Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S5 Ep198: Episode 198: Most Mysterious Horror Stories Ever

Episode Date: December 5, 2024

Today’s first terrifying tale of the macabre is ‘The Creep,’ an original story by Negative Claim:  https://www.reddit.com/r/libraryofshadows/comments/676vbk/the_creep  Our second terrifying tale of terror is ’The Doors of Stone,’ an original story by Sabrina S.:  http://www.creepypasta.com/the-doors-of-stone/  Our third fantastic offering is ‘The #9 Bus,’ an original story by David B. Harrington, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all - submitted via email.  Today’s penultimate tale of terror is ‘The Death of Ellen Kirby Smith,’ an original story by Tiffany 360, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all:  https://www.reddit.com/r/DrCreepensVault/comments/6rdbsy/the_death_of_ellen_kirby_smith Our final macabre story this evening is ‘The Yellow Walls,’ an original story by Aritra Majumdar:  http://www.creepypasta.com/the-yellow-walls/

Think about your health for a second. Are your eyes the first thing that come to mind? Probably not. But our eyes go through a lot, from squinting at screens to driving at night. That's why regular eye exams matter. And at Specsavers, they come with an OCT 3D eye health scan, which helps optometrists detect conditions at early stages.

We believe OCT scans are so important they're included with every standard eye exam. Book an eye exam at Spexavers.cavers.caps. I exams are provided by independent optometrists. Visit Spexsavers.caver to learn more. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. Mysterious things scare us because they represent the unknown, and as humans we're wired to fear what we can't understand or predict.

The mind fills in the blanks with worst-case scenarios, often imagining dangers far greater than reality. This uncertainty triggers our primal survival instincts, keeping us hyper-alert and anxious. The less we know, the more our imagination takes over, conjuring threats that feel deeply personal and uniquely terrified. Because when faced with the mysterious, the fear isn't just about what's there, but what might be lurking in the shadows of our own minds.

We shall see in tonight's collection of stories. As ever before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's tales may contain strong language as one of the descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. And let's begin. Our opening tale of the macabre is the creep by negative claim. Look, I'm an old fuck. All right.

There's no getting around that. But I'd like to think I've got a head on my shoulders. I went to college, got a degree in some damn thing or another. Came back home and started up a bookstore. Had myself a nice family. Raised two beautiful kids. Then those kids went off and had kids of their own. and now here you are

and would you look at that here I am near the end of my life no no don't whine it's true I'm an old fuck after all now listen I was a kid

like you yeah this is that kind of story I turned 12 at the beginning of the millennium back when cell phones were a pain in the ass, back when the internet was some dial-up garbage. I saw the information age developed right from the beginning, up to where it is now. I've lived a good life,

and I'm still kicking, so I guess that means something. But I did this, all of this. In spite of what went down with this thing we called the creep. Yeah, it's also that kind of story. Now, this used to be a bog standard suburban neighbourhood. Can you imagine that? Now we have graffiti in the alleyways, bars over the windows. Hell, we even have a subway hooked up.

But back then, it was all white picket fences and minimal light pollution. The kind of shit that nowadays, you'd think was some kind of... alien planet straight out of a sci-fi movie. And when I say a bog standard suburban neighborhood, I mean bog standard suburban neighborhood. Like so suburban, that a minute or two's car ride would lead to grassy knolls and verdant farmlands. We even had the creepy house at the end of the block, lived in by some old fuck. The same kind of old fuck I am now. Live in. alone, a widower, in his dilapidated shack of a legacy. White fences stripped of their pain by years of neglect. We called that old fuck the creep. Why? Well, it's simple. He looked like

a creep. Later on, I learned he probably wasn't so creepy after all, that he was just a sad old guy. But hell, we didn't know that when we were kids. We thought of him like he was some horrifying paedophile. You used to tell each other that he was hiding in our closets at night and jerking. Well, maybe you're a little young to be thinking about that. But your mother knows what she was getting you guys into when she left you alone with me for the day. So, we called him the creep. One day when we were twelve, My friends and I, Zach and Samantha, we called it Sam. We decided to go fuck with him.

Ah, it was innocent enough. Just three, 12-year-old screwing with some old fuck who, in our minds, probably deserved whatever he had coming to him. What we planned to do, though, wasn't innocent at all. We decided to break into his house. Maybe hide in his closet for a change. delusional little kids so I told my mum that I was staying over at Zach's

Zach told his mum you were staying over at my house and Sam told her mum she was staying over at her friend Marcy's house on the night of the break-in we'd covered our asses pretty damn well we'd also stocked up pretty damn well too we figured that his hearing was pretty bad so we could probably get away with having a few crinkly granules bernola bars and fruit snacks while we snuck around his house.

We also figured that he would be asleep early, so we had that on our side. It was seven o'clock when all three of us arrived at his house. It was early summer, so we had about a little less than an hour of daylight left. We parked ourselves around the side of his house and got to work formulating a plan. Well, I can't go in the front door. It won't even budge So we're gonna go in through the back door Sam presented her keen observation

With the authority of a cute girl Who knew we both liked her Zach and I nodded But I was the first one who managed to speak Yeah, I agree Okay, so we're gonna go in through the back door Then what? What if it's locked? Zach stole my lead

Trying to ape the tone of a wise military advisor Then we pick the lock Or find an alternate manner of entry Zach had a stutter And he was ashamed of it Fully aware that girls don't often like guys that are they pity I took advantage of his misstep

And struck a definitive blow Yes that sounds about right Sam can provide the bobby pin And I'll pick the lock If that fails Which it won't we can look for a what was it

an alternate manner of entry Sam giggled it was on I decided I would apologize to Zach later so do you see any lights on in his house Sam asked seeing that the sky was beginning to grow dark

no said Zach when I walked by earlier there weren't any lights and there doesn't look to be someone now what are we gonna like do in there i asked attempting to engage sam in a friendly conversation hmm i don't know i was thinking just like explore and hide i'm real nervous well don't worry about that sam i can help make you less safe i mean unsafe wait What he's saying, Sam, is that we can have each other's backs in there, so we don't need to be nervous.

I figured I was really going to have to apologize to Zach after this one. I was putting on all the moves, or as many moves as a 12-year-old boy can be said to have. Sure, I can have your back too, Davy, she said. Davy was my nickname back then. No, you can't call me that anymore. It's Gramps nowadays. We eventually grew bored of just standing around and chatting and made our way into his backyard,

needing only to hop a wooden fence to get in. I helped Sam up anyway, though, just to score some more points. His backyard was filled with junk, and probably hadn't seen a lawnmower since 1983. There were beach balls, old car parts, garden flamingos, ant-hills and other things all over the place. Oh, fucking gross, Zach said. For once I didn't bother to contest his statement.

It was goddamn gross. I think we all just stood there for a minute, staring up at his house. It looked way bigger than we'd first thought, looming above us like that, backed by the night's sky. Can you see any lights on? Zach asked. It doesn't look like there are any. I think he's gone to bed. We walked up to the back door, and I tried to peer in.

There was a curtain dangled limply over the window, so only a few spots of light could get in. But what I saw was much the same. Unwashed, nasty shit. The mud room I was looking into had worn out shoes on rusty racks that probably hadn't even been so much as glanced at in years. The floors were dusty, not dirty, dusty as in nobody had walked on them in a long time. I distinctly remember thinking that I didn't want to do this anymore. Despite this feeling I called out,

looks empty, and asked Sam to hand me the bobby pin. She obliged, freeing a left bang from the pin's grip. It was then that I realized I had no idea how the hell to pick a lock. Luckily, I didn't have to, because I jiggle the knob and the door creaked open. Unlocked, I whispered, unable to tell from whom I was trying to hide my voice. Zach brushed past me and silently crept in. Sam followed, shooting me. me in anxious glance. I think I tried to signal that I had her back, but I probably looked just

as terrified as she did. We had broken into the creep's house in the middle of the night. We were criminals now. I think at that point, we realized that there was no real reason for us to do any of the things we were doing, and that in fact there were a million reasons to do the opposite. Now it was just a contest to see who would voice their own concern first. None of us did. It was pitch black in the house. I couldn't see anything. However, I could hear Sam's quick, short breaths beside me.

Her hand tightly gripped my arm. Suddenly there was a soft rattling in front of me. Then a click. Then another. click. Damn it, the fucking flashlight isn't working. Shake it a little. The same soft rattling ensued. Then a beam of light washed over the room we were standing in. It was the kitchen, or what used to be a kitchen. Plates lay in dusty shards all over the floor. A few dirty dishes lay stacked in the sink, but they didn't seem to have been touched in years.

the flashlight was focused on the area in front of us but Zach was still partially illuminated I could see him trembling in fear I glanced over at Sam or rather her outline in the dark she was glancing behind us into the void worried apparently that there was something behind us I looked in the direction she was facing as well

but of course I couldn't see anything She turned her eyes away to look at me. Her mouth opened a bit as if to say something, but then it closed again. Her hand was still tightly clamped onto my arm. I realised that the area around us was growing darker, so I looked over at Zach. He was walking forward to the other side of the kitchen,

into the blackness of the doorframe. Sam and I dashed to his side as quietly as we could, stepping on fragments of plate as we passed. Zach was squatting down, aiming his flashlight at the floor to underneath the empty doorframe. He was just staring. Do you guys see this? He whispered.

I whispered back. Hey, Zach, maybe we should get out of here. Just fucking look, man. I turned my gaze to the spot of light cast by the flashlight. I didn't understand what he was trying to get me to notice.

What are you talking about? The fucking shards. There was a semi-thick line of plate shards drawn across the floor. It looked like someone had done it intentionally. What happened? Sam squeaked. Zach looked up at her.

It's supposed to be a signal, I think. If we step on the plates, it makes a sound. Then he would know we're here, like an alarm. But why would he do that? Why would he think someone would break into his house? And not just buy an alarm system. Zach didn't have an answer. He just silently stood up and carefully

stepped over the line of plates. Sam and I did the same. We were now in the dining room, which was connected to the kitchen and the living room. Zach's beam swept over an ornate wooden table. It was dusty as well. The chairs lining each side of it hadn't been used in a while. I searched around in the dark and found a photo album lying on the floor. 1990 to 1993, I whispered to Sam, reading the dates on the cover. Hey, Zach, bring the light over here. He obliged. We leaned against the wall and looked at the photos.

