Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S3 Ep111: Episode 111: Hiker Horror Tales Told In The Pouring Rain

Episode Date: February 2, 2023

Today’s opening tale of terror is ‘Night Hike’ by Dgrady237, shared via theCreepypasta Wiki and read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license. https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/User:Dgrady237 Today’s second story is titled ‘Hitchhiker’s Haven’, a fabulous original work by Michael Paige, kindly shared directly with me via my sub-reddit and narrated here for you all with the author’s express permission. https://michaelpaigeblog.wordpress.com/  Third up we have ‘A Hitchhiker’, another original work, this time by Vintage Tsotsi, also kindly shared directly with me via my sub-reddit and narrated here for you all with the author’s express permission. https://www.reddit.com/user/VintageTsotsi/  We round off today’s video with a weird and wonderful effort titled ‘The Deer with Glassy Eyes’, once again an original work, this one by Autumn Misery, again kindly shared directly with me via my sub-reddit and narrated here for you all with the author’s express permission. https://www.reddit.com/user/Autumnmisery/

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We believe OCT scans are so important they're included with every standard eye exam. Book an eye exam at Spexsavers.cavers.ca.caps are provided by independent optometrists. Visit Spexsavers.cavers. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's dungeon. It is said that gold is a luxury, but that trees are true necessities. Man can live and thrive without gold, but we cannot survive without trees. But that doesn't mean that trees and forests are safe havens, as we'll see in tonight's 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. That sounds like your kind of thing. And let's begin. Night hike. Back when I was in sixth grade, I went on a school-sponsored camping trip with my classmates. Well, it was kind of like an immersive science lesson.

The trip was chaperoned by our science teacher, homeroom teacher, and our language arts teacher. And there was 16 of us in my class. It was a really small private school in the city. So I guess they kind of felt like we needed to get out and experienced nature firsthand. Their solution was to take us out into central Pennsylvania to a campsite called the sanctuary.

It was actually a hawk sanctuary, and it was really beautiful. There were trees and mountains for miles and miles around. We went on hikes, studied the trees and the birds, and learned some basic survival skills. The best part of the trip was that we all got to sleep over in cabins and make smores and wear street clothes. Now, by street clothes, I mean jeans and sweatshirts and baseball caps. We had to wear uniforms to school, and so wearing jeans to a school function felt strangely rebellious.

We stayed two nights, and, well, I was really scared of the dark. And actually, I still am. Now, the darkness in the wilderness is much different to the dark of the city. I remember having a hard time falling asleep because of it. It was just so dark, and the cabins... Well, they were more like wooden platforms with an arson. roof and an open end on each side. We had mosquito nets and bunk beds. It was just woods all around us. I seemed to be the only one who had a problem with it, so I didn't say anything. And I forced myself to

close my eyes. I felt somehow a little bit more secure with the net around me. I really didn't make any sense because it was only protective against tiny insects, but I felt like I had a shield somehow. I didn't get much sleep the first night and every time I had a stick crack outside I jolted away. And the second night, the final night came around and everyone was excited about the night hike. The night hike was exactly what it sounds like. We went out for a walk through the woods on a tiny winding path, only perceptible to the camp guide. He went first and then the teachers and students followed in single file holding each other's hand. We had to be silent so we could hear all the sounds of the night.

Needless to say, I was terrified. I mean, it was kind of exciting, but I was scared. I was glad that we were able to hold hands, but I was still talking about a pitch black, middle of nowhere, surrounded by a bunch of other 12-year-old kids kind of night hike. Yes, it was a nightmare waiting to happen. We walked for a while, and a few kids squeaked here and there. when they had strange noises usually chirping sounds erupting from the darkness around us i was pretty

sure that it was just a bird and we finally made it to a clearing the rolling field that stretched about a mile away to another line of pine trees and the moonlight illuminated everything cast a bone-white shine over the grass and the ground seemed to shimmer at certain points It was beautiful and strange. I felt like I was in a dream world, and everyone was silent. I remember the guy talking in a whispered tone about the nocturnal animals and the sounds of the owls in the surrounding trees. I then looked to my right down the steepest slope of the meadow

and stared off into the blackness between the trees on the other side. I felt safe being with my group, so I was comfortable enough to let my mind wander, to darker things. To this day, I don't know why, but I imagined a woman pale as the moonlight in a white nightgown emerging from that dark spot and into the moonlight. She was old and clearly insane.

She was running towards me very fast, and she was screaming, but all her screams were silent. She ran towards us, and her screams turned to cackling. She was utterly deranged, and she was coming right. towards us. My eyes widened. I turned away and buried my face into my friend Karen's back. I started to cry, but she turned to me and shush me. When a teacher came over, pulled me aside and asked if I was all right. A few of my classmates were even giggling at my outbursts.

I then looked back to the hillside and saw nothing. I said I was all right, but the teacher stayed close to me the whole walk back. Well, I didn't sleep at all that night. I knew I must have imagined it, but it was so clear and horrifying that I felt it had to mean something, and at night imagine things seemed very real. I kept my tiny flashlight on inside my sleeping bag and prayed for morning to come.

We packed up the next morning. I went home and never went camping again. I'm 27 years old now, and I still think about that crazy woman in the wood. She's running towards me with fire in her eyes and her white wrinkled skin shines in the moonlight. I don't think I can ever get rid of the image of her. Now, long story made longer. I did some research on the area, and of course there are tons of ghost stories about the sanctuary and the land around it.

Apparently, it has a long history of violence. Originally it was inhabited by the Lenny La Rupi Indians, and there are even the remains of a ceremony. ring on one of the mountains there. To make things worse, European settlers tried to inhabit the area, and tensions between them and the Native Americans led to a bloodbath in 1756. I found a story about

Matthias Schumbacher and his wife who owned a cottage in that area in the 1800s and rented rooms to travellers. A rumours state that many travellers that stayed the night were never seen again. Some that stayed and lived through it reported strange noises in the night, and just an overall feeling of unease.

One man who was brave enough to get close enough to the cottage to spy on the shambuckers claims that he saw Matthias scrubbing blood off of the wall of the barn. Apparently on his deathbed, Matthias confirmed this, confessing to robbing and killing more than 13 travellers. He also said that he committed the murders not just for the money, but because an evil force that resided on the hillside spoke to him, urging him to kill. some if not most of this is probably just rumour or exaggeration but i was surprised by how many stories

there were about paranormal experiences in that forest and that was just the first of the stories i read now i wonder now if i really did imagine the ghostly woman or if in fact i saw her and how could something like that just pop into my young mind the only thing i'm certain of is that i'm glad i didn't know the history of that place while i was there Hey Ontario, come on down to BetMGM Casino and check out our newest exclusive. The Price is Right Fortune Pick. Don't miss out. Play exciting casino games based on the iconic game show. Only at BetMGM.

