Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S4 Ep164: Episode 164: Urban Exploration Horror Stories

Episode Date: April 11, 2024

Our opening story tonight is ‘I Explored an Abandoned Asylum’ by Suomynona404. This story was shared with me via the Creepypasta wiki and is read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license. https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/I_Explored_an_Abandoned_Asylum https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/User:Suomynona404 Next up we have ‘Urban Exploration’ by TheGoldenSpoon. This story was again shared with me via the Creepypasta wiki and is read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license. https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Urban_Exploration https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/User:TheGoldenSpoon Tonight’s third story is ‘Urban exploring in Rural Canada’, an original work by Terra627, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all.  https://www.reddit.com/user/Terra627/ https://www.reddit.com/r/DrCreepensVault/comments/gbavn6/urban_exploring_in_rural_canada/ Our fourth story tonight is ‘I’m What You Like to Call an Urban Explorer’ by Gabemcceldry. This story was shared with me via the Creepypasta wiki and is read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license. https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/I%27m_What_You_Like_to_Call_an_Urban_Explorer https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/User:Gabemcceldry Tonight’s next horrifying tale of terror is ‘Be Careful with Rural Exploration’, an original story by Sam Marduk, kindly shared with us at NoSleep and narrated with the author’s kind permission:  https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/829sj4/be_careful_with_rural_exploration/ Our next tale of the macabre is ‘The Sealed Building’, an original story by Michael Whitehouse, again read with the author's permission:  https://www.creepypasta.com/the-sealed-building/ Our penultimate work is ‘The Journal of Kaneonuskatew Blackwood’ by EmpyrealInvective, kindly shared with me via the Creepypasta Wiki and read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license. https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/The_Journal_of_Kaneonuskatew_Blackwood https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Category:EmpyrealInvective We round things off with ‘Primrose Mall’ by Penko Bell, again kindly shared with me via the Creepypasta Wiki and read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license. https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Primrose_Mall https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/User:PenkoBell

Hey Ontario, come on down to BetMGM Casino and check out our newest exclusive. The Price is Right Fortune Pick. Don't miss out. Play exciting casino games based on the iconic game show. Only at BetMGM. Access to the Price is right fortune pick is only available at BetMGM Casino. BetMGM and GameSense remind you to play responsibly. 19 plus to wager, Ontario only. Please play responsibly. If you have questions or concerns about your gambling or someone close to you, please contact Connix Ontario at 1866-531-2600 to speak to an advisor free of charge.

BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's dungeon. Urban exploration excites us because it offers a sense of adventure and discovery. The allure of exploring abandoned buildings, forgotten tunnels and hidden places in the city taps into our curiosity about the unknown and our desire to uncover secrets. It provides an opportunity to experience a different side of urban environments, away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. However, urban exploration also frightened.

as because it involves entering unfamiliar and potentially dangerous bases. The risks of encountering hazardous conditions, such as structural instability, environmental hazards, or encounters with squatters or wildlife, invoke feelings of fear and apprehension. Additionally, the fear of getting lost or encountering legal consequences adds to the sense of unease associated with urban exploration. Despite these fears, the thrill of exploration often outweighs the risks for those driest. drawn to this activity, as we'll see in tonight's collection of stories. Well, as ever before we begin, a word of caution.

Tonight's tales may contain strong language, as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. Then let's begin. All humans are driven by their curiosity. There's always a desire in our minds to explore the unknown, the mysterious, and get an adrenaline rush out of it. As for me, I get my adrenaline from urban, exploration which involves exploring structures that have been abandoned and left around at the mercy of mother nature.

Well, urban exploration is pretty popular nowadays, thanks to the internet. If you're an urban explorer with a YouTube account, there's a good chance that your videos will become viral. Exploration of abandoned places always has its dangers, and these dangers include collapse floors and ceilings, police, gang fights, toxic mould and carcinogenic fibres from old insulation. There are, of course, reports of paranormal activity in some of these places, which makes sense, as some of these places have are very dark and disturbing parts. I myself had a run-in with the paranormal a few months back.

At my university, I'm currently enrolled in a cinematography class to pursue my degree in film production. For Halloween, my instructor, Mr. Anderson, had assigned a Halloween-themed project. Our project was to simply create a scary short film. As a result of my hyperactive imagination, I came up with the idea of filming something that was terrifying in real life. I went to go ghost hunting at a haunted location, catch something scary on camera, and blow the other films from my fellow students out of the water. All the places I'd explored up to that point had zero paranormal activity, but I figured

my latest destination could change that. At the edge of town, on a giant hill, there was a complex of buildings that was once a lunatic asylum. There's no modern feel to its appearance. When you gaze upon the massive stone towers, you feel like you're right in the middle of a horror game. I'll present a little bit of history, but I'll try not to bore you with too many details. The asylum was constructed in the late 1800s under the Kirkbride plan created by Thomas Kirkbride. Now Kirkbride believed that the insane should be offered large rooms, fresh air and sunshine to cure them of their illness. The asylum was meant to be a safe, carlid.

comfortable place for the mentally ill, but it eventually became hell on earth for his patients. According to federal investigators, there were reports of patients breaking out of their rooms and going on murderous rampages, killing any staff members in their way. Suicide was common there was, because some people hung themselves from the ceiling with bedsheets, while others dip their heads in pots of boiling water stolen from the kitchen. The torture of innocent patients became the norm, as some were a restraint for so long that their skin grew over their restraints. Some patients were forced to sit in baths of boiling hot or freezing cold water for hours on end.

Some patients underwent lobotomies. In a lobotomy procedure and ice-pick would be shoved through the patient's eye socket and the frontal lobe would be disconnected from the rest of the brain. Some patients would become crippled while others would be reduced to non-responsive vegetables. The place was eventually closed in the 1980s due to abuse and neglect. With the amount of security swarming the place it's almost impossible to break in, but the few teenagers who've succeeded in doing so have told of all kinds of crazy stories like slamming doors, floating heads, glowing eyes, moving wheelchairs and disembodied screens. One of the hallways in the building has been nicknamed the shadow hallway, because shadowy apparitions supposedly roam this place. Now, as much as I wanted to explore the place, I didn't want to be an idiot and face charge. for trespassing. Luckily, my best friend Dennis is the sheriff's son, so I asked him to pull

a few strings for me when it worked. The razor wire gate at the entrance was unlocked for both of us, and I had the sheriff's note of permission in my pocket, in case we were confronted by a security guard that didn't get the memo. Dennis came with me because we'd partnered up for the project. Being a history buff like me, the chance of exploring an abandoned institution over a hundred years old was too good of an opportunity to pass up. He researched the history just like I did and printed a copy of the old campus map off the internet, so we would know which building was which. We decided to explore the main hospital building first, since it was massive compared to the other buildings.

Once we were inside, we were absolutely blown away by the condition of the interior. The inside was in near perfect condition, as if it had been closed just yesterday. Thanks to the efforts of the police, nobody had a chance to vandalise or spray graffiti on the walls. The ceiling hadn't collapsed, which was a blessing because I didn't want wet pieces of rust to fall on my neck. The only damage we could find was just some peeling wallpaper. Everything inside was left behind when the hospital closed. Wheelchairs, beds, syringes, gurneys, medical equipment, and papers were scattered in almost every room. After half an hour, we found the electroshock therapy room, where many patients were.

that made a painful demise, as they were given often high levels of electric current that their bodies could not handle. Dennis pointed to the wall. Dude, look! I looked at the wall. Attached to it were two thick electric cords. Dennis glanced at me and grinned. All the money in the world wouldn't convince me to plug my arms into those. No kidding, I replied.

Left the therapy room and started walking down yet another dark horn. The building was literally like a giant maze. He both saw it. At the same time, a giant dark shadow rose out of the floor. Its green, glowing eyes, flashlight headlights as it stared at us. My hands were shaking with excitement as I pointed my camcorder straight out the thing. It eventually turned its head away from us and sang back into the floor. Did you get that on camera?

Please tell me you got that on camera. Dennis exclaimed. I smiled. Yeah, sure did. Dennis high-fired me. Oh, we're going to ace this project now. Our film will be the best in the class. Right at that moment, my camcorder shut off.

I clicked the on-off switch multiple times with no response. I can't believe this. What? The battery died. This doesn't make any sense. I just charged it right before we left. Dennis shrugged. Could be ghosts.

Plenty of paranormal investigators have reported the same thing happening to their electronics. Plus we got that ghost on camera, so we're still going to beat the other projects by our landslides. Yeah, that's a possibility, and we still have the whole complex to explore for the night. Dead battery can't stop us. We eventually found ourselves in Ward D, where the most violent female patients have been kept. On each side of the hallway, the patient rooms are thick wooden doors with a giant brass, locks on them. And that's when it happened. Without warning every single door simultaneously slammed shut with a series of loud bangs. She froze. She, it appeared. I wasn't a flash of light,

misty fog, no stuff like you'd see in cheesy horror movies. She just appeared out of nowhere. She was wearing a simple white hospital gown. Her skin was as white. as a skeleton her eyes had no pupils no irises and no veins they were just empty white circles a few wisp of blonde and hair stuck out of her head at random angles like strands of hay on a broom she spoke you why are you two here you're here to watch me suffer aren't you well despite her terrifying appearance her voice was smooth and sweet dripping with honey as she spoke We stood still, frozen with shock. She continued.

Doctors, both of you told me that you wanted to cure me, so I could return to society, but you were lying. I knew you were lying. Every time you locked me in an empty room, and every time you shocked me and burned my flesh, I saw that wicked look of glee in both of your eyes. You didn't want to cure me. I was just an experiment to you,

a guinea pig for you to toy around with. And eventually you two got bored with me so you wanted to have one last experiment. While I was fully conscious, you strapped me to an operating table. You wanted to slice my brain to pieces and watch me scream in the process. You wanted to kill me in the most painful way possible and enjoy my attempts to break free from the straps. And you succeeded. My eyes wandered to her hands and I saw the object she was clutching in her right hand. It was an ice-pick.

She noticed me looking at the pick and smiled. And as she smiled, her face stretched itself apart like bubble-gold. She spoke one more time. You see, doctors, all I want is a little revenge. Is that too much to ask? The mouth then opened into a large gaping hole as she unleashed the loudest, most blood-curdling scream I've ever heard in my life,

and I hope to never hear it again. It wasn't just your ordinary scream. A scream entered my head and it occupied all of my thoughts. He stirred up all of my fears and amplified them to the point. It was causing waves of pain to travel throughout my body. I don't know how else to describe it. It was like she was an embodiment of fear itself. Run, Dennis yelled as loud as he could.

She rushed at us with lightning speed and we ran down the staircases like the building was on fire. When we reached the ground floor, we took a leap of faith and jumped out of a window frame with no glass present. Once we were outside, she didn't follow us. Is she gone? Dennis's face was white with fear. I took some deep breaths. It looks like it. Dennis pointed a trembling finger at the hospital.

I'll tell you one thing, man. I'm never going in there again. Whatever those doctors did, it made her evil. At this point we were soaked with sweat as we walked home, looking behind us every few seconds. And yes, we had nightmares. Who wouldn't after experiencing what we had? I'm not going to end this story by warning you not to explore abandoned asylums, as most people are just going to ignore me and continue to do so anyway.

Simply warning you to be cautious. Sometimes pursuing our hobbies can have unexpected results. And by the way, if it was any compensation, we did end up getting an A-plus on our film project. Urban exploration. My story began when I was 15 years old, living in the south of Wales in the UK in a town called Bridge End. Me and my friend that I'd known for a while who'll be known as Jack for the duration of this story, to protect his privacy, developed a liking for derelict buildings that had been left to rot where they stood. We consider ourselves urban explorers.

Now, for those who don't know, it's the act of exploring abandoned properties with no consent or permission. So, as you can guess, it was a pretty risky job in the first place. We've been to many, many extraordinary places that we found, well, interesting to explore. This was until we went on our final exploration. It was summertime, the perfect time to explore, and we hadn't done it for a while. Well, me and my friend Jack got together after finding this very creepy-looking building. which we thought would have been our best outing yet. We thought.

The place was an old run-down farmhouse-type building, which looked like something straight out of a horror movie. It was great. It was behind an old railway track that was also not in use, so to get there we'd have to cross the tracks. We were worried about being seen, but luckily no one caught sight of us. We'd arrived at our destination, finally,

and now we had to find a way in. We came to the large, white, sand-coloured walls that looked like they'd fall down at any moment. We knew this would be a dangerous job. We both looked at each other nervously. Neither of us was prepared for what was about to happen. We came to the old wooden door. It was lying on the floor, and it looked like someone had kicked it in. We thought that it was just a group of potheads, trying to find a good location to hang out for the night.

