Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S5 Ep240: Episode 240: The Weird Faces of Horror

Episode Date: May 1, 2025

Today’s incredible opening story is ‘I don’t know how you’ll receive this message, but you need to wake up’, an original work by Richard Saxon, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all.  https://www.reddit.com/user/RichardSaxon  https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/kpmj91/i_dont_know_how_youll_receive_this_message_but/  Today’s second phenomenal tale of terror is both parts of ‘Investigating the Messengers’, an epic work by Taxi Dancer, kindly shared directly with me via my sub-reddit and narrated here for you all with the author’s express permission. https://www.reddit.com/user/Taxi_Dancer/  Tonight’s third work of unparalleled genius is ‘I Was the Last Storyteller When the World Ended’, an original story Black Friday’s Witch 13, kindly shared with me for the express purpose of having me narrate it here for you all: https://www.reddit.com/user/blackfridayswitch13/ Today’s final nightmarish tale of terror is ‘The Pursuit of Real Magic’, an original work by W.D. Stevenson, shared directly with me via my sub-reddit and read to you all with the author’s express permission: https://www.reddit.com/user/WD_Stevenson/

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BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Welcome to Dr Creepin's Dungeon. Weird horror stories fascinates us because they defy logic and blur the boundaries between reality and nightmare, creating a sense of unease that lingers long after the story ends. Like traditional horror, which often relies on clear monsters or threats, weird horror thrives in ambiguity, where the rules of the world break down and nothing can be fully explained. This unsettling unpredictability taps into our primal fear of the unknown, forcing us to confront things we can't categorize or control. It's that very strangeness that keeps us

hooked, drawn to the mystery even as it disturbs us, as we shall see in tonight's collection of stories. As ever before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's tales may contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. Then let's begin. A first tale of terror this evening is, I don't know how you'll receive this message, but you need to wake up. by Richard Saxon. Part one. I'll receive this message,

but you need to wake up. Those were the words that occupied my television screen. Moments before, I'd been watching an old Western movie with my wife sleeping peacefully in my lap. It was just past midnight, which meant I must have dozed off at some point. As the last time I checked, it had been just past ten, and work in the morning would be another exhausting adventure.

But the words that would replace the movie, brought me straight back to attention. The world you live in is wrong. Wake up, Jack, I sat frozen in my comfortable chair, momentarily forgetting everything that existed around me. The name, as generic as it was, felt familiar, but it wasn't mine. My wife let out a slight groan,

probably dreaming something, and talking in her sleep as she often did. I considered if I'd actually fallen asleep myself, if I was dreaming. The only way to make sure was by letting someone else confirm what I was actually seeing. Mary, honey, wake up, please, I said as I gently shook her. She looked so calm as if all the horrors in the world didn't matter as long as she was safe by my side. I took a moment just to admire her, and when I look back up,

the weird message had been replaced by the role credits of the Western movie. The clock read 1.34 a.m., meaning more than a.m., meaning more than a.m., an hour had passed since the disturbing message had popped up. Time had skipped, but to me no more than a few seconds had passed. I remembered then that looking at the time while dreaming produces weird results. It had to be a nightmare, nothing more, and yet I couldn't bring myself to wake up. I convinced myself that the message had been a product of my sleep-deprived mind, that I existed somewhere on the edge of reality with one foot inside the realm of sleep. Defeated and, you not feeling ready to get up for work in the morning. I just picked up a blanket and tucked my wife in.

I was considering whether or not just to carry her with me to bed. It wouldn't be too hard considering my size, but I didn't want to wake her. And before I knew it, I suddenly found myself halfway up the stairs, walking towards our bedroom. I took a glance at my watch. The time read 204 a.m. Another half hour had just vanished. And the realization hit me like a brick. I'd never sleepwalk before, nor did I have any history of absent seizures. Then I noticed the painting on the wall. It was one that had always been there, but one that I'd never taken a second to just observe. Realistically, I knew my wife had hung it up there when we moved in together,

but it was so distant as if it only partially existed when no one was looking, and depicted a group of people standing outside an ancient building, all of them wearing strange black gowns. In the dark I couldn't really tell whether it was a painting or an actual photograph, but my mind leaned towards the former. They were holding hands, but a lot of them were missing body parts, pants, hands, legs, one even half their head, and none of them were smiling. At the bottom there was a piece of handwritten text. Trial and error. The first test.

2013, it read. The year felt so odd. Both the building and the outfit seemed so much older. Just staring at it produced a growing feeling of dread within my body. Goosepumps formed on my arms, and I knew that time had come to get some much-needed shut-eye. No sooner had I made that decision, before the world turned dark around me. Seconds or maybe minutes passed, and I awoke in my bed with my wife sleeping beside me. The sun had just arisen above the horizon, letting rays of warm sunlight penetrating.

our beige curtains. The events of the past night were already fading. It had to have been a dream. There was no other logical explanation. Are you okay? Mary asked with a tired, groggy voice as she noticed me staring out into the world outside. I was standing in front of the window

wearing the shirt and trousers I always put on for work. I couldn't remember standing up or getting dressed. You looked tired. Couldn't you sleep? I don't know, I stuttered. I had some weird dreams. The light outside looks so strange. It looks perfect in every sense of the word, rid of any obvious faults.

It shone brightly through the clear blue sky, only interrupted by a few pure white clouds. A brilliant orange gradient painted the horizon with trees dancing gently in the wind. Well, that's the third time this week, Gary. Gary, that was my name, though it felt all too foreign. I'd known it since I could form coherent words as a child, and yet somehow it didn't suit me. Maybe you should schedule another appointment with Dr. June, Mary suggested. I agreed only because I'd known him for years.

He'd helped me through some trauma, though. I couldn't fathom how he'd possibly analyze my dreams in any meaningful way. I caught him after breakfast, and to my luck, he just had to have. happened to have a free session that morning. I let my job know I'd be late due to an appointment, and as usual they were more than happy to accommodate me. Gary, it's great to see you on this fine morning, Dr. June said, with his usual level of enthusiasm, as he welcomed me into his office. It always called me by my first name, claiming it made people feel more comfortable, letting them open up more. I couldn't deny that claim. The man knew pretty much everything about me. I told him

about my dreams and jotted a few notes down into his book as he passively listened. Derek, why don't you tell me more about what you think these dreams meet? Well, it was such an obvious question, yet I never saw it coming. I hadn't thought much about it. My concern was mainly getting rid of them, not understanding them. Lately, I'd struggled to figure out whether or not they were truly dreams and not a twisted version of reality. It's, um, it's like my life isn't real. I finally aren't. It. Sometimes I have flashes. Pitches of people I don't know, but they all seem so familiar. I don't understand. He asked a few more questions after that, before sighing and looking at me.

Gary, we've been talking about your dreams now for the better part of this year, and they're getting better. Well, I'm not ready to give you a certain diagnosis. I would like to put you on some kind of medication. Drugs. What kind? I asked. He sighed again. That's the thing, Gary. If I tell you how it works, you might be resistant to it. This medication is brand new. I've had good results with other patients suffering similar world-breaking ideas.

I'd just like to put you on it for a few weeks. If it works, great. We'll talk again. If not, or if you suffer from any side effects, we'll just stop the treatment. I'm not supposed to do it this way, so I need to know if you're on board. I looked at him with a questionable expression plastered on my face. It had always been good to me, never doubting or judging my stories. I trusted him more than most, so despite not being one to trust unknown drugs,

I decided to give the treatment a shot. All right, Doc, you know best, I suppose. He handed me an unmarked bottle of pills with the simple instructions of taking one each day before going to bed. That was all it would take to cure me of an undiagnosed disease that had been placed. begging me for months. Once the session ended, I headed to work on foot. My car was stored safely in a nearby garage, and I needed the fresh air to clear my head. My mind drifted to the deepest parts of my mind, and, as it did, the same weird flashes passed before my eyes. Images of people, places and times that felt familiar, yet too distant. They weren't mine. They couldn't possibly

be, and yet they were there. I was only jolted back to the world outside as I heard the faint sounds of someone crying. It was a girl sobbing in the distance. Her voice echoed unnaturally through the busy streets, and while it took me a while to pinpoint their exact origins, I saw her standing in an alleyway on the other side of the road, ignored by the dozens of pedestrians walking by. I hesitated for a moment,

worrying that it might look odd for a massive guy to approach a strange child, but I figured I could help by at least calling the police or aida in front. finding her parents. Hey, are you okay? I asked as calmly as I could while I approached her. She couldn't have been older than eight. She wore a school uniform and had bright blonde hair. Where's your mom and dad?

I asked. She looked at me with a mildly shocked expression on her face. They're not here. I want to go home, she says. Where do you live? She looked around herself. I don't know I don't like it here

This isn't real I want to go home She repeated What do you mean this isn't real Nothing's real My parents are gone The new ones aren't the real ones Not my real parents

No one's real She was getting increasingly More upset with each question But what she said struck an ear he called with me Before I got the chance to ask any further questions I heard the sound of sight sirens appear behind me.

A police car parked on the side of the road, and a couple of police officers emerged. Joanna, one of them asked. The little girl looked at me. Don't let them take me. She yelled with fear in her voice. Joanna, it's okay. We're going to bring you back to Mommy and Daddy, the policeman said. No, she screamed in protest as he approached her.

You're not real. Go away. I look back and forth between the little girls. the police officers that seemed as confused as myself. Hey, wait a minute, I tried to interject. Sir, the girl's sick, she needs help. They argued back before I could make my case. Yeah, but...

Just stay back, all right. We'll take care of it from here. She turned around to run, but there was only one exit out from the alleyway, and it was blocked by the officers. Though my first instinct was to help, I didn't want to get arrested or worse. They seemed genuinely interested in helping her, and logically I could understand why.

But despite their actions making perfect sense, the situation just didn't sit right with me. Please don't let them take me away, she cried again. She was taken away before I could probably process what had happened. In my mind, I promised myself to call and check up on her, but once she was out of sight, It was as if my brain struggled to recall what had happened just moments before. Whatever the case, work beckoned, and I had to go.

Well, it wouldn't be a particularly productive day, but my job entailed a little more than tedious paperwork. Whether or not I was actually working, no one would ever know, as long as I pretended to look busy. Once at my desk, I pulled the bottle of pills out to study them. The box wasn't labelled, nor did it come with instructions. It was just a container holding 30 small, white and indistinct pills. I rolled one of them between my fingers, trying to understand how something so small could

possibly change my life. While the little pill lay in my hand, my computer screen suddenly came to life. It was just a black image with a bit of text centered in the middle. Don't do it, Jack. It lasted for a split second before going back to normal. Just that simple message. Nothing more, nothing less. Whether they were talking about the pills

or if they meant something else entirely, I didn't know. Whatever the case, I couldn't stay at work. I told my boss I was feeling sick, and like the great man he'd always been, he let me go home early. Once there I just collapsed on the couch in front of the TV. Mary wouldn't be home for several hours, working overtime trying to complete a project, but I didn't mind. I made my way to the fridge looking for some food.

It was a plate of my favourite meal there prepared by my wife. I know you're under a lot of pressure. I just want you to know that I'm always here for you. Hopefully this makes you feel a little better. Love you, Mary. I had a brief smile break out, the first one in over a week. She truly was the best thing that had ever happened to me. I needed to get healthy again, if only for her sake.

A modicum of happening. as built up inside me as I devoured the meal in front of the television, each bite as perfect as the last. On the side table beside me stood the bottle of pills, and the time for the first one was nearing. I picked it up and held it in my hands as I kept my eyes glued to the movie I was watching. Then, as I twisted the lid off, I felt a sinking feeling in my gut. Then the television screen turned dark, filled with little more than a simple sense. don't take the pill, Jack. That was the last push I needed to bring me over the edge.

I didn't know whether or not I'd lost my mind, but I didn't care. What the fuck do you want from me? I shouted at the television. Look at the painting was all I got in response. At first I didn't understand what they meant. It was such a nonsensical message on its own, but then I realized how I'd been extraordinarily fascinated by the painting on the stairs the day before how I'd been frozen in place

before it for almost an hour the black screen turned back to the movie and I put the bottle of pills down I walked over to the stairs with the weird picture hanging on the wall halfway up the sun had just set casting eerie shadows throughout the house it obscured the picture to the point where I still couldn't tell whether it was a photograph or a realistic painting time passed it started getting dark her outside. And still, I just kept staring, not sure what I was looking for. Gary, what the hell are you doing? My wife called, as she found me standing on the stairs. I've been trying to call you for hours. Why didn't you pick up?

Hours had passed, an evening had turned into early night. It had just passed 11 p.m., and Mary had been stuck working overtime, trying to get in touch. And I'd been standing there, staring at the picture for hours. The picture. Where did you get it? I asked. Mary looked at me, dumbfounded, before turning her attention

towards the picture on the wall. Confused expression formed on her face, and she approached me to inspect it. I don't really know. I never noticed the picture before. It was just, well, kind of there. Her comment confirmed every bit of oddity surrounding the picture.

picture. I reached out my hands to remove it, but Mary grabbed my arm before I could touch it, stopping me. What are you stopping me? I asked. I don't know. I'm just, I'm just scared. I felt it too. The hesitation and worry about what lay behind it. Still, I grabbed it and unhinged it from the wall. Once gone, all it revealed was a spot of absolute nothing. What's the thing? What's the that? Mary asked in shock. I hadn't the faintest clue how to answer the question because what existed behind the painting was literally nothing. A hole in the fabric of reality that had existed long before our times in that house. At least I knew it wasn't just a dream. The world was real,

but something had gone horribly wrong. And for some reason, I knew it would only get worse from there. Part 2. It wasn't an easy task to comprehend the mess in front of us. The emptiness didn't just appear as a black hole or invisible surface. It was more akin to what one experiences when closing one eye and trying to explain what it sees. Not darkness nor colours. Simply nothing.