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It all started when I was nine after my parents separated. Custody was granted to my mother since my father had taken the opportunity to jump ship, probably to start a new family with the tart he'd been having an affair with. Took my mother less than a year to catch another man's fancy, one that went from boyfriend to fiancé in record time. My new stepfather had no interest in children. The longer they were together, the more my mother's focus straight away from her son to keep her new love plump and happy.

Having no friends at school and no desire to be home, I often wandered aimlessly. I enjoyed finding ant hills and reflecting the sunlight with my chip magnifying glass, burning them until their little bodies went pop. Sometimes the head survived. Oh, it was on a day like that on my way back home, and I found a tiny discarded box at the park. Five little matches were inside.

I struck one just like they do in the movies. A small tongue of a flame amused me. It was a nice, tingly feeling. I used two matches on two separate days that week, burning chunks of printer paper in the backyard. It helped me feel better when the days got hard, as though I were burning that day away. Good riddance.

God knows I couldn't turn to my mother. her thoughts were always somewhere else, a place where I didn't matter. Of course, when I'd used the last match on her new carpet, it caught her attention. She forced me to attend a treatment program for young fire starters. But it didn't come home with me. It was two, maybe three a.m. on a Tuesday when I cut across the vacant parking lot, every step as furtive as possible. I was 18 then.

My eyes were locked on the targets. A large industrial bin situated outside a construction site. Impregnating its big red body was an overflow of trash that had accumulated over the week. Perfect, I thought, when I'd spotted it the night before. Simply perfect. Not far away from home, but not too close either. I ducked behind the bin. A deep exhale, seeped out of my lungs.

What a thrill! Like a buried seed deep inside myself, finally cracking open. For years I cultivated that seed. Even as a young boy, I'd burn broken toys, or I'd toss firecrackers in mailboxes. Never once caught, mind you. The only good that came out of middle school for me was learning how to make a flamethrower. All you needed was a can of aerosol spray and a lighter. Discovery that had led to a permanent scar over my left eye and a lack of eyebrows.

Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Pulling a white container out of my jacket, I squeezed. an arc of colourless liquid over the bin's contents. I circled the red rectangular body four times, soaking as much of the compacted waste as possible. Then the coup de grass poured out a box of matches from my jacket, igniting one of them on the striker. I couldn't help but take a moment to appreciate it, how the small flames swayed and danced in the air. With a sharp flick of my finger, I tossed the flame into the marinated pile. There was a a whoosh, followed by a burst of light. The fire erupted out of its throat in a borealis of

orange and yellow. I was in awe, mentally fixated by the growing kingdom, the deep crackling sounds, the new sense scarring the air. At that moment, I knew what true pleasure felt like. Unfortunately for me, the pleasure would be short-lived. While mesmerized by my creation, and I'd failed to notice a different set of lights pull up behind me. On the ground, hands where I can see them. Two officers approached, their weapons drawn. I followed their orders, but it was too late to run. My head was pressed firmly against the asphalt.

My wrists choked with handcuffs. Still, I didn't allow the dancing embers to leave my eyes. I was given six years, four in prison, and two on a supervised license. My first cellmate was tall, bald, somewhere in his thirties and missing an eye. The glass I he once had was confiscated after he was caught trying to smuggle in illegal substances within the socket. He called it his secret pocket. It was evident that I'd never done time before and he took it upon himself to show me some tricks of the trade. Well, salmates I'd have down the road were never as eccentric but thankfully not problematic.

The doors unlocked every morning at a quarter to wait. I was kept from kitchen duty and only given tasks that didn't include fire, well, most of the time, laundry service or warehouse duty. The day-to-day jobs were menial and mundane, but better than sitting in a cell with a dullness gnawing at your skull. Nights were the most difficult. Sleep felt like it was an entirely different span of existence. I could only sit there listening to the echoing footsteps, the awful snoring from the top bunk and the hysterical whales from the psych units. But those weren't what kept my thoughts so active. Oh, it was the withdrawal.

I'd have killed to see that blaze again, how it swelled like a fiery cloud, how it whipped tendrils of smoke into the air. Instead, I was trapped, shivering and dribbling with sweats, begging for that same release. On the day I was discharged, they sent me on my way with $75 in my pocket. Oh, the sky had never looked so blue as that,

day. Finding a job can be difficult for anyone, but for an ex-con it was close to impossible, unless you had connections. Now, give that ex-con a scar above his eye and no left eyebrow, and they may as well be hiring Freddy Frickin' Kruger. Oh, I answered countless ads, collected heaps of applications, and rewrote my resume dozens of times to make it look decent enough, but no amount of polish could soften the blow of the question, have you ever been convicted of a crime? Check no to be considered. Check yes to be tossed into the furnace. There was the deal-breaker. Don't call us, we'll call you.

Freedom is good, but it wasn't long before I realised that the sentence didn't end when the gates opened. Despite the stigmatized cross I was forced to bear, there were always silver linings. When your brain has to adapt to years inside of a barred-up box, it finds any hopeful prospect to cling on to. My mother had left me her apartment and whining lemon of the car. Every room smelled like musty perfume fused with old candle wax. The bed was painfully hard and springy. The ever-building worry rolled around inside me, like a pocket of gas trapped inside a piece of coal.

Just one light. Only one small piece of charred paper in the parking lot would be enough to get through the week. But still, I resisted the urges. I'd successfully eluded it for years now. thanks to time and a lot of behavioural therapy. Whenever the seed started to burn, I knew how to extinguish the flare. Well, miraculously, I was finally able to land an interview.

The hiring position was for a graveyard shift at Hitchhiker's Haven, a family-owned gas station run by a man named Bennett Crawford. I rehearsed the interview dozens of times, drawing up every possible question I'd be asked and a golden answer to count them. Hitchhiker's haven sat along a rural stretch of row between Redmond and sisters, the two closest towns for miles. The rolling green hills and farmland pastures surrounded it.

The faded blue peaks of the cascades were outlined in the distance-like paintings. I met with Crawford, who insisted on being called Ben. The man was no grease monkey, which is what I'd envisioned the gas station owner to be. His deep-set eyes were green and placid. the wide Cheshire grin he wore throughout the meeting didn't waver. I'm sorry for this. Ben started, which made my heart begin to sink. But I have to ask you, what landed you in the iron pan? The question was inevitable, but still startling.

A bit the inside of my cheek. Third-degree arson, sir. Ben's genuine beatific expression didn't fade. Tried to burn your last boss's house to the ground, eh? I rolled my shoulders back. No, sir. I'd never do anything like that, but after what he said to me, I knew I could never work for him again.

What did he say? You're fired. Ben suddenly looked surprised and then chuckled at my joke. I'll give you a pass on that one. That's one thing I respect in the man. It's a sense of humor. The interview shortly ended after that, and we both shook hands. I like, you know what?

