Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S3 Ep125: Episode 125: Horror Storıes Told In The Raın

Episode Date: May 21, 2023

I’m delighted to say that tonight’s stories have all been shared directly with me and are read to you all with the author’s express permission: Today’s opening nightmarish tale of terror is ���Smokeface: Why I found thousands of human bones buried in my property’, an original work by Mandahrk: https://www.reddit.com/user/Mandahrk/ Today’s second macabre nightmare is ‘Coldspot’, also an original work by Mandahrk: https://www.reddit.com/user/Mandahrk/ Today’s penultimate offering is ‘Dream Girl’, an original work by nerdxcorexneal, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all. https://www.reddit.com/user/nerdxcorexneal/ We round off tonight’s rainstorm session with ‘Shapeshifters’, an original work by kalenryan13: https://www.reddit.com/user/kalenryan13/

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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. Creepen's Dungeon. We enjoy the sound of rain for many reasons. First of all, it has a calming effect on people due to its gentle and rhythmic nature. The sound of rain can create a soothing ambience, helping us to relax and unwind. Additionally, rain is often associated with cozy indoor activities like reading, napping, or spending time with loved ones, which adds to the positive feelings it evokes.

But it also serves as a perfect backdrop to horror stories as we shall see in tonight's four delicious tales of terror. 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. If that sounds like your kind of thing, then let's begin. Smokeface, why I found thousands of human bones buried in my property. You know when the eponymous, they, tell you that something is too good to be true? It probably is, and you should be very aware of accepting shit at face value. Clisches exist for a reason.

I learnt my lesson the hard way when I was inspecting a worn-out leather diary I'd found in my newly purchased vacation home. Now, I'm using that term very loosely here. My dog Olly came bounding up the creaky wooden stairs with a large rotten bone in his drooling mug-cake male. Initially I figured that he'd gone and found the remains with some sort of animal deep in the woods, and thought of potential predators attacking this friendly little more unsteaded to worry me. But these faint alarms changed into a blaring claxon when I noticed some ripped fabric hanging from the femur. Long story short, a couple of hours later my property was swarming with cops who were combing each and every inch of my land, especially this one little parcel in a corner near

the towering cedar trees where they kept digging out human bones in varying stages of decomposition bones in the plural like thousands of them so this was why this dilapidated piece of trash was sold to me at less than half the price of property like this would usually attract not because of the state of disrepair this romantic fixer-upper was in but because it was the den of some sort of deranged serial killer. Ah, too good to be true indeed. Or, at least that was the initial conclusion both the sheriff and I had independently arrived at. But all our assumptions and preconceived notions turned out to be worthless when we began pouring over the contents of the diary. And now that the feds and other shifty dudes in black suits have gotten involved, I really

think it's best to get this story out to as many people as I possibly can. Here go. Entry one. The house sprung up out of the ground like a bright little oasis in the endless white desert. Tiny flames of hope flickered within me, fighting desperately to sweep aside the overwhelming cold that creeped its way into my very bones. My boots plopped in and out of the sinking ground beneath me as I trudged through the snow that came drifting out of the thick cloud cover of the sun had vanished behind. It felt like I'd been wandering in these woods for eons.

With every muscle in my emaciated body aching as I blindly searched for salvation, which came in the form this quiet little house in the middle of a clearing in the forest. Relief flooded through my body, pumping my heart faster as I picked up speed as I hobbled towards the house. I think I must have been around a hundred yards away when a loud boom echoed around in the vicinity of the house, the intensity of the sound making my knees tremble. I wasn't the only one affected by the gunshot, as I saw some birds fly off into the horizon from their icy perches at top the looming cedar trees in the distance behind the house. I didn't know who had fired the gun, or why he did it, or what he was shooting at. What I did know was that I needed to find shelter, warmth and food.

So I ignored the icy claws of fear clutching at my heart and plodded on. Winter hadn't exactly been kind on the house. I think layer of snow weighed down the roof as sharp, dagger-like icicles hung from the eve above the front door. I took a deep breath, which formed wispy little clouds in front of my face, and I knocked. Anybody hull? I shouted. When no one answered, I nudged the door open, and almost instantly my nostrils were assaulted by a stale, musky sound. as if the place had been the residence of dozens of hobos who hadn't bathed in months. I crinkled my nose and stepped in, a loose floorboard is groaning and shifting under my weight.

Pleasant crackling sound reached my ears, and I noticed wood burning in the fireplace, illuminating the room in a soft yellow glow and casting welcome shadows all around. Grinning, I slammed the door shut and quickly bounced over and sat in front of the fire. My body shivered as warmth washed over me, and I took off my gloves and gleefully rub my hands together. The only thing missing now was food, and I wondered, prayed that the gunshot I'd heard earlier have been someone hunting for food. But I didn't find the answer to that question that day, as exhaustion and the heat from the fire forcibly dragged me off to a deep slumber.

Entry two. Someone else is in this house with me. I don't think they're all that friendly. It was the cold that woke me up, the dull orange embers of the dying flames sighed in the fireplace as the blazing life went out of them, allowing the freezing chill to claw its way back into the house. The wind howled as it scraped against the glass windows of the house,

making them rattle. Fuck, how long was this snowstorm going to last? My body shivered as I groggily woke up, my neck and shoulders stiff from the awkward position I'd slept it. The rumbling in my stomach reminded me that I still hadn't eaten anything. I don't even remember when I'd last fed. Time and memory are at best hazy for me right now. I scoured the ground floor of the house,

rummaging through every drawer and cupboard in sight, but couldn't get my hands on even a morsel of anything edible. After satisfying myself about the lack of food downstairs, I decided to tackle the first floor. My knees exploded in pain as I stomped up the creaky steps, the hunger and exhaustion extracting a heavy toll from my weary body. Finally, my painful and arduous journey came to an end, and I stood on top of the stairs, which opened to a long corridor,

and I noticed that the first door on my left was locked. From the inside, the hair on the back of my neck sprang up straight, as I tried to contemplate the implications of this locked door. Who was inside this room? Have they always been there, even when I first came to this place? Maybe it was the gunman who'd come back from his hunt. But then why didn't he wake me up? And where was the animal he was hunting?

Did he fail in his hunt? Did he drag the carcass upstairs when I was asleep? I shook my head to clear my mind of the fog that had materialized in there by the swirling storm of questions, and knocked. No response. Is anyone in there? I whispered.

