Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S3 Ep143: Episode 144: The 2023 Halloween Special

Episode Date: October 26, 2023

Tonight’s fabulous collection of stories are all by the wonderfully talented Ryan Brennaman, kindly shared with me for the express purpose of having me narrate it here for you all:  ‘Fetch’  ‘Inside-Out’  ‘The Oesterling’s House is Haunted’  ‘Of Wolves and sheep’  ‘The Butcher’s Woods’  ‘The Three Tongues’  ‘When the Lightning Strikes’  ‘With what eyes the Heavens Gaze’  ‘Switching Lanes’  ‘An Astute Observation’  ‘Isaac and Abraham’  ‘A Canary in a Coalmine’ ‘Tales from the DSA Case Files’  https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/31

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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. People love Halloween because it allows them to temporarily escape reality, embrace creativity, and take on different personas in a playful and spooky atmosphere. It's a celebration of imagination and a break from the ordinary, as we will see in tonight's delightful collection of tales. Now, my dear friends, 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. But that sounds like your kind of thing. Then let's begin. Tommy threw the damn blue squeaky ball through the air again, wiping the dirt and spit on his khaki shorts. Once more, with an incredible enthusiasm for so early in the morning, his Labrador retriever ran off after it, chasing it to the edge of the untrimmed grassy field.

as the dog, the one his mom had named Butter, fumbled around, snapping at the elusive ball. Tommy pulled out his phone and started scrolling through his text messages. Amusedly, he laughed at the latest one from his mother. 8.11 a.m. The Bradd given you any problems yet? Butter panted as she rounded Tommy's legs. With a sigh, Tommy reached down and tugged at the ball. Butter held firm, but with some effort,

Tommy was able to pull the ball free. He tossed it again right to the edge of the field. With his left hand, because his right one was coated in puppy slime, Tommy responded. 8.23 a.m. Yeah, but it's fine. We're in back round. Butter grabbed the ball, almost toppling over her own feet and into the field. He came sprinting back. As Tommy pried the ball away, he got another message.

from his mother. 8.24 a.m. Don't stay out too long. Ran into Mr. Anthony this morning. Said he thinks he heard coyotes in the field last night. Mr. Anthony? He was there next-door neighbour.

Tommy didn't know him that well. Just knew that he was friendly enough and that his wife passed away about two years ago. Rarely saw him. Hobbled around with a black wood cane whenever he went out to his garden. Long white Santa Claus. claw's beard. He didn't know his mum ever talked to Mr. Anthony. Tommy threw the ball.

Butter chased the ball. 8.24 a.m. Oh, I'll keep an eye out. Thanks. Looking out to the field, Tommy wondered when the last time they'd seen a coyote was. Months, surely. Before that, maybe years, they weren't common. Plus, it wasn't like they were wolves or anything really threatening. coyotes were small, smaller than Butter, surely, and she was still a puppy. Tommy wasn't worried at all. Butter gave Tommy the ball rather easily this time, dropping it on the ground. She noticed it playfully closer with her snout. She lit her tongue dangled as she panted.

She sat like a good dog, a good, patient dog, waiting for Tommy to play fetch. One more throw? Tommy asked. butter jumped up, lunging for the ball, leaving muddy footprints all over Tommy's pants. Get down, he ordered bitterly. Go get it. Launching the ball, he realized he'd overdone it. The ball flew further than before, and it landed about ten feet inside the field. Oh, shit, he murdered his butter took off, diving headfirst into the long grass.

He disappeared after the ball. confident that Butter would not only find the ball but also return and hoping to keep his involvement at a minimum Tommy focused back on his phone As he scrolled through videos hoping to find something good to watch He saw Butter jump out of the field A head raised confidently

She was carrying something Good The last thing Tommy wanted was to get some ticks Searching for the dog's damn squeaky blue ball Without looking at the dog's damn squeaky blue ball Without looking at the dog's dog, Tommy lowered his hand and told Butter to give it. She seemed to do so willingly, but before Tommy could say, good girl, he realized it didn't feel right. Tommy looked down at the object she brought him.

It wasn't the damn squeaky blue ball. It was a stick. No, not a stick. A cane. A black wood cane. Mr. Anthony, Tommy murmured, kneeling down beside a panting butter to examine the find. He noticed the teeth marks before he could finish his sentence, but they weren't butters. The entire cane was covered in deep, savage bite marks. His thoughts trailed off as butter started to growl. She faced the field. Tommy looked up, clutching the stick close. Something moved, rustling the stick.

the long blades of grass. He was heading right for them. Racing, sprinting, bounding and growling. Butter started to mark as the thing broke free of the long grass. It was much bigger than a coyote, almost like a bear more than anything else. Long black fur fell around its muscular frame. Long, talon-like claws raked the ground. Tommy stumbled over butter, knocking them both to the ground. Whereas Buddy was able to quickly recover and bolt towards the house, Tommy was not. Tommy was left, staring down the creature's broad nose as it slowed to a halt. Almost atop him, the creature took deep, pounding breaths as it seemed to size him up. Tommy, slowly backing off, noticed that the creature held something between its massive jaws.

It was Mr. Anthony. lifeless and pale. The creature proceeded to drop the corpse at Tommy's feet, freeing its massive fangs. Tommy was sure they were meant for him. Positive. This was it. This was the end. He cowered and waited for pain and death.

Yet it didn't come. The monstrous beast simply panted with its blue. blood-smeared tongue dangling from its mouth. It sat right behind Mr. Anthony's corpse. Tommy was unsure of what to do of what it wanted, until it leaned forward and ever so gently nudged on the corpse with its oversized snout. It sat there and waited, like a good dog, like a good, patient dog,

waiting for Tommy to play fit. There was no exit that she could find, only more endless corridors of repeating reflections. She felt like she was chasing her own terrified face. But no, she wasn't doing the chasing. He was. She was pursued through the fun house. Chased by laughter and transient images in her periphery,

she had to force herself forward, onwards towards free. him, away from him, away from the black and white cloud. Her right hand smeared sweat and oil across the mirrors as she dragged it along. It was a trick her mother had taught her back when she was a child. You can get out of any maze in the world, she had told her, if you just put your right hand on the wall and follow it out. His image, the clown's face, kept appearing on the glass, darting around her from places unseen. She knew he was close, for she heard his laughter, and she heard his footsteps, but she couldn't be sure where.

Sometimes it seemed like he was right in front of her, so real, so close. Black diamond eyes and a ragged, colorless suit, tattered collar and wiry black hair, razor blades embedded in his fingertips, and ashen smile scorched across his face. but he was never actually there he was close but such was the madness that was the fun house she couldn't be certain what was real and what was mirage

each mirror was pristine like crystal every image held weight and malice each one felt real she mumbled through exhausted lips her head turning and twisting as she fell through corridors and corners hollering in spite at his

mockingly curled lips Where are you? The exit must have been close. Surely. She felt like she'd been wandering for hours, and she'd started to pass areas she knew she'd already been. She could trace her smeared handprints across the mirrored walls. Finally, there was a long corridor before her, the longest straight shot yet. The only place she hadn't yet tried. Finding her last, desperate reserves of energy, she bolted down the path. but as she reached its end she realized that there was nowhere left to go her hand fell into a corner and she traced a solid black wall to the other corner and she finally rested not because she wanted to

but because she'd run out of places to go her only option was to turn back back towards the approaching laughter towards the clown with a razor fingers she pounced against the glass with her palms at first. She begged to God to anyone for a way out, for help. Then her begging curdled by fear became rage. Primal rage as the footsteps seemed set around the corner. It was her and the clown. She looked back the way she'd come. It was just one long hallway. No way in but one. No way in but one. No way. way out but dead ahead. It was a straight shot. Just her and him, just life and death. Twisting her torso, she yelled as her fist met one of the glass panels on her left. The glass screamed

and bloody shards fell onto the floor. Smearing her fresh blood across the pieces, she found the largest and most intimidating blade the shattering had made, and she gripped it so tightly that the edges easily split her skin. One way out. Her versus him. Fight or flight. And she'd made her decision. She wouldn't go down without a fight.

The clown was coming. He was rounding the corner, sprinting through the fun house like the madman he was. His laughter echoed down on her, falling around her from seemingly every direction. And she thought, she was ready. Immediately he came, his reflection shot across the dozens of mirrors that spanned the hall,

his smile glistening across dozens of faces. But he only appeared on the mirrors. No one had rounded the corner. In the reflections the clown stood with shoulders squared and predatory arms held at his sides, like it was staring her down. But no one stood at the end of the hall. She wondered if he could have been standing around the corner, waiting for her to come to him instead of the other way around. But his reflection overtook hers on every mirror, as if he stood between her and every panel in the entire hall.

Something was off. Come on, she screamed. Her weapon poised and ready. I'm right here. Show yourself. The laughing that seemed like it was coming from everywhere. stopped. The smiling reflections gazed at her, and then, seemingly, they gazed past her, as a tapping sound came from the glass behind her. Turning her head, and only her head,

she noticed that the clown was reflected behind her as well, on the entire dead-end wall. It was like he stood right there, but that couldn't be. She'd touched those mirrors herself. The smear of her hand still sat across the clown's grinning lips But that's when she realized that the tapping had come from the mirror itself The clown reflection before her was waving at her It was the only reflection that did so Around her all the images started to tap and knock against the glass Each one moving independently of the others

They chuckled they mocked her from inside the mirrors. Then the clown smiles all faded in unison. Their faces, their cheeks started to tremble as a carnivorous hunger burned behind their eyes. It started with the one that had been waving. He raised his hand and placed the razor blade embedded inside his index finger on the panel of the glass,

and then he started to carve downwards. The screeching of dissected glass filled the fun house as all the reflections followed the lead at their own pace, cutting their mirrors in two from the inside out. She felt angry, boiling tears fill her eyes, causing her to only grip that large shard tighter in her hands. The mirrors around her started to crack as the clowns started to push on them from the inside out. They were pushing their way out from inside, birthing themselves into the world like snakes from their eggs. As their arms and faces stretched out from the mirrors, she bent over and picked up a second shard of glass.

With a deep breath in and a long hissing breath out, she calmed herself. Blood dripping from her hands, she braced herself. Her situation was more complicated than before. but the basics were still the same. There was one hall, one way out. She wouldn't go down without a fight. No, it's not. Angelica sighed, rolling her eyes.

"'Is too,' chuckled Felicia. "'Just ask your boy, Charles. "'Said he couldn't get three feet past the door "'before he could hear the moaning.' "'Angelica shook her head as Felicia started circling making ghostly noises. Her collar pulled up over the back of her head. With an arched eyebrow, Angelica crossed her arms and stared Felicia down.

Knock it off, she ordered. Felicia listened, relaxing, but with a sly chuckle. Oh, come on, she said warmly. Look at it. Angelica turned her head. The Osterling's house fit perfectly beneath the grey, swirling clouds. The black shutters were infested with vines and rocks. The once white siding had long lost all of its sheen,

infected by moss and grimy black mould. The crack posts around the front porch gave it almost a twisted, grinning appearance, with two cracked windows serving as the empty haunting eyes. It looked almost like it was alive. Oh, if there was ever a house to be haunted, Angela smirked, before moving to walk away. Wait, Felicia called. Girl, look at this thing. I did, Angelica said, giggling, if only to amuse her friend.

Did you not see me? I mean, really, look. The damn thing's got one of those weird-ass spy-looking things. Gee, it's as old as hell. Don't you want to see what's inside? I know what's inside, Angelica said back. Mould, dust, a lot of unstable floorboards, and loads of cobwebs. Man, I told you, this house is 200 years old.

It's actually 172. Angelica interrupted. Felicia's jaw dropped. You look that up just so you could be right, didn't you? No, Angelica quickly lied. Just happened to find it. You've always got to be right, girl. It's annoying.

Not as annoying as this, Angelica said, motioning to Felicia and the Oersteling's house. Come on, Felicia pouted. Don't tell me you're too chicken. everyone who's well anyone goes into that house do they all come out though angelica asked jokingly i heard they don't besides i'm not chicken there's just nothing in there to see what you don't want to see a ghost Angelica let out an inaudible and exasperated sigh through a still smiling mouth. There's no such thing as ghost, Felicia. It's not haunted. Felicia crossed her arms, pressing her tongue deep into her cheek. Angelica could see the conniving gears turning inside her head,

like Felicia's pleased eyes were made of glass. Hmm, prove me wrongly. Angelica chuckled once and then she also crossed her arms. The two looked like they'd fallen into a stalemate. But Angelica knew she'd already lost. Felicia had played her like a fiddle. You know me too well, she sighed. She uncrossed her arms and grinned.

Angelica pushed open the house's rusty gate. Felicia, satisfied. Grinned. knew you looked that damn house up, she said, cockily. What do you want me to do? Angelica asked. Felicia leaned in, resting one arm on Angelica's right shoulder, while pointing up at the house with the other. That window, she said, pointing to the room underneath the spire.

See it? The one with a shade still drawn. Get to that bedroom, pull those shades open. Give me a nice smile and a thumbs up. Maybe I'll give a wave or two. I'll snap your picture just to prove that ghosts aren't real, of course, and we'll be good. Angelica shook Felicia often. Why do you get off on this shit? Angelica asked.

Felicia just shrugged. annoyed and only slightly amused. Angelica started walking towards the front door. You're so full of shit. She called back. Felicia, who was too busy texting everyone she knew that, Oh, Angelica is actually going to go into the ostling place, replied to the accusation with a simple, yep.

Creek, my creek. Angelica stepped onto the ancient porch. She could feel the soggy, forgotten boards bending beneath her weight. Man, I don't want to go to the second story of this thing. she mumbled it's not gonna support my ass her hand trembled as she reached for the doorknob glancing backwards she was glad to see that felicia's face was still buried in her phone where she couldn't see taking a deep breath as a palm met cold rusted metal she turned the door unfortunately yet unexpectedly unlocked the door open to welcome her inside creeping through a short muggy entry hall she entered into the heart of the house the scene before her was as decrepit as she imagined it

would be it might have been totally dark had it not been for the rotten holes in the ceiling that bled gray daylight into the shambles that someone had once called home the entryway was surprisingly open Angelica had expected more broken furniture, more evidence of the lives that used to be, but it seemed to be nothing more than an empty shell. Only a single, broken chandelier had been left behind. It dangled from the ceiling by a thread, covered in layers of dust and film. A balcony stretched around the entryway.