You have a nice lie to you. be it the demeaning you carry all that cheeky tongue of yours i fear you be a good fit for us so what do you say want the job i blinked almost blurting out abs of freaking looting but instead settled on yes sir then came the question i'd spent sleepless nights waiting for when can you start sooner the better boss my first night shift started at ten that evening outside the metal canopy looming over the pumps bathed a lot in a fluorescent green glow. It was eerie, like a ghostly light guiding you from the dark stretch of road to an isolated gas station. Why Ben had chosen that colour was beyond me. Not a very inviting glow for hitchhikers. I was given the uniform, a grey, short-sleeved shirt, with H-H printed in bold, lining perfectly over the left pocket. Each hour was four feet wide, arranged in a grid formation

across the interior, not as big as the competitors, but just as convenient. Each of the multi-sided racks was stacked with assorted products from chips and candy to on-the-road vehicle supplies and accessories. LED cooler doors lined the wall across from the register, filled with their assortment of drinks. A plastic mat rested on the counter, designed like a map of Deshute County. Dominating the counter space was a box of jawbreakers, a small stand of keychains in a rack of colorful lighters I knew I'd have to ignore. Ben's grand tour lasted 30 minutes. We went over the nightly responsibilities,

operating the register, restocking shelves and coolers, replacing the bags in the outdoor ice machine and managing a clean workspace. So, Ben said with a slanted look in his eye, think you can manage something like this? I gesture to my notes. I'll be all right.

Good, he smiled. which quickly melted into a ruminating expression. Given your history, I should hope you had one of the crazies. I raised a non-existent eyebrow. What do you mean? The workers I hire for the night shift are good most of the time, but once in a while you'll get one of the crazies. Honestly, you wouldn't believe some of the tales people try to sell to me here.

Either way, here's to hope and son. His face held the vague nuance that there was more to say, but instead he nodded goodbye and left for a good night's sleep hours into my shift at roughly three in the morning a set of headlights slid off the road into the lot four young silhouettes sordered in size none of them could have been more than seventeen or eighteen one of the teens a gauntly-looking one who wore his hair like a young kirkubain led the quarter to the snack-up Periodically, a few of them erupted into a distinct, high-pitched squeal of laughter, like a pack of hyenas. Each of them grabbed a stash of junk foods and formed a mountain on the counter. Cobain covered the bill, his pupils as big as hockey-punks. Something about his glazed, absent-minded expression filled me with bittersweet nostalgia.

I thought about the old days, when life felt so much larger than a box. I thought about the industrial bin and the beautiful fire spewing out of its melting gullent, and then I stopped myself. The other nights that week went as precisely as I'd pictured it, slow and dead. A few faces would occasionally pop in and out, but for the rest of the time, Hitchhiker's haven was a ghost lot dipped in green. I didn't mind the boredom. The pay year was good, the confinement coldly familiar.

I felt like a member of society again, like the word convict. was no longer seared into my forehead. But night owl or not, the weight of deprivation fell heavily on me, which is what happens when one fucks with their circadian clock. To counteract the drowsiness, I often retraced all the items on my to-do list just to keep my thoughts occupied. Clean. Check inventory stocks.

Clean again. I scoured online for survival tips, ate healthier meals, sometimes, and dubbed caffeine my new goal. And then, during one of those nights, it started to rain. Despite the forecast never mentioning a late-night shower, nor there being a speck of humidity in the air, the rain thrummed harshly against the windows and spilled over the canopy in small waterfalls. The automatic doors slid open, and a person inched their way inside. They were wearing a faded blue jacket with the hood pulled down, and their hands shoved in their pockets. They walked with a stiff gait, squeaking their wet shoes along the tiles to the register.

Beneath their hoods, a white face stared at me or rather the suggestion of a face. A vague nose, no mouth whatsoever, and faint depressions where I should be. A creepy, non-distinctive mask. He's any minute now, I'm going to have a gun shoved in my face. Any minute now, I thought. unable to hide the apprehension in my face. The person raised one of their equally pale hands from their pockets, dropped change on the plastic mat,

and reached for the box of jawbreakers. Their white rigid fingers curved and almost seemed a lock as they lifted it out by the plastic wrapper. The bundle of wet waters and pennies he'd left for me glinted from the overhead lights. The exact change for a jawbreaker. His candy in hand, he turned around, walk stiffly back to the door, retracing every water print. When the doors slid closed behind

him, his vague outline passed between the green-tinged pumps and sank into the night's dark pellicle. I let out an eased breath, thankfully hadn't whipped out a gun from his pocket and demanded everything from the register. But that didn't explain the mask. Why wear something like that if you weren't going to rob the place? As I sat there and pondered on it, I'd realised that the The rain had ceased. It wasn't difficult to get my bearings back for the rest of the ship. In prison you saw all kinds of weird shit and crazies to go along with it. Was this what Ben had warned me about?

I shrugged at the thought. Every nocturnal job had its share of freaks waiting for the sun to go down. Why would a lonesome gas station be any difference? Whatever the case, I was confident I could stomach what hitchhiker's haven would throw at me. I hope so anyway. During another particularly dead hour with no customers, I busied myself with a second round of cleaning everything in sight. It was either that or watch the coffee dribble into the pots.

I moved the plastic mat off the counter, realizing I'd never cleared the dust from beneath it. Something was written into the countertop, carved by way of a knife into its surface. Don't talk to it. I ran a finger along the deep. grooves of the message or rather the warning. A week of normality then passed before the next downpour. I was ringing up a few items, Advil and five-hour energy shots for a red-eyed trucker.

Together we heard the muffled applause of rain on the roof. Ah shit, the man whined, scrunching up his lip hair. He still umbrellas too? I shook my head. Sorry. He huffed and I had the watery skim that dribbled down the windows. "'Ah, bullshit weather. You just can't predict them, can you?' He took his things and beeline toward the semi, veering back to the dark stretch of road. Once he'd left, the doors glided open once again. A faded blue jacket stepped inside, the same man from before.

He approached the front desk, one firm step at a time. A pungent whiff of damp clothes wafted off him, soaking wet again from the rain. echoing the first time his pale hand left his pocket and rested the wet change on the mat. Beneath his hood, the featureless man poked out, a sheen of light on his moist, non-existent expression, the same mask as before. Water dribbled off his fingers as he dropped the change, plucked out another jawbreaker and returned to the exit, transparent footmarks trailing behind him.

After that, the grey haze of bulls. boredom that had once fogged the night shift was gone. Whether it was one week or every other week, the man always appeared. He'd saunter inside, completely waterlogged, leave the exact change, and take a jawbreaker. Always a jawbreaker. The way he walked was especially strange to me, almost lifeless, not in the undead sense, but more akin to a sleepwalker. As bizarre as it all was, the man wasn't especially difficult to deal with. Strange, yes, but not a taller hassle. In a minute, he'd walk in and then back to the heavy rain, returning to God knows where.

