely ignoring him.

It was my dad who told me about his passing. Everybody wanted a slice of the pie that Grandpa Henry was going to serve, after he died, and my father was no difference, being barely able to contain his glee when he invited me to attend his funeral, and, more interestingly, the reading of his will later on in the evening. I had made up my mind to skip the whole thing, as I had a very important meeting on the day of the funeral, but mostly because I wanted to avoid the inheritance-related family drama that was bound to follow the reading of the will. My girlfriend Allison was the one

who made me change my plans, fascinated as she was with the prospect of her. of visiting a Victorian-style manner. So, is it as beautiful and romantic as you'd imagined? I asked as I drove up the winding road, the tires kicking up dust as they crushed the gravel underneath. She grinned. Better! It truly was a beautiful sight.

Undulating hills covered in grass that curved and warped as frosty winds danced on them, rolling hills that surrounded the summit on which Grandpa Henry had built his little panace. I slowed down as we came closer to our destination, taking the time to properly drink in the view. Towering turrets that thrust up into the bright moonlit sky, like spears of ancient warriors,

arched glass windows proudly looking down upon the well-maintained garden, enclosed by a sturdy wall that finished its circumscribing journey on a wrought iron gate. It was a place that had stood the test of time, maintaining its dignity and poise throughout. Snow-cap peaks that were barely visible at this time of night, dotted the distant landscape behind the imposing manner, completing the picturesque scenery. Oh my God, Alison giggled. Your grandfather even had a butler? Sure he did. Frank was the only person in the world who could tolerate Grandpa's surly and entitled attitude without devolving into fits of uncontrollable rage, or so I'd heard. He fiddled with the buttons of his black suit

And then brought his gloved hand out To open Allison's door when I brought the car to a home Good evening, Ma! He greeted her warmly before turning to me Good evening, sir, please head to the living room up ahead Everyone is waiting for you I shivered as the cold air stabbed at my skin Oh, are we really the last to arrive?

I could hear the murmuring as I hopped the short stairs to the front door The chattering instantly stopped as I soundlessly pushed the door open and more than a dozen heads swung in our direction. Wood crackled and burned in the fireplace, desperately trying to sweep aside the awkward silence with its dying embers. I held the door open, allowing Allison to walk before me, who smiled and thanked. Well, well, well, looks like the prodigal son has arrived.

Finally decided to join us vultures, have you? To see what dear father left for you? "'Good to see you, too, Uncle Freddy.' I greeted the blonde, boarding man, wearing a bright red sweater. My father's younger brother was as caustic as ever. "'I'll cut it out, Freddy,' my mum said as she came and gave me a hug, before helping us put our coats away. I shook my father's hand, waved at my sister and her husband,

and then went and sat on one of the empty couches, pulling Allison close to me. "'Can we please get started with what we came here for?' Uncle Freddy asked, annoyed. Jonathan, he looked at a man in a grey suit who nodded and stood up. Good evening, everyone. He said as he stood near the fireplace, such that all eyes in the spacious room were on him. I am Henry's lawyer.

Here to tell you the terms of his will. I'll keep it simple, since it's best not to waste time. Three hundred million dollars, he continued. That is the sum total of Henry's movable and immovable. assets, and that is what is at stake here tonight. Damn, that's a lot of money. Way more than I was expecting, and if the furious whispers around me were anything to go by,

I wasn't the only one feeling this way. Jonathan cleared his throat, and the room went silent again. Now, as is written in the will, all of that money will go to the winners of the inheritance game that you will all participate in tonight. What? The game. What's the meaning of this?

Is this a joke? The voices rose, with everyone shouting to make themselves heard over the din, which in turn got even louder, increasingly sounding like the buzzing of a giant nest of bees that someone had chucked a stone at. Jonathan tried to get them to quiet down, but no one bothered to listen, so he threw his hands up in frustration and walked out,

before coming back into the room, this time flanked by two men wearing goat masks and carrying 12-gauge pump-action shotguns. A sudden, fearful silence fell upon the room like a thick, suffocating shroud as people tried to make sense of this strange sight. Now, I'll explain the rules of the inheritance game to you. Please don't interrupt me. I'll take any questions you have after I'm done speaking,

Jonathan said, authoritatively. Your family's a bit weird, Alison chuckled nervously, and I held her hand tightly in a reassuring manner. Jonathan began explaining the rules of the game, and everyone listened in a shocked silence, barring a few gasps and some, oh my God's here, and some smug, disbelieving snorts there. Well, I'll transcribe the rules here as best as I can remember them.

Everyone sitting in the room plays the game, regardless of their age. To win, survive until the crack of dawn at 6 a.m. The inheritance money will be split equally among all those who survive. Escaping or attacking the administrators will result in immediate disqualification and on-the-spot execution. Intentionally damaging the cameras will result in the same. At least one less than half the players must die. If that doesn't happen by the morning, everyone will be executed and the money goes to the board of directors of the company.

each murder costs ten million dollars i.e. for each person you directly kill, you lose ten million dollars of your share of the inheritance money. Weapons can be bought from the inventory shack near the swimming pool in the backyard, using the inheritance money. Caution, if the amount of money you've spent or lost exceeds the share of the inheritance you'll receive if you survive, then you too shall be executed. On the other hand, your expenses have no impact on the inheritance other surviving players will receive. If more than half of the players agree, some or all of the rest can be removed from the game and executed,

and no amount will be deducted from your inheritance. You must get the signatures of the needed number of players on a piece of paper, along with the names of those you want to remove from the game, and submit it to the inventory shack. For a second after Jonathan had finished speaking, we gawped at him in amazement. Then everyone exploded in a thunderous uproar. Fear, disbelief, outrage.

One could find every flavour of emotion one can reasonably expect people to have in a situation like this. It was Uncle Mitchell, Dad's youngest brother, who ended up becoming our unofficial spokesperson, simply because of his volume. Oh, you can be fucking serious, Jonathan. He shouted, This is a disgusting fucking joke. Stop this and tell us about the real goddamn will. I'm afraid it is no joke, Jonathan replied calmly, and I shall make a demonstration of the seriousness of your situation. He signalled to the henchman on his right,

who walked up and pulled his gun up, the shotgun rocked in his hand and boomed, sending up a small cloud of smoke and making me momentarily death. And almost instantly, Uncle Mitchell's head bloomed in the most grotesque red-colored flower I'd ever seen in my life. And then, the screaming started. I think I must have been around ten years old when I went out and bought a copy of the 1987 Robocop movie and sneakily watched it along with my sister Paddy when our parents went home.

Well, that was the start of my obsession with blood and gall. I devoured every R-rated film that I could get my hands on. I'm not caring how trash the movie actually was, as long as there was visceral gut-churning violence. Well, I was game. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I thought I had. I had a strong stomach for this kind of stuff, but I was wrong. Nothing prepares you for the real thing.

