Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S5 Ep224: Episode 224: Stories of the Mysterious and Unknown

Episode Date: March 6, 2025

Tonight’s opening story is 'Hello my Dear Mortals: I am Death and Here is my Philosophy' by Virus in Matrix, kindly shared with me for the express purpose of having me narrate it here for you all: https://www.reddit.com/user/virusinmatrix/ Next, we have ‘Scratches’ by S.A Newman, narrated here for you all with the author’s permission:  https://m.facebook.com/SANewmanNosleep/ https://www.reddit.com/r/libraryofshadows/comments/6jua1f/scratches/  Today’s third terrifying tale of terror is ‘There’s Something Between the Gears’, an original work by Whitix; a story shared with me via the Creepypasta Wiki and read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license:  https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/User:Whitix Tonight’s fourth tale of horror is ‘The Endless River’, an original story by Mr. Mills 45, kindly shared with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all.  https://www.reddit.com/user/mrmills45/ Today’s penultimate offering is ‘The Neighbors Above’, an original story by The Solemn Sage. It was kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all. https://www.reddit.com/r/DrCreepensVault/comments/idz0w9/fiction_the_neighbors_above/ https://www.reddit.com/user/TheSolemnSage/ Tonight’s fabulous final story is ‘The Strangers, ’ an anonymous work kindly shared with me via the Creepypasta Wiki. I read it here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license. https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/The_Strangers

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

BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's dungeon. We're naturally drawn to the unknown and the mysterious because it sparks our curiosity and ignites our imagination. When we encounter something that defies easy explanation, it challenges us to question the world around us, and invites us to explore hidden truths, even if those truths come with a hint of fear. This blend of wonder and apprehension keeps us intrigued, as we yearn to uncover the secrets lurking just beyond the veil of the familiar, as we shall see in tonight's collection of stories.

Now, as ever before we begin a word of caution, tonight's tales may contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. Then let's begin. Greetings, friends. I want to tell you some personal thoughts on the world and on the very nature of existence itself. Why, you might ask. Well, when you're an immortal being who's seen empires come and go,

when you've taken the souls of both kings and peasants, both wicked and good, you frankly get tired of the same questions being asked over and over again. Now I will not degrade your intelligence by repeating those questions, but I feel I may as well show you just a little bit of what's behind the veil. To start off with, no, I do not know who or what created me. As far as I know, I just came to be. I have no memory of a birth or a... glorious light. I just came to with the knowledge of my purpose. Oh yes, my purpose. Well, my little ones,

it is not as simple as it may seem. I'm not just simply the vehicle upon which souls are taken, no, I'm also the caretaker of those souls. I do not judge for that's another's job, nor do I care for the souls and try to give them some sense of fulfillment. I cannot say I'm emotional, but I do have an understanding of your nature, and it is that nature to which I truly wish to speak today. As much as I would love to share some stories about my experience, I feel that's for another time. For now, my focus must be on your own nature and the essence of what you are. Your great philosophers and thinkers have long debated the very reason for your purpose here. Is there some bigger meaning to it all? Or are you just meant to live and die? To be forgotten

unlike dust notes in a windstorm. Well, it's both yes and no. I know that sounds overly simplistic, but please let me explain. You exist on a planet that has seen the souls of billions, that is awash with blood and

whose very foundations are built on a mound of bones. Every action you decide to take has been copied or will be. Every turn in the path that you see as new and glorious is in fact another beat-down patch of brush that has been trodden before. So, how can one mortal hope to be significant?

How can one of you hope to be different from all the other ants in the mail? To be honest, you cannot. You are worthless when looking at the hurt. Your great accomplishments are but momentary glimpses of light in the darkness. If you wish to find some semblance of meaning in this uncaring universe, you must not hope to ever achieve anything in the annals of history. No, you must descend into yourself. into the madness that lurks there.

Yes, you heard me correctly, to the madness inside of you. Why? Because in each person's madness there is a freedom, a uniqueness born out of pain and insanity. To take your most forbidden desires and set them free is where your true value lies. I once took the soul of Nero, the Roman Emperor, and I must say that his madness in embracing of it was one of the most refreshing things I'd seen in centuries.

He understood the truth I wish to impart to you, my guests. To be free from the inevitable forgetfulness of history, you must be willing to embrace the madness. But what about evil, you say? What about morality and the goodness that is so wrapped up in our human condition? Well, it's all an illusion. A fairy tale told by trembling men to comfort themselves on long winter's nights while they huddled around their fires. to assume that pity, charity and empathy and natural parts of you is to spit in the face of the universe.

Do the few acts of benevolent rulers throughout history cover up the acts of evil? No. I dare say they are but specks of starlight in the dark universe. They're not to be counted as anything more than selfish acts done to make themselves look good. Whenever you humans have been given the chance between an act of good or evil, your first reaction is always to go with evil what about the tender mercies of a mother with her children or the very indiscence of children themselves

more hollow and false images your mothers choose to be loving towards you out of a selfish desire to appease themselves and prove they are good they can no more control their selfish whims as I can control when it might rain children are not immune from wickedness either Have you seen the evils children are capable of?

Have you seen how quickly they embrace cruelty towards others than themselves? You may try to argue that it's a learned behavior developed by a decadent and fallen society, but you would be wrong. How can a child be programmed at the ages of two or three to perform acts of violence? I'd say that denying the true nature of yourselves is actually crueler than that of the child. How might that be, you ask? well to explain I'll first have to give you a very simple thought experiment you have two choices

you can either be the hostage on their knees with the gun to their head or you can be the person holding the gun if you answered you'd rather be the hostage you're deluding yourself and hiding it from no one truly your nature is to be cruel and that is not wrong in fact I would say that it is the most pure form of life you can live To explain further, why would you be ashamed of your cruelty? Your history is proof that it's the most evil and cruel who always rise to the top.

Your greatest leaders, those you hold up and emulate, are some of the cruelest people to have ever existed. Julius Caesar is one example. Today he's thought of as his great military and political leader, a populist and a man who embraced all of the noble virtues you aspire to. but he was also a mass murderer who killed untold numbers of men, women and children. A man who had no thoughts about anything other than his own ambition. Yet today he's held up as the paragon of virtue.

How can that be? How does your very nature not scream cruelty when it exalts the very blood-soaked figure of it? His throne was not made of gold. It was made out of the dead he'd slaughtered. In a broader perspective, I conclude, that that is true of all your venerated heroes. All are covered in blood and have walked their paths to fame

over the still warm bodies of dead women and children. Oh, but that was in the past. We are more sophisticated now, would be your response. But you are not. Look at the world as it sits now. Has the evil ever changed? Oh, sure, you try to do your best

to polish it up, and of course to appear noble. but it changes nothing. You still enjoy blood and violence. You still wish to be there when they cut off the head of the criminal. You refuse to acknowledge the true evil around you while still playing into the macabre. Do you really think your lust for death is any less than before? Do you think that just because you put it on a screen

or go to a sporting event that the need for blood is somehow lessened? You've not changed. It's only the means by which you consume it if it has. and even then look at the chaos around you every day people are killed in barbaric ways every day people go missing snatched up by sadists and worse you pretend as if this is somehow the fault of just the people committing those acts you may say you feel for them but in your heart you're secretly glad it was not you that it happened to you may go out and help search or act all pithy in front of your friends and family but in your heart you're secretly glad it was not you that it happened to you may go out and help search or act or pithy in front of your friends and family but in your heart you But you're glad you get to go home safe that night. Don't try to deny it. I know the hearts of models, and they are more evil than many of the denizens I deal with regularly.

For at least the deities know what they are. They don't fight against their very core existence. Don't let this... Ugh, come on. Do not let this sadden you, though. No. Celebrate it. Go out and engage in your barbarity.

Feel the joy of plunging a knife into the ones you purport. to love, like their screams fill you with ecstasy and their tears to fill the hole in your hollow hearts. Do not be dismayed by the laws of your kind, for those laws were also written by humans who engage in cruelty. So, go out and fulfil those most deliciously macabre desires. Free the monsters that you hide under a cloak of civility. Your nature is to butcher, to rape and to torture. Tie someone up and slowly sever each limb while they are alive and tell me it doesn't give you a sense of power.

Skin them alive and eat their flesh right in front of them and tell me you don't feel superior. Take what you want because you want it. There doesn't have to be a logical reason. Nay, your very soul screams out to be anathema of logic and reason. It wants to act on its lusts. So, why not allow that? Why play the game of morality?

Why burden yourself down with all these thoughts of culture and society? Turn them all down, brick by brick, and rebuild them on pillars of bone and chains of hate. Consume the fire in your hearts and unleash the inferno on this planet. To exist in this way is to embrace freedom. It is to embrace the very essence of the universe. Nothing ever happens without blood being the price. Everything great is built upon a foundation of the damned. The pitiful and worthless screams of those who are too weak to seize the moment will be

your soothing music. You mustn't be afraid of your demons. If they're not here to hurt you, no. On the contrary, they are here to help you, to be your guide to throwing off the shackles of your mortal existence. How can your very soul be wrong? If it's screaming for cruelty and for the feeling of blood sating your thirst, then how can it be wrong?

It was here before you were. It'll be here long after you're gone. To try and twist it into something it is not will leave you in a state of perpetual confusion. My dear friends, you must embrace what you are, not what you pretend to be. Throw off the cloak of morality and jump into the abyss of insanity.

I say this, not wanting you to be hurt, but to let yourselves be truly happy. Until next time, My dear mortal, I turned my head to the far right corner of the living room, towards where I'd heard the sound. I then turned to my wife sitting on the couch to my left. She returned my puzzle look and then asked me, Did you hear something?

I replied. Yeah, it kind of sounded like scratching. It was probably just an animal outside. scraping its pore against the ground. There are a few feral cats that lived around our neighbourhood, and I guessed it was just another one digging at something that only a cat-superver eyesight could focus in on. That's the explanation I gave my wife.

The moment passed, and we returned to watching the TV show that had held our attention a moment earlier. The truth was that I could not have been more wrong. Later that same night my wife decided to retire early to bed and I was eventually left alone downstairs in the living room. I'd always been one to stay up late, despite the fact that tonight there didn't seem to be anything else to watch on TV. At least nothing I felt was worthy of my time.

Nothing on Netflix either that piqued my interest and I'd already watched all the movies in my home collection more than once. So I just reclined back in my chair and stayed there in the peace and quiet, just soaking it up for a while. That was, until I heard the sound again, the scratching, from the exact same spot. This time I decided to be more proactive about it and stood up from my chair to investigate. I put on the front porch light, guessing that if there was some small animal animal, out there, and it would certainly be scared off by the sudden explosion of light. Or, if not, or if not that, then when it heard me undo the deadbolt and open the door,

it would definitely bolt. Somewhat surprised, I looked down to the area past the side of the porch and saw nothing. Slowly scanning in the nearby shrubs, expecting to see the reflection of light in the animal's eyes, I still... saw nothing. Like many of the other homes in our neighbourhood, our front porch is made of cement. I summarised that that's where I'd heard the noise. Satisfied with finding nothing else,

I went back inside and shut the door. I finally decided that that had been enough excitement for one night, and retired to bed myself. I work an early shift for my job, and therefore I'm up, or anyone else in my house. That includes my wife and two young kids. I was just finishing up getting ready to walk out the back door when I heard a now familiar noise come from the living room. There was something different this time though. The scratches sounded louder, more vocal than

before. They were more persistent. They came again, even more rapidly the second. time I felt as if they were demanding my immediate attention. I went out through the front door, being careful to make as little noise as possible. After all, I didn't want to wake either of our kids up this early and leave my wife to deal with the aftermath. I decided to make a couple of rounds encircling the house, attempting to seek out the source of the now persistent scratching. I methodically searched the shrubs, starting in the front and making my way to the back of the house. Still, I saw nothing. Equally puzzled and disappointed, I gave up my search and decided I needed to leave for work to avoid being late. While there, my attention was split, as I found it

hard to focus on anything else but the strange, somewhat ominous scratching I'd been here. hearing. Even more troubling to me now was that I still couldn't identify what was producing it. A few more days passed and the scratching continued. My wife was growing increasingly worried and the kids refused to go in the basement to play as it was possible to hear the scratching from down there as well. Down in that same corner of the house under the living room. One time I even went down to listen for myself and it sounded like whatever was scratching was trying to break through the wall of the foundation itself with no other ideas and an increasing dread growing in the back of my mind i called a local exterminator i thought it was possible that there was some animal

that had somehow made its way inside the walls of our home and had become trapped if that was the case i wanted it taken care of before it died and we'd have to deal with a new shock to our senses. The exterminator arrived about an hour after my somewhat panicked call. Lucky for me he had an opening in his schedule that morning and was able to fit me in. After asking my wife and I a few questions about the recent occurrences, he inspected the area outside where we'd heard the scratching. He then walked around the house. appearing to be very attentive to the ground and foundation of the house.