Congratulations, Ben. You found yourself a regular customer. In addition to the already weird repetition of it all, there was something else I couldn't explain. Moments before the man arrived, on the dot it would always rain. No matter how bone dry it was prior, the storm would come sudden and hard, only stopping after he'd left. Sometimes in minutes, other times in twenty. Too often for coincidence, but too crazily timed to be sane. Every so often I'd lift the mat and stare at the words chiseled into the counter.

Don't talk to it. Probably left by one of the last graveyard workers here. of the crazies as Ben put it. They were no doubt talking about Mr. Noface, though calling it seemed too dramatic. He must have really got to them. But a job was a job and in my position I was not apt for many preferences. I do what it took to keep it. It wasn't long for the rain to come back harder than ever. The gas station's exterior moaned as the wind howled in an almost whisper through the slide doors. Without fail the man walked in with his rigid gate, drenched. But when he reached the register, there was no

change out of his pocket or jawbreaker picked out of the box. This time was different, astray from the usual routine. He bored his rigid white fingers into a tight fist and slammed it against the plastic mat. Boom! The foreshook the counter's flat surface and vibrated the register. The countertop merchandise shivered in their display. one of the keychains fell from the stand, a grey cat, winking at me. Before I could react to the ashen-toned fist rose again and fiercely dropped. The stand of light as toppled onto my side of the counter, their transparent bodies scattering near my feet. Then, from the still plaster wall face, the hollow voice spoke out that left a sharp ringing in the air, as though it were made of glass.

relax. Would you like to see my face? What? The word blurted out of me, too late to reel back in. I was caught off guard, not expecting a question, let alone a sudden tantrum to come from him. At that moment I'd broken the golden rule of hitchhiker's haven, carved gravely into its bedroom. The man stood there only a moment longer before the parts of his blank face began to move. His pale cheeks, the vague nose, both eye depressions extended outward moving like an insect's plated skin beneath them a gaping mask sank inward like a tunnel its walls layered and glistening with twitching blackish mold a never-ending throat where white fragments of light pulsated like trapped stars

my eyes went vacant I couldn't stop staring at them a sense of distress raced down my spire. I could feel the cords of my neck straining to make me turn my head, but it wouldn't budge. The lights within its mildewy void gleamed in rich, beckoning gestures, a universe of deep colors that wanted me, every thought, every particle of myself, and for that moment I felt myself started to sink into its depths. But something kept me tethered, something starved and soaked in kerosene. I managed to tear my eyes away. grabbed a lighter and pulled a can of aerosol from one of the cabinets. Without thinking I flicked on the small flame and pressed a finger on the can.

A bright jet of orange reached out and fluttered over the cavernous pitch of its face. Whatever hellish material it was made out of, caught immediately, and fire smothered its head and latched onto the faded jacket. It floundered backward, batting fruitlessly at the spreading flames. No screams came from it, but an awful. high-pitched ringing was stabbing my ears. Thunder bellowed outside in an ululating rumble. It toppled over one of the aisles, lighting up all the bags and products around it.

After it burning odours filled the air, and admittedly the hint of a smile crept up my lips. The rising smoke reached the fire sprinklers and set them off. Water ejected out of their flower-shaped heads and soaked the whole area. As the flames dampened, the blackened The blackened The blackened figure got back to his feet And hobbled through the exit I moved to chase after it

But by the time I stepped outside It was gone Evaparated with the pouring rain Tried as I have There's no coming to terms With what transpired that night Or whatever demented thing It was that I'd seen

It made my brain feel loose Slowly teetering between total numbness In a manic episode Bennett Crawford did not believe me, nor did I expect him to, and did not hesitate to press charges for the damages. In the span of a single night, I joined the ranks in his book of crazies. Given my track record, I was labelled as a repeat offender, a new title for the Pyromaniac. The hearing will be sometime next week, and until then, I can only wait until the gavel comes down. I still dream about those colours sometimes.

They're still imprinted somewhere in my consciousness, beckoning for me to go back there. Whatever it is they wanted from me, they were still calling. Will the next person Ben Heyer see the man with no face? Or will it bide its time, waiting for the right stuff to pop the question to? Would you like to see my face?

Yes. Show me your face. Show me those colours, burn them all over again. Hitchhiker's Haven will go up in smoke when I'm through with it. Then where will you go? Wherever it is, I'm sure it'll be raining. I remember it was grade school when I first met the twins. Even in first grade, they had the latest phones and claimed they had bank accounts.

They had a driver bring in fast food from nearby nearly every day, until the school made it a policy, stating over the loudspeaker that, no outside food will be allowed during lunchtime. Naturally, everyone wanted to be friends with them because they had everything. And at that age, ownership of the newest Game Boy or PS2 game, or virtually having an entire Lego Palace in your house, made you pretty popular. One particular day in seventh grade, I remember showing them my action replay,

which is pretty much a hack for the handheld Nintendo DS, and hacking them any Pokemon they wanted into their diamond version. That day, we started our long-lasting friendship that started with something as small as a cheat for a video game. We lived in a pretty small town. There was only one or two options for high school, so, as you can imagine, most of us from grade school ended up in the same high school.

At this point, I learned that their father was the owner of a big bank branch and several small companies. That explained the lavish lifestyle they lived throughout the grade school and pretty much their entire lives. I wasn't their friend for the money, but I can't lie and say it wasn't a nice addition to my life. I ended up being pretty much their closest friend, and they weren't shy about giving me a taste of their life. At first, I was reluctant to dine with them in high-quality restaurants or shop with them at designer stores, with the offer that my entire bill will be paid, because it felt like I was leaching off them.

Eventually, though, I became comfortable with it. I was pretty much a part of their family. Their parents were never around much, cliche, I know, and the friends they had never stuck around too long, because most of them were obviously just in it for the money. It wasn't without reason, though. The twins were cocky and very outgoing, which made them more approachable, but at the same time it added to the rich asshole persona that drove a lot of people off.