It was normal family stuff. A picture of a birthday party. A little boy blowing out a candle shape like the number seven. A young woman and a young man leaning over the boy's shoulder smiling. An old man standing in the corner, smiling. A little girl sitting across from the kid. Not smiling. Probably jealous. Is that old guy the creep?

Sam asked. Must be, I said. Looks like him anyway, just a little younger. In the next photo, the creep is standing in front of a statue, holding a baby in his arms. His face is beaming with pride. Is that the statue in front of the museum? Yeah, the art museum, I swallowed.

Wondering if, maybe, I'd misjudged the creep. Maybe he wasn't a paedophile, just a white-bred family man. Then we heard it. It was a faint, clicking sound. Almost a rattle. Sam tensed up, grabbing my arm. What was that? I don't know. It came from above us. We stood there for a moment, in silence. The sound repeated. Louder this time. Sam let go of my arm and embraced me in a hug, holding me tight against her. She was terrified. I could tell.

Zach swept the light over the room, watching both of the doorways of the adjoining rooms. I wanted to move, but I couldn't. I couldn't fucking move. It's not something you really understand until you have to understand it. My body was frozen. asking me to move to say anything it would have been like asking me to start speaking in french i wouldn't know how closer ever closer this time no more than a few rooms away stalking the hallway sam started sobbing but she must have not been able to move either i couldn't bring myself to move my headfully but i turned my eyes towards Zach. He was frozen as well. Sam was whispering something now, in between sobs. I realized it was the Hail Mary in the living room now. The room next to the room we were in,

Zach couldn't take it anymore. Let's go, he screamed, bolting towards the kitchen. We followed suit, kicking the shards of plate aside in the doorframe. Zach's light bobbed up and down, moving through the kitchen, and then suddenly a grey figure darted in front of us, blocking our path, and he was on all fours, and we all skidded to a stop, then turned around and ran back into the dining room, screaming our heads off. The sound again, shorter this time, expectant, right behind us. We ran into the dining room, then into the living room and then into the hallway. Then Zach turned a corner into a side room, and there was a slam and a groan, and we followed him around the corner. Sam slammed the door behind us and locked it. Zach was crumpled against a wall.

The flashlight was flickering impotently at the base of a toilet. Sam rushed to Zach's side. Zach, are you all right? The sound was moving past us to the upstairs again. I hoped to God that it, whatever it was, the creep, had lost us, but I doubted it. Lost interest may be, but I had a sinking feeling that it knew where we were. Zach groaned. What was that?

The creep, Sam croaked, sounding like she was on the verge of tears. Or maybe she'd already cried so much that there was nothing left. Zach groped around for the flashlight. It was still flickering. Once he grabbed hold of it, it rattled and turned off, plunging us into complete darkness. I felt around for a light switch.

and flicked it on. For a moment, we were blinded by the light. Then the haze cleared. We were in a bathroom, and the bathroom was covered in bones. Sam shrieked. She'd decided to rest on top of the toilet, making sure that the seat cover was down. Behind her on top of the tank was a skull. She shot to her feet and moved away from it, over to the counter. I looked down at my feet. My toes inches away from her pelvis bone. It still had bits of shrivelled flesh on it. I could see.

My face froze up. My mouth started watering salty spit. I knelt in front of the bathtub and puked my guts out into it. The yellowish, chunky vomit splashed all over some half-eaten human legs. I started crying. There was nothing else to do. Zach grabbed his mouth and hurried over to the sink.

He uncovered his mouth and emptied the contents of his stomach all over the forcet and down the drain. Fuck! He gumbled, leaning with both hands on the counter, still heaving. Sam started retching too, but she managed to hold it in. We just stood there amidst the bone and the bath in silence, taking deep breaths through our mouths so as not to catch a width of the vomitor's stench. My stomach grumbled, begging for food. Though my appetite wasn't that big, my stomach needed something inside of it to replace what had been lost.

I wrote the silence after closing the shower curtain on the legs This is going to sound bad But where are the snacks You're hungry I mean I don't want to be but I kind of am Zach I already hadn't eaten dinner And now I just puked up my lunch

I just want to forget about this shit for a second Hey hand over the snacks please. I'm hungry too. Fuck, here you go. Zach opened his backpack and pulled out three bags of fruit gummies, handing one to me, one to Sam, and keeping one for himself.

Sam opened the bag and just stared at the gummies, a queer look washing over her face. She must not have been hungry, which was understandable. Like us, she was breathing through her mouth. mouth to not smell the puke, but the mere thought of vomit is enough to kill anyone's appetite. Not enough for Zach or I, though. We were starving. I wolfed mine down and asked Zach for another. He obliged eating another just as voraciously as I'd done. Within minutes, we'd cleared out the entire stock of snacks, gummies, granola bars, and even the saran-wrap brownie

Zach thought I'd stolen from him a few weeks back, but that had really just been lost at the bottom of the backpack. Sam still had that pale look on her face. We must have spent about ten minutes in the bathroom, just sitting there, before Sam wordlessly got up and opened the door, and then sprinted down the hallway. What is she? Zach asked. She hadn't run back the way we'd come. She'd run the opposite way, towards the cream. We could hear plates crunching from the direction she'd run, then her feet stamping up the stairs. She screamed. I could hear her feet scampering down the stairs, down the hallway, and suddenly she flew into the restroom, slamming the door behind her. She hastily locked it and turned her back to the door. Her face. Her face,

turning as white as someone with her skin tone could turn. She looked like she'd seen something that even someone who's lived for as long as I have shouldn't see. After a few seconds, she slouched against the door and slid to the floor, exhaling defeatedly, said the creep from upstairs. Zach looked at her strangely, and then asked, So, what did you see?

I noticed he hadn't been stuttering. I placed my hand on his shoulder and said, Maybe now's not the time, Zach. Before I could react, he reared up and sucker punched me in the face. I stumbled backwards, seeing stars. And then he was yelling, This isn't about your stupid fucking crush on Sam anymore. We're trapped in a fucking house with a goddamn old fucking monster man

on four legs and you're... He cut himself short and started smacking his forehead with his hand. Fuck! I was still reeling from his punch. I could feel a little trickle of blood leaking out of my nose through my fingers. Sam spoke up in a soft tone.

I'm sorry. Sorry for what? Zach asked sharply. Sorry for leaving. I just wanted to... I don't know. I don't know why I left. I felt like I was angry at something, like really angry.

And I just... I just snapped. Is that the word for it? Like when you get so scared or angry, you just go crazy. Just for a second. Her head drooped down. She stared at the half-eaten pelvis on the floor in front of her for a minute, then took a deep breath and started up again.

Anyway, I saw the creep. He was eating something. Probably a person, I don't know. There was a little light coming in through one of the windows at the end of the hallway. He was in the hallway upstairs. He was eating something like a dog. He was eating a dozen. No. He was on his hands and knees, eating this thing, like he was a dog. He looked up,

and I could see him. He didn't look like a person anymore. He looked like my grandpa at his funeral, like he was grey and dead. And he had this thing. She shuddered. This thing on his neck. I could see it a little in the light. When he was bending down to eat, It was all spiky and black and there were all these wires or hairs or something, going into his back and into the back of his neck. Then he looked up at me and she choked up a bit. The light was shining onto his back, so I didn't see much, but... Her voice trailed away, and she looked up at us. There were tears running down her face, making her hair stick to her.

her cheeks. But he was smiling. He looked like he was smiling. We've got to get the fuck out of here, Zach said. Here, no shit. I breathed out heavily. How did you get out? Why isn't he here now? I don't know. I panicked and I ran. Maybe he was too busy eating. Or whatever. I don't know. Okay? I don't know, Davy. He just looked up at me and he made the bradly clicking sound and I just ran. It was stupid of me to even go up there. It was stupid of us to come here in the first place. It's okay. If he doesn't really care about us, we should be all right to leave, right? We can just leave and call some adults and we'll be in a little bit of trouble but the important part is we'll be

I struggled to get the next word out. Alive. We'll be alive. The word had a sick quality to it. I realized then that I'd never faced my mortality before that moment. I realized that, that this world, this life, it's something that can just go away. You don't have to be alive.

It's not something that can be taken for granted. You can be dead like that in the time it takes to snap your fingers. This is something that I realized at your age, and I don't know if I'm right to tell you about it now, but it's true. And ignore my ramblings. All it is is just the useless philosophizing of an old fuck who should have died when he was 12. Sam nodded We just have to move quickly

Zach was standing against the wall staring at his hand Hey Zach I said We gotta get the fuck out of here We gotta get the fuck out of here We gotta get the fuck out of here

We gotta I grabbed him by the shoulders And he looked up at me His eyes were blank His face had the same queer expression that at once occupied Sam's face. I'm sorry for punching you, Davy. I'm sorry.

I didn't mean to do... I was just... I didn't... It's okay, man. I hugged him. Something we hadn't done since we were in elementary school. Let's just go. Sam turned towards the door and unlocked it.

You guys remember the way, right? Just down the hallway, through the living room. through the kitchen and through the mudroom. Then we're in the backyard. Then we're safe. Got it? Got it, I said. Got it, said Zach.

She twisted the knob and opened the door. And then all hell broke loose. The creep was standing outside on all fours, dragging behind it a half-consumed corpse, that it must have been about to dump in the top. I could fully see it in the light of the bathroom, and suddenly I knew why Sam thought it was smiling. The creep had two black hooks poking through the skin near its lips,

pulling the cheeks taut in a false vile grin. The same kind of hooks were embedded in its eyelids, ensuring that it had total visibility through its bloodshot yellowed eyes, framed by a face that seemed broken. The creep looked like his skull had been smashed up with a rock. It just stood there for a moment, staring. Then its throat pulsed horribly, like it was pushing something out of its esophagus.