After the outside inspection was completed, he asked to see the basement, and then the attic after that. His theory was that there must be a hole somewhere. He said this hole wouldn't have to be very big for an animal to squeeze through, and then it could have gotten stuck somewhere and couldn't find its way back out. After about another hour of searching, the exterminator found me sitting on the front porch. I'm sorry, sir. I can't see any hole or other opening where something could have found its way into your home. And I haven't heard any scratching or any other animal-like noises.

Well, what else could it be? I wish I knew, buddy. Well, if you folks seen anything else, just give us a call, okay. Thank you for your time. Just as he turned to leave, he stopped mid-step and slowly turned to face the direction of where we both had heard it. Not even bothering to look at me when he spoke. Maybe it's something underground.

The next day I contacted our landlord to let her know about what had been happening for the past week. Being a rental property, I couldn't just go tearing up the front. front yard of our house as I pleased. We lived on a vibrant, busy street, and just the thought of turning it upside down made my stomach turn, thinking of the potential consequences. But I had to know what was going on. I had the feeling deep down that there was more to this than simple animal mischief. I eventually got a hold of the landlord by email, and I was taken aback a bit by her response to my query to further investigate the sounds. She forbid us from doing any changes to the landscape, much less digging down into the yard to look for something that may not even be there. I was

immediately suspicious. I gave my wife the bad news. She'd finally decided to leave and take the kids with her to go stay at her dad's place. We lived over in a neighboring town, so I was would be alone for at least a few days. As she walked out the door, she gave me a glance, a glance that clearly, non-verbally stated, you need to figure this out. So I made the decision that night. I was going to find out what, if anything, was under my yard. I got up really early the next morning. As luck would have it, it was Saturday. And I had the day off from work. I got dressed quick and grabbed my shovel from the garage. The day was still mirroring the night as darkness still covered everything. Using my phone's flashlight setting to illuminate what I was

doing, I inserted the shovel into the ground and began to dig. There was no turning back now. I continued digging for what seemed quite a while. Looking up only is the occasional jogger or walker passed by. I brought up another shovel of dirt when I saw something begin to reveal itself to me. It looked white, like the ivory of an elephant's tusks. I dropped the shovel behind me and got down on my hands and knees. I began to dig with my hands furiously. Somehow I already knew what I'd found. As I pulled it out of the ground, I carefully brushed off more dirt and some bugs that had accumulated inside and around it. It was a child-sized human skull. Soon after that, I found the rest of the body. I called the police when I was finished. My landlords were

taken in for questioning. The house and my entire yard became a potential. crime scene. The entire town was talking about what I had discovered. Even my wife and I had to sit down at one point with the police and retell our entire story to them. Given the enormity of the situation, my boss was able to give me some time off work until things cooled down. It was all so overwhelming. I didn't want to talk about it with anyone. I was thankful for the time off from my job. I just wanted to be there for my family to help them get through this. The police conducted an extensive search of the house and yard. Out of all of it, there was only the one body. The body belonged to a young boy who they identified through dental records. I'm withholding

his name. Apparently, he had disappeared from a town almost 100 miles away about 10 years ago. based on missing persons reports. My family and I had only lived in the house for a little over three years now. I never did find out how he died, and honestly, I didn't want to know. No suspect was ever found, and the police had no plausible explanation for the scratching noises we've been hearing.

It just wasn't possible, they said. I find it hard to sleep nowadays. Whenever I close my eyes, in the darkness I see the boy's bony arm, reaching up out of its shallow grave, and bringing its white fingers across the brick of my house. Again and again, and again, until there's nothing left but dust. A few months after, things began to die down, and life started to resemble something normal. I answered a knock at my front door. Standing there was an elderly man in his mid-70s. He introduced himself as Arthur, last name with help.

He told me he'd been the previous occupant of the house with his wife until they'd moved out about a year before we'd moved in. Arthur asked me how I was getting along since everything had happened. I said, Okay, I suppose, as good as could be considering everything. Oh, that's good to hear, he stated. But before I could say anything else, he looked around nervously and then asked me another question about something

there was no way he could have known about. A detail that the police never released to the media. Tell me, son, when did you first hear the scratch-in? Good day, prospective evolutionists. You're reading this because you believe the human species is on the decline. You believe there's only one logical path forward. The human species must evolve. And you believe there's only one way to accomplish such a feat.

Through technology. The industrial evolutionists have heard. your call and share your interest we spent years researching this issue and believe we found a solution a way forward if you're interested in learning more we urge you to follow the directions to this address Lucas held the flyer between his fingers skimming it over once again it contained a bunch of preachy nonsense about the glory of the machines and what not parts of it didn't make much sense and the flyer itself looked as if it had been made in Microsoft Word in five minutes. Fairly ironic considering it went on and about using technology to its fullest

and reaping the benefits of doing so. Well, to put it lightly, the industrial evolutionist movement was not what he was expecting when he was told he'd be investigating possible cultist activity. He'd gone undercover before and dealt with over zealous religious people, but never a combination of the two. So it was with great uncertainty he agreed to investigate the industrial evolutionists. His boss hadn't told him much, or at least he couldn't remember much, his memory of the assignment's overview was a bit murky, but he was handed the flyer and told it would explain

what he needed to know. The flyer had given an overview of the movement's ideals, the proper use of technology, humanity's dependence and continued dependence on machines, and the proposed evolutionary path. humanity should take, but a little more. He still didn't quite know what he was investigating. He used to be on the lookout for possible cult activity, but nothing about the industrial evolutionists screamed cultist. Sure, they seemed like a bunch of misguided optimists following an unrealistic idea, but the same could be said, whether true or not, about every religion. Still, the idea of posing as an initiative and infiltrating a cult was certainly intriguing.

He looked out his car window at the evolutionist so-called compound. In reality, the commune's place of meeting equated to little more than a run-down warehouse, right smack in the middle of the city's industrial district. The place looked long abandoned. The windows were boarded up with rotting wood. There were cracks in the concrete running up the walls. Chips in dulled red paint and not a single mark identifying the building as the industrial evolutionist's meeting area. Well, that raised a few questions right off the bat.

Were the followers here illegally, and if so, how long? Of course, it wasn't like he could ask the questions without arousing suspicion. Lucas gazed carefully at the types of people that casually strolled into the warehouse. Men, women, young, old, four shapes and sizes, ducked through the door and out of sight. Most seem to have at best cautious and at worst paranoid look about them. They shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably and consistently glanced over their shoulders, checking to see if they were being watched, which, in all fairness they were. Lucas counted around 50 people before he stepped out of his car and into the cool night.

The breeze nipped at the back of his neck as he checked the time. 11.50. Just about time for the meeting to begin. He pulled his coat up, his hat over his face, thrust his hands into his pockets as he began to cross the street he didn't make it far however before he felt someone crash into him from behind he whirled around instinctively and saw a young woman her head mostly obscured by a gray hood smiling up at him in embarrassment sorry she exclaimed quickly i wasn't paying attention and you just jumped out of your car and i totally didn't see you there. Lucas smiled back calmly, wanting to have a friendly demeanor towards these followers.

It's all right, he said coolly. Hey, I'm actually fairly new here. You part of the industrial evolution movement? I could use some directions and guidance if you could. Emotion to the warehouse, letting his words trail off. Oh, no, I'm not, well, I am, but I don't. She hurriedly fixed. She hurriedly fish to crumpled flyer similar to the one Lucas held out of her pocket. This is my first meeting, too. I mean, I got this letter about a week ago, and it seemed kind of interesting, and I wanted to learn more, so I came here. This is the right place, right?

I mean, I know you just said it. Well, assuming the address on that paper is correct, then, yeah, this is the right place. Right, but I don't know, it just kind of seems gross. It's all broke up and ugly. I don't know. I just kind of expected more. Hey, if you don't mind me asking, where did you get your letter? You do have one, right?

Fly like this. She held up her paper. I got one in the mail like you. In all honesty, Lucas hadn't thought about it, nor hadn't answered prepared. Her seemed to work well enough, though. Oh, you did? Oh, cool. Yeah.

Weird her. Just know to send you one. Lucas took note of her uneasiness around the subject. Oh, I'm Alyssa, by the way. She stuck out her hand eagerly, changing the subject. Ian James, Lucas replied, shaking her hand graciously. It's getting pretty chilly out here, Alyssa. We should head inside and hope someone else can tell us where to go from that.

Smart, she agreed and followed beside him as he crossed the street. They walked in silence as Lucas thought to himself. She's a bit enthusiastic but seems harmless. This is the kind of company the industrial evolutionists are attracting, and there shouldn't be any real issues. They approached the rusted and faded door to the warehouse. Lucas held the door for Alyssa. She smiled and pretended to curtsy before heading inside.

Lucas followed her in, instantly feeling a wave of warm air across his face. He stepped inside, gazing at the 60 or so people around him who chatted among themselves happily about a variety of mundane topics. The room was well lit, attributed to a series of lights overhead. Yet there was a hazy fog above the crowd, dimming the lights and insulating the heat. It smelled of coal, smoke and another odour that Lucas couldn't quite place. Rows of folding chairs had been set up in front of a wooden platform that actually. acted as a stage of sorts. On top of the platform

sat a podium and a large rectangular object with a cloth draped over it. Lucas tried to make out any features of the object, but they were obscured by the cloth. The object was around 30 feet long and 20 feet high. The fog around the room seemed to emanate from beneath the cloth. Ian, Lucas looked around the room

and saw Alyssa sitting down, patting a seat next to her. She'd since removed her hood and let her long brown hair flow down her shoulders. Lucas made his way over to her and sat down, deciding at best to try and blend in instead of immediately asking questions to the other followers in the room.

A few of the other people had sat down as well, scattered amongst the room, but most stood around in groups. Lucas listened in to some of the nearby conversations. Who do you think it'll be tonight? I'm going to volunteer, but I doubt Father Mason will select me. I see there are some new people, people here. It's good to see that the movement has expanded its appeal. God knows we all need them.

Sacrifice. No, it's emerging of one being into another. Sacrifice is too broad a term. That last one made Lucas a bit wary. Most casual conversations didn't revolve around the term sacrifice. He wished he knew what led up to that line, but couldn't directly ask without raising suspicion. Something was wrong, but he didn't have any evidence or idea as to what was wrong. He didn't let this concern show on his face, however, instead staring straight ahead, emotionless. After a good while, he turned to Alyssa, who'd been humming an uneven tune to herself amidst the commotion. So, he began, catching her attention. Do you know anything about the industrial evolution movement? She scratched the back of her neck and paused before answering.

Not much. I mean, I read what the letter said and decided to do some further research over the internet, but well, that's about it. I get the gist about what the movement's about, but not much more than that. Really? What did you find online? I didn't even think to look anything up. Truth really, Lucas had done extensive research over the internet, but had been unable to find any mention of the industrial evolutionists. he was surprised and a bit suspicious that Alyssa had dug anything up well as you can probably guess by the name it's an extension of the industrial revolution or at least the basic idea of the revolution like well machinery revolutionized and continues to improve the human lifestyle so

wait no that's a bad way of putting it okay so think of it like this machinery is a natural extension of humanity and thus should be the focus for advancing the human species. It's the next step in evolution. Does that make sense? Sure. Good. Well, that's the core belief behind the movement.

There are some... The tone grew uncomfortable. Other parts of the movement centering around the worship of some grand machine entity, but I didn't think that was really... Now Lucas was interested. Hang on. What kind of worship? Tell me about this entity. Oh, well, a name kept popping up as I read through the articles. So say it is. I don't really know anything else. Who is this? So sauties. Some kind of God. Demon maybe. I don't really know. I think demon would be closer than God, but that's probably not the best term to use. use. Hail, so say it is, the infernal machine.

Lucas and Alyssa turned to the voice behind them and saw an older, grimy man coming towards them. His face was stretched wide in an eager grin and stained with sickly grey patches blotted all over. He placed his hands on Alyssa's and Lucas's chairs, and Lucas could see that they were covered in grey patches as well. always good to see a few fresh faces the man continued i'm father mason by the way i lead the industrial evolutionists i'm quite surprised in your knowledge of us young lady most come to these meetings without any advanced knowledge of the movement but i can see that you've done your research alice smiled at him without saying a word oh i'm in by the way lucas said breaking you're

the silence. Father Mason smiled at him and nodded. Lucas continued. He and Jameson, this is Alyssa. So can you tell me more about Soceides? I wasn't aware of his part in this movement. Ah, I find your desire for knowledge quite refreshing, Mr. James. Just sit tight and listen in to the sermon, and all of your questions will be answered. Lucas smiled and nodded before holding out his hand all right well-do i look forward to learning more about this movement father mason shook lucas his hand as do i look forward to teaching it it was nice meeting you two i hope you stick around for the entire sermon with that he walked towards the platform stopping every now and then to greet and chat with the other members of the crowd once he finally stepped onto the platform a wave of urgency swept

through the crowd, silencing them as they hurried to find seats. There was very little chatter left by the time Father Mason began to speak. Lucas sat intently, listening with great interest. He could certainly see the cult roots beginning to take form. Good evening, everyone. Father Mason's voice bellowed throughout the warehouse. I'm so glad to see that so many of you are here tonight. There are a few new faces in the world. the ground as well that really warms my heart to see that our little commune is visibly growing well it gives an old man hope but you didn't come here tonight to listen to me ramble you came here because you're concerned for the future of the human species there were a few cheers from the crowd

Lucas stayed silent and leaned back in his chair you're here because no one else has the courage to do what we do you're here because the governments of the world have turned a blind eye to our plight your cries for assistance your pleas for attention your worries and concerns have fallen on deaf ears these other so-called religious movements have turned you away they've been corrupted by commercialism idealistic principles and simple human neglect we are the last hope for humanity we do what we must because no one else is able. Cheers sounded throughout the warehouse once again, more enthusiastic than the last. Lucas joined in as well, grinning despite it all.