We didn't think much of it at the time. We stepped through the old doorway, out of the sunlight and into the dark corridor of the old far-house. We were hit with the old, mouldy, grey musky smell that lingers in many, if not all, abandoned buildings. We were used to it by now. I switched on my flashlight and was ready to explore this beauty of a find. We started down the first corridor and came to a large dark room.

This must have once been the living room. It was a big portrait with mould growing on all four corners. making its way in over the years. It was of a woman in a huge, really red dress and a very pretty headdress. And she was beautiful. The rest of the room was just filled with small piles of rubble and trash. There was a broken desk with nothing on it but a small candlestick

with a tiny amount of dried. Candlestick with a small tiny amount left in it. We continued into the next room. Well, it looked like the last room, but smaller. It had a large amount of foliage growing through the old wooden floorboards and moss and mould everywhere. Most of the ruins were like this, so we began to think that this wasn't what we'd hoped for. Time was ticking on, and we'd explored most of the house, finding nothing but moss, mould, rubble and small leftover items such as candles, a few items of clothing, lipstick and a sewing machine that no longer worked.

There were two more rooms in the house we needed to look through, one of which was behind a large wooden house. door. It seemed to be the only door left standing in the house and seemed to be in relatively good condition compared to the rest of the property. We left that room until last. We entered the only other room left to explore and found a small box labelled Jessica's things. We seemed very intriguing. We opened the box to find nothing, nothing but a very small music box. Jack began to turn the lever on the side. The box began playing bar bar bar, black sheep, which we both recognised pretty quickly. Well, there was something off about this music box. Maybe it was due to its age, but the chum sounded a little off-key and, in a way, distorted.

We wondered why there was nothing in this big box, but a small music box, but we left it there and continued to the final room. We stood there nervously looking at the old wooden door, wondering why it looked how it did, in the condition it was in. We must have been there for about two whole minutes just looking and arguing about who would open the door and go in first. Well, after I'd been chosen to open the door, I pressed my hand against the cold wood. The door wasn't latched, but it wasn't far from it. It was opening enough for me to just push it open. This room was different to the rest.

It looked the same, but there was something very, very strange about it. It didn't smell the same as the rest of the house. had the faint smell of a woman's perfume. We didn't think much of it for some reason, maybe because we were really creeped out by the room itself. There was a closet at the back of the room and a few lit candles on the floor. Something wasn't right.

We were scared, but we'd found somewhat of a jackpot for Ergburn explorers. There was nothing in this room but the closet and the candles. The rest of the room was the same as the others, with the mould and rubble. slowly crept towards the closet I was very nervous and jumpy at this point and the floor creaked

as I stepped closer to the closet I didn't feel right I'd come to the closet doors and reached out to grab the handles I slowly and carefully open the closet and what we found there was not what we expected

there in the closet alone was a large single, frilly red dress, hanging on an old broken clothes hanger. The inside of the closet looked clean, as did the dress. This didn't make any sense. From this point on is where things started to go horribly wrong. A few seconds after I'd open the closet, Jack and I was startled half to death by the sound of a screaming woman. We were only 15, remember, so we wanted out. A slaghered, one of the closet doors leaving the other open which shook the closet we ran out of the room and down the old narrow staircase and we reached the living room but couldn't see the sunlight

beaming in through where we'd entered the property while this spooked and worried us i shone my flashlight around in the room as there was barely any light in there at all i shunned it across the portrait we'd found earlier and what i saw was unimaginable there was a huge red simple splashed on the center of the painting. After a few seconds I realized that this symbol was a pentagram. Well, now I was more than ready to leave. I just stood and stared at the painting, thinking of the worst-case scenarios of this situation. As I stood there, Jack and I started hearing a loud banging coming from upstairs. Neither of us wanted to check it, but as there was now no apparent exit, we had no choice. We slowly crept up the stage.

all the while hearing the banging getting progressively louder and louder. We discovered that this banging was coming from the closet room, and now we were terrified. I stupidly started to open the door. I don't know why I went in, maybe it was out of pure shock and not knowing what else to do, but I went in only to find the closet violently shaking with both doors closed tight. I clipped over to the closet and touched it, and it stopped shaking. I looked inside to find the dress was gone.

I took a few steps back from the closet and was about to turn back to tell Jack what had happened that we had to find an exit, and as I turned, it had the worst scare ever. Right in front of me was a figure, a female figure in a long, frilly red dress. while I screamed and walked backwards closing my eyes I was petrified the room was cold and I heard the door slam shut I screamed louder and then stopped everything was silent now

I didn't want to open my eyes I didn't know what had happened to Jack but I couldn't hear anything from him surely he could hear my screams and the door slam my mind however was not on my friend at the moment It was on the ghostly figure I'd just come face to face with. The room was still silent.

I sat there for a few moments, and then I started to hear weeping. I was spooked out, too scared to open my eyes again. I sat there quietly waiting for the weeping to stop. But it didn't. I knew that if I didn't open my eyes, it wouldn't stop. So I gained the courage to open one eye, and then the next. I couldn't see anything but the weeping soundly like it was in the room.

I started towards the door slowly, and then, for some reason, I turned around. I guess it was instinct. When I turned, I saw the figure again. This time, however, I just stopped and stared. I had my bearings this time, and I realized that it was the woman from the portrait. I slowly opened the door without looking and ran out. I found Jack staring at the pentagram on the portrait, emotionless.

I tapped him and called his name. Nothing worked. Well, I was in a rush, so I pushed him to the ground and he sort of woke up. I pulled him up and we both started to hear very loud, sobbing and screaming. We were terrified. We ran to the back of the house, where we found an open door, much like the one we'd entered through. We ran and ran until the house was in the distance. We just dropped to the floor and got our breath back. We just sat there, looking at the house, recollecting the experiences in our heads, wondering what had happened to us. That night I couldn't sleep. I went online to research the house. It took me a very long time, but eventually

I found it. I won't mention the name of the property, but I can tell you it was built in 1899. I also found something that gave me the chills. There was a family that lived there in the 1920s. The wife and mother of the family that lived there was named Jessica. I was spooked out when I read this. It made me think about the experience that I'd had in the house earlier that day. Had I seen the ghost of Jessica Watson? Was I crazy?

What happened there? I kept researching and found that Jessica was murdered by her husband. Matthew. He stabbed her and slid her throat in the master bedroom. This must have been where the closet was found. No one has lived there since the last Watson, the son of Jessica and Matthew, Harry, who died in the house of old age. He must have been keeping his mother's dress locked away in their old room. It had been derelict since 1947 when he died. To this day, I don't know if the dress is still there in the closet. I don't even know if the house, he's still. He said, still standing. One thing I do know is that I've not been urban exploring since, especially nowhere

near the Watson property. Urban exploring in rural Canada, Rodney steered the van off the dirt path. Listening to the Newcastle on the radio, as the bizarre fungal infection spreads, Woodwarden reports of cases in Texas and other U.S. states that border Mexico. This virus is believed to have originated somewhere in the Amazon though its exact origins remain a mystery she informed Rodney switched the radio off as his destination came into view up ahead at the end of the trail he could see an abandoned school its imposing stone figure not unlike a Middle Ages castle oh look at that I've seen internet pictures but this place is downright terrifying up close he exclaimed Rodney had spent a great deal of money to fly

himself and his five friends to rural Canada. Look spooky, stated Yosef. Hey man, could you retell the story behind this place? I wasn't awake the first time, requested Corey. You always sleep, Corey. It's like you're some old man, complained Anton. Okay, it's like this, see. This here is the Elfoof High School.

This place was only in operation for one day. Tuesday, September 18, 1997. On that day, 17 teachers were killed by some unknown slasher. The RCMP covered it all up, closing the school down for good. It's still a cold case. Well, with witnesses reporting a woman in white, we're doing some sort of sword. Though the RCMP refuses to talk about her, informed Rodney, we're here to solve this mystery.

He announced. Hey, did you all remember to bring a camera? Raymond inquired. I got it. I'll be the cameraman for this fiasco, replied Kevin. Why'd we waiting for? Come on, let's roll, said Corey. He stepped out of the massive grey van that they'd all rode therein. The others followed him, beginning their ascent up the school's stone steps. Surrounded by a dense forest, with imposing mountains as a backdrop. The Elkhoof High School was by far the scariest place Rodney had ever been.

He ran a famous ghost hunting channel on YouTube, Rodney's Pack, a brave ghost hunting team, willing to do whatever it took to please their fans. The school's immense front doors were unlocked, a fact that greatly surprised all of them. The six friends broke into the school, closing the door behind them. A long corridor faced them. Lockers lining the sides of the walls. The school was lit by overhead lights, a fact that made Rodney nervous.

Everything in the school shone with a clean sheen, as if someone were still living there. Hmm, this isn't right, thought Rodney. A sudden crash came from somewhere in the school. Rodney gasped. What was that? shouted Kevin. He rushed ahead with the camera, eager to catch a ghost on film.

The crash had come from down the hall in the cafeteria, whose door stood ajar. Guys, I've got a bad feeling about this, muttered Corey. Come on, we can't let Kevin just run off on his own, said Yusuf, and the five of them pursued their friend. He'd run into the cafeteria, leaving them behind in his haste to get footage. When Rodney approached the door to the cafeteria, it slammed in his face. someone had locked it a person rodney couldn't see because the doors windows were painted black he pounded on the door to no avail guys i can't get in he shouted i could hear kevin screaming on the other

side something clearly being wrong with him his scream soon began to grow faint and the others pounded on the door there's no way of beating this down did any of you bring a pry bar remand inquired rodney was about to respond when a door banged open down the hall thudding hard into the wall as it was tossed open with great force someone's messing with us i'm going to have to have a word with this prankster growled aton he stomped towards the end of the corridor hey enough's enough he shouted angrily punching a locker. His friends trail behind him. Step out here now, he screamed, approaching the end of the corridor. Anton barged into an empty classroom. As he steeped through the door, his foot came down on something. Moments later, he fell to the ground screaming.

His four friends arrived to discover that Anton had stepped on a steel bear trap, his teeth buried in his leg. Oh, crap! exclaimed Corey. He reached down to try and free Anton from the trap when someone stepped out of a closet at the back of the room. What an earth!

stated Yusuf. A woman had stepped out of the closet. She wore a long, white dress, with a sword hanging from her side. Her cold eyes had a deranged look to them. She sauntered slowly over to them. drawing her sword with a flourish. All four friends screamed, falling over each other to escape, leaving Anton behind, who sat quivering on the floor.

Hey, lady, get back, I'll rough you up, I mean it, he shouted. The woman in white waved her finger in his face. That's a terrible thing to say. Didn't your mother ever tell you you shouldn't hear women? She scolded. Driving the point of her sword. into his chest I need to punish you a little thug like yourself needs harsh correction if he ever hopes to be a real man she lectured as she watched Anton die as his friends ran for their lives the woman in white took a remote

control from her pocket hitting a button that caused a building wide blackout inside the cafeteria Kevin sat strapped to a chair he struggled against his bonds, trying to escape, before the crazy woman returned. She had vanished into the kitchen, after which he had heard screaming. Kevin wondered what had happened to his friends. He could hear sprinting in the hallway, as well as panic shouting. Guys, I'm here. Help me! He screamed. The bay ignored him. The woman in white emerged from the kitchen. She carried something with her. Kevin recognized it with horror, the bottle of lighter fluids. What are you going to do with that? He gasped. The woman smiled. Oh, you know, up here in the

frigid north. One requires a fire to keep cozy at night, she informed him. Without warning, the woman sprayed lighter fluid into his face, burning Kevin's eyes and soaking him from head to toe. He gagged on the toxic fumes as the woman poured a trail of fluid across the floor. The trail led to a folding chair, which she sat upon. Kevin looked over at her. Why? he shouted. You know why. You're like a mad dog needing to be put down, replied the woman. She sparked to match, igniting the end of the puddle, then watch. and then watched as the flames crept forward Kevin thrashed harder than ever to no avail screaming as flames engulfed his body the woman watched him burn and then rose from her chair abandoning the charred body Raymond dove into a locker while Rodney Yusuf and Corey ran ahead of him Yusuf tried to open one of the front doors finding them locked Raymond hardly dared to breathe

shaking in his hiding place a woman hummed from down the hall her shoes clacking against the floor he could see her approaching as he looked through the slats in the locker as she neared him she laughed peering into each locker as she passed twirling her sword through the air he knew he should run but fear rooted into the spot they made eye contact the woman left the woman letting out a twisted giggle. "'Found you,' she declared, stabbing through the locker door, straight into Raymond's eye socket.

He hardly had time to scream as he fell from the locker into the waiting arms of the woman. "'You're it!' she cackled, dropping his lifeless body to the floor. Yusuf hid in the boy's locker room, along with Rodney and Corey. They'd run into the pool room, deciding to hide in a locker.

