Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S5 Ep196: Episode 196: Weirdest Ever Horror Stories

Episode Date: November 30, 2024

Today’s first terrifying tale of the macabre is an original, anonymous story:  http://www.creepypasta.com/one-pizza-guy/ Our second terrifying tale of terror is ‘The Cable Box,’ an original story by Kryptonovich: https://www.reddit.com/r/libraryofshadows/comments/6aps29/the_cable_box  Our third fantastic offering is ‘The Suit’, an original story by Malcolm Teller:  https://www.reddit.com/r/libraryofshadows/comments/6b2c31/the_suit  - Author: Malcolm Teller  - Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/Malcolmtellerfiction  - Twitter: https://www.twitter.com/malcolmteller  - Tumblr (Story Archive): http://malcolmteller.tumblr.com Today’s penultimate tale of terror is ‘Death Versus Drç Singh’, an original story by Sin Crow 7:  https://www.reddit.com/r/libraryofshadows/comments/6i7uhu/death_versus_doctor_singh_death_contest Our final macabre story this evening is ‘Paid for in Blood’, an original story by EmpyrealInvective, used with the author’s blessing under the conditions of the CC BY-SA 4.0 license:  http://creepypasta.wikia.com/wiki/Paid_for_in_Blood

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BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dunger. Weird things frighten us because they disrupt our understanding of the world and challenge our sense of control. When something defies logic or behaves in a way that doesn't align with what we know to be possible, it creates a sense of unease, a cognitive dissonance that taps into primal instincts. Our brains are wired to detect patterns and predict outcomes for survival. So when confronted with the inexplicable, we feel vulnerable and exposed. as though reality itself is unstable.

This fear of the unknown stares something ancient within us, reminding us that there are forces, whether natural, supernatural or psychological, that lie beyond our comprehension or ability to contain, as we shall see in tonight's collection of stories. Now, as ever before we begin, a word of caution. Night's stories may contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. If that sounds like your kind of thing, And let's begin.

Our first story tonight is the anonymously penned, the one about the pizza guy. If you really want to hear about it, here's what happened. It was a long time ago when I was working at a local pizza joint named Peter Pizza. I remember clock watching, waiting for midnight to strike, so I could get the hell out of there. I didn't have any plans. I just wanted to go home and watch a movie, maybe smoke a joint before going to sleep. I hadn't been able to fall asleep last night. I was tired and pissy.

I remember hoping that the phone wouldn't ring, because that was exactly how it went in the food service industry. People called five minutes before closing time, expecting to get good service. Yeah, right. Peter, Pizza. What the hell kind of name was that? The better question was, why had I applied there for a job in the first place?

I was 25 years old, for starters. Most people my age of, I'm paying my way through school to fall back on as an excuse. But me? Shit. All I could say was, it's all I'm qualified for because I couldn't decide on a major when I was younger. And now that I'm older and wiser, I realize that everything else is a fucking waste of time.

Whatever. Apathy and I, we go pretty much hand in hand. 14 minutes until I could get out. God, I hated the customers, or guests, as the management wanted us to call them. Yeah, guests my ass. Being a guest required just, a little bit of dignity so the assholes that waddled into Peter Pizza would be referred to as customers. I didn't work the front counter too much. I'm not entirely sure which end of the stick I was getting, because I usually clocked in as a delivery driver. Paul, the owner of Peter Pizza, gave me 50 extra bucks a week to pay for gas, which was more than enough. Paul was okay

Definitely not my favourite person He had his moments of pleasantness though Tonight Wasn't one of those nights He had a stick up his ass for some reason or another And it had been there since we'd walked in the front door I could see it on his face In his eyes behind his glasses

I didn't know I'd arrived at work pleasantly stoned and it stayed that way until now. I didn't really care why old Paulie was mad, nor did I care if he was going to feel better, not with 12 minutes left on the clock. Now, you can't just close the goddamn doors a few minutes early, can you? I thought, rolling my eyes as I watched the second hand tick, tick, tick its way around the clock.

Paul was one of those bosses. the kind that would leave his front doors open for another 10 or 20 minutes past close. And I wondered why the turnover rate was so high. When you pander to the customers and not the employees, things are bound to go wrong. I sighed and reached into my back pocket to retrieve my cell phone. That was when the phone on the counter behind me rang for the first time in two and a half hours. Oh, fuck. I groaned. rolling my head back.

Suttletty and I, we kind of clash. I was pissed. It was ten minutes until clones. Asshole, I muttered as I picked up the phone and put the receiver to my ear. Thanks for calling Peter Pizza. This is Ben speaking. I said, turning my head slightly to look towards the office, where Paul was busy with paperwork.

How may I assist you this is. evening. Hey, I'm sorry to recall him so late. The guy on the other end said quickly. I immediately felt a little bad. He sounded polite, albeit a little anxious, a little uptight. Are you still delivering? You bet, I said. Oh, good, good. The guy said. Thanks. Would it be possible to put in an old? I thought of six large cheese pizzas, extra cheese. You bet. What else can I get you?

That's it, thanks. Address, sir? 1388 Alpine Drive. The big place, the guy said. Name? There was a hesitation. The absolute smallest one that probably wouldn't have been noticeable. But I was in a floor-picking mood.

It didn't bother me. Not then. Robert. My name is Robert. Be about 25, 30 minutes, I told him. He thanked me again and hung up as I punched the order into my terminal. I heard Paul exclaim in the back. God damn it, he cried.

Six goddamn pizzas? It's almost midnight. You could have closed early, I muttered under my breath. Then, with a sight of Paul. Right there with you, boss. The pizzas took 15 minutes to make. Paul told me to head home after the delivery. He didn't feel like waiting around for me.

I was just fine with that. I didn't even know where Alpine Drive was until I punched it into Google Maps at quarter after 12. I sat down in my Mazda and started the engine, waiting for the app to load. You should reach your destination by 1240, Google told me. I tilted my head back against the seat and let out a groan. Should reach my destination by 1240.

Yeah, that was just great. Thanks, Google, I said. I kind of wish it would say, You're welcome, Ben, or something cool like that. But then again, I don't know how comfortable I am with being on a first, name bases with the Samsung. The order total was over $70, though, including the delivery charge. That meant an extra 10 or 20 bucks in my wallet, which was fine by me. Hopefully they weren't assholes who didn't tip. I shifted into gear and started heading for Alpine Drive.

I wish we had a delivery zone that was smaller than 30 miles. Whatever. It could have been worse. I don't know how stoned I was by the time Google announced that I would reach my destination in three minutes. I'd taken Highway 54 all the way south, and the drive had been quick and uneventful. I played Alkaline Trio and Blink 182 on the way, because something's never get old, no matter how old you are. I wasn't really familiar with the area, and I was glad as hell to have GPS. After a while, the endless fields and I at the side of the highway had slowly turned to black looming forests. The trees were black shapes against the eternally dark sky, led only by the cast of my headlights. I'm pretty sure that was the first and last time I was that far south on 54.

Hmm, I'm all alone out here. That was true and false at the same time. I'd passed three or four houses on the way. I saw them because of the lights, glowing faintly in the dark. I remember thinking it was a ten or fifteen minute gap between seeing each house, making me wonder just how many miles the residents were from each other. It was an eerie thought, the nearest neighbour being five or six miles away. My ever-wild imagination conjured up an image. I was dead in a bathtub.

the shower head running over my naked and bloody corpse. I'd fallen down, hit my head and died because there was no one around to report me missing. I shook my head and continued driving until I was directed to take a right on Carpenter Hooper Road. I ended up turning onto a gravel road. I sighed, passing a bullet-riddled speed limit sign, saying it was 55 through here. Were they serious? Who the hell went 55 miles an hour on an unpaved road? I coasted at a steady 40, keeping my eyes peeled for wildlife and random farm machinery.

I wasn't worried about other cars, because it had been 15 minutes since I'd seen one. It might have been longer. Yes, all alone. It was only five or so minutes until I reached the end of what looked like a driveway. The nav told me that I would reach my destination after I turned right. I obliged and continued up the driveway. I was searching for the house and couldn't find it. The map said that the house was on the left side of the road, but it wasn't.

You have reached your destination. No, I haven't, I said impatiently. There was nothing but trees on my left. so thickly nodded together that it looked impossible to walk through, let alone inhabit a home with modern conveniences here. I slowed down a little bit, and the bright beam for what could only be a porch light flared up in my rearview mirror on the right side of the road. Google, you asshole. It took me a minute to do a successful 180, but he eventually started up the driveway. The driveway was paved, and a few moments after I pulled onto it, I was aware that my tires

were no longer crunching gravel. It had gotten very quiet, and this, for whatever reason, was really unnerving. I rounded a bend, and beyond the pine trees surrounding me, was the house. Whatever light I'd seen was off now, and the place was totally dark. The driveway looped around in front of the house. I slowed to a stop and parked, leaving the engine running out of Hammond. People keep telling me that my car is going to get stolen. Please.

Steal my Mazda. Did everyone leave? Maybe I'd gotten the wrong address, or typed in the wrong one or something. The GPS had already been wrong once. No. The address next to the door was the same as what I'd. typed in. I shrugged it off because it wasn't that big of a deal. It wasn't a big deal then anyway, because that's how things go. The characters in the horror movie make those stupid

decisions because going upstairs to investigate that strange noise is what most people would likely do. It's part of logic because floorboards like to creak randomly and things fall over all the time. It's a security thing though We as human beings Have to be certain that we're safe The idea of an intruder was a slimy thought The word intruder even had a sinister feel to it Hey Plato

Your philosophies and anecdotes are adorable But your pizzas are going to get cold And you're going to be monsoned here in bumfuck I was tired my mind tends to wander when I'm tired slap happy I think it's called I got out of the car and stood up straight stretching and listening for a moment to hear my joints crackle

I let out a long breath and walked to the trunk to retrieve the pieces because that's because that's just how much I care about my job and its valued customers that call just before clothes I took another glance at the dark house and rolled my eyes.

This was probably a prank call. I was willing to bed a testicle that a bunch of assholes had picked a random address and sent me to it. They were probably all having a laugh right now. I'm not trying to be over-emotional, but that honestly hurt my feelings. What a fucking waste of time.

I need a new job. The pizzas were all in an insulated bag, and I carried it lightly on my finger, I'd waited tables for God knows how long before this, and I'd developed a great set of forearms and really strong fingers because of how often I'd hold heavy trays at plates. I balanced the bag without thought as I made my way around the car and up the driveway towards the front porch. The sound of my shoes crunching over loose gravel and dead leaves was loud, and I felt isolated, a thousand miles from nowhere. There was no wind. The woods around me were quiet, and the only light other than the moonlight was the glow of my headlights. I don't know why I looked up at the second floor as I walked across the yard. I was lost in thought, noting that the grass was long and in need of a trim.

It was just a quick glance up that led to an attempt at looking forward again. I looked up again in a flash. I thought I'd seen the silhouette of a man. in one of the upstairs windows, but I marked it off as being a trick of the light. I don't know if I want to meet the owners of a place this far out in the boonies. The thought gave me goosebumps that I tried to ignore. I mounted the porch steps and walked across it,

thudding and creaking across the floorboards. I noticed there was no doorbell, and the curtains were drawn. I didn't give it a second thought as I knocked on the door in the tune of the theme from Star Wars. My roots at work had taken me to some really shitty places. This house looked fine, a little unkempt, but far from gentrified. I stepped back from the door a little bit and waited for someone to answer, but 30 seconds went by, and then a minute. I knocked again. This time just three booming knuckle wraps.

that were loud and clear. I muttered, as I realized that no one really was home after all. What a fucking waste of time. I turned around to get back to the car and gave the house a fleeting glance as I bounced down the steps. I stopped when I saw one of the curtains on the first floor fall back into place, as if someone had been standing there.

Hey, I called. Hey, dude, I've got a bit. bunch of pizzas for you. I walked up the steps again. I was miffed, surprised, and confused all at once, because I was sure the house had been empty. Why the hell were all the lights off? That was the big one, the question I really wanted to know. I wondered if it was a surprise party, but shook it off. If Robert or Stan or whatever his name was didn't answer the door this time, I was going to drive my ass home and throw each of those damn pizzas out the window along the way. I knocked on the front door again.