These people were obviously crazy, taking them down would be no trouble at all. You're all here for a reason, Father Mason continued, pacing around the wooden platform. You have all been chosen by the great societies, to lead human beings. in the coming days. None of your appearances here are accidental. Father Mason seemed to glare in Lucas's direction upon uttering that life. Lucas smirks, finding the irony in that statement to musing. He glanced over at Alyssa, expecting to find her cheering and shouting. Instead, she sat quietly, fidgeting with her hands uneasily. Lucas leaned over and whispered in her ear. Are you feeling all right?

You look a bit on edge. What? No, no, I'm just a bit anxious, is all. This is all so much to take in at once. We have the tools to forge our destiny, but yet they go unused. They sit in the corner, collecting dust, only used in the most trivial circumstances. I say no more. Not since the Industrial Revolution, as technology changed the life.

of so many in these coming days I intend to drag humanity to glory whether they are willing or not I refused to let our species suffer because some people were afraid of progress father Mason paused letting the crowd cheer in agreement despite having no idea what he was talking about Lucas stood up and cheered Father Mason on he enjoyed playing the part of an eager and empty-minded cultist so so so The Societies has given us the instruments of our future and the opportunity to put them to work. We simply provide the fuel to the fire, the manpower necessary to operate such machinery. In a way, we drive our own species forward every time we operate the infernal machine.

That is why we are here tonight. To advance the human species, we must run the machine. We must run the societies machine. That is our purpose. We must feed the machine. We must feed Societies. We must let him complete his task. Amongst the praise for Societies,

Father Mason removed the sheet from the object on stage, revealing a large mechanical contraption. It was a large piece of industrial machinery, a steel box full of numerous exposed, turning gears and cogs. Dials and gauges line the side, next to a series of pistons and pipes leaking steam. Sparks danced from loose wires, and the fog that covered the room emanated from a smoke-stack near the top of the machine. There was a large turning crank on the side of the machine, connected to a large sequence of gears and belts.

There appeared to be an input shoot of sorts near one of the ends of the device, large enough for a person to squeeze through. The apparatus emitted a muffled humming. sound amidst the clinking sounds of metal smacking upon metal. Lucas sat back in his chair and examined the scene before him. The rest of the crowd was ecstatic, some leaping from their chairs and attempting to approach the machine, to which Father Mason shoot them away. The room filled with a thicker haze and the sounds of machinery appeared to grow louder as the crowd's combined voices rose.

Alyssa sat back, eyeing the machine on stage. curiously. Lucas was a bit concerned about the machine's purpose, but tried his best to hide it. These people were harmless so far, but he worried that he knew the exact purpose of the machinery before him. Despite this, he resolved not to break his cover, no matter what happened next. If these people really were dangerous, then he'd need to play his cards right. Not what you were expecting her. Lucas turned to see Alyssa grinning rightly at him. Ian, I like you. I know you're new to this, but I really think you should leave.

Something's going to happen in the next few minutes that you want no part in. Lucas looked at her quizzically, afraid at what she was getting at. Nonetheless, he had to stay regardless. Are you kidding? Just when it's getting interesting, no way I need to know more. Alyssa hesitated and then shook her head. There are forces of play here beyond you or me. You want no part in their quarrel. Before Lucas could respond, Father Mason began his speech again.

And here he is. So say it is the infernal machine. Who among you, my brothers, is worthy of joining him? Who among you wishes to feed the machine? to use your body as a driving force in humanity's evolution who among you wishes to throw your body upon his gears and into the pits of eternity numerous figures in the crowd shot up raising their hands and begging for the opportunity lucas sat still breaking into a cold sweat as he dreaded what was going to happen father mason gazed around the room pointing at various followers and shaking his head after about a minute of this he held up a hand, urging silence, and continuing his sermon. I appreciate your eagerness, my brothers, but tonight is a special occasion.

You see, there is a special guest among us. So say it has sent us a body. There were hushed murmurs among the crowd. Lucas kept his head down and his eyes fixed on the machine, trying to avoid suspicion. He was confident that he hadn't been detected. it wasn't possible. There was no way they could have detected him, right? Father Mason paced around the platform before settling down behind the podium.

He gazed directly at Lucas as he spoke. Yes, this person may believe they have infiltrated our inner sanctum, but they are only here because of Seitas wills it. This person has been sent to us to serve not only as fuel to the machine, but as an example. to show that we are not a force to be trifled with, to show that Sosaitis holds the power, to show that we are the future of humanity. Lucas gulped and looked around quickly searching for the nearest exit.

There stood around 30 people between him and the door. If he made a dash for it in the next few seconds, he might have a chance. He turned to stand up, only to see Alyssa had risen from her chair as well. she moved in his direction brandishing a sizable pistol in her hand thinking quickly Lucas leapt at her reaching for the gun before she had a chance to train it on him she yelped in surprise and the two fell to the ground fighting for the weapon alice grabbed at the gun and tried to roll away but Lucas managed to pin her arm and wrestle the gun away what the fuck are you doing alice snarled you're going to ruin everything "'hading you crazy bastards anywhere near me.'

Lucas stood up, pointing the pistol at the nearby followers who had risen to investigate the commotion. He slowly backed his way towards the door as the crowd moved to clear a path for him. Alyssa leapt up and started bolting towards the door. Lucas pointed the pistol in her direction, and she stopped, throwing her hands up instinctively. "'Oh, no, you don't,' Lucas shouted.

"'All of you are just going to stay put. while I... You idiot! Elisa shouted, moving towards him. I'm not with them. Ah, I see Mr. James has already apprehended the suspect. Father Mason's voice gleefully echoed across the walls. Bring her to me.

Bring me the follower of love. Lucas lowered his gunning confusion and stepped away. Alyssa darted towards him frantically. Shoot me. Shoot me, shoot me, please. anything's better than she shouted but look a step further away trying to make sense of the situation the crowd converged on the two shuffling past Lucas and towards Alyssa she fought and kicked them away but was soon overwhelmed by the sheer mess of people before her she screamed and yelled obscenities at the men

and women around her as they dragged her towards Father Mason meanwhile Lucas received praise and perhaps on the back as those around him thanked him for disarming the Luddite. Fucking machinists, Alyssa screeched. You follow a false entity, a box of moving parts. They alert curse all of you, whores. Your machine is nothing more than that. A fucking machine. You achieve nothing but pointless death.

You... Four followers carried Alyssa by her limbs to far the Mason through the crowd, while the others stood to observe the chaos. Once there they bound her arms and legs in rope and tied a piece of cloth around her mouth. She bit down and attempted to scream more curses of them, but Father Mason's voice overpowered hers. Ah, it is true. What we have before us is a follower of Ludd, a filthy Luddite, come to disrupt our actions and progress. This regressive serves as a reminder that Societist is not without his enemies, though, that would impede his purpose. Lut, brother of Societies and the lesser of the two.

This demon, this creature, this negative force cannot be bothered to confront the infernal machine directly so he sends his minions to do his work for him. But they meet the same fate as Lodwood. They throw their lives away in a senseless attempt to turn off the machine. We will not let them. we will keep the gears turning we will keep so say it satiated the rest of the industrial evolutionists cheered and called for the machine to be run alice struggled against her bonds as the followers on stage picked her up and carried her to the input shoot Lucas stood frozen in shock trying to comprehend what was happening this was his fault wasn't it if he hadn't no there was nothing he could have done he then remembered the weapon he held in his hand and ran towards the stage he pointed the pistol at father mason and shouted for the followers to release alissa they paid him no heed and placed alissa in the input shoot as she tried to wriggle free she looked at lucas her eyes wide in fear and attempted to say something but was unable to father mason moved towards the crank but lucas kept the pistol trained on him father mason stopped and grinned rind at Lucas. Mr. James, excuse me, Lucas, please put that down. Wait, don't look so surprised. The machine tells me many things. I know who you are. I know what you're doing here, but more

importantly, I know what you're going to do next. You have no part in this. You care not about the war between Sosatis and Ludd. You care not about our group, nor our rivals. You see a group of cultists, and I use that term loosely, about to sacrifice, and I use that term loosely as well. A young woman to a demon machine of sorts. You play the part of the third party, the police, the hero. You wish to save her and put the rest of us behind bars. You're nothing, if not noble, Lucas. But what you don't know is how so say it is works.

Take a look at these. He pointed to the grey patches covering his face. These are signs of strain of wear and tear. They show that Societis uses my body as a vessel for his influence. Signs of possession, if you will. Why are you telling me this? Just remove Alyssa from the machine and... Why?

Why? Take a look at your hands, Mr. Lucas. I do find it quite beneficial that we shook hands earlier tonight. is like the signing of a pet. Lucas kept the pistol trained on Father Mason as he poured one of his hands closer to his face. He could see the same diseased patches that covered Father Mason's face now, covered his hand and arm as well.

He lowered the gun and checked his other arm, finding it to be covered in patches as well. He looked at Father Mason helplessly. You... I don't feel right. Indeed. Lucas had felt a nauseating presence to take root within his body. He stumbled and nearly fell before bracing himself against the machine. Alyssa screamed something at him, but it was lost amidst the sudden scraping of metal and turning of gears.

Steam hissed and conveyors rattled inside his skull as Lucas tried to gain his bearings. He reached out, trying to pull himself up and his hands found their way to the crank beside the machine. His vision blurred, his smoke, whether real or not, obscured his sight. Turn the crank, Lucas, run the machine. Father Mason's voice was the only thing Lucas could hear. It was so commanding, so imperative, so crucial that Lucas turned the crank. He had to turn the crank. He had to run the machine.

He had to feed societies. He had no choice. and Lucas began to turn the crank. The machine roared to life, its gears spinning and its cogs grinding against one another. Steam escaped into the open air. Pistons pushed themselves upwards and downwards, and conveyor belts began to roll.

There was a muffled screaming coming from inside the machine somewhere, but Lucas ignored it. It was essential that he kept turning the crank. After a few moments, the machine began to pick. produce a different noise. Instead of metal pounding and scraping against metal, he could hear the metal striking a much softer surface and pressing it down with more ease. Something was caught between the cogs as they fought to keep turning. Steam no longer hissed. A new liquid simply dripped from the pipes onto the equipment beneath. A much more revolting smell entered the warehouse,

a mix of flesh, coal and whatever bodily fluids have been. squeezed from Alyssa, penetrated Lucas's nostrils. He fought off the urge to vomit and focused on turning the crank. The temperature in the entire building increased as the screams of agony slowly died off. The crank became increasingly more difficult to turn, as if Lucas was actively fighting against something in the machine. He powered through, feeling blasts of hot air around him as the sweat fell down his face. blades spun within the machine drills bore through flesh and bone and Lucas hoped Alyssa had expired quickly lest she feel the machine literally tear her apart

but he could not stop he knew that no matter what he had to finish turning the crank there was a ding and a whistle went off the crank refused to budge and Lucas released it crumpling to the floor and cloud his head. Lucas could hear a distant cheering in the background, but focused on the pain inside his head. Despite not turning the crank anymore, the sounds of machinery remained and grew louder within his mind. He could all but feel the steam flowing through his veins, the pulleys in his arms turning as he fumbled around on the floor and the teeth of the gears pushing on the inside of his skull. A fire roared in his chest as his body consumed cold and fuel he wanted it to stop oh he needed it to stop but god why wouldn't it stop he wasn't a

machine he was a person a person a person a person do you wish for it to stop lucas father mason seemed to read his thoughts he hadn't realized he'd said those things out loud he mumbled something under his breath that sounded like a vague, yes, but wasn't sure it would be heard over the sounds of the machinery. Step into the machine, Lucas. Father Mason guided him gently. Yes, yes, that was where he needed to go, into the bigger machine. He was a machine too, right? It made sense to give his parts to the larger machine. It needed to complete its purpose after all. Fuel. Fuel. Fuel. It needed fuel. He was fuel, right? He could already feel the machine inside him. The gray spots on his arms were markings, marking him as a machine. He was defective. He needed to upgrade. He didn't want to be obsolete.