Hanging out with them for a long time, though, I learned that they were genuinely likable. Funny to be around and caring people at heart. When a classmate that they barely knew ended up being diagnosed with brain cancer, they put a load of money towards their recovery process without hesitation. I grew even closer to them during high school. hanging out with them nearly every day when we graduated we ended up going to different colleges unexpectedly they ended up getting into Yale while I decided to go to community college for a few years to save on money we all agreed that we

definitely needed to stay in touch but unfortunately as most of us know that's harder than it seems sometimes and we ended up drifting apart for most of the year Closing in on the end of the year, I received a call from them. They said it had been too long since we'd seen each other, and that we should do an end-of-year trip to reconcile. I thought that was a great idea, especially seeing as they offered to pay for it. At first, I thought they wanted to fly out somewhere,

but they'd been to so many different countries before. Surprisingly, they've never been to another state before they went to college. So, we decided to take road trips every year, at the end of the year to take a different state by car. We ended up doing these trips for all four years of college, each time going across country to a different place. In the fourth year, we travelled out to Florida and had some massive parties. We could make the drive back home in a day, but the car ride was grueling. One of the twins, let's call him Harris. was driving and me and the other twin Gabe were drinking beers in the back we were about an hour

away from home and it was eleven o'clock at night pitch black outside we were driving down a stretch of two lane roads and we spotted a figure on the side of the road waving his hand out harris instantly made me pull over but my body filled with dread i'd read plenty of you of no sleep and I'd scared the shit out of myself with horror movies and well this seemed like the exact start to one of those stories I told Harris not to pull over that this man could potentially be dangerous but he just laughed and slowed the car to a halt in front of the person he opened the window on the passenger side and the man leaned his head in the window now illuminated by the car lights he was a dark-skinned man with a bald head

and strong facial features. I could see that he was wearing a black button up with the top two buttons undone and a purple tie slung over his shoulder. He was visibly sweating and looked pretty dishevelled in general, which was probably due to the heat that night. God bless you. I've been waiting here looking for someone to pick me up for hours now, he said. Harris looked sympathetic. How did you end up out here? The man wiped his forehead on his shirt. Oh, I drove out for some business I had to do. I'm connected with the church, and I had to help the church in this town with some classes.

I was heading down this road, and I saw an accident. Naturally, I came over to help. But the two guys ended up pulling guns on me and driving my car away, which had everything in it. That was about three hours ago, and I've been walking down here since. I don't know if it was the alcohol. But I sure didn't believe this man. His story sounded too convenient. His occupation was too convenient.

There was something sinister going on. Apparently Harris didn't share the same thoughts on. He stretched over and opened the passenger side without any hesitation. And, just like that, we had a hitchhiker. I glanced over at Gabe to gauge his reaction. He was dead asleep. He drunk way more than I had. I was heavily on edge. It wasn't like he was menacing. In fact, the way he talked in the car about his life in a strangely soothing tone was almost relaxing. Nonetheless, I was checking his every move and ready to spring out the car the first chance I got.

On reflection, I was definitely overreacting. and like I said this was probably due to the alcohol I didn't even notice when the car stopped and I looked out of the window to see my house I'm dropping you off first since your house is closer Harris said it was true the town in which the man claimed to live was at least 20 minutes away from hours I looked pleadingly at Harris without wanting to verbally make it clear

that I did not want him in the car alone with that man I got nothing back but an eye roll. Okay, call me as soon as you get home, I said to him, reluctantly exiting the car. I felt a cold grip on my wrist. The man had turned around and grabbed my hand through the gap between the seat and the door, smiling at me. Bless your soul. Thank you for helping me out tonight.

At the time, those words sounded as sinister. as if he'd threatened to murder my entire family. I said nothing and departed into my house. Now, I'd like to say I was eaten up by worry, and I ended staying awake all night to wait for a call for my friends. But that would be a straight-up lie. My foggy, intoxicated brain couldn't handle much more, and I pretty much glided into bed that night.

I'll never forget the dream I had that night, though. The passing years have proved that this type of thing doesn't just erase from your brain. My dream was a blurry highway. It was like I was looking at a video shot from a bird's eye view camera, but there was fog all over the lens when it was shot. The view seemed to slowly move down the highway until it stopped on a familiar car, the twins car. The camera seemed to zoom in slowly to the car, but the lights were out and nothing could be seen out of nowhere a blood curdling near-in-human scream came from the car i will never forget this scream simply because i'd never heard anything like it before so i couldn't comprehend how i was hearing it in my dream it was utterly primal and laced with fear then a pair of red eyes stared at the camera

as if they knew I was intruding on the scene. I woke up that morning in a very cold sweat. I remember the dream extremely vividly. Ignoring the splitting headache that was gnawing at my head as a reminder that large quantities of alcohol are not fun to deal with the day after, I texted both of the twins. Ten minutes passed, no response. I tried calling each of them four or five times.

again no response i hopped in my car and stopped in front of their massive manor house i buzzed at the gate but to no avail i was downright panicking now if they didn't answer by tonight i was definitely going to call the police that evening i called one last time before i headed down to the police station hello Gabe's voice came through the receiver. A wave of relief washed over me. Jesus Christ, dude. I thought you guys died. Why the hell didn't you answer anything I was sending? I could hear Gabe chuckling.

Of course it was funny to him. Ah, I was knocked out until an hour ago, and Harris couldn't find his phone. Must have left it back in Florida. I was literally a minute away from going to the police station man. You didn't even answer your buzzer. I could imagine a shrug came along with this answer. Harris was a fucking wreck.

You know how much that phone is to him. He probably didn't even care that someone was there. The incident was never spoken about again in the next two years. In fact, I'd forgotten about the entire thing, even temporarily about the dream. Me and the twins didn't really speak much after we all graduated. We moved on to separate lives. Yeah, that happens sometimes.

Nothing lasts forever. I always remembered them, though, because they still occasionally came back to that beautiful manner that I drove past quite often. One day, though, driving home past the manor, I was surprised to see police cars surrounding the place. Curiosity and even a bit of fear overwhelming me. I slowed down and pulled up.

nearby. Was there a break-in? Maybe one of them could even have got an attack by a rival company of their fathers. I had to know. I stepped out of the car and walked to the group of police cars blocking the entrance to the house. What happened here? I asked an officer that was standing watch on the street. Do you reside or work here? he asked. I frowned. No, I'm an old close friend of the twins. The officer looked interested now. He muttered something incoherent into his walkie-talkie and motioned me to follow him. You mind coming with me for a few minutes. I was confused but obliged. I had no reason not to. That's when everything really began to turn upside down. I ended up going down to the police station with an officer and he started questioning me about the personality and nature

of the twins, not giving me any insight into what had happened. I told him as truthfully as I could. They were wild, but not bad people, generous even. The officers seemed to write this down, and left me alone in the room for about ten minutes. Then he came back and explained the situation. A couple of weeks ago, we got a report from the next town over that they needed us for help in a case. The fisherman had taken his boat out near a swamp He found something floating in the water He reeled it in and it was in fact a severed human head Nearly reduced to a skull

My stomach sank One of the twins had died and in a terrible way I instantly felt the beginning of tears creeping up to my eyes It was reported and eventually the officers did an extensive search of the the area and they found a body buried nearby. It was hard to identify, but we eventually matched it back to someone who'd been missing for a while, a priest. Hmm, now I was confused again. So it wasn't one of them. How was this relevant to the twins? We managed to get DNA from the body and we found a massive amount of Harris and Gabe's DNA at the scene.

I felt dizzy. You think they killed them? They're some of the kindest people I know. That's straight up ridiculous. I was in denial. There was no way they'd killed anyone. I knew them better than their damn parents did, and murder was completely beyond them.

