Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S3 Ep119: Episode 119: Horror stories beyond explanation

Episode Date: March 31, 2023

To get 20% off sitewide at www.exploreroam.com and use the code ‘Dungeon’ at check-out. Today’s opening offering is ‘Why Vera Doesn’t Jog at Night Anymore’, an original story by Scribaphobia, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all. user/scribaphobia/ Tonight’s second story is ‘To the Future Buyer of This House, You Need to Know Why The Closet Door is Boarded Shut.’, an original story by J.P. Marley, again kindly shared with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all.  user/jpmarley/ Today’s fantastic penultimate offering is ‘Killing My Childhood Monster Was Easier Than I Thought’, an original work by nerdxcorexneal, once morekindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all. user/nerdxcorexneal/ Today’s final phenomenal story is ‘I Painted Something That Shouldn't Exist’, an original work by Amelie C. Langlois, again kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all. user/AmelieCLanglois/

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please contact Connix Ontario at 1866-531-2600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. Imagine, if you will, a world beyond our understanding, a realm where reality bends and twists, where the familiar become strange and the impossible seems real. Place where the lines between light and dark, good and evil, a blur beyond recognition. Come with me, dear friends, and journey into the unknown. Let us explore the depths of the human psyche and the mysteries of the universe. in these four strange and weird and wonderful tales.

Now, my dear friends, as ever, before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's story may contain strong language, as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. Now let's begin. Vera Cox grabbed her favorite blue water bottle and slid on her running shoes. She double-checked to see she had everything and stepped into the cool air. As she rifled through her keyring for the right one, cold gust sent a shiver through her.

After locking up the house, she gave a deep breath and started jogging into the cold, dark night. It was only a few steps before she felt like something was missing and turned around to find her phone had slipped out. She grabbed it and continued her run, cursing herself for wearing the shorts with a hole in the pocket. As Vera jogged down the dark empty street, she looked up at the cloudless sky. Her headphones were broken, so she just listened to the sounds around her. Cicadas sang their otherworldly song above her head, and some were in the distance the dog howled into the night. And then there were her footsteps.

They echoed up into the sky as if they were in stereo. They reverberated all around her, making her head spin. But there was something off about them. Each step rang out twice in her ears. Fira listened to it for a few moments and shivered. That wasn't right. She'd run this same path for months and had never heard an echo. She cocked her head and began listening harder.

No, there was a second pair of footsteps behind her. Someone must have been out on that road with her. Their steps were so synced up she almost hadn't noticed. But then again, what if that was exactly what they wanted? They had to belong to a man, judging by how heavy they sounded. Vera's heart began to beat a little faster in her chest. There was a man behind her, and he didn't want her to know he was there. Suddenly, she felt silly.

She had a history of overreacting. She'd once called the cops on a stalker, only for it to be a very persistent Jehovah's Witness. A person behind it was probably just some runner who'd happened to be on the same path as her. their footsteps lining up was just a coincidence and then she had a stupid thought pretending not to notice the man behind her she slowed down her pace to see what would happen she knew the person wouldn't do anything but she decided to try it anyway

just to put her mind at ease without missing a beat the person behind her slowed down too masking his footsteps with hers perfectly a cold sweat broke out on the back of a her neck and she sped up. To her horror, the man behind her did too. Was he trying to sneak up on her? Vera reached for her phone in her pocket, but instead all she found was the hole. She blinked back tears in her eyes, realizing her only lifeline was probably lying on some sidewalk behind her.

She cursed herself for not carrying a pocket knife on her. If the man did try to grab her, what could she do to defend herself? Most of the houses in this part of town were abandoned, and even if she did find a house with people in it, would they open the door before she had a chance to get in? Vera's eyes drifted down to a large rock sitting on the side of the road. She bent down and scooped it up mid-stride. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than nothing. For another moment she considered the possibility that this was all just her overreacting.

There was probably a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this. She threw a quick glance behind her to settle her nerves. The figure advancing on her was shrouded in darkness. There was no light on his head, making him seem almost faceless. He did nothing to put her mind at ease, but still she saw nothing that screamed danger about him. She almost dropped the rock in her hands and forgot about him. She almost moved on to pretend like nothing had ever happened. Almost.

In the dim light, Vera just barely made out the glint of a knife in his hand. Vera's heart skipped a beat and she struggled to control her breathing. Things like this only happened on the news or in bad dreams. To her horror, the echo was getting louder now. Her pursuer was closing the distance between them quickly. She grasped the rock tighter, sweat trickling down her forehead. Her hunter was now just a few paces behind her.

and the man's footsteps got louder and louder until she heard them thundering right behind her. He was so close. She heard his ragged breathing just inches away. She took a deep breath and started counting down from three. However, she was interrupted by a hand, roughly grabbing her shoulder. She turned around to face the tall, dark figure, closing in on her and blindly swung the rock in front of her. She missed, and the man went to grab her arm. arm. She began attacking

blindly with the rock, but he slipped past each one. She gave one last swing, and the rock finally connected with his jaw, splattering blood and teeth everywhere. Her pursuer released his grasp and clutched his broken jaw, now hanging loosely open.

He took another step toward her, the knife glinting in his hand. She brought the rock down on his head, and he collapsed on the ground in a heap, Knife still clenched in his fist. Vera stood over the man panting and gasping, the rock dripping in her hands. A dark liquid dripped from his mouth and the wound on his head. In the darkness she could barely see it, but she knew what it was.