Yusuf had been arguing with his friends, trying to decide if they should flee. Listen, we have to get out of here, we need help, stated Rodney. Okay, I agree. Let's make a run for it, Yusuf stated. All three men brace themselves to run past the indoor pool and then down the long hallway. Okay, ready, set. go screamed rodney all three burst out of the locker room as he sprinted past the pool yusuf felt a searing pain in his leg sending him sprawling to the ground his two friends glanced behind them oh my god screamed rodney usuf looked down at his feet or rather the lack thereof his feet

lay in a puddle of blood having been sliced off the woman in white rose from the pool holding her sword she had slashed yusuf from her hiding place as he tried to crawl away his finger scraping the wet floor the woman in white dragged him into the pool he screamed and flailed she poured him beneath the water with her yusuf choked on foul-tasting water as the woman slit his throat turning the pool crimson rodney ran down the corridor he and Corey barricading themselves inside one of the classrooms. While Corey panicked, Rodney grabbed a paperweight from what used to be a teacher's desk. Using it to smash a window, he said, come on, we're leaving, diving headfirst out of the window.

The woman in white laughed when she heard the breaking glass, making her way swiftly out of a side door to pursue her prey. Rodney and Corey thought they'd escaped, accelerating down the trail. We're going to get help, Rodney stated. What good will it do? Everyone's dead. She killed them, shouted Corey. Rodney shook his head, turning the radio back on. Texas has gone dark. All U.S. military forces are withdrawing.

Beware all who are infected. They are aggressive and will attack on sites. Avoid eating any crops from South America, informed the newscaster. Corey shook his head. Man, what is this crazy crap? First our friends get killed and we have some virus to deal with, he shouted. Rodney was about to respond when the woman in white stepped out from the tree line ahead of them. She aimed a crossbow, firing a bolt into Corey's chest, causing him to lose control of the car.

Rodney screamed as the car rolled towards the side of the road. road where there was a steep hill. His world was going black, as metal screeched. Bonnie awoke with a gasp, sitting up he was now upside down, with the grunt he kicked out the car's windshield, the glass shattering under the heavy blows of his boots. The car's radio bled, playing Green River by CCR, evidently having changed stations in the crash. As he pulled himself from the car, Rodney he winced his leg ached he was certainly injured as he limped along the woman in white slowly followed him oh stay back he screamed as he fled rodney then tripped over a rock smashing his face into a tree so then he felt something sharp hit his neck upon plucking the offending object

out he found it to be a dart his vision swimming and blurring as he passed out yet again The shrill rock from the radio was drowning out of the woman's footsteps as she approached. Rodney felt something sharp tightened around his neck. He groaned as he came to, finding himself standing on a stool at the barbed wire noose around his neck. Terror filled him as he glanced around him, finding his friends hanging from different branches of the tree. What did you do to them? he shouted. Yusuf's body hung to his left. his bloody stumps dripping onto the ground.

To his right hung Kevin, his charred body reeking. The woman in white stepped forward, holding a glowing branding iron in her hands. No, get away from me, begged Rodney. But the woman ignored him, pressing the burning steel into his chest. Rodney howled as the bran left its mark, burning a letter R into Rodney's chest. So this is how it ends. You can try begging. and try screaming, she mulled. We all know you'll be doing plenty of that, she laughed, kicking the stool out

from Undy. Rodney tried to scream when the barbed wire tore his throat, nearly taking his head off. As he bled out, the woman in white washed, sipping from a steaming mug, her pinky lifted in the air, enjoying a job well done. I am what you'd like to call an urban explanation. So, yeah, I'm what you like to call an urban explorer. This hobby usually entails traveling quite a bit and then trying to find any abandoned structures or areas that are worth taking a look at. Sometimes I travel rather far from home, maybe even out of state, and then other times I go to other cities or go a few more miles away from where I live.

This time, however, I didn't have that kind of benefit of traveling so far away due to the fact that the economy had gotten so bad and my job wasn't paying that well. Because of this, if I wanted to explore any abandoned places, I'd have to keep to the more local areas. I started urban exploration a few years ago when I first moved into my current house. I'd just settled in and looked through every room in the house, including the basement. But it wasn't long before I noticed something strange about the basement floor. In the centre of the room, there was a small square wooden hatch with a metal handle attached to it. When I saw this, I thought there might be some storage area underneath.

but what I found was much better than that. I opened the hatch and looked inside. There was a short metal ladder leading directly downwards to a room underneath. It immediately surprised me, but it also gave me great excitement at this discovery. I didn't expect to find a sub-basement, and such a thing isn't common in most homes. The room was difficult to see into, as there was no light source inside, so I went and grabbed a flashlight from upstairs. They came back and went down the ladder, while showing the floor.

flashlight inside. It was a small, narrow hallway with a storage closet, and there wasn't much else there. It was mostly empty, with a few bits of trash and blueprints lying around, but wasn't any furniture or any other rooms. Anticlimactic, I know, but it didn't cease to amaze and excite me as this was a great surprise. The place looked dusty and rather old, as did the hatch, and I assume that this was an unused part of the house. and ever since then I've been trying to find new abandoned areas to explore and satisfy my curiosity. On a weekend I decided to prepare for my next venture, and when I got back from the store I did some research on the surrounding areas

for any new locations for which to check out. Most of the research yielded the same places that I'd already explored long ago, but there was one particular area which I hadn't explored yet, and for good reason. It was an area I deliberately avoided because it was poverty-stricken, filled with crime and mostly consisted of run-down buildings. It was the kind of place you would go several miles around to get to your job, just to avoid going through it. Normally I would stay away from such a place, and I actually did that for a long time.

But I hadn't explored any new areas in several months, and I was getting anxious because my desire for exploration was at an all-time high. So I decided to push away any doubts or fears of this particular area, so I could finally explore the remaining abandoned places that I hadn't been to before. The next Saturday I drove my car up to that part of town, which was a few miles away, and I drove slowly around the neighbourhood to see if I could spot any particular abandoned buildings that were both isolated and worth going into. The town was just as I'd expected.

Most of the structures had barred or boarded up windows and closed off doors. Those that were not like this were few and far between, and pretty much all of these structures looked old and run. out. Some of these places looked like they'd been abandoned a long time ago, but I didn't want to explore them, considering they were surrounded by other inhabited homes and apartments. If I had decided to break into any of these places, there was a good chance that somebody from across the street or a neighbor might notice and possibly call the police. There was also the risk of running into some homeless people or some meth addicts living in these vacant lots.

This wasn't a risk I wanted to take, so I kept driving around hoping I'd find some abandoned places that were somewhat isolated from the rest of the area. It took me a while, but I came across one particular road which led out from the neighbourhood into a large but mostly empty fields. I parked my car alongside the road, not too far from this road, and I hope that my car wasn't going to get towed. I walked down the road for a long time, but it must have been just a few short miles from where I'd started, and the surrounding field looked relatively empty. There weren't really any buildings for the first mile or so, and there aren't any trees either. The field went all around in the different directions for several miles and I kept going in a zigzag type pattern. It took me around half

an hour before I reached a small abandoned house which was completely isolated from any other structures or people. The only thing that surrounded it was the large unkempt field and the few bushes here and there. This was a good thing because it meant that there was very little risk of me getting caught and since this house was further away from the local area, I hoped it wasn't going to be filled with junkies or hobos. This would be unlikely, however, due to the very nature of such places, despite my wishful thinking. I approached the premises very slowly and carefully as to examine if there was anyone else there. There was trash and evidence of inhabitants lying all around outside the building, but I didn't see anybody inside from the windows.

I went around the back of the house and went in through the door. Once again, I carefully went around the home to explore and to make sure that there was no nobody. there at the time. Thankfully there wasn't anyone downstairs but there was plenty of trash and debris lying around just like outside. There wasn't anything valuable though as all the furniture and scraps of the home had most likely been taken long ago. Graffiti also littered the walls and various parts of the house which showed that this was a popular spot for many other people. Once I'd finished searching the downstairs I went around the back where the staircase was at and went upstairs. The area up here was pretty

much the same as the rest of the house. It didn't take me long to finish my search. I came upon the very last room, which appeared to be some kind of an office, according to the various bits of paper and spare furniture parts lying around, and I stepped inside. Immediately, I was greeted by a disturbing sight in the far right corner of the room. The person's skeleton had been lying on the ground, and two things were in both hands. In the left hand, there was a handgun, and in the other there was a note of some sort. I was struck with surprise when I made the discovery, but after some thought I figured it was to be expected in such a place.

I was surprised because I hadn't found a body or a skeleton of any kind in my previous expeditions, and this was the first time it found such a thing. But the surrounding areas, like I said before, were notorious for crime and poverty. So finding somebody like this didn't seem completely out of place, but, well, some bit of surprise still took hold despite this. I tried taking a look at the note, but I couldn't read the vast majority of the person's handwriting due to time taking its toll and poor penmanship. But I was able to read the person's signature, and that was really all I could understand in the notes. Believe it or not, that was the first time I'd run into something like that, but it wouldn't be the last time.

At first I thought it was just a strange and unfortunate finding, but it was later that I realized it was completely wrong. It wasn't long before I went exploring again. at another place, and it was here that I found another skeleton. This time it wasn't as clear as to their cause of death, but I wasn't so concerned with that as much as the fact that I'd found another dead person. They did have a note in their right hand, but reading it proved very difficult, and the signature was, once again, the only thing I could really make out. Now keep in mind that this was just after exploring the last place,

which had also had a dead person inside. That was the second time I'd encountered a dead person skeleton inside an abandoned area, and it was right after I'd found that first one. I went on another venture not long after the first two and came across another abandoned structure which had a skeleton inside. Well, that was more than once, and I thought it was just a mere unfortunate coincidence. Oh, how wrong I was.

Every single other place that I've explored since then has had a dead person inside with a moat, either on them or near them. the means of death have been ambiguous at times and more obvious at others the note would usually be virtually impossible to read except for the signature just like all the other notes after a while it became too much and i decided to take a long break from urban exploration these discoveries were disturbing each time and they never stopped and that's why i thought something paranormal or sinister was going on and that it somehow involved me and that's what really frightened me and I couldn't continue exploring any longer. But I still consider myself a rational person, so I tried to reason to myself that I was simply imagining all of this. I tried to tell myself that maybe all of this wasn't even real, and I just needed some medication or to see a doctor.

But I haven't had a single issue in my past regarding mental illness, and I've never had any hallucinations before. And there was no way that I could have just kept on stumbling onto more dead people and a note as there was no way this was just a coincidence well that was just a week ago but now something else has happened i decided to use that sub-basement or i'd found a long time ago as a storage area or just an hour ago i went down there to grab some supplies for some work i needed to get done and i noticed something immediately odd about the center of the room on the ceiling there was a a rope tied around a loose wooden plank and it was shaped like a noose when i saw this i felt fierce striking the very core of my being and i couldn't do anything else but to try and reason why that

rope was there there wasn't anybody else in the house and i had no recollection of tying that rope nor was it there before so how could it have gotten there now well i'm writing all of this down a few spare pages of paper just in case something happens to me I think something very strange and terrifying is happening to me and I don't know what it is. Be careful with rural exploration. If you've ever been an urban explorer, you probably have at least one experience that scared you senseless. For me, it was a few weeks ago. Oh, I've tried not to think about it.

Tried to pretend it happened differently. Well, that and the fear of something else happening after the first. fact kept me on edge for a couple of weeks. Oh, now I think I'm out of the woods, no joke intended. You see, I'm not so much an urban explorer as I am a rural explorer. I live in the deep south, far away from many large cities with old buildings. However, there are ghost towns and ruins and woods all over, worth checking out if you're ever down here. On this particular, day. I was driving home from a relative's house and my GPS had turned me around. Well, I wound up on a one-lane dirt road, looking for an opportunity to make a U-turn. It was after a few minutes

that I came across what looked like a dirt driveway. It was surrounded by trees on both sides, and a chain ran across the entrance with a bright red no trespassing sign. I couldn't see too far in, but it looked like it'd been unused for some time. Oh, I lit up. I got out and dropped the chain. From there I drove onto the path and rehung the sign to help avoid, well, being caught. The path was overgrown with grass and vines, lined with thick forest on either side. The ground was dusty and the skinny brown trees provided a claustrophobic feeling. Bushes and stalks of tall grass scraped against my car. However, at the end of the trail was a clearing.

