Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S4 Ep146: Episode 146: Rule Breaker Horror

Episode Date: November 11, 2023

Today’s podcast is all seven parts of ‘I’m a Professional Rule Breaker: The Complete Story’, an original series by Mandahrk, kindly shared with me via NoSleep and narrated here for you all with the author’s kind permission. https://www.reddit.com/user/Mandahrk/

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BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. The allure of breaking rules can be complex and varies among individuals and situations. There are many reasons why people might be drawn into breaking rules. Rebellion and independence. Seeking thrills, testing limits are challenged to authority. It's important to note that while breaking rules can have various motivations may also lead to consequences and negative outcomes,

as we'll see in tonight's feature-length story. Now, as ever before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's tale may contain strong language, as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. And let's begin. I am a professional rule breaker. Part one, the Lady of the Village.

Thanks to the internet, a lot of people around the world have now become aware of the existence of seemingly irrational rules that come with certain places of cultural or historical importance, local or otherwise. Following these rules is more often than not a matter of life or death. I am someone who's paid to break those rules. Yes, it seems counterintuitive. You wouldn't believe the number of lives people like me have saved

by doing the exact opposite of what the rule specifically states. How else would you know why you're not supposed to stand in front of the mirrors at your local murder motel with a candle in your hand at 303 a.m. If someone isn't willing to demonstrate the foolishness of doing so, or why you're supposed to ignore the breathing on your neck while walking past a graveyard after dawn? Legends fade with time. The fog of fear starts to dissipate,

and suddenly people aren't afraid of the shadows anymore. The scars on our bodies are a warning to those arrogant enough to go against what are pretty much the laws of nature. Now, don't get me wrong, and just because we don't usually get killed doesn't mean that we can't or that you won't. In fact, breaking those rules will absolutely kill you. It's just that we are prepared to take on jobs like these and that the risk of death is significantly lower for us.

Much of my job boils down to identifying the reason behind the existence of these rules and then to act according to. Sometimes they have no supernatural origin, just the concoction of a mischievous mind. they're easy enough to deal with, provided we get to them on time, before the combined fear of the collective conscious breathes life into them in terms of harmless prank into a terrifying legend. But these instances are few and far between, and I mostly end up dealing with rules that have

pretty concrete justifications for their existence. By far the most common ones we deal with are a powerful creature that's moved into a significant space and made it there abode. a pack of rabbit werewolves in a national park a banshee in the attic of an old museum and so on the rules associated with these places

are easy enough to understand don't go into the woods on a full moon night don't stop on the stairs at the museum and so on while dealing with these creatures it's our responsibility to ascertain their intentions and tailor our response accordingly are they simply surviving side by side with humans

or are they actively hunting innocent people? In this aspect, our work is a lot like that of the Forest Department. For if it is the former, then the way ahead is to involve the local communities in the preservation of these oddities, because, after all, having evolved these rules for their survival in the first place, they're best equipped to handle something like that. Sometimes we might even help them formulate such rules, like a survival guide. But, if it's the latter,

and we put those things down like the man-eating lions that they are. Then there are the aberrations in reality that are the hardest to deal with. A black pit on the floor of a cave near a town that sends you to the other side of the world. A swirling mass of dust that erases everything it touches. Rain that reverses aging and turns you into an inflate. So on and so forth. The best we can do in these situations is to isolate these aberrations and keep other humans away from them.

I don't know what my employers at Acme Corps do with these apparations, but they're recorded the highest level security that mankind can offer, so much so that ground-level workers like me are completely unaware of what happens in these mysterious containment zones. I guess the easiest way for me to give you an idea of what my work actually entails would be to try and explain it with an example. I'll go to one of the earliest cases I dealt with while flying solo, one that still haunts my dreams, for back when I was still a rookie and much more prone to injuries. The Lady of the Village.

The village was a loose collection of wooden houses nestled in a small elevated clearing in the forest, surrounded by jagged snow-capped peaks. The inhabitants have been haunted for generations by the Lady of the Village, who would saunter out of the woods each night and steal their children whenever she could get their hands on them. As each generation passed, the legend onto the next. rules began to evolve, morphing and then solidifying this sometimes through a painful process of trial and error, so that by the time I arrived, the rules went something like this. One, stay in your homes after it gets dark out.

Two, keep your doors and windows locked, black out the windows. Three, under no circumstances are you ever supposed to look at the lady of the village. and four, tie up your children and cover their ears, do not let them listen to the lady sing. Once again, it's the rules that help us decide what we're supposed to do, and rule number four hinted at the fact that the lady was actively hunting children, making her a threat that needed to be removed. The villagers were naturally hostile to my presence amidst them.

The inhabitants of any place that become significanter, almost never welcoming to outsiders, the fear of having their reality looked at with scorn and not being taken seriously, and the guilt that comes when such ignorance inevitably leads to death. I always keep to myself when on a job, not revealing my true motives, because, well, I shouldn't have to tell you how they would react if someone who wants to break their precious rules shows up now, right? I rented the top floor of a small house after I arrived, ignoring the looks of suspicion, and malice being shot at me by the villages.

The owner of the house gave me a stern warning about the terror that visits the village. Spittle came flying out from between his tobacco-stained teeth, and his hands shook in fear as he handed me a crumpled piece of paper containing the list of rules. I gave him a sincere smile, picked up my bag, went to my room, and slept. Slipped out of the house at dusk, when the dull orange sun was just beginning to dip beneath the horizon. and daylight was starting to faint. Some of the villages glared at me as they began shuffling back to their homes, and I waved at them affably.

I went up to the edge of the woods and set a couple of cameras in the trees, after looking around to make sure I wasn't being watched. If the lady doesn't like being seen, cameras would not please her at all. The village looked abandoned by the time I returned, and my footsteps seemed to echo in the forlorn streets splashed in an orange glow from the lamp-posts lining the road. You are too late. You do not respect our traditions.

The house owner thundered at me when he saw me coming back. I apologized profusely, flashed a comforting smile at his young son who was tied to a sofa in front of the fireplace and climbed back up to my room, ready to further disrespect the village of this tradition. I cracked open the door to the balcony, tore up a small horizontal strip of the black tape covering the window

and began waiting for it all to begin with a shotgun in my lap and a flask of whiskey next to the laptop placed on the table near me now I've never been very good at the waiting part of my job so it was no surprise to me that I drifted off to sleep after taking a couple of swigs from the flask it was an alert from my laptop that jolted me out of my sleep I blinked rubbed my eyes and peered at the screen Sure enough, it was the lady of the village, walking out of the woods with a candle in her path. The skin was pale, contrasting against her black Victorian-style dress that blended with the darkness surrounding her.

Her blood-red lips were moving, like she was singing. She stopped, turned her neck to look at the camera, and winked, making me shudder. It was like she knew where I was. I tightened my grip on my gun for comfort, and glanced at the array of weapons from my bag, spayed out on the bed for reassurance. It didn't take long for the singing to become audible, getting louder and louder as the lady entered the village. The song was so melodious, like nectar being poured into your ears, each note tugging at your heart, compelling you to obey the lady. It wasn't a surprise that the kids were so susceptible to her voice.

I jumped out of my chair and went up to the window, peeking out of the little slit I'd made. That night fell close to a new moon, and the darkness was so overwhelming, even the streetlamp struggled against it. But not the candle. Its fire burnt bright enough to be seen for miles, as if spurred on by the magical song. There was something incredibly strange, though. The candle was just inches from the ground. At first I thought she'd placed it on the road, but then saw that it was bobbing and moving forward. I realised what was happening with a dread that grew from the pit of my stomach. She was crawling on all falls, plucking out little clumps of dirt as she pulled herself forward, candle firm in her hand while she continued singing.

Her voice never wavered as she slithered on the ground, like the two actions were not connected to each other at all. She craned her neck, and her eyes met mine. I was gazing at her through a tiny slit in the window, but somehow she knew I was looking at her. And she stared back, her lips stretching into a wide smile, exposing her perfect set of teeth.

But the singing just never stop. I jumped back in fear, my heart palpitating dangerously in my chest. Remembering what I was there to do, I took a deep breath, kicked the door open and stepped out. The song ended abruptly, taking away all sound with it. The silence was stifling, like the blade of a dagger placed on my neck,

just sharp enough to nick the skin and draw blood. My eyes found her close to where I last spotted her. The candle was much closer to her face now, and I could clearly see her, almost collapsing to my knees at the malice being directed at me. I pumped my shotgun unthreateningly, like a rat snarling at a lion. And she moved. She got up on her legs and began running at me faster than humanly possible.

But the action was all wrong, like she didn't know how an actual human is supposed to run, her arms and legs snapping and contorting painfully. She disappeared around the corner, and the sound came rushing back with a loud pop. I could hear my heart pumping blood, the cries. of the desperate child downstairs, wanting to go to the nice lady, his mother's attempts at consoling him, and the wind that howed and made the floorboards creak, and the wind that howled and made the floorboards creep. I stepped back and turned around, ready to take on the lady, when I saw her. Candle in palm just inches from my face, pale skin, eyes wide, smiling like the cat that had caught the canary.

I was frozen in horror, my body having completely shut down when her eyes began to glow, burning like two little suns in her skull. I screamed as a searing pain exploded in my eyeballs, with my eyes melting in my eye socket and the viscous fluid dripping down my cheeks like molten wax. I stumbled as I moved back, my back hitting the railing of the balcony as my legs went up in the air and I fell down, my head slamming against the tarmac of the street below. spinning the world around me. Every rule has a reason for its existence, and I just found out

the one behind number three. My hands trembled as I began groping about for my gun, even as my head pounded in excruciating pain. But thankfully my eyeballs had already begun regenerating, and I thanked the stars for the good scientists at the Agmicorp who created me and others like me in their lap. My eyelids ached as they stretched to and new eyeballs popped out, replacing the ones that have been burnt from my body. I blinked, my vision slowly returning as drops of blood fell from the eyes

and poured on the asphalt beneath. Screams erupted from the house, and I staggered to my feet, grabbing the shotgun, ready for round two with the lady. The door slammed open. Mommy, mommy, please! The boy cried out as the lady grabbed him by the hair and dragged him out, kicking in.

screaming. The smile never left her face, even after she saw me. I brought my gun up, ready to unload on her, but she was quicker. She used the boy as a shield, dangling him in the air in front of her as she rushed at me, her body moving in odd jerking motions. She chucked the boy at me, throw me off balance, and used the opportunity to stab me in the guts. All the air left my lungs in one sharp second as her arm entered my stomach, a hand wrapping around my intestines and squeezing. I saw stars, but before I could black out, I pulled the trigger of the shotgun, pumping her torso with multiple shells. It didn't do much, but it certainly gave me the opportunity to free myself from her. With wet loops of my entrails hanging out, I clutched at my stomach

and fell backwards. Mommy! The boy sobbed. as he buried his head in his mother's bosom. The lady walked towards the two of them. Please let my son go, please. The mother begged as the lady walked up to her, putting one blood-covered hand on her head. I tried to move my arms, but they were too weak. I'd lost far too much blood.

My body wasn't regenerating fast enough. Please, let him go. The lady pulled the woman's head back, exposing her neck. before slitting her throat with one long and razor-sharp fingernail. Blood gurgled and spurted out of her neck, bathing her son with it who only cried harder. My body still refused to move. The lady once again grabbed the boy by his head and dragged him down the streets.