Uncle Mitchell's head exploded, spraying blood and chunks of flesh and bone everywhere. There was an unwanted wetness on my face, and I had to blink my eyes to clear my vision. I shook my head to get rid of the annoying ringing sound in my ears to the company the deafeningly loud boom of the shotgun and then wipe my face. By the time I fought my way out of the disorientation caused by the gunshot, I saw there was complete pandemonium in the room. Uncle Mitchell's boyfriend, Wyatt, was emptying the contents of his stomach on the carpeted floor. Some of the guests were hysterically screeching their lungs off, while Jonathan and his two lackeys in the goat masks were already making their way out of the sliding glass door that led to the swimming pool.

Hey, hey, hey, you okay? Allison asked. her beautiful raven hair now carrying streaks of a vile shade of crimson. I nodded. We're going to die. We're going to die. James, my brother-in-law, whimpered on the couch to my left, as Paddy tried to comfort him. It was my dad who brought some order to the chaos.

Ashen faced, hands trembling. He staggered past his brother's semi-headless corpse and clasped nervously as he positioned himself where the murderous lawyer had stood a couple of minutes ago. I... I know, he croaked, before he took a deep breath and began speaking loudly. I know it's hard, but this is not the time to grieve or lose our heads to fear. We need to think of a way out of this situation. What's there to think about, spat Uncle Freddy. There were 18 of us here.

One less than half, that is, at least eight need to die. Someone sobbed as he verbalized this. 17 Patty said softly There's only 17 left now We can't kill each other Uncle Brad Grandpa Henry's oldest son exclaimed

This is our fucking family We're not going to slaughter each other over some sick fucking game What do you suggest we do? Smart ass Uncle Freddy snapped Hold hands and war to our deaths with a smile on our faces Wyatt Mitchell's boyfriend Started crying

There was a flash of disgust on Freddy's face. Well, we can try to escape, I offered. Run in different directions all at once. They can't possibly have the necessary resources to track us all down simultaneously and kill us, right? We run to a place where we can get a signal on our damn phones and get the cocks. And what if they do get to us?

Uncle Freddy asked, pointedly. What if they kill us all? What then? I had no answer to that. "'We can fight,' Allison said, clutching my hand tightly. Everyone turned to look at her. We can all go and buy weapons from the infantry shack and use them to fight our way out.

"'It's too damn risky,' Freddy muttered, running his fingers through whatever little hair he had on his hand. "'They're watching us right now. "'They could kill us on the spot if we tried something like that.' "'And what do you suggest we do, asshole?' "'Uncle Brad thundered. "'Because to me, it seems like, like you actually want to play this game.

Fucking dare you. Please, my mom begged. Don't fight. Don't give them what they want. Freddy is right. I turn my head to see you had said that. Cameron, Uncle Brad's son-in-law, stood up. All the suggestions that have been made here are great, honestly.

But it's too risky. We can't. Too many variables. It's just... I understand that, son. it's began Uncle Brad. No, you don't, Dad. Cam cut him off harshly.

No, you don't. Brand is pregnant. We're going to have a child. He put his hand on his wife's shoulder, buried her head in her hands. Uncle Brad groped at them as his wife cried out and hurried over to comfort their daughter. An uncomfortable silence choked the conversation out of the room,

and I sat there just staring at the soft hypnotic flames in the fireplace. The wood crackled loudly and out of tune with my cousin sobbing. Hi, Cameron said, awkwardly breaking the silence. Um, I think we need some time to ourselves. How about we all go to our rooms and take some time to think? There's still time, right? The tension was somewhat diffused at that, and everyone began to get up. Not me, Freddy said obstinately.

I'm staying here to keep an eye on the back door. I can't trust you all not to sneak out and buy a weapon. Freddy, my dad said, No one here is going to betray our family. You can't fucking know that. Yes, I do. Whatever problems we might have, I still have faith in this family.

You need to as well. It didn't look like he was going to be convinced, but one stern, Freddy. from his wife and he reluctantly quit his grumbling and stomped upstairs to his bedroom. The room that was assigned to us was on the ground floor itself. I was listlessly walking towards it when Alison poured my hand and dragged me off to the kitchen. I looked at her, confused, as she furiously started digging through the various drawers. What are you doing? I asked.

Looking, she replied, as she stood on her toes to look at the mostly empty shelves. All the knives have gone. There's nothing here that can be used as a weapon. Jesus, Ali. She jogged over to the stove and turned it on. Oh, wow. This works. Why?

I mean, a gas explosion would threaten the administrators to. Ali, what are you doing? She stopped searching, then came over and hug me. I'm sorry, I was the one who forced you to come here. I wiped her tears away. It's okay. Let's just focus on surviving, yeah? She nodded. Besides, Victorian mansions and murder mysteries have a very ancient relationship,

so we can't be exactly surprised but this happened, right? She chuckled and buried her head in my chest. Okay, she said a couple of seconds later. Give me a brief overview of your family. You know, who's who and all that, james. I raised my eyebrow. just to know who can potentially vote us off the island. I nodded.

Grandpa Henry had four sons. As Uncle Brad, his wife and their two daughters. Both married, including Brandy who just announced her pregnancy. Then comes my father. Two children, me and Patty. Then Uncle Freddy. He has one son, Vincent, who came here with his boyfriend. And lastly, there is, I mean,

was Uncle Mitchell and his boyfriend Wyatt. So there's four smaller families in this large one, she asked. I nodded. Six people each in Uncle Prats and my father's families. Four in Uncle Freddy's case and Wyatt. Six, six, four and one, she said. You need nine for a majority. Which means that assuming families stick together,

any potential vote would basically be a face-off between our family. and Uncle Brands. It's the only mathematical possibility, I replied. The entire fight would be about getting the support of Uncle Freddy's family. Do you think Cameron knew this? Ali asked. Maybe that's why he split us up,

to try and get Uncle Freddy support. My eyes widened at the thought. Oh, fuck. What do we do? Let's take this one step at a time. Who do you think Uncle Freddy will side with? I shook my head. I don't know.

I mean, he hated Uncle Mitchell, thought that he was the one responsible for turning, Vincent, his son, gay. So he'll avoid siding with whichever group has Wyatt. But, well, Vincent owes a lot to Uncle Mitchell, and Wyatt. They'd supported him when Freddy threatened to disown him for his sexuality. He wouldn't vote to kill Wyatt off that easily. So, if we get Wyatt and Vincent's. and along with his boyfriend on our side,

we'd have nine members, Allison stated. Holy fuck, Ali. Are you really suggesting that we'd kill them off? No, she said loudly, and then lowered her voice. No, but we can't force a stalemate. Even if Cam and Uncle Brad somehow managed to get Uncle Freddy and his wife on their side, they can't kill us off. They'd still be one member short,

and we can then think about what to do after. Going behind their backs would be a massive breach of trust. I warned. We have no proof that they're conspiring against us. There's no harm in being cautious, she argued. Do you really want to be caught off guard and get killed over presumptions of family unity? This is our lives we're talking about here. What if our actions rouse their suspicions and even become the reason they decide to act against us?

