Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S5 Ep211: Episode 211: Science Fiction Horror Stories

Episode Date: January 21, 2025

Tonight’s first two tales of terror are the bizarre and wonderful Alien fan-fiction takes ‘They Mostly Come at Night’ and ‘Feline,’ two fantastic stories by killahawke1, kindly shared with me both directly and also via the Creepypasta Wiki and narrated here for you all under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license: https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/They_Mostly_Come_At_Night https://www.reddit.com/r/DrCreepensVault/comments/6bq4ck/feline_by_killahawke1/ Next up is 'The Demon Hunter and the Alien Rainbow' by the wonderfully talented BloodySpaghetti, kindly shared with me for the express purpose of having me narrate it here for you all: https://www.reddit.com/user/BloodySpaghetti/ Today’s penultimate tale is ‘I Tried to be a Superhero: Now I’m just trying to keep my Sanity’, a wonderfully original work by Snickering Haystack, kindly shared directly with me via my subreddit and read here with the author’s express permission: https://www.reddit.com/user/snickeringhaystack/ Tonight’s fabulous final unmissable story is ‘Family Roots,’ a brilliant original work by Michael Paige, shared directly with me via my subreddit and read to you all with the author’s express permission: https://michaelpaigeblog.wordpress.com/

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BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. Science fiction stories can be terrifying because they explore the unknown, often blending futuristic technology, alien life forms and dystopian worlds with deeply human fears. They challenge our sense of reality by imagining scenarios where humanity is vulnerable, whether through the rise of artificial intelligence, extraterrestrial invasions, or catastrophic scientific experiments gone wrong. The fear comes not only from the speck,

elements, but from the unsettling idea that these scenarios, while fictional, might one day be possible, making us question the limits of human control and the dangers of our own advancements, as we shall see in tonight's tales of terror. Now, as ever before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's stories may contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. Then let's begin. We begin with, they mostly come out at night. There are no such thing as monsters. That's what my mummy used to say.

She'd tugged me into bed, make sure that my favourite doll, Casey, was in my arms, and tell me there's nothing to be scared of. There are no monsters, no real monsters. She would whisper these words to me mostly at night because that's when the monsters like to come out. At night, when the walls would vibrate from machinery humming in the service tunnels and sub-basements below.

I needed to hear those words when the wind would scream and how from the unstable air currents and unpredictable weather patterns that came with an atmosphere being changed by a terraforming station. The turbines from dozens of filtration exchange towers ensured the sky was never still as it took in the cold, alien environment and infused hot oxygen-nitrogen gases into the air. Just like the song my daddy would sing to me, Bad air goes in, good air comes out. I'd need reminding one more time when the giant atmospheric processing station brought the rain by releasing electrical discharges into the clouds. That was when the monsters scared me the most.

The lightning and thunder were the sound they made when they tried to get inside. The wind was the monster's voice, and the rain was its nails, clicking and tapping at the windows of my living quarters. My mummy would come and make it all better and say, there's no such thing as monsters monsters monsters killed my mommy and daddy and they were real

monsters were real and they were here the grown-ups promised they keep us safe they told us everything would be all right and help was on its way they lied our little settlement was so far away

it would take up to two weeks for the nearest outpost to reach us the monsters were smart and patient. When there was only a few of them, they quietly picked off the families living in the habitat modules on the outskirts of the colony, the ones whose disappearance wouldn't be noticed right away. As their numbers increased, the monsters began to hunt in packs, and it wasn't long before

there was enough of them and they didn't need to hide anymore. The monsters were coming. They were coming for each and every last one of us. The central air processing station was just outside. the colony's perimeter. It was the primary terraforming control center for the other automated terraforming substations spread across the small planet's surface.

The majority of the grown-ups spent most of their waking hours here, including my mommy. They were all doing their part to make this tiny world breathable, building better worlds, like all the signs and videos say. The monsters crashed through the ceiling and tore through the floor grating, catching everyone by surprise. Only a week ago, there was 158 of us.

After the attack on the processing station, we had lost 84 people. Those of us left gathered together for safety. And we had to move quickly. We knew what the monsters did to you if they took you. We knew that for every one of us taken, their numbers would grow. We didn't have much time. The monsters grew so fast. We learned that from Daddy.

was the first. They thought I couldn't hear. They thought I wouldn't know. But I saw it all. My daddy was kept in the infirmary, and I'd visit him often without him knowing. Hidden within the ventilation shaft. I'd see him in the morning and whisper a good night before going to bed. He was just talking to the doctor when he cried out in pain, and they rushed him out of the room. The grown-ups may have ruled the corridors and hallways, but the kids own the vents and shafts. That was our playground. That was where we could play games like Master Maze, and I was the best. The other kids were jealous because I could fit into places the others couldn't.

They couldn't memorize the turns and corners like me. I could go anywhere in the complex and never be seen, not once. So finding my way to where they took my daddy was a breeze. I didn't need to remember which shaft to take through the winding and turning tunnels. The screams echoed loud and clear. I follow the sounds to the grilled scream that would allow me to peer into the medical compartment. I made myself look, but in the end I closed my eyes to the horror. The screams hurt my ears.

He was in so much pain. I covered my mouth to hold in a scream when a deep snap of bones startled everyone in the room. My daddy felt quiet and still, and suddenly I could hear his body thrash and convulse violently, and the medical personnel began yelling in confusion and fear. They tried to hold him down, but the convulsions were too strong. People gasped and screamed at the sound of a loud crunch and snaps followed by what sounded like a bucket of water spill into the ground and spraying the walls. My daddy's screams were no more than wet gurgles by now, and then I heard it.

A loud and piercing screech came from something in the room, something that was angry, evil, alien. It hissed loudly and scurried violently in the opposite direction, knocking over tools and equipment as it made his escape. The last of us gathered in the safest place left, the primary operations centre. My daddy once told me it was the very first building in the colony. The original settlers had lived in here back when they couldn't breathe the air, and the operation centre's thick walls and many pressurised doors protected them from the freezing temperatures and poisonous atmosphere. The adults put the kids in the centre of the complex on the top level. They said the medical section was the safest place for us. We listened as the grown-ups did

everything possible to block off entryways, world shut each blaster and close off every service tunnel. All access points were barricaded, and all the main entry gates were sealed shut. When all was said and done, there was nothing left to do, but wait in the silence, and fear the approach of night time, because everyone knows that the monsters mostly come out at night. Mostly. The planetoid rotates once every 57 hours.

That makes for a very long night. Here, when the darkness falls, it feels like it'll never end. The monsters didn't come the first night, or the second night, but they were there. Their large bodies pressed and sun. slid against the outer bulkheads,

powerful talons scraped against steel and drooling jaws extended and clenched. A piercing shriek would call out and echo in the distance now and then. The monster's cries would startle us, causing screams of frighten, tears from most of the children. And we continued to wait.

It started on the third day with a metallic from the north gate. It echoed throughout the, corridors. Anything not bolted down, rattled and shook. I could see relief wash over some of the adults' faces. The waiting was finally over. The beating at the massive door, three levels down, grew louder in intensity. The children were gathered together and hurriedly rushed into medical isolation base only used for storage. I didn't like this room. Even though it housed so many rows of containers' equipment and good places to hide, there were no vents or shafts.

in there. There was no way to escape. We watched from the monitoring station that had been set up within the medical bay. The adults began ready in themselves. Most had small handguns and charges used for geological excavation. There were even a few crude flamethrowers. The strikes to the massive door became relentless. The pounding grew louder from massive blows now coming from the west gate. The monsters were slamming into the steel door so hard and so, so fast, I could swear I felt the floor vibrate. And they screamed with such anger from behind the barriers that blocked their way. The sounds of pounds and bangs became deafening. Claws and talons were now beating at the east gate. The echoes of metal being hit with massive inhuman force

now came at us from all directions when impacts fell against the main south gate. The bending and tearing of metal were heard throughout the complex and shrieks of victory roared out from alien lungs. We watched the blurry dark shapes fill the monitor screens, screams and hisses echoed from the lower levels as they tore down every barrier or obstacle. They filled the hallways, scurrying on the ceiling, walls and floor. And they were coming for us. The monsters fell on the people defending our last and only defense like a wall of black water. The grown-ups opened fire tossed their explosive and sprayed fire from flamethrowers, smoke-filled the room, making it hard to see. Powerful arms shot out from the ceiling and long fingers grabbed at anyone within their reach.

The monsters poured into the cramped space, slamming into the people. Screams of terror, breaking of bone came over the speakers. Images of blood and flesh filled out eyes from the small video monitors. Despite the wounds and injuries inflicted on them, it was painfully obvious that none of the adults were being killed. Every last one of them was alive when they were drafted. away, screaming into the darkness. It was over quickly. Soon every last grown-up in operations was gone. Dangling legs lifted into the air vents disappeared.

The monsters gathered around those who struggled or were capable of fending them off. They were cornered and maimed by teeth and claws. Hands or feet were torn and severed from the body. Obviously it was easier to manage and carry off their prey if it was crippled. screams for help and pleas for death slowly faded into the distance. The remaining grown-ups sealed the hatchway to the main access door for our section and stood between us and the approaching nightmares. They peeled away the hatch as if it was tinfoil,

and they were at the viewports and observation windows that lined the medical bay, hitting and scratching at the Dura glass. They shattered it in no time and began swarming into the medical bay. Gunshots run down. and screams from adults and children came from all directions. Monsters were leaping through the air, pouncing on any victims within their sight. They crawled on the walls and ceiling,

plucking, running children off their feet by their hair or even by their entire head from large six-finger claws. I cowered under an overturned medical bed when I locked eyes with a boy who couldn't have been more than seven. His arms were locked in a death grip around a support beam. Two monsters pounced on him, began pulling and jerking him violently. Amazingly, he maintained his grip around the metal beam and would not let go. I screamed in horror when they broke his arms and pried him off of that beam.

His face had no expression or emotion. His limp arms trailed loosely behind him when they carried him away. He never broke his stare on me. He didn't scream. Not once. A woman flew across the room. smashing into a large fume hood to the right and rear of the large room. Her broken body lay over the destroyed workstation.

The impact had toppled over the instrument and dislodged its upper panel, revealing a narrow ventilation duct within the wall. In a flash, I remembered the school day trip last month to see the scientists. It was the same type of instrument, the one used for dangerous chemicals. It was a juror glass enclosure with two access openings for their hands. They'd stick their hands through the openings attached to thick gloves and pour their chemicals from the inside

without breathing the fumes. The scientists said the fumes were then removed from the complex by the exhaust vans. I got to my feet and dove for the tiny opening. Three monsters hunched on all fours charged from the destroyed viewport.

I entered the duct only to discover it immediately went from ground level to a vent that went straight up the wall. I pressed my body as far as I could to avoid the claws that were reaching in for me. Oh, it pushed itself relentlessly into the small opening, wedging itself further into the dart. The slick coat of slime glistened on the claws that were inching closer.

The tips of its nails were nicking my clothes. I could feel the pull of the fabric grow firmer each time before the threads would break. I had one chance. I stood and placed one hand on each side of the vent, hopped off the ground and pressed my feet against the wood. walls to hold me up. I shimmied up the shaft bit by bit. Carefully, but as quick as I could manage, I had made it more than half-way up the duck's

distance when the scraping and beating of claws filled my ears from below. When I lifted myself into the junction, I twisted myself into the opening and briefly my eyes fell on the monster beneath me. I'd never seen one this close. Its arm was extended and wedged under its massive body. The elongated head. was cocked at an abnormal angle to face me. Transparent lips were quivering and curled over long and shiny fangs. Thick, clear drool poured out of its open mouth. It didn't even struggle anymore. It just looked at me. It had no eyes, but it still looked at me. A low and deep hiss began to build from within its chest until it was a piercing shriek. It was speaking to me. It was trying to

tell me something. It was screaming how much it hated me. I turned from the streaks of rage and quickly made my way into the ventilation system. It wasn't long before I knew exactly where I was. I disappeared into the network of ducts, shafts and pipes, the maze I knew so well. I've been all by myself for two weeks now. This tiny sub-compartment cradled in an entanglement of pipe and support-struct beams of the environmental control station. system has become my home. The ventilation fan spins above me. The monsters keep their distance from its blades. The metal beams and large pipes keep me far out of the reach of any monster's claws. I only leave my haven to scavenge for food. I avoid the main conduits in the ventilation

system and stick to the smaller secondary shafts where the monsters can't fit. The monsters rule the corridors and hallways, but I own the vents and shafts. This is my playground That was where I used to play games Like monster maze And I was the best The monsters are angry Because I can fit into places they can't

I have every turn and corner memorized I can go anywhere in this complex And never be seen Not once The monsters Can't see me Monsters

My mummy used to tell me There were no monsters no real monsters but there are in space no one can hear you meow no but seriously

I think this one I've got lined up for you this evening is fantastic I enjoyed every minute of narrating it and I hope you're going to like it just as much as I did well if I say too much more I'll be giving everything away

so you know what sit back and relax with your favourite drink because it's time to listen. Part one. The cat slowly settled on the deck floor in the brightly lit room. Stretching his long body, he led out a giant yaw. Like his human companions, he was groggy and felt slightly sick from the remnants of the chemicals lingering in his system.