Legs shaking, she took a step forward into the darkness to get a better look at the man. He wore a tank top and jogging shorts. He weakly lifted his arm holding what she thought was a knife. In the moonlight She realized it was a phone Her phone He opened his mouth And weakly managed to say

You dropped it Before collapsing on his back Tears began clouding Vera's eyes as it dawned on her Her face stretched into a mask of horror And she knelt down at the man's side She leaned in to give him mouth to mouth Before realizing his head had been partially caved in His broken jaw hung open loosely like a puppet

And teeth were scattered all around him She pressed her fingers to his wrist But found no pulse She looked around frantically for the phone Crawling over to it in the dirt She snatched it up and tried to press the buttons for 911 With shaking fingers But they were too slit with blood

As she fumbled with the controls She noticed something strange The blood covering out of the blood covering her hands wasn't red. It was sticky like blood, but instead of red, it was jet black. Instead of the metallic smell of blood, it smelled like tar or motor oil. And that's when she heard it. It was a single wet squish sound.

She sat there listening for a moment before she heard another one. It was coming from the jogger behind her. She turned around to look at the man lying on. the road and bathed in shadow. Despite having no pulse a few moments ago, he'd sat up and was facing her, broken jaw hanging agape. Vera tried to study his face for a clue about what had happened,

but his face was obscured in darkness. His shadowy hand picked something small up from his side and brought it to his mouth. Another sickening squelch rang out. He picked up another, and as she squinted at it in the darkness, she realized it was a tooth. Her stomach lurched. He was mashing the teeth back into his mouth one by one.

She just watched him, unable to process what she was seeing. After he'd mashed the last tooth back in place, he stared at her. His broken jaw dripped more of that same black liquid from before. She watched on as the shadowy figure slowly lifted his hands to his mouth, and with a nauseating crack snapped his jaw back in place Vera wanted to run but she felt rooted in place

only able to watch on in horror Then the figure leaned into the moonlight illuminating his face for the first time His mouth was stretched into a wide, crooked grin as if to show off his new teeth That same black blood drip from his mouth and down his chin Vera yelped and began to cruxed

all backward, eyes wide. Then, to her horror, it began pulling itself to its feet, bulging eyes fixed on her as it did. That broke the spell for Vera. She stumbled to her feet and ran back down the dark road, legs shaking. Heavy footsteps thundered behind her, but she just looked straight her head. She stumbled and staggered as she ran, not being able to see through the tears that were streaming down her face. The creature weezed and sputtered as it ran, footsteps echoing behind her. As the houses and trees rushed by, she slowly began to realize that she was hopelessly lost. Her neighbourhood was suddenly unfamiliar to her, and she'd been turning corners at random, not caring where they led. She was pushing her legs to the breaking point, but every time

she slowed for even a second, she was sure she felt the man's dirty fingers grabbing at her hair. Just when she thought her legs were going to give out, she saw her house. Vera cried tears of relief and slammed into the door, pulling her keys from her pockets. She rifled through them to find the right one. She chanced to glance behind her, and as she did, the man came flying around the corner on all thoughts, black blood dripping from its smiling face. Her heart skipped a beat, and she whipped around, searching through her key ring. She seized the right one, and the shaky fingers jammed it into the keyhole. She heard gravel fly up as the creature reached her driveway.

She threw open the door, flew inside and slammed the door shut. The door made a loud thud sound as the creature threw itself at it. She had a horrible thought and froze. Was it strong enough to break through the door? She sat there waiting for the next crash, but it never came. Instead, she heard footsteps slowly shuffle away. Over time they faded away until there were nothing but a memory. Vera stood there for a long time, waiting for it to come back.

She looked out each window in the house, but she was only met with the darkness. She gave a nervous laugh when she looked down at her hand. While running for her life down the road, she'd had her water bottle clenched in her hands the whole time. Vera tossed it aside and collapsed onto her couch, still shaking with fear. She didn't sleep that night. Instead, paced her home, waiting for that thing to come back. Every time she'd consider sleeping, she'd spot a glimpse of a black eye peeking at her from the window or hear the thud of a footstep just beyond the door.

However, the morning sun renewed her confidence. She began coming up with reasonable explanations. It took time, but eventually she was able to convince herself that the whole ordeal couldn't have happened. It was just an anxiety attack brought on by stress or a sleepwalking episode. She didn't have so much as a scratch on her to prove it had happened. She would have been able to move on with her life, believing it had never happened. But it was much harder lying to herself while looking at her favorite blue water bottle. Now stained jet black with tar.

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It always happened the same way. My wife and I would be woken up in the middle of the night by our two boys, Levi and Judah, screaming at the top of their lungs. Those were always the nights where we'd wake up covered in sweat, our throat so raw that it felt like we'd just swallowed glass and slightly nauseated. The first time we thought it was just a stomach bug, but by the fifth or sixth time, we decided we should get professional help. We went to a mould guy, thinking there was mould in the house somewhere that we didn't know of, but we couldn't find a thing. Then we went to a doctor to see if there was something physically wrong, but the only thing they found was that our throats were the rawest they'd ever seen. They told us that the wear and tear on our throats were consistent with someone screaming for minutes on end. They were the ones who recommended we try a sleep therapist, since the symptoms seemed to be presenting themselves in our sleep.