Its teeth clacked together, and it produced that horrible sound. We all screamed as it suddenly lunged forward, pinning Sam down and slashing her across the face, making that odious rattling click. I grabbed the first thing I could, which was the pelvis, and I swung at his head. The creep staggered for just long enough so that Sam could wriggle out from under him. Zach pounced onto the creep's back and started smashing its head on the ground. The creep skittered forward like a roach, ramming itself and Zach straight into the wall.

Zach fell off its back, but I was on it again, bashing it with the pelvis. When my fingers brushed against the skin of its back, I realized that it was cold. The creep wasn't the man itself. He was just the host. He was dead. The real creep was the spiky thing on his back. I aimed for it, but the pelvis just bounced off the black shell. like I was hitting it with a pool noodle.

I turned around and saw Sam and Zach running away, through the doorway of the restroom. I followed suit, hearing the creep skitter around, reorienting itself towards the hallway. I knew I couldn't realistically expect to kill it. The only thing to do was run. Down the hallway, through the living room, dining room kitchen, slamming into walls and corners this way and that.

hearing it flit around behind me rattling and croaking an outstretched hand brush my back as i ran into the mudroom and then i was in the backyard sam and zach were just ahead of me clambering over the fence in the moonlight i followed quickly sensing the creep close behind i didn't realize it could leave the house but there was no time to think about that. Zach held out his hand to Sam, pulling her over, hoisting her up, and then she was over. Zach extended his hand out to me,

screaming at me to go, just go, hurry up, come on! I grabbed his hand and he pulled me up. Then the creep seized my leg, pulling at me with the strength of something that didn't care about whether or not it pulled a muscle. that didn't care about the body it inhabited. Zach struggled against it for a moment, pulling me upwards, but the creep was stronger,

wrenching both Zach and I over to the wrong side of the fence. I punched at the creep's arm, but it just kept holding on to me. I tried to kick at its face with my other leg, but it used its other arm to hold that one down. I was punching at its face, scratching its eyes, but it just kept coming, inching its bruised limbs up my torso, trying to get at my face. Suddenly, I heard a yell, like a crazed war cry. The creep jerked downwards towards me, making a sort of gasp, and then fell onto me.

With the final ounce of my strength, I pushed it off and looked up. Zach was standing over the creep, trying to catch his breath. The jagged wire foot of a garden flamingo was jutting out of the creep's head. He held out his hand and pulled me to my feet. Let's get the fuck out of here, Davy. Yes, let's. We climbed over. over the fence and plopped onto the soft grass below. Sam was waiting for us on the other side,

sitting down in the grass against the wall of the house, clutching her face. It's dead, Zach said. He killed it, I said, almost laughing with glee. He killed it with a fucking flamingo. Sam wasn't moving much, sitting down in the grass against the wall of the house. She was holding her face still. Sam, are you okay? She glanced over at us and uncovered her face. Three hideous gashes ran from her ear to her chin. I remembered then that the creep had slashed her.

Shit, I said, exhaling sharply. We need to get you to a doctor. Sam got up and started walking. she was silent. Hey, you're going to be okay, Zach said. It's just a scratch. It wasn't just a scratch, and we all knew it. We marched into the front yard of the house, nearing the sidewalk.

What happened next? I'm not entirely sure, but I'll try to explain it. That thing, the creep. It popped out of the fucking grass. Now, I've thought a lot about this, and here's how I figure it. The creep is a creature that latches onto organisms and takes control of their nervous system. The host is dead, but the creep still uses it, like a puppet. When Zach stabbed the old man through his head,

it severed some of the connections that the creep had to the old man's brain. But that alone doesn't kill the creep. No. All the creep has to do is pop off and find a new host. The creep found a new host. Sam. It flung itself out of the grass, landing squarely on her neck. And I saw the most horrible thing I've ever seen in my life.

She was facing away from us when it grabbed on. the wires that it used to latch onto her nerves slapped around wildly for a moment then slipped into her skin and wriggled like hair-thin worms down her spine i could see the black spiky chittiness mass shudder in what i think must have been pleasure as she started to scream she frantically turned around facing us her eyes eyes wide with fear. She wasn't just screaming the scream of someone who was in pain. She was screaming the scream of someone who'd just been flooded with something terrible, something sick and evil, more than fear. The black tendrils of the creep jabbed into her eyelids, then slid down to the corners of her eyes, tearing them apart. Her eyeballs rolled into the back of her head.

Then two more hooks shot across her cheeks. On the left side, they grabbed the side of her mouth. On the right, they grabbed onto one of the gashes that it had made earlier. The hooks pulled her skin tall, ripping the right side of her face off and tearing her mouth open on the left, into a half grin. Her cheek flapped loose like a fucking pancreat. as the hooks readjusted, grabbing onto the thin ring of skin, what was left of her lips.

They tore that apart and her eyes rolled back into place, filled with blood, weeping blood, widened, and in something that had once been fear, and was now wrathful depravity. Her throat pulsed, and her teeth clattered together. We could see it. We could see. it happening. Her teeth, pearly white, clicking through the tatters of her face, trying to make the proper sound, gurgling as it took hold. She, it,

the creep, looked at both of us for a moment. It cocked its head to one side, sizing us up through its pair, sizing us up through this new, pair of eyes. Then, by some miracle, or by some curse, it decided to let us live, bounding away towards the backyard on all fours, like a dog. It scaled the fence like an insect, jerkily but with an almost expert level of dexterity. And then, she was gone. They never found her body. Zach was collapsed in a heap on the ground, screaming. He never stopped screaming, not until the day he died.

The people who heard his screams, they caught the police, the ambulance, and the fire department, everything. The paramedics had to subdue him with morphine when they got him there. After he passed away, no, after he died, because people like he and I don't go out peacefully, won't just pass away. After he died, decades later, his mother told me that the second he woke up, he just kept screaming. Even after his throat went hoarse, even after his throat went raw. They kept him doped up and everything, but it didn't matter. What happened to me? Well, after I saw the creep, I went quiet for a while. I didn't say anything for years.

Not a word to anyone. When I finally spoke, I wouldn't talk about what happened that night. I refused. Not because I was scared, because I couldn't remember. But last night I remembered. I woke up in a cold sweat and I remembered. I remembered what had happened that night. I remembered how, after she disappeared over the fence,

a red glow washed over the house, washed over Zach and I. Washed over us and moved along, moving towards the backyard. A red light from the sky, bathing us in it, washing us clean. And then I remembered how it hovered,

only for a moment, over the backyard. How her body, how the creep, rose through the sky above the house, up, up. Last night, I remember that I never had kids, that I never had grandkids, that I never went to college, never opened that book store, that I deluded myself into thinking that I was something, that I had something, when in fact, I had something. was nothing. Nothing because of myself. Because of the creep, because of Zach and because of Sam. And someday, maybe tonight, maybe my sudden remembrance is a sign. Maybe tomorrow,

maybe a decade from now, maybe never, maybe someday, it'll come back for me. It'll come back for me. The creep, bearing the form of a 12-year-old girl with half a face. Maybe she'll hold out a hand and take me with her up into the red light, into the sky, into something I'll never understand. Hey Ontario, come on down to BedmGMGM casino and check out our newest exclusive. The price is right fortune pick. Don't miss out. Play exciting casino games based on the iconic game show.

Only at BedMGM. Access to the Price is right fortune pick is only available at BetMGM Casino. BetMGM and GameSense remind you to play responsibly. 19 plus to wager, Ontario only. Please play responsibly. If you have questions or concerns about your gambling or someone close to you,

please contact Connix Ontario at 1866-531-2,600, to speak to an advisor free of charge. BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Our second terrifying tale of terror is the doors of stone by Sabrina S. The elevator rumbled and shook as it descended. I could hear the massive gears grinding into place as they lowered the cage-light

box deeper into the earth. I felt my heart racing in my chest as the humming of the generators grew more and more distant, and the light from above filtered away into darkness. The descent was much faster than I'd anticipated it would be. My fingers gripped the bars in front of me, watching the walls of the dirt tunnel speed by. Small chunks of soil and debris clattered dully against the steel floor of the elevator, bouncing against my boots. I couldn't see very much, or for very long. The over-bright lights had been installed every hundred metres,

leaving me listening to the sounds of the descent in complete blackness for large chunks of time. Lower and lower I went. the meters flying by large chunks at a time. Depth status, 250 meters, chimed an automated voice. My breath began to steam over my glass visor, and a notification appeared in my periphery. Warning, rapid decreased temperature detected. Approximate external temperature minus five degrees Celsius. That couldn't be right.

It should be getting warmer, not colder. There was no way the temperature could be sub-zero this far down. I tried to remember if the director had mentioned anything about temperature fluctuations during the briefing, but I was blanking. All I could recall was what I was supposed to do once the elevators stopped. Depth status, 500 meters. Another notification appeared shortly after the depth message. approximate external temperature, minus 18 degrees Celsius.

Unsure of how to proceed, I pressed the largest circular button on the inside of my wrist, causing a command prompt to appear at the center of my visor display. Please state your command. The toneless female voice momentarily replaced all sounds in the elevator. There was a bright flash of light as the elevator quickly flew past another light. Contact the surface, I said aloud. My voice muted and dull within my helmet. Contacting surface, the voice responded.

And I was left listening to a series of rhythmic beeps. This is Commander Jones. What's your status? I swallow before responding. My throat suddenly dry. This is Cartographer 4. Status is clear. I'm calling to report

an anomaly. Granted, the commander told me, I could hear him exhaling loudly into his mic. My life support system has detected a drop in temperature from 30 Celsius to now minus 18. How should I... I mean, what do I do? Like, is this normal or... My tongue tripped over my words as I struggled to figure out how to put my statement together. My foggy breath now completely obscured my view. Relax, the commander instructed. His voice even and calm. The director did mention that there could be any number of fluctuations the further down you get,

including temperature. Your stasis suit will keep you safe until you've completed the mission. Hang in there. I exhaled through my nose. My fingers loosening and then tightening once again around the bottom. in front of me. Roger that. There was an audible click, followed by a three-tone chime, indicating that the call had been ended. I felt relieved knowing I could just radio the surface if something came up. Another bright spot zoomed past. The elevator continuing its journey down.