But then, a little gear clicked in my head. I remembered the hitchhiker. I remembered leaving them alone in the car and the casual smile on Harris's face. I remembered the dream with the scream of a voice I didn't know and I felt sick. If I had eaten that day I would have thrown up everything in my stomach. Instead, I just sat there, paralyzed. I told the officer what I knew. For the next few days I was insanely depressed.

I didn't go to work. I didn't eat or drink much. I didn't even leave the house. Were my two childhood friends really murderers? There was just no way that they could be. There was no reason for them to do it. Neither of them had shown even a slight violent tendency in their entire life, well, as far as I'd seen.

The trial came up. they were being accused of first-degree murder i was going to testify that i could put them at the scene of the crime that night i think the only reason i did it was because i had to know it was eating me up inside and killing my entire life i thought that my childhood best friends were murderers that day at the trial was an unforgettable one and Harris walked in with the same smirks on their faces that they held nearly every single day of their life, not showing any fear, remorse, or even anger, just pure cockiness. They sat in front of the judge with the same smirk the entire time the prosecutor was talking,

and even their own defence life. Then it came time for them to speak. Harris rose. That day was beautiful. As soon as we saw him on the side of the road, I knew we were going to murder it. His smirk had died down to a genuine smile that glazed his eyes and brought a look of euphoria to his face. My blood ran cold. The man babbled on about his situation, but I could just imagine slicing him open while he was talking.

So it was a bit hard to focus. It's sometimes so hard to restrain myself from doing what I love the most, but it's worth it. The drive after that was pure torture. I dropped our friend off, and we started off to the poor man's town. There was a dark highway, and I pretended that I hid an animal in the middle of the road. I rushed out of the car, and I was acting worried and concerned. So the priest came to get a better look. He was confused when he saw nothing, but he didn't have my heart.

time to think when Gabe came from behind him with a metal pipe. We keep that in the back of our car for emergencies, you know. Gabe was smirking harder than ever, and I felt sick. Oh, he really did a number on that guy's head. His skull busted open and I could even see his beautiful little brain. After that, we took him to the back seat for the pleasantry. Now, I'm not really into other guys, but corpses really get me turned on like nothing else. Then I got the knife, and I started gouging at it, just for the fun of it, you know? What's the fun in getting a new toy and not playing with it? But, like most new toys, I ended up getting really bored of it.

Eventually, I started working at the head and pretty much for it. ripped it off from the spine. Oof, it was crazy. Gabe chimed in. Hey, bullshit, I helped. You barely did anything. Harris rolled his eyes, as though what he was talking about was trivia.

Anyhow, we ended up burying the body and dumping the head in some swamp. Crushed the teeth so I could have a little one-on-one time with his mouth. And then, we left. We got a little caught up. in the act so we ended up spending a lot more time than we hoped to out there everyone in the

courtroom was silent even the lawyers and judge couldn't find a word to say i felt like i was going to black out i was smart i didn't need anything that morning but i still felt as though my stomach was going to empty out whatever was left in there at all costs i closed my eyes as tears started to leak out. This was a nightmare. Harris broke the silence again. What he said this time, well, I'll spare you the entire thing.

I'm getting nauseated thinking about every little detail that he provided for the three other murders he'd committed. Twenty-two-year-old girl in California. They grabbed her at a concert, cut out her tongue and stabbed her four times in the throat. They threw a body down onto the rocks below. Twenty-five-year-old girl in Chicago. Harry stabbed her to death in the bathroom of a nightclub,

and they snuck her body out through a window. They beat her corpse to unimaginable lengths and left her in a dumpster. A thirty-year-old in Vegas. They punctured her throat with her own high heels. and forced her to swallow shards of a martini glass, before drowning her in a hotel room top, a cold dread crept up my entire body. I saw black spots in my vision and tried to blink them away.

I was with them on every one of those trips. As if reading my mind, Harris turned to me. He smiled another genuine grin. Every single time, our friend was with us. In California, we lost him at the concert and told to him minutes later after murdering that sweet girl. Chicago, he was drunk in the car when we had Ashley's dead body in the trunk. And Vegas? He grinned even harder.

I dropped a little thing called Ropenhol in his drink, and we killed her. Not even ten feet away from him. While he was dead asleep, I rushed out the courtroom with my head in a blur and headed to the bathroom. I vomited up everything that was left in my stomach and lay on the cold, dirty tile next to the toilet. I felt another wave of nausea and everything faded to black. Apparently, I had fainted due to stress and woke up in a hospital bed. no permanent damage nothing wrong with me

well aside from the obvious I found out the two had been convicted on every murder because they had provided the locations of the bodies and the injuries match completely with Harris's account I didn't go back to the court to testify

I didn't need to four life sentence were given out to each of them in the next few weeks and apparently they were still smirking when they were given the maximum sentence in a maximum security prison. The two were never going to see the outside world for the rest of their lives. I was horrified at first.

I had been present for every single murder. No legal action would be taken against me, but just the thought made it enough that I was unable to get any sleep for the next month. I went to work every day like a zombie. I was losing weight. I was depressed. I don't know how, but I did get over it. I couldn't sit and live in despair my entire life. That would have meant that they'd won.

They wanted to torture me. They wanted to break me like they did to their victims. But I wouldn't let them. Sometimes, I wonder if they were always like this. Or did something change them? I've come to the conclusion that they had to be like this the entire time. I think the evil had to be lurking inside them, waiting for a single opportunity to present itself to the world.

This story didn't hit the media, of course. Money controls this world, and someone like their father isn't going to let a small stain like this ruin his perfect company. Anyone who wasn't in the courtroom that day wouldn't know a thing. I wonder exactly how much money he lost covering up this entire thing. He didn't show at the trial and didn't make a statement. As far as the world knew, those twins had no connection to him. It's been years since that day in the courtroom, and I've moved on,

for the sake of myself and everyone that the twins hurt. I have a good life. I have a family. It sounds cliche, but I was goddamn. am blessed to still have my life. They never showed any hostility towards me, never showed any signs. But they could have killed me plenty of times. I had no guard around them. Like I said, I've moved on for the most part. And still, there are always late nights. When I'm sitting up in bed unable to sleep, I start to feel terror.

My mind starts to race, and the dread creeps up on me like vines curling up my skin. I never told them about the dreams. I remembered them when I woke up in the hospital. Not just that one night, no. I had a dream during every single trip, specifically the nights when the murders occurred. Every time the setting was different, one near a cliff, one in a bathroom, One in a hotel room.