The sleep therapist, Dr. Hargrove, was very eager to take us on. She found our case fascinating and rare, because typically adults don't struggle with night terrors as frequently as we were experiencing, let alone at the same time. But in order to learn more, we needed to record our sleeping habits. So she gave us a video record. We actually never ended up watching those videos, though, at least not the ones we recorded for her. We gave her the tapes after a week, and the day we were supposed to receive a call from her with what she'd found on the tapes. We got a call from the police instead. Apparently, Dr. Hargrove's secretary found her in her office, in her chair, slumped on her desk in front of a computer.

She'd pulverized with a hammer before turning it on herself and bashing in her own skull. They told us that it seemed like she tried to bludgeon her eyes out, as most of the impact sights on her skull were focused around the eye sockets. They called us because they were able to piece together enough of the CD within the computer to see our names written on it. I wanted to know if we knew anything. We didn't, but we thought it was about time we did. So we got our own video recorder.

The very next day, we saw it for the first time. At around 2.14 in the morning, the visitor strolled into our bedroom so casually it was like it was walking into a conference call. Or a long black robe with no sleeves and a hood drawn up over a face so white it was practically shone in the darkness. There were pitch black rings surrounding its bloodshot eyes and a grin poured across its face from ear to ear. But it didn't seem real, like it wasn't a real face, but... a mask. The moment it entered our room, the video recording blipped and grew slightly staticy, stopped at the foot of our bed, turned to face us and stood still as a statue for ten whole minutes, unblinking, unbreathing. While that in and of itself is shocking, what truly

appalled us was our reactions. True to the doctor's work, We watched the screen as Dar and I shut up right in our bed the moment it turned to face us, and we just screamed. We screamed and screamed and screamed for the entire time it was there. We could see our bodies visibly trembling in horror, shaking like we were seizing, and our shoulders heaving as we took deep breaths. But we wouldn't look away from it. Even though we were obviously horrified of the figure at the foot of our bed, it was like we couldn't

look away, like we weren't allowed to take our eyes off of it. For ten whole minutes we screamed in terror, then the visitor turned and waltzed back out of the bedroom into the hallway like it was late for work. The moment it left, Dara and I collapsed in our bed, only to stir and wake up 30 seconds later at the sound of our kids screaming. I think we were confused at first because, out of all the possibilities that existed for what we were going through,

the visitor was nowhere near being on the list. Confusion gave way to dread when we realised that this was our reality, yet we couldn't remember anything. This had been plaguing us for months. We had absolutely zero memories of it, only what we saw on a videotape. It was like our brains were forcing us to repress the memories to protect us from the trauma of just seeing the thing.

but while our minds may have been protected our bodies certainly weren't the more the visitor came to us the more our health was deteriorating at this point our hair was starting to go grey dread turned to panic when we had to deal with the notion

it might be visiting our kids in the night too so we set up our video record outside their room and turned it to face down the hallway to our bedroom door We left it there until we had an anomalous night, as Dr Hargrove called them, and then we watched it. To our relief, we watched as it came up our stairs, walked into our room, left after ten minutes, and then walked out and back down the stairs again, leaving Levi and Judah's room alone. To our curiosity, though, I went up and down our staircase, which meant that it was coming from somewhere downstairs. we debated about whether or not it was a good idea for us to keep filming the visitor but in the end we figured we ought to it's not like stopping the filming was going to make us any healthier again plus the thought that the more we learned about it the better chance we stood of getting rid of it gave a sense of peace and a smidge of confidence that we had some kind of control at the very least gave us a direction to go in something to do that was better than sitting on

hands wondering what to do that night set up the camera in the living room and pointed it down the hallway towards the front door as i assume that's where the visitor was coming from even though the doors were always locked before bedtime the position of the camera was dead on as we did catch the visitor but the location was all wrong and around 3.23 a.m., the door to our coat closet underneath our staircase opened up and the visitor strolled right out. Ten minutes later it walked right back in. The door shut behind it, as if a gust of wind had slammed it shut. That made no sense to us, but nothing really did. The coat closet was literally stuffed with coats, hats, gloves, shoes, shelves, a vacuum, and snow gear.

Our kids couldn't even enter it. Where the hell was it possible that the visitor could? Where did it go when it went in there? We had, well, we have no answers, only the reality. The visitor came from our closet somehow. What commenced shortly thereafter was a series of trial and error tests. We tried locking the closet door only to see the door burst open anyways. We placed our couch at the foot of the staircase, hoping it would deter the visitor, only to see it scale the couch like it was stepping over the curb,

without so much as breaking its cold stare. We tried to leave all the lights on, but when it walked through the house, the lights would turn off wherever it happened to be. We even tried to rig a home alone-style trap involving a bucket of nails hanging over our doorframe, but they just bounced right off. And the ones that did manage to embed themselves in its body

didn't even make it flinch. We were running out of ideas. We even tried staying with friends for a couple of weeks, just to get out of the house. They were going on vacation in Italy, and were more than happy to lend us their home. For 13 days, we got the best rest we'd gotten in a long time. But on our final night there, the pattern played out.