I countered. It's possible, she agreed. but we really can't leave this up to chance Cameron will be desperate enough to do anything to protect his pregnant wife I mean wouldn't you do the same I swore okay how do we do this

we can't just waltz into their room too suspicious let's ask Wyatt to go and talk to Vincent and his boyfriend they have a close relationship wouldn't be that weird if he's the one to talk to them Allison said hmm then we go and speak with Uncle Freddy

to see where his head's at, my addicts. We decided to split up. Allison went to talk to my parents and Patty about what we were planning and doing, all I chose to take the stairs and go up to Wyatt's room. As I knocked on his door, I noticed movement to my right. It was Cameron,

coming out of Uncle Freddy's room. He nervously nodded at me, and then scampered off. Not good, not good at all. The door opened, and why its disheveled and puffy face popped out of the darkness. It was evident he'd been grieving. Hey, Adam, he greeted weakly. Mind if I come in, I asked hastily.

He nodded and moved back, letting me in. A couple of minutes later, I had informed him about our assumptions and intentions. His eyes growing more and more alert with each second as he grasped the gravity of his situation. So you understand what we need to do, right? A question. Frame it as a matter of saving everyone, and not a betrayal, okay? He shook his head. I can try, but please be worn.

Vincent and Freddie have a very complicated relationship. That boy craves his father's approval more than anything. He could easily be manipulated into doing something he would later regret. Even if his boyfriend objects? Yeah, and that would be enough to give them a majority and kill us all off. I understand, I said. But it doesn't change the fact that we must try regardless. I got up, stretching my arms, which popped loudly.

Okay, I'm going to leave now. Go to him a couple of minutes after that. If anyone asked to tell them, I was just checking up on you. I shook his hand and slipped out of his room and hurried downstairs, to find Allison waiting for me. panic evident in her eyes. It's your dad, she said, scared. He's missing.

What? I shouted. Shh, please, she said, looking around to see if anyone was eavesdropping. We don't know if someone from the family is responsible for it yet, or if he's just off somewhere doing whatever, but regardless, we can't let the others know. It'll weaken our position. I ran past her, ignoring her warning and frantically checking for my father in every night.

nook and cranny of this damned house. I saw her mum outside her room, looking inconsolable as Patty tried to reason with her, with her decidedly frightened-looking husband hovering around. What in the fuck happened? I asked, slightly out of breath. Mom said she went to the bathroom to clean up, Patty replied. But when she came out, Dad was gone. We've looked all over, but we just can't find him, Allison added. Someone's got him out.

them. Mom cried. They've killed him for the money. Look, we don't know that. Have you looked up? I was cut off by loud, angry shouts from behind me. I turned around and saw Cameron coming down the stairs, holding a piece of paper in his hand, with Wyatt begging and pleading along the way. The others were right behind him, scared, guilty, but also resolute. Things just keep going from bad to worse. Jesus Christ. James. Patty's husband whispered, his voice trembling. I bolted towards the living room and quickly stood in front of the glass door that opened up to the pool. Hey, hey, I shouted. Don't fucking do this.

Get out of the way, Adam, Cameron said. His voice low and teeth gnashed furiously together. I told you, I told you, Wyatt shouted. Step aside. I noticed a certain madness in Cam's eyes and realized with a sinking feeling he was beyond the point where reason or logic could sway in. You can't do this, Patty yelled. I'm sorry, but there's no other way, said Freddy as he nudged Cameron. You're killing us, mum cried. You're killing us.

She walked up to Uncle Brad. Brad! When he turned away in shame, she pleaded to him. his wife. Samantha, please. Move. Cameron shoved me aside, making my ribs crash into the glass and walked past me. James slammed into him, and they both fell and started struggling with each other. Freddy tried to rush Cameron, but he was already held back by a desperate wyat. The others just stood silently gorking at the spectacle. Adam, Allison screamed. We need to make that paper worthless. It's the only way. She picked up a wooden chair and began swinging it like a club.

She began to pound in my chest as it instantly became clear what she was asking of me. It would change everything, but it was the only way. My eyes hardened as I resolved myself to do the unthinkable. I walked away from the door and towards Anne Samantha. She looked at me, confused, before her facial muscles contorted into an expression of disbeliefel. leaving horror as she saw the look on my face and understood my intentions. I pounced on her, shoving her down to the ground, before wrapping my hands around her throat began to squeeze so hard my fingers turned white. Everything had turned into white noise from me as I focused on the unholy task at hand.

It was a marvel that no one dragged me off her. I didn't know it at the time, but Allison thought like a woman possessed to keep everyone away from me, with Paddy and Mom doing their best to support her. The nerves in my arms bulged, and the muscles surrounding them pulled and tightened so hard I felt like they were going to pop out. Aunt Samantha thrashed around like a fish out of water, scratching at my arms to get herself free,

but the fight slowly but surely left her. I squeezed and squeezed and squeezed until the light left her eyes and her arms dropped to her side, cold and limp. And then I squeezed some more, my fingers now digging into the flesh of her corpse. I had just killed someone. And it wasn't some random stranger off the streets

that I dragged into a dimly alley and murdered for money while using the cover of darkness to shield my conscience from the grotesque display. It was my own Aunt Samantha, whose life I had choked out with my bare hands under the harsh, seemingly judgmental light of the ornate lamps that hung from the ceiling. Memories, ancient and unwanted, flashed through my mind, unbidden, as I knelt over her corpse, motionless.

I could almost taste the cookies she used to love to make for us. Look away, now. I tore my gaze on my lifeless eyes that still glinted under the soft glow of the fireplace, took in the scene around me, which seemed to play in slow motion. Allison was hovering around me protectively, brandishing a mangled, blood-stained chair as a weapon, while roaring like a lioness protecting her cubs, as she and an exhausted Wyatt, tried to fend off Uncle Brad, whose sharp blue eyes were filled with a sort of anguish I had never seen in my life, hinting at the deep wound I had inflicted on his very soul.

I averted my own eyes quickly, before the guilt could successfully rip my mind to pieces. Uncle Freddy was sprawled on the ground nearby, unconscious, with blood gushing out of a gash on his forehead, ruining the expensive rug underneath. His wife, Aunt Susan, was on her knees beside him, worriedly checking his pulse. Out in the backyard I could see my brother-in-law James locked in a desperate struggle for survival with both Cameron and Aden, Uncle Brad's other son-in-law. What in the world had happened to us? just a slight nudge and we descended into murderous madness with me taking the lead in plunging down to the deepest depths of hell why a loud splash of water jolted me back to reality

he can't swim he can't swim a feminine scream from upstairs dashed down at us after James St Cameron flying into the pool with a solid kick to the chest aidan wasted no time and dove in after him Uncle Brad, in a fit of monstrous rage, tore through the human barricade preventing his advance, and charged in my direction. I scampered off to the side, terrified more at the prospect of what I could potentially do to the grieving man than anything else, but I needn't have worried.