Come on, man, I said under my breath. I then said loudly, Pizza guy. Then quietly, fucking waiting for you. I gave it a full minute and turned around to leave. But as I did, the sound of footsteps inside the house made me stop. I turned around again. and was about to knock when I heard someone say,

Hey, sorry. It was a man's voice, low and pleasant, like a radio talk show host. But it scared the hell out of me anyway. I wondered why he was talking to me through the door instead of just opening it. That's totally fine, I replied uncertainly. You, Richie? There was the slightest pause before he said, It's Robert.

The tone in his voice, as he emphasized his name, was a little weird, like he forgot it. I didn't think too much of it mostly because he'd already scared the hell out of me, but because customers I served were always strange, and sometimes liked to use fake names when ordering a pizza, like Dale Gribble on the King of the Hill. I don't know why, and I don't question why people are the way they are. you ordered the six large cheeses? I felt ridiculous, talking to this guy through the door, and a little uncertain.

I was ready to run at any moment, in case things went south of the guy behind the door. Sirens weren't going off inside. The guy instantly struck a weird cord with me, but not a threatening one. Yes, I did. Look, I know this is a weird, question, but could you come around to the back door and meet me on the patio? I didn't answer

right away. And maybe that's why he added? Uh, this door is all fucked up. I was waiting for you in the kitchen. I thought I mentioned that on the phone. All I could really say was, oh, um, yeah, okay. Had he told me that? I didn't think so, but I couldn't remember. I'd been pissed about how late it wasn't everything. But the order it had vacated my mind. I was a little unsettled by how quickly he'd added that the door was busted. Now, this is usually where most people would say, I'd get the fuck out of there, and I probably would have until I realized that Paul would probably charge me the full fare for those lost pieces. I didn't feel like paying for them. So, I walked down the steps again, and started heading for

the backyard. Once again I heard the loud crunching of gravel beneath my feet as I balanced the pizzas on my fingers. The crescent moon above me was my only source of light and it was no surprise that I nearly tripped over a rock the size of a softball that was hidden in the dark. I stumbled and almost fell, carefully writing the pizzas in my left hand. I heard something crunched behind me. A world around and, as I did, I caught glimpse of somebody peering at me from around the corner of the house. He must have seen me notice him because he quickly withdrew and disappeared from sight. I started backing up, keeping my eyes on that spot.

I had an unsettling fault. There had been someone behind me, walking in step with me to avoid detection, until I tripped and threw him off. I was still walking backwards, but I was on the verge of walking forward and getting the hell out of dodge when I realized just how scared I was. I didn't want to go back the way I came,

back to where I'd seen the figure. I couldn't help you think he was waiting right around the corner and ready to grab me as I'd pass by. But heading to the back door seemed like an equally bad idea. I wished I'd never gotten out of the car. I hadn't stopped moving and waltzed right into the backyard.

As I passed through the gate, a set of motion-activated lights mounted above the back door turned on. I dropped the pieces in shock when the bright halogen lights washed over me and illuminated most of the backyard. I turned around wildly, expecting to see somebody standing behind me. To my surprise, though, I didn't see anything but offensive. in backyard that was flush against the woods. The grass was ankle high and laced with various weeds, but I didn't pay much attention to it. The yard was huge, and the guy probably didn't have time to mow it.

I was collecting the pizzas from the ground when I heard someone say, Hey buddy. I turned around quickly and faced a middle-aged man. He was standing on the back porch with both of his hands held open. at waist level in an unintimitating gesture. He looked around a little wildly and gave me a nervous smile

as I jumped to my feet. Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, he said, smiling sheepishly. Oh, it's just a heart attack, I told him, shifting the pizzas around so they were evenly stacked. I'm really sorry if it's super creepy here right now. He said,

a tone that made me feel totally embarrassed. I literally just lost power a few minutes ago. I don't know if he blew a fuse or if the generator blew or I don't even know. He ran his hands through his hair, shaking his head. Oh, and to top it off, some asshole tried to rob my place the other night and fucking busted the front door. He shook his head again and lowered his hands back to his sides. I'm sorry, he said. It's been a really shitty night, you know. Yeah, I said, nodding.

I felt really stupid. A man in front of me looked normal. He talked clearly and again, pleasantly. He was even wearing a light blue shirt, khakis and some kind of sweater tied around his neck. He looked like a rich snob the way he was dressed, to be honest. Hell, his hair was even combed over, doucheback style. And he struck me as the kind of guy who had never worked anywhere near fast food.

Usually this meant a lack of courtesy towards people like me, calling it such a late hour and such. I wasn't quite at ease, but I never am on deliveries. People are capable of dark, dark things. A lot of the time we do those things for money. I maybe had 60 bucks on me. but people have been slashed to ribbons for much less. Hmm, people have been killed for no reason at all. I know the feeling, I said as I squat it down to pick out the pizzas.

I'm sorry, but he cut me off with a wave of his hand, then gestured his thumb at the motion light. This light would get me on an episode of Fearly Neighbor, if I had neighbors. It scares the shit out of me every time of it. a deer walks through the yard. I got the fence, but they don't care. I slowly approached the man, who slowly approached me. It's like we were afraid of each other, or maybe just embarrassed of ourselves. He was actually holding the cash in his hand when I unzipped the bag and handed him the pizzas. He handed me two bills, both hundreds. Oh man, I don't have that much change on me.

No, no Robert said shaking his head and taking the pieces That's your tip That's your tip for coming way the hell out of here so late I know you guys were about to close For a hundred and something dollars tip I said It's fine man

Really All I was going to do was go home and watch TV Until I fell asleep It was the truth But I tried my best to make it sound like it was something I didn't want to do The tip threw me way the hell off. I'd been expecting anywhere between one and twenty dollars. This guy was loaded. Well, I appreciate it anyway, the guy said. Thanks, he'd been maintaining eye contact with me the whole time in a non-threatening

way. More like a salesman than anything. He suddenly broke it and stared past me, into the woods beyond the backyard. There was a man standing on our side of the fence, barely visible in the darkness. I don't know why I whispered, oh shit. But Robert looked at me, concerned, and then back at the woods. Did he talk to you? He demanded angrily. Son of a bitch has been scaring the shit out of us.

The man in the woods nimbly hopped over the fence and proceeded our way in a slow and steady gate Robert shouted, Hey! In an angry tone and leapt off the porch. His shoulder-checked me as he ran past towards the fence. I told you to get the hell off my property. I stuffed the money in my pocket

and started to follow him for whatever reason. He was walking fast, intent on getting to the man, judging by the pace. He was halfway across the yard when the gunshot rang out. He stopped in his tracks and did a 180, sprinting back towards the house with his hands over his head. Get inside! Get inside! he shouted, waving wildly at me. Everything happened fast. I was still wondering who the hell the guy in the backyard was when the gun fired.

Robert grabbed me by the collar as he ran up the stairs, dragging me up and into the house with him. He slammed the door behind us and fiercely whispered, Get down, before locking it. He forced me into a squatting position, and we crab crawled our way across a dark kitchen. He led me to a door and opened it. It was a black rectangle, absolutely dark. I was thinking that it led to a basement or something when Robert ushered me over the threshold and on to the top step.

I stumbled over my own feet and nearly lost my balance, seizing a hold on the banisters to stop me from falling down the stairs. I looked back and saw that Robert was now standing up straight. We locked eyes for a blue. brief moment. His face was expressionless as he brought his leg back and kicked me in the abdomen, hard enough to send me flying back into the blackness behind me. I didn't even have time to react, let alone time to scream. There was a moment when I sailed weightlessly in mid-air, before I crashed against the angles of the wooden steps on my back. I heard wood splinter,

and in an awful flare-up of pain, I felt something in my upper back crunch wetly behind my skin. I bumped down the last eight or nine steps in a violent series of somersaults, coming to an abrupt stop as I crashed shoulder first against the stone wall at the bottom of the stairs, landing on my chest. I opened my eyes and took a shuddering breath in. I'd landed on a dirt floor, and a plume of dust had shuddered. shut up when I'd crash landed. It flooded my nostrils on my throat, and I immediately started

coughing, which hurt my entire body. When I stopped coughing, I cautiously wiggled my toes and made sure I wasn't paralyzed from the violent fall. The first thing I saw was a stone-carved table that could have only been an altar. There were dozens of unlit red candles on it and around it. The table was spotted with blood. I was still trying to process everything that had just happened to me. It had been less than a minute since I'd walked into the backyard. I understood that I'd been tricked and ambushed. I was trying to piece together what the table was for and why there was blood on it.

I thought I knew but wouldn't let the thought fully form in my head. I heard some footsteps shuffling around upstairs as I slowly got to my feet. I was numb as I stood up straight, wondering why the coffin had hurt so badly. I heard joints crack and pop, but barely felt them as I began to look around the dirt room. Drawn in and held wrap by the altar in the middle. I wouldn't allow myself to think about what the altar was for. I tore my gaze away and looked at the front. floor for a few moments, before I felt the muscles in my jaw give away, before it dropped open at the

sight of hundreds and hundreds of footprints on the floor. Almost all of them were very small. Children's footprints. I led out a shuddering gasp, and that was when I saw that Robert had made his way down the stairs and was standing in the spot where I'd landed. It doesn't heard, he said, grimacing apologetically as he revealed the carving knife in his hand. I really wish there was another way. One that wasn't so messy. But what can you do right? I couldn't say anything.

I wish I could say I was forming some genius plan, but I was drawing a blank. I'd broken something when I fell, because breathing hurt pretty bad and standing up straight was worse. Seeing the knife scared me to a point that I not only began a series of high-pitched moans, I also pissed myself.

A stream of hot piss ran down my thighs and puddled around my chucks. I held out both hands, my eyes darting right and left as they desperately searched for an escape route. Oh, I would... was fucked. Robert was maybe six feet away and slowly closing in. There was the chance of me running to the right or left and trying to get around him, but I didn't think I would

be fast enough. I smoked too much for starters, and the fall down the stairs took care of the rest. I didn't want to die. I didn't have much to live for, not really, but that didn't mean my life was worthless. I thought I was a pretty nice guy. I got pierced every so often, but who didn't? I wasn't really hero material, but I wasn't at the villain end of the spectrum either. I helped people when I could. I didn't bother returning clothes I just bought and decided they weren't for me. I donated them to goodwill because someone less fortunate could enjoy them. I held the door open for people and said, may I please and thank you. Robert stopped, three or four feet away.

He smiled at me and it was genuine because I saw it touch his eyes. A smile had never made my blood run that cold. It doesn't heard Ben, he said, in a reassuring tone, even going so far as to raise his free hand in another non-threatening gesture. Trust me, this

This whole thing is beyond your understanding and mine. The magnitude, it's... You'll never understand. And neither will I. All I can say is that you're donating your life to a beautiful thing, Ben. So just lay still and close those baby blue eyes of yours. I don't know why, but I started to get pissed right then. The fear was still there, but it was different somehow in a way I can't really describe.

I hadn't done a fucking thing. All I'd done was go to work. Go to hell! I hissed and spat at him as hard as my lungs would allow. Bloody saliva hit his face and ran down his cheeks. It ran over his lips and he slowly licked it away. For no reason, the altar caught my eye again, mostly the sharp corners. He started walking again, and I shifted left along the wall until I was near the corner.

Robert's body tensed, and he lashed out with his free hand to grab me. He seized the collar of my shirt and pulled me closer, as he brought the knife down, aiming for my chest. I grabbed him by the forearm and shoulder charged him at the same time. We stumbled backwards together until Robert's lower back roughly bumped into the corner of the stone altar. Fuck! He screamed, craning his head back. I heard the knife clatter on the altar, and Robert grabbed the sides of my head,

his thumb searching for my eyes and tearing the skin just above my eyebrows. I went back with his momentum and then decided to go forward again, shoving him into the corner of the altar once more. He led out a pained scream as the stone corner dug into his tailbone this time. He lurched forward, reaching behind him to feel his back. I charged him then. I don't know where the strength came from, but I don't really want to know. Never question a good thing. I sure as hell don't anymore

His back collided with the altar And again he let out another pain shout Before he unexpectedly stepped forward And brought his knee into my chest I don't think I'll ever feel pain like that again I saw stars And screamed so loudly I saw red and black spots Glittering in front of the stars

I was holding my chest in abdomen with both hands barely able to breathe when I saw Robert closing in on me taking long and purposeful strides I didn't think as I lowered my head and charged him with a headbut

with the last bit of strength I had the top of my head slammed into his abdomen I heard the wind rush out of his lungs and he flew back from the impact there was a low series of scrapes as he should shoes lost their grip on the dirt floor. He lost his balance and fell back, shooting both arms

out to steady himself, but failing. He met the corner of the stone altar with a wet crack, and a large spray of blood hit me in the face from a few feet away. I cried out and frantically started wiping my eyes with my forearm. My vision cleared and I saw Robert, leaning up against the of the altar. A hairy smear of blood led from the sharp corner to where his head was now. His eyes were bugging out and his mouth was hanging open. There was a growing pool of blood around him. Was he dead? He had to be. His head had just gotten split open like an egg. I quickly stepped past him, making my way for the stairs. You're gonna fucking die down here.