He stepped into the chute and waited. Nothing happened. He needed to turn the crank, but he couldn't. A human needed to, and he was no longer human. Easy, Lucas, you'll be with Societies soon enough. That sounded perfect. Societies would understand him, would shelter him, would cater to his needs. After all, he was a machine too, and they were perfect for one another.

I'm impressed, Lucas, Father Mason said as he took his place beside the crank. Most people go insane after possession, but not you, you're a very strong world, and you have a place with Societies. What you don't know, Lucas, is that this machine isn't Soceitis. This is the delivery shoot. He's more glorious than you can imagine.

Hail Societis, the infernal machine. His words were repeated by the other humans in the room, but not Lucas. Lucas braced for the embrace of Soceitius. As Father Mason turned the crank, Lucas slid down beneath the machine and caught a glimpse of the true entirety of Soceities. The Soceities machine stretched on for miles beneath the earth, filled to the brim with moving parts and machinery.

bits of flesh clung to it and it almost seemed sentient it breathed between the gears he could see him between the gears it talked to him between the gears but lucas knew better it was nothing more than a machine he couldn't have been alive Lucas knew he was important that he would keep the machine running, ensuring that it fulfilled its purpose, whatever that may be. Before Lucas spent hours being processed through the entirety of the device, he agreed with Father Mason. It was more glorious than he could have imagined. The endless river. I inherited my father's cabin after his mysterious disappearance nearly eight years ago. He'd bought it right after divorcing my mother, and it meant a lot to him. It was a point.

place of peace, sanctuary and reflection. But how did he vanish, you might ask? Well, I don't know. But I know what took him. A river near our cabin, a cursed river. It sits there day after day, night after night, flowing elegantly between the trees of the forest, masking the true darkness it holds.

But I know the truth. I know that it is far from ordinary. Everyone calls me crazy when I tell them about it. My friends, my family, they turn their backs on it. None of them care to even try to get to the bottom of what's going on. Well, this feels like the only place I can get my story out there without being considered in another attention-seeking loon. There are times I consider getting my dad's old motorboat

and taking a trip downstream, just out of burning and intense curiosity. But trust me, doing that without any sort of preparation almost seemed like a guaranteed way to make sure I disappear too. And it's not because of any current or conditions of the water. There's something wrong with that stream. I just know it. Ever since I was sure it was a thing that took my dad, I've been studying it,

spending every waking second I could to get some sort of proof that this body of water is not what it appears to be. Who's I going to show it to? Beats me. For starters, my dad is not the only one to have gone missing. because of this wretched river and no I don't have some staggered newspapers detailing a bunch of missing persons cases instead I have my own documentation and reports accounts that I have created of people disappearing to wherever the river leads believe me when I say I've tried to stop

people from going boating or canoeing down that seemingly cursed route but they never listen ignorance is bliss I guess so if the police yes FBI or government won't do anything about it. I will. I can keep pretending it doesn't exist all they want. But for the safety of myself, I won't be giving out any details of where I live or where the river is. I'll also be using made-up code names of individuals I mention for their privacy. Now, the government may look the other way when it comes to the river itself,

but I know they'll be extremely giddy to come shut down any attempts to expose their next. I'm one man. I don't have the resources to fight back if they were to try anything. I need to make sure I can get this out there to as many people as possible while simultaneously keeping myself under the radar. Without further ado, here's what I have gathered so far. Document 1. Jessica Stoll. 22 years old, college student. Jessica had been illegally camping out in the forest near my home with a second. small group of college peers. Alcohol was present. A bonfire had been lit and a small-scale party

had taken place. It was your typical scenario. The main portion of the campsite had been set up just a few feet from the river, which is about a hundred metres wide. Furthermore, the group had seemingly talked about having a normal night. No animal attacks, strange sounds, or weird phenomena. However, when the group had woken up the next day, Jessica had disappeared. They swept the area to the best of their ability, but found no direct or obvious clues. Well, the police did know better, turning up nothing during two days of search efforts. Although I was more than sure they were barely trying anyway. But after a few grieving members of the group had returned to the spot to see if they'd missed anything,

they'd found the white gold necklace Jessica had been wearing on the night she disappeared and had washed up on a nearby river back only a few dozen feet from the original campsite. The necklace itself was of great importance to Jessica. They told me she'd worn it 24-7 and pretty much never took it off, so it was highly unlikely it was darn voluntarily. Yet there was no blood or signs indicating the necklace had been removed by force. As much as I wanted to ask for the necklace, well, I knew I couldn't. It would be far too suspicious for what I was masking as a genuine conversation.

Once they turned it into the police, no further clues were found from that point on. Several months went by and the investigation was closed. As I've stated before, I know for well the local law enforcement isn't doing their jobs. Not how they should. and whether they're being paid or threatened not to. It's no secret at this point to me or anyone. How do I know all this? Because I live here.

I talk to people who are involved with these incidents. Obviously keeping it on the more casual side of things, not wanting them to know what I'm really up to. Everyone just decides not to acknowledge or challenge the lack of authority's effort out of fear of consequences. Maybe they could end up being the next missing person. But, well, I digress. Document 2.

George Davis. 35 years old and unemployed. George, from what I gathered, was generally a pretty quiet and peaceful soul. His friend, who I'll call Jared, had spoken to me not long ago. He'd gone on about how he and George had decided to go for a short fishing trip on the river. George had bought along a hunting knife that belonged to his grandfather, It, similar to Jessica's necklace, had a lot of sentimental value to George. When both he and Jared had stayed out into the later hours on the boat trying to catch whatever was biting, both men had fallen asleep.

But only Jared awoke. Jared had come to sometime around dawn. He'd seen that George was missing from the boat, but his fishing rod and prized hunting life had been left behind where he was sitting. The boat itself had been floating near the dead. dead center of the river, despite Jared claiming that it had been closer towards the east side of the stream the previous day. There wasn't a strong current or anything that would have moved it in that time period. Well, not that it's an completely impossible probability by any means. Of course, when Jared had attempted to contact the authorities, a similar scenario played out as the previous

document's tale. The police found nothing because they were barely looking in the first place, only performing the bare minimum to convince the people that they were doing all they can. Document 3. Caden Waltz 10 years old and homeschooled. From what his parents had told me, they decided to take a small hike along the river with their son. Caden's father, Nick Waltz, was quite the nature buff. He'd spontaneously brought them out to the area after convincing his wife it would be a positive bonding experience. After hiking for only two hours, the family had encountered an abandoned motorboat resting on one of the riverbanks.

Well, curiosity got the best of them, and they decided to explore what else might have been left behind with it. The father, Nick, had told his family to inform him of any weapons or firearms on the boat, not wanting his son or wife to get injured by anything dangerous. Near the back of the boat, Nick retrieved what looked to be a map. A very basic and simplistic brown stained paper with one dark blue, wavy line drawn down the middle. The top, in a poorly handwritten manner, was the sentence, follow the stream to become fulfilled. Nick was hesitant to show it to his family at first, thinking it was nothing more than a drawing done by some small child. But the more he fixated on it,

the more it seemed to pull him in and intrigue him, as if it was slowly bringing him into a trance of some sort. Caden, who'd given up with searching the boat and proceeded to, He needed a play with his yo-yo toy not far from his parents, and also become very intrigued about the bare-bones map he'd seen his father inspecting. The yo-yo-caden had been fidgeting with was also of great significance to him. One that his father stated he constantly had with him, almost never led out of his sight. Nonetheless, Nick had snapped out of his state of amazement by the map when his wife had caught his name several times. Nick had neglectfully dropped the map to the ground and left his spot to go speak with his wife. Not noticing that his son Caden had walked over, picked the map up and put it in his pocket.

Oh, the trip went on normally for the remainder of the time, all the way up until a strange smell had started to emerge. It didn't seem to have any direct source. It had practically come out of nowhere, much to the family's dismay. Well, he had aunts anyway. Nick reported becoming dizzy and lightheaded, losing some of his coordination and possessing the constant feeling of being imbalanced. His wife had complained about a similar condition, and they'd both passed out within minutes. Just before losing consciousness, Nick had reported that Caden was highly concerned and had rushed over to him after he and his wife had collapsed onto the ground. But Caden was showing no signs of being affected by the smell, not in the same way his parents were.

When Nick awoke, he went on about how his wife was distressed and highly alarmed. when he went over to comfort and asked her what was wrong she informed him Caden was gone completely vanished with the only trace being his yo-yo that he left behind corpse were caused nothing turned up and everything seemed hopeless which seems to be the recurring theme of these unfortunate stories now I know that some of you are left wondering what valued item my father left left behind when he was also taken by the river well if it wasn't obvious in the beginning it's this cabin.

Not only was it expensive as all hell, but it also represented great belief and independence for that. A symbol that he was out of the hellish marriage, his words not mine, with my mum and a free man. As to how I've spent so much time around the river and not been taken yet beats me, but I've come up with some possible theories. One, it just simply isn't interested in me.

I don't hold some great importance, or purpose and it chooses to ignore me. Two, he's waiting for the right time, for the perfect moment. As to why or when that is, I have absolutely no clue. The third, final one, and the most likely option is that I haven't triggered the particular event or circumstances that cause the disappearance. There are some specific criteria or prompts activate whatever the heck it is that's taking these people.

After polishing up the papers and working tirelessly until nearly two in the morning, I was satisfied by what I produced thus far and decided I deserved a little reward. I grabbed my jacket, locked up the cabin and got into my car, taking a trip to one of those 24-hour convenience stores they have in town. The drive wasn't long by any means. I didn't live deep in the middle of nowhere, like one might assume. I was relatively towards the edge of the wilderness. but I do have to be totally honest here

driving at night treats me out especially when I'm taking backroads or making my way in and out of the forest something about it felt so unsettling this night in particular was extremely quiet no hours no crickets and especially no other cars or people it was a kind of silence where a pin drop into the floor would startle you I attempted to turn the road

radio on just for some extra noise to comfort myself. Every single channel gave me nothing but weird feedback sounds and nonsensical static noise. Oh, you have got to be kidding me, I huffed, leaning over to fidget with the radio. I know, yes, I know. I should have been keeping my eyes on the road. But for the past eight years, most of my life had been nothing but working and overthinking, obsessing over something I had very little hard proof of. I needed to say, and he did so. He did some sort of way to enjoy myself and let loose every once in a while, so you can imagine why I was being foolishly dramatic. After messing with the radio for a couple of minutes,

while simultaneously navigating the road in front of me, nothing worked, so eventually I gave up and switched the whole thing off, but not without letting out an over-exaggerated sigh of bitter frustration to myself. I continued the rest of the trip in eerie silence, made it to the store without incident, grabbed whatever sugary snacks and beverages I could get my hands on, and began the journey back home.

The drive back was no better than the original trip, because this time it wasn't just the deafening silence, but also the feeling that I was being followed, watched and stalked. I tried to chalk it up just to me being irrational, letting my imagination run to places it shouldn't. Well, the feeling of being watched is not. so easy to shake. Some people handle it better than others, but when you live alone, you just learn

to get used to it. But this time, it felt too strong to ignore, and I couldn't just brush it off. Soon enough, I came to an intersection when I looked up, the cold, unforgiving darkness of the night stared back at me, and something else as well. In the shadows, I made out the silhouette of a woman, a woman standing right in the middle of the empty intersection in my path. The hair was done in her ponytail. She was neatly dressed in a feminine business suit. Her eyes pierced through a pair of prescription glasses. In her hands she held a clipboard, a white smile creeping upon her face as my headlights engulfed her figure. I slammed on the brakes, my tire screeching obnoxiously against the asphalt of the roads.

The woman slowly approached my drive. driver's side window. The sounds of her heels clicking as she marched forward filling my ears. Now that she was out of the way, I tried to hit the gas and go forwards. My car wouldn't budge. I frantically switched to reverse and try to back up, only to receive the same result. I was stuck with no weapons in the car or anything to defend myself. The woman began calmly tapping on the window, still maintaining that same endearing smile. She was patient, no banging on the glass, no screaming or frantic wailing. She was waiting on me to make a move out of my own free will.

From what I could tell, she was more than willing to do so. With a heavy sigh in hesitant movements, I reached over and cracked the window open just enough to be able to hear her. Who are you? I asked immediately, just waiting for her to slip a blade of some sort through the gap. What do you want? Where did you even come from? She held a finger to her lips and shush me, right before slowly reaching into the jacket of her suit to retrieve something. I lean back as a reflex, preparing for whatever weapon or device she planned to harm me with. Instead, she simply pulled out an envelope, pristine, completely white one at that, and slipped it through the cracked open window. What the hell is this? I inquired, wrapping my thumb.

fingers around the envelope and pulling it inside. She didn't answer my question. Instead, she simply straightened her posture, turned around, and began to walk away casually into the night, as if she had no time for questions. I stared at the envelope for a few moments, trying to determine what might be in it. I didn't plan to open it. I was mainly attempting to figure out whether or not I was in some sort of nightmare. So many questions raced across my mind. When I looked back, the woman had vanished. I honestly wasn't surprised.