Reviving from cryosleep was an unpleasant thing, and it always put him in a standoffish mood. One of the humans shuffled by and without considering the consequences, in spite of his temper, attempted to give him an affectionate scratch behind the ears. Had the show of fondness come from anyone else rather than the female he had grown attached to, they would have earned themselves a nasty scratch, soon not to be forgotten. Tired of socialising, he stood with his tail held high and left the large cryovolt that housed the flower-shaped hypersleep modules

to shake off the lingering remnants of his long sleep. Over the following day, he re-familiarized himself with the three levels of the large vessel that had been his home for most of his life. Like the humans that occupied the ship, he too had responsibilities and duties, and, like his counterparts,

he took his business very seriously, for there were other places besides the vessel's bridge and engineering level that needed tending, places too small for a man to fit. The narrow and dark shafts and ducks underneath and between the decks were under his charge. They were his to patrol and his to guard. To the outside eye, it may seem rather odd and out of place to allow a cat to roam free on a star freighter. One may question the logic of such a practice, or attribute it to one of those peculiar habit space truckers are known for. Maybe it was simply a means to distract the lonely and homesick crew

and keep their spirits high during long halls. But no, the ship's mascot served a particular purpose and was assigned to this ship, just like every other freighter, cargo ship or transport in active duty with flight plans requiring cryostasis for its crew. In fact, in recent years, I see you. regulations now mandated that every commissioned star freighter, class M through class Vega, were required to be equipped with a ship's mascot, class level 3A through 3D. How such a strange directive came to be was not so far-fetched as one may think.

Part 2. In this modern age, humanity's demand for resources as quickly exceeded what our little world could render. The realization that the earth was not an endless source of fuel came frightfully sudden upon humanity. There was no other option than to look to the stars and dream of the vast riches that must be out there. With some ingenuity and lots of money, we slowly and aggressively pushed our reach further out into the unexplored frontiers of space. However, this charge into the unknown wasn't led by governments of the world. It was the powerful and wealthy, global corporations that conquered the vastness of space.

Soon, our small solar system was ours to plunder, but to our dismay. We learned that it was meager and less than adequate. Humanity's aspiration shifted its attention even further out into the void. Our system may have been lacking, but there were others nearby, rich in minerals and oars.

Sprinkled across the universe, brave new worlds, planets and asteroids, ripe for commercialization, would be found. Waiting in solitary orbits were isolated and untouched planetoids, and moons overflowing with infinite possibilities for interstellar commerce. In preparation for our eventual arrival, probes and then automated compact mining units, were sent ahead of us by decades to survey the remote systems and establish rudimentary outposts. In the meantime, we developed new technology, constructed shipyards, and humanity began to learn how to travel among the stars. In the beginning, the large corporations faced many obstacles in establishing this new frontier. The advancement of new technologies was vital to creating a profitable and loose,

business model. This included breakthroughs in propulsion, life support systems, energy consumption, inertial and gravitational controls, and so on and so on. Most importantly, the vessels needed the capability to travel immense distances in short periods of time, while transporting and refining tons of cargo. All of these challenges were confronted and overcome. Man's reach slowly extended out further and further. Humanities celebrated their well-deserved accomplishments and continued to push forward, unaware of the unseen stowaways that flourished in secret alongside their larger companions. In under 27 years, the Thadus Antarctica Shipping Lane had been established along the outer rim of the core systems. The resource-rich system was located

59 light years away in the Epsilon retuculey system. Although the sophisticated sublight engines significantly lessened the flight times, reaching, mining and docking stations still required significant time by human standards. Supercomputers equipped with multi-utility, task hyper-recursive processes made high-speed navigation possible, where pinpoint accuracy and split second course corrections could mean the difference between life and death. The ever-watchful computer monitored its hull and meticulously cared for her crew like an overly protective mother. In fact, she was so efficient that, during this stage of the journey, the crew was more of an interference than a benefit to her. Little was left for the crew to do

all past the time. Then there were the extreme G-forces. from accelerating to such speed to consider. The massive weight from a velocity just below the speed of light was intense, and capable of crushing a human body instantly. The corporate number crunches frowned at the cost of retrofitting the hulls of each ship with thick and expensive shielding, and extolling powerful inertial dampeners within its decks. Research in hypersleep yielded the answer to this dilemma.

It soon became standard practice for the crew to enter hibernation capsules that induced a state of suspended animation as a means of enduring the long halls. Only the section that housed the small hibernation vault required the inertial shielding to shelter the crew from the severe G-forces. The vessel would power down. The halls and corridors darkened and equipment in systems came to a stop. The air thinned and the ship was all alone and unwatched. That was when they came out, free and unhindered to claim their lands. The vermin. Alongside the spread of humanity into the stars came their filth, waste and garbage.

The pests and vermin who thrived in these conditions of squalor found the world. their promised land within the tugboats, mining facilities, outposts, docking stations, relay communication hubs, and military deployment command centers. Infestations were not an uncommon sight for commercial tug ships in those days. Regulations were lax and rarely enforced. Surprisingly, the design engineers were baffled these small creatures could even survive the extreme forces encountered from ship's sublight, acceleration end. deserations, they should have been crushed and smothered against the bulkheads. They were not. Even though life support was powered down, the complete evacuation of the environment in such large vessels was not possible, and not to mention not economical.

Still, the thin air should have hindered the little beast's activities. It did not. Space travel seemed to have an odd effect on the animals. They flourished. Not only did they prosper, but they adapted rather well to the harsh conditions of interstellar flight. They developed powerful circulatory and pulmonary systems. The little beasties muscle mass increased, and bones became as durable and flexible as the most advanced polymer. Initially, little was done if a ship reported a vermin infestation on its decks. Again, the company executives frowned at any extent.

expenditure that eroded their profit margin, such as the full extermination and continuous pest control expenses of their fleet and facilities. It was rare to see an approved requisition for an extermination request, and the filthy stairways eventually became just an unfortunate reality of life in space. Before the Shotwell disaster, bribes and payoffs were more than adequate for the regulatory agencies to turn a blind eye to the problem. The U.S. The USS Shottwell exploded just outside the Beta Prime reticuli system in 2117 AD. The detonation of the ship's main reactor destroyed both cargo and crew. Analysis of the recovered flight recorder from the wreckage indicated critical failures of many of the ship's primary and secondary systems, including the reactor's cooling system controls.

With the investigation concluded, and the outcome buried deep within the high security. security vaults and mainframes, business went on as normal. Things changed in 2119, when the buried failure analysis was leaked to the public by an innovative and skilled hacking organization. The public was outraged to learn the destruction of the U.S. CSS Shotwell was the result of severe internal damage to several of its primary systems conduit housings that held the complex and fragile circuitry wiring. People were horrified and enraged to learn. A sensitive network of vital wires and modules that ran within the walls and decks shared space with massive populations of rodents and pests. Again, the company executives frowned at the cost of the elaborate deterrent systems needed

for each of its vessels. An adequate pest control system was expensive and intricate. It needed its own dedicated AI to be affected. The days of simple mousetraps and poisons were a thing of the past. It required sophisticated motion detection centres, pinpoint accurate laser targeting, and networked drones capable of complex manoeuvring and tracking abilities. Dr. Souvenir was a man known for keeping an ear on everything. In the midst of having his well-funded research project shut down for lack of practical application, These events were seen as a rare opportunity.

Within days, he stood before CEOs and board of directors to propose the F-E-L-I-N-E program. The initial purpose and goals of the F-L-L-L-L-E project were never publicly disclosed. However, it was not uncommon in those days for corporations to engage in underground biogenetics and unethical bioengineering practices. as long as the potential for profit could be argued.

Ethical and moral research practices were mostly ignored. It was hinted at possible military involvement. But eventually, the project was put on hold in the early stages of embryonic testing. Dr. Souvener proposed to the board of directors a plan to introduce one of his specimens into the ship's corridors, a genetically modified member of the Phyllis Catus Phyllis species. Relying heavily on the boast of his inexpensive manufacturing process of high-quality designer animals, he mesmerized them like the car salesman of old. He sold them with claims of a product adapted to space travel,

engineered with enhanced intelligence and endowed with superior sensory capability and increased stamina. It was the perfect solution. Everything the environmental pest control systems had to offer. was contained within these small creatures for a fraction of the cost. The feline program launched with immense success. The feline product was given full access to the ship during operating periods, such as departures and docking approaches, as well as any active duty during their inter-flight times,

when crew revival was required. A single feline was capable of keeping an entire ship clear of vermin. If any rodent dared to step foot on the decks of a ship patrolled by a product of the feline program, it would be dealt with swiftly and efficiently. It wasn't long before every ship was assigned its own feline to serve as mascot and custodian to its long and dark corridors. Part 3 The ship rested on the surface of the small and barren planetoid. For the past 14 hours its hull was battered.

by massive gusts of wind, carrying debris from a hostile and cold atmosphere. Within its pressurized walls, the cat sat on a cushion in one of the several lounging cubicles in the galley. He was mindful of every nook and corner of the mess hall. He was nervous from all the recent activity. The humans were on edge too, he could tell. The rough landing on the planetar's surface shook and rocked the ship and ended with explosions, smoke and and alarms, he had had enough of this disruption to his routine. He retreated to module 12 on sea level to try and take a nap in his secret safe spot. He sensed it even before he'd completely awoken from his slumber.

He confused him at first. Something had entered his territory. He felt it with his finely tuned senses. The sensation seared his nerves. It tingled with a strange vibration. so unfamiliar to him, so alien. Yet he knew it was dangerous and an enemy. It was absent of scent, and its presence flickered in and out of all awareness.

Still, it aggravated his senses so persistently. He rose slowly. His ears flattened, and he dashed into one of the ship's networks of service shafts, installed just for him. These passageways allowed him to gain access to anywhere he needed to go, to perform his duties. He poked his head out into the staging area of the main airlock. A commotion had caught his attention.

He felt the irregular presence even more intensely here, but could not see anything. The source of this intruder continued to evade him, in spite of its proximity. He watched as the hatch to the inner airlock slid open, and the humans rushed in to help one of their companions. He seemed to be injured. The cat's focus studied each person in the airlock passageway. Something was wrong with one of them, but he saw nothing that would trigger his senses so harshly. He hunted and searched with the skill second to none. There was no doubt.

Something was on the ship. His ship. Something was hiding from him. Something very good at hiding. Suddenly he was gone. It snapped into nothingness as if it were never there. It was as if the intruder needed time to adapt to its new environment and adjust its ability to cloak itself.

The cat had missed his opportunity. The presence had disappeared, leaving the cat confused and uncertain. The next day, the cat continued his constant prowling of the ship's decks. Exiting an upper-level observation station, he froze when the presence once again erupted into his awareness. In the distance, he could hear the panic cries from the others, intermixed with a scream of agony.

He sprinted towards the sounds at full speed. It was time to deal with this mysterious intruder. He flew past his crewmates, barely taking notice of the stunned looks of horror each one had plastered on their bloodied faces. The galley was coated in a thicket. layer of blood and viscer. It had sprayed out in all directions from the body sprawled out across the table. Squirts of blood shot up into the air from torn arteries and blood vessel from the massive hole in the man's chest. His body and face were still contorted in agony from the last

moments of his life. The cat followed the large pools of blood and entrails. The creature had dragged out of the body when it made its quick exit. He followed the gory trail to an opening of a small service shaft. The cat paused. Adrenaline pumped into his bloodstream. Every nerve in his sleek and slender body was on fire, and he entered the dark shaft. The hunt had begun part four.

Three levels down, the cat slowly entered the partially opened hatch. The sea level equipped. maintenance area contained rows of old and battered equipment, stacked on partially assembled machinery. Dripping water from the coolant system fell from above, and echoed over the deep, rhythmic hum of the massive engine drive. The cat walked under the erratic cling, cling of chains slightly swaying from the upper level. So many sounds called out, but the silence underneath overwhelmed them all. The cat took in the environment and was aware of the tiniest of sounds. As a skilled hunter, he could feel and see everything all around, for it vibrated the air like an

insect struggling in a spider web. The reverberations caused ripples of color to form waves that expanded out, creating shapes and sense and sounds. They were vibrant colors that the man never knew existed and would never be able to see. To the cat, it was a familiar sight and gave him vast amounts of information about his surroundings. The cat walked behind the rows of shadowed equipment, following the sound, looking for its source. His whiskers were long and rigid, capable of detecting micro-changes in air density from the minutest of movements. The maintenance compartment ended at a short survey. this tunnel, connected to a massive room that housed one of the ship's retracted landing gears.

The condensation from the engine's heat felt like a light rain. Large, dirty and oily gears and servos lined the chamber walls with a myriad of thick and ribald cages interwoven throughout the machinery. The landing gear stood tall in the center of the room, cradled by filthy jointed arms of several undercarriage support struts. In the corner annex, movement from an unusual shape caught the cat's keen eyes. Coiled in a ball,

it sat within a groove of the lower portion of the landing gear. The cat froze and flattened himself to the ground. His piercing yellow eyes studied the beast from bottom to top, looking for any weakness or advantage. The creature

She was thin, but long like a cobra. Its skin was still moist and glistened from coats of congeal blood from its former host. It had no legs, and it had no eyes. With two small arms with hands of needle-like fingers were at its side. Its long, slender body appeared soft, but it was lined with bulges and striations, revealing it was simply one long and powerful muscle from tip of tail. a fang of mouth. Instinct had always been the cat's ally.

It provided him instruction on how to hunt and fight. It told him what to fear and when to attack. For the first time, it was silent, and the cat was afraid. However, the fear only lasted moments, for it's nearly impossible to scare a true feline into inaction. It was his business in life to watch over his territory without consideration to the manner of the trespasser or how alien the creature. He knew what had to be done. He knew where he must strike.

His jump and his bite must be perfect. It was his back he must break, but he must be careful. He could smell a poison in its veins of such toxic and not-try. concentrations, he feared even a single drop would mean his death. His bite must be powerful and precise, but not directed at the delicate flesh under his jaw. No, his strike must land on the back of its head where the skull meets his backbone. The monster was still and coiled in a corner over a container of old and dirty tools and equipment. Its abdomen was heaving deeply until it regurgitated a straw-coloured, viscous

mucus over the objects. The thick, sap-like fluid slowly ran down the surface of the objects and onto the floor. Whispy steams of smoke began to rise from the glistening coat of slime and that covered the metal and plastic objects. Gradually, the objects began to melt away

and collapse as the atomic bonds of the material shattered and separated. The snake-like creature low it was lowered its head onto the smoking pit and began to ingest dark sludge. The time to attack was at hand. This was the moment to strike. Every muscle in the feline's body tensed. Muscle fibres pulled and contracted, building up as much energy as possible. He pushed off the ground, releasing an explosion of speed. The cat hurled his body through the air and launched himself towards the unsuspecting beast.