Kids screaming, throats raw, nauseated, exhausted, another anomalous night. Hopeless doesn't really even begin to describe how we felt. knowing there was no way we could go to escapeings. We were getting desperate. Oh, and just in case you're wondering why we didn't think of boarding up the closet in the first place, all I can say is that pride is a funny thing.

Even while this terrible ordeal was draining us of our spirit and life, we didn't want the burden of having to explain to family and friends why our closet was boarded shots. We couldn't think of a story that made enough sense without making us sound crazy. So we try to avoid anything that we deem to out there because we didn't want to be known as the couple who had 19 dead bolts on our bedroom door.

In hindsight, though, I really wish we had swallowed our egos. We stopped recording a couple of weeks after that. There was nothing new. We were learning, and I could tell that it was affecting Darme more than it was affecting me. It was breaking our heart knowing that the boys were crying, at night because they were forced to hear their parents screaming in their brains out

from just down the hallway. We got the loudest white noise machines that we could afford to put in their rooms and that helped that Dar was still suffering. We were no place financially to sell the house and buy a new one. We felt stuck. The worst part was that I could see her wasting away. Dar was lively and bubbly before moving into the house. That's a big reason why I married her. She was so full of spirit. But it was getting to the point where I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen her smile. She was losing weight, losing sleep and losing her sanity.

It was so bad that I began to wonder if something different was going on. I began to think back to Dr. Hargrove, how she'd bludgeoned herself to death when she saw the visitor on our video recording. Why hadn't either of us tried to kill ourselves? Why were our brains successful in repressing? the memories but hers wasn't. What was different in our case? I had zero ideas. That was the point I started getting angry. You've ever seen the movie Paranormal Activity, there's a scene near the end where the guy, Micah, gets super pissed because the demon has

been tormenting his girlfriend Katie relentlessly. Katie wants to reach out to a psychic, but Micah refuses and says something like, this is my house, you're my girlfriend, I'm going to freaking solve the problem. That was the kind of rage I was feeling. It's a kind of rage born out of a sense of helplessness, but I couldn't do anything to get rid of the visitor. I couldn't do anything to help my wife. But I was angry, and I vowed that somehow, in some way, I'd save my wife and get rid of the visitor for good. I'd saved her. But if you've seen the movie. You know how it ends. Two months ago, Levi got up in the middle of the night and called out for me. I went to check on him and he asked me for some water. I went downstairs to get him his water

bowl. As I was in the kitchen grabbing a cup. I heard the click, the closet door open. I froze where I was, unable to move, unable to breathe. I heard footsteps, trailed from the closet. up the steps and into my room. That's when Dala started screaming. I wish I could tell you guys that I ran to her aid. I wish I could tell you that I sprinted up those stairs, two at a time and dropped kick the fucker. I wish I could tell you that all that anger and my kismo I'd built up

manifested in a last stand, but it didn't. I was so scared that I just sat down on the kitchen floor, cut my hands over my ears, closed my eyes and just waited for it to be over. Tears streaked down my face as I pressed my hands as hard as I could into my ears, trying to drown her screaming out. After ten minutes, the screaming stopped.

I heard the footsteps trailed down the steps and I waited for the click of the coat closet to shut. But it didn't come. From where I was sitting, I knew I could look and see through the doorway to the bottom of the stairs. But I also knew that, apparently just looking at it, wouldn't snap my mind. But I swear, I felt it like it was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, staring at me, waiting for me to look at it. I had to move my hands from over my ears to over my eyes to keep my stomach. self from looking but when I did I heard the strangest noise it sounded like it was

saying something the same phrase over and over again really fast under its breath I didn't dare look at it and the way it spoke made my skin crawl as I cowed there on the kitchen floor I felt like I was starting to understand what it was saying but before I could piece it all together I heard its footstead steps lead away and the closet door shut. Immediately I sprinted up the staircase and into the bedroom, and I could see the vague outline of Dar laying in her bed. At that moment, the weight of what I'd just done really hit me.

I couldn't believe that I was such a coward that I left her alone with the visitor. Even though I knew she wouldn't remember it, I resolved to confess to her when she woke up the next morning what had happened. happened. My conscious wouldn't let me keep it to myself. So I slid into bed and snuggled up to her. Reassured of my decision to tell her the following morning. But when I woke up in the morning, she wasn't in bed. I found her in the living room, slumped in front of the coat closet and the pool of blood. I can't really put into words what it was like finding her there. They really are I was afraid, shocked, ashamed, mortified, grieving all at the same time.

The memories of what happened next were a blur. My neighbour came over to keep the boys upstairs while her body was removed. Breaking the news to Levi and Judah was the hardest thing I'd ever had to do. The following week we had a viewing, the funeral, the burial of all of it. Her family and mine came down to help me with our kids. They even stayed with me for a week. During that whole time, the visitor didn't come. Of course it didn't come. Be honest, I wondered if the visitor would stop.

I wondered if her death was what it wanted all along. After all, the entire week my family was here, it never came, and it always came at least twice a week. That didn't make any sense. Nothing made any sense. I still have no clue what it wanted. I just stood at the foot of our freaking bed and drove us insane, breaking our brains so much that our minds forced us to forget. It never attacked us.