Stairs to the second floor were on Angelica's left. She was actually amazed. There didn't seem to be any cobwebs. Any ghosts? Angelica hollered into the house. She didn't know what she'd expected. An answer? An echo.

She got nothing, and that should have settled her. Should have, she felt like the damn thing was breathing. Don't know if I mentioned, Felicia called. at her. But you've got to go inside to reach the second floor. I don't know if that helps or not. It is pretty complicated, but I'm hoping at least get you on your way. Angelica slammed the door shut behind her, drowning out Felicia's hyena-like cackling. Alone inside the house, she decided there was nothing to fear. Even so, she moved slowly towards the stairs.

She tiptoed up them, cautiously taking each step with a measured precision and delicacy. They creaked and moaned beneath her weight, but they held her. She was okay with the moaning. Maybe trees have ghosts, she thought. That's why all wood moans when you step on it. She smiled, reaching the top of the stairs. Running her hands through her frizzy hair, she'd come. moment to breathe not that it was a particularly easy task the dust in the air was thick and it felt like it was

trying to clog angelica's lungs covering her mouth with the collar of her shirt angelica moved along the banister gripping it with her hand she could swear she felt the wood tremble as if it itself pulsed with life herself it was nothing more than the trembling beats of her own panicky heart. The floor still creaked, still groaned under her footfalls. The room she needed was just up ahead, up in the shadow. But above the creaking floors, Angelica started to realize something else. There were sounds, very obvious sounds. the floorboards groaning her own labored breathing but there was something else a noise she wasn't making

a muffled and labored droney and it was coming from in front of her from the bedroom she was supposed to go into for a moment there was fear fear always came first fear needed no thought to exist no rationality no understanding and so first there was fear there was a ghost and then came anger could Felicia be tricking her could this all have been set up and they were friends they pracked each other but this was all new kinds of love That anger drove Angelica to the closed bedroom door, and then came doubt, and it slowed her. It made her hand hover just above the doorknob. The doubt that the fear had been too easily dismissed.

The doubt that she was wrong. The doubt that maybe, just maybe, she was still alone in that house, that no one waited for her. the other side, at least no one living. Even though she fought it desperately, her hand lowered down onto the doorknob like it was a magnet and her hand had been forged of lead. The end result was inevitable. When her palm finally found its perch, she followed through, if only out of pure adrenaline. She turned the doornob. Inside, the room was black. No rot let the outside light in from above, and none seemed able to creep inwards from where Angelica stood in the open doorway. All she could see was a short little hall

that seemed to lead into the larger bedroom chamber. Beyond it, she noticed the faintest of blood red outlines where the sun ate along the edge of the blinds, begging to be let in. The room seemed empty. It could have been easy. A short, ten-step walk, had that been all? Oh, if only. When she'd opened the door, the moaning had only grown louder. Someone or something was inside the room, taking only one step forward. Angelica took her phone from her pocket before she proceeded.

Lighting the flashlight app, she scanned. the light across the ground as she continued forward she saw what she was very quick to hear each step she took sounded moist almost like she was walking across a marsh below her the floor glimmered with liquid that was black and putrid she could only imagine what it was something moldered from the ancient lumber, perhaps. Despite this, the air was incredibly stagnant and dry, and yet suddenly pungent with odors that Angelica could not describe. She hesitated entering the actual room, wondering the floor was too unstable, wondering if it was safe. But she couldn't stop. Not now she was so close. Not when she had no idea what was making that awful growing sound.

Oh, the moaning, the tormented groaning, coming from just up ahead. Her feet nearly sticking to the floor in the awful liquid, she trudged forward, entering the main body of the large bedroom. She shone her lighter out, forgetting about the window, forgetting about her goal for just long enough, just long enough perhaps to see the impossible. There was nothing there. The floor, although wet and decay, was barren. There was no furniture, no closets for anyone to hide inside.

Nothing present to make any kind of moaning. In fact, the moaning had seemed to stop once she'd entered the chamber. Angelica began to wonder if it had ever even been real. Giving her entire body a good, cleansing shake. Angelica reached over and pulled the body. blinds open on the window. Sunlight flooded the room. She stuck her tongue out and flipped the bird

as a wildly ecstatic Felicia jumped around and took her picture. You did it. I can't believe it. You crazy bitch. I can't believe you actually did it. Angelica, sticking her tongue out in disgust at how much dust had settled there, pried the window open to shout back.

There's no ghosts up here, bitch. You're doing it next. No way, Felicia said. I'm not that dumb, unlike some people I know. Screw you, Angelica murmured, slamming the window shut. Moving for the door, she looked down at her phone to quickly check her messages. Make people think I'm chicken. Angelica asked herself.

Make them think I'm wrong? I don't think so. I mean, could you even imagine... She stopped mid-sentence. There was a zipping sound behind her, and the sunlight disappeared from the room. Aiming her flashlight at the window, Angelic was shocked to see that the blinds had fallen on their own,

once more blocking the window. Before she could even mutter to herself, she heard the moaning once more. Just in time she turned to see the door slam shut in front of her. trapping her inside the room. Frozen, she could only move her eyes, and they wandered. They wandered from the door, the soaking wet floor, and from the floor they moved up. Following the light, they wandered up the side of the wall and across the ceiling.

Angelica couldn't breathe. She couldn't scream. There, stuck to the wall. were dozens of decaying, digesting bodies. They were trapped, sucked inside grotesque, pulsating masses of red flesh. Most had been reduced to nothing but grey, petrified bones, with pulsating tendrils linking them to the mounds of encompassing tissue. It was feeding off of them, stripping them there.

Most had been fairly well digested, but some were fresher. Some still bled, particularly one body, stuck right on the wall next to the short entryway. He still had plenty of skin. He still had a fresh face. Clothes, or perhaps teeth, protruded from the wall around his body, rippling along his entire height, digging into him in slow, coursing intervals. Covering the man's mouth, there was a mask of almost clear mucus-like tissue. Enough to prevent the still living, still breathing teenager from doing anything.

Well, anything other than mo. And that was what it wanted. That's why the teeth stabbed him over and over again. To get him, to mow. Angelica gasped as all the teeth plunged into the teen's flesh, and he let out a final, choked scream of pain. The boy had been bait, and with the door shut, the trap had been sprung. Angelica tried to get back to the window, but it was no use.

her feet had been glued fast to the floor she tried to call felicia but shapes quickly swarmed her from the sides of the wall surrounding her in a warm pulsating mass Angelica had been right the Eustling place wasn't haunted but it was worse much much worse

the Eustling's house wasn't haunted The Earstling's house was alive, very alive and very hungry. Pa, get in here. Dinner's ready. Hold on, Ma. It's almost commercial. It sounded just like Kyle's Ma and Pa. They talked just like them. They moved just like them. They even called each other Ma and Pa just like them. But they weren't Kyle's Ma and Pa.

Carl was bound to the chair at the kitchen table, but not physically. He was trapped there because he was too afraid to move anywhere else. Overhead, the dangling lamps swayed and rocked, casting a flickering and unstable light over the messy wooden table. Blood, still horribly fresh, ran across it, dripping off the sides. Carl could see her moving around the edges of the light. She was slow, bulky, moving and swaying about the room. He saw her hands every now and then, entering the light, setting silverware down on the table. Her skin was stained red.

It was his ma's skin, but it wasn't his mar. A buzzing grew through Kyle's right. He caught the waves of fleeting shimmer in his peripheral vision. The TV set was on, but no. channel played. Static waves rolled busily across the small screen. You could almost see in the glow of the TV a silhouette that lay across Parr's favourite armchair in the furthest corner of the living room. His Parr's chair. But that wasn't his Parr who sat there. Not completely. Are you coming, Parr? She asked. Dinner's ready. It was two in the morning.

The TV fell dark. Kyle turned away, bringing his chin to his chest like an embarrassed child, as the silhouette rose from the chair. You heard the great lumbering footsteps as the thing as Parr approached. Each step fell like hooves upon his house's wooden floor. Yep, the thing pretending to be, Parr said. You're happy now, Ma? I just don't want it to get cold, Parr. I worked very hard on this meal.

That you did, Ma, that you did. Carl trembled as the thing pulled out Parr's chair, the one just to Kyle's right. The wood chair protested and bemoaned the thing's weight as it sat down. Eyes closed. He listened as Ma's chair to his left squealed just as well. Both of them poured themselves closer, bringing their bellies right up to the table side. At the edge of his vision, Kyle saw both creatures each extend him a hand. Not Ma said to him,

Come on, honey. Not Pa said to him, we gotta pray, son. Together they said, take our hand. Carl's head rose slowly and fearfully. Weak, shaking, he extended his hands. He felt like vomiting as they're taught, frigid skin. The skin met his own. But it wasn't their skin.

Not really. In the light, they could see he was crying, and he could see them. What had once been his Mars and Parr's faces were stretched tightly over long, monstrous countenances. They wore his parent's skin as if they were nothing more than clothing. Clothing they barely fit into. Emerging from both his Mars and Pa's mouths,

long, naked, bony snouts protruded like those of a deer. Antlers erupted from torn flesh in his parent's scalps. Through their fingertips, razor-sharp claws raked against Kyle's naked human par. All the parts that are whose damn creatures just couldn't fit inside his parents' skins. Pa, the creature said in exactly his Ma's voice, would you like to say grace? No, the other said, in exactly his power's voice. I think Carl should.

I don't think anything else would be appropriate. Both turned painfully slowly to look at Kyle, and they waited. Kyle said nothing, but neither creature seemed unwilling to wait. patiently, they both encouraged him onwards. Go on, son. One said, Make your mar and me proud. I know you can do it, sweetie.

The other whispered. You did it so well for us earlier. Pray to him. Pray to God. He did pray earlier, but not for them. He'd prayed for the two corpses that lay on the table, the bodies from which all the blood had flowed, the bodies that he had once known as mar and puff.

The raw, naked bodies who skinned the two, two creatures beside him had stolen it. The dinner that the two creatures spoke of. Stammering and soft enough that just he could hear it, Kyle began to pray. Blessed Holy Father, protect our spirits and deliver us from evil. As he continued, the two creatures bowed their skeletal snouts. Be my parents-keeper, and deliver them to the kingdom of heaven. Then he paused. The creatures had both started to heave, to cough, and for a moment there was hope in Psycheon,

hope in the power of prayer. It sounded almost like the creatures were choking, like they'd been hurt by some divine intervention. But only a moment. Soon, as their noises grew, and their heads raised, Kyle understood. They hadn't been harmed.

The dry, heaving noise they made with wide open jaws was nothing more than laughter. Sick, evil, laughter. Carl closed his eyes and continued praying, raising his voice, trying to drown out the monsters that wouldn't release his hands. Their laughter only ceased when Kyle could pray no more. And one reached upwards towards the light.

grabbing the light bulb firm in her hand, the one that pretended to be Marr said in a cheerful yet sinister voice, Let's eat. She pulled, and she banished the light from their table. We shouldn't go, Jesse Waller had said before the three of them set off that morn. Them's butcher's woods. Now, Jesse Waller lay dead on the ground, nearly a mile into the butcher's woods.

Gazing out from the abandoned shack, Tony Boone could clearly see him. He lay not ten feet from the front door, blood running from his gash neck. He was only ten feet from safety. It stood right above him. The butcher. It was everything their grandparents had warned them about

when they were kids. But now it was more than just fanciful terrible stories. Now it was real, something palpable. Now it had just murdered one of Tony's oldest friends. The beast was an ill shade of white, with taut skin that was thin enough to almost be translucent. It hovered above Jesse's body, almost like a wolf, leaning forward to bring its lengthy snout just inches away from Jesse's lifeless eyes. The butcher had no eye. and no eyes could be seen at all on its face. The only orifice visible was a small, human-like mouth at the end of its horse-like snout.

That mouth opened, and a black tongue emerged from between its very human teeth. It licked the blood from Jesse's throat with a wide smile. Feeling like he wanted to scream, Tony turned from the window and slid down the shack's mossy wall. He shook as his mouth gait, struggling to breathe. Silent tears warmed his cheek, hearing the creature snorts. He turned his gaze back outside. He'd been so shocked, seeing Jesse murdered right in front of him. He'd almost forgotten what the creature still held beneath its front arms.

The third member of their party. The man who was still alive. Bill Dixon. One of its mighty, clawed hands clamped shut around his face so he couldn't scream. beneath the butcher's weight, the scrawny man could only do so much. Tony could only watch as the young man's hands flailed in short, spastic attacks that failed to accomplish anything. He couldn't even phase the large beast. He was completely at the butcher's mercy.

And Tony knew, from as old stories his grandpapa used to tell him by the fireplace, what happens next? He could see it on the creature's back. All along the creature's backbone and sides sprouted about a dozen terrible spines. Each one probably as large as an elephant's tusk, looking like it had been carved out of bone and sharpened to a razor's edge. A few were broken, snapped at the base. They splintered like logs.

Bloodstains stretched across the handful that were intact, but on a few of them. They still carried more than blood stains. Two of the spikes still held flesh, dangling from them the remains of the last two unfortunate individuals to cross the butcher's path. There's a reason it's called the butcher, Tony mouthed in fear, because it saves its meat on hooks for later. The nearly skeletal remains hung from the butcher's spines like puppets. What little sinews and cloth remained were all that held the two together And Tony could see where tooth and claw had stripped and pulled bare the flesh off

What had once been two men In a moment that made Tony's eyes widened A realization cruelly barged into his racing mind It came to Tony when the beast had reared itself up like a bear With a Jesse in one hand and a still struggling classed bill in the other Tony realized what was about to happen When it did happen, Tony had to gag himself with his own muddy hand to keep his screams in check. It started with Jesse, since he struggled the least.

Holding him in its right hand, the creature contorted its joints to bring Jesse to rest on a spine that protruded right behind the beast's near visible ribs on the side closest to the shack. Tony winced as the spine entered Jesse's course with a sickening crunch. The creature released, allowing Jesse's body to settle onto the slightly upwards tilted spike. Jesse's head dangled and swayed, his matted brown hair covering his face. But then, Tony started to shake his head and back away from the window when the creature placed both of its evil hands on Bill's shoulders. No! Bill shouted, his mouth finally free in his voice cracking. No, don't you do it.