Robert crooned wetly in a sing-song voice, unseen from the other side of the altar. I heard more scraping and knew that he was starting to get to his feet. I saw one of his bloody hands reach up and grip the edge of the altar. I didn't stick around to see anything else. I gripped the railing with both hands and hauled myself up the stairs as best I could, trying to look in every direction at once. I could hear Robert shuffling around behind me, chuckling and panting wetly.

I reached the top of the stairs and looked around in a moonlit kitchen before hauling ass to the back door. The kitchen was empty, save a half-full bottle of cabinet on the counter, with five empty wine glasses around it. A brief glimpse into the living room told me that nobody lived here, but it was the countless amounts of spider webs in the corners of the ceiling that told me that nobody had lived here for a long, long time. I heard Robert clunk on one of the stairs, calling my name.

I reached for the knob on the back door and... Boom! The window on the door shattered into a hundred pieces, as a bullet tore through them. I whirled around and saw a man standing in the hallway between the kitchen and the living room, hoarding a hunting rifle in his hands. I was almost sure that it was the same man from the backyard.

He jacked another round in and levelled it at my chest. I held both hands out, screaming. Wait, wait, no, wait, please. God, no! The man's eyes locked with mine. Before he abruptly dropped his rifle and gasped inward one time, before he exploded. I stared at the spot where he'd been standing two seconds ago, and at the rifle on the ground.

I was half thinking that he'd been wearing some type of bomb, but there'd been no sound, except the briefest sound of pulverizing bone and ripping flesh. There was blood everywhere now. covering the walls and my body. I was still standing, frozen in place, with one hand on the doorknob, when Robert appeared in the basement doorway. One of his eyes was crooked, looking in every direction, while one was locked on me, and full of anger. He stayed silent as he started to walk towards me, and I don't think he would have known anything was wrong, if he hadn't tripped over the dropped rifle. He stumbled briefly and looked down, revealing the gaping hole in the back of his

head. I could see his brain in the glimmer of the moonlight, silver-gray and pulsating. He righted himself and looked down at the rifle for a moment. What? Where did he... Robert sputtered, and then looked back at me. You... He trailed off and stared at me intently, or at least I thought he was looking at me. He was looking past me, almost the same as he'd looked past me a few minutes ago. I jerkily turned my head and saw what he was looking at. There were three yellow jackets on the door behind me, lazily crawling on the wood. I was prepared to move away when they flickered their wings and took off into the air.

They flew into the darkness and were gone. Oh, no, Robert whispered, covering his face with both hands. Oh, no. What is that? I asked quietly, as the floor began to vibrate slightly. I was no longer afraid of Robert or whoever else was with him. The look of terror on his face told me that I should probably be afraid of whatever he, was afraid of too. Why couldn't you just go to sleep? Robert whimpered, and then both of his eyes exploded. Blood splattered on my chest and I turned the knob, pulling the door open as all hell

broke loose at 1388 Alpine Drive. Hornets flew out of Robert's bloody eye sockets, and he screamed shrilly, reaching up to cap them off. The drain in the kitchen sink made a loud growl before sending out an endless surge of shit. I'm sure it was shit that splattered against the ceiling hard enough to make a hole. The oven exploded in a fireball, and I saw four figures, all the size of children,

and all burning like wildfire, emerge. I heard the sound of children crying, but also the sound of them laughing too. Robert turned in their direction, still screaming and trying to cover his eyes. He held out one hand in the children's direction. One of them reached out and took it, burning his fingers off of his hand with an audible sizzle.

I was still gripping the doorknob tightly, but I looked down when I crushed it in my hand. I was now holding an eye the size. of a tennis ball in my right hand. It oozed blood and yellow fluid between my fingers. I cried out and threw it into the kitchen as the walls began to split. People shapes, wrapped in newspaper and bed sheets, emerged from the walls, most of them missing arms or heads. They briefly paused to look at me, or at least turned in my direction. I stared right back. I stared right back. They all moaned in unison before turning around and advancing on Robert as well.

I heard a series of cracks and looked in the hallway towards the living room and saw something bulging beneath the floor, tearing it up as it made its way into the kitchen, sending shards of wood into the air. It was growling. He was screaming my name as it approached him. The floorboard swelled, splintered and an unearthly black mass began to emerge. I couldn't take any more, and the fear broke. I threw myself onto the back porch, putting the door close behind me with a loud slam.

I stumbled into the railing, and Robert's scream stopped, but the growling continued. Lights out, Bobby. I whispered as I felt my way along the railing and vaulted down the stairs. I could hear wines and moans now, amid scowls and snarls. I ran along the side of the house as fast as I could. There was no pain. I only thought now was my own fucking survival. The car was ten yards away.

When the windows I ran past began to shatter outward like small, bombs were going off inside. I cried out with each one and covered my head, never taking my eyes off of the car. The growling grew louder and louder, overlapped with weeps and moans and shrieks of damnation. Ben, stay with me. Ben, it's okay. Don't be afraid, Ben. Your father's with us, Ben. It doesn't hurt, Ben. I slammed into the side of the Honda with a cry of pain and patted my pockets from my keys. They weren't there. I madly felt myself up and down to find them, trying to keep my eyes on the house. The window panes began to light up, deep red, and a low-frequency humming seemed ever present in my ears. That was when I realized I'd never killed. I'd never killed.

the engine, that I'd left the damn car running the whole time, because I thought it'd only be a minute or two. Fucking shit, I cried incoherently, albeit joyously, as I pulled the door open and dove inside, smacking the lock button down hard enough to crack the plastic. I didn't bother with the seatbelt. I mashed the brake and reached for the gear shift. A man's body landed on the hood of the car, his face cracking the windshield with a spray of blood. He gripped the hood, trying to pull himself forward.

The top of his head was gone, and there was no brain inside, just blackness. He looked up at me and I saw that his teeth were missing, ripped out of his bleeding gums. "'Help me, please!' he groaned, and something pulled him off of the hood with such force that he lost four fingers. I know, because I found them later on, just beneath my windshield wipers. My passenger side window shattered. I covered my face with my arms, peering through the crack between them to see that the house was burning yellow and white.

I could hear screaming and laughing, the sound of children crying. A growing roar was coming from somewhere. I didn't care. I punched the accelerator and the tyres spun wildly against the gravel for a moment before getting traction. The car launched forward and I fought like hell to keep driving in a straight line. I only glanced back once to make sure I wasn't the car. being followed and saw that the house was gone. There were a few floating embers like fireflies, over the spot where the house had been that disappeared as soon as I noticed them. I didn't slow down.

I don't think I even checked the rear view after that because I didn't want to see anymore. I couldn't take it. I drove myself to the hospital and parked in a no-pond. parking zone just outside of the entrance. Through the plague glass doors I could see people, doctors and nurses, and patients and janitors, and was never so happy to see them in my life. I killed the engine and stepped out of the car, only to have my legs give out underneath me. I collapsed to the ground painfully, but I couldn't make a sound. I didn't have the strength anymore. I opened my mouth to call for help, but nothing was happening. I was at a hospital, mind you, and I knew that somebody would eventually come out to help me. Key word there was eventually.

It could have been minutes or hours. I didn't know how much more my body was going to take, how much more blood I could lose. All these thoughts raced through my mind as I lay on the ground, trying to scream and trying to get back up. I stopped moving entirely when I heard the click of my car's lock disengaging. The back door on the driver's side slowly opened up and a leg clad in black dress pants and a shiny black dress shoe carefully stepped onto the pavement. Another followed.

A man stepped in. stepped out of the Honda. He was dressed in black, but there was something about him that was almost comforting. His presence was welcomed. I never saw his face. He closed my back door and stood over me for a few seconds. Thanks for the lift, kid. He said pleasantly and stepped around me, out of sight. I dimly heard him say I think this gentleman needs some help He walked back towards me And then passed me in the opposite direction

From this angle I could see him I watched him walk away Into the shadows and the streetlights up the street I could hear him humming faintly Melodically I'd never heard that melody before And I haven't heard it again since I heard the sounds of footsteps approaching, and the way the accompanying voices sounded, they

belonged to medical staff. The man stopped halfway down the block, pausing beneath a broken streetlight and looking up at the sky. A white-clad leg stepped in front of me for a split second, and the man was gone when next I looked. His empty clothes hovered in the air for a moment, as if somebody was standing. inside of them before collapsing silently into the sidewalk. The black mist floated up towards the sky, engulfing the dead streetlight for a moment, before dissipating entirely. The light flickered a few times and then began to burn brightly. That was the last thing I saw before I passed out.

Five broken ribs, a punctured lung, a cerebral and a cardiores. at contusion and a fractured skull. Somehow, I survived. People have made it out of situations with much worse, though. I've since quit Peter Peter. I haven't exactly gotten my life together as of yet, but I can say that I've been a whole lot happier since the night I was almost killed. The police checked out the house on Alpine Drive, which was nothing more than a foundation that had been abandoned for three decades. One of the canine dogs started pouring at the dirt and uncovered part of a child's skull. An excavation of the site uncovered four children that had been missing for years. In addition to nine other missing people, they'd all disappeared

under extremely bizarre circumstances. Some had been beaten to death, others stabbed, others unknown. the children had been burned alive and the rest have been crudely mummified with newspaper and elmess glue I've had a lot of phone calls from family members of the deceased thanking me for finally giving them closure I don't know where they get the idea that I was the one they should be thanking but I was glad they could find the answers they were looking for

even though they only really got half an answer I doubt I'll ever find the answers I'm looking for and really one question weighs on my mind day in and day out what the hell were those guys messing around with and why did it hit your ride in my backseat a second story this evening is the cable box by Kryptonovich Andrew turned on the cable box It was brand new, straight from the company.

He'd read up on this model from the internet, and being the tech junkie he was, he was absolutely taken in by the rave reviews. He'd read of it from fellow geeks on the internet. He didn't know quite what to expect, but he knew he'd enjoy it. It cost a pretty penny, though. It made him grateful he worked at the major company that he did work at, which in turn made him grateful that he'd focused entirely on what had made me. mattered, excelling in high school, and then in the Ivy League college he'd attended. It took

its sweet time to load up, though. He tapped his knee with his index finger impatiently. Come on, come on, he thought. What could he say? He was eager to watch his shows. Only, after an hour, it was still loading. By this point it was midnight, and he was tired as hell. He was tired as hell. from his day at work. Mumbling angrily to himself, he went into his room, changed into his pyjamas and got into bed. It was just his luck that,

after not just a hard day at work, but the whole week he'd been waiting for the new cable box to arrive, it would go and pull this shit. Oh well, nothing to be really done about it. He was asleep soon enough. The next day arrived. fucking finally

getting up strolling eagerly out into the living room and sitting down on the couch he grabbed the remote and switched on the TV sure enough it was the news now he'd never been a news guy so his initial reaction was that

this was boring as hell when something caught his eye the picture on the TV was amazing simply amazing It was like high-deaf, but better. The image quality was so sharp, and the colour so bright and vivid.

A wide smile slowly appeared on his face as he kept watching the news, just soaking in the fact that, yes, he'd made an excellent choice buying this. So, there he was watching the news, just enjoying his new cable box that he'd plugged into his TV. but he noticed something odd happening. One of the main anchors, his eye kept twitching. First, just a tiny bit, barely perceptible, but then more frequently and more noticeably.