It never went after the kids. The only thing it ever did was stand there and take our will to it. But for the time being, I was relieved, knowing that I was safe so long as my family was there. I was able to grieve well for a while They were still tainted with the constant fear that the visitor may show up And so I started recording again Seven weeks ago I woke up at around three in the morning And immediately vomited in the beds

I felt like my head had been bashed in with a brick And my guts felt like they were boiling It hurt to breathe I went to the bathroom to hurl again in the toilets When I finished and looked in the mirror, I noticed hundreds of scratch marks around my eyes, all puffy and bright pink. My hair was noticeably greyer as well. I cleaned up the vomit on the bed and through the sheets, blankets and pillowcases in the washing machine. Then took the tape from the camera.

Probably should have waited until the morning, but it had never been this bad before. I had to see what had happened. At around 2.45 in the morning on the video, the visitor came into my bedroom just like it always did. Stopped at the foot of my bed and paused for a moment longer than usual and turned to face me. But rather than jolting upright and screaming, I slowly got up on one elbow, pushed myself into a sitting position, looked at the visitor, and began to weep bitterly. I watched as I placed my face into my hands and my shoulders. shoulders heave as I began wailing into the night. After a few minutes, I started scratching

at my eyes, trying anything I could to make sure I couldn't see it anymore. It was difficult to make out why I had such a visceral reaction, but then the visitor did something I'd never seen it do before. It looked directly at the camera, and I saw it. It was wearing my wife's face. Not a literal face, mind you, but like a mask made to look like her face. It was slightly wrong in all the places where it mattered. Her smile was wider, her eyes didn't have the small creases in the corners, like she always did when she genuinely smiled, but rather were wide open and stiff.

Her skin was a pale white, and she had dark gaps between all her teeth. It was like the visitor was mocking her, rubbing her, rubbing an ear. my face that it finally got one of us and now that it was looking at me through the camera I could tell that it was only a matter of time before it got me then in that moment it suddenly clicked for me I knew what the visitor was saying that night I cowered in the kitchen she is my and so I boarded up that fucking door with as many of wood I could fit over it, and then prop the back of the couch up against it. Then I asked my mother-in-law to watch Levi and Judah so I could drive to the nearest university

that boasted a professor of occult studies, and had him give me all the symbols he knew of that were meant for protection, or to keep something from entering this world, or to keep something locked in a room of anything I could get my hands on. But I didn't leave without telling her not to open that door. I carved every symbol I could fit onto those planks of wood. It looks like at least one of them worked, for now. It's been a month, and I haven't been visited. I know this because I don't sleep anymore.

But some nights between 2 and 4 a.m., I can hear movement in the closet, like the sound of someone wearing a large coat, brushing his arm up and down the wood. occasionally there's a loud thump like it's thrown its shoulder against it before that sliding sound resumes I know it's in there I don't know if it dematerializes when the light of day comes through our windows

or if there's some door to another dimension in my coat closet or if it's just standing there inches from the door waiting for someone to open it and let it out but I do know this I will never move that couch. I will never take those planks off and I will never, ever open that door.

I don't know why it got down. I don't know why the two of us lasted so long when Dr Hargrove couldn't last a single viewing of a tape. I have an idea, though. I wonder if it was because Dar and I were together. But somehow the trauma was lighter on us because we had someone to share it with. So when I left her alone with the visitor,

alone to take all of it by herself because I was too chicken shit to face it again it was too much for her but at the end of the day I just don't know what I do know is this do not buy this house I don't know if the realtors have to share stories like this

so I'm sharing it with you now when I'm long gone and my boys have moved out and started lives of their own like this house die with me. But if, for some reason, this story hasn't steered your way, if for some reason you must buy this house, then heed this warning and heed it good,

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We believe OCT scans are so important they're included with every standard eye exam. Book an eye exam at Spexavers.cavers.cai.a. Eye exams are provided by independent optometrists. Visit Spexsavers.orgia to learn more. I never thought that I could do it, but we were. I did it. I thought it would be hard, but. it was so, so easy.

The idea of ending in man's life, with my own hands, no less, gave me a great sense of anxiety before. The act of it, however, was so much more satisfying than I'd ever thought possible. Don't get me wrong when I say that it was easy. It do not mean the literal action of taking his life. He put up quite a fight, as he was so much bigger than I was. He always was, after all, which made him so intimidating when I was a child.

For so long the pain he inflicted on me went unpunished because I was scared. I was scared that if I told anyone I wouldn't be believed. I was scared that if I attempted to defend myself, he would hurt me so much worse. It's funny, when I was finished. I looked over at him lying there, weak, helpless, dead. He was a monster, a cruel evil beast. My only regret is that it took me so long to finally put him down. It sickens me to think how any other children had to suffer because of my silence and inaction.

I hate that it took the idea of him touching my boy to finally do something. The first time my boy came to me and told me about it, I knew who it was right away. I always hoped that my own childhood trauma was all in my head, that, well, I'd imagined it, but it'd always been a reality. When my boy told me about the tall man, I shuddered. When he told me about his long, skinny arms reaching out to him, when he told me about those cold, dead eyes staring at him as he choked him to the point of near death before releasing his grip, I was done.

Tonight, as the boy slept, I hid in his room, and I waited. I waited all night long. I almost believed that it was all in his head, as I had previously imagined it was in my head. until I saw it. So the doorknob turned, and I could feel my heart racing. The door opened, and there it was, the tall, skinny silhouette. It became bigger as he began to walk toward the boy's bed.