It was a large circular field of overgrown grass in the middle of this distant woodland. In the center of the clearing was what appeared to be a large, desolate house. The house was two stories tall and clearly huge for the area when it was built. The windows and doors were all boarded up on the first floor. The whole thing had a nasty grey-brown stain from the years of elemental exposure, but you could see that it was beautiful in its prime. I imagine the place had been abandoned for some time. There was no sign of electricity being run from the main roads. There was no sign of modern appliances being outwardly installed. And there was a rusty,

pump out front. From the architecture, it looked like a brothel one would see in old Main Street towns, but there were no other signs of any other buildings for miles. I approached the creaky and rotted front porch, looking for a way in. I found one of the boards loose on the front downstairs window. I peered inside for a long time, before deciding to enter. The smell of rot, and musty wood blasted my nostrils. I'd smelled it enough times to be able to just ignore it. I was more concerned about chemical smells or cigarettes, indicating someone was there. But there was none of this. The entire bottom floor was bare. There was no furniture, no kitchen, not even walls apart from the necessary pillars. The entire main floor was just bare wood with dust,

and what looked like mud and other gunk in various states of decay. There was a main staircase leading to a second floor. It had several rooms and hallways going in both directions out of sight of the main floor. From the looks of it, this place may have been an inn. I pulled the board back as quietly as possible, since I always wanted to be subtle. You never know if a cop is in earshot, even in the most of the most of the world. abandoned places. I crept through the window and dropped in. Dust was immediately kicked up,

and I get a better view of the debris all over the floor. Wood and rocks and housing materials all shattered and scattered about. I looked around from my now better vantage point. There was some light trickling in from holes in the roof and the non-boarded upstairs windows. They faced the front of the house were a rich maroon stained glass. They cast a deep red tint in contrast to the beams of yellow. I then realized something about the house I must not have initially noticed. The bottom half of the staircase was gone. It looked like it had been smashed away. The gap to the floor was probably the height of an average man. I could jump up there, but I wanted to see the downstairs first and make sure I was clear. I watched my steps carefully as I made my way to an

alcove room, which was probably a sitting area. It was there. I saw something else that I'd missed. In the back of the alcove was a doorway leading downstairs. It must have been a basement or cellar of some sort. It was pitch black from the frame onward. I reached for my phone and cursed under my breath. Oh, it was still on the charger in my car. I guess because there was no service, and that I stumbled on this place during the daytime, that I didn't even think to grab it. I turned to go to the opposite direction towards the empty kitchen room. I was almost there when I heard an unmistakable noise. Footsteps. It sounded like a pair of heels or dress coming in rapid succession growing louder as they reached the doorway it was out of my

line of sight as the alcove curved out from its own corner there was no way to see it until it emerged at first my brain wouldn't comprehend it a dog a bear no God what am I seeing oh God, I muttered. From the corner emerged a massive, hairy monstrosity. It was the tusks that gave it away first. This was a bore, a huge, black, rancid-smelling bore. By the looks of it, he must have easily doubled me in size. His tusks were long, and bits of his matted, wiry hair gave way to deep. scars. And then it turned to face me. Now, if you've never encountered a boar in the wild, well, they can vary in size. However, they are all dangerous. They have sharp teeth,

a violent charge and will most likely consume you if they're hungry enough. These things are demons of the forest, and I had never seen one apart from in tree stands or mounted as trophies. This one towered above all of those. I sucked in air, waiting for a reaction. It bent, snorted hard and planted its feet. In a split second I knew my only safe bet was a clean jump to the staircase. I bolted to the right as the beast charged. Its tusk nearly pierced my leg as I jolted away. I took one running leap, and my arms connected enough to pull myself up. I rolled up a few extra steps and heard its hooves slamming the wood below me. It was shrieking and snorting and kicking up dirt and debris in a fit of rage. And that's when

I started laughing. It wasn't a good-natured laugh, but a panic attack manifested in the form of It stopped after a short spell. I then took a deep breath and continued up the staircase. At this point I was going to have to wait until the commotion downstairs had ceased to be able to find an exit. The banister at the top of the staircase extended to a wall in both directions. From there it was a hallway with rooms on both sides. I made my way to the right. I noticed some rooms had doors and that others didn't.

I chose the first door to my right. It had a door that was cracked about the width of my body. Inside was old, rotting furniture. Dresses, bed frames, doors and cabinets were all stacked haphazardly in a pile. Behind it all was a small gap and an unboarded window facing the roof, his bottom half missing. I was standing in the doorway when I heard a noise that made my blood run cold. A creek. A long, drawn out, ominous, creak. The mild scare was then punctuated with a nauseous

fear by the sound of a muffled cough. It was coming from the end of the opposite hallway. I quickly and quietly made my way into the room and hid behind the room and hid behind the behind the pile of wood and garbage. Thankfully, the boar was still slamming around downstairs, so my mistakes were masked. It had a small hole in the pile to see the doorway and slightly into the hall. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it was audible. My lungs were on fire, and I could feel my eyes moistened. The birds outside the window had gone completely silent. I then heard a now familiar sound. I heard hooves.

I heard the exact same clopping I'd heard just minutes ago. Another one, I thought in a terrified moment. The clops grew closer. I strained my eye to see into the hallway, hoping the noise would stop or go the opposite way. It heard me laugh. Oh, it definitely knows I'm up here. It was in that moment of brutal tension that I saw it.

The unmistakable snout, led by two long tusks. It kept moving, revealing fur and a snarling mouth. However, it then made my mind readjust again. It didn't have eyes, rather just shrunken. dried holes with nothing behind it. Its skull curved in a way that boars don't usually curve. At the back of its head looked to be a leather strap, and then a different color of hair, and then flesh. Then I saw the hoops, bloody and crudely detached above the base. The empty fur pulled up around a man's wrist.

like a rotten leather glove. He was naked apart from the severed boar's head and hooves. He walked on his hands and feet. He made no noise other than a few hoofs. Dried blood kicked the areas of his pale flesh where the body parts were worn. He was emaciated, but still large enough to easily be a threat.

I don't know how to explain it. It was so warm. weird, so vile, that I still can't wrap my head around it. He moved his head into the room, but after a few seconds that felt like hours, he turned around. His body, in a contorted curve, as he balanced his feet and hands in the severed hoods. He clumsily clicked his way down the hall and out of sight. In this moment, I had two options. I could risk the stairs and the bore, or take the window to the roof and risk the mass psychopath being on my heels. Well, I had my mind made up for me.

It was then I heard a shriek so inhuman that I've had nightmares about it ever since. It was sharp and high, but muffled and resounding. It sounded wet, but also weased. It was followed by rapid clopping on the wood. it was coming right for me I scrambled clumsily out the small opening at the bottom of the window and rolled out onto the roof the drop was a risk

but it was the only way to get out fast I heard the stomping enter the room and I let myself down as safely as I could by some miracle I rolled onto the ground with nothing worse than having the wind not out of me Without turning back, I scrambled to my feet and bolted for my car. As I opened the door, I heard the shriek again. I heard the monster downstairs slamming into the front door.

I heard the creature upstairs slamming into the window and screaming its putrid lungs out. Without looking back, I slammed my car into ignition and sped off. I skidded through the grass towards the path. I ripped down the post holding the chain as my car burst back onto the dirt road. I raced back the way I'd come and found my way home in a shaking panic that lasted for hours. I spent that night wide awake. That was the end of it, although I really don't get it. I don't get why a person would live in such squalid conditions,

to live out of fantasy that makes sense. only in their mind. I just don't know. What I do know is if you do this stuff in the country, just be prepared. You may not meet a gang member or a drug dealer or a junkie, but you may just meet something far more dangerous. You may meet something that defies all reason. You may meet something that would eat you alive. The sealed building. When I was a child, the school which I attended was peculiar, yet wonderfully interesting, whether it was the fact that it was surrounded in places by overgrown bushes and opposite

a strangely crooked wood which ignited my imagination, or perhaps the funny, eccentric, and sometimes fearsome teachers and kids which populated it. I do not know. I'm not sure of when it was built, but it certainly stood out from the houses and quiet streets which surrounded it, covered as it was, in a bright, fiery red paint, which drew your eyes to it immediately. There I went, from the age of five,

up until I was eleven or twelve, and, like most children, I have both fond, and cruel memories of it. Each day, with a rucksack on my back, I would wander past the crooked wood and wave to the lollipop lady, Mrs. Collins, a kind old woman whose job it was to stop traffic with her bright yellow sign, letting us cross in safety, and, after meeting my friends, walk through the rusted brown gates into one of two playgrounds. It was rumoured that in the past the two grounds existed to separate boys from girls, both an understandable and utterly outdated concept. By the time I went to the school, the first playground had been assigned for those aged

five to eight, the second for those aged eight and up. In the older kids playground there lay a small red brick building which stood on its own, disconnected from the main school complex. It had long since fallen into disuse, and in fact had been sealed from prying eyes. Its doors and windows walled up with stone and mortar, making it impossible to see what was inside. Its purpose seemed a bit of a mystery, as most of the teachers seemed to skirt around the subject entirely. But of course, stories spread amongst the wild imaginations of children. And in my school, this fondness for outlandish tales of tragedy and forbidden places

often led to bizarre rumours and whispers, particularly pertaining to the sealed building. Obscurity is a fertile ground for the fantastical ruminations of youth. When my friends and I were in the younger playground, we would sometimes sneak down a narrow past passageway which would lead to the other and peek around the corner. There, we would see the older kids playing football, or just hanging around. It's amazing how younger children look to their older peers, thinking that they seem to be having so much more fun than us. But, before we'd be chased away by the janitor or a passing teacher,

my eyes would always lead to that sealed building. There was something lonely about it, isolated, and while it was surrounded by the yells and vibrancy of a school yard, its appearance suggested a grave silence to me. Some of the older kids liked to scare themselves and us, and told us dramatically that it had been used as, a science department, and that there had been a hideous accident there, one which had produced strange and gruesome things which had to be kept from the world. Even as a child of eight,

I knew made up nonsense when I heard it. Then there was the account that it had been a previous and rather brutal headteacher's office decades earlier, and that he had died there in a fire. His ghost obviously still haunted the place and it was better that the vengeful old sod be contained there fuming at his desk as children enjoyed themselves and played nearby again that's a garbage there was however one account of why the place had been abandoned which seemed more plausible to me the building was in fact a toilet Yes, a normal toilet.

No frills, no secret laboratories, no dead spirits of an overbearing head teacher. It has simply been sealed up when new facilities were installed in the school, to stop the children from climbing inside and getting up to mischief. But yet, despite this mundane explanation, There were still in fact tales to be told about the red-bricked, disconnected building in the older kids' playground. Although I had heard the stories, it wasn't until I was in my fourth year at the school that I became intimately and, at the time, uncomfortably involved with it. The older kids' playground was flanked on three sides by a rectangular section of the school itself, with the fourth side separated from neighbouring houses by a mouldy and dark red wall.

It was isolated from the other playground, other than the aforementioned passageway, and, to further the feeling of imprisonment, was characterised by tall metal fencing, which rose up in places where a brave classmate might have attempted their great escape. Yet, there was one old gate which did allow access of sorts. But like prison guards, the teachers tended to check on it regularly. There, in the corner of the grounds, lay the old building. Its windows were indeed enclosed in brick, as were its two doors. But the roof seemed unusual to me.

being flat in places and surely gathering puddles of rainwater during the wetter seasons. I was, at that age, and embarrassingly still to this day, terrified by heights. And it was much to my horror when I discovered that climbing up onto the roof of the toilets were seen as a rites of passage of some sort. Don't misunderstand me. We weren't forced to go up there. But children can be cruel, and when someone new to that playground showed weakness or fear, this would often result in them being picked on.

Over the coming weeks, I watched as each of my friends climbed up onto the roof, when the opportunity presented itself, dangling their legs over the sides nonchalantly once up there, one by one, claiming their right to be in the older playground. while I succumbed to ever-increasing taunts about my fear and cowardice. Don't believe me when I say, I did try. Several times a ball would be kicked accidentally onto the roof, and my classmates would turn to me to retrieve it.