About 20 minutes after it started happening, he was at the point where he was twitching his neck and jerking his head. Andrew's brow furrowed with confusion as he watched this thing happening. This didn't make any damn sense. Why would a news anchor be acting like that on live television? That wasn't the weirdest thing, though. What was far, far weirder was that his partner didn't seem to notice what was happening. She kept reading the news, smiling,

and when she passed the reading off to him, he spuddered and barked out the news while jerking his head and neck violently. At this, she simply smiled. mild warmly at him and then back into the camera at this point Andrew was getting pretty damn freaked out so he turned the TV off and decided to go and do something else what the hell was wrong with this must be some issue with the station he did feel bothered though especially given that he spent all his money on the damn thing still he went about his day he made himself breakfast

did some work on a major report for the AGM of his union local, and then headed out, having remembered that he had to drop off some government forms at various offices downtown. So, he left. In his living room, there's still warm cable box sat snugly beneath the TV. As he went about his day, though, he felt chilled,

this nagging tension eating at the back of his neck that made his hairs rise on end. he got home seven hours later the sun was low and red shining a soft yet dull orange glow across the landscape outside his home he got inside took his shoes off and casually moved over to the couch and plopped down switching the TV on with the remote as he did so what happened to be on was one of his favorite cop shows the ones where they were rough tough and gritty and always got their guise in the end, even if they had to cross all the lines to do so. For the next half hour or so, he watched the hour-long show, enjoying the hell out of it as he did so. And then, something weird happened. In a tense, serious interrogation scene, the lead detective couldn't stop giggling and glancing at the camera. An idiotic grin plastered on his face. The interrogation continued as normal. The criminal started yelling that he'd never snitch. The detective's partner screamed that he'd go

away for 20 to life. But by that point, the lead detective was laughing his ass off, staring directly into the camera. No one else in the scene noticed. At this point, Andrew was getting bothered by all this. way, way bothered. His heart started to race and subtle yet raw fear crept into his heart and began to nest there. His hand trembling, he turned the TV off.

After it was off, he quickly stood up and walked into his bedroom trying to put all of this behind him. Climbing into bed without changing into his bedclothes, he reflected on how this was an incredibly freaky situation. that he had to get away from for the moment and try to figure out. He didn't think of what was happening though. He actively tried not to think about it.

In that he succeeded, drifting off to sleep quickly. Before he fell asleep though, something happened. His mind drifting to what he'd seen on the TV through the cable box. He found himself, Roggily, so much so that he wouldn't remember when the next morning arrived, giggling uncontrollably at what he remembered from the news and the cop drama. As an odd sort of fog descended over his mind that was in no way related to him falling asleep, he found himself utterly entranced by what he had seen.

Getting up the next morning, he went through the usual morning routine. breakfast, getting dressed, the whole deal. He specifically avoided turning the TV on. He wasn't going anywhere near that damn thing. He'd seen enough horror movies to know that you don't fuck with shit like that. Maybe it was an issue with the station. Maybe the damn thing was haunted. Even still, he specifically avoided turn the TV on for the next few hours.

something about it and the cable box kept him away. That didn't last. He went about his day, he thought about it, and finally told himself he was being ridiculous. After all, it was probably an issue with the station after all. So, that evening, relaxing on the couch with some popcorn, he turned the TV on and, controlling the cable box with the TV remote, switch. the channel to one of those golden oldie stations, the ones that played TV shows from decades back. He landed on one of those family dramas from the 50s, the kind with the picturesque and perfect upper-middle-class nuclear family. This was the one where the Clyde family, headed by Mr. Arnold Clyde, and his wife, Mrs. Jean Clyde, raised their two sons Bobby and Bill,

teenager and preteen respectively and weaved through the trials of middle class America in the 1950s Andrew had watched it a number of times it was wholesome in a way that he liked anyways in this episode Jean Clyde was alone in the kitchen cleaning the floor

she was wearing one of those 50s dresses with an apron and had her hair done up in an extremely well-kept style the kind that only people in fictional TV shows ever had in day-to-day life. She had a sharp but kind face, beautiful in that movie star kind of way. As she cleaned the floor, she was muttering somewhat angrily, but not too angrily, this was the 50s, about being left to do all the work by herself.

Then she stopped. and stood up, slowly turning to face the camera. Andrew blinked. This was it. He'd had it. He reached for the remote, grasped it, and lifting it, moved his finger to press down on the power button. He was stopped, though, as the lady on the screen started to speak.

Hold it right there, hon. She said. grinning somewhat wickedly as she rested her hand on her hip. Andrew froze, his eyes widening. He blinked a few times, trying to see if he was just dreaming or seeing things. Sure enough, when he opened them again, she was still there. She laughed a tiny bit as she apparently witnessed this, running her free hand through her hair. She then continued speaking.

Now, if you're done acting like a scared little goose, we can have a nice chat. She then smiled sweetly, the way an archetypical mother would smile to her five-year-old. As Andrew witnessed this, his heart wasn't beating hard in fear. Chills weren't running down his spine. Oddly enough,

He found himself drawn in by all this. He felt a blissful joy rising up inside of him. He wanted to see this and wanted to hear her out. Sure enough, that's what he did, letting out a relaxed sigh as he laid back on the couch. Jean Clyde clapped her hands together excitedly as she saw him relax himself. Well, ain't that a nice cold glass of lemonade? Now, where to start?

She paused for a brief moment, her eyes running across the ceiling, and then quickly refocused them on Andrew again. Smiling even more brightly, she said sweetly, but with a dash of fire in her voice. All right. See, hon, I'm about to start moving on, but before I do, I'd like to get to know you a little more. See, and I'm just going to be honest here. I like you a lot. I also think I can really help you out. Show you things you've never seen before.

As she said that last sentence, her voice got lower and huskier. It was at this moment that Andrew, his eyes connected with Clydes. Notice that she was staring intensely at him. and breathing very heavily. He then noticed that, and he didn't know how this was possible. She was staring into him, if that makes sense. He didn't know how to feel, honestly. A part of him deep down, the core part,

was screaming at him to turn the cable box off and get rid of it, drive it out to the ocean, smash it with a hammer into a million bits on the pier, then dump them into the water, get into the car and never look back. He didn't, though. He didn't because he wanted to hear what she had to say. As she looked into him, he felt giddy inside. He didn't know how or why, but he felt that this was good, that she was good, and that this was something he had to see through.

Jean Clyde continued, Okay, now we can get started. She spoke firmly as if she had a mission. She then casually moved over to the knife drawer, as if she was getting ready to cut a pie into various pieces, and opened it. She deftly plucked a knife out of the drawer and turned to face the camera, smiling at Andrew.

she smiled brightly as she held the knife in front of her she smiled brightly as she lifted it and she smiled brightly as she began to cut hard and deep into her neck tracing the blade into a wide cut across the entire front of it as the blade sliced the skin open just as if it were butter blood splashed and rushed out of her neck all over the

front of her in a violent cascade. As Andrew watched, the one thing he couldn't forget later on, that never left him, was that she was smiling the entire time. This was too much. There was the part of Andrew that wanted to keep him watching that made him feel like he needed to keep watching. More than that, he felt a strong urge, a near overwhelming driving. fact, to touch the cable box. That's all it'll take, that voice inside of him said. Just reach out and touch the cable box. You will see then. You will absolutely see. He stared hard into Clyde's eyes as the pressure built inside of him.

Soon he was thinking it would be fine. What harm could there be? wasn't it worth it to take the risk to see what this person wanted to show him? Before he knew what was happening, he found himself pushing himself off the couch and taking small, slow steps towards the TV and cable box. Then, out of nowhere, shoving forcefully from deep within him, the part of himself, from deep down, finally wrestled itself into his main conscious.

As Andrew stood there before the couch, his mind screamed, Get it off! Through his entire body. With that, he desperately grabbed at the remote and stabbed his thumb down on the power button as hard as he could. The picture on the TV disappeared into a sea of darkness, as the cable box's front lights dimmed as it shut down. A few moments later, few moments later, his blood racing and tension tightening his nerves. He got up and paced back and forth. This wasn't good. This was not good. What the fuck was that? His mind was racing a million

miles a second. Why was he about to touch the cable box? As he paced, He felt terrified shudders raced through his body. Whatever it was in that thing had nearly got him. It nearly fucking got him. Tears of pure fear

welling in his eyes. He stopped and glanced at the cable box. There it sat. Small, black and compact with the company logo on the front side of it. He knew he had. to get rid of it. He knew this. By the end of the evening the cable box was dropped beside the dumpster outside his apartment. Good fucking riddance, Andrew thought, as he walked away from

the box back into the building. He went to bed early that night. That night he dreamed of Jean Clyde, smiling as the laughing detective from the cop show put his gun to her. head. As he pulled the trigger and the bang of the pistol firing exploded into his ears, he awoke, his eyes shooting open. The next day was a workday. It was easy, very boring and routine, to be honest. Andrew spent most of the day going through his sales reports, compiling them into a report for his supervisor. In the break room during his lunch break, he sat by himself and ate his lunch alone, As Brenda and Ryan from accounting gossiped about Jenny's out-of-wedlocked pregnancy with her boyfriend, and how they had no idea she'd break the news to her husband.

It was that kind of day. Something ate at Andrew, though. Ever so gradually, as he was working on his reports for most of his day, his mind kept drifting to the cable box. His initial feelings of horror and terror aimed at the cable. box were now subsiding and being replaced by curiosity. He shouldn't have felt curious, given what he experienced, not in the slightest. Yet he did. At first it was just idle curiosity, and he rightly shoved it down and ignored it. Then it came back again. Harder, stronger and more fiercely.

after an hour all he could think about was the cable box thoughts of what was on it and what jean Clyde had to show him besieged his mind his mind kept going back to jean Clyde and of how wondrous what she had to show him was this was all quite illogical but something had seized in his mind something that even he could somehow vaguely perceive was alien to said mind. By the time another hour had passed, his mind and body flushed with the feelings of giddiness and fogginess that had migrated into his brain. The night he watched television on the cable box for the first time,

he had left work early to race home, desperately hoping that the cable box was where he had left it. It was. Jumping out of his car, he raced over to the cable box and, picking it up, checked it for damage. None. Soon after, his car was parked and he was in his living room, reconnecting the TV to the cable box as quickly as he could. His hands trembling with sheer excitement and anticipation as he did so. Minutes later, he turned the TV and the cable box on, and appearing on the screen was jeaned.

Clyde, smiling lovingly down at him. I knew you'd come back, sweetheart. Of course you would have. Now, I need to show you something. As Andrew stared up at her, he could vaguely feel the tears running down his face as her soft, loving, gentle voice cascaded over him. He knew what he had to do. He knew. He reached forward and laid his hand on the cable box. At that moment, Clyde saw it, and her eyes lit up as a wide, excited smile appeared on her face. As he noticed her smile brightening even more,

with even more sheer excitement, he felt something. Not just the ecstatic joy and bliss that had come to him from Jean Clyde and his connection to her now. No, not just that. What he felt most of all was an icy chill, slowly migrating from his hand up his arm, and then through his body. At first it was just cold, like an icy breeze in the Arctic. Then it started to turn to pure bliss, as if it were morphine.

The beautiful, lovely wave of good feeling radiated throughout his entire body. As he sunk deeper and deeper into bliss He looked into the eyes of Jean Clyde Seeing her return that same blister him in her eyes Andrew never showed up to work the next day Nor the next nor the next No one else heard from him either Eventually a missing person's report was issued

When the police entered his apartment the week after he disappeared They didn't find him there. They didn't find anybody. They did, however, find a living room carpet soaked with dried, rotting blood. The room stunk to high heaven from it. Also missing, though the police didn't know to notice this, was the cable box Andrew had purchased some weeks back. The police did launch an investigation into Andrew's disappearance, and investigated the possibility of foul play, but they could find no evidence of anything, nor any leads. So it went nowhere.

Andrew was never seen again. A week later, in Moscow, Russia, Alexander Korolev, a 19-year-old hacker taking a break from fishing credit card numbers from gullible Americans, was leaning back in his chair, his feet on his desk. In his lap was a bowl of chocolate ice cream as one of his favorite episodes of his favorite program finished downloading. As it started, he smiled in a satisfied fashion. Jean Clyde was angrily cleaning the floor. Then something weird happened, stopping abruptly and then standing up and facing the camera. Jean smiled. speaking in perfect Russian, with a sweet, kind-natured voice, she said,

Hello, Alexander, we need to talk. Next up is The Suit by Malcolm Teller. Jared had just finished tying the tie when he reflected on how he came into this amazing fortune. He didn't believe his luck even then. He definitely didn't believe it. where he found the suit in the consignment store down on fifth. He'd been going there for the past while, trying to drown the feelings of inadequacy and despair that had been plaguing him.