It didn't come for me, but cradled his wife's head in his lap and sobbed uncontrollably. I felt a hand on my shoulder. Adam, the hand shook me. "'Adam!' "'It was Wyatt's, looking at me wide-eyed. "'It's not over,' he whispered furiously. "'Gaylan didn't vote, but everyone else did. "'And now they outnumber us by one.

"'We have to do something.' "'My eyes quickly swept the surroundings once again, "'and sure enough, Vincent and his boyfriend Galen were nowhere to be seen. "'Now, Adam, Wyatt's voice trembled. "'That paper could still kill us. I understood. I nodded as I got onto my feet gingerly. Alison, get our people out of here. I'm going to be right back. How are people? When had my subconscious become comfortable with that distinction?

My feet were moving before I even realised it. I bolted out the open glass door, the chilly mountain breeze crawling up my spine. I stumbled as I skidded on the slippery floor outside, but swiftly regained my balance and, went running past the people huddled in a corner near the pool. He's going to the shack, Brenda, Uncle Brad's other daughter shouted. Stop him! But I was already upon the small brick-and-mortar guest house that had been renamed by our tormentors as the inventory shack.

I nudged the door open, and bright white light came pouring out on the tiled floor underneath my feet, casually overpowering the weak moonlight already presently. I took a deep breath. and stepped in. They'd hung a black cloth across the room, effectively splitting it into two. The only thing on my side was a chair and a table,

and Frank, Grandpa Henry's butler, was sitting on the former. I turned to my left and stared down the barrel of a shotgun. Frank, I said, accusingly. Good evening, Master Adam, he said, jovially. Congratulations on being the first one to arrive at the inventory shack, "'How can I help you?'

"'You can start by asking this son of a goat-frikin whore "'to quit pointing a gun at me. "'I spat as I looked venomously at this masked asshole. "'A necessary precaution,' he replied, "'dismissively waving his hand. "'So you're interested in purchasing something?' "'He offered what looked like a menu of a high-end restaurant to me. "'I skimmed through it, noticing it listed guns and their prices.

just give me a shotgun. I snapped, tossing the menu down on the table. Which one? I'll take whatever the chef recommends. He nodded and then clapped his hands. Moments later, another scumbag in a goat mask walked out from behind the curtain, holding a sleek black shotgun in his hand. This is the Mossburg 500, said Frank.

It holds five shells. If you count the one in the chamber, that's six shots. without reloading and walk forward to take the gun. That'll be a hundred million dollars. Jesus Christ. Happy hunting, Frank added with a smile as I walked out of the shack. Now a hundred and ten million dollars down, ready to stain my soul with the blood of some more family members. Aiden had successfully rescued Cameron and was now performing CPR on him. I felt a painful tightening in my chest, as I realized I was going to make all his efforts useless. Brenda shrieked when she saw me.

He's got a gun. Aidan, come on, we have to go, please. She pulled at her husband's arm, who refused to budge, so intent was he on saving his friend. I got closer, my footsteps now echoing off the floor. Adam, please, she begged. Don't do this. She looked at her husband again. Aidan, let's go.

I cocked my head, and looked inside the house, only to see Uncle Brad and the others scurrying in different directions. My actions had caused total chaos. My head swooned, and my knees trembled as a massive explosion of guilt from deep within me threatened to destroy my control over my senses. Brenda finally made Aiden aware of the impending danger, stalking him, and dragged him off into the house, shouting expletives at me the whole way. I stopped near Cameron's wet body.

A trail of water and saliva ran from the corner of his mouth, all the way down to the ground. He coughed once, making his watery lungs gurgle. I aimed the gun at his chest. I hesitated. My sister, Alison, their lives were on the line. Cameron would do the same. No.

He did do it. Only James and I didn't let him succeed. My shoulders tightened as my finger near the trigger. Please. I looked up to see where that muffled voice was coming from. Couldn't quite make it out from here, but I knew it was brandy, peering down at us from the darkness of her room upstairs. Please, she said hoarsely,

as if every word pulled and scraped at her tired throat. We're going to have a child. Let him go. "'Tiers blurred my vision, and I faltered, but only for a second. "'I have to do this, Brandy.' "'No, you don't,' she cried. "'End this. We'll all run away together, just as you said. "'Please, just stop this.'

"'It's too late for that now, Brandy.' "'No, it isn't. We can still—' "'I cut her off.' "'Did you sign the paper?' "'Silence. "'Well?' "'Did you?' I asked again, sighing as I got no answer other than some pain-filled sobs. "'Please, look away, Brandy. You shouldn't watch this.'

Her screaming was almost as loud as the boom of the shotgun. I found them in our bedroom, looking extremely shaken. Allison jumped out of her chair and wrapped her arms around me when I entered the room. "'I'm sorry, baby. She wept. I'm so sorry. It's okay, I said. I had to do it. It was the only way. That's not what she meant, Adam. Patty interrupted me.

It's Mom. My heart skipped a beat. What about, Mom? They've taken her, Wyatt replied, nervously twiddling his thumbs as he paced around the room. Vincent came downstairs while you were in the shack and helped the others drag her upstairs after knocking around. "'God damn it.

"'Why didn't any of you fucking do anything?' "'I yelled. "'I was helping James. "'I didn't pay attention,' Patty replied softly. "'Brad hit Allison on the back of her head, "'and I rushed to help her. "'Wyatt added. "'Look, it just happened so fast, man.

"'I turned and walked out of the room, "'tightly clutching the shotgun in my hands "'as the others ran after me, "'asking me not to be too hasty. "'But I was blinded with rage. "'First my dad goes missing. Now they dare to take my mom. Mom, where are you?

I screamed as I entered the beautiful living room, which was now marred with Aunt Samantha's corpse. Mom, I yelled. Where is she? I'll fucking kill anyone who hurts her. Adam! Someone shouted from above. She's here!

I recognized that voice. It was Aidan. I should have shot that bastard when I had the chance. Don't come up. I'll throw her out of the window, he warned. It might only be the first floor, but let's see how her skull takes it if I drop her head first. My heart pounded as my body burned with anger. What do you want, Aidan?

Alison asked from beside me. Fuck you, you psycho bitch. I'm not talking to you. What do you want, asshole? I spat. A simple exchange, he replied. Your mom? for your gun

fuck no James swore under his breath don't listen to this shit just go upstairs and shoot the fuck I put my finger on my lip and he shut up how do we know you won't just kill us afterwards Aidan

you'll just have to take that risk I guess you can't expect us to agree on that Wyatt exclaimed silence followed that I guess they were arguing about how to proceed A new voice joined in a couple of tense moments later. Hey Adam, it's me, Freddy. How about this?