My parched throat not allowing me to raise my voice. So I cleared my throat and spoke loudly. Are you there? Come on out. I knocked again. Come on out.

Sorry for barging into you. An inhuman, gutter all shriek cut me off. The next second, something impossible. possibly heavy slammed against the locked door, and I stumbled and fell backwards. My heart pounded in my chest as my mouth let out little puffs of vapour like a damn steam locomotive. What the fuck was that?

The door shook, dust came flying off the wooden frame as whoever or whatever was in there crashed into the door again. And again, while screeching its unholy lungs out. Jesus Christ, what if that gunshot I'd heard earlier was someone trying to kill this thing? Then I heard metal sliding against metal as the heavy latch was pulled back on the other side. Not wanting to face whatever was in there, I jumped up, locked the door on my end and raced downstairs, leaping over multiple steps at a time. The screaming grew louder and angrier as the person or thing I realized it had been locked in. there. It slammed into the door with a renewed rage and frustration, making the door bend and

and moan, terrify me that it would break, but miraculously it held on. I hid in a corner of one of the bedrooms downstairs, and it's here, and I found this diary on top of the bed. I've been using it to record my experiences in this place, but I'm not sure how long I'm going to stay here. It doesn't seem safe, I need to get out of here. Entry three. I saw it. I saw all the thing that lives here today. The banging and the screaming continued for hours,

rubbing me of any chance of sleep and shooting spine, tingling fear right into my veins. I've been drifting in and out of consciousness. The whole day, night, whatever it is. The relentless snowstorm, My exhaustion made me lose all sense of time. Even writing in this diary seems surreal, as if my hand is moving of its own accords, paying no heed to the cold that has turned it, pale blue in colour,

as it scribbles on this paper in a manic frenzy. Am I even writing anything? Is this shit even fucking legible? Or is it all in my head? And why am I writing anyway? It's as if something is compelling me to pen my thoughts, overriding the instinct to question the need of doing so. The cold was getting unbearable.

I needed to go back in front of the fire to keep both it and myself going. The shouts and the bangs had faded somewhat, not in their actual intensity, but in how my brain perceived them, going from a mortal threat to more of a menacing danger that lurked in the not-so-distant background, present but manageable.

This turned out. to be a big mistake because as I came close to the fireplace, that door burst open, and I saw him on top of the stairs, looking down at me. He didn't seem human, I really don't know how else to say it. His face was obscure by some strange mist, but I could see his eyes, wide and blood red as if every vein in his eyeball had popped and flooded the cornea with thick crimson blood. As though his monstrous eyes locked onto mine, he let out a blood-curdling screech, and I bolted out of there, locking myself back in my freezing haven. Entry four. I'm so, so hungry. It feels like there is some eldritch, ravenous beast writhing in my belly,

scratching wildly the thin walls of my stomach. It was the hunger that finally pushed me to get up and go search for food again, even though I know there's nothing to be found here. Stars danced in front of my eyes as I staggered onto my feet, but I shook my head and pressed on. As I lumbered out of my room, it is something from the corner of my eye. The door upstairs was wide open.

My gut tightened as I saw her. Was the smoke-faced monster still in there? Or had he run off? Jesus, what, if there's food in that room? Hunger and fear clashed within me in a desperate battle for supremacy. My stomach growled. Hunger had won. So I gripped my teeth, clenched my fists, and walked upstairs. To my utter relation, he wasn't in the room.

But to my disappointment, neither was there anything, anything. in it. But I did find something else. There was a hunting rifle propped up against a wall and a knife with a box of ammunition right next to it. A couple of metres to the left, the words, kill smokeface, were etched on an empty wooden cupboard, as if someone had carved them on there with a knife, probably with a knife lying on the floor next to the gun. I'd barely grab the gun when I heard footsteps downstairs, heavy boots that bent the floorboards beneath them. I did what anyone else would have. I locked the door on my side and sat facing it with the gun in my lap. Smokeface and I had effectively switched position. Entry five. I think I'd fallen asleep or was at the very least

snoozing for an indeterminate amount of time when I woke with a start, my heart thudding in my chest. I hate everything. I hate the cold. I hate the hunger. I hate being too cowardly to go down and shoot that fucking thing. I hate not getting any sleep. I hate not knowing how long I'll be stuck here. I angrily stomped on the floor,

frustrated at my cowardice in my hopeless situation. I took the knife and carved on and over the words already etched on the cupboard, as if strengthening my resolve. Next time I see him, I'll kill him and eat him if it's the only way I'll survive this goddamn storm. Now the opportunity came to me quickly indeed. I heard the back door groan loudly as it was swung open, and I quickly leapt to the window looking down on it. Smokeface stumbled out, his spinly legs jerking and moving in an abnormal manner as he shuffled through the snow. I swore under my breath, brought the gun up to the sun.

my shoulder and aimed down the sight. Hey, asshole, I screamed as he neared the tall cedar trees. He turned, his face veiled by a thick layer of falling snarl, and that abominable smoke. The gun rocked in my hand, and a loud boom later, that fucker fell over backwards, finally ending this nightmare. I sighed as I looked at the horizon, dotted by the birds that had flown away from their icy perches atop the towering cedar trees with the gunshot. It was a very beautiful sight. Entry 6. I jinxed it all by talking about it too soon.

I hadn't even finished writing about it when I heard someone shouting downstairs, this time from the front door. Oh, it can't be. He can't still be alive, not after I just shot him in the head. I should probably go downstairs and check, but I can't. I'm too fucking terrified. Entry seven. I spent the next several hours in a tense silence,

just watching the door, wondering what the hell was happening in this happen. Just when it looked like my heart was settling into a manageable rhythm, I heard footsteps. Someone was coming up the stairs. I clutched the gun close to my chest and waited. The door rattled as something knocked on it. Soon I heard a voice reverberating through the closed door and piercing my soul with its unholy familiarity.

Anyone in there? Come on out, it shouted, the loud voice bouncing around the walls and slamming into my eardrums. Come on out! The demonic voice rang loud, as if playfully taunting me. I screamed, giving in to my fear, not caring how pathetic I looked screeching like that I then kicked at the door with all my minds the action sending adrenaline pumping into my body

fuck this I'm going to send every bullet flying down this creature's throat I bought the latch open and got ready to shoot this thing full of holes but to my dismay it was now locked from the outside effectively trapping me here but I didn't give up I tossed my gun aside and slammed into the door, and again, and again.