A year out of university still couldn't find anything past retail. And add to that, the woman who he wanted to marry leaving him, it wasn't good. He reflects on how around that time he'd started thinking about leaving everything behind one day, one way or another, either by up and leaving this country or leaving this world through the morgue, either appealed to him equally.

The suit, though, the suit. Sleak, black, slim and practically shining, just hanging there in the back row over the back of that old thrift store. the one that constantly smiled like the 1970s and that looked about as much he'd been browsing idly no intention of buying anything just trying to see all the neat things that were there while he imagined himself buying something it might sound odd but it was comforting in a weird way and then then he saw it brushing his fingertips along the arm of it, tasting the fabric with his touch. He was struck by how soft and light it all felt. As he looked at it, he imagined himself wearing it, how professional and how great

he'd look. Try walking into an interview with that on. That was when he knew he had to have it. He felt it deep in his bones. He glanced at the price tag. and cringed. It cost a bunch, way more than you'd expect from a place like this. Still though, it took him about an hour to get home on transit with the suit. He headed straight home without making any detours. He was that eager to try the suit on for the first time. Getting home at around 5.30 in the evening, he quickly got into his apartment, shut and logged the door, and then practically raced into his bedroom. There was something about this suit.

He just had to have it on him, had to see what it was like. Within minutes he'd stripped down to his underwear and was then putting the suit on. First, the exceptionally thin black dress socks. Then the pants that fit him just right, not too tight or too saggy. The belt with the plain, pure silver box.

The dress shirt, with its barely visible patterns worn into the fabric. The tie, with its criss-cross patterns of grey silver bars. And finally, the jacket. Dark, foreboding, intimidating and impeccably professional. With the suit on, he stood back and looked himself over in the mirror. As he looked on, he felt himself fill up inside with joy. and pride. He looked amazing. The suit fit him to a tea, and not just that, but vastly enhanced, not just his appearance, but he could just feel there was a vibe he gave off. He also felt how he

looked. He wasn't some schmuck who couldn't get a job with his BA, or who got abandoned by the woman he loved more than anything. No, he was a real man, a real piece of work who had grabbed the world by the horns and make it submit to him instead of the other way around. Anyways, he'd finished trying it on more or less. So now was the time to take it off, hang it all up, and save it for a special occasion. Unless he couldn't, he found. he just couldn't this was just too good a suit to have it just hanging in the closet for the next two months or however long it took for him to get a job interview

he had to show it off really impress the world before he knew it his mind was made up yeah he'd take it out for a night on the town an hour and a half later he was strolling down main street in the downtown core. The moon was hanging high in the air, with the glitzy and glamorous lights of the street and of the stores aligned along the sidewalks punctuating the darkness. The sidewalks

were abuzz with people of all sorts from all walks of life, hippies, business people, students of all age ranges and more. The city was alive and Jared loved it. More than that, Jared was alive too, in a way he never had been before. Moving amidst the crowd of people in a brisk stroll through this urban nightscape, Jared felt like a king. The suit made him feel empowered. He made him feel like he could do anything, be anything, accomplish anything. His heart thundering with power and his body pulsing with barely contained energy.

The suit made him feel like he was the man he dreamed of being his entire life, someone in charge, someone people respected and admired. If only Marcy had respected him that way. His thoughts drifted over to Marcy and everything he had given for her. Her shy, almost nervous look that concealed a powerful self-confidence and the sheer energy with with which she tackled life and everything in it. Their bodies tangled together, naked and sweaty, in the middle of the night, as the sound of their breaths filled the bedroom they both occupied. But then, it ended. No fanfare, no drama. She said she just wasn't satisfied and left.

Word on the street a week later was that she'd already found someone new. A stop broker named Andrew. Jared then looked him up on the popular social media network that he liked to use. He was good looking, had it together. Looking at his photo, he hoped he'd make Marcy happy. To say he was shattered over the breakup was putting it mildly, but he dealt with it. He didn't beg her to come back because he knew she never would. No, he just accepted it. Now though, now he was angry, which was odd because he'd never felt anger toward her before, even with the pain she'd brought him. After all, he wasn't entitled to her love. He knew that much right off. Even still, with the suit on and him feeling

like the champion that he now knew he finally was, he found indignation rising in him. Who the hell did that bitch think she was anyways? Stealing those years of his life. And for fucking what? Just to run off with some asshole. As he finished crossing the street on 18th, Jared's eyes widened and he became vividly aware of the beating of his heart. What was going on?

He'd never thought of Marcy that way before. He realized though that he was angry Not even just angry But furious Forcing himself to keep walking It all flooded into him This world

This miserable fucking world With all of its bullshit People and its bullshit systems Maybe it would be good if this whole damned shit pile was drowned in nuclear fire He thought to himself So there he was walking the town and feeling his fury rise more and more inside of him. As he walked he tried to keep himself under control, keep his emotions level.

He couldn't though. He felt as if he wanted to kill someone, as if he needed to vent his anger somehow. Something was changing him, that much he was sure. of, but he didn't know what. Trembling with rage, he walked and walked, and as he did, something dawned on him. He was realizing that he was hot, just too damned hot. Wiping his brow with the back of his hand and loosening his tie, his eyes darted around where he was. He needed to get something to drink, needed to cool off. Finally he spotted it, a bar. Here, he could get some water from there, and then start to head home. Half a minute later, he was in the bar and talking to

the bartender. Hey, could I get some water? I'm fucking parched. Jared rasped, his throat scratchy. The bartender cocked an eyebrow, but after a moment, nodded. As Jared waited, he wiped his brow again. This time it was actively damp. He began drumming the wood of the bar with his fingers as he waited for the bartender to get back with his water. As he did so, he realized that he could barely control his anger. Sooner or later, he'd go off on someone. He needed to, he was realizing. As he was starting to worry about this, the bartender got back with a damp glass of water with some ice cubes in it. Jared smiled eagerly, nodded in thanks, and grabbed the glass

and began to drink from it. As the cold water hit his tongue, and then raced down his throat in huge, desperate gulps, it was as if Jared's entire body breathed a sigh of relief. That was it, yes, that was it. just what he needed. His body started to cool down as his throat got more and more lubricated and, oddly enough, his emotions began to level out too.

After another minute or so, the water was gone and Jared felt himself to be more cooled down and more level. With that, he turned to leave and began to walk toward the exit. As he moved, A person coming into the bar, short, skinny, curly hair and with a mouty face, with a young woman by his side.

Long hair, early twenties looking, probably the guy's girlfriend, bumped into him, and as he did so, shoved him to the side with his arm. While he did this, he snidly snapped at Jared to watch where he was going, before turning to his girlfriend and laughing about it. Jared had felt level, well that changed. He began to think, you miserable mother, but didn't finish his thought, before he had deftly reached over to a nearby table,

grabbed hold of a wine bottle by its neck, and, as hard and fast as he could, smashed it over the man's head. The glass exploded as it impacted with his head, and the man immediately tumbled forward and then collapsed to the ground in a heap. As Jared stared down at the man's body, he noticed it lay motionless.

The woman quickly dropped to her knees and began yelling. Johnny! Johnny! Johnny! Can you hear me? Her voice was fraught with fear and despair. She was really scared she might lose him, Jared thought. He didn't stick around to find out for sure, though. By the time half a minute had passed, he was a block and a half down the street. His feet smacking the pavement as he pushed himself to run as hard as he possibly could. Finally, when he was a good distance away, he slowed down, leaning against a wall.

Panting hard, he glanced back at the way he'd come. An idiot grin on his face. When he'd started his night on the town, he'd felt alive and he felt like a king. Now he felt like a god. That miserable piece of fucking garbage, Jarrett thought to himself. Try to fuck me, did he? He replayed the events over in his mind, and as he did so, started to giggle wildly. He was so.

damned happy. He'd never felt like this before, in charge, powerful, dominating. As he soaked up the power and assurance of those feelings, he oddly felt his bitterness rise in concert, his eyes casting a wide glance over the people passing him by, back and forth. He found himself wanting to strangle each and every one of them. he did so. He felt something akin to hunger. He needed to do something, to vent his anger, to be the man this suit had made him into. He had no idea what was causing him to change like this, nor would he ever, even when the change had finished its imprinting onto him once and for all. It was hard to describe what he was feeling. It was sheer, raw fury.

along with the desire to hurt. Very quickly, Jared had decided he would commit some form of harm to night. Part of him, a very small part, was begging him not to as he leaned on the wall, panting. He didn't listen to this, though. He couldn't. He felt the thirst like he never had before. Not just that, but that which was changing him was feeling an even stronger thirst, needing to be fed from Jared, and feed it he would. Jared realized what his course of action would be when he saw a certain someone pass him. White button-up shirt tucked into his grey suit pants, cell phone to his ear, grin on his face. it was Andrew

the same Andrew that took Marcy from him Jared felt rage rise within him yes but that wasn't what filled his mind filled his being what did fill his mind and being was a singularity of purpose a conviction even and before he knew it

he was following Andrew waiting for the right moment. He followed him for seven blocks before Andrew, shaking his phone and furrowing his brow, ducked into an alleyway. Now Jared knew this particular alleyway. It was a helpful shortcut to the nearest subway station. Smiling eagerly, Jared followed Andrew into the alleyway. What happened in that alleyway was neither nice or wholesome in its description. What is worth noting is that Andrew never noticed Jared until it was too late and that he never even had a chance to scream. Jared was on him so fast. The punches eventually landed with thick, wet, smacks to Andrew's

face. And finally, for the coop de grass, Andrew's skull split open like a ripe melon with a satisfying crack as Jarrett smashed it into the cement ground over and over as hard as he could Andrew's brains collapsed out onto the ground beneath him resting now in a pool of thick dark blood as for Jarrett well he was panting hard his heart pounding massively with sheer excitement and joy It wasn't just that it was satisfying killing Andrew, is that it felt like it's what he was made for. As well, he now had a taste rate. He had a taste of he knew not what,

but a kind of high that he knew he would need again and again. This would be repeated, he was sure. What he didn't know is that it would happen again because what had changed him, What had been changing him this entire night had now been fed and would feed again. As he stood up, the front of his suit was stained all over with blood. Nonetheless, this didn't bother him. He began to move toward the exit of the alleyway.

As he stepped out into the street, there wasn't a speck of blood on him, not one. He got home after about an hour. He stripped off his clothes, got into bed, and slept the best sleep he'd had in years. As he drifted off into dreams, he knew, deep down, that he'd wear the suit again. He had to. He didn't have a choice in the matter. He was even a tiny bit aware of that. Then the day would come when it would need to feed again.

and he would feed it. Oh, how he would feed it. In exchange, he would feel like the God he knew he was always meant to be. The suit hung there in his closet. And as it did, inside of its own consciousness, it laughed viciously. Our fourth tale of the macabre this evening is Death vs. Dr. Singh, by Sin Crow 7.

Dr. Amani Singh awoke without the usual terror that accompanied him with the arrival of morning. Nightmares had beleaguered him for several weeks, but he awoke this morning without the usual sense of impending doom. He turned to see the words, Etymono Leshe Doma Darae, or the face of God falls upon you, written in blood along the wall. These words written in blood, provided no motivation.

He took a deep breath and relaxed a little deeper into his comfortable bed. The sound of a tea kettle signalled imminent danger. He went to the dining room where plates and silverware were set along the table. He heard shuffling in the other room. The whistling of the kettle continued as he peered through the doorway leading to his kitchen. He saw the dead girl wearing a summer dress that still held the dirt sky. from when he found her. Her flesh looked more like eroded plastic after decomposing for several weeks between being dead and post-reanimation. She removed the kettle and it calmed in no time.

She filled two cups with warm water and settled them onto separate plates. She brought them up with such care as she turned towards the doorway. When she realized Dr. Singh was there, she fell back in surprise and almost let the plates fall to the ground. Oh, doctor, you startled me. Her face held together well, despite the several weeks she'd been dead. The rot at the point where her forehead met her full, lustrous hair was the only point where he saw any cracks. A layer of skull poked out from the busted sinew. He'd stitched her several times, but that point never stayed. Persephone, why are you here? Dr. Singh asked, we've been over this and over this again and again. But doctor, I have a good reason this time,

I promise. Persephone always had a reason to see the doctor. Her cheerful smile was hard to deny. The doctor was always in the business of letting her off with a kind warning. What might that be? he asked. I saw the face of God today. You know not to joke about that, the doctor warned. If you're not being serious, I'll find a way to ensure you never find me again. Oh, doctor, don't say that. I would never lie about something so important. Would you be willing to prove it? Of course. Dr. Amani Singh lived in a small home.