Gary, please talk to me. Mary begged as we stared at the break in reality. I looked over to the pillar. on the table back in the living room. They seemed so sinister then as if the psychiatrist knew what I was about to experience. There wasn't anything wrong with me. Instead it was the world that had been damaged. Then I turned to my wife to embrace her to reassure her that everything would be all right despite not believing it. But as I went to wrap my arms around her, the world around me simply vanished beneath my feet. I fell into an infinite voice.

of darkness before finally feeling an electric jolt surged through my body. When I opened my eyes once again, the world around me was blurry. I reached out my arms to gain a better understanding of my surroundings, but they were too weak and in pain. Apart from wriggling around, I could barely move. That's where I realized I was locked inside a glass capsule. Something was knocking on the glass, a woman standing on the other side. Jack, she yelled.

I tried to respond, but there was something in my mouth. A tube got forced air into my lungs, expanding and deflating them against my will. It was a live support system, but not one found in any hospital. I used all my strength just to reach out my hands, silently begging for the person on the other side to save me. But before they ever got the chance, I was slung back to the reality I'd come from. Mary stood over me, trying to shake me awake. Gary, please, she yelled as I regained consciousness.

I was lying on the floor, soaked in sweat. I felt unnaturally cold as if my body had been dead for hours, completely stiff and pale. Did you see that? I asked with a groggy voice. See what? You just passed out? There was a woman. She called me Jack, I said.

You were passed out, Gary. it wasn't real i wasn't entirely convinced but the memories were fading all too fast akin to a dying dream in the early morning hours for each second that passed the images of the glass tanker and the woman standing above me were disappearing from my mind i redirected my attention towards the empty space on the wall it was an impossible phenomenon where neither us had the comprehension to explain before we got the chance to discuss the the matter any further, allow beep emitted from our television. We turned around, peeking into the living room where a single word had been plastered onto the screen. Run! For a moment I just stood there, dumbfounded and still unconvinced that I hadn't absolutely lost my mind. It wasn't until

Mary spoke before I snap back to reality. What's happening? she asked. I don't... I don't know. Then the screen changed. They're coming, it said. Gary? Mary tried to say, but we were interrupted by a loud knocking on the door. Mr. Widmore, open up. A manly voice said from the other side.

What's going on, Gary? Mary asked. I don't know. Stay here. I opened the door to find two men dressed in dark uniforms. They were both armed, though they weren't wielding their weapons. Mr. Widmore, you need to calm with us, they said. Mary tried to protest, but they ignored her.

I tried to calm her down as they ushered me towards their cup. As much as I begged for answers, they wouldn't give me any. I turned around to say goodbye to my wife, at which point they violently grabbed my arm. Take care of her, one of the men. says. The other nodded in response before approaching Mary. She tried to walk backwards away from them, but the man was too fast. He gently touched her shoulder, causing her to freeze in place, her eyes lighting up with panic. You leave her alone, I yelled. But it was too late. Mary had been frozen in place by an unseen force. Her shoulder was locked mid-air, and whatever was affecting

her seemed to be spreading. I can't I can breathe she managed to say before her entire chest had been locked solid it was as if time had stopped only for her freezing each atom within her body in place mary

I screamed the two men then pulled me into a car too strong for me to even think about resisting once inside one of them picked up a radio attached to the dashboard this shape protocol B7 and at Stanford Street 7. The man said into the radio,

a distorted voice responded, confirming the order. I looked down at my arm. Red marks had formed exactly where they grabbed me. It hurt, even burning, as if someone had lit a fire on with invisible flames. The sensation seemed to dig its way through my skin, filling my veins and spreading up to my arm. What did you?

I started to say as my words began. to slur. The world before me went blurry, and before I could process what had just happened, I fell into a black void of emptiness. As I lingered in my own unconsciousness, I saw flashes of places and people I didn't know. Despite the unfamiliarity, they awoke an undying feeling of nostalgia within me. I felt at home, though filled with, Never, you. A voice called out through the darkness, breaking through the flashes. Jack, it whispered, wake up.

With that, I was thrown back into my own body. I was being held up by the two men that had kidnapped me, and by the look of my surroundings, we were inside an elevator going up. He's awake, one of the men stated, matter of factly. Oh, it doesn't matter. He doesn't have anywhere to go. There was only one button visible within the elevator, and no sign to tell us which floor we would eventually land on.

Still, minutes would pass before the lift finally came to a standstill. The doors opened. I was pushed into a large empty room, too clean to possibly exist in reality. And all it contained was a few chairs and a desk covered in documents. In the back of the room, an old rotary phone hung attached to the wall, with no visible cables connecting it to a network. What is this place? I asked, without getting a response.

They put handcuffs on me as they forced me to sit by the desk, none of them speaking a word. They just stood there with angry expressions on their faces. What do you want from me? I asked. Do you know where you are, Jack? One of the men asked. He called me Jack, a name that wasn't mine, but have become all too familiar during the past few days.

The pit in my stomach was just barely alleviated by the hopes that it might all be a case of mistaken identity. That's not my name. I'm Gary Widmore. I basically shouted at the man standing three feet away. He shook his head. Do you really believe that? What do you mean? I asked. You don't belong here, Jack Lawrence.

This isn't your word. world. His words resonated with me in the most horrific way. Parts of me knew he was right, but I couldn't accept it. My mind wandered back to the little girl I'd found in the alley. Her claims that the world wasn't real wrong through my every thought. This world isn't real, I half asked, half stated. The men looked at each other, a brief moment of disappointment washing over their faces. Our world isn't yours to destroy, he said while ignoring my question. Unfortunately, as your awareness of your real life increases, the damage to your surroundings follow suit.

It's our job to stop that from happening. Unfortunately, that doesn't leave us with many viable options. I looked around the room again. It seemed so clean, just too simple to match reality. Not a speck of dust littered any surface, nor did it produce. an echo was would have been the case in such a large empty space. It felt as if the place wasn't trying to maintain the illusion of being reality. What are you trying to say? I asked, though I had my suspicions.

But you have to die, Jen. For whatever reason, these words didn't scare me. Instead, my thoughts drift to the girl again, the only other person that had gone through the same thing. The girl, I mumbled. Hmm? You took her too, I said. The men looked at each other as if mulling over how to respond to me. If she posed a danger to us all, we did what we had to do.

You killed her? I asked, half in shot. He just nodded. Yeah, though death remains an inadequate description of the process. Simply killing your physical body isn't enough. Your entire presence in this world needs to be erased. Well, I was conflicted. If our presence here would kill innocent people,

I could hardly blame them for defending themselves. Still, she'd just been a child, and soon I'd suffer the same fate. Look, why not erase me immediately, then? Why did you bring me into this room? Because we need to know where the others are. What others? Others, the others like you, intruders that belong in a different world.

And with that, the man who'd been silent up to that point brought out a cable attached to a syringe-like apparatus. He grabbed my hair and push my neck forwards to gain better access, before preparing to insert the thing. Wait, please! But despite my please, they jam the thing into the back of my neck. A surge of electricity shot through my body, paralysing me instantly. I felt my mind disintegrate. The fabric of reality started to fall apart, revealing mere outlines of a world that never belonged to me. For a moment, I was connected to it, truly merged with each and every atom.

For a moment, I could see everything and everyone in the entire world, with just a few strange identities separating themselves from the rest. I knew then and there that these people were like me, humans that didn't belong. Then, as quickly as the ordeal had begun, the information was stripped away from me. I was forced into the wrong world I'd known for my entire life, back in the room with the two men. Okay, we got it. Take him to the factory, the main interrogator said. The shock from what I'd just seen sent me into a panic frenzy. Who were those people? Where are you taking me? I shouted.

They unbuckled me from the chair, leaving the handcuffs on. But as they prepared to take me out of the room, the rotary phone at the back of the room started ringing. The men stopped dead in their tracks. Their calm expressions turned to ones of absolute terror. For a moment they just stared at each other, and the main interrogator nodded his head, at which point the second man diligently rushed over to the phone and picked it up. "'Hello?' he asked nervously. The room fell silent as the men listened to the unknown voice on the other end. It was too quiet for us to hear,

but the man's expression looked increasingly worried as the conversation went on. All the while the interrogator just stared impatiently at his partner. After a brief minute that felt like an hour, he hung up and turned towards us. Who was that? the interrogator asked. They called from the outside. We have to let him go. The main interrogator didn't even question the orders.

Just pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked my handcuffs. It doesn't change anything. We'll still eliminate the others. He said as he poured the cold metal off my wrists. Do they say anything else? Yeah, he has to visit this address. The man said as he handed me a piece of him. of paper containing a street name and a room number. On the bottom, a strange symbol had been stamped

on. It felt very odd to look at, as if the mark only partially existed, vanishing from my mind as soon as I took my eyes off of it. He asked to visit the core. Are you sure? The interrogator asked. The man just nodded in response. They told me to give him a message. What message? What message? I asked. I'll see you soon, Jack. Those were the last words the men ever spoke to me, before they ushered me into the elevator. They looked angry, but more than anything else,

they seemed afraid of what was to come. I'd been freed, but despite my miraculous escape from the facility, I didn't feel safe. After all that, I hadn't the faintest clue where I was going. Still, I had a sinking feeling of absolute dread building up within me, a certainty that no matter what I did, things would only get worse from there. Part three, as the elevator lowered me towards the ground floor. I looked at the address.

I recognized it as a government building in the center of town, plain enough to fade from memory despite its massive signs. I wanted nothing more than to just go home to see my wife, but the thought had occurred to me that even she might be part of the illusion. I needed answers, and despite my trepidation about visiting the corps, I had no other options. The time skips had all but ended alongside my obliviousness regarding the simulation. The phenomenon I'd always thought of as an autopilot was simply gone, but with the awareness I could suddenly see all the glaring holes in the reality I'd been living in. There were fractures in the fabric of reality itself, unknown to the entire population.

holes in the sky appeared and vanished in a split second. While they weren't world-shattering, they were obvious enough to break any illusion that the world was a real place. On their air occasion that anyone blissfully ignorant would notice them, he could easily have been written off as a trick of the eye or tiredness. Worst-case conspiracies would arise, but to someone who'd just been awakened to the true nature of reality, it became painfully obvious just how broken existence had gotten. Was it my fault?

The interrogators had mentioned that people like me could break the world, but... But was I truly the cause of all the glitches around me? For a moment I questioned how everyone around me could just go about their days and not notice that anything was wrong. But I'd been a part of it myself, only able to wake up when someone literally shoved the truth into my face. Reaching the government building didn't take long. I'd already seen it hundreds of times, but only then did I finally notice how I was. of place it felt. Though it outshone every surrounding structure in terms of size, it was such a nondescript and dark place. There were no people entering nor leaving the place. It simply stood

there with open doors, seemingly forgotten by the world around it. Whether that was by design or a side effect of the damaged world, I didn't know. There was no security protecting the main entrance, allowing me to walk into the main hall, a neatly decorated reception. There was only a woman sitting behind the desk and a couple of heavily armed guards standing by a set of elevator doors on the far side of the room. They stared at me in silence as I came in, seemingly confused as to how I'd noticed the place. I approached the receptionist, not sure what I was supposed to do, so I just handed her the piece of paper. She quietly took it while the guards kept their eyes planted on me. As she read it, her neutral expression immediately turned to one of utter fear.

similar to what had happened to the interrogators. You, you're one of them, she stuttered. One of who? Please, don't do it, don't destroy us, she begged. What are you talking about? I'm not going to hurt anyone. I just want to find out what the hell's going on. I want my wife back.

They looked at each other, and guards then approached us, with their weapons drawn. But the woman just shook her head. at them and they backed off. Just go inside the elevator. She'll take care of the rest. Who's she? I asked.

Just go. The doors to the elevator opened up, and I stepped inside as the guards stared on in horror. Without me having to push a single button, it simply started moving upwards. It passed nameless floor after nameless floor, stretching for a distance, far outreaching the height of the building itself.

Just like last time, I started to realize that I wasn't being taken to a physical place within the building, but a different realm entirely, secure and hidden from the rest of the world. After what felt like an ungodly amount of time, I reached the top. The doors opened, without really moving, I suddenly found myself within a plain, metallic room that looked far too clean to even resemble a realistic place. The doors closed shut behind me, and with that every train. face of the elevator had been erased. It simply ceased to exist, or, well, maybe it never had. Regardless of the case, I was trapped with no escape. Hello, I called out, my voice echoing back at me over and over. Hello, Jack, a female voice called back. But unlike my own, it didn't echo, nor could I

begin to even decipher its origin. It came from everywhere and nowhere all at once. causing me to feel disoriented in the large, non-discreet room. That's not my name. Look, I don't even... Just don't know what this place is. I don't even know if this world is fucking real. But I'm not a bad guy. I just want my wife back.