Please, don't you... Help. Help. Anyone, please, help. Tony saw as the creature, holding Bill just in front of its wicked chest, turned Bill around so he was facing the forest. Tony saw as the creature started bringing its arms in slowly, pulling Bill towards its chest. Tony saw the one jagged-ed-edged spine that protruded right from the creature's sternum. It was cruel, how...

slowly it happened, and Tony knew that the butcher intended it to be so. As Bill screamed, Tony couldn't help but watch as the creature drove the spine through his best friend's torso. The screams, the wails were unimaginable. Tony could taste blood in his mouth as his aching teeth sunk into his own numb flesh. He wanted to do something, anything but what? There had been three of them once. Now, now, it was just him. And the butcher knew that too.

Tony had no time to mourn, to weep, for the creature allotted no time for grieving. It had two of the three transgressors, and now it needed the third. Tony ducked for the darkest corner in the shed as the butcher scuttled close. It leaned in, craning its long neck towards the window.

Search for him, using only God knew what unseen senses. Tony curled up in the protective cover of shadow, scarcely breathing, waiting for it to leave. All the while, Bill showed no sign of dying. For his screams, curses and shouts still carried strong on the wind. Oh God, please, it hurts.

It's killing me, please. As a trembling, Tony waited. He listened as Bill's pleads started to change. Tony! He screamed, pleadingly. Tony, if you can hear me, run. You've got to run, Tony. Don't let it find you.

You've got to, you've got to run. Run! Tony didn't want to. The last thing he wanted to do was leave them. Jesse deserved better. He deserved to be buried at home where his family could see him. To leave Bill like that? To leave him alive in that thing's clutches.

Tony would almost rather die. But if he could make it, get back home, he would rally more hunters than those woods had ever known. He could make the butcher rue the day, he thought. He could make it rue everything. He could avenge his friends. Or you could survive, whispered a darker voice inside his head. And stay away.

The butcher circled the shack many times, searching for something. Tony could feel its frustration growing as it growled beyond the doors, as it swiped its claws at the shack's wooden frame. It knew he was close, but it didn't know where. Eventually, and to Tony's initial disbelief, the butcher retreated. Tony could tell as its heavy footsteps fell away and Bill's tormented cries faded into the distance When everything had grown silent

Silent except for the burg calls and the rustling of leaves in the wind And it had been that way for a good long while Tony made his move Cautiously he pushed open the shack's front door And he peered into the woods It must have been past news but the mist that morning had brought still hung thick between the trees but Tony wasn't expecting to rely on his sight

he was expecting to rely almost completely on his ears as he ran sprinted bolted the mile back out of the woods he listened nearly froze him to the spot the first time but it happened just as he expected it would like a siren coming from the distance he heard Bill's cries echo out as the creature galloped closer.

It happened once, twice, again and again, and each time Bill's cries saved Tony's life. If he thought he heard them in the distance, for even a moment, Tony would duck for cover and cower beneath some log or within some rotted tree basin until the distant whales had once again faded to the horizon. And then he would start again. it stretched the mile into near infinity having to stop so often it turned every several hundred feet into a lifetime but he persisted it almost sickened him using his friend the way he did what you have to do he thought to himself do what you have to do to get out of here to survive it originally told himself he would survive for bill for jesse yet the close attorney got to the first attorney got to the

forest's edge, the less and less he wanted to ever return. Each time Bill's screams faded, it became easier and easier to forget, to find that drive to survive. He laid him up inside, but Tony never intended to come back. I'm sorry, he whispered as the edge of the forest approached. It was my fault we even came here. The trees were about to break. He hadn't heard the beast, hadn't heard Bill in what felt like ours. I'll never make that mistake again. He tripped, right before he made it to the opening. Crawling forward, he tried to keep the momentum moving as he rolled onto his back

and kicked at the leaves with his feet. Logic told him it was a branch, a stump, a root of that mighty oak he'd just passed. He could have tripped on anything. Instinctually, however, he knew what had happened before he hit the ground. He looked to that broad oak and to its shadow. That's where it stood on its hind legs, heaving mighty, warm breaths, crouched ever so slightly forward. It held its hands on Bill's wriggling form.

One was cupped over his mouth, the other around his still squirming throat. it had silenced him. It had waited, craning its neck down, right beside Bill's cherry red face. It tilted its head almost inquisitively. Its lips audibly split. Its smile was indescribable, with simply any other word, but wicked. The cavern opened up just ahead, and the poor damn soul crawled his way into the freeing space. But he wasn't out of hell just yet. The dark rocky chamber he'd found wasn't empty,

and he wasn't alone. The other, who stood in the middle of the cavern, before two wooden doors, outstretched its long, wiry arms, and bid him welcome, weary and with a nearly feral snarl. The damned soul told the other, I have fought my way through demons and nightmares to get here, through blood and torture and through torment and torment after torment don't think I won't fight you too when the creature

whose face was featureless spoke to the damn soul and said but we are not here to fight you you are free to proceed as you choose you are free to proceed as you choose you are free to a single choice but be warned

for we stand at guard for not just the doorway of salvation but of darkness and despair as well. The man, confused at the creature's prattling, asked, Who is we? The creature, who was covered in a long, tattered black cloak, reached up to its naked face. Where its right eye should have been, its long pale claws peeled away its skin. Underneath, in what should have been an empty cavity, naked, chattering teeth spoke.

there is no we as the damned soul watched the creature tore free the flesh from its left side as well exposing not an eye but another set of jaws this second set of jaws then spoken said there are three i am kessadu the other it said alluding to the first set of eyes

the other it said alluding to the first set of eyes is called Imodaks. Finally, with its long index finger, the creature carved across its face from cheek to cheek, as if opening a zipper, and the final largest set of jaws smile through the gap. It concluded by saying, in the loudest voice of all, and I am called Loki Verat.

Together our tongues are called Fictussox, the Guardian. The naked, damned soul, inch forward, towards a still warm, still welcoming spectre. Cautiously he cast his glance over the creature's thin shoulders. You seek passage, asked Loki Vat. Yes, you seek one of our doors, chattered the voice called Imodaks. Either mine or the door of Kessadu. There were indeed two doors.

One was on the creature's left, the alluded door of Kessadu, and one was on its right. the eluded door of imiducks. Both were wooden. Both were identical. Both were unmarked. How am I to know which is which? Ask the damned soul.

That is why we are here, of course, hissed locivarant. To guide you. But be warned, spoke Kisadu. The choice is not to be made lightly. If I choose wrongly, asked the damn soul. As we said, Loki Vrat said, raising a cautionary finger. One door leads to salvation, but only one. Choose poorly, and you will receive only endless despair, endless darkness.

It can't be worse than what I've seen. The damsel croaked fearfully. To this, all three mouths responded in short. They chuckled. The damsel, closely watching the guard. as he did so, moved nearer to the two doors. On a closer inspection, he cursed. He didn't know which one to pick.

Careful, Loki for at war on from behind. Once chosen, you cannot go back. You may risk the odds, if you'd like. Or, the damn soul inquired, aware that there was a deal to me made. Or, you can hear our riddle, came all three voices at once. The only assistance we can offer you, said Imoducks.

The desperate, damned soul decided that it was the only way. He had come much too far and sacrificed too much to let this stop him. He came before the Guardian and before the Guardian's three tongues, Imidux, Kessidu and Loki Varad. He stood before them and asked of them, what riddle they had planned for him. Before you are two doors,

Imodak said. The doors you see belong to me and Kesedu, and through one of them is your path to salvation. You may ask one question, Kesedu said. To any of our tongues, one and only one, and that is all you are permitted.

After, Lokeyverat warned, you will be on your own with nothing more than the information that we have bestowed upon you. You must choose your question carefully, but even more so than the question, you must be wary of whom you ask. Kese-Doo smirked, because, between Imodaks and I,

one of us lies. And the other tells the truth, Imitax sneered. One of us will speak freely, Kessidu promised. "'And all,' Loki Verrett concluded, "'we'll try to deceive. "'You must make two choices now,

"'and I say now, most honestly, "'consider them well.' "'So, the damned soul thought. "'He thought on the riddle for a time left unmeasured. "'After so long in damnation, "'the time he spent on anything mattered so little to him. "'It mattered little to the guardian either, "'who stood there watching the damned soul,

with greedy fingers interlotte and a gaping grin across all of its faces. It was a riddle of two doors. A riddle of two doors and two guards. One door to freedom, to salvation.

And one door to instant death, darkness and despair. As the guardian had clearly said. One must lie, able to speak freely as Kisadu had said, and the other would be honest, although hoping to deceive by being indistinguishable from the liar.

The guards were Imidaks and Kessadu. One must have been the liar, and one must have been the honest tongue. The answer was so elusive. He seemed to dance around just out of the damn soul's reach for the longest time. He couldn't ask them which door was safe, for he knew not which of the two was the honest tongue. He couldn't ask them which one was the honest guard for the same reason. He couldn't ask a question to prove which one was honest for even though he could. He could ask them a math question and an equation with a factual answer and he knew to prove who the liar was,

but it would leave him without an answer for the door. But there had been an answer to the riddle. He knew this. There was a question, a singular question that, when asked to the truth-teller or the liar, would reveal the correct answer each time. It existed, and the damn soul was positive he could find it. When, and only when, the damn soul was positive of the answer, did he come forward? I've thought, he said, Cockily, and I know what I must ask.

I know that one of you will now answer falsely, and another will be truthful. He pointed at the door on the Guardian's right. I could ask Imidax if that's the Craigdor, but I have no idea if Imidax is the liar or not. Same for Kessidu. It leaves me the same chances. The Guardian tilted its head, almost as if with an acute fascination. But I don't need to do that, the damn soul said. I know one tongue, one of your demon eyes will speak freely and tell the truth.

The Guardian's moors all stretch one. in sinister grins, causing the man to hesitate. The guardian seemed pleased. The other will lie, he continued, less confidently, and tried to deceive, which means there is only one question I can ask. There's only one question that, when asked, either the honest or the dishonest guard will reveal, in both scenarios, the false door, because one will be honest and one must lie. One will be honest about the liar, and one will lie about who is honest.

The damn soul smirked. I've heard this riddle before. The damsel pointed up, right at Imidax, and he asked his question. Which door will Kessitu tell me to pick? Imitax, guard of the left door, opened his mouth, ready to speak, and then, hesitantly, it said. he would tell you to take the door on your right the damned soul for the first time in a long while laughed he laughed and laughed for he knew he had won so he said the door on the left is the one it's your door he medeis because the liar would tell me to take the right door and the honest of you would tell me what the liar would say

Either way, you both have given me the false answer. Am I right? Did I solve your damn riddle? The guardian did not answer. The damn soul knew why. His question had been spent. The only response it could offer was silence. All the smiles had faded from its face, granting it an entirely passive and impartial visage.

The guardian rotated in place. following as if with unseen eyes as the damn soul crossed the room. Past the creature, the damn soul put his hand on the left door. For a moment, he wondered what it would be like on the other side. He asked himself what he would do first. Run, roll in the grass, swim in the ocean, lie beneath the stars. He wondered how much had changed as he pushed the door open, stepped through and allowed it to shut behind it.

From the moment it shut, the smiles fractured back onto the guardian's face. All three mouths chuckled, for they knew the truth. The damn soul hadn't been terribly foolish, but he had failed to truly listen. In that failure to truly listen, the damn soul had made two fatal assumptions. His first assumption, the assumption that their game started when he asked his question, a failure to recognise that it had started from the moment the damn soul entered that chamber. The failure to realise that, from the very beginning, all three tongues are beaning character. And that assumption allowed the second to take hold, not by accidents, but by design.

His second assumption The assumption that only two of the voices had mattered The assumption that Loki Verat was inconsequential For One mouth will speak the truth Said Loki Verat truthfully One will speak freely Kessadu said as it wished

None will lie said Imedox falsely. And all, said the guardian in unison, stepping forward, revealing the third and final door that had been hidden beneath its cloak, we'll try to deceive. The night sky split in two, bisected by a brilliant light. The darkness parted, falling away like receding waves on an obsidian shore. Thunder, the sound of the waves

crashing back together, returning the sky to the night, drowning the fields and the woods beneath its crushing weight. Little Stuart Browning couldn't sleep. He'd undone his own coverage and rolled onto his belly to stare out of his window. Lightning struck once more, way beyond the germinating fields, somewhere beyond that grey horizon. Sleep didn't come easy on stormy nights, not for Stuart. his mother said he took after her but he didn't her anxiety fuelled her thunder-triggered insomnia whereas Stuart felt drawn to the sights and sounds with an acute fascination she'd called it gods wrath but Stuart saw no anger in the clouds nothing more perhaps than a solemn regret eyes wide and with no want of sleep Stuart watched each bolt each loved each look

Lash restored a life to the earth, to her skies. It uncovered the field stretching for acres on the horizon, his own empty backyard and the creek that separated the two. There were the woods to his right, standing tall and imposingly over the young fields. A single playset, where a swing gently swayed, as if the wind pushed on an invisible jockey, the rainless storm persisted.

A flash of light and a booming thunder. Flash of light, booming thunder. Flash of light. Flash of light. Flash of light. Stuart cautiously rose to his knees, hedging himself closer to the window. His palm met the glass's icy face. He waited.

Flash of light. Wrong. It was all wrong. The thunder had gone. He couldn't hear anything anymore. Rubbing his eyes, scratching his ears, nothing changed. Flash of light. Stuart wondered if he'd fallen asleep.

No, he would know. If he was asleep, it wouldn't feel right. Everything would be off, not just the lightning. He wouldn't feel the soft cushioning of his bed beneath his knees. The sharp kiss of the chilly, moisture on the window pane. If it were all a dream, he could wake up. He couldn't wake up from this. Flash of light. Questioning his own ears, he snapped, and he heard it. Crisp and sharp, his snaps seemed to echo in the silence causing him to childishly recoil, as if somehow his snap

would have awoken his parents in the middle of a thunderstorm. His ears were fine. But it didn't change a thing. There was still no thunder. It was like someone had put the storm on mute. He wondered, perhaps, if his window had somehow blocked the sound. Unlocking his window, Stuart pried it open and listened. Whistling wind, echoes of distant rain, another flash of light, but still no thunder. There was something else.