The whole of his attention, the entirety of his being, focused on one spot, on one target, the base of the creature's skull. The cat bit down hard on the leathery skin and kicked hard with his hind legs against its lower back. The loud, satisfying snaps of vertebrae separating and shattering should have wrung out. It did not.

The creature gave a high-pitched scream of pain as it rolled and thrashed violently to the side, taking the cat with it. As the two tumbled and crashed into equipment, its slender body wrapped itself around the cat's body and squeezed. The loud snapping of the cat's ribs and femurs from the constricting of the creature's thick body should have rung out. It too did not. Although the creature was incredibly strong with the ability to shatter a human sternum, it had not

realized the power of the cat's blow. It had not been in vain and had inflicted injury on the beast. Hindered, the creature's ability to constrict itself was significantly lessened. It hissed as it used what strength it could muster to squeeze the reaming air out of the cat's lungs. The cat's chest burned from lack of oxygen. With his mouth still firmly clamped onto the beast's hide, he couldn't even let out a ground of frustration. The two adversaries were at a stalemate. It was only a matter of whose will was stronger and whose necessity was greater. The cat's need for air, or the creature's desire to overcome its injury and kill. Miss Fortune had entered the game.

and his gaze fell upon the cat. For when a slight burn began to emerge in the cat's mouth, he had no other choice but to relent and release his bite from the creature's hide. If he had not, he would get a mouthful of its toxic and acidic blood from the wound. The cat continued to kick with all its might, each landing hard against the creature's injured spine, but each blow became weaker. With the very last of his strength, he kicked off the floor, giving him the leverage to twist his center of gravity and reposition himself as they crashed into the shelving and containers.

Under the rain of tools and spare parts, the cat now had his full body weight pressed down on the abdomen and head of the long creature, still wrapped around his torso. The cat pushed down hard, violently expelling the air out of the beach. It tried to scream, but found it could not. Its struggles became more pronounced. It did not like this change in superiority. To the cat's surprise, the creature released its grip and quickly uncoiled its body. Instantly, it disengaged from the cat's torso and zipped into a cluttered panel littered with wires and conduits. It scurried up the wall and emerged overhead.

on top of a support strut. It perched high above, looking down on the grated floor. It glanced longingly at its slurry crater of melted material, and then glared back at its foe. Before disappearing into the dark shaft above, it gave a long and furious shriek of hate and anger

towards the cat. Part 5. The cat looked up into the air duct shafts within the steel framework where the corpulent tail had disappeared. He stood and fixated on the dark openings with perfect stillness, a trade not obtained from the modications or tinkering of a lab. This was the work of millions of years of evolution and natural selection. It was still up there.

Although he couldn't understand the concepts or ponder over his strange creature's biology, The cat knew it was rapidly changing. It was growing. Even now, its presence was quickly fading from the cat's awareness. His senses were designed to hunt and track prey, and it was becoming something that nature dictated was no longer prey to him. However, the cat was wise enough to understand the change in perspective, did not go both ways.

It would most definitely hunt him down, and kill him if it so desired. The cat also was aware that something else had changed. His gaze broke from the upper levels and now peered at the slurry mess of metallic sludge left behind. He expelled enzymes from within the creature had run its course, no longer smoking or sizzling. The little beast had been feeding

in preparation for the rapidly approaching growthsbird and metamorphosis it was about to undergo, a critical phase in its development. It only had the opportunity for maybe one or two mouthfuls before its feeding was interrupted. When it emerges from its metamorphosis in its adult form, some will be stunned by its greatness. They might even say they admired its purity and marvelled at its structural perfection, matched only by its hostility. Others might hold admiration for its unclouded conscience and look upon its nature with envy. A nature devoid of remorse or delusions of morality. And some may even go as far as to come to believe, without a doubt, that it was the perfect organism.

They would be wrong. It will not be perfect. Yes, it will be powerful, but only a mere shadow of whatever it was meant to be. In considering this beast, one must look at the nature of nature herself. She is precise, elegant and full of ingenuity. She has endless variety at her disposal. She is also mad, malicious and insane with tendencies to inflict unimaginable pain and suffering

upon those who are unable to adapt to her ever-changing moods. She is capable of extreme and pointless acts of violence and destruction upon her creations. All must love her, respect her, and fear her. Now, if such an entity did exist in some tangible persona, and it poured all its rage and insanity into one organism, it might have looked something like this creature. Nevertheless, in all its potential for perfection and greatness,

one requirement had not been satisfied. It must feed before its final metamorphoses into adulthood. It had failed. The window of opportunity to consume the available nutrients from its surroundings was narrow and could not be missed. It had been given the enzymes capable of breaking down any type of metallurgic matter at the atomic level into nutrient-dense molecules. This would fuel its rapid growth and provide nourishment during the cruiseries. critical time of development. Unable to do this, the creature would enter the metamorphosis in a nutrient-deficient state, severely impairing its development and growth. Instead of a body

that could move in complete silence with stealth and grace, it would now be slow and awkward in shape and form. A black, armored exoskeletons of razors, harder than the steel of the ship's bulkhead would be soft and easily bruised with a sickly green hue. The strong and rigid tail, capped with a bladed tip, would not whip or snap or stab at its victims. It would drag uselessly and limply from behind. Absent of almost all dexterity, gone would be the primal rage that defined its species, absent of its bloodlust and frenzy-induced fury, it would take a more result.

approach, hiding within the darkness and moving silently in the shadows. It would be patient, using stealth to pick off its prey one at a time. As the last of his perceptions of the alien creature flickered out of existence, the cat turned and carried his battered body out the dark chamber. He looked up into the ventilation system one final time before exiting. He knew it was growing up. He also knew it would be a fraction of what it could have been. However, there was no doubt. It was still a very powerful and savage beast. Exhausted, the cat found a quiet and isolated compartment to rest and recuperate. Beginning to relax, the cat began to clean his orange and yellow coat. He pondered the day's events and accepted the battle had not been won.

but neither had it been lost. Maybe, just maybe, through his efforts, the humans on board would now stand a chance at survival. Maybe the balance had been tipped just enough in their favor for some of them to survive the approaching nightmare about to descend upon them. He lowered his head and closed his eyes. Sadness lightly settled upon him

just before sleep took him away. He knew this creature that had trespassed on his ship, brought destruction with it, and this place had very little time left. The giant collection of metal and circuitry and plastic would soon be no more. It had been his home for most of his life, and he had defended it and kept it safe and free from all invaders during that time. When sleep eventually did arrive, regret did not occupy his thoughts. It was pride.

He relived his epic battle in his mind, and knew without a doubt he had fought with tooth and nail and with speed and bounce. He had faced a creature, honed and fine-tuned by nature to be the perfect killing machine, and still come away from the battle with both his head and tail held high. Today he met his purpose in life, and honoured his memory. mandate that while poor walked upon steel, never would a transgressor stepped foot on his decks and go unchallenged within the corridors of his ship. The cat slept and began to dream. This story might seem a little off the wall. I don't usually share my writings with others, at least not with the wider public. My line of work usually demands some secrecy.

Well, a lot of secrecy, to be honest. Sometimes it's better when the truth is hidden away from the masses. Nobody wants mass hysteria. The coronavirus is already driving people nuts, so please take what I say here, as you will, but don't start thinking it's the end of the world. No matter what you read here, know that as far as I know, and I've got a reliable source,

the apocalypse isn't coming or will ever come. So, here goes nothing. I am a demon hunter, quote unquote. Yes, actual demon hunter. Yep, demons exist, technically, not in the sense that their evil spirits are fallen angels. Demons are something else, something older. I'll be frank here, I don't know how to describe them best.

I guess you can look up the definition of a gin in Islamic law and switch creatures of fire and smoke with parasitic worm-like things that love infesting human flesh and making them to murderous and sexually violent time bombs. They came before us, long before us. They have their own world, or rather their own universe. Hunting them's quite easy if you know what to look for, and trust me, they stick out like sore thumbs. Something between a human and a squid-shaped abomination. Well, I'm sure a few of you are familiar with the sight, and not because you've seen demons.

I wouldn't call these fuckers specifically supernatural, just extra-dimensional. I guess you could call them sci-fi monsters, too. They can't do anything magical, just infest a host and enhance their natural abilities and attributes. Oh, and create non-malignant tumours that look like appendages, tentacles, weapons, and phallic objects. for obvious reasons. I'd probably avoid sharing too many details, but I've seen buildings filled with a demon-infested orgies, and it's not as pleasant as it sounds.

Especially the smell. It smells a lot like sulphur, ironic given the fact that these things are lethally allergic to it, or something like that. The point being they will melt and disintegrate if you ingest them with sulphur. Simple as that. Oh, nothing else, by the way, bothers them.

well nothing available to individuals I haven't tried nukes yet so I don't know about that any injury that does not involve sulfuric congestion is usually healed in moments yeah these fuckers are hard to kill good thing my family's been in this business for generations I've been doing this thing for the better part of two decades it pays rather well especially since usually the church employs my kind of people

they pay good money to get rid of the servants of the devil so to speak the sad part is that victims never get saved once you're infested you either live with it until the pesticides you're useless and crawls away and you die or the host gets killed by someone like me pulling out the creature won't help you they usually entangle themselves around vital organs to avoid extraction i've tried ended up removing a poor guy's whole digestive tract out along with the worm early in my career. I couldn't sleep for days after that. The image of the kid screaming and his limbs flailing about as I yank more and more of his guts along with the demon just would not leave my head. I've never seen this much blood before. I remember I kept washing my hands over and over as if the bile from this kid's stomach was still smeared all over me.

This isn't an easy job. As much as I have to be. As much as I have. like it yes i save humanity so to speak but i don't save individuals by the time i get the job everyone in sight is already infected and that sort of work comes with a lot of mental baggage but i digress i came here to discuss a specific incident one that didn't have much to do with demons started off as a usual case I was given a location to reach and promised a sum of money if I returned successfully from my hunt. That's how I work. What am I going to do with the money if I'm dead? Better have it when I'm back from a successful hunt and in need of some cold booze.

So, I was given the coordinates of a remote farm in the middle of the big Midwestern wilderness and headed out straight. I work alone. It's the best way. No one to blame but my... myself in the case with somebody dying and as I've mentioned I have enough guilt on my hands already five hours later was at my destination me yards away from the farm I part of the car grab my rifle and a few knives and head out on foot as I walk the path leading towards the barn I noticed something peculiar there's a smoking hole in the middle of the roof that's not something a demon would do they don't fly, mind you, so it's really pointless to have holes in the ceiling for them. And as I'm caught up in thought staring at this abnormal phenomenon, a bright explosion of light emanates from inside the barn, so bright in fact that it hurts my eyes, and I

was a noticeable distance away. My instincts kicked in as the light started dying out, going from pure white to a dull grey, and I ran into the barn, kicked the gate open and fro not because I wanted to but because the smell of burning a meat was far too strong to handle, along with a thin layer of smoke which was covering everything in the barn, clouding my vision. In the barn stood two figures, a man and a woman. She was clearly infested judging by the worm twitching and hissing from between her legs. When the man just stood there, I wanted to call out to him but stopped myself when I noticed the source of the foul burnt smell. A charred corpse lay before me. It looked like a coal caricature of a human.

The smoke dissipated completely, and that's when I noticed them all. About a dozen or so charred corpses thrown around the barn in various awkward angles. I cocked my gun and aimed it at the infected woman, before screaming at the man to get the fuck out. My voice cracked. and I sounded like an ailing horse. My heart was beating like crazy. Something was wrong in that barn. Something was worse than it should have been. The man in turn just smiled at me before saying,

"'It's been a while since I met one of you. I'd scream at him to scramble again, but what he did next perplex me? No, it scared the living hell out of me. You see, the man made a finger-gun with his. his hand and pointed it at the infested woman. A bright spark appeared in his eyes for a millisecond, and he gave a mock shooting movement with his finger gun. Brains flew out of the back of the woman's head. Her body crumpled down to the ground,

and her incites caught fire, I think, or the worm between her legs caught fire for sure, and it let out the most ungodly sounds imaginable, like screeching in the form of nail, as being dragged across a metal board turned up to a hundred. I just stood there, growing increasingly more confused and afraid by the moment. It's been a while.

The man led out as he lowered his hand. As the images of what had just transpired kept repeating over and over on high speed in my head, I could only bring myself to do one thing. I looked at the man, swallowed my saliva and asked, What the fuck are you? Well, I didn't see the answer coming.

In your world, I'm a devil, the man responded, sporting a massive, gleeful grin on his face. I shot him without thinking. As he said that, my first reaction was, oh, fuck this, and I pulled the trigger, barely even aiming at him. Well, the bullet hit its mark, but nothing came of it. He looked down while his grin remained.

I'm not a... I cut him off with another shot. This one to his head. Blood filled the air around his head, and he groaned. But the hole in his head began to close itself up. I'm not a worm, the man remarked. I wasn't listening. I was ready to shoot another bullet into his face.

It won't work on me. "'Stop wasting your precious little lead marbles,' he continued, mocking me. "'I shot him again. "'This time his eyes shone with that bright spark. "'I felt the heat built up in my hands. "'In a moment's notice the rifle was turning red with heat, "'forcing me to drop it to the ground. "'I told you, won't work.

"'One of you apes ever listen,' the man questioned. "'My hands were burning with pain, My head was racing. This guy, this thing, it made no sense. I know it sounds ironic now that I'm surprised by something being able to shrug off bullets like nothing, but back then it didn't. I didn't know what to do. I was beginning to plan my escape from the barn, but the man just stood there,

staring at me with that grin all over his face. What are you? I dared to ask. The man's face contorted into a large smile. It was too large, in fact, to be contained within his face. His skin began to crack with a sickening, churning sound. "'Your face!' I stammered, pointing at the man's face as it started quite literally falling apart. "'Ah, you could say, I am, in fact, a demon,' the man cackled at me, the skin of his face cracking even further, exposing some sort of black goo underneath the shattering layer.

while I stood there, speechless. I was shaking at the time. It seems like the man found that quite amusing as he started laughing violently. He was losing his shit, if I'm being honest. His voice rose up and fell down when I could hear something deep, guttural, and inhuman underneath the human-like laughter.