Every time the scream was different. But the red eyes were always the same. The deer with the glassy eye. When Todd awoke, he was lying on a bed of dead leaves and pine needles. Above him he saw a canopy of tree branches that were swaying in a light breeze. He sat up and grogily rubbed his eyes. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was spending a night out with his friends.

peculiarly he found himself unable to recall how much time had elapsed between then and the present not merely as if he blacked out from drinking to excess or anything like that no he found that he was uncertain of whether what he remembered had occurred hours ago days ago or even years ago actually time seemed somehow meaningless to him as though the fabric of it had blended together and each moment was indistinguishable from the next the night air was cool and fragrant he could hear the call of an owl in the distance and crickets chirped from the surrounding undergrowth he felt around in his pockets for anything useful but found them empty since he was completely and utterly lost he figured there was nothing other to do than begin walking and hope he encountered

civilization his legs felt heavy as if they were made of lead but he strained to lift them and gradually the feeling disappeared he was frustrated to find that whatever forest he was in was dense enough and large enough that he was unable to see anything other than the trees in any direction. It looked upwards, hoping to find some bearing among the stars, but quite oddly there appeared to be none. Perhaps the sky was simply overcast, he thought, but he had a strange feeling of emptiness within himself while looking at it. The moon was perhaps even more jarring than the absence of stars,

for it was larger than he'd ever seen, and it glowed with a crimson hue. In fact it was so unusual, he supposed to be. it might be an entirely different moon than the one he was familiar with. That was impossible. Even if that were the case, where would he be then? The edges of it seemed to almost fade into the black abyss around it, and its surface seemed to swirl and lack definition,

almost as if it had been painted onto the inky backdrop of the sky. No, and now they look closer. He found that the swirls were moving, undulating, as if they were parts of an entity, or even as if the whole orb was alive or burning with a fire of its own. Was this strange place only part of a dream? It couldn't be. Everything was far too vivid.

Every tiny detail, from the sensation of the wind chilling his skin to the sounds of the night that he heard around him, so incredibly real. Yet in a way they also felt artificial. Something about all of it was wrong, very wrong. He couldn't place his finger on, why exactly, but it felt like a facade, like everything around him might fall apart at any moment and reveal something monstrous. Perhaps it had already revealed itself, or was in plain sight,

and he was blind to it. Either way, he felt tense and on guard. He tried to push his worried thoughts to the back of his mind. All that mattered now was finding a way home. In any case, he surmised the moon's light was the reason he could see everything so clearly. If he could even call the strange thing in the sky a moon the alien sphere was not as radiant as the sun he knew but still bright enough to provide almost complete visibility and he was grateful for that at least Todd had once enjoyed looking at the constellations on pleasant nights he'd take a chair out on the porch and sit for hours just admiring their majesty he had to bring a chair outside because all of the outdoor furniture had been virtually destroyed by the ravages of time the entire

home was only a short while from crumbling into an uninhabitable shell. He couldn't afford to fix it, so eventually it would. When his mother had died, she left the house to him in her will. He'd left his apartment in a bustling downtown area to move back in. Oh, it pained him to see his child at home as faded and decrepit as it was. His mother had been really too old to take care of it for years, but it was larger than his tiny, cramped single-room apartment, and it saved him money not to pay rent every month. Also, he liked the relative isolation of it. At least he had before, but now it felt incredibly lonely. His brother was older by five years. He was certainly the more successful sibling in everyone's eyes. He was a wealthy doctor and business owner that lived in a

modern mansion not far from the old house. It was a beautiful home, especially when compared to the looming ruin of what once was that his brother inhabited. Todd hadn't done any stargazing recently. Not only did he not have time for it, but it also no longer brought him the joy it once had. Even though he felt that where he was and what was happening were real, Todd continued to hope that he was dreaming, that he'd wake up in his bed and return to his mundane life. Sure he'd been struggling after his recent breakup with his girlfriend of four years, and had been stuck in a terrible dead-end job which hardly paid him the minimum wage. And true, it felt like every part of his life was, meaning.

with everything dying and decaying around him. But all of those problems and feelings seemed so trivial now. At least he was familiar with all of them, and he thought maybe things would get better eventually. What he was experiencing now was terrifyingly unknown. Todd recalled getting lost once before, when he was young. Back then he lived with his parents in the same house he occupied now. But it was new then.

The home had always been close to a dense national forest. his mother and father had adopted him as a baby after his biological mother had hung herself she'd been suffering from postpartum depression at least that's what he was told he'd been given a lot of freedom as a child and the woods were his favorite place to play he'd always felt a sort of connection to them one day he dared to delve into them further than he ever had before he was feeling adventurous and though he was vaguely afraid that he wouldn't be able to find his way back home his adolescent mind con included that, as long as he kept walking the same way, he could always walk the opposite way to get back. He remembered encountering a clearing and finding a deer standing in his. He had been in awe of it. To him it had looked so big and powerful. His fur looked soft and silky, and Todd had wished he could pet it. The deer was unfazed by his presence, and his eyes studied the boy. They were big and remarkably shiny, so shiny in fact that they looked as he could pet it.

if they were made of glass. Eventually it grew bored and bounded off back into the trees. After the shock and amazement had worn off, Todd realised that he couldn't recall which way he'd been walking. And he panicked and began screaming, tears streaming down his face. He ran pointlessly through the undergrowth, tipping several times on protruding roots and rocks. His eyes were clamped shut.

When he opened them, by some miracle, he found he could see his house in the distance. Todd had always liked to think that he had a guardian angel, something of the sort, that had protected him that day. But once he moved out and his life had declined, that idea quickly left him. After he walked for what seemed like ages, the forest was still thick and unyielding all around him. The feeling in his legs had long since returned, but this time at least he could place exhaustion as the cause. He'd nearly given up hope when his ears picked up a sound they hadn't known. noticed before. It seemed to be some sort of music coming from somewhere off in the distance.

Elated, Todd began bounding in the direction he'd heard it coming from. It grew louder as the trees began to thin, and he started to make out a brightly lit building in the distance. As he drew nearer, it became clear that the building was a diner. When he reached the front doors, he saw people inside. The place seemed to be bustling with activity. As he entered, a little bell rang, and he could see some patrons seated at booths and tables. Others were dancing around an old jukebox, playing loudly in the corner, which must have been worried heard the music coming from.

Or just seat yourself, a warm voice called from somewhere behind the front counter. Todd welcomed the opportunity to rest his weary muscles and sat down on one of the brightly coloured bench seats. After a moment a waitress approached the table. Can I get you started with something to drink? She asked cheerfully. Todd couldn't place it, but something about her felt odd, even malevolent.

She looked like a perfectly nice middle-aged lady. Her open hair was slightly greying and her uniform was pastel pink in colour, but he couldn't suppress the sense that something was wrong. Um, maybe some water, thanks, he said shakily. The waitress nodded, gave him a smile and was about to retreat behind the counter again, but he spoke and said, Wait, actually, I'm afraid I don't know where I am. He said, all right if I use your phone.

Of course, she said. Come up to the counter. You can use the one there. He walked over and she pulled out a rotary phone and sat it next to him. Todd was surprised he hadn't seen one of these phones in years. Oh well, he thought. He supposed it works just as well as any other phone. He picked it up and decided to dial his brother.

the fact that he lived so close was what made Todd feel he was a person to call. Todd had no clue where he was, so that fact wasn't necessarily helpful, but his panic mind overlooked that, and he concluded his brother was probably the best person he could rely on to come and pick him up. He realised as the phone rang that he didn't even know where to tell his brother he was located. If he was able to swing by and pick Todd up, that information would, of course, be vital.