I lay flat on my back, hands on my belly to prevent my guts from spilling out, feeling helpless as I watched her take the kid away. The kids' cries only grew louder and more animalistic, like the squealing of a pig being slaughtered. Fingers began wiggling just as I watched the two of them disappear into the woods, but the boy's anguish-filled screeching echoed in the forest for a long time after that. I wish I could tell you that once I got my strength back, I chased the lady down into the woods, killed her, and rescued the boy. But that's not what happened.

After the two were gone, the villagers slowly trickled out of their homes, then quickly put two and two together with the boy's father's help and formed a lynch mob. I barely escaped with my life. Starving, exhausted on the brink of death, I was rescued by other employees of Acme Corps after four days of wandering in the forest and flown to safety. They eventually did send someone back in, and the threat. of the lady of the village was taken care of once and for all. But not by me. You might be wondering why I chose this particular story to tell you all. Well, apart from the fact that it's one of the most traumatizingly memorable experiences of my life.

I also went with this one because of what it meant for me and what might mean for all of you. You see, even those of us created for it and trained for it, fail and end up falling victim to the horrors of our world. Certain rules exist for a reason. Follow them. Part 2. The Garden Hill Mimit. I'm a professional rule breaker.

That is to say, I get paid to break rules that exist to protect the lives of those inhabiting a space significant enough to have them. Think of it as ethical hacking to shake the strength of the system in place. Now, if rules can serve as a survival guy, for those living in the vicinity of such areas. But it's, well, it's not all that they do. Do you know what the purpose of rules in general is? The scientist who pulled me out of my artificial amniotic sack told me that they provide structure and order in your life,

keeping the chaos abet. You don't need motivation to succeed in life, he'd say. You need discipline. We beat that discipline into us until we lived each day like machines, how time divided into little slots with specific tasks. For a man who raised rule breakers, he sure was a stickler for them. And so it is for the creatures that I deal with.

Their existence is deeply intertwined with rules created to keep them in check. For those who simply want to be left alone and exist, they function as a lifeline, safe haven from the inquisitive eyes of ignorant and arrogant humans. Those who wish to hunt people on the other hand, Use these rules to manipulate their prey, feeding off of their fears, setting little traps in the sometimes mind-nummingly confusing spider-web-like structure of rules to catch people off guard and devour them. And this is why we say that there is power in simplicity. The simpler the rules, the easier they are to remember, and subsequently the deeper they get imprinted into the

collective psyche of the people. This increases their odds of survival. Which one do you think would be easier for you to remember and follow. Lighting one candle on your doorstep each night, or lighting seventeen, all of different shapes and sizes, each in specific corners of your house. Complexity allows things that lurk in the dark to take advantage of your mistakes and slip in through the cracks. They get you when you feel like you've done what's needed

and are sleeping safe and sound in your bed. The cold, clammy hand on your leg at midnight It serves as a haunting and possibly final reminder of just how badly you've messed up. But on the other hand, simplicity can be a double-edged sword in and of itself, especially when it comes to creatures who derive their existence from the rules. I am, of course, talking about tulpahs, a manifestation of the darkness that resides in the collective consciousness. These are things that exist simply because people believe they exist, and the stronger the belief, the more power.

powerful the tulpa. Rules provide a ritualistic aspect to such belief and makes it much harder to contain these creatures. I remember the first tulpa I ever dealt with with this long-haired woman dressed in white that was whipped up in a frat party sometime in the 70s, growing powerful over the decades as the campus legend about her gradually took a life of its own. They said that she will come into your room at night, sit at the foot of your bed and lick your toes before biting them off one by one, or you remain frozen in fear, unable to do anything or even scream, but feeling every bit of that pain nonetheless. Oh, it took a while to bring her down. Regenerating your toes over and over again is a very painful experience.

Let me tell you that. But that's not the story that I want to share with you all today. No, I'm going to be talking about a much more definitive experience of mine with Tulpers, the mimic of Garden Hill. Garden Hill is an upper-class neighbourhood in the hills, populated by your stereotypical yuppies, rich, educated, antivaxes. Ignorance that comes from half-bate knowledge is much harder to get rid of. I knew it was going to be a major pain when I realised I was dealing with a tulper that was

terrorising these ignorantly arrogant assholes. Well, I didn't realize it was a tulper at first. All the signs pointed at it being a skinwalker, or a mimic of some sort. I initially reported to my bosses that it was the latter. In hindsight, though, the simplicity of the rules, the old history of the legend, should have given me ample warning. So, the rules. One, do not venture outside after sunset. Two, make sure all doors and windows stay locked.

Three, do not invite guests into your home when it's darken. 4. If you hear someone crying out for help at night, ignore it, especially if it's someone you love. And five, count the number of people in your home before you go to bed. If the numbers aren't what they should be, call 911. I was sent to investigate this case after an Acme Court executive asked for help. Apparently his son's friend and his family had moved into the neighbourhood and experienced a heartbreaking tragedy soon after. Well, because the orders came from the very top, I was seated before the young man in a matter of day.

It looked like all the life had been sucked out of him. Pale, gaunt, with deep circles under his eyes. He sat fidgeting on the spare chair in my motel room and flinched at the slightest of noises. So, Dylan, I said, easing back into my own chair. Would you like to talk about what happened? He nodded furiously, beads of sweat collecting on his forehead. Um, yeah, I...

I recently graduated from college and had come back home for a while, so... I visit my mom before I went off to New York for my new job at an engineering firm. I wanted to see how she'd been doing, though. It's a little worried, you see. What were you worried about? He rubbed his fingernails together. Um, she got married behind my back. I mean, not that she was trying to hide anything from me.

but, well, for fuck sake, I hadn't even met the man. Oh, it all happened so quickly after she moved here. I felt, well, just felt like she was moving way too fast, so I came here to check up on her to see whether things were on the up and up or not. And what happened? I prompted. Oh, something definitely seemed off about him, he admitted. He looked like a rat, you know. Always alert, oh, he's darting around.

like he was being hunted. He told me all about the rules, the ones that everyone in town religiously follows. I laughed at him, but then stopped when I realized he was being dead serious. It was so creepy, this grown-ass man talking about some bullshit fairy tale with abject terror on his face.

When he saw that I wasn't completely sold on it, he grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me, said that I had to follow the rules, all of them, or I'll die. did you and follow the rules he shrugged kind of i mean i didn't really have to mom and her husband kept the doors locked and i moved into the spare bedroom in the basement so i didn't really have to worry about locking up any windows or anything i never heard anyone calling for me at night either that intrigued me so what happened next he shivered it was night when it happened i was a night when it happened i was a sleep on my bed when I woke up with a start, body covered in sweat. My heart was hammering in my chest and I could feel the hair standing on the back of my neck. I was so disconcerted. I was terrified, but I didn't know exactly why I was so scared. But then I realized what it was. His foot started

tapping on the floor. I felt a presence in the room, about the size of a dog, breathing or watching me. I shook my head, closed my eyes and tried to sleep, telling myself that it wasn't real. It was all just in my head, but that feeling didn't go away. I felt the present shift. It moved around my room. His breaths were getting shorter, like he was reliving that nightmare. He was at the foot of my bed when I finally said, oh, fuck it, and groped around for my phone. I turned on my phone's flashlight and shined it where I'd felt the presence.

What was it? I whispered. It was... Jeez Christ. It was my mom, crawling on her hands and feet, staring at me wide-eyed with this small, vicious grin on her face. I dropped the phone in frightened. My mom skidded out of the room. Had her nails scratching the stairs as she rushed up and out of the basement.

I didn't get a wink of sleep that night. So weird. Why was she doing it? Was she okay? Did she want to hurt me? I felt a sort of primal terror, one that doesn't quite know why it exists, you know? Did you talk to her about it in the morning? He shook his head in disbelief.

What? No, are you crazy? I was too terrified to talk, period. I didn't even properly understand what was happening. I dreamt it all up. Was it real? If it was real, then why? Why was she doing it?

Was she sleepwalking, or did it have something to do with the town's rules? I didn't know. So, I chose to spend the day outside, doing odd chores like washing her car, mowing the lawn, watering the plants. I waited for him to continue. I was putting the lawnmower back in the shed when my world came crashing down around me. He said, tears pooling in his eyes. I was looking around for some shears when I noticed this old jar on the shop. the glass all yellowed up. It was mom. Her head, that is. Old, preserved like a pickle. That's what I knew.

I knew that that thing in the house was not my mom. I couldn't stay there, not even for one more second. I ran down to my bedroom, packed up some essential stuff, and bolted out of the house, not stopping until I miraculously ran into a police car. The cops knew what had happened. He continued. and that was both terrifying and comforting in itself. They helped me understand that Mom may have broken the rules sometime after her now husband moved in with her, and that's what caused it all. They found him too, you know. Her husband cut up into a half-dozen pieces, with a handle of an axe shoved up his rectum.

God, he was only trying to protect her. He knew she doomed herself, but chose to stay with her anyway. He buried his face in his hand. long and agonizing yet silent sobs racked his chest I let him air it out after he composed himself I accompanied him to the edge of the town and returned after seeing him off my investigation revealed that it was not a solitary incident there have been cases all over the town I found out about a loving father who after hearing complaints about there being an extra person in the house brutally hacked up his wife and daughter

There was a woman who poisoned all seven of her grandkids after inviting them to her house for a sleep-home. All cases involved someone close to the victim committing the murders in a horrific manner. By this point I was pretty confident it was a mimic, replacing a family member before going off on a spree of violence, and so relayed as much to my bosses and prepared to take him down. I reviewed the rules once again. I set about breaking them one by one. to catch this thing's attention after the sun had set i climbed out of the window of my room and

roamed the empty streets whistling and kicking empty cans down the road anything to draw its attention my assumption was that since this thing had just killed dylan's family it must be out scouting for fresh blood i clutched my pistol and continued my acts of provocation i was right it didn't take long for it begin. I spotted something lurking in the shadows out of the corner of my eyes, but it would disappear the instant I'd turn my neck, even just a little. Wet footsteps on the asphalt, unnatural rustling of the bushes to the sides, soft, animalistic growling that seemed to come from just next to my ankles, all signs that I'd been chosen as the next target. But for some reason, and chose not to attack me then and there.

Why? I think it could somehow sense my enhanced nature, and I hope that it would be interesting enough for him to speed up his feeding cycle. After confirming that the dog had sniffed the bone, I hurried back to my motel room, jogging and weaving my way through the grid-like streets. I climbed back up into my room, made sure that the hemp rope soaked in alcohol,

a knife made of pure gold was somewhere within reach and began waiting. I could hear the television from a couple of rooms down blaring into the suffocating shroud of darkness, as if the occupant was trying to ignore the terror looming large outside his windows, well, my window. The thing announced its presence with a piercing screech, one so filled with anguish it would fray the heartstrings of those who didn't know better. something banged against my window making it rattle in its hinges a couple of blood-soaked hands banged against the window leaving behind a thin trail of red that slowly dripped downwards help me please i walked up to the window and peered outside it was a woman early thirties naked and covered in bruises and wells completely drenched with blood from head to torso i saw that it wasn't anybody i knew interesting

he's going to kill me please please help me my neighbor turned up the volume on his television he's coming oh god i spotted the silhouette of something tall and thin walking towards the naked woman from my right and heard this strange metallic sound like a blade being dragged against the wall

please please the woman cried all right step back I'm letting you in. Do you hear me? I'm letting you in. I swung the door open, and silence greeted me. There was no one outside. No woman, no dark shadow.