I just stood there, terrified and confused. The man had finished laughing and placed his hand on his face. Oh, you humans are something, he said before yanking his face off his head like it was some kind of mask. Seeing this, I felt sick to my stomach. I could feel my digestive juices rise up to my throat. Well, the man locked his blank yellow eyes with mine

and proceeded to pull at his back. A disgusting sound akin to slabs of flesh being torn apart emanated from him, or should I say from the being as it no longer resembled a human. It did have a generally humanoid shape, but it was something else. I just stood and stared at the thing until it discarded its human skin suits, well, for lack of a better term. Pardon my terminology, even years later this whole thing is still so surreal to me. The thing that stood before me was a leathery, hairless goat-man thing.

its external layers seemed to be perpetually moving and shifting disturbingly. It had feet resembling hooves and its face contained in only two slits for its yellow eyes and a massive mouth line that seemed to contain three tongues that twirled and flailed about and controllably inside the thing's massive more. There were three horns on the being's head, one at the centre of the forehead and two other curved horns like that of a ram. The thing stretched itself and remarked. "'Hugh humans are so uncomfortable to wear.'

"'I was about to throw up when he said that. "'Oh, not to mention how awful the insides of a rotting ape smell,' "'it continued. "'A funny comment coming from that thing. "'I took a couple of steps back away from the creature, "'pulling a knife from within my coat. "'I carelessly aimed it at the thing "'and tried taking a combative stance.

"'The monstrosity seemed amused to get it, It chuckled, I think. Some sort of rumbling came from behind its mouth. He stared me dead in the eyes again and said, I'm not here for you, Jim. I'm here for the other thing under this building. My head raced with thoughts. What thing? I asked.

The creature raised its finger. Yes, it had hands, pretty much like a human, just thicker. Anyway, it raised a finger and said, Can't you hear that rumbling? I had no idea what it was talking about. No. Listen carefully, chimp. Then the ground shook violently beneath my feet,

sending me tumbling down on my ass. My mind snapped me out of my panic state. What the fuck was that? I yelled out as I was struggling to get back to my feet. A wart from the ass of God, the thing spoke. What? I questioned. The beast turned its back to me in motion to my now-melted rifle with its arm. The damaged-melted puddle of metal slowly began twitching and moving around,

forming back into the shape of a rifle. Let's just say that the thing you call the creator of the universe is a massive, sentient, many-eyed, blobby mass of a black hole with many appendages. one that came from my universe, a thing of endless appetite. My kind had to blow it up to avoid the destruction of everything, and when they did, so much energy came out of it that your universe came to be. The monstrosity told me, well, the ground began rumbling once again, and I saw the walls of the barn shift like waves in the ocean,

and panic washed all over me once again. I couldn't ingest the whole thing. Well, it sounds like that. complete bullshit to me at the time but who was I to judge I killed alien parasitic worms through a living nonetheless I internally kept screaming profanities at the hornbees none of it made sense well it still hardly does total bullshit if you ask me the horn thing continued unfortunately for you some of the blobby mass remained intact occasionally waking up trying to devour everything it comes across, hence the worms. The beast somehow threw the newly formed rifle

at me and shouted at me to shoot it. It was nothing to shoot. I yelled out, shoot what? And the floorboards exploded in front of me as a massive tube-like thing with many spikes and cysts sticking out of it emerged from beneath the ground. The tube-like thing had a sea of worms sprawling from its top. Its main bulge, body collapsed under its own weight, and then I saw the massive moor beneath the worms, filled with massive jagged hooks. That, the horn thing called out. I felt a sort of air pressure, a suction.

The tube thing was trying to swallow me. I was trying to suck everything in. And the smell of sulphur was unbearable. The worms were flying towards me. I tried shooting at them, but nothing came. It won't shoot, I screamed out. My voice cracked in a mix of fear and tension as a worm was flying dangerously close to my face. I could feel its foul breath, and I could almost feel the saliva coming out of its mouth.

Shoot, monkey, shoot, pull the trigger, the horn thing shouted, its voice booming in my ears. So I pulled the trigger. The worm exploded, covering my whole body in its internal. or juices. The sickening sound of someone throwing up violently came out of the tube in the same volume of a plane taking off. I didn't have the time to think. I just kept shooting at those things.

I kept blowing the worms up. Somehow there were no bullets coming out of the gun. There were no projectiles, nothing. I just pressed the trigger and the fuckers would explode. And the problem was, they were endless. They won't go down. Can we go on do something? I yelled at the horn thing.

I got no response. I was too caught up at the moment and I just kept shooting and shouting like a maniac, popping the infernal parasites and try my hardest to ignore a abhorrent sounds the abomination was producing. The sound of a thousand birds chirping together came from behind me all of a sudden. I turned my back to the source of the sound. the only thing I saw was a flash of some impossibly black colour, and a flash of blinding white light came right after that, accompanied by a deafening static sound.

I fell to the ground and tried my best to close my eyes and ears, to shield myself from the chaos all around me, to no avail. To this day I remember the array of indescribable colours blending into one another, ranging from the brightest of whites to the darkest of blacks. truly a display of impossible colours. Eventually, the cataclysm all around me seemed to die down, but the fleshing images of an alien rainbow still burned bright in my eyes. I rolled to my stomach and groaned in discomfort.

After I don't know how long the vision of the alien rainbow subsided. I was out of breath. My head throbbed. My eyes were probably about to bleed, and the stabbing sensation in my ears made every slightest movement unbearably painful, but I managed to open my eyes and get back to my knees. I tried looking around as I rub my eyes gently

to improve their diminished focus, much to my absolute shock. There was no barn, no tube thing, no goat man, no corpses, no worms, no magic guns. I was alone. in the middle of a still steaming impact crater it was real much to my shock the whole thing it was real

i've kept hunting these demons these worms or whatever you want to call them nothing like this has happened since i just get called to do the extermination of an infested sight i take out the crawling abominations and i carry on of course i haven't told anyone else this until now it seems like i've been hunting parasitic aliens my whole life i didn't even know it family roots by michael pay grandpa colbert hated letting things go whether it was the wobbly chair he kept in his study or his favorite warped record he fed to the gramophone

looping the same groove over and over it was a tall man with a frosty thin hairline and a nose cape of the most powerful of snores. Due to the amblyopia, his right eye was the good one, while his left always drifted a few degrees off, coasting its own orbit. He called it his fish-eye. My grandma, on the other hand, was a short petite woman,

who had a voice that never spiked or got frazzled, even if you were on the thinest of ice. She sang hymns while she cooked, and she'd loved to chase me around the room so she could peck my cheeks with kisses. I always called her grandparent. I'm creative, I know. The two of them preferred the country lifestyle,

occupying some patch of land amidst the back roads of Ash County, far away from buzzing suburbs, but just close enough to the nearest grocer. I remember being eight and thinking their house looked just like a Christmas card in the snow. An all-American saltbox, with dark, wooden siding, a steeply pitched roof and an old red pickup that seldom left the lot. In the years after the last holiday trip,

our interactions had been limited only to brief phone conversations and the periodic seasonal wishes. My grandparents did not come to visit, and neither did we. I sometimes felt sad how close my friends seemed to be with their relatives, and frankly, I blamed it all on the living distance between us. But the reality was we were an estranged family, and rocky relations with my father had left a seismic gap between both parties. I never did learn all those lurid details, but I know it involved. a lot of money.

I was going through a rough patch in my sophomore year, from dealing with an asshole ex taking all my girlfriends to getting into a fight with one of the worst girls in school. She tormented me through the entire 10th grade year, and after complaining and having nothing done about it, I dealt with her myself. In fourth period chemistry, she and her snickering vultures always sat right behind me.

This particular time, one of their murmurs reached me. "'You really think she does?' "'I turned and looked at her, dead in the eye. "'Does what?' "'Her lips curled into a spiteful smile. "'Stuff your bra. "'You do, don't you? "'Nice and loud for the whole glass to hear.

"'Nice thing I knew. "'I grabbed her by the hair, "'knought her backwards from the desk and jumped on her. "'Ten day's suspension, "'but it felt really nice shutting her up. Worried for my mental health, my mother opted for me to stay with my grandparents for a week. Since her and Dad's divorce, she'd been working hard to rekindle the ties with her parents. I probably saw this as a way to bring some normalcy back to our family.

Happy as I was to see my old folks again, it was hard not to feel just a little used. The drive from Charlotte to West Jefferson was a two-hour stretch. One and a half if I've forgotten to drive. Well, I like road trips, though. they were always a good excuse to bust out the moleskin notebook and start sketching the scenery. Drawing was always my diversion to things. As the road eventually gave way to gravel, we reached the saltbox house or by its lonesome, save for the old barn which occupied the same grounds, and the red pickup, of course.

Graham Graham was the first to greet us at the door, her small, delicate eyes widening behind her spectacles. She was wearing a cornflower blue turtleneck. "'Oh, my!' she gasped, gently cupping my shoulders with her thin hands. "'You can't be, Emily. You're too tall.' "'You got me. I'm an imposter,' I laughed, as we both pulled each other in a hug. Her hair smelled like coconut oil. She led us through the foyer and into the immediate living room that spanned the width of the house.

It oriented around a fireplace, which funneled up to a large central chimney. The interior still held its log cabin charm From the hickory floorboards To the exposed hardwood beams of the ceiling In the corner of the living room Sunlight glinted off the old mahogany armchair by the window We headed into the small kitchen Its soapstone sink and aged finish cabinet

Still looking the same But seemingly lower down than my childhood memory record them The wall still bore that sign that read No home is complete without the pit of paradise of rabbit's feet, complete with a rabbit foot's keychain dangling at its corner. It was a hairy feeling of being back after eight years, and finally meant nothing really had changed. The house was a hidey hole, untouched by time. I walked through the side door and up the L-shaped staircase to the upper floor. Above them, the long, hard-carved faces of the bearded

men once again stared down at me, their wooden teeth grinning in their eyes wide with fake life. While the adults chatted downstairs I unpacked in the guest room The closet smelled of mothballs Which left a lasting in the nostrils effect Everywhere else in the room With my clothes stashed I walked the hallway

And stopped at the closed door of Grandpa's study My full rustling sounded from inside I knocked lightly against the door And that roused a busy voice from the other side One sec, oh no I'll just come in I peek briefly inside and then let myself in. The blinds were closed and the dark space was lit only by a desk lamp.

Beneath it, Grandpa Colbert's head was bent forward toward his desk, the pocket knife and his hand slicing carefully at a piece of wood. Jips and fuzzy shavings perforated the workspace as he whittled more of its shape down to a fishy outline. "'You can grab a light,' he said, clearing his throat as his good eye left the project. Although his voice was a cheerful one, his lips remained curled in a permanent, dignified expression. I flicked the switch, lighting up the rest of his office. It was exactly how you'd picture a fisherman's office to be. An old big-mouthed Billy Bass mounted on the wall,

bayou-themed knick-knacks lining the shelves, and pinned just above the old gramophone, a wide hanger of fishing laws, all carved and painted by Grandpa himself. The chair lightly teetered as he left, it and clapped a firm arm around me. Been too long, pal. Barb's been cooking up something special for you guys. I can't wait for that.

I smiled and returned the embrace. My mother ended up staying for dinner before driving home, giving us all a chance to catch up on things and to clear the air, per se. I knew that was a big reason why she stayed, but I also knew she would never pass up a chance to sample Gram-Gram's home cooking again. While Grandpa Cobot reveled in his fishing prowess,

my grandma that prided herself in one of the oldest southern staples, comfort food, sugar-glazed ham, sweet potato biscuits, buttercake rolls, she'd certainly prep for our visit that evening. So with full stomachs, I hug my mom goodbye and waved her off, as the car rolled off the driveway and down the gritty road. As I tried to sleep that night, I could hear every so often the shy whisper of wind that sighed. out of their fireplace.

Well, the next morning, after a hearty breakfast from Grandma, I decided to walk the grounds again, taking it all in a near decade later. The tires swing in the backyard still hung from the old maple tree, its insides pooled with trapped, smelly water. Straight away I ended up at the barn. Little had changed about it, save for the evidence sag in its roof from the rotting timbers.

The once bright paint was now lifting and curate. from its red, weathered body. Several of the boards were peppered with holes from woodpeckers trying to get at the insects hiding in their cavities. I used to follow Grandpa around the stables as he fed the chickens and milk the cows in his crug-caped overalls. But those days were long gone now, and the barn was far past its cultivating years.

I walked up to the large doors, only to find them chained shut with a pat-lock. Ah, not safe in there. Grandpa Cobalt's voice came out of nowhere I jumped not even realizing he was behind me The old girl still has strong bones to her But they aren't getting any sturdier Best dear clue

Why do you keep it around then? I asked Which only made him smirk and look away The rest of the day played out smoothly With me exploring a few trails near the house And then helping chop and stack fireworks I was lousy at it And by the third axe drop I asked if we were done yet.

That gave Grandpa a good, whistly laugh. If you want us to freeze to death, he cackled. The day after that, I drew a sketch of the barn in my notebook, watch some old movies, and help Gramgram do some weeding in her garden. Sure, it was nice being helpful for my grandparents, but honestly speaking, I was mostly trying to keep myself busy so my brain wouldn't shrivel from boredom. The spotty area had fizzled myself and service to nothing,

and the only books I thought to bring were once I'd read countless times before. Every so often, when I was walking the hall, I'd catch a whiff of something floating around the house, something other than the mothball scent in the closets and on the furniture. Someone that smelled of earth, almost like dirt. But before I could start to trace it, the scent had already evaporated. On the third day that I was there, Grandpa showed me his favourite fishing spot, a stream that flowed under a short wooden bridge. The tourers sat off the bank with the folding chairs we brought.