After everything that had happened around here in the past eight years, this almost seemed like something plausible. But I didn't care. I wasn't going to open that freaking envelope. Instead, I took a few more quick glances around, just to make sure the mysterious woman wasn't watching me. And then with no hesitation, I rolled down the window a bit more,

and threw the dang thing out. I put the car back in drive, hit the gas, and it jerked forward. The vehicle was suddenly working again. When I didn't sit around and celebrate, I just floored the pedal and got out of there as fast as possible. I could physically feel my fingers shaking on the steering wheel. I was completely unharmed and undamaged, but there was something more to that woman.

I just knew it. She might even be connected to the river. I cracked open the Pepsi bottle I bought and began to take a little. swig. The dopamine from the sugar didn't do much to help lighten my dread. When I arrived back at the cabin, I practically sprinted up the stairs to my doorstep, looking all around like some deranged mental patient as I fumble with my keys.

Well, you know, that feeling of being watched, I mentioned earlier. It was increased tenfold now. The outside made me feel vulnerable in a way I didn't think was possible. It's almost like I could feel my impending doom. My keys dropped to the ground in the chaos of my haste. I bent over to retrieve them and laid eyes on a sight that froze my blood. There it was, lying there, staring back at me with a faceless but smug expression. The envelope?

I didn't take my time. I grabbed the darn thing along with my keys, unlocked the door and threw myself inside. I took a quick final glance out into the night-time darkness before slamming. the door, making sure to deadbolt it as an extra layer of security. I walked over and placed the envelope on my kitchen counter, and just stared, stared and stared, waiting for something to happen, something horrendous, awful or horrifying. I'm no fool. I know what would happen if I were to try to dispose of it again. It'll just come right back, over and over until I finally opened it.

So I did what I felt like was my only choice, hesitantly walking over to the counter and grabbing it once again. I held it out as far in front of me as possible that I turned the flap. Inside was what looked to be a brown piece of paper, and it looked old, far older than anything I'd seen in the past few decades. I retrieved the paper and opened it up. It was stained and beat up, looking like it had been folded and crumpled multiple times over. All sorts of creases and stains were spread across it. In the middle was a blue line, going in a slight zigzag pattern along the vertical dimensions of the paper. At the top, in black ink, was one simple sentence.

Follow the stream to become fulfilled. I quickly put the map back down on the counter, stepping back and taking several deep breaths. Everything in my head told me to deny the reality in front of me. To laugh it off is nothing more than some sick joke or warped dream. But I knew the truth, and I hated that I did. So I know what must happen. I know what I must do. What was once the unthinkable now seemed like the only logical next step.

I had to follow the river. Just thinking of that phrase made my stomach churn. But of course, not without preparation, not without planning or contingency in mind. I knew that I couldn't start that night. I was already mentally and emotionally exhausted from everything I'd endured. I needed to sleep, regroup my emotions and begin my mission in the morning. It wasn't long before I passed out after collapsing onto my bed, even with the paranoia of running through my mind. I couldn't even remember what I'd dreamed about, which was rare for me. I woke up to the sounds of birds chirping and the sunlight beaming through my bedroom window.

usually it was comforting relaxing it made me feel at home but not today I forced myself out of bed as I rubbed the morning grog away I needed to get moving as soon as possible while I had the daylight the nightmare wasn't going to end

until I did something about it no matter where I went or how far I ran it would never let me go I had to face it head on I'm well aware that I might get injured or worse But for eight long years, the question of what this is has been tormenting me, taunting me and never letting me live my life the way I truly wanted. I needed answers, and I wouldn't get them sitting here in this cabin writing up documents about other people's grim face.

So first I put together a homemade gas mask in case I encountered the airborne substance that created that strange smell. From what the Waltz family's document said, it didn't seem like it was fatal, but I wasn't willing to be able to. but I wasn't willing to take a chance on it. Next, I brought a solid oak baseball bat. It was currently my best weapon of defence. I'd never been a very big fan of guns in my life, but that's a story for another time. Third, I brought along a cooler

filled with bottles of water and non-perishable foods in the event that I got stranded or stuck far away from home. I was almost sure that there'd be no signal where I was going. and while you don't need a signal to call the cocks, well, I'm sure you're already aware of how I feel about that. Finally, I went into the garage and fished out my dad's old motorboat, checked for any signs of holes or damage that could end with me at the bottom of the river and patched it all up.

As I was working, a car pulled up into my driveway. It was one I'd recognised from before, at least I remembered the person inside of the vehicle. Nick wants. He got out, eyeing me as he slowly marched up toward the cabin, dressed in stained jeans, of a pair of brown working boots, a black jacket and a red baseball cap to top it all off. He approached me with a look of complete and utter disbelief, as if he'd just witnessed something impossible take place right in front of him.

We need a talk, he said surprisingly calmly, considering his expression and posture. I'm a little busy, I shot back, still looking him in the eyes as I leaned my head into the boat. No, you don't get it, he went on. It's about, you know, Nick announced, shooting a glance past me and over toward the river. I perked my head up. I didn't blame him for his more fragile state. He was a grieving father after all, and I was a similar way after him.

to what had happened with my dad's, although I have a hard time comparing the two. I knew you'd be doing this, right now at this exact time. I saw it, I dreamed about it, he told me. I paused, a revelation boiling in my head, knowing there was no possible way he could have figured that out on his own. Did you, did you see her two? I asked. Nick slowly nodded his head. Listen, I know we taught before so you could get my story.

The cops aren't doing their jobs around here. Everyone and their damn mother knows it. I need your help. I just want my son. I want to find my boy. His voice cracked as he said it. I walked over closer and I dropped my tools. Tears were pounding at the back of his eyes as he attempted to keep his composure.

What did she say to you? Did she give you anything? I inquired as politely as possible. She told me I needed to follow the stream. She said it's the only way I can find peace. Call me a dummy all you want, but if it means I can fight Kate and I have to try. Even if it's the slimmest chance possible,

my wife and I can't take it anymore. The quiet, emptiness of our house, walking into his bedroom and seeing his toys all over the floor, knowing he isn't there to ever play with him again. Need him back. I'm telling you, I need him back. I gently wrap my arms around the distraught man, patting his back as he began to quietly sob on my shoulder.

I could feel the warmth of his tears running down the fabric of my shirt. We're going to make this right, I said gently. I promise. I look back behind him. behind Nick. In his car I spotted what looked like a concealed hunting rifle in a case. Now while I don't like guns, I knew that it was worth bringing, especially since I wasn't going to be the one doing the shooting. I comforted him man to man for a few more moments before Nick was just about able to pull himself together. Not that I was going to rush him. You're a good shot with that, I asked,

pointing to the rifle in the backseat. Yeah, I hunt pretty regularly. was planning on taking Caden for his 11th birthday, he confirmed, wiping the way the last of his tears. Bring it. I can't shoot, and I need someone who can, I stated, matter of factly. I made another one of my homemade gas masks for Nick, stocked up the cooler a little bit more, and he even helped me fix up the boat. I'll be honest and say I'm not sure how effective the mask itself would be, but it was still a worthwhile precaution. Once everything was set in place on that front, it was nearly 3pm. Nick helped carry everything we needed down to the riverbank closest to my cabin.

He looked at me as we sat down all the equipment, now flashing me a friendly smirk. Hey, I just want to say thank you. If we may get out of this with our heart beating, I owe you big time. He said gratefully. Another one of those rare instances of me smiling took place as I received. responded. The only thing you owe me is your happiness when we find your boy. I nodded. We set off not long after, both trying to display looks of confidence at what the situation laid out in front of us, but, well, for once I felt good, great even, finally facing down

the fear that had taken control of my life for so long. But like that night, when I'd encountered the lady in the business suit, it soon fell silent as the evening moved forward. that same disturbing silence i could tell nick was tense he clutched his rifle tightly as he scanned the trees on either side of us determined to find some sort of clue or sign for where these people had gone you see anything i quizzed while steering the boat forward nothing but trees grass and rocks so far it's a dirt just keep looking i said i promise we'll come across something The water itself was calm, bubbling and firming up as the boat glided elegantly along the surface. Despite the fact that we'd been out there for a couple of hours with no results, I still held on to as much hope as I could. For both of us, especially Nick, he was in dire need of it.

Watching a groan, presumably hardened man like him, cry makes you do a double take. Life can be cruel. No matter who you are or where you come from, everyone has their own struggles and demons to fight but then a burning question suddenly hit me like a semi hey nick i grilled yeah he replied without turning around what would you say is your most prized possession he paused not knowing how to answer at first we talk in items or people big difference just anything anything you can think of well then that'll be my family he huffed bluntly my wife and my son well i was wondering because when i was looking over the disappearances i noticed that everyone who'd vanished left behind something my sentence was suddenly caught off by the tipping and turning of our boats. Something was shaking and rocking it from below. I quickly peered over, thinking it might have been a current that picked up, but no. It was something else entirely, something I couldn't

see. Nick and I both held on to whatever he could for balance as we were rocked violently from side to side. Whatever was causing the chaos threatened to capsize the boat at the rate he was going at. What the hell? Nick shouted as he attempted to grab off. to his rifle. I tried to go forward, but nearly lost my balance. I stepped over one of the benches in the cockpit. What is this? I exclaimed, holding onto the left side of the boat for dear life as we were thrashed around. When the boat tipped onto its right side while I held the left, I caught a glimpse of a group of figures standing in the forest directly in front of me. They appeared human, so I thought. And they simply stared at us as we were going through

the anarchy. Their only movements consisted of them all raising their right hands and waving slowly in our direction, as if it were a hospitable greeting. Nick, can you grab the rifle? I erupted, trying to overpower the disordered noise with my voice. I'm trying. I can't get hold of it, he yelled back. And then it came to a halt when whatever was pushing us side to side had enough and the boat was completely tipped over, sending Nick and I plummeting straight into the river below. The odd thing is I didn't feel my body break the surface of the water before I blacked out. When I came to, I was in a field, a simple field of nothing but well-cut grass. That smell of a freshly mowed lawn seeped into my nostrils.

It wasn't wet like I thought I'd be. there wasn't a single drop of water on me. Nick, I called out. Nick! No response. He was nowhere in sight. All I could see was grass in front of me, until a feminine voice from behind caused me to turn around.

You made it. There stood the woman from the night on the road, still dressed the same way, but a single wrinkle in her suit or blemish on her skin. her ponytail still hanging down her back. You, I growled, now starting to become furious. She held up a hand, signaling for me to calm down, clearly not frightened, but instead apathetic to my threatening tone.

I know you have a lot of questions, sir. Yeah, you're damn right I have questions. Where's Nick? Where's my... She put a finger to my lips in order to shush me. I can assure you that Nick is okay. In fact, he's doing quite all right. He's already living out his fulfillment. She told me with an almost maternal tone.

What's that supposed to mean? What even is this? Behind her, I was completely taken aback by the side of a massive, grandiose and expensive-looking cabin. It made the one I lived in look like nothing more than a poorly crafted doll's house. You see, your father has been here. That's what you were going to ask earlier, wasn't it? He's been waiting patiently for you to finally arrive for quite some time now. But now that you're here, you can finally be fulfilled like him.

In exchange for something precious, something that holds a lot of value in your life. And what would that be? I inquired hesitantly. Well, your cynicism. And why that, you may ask? Because all your life, you've used it to deny yourself so many opportunities and wonders that existence holds. A web of exciting friendships, romances, and careers. You see your emotional unavailability as a shield to avoid the responsibility of taking on new challenges. But in reality, it's a curse.

Not only to you, but to those who you deeply care for, most of those who come here need to leave behind a relic of the world. their material lives, regardless of its sentimental value. You have to let go over the issues with the past in order to move onto a bright future. I didn't leave my cynicism behind, I said, using my fingers to create air quotes. Sure you did. It was the exact moment you agreed to help a grieving father find his son. You were always determined, but that was out of paranoia and even sometimes malice.

But today, you were determined out of pure complete. passion and human decency. You hope for the best and were sure everything would go your way, that the world was on your side, as far from what a cynic would think. I stood there dumbfounded. She was right. I'd been pretty bitter not only the past eight years, but all my life. I usually was a person who hated to admit when I was wrong, but this time it felt appropriate to me. well if i left that behind then what did nick his wife she said bluntly the most important thing to him besides his son but in due time i'm sure she will seek him out and join her family in their own paradise I darted my eyes down to the floor before quickly looking up again, now wanting to ask the most obvious question of all. Is this heaven?