I felt the weight of my supply pack pressing down on my shoulders. I became very aware of how sticky the inside of my gloves felt against the palms of my hands. Depth status, 1,000 meters. Approximate external temperature, minus 30 degrees Celsius. Unise grew within me, tangling into a knot deep in my gut. I could do nothing more than readjust my fingers around the metal bars, watching the light slip by. Time seemed to slow down and then speed up. in bursts. I didn't know how quickly or slowly I was moving. But times it felt as if the elevator had shifted directions and was pulling me up instead of down. I became more and more disoriented, though I found comfort in the constant periodic depth updates. Depth status, 1,250 meters.

Depth status 1,500 meters. Depth status, 1,700 meters. Depth status, 1,750. Depth status, 1,750. I knew the ride down wouldn't last much longer, and so I brace myself. I released the bars, stepping backwards until my pack made contact with the back of the elevator, the plastic casing clinking against the steel bars. I bounced from foot to foot, preparing myself for my mission, watching as the lights fell away. Depth status 2,000 meters, estimated. arrival time, 10 seconds. My body became hyper aware of the suit that was encasing it. Every breath in burned within my chest, my fingertips tingling in anticipation.

Somewhere within me, gnawing at my courage, was fear. It kept me in check, reminding me that I was the fourth person attempting this mission. It forced me to stay alert and gave me the extra kick of adrenaline that I needed to go forth with my task and be the first one to actually complete it. The elevator made a violent bang as it collided with the surface. The metal box rocked and heaved as it adjusted itself to the docking platform, throwing me from the rear to the side. I steadied myself against the bars, regaining my footing. You have arrived at the desired location. Mission protocol in effect explained the automated status system

My boots crunched once they made contact with the ground I shudden lock the door behind me Before I looked down to find the surface covered in what appeared to be snow I set the mapping software into tracing mode Which would allow it to track my movements to map out an area I looked up and around Turning in place as I tried to fathom what I was seeing I was in a massive cavern.

The walls, matte and grey, like the skin of a rhino. There was a soft white light coming from somewhere high above me. It lit the room up the way the moon would in a forest clearing. There were no man-made lighting fixtures that I could see. They wouldn't have been necessary anyway, with how bright it already was. The ceiling was too far up for me to get a good look at. but what looked like snow seemed to be falling from some source at the top, completely obscured by shadow. Across the room was a pair of monolithic stone doors.

They were carved out of a glossy ivory material that glistened as if wet in the pale light from above. Intricate swirling patterns covered the doors, along with strange ruins made of lines and dots. their facets and curves bouncing brightness and shadow along the length of the doors to the sides of the doors were rusted metal crates labelled barricade material pillars of stone and lumps of darker rocks were piled on top of each other each crate overflowing with debris to the left of the doors a bit farther behind the crates was a large blue tarp covering an expansive, bumpy mass on the ground. Patches of snow painted portions of the tarp white,

while small rivulets slid to the ground, where the buildup grew too heavy. I approached it tentatively, unsure of what to expect. I grabbed a corner of the top and lifted it, crouching down to get a better look with the light from my headlamp. Bones! There were high.

hundreds of what looked like human skeletal remains, laying side by side, layered on top of each other with only a thin, knit mesh between each row of bodies. I dropped the top and backed away, pressing the button on my wrist as I faced the doors. They were massive, towering so high that the cavernous ceiling cloaked the upper ends in darkness. I wondered how something like this could have been constructed so far underground. I wondered what purpose it served. Please state your command. The electronic voice interrupted my thoughts.

I felt fear dancing through my skin. External status report. Scanning within a hundred kilometre radius, there was a short pause before the machine spoke again. External status report is as follows. depth status 2,000 meters below surface Temperature minus 32 degrees Celsius Precipitation

90% chance of light snow Flora undetected Fauna unknown My brows creased in confusion Elaborate on fauna Fauna Fauna of an unknown species and or origin has been detected. The silence that followed was too loud. Approximate distance to fauna.

My voice was only slightly louder than a whisper. Fauna detected at a distance of approximately 15 kilometres north-west. I looked at the doors in front of me, glancing at the compass that was always present in the upper right corner of my visor. North was directly in front of me, and west was to my left, whatever it was, it was beyond the door. I pressed the button twice to reset the command prompt. Please state your command. Contact the surface, I responded, running my gloved hands over the designs covering the right door, looking for a way to get them open.

Contacting the surface. I waited anxiously for a response, chewing on my lower lip as I turned my back to the door. This is Commander Jones. Watch your status. I exhaled in relief that he answered. This is Cartographer 4. Status clear. I've arrived at the destination. I paused, glancing at the snow-covered top. I've got to ask, what happened down here?

The commander took a moment to answer. We really don't know. when we sent the first clearance team down there they took some photos and I'll send one to your visor display now I heard him clacking away at a keyboard and then an image appeared in the center of my visor the doors were there

but they were mostly obscured by a large mound of boulders and slabs of stone the skeletons were lying all over the mound in various positions like they were applying their weight against the doors, and had died doing so. It appears that the humans we found down there barricaded themselves in the chamber you're now in, in order to keep those doors closed, the commander explained. But why they did so is beyond us. What do you see down there, C-4?

The photo disappeared, and I described the snowy cavern, slowly turning back to the doors. My external status report also detected fauna down here. The origin is unknown, but it's quite a ways away. It's about 15K northwest on the other side of the door, I told him, finding myself to be oddly calm. There was a lengthy pause from the commander's end. I waited for him to speak, feeling worry crawling up my chest, constricting my throat. Before I could say something to break the silence, he... spoke. C4. Do you wish to proceed? I purse my lips, taken aback by his question.

I guess, I mean, I might as well. My voice trailed off. Very well. Make contact once you've mapped at least five kilometers of the area beyond. If at any point you wish to withdraw, do not hesitate to do so. I heard his breathing hitch. We don't need to lose another member of the team for this mission. He cleared his throat. To open the doors, you need to apply pressure to the set of circular engravings where the two doors meet. You'll know when it's working.

Commander, hang in there, he said. Before he ended the connection, the three-tone chime signifying I was alone. I stood in solitude, listening to the sounds of my breaths bouncing around the inside of my helmet. It was time to proceed. I found the circular markings that he described very easily. They were the only ones on the doors, making them stand out from the other nonsensical patterns. I reached up the very edges of my gloved fingertips brushing the circles. I could just barely get my hand up enough to press the circles.

down right. The cavern filled with the clicking sound of gears turning rapidly. I watched as the circles spun in place, realigning themselves to blend in with the other whirls and spirals. A resonating boom sounded as the circles came to a halt, and the doors began to part. They came towards me, slowly, the heavy stone dredging up mounds of snow on either side. The doors groaned deeply on their hinges as they moved, their weight carrying them out. I stepped back enough for them to open without accidentally getting caught in their path, and, suddenly, they stopped. Their hinges creaked tiredly, as if crying out from not being used in many, many years.

I blinked, using my hand to wipe the fog that had settled on the outside of my visor, so I could see what lay ahead of me. Beyond the doors, I saw nothing, just an expansive blackness that leached out into the silvery chamber I stood in. If I stared too long, I could swear I saw tendrils of thick, black smoke, snaking across the floor of the cavern,

racing towards my boots. But as soon as I blinked, the vision would pass. And I was left staring into the abysmal darkness in front of, me. Approximate distance to fauna, 16 kilometers northwest, exclaimed the automated voice. I jumped, the notification catching me off guard. I knew if I stood there shaking, I would never make any progress. I might as well call the surface and have them haul me back up, but that would be a waste. I wouldn't forgive myself for not even trying. Before I could change my mind, I trudged forward. My boots crunched.

purposefully through the snow into whatever lay beyond. I wasn't sure what I was expecting, but a network of buildings and tunnels wasn't something I'd considered, especially since it was intact and well preserved for the most part. As I travelled farther and farther away from the doorway, my headlamp illuminated more of the skeletal remains of the complex city. It was carved from the same pale and glistening stone as the doors, the doors and was just as detailed in its architecture. The city was composed of high arches and

squared roofs, reaching into the cavernous ceiling. It was maze-like and cramped, the towering walls boxing me in between them, forcing me to follow their wide paths. The fitting of the blocks was seamless, each stone fitting precisely in place. Each brick was cut with an incredible amount of precision. The edges straight and clean. The buildings were spaced tightly, packed next to each other without any gaps. All had double doors in the same arch style of the city doors, though smooth and without the engravings. Slabs of stone propped up on table-like structures outside various buildings were carved with a runic script, the style different than that of the markings on the city doors. I took a photo with my visor cam, adding a note that the ruins were likely the written language of the inhabitants.

Pillars supported a net-like structure of arches high above the rooftops. The pillars themselves detailed in the same swirling patterns of the doors to the city. I marveled at the masterpiece that lay buried beneath thousands of metres of earth and wondered what had happened to those that created it. I walked for about an hour, following the path deep into the city. The farther I ventured, the more damage the buildings had undergone. Significantly more buildings were falling apart, the patterns of destruction resembling the aftermath of an attack rather than the passage of time.

I made my way past building after building, pausing as my headlamp ghosted over a particular series of structures, I'd almost missed it amongst the other bent and broken constructs. Rough chunks of loose stone and fine dust littered the area. The walls snaked with wide cracks. Every few steps I had to manoeuvre around a section of dislodge bricks bigger than I was. On one side of me was a set of buildings, possibly residences. They all bore the signs of surviving a massive impact with varying degrees of success. One was completely demolished, a few collapsing at one side or another. Though carved across them all was a deep groove, like something huge had slashed across the street, destroying everything in its path. I snapped a few photos with my visor camera

before carefully moving on. Approximate distance to fauna, seven kilometers north. A I yelped at the sound of the notification. Though it continued to startle me, I didn't want to disable them for fear of being uninformed. Whatever was out there was moving fast and coming closer. I had to hurry up and get out as soon as possible. I took a step and was knocked to the ground as the earth around me began to shake.