It doesn't matter what you do to me, but she's innocent. Where do you think you are? The voice asked. I looked around the room, still not able to fully comprehend my surroundings. I don't know. What the fuck does it matter? I asked. Answer the question, Jack.

I thought back to all the bizarre events. I knew it wasn't a dream, but the painful fact that my entire life was a lie had become painfully obvious. This world isn't real, I stated as confidently as I could. What does it mean to be real? The woman asked in response.

It was a question I honestly could. couldn't answer. Though it sounded easy enough, the implications of any answer I could possibly give would have felt wrong after I'd spent my whole life in what could only be a simulation. Do you think that people here consider themselves fate? She asked. Suppose not. Then let me ask you this, Jack. Your friends, your family, your wife. Do they not feel the same way you do? Does their love mean any less because of what they are? How about their pain, their suffering, their fear? Are these emotions not real?

She asked. I... I don't know. Their emotions are little more than an electrical impulses surging through an impossibly complicated computer system. Little charges that produce thoughts, ideas, and independent thoughts. How is that any different from how your consciousness functions inside your brain? Yeah, but that's different. I tried to begin, but it was a thought I couldn't logically continue.

Yes, this world was created by the people in your world, but how do you know that your world isn't just another piece of the puzzle? The being you have named God, or the Big Bang theory, how do you know that these aren't similar experiments conducted by creatures beyond your comprehension? While your universe might be on the highest level of creation, you could never know for sure, just like the people here. I had so many questions left to ask, but one stood more prominent above all others. Why are you telling me all this? Because, Jack, your wife is threatening to end this world unless we let you go. Your very presence and that of the people like you will eventually fracture the fabric of our reality. That is why I need you to leave.

leaving's an option, why try to kill me in the first place? I asked, getting angrier by the minute. She paused for a moment, allowing the deafening silence of the room to sink in. None of it felt real. As the seconds ticked by, I started to hear the sound of my own heart beating. Because creating an exit leaves us exposed. It would be safer just to destroy you. She said it so matter-of-factly, reducing me to little more than an afterthought. We don't have much time. Your wife is looking for you, she said. Mary, but I saw her.

Those men, they did something to her, they said with a shaky voice. Mary is not your wife. You're wrong. I remember her. We have a life together. You did have a life together. but that life never belonged to you. I was overwhelmed by this information,

and though it was breaking my heart, I didn't struggle to believe it. Every odd occurrence, the weird flashes that dream about the weird glass capsule. The world I'd been living in wasn't real, but it wasn't a dream either. It's just a place I'd been sensed, but why or how I didn't remember.

I took a moment to breathe, wishing I'd been left in ignorance to stay with me, Mary. But I didn't want the one waiting for me in the real world because I didn't know. What if I don't want to leave? I asked. If you stay here, everyone will die. She was right. Just like the interrogators had said, my presence and those like me was dangerous. I had to leave. You can ask me one more question, Jack, but then it's time to go. I only thought about it for a second. I was to leave everything I knew and left behind. I had to know where I was going. Who am I? Your name is Jack Lawrence, the voice began. You're 29 years old. You worked as

tech support for a law firm. In 2015, you went missing after a traffic collision on Glover Street, after a fight with your wife. The doctors who treated you pronounced you brain dead, but after your wife demanded a second opinion, you were sent in for a special treatment where you were falsely pronounced dead. You do not belong in this well, Jack, and your knowledge of that fact has put this world in danger. None of these memories rang a bell,

yet I could see vague flashes of them as the woman spoke. They were so foreign, so scary. It's time to go. Wait, I begged. What about the others? I mean, the other. real people I will destroy them you gonna kill them just like that wouldn't you if a handful of people had to die to save billions could you not make that decision

Jack she wasn't wrong but I couldn't accept that I'd kill anyone that easily as true as it might have been this is your last chance you have to leave now she ordered how We'll know as soon as you leave the building. And Mary. She will live. But once you're gone, every trace of your existence here will be removed. To her, you've never even set foot in our world.

She will live on as if you never met. The entire world will forget you as soon as you step through the gateway to your own world. Goodbye, Jan. And with that, the voice vanished. And I found myself back inside the elevator heading down. The transition had been so seamless as if the room had never even existed. After all that, I still hadn't the faintest clue who I'd spoken to, or whether or not they were even supposed to be human.

But regardless of who she'd been, she was right. No sooner had I set foot inside the elevator before I knew how to escape. There'd be a portal created in the very same place I met Mary, down by the pier where we'd first met. I'd been daydreaming. bumping into her, which caused her hat to be caught by the wind and blow into the water. Feeling embarrassed and partially wanting to impress her, I climbed down, naturally slipping on the rocks and stumbling headfirst into the sea.

She laughed, and I never did end up finding her hat. So to make it up to her, I invited her out for ice cream. Yeah, that's where I had to go. The main source of my happiness would be the place that took me away. Once I reached the lobby, the guards just stared at me as if they'd seen a ghost. Their faces turned pale and their hands trembled. They were terrified of me. Why are you afraid? I asked.

I just want to leave. But that's when I realized that my disguise as one of them had been shattered. They'd always known that I was dangerous, but only then did they realize that their world was a simulation. I looked down to my hands. They were messed up. up, glitched as if my own body was disintegrating. I couldn't hide anymore. I knew it.

I just never believed it, one of the guards said. It's all pointless. It's all pointless. And with that, he lifted his gun to his own head and pulled the trigger without hesitation. Blood, bone and pieces of brain splattered onto the wall behind him, as the second guard fell to his knees in shock. The receptionist just cried as she saw me, finally knowing that her whole world was alive. From that moment on, any person that saw me, even for the briefest of moments, would know what

the world truly was. I had to find a way to cross the city without shattering the world, but it was a futile task. However, not everyone that saw me reacted with fear or despair. Some even laughed, well, others just didn't seem to care. then I was happy that the world would forget me, but that could only happen if I left as soon as possible. What I hadn't anticipated was the acceleration of the damage caused as I'd gained total awareness. The holes I'd seen were all growing, tearing apart the fabric of reality itself. Buildings were getting erased before my eyes, and people froze in place as their bodies ceased

to function. As the people realized their world was held together by a thin layer of cables and code. It was simply getting too much for the simulation to handle. I started to run, try my best to avoid people, lest the world tear apart before I could escape. While my own death had become the preferable option, I remembered the interrogators repeat that my demise wouldn't be enough. For the world to be saved, I had to be either destroyed or removed. Then I finally reached the pier, or I'd had my first date with my wife. But this time the ocean was gone. simply erased from existence, leaving behind rapidly dying sea life on the barren ground. The sky around the horizon had shattered like cracking glass,

and standing in stark contrast to the destruction, I found Mary standing by what used to be the ocean side, staring out into the distance. Mary, I called out. You're here, she said, obviously in shock. How did you know where to find me? I asked. I don't know. I just knew. I saw you in my memories, talking to that woman. I heard the truth, Gary. That you're not real, I asked. But I am. How can you say that after all this time?

I love you. I have since the first moment I saw your clumsy self. How's that not real? Just because this isn't your world? It doesn't make our experience any less important. I grabbed her in my arms. Her body pressed against me as tears welled up in my eyes. We'd been through everything together, but staying behind would have ensured both of our deaths. I don't want to go, I solved. As I uttered those words, a hole formed at the end of the pier. Unlike the rest of this damage, loud world, the hole was perfectly calm, a perfect black void to end it all. You have to, she responded somberly. I'll miss you. But that last part was alive and if she'd somehow been an observer to our conversation she'd have known that as soon as i

set foot through the gateway i'd be erased from their existence my past my present my future it would all vanish to save their world i love you mary and i love you too but you have to go now you have a life out there a wife don't live it wishing you were here don't live it wishing you were here don't give up on your real life. She gave me a final kiss before she let me go. The cracks in the world were finally reaching a critical point where everything was falling apart. I just hoped that it could be patched up in my absence. Go, Mary whispered. I ran towards the exit, giving Mary a last glimpse as I dove through the hole in reality. And then it was all gone. I fell through an infinite void as my atoms were stripped away from my body. I tried to let out a scream,

but without a physical body I could do nothing but suffer as physics itself felt me. But whether an eternity or a single moment had passed, I wouldn't regain consciousness until I found myself back inside that glass tank filled with a strange liquid I couldn't identify. There was still a tube stuck in my throat, pumping air into my lungs and keeping me alive. Through the glass I could see a woman fumbling around with some buttons. Hold on, Jack, she screamed as she noticed that I'd awakened. With that, the capsule opened, and I was dragged into a world I couldn't remember. Jack, I knew you'd find your way to me eventually, she said as she held my atrophied, naked body in her arms. I didn't even know her name,

nor could I recognize her face. All I had were a few non-discipline. All I had were a few non-discipline. script flashes from my supposed life together. She helped me remove the tube from my lungs, letting the air burn them as I desperately gasp for each breath of real air. I have to turn the system off. They have to stop them from putting more people in there, she said. No, and it's out in the weakest of whispers. There are people there, they'll die.

They're not real, Jack. Yes, they are. Just let them live, please. I begged. The world around me went dark once more as I passed out from exhaustion and it would be several weeks before I finally woke up in the hospital. By then the entire facility had up to move

before the authorities could even be convinced to check it out. While my wife had spent a considerable amount of effort finding the place, she just couldn't do it again, meaning that there was nothing I could do to protect the world I so dearly missed. During the next few days, I was introduced to old friends and family.

I even had a son, one I, of course, couldn't recognize. To me, he was just a kid I'd never seen before, barely seven. It might make me sound like a bad guy, but I felt nothing for them. I just wanted to go back and see Mary, if she was even still alive. Not that it would make a difference because she wouldn't remember me. I'd be just another strange face on the street. The life I'd known had ended. I'd been trapped inside the harsh truth of reality.

I didn't know if I could ever get used to it. I don't know who decided to trap me inside that place, or why. All I know for sure is that there are more people trapped inside there, and they need help escaping before the core can destroy them. Today's second phenomenal tale of terror is investigating the messengers by taxi dancer. My name is Darren Colchick and as I'm recording this it's 2am in downtown Chicago. I work as an investigator at the Chicago Police Department's 16th district at Jefferson Park. Yep, I know what you're thinking.

Chicago. Some folks call it the murder capital of the Midwest, if not the entire United States, and with good reason. I'm not going to deny it. The 16th district does get our fair share of violence and homicides. It's not nearly as bad as the 4th District in the South. side. Anyway, I should be home now, and Becky's been blowing up my phone asking me where I'm at and when I'll be done. She stopped calling about an hour ago. Yep, I should be home, but instead I'm sitting here in my darkened office, staring out of my window that overlooks Milwaukee Avenue where

every third street light seems to have burned out. There's a cloudless night and the stars are shining, and despite the light pollution from the city and every other type of pollution which tends to block the stars out and erase them from everyone's memory. The stars are shining particularly bright tonight. It's as if the entire universe is mocking me. So I sit here in my little office, which is barely larger than a cubicle, doors locked, blinds closed, and feet resting on my desk. My bottle of expensive Kentucky bourbon is unopened. I can't bring myself to even touch this stuff after what I've uncovered. I keep staring out of the window into space, past the full moon, and waiting.

Waiting for what? I don't know. Maybe something that up until earlier tonight I thought never existed. I used every weapon of logic in my arsenal to kill him, but everything that I used only strengthened him. He's coming. I know it now, and nothing can stop it.

And strangely, I'm okay with that. I'm rambling, I know. Maybe when I listen to this again, I laid out the first part. Anyway, my family immigrated to New York from Ireland back in the early 1930s, and yes, fitting the racial stereotype that carries on to this day, my Irish family has always served as cops. My father was a cop, just like my grandfather before him and great-grandfather before him. Right after high school, I joined the army and served as a military police officer for about six years. After the army, my GI Bill paid for college where, naturally, I majored in law and criminal justice.

I also served in the National Guard, so my state's tuition assistance for college pretty much paid for my car and my apartment. Growing up, my father's side of the family was devoutly Catholic, obviously. My mom, not so much. But she raised me and my two older brothers and a younger sister to believe in whatever religion we wanted to or none at all, much of the chagrin of my father's side of the family. She wasn't as conservative as the rest of my family would have liked, and my dad's side of the family considered her, somewhat of a black sheep and I think that's why dad loved her so much. My mom was about 10 years younger

than my dad, and she wasn't as strict as my father was when it came to religion and worshipping a higher power. My two older brothers really took after my father. Don't get me wrong, I loved my father, but I think that I got along better with my mother who wasn't as pretentious as my father's side of the family, whom I've always looked at as being hypocritical and wholly than how heart in their attitudes and beliefs. Then, when I was 13, my father was killed by a bunch of low-life thugs in a botched bank robbery attempt. My father was the first patrolman on the scene, and had barely put his cruiser in part when one of the gunmen shot him through the windshield with a high-powered rifle.