Nothing. Well, it wasn't unusual for a mimic to instill hallucinations in its victims. I stepped up to the window, put my hands on its sill, and let my eyes scan my surroundings. They found nothing, at least not until they searched the space. just beneath the window. There, crouched with her hands between her feet like a dog, was a woman grinning up at me. I recognized her.

It was Dylan's mom. Her hand shut up and whirred in a sudden sharp motion as a small knife in her hand sliced off my lips and nose. I yelped and stumbled back, pulling my gun up and firing off a couple of shots at her. She leapt into the room, slashing away at my flesh while cackling, maniacly. She was inflicting wounds faster than I was healing them, and the room was beginning

to look like Jackson Pollock had exploded in them. I was hesitant to shoot her, not wanting the bullets to punch through the dry wall and kill some poor bastard just trying to ignore this nightmare going on in the room close to his. She stabbed me in the gut, and I caught hold of her, gritting my teeth to fight through the pain, and pulled her in close, head-budding her and smashing her nose in with a satisfying crunch. It dazed her, but only for a second. I took full advantage of that and grabbed the golden knife before stabbing her eyes out with him. I went on a stabbing spree, riddling her body with so many holes, she looked like Swiss cheese. She wailed, louder and louder until it became inhuman. She didn't stop screaming as I tied her up with a rope,

dragged her outside, and set her on fire. After watching the last traces of her vanished, into the air in the form of ash. I pulled the blade out, charged back into the motel, and asked for another route. I thought that was the end of it, but I had it wrapped up and was ready to leave when the next evening another murder happens. The mother stabs her husband, rips out his entrails and strangles her infant with them. I thought that maybe the mimics mental manipulation had gotten to me, so I spent the next night killing it again, only for the whole thing to rip, repeat the next day. That's when it clicks, and I realized what a Herculean task had been unknowingly assigned to me. It was a goddamn tulper. It had stepped up its game, killing every day instead

of every month or so, like I'd angered it with my relentless pursuit of its destruction. I went to the local library to confirm what had been told to me in passing, and sifted through years and years of local history, tracing those. murders back decades but still couldn't pinpoint the origin of it all. Did you know how hard it is to disprove a myth when you don't know what its origins are? Well, it was time to call in the cavalry. More associates from Acme and even some folks with tattoos of crosses mounted by crescents at the hills on their foreheads showed up. We were posted all around the city, keeping watch day and night to make sure that the tolper doesn't kill again and destroying it whenever it showed up.

meanwhile we laid the foundation of the eventual destruction of the myth forcification of records fake announcements of pranks manipulated declarations of the tulper murders as crimes of passion and so on some of our people even moved into the neighbourhood pretending to be another in-love yuppie couple that deliberately and openly flouted the rules under our watchful eyes gradually we started to whittle the yuppies down until they too started to bring up and we started to bring up and we started to the yuppie couple that deliberately we started to breaking the rules, laughing at the sheer absurdity of them. And then there came a day when the Talba hadn't been observed for two weeks, and our people began moving out one by one. I was the last to leave, almost a year after I had arrived at Garden Hill, and to this day, solving that case is the proudest I've ever been of myself. Part 3. The Spirit of the Forest.

I am a professional rule-breaker. In other words, I get paid to break the rules designed to save lives, to demonstrate the need for having such rules, or to put an end to the reason for their existence. A core aspect of my job involves making moral decisions. In fact, ethical dilemmas and comparable moral choices were some of the first things we learned about while growing up. See, the good folks at Ackme don't just want to reflexively destroy anything that could be classified as supernatural, which is why, when investigating a case, it's my job to deduce whether the

entity necessitating the rules is malicious and is actively hunting humans, or is it just trying to survive side by side with them? But there have been cases where things haven't just fallen into one of those two neat little boxes. I've been forced to venture off into more grey areas than to innovate. A colleague of mine dealt with a case where a bunch of teens had harassed a previously benign entity to go on a murder spree that decimated the concern community. ultimately it was decided to leave the creature alone and months were spent to come up with more foolproof rules and to sensitize the people nearby why it would be a terrible idea to aggravate that entity again today i want to talk about one such case with muddled moralities where my own critical faculties were put to the test the spirit of the forest i was personally caught upon to deal with this case my someone high up in Arkney's food chain. It pleased me no end because it meant that, well,

my efforts were being recognized and that it was the first job I had been given on a reservation. Going from the grayish towering skyline of New York City to the small spaced out houses dotting the thinly forested region made me feel like I'd arrived in an entirely different country. I was expecting things to go smoothly here. Native American tribes tend to be cautiously mindful of their traditions and lack the arrogance that makes working in urban areas so agonizingly frustrating, well, so I'd heard. But on the flip side, the land that they inhabit is ancient, and the most dangerous entities have always been comfortable nesting in a land that is at least as old as they are. Now, law enforcement works a little differently in these areas.

In Oliphant v. Suquamish, the Supreme Court had declared that Indian tribal courts had no criminal jurisdiction over non-Indians. So when a bunch of people from the outside were murdered here in a brutal fashion, the case went federal, and that meant that I already had a copy of the police files by the time I made it to the reservation. They were quite hard to look at. I could feel the rage radiating off the pitches of the bodies. Whatever had killed these people had really despised them.

I think the blood-red hatred that fogged its mind might have even prevented it from properly enjoying its kills. Cracked skulls with squishy brain matter spilling out. Deep gashes on the torso that cut through the spine, limbs ripped off. The images would turn the stomach of even the most hardened and experienced rule breaker. I had a faint idea of what was behind these killings, and my belief only strengthened when I found out about the rules. One, don't go out into the woods on a full moon night. Two, on the 15th of every month, an offering of meat is to be given to the spirit of the forest. Three, sweat-lodge ceremonies in the forest can never be interrupted.

And four, do not desecrate the forest. There were other rules that the tribe followed, concerning dream-catchers and other traditions, but they have little to do with what was happening there, and as such I haven't to transcribe them. Luckily enough, a full moon night was only a couple of days away, and that too won a 15th, so I thanked my stars and spent that extra time investigating. I visited the house of one Jason Miller, the first man to be murdered here, and met his wife, Stephanie. With frizzy brown hair and thick-rimmed glasses that did a poor job of hiding her exhausted eyes. She sat in front of me chewing her fingernails.

I've already spoken to the other cops. It didn't seem like they'd be much help. I reassured her and told her that, since the case had gone federal, tribal officers couldn't really do much. He was so excited about his new job, she said, smiling wistfully. Said that our life was going to be so much better now. We've both grown up poor, you see. So when he told me how much he was going to get paid for this job, I, God, if I could just... It's fine, ma'am, I said.

offering her a tissue from the box on the table in front of her. Please. Take your time. The project's supposed to be a game changer for the company, he told me, that getting this done could change our lives. She rubbed her nose and sniffled. He put his soul into it, working day and night, even forgetting his meals sometimes.

I know it sounds stressful and, well, it was. Yes, but it was still manageable. But then things changed. What happened? I asked. I could see that he was getting more stressed, more agitated, like something was really bothering him. But he refused to share what was wrong. I catch him shouting on the phone, angrily pacing in the study. Sometimes he looked terrified.

I tried to get him to told to me, but he'd just get all serious and tell me you love me when I'd press him on it. She dabbed her eyes with a tissue. I couldn't take it anymore. all that fear, all those secrets. So I decided to see what he was up to. Try and keep an eye on him, you know. And what happened was, I caught him leaving the house at night, heading off into the woods.

She shuddered. I mean, we've never really put much stock into superstitions and stuff, but I just couldn't help but get scared, you know, especially with how he was behaving and how sincerely everyone here was asking us to be respectful of those traditions. had those rules. I couldn't help but wonder. How many times had he done this?

Had he been sneaking into the woods every night without telling me? If so, why? I nodded, silently urging her to continue. I wish I'd followed him the night I find out, she sobbed, because he never came back home. They found him in the morning at the office. His head was cut off, nails were driven through his eyes and hammered to the door.

The rest of his mutilated body was piled on the floor nearby. Like some damn animal. He must have been in so much pain. They butchered him. No one deserved to die like that. She gnashed her teeth and clenched her fists. Officer, please catch whatever bastard did this to him. Please, make them pay.

You hear me, make them pay, make them pay. I took my leave shortly after, reassuring her that I would try my hardest to solve. this case. My investigation revealed that every single person murdered was somehow involved in the mining project that was cleared to be started on the land. My initial assumption was that the spirit of the forest had been angered by this violation of its sovereignty and was taking revenge against those it saw as the invaders. I had no idea what the spirit actually was. I feared that it could be an aberration, like the ones I'd talked about earlier, and sent a message back to

acme, but if I don't contact them soon enough to send in the big guns. But rule number one made me believe that I could also possibly be dealing with werewolves, no less dangerous in their own right, especially on a full moon night when they're at their strongest and yet, at least in control of themselves. But they were still much more manageable than a rip in the spacetime continuum that will keep me alive and suspended in a vacuum for all eternity. But then, that alternative came with more questions. If it were were wolves, what was their connection to the spirit of the forest?

Assuming that they themselves were not being mistaken as the spirit itself. When the muggy full moon night rolled in, strolled into the forest, armed with all the equipment I thought I could possibly need. No, I did not take silver bullets, but I did take your average hollow point bullets with silver dust stuffed into them. Cheap, accurate, efficient. The grassy floor was lit up by moonlight, the forest canopy being too thin to fight off the bright light that the moon beamed downwards, and that made it relatively easy to navigate the woods. Having been trained as a tracker, it wasn't all that difficult for me to pick up the signs. Poor prints on the ground, fur on the barks of trees where my quarry had rubbed its body to mark its territory, and a stale stench that lingered in the air. Then I heard the howl, coming from somewhere to the north.

I breathed a sigh of relief. I was dealing with a werewolf. I tightened my grip on my Remington and began stalking the errant wolf, moving so silently I would have made my trainer proud. It didn't take me long to come close enough to hear it moving around, and as soon as the wolf shifted to my left, heading deeper into the woods and picking up its pace. Was it hunting or was it fleeing? Had it sense my presence?

As I walked deeper into the forest, I noticed something on the ground, black and shiny. I crouched down to examine it. I saw it was a leather jacket, studied with sequins. It must have transformed somewhere around here, I figured. A blood-curdling howl drew my attention. It was deep and powerful, with murderous intent etched in every discordant night. I was surprised to see that deep within me was an instinct to escape, as if my senses were telling

me I was in over my head and needed to get out. The wolf I was stalking must have been far more powerful than I had realized. Five more minutes of moving through the forest, and I spotted it. Around eight feet tall, covered in a coat of shaggy brown fur, and walking on its hind legs, with sharp red eyes that glinted like rupees in the moonlight. I was quick on the draw, but the wolf was quicker, disappearing off into the woods such that my bullets slammed harmlessly into the tree directly behind where its skull had been. I ran after it, try and get it in my sight, swearing not to miss the next time.