You leave the shotgun near the stairs and we'll come pick it up when we're dropping Daisy. Allison tugged up my arm and quickly whispered in my ears. Okay, I agreed. We'll do it, but the gun will be on the coffee table in the center of the room. Fine, this is fucking stupid. swore, after we were sitting in our room, post the negotiations. If we're giving them a gun, we might as well write our own names on a piece of paper and take it to the damn sham. I'll do anything to save Mom, James, I replied, anything. But you're not, are you, you thick

fuck? She'll just end up dead anyway. Don't worry. We're not going to die, Allison said, because we're not giving them a loaded gun. I think they may have guessed that already, Patty said. Then why are they agreeing to this? They'll take a significant advantage away from us, Ali replied. And don't forget, we're barely evenly matched at this point. Seven to seven. Foreign Uncle Freddy's family?

Uncle Brad, his two daughters, one surviving son-in-law. And that's if we include your missing father and kidnapped mom, and exclude Galen who refused to vote to kill us. If we lose the gun, he changes his. his mind. We could be back where we all started. Yeah, it'll be hard for us to stop them this time, I added. Now that they know what I'm capable of, what we are capable of, Allison corrected me, she grabbed my hand reassuringly. It was a collective decision on our part. We all chose to help you do it, Adam. Not to mention they forced us into this position. I won't let you shoulder the guilt all by

yourself. I won't allow it. Yeah, Wyatt nodded. I pushed you into killing Cameron. I killed him just as much as you did. I could tell he genuinely meant that by the heavy guilt and sorrow I saw in his puffy eyes. So, what now? James asked. I think we should try and take both the gun and Daisy, Alison answered. I have a plan. Around 15 minutes later, I was back in the living room, shouting to make my voice heard upstairs. All right, I've placed the gun on the table. You can bring Mom downstairs now. Aiden replied almost immediately.

Oh, I changed my mind, Adam. We'll take the gun first and then send your mother downstairs. They must have talked among themselves. Allison shook her head furiously and mouth, No, at me. That's not happening. You bring my mom down and take the gun up simultaneously. Don't test me, Adam.

I'll hurt her, I swear it. No, you don't test me, Aidan. Do as I tell you, or I'll come marching up the stairs and fucking slaughter the lot of you. Understand? I could hear them arguing with each other. A short while later, he shouted that he was coming down and asked us to clear the area. So, I ran and hid beneath the staircase. I could see Allison hiding behind a curving wall, holding one of the legs of the chair that she'd been using.

in the last fight. The broken ends sharp enough to pierce skin now. Wyatt, Patty and James were similarly positioned, just out of sight of anyone coming downstairs. I heard heavy, lumbering footsteps above me. Two, no, three people. I clenched my fists as I heard my mother groan. Do you see it? Freddy whispered. Yes, it's there, Aidan replied, and nobody's around either. "'Be careful. I will.' "'Aidan sprinted towards the coffee table, quickly picking out the gun. "'Damn, fucking thing is empty, just like you said. "'Oh, what are you doing? Don't waste—'

"'I ran out of my hiding spot and charged at a shocked Aidan, slamming into him and taking him through the glass table, which shattered on impact, the broken glass lacerating my arms. James and Wyatt followed suit, attacking Freddy who was desperately trying to retreat back upstairs. Aidan and I struggled on top of numerous shards of glass, trying to wrestle the gun away from the grasp of the other person. When it looked like I was going to get the upper hand,

he gave up entirely and started raining heavy blows down on my back, knocking the wind out of my lungs. I grope for a piece of glass I could use as a weapon, my hand finally finding something usable, getting cut up pretty badly in the process. Gritting my teeth, I fought through the pain and tried to plunge my makeshift knife into Aden's ribs, but he was faster, and a sharp pain erupted in my sights, making stars dance in front of my eyes.

The glass sank in with a sickening thunk, and I almost blacked out, but he twisted the glass and pushed it in deeper, making me scream in agony. I rolled off of him, and he quickly jumped on top of me, ready to stab me again. He might well have finished me off if it hadn't been for him. for Allison, who swung her piece of wood hard at his head, and then kept on swinging until he collapsed on top of me. I took full advantage of his descent and thrust my shard of glass into his throat. It was his own momentum that sealed his face, the glass going in so deep that there was absolutely no hope for him left. Warm, coppery blood poured down on my face and neck,

and I frantically pushed him off me, spitting to clear my mouth. Are you okay? as she helped me get up. I nodded. It hurt like hell, but I'd live, and that was what was truly important. I picked the gun off the broken table and hovered over to where James, Paddy and White were fighting with a rough or Freddy, who was trying to fight his way to me, using what looked like a slat from a bed to fend them off. I quickly pulled out the shelves and began stuffing them in the shotgun. "'Hayden!' Freddy shouted. But then a flashed.

of fear crossed his face as he saw me loading the gun. More footsteps on the staircase. Others were running down to see what the fuck had happened here. But Freddy stopped them as he himself scrambled for the stairs. No, we're back upstairs. I pointed the gun in his direction and pulled the trigger. Bang. Gore splattered the family portrait on the wall behind him as the shells punched a hole through his chest. I'd just killed a third member of my family and was now $130 million down. I laughed maniacly

at the sheer hopelessness of my situation. My hand hurt like a mother and made me stop laughing. As a fight ended in the adrenaline wore off, a stabbing pain came rushing up the nerves in my arm and assaulted my brain, making me drop the gun with a ringing clang. I clasped to my knees, fiercely clutching the wrist of my wounded hand with the other. The deep cut throbbed, by the blood, which was pumping out to the beat of a metaphorical drum, stopped trying to escape my body, if only a little. Adam! My mom cried.

You're hurt! I grunted. It's just a scratch. How about you, Mom? I could see her body shiver. I'm fine. I have a slight headache, but nothing more. That's good.

A slight bump on the head was a small price to pay for her several. survival, especially when compared to the ordeal that Aden had installed her. That made me think of the debt that I found myself in. You should sit down, Daisy, Allison advised. You might have a concussion. She then helped me get up. Come on, we need to do something about that hand of yours. We have a first aid box in the bathroom. You can use that, James suggested. I looked at him and pointed at the gun with my elbow.