He lived a life of austerity well within his means. He had no hopes of advancing any further, upgrading his house to anything more than a place to rest until he died. Everything looked the same, except for the metal door that stood along the wall between the dining room and parlour. The door held three locks. one of which required a key. He told the dead girl to close her eyes

and removed the key from a compartment in his shoe. The lock turned. Before he could open it, Persephone touched his hand. What is it? The doctor asked. Why would he be down there? What do you mean? Where else would he be?

No, I mean, he's the most powerful being in the union. universe, correct? Yes, of course. So? So why hasn't he killed you? Why would he let you live after you made him your prisoner? Why doesn't he go somewhere else? Do you think you can keep him forever?

I don't have answers for any of those questions, Dr. Singh said. I've thought about them, but I'm starting to believe there might not be an answer. Sometimes things happen and you just have to consider your... herself lucky for how they happened. Why would he let me do this? He enjoys feeding me bits of wisdom, knowing I want more. He knows I couldn't stop searching, even if everything failed and I was left with nothing. It's a struggle, a quest for which I have come too far. I can't turn back. He knows that, and he loves to serve as my tormentor. Do you think it's a train? She asked.

I do. Dr. Singh opened the door. It pulled into the wall. He found the light along the wall which illuminated a wooden stairway. Dr. Singh walked halfway down the stairs when he turned and said, Are you coming? Persephone thought about it for a moment, but took that first step into the basement. She turned and pulled the door closed.

Dr. Singh continued down the stairs, walking out of sight. More lights went on in the basement. As she made her way around the corner, she saw several worklights hanging from yellow hooks nailed along the ceiling. Dr. Singh had three separate tables covered in papers. One of the tables held a computer he never used. He preferred writing everything down. Her eyes couldn't move from the massive obstruction.

A metal sphere projected from the wall. Several wires of various colours hung around the sphere and made a mess, as they piled around on it. On the other side was a small glass panel for viewing inside the machine. Persephone thought about it for a moment and couldn't resist. She moved closer to the glass, taking special care not to let the creature see her. She looked in and saw nothing, except an impenetrable black.

It's so dark in there. Why would you do that to him? His eyes concerned me, the doctor replied. I could feel them on me at all times. I still do. At least now I can act like he's asleep. He never sleeps, the girl replied. He never sleeps and he never dies, Amani said.

I've done this a million times. He doesn't seem bothered by it every time he dies, at least not as much as me. Every time that I kill him, I feel a bit of myself die in the process. He's taking you then, the girl warned. How many more times until he reaches that delicate centre? How long until he consumes you? I don't know, Dr. Singh replied. it's as inevitable as death itself.

Death for him is not inevitable, doctor. Hmm, we'll see. The doctor turned on the machine. The engine needed a moment to wake up as it hummed back to life. Another lever stood on the right side of the machine. He pulled it and a light flashed from the inside. The revolving arms and legs within the sphere were a way.

They weren't moving, but the machine was on. The engine hum grew louder, until an incessant clicking noise alerted them to a red bulb that flashed throughout the room. Everything went red as they neared that final stage. He took a deep breath and pushed a blue button. The lights turned on inside the machine. The creature stared, as if its eyes had never left him. It maintained the same emotional as smirk as it always had. You should have left him where you found him, Persephone said. His awakening was foretold, you know. You think you've found the scientific discovery of the ages, but that's what he wants you to believe. What does that mean, Persephone, he asked. I know he's leading me to a trap.

I know that this won't have a good ending, but what other choice do I have? If this can benefit the human race, what choice do I have? Dr. Singh made a point to look into the eyes of the monster, as he waited to let his machine perform one last task. Several restraints lined the walls inside the machine. Two separate metal poles held the creature's ankles, while two more held his knees. Two poles held his hips, torso and neck,

while a cranial vice held his skull. Metal poles and wiring restrained every inch of the creature. Machine itself was akin to some kind of human meat slicer. It cut through each of these restrained parts as it made its way to his throat. The machine moved to cut. cut its body to ribbon. Every time it cut, the body of the creature fused and the wounds disappeared. One final incision severed the neck from the head. The split remained for a second before the

creature's flesh pulled back together. Dr. Singh took a moment to consider the look in the creature's eyes, before he pulled the final lever. The supports pulled away from the wall, for only a few inches. It rotated for a moment, moving the creature around. Another metal support moved within the sphere. The difference was the thin metal wire that dangled from the top. It revolved a few times until the wires cut through the creature's throat. The creature's eyes went wide as blood pooled around the wound and healed right away.

The creature kept his eyes on. on the doctor. The wires cut through its ankles and knees, hips, torso, wrists, shoulders and elbows, until it cut through his throat. A flicker of light went off with every cut. The light flashed over and over from several bulbs lining the inside of the machine. Anger became all that the doctor could see in the creature's eyes. The bursts of light illuminated the unremitting rage, clenching down on the monster. It bubbled against its cold, dead skin, until the light flashed once more and went out.

The lights in the basement went out. The doctor called to Persephone, but she didn't respond. Dr. Singh crept over to the closest desk, trying not to make a sound, until he had the flashlight he kept in the lowest compartment. He turned it on and waved it around, until he found her. Besefany's eyes were empty.

The sockets clung to worms squirming to escape. They poured out of her open mouth and through her nose. Beatles broke through her flesh, tearing the seams that the doctor had worked hard to secure, as she fell apart. She collapsed to the ground, and the parasite feasted. on her remains.

Red lights flashed as the machine turned back on. Tied within the machine, he saw Pesophony. She cried and fought to break free. Dr. Singh tried to open the machine, but the mechanisms couldn't disengage until it stopped. He moved to the emergency override panel. It took some time, but he put the code into the system and everything shut down.

The room went dark until the light inside the machine flickered. It flickered over and over. Pesephani spun around with her mouth hanging wide as she screamed in a noiseless terror. The first cut of the machine went through her ankles. The next went through her hips. The next followed up her torso. It cut her to pieces as her body parts dangled from the restraints. A vomit of worms and insects poured down her chest and splattered against the glass.

It tore her to pieces until the lights went out. Dr. Singh pushed closer to the glass. It flashed back on and Persephone was gone. The chair sat empty. The red light flickered over and over in the basement. He felt the eyes watching him and brought the flashlight over to see. There were hundreds of bodies. They didn't move.

They stood there with empty eye sockets dripping with pus and worms. They made the same horrible sound, as the worms slid out of their bodies and littered the basement floor. But Zephani, I know you're there. Tell me where you are. Dr. Singh searched as he heard the distant cries of the dead girl. They echoed within the walls, but whenever he got too close,

they dissipated into silence. Persephone, please, don't be mad. You do this every time, Persephone said. You use me as bait. I can't do it anymore. I'd rather be dead. Don't say that, the doctor asked. But please, say something. Is he with you? He's somewhere in here, Persephone said.

but I can't see him the clouds are much thicker this time we'll have to remember that I wonder if clouds come in on that side like it happens over here with the tide you didn't notice many when we did this last night it's not the same this time Dr. Singh walked into his parlour

the words vincennes or vengeance vengeance dripped in blood down the wall. Doctor, he's here! Persephone yelled. What do I do?

Remain calm. Remember to follow my voice. Doctor, he's levitating again. He's coming. Dr. Singh closed all the doors around his dining room. He lowered the curtains and an impenetrable black filled the room. He hit the second switch and the light on the ceiling illuminated. the room in a purple beam.

Markings in white lined the walls, ceiling and floor. Pesephani called out, her voice becoming fainter. Dr. Singh moved around the room, getting things into place, when he realized two people were sitting at the table. He turned to see a man wearing a tux

and a woman wearing a wedding dress. They turned to him without concern, and he saw the red lines marking each of their throats. blood decorated the bride's dress. Doctor, where are you? Persephone cried. He's right here. I can't run anymore. Where are you?

I don't know. Come on, Persephone. You need to focus. Find the sign and I'll find you. He's so close. Just do it. Persephone went quiet. The man in the tuck stood up at the table.

Both people kept their eyes unblinking as they watched Dr. Sing's ever remove. The woman started to cry. The dining room shifted. Three bodies lay with their heads folded between the floor and wall. Their chins stuck into their collars. Two young girls lay with massive wounds in their chests. Bones poked out of their ribcages, along with busted organs and blood. The other woman was the bride, except instead of the wedding dress, she wore a black nightgown.

Blood covered most of the gal, leaking from a wound in her neck. The images flashed between Dr. Singh's dining room and this other world. The bride twisted in her chair, wrapping her hair into complicated knots around her fingers. She tugged once and raised her eyes to the ceiling. The light folded in her eyes, collapsing into an impossible black as she screamed. What was that? Persephone asked. Find the sign. Dr. Singh kept his back against the wall as the groom walked away from the table. The two girls appeared in white dresses.

They blocked both doors and sang a nursery rhyme. Something about little lambs all alone. The symbols projected a few inches from the walls and danced in place. It's the lightning bolt, Hosefni began. Two lightning bolts with a circle around them. Dr. Singh looked around for the symbol, as the bride picked up the butter knife. She stood up and tossed the chair aside. The table and chairs levitated a few feet off the floor.

The lightning bolt stood on the other side of the room. The girls sat with their legs folded, rocking in place, as their eyes shifted to a horrible white with hundreds of red cracks. One of the girls leapt and bit into his leg. He fell over and the other girl grabbed his arms. They held him down as the mother came closer. The groom leapt with joy, clapping his hands as he looked to all the signs. The sign spun in place. The groom put his hand through a sign of a tree on fire.

The symbol blazed in a fiery crimson before collapsing to dust. A vortex appeared and spit grey clouds into the room until Persephone's head pushed through and clogged the rift. Doctor! she cried out. He's somewhere behind me. The sign, I can't reach it. Dr. Singh yelled. The bride hissed at Persephone before leaping over Dr. Singh's body.

She came down with the butter knife and stabbed him in the chest. The knife didn't cut far, but made a slight incision a few inches beneath his collarbone. Dr. Singh shot up from the pain and pushed everyone away. The groom fell back against the wall. His hands reached out, swirling to touch every symbol, as he laughed and danced. He leapt up, grabbing Persephone's cheeks before planting a kiss on her lips. Dr. Singh moved as fast as he could to the symbol of the lightning box wrapped in a circle. He put his fist through the wall.

The symbol radiated a putrid green, spinning faster and faster as it floated toward the center of the room. The bride and groom sat back. The bride pouted as the symbol sucked her in. dragging her along the ground by her backside as she waved goodbye. The groom was much less agreeable. He held onto Dr. Singh's china cabinet and pulled it over. The suction became too much and the groom lifted by his feet as he held onto the cabinet. Please! The groom pleaded.

Dr. Singh had a moment of pity before the groom opened his mouth with a wide smile. His teeth were pristine white, with worms dancing around his gums. He let go, and the symbol took him away. The table and chairs fell to the floor. Persephone remained locked in the rift. Dr. Singh climbed on top of his table and pulled on her shoulders. She budged enough that he could wrap his arms around her. He dug deeper into the rift and took her hands.

He had her almost the way out. when he felt a pair of cold hands wrap around his knuckles. Doctor, he's right behind me, Persephone cried. In a panic, he gave a swift pull and sent Persephone flying across the room. Her body held together well for a dead girl. The rift closed behind them. Dr. Singh expected to see a sinister watchman on the other side. Are you all right? he asked.

I guess so. I'm sorry, but I have to ask. Did you see it? Yes, but the thing is... What? What is it? The face of God. It's the creature. His is the face of God.

They returned to the basement. Persephone took a seat at the bottom step, while Dr. Singh made his way to the machine. He looked inside The light was out When he flicked the switch It didn't turn on He's in there doctor

But there's something I can't tell you No secrets Dr Singh warned Please just tell me Well I've always had a crush on you And Persephone he considered Well Have you ever wanted something so bad

he would do anything to get it. What are you saying? Dr. Singh asked. Well, you see, Doctor, I wanted to be with you, so I had to... I had to make a deal. What kind of deal? The machine turned on by itself.