Ducking under branches, jumping over fallen logs, I bounded after it, but it always was just outside of my reach, his bushy tail vanishing the instant I'd see it. When I felt it come to a halt, I realised he'd led me to a small, and circular clearing in the woods. I brought my gun up, ready to fire at it, when I had to bite back a laugh as my true predicament finally sunk in. Around me I could see dozens of its packmates

slithering out of the trees. Fang's bared menacingly. I was a fool. I wasn't the hunter. I was the hunted. The wolf I'd been chasing was herding me, allowing the others to stay just upwind of me and slowly surround me, their hunt ending here in this small open space where they could move

around freely. Impressive. A large wolf, larger than the others, hulking at about ten feet and with fur that was silver instead of brown or black, emerged from the trees to my left, and the others began growling and snapping their teeth at me. I dropped my knife, pulled out my pistol from its holster, and a silver-tipped knife from my ankles. The alpha drew up on me. Get on with it, I whispered. A twig snapped somewhere behind me, and I whirled around, firing off a couple of shots to the chest of the wolf that jumped out at me, causing its body to come thumping down on the forest floor. It whined as it trembled on the ground. The wolf with the silver fur howled, the sound at once both mournful and enraged, and that set the entire pack upon me,

All fangs and claws. My pistol and my knife created their own symphony as they rang out and whirred and hummed in the night. I pumped wolves full of holes, sliced off their snouts, kicked, punched, stabbed and clawed till every muscle in my body began to ache. But it still wasn't enough. There were too many of them,

and it took too much to bring even one down despite my silver weapons, and I soon began to be overwhelmed. What turned the tables in their favour? was the big one. Not only was it strong, but also fast and nimble on its feet. The fight was over when it bit my right arm off at the elbow. And the last thing I remember before blacking out were the wolves howling as they feasted on my flesh, their fur soaked and matted with blood, both mine and theirs. I winced as I blinked my eyes open. My head pounded, while my brain

was trying to break free from its bony cage. I shook my head to clear my hazy vision, and that only made the pain worse. I tried to move, but saw that I couldn't. I was sitting on the ground, my clothes torn to shreds, and my body tied to a tree, his rough bark scraping against the skin of my back. Oh, look, he's alive. I craned my neck, biting my lip to ignore the pain, and noticed that I was still near the clearing,

which was now populated by naked men and women who were born. building of fire in the middle. No thanks to you, I'd say, I replied to the naked man smiling down at me, his long brownish hair falling down over his shoulder. I noticed that above the fire, suspended between two sticks, was a human leg. I recognised the shoe on the ground near the fire. Please tell me you're not going to eat that. I remarked after seeing the stones tied to my amputated legs, preventing them from regenerating.

He laughed heartily. No, it's not for us. It's for the spirit, an offering. I'm sure someone like you must have heard about it. Today's the 15, I remarked. And well, I am meet. That you are, came a voice from somewhere near the fire. It was a woman young with long white hair covering her breasts.

She got up and walked towards us. It's a small price to pay for how badly you've fucked us. up, isn't it? I scanned my surroundings, and saw that quite a few of them were nursing wounds. Well, it holes, facial injuries, stab wounds and lacerations that sizzled as they healed painfully slowly. I grinned. That silver really did a number on you, eh? Has a sense of humor, doesn't he? The man said, addressing the white-haired woman, who I assumed was the big wolf that tore me apart. I almost don't want to kill him anymore. I'm glad to hear that.

I almost don't want to die either, I replied, and he laughed harder. No one will die tonight, the woman said. No one has to, right? We just want to talk. I snorted. You have a funny way of showing that. Normally when someone wants to talk, they just, you know, talk. The man chuckled.

We all enjoy a good hunt, don't we? Certainly helps the pack calm down on a night like this. and you look like you can handle it. I rolled my eyes. No sense in searching for logic when it comes to a werewolf. So, why am I still alive? What do you want to talk about? The mining project, the woman frowned.

Our project's going to ruin everything. Hundreds of our people dead. Our rivers poisoned. Our forest destroyed. The air turned unbreatable. I will not allow it. "'You don't know that,' I replied. "'There are plenty of such projects think of me.'

"'She cut me off. "'I know, I know because the spirit that dwells within these woods have shown me.' Her eyes turned milky white and began to bleed. "'Ah, it's promised vengeance on all those who wrong it, "'and those that fail in their duty to protect it.' "'She wiped the little droplets of blood off her cheeks. "'We need to put an end to all that. We need your help to do it.

Help? With what? Murdering innocent civilians like Jason Miller, I asked. No thanks. Jason Miller was no civilian, the man spanned. Desecrated this forest, and we showed him his place. We'd warned him many times, but he refused to back off. Better us than the spirit.

Chayden, the woman said. Her voice tinged with a note of warning. What? It's true. He planned to set the forest on fire to speed things up with the government clearances, and he paid dearly for it. That doesn't mean that we reveal everything to outside. He shrugged. Wait. Why do you need my help in the first place? I asked. Surely big bad wolves like yourselves can take care of some corrupt government officials. Not when they're back by someone high up in Acme Corp, Alona replied. Benjamin Hawke was the right-hand man of someone who was a member of the Board of Directors of

Akme. Using his power and privilege, he'd brought off officials to clear a very lucrative and highly destructive mining project in the reservation. It wasn't the first time he'd done this, but it was definitely going to beat the last. Alona and her wolves had, from anonymous sources, received enough evidence to sway me over to their side, convincing me to go up against someone who was a very core member of Akme, albeit one who'd gone rogue and was potentially a liability to the company. Child labour, industrial disasters that arose from intentional negligence and killed thousands,

numerous violations of environmental laws. The guy was a real piece of shit. Not surprising for someone in his position, but sadly for him, he'd been caught doing it. I took the evidence to the executive at Akme, who sent me on this job, and he got me the order to take Hawk out after pouring over the files, and going to his bosses with it. It solved my case, save the bosses some major pain and embarrassment, and came as a huge relief to the wolves, who, with the consent of the company, would continue to act as guardians of the forest and safekeepers of the rules. Was all of it morally dubious? Yes. That's why I stood in front of Hawks' apartment building wearing blue overalls with a clip in my hand and with a loner and some of

her walls by my side. They're not exactly trying to blend in, are they? Alona asked, nodding at the men in black suits manning the entrance of the building. Ah, par for the corks, I replied. Don't come up until I give the signal. She nodded. Thank you, Brian. We appreciate your help. Three minutes later I stood in front of Benjamin Hawke's apartment, knocking on the door. Who's there? He asked as he cracked the door open and popped his bald head out. I smiled. He really was here. I work for Cass's glass. Here to replace your windows. Having gotten my signal, I knew the walls would now begin taking our Hawke's security. It's a brand new building. Yeah, well, Cole says at least one window has to be tempered glass.

Bill had fucked it up all over the place. Only used laminates. Gotta swap some of them out. Safety requirements, you know? Hawk glanced back at his windows. Safety? Yeah, laminers really hard for firefighters to break out, so the tempered glass is used to allow them entry.

They have special hammers with hard ceramic tips. Metal hammers don't do so well on tempered glass, whereas the ceramic ones shatter it right out. I could see a loner coming up the stairs. Damn, that was quick. I didn't know that Hawke replied A loner

stripped off and transformed Yeah nobody does I laughed Some criminals figured out the ceramic thing though Break the ceramic off spark plugs To bust out the side windows on cars Call them Ninja Rocks Hilarious right

Wow that's actually quite interesting Hey Want to see something else really cool I stepped aside and Hawke Gorp to the big bad werewolves standing on his doorstep. "'Ah, shouldn't have been so greedy, Hulk,' I said, as alone as fangs neared his jaw. "'Wait, wait, wait!' he gasped, sweat pouring down his brown. "'This is about the mining project, isn't it?

"'Oh, geez, I'll cancel it, call it off. "'I'll walk away from this, please, please, don't kill me.' "'She, um, kind of doesn't have a choice,' I remarked. The spirit is a hard taskmaster. What? He asked confused. Wait, I'll give you money. I'll give you so much freaking money you can buy another damn reservation.

Malona ground. Ooh, I commented. Bad choice. You can't. He cried. You can't kill me. Do you even know who I am? Do you know what the company will do if the bosses fight out about this?

I come with their blessings, Hall. He looked down at me like I'd groaned two heads. What? They sold me out. After everything I've done from... He was caught off by Alona, who ripped his throat out. I turned around and walked away, not wanting to subject myself to the savagery

that I'd come so close to going through myself. With a job well done, and I promised to get together again for another hunt. I said goodbye to Alona and her warmth. Later I come to regret not hearing the man, talk about his dealings with the company, but his last words had definitely planted seeds of something that grew to take over my mind in the future. Who gave the wolves the evidence regarding Benjamin Hawk? Was it someone from the company trying to weaken Hawke's boss,

or was it someone from the outside? Couldn't be anyone from the company right. Why would they risk the good name of Akme being sullied in public when they could have easily handled something like this internally. That meant it was an outsider, trying to weaken the company itself. But why did the board of directors not react more appropriately? News like there being an enemy powerful enough to know secrets like these would have shaken the foundation of the company, yet it was treated so normally, like they were already aware of someone working against the company. I had so many questions buzzing around in my head that gave me many headaches and sleepless nights. till I decided I wanted nothing to do with politics of this level,

and so I went to sleep. That was good because I had come very close to breaking the cardinal rule. Never question. The company. Part 4. Ghosts of Little Flower Valley. I'm a professional rule breaker. What that means is I get paid to break rules designed to protect people

from entities and phenomena that necessitate having them, like crash testing a car. to see if it meets the requisite safety standards. If someone were to ask me what the best thing about this job is, I'd have to say it's the freedom to make my choices. Growing up I had to follow a strict training regimen, with each waking moment of my life, used to craft me into a better tool for my employers at Acme Corps.

So you can imagine what finally being sent out to the world with control over my life and that freedom to carve my own path actually meant for me. Investigating a case. deciding whether the entity that the rules are created around is malicious or not. Choosing the best course of action. Every single act of making a choice is something I deeply relish, as to the other rule-breakers. So you can understand why losing that freedom, that control, is our single greatest fear.

There are a lot of things that can take that control away from us, but every single one of them is frightening enough to warrant the undivided attention and complete might of the company. Every single case involving an entity so powerful, or a phenomenon so inexplicable that they'd leave rule-breakers helpless, is referred to as an aberration. Today I want to talk about my first encounter with an aberration, one that made me realise just how little I knew about this world. The ghosts of little flower valley. Well, at first glance, nothing seemed to be too out of the ordinary in this case. A small and humble tale, resting on top of an elephant.

valley and surrounded by looming mountains that protected it from the harsh sun. It was the perfect place to raise a family in, if one could just get past the oddities plaguing it. It was all centred around the mysterious fog that seemed to emerge from nowhere and infected the life of anyone unfortunate enough to come into contact with it. The town's people had developed a small list of rules to protect themselves from it. I found out about them soon after arriving there. one do not touch the fog two if you hear the siren lock your doors board up your windows retreat underground if possible and three call the town hall if you believe you are the first to spot the fog then find shelter the fact that there were no rules

regarding what should be done if one does end up touching the fog should have sent alarm bells ringing in my head but I dismissed what little concerns I had after looking into the first couple of cases I came across. Apparently, anyone that came into contact with the fog ended up being haunted by ghosts that resided in the valley. A translucent specter standing behind you in the mirror. Faint scratching sounds coming from under your bed. The sound of wet footsteps behind you in the shower. Someone just standing in a corner of your house while you walk past them. It was all fairly typical of your average hauntings.