For hours I crashed over and over into this door, trying my hardest to destroy this thing, until he finally moaned and gave out, making me stumble outside. As I got back up on my feet, I noticed him on the bottom of the stairs, watching me with his menacing bloodshot eyes, his face hazy with the smoke. I shrieked and ran back.

inside, jumping out of the open window in France. Entry 8. I brought my leg when I jumped out. You'd think the snow would have cushioned my fall, but I guess I must have misjudged this thing. Who am I kidding? I wasn't thinking at all when I leapt out of the window. The fear had temporarily robbed me of all capacity of rational thought, with primal fear the only thing in the driving seat of my nervous system. Ah, pain exploded in my leg, which twisted at an impossible angle as it snapped with a fall, and I passed out on the spot. I don't know how long I'd been unconscious, but it must have been quite a while,

because I had to dig my way out of the snow that had fallen on my cold body, covering it like a thin shroud. I was freezing, and my breath was coming out as thin, wispy clouds, as the storm continued to rage on. I should be dead, but by some divine. intervention, I was still kicking. Gingling getting on my good leg, I hobbled back into the house, my broken foot throbbing maddeningly. After I'd rekindled the flickering flames in the fireplace, I realized there was a sinking feeling in my chest, but my room upstairs was now shut.

How? I shattered it right out, taking it off its hinges. How is it okay now? I shuddered as I thought about how smokeface was now, not just still alive but also in possession of the gun. I can't stay here. He's going to kill me. Sooner or later, he's going to get me and make me suffer. I'm going to run away, go out the back door and keep moving in the direction I'd originally been walking in. Maybe I'll find some salvation somewhere else. I can't stay here. I just can't. This is the last entry I'm making in this diary, because as soon as I've regained some energy, I'm going to run for it.

I would have dismissed this diary as the nonsensical ramblings of a madman if it hadn't been for the conversation I'd had with the sheriff a couple of days later. He got in touch with some fedsy he was friends with and found out some very interesting things, like the fact that all the DNA samples taken from the bones they dug up were completely identical. It seems like the government was running some sort of a messed up experiment with clones. But for what?

To see whether the same things get repeated over and other, like a time loop without the benefit of hindsight? To study free will? Do we have free will? Or are we just corks bobbing away in the endless sea of causality? I guess we'll never know. cold spot it appeared one day in the doorway of our bedroom without any warning or announcement as if it had always been there i was the one who found it it was early morning the darkness hadn't yet dissipated and i was getting ready to go out for a job trying hard not to disturb my wife's soft snores as i slipped my shoes on i got up stretched my legs and began creeping out of the room when i felt it

at the back of my neck. A sudden burst of cold air, nipping at the flesh of my neck, causing goosebumps to spring up in alarm. I gasped as tremors ran through my body. What the fuck? I took a step back, and there it was.

I see cold wind, like the breath of an ice-dragging being exhaled by the wooden frame of the door. Where did it come from? Was there something wrong with the plumbing? I scanned the walls, no dampness in the walls anywhere. What else could it be? Maybe the old bones of the house had cracked with age,

lying the wind to squirm its way in. I had no idea. I shook my head and walked out, thinking I'd investigate it later when my wife was up. Ah, it was a beautiful morning, one that was warm and smelled of grass. I would have enjoyed it more had I not been so focused on the cold spot that it inexplicably appeared in my bedroom. Why was it so chilly when the day itself was this warm?

The walls cooled the air down as it wriggled into the house. The temperature difference was too stark to be explained away like this. I found myself strangely fixated on the cold spot, so much so that I hadn't even realized that I'd finished my run and had made it all the way back home. I wasn't the early one affected by it. As I entered the house, wiping beads of sweat off my brow, I found my wife in her bedroom, standing near the door with a frown marring her once beautiful face. There's a cold spot here, she remarked.

I know, it's weird. She cut me off. I don't like it. Get rid of it. I open my mouth to say that I would, but she'd already turned away and marched off to her daughter's room. Breakfast was an odd affair that morning. As our daughter sat chattering away about some inane middle school gossip, my wife chewed on her cereal, slowly, deliberately,

like she wanted to take the time to contemplate on its taste. Why is it there anyway? she asked, abruptly culling off our daughter's ramblings. I shrugged. I don't know, really. Of course you don't, she spat. I frowned. Now, you don't have to get rid of it, she said and walked off, leaving behind her bowl of unfinished cereal. My daughter looked at me questioning me.

I told her to finish her food. I couldn't focus much on work that day. Every time the air conditioner swung my way and blasted me in the face with freezing air, my mind instantly reverted to that damn cold spot. My co-workers were concerned, said I was, too distracted. I brushed their concerns aside,

but couldn't really get into my usual groove. I finally threw my hands up and got in touch with a plumber, and a carpenter. The sooner I got rid of that thing, the sooner I'd be able to get on with my life. Do you think there's something wrong with the air ducts? I asked a friend and co-worker while

I watched him pour coffee into his mug, with wisps of steam rising up hypnotically. It was warm, comforting, Unlike the... I don't know, I mumbled. It's too cold. Colder than what should be possible.

Huh, he said. Weird. I finished early that day and returned home, whistling a half-forgotten tune in the cold car. I grunted and switched the AC off about halfway into the journey. Back home, I found my wife sitting on the couch in the living room. She'd been waiting for me. Did anyone swing by today?

I asked. Jaw clenched. She glared at me. Yes, she replied. I noticed her body shivering, as if she'd been exposed to low temperatures for a long time. Couldn't fix it. Her teeth were chattering.

But of course they can't. How do you expect outsiders to come and tell you what to do? It's your house. Fix it yourself. My mouth felt dry. Like all the moisture had been sucked out by a saliva ejector. You're really cold. Have you been standing under it?

Her face warped into a snarl. Crow's feet sharpening like claws. Someone here has to, right? I don't want to, but someone's got to remember what's wrong here. I gulped at her. What? That doesn't make any sense. You don't have to stand anywhere.