There was a quick blur about it on the 11 o'clock news, but because my dad, a military veteran who had served 18 years on the police force, was of a certain ethnic background of people who were often accused of systemic racism, and the gunmen who killed him was of a certain ethnic background that was lauded for perpetual victimhood. The story was quickly swept under the rug and forgotten about, almost as quickly as it aired. And that was it. No final goodbyes. No more hearing my father say, I love you, before he went on patrol. No more having a father to encourage us and guide us as we grew up. Nothing except a slew of condolence letters from people who were saddened at my father's death and an almost equal number of letters from people who wrote. Pigs in a blanket fry them

like bacon. After that I didn't have much use for mythical spirits living in the clouds or some all-knowing or loving being who cared about everything. In fact my older brother who just entered service in the army seemed to have walked away from the church while my brother brother, who was graduating high school and was headed for the Navy, was also poised to turn away from his religious beliefs. mom sort of went into a depression for a while as she genuinely and truly loved Dad and pined for him every day after a few years it took me and my younger sister

to talk her into going out and perhaps dating again she eventually married and a part of me wanted to thank God for it but she never seemed to achieve the same amount of happiness as she'd had with my father and two years into her marriage she was diagnosed with breast cancer she passed away six months later

filling me with a bit of thought that if there was a god he was certainly laughing his ass off at us my belief that there was no loving god was reinforced during the coming years while serving on active duty in the army and later with a national guard i was deployed to fight in iraq and afghanistan now i've seen firsthand man's cruelty towards man and if there was an all-knowing and all-powerful god he wasn't anywhere around there. In fact, the whole reason we were involved in that God-forsaken region of the world was because some religious fanatics were busy killing other religious fanatics,

leaving innocent children to be the collateral damage in the middle of all the bombings and the shootings and the violence. So, yeah, I blame God for the whole 9-11 tragedy. I mean, where was God and all of this? I don't know. Fishing, I guess. I had buddies who prayed every day for God to keep them safe, and they still got blown away. In fact, on my very first deployment to Iraq,

the battalion's first casualty was the chaplain's assistant who got both his legs blown off when an RPG hit the Humvee he was driving in. The Italian chaplain, who was also in the Humvee, got off with relatively minor injuries but had to be evacuated back to Germany due to the psychological trauma of seeing his assistant get blown up,

coupled with the realization that his preaching that God will protect was just a load of bullshit. I didn't have any use for God, and I still came home from two tours of Iraq and one to Afghanistan, with not even a scratch. Anyway, fast forward a few years. I was out of the military and was now a full-fledged police office of working in Monroe County, Indiana, where I'd moved with my new wife Becky. It's a very conservative county, and there wasn't much in the way of criminal activity outside of underage juvenile drinking or pot use and an occasional breaking and entry. I stayed in Monroe County for only a few years, cutting my teeth as a rookie cop before I decided it was time for me to move on to bigger and better things.

Though Becky thought that Indiana was a great place to start a family, I missed the adrenaline rush and high operational tempo of a big city. My next move was across the state line to Chicago, Illinois, where the difference between Monroe County and Chicago was like night and day. In my three years in Monroe County, I'd have been able to be. investigated three shootings, all hunting accidents, and no homicides. In Chicago, I personally was involved in 11 homicide investigations inside of my first year there. All of the violence and disregard for human life that I saw on those streets further supported my disbelief in God.

This place wasn't any better than Iraq, especially when my buddies were getting shot in the light of duty. Once, two of my friends, both experienced cops, were gunned down inside their patrol car by some guy who used. just got out on parole. At the funeral of one of my fallen comrades, the priest called her an angel in blue, who gave her life to protect the innocent, and now she was in the hands of God. Well, mentally, I threw down the BS card

and completely checked out. What kind of feel-good crap was that supposed to be? She didn't die for some noble cause. She died screaming in pain and fear as bullets were pumped into her, and now she was nowhere. Gone. Period. I walked out of that cold stone church and didn't go to the cemetery where they buried her.

I had a friend who was a criminal investigator who also attended the funeral. He followed me out of the church as they rode the coffin of Officer Ashley Gwinden, age 28, to the awaiting limo. Although it was the middle of spring, the weather was still chilly in Chicago, as the ghosts of last winter's fallen snow had yet to melt off the pavement. still the bleak gray skies and the cold breeze found to stop the hundreds of mourners from attending her funeral but outside of her family would anyone else remember her a week from now or the press fawn over her passing or the hundreds of other law enforcement officers that would die this year in the line of duty as much as they did for george floyd no no they would not you ready to take that leave now

ready to be a criminal investigator or are you continuing to do you continue to do you continue to to keep patrolling and absorbing bullets. I'd work with Detective Carl McGavin back in 03 when we went into Afghanistan. He was assigned to an EOD unit, sniffing out booby traps, bombs and IEDs for us when we would convoy down Highway Alpha One from Kabul to Kandahar.

I don't know, Carl, I said, lighting a cigarette, happy to be out of that stifling church. I feel like we're fighting a losing battle, like when we were back in Afghanistan and one of those guys would get blown up. You just wanted to get back out there in the shit and get some payback for our losses.

Detective McGavin lit his own cigarettes. This isn't Afghanistan, Darren. You know that. We can't just go out and get payback anymore, or else we'll look like the bad guys. Things have changed since we left Afghanistan. You've changed, Darren. Yeah, I said. It just sucks, is all.

You see the shit they put on the news? They're saying that the bastard that killed Ashley and her partner did it because he felt threatened by systemic racism. It's been hailed as a hero. McGavin inhaled deeply and said, Her-Wa's little car now. She about to turn two. I lowered my head. Yeah, she'll be two next month.

I thought back to the day I heard that my father was killed in the line of duty. I couldn't bear to have my daughter feel the same kind of pain that I felt if she were to learn that her father was also unceremoniously killed. So, um, I'll think about it, Carl. Besides Becky, well, she's been bugging me to get out into a safer line of work. You know, it's got to be something that you want to do, though, right? said Carl. Your wife can suggest all she wants, but ultimately it has to be your call.

Just like your wife taught you out of being EOD and taught you into getting out of the army, I said smiling. Ex-wife. said Carl, returning my chuckle. Look, Darren, I have to get back to the office. You have my number? Call me if you change your mind. Yeah, Carl, I will. I went home that day and had a good long look in the mirror,

after which I had a good long talk with Becky. Even my baby daughter Kara seemed excited, though I'd be applying for a different line of work. True, I'd still be working for the CPD, but I'd no longer be a bullet magnet working as a patrol officer. Flash forward again a few years, and I was now working criminal investigations for the CPD. Having already served for six years as a military police officer and worked in law enforcement

for an additional five years, I was more than qualified to be an investigator, and, quite frankly, I was rather surprised at the ease of transition from beat cop to detective. I worked with Carl for close to a year before I was on my own investigating felonies, finding missing persons and processing forensic evidence collected from crime scenes. I was happy. We had a great family. I was getting paid well and I was a homeowner. I did all of that. I accomplished everything without wasting one second in prayer to some almighty deity. I didn't give a rat's ass about the goings-on on planet Earth. And so here we are now.

My department finished up a particularly disgusting case of a certain priest that had been accused of molesting and then murdering one of the little children who served as an altar girl at his church. In fact, before taking the body and burying it out at Oak Park, my investigations discovered that the priest had abused the little girl's body long after she'd been strangled. Turned out to be the same priests who had presided over Officer Gwinden's funeral years ago. The case made the local news and the verdict actually made national headlines. This so-called man of God ended up getting 25 to life, and I hope that my testimony in the case,

helped put the son of a bitch away. When I got home that night, Becky said that I'd received a phone call from a group known as a Chicago land free thinkers for humanity, which I learned later on, was one of the largest atheist societies in the States. Curious as to why they would be contacting me, I ended up calling the number, and were surprised when the group's founder, a man with a deep voice by the name of Charles Kingston, answered the phone. original he said his name was Matthew Kingston but he changed his name to Charles after Charles Darwin

when he became an adult as he didn't like the fact that his mother had named him after one of the twelve apostles of Jesus originally from Nigeria Mr Kingston said that his family immigrated to the States back in the late 1980s and from what I gathered Mr Kingston's parents had been some sort of religious fanatics and had physically abused him as a child when he did not show the adequate amount of religious conviction. We chatted briefly over the phone about the case against the priest, which we had just closed before Kingston began talking about my career as an investigator. Apparently the group was interested in my background, as Kingston admitted to researching

my history, which initially made me feel uneasy. Though I honestly hadn't noticed it before, Mr. Kingston noted that my name appeared prominently in cases investigating crimes involving the church and members of the church. clergy. After I acknowledged that I probably did do an inordinate amount of investigations of that nature, Kingston finally got to the point of why he called. Kingston earned a living as one of the headwriters of a very popular cable television show called Mysterious Ancestors, a show that claims that the existence of mankind was a direct result of extraterrestrial aliens. This was not a new theory, though the idea took off like the proverbial rocket after the book Chariots of the Gods by Eric von Danakin was published in 1968.

Believers of this theory claim that the writers of the Bible had mistaken these aliens from space to be angels of God. I'd seen the show before and was a big fan. It was a guilty pleasure of mine to watch the show after a long day at work when I needed to unwind. Intrigued, I asked Kingston what he wanted of me, and with a pleased tone of voice, Mr. Kingston said, We are doing a future show looking to debunk the existence of angels, but we need someone with the right frame of mind, a free thinker, to help the investigation. We're looking for someone who isn't encumbered with mythological beliefs

and who is willing to take a critical and analytical look at the evidence. Okay, I answered. So you, um, want me to investigate angels? Yes, said Kingston. rather we want you to investigate the evidence against the existence of angels we understand that if you accept this offer you'll be doing it during your off-duty hours and the network will be paying you for your time if we can plant the seeds that angels were really extraterrestrial aliens we can then debunk other shall we say myths of a greater god my interest peaked

still couldn't accept right away i was pretty sure that they're not be a conflict of interest with my job as a criminal investigator, as this was not an active criminal investigation, did not bias my investigations of any other cases. What evidence are we talking about? My question. What have you got for me to work with? We really have all the evidence we need, said Kingston. We have science and we have the Bible itself. Ironically, we were hoping that you could use biblical scripture in order to debunk the Bible. I can't say that I'm not interested. I'm interested, Mr. Kingston, but let me look at my schedule and talk it over with my supervisor. Oh, please, call me Charles, he said. And of course, I understand that you can't give us an answer

just yet. I just wanted to put the opportunity out there for you. We've been picked up for at least another two seasons, so take your time. Well, um, okay, Charles, I answered. Give me a couple of days and I'll get back to you. Can I call you at this number? Can't wait to hear back from you, He answered. Mr. Kingston didn't have to wait long for me to call him back. Two days after my initial phone call with him, we reached an agreement that my investigation would last for a period of only four weeks, and that my pay at the conclusion of my work will be $8,000,

three grand being paid at the end of the second week and the rest at the end of the fall. I was somewhat surprised at the extravagant amount that the group was willing to pay for what amounted to be a part-time job which I'd be doing after work. I decided not to tell Becky that I'd be staying at the office late in order to do my extra-curricular investigation into the true identity of angels. With a feisty and detention-starved six-year-old daughter at home, I'd never be able to complete this project. First, Becky had been getting on my case the last few days about my drinking, and I really wasn't in any hurry to come home and face that every night. By myself, Becky's family was originally from Ireland, and yes, the stereotype of red-headed Irish girls.

being short-tempered are very true, at least in Becky's case. Why, she ever agreed to marry me? I have no idea. As she was Catholic, while I leaned more towards being rational. Becky's been taking online college courses to complete her training as a paralegal, and that, coupled with also being a stay-at-home mum, has been taking its toll on her. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love my family, but in my line of work with the CPD, I needed a good stiff drink occasionally to take the edge off of a woman. workday that oftentimes didn't end until 12 to 15 hours after it had started. By the time my investigation concluded summer break will have begun. I had some vacation time saved up so I figured

I'd use the money to take Becky and Kara to Disneyland for a few days, then drop Kara off at Becky's parents' place in San Diego while me and Becky headed to Cancun for some time to ourselves. I told Becky that I'd be working later the office for the next few weeks on a special project, though I left out the part about the special project having to do with debunking the existence of angels in the biblical sense and therefore debunking the existence of God. Although Becky told me that I was free to do what I had to do, I could clearly tell that she wasn't particularly happy about it. Still, I wanted to dive into this as quickly as possible. So the next day after my duty shift ended, I was still at my desk, office door locked, and browser open to biblical descriptions of angels. I began my investigation by going over what I already knew about angels.

The ancient Hebrew word for angel means messenger or ambassador, meaning that they were employed by God to deliver messages to the people. Giving them the benefit of the doubt for now at least, I went with the assumption that the ancient biblical writers probably described angels exactly how they actually saw and heard them. Traditionally, angels have been depicted as comely and attractive men or women with two wings and flowing robes. That's how we in modern times have come to believe angels should appear, and that was because many of these classical images of angels were created back at a time when the Holy Roman Catholic

Church ran almost everything, including what to paint and how to paint it. The main reason for this was that if the Catholic Church allowed artists to create images of angels, how they actually looked, as described in the Bible, the resulting image would most likely horrify people rather than entice people to join the religion. In truth, more often than not, the biblical writers didn't describe angels in the romanticised way that they are depicted in classical paintings and sculptures with wings, flowing rows, and mighty swords. They were in fact described in quite ominous and even frightful terms akin to what might be lurking in the most horrific of nightmares.