Take it. Don't let anyone come down. If they try and fall, their way through, kill them. With his actions tonight, James had more than earned my trust. By taking on both Aden and Cameron, kicking the latter into the pool, he'd shown himself to be extremely reliable. Besides, I didn't want to give the gun to Patty because, while I would trust her with my life in most situations, I couldn't do so in this case, because I didn't think she had what it takes to kill another human being. You might say it was extremely stupid of me to let anyone else take the gun, no matter how much I believed in them. But I was exhausted, physically and emotionally. I just wanted a little peace and quiet, to be away from anything that reminded me of

the horror we found ourselves in, if only momentarily. But of course, I kept half the remaining shells in my pocket. Allison led me to the bathroom before hitting the light switch. The opulent room was instantly bathed in a soft yellow glow, the light gently bouncing off the marbled floor and walls. She turned on the faucet, and I winced as the water rapidly smashed against my hand, threatening to widen the painful rift. I rotated my wrist to properly clean the area, while Allison fetched the kit from the shelf behind me. This will need some stitches, she said as she applied the antiseptic. Unfortunately, I can't do that right now, so I'll just apply the dressing.

Didn't teach you that in the army, I asked. She smiled. I just don't have the right tools now, smart as. They were just not there, or did the administrators take them out? I wondered. I think it's the former. Why? I don't know, she shrugged.

Something just seems a little off about all this. Yeah, well, it is a little out of the ordinary that we're being made to kill our family, I said, Riley. She glanced at me, her green eyes full of sorrow and empathy, eyes that threatened to pull my own grief out of the dark place I'd hastily. to liberated him. I'm so sorry, baby. I can't imagine how hard this must be for you. Sh, it's fine. So, you were saying, I asked,

quickly changing the subject. Have you seen the cameras? She asked as she tightly wrapped the bandage around my hand. They have a shit ton of blind spots. They do? Yes, she exclaimed. Don't you think it's weird? I mean, if your grandpa had this planned out,

and each and every inch of this house should be covered by those CCTVs, but it's not. The way things stand, it's far more likely those cameras were set up by your average, nutty, reclusive old man than a, well, a raging sadistic psychopath. I felt confused. And the gas in the kitchen, she added, it still works. Why? Why would they risk a possible gas explosion? It makes no sense.

The whole game seems to be put up on short notice. maybe immediately after Henry's death. What does that mean? What if your grandpa didn't set this up, Adam? I mean, have you seen the will? I physically held it in your hands and carefully perused it. I could see the confused expression on my bloody and bruised face in the mirror. Then, who else could it be?

Someone from the company wanting to take out the legitimate airs, a rival businessman. But why would they go to the... this extent, I added. What's the fucking point in setting this game up? Why not hire killers to murder us, plain and simple? I don't know, she admitted. Maybe you're just overthinking this baby. Let's just focus on surviving this hell for now. The two of us found an argument going on in the living room when we made it back there. An exasperated patty was trying to reason with James and Wyatt, who were having a shouting match. Hey, I raised my voice.

What's happening here? Wyatt's lost his fucking mind, James replied venomously. He wants to run away. Why would you want to throw your life away, Wyatt? I asked slowly. I can't. His voice trembled as his eyes turned red with tears. I can't do this anymore.

The love of my life is lying dead just an arm's length away. And in the same room is her brother's corpse, and I help kill him myself. Now James wants to... What does James want? Allison asked. To end this once and for all, James answered. We have the fucking numbers now for the first time this night. Six present here.

It's five of them. Get a damn piece of paper. Let's end this nightmare. He has a point, Adam, Patty said. Patricia! My mother cried. Well, it's true, Mom. she insisted.

Would you rather we die instead? Mom lowered her gaze, ashamed at the fact that she saw her point. Please, Wyatt begged. Don't ask this of me. I can't. Not for Vincent and Galen. They're just kids. They haven't even graduated college yet. I can't do this to her.

And you think it was easy for me to kill my family members? I asked coldly. You've known them for what? A couple of years at most. I grew up with them. This whole argument is completely pointless, Allison interrupted. There's six of us present here, yes, but there's also six of them. Brad, Freddy's wife, Susan, Brenda, Brandy Vincent, and Galen.

Your calculations are off because you probably didn't count Galen, who refused to sign the paper. But he's still alive. Because of that, we'd need seven to vote them out. Since George is missing, we're shit out of luck. Fuck, James swore and rested his head in his hands, a shotgun placed precariously on his lap. I saw my mum tense up when Dad was mentioned. I think we were both avoiding the truth at this point, that he was likely dead by now. That doesn't change anything, Wyatt said. His voice firmer now. I've made up my mind. I'm going to try and escape.

It's suicide, I warn. But you will die. What if I don't? he asked. What if I'm able to escape and call the cops? What if all this could have been avoided if we just try to run away? Something you were the first one to suggest. It's not like that, I said defensively. Things are different now. Because you want them to be.

He said, accusingly. You have the most blood on your hands, Adam. So it's natural you're holding on to the admittedly strong possibility that escape is impossible. But I can't do that. I can't do this anymore. I have to try. Jesus Christ, man. Just listen to me. Allison gently cut me off. It's his decision. We can't force him not to do it. We're all adults with free will here, aren't we?

We should be free to choose what road we want to go down. Even if it leads to hell, I asked. She nodded. All of us chose to accompany Wyatt to the front door. Except James, who was tasked to maintain vigilance near the same. stays. You sure you don't want to take a car? Mom asked. Frank was the one who parked them all,

Wyatt answered. Considering that Adam told us he was an administrator, it's almost a certainty that they'll have all been tampered with. I don't want a crash or get blown up halfway down the hill. He shook our hands one by one. All right. I'm off. Make sure to run in a zigzag pattern,

Allison suggested. He nodded, gave us one last look, and took off running. I heard his boots pound the gravel as he dashed down the driveway, before abruptly changing his direction in a roughly 90-degree angle. On and on he went, away from our little corner of hell, trying his hardest to stick to a zig-zag pattern as he ran towards freedom and civilization. It really looked like he was going to make it. Then a sharp crack whipped through the air, and he stumbled.

before falling face-first on the ground ungracefully, bringing all our hopes crashing down with him. What was that? Paddy yelled. Sniper, Allison exclaimed. Get back inside. The hair on my arm stood up as I realized that the shot had come from inside the house. While we were busy killing each other, those fuckers had placed their men in strategic positions right under our noses.

Some cultures believe that when divine bad luck enters a person's life, it comes as a deluge of trouble. James came sprinting at us as we were running towards him. My blood ran cold at the utterly terrified look on his face. Vincent reached the shack. Vincent reached the shack. He screamed frightfully. How?

Patti shouted. Why did you let him get past you? I didn't. He replied as he jogged alongside a shack. towards the sliding door that opened up to the pool. He fucking jumped off the balcony near the shack, broke his fucking leg too. By the time I got him in range with a gun,

he crawled his way inside. I swore. Oh, God, no, Mom cried. He must be buying a gun. Patty said. No, James said, as he placed his hand on my shoulder. He had a paper in his hand. What?