I gripped my baseball bat and struck first. He turned around in surprise as I swung him with all my might. He dodged it at first and then grabbed me by the throat. He cursed as he screamed at. me before I smashed his face with my forehead. I quickly grabbed the bat again and swung once more. The bat broke in half as it smashed over his head. He screamed so loud and it was so disturbing that I almost threw up, but I kept my cool. He fell to the ground and I mounted him. Remembering my childhood, I began punching repeatedly, thinking about how he hurt me. I kept on punching. Thinking about how he hurt

my boy, I began punching harder. Kept on punching until there was nothing left to punch by the floor, stained with blood and fragments above. When I was finally finished, I took the time to calm down and think about the situation I was now in.

I looked over to the boy, a look of shock, fear and confusion on his face. It was then I remembered that he was not my son, but my patient. I remembered that it wasn't my monster that was hurting him. but is old. I remembered that my own monster is still out there, hurt in God knows how many children,

and until I find him, I'm going to settle for the monsters of other children who come to see me in my office. This was the first, and there are so many more to go. Lucky for me, my mask hides my identity, so the boy doesn't know who I am. All he knows right now is that he won't be hurt anymore. before too long the light in the hallway turned on I could hear his mother call out to his father I quickly escaped from the bedroom window if I'd snuck in

and could hear the scream of the mother calling out the name of the father I killed a monster tonight though only the boy will ever know unless he decides to tell the police about the abuse his own father had inflicted on him I have so many patience with their own monsters I need to deal with

parents, teachers and every other monster that has touched these children will be hunted and slaughtered. One day, I will track him down. I'll kill my own monster. I felt it before I saw it. I'd study painting at the School of Arts in Ishtar. I was in my fourth year and trained beneath a well-known artist whose identity will remain concealed for their privacy. He thought I had some sort of talent. that I could depict things that were better left undepicted.

Those parts of you that you don't talk about never will. His words, not mine. I didn't believe him, but I appreciated the interest nonetheless, given the fact that to everyone else, I might as well have been invisible. I wasn't creative and couldn't come up with an original idea to save my life, but there was something wrong with my dreams. They were always not.

nightmares every single time. When I was a teenager, a therapist convinced me to start recording them, but I didn't like to write, so I painted them instead. And that's all I ever did. Even after I told my instructor, his interest only grew. He always was a bit odd and seemed to think that I was in tune with something. Something else. Something beyond the sky, beyond the stars.

beyond everything that we could physically touch. Before all of this started, he offered to guide me on a psychedelic journey, as he put it, to try and better understand my condition. The thought of taking anything always terrified me even more than the nightmares. The thought of no longer being in control of my surroundings and the things that I saw.

Unlike in a dream, this world could harm me. This world could kill me. I didn't like to think that I was a coward, and so I agreed, and that was my first mistake. I don't actually remember that night. He only told me that beyond a certain point, I seemed to lose contact with the world. I lay perfectly still on the ground, and I didn't say a word. I wouldn't respond to anything he asked or did. I just wasn't there.

After the trip had ended, he told me. me that I left and I swore I was fine, though I didn't respond when he asked me what I'd seen. For me, all I remember was waking up in my bed, back at home, feeling like I hadn't slept in a year. My skull pounded with the worst headache I'd ever experienced, like my brain was being squeezed in a vice, and when I got up and looked in the bathroom mirror, I could see tears of blood dry on my cheeks. I immediately thought that something was horribly wrong. and I started thinking about all the terrible diseases that it could have been, and yet at the same time, I also knew that I was a hypochondriac.

I almost went into debt from all the useless visit to emergency rooms that I'd had in the past, and it was never anything real. It was just my brain playing tricks on me. And so I taught myself down, even though I had every right to be concerned, I brushed it aside and assumed that it was nothing. I came up with convoluted scenarios in my mind that could have somehow led to the symptoms that I felt

we always tried to rationalise it it wasn't sickness it wasn't magic it was psychology I would find a way through it just like every other time it seems so stupid when I look back on it now the next morning I was taking the train to school

minding my business in the second to last car in one of those backward-facing seats because I'd determine that to be the safest possible way of sitting on a train. If you sat in a regular seat, you'd be thrown forward if the train came to a sudden stop. If you were in the very last car, you risked being rear-ended.

Sorry if I fall off track. I'm not in the best state of mind right now. Anyway, I was sitting in the back, looking out the window as the world rushed away from me. Eyes on the glass skyscrapers, that sliced up across the clear blue sky. There weren't many people around me for students trying to get a half hour of sleep before class

or cramming in some last minute studying. I felt so tired from whatever had happened over the weekend. Not a regular kind of fatigue, but a dissociation where I didn't feel like I was entirely situated within my own body. Then it stopped. A cold sweat began to cling to my body. skin and a sensation of absolute dread intensified within me I felt like I was in danger I looked around me completely alert but nothing caught my attention my

heartbeat hammering in my ears I glanced out the window and that's when I saw it was so odd that I didn't really know what I was seeing at first there was a middle-aged man black piquet and blue jeans standing on the roof of building below the tracks, the slanted shingles beneath his boots, staring directly at me as the train passed him by. There was no reason for him to be there. He wasn't dressed like a worker of any sort, and this wasn't a roof that was meant to be accessed. He looked like anyone you'd see on the street, but for some reason he was there,

and he was looking up at me, his face blank and expressionless. The train passed by him so quickly that I almost thought I was hallucinating. I tried to look back, but the roof was out of sight. I glanced at the other passengers, but nobody else had seemed to notice, even the few people that were staring out of the window, and they should have, by right, seen him. Once again, I rationalised it. I was an overly cautious person, prone to overthinking things,

and I knew it, so I just brushed it off. I was sleep deprived. I was unwell. I was recovering from a psychedelic experience that I didn't even remember. So I just saw something that wasn't there. Easy. Only there was still the feeling. It wasn't going away.