The woman simply smiled as she gripped her clipboard, not able to contain her joy. You will have all the answers in due time, but for now, would you like to see your father again? I immediately nodded my head and began to walk over to the grand estate that was the cabin, the luscious grass leading my way as the smell of flowers from the garden engulfed me. The front door swung open and outstepped the man I thought I'd never, ever see again. Mark, is that you? He stumbled, his teeth showing as his lips curled into a warming grin. Dad, is me.

the river, I followed the river. Immediately he sprinted at me, his body being in much more pristine condition than what it was before he'd originally disappeared, but none of that mattered anymore. We embraced each other as father and son. He practically bare hugged me and spun me all around, yelling loudly in the emotion of pure and utter amazement.

I missed you, Dad. I said softly, barely being able to even contain my own tears. I bet I missed you more, son. Come on inside. I'll get you a coffee. I looked at my father straight in his eyes. It was almost like I could feel the happiness pooling itself up in my chest. Everything I truly wanted, what I've been searching for, it was finally here. Yeah, that sounds great, I told him, going in for yet another hug. I turned over. to the woman in the suit, flashing her a smile and waving before mouthing the words. Thank you.

The neighbours above. I recently came to the Midwest at the behest of my wife who is absolutely enthralled by the people and scenery of the region she grew up in. It was the one place she wanted to start her career with the community she cared about the most. Personally, I'm a California kid and see nothing interesting about it, which is probably why she's made a habit of calling me a coastie as she rolled. her eyes. I agreed to the move, as it was likely that my career would be a more demanding one, and she would have to follow me more than I'd have to follow her. So I found a job at the local

research facility, and we were able to secure an apartment for a decent price just across the street. All the facility treated patients and always had the latest and greatest clinical trials to enroll them in. I was more of a basic scientist myself, but I thought it was a nice change of pace to see the immediate implications of my research. There was even a lot of upward mobility, and if I did well enough, they'd clear me to work on increasingly secretive projects. I'd be lying if I said I didn't love the idea of being a scientist in some super-secret style facility, like in all those narrations I listened to that constantly unnerve my wife.

My apartment was nothing fancy, quite modest, if I'm being honest, but it was along a river and running trail that led to a nearby park. I quite fancied the idea of kayaking and running during the summer, but not so much the feeling of freezing my ass off in the winter. A minor sacrifice. Happy wife, happy life, right? Our complex was about three stories tall and we lived in the bottom downstairs unit.

We only had to share one wall with a neighbour, which was nice. Most people in our complex were friendly and the others kept mostly to themselves, giving a slight smile or nod as they grow, They struggled made their way to work or class. Our upstairs neighbours were a perky pair of college students who had moved in shortly after us. One of them wore her hair in a short blonde bob,

and her roommate had grown her jet-black hair, Rapunzel style. They moved in with a beefy and friendly dog who looked up at them like they were his whole world, and at me like a potential new friend. I first met them on my way back from work as they were struggling to lug a large sofa upstairs. Their uncle stood outside with his hands on his hips, seemingly contemplating if helping his niece was worth the damage to his back. Their aunt looked equally worried, peering around in her sun hat and dark shades. "'You need any help?' I asked as I unlocked the building door.

Their uncle looked over toward me, thankfully. Oh, absolutely. I had no idea what I was going to do with this damn thing. I grabbed one end of the couch. Let's lift on three, okay. I feared for my own back, because it wasn't in the best condition either. We had, well, moved a lot growing up, and I'd thrown it out more than a few times. And after getting it upstairs, there aunt thanked me profusely and even brought me a few chocolate-chip cookies. She knew I had a voracious sweet tooth, I don't know.

But I made sure not to leave a trace to avoid a lecture from my wife. What can I say? We all have our vices. Not long after we'd settled in, a pandemic had hit our small city. We stocked up on food and essentials, predicting that everyone's panic would make simple household items limited. I never had to buy the 36 rolls of toilet paper, but here we were. I welcomed the time as my job had begun ramping down, and only the personnel who worked on the lower levels could come in for work. They still had patients to care for and all too important experiments to run.

many they claimed were too important for understanding the current outbreak. Our research group met sparingly over Zoom, mostly to check in. I had great colleagues and we hung out often after the calls. I'd say I was closest to Claire, as we worked back to back when she wasn't held up in the dungeon for work. The labs we currently worked in had high windows with limited sun exposure, but further down below I heard that there was absolutely no indication of what time of day it was outside of.

digital clocks that hung sparingly along the walls. She often told me to enjoy my vacation after every meeting. I'll tell the sun you said hello, I'd retort. My wife spent her time catching up on Netflix and talking to family. An acquaintance had even provided us with homemade masks, so we could still go out and about when needed. Why people fought so hard against them, I'll never know. However, one month into lockdown, things started to get, well,

Weird. One day around noon I went downstairs into the basement of our complex to wash the next two loads of clothes when I ran into our neighbor with a black hair. She was sitting by the window next to one of the dryers and looked up at me, face gaunt and eyes sunken. I think I cut that stupid bug that's going around. She then tried to stifle a small cop. I kept my distance so they loaded the clothes into the washer and did a quick check to make sure my mask was secure. Damn, that sucks. Should you really be down here washing clothes then? I'm pretty sure you're supposed to stay in bed and away from people. She chuckled and swayed back and forth to a song only she could hear. Oh, I needed a break from my room, mate.

She kicked her legs back and forth, hitting the wall beneath her. Yeah, she kept telling me I wasn't being careful enough. Kind of a bitch about it. So now I'm sick, and she's constantly making passive-aggressive comments. I thought I might as well get something done and get some air. She thumbed to the open window behind her. Even the damn dog is acting strange around. I didn't want to stay down there along with her.

Fred, I'd catch whatever she had myself. My wife and I were already nervous about what was going around. Well, here's to you getting better. You drink plenty of tea and make sure you get some rest. I'm sure you guys will make up soon. Close the machine and gave her a nod. She smiled back and I quickly walked upstairs. I started going downstairs to do laundry at night when it was less occupied.

I always felt on edge. You ever felt like someone was watching you? But no matter how fast you turned or where you looked you couldn't find them, because of this, I always rushed back upstairs to the apartment. It had been about a month and we hadn't seen much of our new neighbours, which was expected. But as time continued, we'd heard less movement upstairs during the day. Eventually it stopped completely, only to pick up around midnight when you could hear our neighbours clambering around and speaking frantically in hushed tones until morning. And earth, they'd do it up there.

Sounds like a whole adult football team stomping around. My wife lamented as she set her book down. I assumed their dog was also running around. Though tonight he sounded especially rambunctious as he barked and ran around above us. Fortunately, my wife was a heavy sleeper, and the awkward stomping blended into the natural nighttime noise that flowed in from our open window. I was awoken early in the morning by the frantic vibrating of my phone. I quickly realized it was the work number on the bright screen as it blinded me. Hello?

Hey, Marcus, it's Claire. Just checking in. Have you noticed anything strange lately? You mean besides my noisy neighbours pacing back? and forth all night with a dog. No, not really. You've been wearing your mask every day outside. No symptoms or discomfort? Well, of course, but what's this about? I really hope you didn't wave me up to lecture me on public safety, I said flatly. I hated not getting enough sleep. Did terrible things to my mood.

No, no, it's just, um, we've seen some weird symptoms in some of the patients here. Some people are more susceptible, but a small number are odd. How odd, I responded. Well, some patients down here have an unusual tightening in their skin, especially around their joints and their spines. It just looks wrong, like some weird sort of psiliosis. We don't know what's causing you yet, or how to tell who's vulnerable. A voice began to lower as if she were afraid someone would hear her.

Look, they're trying to keep this under wraps until they figure it out, but I need you to be careful. Wait, keep what? I mean, which patients and what? All right, Marcus, don't worry. I'll handle your cell culture stuff. Though I don't know why you're worried. The conference is probably canceled. Hey, got to go.

What the hell? I don't know what's going on, but I wasn't dumb enough to call back. She was obviously covering for something. plus, well, what was she saying about being susceptible? This time the sounds seemed to stop above the living room as I lost my fight with the Sandman. A few hours, two large cups of coffee, and a big veggie omelet later, and I was perky and ready to take on the day. What Claire had told me earlier that morning worried me.

I tried to call back under the guise of checking all my experiments. She was apparently busy with patients who were receiving experimental treatments that they'd leave a message for her to return whenever she was done with her duties. My wife stood up, glancing at the ceiling. It's pretty quiet up there now. You know, I haven't seen them in a while, and neither of the other neighbours. Do you think they're okay? From the sound of it, they are.

Oh, maybe they're left without anyone noticing in its sublet. Just grown man throwing the old medicine ball around. Very funny If you get a chance You should just knock and check You've barely spoken to anyone since we've lived here anyway And you've met them already Fine fine

I'll do it later today after running errands Got to get everything done so we don't have to leave multiple times this week Spent the better part of the day Getting curbside groceries Prescriptions and takeout on the way home To be honest I probably spend a little too much time playing video games when I go back and had almost completely forgotten about the sports team upstairs until around midnight. It sounded as if there were an odd number of legs clambering around, even if all three occupants were moving around.

Why the hell were they all moving at the same time? Did they all wake up together and decide to do the longest apartment relay known to man? My wife sighed, closing her laptop. Okay, this is ridiculous. I'm going up there. That last noise did not sound okay, and either way. they need to turn down. Don't worry. I already said I'd do it. Just go back to your work. Then threw on my jeans and a t-shirt, slipped on some flip-flops and headed out the door. I was immediately hit with an odd smell.

Geez, did someone let that garbage overflow again? I muttered as I climbed the stairs, but as I reached the top, a distinct taste of copper settled on the back of my tongue. The taste and smell got stronger as I slowly walked up to our neighbor's door. I was door. Now more and more nervous at the possibility that someone might be hurt. Or even worse, everything was fine and they'd think I was a weirder. Well, I'm an awkward introvert. So sue me. I heard a soft whisper behind the door, followed by what sounded like teeth chattering. I called out in a low voice as I rapped on the door. Hey, uh, this is your neighbor downstairs. I just wanted to check on you. Sounds like you're playing tennis in there. Is everything all right?

Silence followed by a soft wine and further chattering. Hey, are you okay in there? Do you need help? I nod again, slightly harder than before. No answer. I tried the handle and was able to slowly push the door open. The distinct smell of blood and rot hit me like a truck as I stepped inside. Well, don't think I'll ever have a full night of sleep again. My mind forever twisted.

The entire apartment was covered in viscerate. A sloppy trail leading to the faint remains of what was once their dog strewn across the kitchen floor. My attention snapped to my left and in a living room illuminated by moonlight. Saw a face covered with distinctive, long, black flowing hair attached to a ragged spine. I could see each individual vertebra as they led down to a fleshy oblong torso that seemed segmented like a praying mantis. Attached to it were two sets of limbs and what would have been a third but looked like someone or something had torn one of them off in a struggle with their teeth. At the end of each limb were flat elongated hands that it raised up and down on the floor in an alternating pattern, Long bony arms, closer to the base of its neck,

had a rag doll up to its face. It was the blonde roommate. He was taking messy bites out of her skull, as easily as you wouldn't apple. Halfway down the poor girl's skull, still biting, still crunching, its head swaying to and fro in a rhythmic pattern, with its tapping as if it were savoring every bite.

I always imagined that in a dangerous situation, I would instinctively know what to do, that my fight or flight would kick in and I'd act, arrogantly thinking that even in an unbelievable supernatural situation, my love of horror movies will give me the ability to fight and outwit any creature. But there I said. Frozen until I let out a short but heavy breath. The creature slowly turned toward me,

his face reminiscent of the roommate I'd helped those months ago. her descended jaw closing into a wide toothy smile. Her teeth so unbelievably sharp that they might glisten in the moonlight if they weren't so yellow. She motioned the corpse of her former roommate toward me as an offering of her meal. Petrified, I shook my head slowly and she brought a long, gnarled finger to her lips. My screams were choked in my throat as she turned back and took another bite that snapped off in her mouth. like the end of an ice cream cone. Breaking from my shock, I backed out of the room.

I quickly and deftly shut the door and made a steady pace downstairs. Afraid any sign of fear would cause the creature to come after me next. My wife was back to work on our laptop in the living room when I rushed in and grabbed her up. No questions. Let's go. Now. Fortunately for me, though my wife was confused, she generally, She generally trusted my decisions and seeing the pure terror and determination in my eyes. She got up. I grabbed my work badge and a pair of masks.

We ran across the street to the front doors of the medical facility. As I looked back, I can see piercing eyes behind a cloak of black hair and a bloody, disgusting hand pressed against the window. Still swaying back and forth in amusement. I marched right past the front desk and the usual night nurse called after me. One of our neighbours is exhibiting symptoms, I said, recalling what Claire had told me on the phone earlier. She turned around in her seat and picked up the building phone. Well, you want us to call for a doctor?