As he cast out a line, I focused on drawing the circling dragonflies and the skating skitterbugs. At roughly 2 a.m. that night, I awoke to the awful feeling of sweat. The room was hot, and the cottony dryness in my mouth that made it hard to even swallow.

I rolled out of bed and lightly made my way down the stairs for a glass of water. A light glowed from one of the table lamps in the living room. Seated wistfully in the armchair next to it was Gramgrap. She was in her nightgown, and my first thought was that she must have fallen in a seat there. But no, she was awake. Hello, dear. Can't sleep. She smiled, hunching slightly forward at my presence.

Glass between her hands was a jug, filled to the brim with water. No, I said dryly, clearing my things. throat in the process. I just need a drink really quick. Oh, she exhaled. Happens to me all the time. Would you like some? She leaned forward to offer me the jug, fingers quivering around the glass. Her expression was dull and somewhat disoriented. She wasn't wearing the turtleneck, and I noticed a scar at the base of her neck, circling around it like a grisly necklace. I smiled, turning down her offer. No, that's okay.

She flinched her bony shoulders. Ah, more for me then, and tipped the spout of the jug out to her mouth. A guttural gung-g-g-g-sound escaped as she leaned her head back and forced more of it down. I watched more stunned than anything, as her throat rippled and the neck scars flexed and relaxed. One mighty gulp after another. Globs of water rolled over her chin,

and spotted her gown. When she finally finished, she rested the empty jug on the table and breathed. Taking a moment to wipe her wet lips. Sorry about that, dear. I get pretty dried out at night, too. The dull expression returns. Do you want to see?

She asked, her voice dripping. Before I could answer or even properly soak up the question, she gripped the ring finger of her left hand and bent it backwards. A muffled pop sounded under her skin as the finger snapped back and touched the top of her wrist. Grandma! I shouted as my insides all clenched at once.

She did it again, this time pulling her index back like a railway lever, crunching with bone instead of rust. Despite my horrified reaction, she still stared dimly at me with hollow eyes, talking two more fingers out of place, snapping them like dry stems. Grandpa, stop it, please stop it, I pleaded.

Footfalls sounded down the stairs, and Grandpa Cobot rushed in, barefoot, in his plaid pyjamas. He pulled Graham-Gram's hands apart and looked back at me, pleadingly. I could see he wanted me out of the room before she could do more to herself. I went back upstairs. It was all I could think to do. A minute or two later He opened the door and peeked into the hallway

Grandpa had brought her up to his study I could hear drawers being rustled open and closed And every so often from the glow beneath the door A crease of shadow would roll by Neither of them was speaking on the other side I lay in bed for some time Instead of the dryness in my throat keeping me awake It was now the nauseating sound of fingers being bent and broken

That morning I made my way downstairs. Gram-Gram was once again in her turtleneck and humming another hymn in the kitchen. A choir of eggs harmonized in the frying-pan. Oh, good morning, hon. She smiled briefly, but then turned away uncomfortably. She looked to be in a struggle, cooking with her right hand. The dominant one now we're mobilized in a splint. Grandpa says that I scared you last night.

Oh, I'm so sorry. I should have told you about my sleeping. condition. If only you didn't have to witness it. I moved to help her. No, it's okay, really. I just hope that you're all right. Ah, yes, she laughed, flaunting her brace.

It's nothing I'm not already used to. Even though it gave me some answer for what had happened, still didn't quite add up in my mind. She acknowledged me when I came downstairs, spoke to me even. Despite her clearly not acting like herself, was it really possible to be so dead asleep you couldn't feel your joints snapping apart, as you were the one doing it?

I wanted to believe her, I really did, but it was a hard pill to swallow, even with all that water. Most of the time the best place to find her was in the living room, where she typically resigned herself to the armchair by the window. It had always been her favourite spot.

Remember being little and sitting on a lap as we watched a storm outside, warm coffee in her hands, hot cocoa in mind. Now though, when she did leave the chair, it was only to put something on in the kitchen or refill the glass she always kept close by. But for how much she enjoyed cooking, I don't think I ever saw her actually eat anything the whole time I was there. She just preferred to sit, taking in nothing but water and window sunlight. As I finished a sketch of her on the couch, I soon realised I'd never seen her blink while she sat there, but not even once.

The dinner of evening I stuck around to help her in the kitchen. I figured she could use the extra hands. I was dressing the potato salad when a sudden crash sounded behind me. The plate had slipped out of her grasp and lay shattered on the floor. She didn't gasp or sigh about it. She stood there with her head tilted toward the sharp bits of ceramic. Then, in the same instant, she crunched over them, grabbed another plate and continued with her task,

not acknowledging what had happened whatsoever. When the meal prep was finished and after the broken plate was scooped up, we set the dinner table, roast chicken, peas, mashed potatoes, I was starling. The back door opened and closed. Grandpa Cobalt shuffled his way in

and made a spot at the table. Oh, it looks good, Barb. He smiled. His good eye focused on the plate and the other admiring the wall. During dinner I noticed Graham Graham barely touched her plate, giving only a few courtesy prods to the mashed potatoes. I stood up to take my plate back to the kitchen. She looked up in surprise.

Where are you going? Oh, I'm finished. Getting pretty full here. Her brow darkened, and her eyes marked me dully behind the spectacles. Kids who do not clean their plates, do not get to play. "'Please sit.' "'A few measly flexive chicken were left for me to finish. "'I'm good, thanks.'

"'I laughed a bit, taking it as a joke. "'Her face first went slack and then all at once clenched into a crinkled mask of anger. "'Clean your plate.' "'Barb,' Grandpa spoke up, still chewing some food. "'Leave her be. "'She's finished. Leave it be. It's a waste, she said fiercely, arms shaking.

A waste of good food. Are you finish your plate, then? I almost shouted back, but instead I continued toward the kitchen. Dishes jittered. A heavy thud resounded across the table. I turned. Gram-Gram was standing up now, lips taut with anger. Her whole appearance looked different.

My sweet gentle grandma had waved. into something else, something hag-like. I said, eat, she screamed. Eat, eat, eat. Each word was spat and fueled by another pound of the table. Her glasses dropped into the potato salad. Grandpa Cobalt left his chair and moved to calm her down. I was much more angry than afraid at her outburst.

I opened my mouth to tell her off, but then I saw it, the black substance running down her face. It oozed from her left ear, dripping densely down her cheek and over the curve of her chin. I thought it was blood at first, but no, it was too sticky, too thick. Grandpa seemed to take notice as well, as he grabbed a napkin to wipe her face. I left through the kitchen and then out the back door to get away from the shouting. It was all too much to handle. I found an outdoor bench in their garden and sat on top of it for a while. Grandpa came out and joined me.

His face flurried with exhaustion. He said quietly. I'm sorry about all this, Emily. Your grandmother's going through things, difficult things that impair her mentality. She doesn't mean it, and believe me, she's trying her best. She'll be back to her old self soon. just give it some time i promise wrapped his arms around me in a firm hug and then headed back inside leaving me to my thoughts

i tried my best to calm down but all i could think about was gram gram and the black sap rolling out of her ear after the incident at dinner she didn't leave her bedroom sometimes i'd hear the whiffle groan of a floorboard or the wet sniffle of breath coming from the other side it's um "'Gram, okay,' I asked Grandpa in his study. "'She's all right,' he answered idly. "'His good eye trained on the newly carved fishing law in front of him "'as he attached a treble hook to its rear. "'I just need some rest.

"'Should we take her to the hospital, just to be safe?' "'No,' he said vehemently, veering his attention back to me. "'I already told you. She's fine, all right.' "'It wasn't like I had any say. in the matter, so I left it alone. I couldn't help but feel guilty about how things were going. It was like I'd become a nuisance

instead of a guest. That night, a loud thump roused me awake. I heard movement down the hall, and judging by the mutters and manish grunts, I guessed it could only be my grandfather. He grumbled and sighed as he made his way to slowly down the stairs,

like he was lugging something down them. And the back door opened and closed. He glanced out the window, and spied his hazy outline, passed through the darkness and cut across the grounds. He approached the dark silhouette of the barn, fiddled with a lock at the door, and vanished inside. Well, it was one thing to be awake at this hour, but an entirely different thing to be entering a place he deemed too dangerous to set footing.

I settled back into bed, the curiosity now keeping me awake even longer. That morning I wanted to try and do something nice for Gram-Gram while I was still there. Eggs, some toast, and bacon ever so slightly burnt. Although I was far from the sort of cook she was, I figured breakfast in bed would count enough. The plate in hand, I knocked on the door. Graham-Gram, I made you some breakfast. Are you hungry? No, answer.

I knocked slightly harder, which pushed it a smidge open, and then, in part, Potively, not yet the rest of the way. The first thing to hit me was the smell, the same earthy one I'd been catching in periodic wafts in the house, but now sharper and thicker than ever. Pungent, damp, bitter like mouldy vegetables. The second thing which came immediately after was that Gram-Gram was nowhere.

Her bed was empty, and from the looks of it, only one side of the sheets was being used. Even the bathroom was empty. Atop her dresser, a miniature cat doll stared at me, its grey face stitched to a frown and a plastic tear drooping out of its eye. It was just me, and the room which stank of rotting soil. Something crunched under my shoe, a clumpy sticky substance stuck to the floor.

Blotches of it had dried into black, gummy droplets that started at the dust. started at the door and stained all the way up to the bed. Or maybe it was the other way round. I checked all around the house, from the backyard from the garden, and even found myself double-checking the armchair in the living room. I should just somehow materialise there by the window, but no. She was nowhere. Grandpa came back to the house and walked up the stairs.

I managed to catch him on his way out of the bedroom. Yeah, and do you know where Grandma is? I asked. Deep furrows marked the corners of his mouth. With one hand still wrapped around the doorknob, he closed the door briskly behind him. Ah, In bed, she needs to rest. He then disappeared into his study,

leaving me standing there, trying to digest the lie I was just fed. That night I heard him stir once again to the lower floor, scuttling down each step on quiet feet. When the window I watched as he looked around, Unchained the barn door and slipped inside But why? What was he hiding?

The questions rolled around like rocks in my stomach It made me feel queasy. Grandma was missing And Grandpa was acting strange. Even as I'd attempted to prod him For information earlier that day, He only seemed to divert from it. Eye contact was never his strong suits,

given the fish eye, but I could tell something was off from his body language. It was like he was trying to squirrel away from the subject entirely. It made me nervous, like I was suddenly talking to someone else. A stranger? Check the barn, my gut proposed. Wait until he comes back and then sneak out yourself. Well, I thought about the small hole my younger self had discovered on the side of the barn.

I wondered if Grandpa ever did manage to patch it up. It had been the easiest way to sneak inside, pet the cows. No doubt it would be a tight fit, but it could be possible. Well, that would at least get me beyond the padlock. Then I could be in and out quickly. The thought was provoking, but also curbed by the possibility of what I might find inside there, whatever secret thing he'd been doing. Not only that, if it really was nothing and I was discovered, it would no doubt hurt Grandpa for suspecting him of something so vile. But, I... The trust was gone now.

Graham Graham was gone. I waited by the window for some time, not daring to leave the house until I knew he was back indoors. As every minute passed, so did a rising flux of worry. At last the barn door slid open and out he came, returning to the house with an exhausted gate. I listened intently for his shuffling down the hall, and then the groan of hinges from the bedroom door.

When enough silence had passed, I cautiously moved down the stairs and out to the back door, thankfully without any noise. The air outside woke me and brought me back to the reality of what I was preparing to do. Fear and uncertainty compressed my legs, demanding that I stop, that I really think about this. But I was done second-guessing myself, and I pushed on. Insects chirped their reedy songs from the brushwood. I circled around the barn's haggard body and sure enough found the small hole in its side. Considering that I'd been barely small enough to squeeze through as a kid, there was no chance I'd fit now. I whipped one of the weaker planks near it and gave it a hard tug.

The wood groaned from my effort, but held firm. I sat on the ground, planting both my shoes against the timber and yanked again. The nail holding it ripped out like a tooth, as the plank gave me. a loud snap. I took a few breaths, nerved myself up, and then crawled through the widened passage. The air inside was heavy

with the smell of old, dusty wood, and further thickened with something sharp and familiar, the same odour that lingered in the halls of the house. Only the smell was a thousand times stronger here. I flicked on my cell phone's flashlights. Cobwebs hung like streamers from the ceiling. The animal pens, sat empty of anything but silage and still stunk somewhat of their dung. From one of them the teeth

of an old pitchfork poked dangerously out of the brush. I walked deeper inside, bypassing a tractor beneath a grime-laden tarps, long past its golden years. Beyond the stables, in the far darkened rear of the interior, my light caught the silhouette of something tall and arboreal, a tree growing right in the haunches of the old barn. from its splayed branches, I could make out the dark, grubby shapes of fruit hanging from them. I approached it, more cautious than anything, about why it was here and why Grandpa wouldn't have just turned it to firewood by now. Bad feeling slithered down my neck, a very bad feeling.

And then, as enough dusty light pushed back the darkness, I saw it. All of it. A tree! The voice in my head squeaked with knife, air. edge terror. The trunk, if you could call it that, was not made of bark, but of a stretched, leathery skin. It buckled and folded around the main body, forming the same rows and ridges as a fingertip. From atop its crown, thin skeletal branches, which began as stems, grew and evolved into vainy arms, human arms.

Their splintry fingers gripped in silent torment. The vague shapes dangling from them that I thought were fruits weren't fruit at all, but rows of wrinkled heads. Some had wisps of white hair. Some had more developed features than others. Somewhere in the dim compartment of my mind, I realized something else. They all looked like gram-gram. The tree's long gnawed shape reached halfway to the ceiling from the evil earth that birthed it.