She groaned in frustration and got up to leave. "'Hey, wait.' "'I grabbed her hand to stop her "'and instantly released it. "' Looks like clutching at a lump of ice. "'It stung her skin on my palm. "'What has she been doing when I was at work?' "'She marched off to the doorway and stood there,

"'her back facing me. "'Her body vibrated as the cold crashed into her. "'I tore my jacket off and ran towards the door. "'Stop,' I said, wrapping the jacket around her. What the fuck are you doing? She shrieked and violently tried to throw the jacket off. Ignoring the biting cold scraping at my flesh, I tried to push her away, away from that cold spot,

away from this obsessive madness. She screeched, slapped and clawed at me, but I used my brute strength to carry her away from that. Heart pounding in my chest, I backed her into a corner of the bedroom. Haasped the dishevelled hair falling down on her face. I saw her eyes flitting around like a cornered rat. Stop, stop, I yelled.

Fear and desperation clear in my cracked voice. Please, stop this shit and talk to me. She took a step back, spread her arms out on the walls like a spider, and glared at me. Teeth gritted, nose scratched up, veins of her neck stretch, painfully. She looked at me with such hatred it made my knees wobble. I couldn't for the life of me figure out what was happening here. It was so bizarre. None of it made any sense. Please, honey, I whispered. Stop. She screamed and ran into me and passed me.

She shoved me aside and ran faster than I'd better seen her run before coming to an abrupt halt at the doorway. shivering and whimpering she stood there despite the pain despite how weird it was she stood there like her life depended on it what are you doing i asked exasperated as i tried to wrench her off her spot once again she fought like a woman possessed as i heaved her onto my shoulders and carried her off to the living room before dumping around the couch let me go let me go she said slapping at my head and she said slapping at my head hands let me go i caught hold of her wrists and pulled her hands above her head effectively restraining her she opened her mouth and her chest started quaking and she began sobbing please please let me go i have to go i have to go i have to go i have to go i blinked and fought back tears baby you're scaring me

what's happening what's wrong i have to go i have to go i have to go Why, damn it, why? I have to, I have to, I have to. She writhed under me, using all her strength to free herself, but I held on for dear life. Well, I hit the gym daly, and so happened to be stronger than the average man, but believe me when I tell you,

I had to use every bit of my strength to hold her down. But hold her down I did. And slowly, the fight left her until she was crying and mumbling nonsense under her breath. When it looked like she'd calm down, I got her some water to drink. I have to stand there, she explained after gulping down a glass of lukewarm water. I feel it in my bones that something terrible is going to happen if I don't. I tried to reason with her.

Nothing's going to happen, okay. It's just air. Air that can make you sick if you stand exposed to it for too long. But that's all there is to it. You don't understand. You don't get it. There's nothing wrong here, I continued. Just a random cold spot. And we'll get it fixed, okay.

Nothing to worry about. Tears pooled in our eyes. I don't want to do it, she cried. I don't want to stand there. Please, don't make me. What the fuck? I'm not going to force you to do anything. But I have to, she insisted.

I have to. Was she having a nervous breakdown? Was that what this was? It's okay. I hugged her and she grabbed on to me like I was a life jacket. I kept a close eye on her for the rest of the day. Didn't let her out of sight until we'd finished dinner, tucked our daughter into bed and retired to the guest room,

showing the door behind us. There was no way we're going to sleep in that room. And thankfully my wife didn't insist on it. She calmed out. since her outburst and was no longer fighting to stand in the doorway but i took no chances and kept her with an arm's reach i cray my neck and looked at our bedroom once before locking the guestroom door shut and chills ran down my spine when i noticed a faint mist at the cold spot i shook my head to clear it of cobwebs of doubt and confusion just a cold spot nothing more my wife was not well and i promised myself to

off to book an appointment with a therapist for the next day. It was just a cold spot. We fell asleep with me on my back and her head on my chest. I woke up to an odd and rhythmic thumping sound. I sat out with a start and saw my wife standing at the door, softly banging her head against it. I checked the time on my phone just past midnight. Was she sleepwalking? Was this also a part of her sickness? I don't know. It creeped me out to think that even her subconscious was forcing her to move towards the cold spot.

Got out of bed and walked towards her to bring her back to bed. Now I didn't have a lot of expertise with dealing with people who sleepwalked, so I did what instinct told me to do. I placed my hand on her forehead and began gently redirecting her towards the bed. As I got her to lie down on the bed though, I heard something outside. I stray my ears to listen carefully. Silence.

It must have been my imagination, I thought, as I settled into the bed once again. It was morning when I woke up next. Sunlight was streaming in through the windows and falling on my face. I yawned and stretched my arms and noticed that I was cold and alone in bed. Oh, adrenaline flooded my body.

I rolled out of the bed and ran out the door. There she was. Not at the bedroom door, thankfully, but sitting listlessly on a wooden chair, facing the damn thing. I could see the side of her face. It was blank, like the life had been drained out of it. I glanced to what she was looking at,

and it froze my heart. My clammy hands fell to my sides and shook like leaves in the wind. I stumbled forward, not wanting to confirm what I feared, yet knowing that I absolutely had to. I approached the door, and my eyes fell upon the big, misshapen lump of ice under it. It came onto my waist, and it was about as thick as a washing machine. I bent and looked at it closely, and my stomach dropped. Oh, dear, go!

strong gust of cold wind from above me. An irregular lump of ice wobble. No. I reached towards it to steady it, but it was too late. The thing crashed into the ground, shattering into a dozen piecesy. A small basketball-sized chunk rolled over

and stopped at my naked foes, the ice freezing my toes. But I didn't pay it any attention. Because I was too busy, looking at the lifeless eyes. set in the frozen, decapitated head of my daughter. Every night for almost a year, I dreamed with the same woman. She had long wavy red hair and emerald green eyes. She was always there with no exception. As crazy as it may sound,

I fell in love with her. I know how pathetic it must sound to you, but it's true. I fell in love with my dream girl. I had no idea who she was because I'd never muchly seen her before. She was, without a doubt, the single most beautiful woman in the world. So I knew that if I had ever seen her in real life before, I never would have forgotten it. Every dream was the same. Every single night I drift off into my slumber, and once I crossed over into the dream world, there she'd be lying next to me. Her hypnotic eyes would stare into mine, and I would stare right back. She'd smile, hold my hand, and then kissed me deeply

before we would inevitably make love. I was never very successful when it came to relationships. I'm not what I consider overly attractive, but I'm confident that I'm not ugly either. I've just never had much luck with communicating with the opposite sex. I'm not gay, so that wasn't the issue. I just never possessed the desire to make any real effort when it came to courting potential partners.