A low, vibrating rumble filled the air. The sound more of a sensation than something I could hear. It made my teeth clench and my chest ache. My vision grew obscured as my visor monitor picked up interference, blocking my line of sight with mismatched pixels of green, grey and white. Dust and small stones got dislodged, clattering off the side of my helmet as they fell. As quickly as it began, it ended,

and I was left leaning against a wall, panting. I wiped the excess grit off my visor as the display screen cleared up, just as another notification came up. Approximate distance to fauna, five kilometres north. It was too close, and I was too far in. I needed out now. Whatever it was, it had caused the vibration and, the interference. I had no idea what else it was capable of. I wasn't willing to find out.

That wasn't my job as a cartographer. Deeming my mission at success, I set my mapping software to reverse mode. It would now show me the path I took in reverse order, making it easier for me to find my way out. I turned my back on the city, letting the map I'd created lead me out the way I'd come in, I picked up my pace, suddenly finding a burst of energy within me. I leapt over boulders and easily skirted around debris. Approximate distance to fauna, two kilometers south. South was directly behind me. I kept at my pace, my breath fogging up my visor.

I rounded bends and ducked under low arches, my footfalls thundering over my heart meat. approximate distance to fauna, one kilometer south. The scenery sped by in a blur of grey and white. The snow from above melting instantly as it made contract with the warmth of my visor. I wasn't thinking anymore. I was just running, blindly following the line on the map. The second tonal vibration sounded. The force of it using my momentum against me.

The pathway heaved, throwing me on. onto the ashen ground. I slid forward a few feet, vaguely aware of the sound of something tearing. I laid on my stomach for a moment as the vibration continued. That single moment of rest was all I gave myself before hoisting myself up onto my hands and knees, my boot scraping against the slippery surface beneath me

just as my health monitoring systems kicked in. Warning, rapid depressurization, Warning, loss of oxygen imminent. The system repeated the notification over and over again, audibly and visually at the centre of my visor display, but I couldn't do anything about it. Somewhere my suit had been torn, and my oxygen supply was leaching out.

I had no time left to worry about it. I needed to be back in the elevator now. I managed to write myself. Getting back onto my feet is the intensity of the sound of the vibration picked up. Without hesitating further, I broke into a sprint. My ears felt full, like the sound was coming from inside of my head. The buildings quaked as large bits of roof and wall and pillar came loose, crashing to the ground around me as I ran past.

I dodged the big ones while using my forearms to block the smaller ones from damaging my visor. My display began to malfunction, the screen filling with large sections of pixels, obscuring my view. The speakers within my helmet began to play the sound of static, clipping in and out. Occasionally, a few high-pitched notes would sound before the static returned. The warning notification didn't stop, though it grew more and more distorted as I continued on. My breaths scraped down my throat, each one more painful than the last. My lungs burning as I inhaled dust and whatever other toxins were present down here. The garbled, almost incoherent voice of the notification system sounded as I dashed around a corner.

I could see the light of the entry cavern in the near distance. approximate distance to fauna 350 meters south a piercing screech blared out of my helmet speakers as I approached the exit by this point my visor display was completely illegible with its interference warning oxygen levels at 40%

I was so close to the exit now I could see the looming brightness beyond the massive doors I was almost there I was a few feet behind the mouth of the doorways when the notification system coughed out one final update. Approximate distance to fauna, 15 metres south. The vibration intensified.

The sound consuming everything. My displays died and my audio systems cut out. I couldn't hear it. I just felt it. It was inside of my bones, inside of my cells. It was invading my body, tearing me apart. It forced me to my knees, just beyond the line where the light of the chamber met the darkness of the forgotten city. I dragged myself forward by my forearms, my gloved fingers reaching out to try and pull myself into the light.

The sound pressed down on me, as if attempted to be a tempted. to merge my body with the earth. The pressure was immense. It was bearing down upon my back. It was rippling across my skin, biting into my flesh. It was forcing itself from my body and screams I hadn't realized I was letting out. A shadow, blacker than the expanse around me, descended over my fallen form. Tightness coiled around my left leg and yanked me back. Backwards, my screams became audible over the unending sound as I watched my fingers sliding over the snow-covered terrain, feebly trying to grab hold of something, anything to stop myself. The gloves I wore dug ruts into the snow, reminding me of how close I had come to getting out. I began to kick with my free leg, using any and all remaining strength I had to try and free me. myself from whatever had hold of me.

My leg connected with something solid, and the tightness recoiled. The tone of the vibration shifted even lower, the sound no longer audible, but it was impossible to miss. Suddenly, I was upright and sprinting. I ran until I crossed the threshold of the doors and slammed straight into the elevator. behind the thin metal bars with the elevator door I pressed the return button in rapid succession briefly glancing at the open doorway

as it began to haul me upwards I couldn't see whatever it was because it was as black as the darkness from where it came I did however see something a mass writhing in the shadows its tendrils leaking out into the cold whiteness of the clearing. I understood now what those skeletons had been trying to do. I understood now that we had felt them.

They died keeping those doors closed. And now I was being hoisted back to the surface. Fear grived me as tightly as the entity had. amongst all of the unknown surrounding the city there was one truth the doors of stone were open and I had no idea what had been unleashed upon the world

A third fantastic offering is the number nine bus by David B. Harrington I will never forget the first day I saw Amanda on the number nine bus I'd overslept and had to scramble around just to catch the bus on time from work. Outside, it was pouring down with rain and it was foggy. I ran across the street and made it to the bus stop just as the 8 o'clock bus was pulling up to the curb. It was jam-packed with college students and people commuting to work.

There was barely enough room to breathe. I managed to find an empty seat by the window about half. Halfway down the aisle. A spiffy-looking businessman carrying a briefcase sat down beside me and nodded politely. In the seat in front of him there was an elderly woman with a walker that was partially blocking the aisle. And seated by the window directly in front of me, I noticed an attractive young girl with long, dark hair. She wore tight-fitting jeans, a long raincoat and knee-high boots. She was probably in her early 20s and most likely a college student.

I recognized most of the people on the bus as regular passengers, but I couldn't recall ever seeing her before, and I'm sure I would have noticed. Inside the bus the windows were all steamed up, so I cleared a spot with my sleeve where I could look out at the buildings passing by. The businessman started to cough and fidget, so I pulled out my head. paper back and pretended to read. Five minutes later, the bus pulled up in front of the college. The girl in front of me stood up and nudged her way toward the rear exit. She was exceptionally pretty. She must have sensed that I was staring because she flashed me a friendly smile

as she went by. Knowing that I'd been caught, I turned around to look out the window. When I noticed something was written on the glass right by the spot I cleared. It read, Hi, Billy. Billy is my name, but I certainly didn't write it, and I think I would have seen whoever did, because I never left my seat. I was puzzled, intrigued and a little bit disturbed. It was then I realized that it must have been the college girl. Somehow she must have scrawled. Somehow she must have scrawed my my name on the glass with her finger when I wasn't paying attention. But how was that even possible? I would have seen her.

I looked out of the window to see if I could spot her, and there she was, just standing there under her umbrella, smiling up at me. I jerked back instinctively as the bus pulled away. The businessman gave me a dirty look and moved to another seat. That was really uneasy and didn't know what to do. Should I get off the bus and confront her?

I'll just continue on my way and pretend like nothing happened. I casually wiped the writing of the window, waited and ill the bus stopped a few blocks from college and hopped off. I hurried back up the hill through the pouring rain and hid in a small cafe across the street, visibly shaken and soaking wet I ordered a cup of coffee and sat down on the stool by the window

there was a group of college kids hanging around outside but by this time most of the students were already in class I sat there for about half an hour nervously sipping my coffee just hoping that I might catch another glimpse of the mysterious girl from the bus I was already late for work so I called my boss to tell

I wouldn't be coming in. I gathered up my things, left the cafe, and walked to the corner to catch the bus home. I had the following day off, but I caught the eight o'clock bus going downtown anyway. It wasn't nearly as packed as it had been the previous day, and this time I found an empty seat in the rear of the bus. As I walked down the aisle,

I spotted the mysterious college girl in the corner of my eye. She was sitting all alone in the middle of the bus She glanced up and smiled coquettishly as I passed by Which gave me a chill We again made eye contact and my heart started pounding faster She was absolutely breathtaking I finally reached the back of the bus and sat down nervously A few minutes later the bus pulled up in the bus

front of the college and the kids started filing off the mysterious girl stood up paused a moment then looked directly at me and smiled again as if she knew exactly where i'd be sitting when i peered out the window to see which way she was going she suddenly turned around and waved at me just as the bus drove away i immediately rang the buzzer to signal i wanted off at the next stop. I trotted back up the hill to the college. This time there were lots of kids milling around, but the mysterious girl was nowhere to be seen. I dashed across the street and ducked into the cafe for another cup of coffee. I sat down and just stared out the window for about twenty minutes, but still didn't see any sign of her. It was as though she'd simply vanished into

thin air. I was just about ready to give up when a couple of college kids came walking in. I recognized them right away from the bus. I waited until they got their drinks and sat down. They started joking around with each other and kept glancing over in my direction. I finished the last of my coffee and got up to leave. As I walked by their table, one of them turned to me and said, What's up, dude? Hey, you write that dreaded morning bus too, don't you? Oh yeah.

I see you guys on there all the time. What's going on? I asked. Nothing much, really, the other one said. Just grab him some coffee before class. What? You on your way to work or something? No, not today.

I answered. It's my day off. Say, maybe you guys can help me out, I inquired. I thought I recognized someone on the bus this morning. Maybe you guys know who she is. I don't know, dude, who is she? The first one said, and they both started to chuckle. I don't know her name or nothing, but she has long brown hair and was sitting in the middle of the bus. I have. I have. I explained. They looked at each other and thought about it for a moment. I don't know, bro. Could be Becky, but she don't ride the bus much anymore. Where do you say you knew her from again? He asked suspiciously. She used to be an old neighbor of mine, I lied. I think she lived a few houses down from me. Just then, the other kid interrupted. Ah, you mean that weird sophomore chick that

always rise the bus by herself. What's the name? Amanda or something. Oh yeah, her. His friend confirmed. She's definitely a strange one. I don't think she has any friends. Well, listen, man, the second one said, we really got to get going. I'll be late for class. It was nice talking to you and good luck. See you later, the other one said, and they got up to leave. Thanks, guys. See you around. Amanda, huh? I had a difficult time getting to sleep that night. But Saturday morning I woke up refreshed and ready to take on the day.