I even made it up the side of an old drain pipe on a few occasions, far enough to reach my hand up and over, over to touch the root surface. Yet, each time I would fail. Fear would grip me, and with each admission of defeat, the name-calling and embarrassment intensified. I can trace back a curious and probably detrimental aspect of my personality to that time. You see, failure in front of strangers to this day does not bother me. But friends, family, even acquaintances, the very idea makes me break out in a cold sweat. Later in life I followed the stereotypical path of chasing fame as a teenager, and I would have no problem playing in bands in front of those I did not know,

but put a familiar face in the audience and my nerves would take hold. The stakes of failure failure will be raised that much higher, in my mind at least. For this reason, I chose an odd time to truly face my fear. One day, after school, I waited outside the gates, watching as the other children slowly siphoned out of the two playgrounds, kicking their feet through the autumn leaves. Parents escorted the youngest of my fellow students, while those of an old age, walked with their classmates, some eagerly, others not so, making their way down the hill, past the woods to their homes in the surrounding area. As the school became ever emptier and the teachers themselves began to leave, I walked down the street, entering the gardens

at the back of the building. I always found the rear of my school to be an interesting place. It consisted of shrubs, bushes and an old ash football pitch. Our teachers never seemed to use the area for anything, and we were actively encouraged to keep clear of it. Again, there were stories amongst the students that a child had been abducted while playing their years previously. Whether that was true or not, I do not know. Once I was as certain as I could be that everyone was gone, I sneaked through the bushes, up a small incline to the rear of the playground. There, embedded in the wall, was the narrow brown gate, which the teachers kept a watchful eye on,

but as far as I knew, was never used. I assumed it had served a legitimate purpose years previously, but for me and my friends, it was the place where we would climb over to run around the school grounds at the weekend when no one was there. It was an exceptional place to play one-man hunt with so many nooks and crannies to hide in. As cautious as I was,

I wanted to truly attempt to get up onto the roof of the old toilets. In my eight-year-old head, I had visions of sneaking up there in the morning and surprising my friends, or running up there to heroically retrieve a girl's ball. In childhood, we think that, those around us really care about our actions. But in truth, they are of little consequence to anyone other than ourselves. Yes, I had been bullied a little for not being as strong

or as fearless as those around me, and that sense of public failure, of insecurity, while the potent sensation at a young age, while in hindsight completely exaggerated, was enough to give me the courage to at least attempt to the climb. I'd considered asking one of my friends to join me, as I was nervous that a teacher might still be there, that I would get into trouble, and so needed a lookout. But this would only have given me someone to fail in front of. I decided to attempt it on my own. After waiting for what seemed an age, I slowly climbed over the gate, which rattled unnervingly under my movements, echoing out around the playground.

Then, after hesitantly observing the hundreds of windows which dotted the school for movement and happy enough with the absence of light emanating from them, I stepped silently to the sealed building. Even though I knew as little as an audience of one could affect my confidence. I partly wished that I'd not been alone, as the building and its deserted surroundings

left me feeling uneasy. I knew, however, that if I just got up there once, that I would have conquered my fear and would be able to climb up onto the roof with ease in future, hopefully putting an end to the name-calling. I stood staring at the drainpipe, which would be my avenue to success, clinging as it did through rusted fittings to the side of the building. My mind back then was often clouded with the worst possibilities,

focusing on the negative outcome. And, as I began to climb slowly, I imagined that the drain pipe would wrench away from the wall, throwing me against the concrete ground at any moment. The truth is that it did not move, no matter how much I believed that it did. Without a witness, I was now, as far as I had ever reached, able to stick my hand up above me and touch the edge of the roof. My heart raced with excitement as I began to believe that I really could do it, that success was

in sight. I then made the mistake of looking down to check my program. The experience of height is something difficult to convey to someone who has no problem with it. While, in reality, I was probably no more than seven or eight feet off the ground, I perceived this as a monumental distance. I felt my stomach chan, my heartbeat erratically, and the world below began to spin and distort. Worse still, a loss of nerve permeate.

Loss of nerve permeated my body, leaving me feeling weak, and I could feel my grip begin to loosen. It is strange how the mind works, for just as I was ready to admit defeat once more and retreat, the insults and jeers of my classmates rang throughout my awareness, as if they were present, down there, taunting me. With what was for me a huge effort. I found myself continuing to climb upwards, my hands reaching out to the damp roof. And then, before I knew it, there I was.

Letting out a laugh of excitement, a sensation of relief washed over me. I could not wait for the next day. To be up there on the roof, proving those who had been cruel to me wrong. Speaking over the edge, I still felt trepidation at the height, but nowhere near as much as I had done it before. My triumph, quelling my anxiety. Still, I was not keen to remain there for long, so I decided to investigate my surroundings briefly. Then, climb back down to the safety of the playground, and head home. Ecstatic, the roof was painted in a similar fiery red colour to the main school building, but it doesn't long since peeled and cracked, suggesting that it had been a long time since someone had been

up here to give it a new coat. Standing up cautiously, I felt my legs waver slightly, as my stomach churned again at the thought of how high up I was. Laughable, really, as the height of the roof was probably no more than ten feet. Yet, no matter how nervous I was, the sense of triumph which I felt coursing through my body, was truly wonderful. I walked slowly from one side of the roof to the other, careful not to trip as I did so.

The short walk from the drainpipe to the opposite ledge and back filled me with a feeling of conquest, as of someone patrolling their territory. For those brief moments on the roof, that building was mine. Just as I turned to finally make my way back to ground, I noticed that in the middle of the middle of the middle of the building, of the roof. There was a hole. I'm not sure how I hadn't noticed it before, although it was

quite small, big enough for me to fit my hand through, and little else. Curious, I took a few careful steps and then knelt for a closer look. Yes, there was a hole, and the light from the evening sky passed straight through it, illuminating what lay inside. I put my eyes as close as possible to the opening without blocking the light and was surprised by what I saw. Down there, in the darkness, like a perfectly preserved tomb, the old-fashioned white tiling remained intact. I could see the sinks where students, years ago, once washed their hands or flicked water at one another for amusement, and three stalls, cubicles with three. strong, dark brown doors, lying there as if still used. The air inside was tinged with dust and age.

Yet, if someone had told me that the building had been sealed only the day before, I would have believed them. All but for one thing. A layer of stagnant water which covered the floor, no doubt accumulating there from rain dripping in through the opening in the roof. Then I became aware of a strong smell, one which left my eyes stinging slightly and my mood apprehensive. Yes, there was no doubting it. Someone was smoking a cigarette nearby. My heart sank as I lay there motionless, cursing myself for taking too much time on the roof to celebrate my victory. A teacher, or perhaps the janitor, must have stayed behind to work late and was probably standing in the playground below. I thought they must have been close as the smoke smelled thick and oppressive. I lay curled up on the cold, wet concrete, waiting for whoever was there to leave.

The now almost caustic smoke seemed to be increasing in strength, and several times I had to hold my breath. frightened that I would cough and be caught. I do not believe I exaggerate when I say that I lay motionless for half an hour. Yet it took me all that time to make a simple, yet unsettling observation. While I could smell the smoke, indeed, feeling as if I was inhaling just as much as the unseed smoker themselves, I couldn't see it. I would have expected to have seen the smoke rise up and over the rooftop. But not even the slightest wisp was evident.

The autumn sky was now dimming, and I grew frustrated as the cold, damp stone below me sent chills through my body. Wishing that I had never gone up there in the first place, I felt hunger approaching and knew that by now my parents would be worried about me. I persuaded myself that I could at least dip my head over the edge of the roof and quickly take a look to see who was there. Maybe, if they were on the other side of the yard, I could climb down unseen.

I stood across the roof as quietly as I could, and slowly peered downward, sure not to make any sudden movements to attract attention. There was no one there. The playground was empty, and the darkened windows of the main school building seemed as vacant as they had been before, yet the smell and taste of cigarette smoke still filled my lungs and stung my eyes.

Then I witnessed something which rooted me to the spot. A single curling strand of smoke slid upward through the hole in the roof. Someone was down there. Someone was inside that room beneath me. This seemed impossible. As far as I was aware, there was no way inside. The building had been sealed off perfectly from the outside world. Yet there it was.

A puff of cigarette smoke, which escaped first from the mouth of someone unseen below, and then through the hole in the roof to where I had been lying. My triumph finally facing my fear of heights seemed a distant memory. and now all I could think of was getting off that roof to safety down below. But the hole lay between myself in the drainpipe. And curiosity being as gripping a mindset as any, I decided to take a quick look inside before quietly making my escape and leaving the building behind.

As I approached the opening, the smell of smoke grew stronger still, and as I peered inward the thought of, Don't look, filtered through my mind. But it was too late. I had looked. At first, there was nothing. The room below seemed darker than it had done before.

But this could be explained by the dimming sky, and my eyes adapting to the change. What could not be explained was the noise I heard coming from. from inside. It seemed distant at first, indistinct and uncertain. Then it gradually took form, to me sounding like someone choking. I smiled to myself, thinking it was probably the cigarette smoke, and that maybe some local kids had a den down there. But then, suddenly, in the gloom, my eyes were drawn to one of the cubicles. Its door was closed, and yet I was not convinced that it had been before. I tilted my head closer to the hole, but my angle of view shrouded the

inside from inspection. As the choking sound increased in volume, so did the smell of smoke. then sound and smell were joined by something which chilled my very soul. I panicked and let out a cry as the door quivered with impact as of someone violently kicking it from the other side. Smoke now fill my lungs and my eyes watered. I could barely see anything both inside the building and out. Then it stopped. The choking sounded dissoned.

disappeared, and the smell of smoke had simply vanished. For a moment, I started to think that I had imagined it all. I gasped for air, drawing deep into my lungs, only for terror to take me once more. In the dark silence, in the cold, damp and forgotten room below, the sound of footsteps in the water filled the air. Then the cupid door slowly began to creak. I can't say entirely what took place after that. I believe I'd blocked much of it out from my memory. Apparently the headmaster, an intimidating yet kind man by the name of Mr. Mackay. I'd been in his office, working late on the other side of the building. When he was disturbed by the sound of my screams, he rushed outside and found me on the roof,

curled up into a ball, paralyzed with fear, sobbing. After some reassuring words, he helped me down and took me to his office where he once again guaranteed that I was safe, and then phoned for my parents to come and pick me up. I trusted Mr. Mackay implicitly, and as I fought the tears back, I described everything which had happened. The roof, the smoke, the cubicle. As I told him my story, the blood drained from my headmaster's face.

I have long thought about what he told me in that office after hearing my account. Perhaps he wished to fright me so that I and others would never venture up there again. And looking back, it does seem to be a strange thing to share with an already frightened child otherwise. But he seemed genuinely disturbed. by the events I had conveyed to him. He told me that, years before I went to the school, there had been a tragedy there involving a 12-year-old girl, one he refused to name.

She had a reputation for being difficult. The teachers tried their best, sympathising with her, as she came from an abusive background, but they found her almost impossible to control, as she often threatened violence, and had been suspended several times for fighting with other students. One day, she decided to skip a class and managed to persuade two other girls to join her

by promising them each a cigarette. So, as the story went, the girl sneaked away when the bell for class rang and hid in the toilets. The details of what occurred afterwards were less than forecoming. But what was clear was that the poor girl had a seizure of some kind and died there and then. The other girls claimed that they had already left before this happened. But there were rumors and accusations of which most only whispered but many believed.

It was suggested that the girl had been with her friends when the seizure took place. And out of fear of getting caught smoking and skipping class, They lifted their friend into the stall, closed the door over and then left her there. Whether they believed that she would perhaps recover or not was the subject of much speculation. The scratches and bashes on the inside of the cubicle suggested most definitely that she had continued to convulse while there, perhaps even in an uncoordinated attempt to escape and call out for help. In the aftermath, the building was closed off, and the school and community attempted as best they could to put the tragedy behind them. Perhaps Mr. McKay made the whole thing up, just to terrify me, taking what I thought I'd experienced, and using it to concoct a story designed to scare me away from ever going back to that place.

Unfortunately, a few unwelcome things transpired after that. I did indeed avoid the roof of that sealed building at all costs. My fear of heights was nothing compared to the dread which that building then held for me. My schoolmates, of course, did not believe my aversion of things, accusing me of lying about the entire story just to avoid being made fun of. As far as they were concerned, I never got up there. Lastly, I did have a recurrent. dream throughout my childhood, one which I would wake from in a cold sweat, curled up in my bed,

screaming. I know that in it I would be lying on that roof, peering down through the hole, into that abandoned place. But the memory always seems vague somehow. All that is left is an impression of a cubicle door creaking over the room. open and something staring up at me from within. The journal of Kaniyanauw, Skateo, Blackwood. My name is Ricard Dunkelstein. I have a hobby that's more interesting than most stamp and coin collectors. I'm a bit of an urban explorer.

In today's day and age, when most of the world has been investigated and mapped out, I instead seek to explore the abandoned and forgotten. A reasoned that it was in these places where I could find the extraordinary. I enjoyed my forays into the disused and neglected portions of the city. I love nothing more than to spend a Saturday carefully moving through the decrepit and derelict buildings in the southern side. It was on one of these Saturday expeditions this past year. I first came across the journal, Canionstakeu Blackwood. I've been rummaging through an abandoned building on the industrial side of

town when I discovered the journal. The first few floors were devoid of anything really interesting. But when I reached the sixth and uppermost floor, I found a sore mattress and desk. Sitting on the desk was a fountain pen and a paper journal. I ignored the saccharine sweet smell that flooded my nostrils and pervaded the uppermost floor. I sat down on what was the squatter's mattress and began to read.

Blackwood journal entry. July 28th. 2011. My therapist, back when I had a therapist, suggested I write down all my emotions into a journal so I could go back and see how far have come. I guess that's true, but probably not in the aspect that she'd thought. You'd probably hope that I'd find enough emotional catharsis that I might make a breakthrough of sorts, but unfortunately she was wrong. I write and write, but nothing ever changes. I guess I should give introductions.