But there were a couple of things that piqued my interest, like how these hauntings don't seem to end even after the fog retreats and the ghosts follow you, even if you've left town, as if they'd latched on to your soul, terrorizing you until your heart gives out. What made it worse was the fact that these spirits were almost always people familiar to the victim, a dead mother or grandfather, their unconditional love twisted into unrelenting hatred. It wasn't all bad, however. I found out about some cases where these hauntings ending up saving lives. There was a man who walked into his bathroom and found his tub flooded with blood

and his own bloated corpse floating on it. He ended up cancelling on his friend's birthday party in a boat the next day, which ended up sinking, killing most on board. There was a woman who dreamt of a dark shadow in her son's bedroom and left the house with her kids before nightfall and called the cops who ended up stopping an armed intruder later on. Well, I thought hateful ghosts and premonitions were all this place had to offer, until I learned about Tony Orlando.

Tony Orlando was a troubled young man, an addict who killed himself outside a local pharmacy after a botched robbery attempt where he ended up killing the owner of the shop. A life on a downward spiral that ended tragically. Nothing unique for this country, if not for the fog. I met his father at his house, sifting through his son's stuff. which cluttered the living room while trying to drown his pain in beer and cigarettes. It's all my fault, you know, he slurred. My fault my boy's dead.

My fault that my wife's left me, that she hates me too much to even look at my face. He slumped against the sofa, taking short puffs from his cigarette while coughing and sobbing. I waited in silence for him to continue. I was the one who insisted on moving here. He said, I was the one who laughed at the neighbours when they warned us, told us about the rules. My wife, God bless her, she tried. She tried to follow their instructions, even in the face of my condescension. She fought with me until I agreed to hide from the fog, if it ever comes.

He flicked ash off the end of his cigarette, and it fell on a picture of his son. For about ten seconds he just sat there, staring at it, before speaking again. I'll admit it. I did get scared when I first heard the siren. It was so loud. It boomed, flooding the valley with terror. I ran around the house, locking up doors and windows left and right while my wife brought Tony here. He waved his arm around. I saw it from my bedroom, the fog, this thick white cloud that erupted from everywhere. The cracks on the road, the narrow spaces between houses, the crevices in the barks of trees. I remembered jumping back when it pressed up against the window, feeling my chest constrict when I heard it hiss.

And it lasted so much longer than we expected. He continued. We ended up spending the whole night here, huddled together in front of the TV, frightened out of our minds. And all seemed so stupid in the morning. Well, the fear had dissipated with the fog. Even Diana looked a little unsure about it all. I mean, the fog is very much.

one thing, but ghosts and all? He laughed, literally. We still followed the rules every time the fog came. True, but we grew complacent. We even let Tony sleep in his room. As the fog grew less threatening, I began mocking it, downplaying the danger, saying it was just natural, like steam geysers or something. I guess that's what made Tony feel brave enough to open the window that night. God, I whispered. I remember how he screamed. It was so shrill I thought his vocal cords were going to be torn to shredens. I dashed to his room as quickly as I couldn't, found him cowering and blubbering on the floor.

He'd wet himself, something he hadn't done in years. But even so, as scared as he'd been, he still found the courage to shut the window. He told us later he didn't want us to get hurt too, chugged down half his beer in one go. Oh, such a sweet boy. His whole life ruined by that thing that... Oh, that Mr. Hold in the Head. Who? I asked softly.

That's what Tony called him. His ghost. This thing that made his first appearance that night and haunted my son for the rest of his life. He replied. First, I thought there was an intruder in the house, but when I found nothing after half an hour of searching, I tried to rationalize it.

said that maybe Tony had dreamt it all up. But it happened again the next night, and the night after that. He'd tell us about this, Mr. Hole in the head. How he'd come at night, scream nasty things to him, and his face walked into a snarl, pressed up against the window. Sometimes he'd see him at the foot of his bed, staring down at him with nothing but rage in his face. Sometimes he'd be lying down in the bed next to him,

whispering right in his ears, he was going to murder his mommy and daddy, drag him off to hell. It was almost every night that Tony would run into our bedroom, screaming and crying about the man with a circular hole in his head. Every night I get up, go see.

His hands began trembling. Oh, but I never saw him. Not ever. Maybe that's the nature of this curse. But I could sense it. Deep in my bones, I could feel that something was terribly wrong, was someone else in his room. He wiped small beads of sweat off his forehead. We couldn't help him.

And I killed us on the inside, destroyed our marriage. Diana blamed me, said that I was responsible for bringing this thing into our lives. I couldn't blame her. God, felt so helpless. Night after night, the same thing over and over, over, over and over. I just wanted it to end. What did you do? I asked. I... He stuttered. I nudged him to try and deal with it on his own. Told him if he sees Mr. Holden the head again.

Just sleep through it. He wasn't real. If he just didn't think about him, he'd go away. Wow. Just didn't know what to do. He stated. He started therapy, sent him away to his grandparents' house for the summer. Nothing worked.

The nighttime visits continued, no matter what. where he was. As he grew up, he withdrew into himself. He was a shell of the boy that we'd known. The light was gone from his eyes. It was failing most of his glasses. No friends, no life. Stuck with frustrated parents. Well, he took drugs to escape reality. He got addicted to prescription jugs. He bought off some dealer. I had a huge fight with him when I found out he'd been taking them. He fumed with rage. told me he had no other option because his parents had abandoned him to the ghost to Mr. Holden the Head. He left the house after our fighting, never spoke to us again. Next time I saw him, he was at the

mall with a gunshot wound at the side of his head. He began sobbing again. I left the grieving father to his devices and went up to the police station to continue my investigation. I dug up the CCTV footage and what I saw chilled me to the bone. With my own, my own, my own, my own. heart hammering against my chest. I doubt the number of Tony's father. Hello. Ah, Mr. Orlando, I'm Agent Walker. I just met you a couple of hours ago. Yeah. Sir, did your son ever tell you what he looked like, Mr. Holden the head? Silence. Is this really important? Yes, sir. It is. Very much so. Well, he was middle-aged. He was middle-aged. guy, bawling dressed in a yellow jacket, blue jeans and a circular hole in the middle of his forehead.

I swooned and little stars danced in front of my eyes as I listened to that description. The description that fit the owner of the pharmacy shop to a tea the night he was killed by Tony Orlando. My mind raced as it tried to understand the implication of what Tony's father had just told me. That night, Tony Orlando went to a pharmacy. to steal drugs to feed his addiction, a vice born from years of psychological torture from something supernatural. As he walked into the shop, he saw the image of his tormentor standing in front of him, panicked and shot him in the head. The owner of the shop, angered at being killed in this manner, decided to haunt his murderer. His ghosts somehow travel back in time and became

the cause of his murderer's addiction and ultimately his own death. Tony understood this the instant he shot the man. After realizing he'd inadvertently caused himself the years of pain he'd gone through, he walked out of the pharmacy and killed himself. The foe wasn't just functioning as a conduit for ghosts to let them walk from their world into hours. It was also letting them travel through time. It was an aberration, something far too powerful for me to do anything about, and a chill crawled

up the small of my back at that realization. I caught my superiors and told them about it as soon as I got my bearings back. They understood the importance of my discovery, but needed one last confirmation. They wanted me to break the rules and touch the fall, to see what happens. I was vehemently opposed to doing that. I'd heard horror stories, of rule-breakers trapped for thousands of years in alternate dimensions, stripped of their sense of selves, forced to live as very much. vegetables by aberrations like this one. But I was even more terrified of breaking the one

cardinal rule. Never questioned the company. And so it was with utter dread that I stood outside on the empty streets of Little Flower Valley a couple of days later. I stood alone, more scared than I'd ever been in my life, shivering as the cold wind stabbed at my skin, wondering exactly how I was going to end up fucking with my life, with time, with time, time by doing this. After the blood-curdling roar of the sirens had faded, after erupting abruptly, the fog appeared around me with loud hisses. I saw eyes in the mist that swirled around me, red and full of wrath. I heard whispers, full of malice, that danced on the wispy clouds of the fog. I felt the inherent wrongness of it all, and my legs itched to escape. I climbed up

inside my motel room the instant the wet fog caress my nose slamming the windows shut behind me I curled up into a corner and waited for the nightmare to begin what ghost would appear and haunt me for the rest of my life what monstrosity had I unleashed upon myself the ticking of the clock on the wall sounded like gunshots going off in my ears as I waited and waited and waited as each second seemed to stretch for an eternity like it was savoring my fear. Just when it seemed like nothing was going to happen, I saw it. On the wooden chair in front of me was a figure, dressed in the exact same clothes that I was wearing, but it was faceless. No discernible eyes, mouth or nose, just like a mannequin.

The only feature on its face was a mark on its forehead. It was a cross. with a crescent mounted on its hilt. I blinked, and it was gone. I heaved a sigh of relief, feeling tension seep out of my shoulders. It wasn't a ghost trying to haunt me, but a warning blared at me. What that warning was, I had no idea, and simply put it aside for future reference.

But more important, my job there was done. I called up Acme, confirmed that we were in fact dealing with, with an aberration and left the next day when the company's people started showing up. That wasn't my only encounter with an aberration, and it wasn't even the most terrified. But it turned out to be the most meaningful one. But that's a tale for another day. Part 5. The Black Pit. I am a professional rule breaker.

Rules function as survival guys with people living in proximity to certain entities or phenomena. They're the collective wisdom of that community passed down through the generations as a set of mostly easy to follow instructions. I'm someone who's paid to break those rules to check their efficacy and or to deal with whatever it is that necessitates their existence. Growing up I'd been a big fan of myths and legends. I greedly devour any books or mythology that I could get my hands on. Greek, Norse, Egyptian, Indian, whatever culture was within reach.

I have to say, help me immensely with my work. Not as a key to defeating monsters, no, but as a way of understanding morality. Punishments inflicted on humans for angering primordial entities, interactions between humans and the supernatural, the attempts of communities to deal with things beyond their understanding. These myths to me have been treasure tropes that rival the works of Kant and Bentham because of how they centred the human experience in the context of the supernatural. Today I want to talk about one such case where most of my time was spent dealing with the human aspect of it all.

The Black Pit. Most of my cases come from rural areas, small, tight-knit communities where legends take a life of their own. They're typically situated near the woods or mountains as old entities prefer staying close to nature. And so it was for the Black Pit, which was found in a cave a couple of miles north of the town. I knew this case was going to be trouble when I received its file.

Usually when I'm given a case to investigate, I'm sent a dossier with some basic information. Here there was nothing useful contained in any of the documents. Nothing about rules or any murders or disappearances or even anything supernatural. All I got was the name of the town, its location, and some tidbits about local history and the makeup of the community. My suspicions were confirmed when I reached the town and found that no one was. was willing to talk to me. People seemed to be on edge, breathing, walking and speaking faster than they needed to, as if they had somewhere to be, something to do. This nervousness would quickly morph into naked hostility every time I asked them about the town, about whatever was clearly

haunting them. I had people from the Sheriff's Department tried to run me out of town, but that was the only significant thing to have happened. So it was that even after being there for a couple of days, I'd learned absolutely nothing about the town. Perhaps the most disturbing part of it all was that things seemed so terrifyingly normal. They had no weird rules or rituals that they visibly followed. People were still out at night, jogging, going to restaurants, as doing normal stuff, albeit with fear and anxiety writ clear on their faces. It's getting to be frustrating for me.

It is not knowing things, not being in control, really peaves me like nothing else. I was forced to discreetly set up cameras around the town, but not even they picked up anything that was set alarm bells ringing. I'd reached a point where I was willing to call my employers and ask them if they made a mistake and maybe even call it quits because there seemed to be nothing wrong with this place, apart from the oddly nervous townspeople. I wondered how people at the company came to know about this place. But then I hit jackpot one night. I was dozing in front of my laptop when I noticed movement out of half-shut eyes. I joked upright and saw that a bunch of people were rushing out of their houses and scrambling for their cars.