In its centre, a distinct crater was left as if something large had recently been carved out, something like a torso. From the patch of soil in front, someone had been hard at work digging up and exposing roots, boneless, atrophied legs with knobs on the way to becoming toes. A pair of them appeared to have already been cut and removed off the main stem. I was breathing hard now, practically panting, trying to find some way to process the gaunt, twisted thing before me. And then, without thinking, I snapped a photo.

And that was when I heard it. The sound of a chain being fiddled with. I turned on my heel, clabbering around a bit before picking one of the stacks of old hay and hiding behind it. The barn doors stood open just as I remembered to turn the flashlight off. Overhead lights flickered on and glazed the inner space with a soft yellow glow.

Boots made their way inside, thumping over the matted hay. I leaned closer into my hiding spot, straggly bits of straw poking into my cheek. Grandpa Cobolk came into view, approaching the nightmarish thing with the slow, burned out pace and a few exhaled murmurs. A large empty sack was strung over his shoulder.

Taking no notice of me, he manoeuvred around to a small workshop in the corner. where a rack of brooms, a shovel, a manure fork, and a stained pruning saw hung in weight. Bypassing those, he gripped the wooden ladder, situated at the front of the tree thing, and returned for the handsaw. I couldn't look away from him, and the thick air I'd been breathing had started to make me feel light-headed. This was all truly just a bad dream. Stepping on a few of the rungs, Grandpa surveyed the hanging heads, cupping each one by their cheek with his gloved hands,

he opened their mouths, checking the teeth. Finally settling on one, he gave a little twist and plucked it like a fat, ripe apple. The selected head went into the bag. He repeated the process for the tangle of arms, looking each of them over. Upon choosing the best two, he brought the sore up to where their collars met with the rest of the trunk

and started cutting. The silver fangs chewed through them, producing a wet, grinding sound with each stroke. I pinned my hands over my ears, trying to keep out the noise of the moist, ripping fibres. The arms drooped and dangled from their stems, and after the split were quickly fed to the bag, black sap draining from their stumps. With his bag full of the chosen parts, Grandpa Cobolt slung it over his shone. shoulder and brought it to a door on the side of the room. It opened to a short, small space, where a light hung above a table. A white sheet was draped over it, a vague silhouetted shape beneath it.

He closed the door shut behind him. I can't stay here. My thoughts sloshed and finally churned out. I have to go. I have to get out. I cautiously moved toward the way I'd come in, plan to cut through the empty pens in order not to be seen. But instead of my foot fighting soft earth in my next step, it found something hard and wooden. A trap door. Its frame was as dilapidated as the walls around me, and I'm almost certain it would have given beneath my weight had I continued.

I tried to peer through a gap between its boards, but it was too dark, even with the overhead ruddy lighting. Checking back once more from behind me, I placed my phone between the board, and flicked the flashlight on. The cavern below lit up, and had I not clamped a hand over my mouth, I would have finally let out a scream.

A body, not several bodies were down there, stacked nakedly over each other in the pit, as though dropped one at a time. Their skin was flaking like old paper. Their eyes were dried in their sockets, their dry lips curled in mummified sneers and grimaces. but the worst of all was the one at the top of the pile. Its white hair spilled behind it,

and a splint still fitted around its bony wrist. The time between squeezing back through the hole in the wall and running back to my room felt stitched together, split maybe between two or three blinks. I fell against the guest room door, closing it and sank to the floor, hyperventilating in short, quick gasps. My heart flip-flopped in my chest.

My mind was trying its solemn best to keep it together. I dialed my mother's cell. Pointless. The signal couldn't reach the towers beyond the mountains. All I could do was wait for her to come and pick me up tomorrow. And then I'd tell her everything. I'd tell everyone everything. The downstairs door pulled open, and the drumming of shoes drew closer.

There was no lock on my door, so I made a cautious but quick crawl toward the bed and rolled the bed sheets over me. Boot heels thumped up the stairs, traveled down the hall and stopped at my door. I held back the air in my throat and rested a hand over my thrumming chest. The door-nob jostled softly then twisted, as the door inch open with a horrible, terrible groan, only partially opening. I lay still, hoping he'd see that I was asleep and move on. Then, in a voice so unfamiliar I could hardly understand it, he spoke through the crack. Delete the photos. Sharp, frigid terror shot through me and jostled my insides.

I didn't move, trying to hold onto the façade that I wasn't awake. But the door didn't move, remaining open. to the slit of the hallway. Did he really see me in there, or did the intel come from something else? I hovered my finger over the phone, and erased the first photo, hoping to at least hold out with a second one I took,

the one of the bodies in the shaft. Both of them, he grunted. As I deleted the final bit of data, the door began to close, stopped, and then pushed open once more. I love, Barb. I hope you know that. I didn't answer. The door then clicked shut and the boots returned to the downstairs.

He must have had more work to do. I looked emptily toward the window. The sun was on the rise, slowly shifting the night into a newborn door. I didn't leave the room, even as a disk of sun finally peeped over the hills, even as the smell of delicious food wafted through the vents, even as the sound of footsteps came to and fro from the hall. Then I heard it. The sound of wheels crunching gravel outside.

My mom was finally here. I rushed downstairs, planning to meet her before she even touched the doorbell. But as I reached the living room, my legs deadlocked, the familiar cold air of shock washing over me again. Well, look who decided to join us. Graham-gram trilled from the armchair. She was in her turtleneck, and the splint rested securely over her mending fingers.

But it wasn't her. It was a collection of parts, of pieces from the tree-thing all strung together beneath that sweater. Behind the collar over her neck, I pictured a fresh ring of scars, maybe even stitches, hiding under the fabric. Were there still guts and augurs within them? or just more heaps of black sap.

I knew this wasn't Graham, Graham. Just like I knew it wasn't the same, Gram, I'd spent these days gardening and cooking with. It was a different one. A new one, freshly picked and pulled together. Was my real grandmother dead? Was this just some deal Grandpa Colbert had made never to lose her? A deal with the devil.

Did he just wait for one to shrivel up before carving out a new one? "'You all right, dear?' it inquired. "'You're so pale. "'Are you hungry? Do you need some water, maybe?' "'I never knew what it truly meant to see the light leave someone's eyes. "'But behind those spectacles, the eyes were dead and dull, "'wide with fake life.' "'A knock came at the door, prompting the thing with Gram-Gram's face to sit up.

"'Ah, that must be your mother, finally come to rescue you from us.' It laughed. And as she pulled open the door to let my mother in, all I could do was stand there. It isn't Graham, Graham, it's something else, I tried to say, but the words died on my tongue. A tight queasiness bubbled up my throat and made the room spin. I just wanted to leave.

I just wanted to go home. Grandpa Cobalt didn't leave his study to say goodbye to us, and frankly I wanted nothing more. From upstairs we could hear his gramophone beginning to play. So, how was it? Mother asked on the drive back. I tried again to tell her, to spill everything I'd witnessed, but the same wooziness returned and closed my throat.

Needle-sharp pain filled my ears and only grew worse as I tried to push the words out. Hey, are you okay? My mother asked, seeing how much I was struggling. But I couldn't blurt it out, the awful horrible images swelling in my brain. Even as I tried to write them down, the seasickness feeling intensified until I couldn't even see straight. Maybe it was something in the food, or maybe I breathed in too much of the thick, mouldy air inside of that place. One thing was certain. They had no intention of letting me reveal what I saw.

Not in my whole life, not even on my deathbed. Even as I tried later to recover the photos from the barn, the files were too corrupted to fix, lost forever. There was something I did manage to get out of that car ride, something that only ended up confusing my mother even more. Her splint was on the wrong hand, I said. Despite all mom's efforts to revive our family ties, things ended up falling silent after that. No more annual check-ins or seasonal greetings from the grandparents. Time, I did not dull the memory of what I'd seen in the barn, and truthfully, I don't think it ever will.

Visceral horror can't be erased. It can only be negotiated with. I filled up art books with it, sketching page after page of withered corpses and dark hedges made of body parts, eagerly awaiting harvest. What had started as a hobby of me. mine soon became an act of weak, pitiful defiance, a way to get the secrets trapped inside of me out. Stacks of them filled up my room. Teachers were getting frustrated. My mom started to worry.

I didn't care. I only wanted to draw. Now I have a therapist. Dr. Abigail meets with me once a week for our 45-minute sessions. Even though she doesn't show it, I'm sure she gets bothered by how little I talk in them, because I'm too busy drawing, too busy finishing the piece I'm working on. Emily, she says from her chair, one leg folded over the other. Can you tell me about that picture you're making? I don't answer. How about a name for it?

I stop and look up at her. Imposter. I try to be a superhero. Now, I'm just trying to keep my sanity. Part 1. It started out with a night terrace. I bought up in bed, having had the most vivid images, ravaged my sleeping brain. Often they were blurs of drunken debauchery, at a club or a bar or some such place. Sometimes I'd witnessed someone arguing with another person, their lover, their parent, their child.

Sometimes I'd witnessed something far more violent. worse was that after I'd woken up I could still see and hear the images in my head for a while I thought I was still dreaming trapped in some lucid nightmare I couldn't escape after about a week of experimenting in the daytime I realized they weren't dreams at all I could read other people's thoughts when it was lights out I realized I could control my telepathic influx I could decide whose thoughts I heard or if I heard any one's thoughts for that matter. It really was as easy as it sounds, like tensing and untensing a muscle. I'd think of a person or look at someone and immediately have access to their conscious mind. It's like when you think of a movie you've seen a thousand times, and how, just by thinking of it, you can visualize all the actors' faces and recall the dialogue to its exact detail. If I concentrated hard enough, I could even find out a person's past experiences, not to mention their darkest secrets.

If I wanted to, I could hear everyone's thoughts around me. All I needed to do was open up my mind, like opening this invisible cupboard drawer inside my brain. The thoughts of everyone around me would then come flooding into my head, like raindrops into a cupped pair of hands. I didn't do that much, though. It wasn't that the thoughts that came to me were unpleasant per se, but the amount would build with every passing second,

overwhelming me to near breaking point. and this was especially the case since I lived in a fairly large urban city. Instead, I usually focused on one person at a time and never more than three. I know what you're thinking. How do I know I wasn't going mad? Well, I was certainly worried about that too. Schizophrenia and manic depression do run in my family, and in my immediate family, to be exact,

so in order to be sure, I ran a couple of tests. First, I would focus on a person and try to divine what they would say before they said it. This got interesting when riding the bus, when no one would be talking for long stretches of time. Nonetheless, their next line of dialogue would come to me. I'd write it down on my pad of paper, and within a few minutes, they would utter those exact words out loud, on their phone or to a person sitting next to them. I started doing this with my friends and family, reading their thoughts when I was far out of range. Once, while I was sick at home from school, I was able to hear the exact conversation taking place between two of my friends in the cafeteria.

I remember they were mostly whispering that the cafe was especially loud that day. When I met with them the next morning, I recited their conversation back to them word for words. Delighted, I watched the colour drain from their faces. How did you know that? one asked, marvelling at my uncanny insight. You spying on us? I never told them how I knew. Why should I? This was my gift, after all, my little secrets.

With little trouble, I was able to read the minds of both my father and auntie as well. I must confess their lives were rather boring. Their only secrets being where they stashed their booze and when they found time to sneak the occasional joint during a workday. The only person I could never reach was my older sister, Emma. Emma was always the cool-headed type, and had been that golden child in our family, especially when it came to school. Teachers and older relatives had always said I was precocious, but I was perfectly mediocre next to Emma.

At this time, she was a freshman at the University of Toronto, studying economics with a minor in international relations. I just figured I could enrich her mind because she moved so far away from us. Eventually, I decided that I needed to use my ability to its fullest potential. As you've likely guessed from the title of this post, I am a big comic book's nerd, especially of the superhero variety. I was also a teenager, much like Peter Parker when he got that radioactive spider bites and had very big, if not somewhat immature, ambitions.

I mean, what adolescent doesn't want to fight crime with their newfound superpowers or use them to make the world a better place. I won't lie, though. I didn't immediately go out after dark in search of the Joker's henchmen or meet up with shield to vanquish Thanos. I first used my ability for, admittedly selfish purposes.

For the first few months I didn't bother studying for tests, instead reading the thoughts of the teacher or the smartest kid in the class for the answers. I also used a few people's credit card information to buy myself some inexpensive items, just some action figures, comics and candy. This ended up saving me some extra bucks for the occasional six-pack, when I found a cashier willing to look the other way. This is also how I learned the limitations of my power. One of my self-indulgent experiments was to use my telepathy to read the mind of the cute boy whom had a crush on. After reading his mind and discovering he was barely cognizant of my existence, I tried to project thoughts of myself to him. Admittedly, I felt odd,

trying to think of thoughts for another person and plant them in their brain, especially flattering notions of myself. Looking back, I must admit I shouldn't have been surprised by his indifference. I was so many pretty girls in our cohort, and I've always been a bit of a tomboy. After a few weeks of him still paying me no mind, I tried to communicate with him telepathically, seeing what his reaction would be if he knew my feelings for him. I did this during study hall when everyone was busy pouring over their textbooks. I managed to seat myself just to his right, so I had full view of that side of his face. Well, much to my dismay, he never once looked at me,

no matter how persistent or vigorous my telepathic messages. He never took his eyes off his textbook or even seemed perturbed. I knew that my efforts to project my thoughts telepathically had not found purchase. I thusly learned that, well, I could read other people's thoughts. I could not make them read mine. And that was that. But this did lead me to my second discovery. Crest fallen over my failed attempt at psychic seduction.

I laced on the couch at home, and Channel served until finding an old Stephen King movie. It was the Brian DePalmer classic Carrie, and I stumbled upon the scene in which Carrie White was wreaking bloody havoc at her school prom. I hadn't considered telekinesis, the possibility that I could move objects with my mind. Oh, as I thought it over, I did remember seeing things suddenly fly off my dresser and around my room during those lucid night terrors.