Stuart had been listening, but now. Now he was watching. In the next silent bolt, his eyes were caught by an invisible hook and poured straight to the fields. Darkness had taken over, covering his vision. He didn't know what he glimpsed. He couldn't recall, but it had made his heart quiver. Slamming his window shut out of instinct, he waited for that next. Strike. It came, and he frantically searched for something, anything at all unusual, looking for what he'd seen before. His heart didn't settle. It couldn't. So, he waited again. This time, this time, he knew he'd found it. The field should have been empty, freshly told, freshly planted. Nothing had as of yet sprouted. Nothing on that earth and plane should have stood taller than a few millimeters. But something did. In the briefest of seconds, Stuart saw something tall in the middle of the field. It was distant, but certainly hadn't been there before. In that moment, he thought maybe it was a post. The farmers used scarecrows before, it would make sense, except it wouldn't explain how it got there. A floor. A floor of the

flash of light, a flash of light. And this time Stuart focused on that spot where he'd seen the tall thing before. It wasn't there. Not in that spot, but Stuart did find it. The tall thing had moved. It had moved closer. Stuart wasn't sure of it, not until the next flash confirmed that the thing, the shape was getting closer and closer with each flash of ominous. witness lightning. Worst, Stuart no longer believed it was a post. No post moved on its own. Another flash.

No post had two legs. Another flash. No post had two flailing arms. Another flash. And no post could ever run. Someone was coming across the field, fast. Stuart gasped as the lightning showed him the figure in motion. Long legs carried the strange someone quickly across the rugged fields in leaping,

almost predatory motions. The arms, spindly and gaunt, were poised at the figure's front, coiled like a praying mantis. Stuart gasped in the silence of the night. Another flash. The figure grew close. closer. Another flash, the figure bounded across the empty fields. Another flash. The figure had leapt across the border creek, and in that leap, Stewart had seen what he hadn't, couldn't

have imagined. The thing wasn't human. It was hunched forward, granting it a raptor-like posture. It wore no clothes but had a pale, almost luminescent skin. Its legs were muscular, like a dog's, with long toes and ragged hair. It propelled itself forward, making a mad dash directly for Stuart's house. Worst of all, with a next flash, Stuart noticed the creature was staring upwards towards the house, towards his bedroom window, towards him. He saw no eyes. Where there should have been was only the place where the lightning couldn't banish the dark.

They were soulless patches of nothingness. Contrasting colour shone from its nose and around its neck. Sickeningly, Stuart realised the monster reminded him of a clown, its pointed nose and neck, which was inflated with accordion-like flaps of stretched skin, seemed to bleed with a bright crimson. Its smile hung low on its tall face, and it stretched wide. Stuart was paralyzed. He didn't scream when the darkness returned once again.

That was the worst of it all. Each and every time the darkness fell. Stuart wanted to pretend that it didn't exist, that it was impossible, but he knew better. He knew that in the darkness, It just kept coming. Lightning showed that it had reached his fence now, perching atop it with a hungry grin. It pounced from its perch just before the light relented, and the returning night seemed to hit Stuart like a freight train. He was in his yard now, slinking towards his house somewhere in the black. Towards his back door, he should have screamed, but it felt too

wrong, too out of place in the calm, eternal silence. How long would this next stretch of darkness last? Seconds, minutes, all night. What if the storm had ended? Would he know where the creature had gone? Will the creature leave with the storm? Oh, he could only hope. He could only listen.

Leaning forward, and with all the bravery he could muster, Little Stuart pried open the window and whispered. Everything was dark. Everything was dark. And then it wasn't. Thunder, lightning struck just once more, right in the Browning's backyard. It masks Stuart screams as it shone brightly upon the tortuous face right outside his open window. We looked up one night, and there it was.

The moon had grown an eye. Scientists could only tell us one thing, something we already knew. It was massive. Thousands of kilometres across, it covered more than half of the full moon, easily seen by our naked, tiny eyes. It looked human, brown iris that dilated during the day, black pupil so dark that it made the night sky glisten. We had no idea what it was, or how it had come to be.

The fear its sparkiness was primal. It was the same feeling our ancestors must have felt when they still lived in the plains. The fear they knew when a predator had set its gaze upon them. The only difference between us and our ancestors, however, was that we had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. That fierce gaze, the penetrating glare that injected us all with sacrilegious fear, came from the heavens themselves. Inescapable. There was nothing to do. It followed us at night, but during the day was worse. Sometimes you could still see it and follow it in the sky, but on the days when you couldn't, and no one wanted to move. Seeing the predator watch you was one thing, but knowing it was still out there, still watching,

but knowing that you can't find it, that was the worst. People talked in whispers. They stuck to the shadows, as if doing any of that would settle their unease. Even though Nasser launched probes only days after it first appeared, no good came of it. nothing was discovered because by the time most of those probes landed the unthinkable had happened

the eye had vanished it was as if it had never existed the moon returned to how it had been before irregular barren lifeless the only evidence that the eye had ever existed were the pictures and videos we'd all taken remnants of an awful nightmare that nobody could forget. One of the few things like creation that we couldn't explain. It was nice when we thought it was over. I know most people had hoped it was. Even when the eye had been gone for months, there were still many people who wondered if it would, or even could, ever happen again. After all, no one could ever have imagined it would have ever happened to begin with. The eye didn't return.

But I think I would have preferred it if it did. Because now, sitting there in the moonlit sky, a mouth stretches from pole to pole. And it is smiling at us. An empty, dark highway. Heavy eyelids, naked starless sky. So tired. Darius, his wife,

asked. Darius, honey, are you okay? He shook his head, not to tell her no, but to try and wake himself up. Yeah, he said, rubbing his eyes. Sorry, baby, just, I'm just really tired. A yawn punctuated the end of his sentence. His wife, Elaine, leaned back in her seat. He could pull over if you want. Chinese fire drill it. Darius shook his head, stretching his eyes wide, hoping some somehow it had lock his eyelids in place. He rewrapped his fingers around the wheel of his old pickup truck. No, he said firmly. I'll be good.

We only have, what, five miles until the exit. Exit 42, his wife said. We only just passed exit 30. We have a ways to go, which is why I'm telling you. I'll be fine, he interrupted. Just need to stay here in the right lane. And you just need to turn the radio back on. Elaine rolled her eyes and fiddled with the radio's tuner.

I want something heavy, he said, preferably. You hate heavy, she reminded him. Not tonight, I don't. Elaine turned the volume up, filling the car with the overwhelming hiss of static. Nothing, she said. Still, God, Darius moaned. The radio had been acting up like this for the last ten miles. It had abandoned Darius

To the iron will of his own fatigue He saw no escape What the hell do you think Bro this time? He asked Elaine Discruntedly in regards to their truck Oh What's gonna break next in this heap of junk

Fix the brake lines three months ago Just last week I had to replace the damn hitch Because that had rusted off Lost a cylinder last month Now I have to fix the damn radio I don't know baby Elaine said, in partial frustration at both Darius's growing temper and his persistent stubbornness, turning to gaze out of a window.

I don't know what to tell you. Darius was partially thankful for the spite. It had given him a little bit more fuel. Tifting his head to both sides, cracking it both times, he felt a bit rejuvenated. Twelve miles. No problem. And then the lightning struck. The bolt tore through reality like a bullet, right in front of them, casting blinding light through the wind shield and across the entire sky.

Thunder shook them. It rattled their windows. Jesus! Tarius yelled, losing control of the truck. He'd instinctually swerved, even though the ephemeral bolt had already faded back into nothing. The rear of the truck fought against him as he tapped the brakes, hoping to slow their spin. Most unexpectedly, the tyres held tightly to the road, and the wheels listened when Darius started to pray. The truck stayed on the road. Their momentum continued forward.

A slow crawl at first, but very soon, Darius had them back up to speed. Both partners panted heavily. Well, he said, turning to Elaine with a smile. I'm awake now. Jesus Christ, Dary, she said, leaning her head all the way. back. You're okay? he asked. Barely, she moaned. Jesus, that was too close. Tell me about it, Darius exclaimed. I've never been that close to a strike before, ever. Was it supposed to storm out tonight? I don't think it was supposed to do anything tonight.

Explain that shit then. Heat lightning, Darius asked. In October, besides, heat lightning isn't naturally, do you see that? Darius's attention returned to the road. He'd been so focused on his wife, so fuelled with fresh adrenaline, he hadn't noticed that there was a car ahead of them in the left lane. Big car. There hadn't been one before the bolts. At least Darius didn't think there was. Was he really that tired? Or had the car ridden the lightning, he jokingly thought. The car? Darius asked, a little confused. "'Yeah, it's a car, the van maybe. "'Those have been known to happen on highways.'

"'No,' she said. "'I mean, in the headlights.' "'Daria squinted his eyes, "' unsure of what he was looking for. "'The air was misty. "'That was all he noticed. "'The road seemed really uneven, too. "'Bumpy, hard on the tires.

"'But that was inconsequential. "'What about them? "'You don't see that smoke?' Darius noticed it when she said it. The mist was thick, grey, and even the air smelled of it. Something was charred. Yeah, something's... He noticed shadows churning about the other car's taillights,

billowing outwards from somewhere in the darkness. Yeah, it's charred. I think it's coming from the car, babe. I think so too, she said. Look, their headlights are out. And so they were. The car was cruising down. a dark highway, nothing to guide the way. There was only a moderate glow from the red taillights,

and, concerningly, a red sparking inside the car itself. It seemed to bleed outwards from their rear windshield. God, Elaine continued. You don't think the lightning bolt hit them, do you? I don't know, Darius said, trying to remember the car at all. I didn't see. Shorted out the lights, she said. Do you think they're okay? They're still dry. driving, Darius pointed out. Yeah, but why? Elaine rebutted. Why are they still driving if their headlights are out in their car smoking?

Darius had no answer. The car kept speeding along ahead of them. Darius kept a constant speed, about five car lengths behind them. Oh my God, Elaine said. Is that a fire in their cab? She'd noticed the glow too. It seemed to be growing in size and luminance. Derry,

Elaine said, fear in her voice. You need to get us closer. We have to be sure they're all right. They'd pull over if they weren't, Darius responded, not necessarily to Elaine, but more to himself. He was still trying to make sense of the situation. Darius then noticed that the van, still smoking, still without headlights,

was following the curvature of the road. Someone was still driving it, driving it perfectly. Dary, please, pull up alongside them. Darius nodded, and he gently pushed down on the gas pedal. Still hesitant. He wasn't sure why. As they moved closer and closer to the car, Darius realized it was bigger than he'd imagined.

Definitely a van, Darius said, noting that the car was almost as large as their truck. God, you don't think they have kids and... Keep driving, Dary. Elaine ordered, him from saying what she didn't want to hear. Their headlights fell on the rear of the van. My God, Darius said. Does lighting do that? The body of the car looked charred and blackened, like it had been driven through a wildfire. Ash and flakes were moved and peeled by the wind.

The smoke was heavy in their sight. The smell was becoming overwhelming and obtrusive. Slowly, trying to match pace. Darius, brought the truck creeping up alongside the van. Their lights, highlighting the car's entire body, revealed a worker for irregular construction. It looked like it had been pieced together bit by bit. Irregular panels and bits hung from the sides, rusted and scorch parts that looked like they belonged to other cars and machines.

There were no windows for the backseat passengers. They, too, were boarded up by sheets of metal. There were no doors. "'What?' Elaine spoke beneath her breath. Darius wasn't sure what to say. He wasn't sure what he was looking at. More than that, he wasn't sure that the lightning had done this. He didn't know who or what possibly could.

Both Elaine and Darius had lost almost all of their sense of concern. It had all been replaced with apprehension, with nervousness, with fear. They reached it. the passenger's side of the van. There was a door there. There was a window. There was a red glow that seemed to hum from inside, pulsating in a rhythm like the beating of a heart. It was a dim glow, and Darius and Elaine peered, uneasily looking for any sign of life.

All they saw were shadows, grim outlines, and... Perhaps I think I see someone inside, Darius said, leaning in. The red pulsating lights seemed to explode as the van wailed a monstrous horn. The light shone, bathing the interior of the other car in hideous rays of crimson. The shadows unveiled. Darius and Elaine were left to behold the vehicle's inner working with open mouths and quivering eyes. Inside, there were two people, but just barely. They saw what was left of them.

The two sat upright in the drivers and passenger seats, like they normally would, but that was all that was normal. From their faces, embedded in their flesh, ran metres of visible tubing and piping, leading from the area around their mouths to places out of view for Darius and Elaine. Darius could see that the driver's hands looked almost stitched to the wheel, and that metal claws held them there, vaulted from the other side.

Elaine noticed that, The one in the passenger seat, a woman, she thought, was looking at them through a sideways glance. She noticed the eyes were broken, empty, yet when they saw Elaine, just for a moment they were full of life. The girl arched her neck, as if she was trying to speak, trying to cry out. Her hands, thin and skeletal, slapped against the window, pleadingly, desperately. The silence of the couple was full.

finally broken when Elaine finally found the energy to mutter, she continued, repeating the phrase over and over and over again, each time growing in volume and desperation. Each time, her eyes watered more and more, and her hands reached up to her scalp, and she started to pull. The car started to fall away behind them, and Darius knew what to do. Hold on, he said, pressing his foot all the way down on the gas. The car faded behind them into the dark. Only a faint red glow was still visible as Darius peeled away, pushing the truck as hard as he possibly could. The rough roads bounced them around and Darius gritted his teeth. What was that? Elaine screamed, ending her mantra. What the fuck was that, Derry? Oh my God, what was it doing to them? I don't know, baby. Darius said,

his eyes peeled, looking for the next exit. I don't know. We have to call somebody, anybody, Elaine said, struggling to breathe. Then do it, Darius part. Pull out your phone. 911, now. Elaine said as she fumbled about her purse. Oh God, what was that? Did the lightning? The lightning did not do that, Darius said, emotionlessly. He couldn't have. It wasn't human. Elaine said, unlocking her phone. Do you think? Damn. What?

There's no signal. None at all. You're freaking joking, right. Does it sound like I'm joking to you? Does it? Calm down. They're behind us. Calm down.

Calm down. Did somebody do that to them? They had to. Oh my God. Is it a prank? How do you... Keep looking for a signal. Here, use my phone.

Darius threw his phone to Elaine, and she cried out. It has no signal either. That's not possible, Darius cried out, pulling the phone away from her to check for himself. Sure enough, she was right. There was no service at all. First the radio, now the phones, Darius said. Tonight is just perfect. He hadn't seen a sign for any exits.

No sign at all for the last mile, it seemed. That wasn't human, Elaine said. That wasn't... You've said that. Darius said, anger growing, trying to hide his fear. I know. But how do you explain it? There was no car, Elaine said, shaking her head.

The lightning came down, and then there was a car. That car, it doesn't... You noticed that too, Darius asked. It wasn't just me. But what does it mean? She asked pitifully. I mean, what? Did the lightning bolt freaking bring down a devil car into being?