I grabbed my jacket and my laptop, shove the pistol in its holster and race to my cup. Keeping a safe distance from their cars and regularly peeking at my laptop and tailed them with my headlights switched off to avoid being spotted. I followed them all the way out of town as they turned onto a dirt. track and drove off into the hills. There were at least half a dozen vehicles, moving like a loose convoy with about one or two people in each. I watched as they came to a halt near the bottom of a steep cliff, their headlights lighting up the jagged rock wall. They then proceeded to climb out of their vehicles and disappeared into the cliffside. I blinked. I realized there must have been a cave

somewhere in the hill, hidden from my line of sight. I jumped out of my car. dashed to the trunk and poured out my AR. Slinging the rifle strap around my shoulder, I began jogging towards the cave. The entrance was small, with there being just enough space for four people to walk side by side. As I stepped in, I noticed that the cave took a sharp left turn before descending at a gentle incline. I could hear sounds of footsteps and agitated conversations drifting up towards me, so I slowed down, not wanting to suddenly come up on them and potentially get into a fight. After walking down the curving path for about fifteen minutes, I turned right and reached a cavernous chamber with a hole in the floor at the centre.

The people from the town were standing in a circle close to it. Their flashlights bobbing as they shouted at each other. I duck left and hid behind a pillar and strained my ears to understand their echoing voices. Hurry up, Morgan. We've got to get this darn quick. I poked my head out and saw that the group's attention was focused on. two people amongst them two men with about 30 years of age gap between them the younger of the two replied i know i know let me just say goodbye to my dad you should have already done that we don't have time to fuck around just give me a minute here hurry up to see if you can't do it i will i will

all right just give us some fucking privacy and with that the group split up and most of them began shuffling shuffling back the way they'd come, leaving behind the father and son duo. I shifted away from the entrance to avoid being seen by those leaving the caves. The two who were there began speaking when they felt they had enough privacy to do so. It's okay, son. This has to be done. The father put his hands on his son's shoulders to comfort him. Dead, the son's voice cracked. No, I can't do this.

"'You have to,' the father replied, "'with a hint of admonishment in his tone. "'For our family, for the town, it has to be done.' "'The son sobbed. "'I've lived a good life, son. "'No regrets. "'Now I just want to be with your mother, understand.' "'The son nodded, wiping tears off his face.

"'Aadaboy.' "'The son opened the zip of his jacket. Put his hand in and pulled out a pistol. I love you, Dad. He pressed the gun against his father's chest. I love you too, son. I switched on the flashlight, mounted beneath the barrel of my gun, stepped out from my hiding spot and walked towards the two.

Drop your weapon, or I will fire on you. The son jumped, startled, and whirled around to look at me. He blinked as my flashlight blinded him. Drop it. Now, the father was the first to get over the shot. Who's that? Is that you, Rick? What are you doing here? I told you we'd get it done. Drop the fucking gun, I warned again.

The son started to bring his pistol up, so I shot him in the leg. The gunshot rang deafeningly loud, causing the father to cover his ears with his hands. But the son dropped the gun and collapsed with a grunt. The father cried out in his heart. horror and moved towards his son, so I put a bullet in his leg too for good measure. The two didn't resist much as I dragged them into a corner, choosing instead to spend their energy moaning in pain. I waited for them to get used to it. So you guys mind telling me what the fuck you're doing here? Who are you? The father demanded, gritting his teeth and pressing down on the

wound in his leg. I clicked my tongue. I'm the one asking the questions here. I'm the one asking the questions here. Again, what are you doing here? He ignored my question. You're the outsider, ain't you? Why did you stop us? Did you even know what you've done? Do you have any idea what will happen if we don't do what we need to do? Dad, the son grinned. No, I don't, I replied. But I really want to know. So why don't you tell me? He glared at me hatefully. Well, get on with it. I prodded him. Or do you not understand the situation you're in right now?

I pointed my rifle. We're not supposed to tell you anything. I'm sure breaking that promise is better than watching your son's head get blown the fuck out right in front of you, isn't it? He snarled at me, but after taking a couple of seconds to calm himself down, he told me the story. and that's how I found out about the black pits and the one rule associated with it apparently the little dark hole behind me housed a powerful primordial entity and people from this town have been sacrificing one of their own every month for years and feeding it the corpse to sate its greed and failure to do so on a night like this one would inevitably lead to death and destruction as would any attempts to run from it all in fact the father here had killed his wife and his own father to placate the monstrosity. And now his son was going to continue that fucked-up tradition. Well, not if I had anything to say about it.

I was at a crossroads. I had to quickly take a decision on how to proceed from thereon. The people outside may have thought of the gunshots and the screams as parts of the sacrifice, but they were bound to get suspicious if the sun didn't go outside. I thought that maybe I could drag these two away from here. But no, that wasn't feasible. Those on the outside could easily catch up to us, or worse comes to worse, they could just sacrifice someone else. No, if I wanted to break the rule, I had to make sure no one died and fell into the pit that night.

I decided to make a stand in the cave itself. After muttering a heartfelt apology to the two, I shot them in their good legs, applied makeship first aid, and tied them up with belts and torn t-shirts and prayed that the blood lost didn't kill them before the night was over the father said that the one killed had to be tossed into the pit to complete the sacrifice but i wasn't willing to take that chance sweat poured down my forehead and my heart pounded in my chest every second wasted there was a second that allowed doubt and suspicion to develop in the minds of the others i did not want to get caught with my pants down in that open space. The narrow cave entrance provided the best opportunity to hold them back. Compounding all that was the fear of the pit itself. What in the hell was I going to unleash by

breaking that rule? Could it be another aberration? Was I ready to take care of whatever crawled out of that hole, angry and hungry? I didn't even have the time to think that maybe I'd made the wrong decision but maybe I should have just called for backup and waited this out things had progressed at a pace much faster than I was comfortable with damn it I thought no sense in doubting myself in the middle of all that after stealing the Sun's weapon I bolted towards the entrance and found that my suspicions were indeed cracked they were beginning to move back inside I took cover behind the wall as it turned left took a deep breath popped out and shot the first one in the kneecap

he screamed as blood exploded from his knee and went down causing the others around him to shout in shock I fired again catching a couple more in the legs and shoulders thankfully I'd been doing this long enough to know how to avoid lethal wounds what the fuck Morgan what do you think you're doing

I shot at the one who screamed at me the bullet whistling past his thigh. The one with the busted kneecap crawled out of my line of sight, allowing me to put some more suppressing fire down. It didn't take them long to regroup, and I was soon dealing with bullets flying past my head and slamming into the cave wall behind me, showering me with debris.

A horrible thought crossed my mind, and I saw the cave's roof collapsing in on me, trapping me inside. I shook my head and focused on the positives. I had geographical advantage. I just had to hold them off until the time limit of the sacrifice ended, and the monster crawled out of the hole to find me without ammunition, surrounded by angry townspeople. I laughed at my seemingly hopeless predicament, and fired again, taking care not to waste my shots.

So our night-long stand-off began. I'd always heard of shoot-talets that lasted for hours, but this was my first time experiencing it. Thankfully, they were far less experienced than I was, and, Soon I was only dealing with a couple of them, the others having been wounded long ago. But then reinforcement showed up, and I fought them off too. I had to admire their tenacity. Even after seeing most of their people get injured, they continued to fight,

firing until the gunshots made my ears ring. They tried many tricks as the night went on. Tried to blind me with the headlights with their cars, but I shut them off. Got the sheriff to try and reason with me as one of them snuck up on me. A bullet to the hip cut that shit off pretty quick. I was thirsty, hungry and exhausted. My brain was hammering against my skull. I was low on ammo and things seemed hopeless.

When I saw the first splash of blue and orange in the distance, the sun was coming up, and my heart began to race once again. What entity was going to come out? How many people was it going to kill? Questions like these zoomed around in my mind. mind new ones coming up before I could properly contemplate on the ones preceding them but the fighting never stopped even as morning arrived proper revealing a scene of shattered windshields spattered with blood and broken but conscious bodies lying on the ground they hadn't even bothered with

evacuating the wounded but nothing happened the caves inside were lit up by the rising sun but nothing happened no rampage of monstrosity, no abnormalities in reality. Nothing. At first I was worried that the father-son doer had figured out a way to complete the sacrifice, so I retreated to the second major turn in the cave, near the clearing that housed the pit. What I saw there was the single most terrifying thing I've ever witnessed in my life. Both of them were fine, sitting in the corner with lifeless expressions on their faces.

They understood it was morning and had arrived at a certain realization much faster than I had. There was no monster in the black pit. The townspeople have been killing themselves over nothing. I don't remember much of what happened after that. I do know that the two of them were able to come out of their state of shocks somewhat before staggering out and explaining to the others what had happened. I remember the looks of utter devastation that spread across the face of the face of the face of, of those outside the realization that they killed their own loved ones over a myth would lead to

much trauma in the town they weren't the only ones in the days the pointless cruelty of it all had affected me too a lot some of them attempted to detain me to question me on the events of the night but i was able to give them the slip some of my contacts at acme told me that the pit wasn't completely useless it was a rip in reality that led to the other side of the world Maybe that had something to do with how the myths originated, how it ended up with the most cruel form of ritual imaginable. I don't know. It's not something I like to particularly think about. I often wonder about my actions at night, wonder if I'd done the right thing.

Maybe sometimes the worst thing you can do is open Pandora's box and find it completely empty. Part 6. Plain Town I'm a professional rule-breaker. That is, I get paid to break rules designed to save people's lives. Now, I haven't really talked much about my childhood. Maybe it's because I don't think there's much to talk about at all. Scientists, Akme, created me in a lab and raised me to be a soldier, along with dozens of other genetically enhanced lab rats like myself.

To break rules, push boundaries, and save lives. Apart from the unique circumstances of my birth and the harsh training regime I grew up with, it was as normal of a life that an unadopted orphan like me can ever hope to have. We worked together, ate together, and played together. We were brothers in all but blood. Dr. James Faulkner, the man who came closest to being a father figure to us, paraphrased a quote from the office at our graduation, and told us that we don't really recognize the good times of our lives for what they

are until they're gone. And I have to say, he was right. I feel a pang in my heart whenever I think about those days. The people I grew up with, the cramp room that I used to live in as a teenager, the playground of the creaky and rusted swings. Those days are a refuge for me after every job that goes bad with innocent people being killed right in front of me. I retreat into myself and think about happier times. But with recent developments, It's the second half of Dr. Faulkner's lesson that's been buzzing around in my head. He said that while we don't recognise the good times of our life, we definitely know what the bad times are when they come knocking.

The former might be a slight tickle at the back of your neck, but the latter's like a baseball bat to the face. There's no way you'd miss them. So it was when I received the files for Plaintown and poured over them. I knew that the worst time of my life was upon me. I took one glance at the paper that talked about faceless people that looked like mannequins, and my heart fluttered in my chest. Memory from my time at Little Flower Valley and the terrifying vision I'd received flashed through my head

as I continued reading the files. I was not looking forward to this. But even after all that, I still couldn't have imagined that this case would turn out to be the last job I ever did for Arkmae. Plain town, and things kicked off into high gear, I even reached Plaintown. I was on my way to the site where the instructions to get to the place took effect when I decided to stop at a diner to have some breakfast.