And if the Bible is to be believed, the appearance of an angel caused those who witnessed them to pass out in fear. So my first step in my investigation was to discard the unprovable mythology that angels were spiritual and therefore somehow divine in nature, and instead I focused on the more logical approach that these messengers were actually extraterrestrial aliens from far across the galaxy, or far across the universe, or even from different dimensions. Initially, in order to come up with a logical conclusion that angels were simply extraterrestrial or extra-dimensional entities, to come up with a few assumptions. First I assume that the glowing robes which biblical prophets such as Ezekiel often described angels as wearing were actually spacesuits,

and the great sound of crashing waves that was described as coming from the angels was actually the noise of their rockets or spaceships. These beings I categorized as simply Category 1, as these seemed to be the most extraterrestrial in nature. Category 1 is what I described as a traditional alien visitation, a closing counter of the third kind for lack of a better term. My second category of angels centred on the angels who were described in the Bible as having very mechanical forms, such as is commonly observed in both modern aircraft and space vessels such as the space shuttle, known as seraphim or cherubing. These angels, which I list in category two, were described as having multiple wings with eyes

all around, which could easily describe a modern passenger jetliner with the eyes being the windows, which lie in the fuselage of the plane. Therefore, my conclusion was that these so-called angels were simply airborne vehicles of some type, but not divine spirits. I was well into week two when I completed compiling my list of biblical angel encounters for category two

when I finally staggered into the house late that night. Becky was asleep on the couch. Kara cradled in her arms. I turned off the television which was running reruns of Kara's favorite cartoon. Scooby-Doo, and gently shook Becky away. Why isn't Carr in bed? I whispered. Becky looked up on me and accused her teary tone in her voice.

She wanted to wait up to see you, Darren. Your daughter hasn't seen you in the past two weeks. Well, I told you, honey, I've been working late on a special project, I said, aggravated that I was having this conversation again with Becky. I know you said that, but you smell like a brewery. answered Becky, no longer whispering. Can't you just come home after work without going to a bar? Honey, I said. I've been working longer hours than usual.

I wanted to throw it in her face that I was the one doing long hours while she stayed at home with a kid, but fortunately I wasn't drunk enough to go down that rabbit hole. And I said it'd only be for the next few weeks. Darren, said Becky. You've been drinking more ever since we moved. to Chicago. It's only getting worse. Damn it, Becky.

I snapped. Daddy, you on Kara. You're home. Hi, Daddy. My daughter climbed down from my mother's lap and walked sleepily towards me, arms raised. I missed you, Daddy. I missed you too, baby girl. I picked up my daughter and hugged her, trying to ignore Becky's disappointed gaze. Ooh, Daddy, your breath smells funny. Oh, baby. That was from Daddy. That was from Daddy.

I struggled for an answer. That was from Daddy's special late-night dinner-hine, said Becky, as she walked past us towards the stairs leading to our bedroom. Daddy, can I sleep with you a mummy tonight? asked Kara, yawning again as she tried to produce a sleepy smile. Of course, my daughter, I said, relieved because then I wouldn't have to put up with Becky's nagging me about having a few drinks to wind down after work. Do you want Daddy to carry up?

stairs. That's okay, said Kara, climbing down from my arms. You always walk funny after your special late-night dinners, Daddy. Part two. I stood at the end of a narrow strip of land which jutted from the island and a quarter mile into the crystal blue waters of the Aegean Sea. At the very end of this strip of land stood a large white boulder upon which I was perched. The sky was a bright and cloudless blue and the warm breeze which blew across my face was comforting and pleasant. I stared back at the island with a growing sense of anticipation, although I didn't know why. The island itself was arid and hilly, covered in green scrub brush, fruit-bearing trees and boulders. The scene before me was peaceful and idyllic, yet I felt the anticipation and excitement building up

inside of me, but why? I didn't know. All of a sudden the seagulls which had been roosting at the base of the boulder upon which I stood, took wing and flew off in squeaks. and cause of panic, filling the sky with a flutter of wings as the sky seemed to tremble and shake. I looked up into the sky and was filled with amazement and dread as I saw a bright silver craft descending from the heavens, bringing with it a steadily growing rumble like an approaching locomotive. I lost my balance and fell upon the boulder, afraid that it might crack and split apart, so violent was the ground and seas quaking as the giant bullet-shaped craft came to rest where the island and the narrow spit of land met.

Through the howling winds, which sounded like angry waves, crashed into the shore, I managed to look up at the shiny metallic-looking craft as it neared the earth and gasped at the size of the thing. There was about five times a size of a passenger airliner, what I assumed to be the top of the craft, flame shot forth, thrusting it towards the ground. Two wing-like attachments emerge from the fuselage of the craft,

covering the top and extinguishing the flames as two similar wing-like attachments opened at the feet of the craft, which again belched forth flames which slowed the descent of the ship. Two larger delta-shaped wings, which the craft used to fly, retracted into the fuselage as it slowly neared the ground. Soon I was engulfed in a cloud of smoke and dust, and I curled into the fetal position, afraid that the heat would burn me alive.

But I wasn't burned, nor was I even harmed, though I was thoroughly shaken. as the dust and smoke slowly settled, arose to my feet, thinking back to the categories which I'd used to classify the biblical writer's encounters with the extraterrestrial beings

they'd mistaken for angels and determined that this would have been a category two encounter. However, to my complete shot, after the smoke had settled and I could see again, there hovering before me halfway between where I stood

and the alien craft was a giant, humanoid form, standing nearly 50 feet tall. It was a result. silvery-colored space suit which shimmered with an incandescent glow, much like the spaceship behind it, and the golden dome which covered its head reflected the sun, making it appear that its head was ablaze with a bronze-coloured fire. My strength gave out of my legs, and I fell back down on the boulder again in abject terror as the being slowly hovered closer until it towered

over me. Do not fear me, Daryngorja, for I am only a messenger. The being's voice pounded in my head like a bass drum, flooding me like the rush of ocean waves crashing violently on the rocks. Do you know where you are standing? I shook my head, unable to speak. You are standing upon the island of Patmos, Darren Couchat, the holy place known to the one whom I serve. The being seemed to kneel down to get a better look at me, and I shrank back, still unable to rise to my feet. You are putting the pieces of a puzzle together, but you shall not complete it because you are missing the most important piece. But fear not, for you hold that missing piece in your hand.

What are you missing, Darren Kortchak. You have all the pieces to your puzzle. What are you missing? Suddenly I felt incredibly sleepy and felt my head hit the hard stone as I slept, though I awoke moments later just in time to witness the silver spacecraft ascending into the sky. The two trails it left behind looking like two smoking legs, the right one standing on the sea and the left one standing on the earth, as it propelled the glowing craft into space.

Like the angel in the book of revelations, I thought as I sat up. Though it was dark and the air conditioner left our bedroom rather chilly, I was sweating bullets. I looked down next to me and was relieved to see that Becky and Kara were still asleep. My heart was racing and I felt the need to hurry up and write down my dream before it faded from my memory. Slowly I crawled out of bed, slipping on a t-shirt and house slippers, and snuck downstairs into the kitchen where I fumbled around to find a pen and a pad of paper, while I poured myself several healthy doses of bourbon. I didn't delve into my investigation

into angels for several days afterwards, because I was preoccupied with ongoing investigations with the CPD, but mainly because I was still shaken up by my dream. But a week later, when I had night off when Kara was fast asleep, I locked myself inside my office in my house and, imbued by the liquid encouragement of a bottle of bourbon, I switched on the browser of my computer and typed in the words,

the four living creatures of the Bible. This category of angels were the ones which supposedly stood around the throne of God, and the biblical description of their otherworldly and frightening appearance made them more suited to being something described in the pages of an H.P. Lovecraft story rather than in

the most holy book of entire Christen. them. These unexplainable creatures, which I put in category three, are the angels that were either beings of an extra-dimensional nature, or more likely, beings dreamed up by the biblical writers after taking some type of hallucinogenic substance, a practice not unheard of in many religions where one practitioner wanted to be closer to their version of a higher power. Admittedly, by the beginning of the fourth week, I really didn't do too much delving into the identity of the fourth category of angels, because in reality, there was no need to. Category four of my classifications of angels were the most numerous. These were the angels who appeared to be

handsome human males, such as the named angels Michael and Gabriel, or the unnamed angels who help Lott's family out of Sodom and Gomorrah. The Bible even mentions the man named Jacob wrestling with an angel. The logical and most obvious conclusion is that these angels, who appeared to be handsome human males were in reality, well, handsome human males. I got home earlier than usual that night, and Kara jumped into my arms when I stumbled through the door. Because I got off a few hours before I normally did, I'd had a little more time to unwind at a bath, frequented by cops, firefighters, and EMTs in order to blow off some steam with a few of the folks that I worked with before finally coming home. Daddy, your breath smells funny

again, Daddy, giggled Kara, who was still wearing her green shirt and tan skirt that was the school uniform of the Catholic school Becky and I had enrolled her in. Have you been drinking, Daddy? No, I said sharply, lying. Who told you to say that, Daddy, honey? I said, glaring at Becky. Kara saw me staring at her mother, and she clasped my face in her hands, forcing me to look at her chubby little face. I told you, Daddy, are you drunk? Go to your room, Kara, I snapped, putting Kara back down on the floor. But Daddy, tears welled up in my daughter's eyes. Mommy didn't tell me to say anything.

Go to your room, Kara, I said it again. But Daddy, don't be mad, Daddy, cried Kara. She ran upstairs to her room. I won't say it ever again, Daddy. Becky was staring daggers at me. How dare you do that to her, Darren? She looks forward to you coming home every day. and you have the nerve to stagger in here drunk as usual and make her cry.

How dare you put words in my little girl's mouth, Becky. I yelled in return. I didn't you asshole, returned Becky, not backing down. Our little girl is as observant as she is smart. She sees what's going on. I didn't give her that message to give you. She came to that conclusion on her own. And Becky stormed past me and ran upstairs, yelling.

Kara, honey, Daddy didn't mean it, honey. Daddy's just tired. I wanted to turn and follow her upstairs, but I knew that it would only make things worse. I was drunk, and I knew it. Worse, my daughter knew it too. Becky had made some tender pot roast and garlic potatoes, and had them stewing on the oven for me.

I made myself a plate and slumped down on the couch, staring at the television for a couple of hours, but not remembering what I was watching. Becky and Kara were both fast asleep by the time I decided to head up to bed. I peeked into Kara's room and watched my daughter as she slept. She was wrapped up in her favorite pink comforter, arms clinging tightly around her giant teddy bear named Tobin. I wanted to wake her up to tell her I was sorry for being angry at her earlier.

Instead, I resolved to make it up to her with that surprise trip to Disneyland that I planned once this investigation was over. I stood in the middle of a rolling and terrifying maelstrom. Beneath me there was no ground, and I immediately felt ill from the vertical of the moment. of not having a solid place to stand while the universe seemed to be going mad around me. I had no clue as to what was up or what was down as thick clouds heaved and churned like a whirlpool. A stormy wind blew down from the north and a great gleaming cloud of fire appeared, casting everything around it in amber for as far as I could see. In the middle of this cloud, which for some reason I knew dwarf the size of our own Milky Way galaxy,

was fire, and from the fire emerged a creature of pure love-craft. It appeared to be four living creatures, humanoid in appearance, but each had a different looking face. One of a human being, one of a lion, one of an ox and one of an eagle. Their legs were straight and they ended at what looked to resemble a calf's foot, and they shone like highly polished bronze. Each living creature had enormous wings which spread out above them, and each wing touched the other.

creature radiated unimaginable power, was bathed in lightning, and like the cloud from which it emerged. I could somehow reason that this thing was far, far larger than our entire galaxy, perhaps several hundred thousand galaxies combined. I wanted to faint away in sheer terror before my mind succumbed to madness, but something kept me conscious, strengthening me even so that I could stand in this thing's presence, if only just barely. I shuddered with dread when I realized that it was the creature that was sustaining me. I do not be afraid, Darren Colchak, for I am a messenger from the one that I serve.

The voice, which booned in my head, was overflowing with both power and compassion. In it I felt a sense of wisdom, conviction, virtue, and an intense loathing for all things impure and unclean. Do you know where you are? No, no, I don't. My voice sounded infinitely tiny, as if I was screaming at the universe. You stand neither here nor there, but rather, in the middle, said the creature. This is a holy place, the in-between that separates the kingdom of the world and the kingdom of the one most holy. Why? Why am I here? I squeaked, tears flowing down my face.

I could barely keep myself together, and I felt as if I would fade away at any second as I stood in the present. presence of this powerful, ancient, celestial monstrosity which exuded both justice and wisdom. You are putting the pieces of a puzzle together, but you share not completed because you are missing the most important piece. But fear not, for you hold that missing piece in your hands. What are you missing, Darren Colchard? You have all the pieces to your puzzle. What are you missing? God, its message is the same as the other one, I thought.

all of a sudden the entire universe began to rumble and quake and my body shook back and forth as the ancient living creature began to fade away the gateway between heaven and earth vanishing with it darren honey wake up i inhaled deeply as my eyes flew open sitting up suddenly from my bed i stared with wide eyes at becky who yelled with surprise darren honey you were having a bad dream look at you you're all sweating you okay Hey, you kept saying, don't go in your sleep. Yeah, no, no, I don't know, I stammered. But I do know that I love you. I'm sorry for earlier. I was wrong. I right my arms around Becky and kissed her passionately on the lips.