I wondered if the mysterious college girl lived close by. She didn't look familiar and her name didn't ring about. Yet somehow she knew who I was. How else could she have known my name? I wondered what else she knew about me. I called my mum to tell her I'd be dropping by after lunch and left the apartment. It was a pleasant day for a change, so I caught an uptown bus to the mall and strolled about the shops for a while, just to see if the mysterious college girl happened to be out and about.

I wandered the streets for a good hour or more, but didn't see her around anywhere. So I stopped in one of my favorite restaurants for a bite to eat, then hopped across town bus to drop by on my mother for a short visit. It had been a few weeks since I'd seen her. When I arrived at my old house, my mother greeted me with a big hug, and we sat down and chatted over a fresh pot of coffee. We talked about the usual stuff, my work, my social life, that sort of thing. As I was getting ready to go, my mom asked if I had a new girlfriend. I told her that I didn't, and she said,

That's funny. Are you sure? Because a very polite young lady by the name of Amanda just called before you got here and asked me if you were on your way. She sounded very sweet. I tried my hardest to stay calm and pretended as if I'd never heard of her before. Did you tell her I was on my way over? I asked.

Yes, of course. She said she'd call you later. Is everything on her? all right, dear. You seem troubled. Yeah, yes, Mom, everything is fine, I reassured her. She sounded quite young, Billy. How old is this new girlfriend of yours anyway? I don't know, Mom. I told you, she's not my girlfriend. I'd better be going now. I'll call you in a couple of days, okay? Sure, honey. She gave me a big hug and kiss, and I rushed out the door, anxious to get home before Amanda called.

When I got back to the apartment, I noticed that somebody had called and left a message. I turned on the answering machine. The voice on the recording sounded creepy and slightly distorted. It was that of a young girl, and this is what she said. Hello, Billy. This is your new girlfriend, Amanda. Sorry we missed each other at the multiple. today. But don't worry. I'll be there waiting for you tomorrow. See you then. I heard childish laughter,

followed by a busy signal and a dial-tone. Then the phone went dead. I checked the caller ID, but the number was unavailable. I yanked the cord from the wall in frustration and fell back in my easy chair. How the hell did she know I was at the mall too? She must have followed me from the moment I left my apartment. For all I knew she was still watching me. I slowly walked over to the window, parted the curtains and looked down over the busy intersection. Could she be hiding in plain sight? I was growing weary of this game of a cat and mouse. In fact, I wasn't even sure who was the cat and who was the mouse anymore. On Sunday morning, I hopped the uptown bus and got to the mall, just as they were opening the doors.

There was a line of shoppers waiting to get in. I took the escalator to the upper level and found an empty table in the food court, where I could sit down and drink my coffee. I watched the people coming and going as I waited nervously for Amanda to find. I carefully scanned the pavilion to see if I could spot her spying on me and catch her at her own game. Almost an hour passed and I still didn't see any sign of her. I started to wonder if I'd been stood up. I opened my paper back and began reading.

A few minutes had hardly gone by when I heard the click. clack of boot heels approaching from behind. I spun around in my chair and there she stood, just smiling down at me seductively. I was stunned. She was easily the most beautiful girl I'd ever laid eyes on. She wore skinny jeans, a tight t-shirt, and her raincoat was unbuttoned, revealing a full, curvy, voluptuous figure. Her legs were long and slender. Mind if I sit down? She asked in a soft, sultry voice.

No, of course not. Please do, I said. Gestering to the chair across from me, I was completely mesmerized by her charms. Her long chestnut-coloured hair was silver. She wore a pair of dazzling diamond-studded earrings, and her deep blue eyes were positively dreaming. They were the color of midnight, and they seemed to pull me in as if I were falling under

some kind of seductive spell. Like what you see, Billy, she said flirtatiously. You know, if you play your cards right, you might get to see even more of the later. I was speechless. What's the matter? Cat got your tongue. She held my gaze with those big hypnotic eyes. I tried to look away, but I simply could not take my eyes off of her. Finally, I said, what do you want for me? I mean, why are you so interested in me? I don't even know you. Oh, I think you do. After all, I know you, don't I, Billy?

She said sarcastically. I was dumbfounded. How do you know my name? That was easy, she replied. Why have you been following me around? You don't know anything about me. She leaned forward and said with a mysterious. your smile. Oh, but that's where you're wrong, Billy. I know everything about you. Oh yeah,

like what? We've never even met before. I know you like pretty. How the hell did you get my mother's number anyway? I demanded to know. The same way I got yours in the phone book, of course. She said nonchalantly, what do you want from me? I asked. I asked. I asked you. I I said the game. You have no business following me around. Don't you have a boyfriend? Why? Are you interested? She paused for a second. We could go out on a date sometime. I'll bet you'd like that, wouldn't you, Billy? She replied playfully. I want to know why you are so interested in me. It's really quite simple. She said, biting down. her lip. I've always found men to be shallow, ignorant little twits. They are dull, self-centered,

and usually quite obnoxious. But you, Billy, are the exact opposite. You are extremely intelligent, very inquisitive, and you have a certain air of confidence about you, which I find irresistibly attractive. I'm flattered, I really am. I'm just not used to being stalled by pretty girls. I'm sure you understand, I said. With that, she stood up unexpectedly and said, I'm sorry, you'll have to excuse me,

but I really must be going now. She reached into her handbag, pulled out an envelope, and set it down on the table in front of them. I sure hope you'll come by to see more of me later. I'll be waiting for you. you won't be disappointed I promise she flashed one last provocative smile

before turning to leave I watched her casually walk away I immediately tore open the envelope nearly ripping the letter inside I unfolded the letter and read the address 4-4-4 Devereux Hill Drive

I knew the area well Devereux Hill was located in Cardinal Crest, right off Davenport Road on the outskirts of town, roughly 20 miles from the mall. I stuffed the letter in my pocket and looked around. It was only 1115 and the food court was already packed with hungry shoppers. Now it was my turn to follow her for a change. I stood up abruptly, nearly tipping over my chair, and bolted it. across the crowded pavilion. I was only 30 seconds behind her.

Everybody turned to gork in astonishment as I practically flew down the escalator and sprinted through the lobby toward the exit. I pushed hard on the door and stepped outside to see if I could spot her. But once again, she had simply vanished. It was then I noticed a couple of security guards eyeing me suspiciously.

so I lit a cigarette and walked leisurely back to the bus stop. When I got back to the apartment, I called my mother to ask her if I could borrow the car for a few hours. I told her I had a date with a cute girl from the college. She asked me if it was the same one who called looking for me the other day. I explained that it wasn't and said her name was Becky or Brenda or something, and that we had just met at the mall. She readily agreed. When I arrived at my mom's place around six o'clock,

she was waiting for me on the front porch. She handed me the keys and said, Have a good time, dear. Drive safe and have the car back home by midnight, please. The old Ford wagon started right up, so I drove into town and filled up the tank just in case. I took the main drag out of town and turned left onto Davenport Road, heading east toward Cardinal Crest.

I drove by farmhouses, rolling pastures, dense woods, and miles and miles of cornfields. By the time I got to Devereux Hill, it was already getting dark. But the old Fairmont climbed the steep incline with ease. I cruised past the historical society and old cemetery. From the top of the hill,

I could barely make out the dark silhouettes of the headstones, a museum looming in the headlights. Her house was at the top of Devereux Hill. I did a quick drive-by of the place. It was a large, two-story Victorian brownstone mansion. The house was dark and mysterious, except for a single light that shone through one of the second-story windows. I switched off my headlights, pulled into the church park,

parking lot about half a mile away and shut off the engine. I locked the wagon, pocketed the keys and hiked back up the hill toward her house. Old iron gates leading down the long driveway were wide open, so I stopped to take a good look around. I've always had a morbid fascination for the macabre, but this place was downright spooky. It literally gave me goosebumps. I felt uneasy and apprehensive and wondered if I should go through with it or not. I even considered just turning around and going back home,

but in the end my infatuation for Amanda got a better of them. I pulled the hoodie up over my head and started creeping cautiously down the driveway. Everything was silent and still, except for the old weather vein and the giant oak trees creaking in the large. wind and the occasional passing car. The front lawn was scraggly and looked as though it hadn't been mowed in months. There was an old forgotten flower garden with a run-down gazebo that was in need of a fresh coat of paint. When I finally reached the steps leading to the front porch, I was greeted by a pair of giant stone griffins staring down at me with menacing expressions.

The big front door was constructed of thick, heavy wood, and the red paint was chipped and faded. There was a brass lion's head door knocker, which looked as though it had recently been polished. I decided they'd better have a look around out back before I announced my arrival. Just to make sure there were no hidden dangers lurking in the shadows. There were more oak trees and the tall grass was over. were run with daisies and violence. I could hear the sound of wind chimes tinkling gently in the breeze. Over beyond the embankment, near the edge of the property, by a dense patch of woods,

I noticed what appeared to be an old dilapidated servants' quarters covered with ivy. And in the middle of the lawn stood an old brown sundown, with life-sized statue of a raven, perched precariously on the tip of the point. I snuck around the back of the house and slithered up the other side until I again found myself face to face with the winged griffings. But this time the door was propped wide open, as if somebody were trying to entice me inside. I slowly crept up the crumbling concrete steps and hesitated. Inside the house was pitch black and silent, taking a deep deep,

breath, I crossed the threshold and entered the gloomy mansion. It smelled damp and musty. I gradually inch forward, into the darkness, the floorboards creaking and cracking under my weight. Without warning, a violent gust of wind came swirling out of nowhere and whipped through the vestibule, slamming the big front door shut with a loud thumb. startled, I jumped back with fright and stumbled into something very large and heavy. It was an antique grandfather clock, but it wasn't just any old grandfather clock. It was the same one my grandparents had before they passed away. I recognised it from my childhood when we would go and visit them at the farm up on Bluebird Lane.