The light inside flashed and revealed an empty seat. The lights inside flashed one after the other. Dr. Singh's computer turned. turned on out of nowhere. It turned on right away, and several files popped up and made a mess over the screen. It came to a file-labeled pictures and showed several images. Hundreds of pictures of shadowy forms surrounding the doctor during his studies. Every image showed fewer and fewer of the forms. He noticed the date. The further back in time the images went, the fewer the bodies. More and more bodies appeared over time.

More and more ghosts broke through the gateway and entered his home. Pesephani, where is he? Doctor, I love you so much. The lights went out. Darkness filled the room. Dr. Singh yelled for Pesophony, as the red light flickered in illuminated countless forms. More of the forms appeared with every flicker, reaching closer and closer.

Dr. Singh backed away as far as he could, until he leaned against one of his tables. The shadows attacked. He fought, and they took him down. The machine opened, and the forms pushed him inside. They restrained him. Dr. Singh screamed for Persephone one last time, before the door. door closed. Red lights continued to flash from the outside, while the inside of the machine lit up. He heard knocking against the glass and saw the creature. It never blinked as the machine

came to life. The restraints shook, pulling him upright by a few inches, before leaving his face in front of the glass. Pesephani kissed the glass, leaving a faint, outline of her lips as she watched the machine pull him back. His restraints pulled him upright. The rig set behind him whirred into motion, dragging the metal wiring up to his neck. Several pieces from the restraints broke from the rig and moved beyond the control of the machine. They moved to sever his hands from his body, as well as the restraints that held him in place. Dr. Singh screamed as it cut pieces of flesh from his legs

ripping through his clothing to trim bits of flesh from his thigh it cut through his right leg leaving it dangling from its harness the metal wire spun through the air and wrapped around his forehead below his left ear and above his right the wire tightened around him

until he thought the pressure would make his brain explode It cut right through. Blood poured down his face and covered his mouth. He couldn't process thoughts anymore, but his eyes remained rigid with terror. The wire cut through his cheek as it made its way to his other arm. It cut through his arm. Both arms severed, leaving him dangling by his throat within the machine. The wire came up one last time.

It floated in front of his face. Dr. Singh whimpered as it tied around his throat. It tightened, cutting into the soft flesh around his neck. He lost his breath and his eyes bulged from his skull. He couldn't collapse as the wire tightened more and more, cutting into him deeper until it cut right through. His head fell from his shoulders and bounced against the side. of the machine, rattling by his feet.

It took a moment, but the machine shut down and opened. Persephone picked up the pieces of Dr. Singh, taking care as she wrapped them up. She brought them to his room and laid them across the bed. When she had every last piece, she lay alongside them. She kissed Dr. Singh's shattered face and wrapped her arms around him. The parts of him folded under her,

but she held them together. She heard a knock. She went into the hall. The noise became a thunderous boom that echoed throughout the hallway. Persephone ran to the kitchen. She set the kettle on high and waited to hear it whistle.

Before it could, she turned and noticed the doctor sitting in the doorway. The sight of him startled her. He walked with caution as the individual parts that now represented his body buoyed in place. He took a seat in a chair by the table. By some miracle, the pieces held together. Persevany, he choked on blood and worms. Why are you here?

Oh, Doctor, Persephone he watched in horror. You startled me. Persephone, why are you here? Dr. Singh asked. We've been over this and over this again and again. The pieces of him held together, but he worked to push his hips and stomach into alignment. It helped him remain upright,

and he sat with a straight spine, angling upward around his neck. But, doctor, I have good reason this time, I promise. "'Price,' Persephoney recited from memory their conversation. "'It was one they'd repeated several times.' "'What might that be?' he asked. "'The top of his skull slid a little too much, "'but Dr. Singh didn't seem to notice.

"'I saw the face of God today,' Persephone said, "'as she walked to the table. "'She let her hand rest on the imperfect line "'that cut his skull in half. She pushed it into place. He did the same for the broken seam between her forehead and hairline. Dr. Singh let his finger touch the bit of skull that was always showing on her perfect face. He couldn't help but smile.

Funny, I think I just saw it, right before my eyes. Pesophany pushed away as her smile revealed fangs. She couldn't blush. as she'd been dead for far too long. Oh, Doctor, I'd be glad to prove it to you, if you'd let me. I think I'd just about have all the proof I need. Persephoney set a glass for him along with a plate. They drank their tea and enjoyed the morning.

Dr. Singh didn't bother with the machine. He never bothered with it again. They remained in the house for the remainder of their afterlives, until the property was condemned. People came to the house all the time, but nobody stayed for long. Several issues deterred potential buyers, like the star crossed lovers with stitches,

dangling flesh and broken frames, who, without fail, always stayed for longer than breakfast. We round off this evening's tales of terror with paid for in blood by Imperial Invective. A note from the desk of William Markham. The four word to this interview is to provide the Stoker Estate some elucidation on the more

unseemly sections of the preceding interview. For the sake of brevity, a brief detailing of events leading up to the interview has been listed. I was contracted by the Stoker Estate to locate the crew from the latest expedition to inquire about their dereliction of duties, conduct an interview about their failure. and mediate in the termination of their service. After plying the locals around the Providence area, I received some information about the possible whereabouts of one Mr. Howard. Mr. Howard had been inducted into Expedition 5A under the behest of the Stoker family. He had been selected due to his knowledge of the nearby town, and his disbelief of the local room was surrounding

the recently purchased Ladd excavation sites, which had been shut down two decades prior to the Stoker in state's involvement and subsequent purchase. The subject of the interview was intercepted from the local constable after an incident at a local bar in the Providence area. Mr. Howard had been sequestered after a violent outburst in a local bar, which led to his expulsion from the establishment. Afterwards he was detained by the local constable when he was witnessed in a state of dishevelment and unseemines.

I was made aware of his location and arrived at the constable's office to negotiate his release after the proposition of accounting the events of his expedition. He appeared groggy and suffering the effects of the previous night's revelries. He initially turned down my inquiry until I made him privy to the fact that I was mediating on behalf of the Stoker family.

It was only then that he began his tale, the testimonial of Mr. Howard, regarding the events of August 20th, 1913. We left that morning in high spirits. We had been promised a great sum for a small deal of work. Our party consisted of myself, Mr. Ambrose Derleth, Matthew Campbell, a name I suspect to be a pseudonym, and Ramsey Hodgson.

We had all been enlisted due to our desire for work, easy pay, and familiarity with violence. I was a willing participant in the border war before being called home to address family matters. Matthew Campbell was likely a sell-sword, willing to work for the highest bidder. Ambrose Der Leff had little experience, but he showed fortitude and an admiration of my brief military history. As for Ramsey Hodgson, he didn't talk much the night before. He instead chose to keep company at the bar. The damnable stoker estate paid us a pittance up front, with the promise of a full payment after the work was done. At this point Mr Howard was advised not to speak ill of his employers.

This admonishment did nothing to change his disposition, and instead seemed to agitate him further. As mentioned, we were paid a paltry sum by the venerable estate, to lead a small expedition to investigate the claims of workers at the level. lad excavation site. Outfitted with only the most basic weaponry, a Springfield M1903 with a bayonet from my time on the frontier. A bolo knife, which Mr. Campbell asserted was all he required, or likely the only weapon he had any real proficiency with. An occult, single-action army revolver. The intrepid Ambrose did not arrive with a firearm, which I suspect was due to his lack of means and financial situation. He instead carried a cudgel that had likely been put to work in the farm for dealing with pests. In the end, the weapons afforded us little hope against what we

would encounter down in the darkness of the excavation site. Having been briefed and provided with details of our excursion, Mr. Hodgson led us through the woods towards the ladd excavation insight. As we journeyed, I regaled Ambrose with tales of my experiences during the frontier war. He listened, wide-eyed and rapt, as Mr. Hodgson regarded him with a sad smile. He knew the intrepidness of youth, and the tragedy which followed such an attraction to adventure. Upon recollection, the woods have taken on a darker and more sinister tone. Whether this is as a result of my experience, or if it is actually the case, I do not know for certain. The only thing I can say truthfully is that Ambrose noted the presence of a large amount of mistletoe on the surrounding trees,

and how it seemed to increase as we drew closer to our goal. Mr. Hodgton briefed us that the esteemed Stoker estate had been experiencing a number of workers who had either failed to report in for duty or had fled. Due to the presence of bandits and ne'er-do wells in the surrounding area, we assume these people had been waylaid and robbed. After a sweep of the woods, we found little to suggest the presence of a raiding party. We saw no signs of camp, and nothing to suggest that anything supported the theory of bandits abducting, ransoming, or robbing travellers or workers. It was at this moment that Matthew Campbell suggested we return.

turn to the town and collect our reward. Mr. Hodgson adamantly opposed this idea and proposed the counter suggestion of exploring the excavation site to ascertain whether or not there was any size of brigands having set up an encampment there. Mr. Derleth vocally supported this suggestion. As a young man, he assumed everything would be an adventure and would end with the forces of good routing the evil. He was too young to realize how a skirmish with the thieves would only be quick, violent and wholly unfulfilling. I had learned that lesson already. I supported the idea and we continued towards the excavation site as a group. Matthew Campbell wasn't pleased with the outcome, but knew that if he left the party now, he would get nothing upon completion of our

task. He did not seem to be in accordance with this turn of events and made his sentiments known to us. Mr. Darleth was so energized by this prospect that he almost danced through the woods as we drew closer to the damnable sight. The entire time, he kept inquiring about Mr. Hodgson's and my experience in combat. I told him a few stories to help pass the time while he listened with attention, hungry for every detail. As we prepared under the auspices of a tree riddled with so much mistletoe that it was near impossible to see the sky under its infestation. The excavation site was devoid of life. The silence of our surroundings hung like a pall over us, yearning to be broken. We decided that a lantern would only serve to alert possible miscreants to our presence,

so we would press into the deep with only our weapons and our wits. God help us. They were not enough. Mr Howard requested a drink and was promptly denied one due to his circumstances. He became taciturn and refused to continue his recounting of events until something was procured for him. Once a cup of spirits was provided, he drank it in a single draft. He found no response.

in the strong drink, and he continued his story. The excavation site was wholly uninteresting. It was what you would have expected from an abandoned site. The air was thick with dust and agitated our lungs. We refrained from coughing for fear of giving away our position, as we ventured deeper into the darkness. A majority of the mining equipment we found had been haphazardly left strewn about the tunnels.

As we proceeded deeper, the area grew darker and more difficult to navigate. Still, we refused to use the lantern until we could ascertain whether or not brigands were abound. The darkness obscured a lot of detail, but I do remember noting that our uncertainty increased the further we ventured into the depths. Our weapons brought us a small measure of comfort, but the darkness was almost oppressive. Whereas most of the party was discouraged by the environment, Mr. D'Aleth pressed on undaunted, driven by the singular promise of adventure and excitement. Matthew Campbell lingered behind the group with furtive movements,

as if preparing to take flight at the slightest hint of danger, and Mr. Hodgson pressed on with the grim determination of a veteran. We made progress deeper into the sight by clinging to the walls and proceeding with caution. It was here where we came across the depths, purely by accident. Poor Ambrose was the first to discover the descent. His hand slipped into the gap and he went tumbling down into the darkness with a shocked cry. Mr. Hodgson was the first to react.

without a second thought he threw himself into the hole and slid to the bottom I moved next and tried to carefully navigate the treacherous descent down to the other two by the time I reached them Ambrose had regained his senses

and with the help of Ramsey rose to his feet I surveyed the area around me and noticed that climbing back out of the pit would be a difficult task without rope or means to secure us ourselves. I called up to Matthew to tell him we were unharmed and that he needed to find some means to help us extricate ourselves from our predicament. He promised us he would try to find some

rope or some other way to help us out. I requested he slide down the lantern so we may try to find some way out. But he stated that he needed the light to search the area. I tried to protest but by then the coward had fled and left us in the darkness. Luckily, Mr. Hodgson had a small amount of tindersticks which could be used to survey our surroundings. He struck the tinder stick and briefly illuminated the pit, which revealed the desperation of our situation. The incline was far too steep to try and ascend with no footholds

without risk of falling and badly injuring ourselves. It appeared the excavation had broken through to another cave system, while mining the ore out of this one. Before we can make out any more of the area, the light was extinguished by a slight gust. We watched in despair, as the flame on one of our few tinders flickered and went out. Our despair was quickly replaced by Mr. Hodgson's insightful nature. He reasoned that this deep in the cave, We shouldn't be subject to air currents, so the fact we had just experienced a warm breeze suggested we were close to an exit. Uplifted by this fortuitous news, we proceeded in the direction of the wind.