She pulled back, staring at me with eyes wide with curiosity and surprise. What are you talking about, Darren? Becky said. Are you still... She stopped herself before she could say the word, drunk. I know that you didn't put Carr up to accusing me of being drunk. I said as I got out of bed and began to throw on some clothes. I get it now.

The messengers were different, but the message was the same. Honey, I still don't know what's going on, she said. Where are you going? I need to run to the office for a second. There's a file I need to look at one more time. But honey, it's almost 11 o'clock at night. I know, baby, I said, as I opened the door to my bed. and be back as soon as I can.

Darren, what are you possibly going to do at the office at 11 o'clock at night? I look back at my beautiful wife, still sitting half-naked on the bed and wearing only her unbuttoned nightshed. Locks of her silky red hair fell in front of her face as she stared at me with emerald eyes, looking as if I'd gone completely insane. Maybe I had, but I needed to check out this one last thing before I closed out my investigation. I'm putting the last piece of the puzzle in place, honey. I'll be back soon, I said, before I closed the door. It was drizzling as I drove to the precinct.

The streetlights reflecting off the wet pavement, seeming to bathe the city in a warm bronze glove. My mind was racing about as fast as I was driving my truck, and I'm sure that I ran a few stoplights before they'd turn green. Berkey didn't put Kara up to accusing me that I was drunk. My daughter told me that message separate of her mother. other. Different messengers, same message. As usual, the precinct was just as busy at night as it was during the day, as cops processed the

endless piles of paperwork needed to prosecute the thugs, gangbangers, hookers, dealers, and every other fine citizen of Chicago had always seemed to want to act like fools when the weekend came. Hey, Darren, working late again? said the desk officer as I rushed past her desk. You've been burning the candle at both ends a lot these past few weeks. I just trying to earn a little vacation money, Sharon. I said as I turned the corners to the hallway which led to my office. Hopefully tonight will be my last night.

I couldn't get to my office fast enough. Closing and locking the door behind me, I ran my computer and opened up the file which I created for this investigation. Opening up the file for holders that listed every recorded biblical encounter with angels and, after reviewing every single event, my conclusion was still the most logical that any reasonable person, could come up with namely that angels were living extraterrestrial or extra-dimensional beings they were a separate and distinct species of living beings as different as the

moth was to a blue whale of that there could be no doubt but I noticed that I was missing one piece of the investigation the one puzzle piece which brought the entire picture into focus I went back again to my files but instead of concentrating on the different species of the living entities which the Bible referred to as angels or messengers, I instead focused on the message that they brought. And what I found out left me speechless, staring with both doubt and awe at the results which I just typed onto my computer screen. So, okay, let's assume all this is true.

Let's say that, yes, angels are simply alien visitors or alien spacecraft from the far-flung reaches of the cosmos that have come to Earth, in which the biblical writers mistook to be divine servants sent from their gods. If we accept that as being true, as was the original intent of my investigation, then the undeniable fact remains clear. In all of their different alien forms and in all of their different alien modes of transportation, and in all of the different alien galaxies and dimensions that they come from, their messages were always, always the same. Do not worship us. Instead worship the one true living God. Worship the god of your fathers whom we also serve.

These aliens or angels or messengers or whatever we choose to call them were not evidence that God did not exist. In fact they proved quite the opposite. Throughout the living history of mankind alien creatures from one end of the universe to another visited Earth and instructed its people to worship the one God who had dominion over the entire universe which he had created. They were saying that there was one true God. I sat back in stunned disbelief over what I just discovered.

In trying to use logic and science to disprove the existence of God, I had done the exact opposite. My investigation had been flawed from the very beginning. Instead of investigating the messengers, I should have been investigating the message. To acknowledge that angels were actually alien messengers from our distant past, but then ignore the message which they brought to mankind, would only prove that it was we non-believerleavings.

who were the ones who were close-minded and unwilling to accept science. Suddenly feeling the need for a stiff drink, I left from my usual watering hole, a small neighbourhood Irish tavern called The Lucky Lass. There was a small place built into the corner of a block of boarded-up storefronts and apartment flats where I could go and be incognito. I decided to walk the four blocks of the Lucky Lass to clear my head. By the time I got there, it was steadily drizzling. I could only described the man in the white suit that came up and sat next to me at the bar as being beautiful his skin was of a dark complexion almost bronze in appearance and he was tall and sturdily built his flowing light brown hair framed a chiseled and youthful face those expressions seemed to hide wisdom far beyond that of a

mortal man he smiled slightly at me and regarded me with sparkling green eyes instinctively i knew that this was a disguise. Mr. Darren Colchak, the tall man in the white suit said in a voice that was as commanding as it was gentle, did your investigation turn out as you'd expected? I gulped, staring in awe at something that wasn't supposed to exist, yet at the same time feeling at peace as if I hadn't a care in the world. Fighting the urge not to faint, I muttered. No, no, my investigation did not reveal the reason.

results which I had expected, sir. Sir? The man smiled. I am no sir. Darren Colcheck. I'm simply a messenger. You may call me Gabriel. Gabriel, I whispered, stunned.

As in the Gabriel. He nodded the kind smile never leaving his face. It's rather hard, isn't it? Putting that last piece of the puzzle in place. So many people such as yourself hold that piece of the puzzle in their hands their whole life, yet refuse to put it in place. But you have, Mr. Colchak, and now you know the truth. I nodded dumbly, feeling like I wanted to break down and cry.

Yes, I know the entire universe from one end to the other worships the one God which created it. I know that now. You're all known as Gabriel stood up, nodding to me in approval. This earth is a wicked kingdom filled with some men who know what you know but refuse to admit it or even accept the truth What this world needs are a few more messengers like you

To spread the word that the king is coming soon To reclaim his kingdom Gabriel turned and was walking out the door When Sal, the bartender yelled at him Hey Joe You forgetful old good You're gonna pay your tab or what I turned to see old man Brighton slowly limping out of the door

he was a disabled war veteran who wore with a cane and I've known to be a patron over this bar for years the wrinkled hunched over old man wearing a worn brown jacket put his faded fedora on his boarding heads and waved his hand over his head as he left the bar I'll pay you back tomorrow with you know with the thing thing you believe that Darren my boy said Sal that old Joe Bride must think he's a prince or something He, uh, he might well be, I stuttered as my mind suddenly returned to a passage in Hebrews,

the one about unknowingly entertaining angels without realizing it. Well, if he's a prince, his kingdom sure isn't on this earth, Sal chuckled. What were you and that old guy talking about anyway? You two were whispering like you were discussed in UFO conspiracy theories. We were, um, talking about angels, I muttered. "'Hah!' exclaimed Sal. "'You, Mr. There's an old guard. "'You're okay, Darren.

"'Yeah, I'll even touch your drink.' I looked at my tumbler of bourbon and pushed it away, suddenly losing the urge to drink. Instead, I pulled out my phone to check for affordable vacation packages to Disneyland in Cancun that I could afford, seeing as how I probably wouldn't be getting paid for my extracurricular investigation. After I booked the tickets, and with a deep sigh,

I called Mr. Kingston on his cell phone. Hello, came Mr. Kingston's distinctive deep voice, groggy with sleep. Hello, Mr. Kingston, this is Darren Colchak. Sorry to call you so late. Hey, said Charles, coming instantly awake. Haven't heard from you in a while, buddy. Thanks again for your help in this investigation. What did you discover?

Are you ready to help us awaken the world by debunking the myth of some higher power? Mr. Kingston, I said, I'm afraid I have some disappointing news. Night's third work is I was the last storyteller when the world ended by Black Friday's Witch 13. I sat in the corridor of the old stone farmhouse waiting on the children who were still left. I even had blood all over my body and no memory of why I'd found myself in this situation. My last memory was myself in a room telling what I hoped would be the last story. story I had to tell in this new, wretched world, we now find ourselves living it. You see, two years ago, just after my 18th birthday, the version we know as the world

ended. I was the only survivor over the age of 18. One afternoon, I was in my car with some friends when a white light arose in the middle of the afternoon. It was so quick that we barely noticed it but my friends who were in the car at the time both already 18 began to feel strangely ill shortly after dying a day or so later soon there were the deaths of other neighbors of ours friends of my parents all adults the children remained healthy first person in my house to die was my dad one afternoon he went to lie down and he stopped breathing turning white almost immediately like something you would see in a movie his hair went white first travelling down to his stiff body it was bizarre to see it take hold of him so rapidly then came the

day my mother went she'd lasted several days longer than my dad's my mother was standing in the kitchen cooking breakfast for my sister katie and i trying to hold her grief in check telling us the story about our dad when they were young, when she stopped. I heard her sighs as though she'd begun to cry. There were tears on her pale cheeks when she slowly turned around and looked at my sister in her. Her eyes had turned white, and then I watched her die in front of my eyes. My mother, frozen, dropped the spatula that was in her hand, and she fell to the floor, twisted and broken like a rag doll.

It was so quiet and sudden. I barely smelled the bacon burning and barely heard the sound of the grease popping in the skillet. The skin was the color of snow now. I looked at my sister, who had already begun crying in fits of panic. What are we going to do here? Tell me what to do, Katie screamed,

running to our mother's side. It was that moment as I became responsible. for my sister. Then it turned into my caring for some of the younger kids in the neighbourhood. At first they came begging for food or looking up to me for guidance. I was the eldest. All my other friends had died or run away. Everyone over the age of 17 was dead. That wasn't the only thing that happened. The wildlife seemed to grow faster than ever before. Electricity no longer existed. It was as though something came out of the sky and snuffed out the very life of our planets.

I took the children I'd become ward of when I was barely much older than they were. Together we tried to find help. Instead, I began to collect other children along the way. It was hard to manage, but I had my sister Katie, who was nearing her 18th birthday. It was going on two years now since the strange event. We've settled not too far away,

from where I'd lived in a rural area where there had once been a small farming community. I'd stumbled upon a moderately sized farmhouse with six bedrooms. Luckily for us, there were plenty of resources available on this farm. There was even a creek with fresh water that we boil daily. There was running water in the house for a while until it stopped. Lush forests surrounded the farm and the main road had become overgrown. The vehicles that were on the property didn't have a lot of gas left in them. However, whoever owned the farm had been generous by leaving the keys to the cars.

When I did take a drive out to look for food, I didn't go far in case of an emergency. The first year was the easiest. Then supplies went fast. It was hard keeping them all fed. There were at least 20 or 30 now, and the children didn't understand how rationing worked. first they ate up the food that was already in the house and then when that was gone the winter had brought on other issues it was hard keeping warm and so some of them became ill the temperatures were so cold that even when you were indoors the chill was barely infiltrated instead of finding dry wood in the nearby woods one afternoon i'd come back to the house in disarrant blankets were removed from bedding chairs were upside to the down and some of the older kids were throwing furniture in the large fireplace. What are you doing? I yelled, grabbing two of the older boys, Tim and Tony, who were twins and

who'd recently turned 13. We hate it here. It's always cold and there's never any food because we have to ration it out to the little ones. I'm tired, and I'm sick of living like this. Tim pushed and hit me in the chest. I let him because I knew he needed to and then tears fell from both our eyes I stood unsure of what to say but I somehow found the words I recalled my father telling me about how life could take harsh turns the look on all the children's faces told me what I was that I needed to say next life is hard we grew up being told that if we suffered Disappointment, it makes it easier to face.

I don't believe that, though. I believe that disappointment still hurts, but it only stacks the anger through each blow life gives us. But children, we can't let it anger us. We have to be better than those disappointments. Come, look at the fire Tim and Tony Matrix. Sure, it's part bedroom linen, broken bits of chair, but we have warmth.

Feel it. Feel the warmth. I didn't know I had the words in me to make them listen. Each one came over in their dark and stained clothes, warming their hands by the large fireplace. That night, after our dinner, I was reading to the smaller children as a form of entertainment since there was no electricity for TV.

That's when little Shelby Parsons, who was roughly only six or seven, looked up into my dark eyes. Ian, I want to be able to see. Ian, I want you to tell us a new story. This one's boring, she said, hugging her knees. Then the other children chimed in with their voices. Yeah, tell us a scary story,

little James said from the back of the large couch, which now adorned ketchup stains. A scary story, but don't you like hearing stories about fairies that help wandering travelers in the woods, or princes that rescue the princess? I asked. No, we want blood, said a raspy voice coming from the back of the room.

It was a boy of no more than 12 years old. Henry, who was always trying to act out his dominance on the four smaller children. Scary, eh? I don't think that the farmers that lived here before had any books about scary things, I said, standing up, looking around the books on the built-in shelf. No, tell us one of your stories. Shelby said, I don't have any, I laughed. Make up your own story for us, Shelby exclaimed, pouting with her dark curly hair falling into her blue eyes.