It wasn't until the very first night that she came to me that I finally felt a genuine attraction. I did my typical nightly rituals of listening to creepy past generations on YouTube while drinking a nice glass of wine. Once I finished my drink, I crawled into bed and drifted off almost immediately. That first night, I thought someone had broken into my house. She was lying there and I almost freaked out, but then I realized that I was dreaming.

I've always been a lucid dreamer, so the idea that I knew that I was dreaming didn't seem so far-fetched. "'It's okay, my love,' she whispered, stroking my face with her hand. Suddenly she leaned in and kissed me for the first time. I felt no desire to fight her, and I embraced her affection. We made love for the first time that night, and when we were finished, we lay there holding each other. Who are you? I asked, stroking her long, red locks.

Rebecca, she answers. I love you, Rebecca, I said, genuinely feeling as much for the first time in my entire life. I love you too, she reciprocated. I woke up the next morning trying to understand what exactly had happened that night. From then on it became a recurring dream. It was the same every night. We'd lie there. She'd kiss me, we'd make love, and we'd hold each other.

Sometimes we'd talk about things. We'd talk about how my day went, about my plans for the future. I think that was what made me truly fall deeply in love with her. I'd never connected with a real person, as I did with her. I'd never listen to my story, nor ask me what I wanted out of life. after a while it became depressing as nice as it was to feel something for someone the fact that she wasn't real was beginning to weigh on my mind things would never go anywhere we would never get married we would never have children it would only ever be the same dream until the day that it stopped as suddenly as it started one day i decided to try my hand at dating real women again went to various social media platforms and ended up connecting with a very nice nice girl named Jessica from my area. We chatted for a while and got to know each other quite well,

as well as you can get to know someone over the internet, and eventually we decided to meet face to face, and it went perfectly. She was gorgeous and gave off an energy that I could appreciate. Later that night, Jessica invited me to her place to hook up. It was an amazing night, and we laid there holding each other. after we drifted off to sleep, I had an odd dream about Rebecca. It wasn't the same, though.

Instead of the usual lying next to me, they were standing in my kitchen. She looked slightly off from past dreams. It looked like her, but imperfect, as if someone tried to draw a picture of her from memory. In her hands she held a wine-glass and sipped from it, winking at me. I woke up suddenly and realized it was morning. From that day, Jessica and I began dating exclusively. It was my first human connection with a real person in a very long time. I was absolutely over the moon about it.

Every night I'd hope that I wouldn't dream of Rebecca, and for the longest time I didn't. First, the dreams continued when I slept at home. They went on the same until the final dream. I stopped her from kissing me and said that I'd met someone. Her usual look of passionate love quickly turned into a heartbreaking expression of betrayal. Suddenly she slapped me across the face, and I watched her get up and walk out of the room. I thought to myself that it was odd how much of a slap from a dream could hurt.

That was the last dream I had about Rebecca. But it would not be the last time that I saw her. After about three months into dating Jessica, we were walking together when a man accidentally bumped into me. We exchanged our apologies and I turned around one last time to give off a huger wave. While I was turned around, I saw her. Off in the distance stood a woman that looked identical to Rebecca. She stood there and stared at me.

I rubbed my eyes thinking that maybe they were playing tricks on me. When I looked again, she was gone. I must be losing my mind, I thought to myself. Everything all right, babe, asked Jessica. Yeah, I answered, shaking my head. Just thought I saw someone I knew. Every so often this would happen. She would randomly appear and just as quickly vanished if I looked away.

About a year later, Jessica and I got married, and I could have sworn I saw Rebecca when we left the church, wearing that same look of betrayal she'd given me ever since that night we'd broken up. It was a night that Jessica and I had. I returned from our honeymoon that everything changed. We decided to move into my house and after we finished unpacking Jessica's things, we decided to call it tonight. I got to see each a glass of wine, but before we fell asleep, I got sick. I ended puking up everything I'd consumed that night. I crawled into bed and was out cold. Eventually I woke up with

the sounds of gasping and choking. It was coming from Jessica's side of the bed. When it turned over to look, my heart dropped. It was Rebecca. She was mounted on top of Jessica, and she had both of her hands around her throat. While I sprang up and tackled Rebecca, pinning her to the ground by the arms. Jess, call the Cubs, I yelled out, but Jessica wouldn't move. She looked like she'd been drugged and could barely understand what was happening to her. I turned my attention to Rebecca. Who the hell are you? I yelled.

What did you do to her? A baby, she answered, smiling wickily. It's me, Rebecca. I love you. You're mine. Don't you love me too? And she made a pouty face. Suddenly she need me right in the crotch and I fell over in pain.

She stood over me and kicked me in the face. I sped out blood as I tried to catch my breath. "'You were mine, you son of a bitch,' she screamed, punching me hard in the nose. "'How was your dream girl, wasn't I? "'I gave you love and pleasure and affection every night, didn't I?' "'She punched me again. "'You drank the goddamn wine? Why aren't you mine now?' "'Tiers began to fall down her face as she screamed.

"'She then grabbed me by the hair at the back of my head and kissed me deeply. I bit her on the mouth and held on as she cried in pain. I released my jaws and head butted her in the face, knocking her out cold. Well, she survived and was arrested that night. After a thorough police investigation, it was discovered that Rebecca had been living in my attic this whole time. My dreams of her were the result of her drugging my bottles of wine. I was completely under the influence and had mistaken what was happening for recurring dreams

about a woman that I'd never met before, but had thought she was my ideal dream girl. To this day, I still think of her, and how I truly fell in love with this psychopath that had been drugging and raping me every night for almost a year. Needless to say, this has caused a strain on my marriage. I've seen a therapist to deal with what had happened, as well as a marriage counsellor to help save our relationship. Things, however, just got harder for us, when I received a call from the prison that Rebecca is residing in which I foolishly accept it hey babe she said after I answered what do you want Rebecca I asked rubbing the bridge of my nose oh I'm fine sweetie thanks for asking I just wanted to let you know the wonderful

news my first thought was that she was being released but I quickly dismissed that she'd been charged with breaking and entering sexual assault aggravated assault not to mention attempted murder she was not getting out any time soon what i asked hesitantly well sweetie i know that typically when we may love it was a passionate experience where you'd show me just how much you love me i shuddered again what's your point i asked getting agitated Well, the last time I didn't exactly wake you up. My mouth went dry. I began to panic trying to understand what she was talking about.