I felt like I was flooded with adrenaline, like I was inherently unsafe, and I was sweating so much that my clothes were starting to stick to my skin. So I looked outside again. watching the city pass me by and tried to find something something that didn't belong something out of place everything was normal but it didn't feel normal when I reached my stop I stepped out into the hot daylight along with everyone else made my way to class the feeling didn't let up even for a moment and I found myself looking over my

shoulder every chance I had I made it to class but I don't remember much People were talking and I was working but I was just going through the motions My mind wasn't there I was looking around at everyone trying to find something that didn't fit But everything was exactly the way I remembered it Until I tried to look up There was a sealed ventilation shaft on the ceiling

Just an empty darkness behind the slats But it caught my attention like a magnet It didn't feel empty. I couldn't explain it, but it felt like something was in there. Like something was watching me. It felt like I was in danger. So I got up and excused myself. I left that class as quick as I could and stepped out into the daylight again.

People were walking all around me down the open paths of the school. And I felt like every single one of them was staring at me. I can never actually catch them doing it, but I just got this sensation that at any moment somebody would come out of nowhere and stick a knife in my throat. Put a gun to my head, drag me off into the bushes. It was the feeling of being watched. Not just by anyone, but by something that means you harm. Like you're a prey animal grazing in a field, and suddenly every primal switch in your body flips at once and tells you to run. I happened to look up at a tall administrative building.

It was used to house the offices of all the professors. Through one of the windows, maybe on the 16th floor, I could see a woman standing perfectly still, staring down at me. She was dressed like she belonged in an office, like she belonged in that setting, but she didn't. I waited for what felt like minutes and watched as people passed behind her, but they never acknowledged her existence.

She just stood there and held my gaze for as long as I could bear it. I looked away. I needed to go home. I needed to get away from there. I picked up the pace and walked back to the station and all the way my eyes caught on anybody who lingered just a moment too long. They'd look back at me, confused or turn away and do something else. They were never it, whatever it was.

whatever it was was watching me, stalking me. I got on the train, which was now packed full of people, though I managed to find a seat near a window. I wanted to be able to see it. The train started moving, and I kept my eyes peeled on the horizon of endless skyscrapers as they rushed by me, looking down at any rooftops that waited beneath the tracks. I could still feel it.

I knew that it was watching me, and then I saw it. We passed near a bridge of glass and metal that joined two shopping centres And upon the swooping arches of steel that were fastened above it A whole man in rags stood in silence His tattered fabrics hanging from his slender frame in defiance of the wind He watched me, expressionless, his eyes shifting with the movement of the train I noticed the lady who was sitting next to me

And pointed at the man outside Do you see a man right there? I asked, on the bridge, standing on top of it. She looked out of the window, and then back at me, her expression alarmed. She shook her head and then got up from her seat, moving to the back of the car. I looked again, searching the landscape for the next appearance as the train began to slow for a stop at the next station. On a restaurant balcony, on the street below the tracks, a young tattooed woman sat at her table with two men, but they didn't acknowledge her presence.

She was staring up at me, her mouth-hanging slack as though caught in a depraved, hungering trance. I got the attention of a father entertaining his son and pointed out the window. Hey, do you see that lady down there? I asked. Right at the table with two guys, with the tattoos. The man glanced out of the window,

looking down at where I was pointing. I see the two guys. he said with a shrug, returning his attention to his kids. The woman slipped out of view as the train pulled into the next station. God, was I losing my mind? Did something happen to me? My instructor wouldn't be on campus until the next day, but I had to speak with him. He had to know something.

I did have his number, so I swore that I'd call him as soon as I got home. Nobody could see this thing but me. That much was clear, but that didn't mean that it wasn't really. real. Well, the thought occurred to me that I could still be hallucinating from the effects of the silo cymbin, or that I could still be laying in my instructor's living room. Maybe I didn't remember the trip because this was it. Only this felt real. This felt concrete, like I could reach out and touch this thing. I eventually made my way home, keeping clear of any crowds, and training my eyes on every building I passed, though I never saw it.