I smiled at her, and I looked around the room and thought very hard of the scariest story I could make up. Finally, I figured I would begin, and perhaps it would come to me as I went a lot. To make it scarier, I grabbed a few props. from the closet. One object, a black cape that looked like it was part of a costume at some point. The other, a large red candle that I sat on the small coffee table in front of me. And I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and when I opened them, I become someone else. I became there a scary narrator. Once upon a time in a small village lived a little boy and a little girl. My voice had shifted, my neck cracked a little, and I felt the sound coming out of me was not my own.

Instead, the voice that came from my lips was one of pure evil. They had grown up in a place that, if you wore color, the monsters that lived in the trees would see you and eat your flesh. So all the people who lived in the village were only black. So the monsters didn't see them and eat them, because the monsters loved little, children the best why did they love little children the best Shelby asked interrupting me I thought for a second before continuing because all little children have bones that taste like sweet candy when the children wore bright colors they looked like candy too so it was easier to identify them my voice had an audible click and it deepened to almost a growl I had no

idea where it was coming from but the story came to me like a movie playing out in my head I was shot by how dark and cavernous it sounded in the room it echoed across the walls and bounced up into the stairwell where some of the older children had slowly come to sit and listen on top of the stairs one afternoon the little boy and the little girl were found dead at the edge of the village the only thing left of their two tiny bodies with the brightly colored rain shirt the little girl had on and the bright green shirt the little boy had on. I saw little Shelby gasp and cling to little James. I glared at them both, enjoying my evil

character as I continued. The town was frightened and uncertain as to how to rid themselves with the dark beings that had caused their town such turmoil. The alien beings had to be solved. So, after the sun went down on the small town, the townsfolk gathered around the church bell that rang every hour on the hour and made a plan to destroy the alien. There was a loud bang on the roof of the farmhouse, interrupting my story. The children screamed and stood at once, pleading with their eyes as they looked upon me for comfort. I walked towards the front door and it opened it slowly. I stepped outside and looked up at the roof. It appeared as though a large branch had fallen on top of it.

I walked back into the house and looked at the children. It's just a tree branch, is all. Let's finish our story tomorrow after dinner. Come on, time for bed, everyone. Just when things were starting to get good, Henry grumped. I smiled and blew out the candle. I looked up and saw my sister Katie smiling at me. Good job, big brother.

I knew what she meant, and she and I were both. We were both glad and we'd found a way to entertain the rowdy bunch. The next morning there was a fresh layer of snow on the ground. It was early October and seemed far too early in the year for ice and snow. I was chopping up the branch that had fallen on the roof the night before and figured we could use it for firewood. I stacked the wood and began piling it up against the wall of the barn when I heard shrieking. I saw my sister Katie running towards me as fast as lightning, her winter coat falling off the shoulders as she ran towards me. It's Shelby. Come quick. I ran with her towards the house

and once inside Shelby was sitting on the couch with her pink t-shirt jeans, no socks or shoes, which was strange considering it was frigid in the house. I looked at Katie and one of the other girls, Tara, who were trying to comfort Shelby. What happened to her? She fell from the tree. She was so high up. exclaimed, barely having enough breath in her tiny body to tell me what had happened. How did she do that? I begged, taking her little hand into mine. I was at the top of that one, shall we said, out of breath, as she pointed at the tall oak outside the window. I looked at that tree. It had to be at least 30 or 40 feet tall, and I knew there was no way she was climbing that tree.

out by the cornfields were a row of small apple trees i assume she meant one of those the monster picked me up and took me into the tree i screamed then it dropped me shelby said in between heavy breathing i looked at katie and tara bewildered by what this could mean i still had a hard time believing it was possible i kissed little shelby on the forehead and tried to reassure her the best i could that everything would be all right. I feared she might have had broken ribs, by the way she was breathing. I stepped into the hallway between the dining room and the living room, where Shelby was on the couch, and then my sister followed me. What are we going to do with you? I don't know.

It has to be something you can do. What about all that stuff Shelby was saying about there being a monster? Katie, she's six years old. Kids have vivid imagination. especially after trauma. What are you going to do? Look, I'm not a goddamn doctor. I snapped.

Then, when I looked at her, I softened. I'll see if the farmers that lived here have any medical books in the library. Maybe you or Tara can help. I still have to cook breakfast for them all. Tara can help you. I'll send her in after she gets them all ready for their daily lessons.

I nodded, and then went a lot myself. into the library. Every time I looked at the large house we found ourselves in, I felt lucky to have been in the right place at the right time. Whoever had lived here before was pretty well prepared,

and when we stumbled upon the site, the occupants had not been gone very long at all. There was still fresh food in the refrigerator until the electricity finally stopped working. Whatever had made everyone sick had also cut off the world from internet, power, running water and heat. It was as if someone or something had hit a switch and turned it off

and we returned to the dark ages again. Tara was a year younger than Katie. While she was smart and helpful, she was very restrained from showing any form of human-like emotions. The only thing she was good at was teaching the children. It had been her idea to make them sit in a sort of homeschool and teach them about survival from the books in the library and the history of things. It helped occupy the youngest ones, but the older kids didn't stick around, usually spent their days off wandering the woods or hunting animals. Sometimes they brought the food back to share, while the times they were going to the woods for days at a time. There was chaos at all times, always anger boiling just below the surface. We were lucky to have had no

like the one with Shelby in the last two years since the world ended. I had out hope we would find others, mainly other adults that could help. So far, in the two years of searching and scouting, I'd found only bones, and children with no homes and no one to look after them, except me. I fumbled through the books most of the day and found the information on how to treat broken bones. I did the best I could. Having been a a football player for most of my teenage years, I knew a few things about injuries. I did the best I could in patching up Shelby with what I found in the books in the library. By the end of the day, she was sitting up on the couch, smiling in her usual way. I felt guilty that there was nothing

more I could do. There was one thing, however. Night fell upon the farmhouse that night, and there was a distinct chill in the air that wasn't there before. Everyone was. was home that night so the living room was crowded and a few of the children were playing games and Tim and Tony were arguing about something. Anyone want a story? I asked in a commanding tone. Shelby sat up from her place on the couch and clapped her hands. Yes, another scary story. Yeah, but not like that stupid one you told last night, Henry said with his raspy voice. He sounded like someone that had chain smoked their entire life,

but he was only 12 years old. Very well, let me get set up. I found my cape and lit my red candle. This time I hid a coffee mug of bourbon next to me for my nerves after the day I'd had. And then I began telling a new story. This one felt like it wasn't coming from me at all, but that I was possessed by something inside of me.

Demons are real children. They loved. come out at night. Some of them even sneak inside your bed and crawl inside of your mouth to live there. Some of them get right inside of your belly and give you a bellyache you couldn't possibly stop, even with the best medicines. They get inside and stay like a parasite. They make you do and say horrible things and sometimes hurt others. I looked around the room and felt slight darkness boiling inside of me. I wanted to scare the children. It felt good in some strange dysfunctional way. I couldn't explain it. I looked around the room and when I thought of all the things I'd had to do

and sacrifice so that they could exist, I felt resentment. Suddenly my skin began to itch and I felt hot. I continued with my story. Demons lie to play with you even when you're not looking. They watch you from dark crevices in the walls and outside your window on a stormy night. They hang about in spider web so small you would never know they were there. Demons love sitting in trees and drop things on you like sadness and depression, but their favourite ever is giving you evil thoughts. The only way to get rid of them is to fight hard against it. If that doesn't work, pray.

And if that doesn't work, well, There's always death. There was a silence in the room that gave me pause. I took a deep breath, trying to figure out what was wrong with me. Hatred for them had risen like acid reflux on my turn. My love of them seemed to diminish, and then return after I'd finished my story. Didn't like that one either, Henry yelled from behind the couch. I sighed, laughing a bit to myself.

Well, it's bedtime, anyhow. Tara has lessons for you in the morning. Henry came over and put his hand on my shoulder. Ian, we need to work on your idea of stories. And I will say you are scary when you tell these stories. Your eyes get black and your voice changes. It's like you have a demon inside of you when you're telling the story. I smiled and I sat back thinking,

if only he knew. There was a windstorm so bad that night I could barely sleep. I curled around my bed, which was in the attic. It was also the coldest room in the house because it had no insulation, and there was a crack in one of the windows that always seemed to return, no matter how hard I tried to repair it. The sound of glass breaking on the second floor had me rise from my bed

and rushed to see what was the matter. When I reached the second floor, I nearly fell onto the wooden hall, trying to see what had caused the sound. something inside of me told me there was something very very wrong my gut never liked me and then i saw it henry was standing at the end of the hallway there was a large bay window that overlooked the farm and would have been beautiful on any other occasion but the view that met me was one of pure horror henry's eyes were black as night his skin was yellow and his mouth seemed to phone. It looked like he was in pain as he bent over, falling to the floor.

I ran to him and placed my hand upon his shoulder. When I did, he felt hot to the touch, as though he had a horrific fever. I removed my hand quickly. Henry, are you okay? He began to heave in the same manner as a cat, like he was in the process of regurgitating an air ball. I backed away and ran to grab a cold washcloth and a bucket from the bathroom and ran to his side. Nearly wet myself from what I saw when I returned. Henry was regurgitating something dark from his throat like a thick black goo. When it hit the floor, it made a loud splash. Henry continued to heave and hurl and he began to scream, groaning in pain.

He looked up at me as I was a loud splash. the low, forceful growl came out of his belly. Then he opened his mouth again as a white snake with glowing red eyes, slivered from out of his mouth, onto the floor, and came towards me with the intent to do me harm. The way it looked to me, it was as if it knew me. I backed away and fell back onto the stairs that led to my bedroom in the attic. Katie and the others were now in the hallway watching me,

and I found myself unsure of what was happening. Tara came forward and hit the snake with a hammer, killing him. When she did, Henry collapsed to the ground. I ran over to him and saw that he was still breathing, but he was out cold. It was almost as if he were in a coma. I carried him to his bed and cleaned him up as best as we could, propping his head up onto a thick pillow. I left his room and sat on the steps, unsure of what to do.

I was still in shock, shaking. as I tried to wrap my brain about what was happening, as too were the others. Katie came over to me and sat next to me, and looked into my eyes. What the hell was that? I looked down into her eyes and shook my head. Like the story you told us, Tara said, coming up from behind me. Katie looked at her and then got up and walked away, slamming the door to the room she shared with Tara. I thought it was a strange reaction, but my sister had been acting strangely lately.

She had grown secretive and sullen, keeping to herself most of the time. Tara said nothing else. Instead, she and the others returned to their rooms, afraid for the rest of the night to leave the safety of their beds. I finally returned to my room, and there seemed to be stillness and a chill in the air giving me the feeling like something or someone was watching me. I managed to fall into a deep sleep, and when I did, all I had were nightmares.

A creature filled with bloodlust on all fours was after all of us. I woke to the sound of birds chirping, and the sound of the other children in the yard playing. Perhaps there was hope after all. Then my door burst open, and all hope was lost. Katie was standing at the foot of my bed, fuming. My 18th birthday is in two weeks. She said to me, as I set up bewildered as to what she was going on about, especially after last night. I don't understand what the hell you're talking about. Why is that important? Has anyone checked on Henry?

He's fine. He doesn't remember anything from last night, thank God. Where is he? I need to speak to him. He ate breakfast, now he's sleeping. Lucky for us, he's fine. Maybe not for you. Who are you? I looked at her, still confused. Why are you still alive? You're the only adult that survived the end of the world. How did you do it? I want to know, Ian, because I don't want to die in two weeks.

She began to cry frantically. I don't know why I'm still alive. I think about it every day. I don't want to die. She continued crying. I hug my sister and tried to comfort her. Honestly, I'd never thought about what would happen if one of the other children turned 18. The thought that Katie would die gave me a devastating feeling.

I didn't even want to entertain the idea. That evening I wanted to have dinner with all of us together. Katie managed to cook one of the last chickens we had on the farm. We were going to save it for Christmas dinner. But I felt like we needed to come together after recent events and give thanks for the fact we were all still alive and healthy. Dinner was quiet, and I felt love for the first time for my new family.

It wasn't conventional, but as I looked around the room at everyone, I'd become close to all of them for different reasons. I sat there and decided now would be the perfect time for a story. A happy tale, nothing sad or scary. I recall the story about a dragon that breathed fire burning down, an entire village in one great fiery storm. In one instance, an entire town was obliterated. Then out of the ashes was born a new place.

At first, it was dead, and it looked like the earth would never be green again. But the people began to see that the dragon wasn't killing them. He was trying to create a new world fresh with no mistakes in it. And maybe that's what happened when we came to be in this place. Maybe that's why we are here now. In the story, the sky was always blue and the sun was always shining. Everyone was happy, except those that still hated the dragon. They had it out for the dragon for burning their village

and had a hard time seeing all the good that had come from the newly created sacred space. Let's not be like those townspeople. Let's be grateful we are still here. We have each other. I said, grabbing Katie's hand, and she smiled a tiny smile at me and then looked at Tara. He's right, Tara said. We should be grateful that we have each other.

That night we all peacefully went to our rooms and I slept better than I had in two years. Two weeks went by and Katie's birthday came and went with no issue. The weather seemed to get better too. There was a warmth in the air and the children had stopped feeling so afraid. I saw a peeking of green grass, even though it was nearing the end of October. It began to find food easier than before, and I wondered if it had anything to do with my story of the dragon renewing the land. I couldn't deny it seemed odd, but it was a coincidence, right?