Was there a point when she'd molested me, but I was unconscious the whole time? What are you talking about? I asked, trying to remain calm. How a last meeting, silly, she said excitedly. I knew that you'd thrown up all of your wine, which also meant that you threw up. up my love potion, but I also knew you were a deep sleeper without it, so I decided I would just let you sleep through our lovemaking that time. That bitch in your bed was fully dosed, so she didn't even know what was going on other than having a pretty fucked up dream. She giggled, and I tried not to throw up. I knew where this was going, but I had to ask. What exactly are you trying to say?

I asked, knowing full well what she was telling me. Isn't it obvious? She giggled again. Then she whispered, You're going to be a dad, shape-shifters. Most people easily remember their last conversation with a loved one before their death, just because it's the last they saw of them.

But I don't remember my last conversation with my cousin Matt, solely because it was the last time I saw him. It was a rainy day. The air was foggy, a thick curtain of mist drowning the city. Coffee's real cold, he remarked, taking a sip from it. A few droplets poured onto the glass. We were seated inside a booth in a small coffee shop on the corner of a bustling city street. We shouldn't have come here.

Always crappy service, I responded. A mob of people held umbrellas and shielded themselves from the onslaught of water that burst from the sky. The clouds, which had been swollen and puffy during the last few days, had finally decided to let loose and rain hell upon the world. I took a sip from my glass of coffee and spat it back out, feeling cold droplets leaked down my throat. I coughed. It's terrible, I stated. That was your idea to come in. Yeah, last time I came, it was still better than this.

Hey, so, um, I know you wanted to talk about Carson, Matt said to me. I pursed my lips, nodded my head. You want to talk to me about it? I want you to listen. First, Jackson's and ass. Try not to let him get to you too much. I frowned and looked outside again, watching the people go by, staring at their faces. Saw eyes.

cheeks sleek with cheers and solemn expressions leaning my head against the window and watching the crowd I murmured to Matt he did everything for me and then drifted away before he fucked my girlfriend people change I guess cold-hearted piece up

one of the faces outside caught my eye it was a man with dark hair and pronounced features he flashed his pearly teeth forming an ear-to-ear grin. Soulless, empty eyes that seemed to smile just as wide, though with looming purposelessness. He wore a sleek yellow raincoat, sleek with rainfall. The hood was pulled over his head.

His smile grew wider, and he stared at Matt. I shot Matt a glance. He narrowed his eyes. The man began to walk across the street, coming closer to the coffee shop. He had a strange glow about him, as though the fog didn't affect him, and he could be seen clearly through it. He didn't check both ways when he crossed the streets. A car, rolling down the road, honked when they almost crashed into him.

He continued to walk. Who the hell is that, Matt? Matt, do you know him? I asked. Matt only stared out of the window. His jaw gaping. The man approached. He stood in place and he smiled.

His eyes did not wander back and forth. They trained solely on mat. My cousin stared back, his former squint turning into a prolonged gaze. He produced a weak, seemingly plastic smile in response. The man's teeth gleamed as the headlights of a passing car reflected off of it. He carefully turned around, and walked away the smile disappeared in an instant and replaced itself with the look of a soldier standing at attention matt and i trained our sights on the man as he walked away off into the distance

out of our view the mist consumed him and he was gone yeah people change matt said after a long moment of silence. Then he stared at me. We can talk about this in the car, I replied. We drove along the city streets. I explained it all to him, one of those typical, oh, they rip my heart out, conversations that last for hours and results in the realization that you don't need them anymore, them being my best friend and my girlfriend. I went home and tossed and turned for a while. My mind was still just as cloudy, as the world was outside. I cleared the fog by watching reruns on TV.

I closed my eyes halfway through an episode, and rest came eventually. I had work the next day, and went to that without a problem. The week went on as usual, until I received a phone call later one night, one for my mother. I answered the phone, and I could hear sobbing on the other end.

Mom, what's wrong? She sniffled and spoke a few words. Emptiness. Emptiness is the one word I can use to describe it. I lowered my head, threw myself onto my bed, laid there for hours. It was the calm before the storm, feeling nothing but a pit at the bottom of my stomach. Disbelief was still inhibiting realisation. I didn't try to sleep and instead listened to Mumford and Sons, my favourite band.

for much of that night. Time progressed. I started to punch my penalties. Then the funeral came. I walked over to the caskets, known they kept it closed for morbid reasons. I'd heard enough about the grisly conditions they found him in. I beg God for change, for this to be just like Lazarus in the Bible. Come forth, Lazarus, rise from the tomb, or whatever the hell it was, he said. I never used to pray, but that night I found myself praying as I drove home, praying as I showered, praying as I washed the dishes, praying as I fell asleep. It was a storm cloud hanging over my head. Looking down would make it go away, but you could still hear the thunder.

I skipped work for the rest of that week and came back the next Monday. Every few minutes something would distract me. I shook my leg. I tried to keep it still and then gave in to the shaking again. I tapped my pen against my desk and cracked the joints in my fingers. My computer screen sat before me. Images flashed on it. My girlfriend, Jackson and Matt.

My girlfriend, Taylor, and Jackson's smiles look so fake compared to Matt's now. I went through my computer and deleted every single picture I had left of Jackson and Taylor. And this was followed by the memory of my cousin and I, sitting in the shop. Cold coffee, his face. The man's face and his smile. A man walking into the mist. The moment where we shook hands and he patted me on the back and told me everything would be all right one last time. Carson, you okay?

Somebody tapped me on the shoulder. I spun around feeling myself choked up. and something wet drizzling down my cheek. I wiped it away and sniffle. I'm so, so sorry for your loss. You can go home if you need to, my boss said calmly. Yeah, that'd be good. Thank you for understanding, Mr. Johnson.

Carson, you know everyone just calls me, Michael. Sorry, I said, standing up. I pushed my chair in behind me, Gather my things and started the walk for the parking lot, which was across from the office. More mist and rain. A sheet of water splashed over my shirt as a car passed me in the streets, laying on their horn.