All thoughts of finding any possible bandits and raising their encampment were forgotten in our search for an exit. We moved slowly through the blackness and groped along the walls to keep on the right track. Ambrose Darleth had suffered a slight sprain in the fall and had a pronounced limb. But our encouragement drove him onwards. We came to the conclusion that we were ill-equipped to deal with our current situation and would need to regroup and request more funding before we were able to mount an effective expedition. Ramsey led the foray into the blackness,

armed with only his revolver and a few tinders, with Ambrose trailing behind us. The wind was intermittently blowing and drawing us forward down the winding series of tunnels and further away from the light. We walked in complete darkness for a few minutes with nothing but the steady footfalls of our boots before Ramsey decided to ignite another tinder stick.

He fished one out of the carton and it was upon striking the second tinder stick that he revealed the man standing before us. The man was in such a dishevelled state. He almost appeared like a wretched white, straight from a cautionary tale. I would have put him to the baynett of my Springfield M1903, had Ramsey not stayed my hand.

The man regarded us with wide eyes that appeared almost black from the dilation of his pupils. His clothes were filthy, and he was no longer wearing boots. He was dreadfully thin and appeared sickly. Ambrose fearfully inquired about his well-being, but the man just looked beyond us, with an agape mouth, as if in shocked awe at something beyond the veil of normal sight.

He mouthed words I could not comprehend, with a tone and inflection which seemed completely alien to our group. All attempts to rouse him from his trance proved fruit. us. His experiences in time in the cave had rendered him semi-catatonic and unaware of the world around him. We reasoned that we had come across one of the reported lost miners who had gotten lost in the depths. His harrowing experience had rendered him dumb and deaf to our inquiries. We tried to coax him to come with us, but he stood transfixed, facing deeper into the tunnel. We eventually decided we didn't have the means to free him from his wretched reverie,

and that we would have to return for him later when we had enough men to prepare a makeshift transport for him. One memory of the man sticks with me, which is that he wasn't attired like the local miners, who wore thick clothes and cloths around their faces to protect themselves from bituritulets and dust motes. Instead, this man was outfitted in a gear, more befitting of a traveller or wanderer. Given that no sane man would wander into a cave of their own volition, this leaves me with one essential inquiry. How many expeditions had been sent there before us? Mr Howard's question was evaded, and he was provided with another drink, which he gratefully accepted. He once again drank it in a single motion before continuing on.

We left the catatonic man behind. He refused to be moved closer to the exit, where the wind was coming from, and we did not have the numbers to forcibly extricate him from that spot. I promised Ambrose we would return for him, once we were able to locate an exit and regroup with Matthew. He assented, and we continued down descent with trepidation. steadily welling up inside us. I tried to ignore the fact that the airflow was leading us deeper into the darkness and further underground.

But with each passing moment, the realization grew stronger. I told myself that the cave would eventually open up on some lowlands, and we would see the sun again. The further down we walked, the more close the walls became. We started out being able to reach either side of the walls to the point where we could touch them without outstretched arms. Soon it shrunk down so much where we had to walk in single file and squeeze through crevices. Still, we pressed onward, following the intimate puffs of wind, driven by the promise of freedom and light. The smell was hardly discernible at first, but as the earth closed in a round, around us and the darkness grew. It soon became apparent that the odour could not be ignored.

Each time the breeze worked its way through the tight channel, it brought with it a singular smell. We were forced to cover our faces with our sleeves from our clothes to try and shield ourselves from the overpowering sense. I cannot forget that melodrous sensation as long as I live. it was the smell of rot I assumed we had found the remains of the other men Finally After squeezing through a path so tight

That we had to draw in our breath Just to pass through We came to a large cavern I wondered if this was the final chamber Before the terminus of this excavation site The wind had now grown in strength And it buffeted us As we walked further into the abyssal black

In the darkness we could make out something in the centre of the chamber, a mist a pool of stagnant water. Mr Howard grew despondered at this point in the retelling. After a few moments, I decided to ply him with another drink. It took a moment of coaxing, but I was able to convince him to accept this offer. He drank this cup slowly, as if trying to delay the conclusion of his tale. After he finished with the spirits, he pressed off. We all approached it, curious to figure out what the object was. Mr. Hodgson and Mr. Dirtlech reached the thing first.

In their excitement at the prospect of a new discovery, they pushed forward into the murky water. It was my hesitation to enter the stagnant water so hastily, which saved me the brunt of the horror. As soon as he was within reach of the object, Mr. Hodgson struck the tinderstick and illuminated, the room. Words cannot describe the abomination we witnessed, but I will try for the sake of my final request. The thing in the center of the room was a large mass of flesh. It looked like a tangled

jumble of sinew, skin, and sin, similar to what a carrion bird would disgorge when it had feasted too much on the dead. I could make out fingers and toes. I could make out fingers and toes. I could arms and legs, and torsosos and heads, writhing and wriggling in the abominable amalgamation. The fusion of fetid flesh was covered in a sickly, slick, viscous layer, which encapsulated its form. It pulsed with a fiendish frequency, and I thought I could see through the slick layer of membrane to something inside, but I was too far away. Ambrose was not spared that mercy. Everything seemed to happen at once. Ambrose shrieked as if a searing hot poker had been driven into his nervous system.

Off in the distance I could hear the sound of voices, alerted by Ambrose's panicked yelling. We were not alone with this thing, and something told me we would not want to meet the others. Their voices were distant, but I heard enough to identify their eululations and gibbering nonsense as they grew in volume. They sounded almost tribal in nature. The struck tinderstick was extinguished by the wind that the thing generated. It's breathing. Then the true madness began. Ramsey drew his revolver in response to the sight of the thing that should not be.

and fired blindly into its mass. The muzzle flash lit up the cavern in brief bursts and revealed something moving underneath the water towards Ramsey in response to his attack. I tried to shout a warning to him, but he was too busy screaming and trying to reload to heed my words. Before he could finish reloading the revolver, the fleshy mass, which was part of the monstrous mound of meat,

encircled him and pinioned his arms down to his torso. I charged forward into the water in an attempt to save my compatriot from the amalgam. I stabbed my bayonet into the twisted tendril of tendons, watching it sink in with a sick slushing sound, but it did nothing to weaken its hold on my companion. It held tight to him and constricted his movements. A resulting shriek sounded from the mass. and I could hear the others yowling in sympathy as they hastened to the creature's aid. Ramsey struggled against the flesh as it drew him towards the miss-shaped and mass in the centre of the cabin,

but it was too powerful. I could do nothing but watch as the tendril drew him towards the writhing shape and pressed him against the odious arm. Ramsey's pleas for help turned into incoherent screams, as viscous fluid made contact with his skin. Whether the ewes was acidic or just facilitated the fiendish osmosis, I cannot be sure.

All I know is how painful it sounded. Ramsey tried to pull himself free and I watched in horror as the skin on the side of his face sloughed off where it had contacted the vile substance. But it clung to him and incorporated him deeper into its mass. At this moment, Ambrose reached my side

and stood with me before the abomination. Whereas Ramsey's military experience had steled him against such grotesque sights, Ambrose was wholly unprepared for the imagery of decay, death and destruction. He was not familiar with the cloying stench of death, nor methods of how to persevere. His eyes said everything.

He had seen what was inside the mass. He knew the creature's true form, and that revelation blasted his mind to fragments. He held tight onto my coat. Eyes, thousands of eyes inside. He repeated those words endlessly, as if transmitting the message to me might give him some sort of solace.

I pretended I didn't. I didn't know what he meant with those words. I didn't want to know what he had seen, which had irreversibly altered him. I tried to pull myself free and calm him, but he was past the realm of sanity and rationality. He gripped me tighter and drew me closer to him, while trying to vocalize what he had seen. I could hear others drawing near. Perhaps they were miners or wanderers.

they were other expedition sent forth from the August Stoker estate intrigued by the promises of riches unaware that their only reward would be paid for in blood and lunacy. Ambrose Dereleth had fallen victim to their

machinations. He was slipping into the abyss and pulling me with him. Mr. Howard hesitated at this part and a draft of beer was provided for him. He stared at the margaret for a few moments before continuing the tale without drinking. Ambrose's shrieking about eyes and twitching

mandibles only served to disturb me and draw those wretched worshippers to our location. If any of us stood a chance at survival, we would need to flee now, while the thing was distracted and the others were not around to apprehend us. Ambrose, however, would not let me go. He was dragging me deeper into the darkness and desolation of that place. I did the only thing I could do. I stuck the bayonet into Ambrose's throat, and I ran. God help me, I ran. Ambrose choked out a few words as I broke free of his grasp.

I ignored them and ran back the way I had come, sprinting through the darkness, colliding and ricocheting off the walls. I could hear the animalistic cries of Horde descend upon their God's chamber. I tried to ignore the sound of struggling and screaming, but it came unbidden to my ears all the same. I wondered how those raving madmen survived in such close proximity to that malevolent mass, and I came to a horrifying realization. It let them live. Everything needs sustenance, the fleshy shell encapsulating the thing.

It was almost like a cocoon, almost embryonic. It needed them. I broke most of my fingernails climbing out of the pit back into the mine, but I was too harried to care at that moment. All I remember was running with the sounds of their feet following me and their ravings and ramblings bouncing around in the dark. I passed by Matthew, trying to fend off a number of the psychotic supplicants who had ambushed him, but there were too many, and I was in no condition to help.

Reduced to a craven child, I could only hide in the darkness, as the madman fell upon Matthew and dragged him towards the cabin. They were caked in sweat, and were in various stages of undress. The skin along their arms was riddled with teeth marks and sections of missing flesh. They babbled nonsensical words to each other that only they could comprehend as they subdued Matthew. Once I was certain they had passed, I continued fleeing. I could hear them behind me, searching the darkness and cackling. What happened to Matthew? I do not know.

Perhaps he is still down there, gibbering and driven mad by the things he will be forced to witness. He may have been an uncouth and unsavory character, but no one deserves to suffer such a fate. Free from the horrors of that expedition, I could do nothing but try to come to terms with my cowardly and craven actions. The worst thing that haunts me still was Ambrose's words as I stuck my. bayonet into the hollow of his throat. I couldn't hear him clearly, but his words sounded something like, no, that is not right. His final words were not, thank you. They were not appreciation for sparing him from the madness and giving him the only mercy I had. No, his words were, how could you? How could you fill my head with tales of heroics and adventure?

How could you not help Ramsey Hodgson? How could you lead us into this horrible place? How could you do this to me? How could you run? He is right. I have done those things, and the only thing that brings me any solace is drink. I think the only hope any of us has now lies in the Stoker estate.

Please intimate this message to Mr. Stoker. cease all exploration into that place nothing good will come of it blast the entrance and leave the incubating thing down there to famine let it starve and save us all the horror it will release once its incohit embryo is done gestating for all of our sakes do this a final note from the desk of William Mackin. After speaking these words, Mr. Howard became non-communicative. As per our negotiation, bail was offered and he was released. As per his uncouth upbringing, he did not extend gratitude or make eye contact with me. He only repeated his request that we cease all exploration and dynamite the entrance to the mine.

He left after those words. likely in the direction of the nearest parlor. What became of him after this point? I do not know, nor do I wish to know. While I do not place any value in the words of Mr. Howard, I would like to offer a suggestion to the venerable head of the Stoker estate. The other expeditions which have been sent out have yet to return. It is extremely unlikely that there is any truth to this fantastical tale,

but there may be some prudence in deciding to suspend all exclamation and exploration until we can muster a large group to discover the truth of what happened to the 15 miners and the four previous expedition sent. As a mediator, I can only advise you to utilise your best judgment and evaluate the transcripts I have attached, telegraphed response from the Stoker estate. Believe not the tales of superstitious. prestigious locals, Mr. Muckin. They are irrational simpletons who see shapes in shadows and weave

fantastical tales. There are valuable minerals to be had in the lad mine. Expedition shall continue as long as I have the funding and men boast of their curiosity. I am willing to pay any price necessary to continue with mining operations. And so once again reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small favor of you. Wherever you get your podcast wrong, please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review as it really helps the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.