It wasn't like I had a choice. It was the only place I could get something to eat for miles in each direction. I poured into the parking lot, looked at the cracked signboard with disdain and rolled out of my car. The place was exactly as the signboard outside promised it would be. Splintered tables and glass windows speckled with years of grime. a true shithole at the ass end of nowhere. So you can imagine my surprise when I noticed the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen sitting in a corner sipping lemonade.

She grinned when she saw the look of shock on my face, and I turned my face and scurred off in the opposite direction before plopping myself onto a seat opposite the TV. I noticed that there was only one guy working in the small establishment, middle-aged, balding, and of Arab descent. I turned my attention back to the TV, and smiled at the antics of wily coyote and the roadrunner it's really funny isn't it probably the funniest show i've ever seen a world around with a start there was a man right next to me handsome blonde hair green eyes when did he sneak up on me i have to say i actually prefer this show to

tom and jerry he grinned as he said that before effortlessly slipping into the chair in front of me but maybe it's because of the deep meaning it has come to have for me who knows my heart was thudding in my chest how did he not notice this man before where did he come from did he sneak in through the back door who the fuck even is he um i began oh right he said apologetically i'm sorry i forgot you haven't had anything to eat yet hey murtazza he shouted causing the man behind the counter to look at lookered inquisically. Can you get two ex-Bededededict, please? The man grunted in response. Thanks. He turned to look at me. I'm Liam, by the way. Stunned at the strangeness of the situation. I reached my gun for comfort. Whoa, he put his hands up in an arm. I wouldn't do that

if I were you. Maddie over there can get very trigger happy. We won't want to create a mess here now, would we? I swore on my neck and saw the blonde woman pointing the sharp end of a 44 magnum at me, grinning like a cat about to tear into a rat. Beads of sweat began forming up on my forehead, and my hands clenched up into fists. They'd obviously planned this. I was surrounded and had very little hope of making it out unscathed. Even if the woman missed her shot, I'd still have to deal with the smart ass in front of me, and this guy had the lazy confidence of someone who could fight. How else could he have snuck up on me? Not to mention that the owner of this fine restaurant who was supposedly cooking my breakfast could also turn out to be a pain

to deal with. I began to evaluate all possibilities in front of me. Do I ignore the woman, shoot the man in front of me, slide down to the ground and try to kill both, jump sideways and break through the windows. None of the options seemed all that attractive. I was well and truly trapped. Calm down, Brian, the man, this Liam said. We're really not looking for a fight here. You have a very strange way of showing it, I replied. Adrenaline still flooding my system unchecked.

How does he know who I am? Do you know where they come from? He asked, ignoring my remark. I blinked, confused. Who? The monsters you hunt. You know, the ones that cause rules to fall. form up around them, rules that you so love to break.

Who are you? How do you know all that? I raged. He sighed and pointed his finger at his forehead. I watched as something seemed to press up against it from inside, like it was trying to break through, before settling down on his skin in the form of a tattoo, of a cross with a crescent mounted at the hill.

Oh, you've seen people like me before I take it, on a job working with your associates he asked and continued talking when i nodded my organization is old very old back when things from the other side roam freely in our world terrorizing humanity devastating entire communities at a time a bunch of smart people got together and decided enough was enough and it was beyond time that the thin veil separating the two worlds was adequately protected never since that day we've been working as guardians of that border to try and keep the natural balance between the two worlds. I thought you people were just hunters.

People who killed monstrosities, I muttered. An easy mistake to make, he admitted. We're not hunters, more like the forest service. Sure, we kill a man-eating lion or two every now and then, but our main job is to protect the forest itself, yeah? I nodded absent-mindedly. Something about that reminded me of my own work. I'm sure that sounds familiar.

to you, well, that's because it was actually my people who created Acme in the first place, he added. The idea was to have a commercial presence in the wider world to raise funds for our work, or at least that was the cover. Little did we know that there were traitors in our ranks, who'd use the company's resources for their own nefarious designs. Then again, the fact that they insisted on naming the company after the evil call from the fucking roadrunner, that should have given us a clue, right?

"'Craters?' "'Yeah,' he said. "'People who were trying to tear that veil down "'and let the two worlds merge together. "'I shouldn't have to tell you what would follow if that happens, right?' "'A chill bolted down my spine as I tried to imagine such an outcome. "'We should have taken the hint when the company started creating you genetically enhanced freak-shows, "'or part of my language,

"'and kept you under their direct control, "'expletely separate from the larger organization, but eventually we did figure it out. He leaned back. See, you rule breakers were not being used to strengthen the system. You've been used to probe its weak points, to try and poke holes into the veil, and use that rip to tear it to shreds.

No, that can't be right. It is, he insisted. Every case you investigated was used for that purpose. All those cases marked as aberrerasia. Like the fog in Little Flower Valley? The reason the company cordoned them off is so they could learn to use it to unleash hell upon her.

A whole world spun around me. This man had to be lying. No way. All those cases, all those innocent lives lost. All this time I've been actively harming the cause I thought I was working for was my whole life alive. It's not all bad though, he continued.

There are people like a good. us you've been working against them in the shadows. Groups within groups. Secrets within secrets within secrets, lies within lies. We've been gathering people with a strong enough moral character who'd be willing to go up against the company. That case you had at the reservation. You made sure you were assigned that case through a mole at Acme. Those werewolves are also working with us. Look, I know this is all a lot to take in, Brian, but we're on a bit of a time limit here. said, a layer of urgency just beneath his relaxed voice. This next case, this plain town, we believe they've come real, fricking close to succeeding

in their little endeavour. Now, Maddy's got all the evidence of my claims that you can peruse at your own leisure, but you really do need to tell us whether you're ready or not. Ready? For what? I asked dumbly. My mind still trying to put the shattered and corrupted pieces of my memories back together. ready to go up against acme he leaned forward brian would you be willing to break the cardinal rule the only one you promise never to break part seven final i'm a professional rule breaker i get paid to break rules to save lives but not this time this time i'm doing it for free i've always known that acme's

been involved in some shady shit. I mean, there isn't a multi-billion dollar corporation out there that hasn't broken the law wherever it's been. Flouting environmental regulations, bribing politicians, exploiting labor and developing countries. These are all things that I come to expect

from the company, and chose to ignore it all whenever I encountered anything of the sort. Both because I felt I had little to no power to take a stand against it and because I believed in the morality of my job. Even with all the things that the law, wrong with Ackman. I strongly felt that my line of work was one avenue where the company had acted unambiguously as a force of good. One path that wasn't paved with the blood and suffering of innocence and that ultimately led to something more meaningful than greed. That veil was lifted from my eyes,

quite brutally at that, when I saw the video of the Lady of the Village being captured and carded off to a secret company facility. I'd watch that thing kill children, learned how it terrorized a community for years, and the company lied to me. They told me they killed her, freed the people from her clutches, when in fact they just took her to further their own monstrous ambitions. For the first time in my life, I began questioning the motives of the company, and try as I might, I couldn't think of an explanation that made sense, at least nothing that didn't support Liam's claims. The more evidence I looked at, the nigham's trail of bodies the company's left behind the destroyed towns, the more it angered and saddened me.

To think that they were trying to unleash literal hell on earth sickened me. Maybe it would have been easier if my entire existence wasn't inextricably tied to the company, but it was. That fact filled me with an explosive rage. That anger made my decision easier. I went through an existential crisis and chose a path for my future in less than an hour. Switching my loyalties and going up against everything I'd ever known in life sent a tingling sensation crackling throughout my body. But it wasn't just that I was betraying Agme, but that I was doing that at Plain Town.

The case I'd already had terrifying premonitions about back at Little Flower Valley. My clammy hands trembled with nerves and anxieties. I introduced myself to Liam's people. There were less than a dozen of them, and we spent the day strategising. And so it is that, Come nightfall, I'm sitting in a green army jeep next to Mutazza with a rifle in hand, driving down a dirt road towards plain town. Thick clouds of dust kicked up by the tires of the jeep are shimmering under the moonlight.

Do you think we have enough people? I ask, as the middle-aged man next to me chooses lip in concentration. Huh? What's that? I repeat myself. Quality over quantity, he replies as he turns left. We're circling back to where we'd begun. Some weird ritual that opens up a path to the town. Besides, haven't we talked about this already? Yeah, just nerves is all. Seems like repetition is the word of that day.

He says as he pulls up on the highway again and turns back. The other jeeps in the convoy follows suit. It makes sense to have fewer people. Makes a precision strike all that much more feasible. and out in a flash. Liam and I have pulled this off many times before. No worries. Well, they'll be prepared too, I remind him.

If it's something Akhme has been preparing for, for years, and it makes sense they'll have prepared for all eventualities. But they don't know we're coming for them, he remarks with a grin. We make sure to cover our tracks really well. We'll end it before they have a chance to get their bearings. I nod and continue to watch the road in silence. Murtazza's words don't give me much encouragement. I know, Acme.

I know how ruthless they can be, and I can't help but feel queasy about the future. My train of thought gets cut off by the crackling of the radio. Do you see it? Liam's distorted voice fills up the car. Yep, Murtazer replies into the handset. I do, too. We've come up on the gas station.

Its immediate surroundings are lit up by neon lights of its signboard. but the inside is dark and empty. The contrast is creeping me out. Hold on, we've got this, Liam says, and I watch in the rearview mirror as Maddie climbs out of the car and trots towards the store with her rifle drawn. It's the same gas station, isn't it? I ask.

The one from the files. Murtazza nods. Some time back a man had received emails from his brother about coming to Plain Town. He'd come across this exact same gas station, and the owner here had taken. him into town. The man was, of course, never seen again. Neither was his brother who received his emails. Guess he followed his sibling all the way to Acme's doorway to the other side. Muzzle flashes light up the dark windows of the store, immediately followed by muffled thumps. Maddie then

rushes out of the store and gets back into the car with Liam. I try not to think about what she'd shot in the dark. All right, boys, time to split up. Liam's voice blare through the radio. Maintain radio contact. Roger, Murtaza replies, and so do the other cars. The convoy splits up, and we all head in different directions. The plan involves surrounding the town and infiltrating it from four directions. It takes about 15 minutes for us to come up on plain town.

Mutaza parks the jeep at the edge of a small cliff that overlooks the town, and we climb out of the car. The entire town has been swayed in the town. darkness, where there being some brief flashes of light here and there from flickering streetlights. I can hear dogs howling mournfully in the distance. Where is it? Mutaza mutters to himself. Should be around here somewhere. The crescent-shaped tattoo on his forehead begins to throb like a beacon.

He heads off into the woods to our left, and I follow. A switch on the light mounted beneath my gun to light up the way as we head deeper into the tree cover. but I needn't have done so. The way ahead is illuminated by a bright greenish light coming from the ground. Ha, found you, Mutaza claims and marches towards the light. We found the source of the illumination in the middle of a small clearing in the woods. A circle has been carved into the rocky surface with an axe or something, and the shape is circumscribing odd symbols.

Trying to understand what these symbols are is quite disorienting, and not just because of the great green flames shooting up and out of the grooves on the ground, rising about three feet in height. I shake my head to fight off the dizziness. Mutaza takes out his radio. Found ours. What about you guys? The others begin to respond one by one,

affirming that they too would found their own flaming circles. Ah, so we were right, Mutaza says with a sigh. Four points around in the town. There must be one in the town itself, probably somewhere in the centre. And, um, we have to get that one to stop it, I ask. He nods and scratches his balding head. It's like taking out the drain plug of a bathtub to empty it. It can only be done from the centre, which is probably the town hall.