They wrote their window down. Sure, watch where you going, buddy, shouted a gruff voice. I didn't bother to look at who was driving. I looked next to my car, unlocking the doors. someone was parked in the spot next to mine who I'd never seen before she had long blonde hair she turned her head slowly a smile growing on her lips chills coursed through me I got into my sedan and shut the door starting the car I shot her one last glance seeing her impossibly white teeth once more I didn't smile or wave and instead through

the car into drive and pulled forward out of my space, zoomed across the parking lot, then proceeded to cruise along the roads back to my apartment. I felt shivers running down my back as I thought of the woman in the car again, and that sickening smile that she wore. Her eyes never blinked. She didn't even seem to be breathing. Sleep didn't come easily that night. I threw the sheets off of me, feeling hot and cold rushes, winding through.

my skin. Sweat pulled up in my armpits. I closed my eyes and tried to give in to the blackness. I managed to surrender myself to sleep in time. I woke up with a stuffy nose and a sore throat. I coughed and looked around my bedroom. It was still dark with the light filtering in from the closed blinds, leaving everything a shade of grey and white. I was a looming shadow in the corner of my room and I saw a whitish gleam coming from the silhouettes, like a reflection or a trick of the light. I knew, though, that there wasn't a lamp or coat rack in that corner of the room. My heart pulsed a few times. I felt the blood circulating through me grow thicker, almost defensive, like archers lining a castle wall during a medieval siege. I jolted forward,

glaring at the dark spot. He shifted. I felt eyes piercing into me. Who's there? I asked. Nothing in response. I'm not playing any games, I said. My voice sounding withered and defeated.

The gleam in the shadows faded away, and the darkness was broken apart as the sun began to shine brighter through the closed blinds. I sighed, stood up, began to walk around my bedroom. pacing back and fall. The day continued on. I showed up to work and slugged through it all. I keep my leg against the ground, tapping a pen against the table. That reminded me of the time where Matt and I, during our history class in middle school, had gotten detention after we continued to tap our pens against our desks. The teacher had started off by giving us a warning, and by his third or fourth warning, his face was tomato red, and I thought,

steam would start blowing out of his ears. I remember the two of us laughing about it at lunch with Jackson. Lost in my thoughts, I almost didn't hear Michael behind me. Can you come to my office, Carson? I set the pen down and turned around. Yeah, I'll be there in a moment. Michael didn't say another word and just walked away. I looked at him, only to see the back of his suit and his legs carrying him back to his office.

I stood and followed, catching the eyes of my fellow employees as I went. I saw a smile flash at me, but didn't recognize who they were. I swallowed and then kept my head pointed down, watching the carpeted floor underneath my feet changed colours as I entered another section of the office. Michael's door was left open, and I didn't rather to knock. He had multiple awards and trophies sat on the edge of his desk. A laptop open in front of him He was leaning back in his chair

And cracked his knuckles Have a seat, he said He gestured to one of the chairs Sitting down like there was a nail About to jab into my ass And stared at him This son Isn't an easy conversation to have

You're a great worker and a great man, Carson I'm not going to fire you That's not what this is about but I don't like seeing you this way Oh, I miss the Carson that walks and then shouts Good morning every day I've got an offer to make you I've got a good friend, Jenna Gray

She's a therapist I'm sure I could get you an appointment with her for free And maybe even multiple appointments without pay If you don't go to her At least do something Read a motivational book Get your feelings out You know I'm here for you too Carson

Take the time to hear heal, but don't let yourself get stuck in the months. I miss your pranks and your energy. Noticing the silhouette of a trophy in the corner of the room, I nodded my head. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I know. There's nothing to be sorry for. I agreed to see Jenna sometime soon, and Michael told me he'd try and get an appointment or two set up. Work got out at five. I walked across the street into the parking lot. Along the way I caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye. I looked up.

Part next to my car was a smiling woman. Only this time I watched as her teeth parted and a snaking, inhuman tongue curled out from it. She didn't say anything inflicted at me. Flex of spit shot between her teeth, and her eyes were stony and shiny like. polished marble. I sprinted to my car and threw the door open. I launched myself into the driver's seat, stabbed the key into the ignition and started the car. I peeled out of the locks. I didn't look back

once and found my apartment using an alternate route. Once inside, I sat at the kitchen table. I created my face in my hands, rubbed my eyes, looked around. I hadn't turned any of the lights on yet. Greyish light covered the apartment. I turned on a small lamp in the kitchen's corner and leaned against the wall. The next day after work I went to my appointment to go see Jenna. The fog had broken apart during the afternoon. The horizon was painted sky blue and a glowing yellow plate hung in the sky, beaming rays of sunshine down on my skin.

A cool breeze twisted through the air as I stepped out of my car, closing the door behind me. There were a few windows spaced out between the drab bricks. A bell rang as the door open. There was a mother watching a son play with trucks on the floor. His hair was matted and his clothes were wrinkled. There were bags underneath his eyes. I stood and watched the boy play for a while. When the mother looked up at me,

I almost expected a smile to spread wide across her face. I found nothing but a frown and two hazy eyes staring back at me. I stared for a moment, and then I blinked and found a seat. I was a door on the left with a plaque on it that read, Jenna Grey, and thick golden letters. My sight was trained on the two words like a sniper, following its target. I turned my head to look outside again. The sunlight disappeared as a fluffy, grey cloud loomed closer,

reminding me of warships. The door squeaked. and my head snapped back to the plaque. A filthy unshaven man coughed and thanked Jenner as he stepped out of her room. With the man gone, I saw Jenner in the doorframe. A long blonde hair almost covered her face while a grin, and her teeth sparkled, bathed in the dim light of the office. She didn't speak a word to me.

I began to take steps backwards, my breath coming in gasps. I felt the collective eyes of the other. clients in the waiting room all staring at me jenna's mouth open her tongue began to sliver out between her red lipstick i don't remember the seconds between sprinting from the office and getting home i just remember lying in my bed naked and shivering from a cold shower thinking to myself the woman in the car i came to work the day after and performed worse than i ever had since john had died i I had woken up early and parked, and planned to leave late too. Came to work the day after, and performed worse than I ever had since Matt died.