How? They don't have the numbers, I shouted. Well, they do now that Wyatt's dead, Allison replied. Especially if they know for sure George is dead too. It made no fucking sense. They must have signed the paper before

Wyatt had gone running out, or else the timelines don't match. Not to mention Dad's name was on the first paper too, so they couldn't have known that he was dead back then, even though he'd already gone missing. We must get away from here,

they said. Who knows what the fuck is going to happen? next. I got the answer to my question a second later, seemingly dozens of armed men in what looked like SWAT gear poured out of the shack and started moving towards the house. We ran in different directions, but some of us weren't fast enough and were caught in the initial burst of fire. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mum get hit by multiple bullets and claps on the ground lifelessly. Furiously stamping out the grief and shock, I dove down to the ground and began crawling towards a back door of the kitchen that led out to the garage as bullets smashed into fucking

everything around me. Glass, concrete wood, the bullet showed no mercy on anything, mercilessly destroying everything in their path. And yet, I fought through the soul-crushing fear and kept pushing forward, driven by this point purely by an animalistic instinct for survival. I got out to the garage, the uneven rocky floor fucking up my knees and elbows. And I fell a hand on my leg and my heart almost gave out. To my relief, it was Allison who'd been right on my heels the entire time. Getting up on my hands and knees, I moved behind the false safety of a car and waited for Allison to catch up to me. No camera's here, she whispered, her voice barely audible. I nodded. Body covered in sweat, heart pounding dangerously in my chest. I was the most scared I'd

ever been in my life. Alarm bells were ringing all over my body. Every single cell was screeching, begging me to run away. Call me a cornered rat, if you will, but wouldn't even begin to get close to what I was feeling at that time. And then the door opened, and one of the attackers walked in. I strained my ears as I went completely still, not wanting to give my position away while tracking this guy's movements over the ear splitting gunfire, which soon stopped. My heart beat in tandem with his footsteps, as I ever so quietly tried to keep the breadth of the car between us. His radio crackled, and I almost squeam.

Sweeper 7 here. Be advised. We've neutralised James and Patricia. Only two more left now. Anyone got eyes on him? No, no. I furiously blinked. Not the time to cry. Not now. A slew of negatives came out of the radio, and I went with a bated breath for our pursuer to say the same. He stopped. I swung his gun around, the mounted flashlight illuminating the ground inches from me. Allison grabbed onto me with vice-like claws

and pulled me back. He took a step closer to us, and we followed suit. Trying to keep away from our deaths. My heart was not going to last long if we kept playing this deadly cat and mouse game. It was almost like this fucker had heard me, because he dropped down on his knees. Jesus, this is it. The end's here. I prayed.

And God answered through the radio. I see movement in room one. I think I've located them. We got cameras in here? Our attacker got back on his feet and walked out. Relief flooded through me so aggressively that little stars danced in front of my eyes. Allison tugged at my shirt, I whispered.

She pointed at something behind her. I craned my neck and saw some long cylinders stacked in a corner. As we got closer, I realized what they were. Green K-bottles, those long gas cylinders you use in welding. I remember that because Grandpa loved building shit He would often wag his finger in my face and tell me That's what real men did The first time that night

I smiled as I thought of him Allison was right about the game being set up in a hurry No way these things could have been kept out in the open otherwise Silently moving these cylinders closer to the kitchen Took almost a minute With every second feeling like a tortuous eternity luck was again on our side they weren't nearby when we started emptying the cylinders

otherwise the loud hissing would have been our death-napsed Alison smiled at me her bad teeth reminding me of a tiger shark she held her finger up and mouthed wait here at me before I could stop her she crawled into the kitchen turned on the stove and hurried back to me quickly opened the remaining cylinders as she went

and retrieved a can of kerosene, again from the corner that had been our salvation. I could hear people nearby. They were coming, bright on time. We darted out of the garage, pouring a line of kerosene on the floor, all the way out to the middle of the driveway. It was a miracle the snipers didn't kill us. Well, in some cultures, when the gods of luck smile down on you, even death itself can't touch you. Alison took out a lighter and lit the trail of kerosene she'd set up. The fire spread instantly, racing towards the cylinders at an insane speed. The orange flames turned nearly white as they ate the gas, and with an audible thump, the spectacle started.

The fire spread like a living thing, ravishing and devouring everything in its path. Wooden furniture, gas, clothing, flesh, everything became food for the raveness. beast. Panic shouting, it soon turned into shrieks and screeches tore through the house. I don't know what the fuck had happened with the cylinders and the gas from the stove, but the flames were so powerful that we had to retreat as they even reached the top floor. A window broke upstairs, and a charred body came tumbling out. Then, I don't know why, the chemistry being beyond me, there was a huge fucking explosion. The concussion of the blast centres flying backwards, momentarily knocking us out.

I woke up to the side of bright but tiny lanterns, shimmering away in an infinitely vast black sea above me and the cold hard ground digging into my wounds from beneath. Little orange sparks drifted in the fiery wind emanating in waves from the blazing house, adding to the mesmerizing view in front of my bleary eyes. I grunted as I got up on my elbow. the pain in my sides almost slamming me back to unconsciousness. Allison was right beside me, just like she had been this entire hellish night. She coughed, dust and bits of ash constricting her lungs.

Do you think we got them all? She asked. I sure hope so. Now fuck them. I whispered as I pulled her up. Fuck them. Hope they all burn in hell. Something crashed and the resultant sound.

boomed throughout the area. The fire was eating way at the very foundation of the house, which in turn was beginning to crumble to pieces, just like my family. Alison walked towards the roaring flames, and I called after her. What are you doing? It's dangerous. She stopped near the corpse that had come flying out of the window and began searching it. I gagged at the repulsive and overpowering stench of burnt flesh. Got it!

She exclaimed, but she grabbed a pistol out of one of the parts. pockets that had almost melted into the skin, but then winced and dropped it. Fuck, it's hot. She put her scarf off her neck and used it to pick up the gun. Damn, I hope the flesh hasn't gotten too deep inside the barrel, but don't want this thing jamming on me. I wretched. We made our way around to the backyard, trying to stay at a reasonable enough distance from the house that we could avoid both our potential killers, the unstoppable fire, or any sniper fooling

enough to still be keeping watch. The back half of the mansion was still mostly safe, but I doubt that would last, looking at the speed with which the flames were leaping from room to room. We stopped and hid behind a bush when the infantry shack came into view. I saw Vincent slumped against the wall of the shack facing the pool, a sharp hole in his forehead

being illuminated by the orange glow from the fire. Jeez, why did they kill him? I wondered. "'Finally tying up loose ends,' Allison replied. "'I don't think a giant explosion was in their plans.' "'So, what do you want to do?' she asked me. "'We need answers,' I said, and then pointed at the shack, "'and that's the only place we'll find them.' "'We tiptoed over to the shack, staying close to the ground.