I could even recall my father complaining about the ruckus I'd made during those nights, even though I swore I'd been asleep and had never left my bed. I decided to run another little experiment to find out if I was in fact telekinetic. I focused my attention to the remote, which was placed just out of reach on the leather couch arm. Within seconds I saw it begin to see-saw then lurched closer to my out-held hand. Focusing harder, I brought it flying into my palm just as my thoughts had commanded. it. Or my stomach flipped. I held my breath for a moment, marveling at the otherwise ordinary TV controller before letting out a shuddering laugh. I was right. I was telekinetic. I couldn't help but think

of all the possibilities this would afford me. I was like Jean Grey in the X-Men or something. For the rest of the day, I practiced moving small objects around my bedroom, simultaneously fantasizing about all the possibilities this new ability would afford me. What was odd was that, although I could control everything in the daytime, I was still plagued by unsolicited visions during the night. Not all the time, but they came often enough for me to worry, often enough for me to be upset by them. At the time I dismissed this as my powerful subconscious utilising my psychic abilities while I slept. It was all I could do where he experiences being so awful, so traumatic. One of these midnight episodes was how I finally made up my mind to stop procrastinating and use my powers to do good.

It would lead to my first and only heroic crusade. It came to me in the night, the most horrific scenario any woman could ever imagine. I saw a girl not much older than I, small petite and pretty, being dragged into the back of a stranger's van. Her body felt limp and heavy. her mind screaming at her useless arms and legs. I read her thoughts and found out her name was Selena and that she was 17. I searched her recent memories, discovering she and a couple of friends had snuck into a local bar with some phony IDs.

The bar was a real dive, I remember, while at the stick she'd been approached by a much older man who offered to buy her and her friends another round. The man was accompanied by a woman whom he claimed to be his wife. well, this initially set Selena at ease. Selina's mind was foggy on how many drinks she'd consumed, what had happened to her teenage companions and how she'd appeared in the back alleyway, but it was clear who was carrying her toward the ominous open van.

I scanned the surrounding thoughts and found the man a marginally employed, marginally educated narcissist named Rufus Butler. He was 28, open-haired, well-groomed and boyishly handsome, and this was not his first abduction. I searched his female companion, a 35-year-old woman named Leanne Whalen, and she was not his wife. She had limp yellow hair,

an equine face, and dark circles under her eyes. I discovered that she was an insecure sadist who went along with these sick midnight escapades to be seen as an asset to her sociopathic, insatiable spouse. Knowing he would, inevitably, grow bull, with her. I ignored her and went back to Butler.

He was driving south-west on Gulflink's Road, Selena having already been flung into the back. I could devine that he was headed for his home. I scoured his thoughts and found the image of what he intended to do. It revolted me, made me shudder and want to vomit. He was planning on gagging Selena, then tying her down, wrists-bound, legs tethered apart, to a bed-frame in his sound-proof basement. There he would have his way with her for weeks on end.

He would force her to take more mind-altering drugs, reducing her to his own personal human sex doll. I couldn't just watch it happen. I couldn't allow such a man to live. First, I tried to use my telekinesis to stop the van. When that didn't work, I tried stopping Butler's hearts. But I could see that he was fine and still making his way home to carry out his gruesome fantasy.

I needed to be closer. I needed to physically be there. Unlike the other times, I'd seen horrible things in the night. I made up my mind to do something. Ignoring the sudden flow of incoming thoughts from other parts of the city, I laser focused on where Butler was going. His house was a quaint split-level home. He'd been gifted from his wealthy mother near River Terrace Park,

a seven-minute drive from my home. I got out of bed, dressed, nick my father's car keys, and began gunning it to that exact. address. But after driving for hardly a block, I had to pull over. My head was throbbing, going berserk with teeming thoughts and the images from an all-night party somewhere within the vicinity of my neighbourhood. It was like a thousand buzzing insects trapped inside my skull. I didn't know how at the time, but I was eventually able to get a grip on myself and tune out the unwanted mental traffic. I turned the engine back over and flew through the city streets, blowing each red light I

came across. I arrived at the split-level house a few minutes after Butler had pulled into the garage. The neighbourhood was perfectly suburban, a row of comfortably spaced brick houses, each with a driveway, ample lawn, attached garage, and a wooden or wired fence leading into a backyard. Each house was some scheme of maroon, tan or amber brick with mahogany or white wooden trim. I pulled up onto the curb and killed the engine. I knew from reading his thoughts which one was Butler's home, and although the shutter door was closed, I knew the three of them were in there. Butler and Leanne had already alighted from the van. They were strolling their way to the rear, chatting as though they'd just arrived from the supermarket and were in the process of unloading groceries.

Butler's hip brushed up against something, and I saw that he had a gurney set up to carry the girl into their house and down to their basement. The meticulous. and nonchalance, while I felt bile rise to the back of my throat. I stood on the blackly fresh drive, my chest heaving, adrenaline roaring through my veins. No turning back now. Opting for a dramatic entrance, I focused my mind on the shutter door, commanding it to open. Thus far, I'd only use my telekinesis to remove small objects, remote slamps, and pens, so this proved quite arduous. After a few seconds, aware that Leanne and Butler had almost strapped Selina to the gurney,

I gave up trying to manipulate the machinery and began to violently pull at the massive door. The metal was shrieking as I did. With an iron wine and a thunderous woody crack, I tore the garage open like a can of sardines. The shutter was crushed into the shape of a walnut and rolled onto the grass. I advanced toward the open structure. Inside the three of them were frozen in a terror-stricken tableau. Butler and Leanne staring wall-eyed at me. The girl Selina was unconscious.

She lay prostrate inside the van beside the stretcher. Why? What the hell? I heard Butler mutter. We began taking small, reticent steps onto his drive. As he approached, I observed the open van behind him. The rear doors opened to the sides, like in. ambulance instead of vertically like other models. I saw the door closest to his back, its carbon steel

outer edge positioned parallel with his spine. I didn't hesitate. Focusing my mind and rage, I sent the little creep flying backward, pinning him hard against the dull blade. His spine hit flush, his head thrown back and cracking against the makeshift guillotine. It was a splat and snap of bone. He fell limp to the concrete like a rag doll. I could no longer read his thoughts. Oh my God, shrieked the woman, namely Anne. Her hands shook beside her face as she knelt down to console her fallen lover. Her compassion for that sick pervert turned my stomach. I focused my mind around her throat and began to hear her choking. Caught up in the violent ecstasy of the moment, I sent her air-boy.

up into the garage ceiling. There was a clatter of breaking glass, a sputter of light, and a hail of plaster and splintered wood. For a moment her long dangling legs were the only part of her visible. After a second or two, she came back to earth, hitting the ground hard. There was a long, drawn-out silence,

but then I heard a shrieking inhale, her breath having been driven from her body. She looked up at me with tears in her eyes, her mouth wide with horror, her legs contorted under her in an unnatural position. Her face was scuffed up a bit, but miraculously there were no lacerations. A single trickle of blood slithered down her temple to her chin. She looked completely helpless, completely in my power. Listen to me, you heinous bitch, I growled, biting each syllable as I spoke.

She was sobbing, but nodding her head, indicating she was listening. She clearly understood that what had just happened to her and Rufus was my doing. You go to the police and you tell them everything, everything. Even the girls before this one. You go there and you tell them to come here and search the house. Either that or I kill you. Do you understand me?

She nodded feverishly. Since she was still sitting there and I wasn't about to have her. help her up. I barked for her to get moving. She scrambled to her feet and I could read in her mind how painful it was, her knee lightly dislocated, if not fractured. I watched her limp away, unable to block my pity and remorse with rage, which was all now but spent. The man Butler had still not moved, lying on the pavement in a quivering heap. I then turned my attention to the girl, Selena. Glowing inside the van, I could smell something wet and fetid. I gagged, putting my hand to my mouth, realizing that she had fouled herself.

My heart lurched, wondering if the drugs had caused her to overdose. Terrified that I'd failed, I stuck two fingers to the side of her neck. It took a while, but I found a pulse. It was weak and crawlingly slow, but there all the same. In the heat of the moment, I tried rousing her, shaking her by the shoulders and lightly slapping her on the cheek. Well, I know now I should just have called. an ambulance. Then, like a vampire in those old horror movies, her eyes shot open. I squealed, pulling back and falling on my butt along the cold metal floor. Her eyes were wide, but lifeless,

like a marionette manipulated by strings. She stretched vertical before me. On her feet now, she walked past me out of the garage and onto the street. I watched her, not understanding what was going on. I was still unable to read her. her thoughts, no matter how hard I focused on her. Very impressive, Estelle, said a voice. I started and gave out a little squeak. This voice wasn't like the others that invaded my thoughts at night. This one was brighter, more prominent,

and unlike the others, I couldn't decipher where it had come from, not even a vague locale. Who said that? I demanded, looking around, trying to sound as brave as I knew I wasn't. I didn't hear an answer, but instead felt a compulsion to leave the garage in the direction of my father's car. There, I saw another vehicle. A silver, nondescript station wagon, parked behind me. The driver's side door opened, and I saw her face.

Emma! I bleated, recognising my older sister. Estelle, she said in a staid voice. She looked composed and immaculate, but wore a visage of annoyance, verging on disappointment. We can't stay here. Follow my car. But what about... Don't worry about them, she interrupted. I've handled it. Just follow me.

She'd... Handled it. What did that mean? It was then then I realised that despite all the commotion, none of the houses on the block looked disturbed. No windows lit, no blinds. undrawn, not even a dog barking. Emma climbed back into the driver's seat, and I heard the engine begin to cook. Not seeing any reason not to, I climbed into my dad's car and drove behind her.

The two of us cruised through the sleeping city. I had trouble keeping my eyes on the road then, well, I hadn't noticed before, but I began to feel fatigued. At the time I shrugged this off, attributing it to the late hour. "'Sail, it was a bit scary, nodding off at the wheel, "'finding myself drifting between lanes onto the hard shoulder. "'To keep my mind occupied, I tried reading Emma's thoughts, "'figuring that she was now in reach.

"'I couldn't. I couldn't get anything from her, "'not a single inkling as to her mental state. "'I left it alone and continued to drive. "'She ended up leading me back to our father's house. "'She took me the long way home, "'which was probably because she'd meant to take me somewhere else, had thought better of it. When we got out, she told me to go back to bed

and that we discussed this early the next morning. Calling to school sick, she told me, I have something very important to discuss with you. When I asked why, she shook her head and stated, Tomorrow. Well, I was too exhausted to argue. Not wanting to be deprived of any more sleep, I nodded in agreement.

She got back in her car and drove to, God knows where. Part two. By the next morning I didn't have to pretend to call into school sick. I felt like the rug on the floor of my father's car, the one below the pedal and the brakes. Regardless, Emma came and picked me up, I would not hear any excuse. I remember the day was radiant, warm, sunny, the sky, a flawless azure. As we drove down Balmoral, I could see young children and their parents flying kites in the nearby park, or eating ice cream. I felt better but still had trouble

keeping my eyes open. We stopped at Hillcrest Park, at the heights overlooking the city all the way down to the harbour. Without a word, Emma unbuckled her seatbelt and got out. I knew to do the same. We stood before the small,

stark wall that plateaued at our hips, peering down at all the chimneys and rooftops. Ten feet to our left was one of those carronades mounted next to a flagpole. I'd always enjoyed this view, but I knew my big sister hadn't brought me here to take in the scenery. You must be tired, right? she asked, a coy smile curling on the side of her face. I nodded, letting out a not quite exaggerated groan. I thought as much. Using a telekinesis like you did last night would be draining.

Squinting, I searched her face. Don't worry, she said, having read my thoughts, with practice. "'that tissue won't be as fatigued afterward, and yes, I know enough about what you're going through. "'You're lucky that your distressed thoughts last night woke me. "'It was quite the mess you left me to clean up.' "'You can read my thoughts,' I said, not as a question. "'Yes, I've been in town for some time. "'I mean, even from Toronto I could sense your power's blossomy.

"'I came as soon as I could to supervise. "'Well, after last night I gathered that I'd waited long enough. "'But what about your studies at university?' "'Emma then turned to face me. "'What about it?' she said, followed by a hollow, effortless laugh. "'It's a joke. I just read my professor's minds for the answers, "'or for the type of content and opinions they want in a paper. "'I don't even bother showing up to the lectures,

"'especially since they don't take attendance. "'Digesting all this, I nodded my head. "'So you can read people's things. thoughts and communicate with them, I mean, without speaking. I can do more than that, little sister. I'm a full telepath. I can read people's thoughts, make them read mine, and control their behaviour and thinking. My bolt?

What did you say? You heard me. She turned her cold mauve eyes my way. My sister had always been gorgeous, oval face, full lips, tumbling, flax and hair, alabaster skin with a rosy hue. But now, staring at me, she looked formidable, intimidating,

a statue's sovereign car from granite. But why would you do that? Control people's minds. Without answering, she turned to the view. You're the same age I was when I discovered my gift, she said, keeping up that mysterious, airy tone. Same age as our mother, actually. "'Our mother!' I exclaimed, cocking my head back.

"'Our mother was crazy.' "'Don't you dare say that!' she snapped, glaring with those smouldering eyes of hers. "'Like our late mother, Estelle, had been burdened with suicidal tendencies, "'though her attempts were fuelled more by a depressed resignation than a madden delirium. "'Oh, as is common in gifted children, "'her premature wisdom of the world filled her with a sense of futility. No, she was no such thing. She was like you, a half telepath,

able to read people's thoughts, but unable to communicate with others. Unlike me, she'd not developed a door. A door? Yes, a kind of shield inside your head that allows you to block out people's thoughts. It also allows you to focus on one individual, rather than having every single conscious mind deluge your thoughts.

silently I let this sink in, the invisible cupboard door. Then my sister spoke up. Like I said before Estelle, don't do anything like what you did last night again. It's too messy and risks too much exposure. We can't have people knowing about us. Not yet. Spinning on her, I sped out my reply.