I'd woken up early and parked, and planned to leave late, too. While I was at work, I researched and found Jenna Gray's website and looked for a photo of Aaronic. Jenna had brunette hair instead of blonde, different eye colours and facial structures, too. In the middle of the day I fell half asleep And when I woke up Thunder cracked and wind screamed all around me

Blue stripes of lightning could be seen through my open window The rain spilled in As the woman climbed through The smile still stuck onto her face I curled into a ball on the other side of the room Clutching a knife in my hand I pointed it at her and muttered I'm not playing any games

Nothing in return But that smile I blinked the sleep out of my eyes And looked around the office Nobody was making any phone calls And there was no conversation Across the room between co-workers Only the sound of fingertips

hitting their keyboards My head throbbed And I winced Thought about trying to go home I remembered how many days I'd already taken off I think I managed to create the illusion of productivity writing a few expense reports

long breaks of pen tapping in between each paragraph I listened to the clock in the cubicle as it ticked with each passing second my shaky hands produced errors twice as often as they had the day before I found myself deleting whole sentences and re-typing me doing good Carson

Michael patted me on the back you've got this I nodded my head. Thanks, Michael. I felt him walk away and didn't turn to look. Michael told me I needed to go home when I asked to stay longer.

I swallowed, I didn't argue. I clocked out and crossed the street with a thumping heart. I could see that familiar car parked next to my own. I reached into my pocket, produced my phone and turned on the camera app. I took longer strides than usual, and then I was at the woman's window.

She was still there. Her teeth were the first thing I saw. The tongue unfurled itself like a scroll open, a slobber drip from her lower lip. I snapped a picture of her and then jam myself into the driver's seat. The car was in reverse and out of the parking lot in seconds. I almost hit a pedestrian on the way out. I heard their shouts echoing from behind me.

Shivers race through my body. The shaking fit continued until I reached the apartment and parking lot. I didn't park the car. I held a foot on the brake instead. I opened the photo out. The woman's outline was static, as if she'd been there in the photo but was cropped out. My stomach flipped like a pancake.

I didn't sleep. whatsoever that night. The light seeping through my blinds was enough to make me jump. My hands trembled and a layer of cold sweat covered me. The headache never left. My body felt spring-loaded like my bones were going to shoot through my skin. I ate breakfast in hurry the next morning and part my car in a small lot, just down the street from my office building. A street lamp nearby provided enough dull orange light for me to use the stick of Yoda. I kept in the glove box, I'd forgotten to shower. Tires rolled across the concrete.

My eyes shot over, met another pair of eyes. Stone, cold eye. I threw my door open, closed it and locked the doors. I heard another car lock, look back and saw the woman standing outside of her car. Her mouth formed a toothless grin. Two tongues slipped out this time. I checked her license plate. There was no number on it, just a sheet of white metal.

I sprinted into the office. I didn't get a lot of work done the next day. I took the most pen-tapping breaks that I ever had. Michael appeared behind me again, clapping a hand on my shoulder. He murmured his congratulations and sauntered off back to his office. I looked outside as a flock of crows, like little fighter jets soared by. I ate a cold ham sandwich for lunch and then went back to work. I stared at the crumbled-up wrapper that sat in the trash can, shook my head and tapped my pen against the desk.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, turning around to see Matt. He was only there for a second, long enough for me to see the craze grin on his face before he disappeared. I froze, my mouth gaping up. mouth gaping open. My heart jumped a few times. The day started to come to a close. People get to the office. Intentionally, I left one large task undone. Do you think you're well enough to get it done tonight? Michael asked, tossing me the keys to the office. I'll try. No promises. My throat was dry. All right, you can lock up then. Thank you, Carson. Lots of respect for you.

Yeah, I replied. He left the office. I heard the door closing behind him and looked around my cubicle. There was a picture frame in the back corner, with papers piled on top of it. I reached out, rushing the pages assigned. Underneath there was a framed photograph of Jackson and I on the first day of sixth grade. I stared at him, mostly. His blonde hair was spiked and crusted with me.

up. Now his face appeared devilish, like that of a mischievous kid. Oh, I wished he was in front of me right now. My hands needed to beat something. Glass shard stuck out of my bloodied knuckles after I brought my fist against the picture four or five times. With the glass broken, I tore out the photograph inside. My hands ripped it to pieces without me having to think about it. I dropped the remains over the trash bucket. in my corner. Then they drifted down like snowflakes. I launched the wooden frame into the trash afterwards. My breath came in shaky gasps now. I closed my eyes and leaned back in my chair. I heard scratching from across the office. It didn't rouse me, though. Then the scratches came again,

louder. My head shut up. I squinted and looked at the window on the other side of the office. Most of the lights were out leaving the building a dim, lifeless colour. Fog had built up outside and rain poured down in sheets. Rain drops race down the glass. A message scratched into the glass

was lit up in the window. I shook my head. The urge to say sitting was powerful but curiosity yanked me by the hair and dragged me over to the scratches on the window. My first thought It's just a nightmare, Carson. It's a fucking nightmare and nothing more.

So don't go screaming, running out of here. Written from the inside of the office, it read, You don't smile bad. The balloon that had been inflating since that day in the coffee shop with mats had just burst. I had a loud pop at the back of my head. I ran back to my desk, gathered my things and dashed out of the office, shutting off all the lights as I went.

I locked the door behind me, crossed the parking lot and got into my car. The woman's car wasn't there. The next thing I remembered was being back in my apartment. I'm still there as I write this. I've gone to work every single day for three days and haven't seen the woman once. I've seen her in my dreams almost every night.

It's just a replay of that nightmarish dream my hat during work. Rolling thunder, howling wind, hoaring rain. Her in the winter cell, climbing in, while I carry in the corner with a blade I'm too afraid to use. That sensation of being spring-loaded has grown. Matt's cause of death was never released. I think I understand why now. Yesterday, my other cousin, Grant, gave me a call. I answered the phone with a grumbling. Hey Grant. Carson, how are you holding up, man? I drew in a deep side. I looked out the window next to me, watching the crows find their way through the phone. Holding up, I guess. I heard Grant swallow through the static. Listen, Carson, I've got some fucked up news for you

about Matt. I waited. A few more crows flat by. This time closer to my window. What? What is it? I stammered. Grant's words came out choked. His bone stabbed through his skin, Carson, like his body couldn't contain them.

That's how he died. It was like a rotten, decomposing hole in my chest had begun to gnaw away at my flesh. A few more crows flew by the window. This time there was something on the glass. A smiley face was scratched into it. Done from the inside. 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 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 point. place and I do so hope you'll join me once more.

Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.