Every detail was exactly the way I remembered. from the clockmaker's signature to the patterns in the world to the familiar rhythmic ticking sound the pendulum made as it's from back and form right down to the scratches in the walnut chip in the crown and the cracked faceplate from the time I accidentally tipped it over when I was nine or ten I stretched out a hand to steady the swaying timepiece before it could come crashing down on top of me I found a light switch on the wall and flipped it off.

A chandelier lit up, dimly illuminating the room in a pale glow. The far end of the hallway was a parlour, with a long flight of stairs twisting its way up past the balcony to the second floor. On one side of the staircase was a beautiful old Steinlet, and on the other a magnificent marble labyrinth. I fumbled over to the foot of the stairs, stairs and hollered. Hello? Is anyone home? Amanda, are you up there? It's me, Billy.

Nothing. The house was perfectly still. I called out her name again. Are you here, Amanda? It's me, Billy. I know you're up there. Not a sound. Just the tick, talk of the old grandfather's I'd had just about enough of her charades. I was determined to put an end to this game of hide-and-seek once and for all, and charged up the stairs. The second floor was dark, too,

except for a faint, flickering shaft of light leaking out from under the crack of one of the doors at the end of the long hall. I crept quietly down the hall. I leaned forward, put my ear against the door, listened. Soft music was playing inside the room. It sounded scratchy like an old phonograph record. I knocked on the door and called her name one more time. Amanda, open up. I know you're in there. I tried turning the doorknob, but the room was

locked. Suddenly the music stopped playing and the room got eerily quiet. Amanda, Are you in there? Open the door, I shouted. Then I heard her soft, sultry voice whisper and saying, Welcome, Billy. Won't you come in? I rattle the handle again, but the door wouldn't budge. Now my blood was really pumping.

Exasperated, I slammed into the door with all my weight, splintering the frame to pieces. The door flung open, spilling shards of light into the narrow hall, and I burst into the room. The two college kids boarded the number nine bus at 7.55 a.m. As usually, it was packed full of commuters on their way to work, but they managed to find a couple of seats in the back of the bus. Hey, dude, check it out.

One said, gesturing toward the middle. see. There's that weird chick from English lid. You know, the one that dude of the coffee shop was talking about. Oh yeah, I hadn't seen her in a while. I wonder where she's been hiding late, the other one said. I don't know, man, but she sure is smoking hot. No kidding. Come to think of it, I ain't seen that dude around lately either. Maybe you got a new job or something. The first one surmised. Yeah, you're probably right. He paused for a second and then said, Hey, speaking of smoking hot, did you hear about that big fire up on Devereux Hill over the weekend? He asked. Yep, I saw something about it on the news. The first one confirmed. I guess one of

those spooky old mansions by the museum went up in flames in the middle of the night. Evidently, they pull some guy out alive just before it burned in the ground. They said it started in one of the upstairs bedrooms or something. Oh, get this. They think it might have been intentionally said. Today's penultimate tale of terror is the death of Ellen Kirby Smith by Tiffany 360. McCong, Georgia, obituary March 6, 2009. Ellen Kirby Smith, 57,

passed away in her home on March 4th. Ellen died the way she lived, an insufferable bitch. She was not surrounded by loved ones, only a daughter who happened to be there, driven by guilt more than love. Ellen's other two children were out of the country and couldn't be bothered. Her time on earth was not spent given to others or loving and adoring her children, but always chasing a husband or in the case of her last relationship

a much younger lover Patrick Patrick to whom she probably left everything because if she stayed true to form she hoped to win him back even from the great beyond she spent more time at high society gala than at the playground with her three children

She was money-grabbing, self-absorbed and outright vicious, a mouth filled with sharp knives that cut to the core. If you've ever seen Mommy Dearest, imagine Joan Crawford, but cold and neglectful. At a funeral, she will be remembered as a sunshine and roses kind of girl, but that's because people didn't know her. She was cruel behind closed doors, judgmental of her children, abusive to her husband's. No wonder she went through three. They all died trying to get away from her. She always chose the less attractive, spineless ones, because they all seem to adore her. Her last relationship was with a man, decades her junior, not spying.

spineless or unattractive. But in the end, the younger lover left her for an even younger lover of his own. Her plastic surgeon just couldn't turn back time. He could only make it a little more lifted and tighter. But he wasn't God and he couldn't make her 26. With no one left to kiss her ass, Ellen gave up and decided to die rather than live a normal life. That's what I wanted the obituary to say. I'd thought about it for years, but in the end I just looked at the funeral home director and said, I gave you the date and place of birth, a little about her public life, and you have the date of death.

Write what you want. I'm not very good with words. Not for her, not now, I thought. The sun was shining when I left the funeral home. It was warm for March, even in Georgia. I stood in the parking lot outside Mother's Cadillac and took in the heat and comfort of the midday sun. It was a beautiful day to say goodbye to her.

It was as if God himself was saying to me, Celebrate, you are free. And so celebrate I did. I caught up my best friend from high school, Sarah. And we met for tapas and drinks. Sarah understood I wasn't celebrating the death of someone, but my own liberation. As long as Ellen was alive, I felt chained, shackled to the past. A past I desperately wanted to understand.

A past I would never comprehend. Sarah knows me, and she knows the heart I have for others. She knows me to be nothing but kind, loving, compassionate. I'm not sure where I got it because I learned nothing of love from good old mommy. Sarah offered to follow me back to the house and spend the night, but I didn't need companions. I wanted to relax, turn the music up as loud as I wanted, grab the bottle of vodka in Mother's Nightstand, and dancing my underwear up and down the stairs. I wanted to do everything I never could do with Ellen around.

I arrived back at Mother's home, unlocking the large, meticulously carved wooden door with long black custom-made iron handles. iron handles. I pushed the door open and entered the foyer. Her precious marble foyer. Normally she would have me remove my shoes. She even hated the sound of someone's high heels, click-clacking on the floor as they competed with her own voice, and no one competed with Ellen. I studied the bust of the Roman Emperor Claudius. I ran my head. I ran my head. I ran my finger along his nose. Ellen would have lost her mind had she seen me do that.

But I did it because I could. Mother really loved studying ancient Rome and for some reason she was quite endeared when it came to Claude. I hope she gets to meet him and they can exchange stories

about how ill-treated they were. Though I do believe Claudius was actually a victim in many circumstances, unlike Mother. Any victimization that came to Mother was her own doing and no one else's. I walked along the hallway, examining the walls. She had very few photos of us around the house. We were never perfect enough in our pictures, so she rarely even purchased them. While we all lived at home, we were required one, family photo a year, at which time she would pay some overpriced photographer to capture our family portrait. Those were always on display. One, because in her eyes at that exact moment we were

perfect. And the other, because she could brag about the expense of such beautiful photographs. Like I've said, she was a real piece of work. I was lost in thought when the phone rang. I reached into my purse, looked at the phone and saw it was my brother, Alex. I answered. He asked when the funeral was and I gave him the information. He was still in France and my sister Elizabeth was in Toronto. He promised to pass on the information to Elizabeth and inferred he would attend if he could get a flight and ended the call.

Yeah, he seemed to care less than I did. I made my way up the large staircase. I stopped on the second floor and walked down the hall to my bedroom. I went into my room, kicked off my shoes, flopped down on the perfect fluffy mattress and began to cry. I cried like I'd never cried before. It was the first time I'd been alone in the house in two weeks. I'd been with her, doing my best to nurse her back to health along with the medical professionals.

Even when they sent her home, telling us there was nothing else they could do, I kind of hoped she'd pull through. Maybe I'm just a glutton for punishment. I was overwhelmed. I was exhausted. This was far more than I expected when someone dies. I'd never planned a funeral or awake or anything. And here I was doing it all alone.

The complexities of it are undoubtedly stressful. Death is no fun for the living. Don't let anyone fool you into thinking otherwise. Even when you are related to be rid of them, they remain a nuisance long after they are gone. I don't feel that way about my father But mother Yes

I do feel annoyed by her still Even after so many years though I miss my dad He was kind and funny Everything mother was not Why did he have to die And leave me with her all this time I knew the answer

It was ridiculous to ponder such a question, but I did. I wanted my father back, but that, as with many other wishes, will never happen. One thing I did get when my dad died was my education fund. It afforded me the ability to go to any school I wished to attend. When it was time for me to choose a university, I recalled how he told me I could be anything I wanted to be. I wanted to be a botanist. I am a botanist.

I remember being fascinated as a young child with how many varieties of plants you can find in the world. When Dad and I would go on one of our long hikes to get away from her, he would discuss everything we came across. I like science and plants more than most people. So, I did what father said, and I became what I wanted to be. I chose Colorado State for my undergrad, then went on to Cornell for graduate studies.

Mother always said it was a useless career, but each to their own. I live back in Colorado now, which is heaven on earth for me. My career has just begun, so I am grateful I've been a lot of time away. It was supposed to just be a weekend visit, but now a funeral. Bad shit always happens to me. My job was my life six months ago, but I've come out of my shell ever since I met a fantastic guy. At first we were just friends, but it grew into something extremely special. I never thought of falling in love. Until now, I'd never even had a boyfriend. I didn't even go to my prom. Yeah, I was that girl. But I didn't care about those things. Not ever, until recently, as I said, I finally have a

great guy that really gets me. He loves nature, plants, science, and me. Nerdy me. I don't know why. He's handsome, smart, owns his own business. Yet he says there is just something about me. He actually appreciates my insecurities. Understands how I feel about my life growing up. It seems he really does get me.

I become giddy, just... thinking about him. But enough about that. Back to this mess with my mother. After I cried all I could, I dried my face, left my room and headed toward the back staircase of the house. This staircase, which leads to the attic, actually is an enormous room, which is lovely, but we call it the attic. I could see the boxes against the back wall, each labeled appropriate. giant boxes marked Ellen High School Ellen University

Ellen Wedding Alexander My father Wedding Martin Stepdad number one Wedding Joseph Stepdad number two There was another box as well

Wedding Patrick But that was empty he dumped her a while back each box had the photos the dress the dry flowers anything and everything she could salvage from her multiple weddings there were other

smaller boxes as well one for each of the children she gave birth to but nothing too elaborate a few school pictures a yearbook small items like that I walked past the wedding boxes. There was a long wooden shelf above them. The box I wanted was too high up.