Too much exposure. They were going to rape that girl, torture her for her, For days on end, I couldn't let that happen. You're an adult now. Even though you're not quite 16, it's time to put away childish things. How's acting like a super... I mean, being a good Samaritan, childish?

I tried to stop myself, but it was too late. Emma would have read my thoughts anyway. Smirking, she chuckled to herself, without mirth. Still reading those comic books, are we? Sulking, I let my shoulder. as slump, I mumbled my reply. They're called graphic novels. Another cheerless chuckle. Estelle never had time for graphic novels, or manga, or even television. Her only vices being Sudoku and red wine. I wonder Estelle, how many crimes have you seen take place

in your nighttime divinations? How many armed robberies, drug deals, how many evasions, even homicides have you witnessed? But a ritualistic sexualist. assault is the one you chose to stop, to avenge? Again, I squinted, scrutinising my sister's statuesque profile. I never thought about it, I guess. I didn't know those other people, but last night was different. Personal? What the hell does that mean?

I barred. Not quite startled. Emma stared, bewildered at me, then turned ahead as though to let it alone. I have plans for you, Estelle. For us, this is the beginning of a great, tumultuous future for our family. What's that? At my university, I've scanned the campus and found the brightest minds, the most brilliant and creative people of our generation.

And they know others on other campuses. They're going to make huge strides in the future. New technologies and business ventures, software innovation. They'll be billionaires before they turn 30, and they are going to work under me. all of their hard work and success will be to my benefit. And it won't just be one company. It will be several, each one acting in concert toward my ends.

Um, not for nothing, sis, but you're starting to sound like Lex Luthor there. Shhh, look, enough of that. You're too young to understand yet, but money and power are the only driving engines on earth. Nothing is more powerful than money, and nothing is more valuable than power. With this wealth and influence, we can leverage world governments, including that of the United States, to bend to our will. We would be able to forge the destiny of this entire planet and be free from the dangers that off before the working class. Unemployment, disease, poverty. We would be an empire, and no one could touch us.

I stared at her for a long while, my mind rejecting what I was hearing. I'm not sure why, but at that moment, the moment, the moment. The only question I could think to ask my sister was. Why do you need me? An undertaking this size could not be maintained by one person alone, even with my telepathic abilities. I would need you to work as my partner, overseeing other businesses on other sides of the globe.

You could stay in the Americas, if you like. The two of us should be strong enough, at least until I can find a third telepath or telekinetic. At that moment, a crystallized vision of my sister's design, came to me. I don't know if it's a product of my precocious intuition or of a new ability I'd yet to fully utilize, but I saw the future as moulded by her ambition, and it sickened me. Millions upon millions of ordinary people, hunched over, under my sister's boot, completely deprived of free will or thought. They wore rags, walked barefoot, and had dirt cake

to their faces. They sold their children into bold. brutal labor. They were completely deprived of dignity and, worse, didn't know the difference. I couldn't be party to this dystopian vision. I shuddered, backpedaling from my sister. She stared at me, puzzled. Emma, if you enslave the people working directly under you, then what would stop you from doing the same to others? What would stop you from enslaving the entire planet? "'Nothing,' she stated, matter of fatly. "'So you don't want to make the world a better place. "'You want to enslave everyone and force them to live like cattle.

"'Despair is a reality, sweet Estelle. "'I'm just ensuring that you and I will always remain abreast of it. "'Perhaps out of love to my sister, I felt compelled to reason with her, "'not ready to part ways for good. but if you do this people will inevitably become resentful their lives will mean nothing so they'll revolt and try to take us over hundreds of thousands will die maybe millions there again was that humorless smile twisting my sister's face you are smart i'm glad don't worry about that they will have no will or desire to question us i'm able to put in thought blocks a telepathic plant that disallows certain ideas, desires and ambitions from taking roots. Our future will be secure and indefinite. You're going to block their very ability to have certain thoughts, certain curiosities.

The smile was gone now. She just stared at me, her expression, that of morose discontent. No, no, I cried. I won't be part of something like that. something so immoral, so evil, you can forget it. Suddenly, I was seized with pain, horrible mental anguish from the onslaught of something loud and glaringly bright. I didn't recognise it at first.

There was so much, and it all came at once. I then realized what it was, the thoughts of all the conscious beings within a five-kilometer radius. Their thoughts. what they saw, what they heard, what they pondered, tore into my brain like shards falling from a shattered mirror. I could feel the patients inside the emergency hospital, located three kilometres away. I not only heard their screams and saw their faces, but felt their pain and confusion, their nausea, their despair. It was so much worse, so much louder than in the night time. My skull was a hornet's nest of blistering imagery, and the circumference of my telepathic reach,

along with a number of teeming thoughts pouring into me, was expanding, spreading and spreading, and spreading. Do you feel that? Came the prominent voice I knew to be my sisters. It hovered over the other voices like a cindering halo. That's what our mother had to enjoy every day for 25 years. This is the curse of telepaths who cannot form a mental door to block out the unwanted traffic. Quivering, tearing up, I stuttered out, but I thought, I thought, no, no Estelle, you are not blessed with an inner door like I am. That's why other thoughts come unsolicited to you in the night. During the day I provide you with a door. My telepathic power allows me to provide you with that ability. I funnel your thoughts. Without me lending you this door, Your mind is exposed.

Please, make it stop. And in an instant, the excruciating horror ceased. I stood there rocking on my heels, panting and sweating. My temples throbbed from the heat of an onset headache. I don't understand. You give me the door during the day. That's right, she said verbally. While conscious, I can provide you.

you with the mental shield that I have, which allows me to be a functional, saying, telepath. This is one of my abilities as a full telepath. The door that I give you is just that. A door. It closes off any telepathic influx, but can be opened and closed again by you. Every time you read an individual's mind, you are opening that door a crack, making yourself vulnerable to other traffic, making yourself vulnerable for other telepaths to read your thoughts. That's why I could never read her thoughts. Her door. Then, why do you take this door away from me while I sleep?

So you can keep me hostage? Why would you subject me to such torture? Taking aback, Emma shook her head twice. My dear sister, you're only given that door because I will it. As soon as I'm unconscious or asleep, it goes away. Or my body waxed numb as I processed the implications of what. what she just said. Imagine the sleepless nights and the torment

if you lived in a city like New York or Chicago or Toronto. The tens of millions of voices echoing in your skull day in, day out. The thousands, if not millions of voices blaring non-stop in the night. Be grateful you live in Thunder Bay, a city of only a hundred thousand, the only major municipality for a hundred kilometers. I shuddered, realizing that to British, reserve my sanity in a way my mother hadn't. I needed my sister alive, indefinitely, alive and cooperative. But I wasn't ready to give in just yet. I'm your hostage then. You plan to

threaten to leave me exposed to all these thoughts unless I give in. There was that bloodless smirk again. I prefer not to think of it that way, Estelle. Still nauseous from the previous onslaught, Emma's patronising tone, the one she'd been using on me since we were in primary school, really dug under my skin. I then made a decision. It was rash and compulsive, but I chose it regardless. Emma began to make clucking sounds as though she was sobbing with a dry throat. I knew better. My telekinetic grip was wrapped around her throat, like an inviagnetic. visible snare, and I wasn't about to let go. If you don't give me that door, I said, staring into a bulging bloodshot eyes,

then I'll just kill you. I'll break your neck like a chicken's. As expected, I felt the white-hot barrage of alien thought flooding my head. I kept my nerve, holding my sister there, throttling her, watching her face turn blue while her nails clawed track marks into her neck. The volume of sensory stimuli grew denser, bludgeoning. My head felt like a swelling watermelon. Emma's feet were now hovering just off the pavement.

Estelle, my sister telegraphed, the message smothered by the howling cacophony inside my head. If you kill me, this will be your life. You'll go mad like our mother. Maybe. Maybe I'll just move to... A small city, away from everyone. I forced the words out through gritted teeth,

spittle airborne with each consonant. And then I felt Emma doing something, something inside my head, something that wasn't a telepathic message or a door or even a thought block. I could feel her psychic fingers probing deep inside my brain, peeling back layers of something I hadn't known was there. Somewhere I hadn't realized,

existed before. And then something came loose, something I'd long ago buried from my conscious mind. I saw our mother, just before her suicide. She was in my bed, staring down at me. She looked tired, her face sallow and bloated,

as it often was from her heavy drinking. She'd snuck into my room late at night and slid in beside me, the acetone of vodka and nail polish remover, announcing her before I'd opened my eyes. Her eyes looked hungry, lidded and letterous. Her sandy hair matted on one side. There came another smell, a musk both familiar and repulsive.

I remembered that I first thought she wanted to cuddle me to tuck me in or to sing me a lullaby. Instead she swathed me with her ploughing, greedy hands. She began playing roughly with my hair. Her fingers caressed my forehead, then traversed my eyelids down to my trembling legs. lips. Then I felt her touch slipped down my neck to my chest. I whimpered, her cooing into my ear, having the opposite effect of its intended one. I was then aware of her touch on my thigh, then higher and then—' Stop! Stop! I cried. Let me go, came Emma's ultimatum. Hesitating, allowing my brain to linger on the vile

memory of that encounter a little longer. I held Emma for a few more fleeting seconds, and then released. I could hear Emma gasp, but then cough hoarsely. I was on my knees, sobbing, trying to wash that traumatic experience from my brain. I could not. It stayed, looming in my mind's eye, razzing me like an eyelash out of place. And then it slowly disappeared. I knew it was still there, I could feel it, but mercifully it had dissipated enough so that I could think clearly. Begrudgingly, I recognised this was Emma's doing. You are powerful, came Emma's message.

Even her thoughts sounded strained from my prior stranglehold on her. Your telekinesis will be very valuable to me and my future business associates. My sobs ebbing, I remained kneeling on the concrete, as if genuflecting before. for my sister. I want you to be my partner in my empire, Estelle. I need someone I can trust. I don't want to put in a thought-block to prevent you from opposing me, but I will, if I must.

Our destiny is clear. We must obtain as much wealth and influence as possible to assure the safety and prosperity of our family and descendants. World is increasingly dangerous and unstable. You know this is the right thing to do. too harry to argue to even speak. I just swallowed, acquiescing to my sister's will. I watched the ants crawling in and out of the grassy crack by my legs,

contemplating their existence. My sister dictated her plans for me for the next month. I didn't hear her, knowing that my mind would eventually retain the info. I just waited until she was satisfied, until I knew she knew that I had submitted to her. My sister drove me back to our father's house, where she dropped me off. She told me in a curt voice to keep in touch that she would have further instructions to give me soon. I just nodded wordlessly, not truly hearing her.

Alone inside the house, I slunk up the stairs to my bedroom, where I retrieved my illicit six-pack of lager from inside my closet. I popped the first can open and took a long swig. Not satisfied, I recalled when my father had stashed his fifth of twelve-year-old scotch, below the sink behind the piping. Finding it, I poured three fingers into a glass on the kitchen counter and tossed it back. The smoky, pungent flavour wrought tears to my eyes. I gagged, not used to the taste or the burn that followed.

I then allowed my mind to wander, to go blank. And that's when I saw it a second time. The future. Our future is moulded by my sister's ambition. I saw it, humanity under her foot, millions not knowing they were livestock being herded into a pen, all free thought except hers, erased from existence. I then felt the white-hot barrage of the massive consciousness hovering around me.

I didn't fight, didn't bother trying to close the door inside my head. The one Emma was lending me. Instead I poured another three fingers of whiskey and tossed it back, enjoying the sensation more the second time. I swallowed a third ram and chased it with a swig of warm beer. I repeated this inebriating ritual until I was dizzy and sick, until the alien thoughts buzzing inside my head were muddled to an almost tolerable murmur. And then I proceeded to drink more until I drunk myself unconscious. I'm writing about this experience two years later.

I'm afraid that my sister didn't wait to finish her degree to begin the process of building her empire. Not even the current global pandemic has been successful in slowing down her progress. I must admit, I myself have done questionable things, things that I regret each day, things that have driven me to the bottle. But I'm sure you'll sympathise. She hears all my thoughts and is the only one who can give me the door

to funnel out the maddening traffic that pulsates around me. My sister explained that, without the door, my telepathic reach would expand slowly but gradually, spanning perhaps the entire continent, if not contained. This has not been a problem yet since I've stayed in Thunder Bay. I'm still disturbed during the night, but not to the extent that I would be elsewhere. In so many ways, I'm trapped in this city.

And for a while I wondered about that door. Why was it that my sister could form her own, but neither my mother nor I could? For a long time I hoped, well, prayed that I'd be able to teach myself to form my own. But after spending countless nights awake trying, I know that I cannot. Without my sister and the mental shield she loans me, the volume of telepathic intake will be unbearable and always expanding. Nevertheless, I did hold out hope for a few months. My sister had alluded to other telepaths,

used terms like half and full telepath when speaking to me, leading me to believe there was someone else like us, someone more benign who might help me. Emma has told me that she's the only living telepath powerful enough to control people to the extent that she does, that no one could possibly threaten her hegemite. For so long I hoped that she was lying, And now, I'm afraid she was telling the truth.

I've searched the thoughts of my city and the municipalities close by, and thus far she's been proven right. I've tried searching farther out, but I can't yet, and I'm afraid to leave this city. So I'm typing this out now while my sister and my city sleep, hoping that it reaches someone far away who's like Emma, someone who is as powerful but more benevolent. someone who'd be willing to help me

and help me learn how to form my own door and be independent and to break free of my sister's tyrannical hold if this post doesn't reach a telepath that can assist me in challenging my sister I hope then the very least that those of you unburdened by psychic abilities will heed this warning

your world the world as you know it is finite the age of conscience and three thought is rapidly coming to an end. And so once again, we reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small favor of you. Wherever you get your podcast wrong, please write a few

nice words and leave a five-star review as it really helps the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again, same time, same place, and I do so, hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.