We can send a couple paramedics over right now, since you're right across the street. Odd symptoms. Symptoms that Claire might have noticed in the work she's been doing in the basement. The nurse's expression changed to a grim look. She punched some numpers into the phone, and within minutes my wife and I were taken into an elevator that opened into a hallway where Claire was anxiously waiting. She led us to a room for decontamination, and then we were sworn by other scientists and doctors, as we had every kind of fluid imaginable taken for testing. Past the medical team attending to us, I saw groups of men and women in armored black clothes with automatic weapons running past our room. people I'd never noticed before, but then again, I hadn't been cleared for work in this part of the building.

After a physical examination and expedient lab results, Claire came back into our room. She looked at us with a solemn expression. Well, I did tell you to wear a mask. The strangers. My name is Andrew Erics. I lived once in a city court New York. My mother is Terry Erics. She's in the phone book.

If you know the city and you read this, find her. Don't show her this, but tell her I love her and that I'm trying to come home. Please. When it all started when I decided around the time that I turned 25, that it was time for me to give up taking my backpack into work. It would make me look more mature if I weren't lugging around a book bag everywhere like a high school student. Of course, this meant that I'd have to give up reading in the subway in the mornings and afternoons since I couldn't quite fit my paper bags into a pocket. A briefcase would have been out of line since I was working in a factory,

and messenger bags always seemed a little, I don't know, fruity to me, too purse-like for my liking. I had an MP3 player which helped pass the time for a while, but when it broke, it would shut down at the end of every song if I didn't skip to the next track manually. I gave that up too. so every morning I'd sit in the metro for a half hour that dragged on endlessly with nothing at all to do but watch my fellow passengers

I was slightly shy so I didn't like to be caught at it but well I'd surreptitiously watch people interestingly enough I quickly discovered that I wasn't the only person in the world who was uncomfortable in public people covered it up in various ways but I learned to see through them I do have Iided them up into categories in my head. There were the fidgeters who couldn't get comfortable,

constantly moving their hands, shifting their weight, moving their legs close to the bench and then further. They were the most noticeably nervous types. After them were the fake sleepers who take to their seat and practically close their eyes in the same second. Most of them weren't really sleeping though. Now the real sleepers shifted more, came awake suddenly at stops or after loud noises.

The fakes just zoned from the second they sat until the moment the train pulled into their stop. Then there were the MP3 player addicts, the occasional laptop people, the people who traveled in groups and talked too loudly. The cell phone junkies were either very popular or just completely unable to shut up for more than two minutes at a time. Just as people watching was threatening to get unbearably boring, I found my first incongruity. A middle-aged-looking man, brown-haired. I had average size and weight and dressed casually. Oddly enough, he seemed almost too normal. He had no remarkable features, no mannerisms,

as if he were designed to fade into a crowd. It was that which led me to notice him. I was intentionally tried to see how people acted on the subway, and he didn't act at all. Didn't even react either. It was like seeing someone sitting in front of a television, watching a documentary about fish. They aren't excited, aren't engaged, but they aren't looking away either, present but not accounted for.

He was on the subway in the afternoons. It was more than a month into the people watching experiment before he caught my eye, because I didn't catch the same subway every day and didn't consciously sit in the same car when I did. I saw him for the first time on a Monday, I believe, and for the second time on the Thursday of the same week. He obviously did catch the same train, sat in the same. same car, in the same seat, even. OCD much? Well, that's what I thought at the time. Well, since he caught my attention so much the first time, I watched him more avidly than next. He was, frankly, downright unsettling. He didn't do anything at all. He sat there,

expressionless, head straight, no matter what happened. A woman with a wailing child entered the car and sat right behind him. Still nothing. Didn't so much as turn his head or frown in annoyance. And that kid was freaking loud, too. By the time the subway reached my stop, I found myself queasy. When I exited the car, my hands were shaking like I was having a nicotine fix. Something about that man was wrong.

He was, I thought, some kind of freak. A sociopath, maybe. One of those quiet guys who, it turns out, has a dozen women's heads in his freezer. The first victim is mother. I found myself intentionally dawdling after work in the afternoons, stopping to browse in kiosks in the mall near the subway even when I didn't intend to buy anything. For a couple of weeks I avoided catching that subway, and when I found myself at the stop when it was pulling in, I made sure to choose a train car as far from the one I'd seen him in as possible. And then, one morning, I saw another person who set off the same warning bells in my head.

A woman, just as plain-looking, just as out of place in the hustle and commotion around her. The moment I recognised her, I realised later, was when my obsession began. My people watching which had begun as a bit of a hobby to stave off boredom became something of a religion to me. I couldn't enter a subway or ride a bus without finding myself examining everyone, filling out a mental checklist in my head. playing clothes or solid colors no brands check no expressions no casual glances out of the windows or towards other passengers check no bags purses or accessories check check check yep we've got another one i started calling them the strangers i didn't see them every day even after i started taking the metro more than i needed to even when i

found myself riding buses out of my way in the evenings. But there they were, often enough. Seeing one would set my teeth on edge, make my palm sweaty and my throat feel dry. Well, if you've ever given a speech, you might recognize the feeling. Even though they didn't pay me the slightest bit of attention, I felt like I was on display for them. I could see them, plain as day.

How could they miss me? Well, they didn't, though. not in any way that I could tell. And when eventually my curiosity overpowered my fear, I decided to follow one. I chose the one that I'd found first, and the man in the afternoon subway who always kept the same seat. I got on and took a seat behind him. We rode to the end of the line, and he rose and walked out before I did. Keeping distance between us, I tailed him, but he didn't go far.

He took a seat on a nearby bench, as excited. expression as always. I turned a corner and waited, trying to look nonchalant. After a few minutes, the next metro arrived, and I watched him enter it, and saw him take the same seat. I couldn't find the nerve to follow him again. He hadn't gone anywhere. He just rode the metro to the end of the line, and then what? Rode it back? What possible reason would he, would anyone have for that? It nagged at me. after I'd rode a later train back home and tried to get some rest. I couldn't leave it alone, not until I could make some sense of it.

I found myself more than confused. I was downright angry now. Why was this uncanny bastard, this almost inhuman person, riding subway trains back and forth going nowhere? The mind, I once read, recoils from certain things because the very sight of them is an affront. spiders set it off in a lot of people particularly great big ones they just looked wrong to us some alien and that was the effect the strangers were beginning to have on me they offended my senses i followed him again the next day and again the day after that every day for at least a week the two of us made our silent trips together though only i knew it by the end of the week i was following him for hours until the last train that stopped near my apartment block that night.

We rode from one end of the city to the other, then back again. I wasn't people watching any longer. I was person watching, a stranger watching. I didn't have eyes for anyone else, though peripherally I noticed more than a few confused glances sent my way. Other than that, we two might have been the only people on the planet for all I cared. I lost my job the next week. My manager was kind and timid, but firm.

I wasn't concentrating, I had no focus, wasn't being anywhere near productive. It was actually quite a speech, I think, but I could barely hear it. All I could think about was my new work, my vigil. What would that man, that thing on the subway, get up to when I wasn't there to keep an eye on him? I left work for the last time at noon that day. Normally I'd have started tailing my subject at 5.30, but I was sure that he'd be waiting for me. And I wish now that I'd paid more attention to that day.

Was it sunny? It was summer after all. I could have walked around downtown, maybe checked out a few pretty girls. Could have had an ice cappuccino, and a smoke at an outdoor cafe, and then gone home. But my growing obsession out of my head.

heads, found a new job and taken to reading on trains and buses again. Instead, I waited. More than one train goes up and down the lines, so I sat in the station for at least an hour until I saw him through a window. I walked into the subway car and noticed that for the first time my skin wasn't clammy, my hands weren't shaking, my heart wasn't pounding hard. I sat, for the first time, right across from him, directly in his line of sight, watched for a change in his face. Would he recognise me? If he did, I saw no sign of it, and I was looking hard. He must have made quite a pair, sitting across from one another that afternoon,

staring at and into one another. It was hard not to let the building rage in me contort my face, but with effort I was able to keep as still and as expressionless as him. The inside I was practically screaming at him. React to me, you fucking asshole. See me, damn it. I know you for what you are. I didn't, though.

My silent demands weren't answered. Not the first trip around, or the second, or the third, or the tenth. We rode far into the night together, and at each terminus we got out together and waited. They sat right beside him on the bench, watching him from the corner of my eye and still got nothing from him. But two could play that game as well as one. Finally, we made our last trip together.

I had him and I knew it. Last trip of the night before the train stopped running. I'd always let him get away from me at that point because the end of the line is a long way from my home and the buses stopped running at the same time as the subways. but this time I'd follow him finally see what he was when the train stopped running I'd get some answers maybe

the subway rolled on the anticipation grew in me the car emptied out around us slowly as it was just wee two silent watches below the city I fought to keep a manic grin at bay and the subway train slowed to a crawl and then stopped. The end of the line.

The stranger didn't move. Still didn't react at all. The car stood still, doors open. I could dimly hear the last few stragglers making their way out of the station somewhere behind us, footsteps echoing in the silence. Nothing. The speaker system dinged to let anyone half asleep know

that we'd reached the terminus. still nothing and finally I could hear footsteps again a conductor or something popping his head into each car to make sure it was empty before taking the train

wherever the hell it goes to the night I didn't take my eyes from my silent quarry I managed to see the conductor from the corner of my eye when he finally reached our car he looked in his eyes roamed over us

and a puzzled look came over his face he blinked a few times and paused. I waited for him to speak, and the moment stretched out, but then, with a slight shake of his head, he left us. There was a car ahead of ours, and I heard him stop to check that, too, and then a few minutes later, the train started up again. We rode for a time, and then looped around, and the subway was parted.

I could see into the windows of more trains on either side of us, and threw their opposing windows into even more. And then he smiled at me. It was just a small curl of the lip that would have gone unnoticed if I hadn't spent the last several hours studying his face. So, he said in a rough baritone, Here we are. I tried to respond but couldn't right away. My throat had glamped shut.

Terror filled me. It felt like the whole underground cavern we were in had just glapsed onto me. I coughed and stammered and finally managed with a raspy voice to ask the question that kept me up at night, drove me halfway to madness, and led me to this place and this moment. What are you? He ignored me. He stood and the train doors opened. And then, shockingly, he turned to face me.

Coming. He didn't wait for an answer, walked out onto the platform. I scrambled to follow. Come on, damn it, I shouted. Talk to me. Who are you? Why do you ride the metro all freaking day? He didn't look back or slow his step.

I couldn't see his face, but it's safe to guess that he didn't react at all, no more than he had to anything else. I stalked after him, still shouting for a time, but eventually gave up. Five words was all I was going to get at. out of him, I guess. We walked along the platform until we came to a junction and then turned. Now we were perpendicular to the trains around us. The path ahead was lit from above, but I couldn't see where it ended. The trains on either side of us went on forever as far as I could tell. There are too many trains to service one city, I realized. It wouldn't have mattered by then,

I figured, but I probably should have paid more attention to that at the time. Not sure how long we walked. I had a watch once, but it broke. I took out my cell phone at one point, but got no reception down there, and all it would show me was no signal. The stranger would stop every now and then, and look at a subway car for a minute or two, but then pass on. It took me a while to figure out why, but eventually I saw that they weren't all the same. Long lines of them would be similar, and then we'd come to a different model. It'd be a little larger or smaller, or have a slightly different shape. The cockpits, or whatever you call, the front part where the conductor sits,

were superficially different as well. I didn't, and I don't know what exactly he was looking for, but eventually he must have found it, because we turned again and the subway doors opened when my impromptu guide stopped in front of them. We entered and took our seats. Are you willing to speak now? I asked him.

No answer. I sighed with frustration and seriously weighed the pros and cons of punching him right in the face for a time, when suddenly the lights in the car came on and I heard the engine starting up. What the fuck? He gave me a look that was almost sad. You're not going to be able to go back. What are you talking about? Go where?

Nothing again. this stonewalling asshole. The train lurched into motion, pushing off in the opposite direction than when we'd come from. Well, I think. The endless preyed of them had thrown off my sense of direction. It rolled for a few minutes and then began to slow as we approached the stop. His vacant gaze grew sharper,

and for the first time I got the sense that he was actually staring at me rather than just looking in the direction I happened to be in. Be still, be silent, don't catch their attention. The train stopped, the doors opened, and they began to flood in. I don't know what I noticed first, the weird clothes, the two long arms with hands that almost brush the floor, the jet black eyes and angular faces, or the blue-gray hue of their skin. My eyes took in all those stimuli, but for a long second my brain refused to process. it and when it finally did, I was barely able to bite down on the shriek that tried to tear

its way from my throat. I thought my heart was going to explode. Hell, I thought I was going to explode. I was like a strong guitar string. Everything in me lurched and throgged. My sight grew dizzy, which I was thankful for, and I vomited. My mouth was clenched shut, and I forced myself to swallow it, barely managing it. My instincts were screaming his words at me. Be still, be silent, don't catch their attention. That day is a blur. We rode the subway car up and down the line, still and expressionless, for hours, for days perhaps. It seemed much longer than the line I knew, the line I'd followed the stranger along. The hideous things around us, seemed to pay us no undue attention, though we must have stood out fiercely.