These points here are just the anchors, not where the veil is going to be torn open. Even after experiencing all sorts of strange shit in my life, There are still things out there that I have absolutely no clue about. Mysteries of the occult. Strange phenomena that leave me breathless and fear and wonder. I can't help but feel glad that I'm with people who seem to know more than me. Mutaza takes out a camera and snaps off a couple of pictures of the fire and instructs the other teams to do the same through the radio.

Soon his phone begins to ding as the others send their pictures. Are you done? I ask. He nods. All right, let's go then. I begin heading back when he stalks me. We proceed on foot from here onwards. He then takes out a syringe from his pocket and stabbed himself in the leg with it. What's that? I ask.

Ah, performance-enhancing trucks, he grins. Can't have you folks leaving me behind in the dust, can I? Whatever, let's move. Leaving the strange fire burning, we head towards Plain Town. we'll stay off the road and descend down the treacherous path that spits us out near the sheriff's office mutaza rips out the chain-link fence surrounding the place with his bare hands and we enter almost immediately i'm hit with an intense wave of nausea my stomach turns and my knees begin to wobble what the fuck i whisper we're at the edge of the world bryan

mutaza remarks bitterly hold on to your seat or you might just fall over to at the other side. I don't bother asking whether he was just joking about the last part. We take a couple of seconds to centre ourselves. Then, aiming down the barrel of our guns, we move through the streets, coming across various oddities of the town. There's an old woman standing under the only working streetlight we come across, laughing hysterically as if it's a live performance.

She's under a spotlight on the stage. She turns and looks at her. her face is blank like a mannequin we move left ignoring her i see televisions blaring static in dark houses as families stand motionless in front of them i see a man cleaning the exact same spot on the road with a broom a child circling a lamp post all faceless every single one of them what's happening to the people here. I wonder out loud. The world around them is changing, Wutaza replies. Why should they be affected? Poor bastards aren't even sentient anymore. We hear noises up ahead, loud laughter and amiable conversation. In context, it's extremely jarring. We hug the walls at the sides and proceed

with caution. It's the town hall, and in front of it sits a truck. Standing around it are about five men, smoking and chatting away as if the world around them isn't literally going to hell. Acme's people, I remark, when Lataza shuts off his radio. Should we take them out? I whisper, and he shakes his head. Cairns, who even knows if a bullet to the head would do enough to put these fuckers down? I don't recognize any of them, but that doesn't mean that they aren't genetically enhanced. Maybe the company had another batch of people like me and they skipped. the extensive moral education that we were put through.

We wait, intense silence, watching the second tick by, knowing that we were fast running out of time. Oh, fuck it, Mutaza says and takes aim. My heart beats in my chest as I do the same. I quickly begin formulating a plan of action. I see myself firing the gun and rushing forward with my knife drawn to decapitate them before they can potentially regenerate. I pick my targets

Exhale My finger nears the trigger It's a fruitless endeavor Because the moment we would get ready to start firing More men come running out of the building Carrying black bags The group quickly jumps into the truck Which tears off down the road

The tire screeching as they burn the asphalt Move! says Mutasa And we do But we're halted by gunfire in the distance The sound echoes all throughout the town, Moutazza's radio crackles. We've made contact. Liam's panic voice erupts from the radio.

We're going to get bogged down. Nothing we can do, Mutaza says and continues pushing towards the town hall. The building's being constructed, keeping Victorian style of architecture in mind. Arch windows, pointed roof and all. Ignoring the vicious firefight going on near us, we cut across the grassy lawn and walk into the town hall. We see the fire just past the lobby in the centre of the hall, its fiery greenishness overwhelming in its brightness. Wooden desks and chairs that were placed in the hall lie in the corners.

Their broken pieces stacked on top of each other to clear space for the hatched flames. All right, Mataza says. His movement's turning frantic. All right, all right. He dashes towards the reception counter at the lobby and pulls out a register. all right he takes a register and runs towards the fire i follow

all right his voice echoes in the bizarrely empty town hall he snaps a picture of the symbols in the fire all right all right what i ask frustrated he blinks as if he's been woken from a very deep and realistic dream

brian he says brian i need you to lock this building down. Don't let anyone enter it. Got it? Understood. What are you going to do? I need some time to figure this out. Need to see how to break the flow to redirect it. He goes down on his knees and begins drawing the symbols on the register. His hands fly on the page in a manic frenzy. I leave him to his own devices and start scoping out the building. I look at every door, every window that can be used as an entry point, and think how I can block them off. dragging the broken pieces of furniture from the hall i begin stacking them up against all the doors

and windows all through this Liam and the others are locked in a separate life and death battle just a couple of blocks away my muscles are aching and dragging one of the last pieces of furniture to the back door when Wutaza's radio barks they're retreating Liam screams they're hauling ass ah not surprising what Taz replies nothing they can do here anymore. I look at him and notice the flames have gotten stronger and higher, brushing against the ceiling, splashing it with their dazzling greenish brilliance. The sound of gunfire dies down. The only things I can hear now are the crackling of the flames, the sound of my breathing, and the scratching of Mutats's pen on paper.

I can be, he mumbles. It's impossible. It's freaking impossible. What? I shaned. do you know how to stop it he shakes his head it's too late it's too freaking late it's the radio again this time it's maddy holy shit are you guys seeing this what are you talking lean begins to say oh my god my bolt towards the front door using the tiny gaps between mangled chairs shoved on top of each other I peek outside, and my heart begins to sink in my chest. As far as my eyes can see, I notice doors of the houses in the town swinging open, and the residents come stumbling out, rage etched clear upon their faceless faces. They come in for you, Liam screams.

Wutaza, Brian, they're coming for you. Oh, fuck, I whisper, and run back towards Murtaza to grab his gun and ammunition. He's hunched over his notes and diagrams, and I can sense utter dread emanating from him. "'Someone must have noticed,' he says, more to himself than to me. "'Someone. Some thing on the other side must have noticed that the veil is about to be torn to shreds.' "'You think they're controlling the townspeople?' I ask, instinctively already knowing the answer. He nods, amstim-mindedly. "'Hey,' I snap,

"'he looks up at me. "'Don't quit now. "'It's not over yet, okay? "'It's not freaking over yet.' "'Right,' he answers. "'His eyes brightening with resolve. "'Not over yet.' "'He attacks his notes and diagrams with renewed vigour,

"'and I rush back towards the front door "'after taking his radio.' "'They're everywhere,' Liam roars. "'They're surrounding you, Brian. "'We'll help the best we can from the outside, but you're going to have to fight your heart out. Up here outside and sure enough, they're coming towards the town hall.

Men, women, children. Naked, clothed, their limbs contorting weirdly as they run. Screaming, faceless, yet somehow snarling. A sharp crack whips through the air and the head of the one closest to me explodes. He stumbles and falls. Then more of them begin to collapse as Liam and the other. open fire on them. Still they continue to press on. Arrest the gun on the shattered arm of a chair

and squeeze the trigger, spraying the faceless residence right outside with bullets. And yet they still continue to come, slamming into the stacked furniture and climbing on top of each other like maggots. My ears begin to ring with the echoing gunshots and the guttural screams of the faceless. I have to step back as the doorway begins to get overwhelmed. Some of them pop their heads out over and above the stacked furniture, and I promptly shoot them back. The doorway is a ghastly sight of blood, bones and splintered wood, but we begin to push them back, bit by bit. Mutazza's radio dashes any sense of relief that starts to creep up on me. They're back, Maddie yells.

They're massing at the back. A bolt to the back door, running past Moutazza, who still fixated on the inside. a palvable puzzle before him as the fire continues to burn in front. And so it is, for what seems like hours I run around the town hall, going from one point to the other, emptying the garden. The entrances are always on the verge of collapse. One arm snaking in through the bathroom window, one creature slipping in through a blind spot,

but working together we're able to stop them, just barely. My nerves are fraying, exhaustion has set in and I'm ready to collapse. And that's when Mutaza shouts in ecstasy. I did it. I know how to stop it. He asked for the radio and I toss it to him. Liam, he exclaims. I know how to end this.

How? We can't stop the veil from clapping, but we can just knit it around the town. What does that mean? He waves his hands around, trying to think of a proper explanation. So, uh, the veil will stay intact, but it'll wrap over and around Plain Town. That is to say, the whole town will get slammed into the other side.

But the world will be safe. Just need to redirect the flow a little. Could that really work? Liam asks. Yeah, theoretically, yeah. Theoretically, I'm pretty freaking sure it will. All right then, do it. Then we'll pull out.

There's a problem, Murtaza adds. I'll have to stay here and make sure it gets done. What? Liam Thunders. No, you can't do that. There's no way you're... Rutaza cuts him off. It's the only way.

I have to do this. Don't argue with me on this. Murtaza. Liam, it's my choice. I'm staying. Time's running out. Don't act like a brat. Then, I'm staying.

No, you're not. Get everyone out of here. Go and lead the fight against Acme. Please, don't. I can hear Liam's voice begin to cry. He's about to cry. Liam, thank you for everything. You were the little brother I never had.

He shuts off the radio before Liam can reply. He turns to me. All right, Brian, I'm going to step into the flames now. You need to make a break for it. Go out and link up with the others and get the hell out of here. You're going to do what? He doesn't reply, just takes a deep breath and walks into the fire. And screams in utter agony as if his very soul is burning.

The faceless break through the back door, having finally gathered up the numbers to do so. I take my pistol out and escape through the front door, kicking and shooting and stabbing my way out. Dark clouds roll in and the sky turns a deep shade of green as the flames burst through the roof and shoot up into the heavens. The other fires surrounding the town do the same, creating a fucked-up dome supported by five fiery pillars. I meet up with Liam's group at the end of the street.

He's been crying, his cheeks caked with mud and tears. He's in control of his emotions now and begins to lead us out of the town. The townspeople begin to collapse one by one, the strain finally getting to them. Mountains of corpses surround the town hall. We aren't unaffected either. I can feel it in my chest, as if my heart is being crushed between two enormous weights. My skin is tingling, my arms are trembling, and my eyes begin to bleed. But we make it out, stealing cars, and we're not.

stealing cars and driving as fast as possible even as reality itself begins to bend I look in the rearview mirror and see the houses stretch upwards like they're made of rubber gum becoming three times their size but as thin as paper the air begins to shimmer and I have to look away else the sight would drive me mad a tremendous earthquake rattles the ground then a bright ball of light emerges from the town hall, begins to grow, consuming everything until the light is all that remains. We drive past the flaming pillar, and the ever-expanding dome of light stops right at the edge, and then disappears with a flash. Everything is gone. All that's left behind is a town-shaped crater, about a hundred metres deep. We stumble out of the car, coughing and throwing up,

our brush with the other side has really messed up our systems the sky's cleared up getting splashed with a comforting rays of moonlight as a cool breeze caresses my skin Liam's radio lights up it's Maddie everybody make it out okay she asks yeah Liam replies as his chest gets racked with heavy coughs thank fuck it's over Oh, but it isn't, Liam says, gritting his teeth in barely contained rage. It isn't over by a long shot, not at all. They're going to pay every single freaking one of them. I'm going to burn acme to the ground. I glanced at him.

Then at the massive crater in front of us. We can't help but agree with him. 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.