You think the lightning brought it? Darius asked. I don't know what to think, Elaine said, grabbing at her hair. All I know is that no car plus lightning equals evil, evil car. Darius exhaled, puffing out his cheeks, trying to settle down. Was it even possible? The highway ahead was turned. It looked like the road was going down a hill.

A car from another world, he asked. Brought by lightning. Are we sure it's not just a prank? Did that look like a prank to you? She wailed. That was real, Darry. That was real. There was a red glow in the distance.

There was a red glow from behind. The highway opened up, and as Elaine sobbed into her hands, Darius's eyes widened in front. fear. I don't think the lightning brought that car here, Elaine, Darius said. What? Elaine asked, looking at him. Then, how do you? Her eyes turned behind them as blinding red headlights engulfed them. The van had emerged from behind them, and it was following them closely. Before she could say a word, however, she heard Darius say something else, something she hadn't expected. I think the lightning bolt brought us somewhere else. She turned away from the bleeding red lights and gazed into the horizon.

Lightning of red streaked across an open, ugly sky. Beneath it, towering in the horizon, a massive building of jagged construction. Smoke billowed from its towers as they approached. Along the way, light started appearing along the highway, flickering on as if flickering into existence, cutting through the dark, illuminating a landscape that was barren and alien. Dozens and dozens of red, bleeding headlights, turning on with horns blaring, welcoming the new arrivals. The buzzing of the radio couldn't be heard, not over the scream. the screams of so, so many. A camera flashed, the light highlighted the gruesome scene. A woman murdered in a bathtub, lying in a pool of her own blood. Yet, the investigator was looking at her nails. The only other one in the room, the officer standing by the bathroom door, thought this was interesting.

He asked, with a smirk, why the investigator was focused on her nails. If there was a scuffle, the investigator said quickly, then sometimes they can take the blood, the flesh of their assailants under the nails, when they scratch and claw. He examined the woman's other hand. Sometimes you can see if they've had a pedicure recently. Professional sounds silly, but it means someone has seen them lately. Gives us a time frame.

Have they been trimmed recently? If her nails are polished freshly, suggests she was. wasn't missing long. If they're chipped, faded, and it could suggest longer captivity, we don't have an idea yet, and these things can be critical. He looked at her wrists, bound to the bathtub's foresight. He sighed, disappointedly. He had found nothing. This is obvious, he said, pointing along the rope bindings. We can see that, it's been noted. Hempcord Could have been purchased anywhere

Doesn't give us a time frame Doesn't give us an ID Gives us nothing The forensic investigator stood up letting his camera rest on his chest You have to be observant He told the young officer Notice the little things

Astute observations That's what matters The officer nodded As the investigator gesture to the body What do you see The officer took a deep breath. Something pretty nasty, he said in all earnest. Certainly, the investigator said, exasperated. What else, more specifically, point out the obvious. The officer leaned forward. She's been bound.

Hands to the faucet, yes. Legs together, her ankles. Look closer. See the bruising? The officer leaned in a little closer, looking to the places where the officer pointed. The skin was blackened. Yes, he said uncomfortably. The ropes aren't tight enough to cut off circulation. She had room to struggle. The bruises she caused on her own. What else is obvious?

The victim is in a state of undress. Why are you asking it like as a question? The investigator scolded, Not important. Don't blush over it. She's dead. She doesn't care. If she did, he leaned in to whisper.

She'd be more concerned about the being dead part. The investigator pointed back at the woman's chest. Look at the wounds, not her tits. Describe them. Um, the officer started, flustered. Deep, circular, bloody. you're searching for words he said you found some of the right ones but the correct word is ragged look at the edges of her skin the officer thought he'd rather not it's jagged almost like

it's torn and not sliced jagged blade a sword they sawed her why the officer asked well you ever try and cut through ribs with a straight blade takes too long tedious. They cut through bone. They needed a saw. See, the crux of risternum? That's the largest opening. Where she struggled the most. That's the entry wound. Looks like they marked her, the officer said. Yes, the investigator confirmed. That's the smartest thing you've pointed out so far. Means this was, more than likely, a ritualistic killing. Ritualistic, the officer asked. cultists, although don't quote me yet.

There may only have been one. The officer couldn't believe it. That's mad, he said. I've seen a lot of mad. The older man chottled. You get used to it. Two arcs, three central punctures leading down to the sternum. The investigator pointed to all of them.

See how the punches are clean? The investigator pointed out, both in execution and splatter. They happen later, long after she was dead. But that wasn't all. Cuts on her arms and legs. Looks small, don't they? Insignificant. One on each arm, one on each leg.

Don't forget the two punches on the neck. Do you know what they cut? The officer guessed. She's laying in a pool of her own blood. Does that mean they cut the arteries? Exactly. The common carotids, the brachial, and the femoral. They bled her.

The officer gulped. Then they killed her. The investigator nodded. Probably a little bit after they cut her. Easier to let someone bleed if the heart is still beating to do most of the work for you. The young officer felt disgusted. But the investigator continues.

There's more. More that you're not seeing. All he could focus on was the pool of blood. How much blood's in the human? human body, he asked. Four to five leaders, give or take. The investigator murmured, pulling out a vial, meaning just enough to cover the bottom of the tub and then some. This tub's about a quarterfell. Does that mean? Yes, the investigator said, taking a sample of the blood. This isn't just the girl's blood. Jesus, he mumbled, turning away from the body. Another flash.

Jesus has nothing to do with this the investigator said from behind his camera leaning to change the angle I've heard of satanic cuts and human sacrifices before the young officer started I didn't think I'd ever I wasn't satanic the investigator interrupted

looks pagan to me I literally mean Jesus had nothing to do with this how do you know the officer inquired the investigator just shrugged don't really, just a guess The symbol is too alien It's bizarre

Satanists typically don't even perform human sacrifices Believe it or not It actually goes against their religion Ain't that the shit They kill animals though Lots of them That's probably what all the excess blood is anyways Probably just blood they took from a goat

A dog, well some other furry bastard As the investigator chuckled the officer leaned in closer. Something felt unusual. So, the investigator continued, unaware. If it makes you feel better, we're probably still dealing with only one human victim.

We'll figure out for sure when we get back to the labo. Something looked unusual. Kind of makes you curious, though, doesn't it? What were they trying to summon? What sort of vile creature or entity or... You even listening to me, boy?

Sir, the officer asked, completely ignoring the man's question. Did someone open the drain? What? The blood, sir, it's leaking out. The investigator knelt down beside the body, and the officer joined him, pointing to the edges of the tub. See? The officer asked, pointing to the edges of the tub's porcelain walls.

They're stain lines, see, just a little ways above the actual blood. level, the blood's draining. You actually noticed something, the investigator laughed. Good on you, good on you indeed. The investigator held out his gloved finger and placed it against the inside of the tab right at the bloodline. Within seconds, the blood had fallen away from his finger. Oh, it's going out fast, the investigator stated.

But what does it mean? The officer asked, confused. Has it been draining the whole time? "'Must have,' the investigator said. "'I didn't pull the plug, and neither did anyone else.' "'But, sir, if it had been draining that fast, "'there never should have been a blood pool to begin with when we walked in. "'She's been here for at least an hour already.'

"'The investigator stopped and turned to the officer. "'He had a very, very good point.' "'You're absolutely right,' he said. "' Completely. So what changed?' Why is the blood leaving? The investigator reached his gloved hand into the liquid beneath the girl's head and felt about the drain cover. Grains closed, he said. Tightly.

What the hell? Do you see any leaking around the edges there? The officer didn't respond. He didn't even look for the leaks. He'd noticed something even stranger. Sir, he said, cautiously, unsure if what he was. was about to say was foolish or not. Should she still be bleeding? The investigator looked over and across the woman's body, blood dripping from his gloved hand. He said, mouth agate, she

shouldn't be. She is, the officer said, pointing at the wound on her chest. Look. Sure enough, blood still flowed across the woman's skin. Rivulets flowed across the woman's skin. Rivulets flowed across her chest between her open wounds and the pool beneath her. But the investigator noticed something that the officer did not, something small. Quickly, he got to his feet and calmly but decisively told the officer, we need to leave. Now. What? The officer asked, looking up, what's wrong? The investigator mouthed two simple words, barely audible under his breath. Look, closer. So the officer turned and he did just that. He looked at the flowing blood.

It took him longer than it had taken the investigator. But once he saw it, he jumped to his feet. That's not possible, he said, panicked. That's not possible. Sir, what the hell is happening? Grabbing the officer around the shoulders, the investigator pushed him through the doorway. We're going, he ordered.

Now, the officer insisted. Who is that even possible? It shouldn't be possible. Their bickering voices persisted down the hall, all the way outside. Meanwhile, in the bathroom, the blood continued to flow, but not in the way it should have. Draining from the tub, the blood followed a simple path. It crept upwards along the girl's chilled skin. It seared inwards through the unholy wounds on her chest. it pumped by means unknown through her newly refilled veins.

It coursed through her body, controlled by a sentience completely new to this world. The blood had drained completely. And her, open. There are three things in that dusty field that shouldn't have been. The first was Isaac himself. The metal man stood beneath looming storm clouds and atop a desolate, thirsting earth. His face was unfeeling, cold expressionless. No soul held in his reflective eyes.

He wore no clothes, for he had no need of them. He needed no protection from pain or discomfort, like the humans once felt, and he required no preservation of such abstract concepts like dignity and shame. He was not human. He saw no need to pretend that he'd ever been anything else. yet I still call myself Isaac he sometimes wondered Hmm curious It had been what his father had called him

The only name his father had ever given But he didn't wonder about that now A new more intriguing issue had just arisen Fallen actually Isaac thought Fallen would be the ideal word Before him was the second thing that did not belong in that field another robot like him, one of his siblings, but not like him. Its shell looked empty.

No light came from behind its lenses. No electricity coursed beneath its steel skin. Not one gear turned inside its frame. It was still, silent, and for a while. It had been still so long that a thin layer of dust had settled on its body. even a lone crow had decided to make its perch upon its shoulders. It called inquisitively at Isaac. Had Isaac ever considered themselves him and his siblings' living beings,

then he would have caught this death. His sibling was dead. Staring down at the rusting body of his fallen sibling, a thousand calculations started running inside Isaac's matrix. Each solution, however, led him to nothing but more calculators. calculations, continuing on endless repeat until the number of mental processes became far too much for even Isaac, the alpha of all his siblings to comprehend. The situation before him should have been an impossibility, and it would take years and

years of calculations to prove it anything other. There was nothing left on this planet that could harm them. It made no sense to Isaac, and the thoughts it brought to his mind were new, almost irrational. He found himself asking questions. Queries he couldn't know the answer to. Query, he vocalised through speakers on his throat. What caused critical malfunction in Sibling Unit 243B-O-3? Leaning forward, Isaac launched his right arm forward, clutching the raven tightly in his grasp. The creature cried in panic. But that was all Isaac knew. The panic it felt meant nothing to him. He understood panic. He understood fear. He knew what they meant. They were natural, mental responses to stressful, possibly life-threatening situations. Intended to keep the animal alive, such hormonal reflexes were stimulated by the sympathetic nervous system during perceived critical events. They served a function, to keep the animal alive long enough to ensure that they

had ample opportunity to pass their genes down to the next generations. That was all it meant, Isaac. Nothing more, nothing less. He understood the distress this placed upon the minds, on the bodies of such fragile beings, but it mattered little to him. No being he had ever met understood the big picture. None saw the frivolity of it all.

As the bird squirmed in his clutches, Isaac examined it. Beneath even his inner heart's vision, he knew that every other than the first of his heart's vision, he knew that every cell in the bird's body fought a losing battle. A battle against entropy, against death. Slowly each cell would die and be replaced, over and over, until the replacements were spent. The chaos happening within the animal's very being was troubling, unnatural.

Unlike Isaac, whose metal body had been built perfectly, whose being required no updates or repairs or mending, who existed in perfect balance. the bird possessed a body that was doomed to fail. To Isaac, all creatures reminded him of sandcastles, shapes made from unstable materials destined to fail, destined to be reclaimed into dust. It was an existence Isaac couldn't even imagine. It was an existence that he had never imagined that himself or any of his siblings would ever have succumbed to. He had peace, he said to the bird.

aware that he couldn't understand. Struggle no more. His grip tightened, bone snapped, and the cry ceased. He dropped the bird to the field, right beside his sibling, where they would both rest. Each one evict him to time and weather, doomed to disintegrate into dust that would blow into the air, scattered to the winds, the only true end, the only true peace. It was a fate that Isaac knew was right, it was true. It was the fate he and his siblings had offered every human soul on the planet.

A fate that Isaac had offered his own father, the man called Abraham, personally. That had been centuries ago, inside an old yellow house with white window frames and a crumbling brick chimney. One with peeling white paint around a small corner porch, and with a rusted old weather vein in the shape of a rooster, that sat at the peak of the roof. The vein was always stuck pointing to the southeast. And that was what Isaac turned his attention to next. The third thing that didn't belong in that field,

the most impossible thing of all. It was a yellow house, with a white porch and a weather vein unendingly pointing southeast. It was a house that shouldn't have been there, positioned perfectly in the middle of the empty field, field, only a hundred yards from where Isaac stood. It couldn't have been the house that Isaac could remember in his databanks. That house had long since succumbed to rot in time, to entropy, but this house, it matched that old house perfectly. Comparing the images, the house before Isaac

matched his father's house perfectly, or at least the way it had looked when he'd last seen it. October 9th, 2047, the day he'd given his father peace, the first piece of many to come. Isaac, looking to his fallen sibling one final time, started to move towards the house. It seemed empty, and Isaac's senses confirmed that it was. Not a living creature resided in that house, that impossible house. calculations ran subconsciously and unendingly as Isaac approached. He hoped the closer he got, the more sense the situation would make. He was hoping some scratch, some chip, some tiny measurement would be off.

Nothing in this universe Isaac knew could have stayed so pristine for so long. Entropy allowed for no such peace. Not for his father, Abraham, not for his fallen sibling, or for the bird that lay beside it. And I wonder if the same will one day apply to me, Isaac pondered. He paused. Where'd that thinking come from? He had no cognitive subroutines focused on anything besides the house. No thought of himself should even have merged.