I knew that it was there, but there were so many possibilities that it was almost down to sheer luck whether I found it or not. Walking out front, I had the sound of laughter and clinking dishes, and saw that the neighbours across the street were having a small party on the bottom floor of their building. Most of them were seated at a table, visible from their window. But my, blood ran cold. When I saw a young, plain-looking woman staring directly at me, She was seated closest to where I stood and nobody seemed to interact with her

or acknowledge her existence in any way I assumed that her chair was real but to the rest was empty others were standing every other seat was occupied perhaps they avoided it but didn't quite know why it didn't occur to them maybe this creature did exist

and filled a physical space within the world but for some reason could only be seen by the victim of its malevolence. The only thing I truly realized in that moment was that every single time I saw it, it was getting closer. I quickly entered my building and made my way up to my apartment. The feeling stalked me,

even when I was in the halls or the fire escape with no possible way of being observed. If it had no line of sight within the world, it was almost like it watched me through, through the walls, like it crawled through all those cracks and spaces invisible to the naked eye, peering up at me from the subtle gap in the baseboard or the darkness beneath the radiator. I'd arrived at my apartment, but I didn't feel safe. I felt exactly the same. I checked every room and every corner, every closet that I barely opened, and found nothing,

but I had to be sure. Then I opened the bed. Then I opened the bedside. blinds and peered out at the building across the street. I could still hear the party on the lower level, but my eyes weren't on them. They were on the man in the black suit who stared at me from the apartment opposite to my own. I shut my blinds, hyperventilating where I stood. I was too terrified to leave, so I didn't. I retreated to my bedroom, which was thankfully absent of any windows and shut the door behind me. I made sure my closet was wide open and dismantled the frame of my bed so that nothing could fit underneath. I only needed a mattress anyway, assuming that I could even sleep.

I called my instructor and tried to ask him what was happening, but he didn't know. He seemed to think that something was trying to contact me and that the apprehension I felt may have just been a primal fear of the unknown. But I don't believe him. I know fear, and this is. is unlike anything I'd ever felt before. It's relentless. It's my mind telling me to stay away.

I'd feel it washing me, even while I cried in the corner of my room, but there's nowhere. It could have been, but it felt like it was everywhere, like it occupied every fleeting shadow. I looked at a picture of my family on my nightstand. I saw a person that I didn't recognize. I picked up the frame photograph.

I saw a bearded photograph. I saw a bearded man standing behind my father staring back at me. I took a picture and sent it to my mother, asking who he was, but she said that she didn't see him. At some point I called her and tried explaining, but I was too scared and incoherent to get anything across. She thought I was having some kind of psychotic break from the drugs I'd taken, but I know that I'm not. This is real. I know it is. She called the police, and I know she was just trying to do what she thought was right, but that wasn't what I wanted.

If the police came, they'd take me outside, and outside is exactly where it was. Well, where I hoped that it was. I don't know how long I waited there. Time isn't something that I have the greatest grasp on right now. It must have been night because underneath the door there was only darkness. Everything was quiet. so quiet that I could hear my own heartbeat.

I remember wondering why the police hadn't come, but I was so tired and confused and scared that I didn't want to think about it. Slowly I crawled to my feet and made my way to the bathroom door. Every second felt like an eternity. My vision blurring the closer I drew, like the entire world was caught in slow motion. I put my hand to the knob and felt the cold steel against my fingertips, Every hair of my body standing on end as a horrible chill ran down my spine.

My teeth began to chatter, and every muscle started to twitch with an ancient primordial fear that crept in from the back of my mind. Then I turned a knob and pushed the door open with a long, agonizing creak that cut through the silence like a knife. The darkness of the hall spanned before me, the air cold and still. At the end, a tall man stood in their shadows, his expression as empty as a mask. Wordlessly, he stared into my soul, but I could barely even process what I was looking at, or how much danger I was in. I didn't have anywhere to run. There was nowhere to hide.

I called to him, but he didn't respond. Slowly, I crept closer. my footsteps creaking upon the floorboards in the dead of night. It was like I was hypnotised, and yet at the same time, I had to know. I had to know if this was real. The closer I got, the taller he seemed to become. Every feature distending and looming while my heart hammered in my ears, and tears of blood stained my cheeks.

Every pore on my body dripped with an icy sweat, and I could feel urine. trickling down my leg as I stared into his dark, soulless eyes. His face started to change, roiling and shifting like I was looking at a thousand people at once, transforming between male and female, young and old, human and animal, to something altogether different. And the closer I drew to that truth, the more its mouth seemed to stretch, splitting open into a yawning darkness of teeth them fear that I swore went on forever. And then I was gone.

The next thing I saw was a light, gleaming overhead through the blur of my vision. My ears were ringing, but I could hear the murmur of people nearby. I was lying on my back on a hospital bed, and my head was pounding with the worst headache I'd ever felt. They put me on something, some sort of sedative, and it wasn't long before I fell back asleep,

whether I wanted to or not. All that I dreamt about was that man, cornering me until I wanted nothing more than to die, until his jaws unhinged into a shadow so deep that even the memory of light disappeared forever. I could feel the cold slickness of his throat, the teeth as they cut into my mind, and ground my soul into a tattered pulp.

I could feel the horrible agony of every single moment, until I finally realized what it wanted. I woke up at some point, but I don't recall much. I said whatever I had to say to get out of there, anything to get back home again. I remember taking the canvas out of storage and getting every paint that I had. I remember mixing them, churning them with my own blood and vomit

and every bodily fluid that I could find until my palate contained the most vile shades that my mind. mind could comprehend. I remember my hands moving across the canvas. I didn't need a brush, only my flesh, smearing and writhing as though caught in some unearthly tracks. I remember opening my eyes for the first time in days and witnessing what I'd done. I had painted it. It wasn't in my head anymore. It's in front of me. I can feel it watching me. I can feel it cutting through my thoughts. It's eating me and I can barely move. I shouldn't have done this. This shouldn't exist. I just want to die. And so once again,

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 wrong, 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.