"'We heard shouting and sporadic gunfire, but thankfully none of the bullets came our way.' Once again I found myself in front of that door. This time my intention's being completely different. With trembling hands, I pushed the door open and came face to face with Frank again. Fuck it. Kill them all. No one should survive. He was screaming at the radio in his hand,

but stopped when he looked at me. His eyes growing so wide it looked like they were going to pop out. You? You're still alive. He scrambled for something. presumably a gun, but Allison was faster, quickly firing two shots into his neck and chest, making him fall backwards. I was about to turn around and express my annoyance at Allison for killing the one man who could answer our questions, and potentially end this. But I didn't have to, because when he stumbled and fell backwards, he ended up pulling the black cloth down,

and while the action was, admittedly not as graceful as the curtains in a big theatre being drawn, the end results were no less spectacular. weapons and monitors adorned the makeshift control room and in the centre of it all sitting with a burger in his hand was my father whose jaw dropped when he saw me adam he groped at us then quickly composed himself thank god you're here i thought they were going to kill me what are you doing here dad i asked domly why are you eating a burger "'They offered it to me,' he replied hastily. "'They've been keeping me here for God knows what reason.' "'I don't understand,' I mumbled, "'the gears in my mind turning,

sliding the missing pieces of the puzzle in place, while one part of my brain desperately tried to stop this from happening, as terrified as I was of the horrifying image that lay in store for me when the puzzle was finally completed. "'You?' Allison said, accusation. You did this. Now, Alison,

Dad stammered, as he put his hands in the air. I don't know what you're accusing me of, but please, let's not be too hasty here. Don't move, she shouted, or I will kill you, I swear it. Why are you eating a burger? I continued.

Mom died. Why would you eat a burger? "'Daisie Dight?' he said, sounding a little too shocked for it to be genuine. "'Oh, God! There are laptops all around you, watching our every move. How did you not see it?' Anger began to build up inside me. You disappeared when this whole thing started. Why? Let me explain. All right. Did you do all this? I didn't Why?

No, you've got it all wrong. It was her. He frantically pointed at Allison. She's the one who did this. What? I glanced at her. Don't listen to him. He's lying.

She's a gold-diggin' whore at him, he yelled maniacly. She's doing it for the money. You've seen how well she reacted to everything that happened, right? didn't you? Almost like she knew what was happening, right? She's working for Frank. So you did see everything on the cameras. I accused him, and he turned pale at that.

You're lying to me, Dad. Why? Is it about the money? No, no. He shook his head furiously. It's not okay. I didn't do it. You have to listen to me.

He screamed, tears streaming down his face. Look, I'm your father. Why would I kill my own family? That's what I want you to tell me, I replied, angrily. Maybe someone from the company. He grasped at straws in a room completely bereft of them. I blinked to clear my eyes of tears that I wasn't even aware of. Why? I yelled.

I didn't. Allison fired a shot on the floor. "'Okay, fine,' he flinched, and then began to sob. "'I did it, I did it.' "'Why?' I asked yet again. His body shook as he cried. "'Was it about the money?' He nodded.

There never even was at Will, was there. He nodded again, wiped his face, and began talking. The real world just splits the money amongst all. living blood relatives. Pretty standard stuff, actually. So you did it for the money. Three hundred million dollars worth killing all your family? Your daughter, your wife? I asked, aghast. I didn't want, I didn't tell me. It seemed worth it at the time. He replied guiltily. Frank was the one who came to me the idea, said we could set it up so it looked like the family killed each other over the money. He said he knew people were good help us. He just needed

one living member of the family to actually access the money. Just one. I tried to get him to let you and Daisy and Patty live, but he refused. Viewer survivors, fewer people to split the money with right. I didn't think it would turn out like this, he mumbled. What did you not think about that? that you'd have to watch your kids get shot to bits or that we would fucking stop you I spanned I tried really hard to get him to change his mind he whined pathetically

I didn't want you to die but you ultimately made peace with that didn't you Jesus Christ Dad Patty loved you she thought the fucking world of you I'm sorry what about Jonathan Alice asked

Is he even a real lawyer? He shook his head. And those assassins. Why send them out? I wondered. The other group didn't have the numbers. So why? Why did you break your own rules?

Brandy's baby, he answered. The paper had her name too. Brianna, Vincent said. That's what they were going to name her. Frank thought it was hilarious and decided to humor them. It doesn't matter now. They've all been killed now. Vincent, Galen, Brenda, Brandy,

Brad, Susan, all gone. Only you two are left. Dad saw the look on my face and shrank back in fear. Look, we can fix this. Frank's dead. I can call them off. Tell them the game's over. Just pay them off.

We can split the money. $150 million each for the two of us. That's nice, right? My blood boiled at his stupidity. "'You still care about the fucking money. "'What the fuck is wrong with you?' "'No, no, please,' he said as he reached for the radio. "'I'll fix this. I'll show you.'

"'That lied again. "'He wasn't reaching for the radio. "'He was reaching for a gun. "'Alison saved my life yet again that night, "'and turned me into an orphan. "'I quickly shut my eyes to stop myself from seeing it, "'but it was too late. The image of my dead father was seared into my memory.

I wondered, as I would, thousands of times later in my life, whether I could have done anything to change this, whether there were any signs that I missed, whether I should have somehow known that he was capable of doing something like this. I remember speaking to a friend of mine, involved in a property dispute with her sister. She'd tell me how she was blindsided by court cases after her mother died, how her own sister pounced on the chance to extract as much wealth as she possibly could.

Does money always do this to a person? Or will they always this way? And our love and naivety just prevents us from seeing the truth. I guess I would never really know the answer to that question. Because it's not so easy to judge these things in hindsight. We can always find little factoid that we can mould to fit our own bias perception of events. Adam, I felt a hand on my shoulder, bringing me back to reality. We need to get out of here.

"'How?' I sighed. "'How many of them are still living? "'Will they really let us leave?' "'But the masterminds were all dead right. "'There's no one left to pay them for the job.' "'She picked up the radio and tossed it at me. "'We killed their friends. "'Do you think they'll just let us go?

"'What if they kill us for revenge? "'I'm willing to bet on the greed and selfishness of mercenaries.' "'I'll press the button. "'Hi. "'Is anyone listening to? listening to this? There was no response. I continued. George and Frank are dead. I repeat, those who hold your contract or are planning to pay you are now gone. We killed them. There's nothing keeping you here. You all should leave. I got nothing but static in response. What does this mean?

I asked Allison. Are they planning on killing us or letting us go? She shrugged. I don't know. Only one way to find out. I don't want to die. She held my hand. Let's go. So together we hobbled out of the house, leaving the burning ruin behind us once and for all.

Not once did we see a single sign of another human being. Either the surviving mercenaries had all left, or they were just that good. We stopped at the edge of the property, which looked empty and forlorn now. you ready she asked with my arm around her for support i nodded thank you allie for saving my ass repeatedly to-night i'd have been long dead if not for you she smiled but blood-stained cheeks somehow turning redder i love you too silly you took one more step and no bullets came looking for our skulls And so once again, we reach the end of tonight's podcast.

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

Until next time, sweet dreams, some bye-bye-bye.