My name is Caneyans Stakeo, Blackwood. I don't ask me how drunk my parents were when they came over with that name. My father thought it sounded tough, and my mother was too doped up on the epidurals to support or reject this name. I told my friends my name is Kane, and that went over without any problems. I was raised on an Indian reservation in the western part of America, but I left when I was 20 years old.

writing all this because my attempt to flee from home was met with less than desirable results the plane stalled mid-air and crashed into a mountain well i weren't elaborate on what happened to me when i was stranded in the wilderness for over three weeks without food or about the wounded survivor who passed away named jim donner it will only allude to the fact that it ended with me being tried for murder in court i don't feel it necessary to expound on this shortly after my court my journal that I typed while awaiting trial was made public. Even though I was declared not guilty by the judicial system,

the release of my journal made me into a pariah. Couldn't live in one place for too long. As soon as the people placed my name and face to the tragedy, I had to leave. Their looks of disdain and harsh words were too much for me to bear. I was, and am, a social exile. I only did what was necessary to survive. I believe that anyone who'd been in my situation would have done the same. No one seems willing to step up to that challenge of being without food for three weeks and having to eat your only friends.

I received a small sum from when I pressed charges against the airlines that had put me in that fiendish situation. Once my sentiments came out, their support and funding dried up. I found myself an outcast. I moved to New York. It's the only place where someone could be swallowed up in anonymity. I lost everything, my identity, my ability to sustain myself, and my pride. I'd once asked the gods for a new start. Unfortunately, I didn't know that the gods were cruel and sarcastic when I offered up that supplication.

Yeah, I got my wishes in space. I live my life day to day on the streets, my frost-bidden deformities making begging a rather easy thing. Tips of my fingers and nose have gone black. Don't have any more sensation in them. Which took some getting used to. It doesn't even phase me now. I'm still gaunt like a skeleton,

even a year after the plane crash that resulted in my near starvation. I had enough begging to keep myself fed. It's not the healthiest situation, but it could be much worse. August 7th, 2011. I had that dream again. I'm peering into the cockpit of the place. The only part of the pilot's body that I can see is his hand. The impact crushed the cock.

it now looks like it imploded. His hand twitches and its death throes, but it's also beckoning, calling me forward like I should have died in the crash instead of surviving. Back away from the corpse and turned to flee. But the stewardess is behind me. Her ribcage is spayed open from the cart smashing into her during the crash. The ribs move and her insides pulse with every breath.

It gives me the impression that the ribs are teeth that are grinding, masticating. She lurches forward and the last thing I feel before I wake up are the bones piercing into me. I wake up with a scream in my throat. One of the benefits of living by yourself is that in moments like these, you don't have to explain yourself to anyone. I'm sweating heavily, and my throat feels raw. What disturbs me most about these dreams is the realization that they're stirring up old memories and sensations. I can almost taste the coppery sweet marrow in my mouth.

It isn't an unpleasant taste, but I know that it is that taboo thought that resulted in my ostracization from the rest of society. My stomach growls at me. I lay back down and let the uncontrollable sobbing rack my body. September 1st, 2011. My lights belong to my nightmares and my waking moments are now spent in fear. My therapist would probably chalk up the nightmares as my mind's attempt to process the horrible events. The other homeless people on the street are whispering of a gang going around abducting people, brutally beating them and leaving them in front of the police station.

They say they are merciless and have been doing this for over 30 years. Witnesses are too frightened to report them to the police. They call themselves the Pluto gang. They have the citizens of New York afraid to go outside. They've even assaulted a semi-well-known science fiction writer. I've decided to take a fatalistic approach, to the whole thing. Can't live my life in fear of the infamous Pluto gang. There is much I can do to stop them if they decide to beat me to a pub in the streets. So he goes. September 8th, 2011,

the nightmares continue and revolving. When the cockpit and the hand of the pilot beckons me to come closer, he motions me to embrace oblivion. I turn my back to him and confront Marge Reed, the stewardess. Her ribbed teeth gnash and grind at me, but she turns and disappears into the cargo hole. I begin to follow her, but another memory is standing before me. Jim Donner is grinning and fiendishly feral smirk. I want to scream and wake up, but I can't. Jim moves closer to me. He's hobbling and each step produces a sucking sound as he puts weight on his dislocated ankle. There's a tiny shout of glass sticking from his throat, and his neck is bent at an odd angle from when I snapped it. He lunges, and the second he comes into contact with me, my world explodes in a white flash.

I launch myself out of bed and wince. I rub at my cheek and it stings. I must have bitten it during my dreams. I prod the wound with my tongue. It's a small wound, and it'll probably heal on its own. A taste of blood in my mouth, treatise. as a memory. I'm kneeling over Jim's corpse, my mouth is on wound in his neck. I'm licking and sucking at the blood trickling from the puncture. My stomach rumbles inappropriately. There's no way

I'm getting back to sleep tonight. I'm going for a walk. September 25th, 2011. Went to the clinic today. I wanted a little something to supplement my begging allowance. I heard from other beggars that if you're in good shape, or at least not riddle with disease, you could get 40 or 50 bucks for an hour of time. I waited in the lobby while the secretary stalled. I could tell she didn't like the look of me. I can't blame her. I looked like I have some horrific necrotic wasting disease. When it became evident that I wasn't going to leave, she called my last name and I went into the office with the doctor. She strapped my arm down and stuck the IV in and began to filter my plasma. It wasn't until I was physically tethered to the filtration machine,

but I realized he was looking at me, my frostbitten fingers specifically. I tried to explain that these were injuries I suffered from after an incredibly cold winter in New York, but the doctor recognized me from the high publicity court case. I didn't know my picture had been splashed all over the world by the media while I was awaiting trial. I thought that giving the nurse the pseudonym Jack Fiddler

would be enough to deflect suspicion. When I was stuck waiting for the machine to finish separating out my plasma, the doctor grilled me about my experience during my time when I was stranded on the mountain. I gave non-committal answers. Being stuck in a frigid environment was kind of shitty. Spending three weeks without so much as a crumb to eat was pretty bad. It wasn't until he asked what it was like to eat another person to survive that I became agitated. I tore the IV out of my arm and stood up. I fled the clinic without receiving any money for donating plasma.

But I just had to get out of there. September 29th, 2011. I got drunk today. There's no real reason for getting wasted and just wanted to. I never used to drink back when I was living on the reservation. Journal entry. The age is stained with a reddish-brown substance. The dreams are back.

Well, that's not true. They never left. but I'd found myself lulled into a false sense of security by the repetitiveness of the nightmares. The beckoning hand, the savage stewardess, and Jim were now all commonplace. I'd seen them so much that it was like greeting an old and familiar dream. The dream I had last night was different. Jim appeared before me. He'd been standing in the nest of clothes that I'd made to keep us warm back then.

He looked like he'd always looked in my dreams. He had the shadow glass sticking out of his throat, and the deep purple throttle marks were on his neck. He began to shambled towards me on his dislocated angle. As he got closer, I realised that he was completely covered in bite marks. Part of him had been torn away, exposing the red sinewy muscles underneath. He shuffled up the aisle. I wanted to run away from him, but I found myself inexorably drawn towards him. Small amount of blood was dribbling from his throat, and his head lolled back and forth with ever.

every shuffling step on his broken neck. I stepped forward. I was only a few feet away from him. He smelled like rotting flesh and whiskey. He lunged and the instantly touched me, I awoke from the dream. The memory of the taste of his flesh was fresh in my mind. My stomach wasn't growling.

November 26, 2011. Ah, the Pluto gang is at it again. so it goes. Not only have they been abducting people, but how they can add murder to their repertoire. Words have been going around that a man was recently found in an alley. They've been brutally beaten to death. Police have been pretty tight-lipped on the whole deal,

but rumours have been going around that he has been so violently stabbed and beaten that the funeral will be a closed casket effect. I don't know if it's really them, or if there are copycat gangs running around using their modus operanda. But I do know that it has me on edge. The building I'm squatting in is a few blocks away from any of the other squatters. I don't play nice with the others, it would seem. They could assault me and I could scream bloody murder.

Not a soul would hear me. December 24th, 2011. It's freezing here. I mean, it could be much colder. I've experienced colder weather, but I prefer not to experience it again. That's why I have a can of sterno with me. But a few at a gas station. Didn't even know they made it anymore.

It's lit and the flammable gel is casting off a blue flame. As long as I stay within the heat radius of it, I'll be fine on the cold a night. The gas station attendant asked me if I was going to drink it. I've seen a few of my older, more alcoholic neighbours back on the reserve strain it through a sock and drink it. They call it squeeze. It's a quick and easy way to go blind though.

slightly let him know that I was using it to fend off the cold. I wanted nothing more than to throw it in his face and set him aflame. But noticing lately that I've been getting agitated easily and without much provocation. January 2nd, 2012. I've had a bit of a revelation of sort. January 3rd, 2012. Well, I guess I need to elaborate on that. The pieces of the puzzle were before me this past.

month or so. It wasn't until the dream last night I began to reassemble the puzzle, though. The quickness in which I would lose my temper, the tonal change of my dreams, the lack of hunger. I now know what's happening. I'll tell you of my dream. It began like all the other recurring dreams I'd had since the plane crash. I watched the convulsing and clutching hand of the pilot. A sidestep the stewardess whose body was split open and masticating like a mad dog. I moved down the aisle and confronted Jim Donna. Something was different this time.

It didn't end in a white flash. As soon as I touched him, I was on him. My hands wrapped around his throat as he feebly beat at me. I watched him die. I began my macabre feast. Once I'd had my fill of him, I stood up and went to the door that led to the cargo hole. Everything was so clear and prescient.

I knew what was going to happen next It was more like a memory than a dream Well during the trials I couldn't remember anything during my time in the cargo hold But now it was clear as day The door swung open The stench of weak old death wafted in from the inky blackness I stripped off my jacket and makeshift gloves

I wouldn't need them anymore I was where I belonged The memories I remember shoving my face into their cold abdomens and tearing at them. I buried my face into their ribs and gnawed at their hearts. It was tough to chew, but so nourishing. I had my feel of feasting on their flesh.

It was difficult to chew due to the damage the cold had inflicted on their corpses. I beat and broke their bones and lapped up their marrow. Salty and had the taste of iron. I remembered the taste of their marrow, their blood and their flesh. I remember all of those delectable tastes The pieces are all in place I haven't been hungry because

I've been satiating my urges When I have become a somnambulist Is the Pluto gang even a real thing I know the murders aren't theirs to claim How long have I been sleepwalking through my nights How many times have I woken up feeling oddly refreshed and full I don't know how long for certain I've been giving in to my darkest desires.

But I do know one thing. I'm so very hungry. The other pages have been stained to dark red and are unreadable. I set the journal down. I wanted to leave, but something was preventing me from doing so. I had some sort of unfinished business. His last journal entry was over a year ago.

Could have you abandoned this place and set up another horn? There was nothing to indicate that someone had been here. Dust and cobwebs had begun to form on everything. The thing that bothered me most was the smell. What was that smell? It was a cloying, sickly sweet sense. I can't really describe the smell other than thinking of one time when I was a child and I ate a jar of honey and got sick.

This smell brought back that memory and that feeling of upset. The smell was coming from the nearby bathroom. I wasn't sure if there was running water here anymore. At first I thought it was the smell of fetid water that had been sitting in the bathtub for months on end. My attention shifted elsewhere when I saw the writing on the wall. It, of course, wasn't metaphorical writing. I'd already read the metaphorical writing

that I should have gotten out of there at the moment I picked up the journal. This was actual writing. Scroll all over the bathroom walls and the mirror in a black felt-tip marker. when did I go? The words overlapped each other, and the ink had begun to bleed into the plaster of the walls.

What could it all mean? When'd I go? Crazy. I assumed he'd gone crazy years ago after the plane crash. When did I go? When did I go? When'd he go on his serial cannibalistic spree? Hmm.

when'd I go I was missing something couldn't see the whole picture and I go ah the pieces clipped together when I said it aloud Wendago Wendigo

He gone completely off his rocker He thought he was a Wendigo A cannibalistic spirit prominent in Native American legends I didn't care about investigating the smell anymore I want it out I just turned around when a voice rasped,

Oh, my feet, my burning feet of fire. It wasn't his words that startled me, but the way he spoke them. Somewhere between an inaudible noise and a whisper, but the sound of it ground into my ears like sandpaper. I think if I should live a hundred years, I'll never hear another sound that instantly raised the hair on the back of my neck, made my stomach do a somersault like the sound of blackwood talking.