He shouted for the waitress, but, She either didn't hear him or didn't pay him any mind. After several rings, someone seemed to answer on the other end, but nothing came out of the receiver but static. He frowned and tried calling again, then calling his mother, both with the same result. Even calling emergency services yielded nothing. Dejectedly, he put the phone down. Todd pondered his options.

He could wait for the waitress to return and ask for directions, he supposed, or he could leave and simply begin walking in the direction he'd been headed before and hoped to find somewhere with a working means of communication. Well, he eventually reasoned that he might as well at least ask the waitress if she could give him directions before blindly heading out into the darkness again. He sat back down and closed his eyes. He was tired, so very tired. He became aware, however, that the feeling of dread within him was growing.

Something about the music coming from the jukebox seemed more sinister than before, and opening his eyes the dancers seemed more frantic rapidly swinging stepping around at a frenzied pace the diner before strongly illuminated was now filled with dark shifting shadows he felt his chest seize up and his breathing became shallow and laboured sweat began dripping down his forehead the people seated at the other booths and tables were all sombre he now noticed none of them were actually eating food either they weren't crying or showing me much of any emotion, rather, they were perfectly calm. Still, he felt an overwhelming wave of their sorrow crashed down upon him. They were all hopeless, full of despair, but acceptant of what was to come. Or what their fates had led them to, whatever that was. Wanting to escape the horrible gloom and rising fear he felt, he darted out the doors. Todd didn't know where he was running to, nor did he care. He only wished to be further from that diner.

Around him, the forest before filled with the sounds of nocturnal life, was totally silent. The air felt almost frigid. All he could hear were his heavy footsteps, and the branches of the trees above being thrown about by the wind. Yes, he could hear the wind too. He thought it sounded changed, but now it sounded like a loud, overpowering chorus of mournful whales. He closed his eyes, just as he had years before, and prayed. A single tear escaped and rolled down his cheek. Somehow, when he opened them, he found himself walking along a dirt path. He paused for a second and pondered how ridiculous that was.

He hadn't moved an inch yet there was now a clear trail beneath his feet. As far as he could see in the red moonlight, the trail extended limitlessly in the distance. Todd chuckled at the absurdity of it all, a laughter that was tinged with desperation. He decided he might as well walk along it. After all, he had to have found himself on that particular trail for a reason. Nothing made sense for him anymore anyways. After walking for a while, he came upon a strange sight, a child standing ahead of him, staring at him.

As he got closer, he realised that it wasn't just any child. It looked exactly like, himself almost 30 years younger at the age when he'd first gotten lost in the forest the trail fought two ways slightly further along than where he saw the boy standing as Todd approached the child began walking toward him once he reached Todd he grabbed his hand Todd was thoroughly confused but felt strangely calm at the same time the boy said come with me it was definitely the same voice he'd had as a child or at least he thought so, but with a cold, emotionless tone.

Still, he felt at peace. The boy led him down one of the forks. Todd wasn't sure how far they walked when they came to something else blocking the path. It was the deer from years before. It was suddenly all he could see, the majestic deer, the silky, soft deer, the deer with glassy eyes.

But something wasn't right. His fur was speckled with red and his body was horrifically mangled. Then he saw it begin to rapidly rot away, just like everything else he knew. It disintegrated into a skeleton within a moment. Todd felt chills run over his entire body and didn't understand what he'd just seen or why he'd seen it. But he closed his eyes and felt the child's hand continued to lead him forwards. Todd suddenly heard a rushing noise, sensing that his hand was no longer being held, he stopped abruptly.

At first he couldn't quite place what the noise was. However, when he opened his eyes, he was delighted to find that he could see a highway less than a hundred yards away. He exclaimed in joy, but as he began sprinting towards the road, his movement became slower and slower as his body was gripped by fatigue.

Ah, he was so close, his mind and thoughts began to get blurry. Like the last embers of a burning log, his memories were being exceasing, distinguished one by one. He somehow managed to reach the highway, I saw a myriad of car speeding by. He attempted to flag someone down,

hoping to get a ride home. He couldn't recall where home was at the moment. He just somehow knew he'd end up there. Surprisingly, a black limousine pulled off onto the shoulder almost immediately. He'd expected to wait for at least a few minutes, since he thought most people weren't that fond of hitchhikers, especially ones as disheveled as he must have been.

Frankly, he hadn't been certain anyone would stop at all. He also thought it was amusing that this was a limousine. He just wanted to get out of this place. In what vehicle he did it, he hadn't cared. He began to feel oddly at ease, as something uncontrollable compelled him to open one of the doors and sit inside. The partition was rolled down, and the chauffeur in front of him was wearing a hood which obscured his face.

Still, he knew. somehow that he would get to where he needed to go, wherever that was. Funny, the highway around him was now full of black limousines just like this. He now felt content, but still incredibly weary. Unable to stave off the feeling anymore, his eyelids soon shut and an empty darkness enveloped him. Todd was slumped on an armchair. He was located in the sitting area of the suite he'd booked for himself after his night out. He'd wanted somewhere quiet, private and comfortable to end his life. He'd also wanted his body discovered relatively quickly. He hated the idea of it going on notice for a long time. He'd wanted to look like himself, to be recognisable when everybody

saw what was left of him. It also seemed more dignified that way. He didn't wish to scar the minds of his family or friends, though, so we hope that staying in the hotel would mean he was discovered sooner, and the staff probably wouldn't be as traumatised. The suite was perfect. It was a beautiful set of rooms, and while it was expensive to rent them, he'd figured out there was no harm in it. After all, money wouldn't mean anything to him soon anyways. In his hand was a revolver. There were five rounds still in the chamber. Only one was missing. That one bullet shot after several minutes of hesitation had been enough to finish the job. A cleaning lady that happened to be passing by

entered the room after hearing the gunshots. It took her a moment to process the grizzly sight, the image of it imprinted on her mind. Once a sheer shock had worn off, she screamed and clasped to the floor and began sobbing in horror. Her cries attracted attention from both staff members and other guests. A crowd of gawking onlook

who soon flooded the hallway, and the police arrived mere minutes later. They were accompanied by paramedics, but it was quickly apparent, that there was nothing that they could do. After processing the scene, officers slid Todd's corpse into a body band. An autopsy would be conducted in the morning,

but it was really only a formality. It was apparent to everyone that Todd Greenwald had shot himself, holding the gun to the roof of his mouth and firing. But what wasn't apparent was that Todd hadn't died after pulling the trigger, at least not completely. For a short while, he'd smoldered. Not alive or conscious in this world, but perhaps conscious and alive in another sense, in another place.

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