So I grabbed a stepstool so I could reach it. I pushed the boxes and containers in front of it out of the way. When I finally got the small cigar box down, I opened it. I pulled out all the items until I found the ever so tiny bottle. The label now faded. had a very faint number, 1992-0906. That date was just days before my father died. The bottle once contained arsenic.

I looked at the bottle and I whispered, You can rest now. I closed the box and placed it back where it had been. Months ago, once I discovered she was the one who'd taken my father away. I knew that I had to make her pay for what she'd done. I would not let the bitch who killed my father get away with it. I'd decided revenge was the only thing that would put my long-suffering mind to rest and allow my dad peace in the afterlife.

Yes, that Patrick and I were very close by this time. and when I shared with him what I'd found he decided to break it off with Ellen for good he'd promised me he would eventually and keep the promise he did the following day mother was splayed across her bed wearing nothing but chiffon and tears

it was nice most especially because she never suspected I knew about the arsenic or that I'd stolen Patrick from her. To some, it might sound unseemly to take your mother's boyfriend. But truth is, they hadn't really been together in months by the time Patrick and I fell in love. The second truth, I felt no shame.

She never deserved him. Now, you might assume I killed her with us. arsenic, but no, no, no. We killed her, but not with arsenic. I got my idea when Patrick and I decided to be adventurous in her lovemaking and go into the woods. We stumbled across wild growing deadly mushrooms. I said, I should feed her those. Then she could die like her buddy, Claudius. What started as an half-handed comment turned into an idea, an idea that turned into an action. Patrick is a landscaper. I'm fully aware of how cliche that is. So, he went back to the woods that evening, retrieved the fungi, properly of course, and brought them to me after Ellen had fallen asleep. We made love that

night like it was our first time. When in actuality our first time, we were. was months prior. You see, mother loved a good salad. She was also hopeless when it came to anything domestic such as preparing food. The day after Patrick brought me the mushrooms, I made for her a beautiful salad like the loving, dutiful daughter that I am. Was. Once she fell ill, the painful cycle of death arrived. The days and nights were long. The worried looks, the tears, they were difficult too. Acting is so hard. I was worried had made the wrong decision that I might get caught. But the doctors would never think of poisonous mushrooms. And even if they did, I'm a professional

and would have noticed instantly had there been a poisonous mushroom anywhere near the house. She'd been a drinker and a pill popper. Her heart and lungs weren't great. She had a history of severe GI issues. So, even though the doctors had a million questions, they believed her bad habits and poor health had finally caught up with her. Never once did poison of any kind enter the conversation. I wonder if it will when she meets Claudia.

After all, it was the source of his demise. Final macabre story this evening is The Yellow Walls by Eurytra Majumda. June 30th, the void that my parents have left behind ever since their death has slowly begun to consume the whole of me. I'd seen it happen with my own eyes. My parents inside a car being crushed under an oil tanker, followed by a car. colossal explosion. Nothing much had remained in that crash. That was exactly five months and twelve days ago and soon the damp walls of my house haunted me. Every unkempt corner, every discarded object, every bit of the house reminded me of happy times. I imagined I could

hear my mum humming in the kitchen or my dad laughing in the living room. My My recent bereavement was getting on my nerves. I have no relations to maintain no promises to keep. I just had my 12-hour job with all the extra hours for which I got paid. It wasn't the money that mattered anymore. I just have to keep myself engaged somehow. I think I knew it all along, but I would have to move out one day. If not to escape the cesspool of memories, then to start new.

July 2nd sold my house to a businessman, who was more than just willing to pay me a handsome amount, just enough to buy myself this house on the eastern fringes of the city. The nearest house is a mile away. I thought buying a house in the countryside would make me drive an extra hour into the city, so I chose this house with a bright yellow plaster. The colour seemed cheery. I hoped it would help me do away with my former house. house and all the memories at Harvard. The house itself seems pleasant enough and the surroundings

are peaceful. Oh, I wanted to find peace. Yeah, I think I will find peace here. July 4th. I love this house. It's warm and comfortable. The rooms are large and it gets plenty of sun and air from the windows. I met my nearest neighbor today. He seemed to be. Burly, middle-aged, good-humoured chap, and his small, kindly wife makes really great cookies. However, they seem to be looking at me a bit queerly when they thought I wasn't looking. But they probably don't have a lot of city people out here, so maybe they're just curious about me. July 7th. Something about this house has started to make me feel uncomfortable.

I feel like I'm being watched. I woke up from sleep last night, expecting to find an intruder in my house. I don't know why I felt that way. The sensation of being watched was very strong. The air had grown particularly dense and chilly. It took an effort to draw my breath. I think I'm just being paranoid, though. It's new for me after all.

I'm bound to feel uneasy, having lived in the city for so long. The nights get quiet. Too quiet for my liking. Oh well, July 8th, I woke up again tonight. It felt uncomfortable. The air was heavy. It was different, almost, wrong. I switched on my light. Everything looked normal in the light, though, so. The feeling dissipated. July 9th.

I found a discoloration in the yellow ceiling today, directly above my head. The plaster had somewhat faded away in one place. It looked wet. Maybe there was something wrong with the plumbing. Have to ask a plumber to come down and take a look. July 11th. I got a plumber to take a look a few days back.

But nothing's wrong with it. it. Even the discoloration wasn't there. But that night I found that the discoloration was back. The shape looked somewhat familiar, like a man perhaps. And the next morning it was just gone. Again. This has been happening for a few days now. Maybe the pipe contracts during the night or something like that. Water leaks out. It gets cut. cold in the night anyway. Hurts to breathe with the air all heavy. I need to check this out. July 13th, I have a growing feeling, but the sensation of being watched increases when the discoloration is there. It's creeping me out. I called the plumber who came again, and he said there

was nothing wrong. I wish it would go away. It looks like a man more than ever. and it appears at different places every day. I've noticed. Is it alive? Maybe it's a snake that's borrowed in the pipes or something. I swear I'm going to be up all night. I'll catch it if it moves. July 14th.

I couldn't stay up all night. Fell asleep. The man shape is now on the left wall. I'll try my luck again tonight. July 15th. Couldn't stay up last night either. This is frustrating. The damn shape is back and now on the ceiling.

I can't stay up at night like this every day. God, I'll mess up at work. July 17th. The shape is scaring me. I can't catch it moving. Yet there it is. in a different place every day. I've tried staying up all night watching the shape intently.

God, it just looks like a normal plumbing problem. But it isn't. It isn't. I'm sure it's alive, and I will catch it. Last night I felt so damn scared. I drew the bed sheet like a thin blanket and hit myself under it. I covered every inch of myself, from the tips of my tightly curled toes to the bend of my head. I held the end of the bedsheet tightly clenched in my fist.

Who was I hiding from? Death, perhaps. Death in the shape of a man. But death is peaceful. Death isn't repulsively yellow. Death is momentary. God, I'm worried. rambling now. Maybe what I experienced was a sleep terror or something. I'll look it up.

I have to sleep. God, I feel so sleepy. July 20th. Every night, every damn night, I am startled out of sleep to find the discoloration of different places and different positions in my room. I hate it. I can't sleep anymore. It seemed, the discoloration, the man would choose from the vast yellow spot, any spot to persecute me, torture me with uneasy sensations and terror, and I felt disturbingly obsessed with the color. What exactly was the man in the war telling me? What did I owe him and what did he owe me? I haven't confided in anyone my experiences regarding the nightly errants of the man in the plaster.

My colleagues just think I'm suffering from chronic insomnia. One guy actually suggested me a week's leave from the office. God, what a joke. That was the last thing I would ever want. The more I stayed away, the less I thought of it. as horrible as it is to come home to this entity, which I'm sure is malevolent. God damn it, I'm going to call a priest. July 23rd.

Today, when I ran away from the house frantically and reached my office, palpitating, my boss called me to his room. He suggested that I was in need of some rest. I grew desperate at the word. I pleaded with him, but his tone grew shrew. and he told me that some more deserving and fruitful man should get the money I draw from the office every month without significantly contributing to the company. In my panic and frustration, I'm afraid I screamed at him.

He looked at me like I'm crazy. Two security guards forced me out of the office, and another one kicked out my suitcase along with me. I thought of never returning to the house, but, Where could I go? Am I crazy? No, I'm not. I know I'm not.

July 24th. I saw them. I swear. I saw my parents. It was them, with mutilated bodies, dislocated shoulders, detached legs and broken necks on cracked skulls and blood smeared faces. I haven't seen anything more horrifying. But I blinked and they were gone.

But I can feel them. They're in the walls. They are everywhere. This can't be a drink-in-hused hallucination. I know what I saw. I'm not crazy. They want me to join them in the walls. They want my parents.

And they were here. I'm not crazy. I raised my gaze up to the ceiling, only to find the man gone. A discoloration had dissolved away like it was never there. I swear this time I'll catch it if it appears again. I know it's watching me. I have to prove that I'm not crazy. July 25th.

It moved. It moved. It moved. It moved. I saw it move. July 26th. Can't run. fingernail broke I scratched wall I scratch wall drink and wall scratch scratch

going home there weren't any more entries in the diary that the police had found the inspector stopped reading the last page was covered with splotches of blood this was a singular piece of literature for sure he looked around at the pale yellow walls. An entire section of a wall was scratched and the plaster was missing. Blood was smeared all over it. He assumed it was from the broken fingernails. The poor man must have gone crazy, thought the inspector. The man's body had been found laying half in and half out of the wall. His face was blue and he looked strangled. There weren't subcutaneous abrasive or anything like that. If it was possible, it looked as if the man had died from holding his breath for too long.

He crazy stuff, he thought. As he stood up to go, he noticed a wet discoloration in the ceiling. But that was only the plumbing. So, he left. And so once again, reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as all. always to the authors of those wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small for your review. 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.