It sounded like this was the first time he'd spoken in months. He was just outside the bathroom. He was waiting for me to show myself. I slowly exited and found him standing in the doorway. He, no, it, because he barely looked human now. He exhaled a rattling gasp. He was bone thin, the tips of his fingers and nose were black and necrotic. his eyes were sunken sockets in his head,

and they regarded me with a feverish fervor that reflected insanity itself. The blackened skin had drawn back from his nails, and it gave him the image of having claws. He spoke like a radiator rattling a bolt around in its tubing. Did you read my journal? I nodded, too paralyzed by fear to speak. He paused for a moment longer than a moment.

a standard blink and then asked, Well, did you like it? The thing didn't give me time for an answer. He took a step forward and I edged towards the window. I knew I was on the sixth floor, but I would have rather risked falling six floors and splattering on the street below than staying with this fiend any longer. He saw me nervously glanced at the window and grated.

I would prefer you home. I'm not a big fan. of Sue. He dragged his tongue across his teeth. It was then that I noticed they were decaying, but sharp. His diet of meat had worn his teeth down to look like he'd fouled them. I could smell his breath from ten feet away. It was the same sickly saccharine smell that I'd noticed when I first entered the room. How long had he been watching me? He lunged across the room faster than a blink and swung a cylindrical object at my head. I would later realise that his weapon was a bone, maybe a femur, and that it had notches on it

where it had been gnawed down. And it would have braided me had my body not acted on instinct. I managed to duck the swing and fled towards the door. He threw his weapon at me while I fled and hit me square in the back. I lost my balance and smashed into the wall with my forward momentum. I managed to shake off my days and kept running toward the stairwell. I'd later find a bruise the size of a grapefruit from this assault. What was once, Kenyonus Takeo, Blackwood, gave a hellish growl and proceeded to give chase.

I knew that if he caught up to me, he would tear me apart and eat me. I ran down the stairs skipping two steps at a time. I could hear the soft slap of his shoeless feet striking the floor as he hunted me down. I could hear him gnashing his teeth and making guttural sounds behind me. I flew down the flights of stairs and ran out into the lobby.

The door was closed and I didn't want to fumble with the knob with him so close behind me so I lowered my shoulder and rammed it. Grown in its frame but didn't burst open. I frantically planted a foot and kicked it with all my might. but it still wasn't breaking open.

The sound of him was getting closer by the second. He gave one last desperate kick and was instantly relieved as it blew open and revealed the streak. I started forward, but something jerked me backwards. He grabbed the collar of my shirt and was pulling me back towards his gaping, rotting mouth. I was dumbfounded that such a gaunt, famished-looking man had the strength to pull me back by my collar. His rancy breath puffed on my neck

And the sensation was so revolting that I gagged I tore at my shirt Shucked it like a snake shedding its skin And wriggled loose I took off down the street Away from the abandoned building When I hazarded a look back over my shoulder I saw him on the street

He had a strip of my shirt And I brought it to his mouth He dragged his tongue across the shred Like you could taste my fear then he howled in a bestial manner and returned to his lair. I didn't stop running until I was able to flag a taxi and vanish into the sea of anonymity

that was New York City. Well, that was a few months ago. I went to the police and they shrugged off my outlandish story. I can't say I blame them. Would you believe a story about a when-go squatting in an abandoned building and feeding his Chanel cannibalistic desires?

You get laughed out of the precinct if you even decided to follow up. I lied to myself and pretended that it was an elaborate prank my friends had set up and hired a makeup artist to scare the hell out of me. Oh, and I stopped my hobby

of going out and exploring abandoned buildings. I told myself that lie until it became the truth to me. But I can't lie to myself anymore. I found it outside my apartment door this morning. I was getting ready to go to work for the day. I opened the door and it fell into my apartment.

I picked up the book, and almost pissed my pants when I recognised it as his journal. A small white object similar in shape to a bullet slid out from between the pages. It was the distal portion of a human phalanche. It had been acting as the bookmark for a page. I flipped to the page and with trembling hands and quavering voice read aloud. You never gave me feedback on my journal. We should discuss it over a bite.

Grimrose Mall. Is everything ready to go? Yeah, my bike's ready. Got some supplies upstairs and my watch is recharged. Excellent, my good man. See you outside your house? Bye, I said as I hung up, slipping the phone back into my backpack. I grabbed my helmet and bag and bag in my backpack.

rushed out of my room, making sure to close my room's door behind me. Greg and I were going on what? We called an adventure. That was last summer. Bragg and I were 18 and 17 respectively. With this, our last summer before university, we were trying to pack it full of things to do before our schedules got more serious. We'd been friends ever since ninth grade, and we were an odd pair.

Greg Rockwell, the klutzy big guy with a heart of gold, and I, Gabri and Vasquez, the flimsy, nervous, flamboyant one. He and I met after realizing we both liked action movies and are the same ponchant for mischief. Plus, hanging around with a guy much stronger than you, did wonders for the people who'd make fun of me for being delicate. But that's another matter. That day, we were headed off to Primrose Mall. Primrose Mall was considered one of the greatest business disasters in Saskatchewan, or maybe at least in our town. It opened in 1989 and stayed open for maybe a year, after which it was

completely shut down. The mall was boarded up and remained an enormous boxed eyesore on the edge of Regina City's limits. Nobody would take the land to redevelop it, but the police patrolled it pretty heavily for the first few years. It was closed down, and yet Greg and I had heard they'd begun to let up on it recently. Around 5pm now. I slipped upstairs and grabbed some granola bars, avoiding the eyes of my father who was cooking something at the stove. I'm going out biking with Greg, I called out before getting out of the door. Dinner's at 6.30, my father said, as something sizzled loudly in canola oil. I headed outside where Greg was already waiting on his bike, a satchel in tow, the strap hanging

over his shoulder. I waved as I rushed to retrieve my bike from the garage. That was when old Frankie came up the street. Frank Hollistern, old Frankie, lived across the street from my family with his husband and dog. He was a quiet little man in his late 50s. It was a lot like family to my family. He always wore fine second-hand suits, his curly red hair laced with grey, a cane in his left hand. Greg was really not fond of him because Frankie had a habit of telling wild stories, but I trusted him quite a bit.

Yeah, you lads going camping. He asked in his thick Liverpool accent. and gesturing to her backpacks. Greg looked away awkwardly. As I walked my bike to the curb, I said, Yeah, Greg and I are heading down to check out Primrose Mall. Old Frankie's face suddenly froze over with concern. After a moment of thinking, he turned to the ground and shook his head.

Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no. A terrible idea. Things I've heard about that more. Anything good? Greg couldn't help. but asked. Well, I'm not sure what you mean by good, but... Well, Frankie looked at us both then.

The word is that it's haunted. Greg just shrugged. Oh, yeah, that was what was making me want to go. But it's much more than you two are prepared for. Frankie rearranged himself, so he was leaning on his cane. Went there once when the mall was open to the public. Way back in the day. I always got the feeling that something was off about the place.

The employees were so nice, but it was that awful, awful force kind of nice. You know, when people smile but their eyes aren't smiling. I bought myself some bedding at the zealers, got out of there, and never went back. Next thing I know, they're shutting the whole mall down. I'll tell you, I'm bloody glad. I glanced over at Greg. Who looked entirely doubtful?

after a second I said We won't be there for long We just want to explore Take some pictures and then get out Well I even took some precautions Greg fished out a little white bottle From his bag and held it out My mom's friends were the priest

She got this for me Well That'll keep you safe Assuming the mall's not rotten to the core And the very floor you walk on collapse is under you Frankie was still disapproving Haunted or not, it's still dangerous. I shook my head, but appreciated the concern.

Frankie, we'll be fine. Oh, look, if I don't see you two back up the lane in two hours, I'm telling your father where you went. We'll be just fine, I reassured him, getting onto my bike. Oh, Frankie couldn't help but sigh as we began to bike off. I wave back to Frankie quickly and then turned back to face-gris. Greg. We were biking side to side. Greg had an MP3 speaker attached to the front of his bike, and he switched it on, and we biked along in a cloud of addicted to love.

Primrose Mall was on the way out of town, so we had quite a way to go. Greg and I passed the time by pretending we were piloting robotex, calling out attacks and command operatives. The area towards the edge of town slowly became more and more shifty. The suburbs full of elderly couples and families eventually turned into hastily made brick apartment houses and little shacks. We passed a faded stripmore, occupied by a Vietnamese restaurant, a sex shop, a loan office, and two empty storefronts. I was a little uncomfortable, but this was a bad side of town after all. The sun beat down on us, I felt one pronounced trickle of sweat rolled down my back beneath my backpack. We weren't even there yet. I already felt groggy and dirt.

The big box that was Primrosemore was quickly coming into sight, and soon enough we found ourselves just outside of the building. We stood in the parking lot, which definitely had signs of people being there recently. There were candy wrappers, beer bottles, even what looked like a used condo. Greg and I locked our bikes against a rusting, ancient bike rack, Greg stuffing his MP3 speaker into his bag. We now had to get into the mall. A thick metal door, obviously an old fire escape door, was popped up against a crumbling doorway.

The Hinders obviously had given out years ago. Greg and I attempted to push it aside, but the door toppled over into the dirty, patchy grass at our feet. Dusty earth rose in clouds, and Greg batted it aside helplessly while I took a step inside. We were standing in a corner of the mall, facing two different walkway options that would take us deeper into the structure. This part of the mall was fairly well preserved, but dirtied from where other teenagers had come and hung out. I probably hadn't attempted to go in very far. Above us was a large skylight, shaped like a hexagon and matted with dirt and mould from the outside. The area around us was thick with the smell of decay.

Very quickly took a picture of what used to be either a flower shop or a boutique. I kicked at some of the toilet paper at my feet, obviously discarded during a failed gardener. T-Ping. This is so far disappointing. Greg turned and picked up a dusty glass object. I discarded water bomb. Hey, Gabbya, check this out. Oh, is this a magic trick?

Sure is. He hurled the bong by the neck into the wall on our left. It exploded in a shower of glass, ash and water. We laughed at it for a bit, but slowly laughed at turned to silent horror as we realized a portion of the wall was coming down Greg shuffled back as a door-sized chunk of the wall slathered in graffiti in dirt

tipped over and shattered all over the floor A cloud of powdered dry wall rose towards us and I began to breathe through my sleeve shouting at Greg to do the same The smell that filled the area was indescribable It was beyond rotten As if we just opened a grey The stench of mould and decay

surrounded us Dust settling over our hair and clothes I shuddered the idea of 25 years of decomposition Washing over my body When the dust cleared The first thing we saw was a mound of rotting insulation and

Something else It was black And looked like beef jerky Soaked into the insulation Maggates riding out of the pink and black mouth. I look back at Greg in horror, and his face matched mine.

We've got to move, Greg said through a hanky, hurrying forward. I followed without a word. We had two options as far as corridors were concerned, one that led to another corner of the mall that was well lit with another skylights, one that took us deeper into the structure that was plunged into total darkness. well we obviously chose the lid part

on the way there Greg and I swatted drywall dust off each other as reward under the second skylight were two things the remnants of a shop and a structure Greg and I would later describe as the stairway to nowhere the shop was surrounded in rainwater as a variety of holes had been broken in through its ceiling with the letters of its former sign scattered all over the floor Most of them were damp and visibly mouldy. I had no interest in the shop.

But Greg snapped a picture anyway. We turned to focus on the stairway. The stairs led to an upper platform, and then another row of stairs. And then, nothing. Yeah. What do you think he could have been? I asked after a second. Well, it doesn't seem to go anywhere.

Greg craned his neck around the stairs. There were no signs of what could have been behind it, but there were piles of broken, dirty shelving units, and ventilation ducts. Some of the ducts even look like they dropped from the ceiling on their own. I started to walk up the stairs, gripping the banister tightly in my right hand. But Greg tugged me back. Gabe, no, don't do it. If that wall can come down from a little bit of glass,

no knows if this thing will be able to support your weight. I'd rarely seen him so concerned. Why, you calling me fat? Gabe, come on. He gestured to the door beside the stairs. Yeah, I want to get a picture of inside this. Something feels off about it. We approached the door.

Chunks of glass remained in what had been its window, and it was absolute blackness inside. At my feet was a sign that had probably been stuck to the glass ages. ago. Reading, management only. I picked it up, showing it to Greg, considered it for a moment before taking it from me and dropping it in through the window. We didn't hear it collide with anything for a few seconds, and then, distantly below us came a faint, wet, squel. Silence fell between us. White-eyed, we drew away backwards from the door, walking quickly towards the rest of the mall. Our only choice of paths was to walk straight ahead down a corridor that was once lined with shops.