I was so petrified with fear that when we finally returned to the endless cavern of trains, alone, I burst into tears. I collapsed to the floor and just sobbed for a long time, a stranger watching impassively. When I gained control of myself, I looked at him, imploringly. Take me home, I croaked out. Please. I can't, he told me. Don't know which one of these would lead you back, if any of them do.

He stood and walked out onto the platform, and I rose wearily and followed him. He spun around sharply. I think you've followed me enough. The rage I'd felt for him before that the panic had temporarily buried rose up in me. What? I screamed, rushing forward. I grabbed him by the shoulders and with a bowed. burst of insane strength, I didn't even know was in me. I slammed him up against the side of a

metro car. You fucking son of a bitch, what the fuck did you do to me? I slammed him again, and again. Take me back. He bore it all passively, and soon the flare of anger in me gutted out, leaving me hollow. Please, I begged. Please, take me home. That's not how it works. He said, If we stay together, it's more likely they will be noticed. Go your own way. Be still and be subtle. And they'll think you're one of theirs.

How could you do this to me? Why? He gave me another almost sad look. I had to. You will too. You get stuck sometimes. He brushed my hands off his shoulders and turned to water. walk away. I fell to my knees, suddenly out of strength and watched him leave. At the end of the

junction, he turned back to face me. I'm sorry. And then he was gone. I stayed there on the cold tiles for a very long time. I curled up into a ball and wept for a while. After there weren't any tears left in me, I even managed to get some sleep. When I was a little, I was I awoke, the subway train I'd come in was gone, off carrying more blue-gray abominations to wherever blue-gray abominations go. I couldn't handle going back there anyways. I tried to find my way back to where I'd started, to find a subway that I recognized. I wasn't even sure which direction I should have been going in anymore. I walked for an hour, then another.

Finally I found one that might have looked familiar, or I was desperate enough to imagine that it did. When I stepped up to the door, it opened for me, and I took a seat. It started up, and, in spite of being a lifelong agnostic, I prayed my heart out. The train slowed to a stop, the doors opened, and for a second I thought I was saved, people, human beings. I'd be the most devout man in the world from now on. And then I noticed the eyes, specifically the third large eye in the centre of their foreheads. Fuck you, then, God, I thought. But they were easier to take them the last punch, though, and I was thankful for that.

The third eye blinked independently of the other two, though, and that was nauseating. And when one of them smiled or laughed or spoke with another, I couldn't help but notice that their teeth. teeth were sharp and misshapen and yellow-green with filth. But if I was careful and selectively blind, I could pretend for a stretch that I was home, until one of them entered with a sandwich in hand, and I realized with the start that I was starving and hadn't eaten or drank in what must have been days. The next terminus I came to, I decided to try and find something to eat or drink. I don't know why I waited, but it seemed important to ride to the end of the line. I got there and could barely bring myself to leave.

I'd never seen the stranger leave the underground. I'd never seen him eat or drink either. My stomach would not take no for an answer, though. I stilled myself and tried to keep my face carefully neutral and made my way out into the station proper. And then I got confused. I was looking for escalators or stairs or something like that, but all I saw was holes in the ground, the walls and the ceiling, gaping irregularly-sized holes,

like I was in the middle of a beehive. What was I supposed to do? Leap into one? It didn't make any sense to me. Not until someone came through one. He floated up through the floor and then floated by me. He frowned for a second, or at least I think it was probably a frown. But apparently whatever kept them from recognizing me as alien in the subway, extended at least this far. It did not, unfortunately, allow me to levitate, which seemed to be the only way out of the subway station Beehive thing. Swearing had made my way back down to the tunnel. I was angry, lost, starving, and I'd been abandoned to a fate that, if it wasn't worse than hell, was at least twice as stupid in three times as nonsensical. I wasn't in the best frame of mind, which I feel excuses the mistake.

Normally I take corners with a wide berth because everyone knows that if you just dart around a corner sharply in a public place, chances are decent that you're going to walk right into someone. As I did, I slammed into someone, a woman and fell to the ground. Without thinking I reacted like any New Yorker would badly. Jeez, you stupid bitch, watch where you're going.

I realised my mistake even before she did. Her eyes grew quizzical and confused. When she really noticed me, they bulged with horror. She leapt, well, floated quickly, back from me and let out something scream-like. A little more yowly than I was used to, but I got the point. Further down the tunnel, I saw alien, three-eyed heads turning towards us. I thought suddenly about all those sharp, filthy teeth and just like that I was running. The subway train wasn't there but there was a long

walkway along the tunnel for the repairman I assume. Well that's who'd use it where I'm from anyways. I took it at full speed and just kept running until each breath felt like getting stabbed. I stopped panting and looked back. The tunnel had curved so I couldn't see the light any longer but nobody appeared to be following me. Going back though was not an option. I continued forward in the dark for a long time. Eventually I came to a small opening in the wall and stopped there for a rest. Hunger, despair and a full-speed terrified run had left me absolutely trained. I probably would have wept again, which seemed to be all I was capable of lately,

but it just seemed like too much work. I sat against the wall, legs spayed out, and imagined I was beating that bastard stranger to death with a hammer. and it was a relieving image. A rat was shuffling around nearby in the dark. Every so often I kick out a foot to scare it away, but after a time I didn't even bother with that. Rabies or any other disease it might be carrying would be a blessing compared to endless travelling through the subways of strange worlds,

lost, destitute and a log. When it crept near me again, I didn't shrew it off, even when it reached and pressed against my leg. I couldn't bring myself to care, not until a train passed by and the lights for its cars lit up the culvert I was in, and the thing that I had thought was a rat. Well, it was rat-like, yes, but not as much as it was spider-like. If someone had bred the two of them together, the resulting abomination might have been almost as horrible as the thing nuzzling my leg.

I shrieked, flung myself up from the floor, and booted it like a soccer-place. it would right into the opposite wall. Its back made a sickening crunch, and I watched it twitch out its last before the final car passed and the darkness returned. And in the darkness,

a terrible thought came to me. I wondered if it was edible. I didn't want to, and I gagged just imagining it, but I was hungry, and there was no guarantee that I'd be able to find food in this place, or ever again. Rat spider,

was my only option. I held off as long as I could, but in the end, survival trumps screamishness. I had my lighter, but nothing to light on fire. I picked meat off its carcass and cooked it a little by holding it over the flame, but it didn't help much. Nothing could have. Its meat was foul, more foul than anything you can imagine.

I've been that desperate for food since, and eaten many other questionable things, but nothing has ever been as bad as the rat spider was. And in retrospect, that's when I became a stranger. Before I'd struggled to reach that expressionless state the other had maintained. What I'd taken for calm was numbness, a sharp rock thrown in the river will over time of its edges rounded off by the water beating over it,

and what I'd gone through had done through, had done the same, tearing up and eating a monster in the dark, below an alien world, the last of my edges smoothed. By the time I left the darkness and came back into the tunnel, I was as expressionless and empty as the one who led me here had ever been. That wasn't the worst of it, though. The worst came later, the first time I got stuck. The stranger had mentioned it, but in the state I'd been in, I'd hardly noticed. One night at the end of the line, I was asked to leave the train. The world was one of the closer to normal ones.

The people were almost human, as I recognised it. They were orange, sure, and hunchbacks. But other than that, they were practically normal. After the last world where the people had been hideously overweight, six-breasted hermaphrodites with no noses, the orange guys were pretty much beautiful to me. I thought, at first, that the conductor was to be. talking to someone else, but I was the only one in the car, and moreover I understood him.

The oranges certainly hadn't been speaking English all day, but nonetheless I could understand what he was saying. When I stood, I began to realize why. I couldn't stand up straight. I was hunchbacked, and as I saw in my reflection against the window as I exited, orange. I pieced together the rest from there. Stuck meant that I was trapped in this world for some reason and stuck looking like them as well. Which would be handy if I wanted to take the opportunity to leave the subway station, which

is possible most times but requires a lot of care and is quite overwhelming. Eddie and worlds are a little revolting I've found. You try to compare them to your own, but the differences are so vast that it just makes you sick. I left that subway anyways because it was clear I wasn't returning to the central hub, what I'd taken to calling the infinite line of subway trains

that night, or any other night, I soon found out. Whatever had let me go unnoticed, wasn't working any longer. I considered, briefly, staying here, but this place wasn't home and never could be. Even if they looked like me, their culture was bound to be different. That was a lesson I'd learned before. Even worlds where the people are absolutely indistinct. distinguishable from me, are fraught with danger. I was once in a world where the people look just like me. Well, they actually look Brazilian, but that was more than close enough. I learned the hard way that the gesture that to me means hello, I mean something gravely insulting, insulting enough that I'd been beaten half to death while a crowd looked on with approval.

And besides, even if that place had a culture, I could fake. I didn't want to stay. I wanted one of two things, to find my way home or to find the stranger who'd sent me to this place and beat the shit out of him. Nothing else would do. So I wanted to move on. I wasn't sure, though, if I could do to some poor sucker what had been done to me? Could I really force someone else to wander the eternal underground like me? Turned out I didn't have to. After a few months, one of them did notice me, yes, and began to follow me for weeks. I very carefully made it seem like I hadn't seen him, just like the stranger had. But I was torn between the desire to warn him away and the desire to bring him to the end of the line so I could leave this dismal world already.

The last night, he followed me to the end of the line, just as I'd done once. He hadn't managed to work up the nerve to sit right across from me, though, and as soon as the train stopped at the terminus, he rushed off. I waited, hoping the conductor wouldn't see me, and I could continue on, but no avail. I left the car, and the metro rushed off without me, and I cursed inside. As I walked around the corner towards the ticket booths, the young man who'd been following me attacked. He had a wicked, curved knife, and should have caught me by surprise, but I'd been traveling through hostile alien worlds for several years, and my reflexes were shunct. We struggled viciously

Before I managed to wrestle the knife from him I don't know how it got in his neck I don't think I wanted to kill him I hadn't even been that angry Remembering my own rage from so long before Afterwards as he lay there bled out I got pissed I kicked him repeatedly shouting You dick you're supposed to

You're supposed to follow me I kicked him again. I flared the scene of the crime, but not for long. I was there bright and early the next day to catch the first subway of the morning. And that night, when I rode it to the end of the line, I was invisible to the conductor again. I guess you can either kill them or bring them with you if you want to return to the central hub. I was invisible again, but I was also orange and hunchback still. I stayed that way until the next time I became still. stuck the next time I killed. Well, that one went much faster. I didn't wait for her to follow me.

Once I was recognized as a stranger, I recognized her as the next one, and I made my choice. I won't bring anyone else into this. It makes me wonder, though, about the stranger who inducted me. I wonder what he originally looked like, and whether he knew he could have killed me. I wondered too about the others I saw back home And the rare few I came across since I'd left Do they kill them or take them And whichever way they choose Do they consider it a mercy

I can't bring myself to talk to them And to ask We're damned either way And the dam should suffer in solitude I've killed 15 of them now And I've gotten very good at it But I've made a decision I'm done killing,

innocence at least. Before I returned to the central hub, I filled a backpack with as much paper as I could cram into it, and I wrote this story. Over and over again to be left in as many subway trains as I can. A couple thousand messages in bottles, cast into a sea of steel rails. This is a request and a warning.

My request above, was that you find my mother and tell her a lie. It's a white lie, don't worry. Tell my mother that I love her and that I'm trying to come home. It may give her some hope or a small measure of peace, and I wish it were true too. But here's a thing. I've been thinking of myself as like Codysius, lost in adrift, looking to return to familiar shores. But I'm not lost at sea. I'm lost in endless tunnels, a labyrinth. And the difference is important, because labyrinths are designed, built. Somebody or something made this impossible place, and they must be held accountable for what they've done to me. They cast me as Theseus, not Odysseus, but I won't play that part

any longer either. The strange rules of this place have turned me from the human I beganers into something else, and then something else again. They've made me. made me a monster, and so I will be the minor tour of this labyrinth. And if I can, I will tear it down around me and destroy those that built it. My warning is that you should be very wary in public places of silent, expressionless men and women. Keep your distance. They may kill you, or they may do worse. If you see them run far and run fast.

and even more importantly I warn you I beg you don't ride the train to the end of the lie and so once again we reach the end of tonight's podcast my thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories

and to you for taking the time to listen now I'd ask one small favour of you wherever you get your podcast wrong please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review as it really helps the podcast That's it for this week, but I'll be back again same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.