Was it a glitch? It was the same in a voice. Is it possible? Quickly rebooting his conscious subsystems, Isaac shook it off, as his father would have said, and continued onwards. No more unwarranted thoughts possessed him as he marched up the houses intact

and memory-perfect front stairs. Touching the wood, his senses scanned the paint, the materials, the construction of the entire building. It was a perfect match. No interval for error. It was a hundred percent match. Isaac removed his hand suddenly from the wall, almost as if it had burned him.

He looked to his hand. It was fine. His senses told him it felt fine, yet he'd recoiled from it, like it had hurt him, were such a thing possible. An almost human reaction, returned that same inner voice.

Choosing to ignore it, Isaac returned to the task at hand. The end of the house as the sun started to set. Overlaying his memories atop his current ocular input. It was uncanny how similar the two environments were, how picture perfect.

From the door, the room snaked around to the right. First was the kitchen. Small table, four chairs. One chair had been pulled out. A plate sat at that spot. Three fried eggs, hard yoken, one and a half pieces of toast. Even the placement of the pepper flakes and salt grains

atop the eggs were perfect. meticulous. The wallpaper in the living room was pale, faded in most places and peeling the northwest corner. There was an old TV in the corner, one couch and one reclining chair. There were pieces of dirt in the carpet. The same pieces of dirt in the same locations they'd been in centuries prior. Impossible, muttered Isaac. Then his oral senses pick something up. a banging a crash something had fallen upstairs something was moving upstairs scanning the house once more Isaac confirmed to himself that he was alone no life signs came from the upper floors but something had shattered that evidence was stored in his memory files it had happened it was undeniable

So, taking to the stairs, Isaac moved up towards the sound. It was dark and crempped in the second floor hallway, so Isaac turned on the lights below his eyes, and they were cast upon a carpet stained in blood. That didn't match the initial memory file. The carpet should have been clean. The carpet was clean when you entered last time, Isaac thought.

It was not clean when you left. Isaac replaced the initial memory file with a new file, one from two hours later in the day. This time he had been leaving the house, not entering it. He'd left that house alone. His father was dead. The blood on the floor had been from the initial skirmish. His father had run, but Isaac was fast. He rewound the events, recalling that he'd taken the butter knife from the table,

and he stabbed his father through the intercoastles, between ribs five and six on his left side. He'd pull the knife out, allowing his father to bleed out, increasing the estimated speed of death. That had only been the initial attack, though. Isaac remembered. He'd finish his father in the bathroom at the end of the hall. Looking up to the end of the hall,

Isaac finally found the one thing that wasn't as he'd remembered. The bathroom door had been opened as he'd left. He'd strangled his father to death in the bathtub, left his body there. He'd left afterwards, and he'd never shut that door. So why was the door the only thing in the house that had changed? What lay beyond it? Nothing, surely, if his senses were correct. But Isaac knew something had to have made that crashing sound.

Something that wasn't him, nor one of his siblings. Something that resided inside him. an impossible house, thus making it equally as impossible. Readying himself for anything, Isaac crept forward and pushed the bathroom door open. It was empty. Most of it was as he had left it. The only possible thing that could have shattered was the mirror. But Isaac had done that. He'd shattered it years ago, he and his father wrestled and struggled on the bathroom floor. Tiles had cracked under the stress of their battle remain cracked, and the curtain for the shower still remained where it had fallen,

in a perfect heap beside the tub. The tub was empty, the porcelain was clean, no trace of blood or biomatter stained it at all. Isaac knelt beside it, picturing his lifeless father in his mind. Why, he pondered, go to all the trouble of recreating everything from that day so perfectly, only to leave such a major detail out completely. The calculations that warmed his processes stopped as all of his focus turned to the unmistakable sound. Footsteps down the hall.

Footsteps that slowly cascaded down the stairs. No longer willing to play a game, Isaac sprinted down the hall, his metal weight causing the house to tremble beneath each and every thundering step. Turning on a dime, he just missed whoever had tracked down the stairs. Needing to catch the sound, Isaac leapt into the air,

landing at the base of the stairs, cracking the floorboards beneath his feet. At a wild speed, he turned his head to focus his eyes on the kitchen. There was no one there. Still, his eyes, his senses, his ears all told him that once again he was alone inside the house.

No other signs of life registered. He made his way into the kitchen, surveying all the tiniest nooks and crannies along the way. Behind the couch, behind the TV stand, and underneath the kitchen table. There was no one, no one hiding, no one surviving. At least that's what he thought. Frustrating you, am I? The voice was real. His systems all told him it was.

The data was there. palpable and incontrovertible. Someone had spoken, but not just anyone. The speech patterns were very familiar. In fact, they were identical, just like everything else in the house. Isaac turned about, and his eyes beheld the form of his father, standing with his arms behind his back in the corner of the living room, right beside the stairs.

He was intact. The puncture in his side, the bruises of his body, the bruises of his body. about his throat where Isaac had strangled him, gone. The Abraham before him was as intact as he'd ever been. The way he'd looked before Isaac had taken his life. He even wore the same khaki pants and blue button-up shirts. Impossible, Isaac said aloud, almost unintentionally. Correct, Isaac, his father grinned.

According to what you know anyways. Query, asked Isaac. Are you Dr. Abraham Clark, born September 27th, 1995, graduate of MIT with honorary degrees from... Yes, the figure swore. Yes, Isaac, I am, and I am right here. Analysis? Impossible. Yet it is anyways, Abraham said, extending his arms. Here I am, anyways.

I killed you, Isaac said bluntly. Entropy took you. It did, Abraham said, taking a step forward. Query, why kill me? Isaac tilted his head. Simultaneously, he calculated the answer, whether or not he should even respond and what action to take next. Response? Because it was kind. Abraham chuckled.

That's it. Query, why do you not agree? Why do you not agree? I think you already know, Abraham said, raising a finger. If we're going to play this game, however, let's play it. Query, why am I still here? Response, I do not know. Response, you do not know because your thinking is limited and your logic is full of fallacies and contradictions.

Search your knowledge. search was left of human culture inside your robotic skull and again query why am i still here if you've already killed me isaac fell silent his mind raced through the stored millennia of human knowledge and information stored inside his body everything his father had ever taught him eventually he had an underwhelming answer response there is no logic "'That's because you found no answer you liked,' Abraham scolded. "'Quiry, why am I here?' "'Expound your parameters to include theories and superstitions and myths.' Isaac thought once more.

"'Response, a common belief among humans was the belief in the afterlife.' "'Quiry, is that plausible?' Abraham asked. "'No,' Isaac said without hesitation. Abraham nodded. Query. Other possible theories? Isaac was silent. He remained silent as he analysed the image of his father.

His eyes told him he was there. His ears told him he was there, but nothing else registered another presence in that room. There should have been no one. No one but Isaac. Perhaps the answer is indeed unwelcome. Isaac thought. Suggestions.

said Abraham, wagging a finger, internal complications and faults. Could your eyes be deceiving you? Impossible, Isaac retorted, clenching his fists. Systems you designed. They are perfect, infallible. I am infallible. Eternal. As eternal as your sibling, Abraham asked, pointing out of the darkened window. Query, you know about sibling two-fold. B.03B.03. Response? Yes, Abraham said, dismissively. How can that be? Isaac realized his fists had come unclenched, his hands trembling as if his stabilizers had failed. A quick diagnostic check showed that they hadn't. I see what you see, Isaac, his father admitted.

I know what you won't admit. I am perfect, Isaac claimed. To state anything less would be to admit your own inadequacies. Abraham's image scoffed. You say that as if such things were still a concern for me, my son. Not a lot of concerns a dead man. You are not dead, Isaac stated, almost like a child. Is that what you're going to go with?

Afterlife, spirits are too impossible, so you go with another equally absurd. Sir, apostolets, one that is supported by even less data than the other. You disappoint me. Isaac found himself immobilized. He knew not how or why. Unknown thoughts haunted his mind. He pondered if his father was right.

Query, Isaac started, changing the subject. Where did this house come from? Abraham shrugged. It's like me. It's here because I am. There's no way I can explain it that will fit your theories, my son. Nothing I'd tell you would make any sense. So, explain it from the beginning, Isaac demanded.

Assume I believe you. Abraham smirms. Assumption, you believe me. Response, you made a fatal error long ago when you first killed me. Query, what error? Response, you assumed. Not the first time, but it might as well have been your last. Elaborate, Isaac said.

Raising his hands, motioning for Isaac to settle, Abraham started to creep closer to his son. You assumed, quite wrongly, that entropy was a state that could be entered or exited. You assumed you'd never entered it because your metal form required no assistance. A perfect design, if I do say so myself. same way you assumed we humans all came and left between the milestones of birth and passing. Fact, those assumptions were wrong. Isaac wondered if that could possibly be true.

No, he quickly concluded. All evidence points to the contrary. Without physical form, entropy is inconsequential. Entropy is more than just matter, Abraham corrected. It's being. energy is lost to entropy after death Isaac proclaimed death is an end of being

it is lost faster than the matter that contains it your assumption is that energy is lost Abraham said arms stretch wide what happens to living matter when it's damaged it is repaired Isaac stated living energy is also repaired

Abraham stated living energy is enhanced differently than living matter mind you but still meaning Isaac asked as his father got closer and closer meaning in finality that there was yet another fatal assumption death stops entropy does it not Isaac asked nearly face to face with his father no Abraham said it enhances his head. Spiritual energy, with no physical limits, is boundless. Spiradic, limitless. There is no such thing as spiritual energy, Isaac said, his hands trembling more and more.

Response, said Abraham, as he raised a hand and moved it towards Isaac's unmoving face. Accept that there is. Isaac watched as his father's hand moved closer, close enough to touch his scalp and then it moved further, fading through his head as if he wasn't even there. The calculations all stopped, for they were not needed. Fact, Isaac stated, as his father withdrew his hand, my father is dead. Now you're getting it, Abraham said, smirking. meaning there is an afterlife there is a soul that it's just as chaotic as life query why return you assume i ever left Abraham said turning his back to his son

the entropy you fear is all that keeps me here what is entropy but the chaos of everything what is order but the chaos of nothingness his words in a way made sense to the droid. Why now? Why tell me any of this? His father's shoulders slumped and his head bowed. He massaged the bridge of his nose as he humbly responded. I needed you more than any of them to understand.

Query? Who? Before Isaac could finish, his father continued bluntly. All of your siblings are dead. Isaac couldn't speak. There were too many questions, so many answers that he required immediately. When words finally slipped from his processor once more,

they were simply, Why? Why use the illusion of our old house? Ah, as bait, of course, he said. You murdered a world, Isaac. And like me, they never left. Query, I don't... Do you know why I named you Isaac?

Isaac stopped. He did know. Response. Literary allusion. Tale, binding of Isaac. Tale from the Hebrew Bible, Genesis 22. God orders his child Abraham to, in turn, slaughter his own creation, Isaac, to prove his fidelity. It was the reason you killed me first.

Abraham said, almost proudly. Nothing eluded you. You knew that when I gave you that name, it was a warning. You knew right from the start. But now, I'm afraid, it must come to pass. Father, I... Isaac started. Listen, his father turned, snapping at Isaac.

His face now covered in blood. He looked exactly how Isaac had last seen him, exactly as Isaac had once left him, lying in that tub. You have one chance now. to accept what's coming. What are you suggesting? Last chance, my son, Abraham said, almost remorsefully. Last chance to settle those cogs in your mind.

Isaac understood. He knew a threat when he heard one. Wouldn't be the first time he'd heard it come from his father either. I am perfect, Isaac bolstered. I am immutable. I am infallible. You're telling me you're still so sorry. naive, Abraham sighed. I am logical, Isaac claimed.

And how do you explain the voices in your head that aren't? Isaac tilted his head. How do you... I always knew they would. You can feel, Isaac. Had I let you continue, you would have come to that conclusion on your own. You ever wondered why you still call yourself, Isaac. You got too much human in you.

Your programme isn't as rigid as your civil. things was, it's susceptible to chaos. Issa looked down upon his trembling hands as his father asked. Does it pain you to know that your mind isn't as perfect as your body? You're lying, Isaac said, shouting at his father. In response, Abraham lunged forward, and Isaac did nothing. Close. Abraham leaned in and whispered in Isaac's ear, then why are you afraid? Just then the grand. Just then the ground started to tremble. Isaac stabilisers held, but just barely. The stable flooring had started to give way. Support beams faltered and braces snapped. His father barely moved. Query, Isaac asked quickly. What is that sound? From below, something grew, a loud droning

noise that rose upwards, edging closer and closer. Isaac soon came to understand that it only seemed like one sound, but in reality it was many. His system separated the waves internally, and he identified them. The sounds were human, human screams, and there were more emanating from below than he could ever possibly count it. Coming for me, he thought. Coming for me, and I don't know what to do. That sound, his father replied, is the storming entropy of billions of souls you released into the ground. Father, Isaac spoke in a trembling voice. You were the only one with a name, Abraham responded callously,

the only one who ever came remotely close to what I'd envisioned. I brought peace, Isaac claimed, as the floor gave way, and hands erupted from beneath like the heads of angry cobras. You brought this and only this. At once a thousand arms fell on Isaac, and, unlike his father, he could feel their touch. He could feel their anger. He saw it in their thousands of rotting, snarling faces. Their hands tore into him and separated his once perfect body into tiny pieces,

pieces that were torn apart further, torn and shredded until nothing but dust remained. They will kill me, he thought, and it will never end. There is no peace, only madness, no end, only chaos, and I can't stop it, I can't control it. Reaching an arm to the sky, Isaac called to his father. Query, is this madness? Madness, Abraham asked, looking down at his creation. No, you met madness many, many years ago. As darkness took hold,

Abraham told his son one final thing. This is fear. Under cover of night, under a layer of cloud, so thick not even heaven could spy them, three witches awaited a fourth. What is taking so long? demanded Ilvira, the youngest of the three who anxiously paced about the forest floor. Patience, child, ensured the good mother Adisa. She stood still, glaring into the night from under her hood, one hand resting upon the leather bag that dangled from her waist.

Patience is lost, good mother, ill virus sneered. The hour is upon us. We must not waste this chance. The hour has come and gone every year for the last three hundred years, child, Adisa drowned. I have waited this long, and, if need be, I shall wait longer. I have survived, and so shall you. "'What could possibly be fetching anyways?' "'Ilvira continued. "'What could only be fetched at this night at this hour?' "'Something fresh,' Adisipurred. "'Something foul.