The floor was dusty but clean, and it was clear that we were the first people to go down there in a while. It was getting darker, but we'd each brought flashlights just in case and flipped them out, arming ourselves. Nothing interesting was down there. Aiming the flashlights into the shop entryways, locked up behind security cages. We could see nothing worth worming our wall. way into for. There were only a few shelving units and the occasional piece of discarded wood

on the floor. Oh, I could have sworn I was actually starting to feel bored. Then it began to feel cold around us. At first, I didn't notice. I was wearing a flannel shirt over another shirt, but Greg in just a

t-shirt. I needed to rub his arms uncomfortably. He bit his lip and turned to me, asking, He, you think it's because of the shade. What? The cold. Because of how she ate it is in here. I was starting to feel it too.

Maybe, but... Doesn't it feel weird, though? It felt damp, too. The only other time I'd felt a cold like this was one spring day at school when it was raining heavily outside, but the air conditioned was still on at full blast. It was a cold, wet, greasy feeling

that made you want a hot shower, a cleansing. Greg was getting more and more irate the closer we came to the end of the corridor. This is bullshit, Gabe, he said between shivers, and you smell that? Smell what? Don't tell me you can't smell that. It's awful.

How can you not smell that? Smell what? I searched the area around us for whatever was bugging him. "'Shit, Greg. "'Don't freak me out.' "'We're the one of freaking me out. "'How can you not smell that? "'And it smells like expired marmine.'

"'He threw one thick arm towards where we come from. "'It's worse than that broken wall out there. "'Stop shouting, Greg. "'You're scaring me.' "'He inhaled, a little reluctantly given whatever he smelled, "'and then sighed. "'Okay, sorry, man. let's figure out what to do.

We were at the end of the corridor now. To our right, a dead end. What had probably been a security door was now boarded up with plywood. To our left, a piece of the outer wall was missing, next to a hallway. A hallway was smaller than the rest of the mall corridors we've been through. I've never seen a place so devoid of light in my entire life. No security lights, no holes in the ceiling like the rest of the mall. just nothing up ahead.

A lot of light shone in through the hole in the building, letting us see one office door and a former shop down the hall, but nothing else. There could have been a flat wall painted in black ahead of us. I wouldn't have known the difference. Oh, no. A turn to look at Greg. He was taking a few steps back from the hallway,

his eyes buggy, arms held out in front of himself. No, he repeated. there's absolutely no way I'm going down there. Well, take a picture of it, I insisted. Something was fascinating me about the hallway. Greg flipped out his phone, took one look at it, and hissed in irritation. Batter's dead. I could have sworn it was fully charged when I left my house.

I turned to walk forward towards the hallway. Curious. Greg cursed loudly and ran in front of it. me. What are you doing? I want to see what's down there, I said. It didn't sound right as I said it, though. I mean, the words came out in my voice, but it was strange to my ears, like I was hearing

myself on a tape recorder. The... Greg looked back at the hall. Then to me, and back and forth dumbfounded. The hall smells like a garbage pile. You still want to go into there? Well, I couldn't smell anything. Something's telling me to go in there.

I swear, Greg, I'm going to be fine. That's what we told old Frankie. What happened with the wall? The stairs are the cold. Greg pointed at the hole in the building beside us. We're going out through there right now. I'm going to go into that damn hallway, I exclaimed. Greg just looked scared.

I'd known him for four years, and never had I ever seen him this scared, even when he was in trouble. He dropped to one knee and dug through his satchel, soon pulling something out. He stuffed the bottle of holy water into my hand. Take this, buddy. I'm going to be outside. If I don't see you in ten minutes, I'm calling the cops. I'm swallowed hard, slipping the holy water into the flannel pocket that was over my heart. "'Okay, man, I'm going to be just fine.' Greg pointed one thick finger at me, stern.

"'You commit to that, okay?' "'Okay,' I said with a nod and a grin. Greg nodded back and then hurried out through the opening to the field outside. I watched him leave and turned back to the hallway and walked forward. It felt like I was stepping into a pool, plunging myself. into complete darkness. I kept on walking, my hands on my backpack straps,

they only sat around me, the grinding of my footsteps in dry wall dust. I kept on walking, and walking. And walking. Was it the hallway sloping down into the basement or something? I couldn't understand why it was taking

so long for me to reach the end. I've been expecting to reach the opposite corner of them all by now, to turn and see light at the end of a pathway, that would take me back to where we came. But I kept on walking through pitch-black darkness for what could have been three minutes at least. The dingle on my skin made me feel more uncomfortable than I already was.

There was faint electricity in the air, and even fainter, the smell of rock, decay. Like someone back in 1989 and strewn around pieces of uncooked meat along where I was walking. I suddenly knew what agony Greg had been in back there and regretted whatever had possessed me to come down here. What made me keep walking down that hallway with a blazay straight face

was something my father once told my sister and I. He works on films as a props master, and during one late-night filming session at an old school, he had to go to the top floor to get some tools that the crew had left. He headed upstairs alone and began to feel an awful, awful, negative presence in the building with him, following him. He told me he'd retrieved his tools and all the while perfectly calm, turned around and walked down two flights of stairs and out of the crew truck. Because, as he said, whatever was in there wanted me to turn and run.

I proved it wrong and got out just fine. He wanted to feed on his fear. Whatever was following me in that hallway wanted to feed on my fear. I swore I'd prove it wrong too. So I kept walking And walking I heard the faintest sound of someone exhaling I bit my lip

Oh my feet were starting to ache How long had I been walking There wasn't a single source of light to be seen Reluctantly I turned back to try and see the light From the opening in the wall that Greg had gone through hoping to see how far away I was It was gone I was alone

and submerged in total darkness. But I had to prove it wrong. I looked back to where I was going and almost gasped. Up ahead was light pouring out of the cracks in a door. Probably found an emergency exit here. Breathing steadily, I walked up ahead until I reached the door. Carefully fell around for the knob, found it, and then opened the door.

What I saw left me breathless. I was now standing in Primrose Mall, brand new and in operation. I had I gone back in time. The place was clean, bright, colourful, and bustling with people. A big stupid smile spread on my face. This place was gorgeous.

I quickly closed the door behind me and looked around. I'd come out of that strange door beside the stairway to nowhere, which was oddly still in its ragged, pointless, but the messed-up shop beside it was now a shoe store. A woman with a huge perm walked by me. I tried not to stare. I was so happy to be out of the darkness. I was just about giddy.

I had no idea how I'd wound up in 1989, but it was beautiful. I could smell oil from a nearby Burger King. I stopped by a clothing store's racks and could touch the clothes. I went to a vending machine and bought a super ball for a quarter. This was no fever dream. This was real. Water out for a bit, exploring the different shops, taking in the 80s fashions around me.

Up ahead, I noticed a man coming out of a zealance. There was a quiet-looking little man in his mid-twenties, wearing a fine suit, his curly red hair shaved around the sides, a shopping bag in his left hand. The grin on my face only widened. He was old Frankie, but young. I hurried ahead to try and meet up with him

Something hit me This was four years before I was even born There wasn't any plausible way that young Frankie would know who I was I made up a quick story in my head I'd ask him for the time And then maybe pretend I was new to the province And asked what shops he'd recommend around here I stopped beside him

I hastily cleared my throat and asked Excuse me sir What time is it? it. Young Frankie turned to me, smiling. And in that instant, I learned what old Frankie had meant when he mentioned that people were smiling, but that their eyes weren't smiling. Young Frankie's face was slathered in six or seven chemical burns, the flesh of which puffed from his skin, crusty and frothing, in a nauseating mixture of purple, brown and yellow. His left eye had been splashed by whatever he'd come into contact with, giving it a

a dull grey colour under a flat, brittle film. All the while, his eyebrows were cocked. His good eye wide, and he was wearing a big, bright smile on his face. He moved his whole head to focus on me, the scarred eye never moving, his mouth slowly stretching into a wider, goofy a grin. I couldn't move. He began to say something. Yes, sir? My voice cracked. His jaw lowered. Slowly a thick, black pudding-like liquid began to seep from his mouth, dropping into puddles on the floor. I could smell the liquid from where I was, and it wasn't unlike the smell of raw sewage.

I scrambled back a few steps, then turned and bolted down the mall, my eyes searching for an exit. Up ahead was a mall cop stepping out of an office room. I shrieked at him. Sir, sir, I need help. He turned to me, saying, "'Son?'

"'What's wrong?' His face was a crater, a cave in of purple and black-scalded flesh, past dripping down his chin and all over his shirt. I turned on my heel and kept running through the mall, searching for someone else to help, maybe even Greg if he was here. More or more people turned to look at me,

smiling, each of their faces or arms scolded in different ways. I soon found the end of the air. emergency exit that Greg and I had come in from. I flung it open, sending loud alarms through the mall, but disregarded them all and bolted out through the door. My joy over being freed was short-lived, though, as I realized I was now standing in a six-by-six-foot room that looked like it was made of wet olive green rubber, with large drips and bubbles in its surface on the walls. I reached back for the door, first thinking it had locked on me, but no. It had formed a shut into the wall, sealing me in. There was no way out that I could see. The room reeked of

running meat and something acidic. I thought it was rubber at first glance, and as I focused on the walls, I realized they were moving, just a eating. What looked like a dripping face or a hand would occasionally try to press through the walls, each face twisted in agony as it attempted. I took a step and shrieked, pause in the floor, spurting some sort of translucent yellow paste when pressure was applied.

It smelled not unlike Drano. Seeped in through the cloth sides of my sneakers, stinging the soles of my feet and my ankles. I clawed at the wall where the door had been, but only ragged shards of a tough, jerky-like substance came off in my hands.

It was very much the same as the stuff Greg and I had found in the wall. Open my mouth. to scream, but only a dry whisper came out. I dropped to my knees and buried my face in the darkness of my arms. A moment passed, and I was moving. Was I being carried? My body was on a cot.

I let my hand try and feel around. No, a stretcher. I nervously opened my eyes, finding one emergency worker at each end of the stretcher, lifting me out of the dark hallway. I let out a shaky sigh of relief. and one of the workers seemed to notice. The boy's conscious, she said loudly. Other police officers up ahead seemed to notice,

and they waved at us as we drew closer. I let my eyes fall shut, waiting as they escorted me back to the parking lot Greg and I had first been in. Everything smelled and sounded normal in the mall now. I wanted to sob. There were so many cars in the parking lot now. I could spot my mother's car, and panicked shocked.

through me again. I had old Frankie told my parents where we'd gone. How long had I been gone? Out in the sun, they put the stretcher down next to where Greg had been waiting. So the emergency worker's surprise, I got up and stood on my own. Some of the workers were really surprised,

asking me if I could or couldn't feel various parts of my body. When I felt perfectly fine. Passed out, only four meters down the hallway kid, the emergency worker said again, we've got every right to be concerned. I passed out. I couldn't process it.

That's not what happened at all. Went all the way down that hallway, opened a door and the whole mall was operational. There were people in there. Things were clean. I saw it. She sighed. It must have been a hallucination from the past contamination.

My parents suddenly hurried. interview, followed by an equally concerned old Frankie. My father asked, What is this? I heard about a contamination. A contamination should be at a minimum, if any traces still remain. A bulky cop with a thick moustache said, before the emergency worker could respond. I looked at Greg in horror.

He looked at me just the same. Spuddering, I asked. Wait, contamination, what? The cop sighed and continued. Ah, supposedly around 85. Several hundred liters of liquid industrial waste were dumped in this lot. Grab like runoff, unused solvents. God knows what.

The mall was built here anyway. The provincial government claims that things were cleaned up pretty well. But... But what? Greg asked. "'Mall employees kept getting sick,' he replied. "'Most them got seriously ill or died. "'I wasn't working in this city at the time,

"'but supposedly a number of people went missing around here, too. "'More managers claimed that they had everything under control, "'though, well, the cops poking around the emergency door "'began screaming and waving at each other, "'which caused some of the other cops to go check out what was going on. "'So one officer stumbled around the side of the building and vomit. "'Another office had bolted up, to the guy we were talking to, screaming.

Preston, Preston, you won't believe this. The moustached cop looked up. What is it? The guy stopped, gagging, trying to catch his breath. There are corpses sealed into the walls. What? They're rotten. I must have been in there for decades.

The officer nauseously waved his hands around, trying to make a shame. She said, barely recognizable. Greg looked right at me. And that stuff that we saw was... What about the stuff down the door by the stairway? Yeah, that faint squishing that we'd heard when Greg dropped the sign in. We caught whirled around to look at me then. What stuff?

What door? The emergency worker just shook her head. It's no use talking to that one. He's still convinced he traveled back in time. But I did, I howled, feeling humiliated. We began taking off my backpack, remembering the vending machine. I even bought something back then. It was a super bounce ball.

I hastily unsit in my backpack and reached inside, feeling around for the ball. But my hand stopped, slowly recoiling from what I felt. There was a dark, greasy, stinking residue on my fingers. Breathing heavy, with the eye. my parents, Frankie, the police and Greg all on me, I took a look into my backpack. Where my trip supplies and the ball had been were now large portions of ragged, blackened chunks of decomposing flesh. 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 favour 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.