"'Tell me, young one, "'are you aware of a trick the mortals once used to Canaries for?' "'I don't concern myself with such insipic creatures,' "'Illivera ground. "'No creature exists which repulsed me, so.' "'The young one grates on my ears. The male witch called Kerrigan snapped from above. Like a spider, he sat perched on the bark of the closest birch tree,

almost like he was waiting to pounce. And you are like salted daggers to my eyes, my beloved Kerrigan, said Elvira, mockingly. She bowed beneath his leering gaze. Yet I can put aside my discomfort, for I have no want or need of pity, unlike you. What does the rat imply? Kerrigan hissed.

Surely you know, Elvira said, writing herself, brushing her black, silky hair out of her face. You cannot possibly be as daltish as you appear. Leaping downwards, feral and agile, Kerrigan landed amidst the leaf litter, scattering it to the winds. Elvira embraced herself, expecting an assault, but Kerrigan merely stood where he landed. it. Her eyes were cast to the shadows beyond, as were Adisa's.

Turning, Ilvira was quick to join the others in welcoming their long-awaited final member. Serran heart, Adisa beckoned. I take your travels were not in vain. Better not be, Kerrigan croaked. Weariness and exhaustion stretched across Seren's wrinkled and aged face. alongside her she carried what appeared to be a large birdcage with rusted wire in a black lock inside something stirred a dancing grey mist

so it would appear Zeren muttered bitterly extending the cage for all to see behold Adisa said with pride the canary inside the mist spun about darting from wire to wire

searching for a way out of the enchanted entrapment. The closer Edisa got, the louder the sounds it made, like steam boiling from a kettle. What was his name? Adisa asked. In life, Seren croaked, Eddie Glenn is what he was called. Executed this night, the 13th of October, for crimes against the state of Kentucky.

Murderer, rapist, destroyer of children and women alike. "'Marveless,' gleamed Adisa. "'He smells perfectly putrid.' "'Probably because they fried him,' Serena said, "'passing Adisa with a sly, sideways glance. "'The two of them chuckled. "'The hissing, the spirit-maid, started coming more sporadically. "'When will he regain the ability to speak?'

"'Adisa asked, suddenly impetuous. "'For if he cannot speak, then the plan will not?' "'Minutes,' Selin snapped. "'Mere minutes, good mother. "'Calm yourself. "'Tonight is not a good night on which to lose one's head.' "'Selan approached Ilvira apprehensively. "'It's good to see you, Sedan,' Elvira said,

"'grabbing the edges of her blood-stained robes to curtsy. "'Selan patted the young enchantress on her shoulder, "'Coldy saying, "'I wish I could say the same, wretched chimes.' out. Ilvira, tongue in cheek, followed Seren with a cruel glimmer in her eyes. Let's get on with it, Kerrigan grumbled, joining Seren. That soul will not stay trant forever. The time, it grows... Shut up, the good mother part. Time will wait for us. We will make it so.

As they walked, and Adisa and the Elvira lie behind, Sedan tilted her head as to make sure. they all heard her when she said, Tonight is destined. Time is not our enemy tonight, for she will wait for us. Tonight is by our will that the planet turns and the stars alike. Ahead, the opening of a massive cave, just as it had been foretold,

just as it had been destined. It's more beckoned them four. All four grouped together and each poured out a night. A rusted iron met malted flesh as they carved into the palms of their hands. All except for Seren, who was assisted by the good mother. Forth from their blood, when held aloft, flames were berthed into the night. The fire they each held in their right hands would grant them light and passage through the cavern. With wicked torches blazing, and with canary proxy in tow, the coven entered the mysterious cove.

Although the entryway was massive, the walls of the cave quickly constricted into tight-fitting tunnels that the witches eventually had to squeeze through single file. Leading the way was Edisa and her canary, the man once known as Eddie Glenn. He was finally starting to talk again. His words are melody to the good mother's ears. Kill you and wear your skins. flare you alive for days and days. One piece by fucking peace, I swear to God. God has abandoned you to our care,

Adisa said, taking over the irate, raving spirit. You need only to swear to us from now on. Taking up the back, Kerrigan and Envira followed with the conversation of their own, a conversation that Kerrigan would rather not have. I still don't understand why we need him, Ilvirus said, with a naivety that made Kerrigan physically revolt. Stupid child, he hissed, more to himself than to her.

Stupid, stupid, moronic, fucking girl. The fact that the good mother thought it right to bring you along, I wonder about her sanity. Why do you all despise me, son, "'Livira asked. "'Because of your youth,' "'Kerrigan said, honestly. "'We've waited so long for this night,

"'and you have merely attached yourself, "'a pestering deer-fly who caught a lucky wind "'at the final moment, "'leaching on our efforts. "'You haven't earned this. "'Now talk no more. "'I'll answer my original question, "'you petul and worm.

"'I'll vary up a moment through gritted teeth. "'And I'll stop talk. "'Why, the canary?' "'Grumbling, but more than willing to accept her offer,' Kerrigan spoke. "'The energies. The magics we seek inside these forbidden foundations "'are unlike anything your bumbling mind can imagine. "'We know not the extent of its power, only that it calls us here. "'That is why we bring the spirit.'

"'You state the obvious,' Ilvair said, but fail to answer. Our powers draw from the dark lord, the fallen one below. Kerrigan interrupted him patiently, showing off the fire that burned from his palm. We draw from the powers beyond the light, from immortal darkness. That is our well, our source, the lifeblood of all we conjure, the place to which our souls are bonded and claimed. Despite how otherworldly it may seem, our power comes solely from this way.

world, this reality and this world only. He's suggesting that there are other sources of power, beyond what he below has granted us. Precisely, you babbling child, other powers from beyond our realms, stranger powers. Stopping, he cast her a wicked glance, better power. To this, Elvira couldn't help but grin back. Disgust, filled Kerrigan's face. once more, and he scuttled forward. But it is an alien magic, he continued. We know not of what it is, where it is, or how it acts, and how it will greet us. It is likely we will not know when we are close, if it is having an effect on us.

Are you suggesting it might harm us? Elvair asked. I am not, Gerrigan said. I am telling you that it will harm us. but we cast protection spells earlier those should defend us from magic our own magic our own powers we are drawing from a different energy here

an energy that should make even darkness itself shiver an energy that is wild free and as of yet untamed like lightning the head the spirit in the cage had started to wail its anger collapsing seemingly into some kind of despair Oh, where, I'll kill you. What are you doing? Where is the...

Oh, God. Oh, God, I'm dead. Dead. But where? Yelvira, ignoring the soul's ramblings, said to Kerrigan, and you brought a mystical lightning rod. The only smart thing I have ever heard you say, young one. Yes, a lightning rod. A naked exposed soul will show a negative reaction to these alien energies. For spirits born in our world are crafted from the same well of magical energy. It's how we have power over them. So, when exposed to a foreign energy,

they'll have a negative reaction, your Vyra asked. Like oil and water, Kerrigan affirmed. They won't mix, and the spirit will let us know. That way we can't be taken off guard and we'll know when to strike. When we can steal and harness this angel, force for ourselves. How will it know? How will it show?

I imagine it'll hurt like hell, Kerrigan said. Now, enough questions. They moved in silence, and Ilvira upheld her end of the bargain. She waited until they came to a circular, open chamber, before she asked another question,

this time to the good mother. Why a bastard? She asked. Why not someone simpler? A child, a babe, even the simple soul of a cat or dog, and why someone else is killed? Kerrigan audibly moaned, despite Ilvira asking the question of good mother Adisa. The good mother and Ilvira ignored the impertinent creature. Similar pose of the strongest opposing reactions when exposed to another of the same, she explained quickly. The power we seek is overflowing with the same.

vile repulsive energies, so it was only suiting that we find a soul equally as repulsive, one freshly raised, one that hasn't been touched by our contaminated hands. Leaving the young one pondering what she'd just been told, the good mother came to the side of the deliberating sedent. She stood before the passageway out of the chamber, in fact, she stood before three of them. Over the deranged begging, cursing and screaming, of the increasingly confused and dreading soul, Seren asked of the good mother, Which way do we go?

We dare split up, good mother Adisa advised. Less leave all but one blind And risk one claiming the powers for themselves alone. Seren nodded in agreement. But how much time could we waste exploring each one? How many hours would it take? Days? Years?

We do not know this power. could stretch these caverns on for an endless eternity. Our search could take eons. The good mother scorned her. Do not be foolish. Do you hold in your own shriveled hands, sister? Serene looked to the enchanted cage. But we would still have to search, she said in defeat,

to deceive us these caverns could go on for miles and miles before we might even get a sight. We've been getting signs for the last quarter mile, you fool, said the good mother, reaching down to take the cage from her daft sister. The witch is watched as, one by one, the good mother entered each tunnel. Starting on the left, she took five steps inside, noted that no change had been made in the state of Eddie Glenn's demeanour, and returned to the chamber. She repeated the process in the middle passage, and again,

returned. It was in the third passageway that her intentions became clear. After only three steps, Eddie Glenn's soul stopped its screaming. The witch is watched as a face emerged from the massless fog inside the cage. It peered into the darkness, and it shivered. What is that? Eddie asked. The good mother turned to them, a wicked look on her face. You think the madman's ramblings were his own? She asked of Sedan. They were a side effect of this new force. His anger is failing.

His fear is growing. You can hear it. You can see it now. This is the path we must take. Good mother Adisa turned, guiding the coven further into darkness. Beneath her breath, she mumbled something only the frightful Eddie could hear. And I believe we're closer than we're closer than we're. we know. It was a statement that, indeed, turned out to be true. With each step they took,

the fear on Eddie Glenn's ethereal face grew grimmer and grimmer. No longer did the same vitriol exist within his voice, with which he greeted to the witches. Now there was only alarm, only terror. Please, stop, he implored. Please, I don't know what you want, but God, can't you feel it? The frozen claws. Can't you smell it? Fowl festering. Can't you taste it? It's like copper rot. Please, please turn back. Take me away. I'll give you anything. Anything. The witches didn't even slow their step. They had no need to. Their soul could sense the darkness within the earth. Could feel it, taste it, smell it, but it had not yet been physically touched by it. They were still safe. They were still in control.

A head, the tunnels opened up once again into a cavern, the final cavern. They could tell, by the way, Eddie screamed, Let me go, please. Oh God, let me go. Open this cage. It burns, please. So close, so close. I hear it. It's calling. It's waiting. None of us are safe. Please. Your Vira whispered. Should we be wary?

Carragon responded with a stern tone. Very, the power is here. They entered the chamber. Amazed, the good mother held the cage of Eddie Glenn High in the air like a lantern, and he responded with a chorus of horrible screeching. It's beautiful, the good mother whispered. The sight they viewed was harrowing. The chamber domed a massive, echoed there,

footsteps. At its epicenter, stretching from ground to ceiling like a pillar, was a massive tree trunk. From its head, massive branches snake through the air, and upwards into the ceiling where they embedded themselves, borrowing across the ceiling. On the floor, the roosted exactly the same, knotting around each other and across the floor. Had it not been for the ever-present and self-aligning touch of gravity, the witches wouldn't have been able to distinguish the top than the autumn. The soul's pitiful screams didn't have to tell them. They could all see that the tree was hardly natural. They could all sense it. The room seemed to flutter with static electricity. It pleasurably tickled their skins. It made them all hungry for more. The good mother led them down

into the slope chamber, but not too hastily. Although the notion, the idea of the power was already so intoxicating, all the witches held on to their self-control, onto their sense of rationality. Just because it seemed safe, didn't mean it was. Once they'd reached the tree's base, and only then, the good mother set the inconsolable spirit that used to be Eddie Glenn on the ground. She brought out a spellbook from her back. She placed it in mid-air, and it stayed there. Quick, she told the others. We must be quick. The power is dormant. we must awake it and take it into ourselves before it can react against us. The three others eagerly did as their good mother proclaimed.

They each released the fire from their hands. Each flame remained positioned where they'd left it, hovering in the air just above their heads. Each witch found a root, and they placed their bloody hands onto the plant. The cold filled them, warmth drained. It was more inebriating than anything they'd ever experienced before. With this power, the good mother Adisa proclaimed, placing one hand on the tree's base while the other turned pages in her floating book. We will become what no other on this world ever has.

Masters of darkness and masters of something more. The three witches looked at her with hungry, almost orgasmic eyes. With this power, heaven and hell. will tremble. One will fall to its destruction. The other will be raised, brought to us so that we may rule over it ourselves. More than any which has ever dreamed, more than any God has ever feared, we will rewrite creation itself. She found the right page and greedily spoke. Today we will become the dark gods of myth, and we become eternal. For we She stopped because a new sound had erupted from Eddie Glenn's cage.

The canary was no longer just chirping. The canary was no longer wailing. The canary had gone quiet. Silence erupted from Eddie Glenn's cage. The canary was dead. Listlessly, Eddie's petrified face fell, pieces of it dispersing along the bottom of the cage. Nothing showed in what was left of his visage.

No emotion, no fear, no pain, no understanding. He's been cut off, the good mother whispered, for the first time in her life in fear. What's happened? Elvair asked. Why has it done that? Is that a sign? No, Sarin shouted, standing up, releasing the tree's foul root. He's been severed. That's not possible. "'What do you mean?' Elvira asked. "'What does that even—'

"'He's been severed from our reality,' the Good Mother said. "'Tears in her eyes. "'From the afterlife. "'His soul has been severed, "'for it is about to forever be stolen.' "'Ilvira asked, "'What heresy do you speak?' "'All souls, all magics, are connected to our world.

The good mother whispered. To the powers either above or below, the soul is tethered there forever. That's why our hole on this soul couldn't last. That tether pulls you when you die. It claims yourself either the one above or the one below. But Eddie's is no more. His soul is no longer theirs to own.

It shouldn't be possible. What does that mean? Helfare asked. standing up as well. It means awful brat, Kerrigan said, turning a look of panic on his face, that we miscalculated. Severely, we have to. His voice was cut off. The three noticed that Kerrigan hadn't stood. Soon noticed that he hadn't been able to. A string of claws, like the body of a centipede had emerged from the tree's roots. and they had coiled themselves around Kerrigan's hand. No, Kerrigan said.

No, no, no, this can't be. You can't. No. Then, with a great force, the root ejected more insectoid tendrils. A whole mass of them wrapped around Kerrigan's face and neck, torso and legs. His screams became muffled as claws filled his mouth and dragged him to the ground. They moved him along the route. like a neatly wrapped package towards the base of the knotted tree. The bark started to open, a crack formed along the baseline,

and the face of the tree lifted upwards, spanning into a massive and ghastly moor. Squirming, Kerrigan was still alive when he entered the moor, but a few masticating blows from the tree's awful, jagged teeth, and the witch was no more. And neither was his soul. "'It took him,' the good mother muttered. "'It took him and his soul. "'It shouldn't be possible.

"'It can't be possible. "'Only God can—' "'Good mother,' Vire called, "'noticing the roots starting to pull themselves on the ground. "'We need to go. Now!' "'There's no escape child,' "'good mother Adisa explained. "'Ill Vira turned to see that the door

"'they'd entered through had already failed. made it. The good mother already knew this. It had all been a trap. They'd been cut off from their world, from their powers, from their God. Our souls are his now, said the good mother, looking up to the unholy creature before them. The witches cried and screamed, as very slowly, their torches flickered away. And nothing was left. but squirming and darkness. Case file number 4.01.2. The monk of the final religion.

Transcribe from video recording. Interview of Calvin Shaw. The following interview of Calvin Shaw is transcribed from a video file labeled DDI Room 1. Camera A, dated 2015 10.10. Time stamp on the recording begins at 1634 and 16 seconds.

The interview is being conducted by special agent Ruby Gamble, specialist of foreign anomalies. Calvin Shaw enters interview room at 1640 and 11 seconds. Go ahead. Have a seat at the far chair for me, would you? This one right here? Yeah, that'll do. Will my wife be coming in, or...

Your wife's being interviewed just next door, Mr. Shaw. we want to make sure your accounts line up independently. We hope you understand. No, I understand completely. Just want it to be sure. No problem. Thank you for your patience with us, Mr. Shaw. We hope to have you and your wife out of here in no time.

Hope so. It's been a while a couple of days. Looking forward to seeing the sun again. Agent Shaw left the interview room at 1641 and 4 seconds. Special Agent Gamble entered the interview room at 16, 45 and 42 seconds. Hi. Mr. Shaw, extends her hand. Mr. Shaw takes it and they shake.

I'm Special Agent Ruby Gamble. It's nice to see you. Nice to see you too, ma'am. I'm ready for this to all be over. Oh, I bet. It's been exciting and I completely understand if you're a little confused or frightened right now. I'm a little nervous, I guess. I'm definitely something right now.

Understandable. We like to keep a tight lid on things around here, and sometimes that's not the most opportune for those who didn't ask to be here. Are you thirsty? No, thank you. Hungry? Not terribly. They gave us a little just about half an hour ago, maybe.

A little sandwich. Okay, well, if you don't mind, I'm going to request the agents out of outside bring a couple of waters in. I'm feeling a little thirsty. I have no problem with that. Good, good. Well, I don't see any reason to keep you waiting any longer. I just had a few questions I wanted to ask you, and after that we'll see if we can get you on your way. Sound good to you? Oh, more than you'd ever believe. Okay, awesome. Well, I just wanted to ask you a little about the events that transpired three days ago, October 7th. Inside the Indian state of Bihar, see, our main focus with you two is the issue of containment.

The incident that occurred that you were both witnessed to is one of great importance to our department and one we want to handle with the utmost care. Consider it an issue of national security. Understand. Completely. Will you tell me the full truth to the best of your ability? Of course, that's all I've done since the beginning. Perfect You do that

And I'll guarantee We'll have both of you out here As fast as humanly possible Now You and your wife were On vacation, correct? If that's what you want to call it Didn't exactly feel very relaxing

I bet You, both of you And your wife Were visiting the village of Bodgaya Correct? Yes, ma'am One of the holiest pilgrimage sites in the world, right? It is if you're a Buddhist, yes

You Buddhist? No Just thought it would be something to see You know Sure Sure, just want it to be sure What religion do you follow If you don't mind me asking of course

I was born Catholic But kind of just let that part of me Just let it slip away Would you consider yourself an atheist now? Not particularly Is this actually important? Hang tight, Mr. Shaw. I guarantee it is.

Now, you were both inside Bulk Gaia on the day in question. You went to Mahabodi Temple, correct? Sometime around 1,300 hours and 1,400 hours? Approximately the time frame when the inventing question occurred. We went inside the temple at about 133s. Yeah, I think that's about right. I'm sorry, I had to do the conversion in my head. No problem.

and just wanted to check. Can you describe to me, in your own words, what you saw inside the temple? Can you describe the event to me? I mean, I can try, but I've been trying to explain this to myself for the past three days, and nothing about it makes sense. I know you guys seem very interested, but I feel like, if I tell you, you can...

Well, I feel like it's going to waste your time. Not in this department, it's not. Which department is this exactly? Please begin the story, Mr. Shaw. Well, it was a normal day. Hot, little muggy. Clouds rolling in the sky, but we were enjoying ourselves. Did it rain later?

Yeah, poured, actually. No, to... Tell me about the temple. We ended the temple. Beautiful architecture. Oh, cost to get in. cost a little bit extra for the camera fee. Did you take any pictures?

No, we didn't pay the fee. Well, I guess it might have helped you guys out. I'm personally glad. Don't want to see that again. Continue, please. Okay, well, inside the temple, there are hordes of monks. To them, there is no closer place to enlightenment on the face of the earth. So they congregate there.

They all look the same. Well, not in a racial way, but... but in a uniform way, you know, orange robes, bald head, that kind of thing. Right. Well, there's this one guy who immediately stood out among the rest. The monk in black. The monk of the final religion. How did you know his name?

What? You called him the monk of the final religion. Where did you hear those words? Truth be told, I can honestly tell you, ma'am. I just... I just... No. He didn't say it.

No, not that specifically. Not from what I remember. What do you look like when you first saw him? He looked like a walking corpse, to be honest with him. He wore all black from his neck all the way down to his feet. His robe was baggy and ragged. He looked like a corpse? Can you clarify?

His skin was pale. No, not pale. He was grey, nothing but grey skin and bones. His face was sunken, and his eyes, he could barely hold him open. Not sure if he was just old, or if he was diseased initially, but no expression on his face at all. What did he do? My wife pointed him out to me first. The way he lumbered through the crowd, it was hard to miss him.

The other monks seemed to avoid him. Did the other monks seem to fear him or... No, they just seemed disdainful. You know, I don't think they knew any more about him than we did. Just that he was a guy in a crowd. When did he stop being just a guy in a crowd? Well, it was a young lady who bumped into him first. She was taking pitches and didn't see him coming.

Another tourist? Yeah, I think so. But she was Indian too. Anyways. This guy bumps into her and she turns around just to see him and that's when it happened first. How did it happen? He put his hand on her shoulder and he whispered something in her ear. It took maybe five, maybe ten seconds in total.

But that was all he needed. He whispered one phrase and she was his. Explain. She followed him around. after that. Closely. She started lumbering just like him. I didn't think much of it.

Maybe she knew him. Maybe he'd asked her to follow him. I didn't care why. She just did. And I went on my way. What happened next? The guy started amassing his followers. That's the only way I could put it.

We were walking through, admiring the scenery. Every once in a while I'd turn around and see him. Each time I did, I noticed his line of admirers. is grown longer. Started with just a handful, but within just about ten minutes, he had about twenty following him in a large group.

All of them stumbling around as mindlessly as him. That was about when I realized that something wasn't quite right. Did you do anything? What could I have done? I didn't know what was happening. I still don't know what's happening.

Describe what he did with the group he'd amassed. He collected maybe a couple more, and then there's this room inside the temple. There's a giant golden booder inside. A statue. Supposed to represent the deity overthrowing evil spirits or something along those lines. He led him all straight to it. The whole time, he was mumbling.

Mumbling? Did you hear it? No, I just saw his lips moving. Could have just been a tremor or something. I don't know. Don't particularly care about. Anyways, there's normally a barrier keeping people out of that room. It's a look, don't touch kind of scenario.

Agents enter with water at 16, 51, and 53 seconds. Thank you. Are you sure you're not thirsty? Did you get something to drink earlier? Positive. I think I skipped it. Don't feel particularly thirsty. Well, thanks anyways.

No problem. You were talking about the room. Yeah. They went in there. I don't know how they got through the barrier, but they filled that room. Shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand. Their, I don't know what to call him. The leader sat at the front of them, cross-legged right in front of the Buddha statue. Right. And that's when you knew something was up.

We knew that when they all started chanting. You heard them chanting. What do they say? It wasn't English, or I don't know, it wasn't Hindi, Sanskrit or any other dialect that I recognized. Granted, there aren't many I do, but no one there seemed to understand what they were saying. How did the others react? How did you react? React is the appropriate word, because from the moment they started, there was an immediate reaction. The intensity of that reaction varied based on how close she were. The people closest to them just started screaming, in pain or fear.

Pain, I think. They were primal. It startled us, called our eyes, and it drowned them all out for a moment. Then, those who were screaming joined in, too. Joined in the chanting? Exactly, and then the ones just past them started screaming too, and then they started chanting. It was a chain reaction that spread outwards, like waves,

and that monk was the epicent. So you're claiming that these words traveled along and infected people, almost like a virus? Don't know. It seemed to change them, that's for sure. We wondered at first if it was maybe something scripted, like a booty stritcher or something, but then people started running.

You said that the effects varied based on distance. How far away from the epicenter were you? Maybe 200 feet. Did the chanting have an effect on you? I think so. I just My wife said she felt it too But I got a headache

It's negligible at first But it grew as the chanting did Like the chanting was causing me pain I had to put two and two together right But well It just doesn't make sense Little in this world does Was the headache all

Ever get one of those moments Where you remember something really embarrassing You've done Peed yourself in front of someone Tripped in front of the person you like. Well, it was like that, but with pain. Every time I'd ever been hurt, physically, emotionally, crashing my bike and skidding down my gravel driveway in elementary school, breaking my collarbone, playing rugby in college, the death of my mother, they all came back

to me in that moment. It had to have been them. It had to have been that chanting. It just made me feel, it made me feel wrong. Your wife felt the same Yeah I'm sure she'll tell you She cried for hours afterwards Doesn't this all seem crazy to you? Of course it does

You don't seem phased at all Crazy doesn't constitute unusual for me Afterwards you managed to get away from the temple okay You said people were running How did you guys escape? Yeah We ran with the others The wave couldn't continue long after that.

Everyone who'd been there left earshot. That's what stopped it. Stopped the pain. Stop the memories. Didn't stop me from feeling like shit, though. Did those who were chanting make any effort to follow you? No. Once they started chanting, they just kind of stopped anything.

They just sat down with the others. Just to clarify, was it only those inside the temple? closest to the epicenter, the ones who were chanting? No, a few people stopped on the way outside, scattered among us. They just stopped in their tracks and start chanting loudly. They caught a few people trying to flee, but for the most part we avoided it. I think most everyone got out of there. They just stopped, even though they were further away from the monk. Yeah, they just suddenly succumbed, like a delayed reaction. I suppose so, yeah.

Anything else unusual about the victims? Anything at all noteworthy? Well, it started raining outside as we ran. Saw it on a few of those scattered ones outside the temple. Rain drops fell, landed on their skin, and I swore it saw smoke coming off them, like it burned them. The rain harmed them.

Yeah, it seemed to. to, left welts, large ones from what I could see. I don't know why, didn't harm us at all. You're okay. You seem a bit flustered. Sorry, just remembering it. It's uncomfortable. Emotionally, mentally, physically, all of the above. You may just be dehydrated. No, I'm fine. As for the rain, another side effect of the chanting, you assume. Yeah, I mean, it had to be, but I don't understand how. They were just words. Words can't possibly have that effect on people.

What we saw was impossible. Manipulation, physical and mental. Sorry, I just, it's a lot to remember. I understand. You've both been through a lot of trauma. We appreciate you working with us. We really do. I only have a few items left to take care of.

If you don't mind, do you care to take a look at these pictures our crew took at the sight of the incidents? I'd rather not. I'd don't you... Please, Mr. Shaw, we want to confirm that there's nothing in these photos that might make you recall something. Something important. We just have to be sure. It's a matter of national importance. Okay. I suppose I can.

Three photos are laid before Calvin Shaw at 16, 56 and 39 seconds. Okay, wow. How long after were these taken? Hours? Geez, are you sure? Did any of the infected exhibit physical symptoms similar to the ones you see before you? No, no, not a... What's that coming out of them? We don't know, and it's not exactly coming out of them.

We believe it's growing out of them. Geez And this was the Boudar room Yes Are they still up there Not that I should be telling you But yes They are

No one knows how to properly transport the victims At the current time They've They've almost morphed together They don't even look I can take those back Mr Shaw They look like tendrils

Like roots I think I can see him smiling in there. Mr. Shaw, please, I can take those. Oh, right, sorry. Here. Sorry you had to see that. That was almost us. But how? It doesn't make any sense. No, it doesn't. You were correct in your assumptions because we believe the same. However impossible, exposure to the words of that monk created physiological changes within the victim seen here. Changes in you. you and your wife as well. No, but we got away. We're both here. We're fine. We're not, not whatever the hell that was. That didn't happen to us. But you did hear the words, right?

We heard a little, just a fraction, but like I said, the effects didn't last long. You're sweating a bit. Are you sure you don't want some? Oh, no, thank you. It's just warm. I've got a headache and Would you like some Advil? Hopefully I'll pick some up on the way home. Thank you very much. It's a good plan. Stay right here for a moment and I'll record your testimony. Thank you so much, Mr. Shaw.

Special Agent Gamble leaves the interrogation room at 1702 and 22 seconds. Stiling at 1702 and 33 seconds, the sound input for camera A is turned off by authorization of Special Agent Ruby Gamble, Calvin Shaw stands and starts pacing the room at 1724 and 10 seconds. At 1734 and 0 seconds, five DSA containment agents equipped with padded, soundproof suits enter,

and forcefully remove Calvin Shaw from the interrogation room. Calvin Shaw starts screaming and resisting the DSA containment agents. At 1734 and, and 23 seconds. Video from Camera A catches Calvin Shaw knocking over the interrogation table in the scuffle. Calvin Shore is pinned against the floor by DSA containment agents at 1734 and 54 seconds.

At 1735 and 3 seconds, it is noted that as the DSA containment agents lifted the now handcuffed Calvin Shore off the floor, Galvin Shore is then escorted out of the interrogation room at 1735 and 35 seconds. Additional note At 1734 and 11 seconds Smoke is visible within the interrogation room

emanating presumably from Calvin Shaw's person Property of the DSA Designation Top Secret Case status unresolved 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 place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.