Then something happened after one happily uneventful evening. I'd been reading a book on how to identify herbs in nature when I fell asleep. The book still upon my chest as my head rolled over onto it, and that was the last thing I remember. I felt it first, the pain. I couldn't see it, but I knew I was gushing blood. There was no one in the room with me, but I had been attacked. I was having trouble breathing. I couldn't see well because of the blood, but I felt sunlight on me.

Then I felt my body being dragged across the ground. someone kicked me in my side and then i heard tara how does it feel demon tara asked with another kick what's going on i managed to speak ever so barely i felt someone come and wipe the blood from my eyes it was katie she had tears falling from her eyes who are you katie was pleading more than questioning ian your brother i said confused You aren't my brother, Katie said defiantly. My brother is dead too. What are you talking about? I sat up, but someone kicked me again. I looked over. It was Henry.

I began to feel angry instead of confused, and managed to sit up, blocking any more blows with my left arm. Stop this now! I'm your brother. Who else would I be? The creatures that live in the trees. Tony's voice said, but I couldn't see him. They're demons.

I eat kids. That's why he's here. He's saving us for his next meal. Where are you coming up with this nonsense? You told those stories, and then those same things started happening, Katie said. Katie, tell him what happened to you last night, Tara urged. I was getting ready for bed when I looked at my feet. They were turning snow.

white. I'm dying just like mum and dad, just like every other adult, except for you. Slid his throat so he can't tell any more stories, Tara urged Katie. Katie had a knife in her hand, but she couldn't do it.

Tell me, Ian, what happened the day the white light came and snuffed out our world? You always said you were in the car with your friends. Why didn't you die? What happened? I told you before. We were in the car with Curtis and Tyler, grabbing a bite to eat, and this bright light appeared. It was so bright, it lit up the sky, and you couldn't see anything for a few moments.

Then, the next thing I recall, I was home. No, they got into a horrible car accident. The light kept Joe from seeing, and they were in a head-on collision. You were the only survivor walking away without even a scratch. everyone knew it except for you Mum and Dad didn't want to remind you to save you from the trauma But then they died I guess I'm just lucky

I'm not Katie said showing me the white streak of hair she now had One of her green eyes was now turning white I knew in a few hours or a few days My sister would succumb to the disease If only one of us can be alive, then you have to die because I don't want to die. Kill him, Tara said. Please don't.

I love you, Katie, I said, as fear overtook me. You can't wait. It's what I've been training you all since the beginning. Kill him! Tara yelled. My mind flashed to her survival lessons. They'd planned this all. along. Anger was now overtaking my fear of death. And then, after the children attacked Ian,

they realized he could not die. I said, telling them a final story to save my own life. Instead, he healed within moments of the attack. He rose and looked upon the children and realized that his biggest weakness was that he had a heart. And so he killed it. When he killed it, could feel no pain for the bloodshed he was about to inflict. I looked at Katie and the others as my body did indeed begin to heal. I walked towards them as they were all now afraid of me. I felt like the devil himself. I told you to slid his throat and now look at what you did. He's stupid bitch. Tira was now running away from me. Katie stood, tears in her eyes. Katie. Say goodbye to your one last time before I let it take me over. I grabbed her in a fierce hug, knowing I would never

see her again. I'm so sorry, Ian. She held on to me for dear life. I can feel it. If you don't, I'm going to snap your neck. She ran from me then, and as she did when she was out of ear range, I whispered. Katie went on to live a happy and full life. And there was no more disease in the world and everyone went on to live a full adult life and Ian's heart remained intent I walked back to the house and sat in the corridor I was still covered in blood trying to recall how I'd ended up here after all some of the children were still out there hunting and gathering unbeknownst to them what had happened I had to wait so I could tell them goodbye I said out loud to myself Then I suddenly found myself again, and recalled, with fierce veracity, why I remained alive when the diseases rattled the earth with death.

I was the creator. I took that young man's body over. Ian deserved so much more in life. He became my vessel. I was, after all, the alpha and the omega. I always said I'd destroy the world again, but it would not be in flood or fire. There were still some kinks to work out with this world, however. My greed, jealousy, and fear seem innate inside of the human race.

I'd find a way to fix it for good. After all, I had before. We round off tonight's tales with The Pursuit of Real Magic by W.D. Stevenson. Interest is what we feel when we discover something. Something that speaks to the soul, that pulls us in and wraps itself around the fibres of our being and leaves little room for a time for much else it's not fleeting attentiveness i describe that which comes and goes without much thought like seeing a butterfly floating idly by capturing the attention until it's flown from sight

leaving one to carry on plainly it's the interest that becomes engrossment that i speak of that starting point the bases that which becomes more than passion and from there obsession. Most of the time these things started a young age, carried through the formative views by childlike curiosity, before the corruption of the real world can soil the dream. This wasn't the case for me. I was already an adult when I found it.

The world had been cruel, callous and uncaring. I didn't really live so much as merely exist in it, average in every sense of the word probably below it my grades in school were enough to get by but not enough to get into a decent university it didn't matter much because i didn't have any idea what i wanted to do i had a girlfriend that i loved deeply for a time but she's gone now she left with the only friend i had i haven't spoken to my family in years they cast me out due to what they called issues It's just me. But it's probably for the better. I don't need the distractions. I don't feel the pain anymore. I remember the day I found my purpose.

I remember the shadow of the church steeple as I walked down the broken concrete path beside the wrought iron fence. The place that was my hometown was a place suspended in the past like the Spanish moss that hung from the Cyprus streets. Fixed there. Unmoving.

Through an open door I could hear a preacher shouting the normal sermon of fire and brimstone. It made me shudder, but I can't tell you what he was saying exactly. I was just focused on getting to my job at the car dealership. The droning of religious drivel faded behind me, and I kept my eyes down, avoiding the judgmental looks of everyone that thought they knew me as I rounded the cornerstone pillar. I was thinking about the stack of paperwork I was sure was waiting for. delegated by the crook-tonged salesman, and I knew I wasn't strong enough to refuse to do it. I felt anxious, lost in thought, playing out scenarios in my head where I told them all off

and walked out, but I knew it wasn't going to happen. My chest felt constricted. I tried to breathe deeply to fend off the incoming panic attack. I closed my eyes tightly and trudged forward. And that's when I ran into him. Quite literally, I walked into a dark, towering man. I don't remember many of the details. He wore a hat, a thick wool coat that gave off a musty smell, and had a cane.

He had icy blue eyes that seemed to glow coldly from the shadows of his face. I remember trying profusely to apologize as I adjusted my backpack straps. I don't know if he heard me. If I was able to get the words out before I felt the knife being jammed into the same. my stomach. I staggered back as he jerked the blade out and I watched the blood oozing from beneath my fingers as I sank to the ground. Tears streamed down my face. I tried to speak but couldn't. My vision was fading and my head swam, but I remember him turning around, casting one last look at me before he disappeared. But the words he said, before I fell into unconsciousness. Let us see.

see if you all do. Remember, child, to give back. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. The room was empty. It smelled of metallic sterility and bad food, like my high school cafeteria. That in itself was enough to cause a wave of anxiety to wash over me. My entire body ached. I attempted to sit up and felt my breath catching my throat as a shot.

Pain shot through my abdomen. Upon pulling back the hospital gown, I saw the staples that ran like snake scales down the left side of my stomach, evidently keeping my entrails from spilling out. A nurse eventually came in, asking me how I felt, and if I had insurance. I told her I didn't. She nodded and explained that a doctor would be with me shortly, and that maybe the billing staff and I could arrange a cash payment plan. She left as I again felt the tears welling up in my eyes. I had a little bit of savings but nothing that could come close to covering a hospital bill. My backpack was laying on a table next to the bed and I reached for it,

searching for my phone to call the car dealership and let them know what had happened, hoping I wouldn't lose my job. I didn't find my phone at first as I dug through the backpack. I did, however, feel something cold, rough and almost slightly. me to the touch. It seemed to spark as my hand raised it, and I recoiled with a crushing surge of pain coursing through my stomach again. After another breath I managed to compose myself, and using a pen I lifted the flap of the backpack to try and see what was in it. Nessled among work papers was a book. It looked to be bound in some type of black-stained reptilian leather, and maybe I was

hallucinating because of the pain medication, but it seemed to glow. Against the wishes of the attending doctor, I checked myself out of the hospital. He suggested I stay, but I understood that every hour I spent was increasing a bill I already couldn't afford. I was stable, physically, and that was as good as it was going to get. I hugged tightly to the backpack as they pushed me in a wheelchair to the front door. I didn't have anyone to pick me up, but the lady at the front desk was kind enough to pay for an Uber for me to get home. As I thanked her, I noticed the pity in her eyes. Well, this was a new kind of low, even for me.

I dreaded having to get down the stairs to the basement apartment I'd rented. I only made it with the help of the Uber driver once we arrived, complete with the same look of pity. I sank down onto my couch and finally texted my boss, telling him what had happened, wondering if I'd did still have a job. I will talk about it was the response I got. I dropped the phone and began crying again, unable to stop, and ignoring the pull of the staples in my skin. I cried until I passed out. It was night when I worked, the thin curtains on my tiny windows letting the light of the

full moon in. I was hungry, but too sore to eat. The backpack was still by my side, tipped over with the contents half spilled out. The book was still there. The same eerie blue glow, more evident in the darkness. I stared for a long time before I touched it. Again it sent a spark of chills through me, and I threw it across the room. It bounced off the wall, clattering to the floor and into the shaft of moonlight. I watched in horror as it began to glow even brighter. It appeared to be absorbing the moonlight, flickering, causing strange shadows to grow and move across the walls. The shadows danced erratically, taking shape, melding together, splitting and stretching up to the ceiling. They moved like black water being sloshed in a glass.

I thought I could hear a low buzz and felt myself being drawn towards the book. I hadn't even realised that I had slipped off the couch and was on all. falls crawling towards it. I looked down to see the trail of blood dribbling behind me as two of my staples had ripped out. I didn't feel it. I didn't feel anything. I heard a voice as I reached for the book, but I couldn't stop myself. It echoed in my head as my fingertips lightly crossed the binding. It was deafening as I pulled the book towards me, opening it with an explosion of bright yellow light that illuminated my entire apartment. as if the sun itself was shining from the pages.

Remember, child, to give back. I didn't leave my apartment for days afterward. I didn't eat, sleep or even drink. I never felt the earth. I poured over the pages written in symbols that looked like hieroglyphics. I didn't understand any of it at first, but over time it became clearer. Every hour that passed, the words began to be able to.

to decipher themselves, and I felt my wound healing. The stables popped out on their own, as if being rejected by my body. By the time the stab wound was little more than a tiny pink scar, I could read every word. Across the first page, it simply said, The Lost Magic, Book One. There was no introduction, no author, no work cited. The pages were yellowed with age, full of what seemed to be spelled, curses charms and rituals different methods added by different hands over time it seemed I've had a power that I'd never felt before a thrilling confidence that I'd been resisting my

hands shook as I stood book in one hand and a red marker from the backpack in the other began to draw on the wall well it was hard at first looking down at the page then up I was flitting back and forth as I slashed the marker against the cheap wood paneling. Eventually my hand began to move on its own. The book slipped from my grasp and fell to the floor, staying open on the same page, so I didn't look at it. My eyes fell half shut as I swayed back and forth, whipping the marker up and down, hair falling into my eyes, but I was in a trance-like state. I felt as if I was floating as I mumbled my words, stating my needs, what I thought I might give in return.

what I desired, what I will to come true, what I absolutely crave. The marker fell from my hand after the last line was complete. I held my arms wide and tilted my head back. My eyes rolled back into my head in a voice that didn't sound like my own, shouted, and so it shall be. The knock at my door woke me up. It was daylight. I wasn't sure how long I'd been out.

I stirred, sluggish at first, but my body felt strong. It was my mind that was hazy. I pushed myself up to my feet as the knocking continued. I walked to the door at the top of the stairs and twisted the locks, pausing before opening it slightly, peering around the corner to see an older man wearing a suit. His voice was friendly enough, but he showed sorrow in his eyes. Hello there.

Is there an Aubrey Robbershow that lives here? I blinked, pushed the hair out of my face and nodded. Yeah, I'm Aubrey. Ah, I'm sorry to hear about your lots. You were listed as beneficiary on the life insurance claim. He held out an envelope to me. I took it, confused. I'll leave you alone now.

Sorry to disturb you during these times. My office information is in the envelope. Whenever you're feeling up to it, drop by the office and you can sign for the chair. He offered a polite smile and turned to leave as I closed the door and locked it. I walked back down the stairs with the envelope, flipping it over a few times before settling on the couch and opening it. Paper slipped out onto my coffee table and I picked them up. I'm folding them to see what everything meant. I skimmed over the lines of legal jargonent and I got to the line that listed the deceased.

I dropped the paper when I saw the name of my ex-girlfriend. Initially, I was shocked, but I kept reading. I remembered the talk we'd had when we were together, when she got a new job that offered life insurance. How she said she didn't know who else to list as a beneficiary besides me. I hadn't thought much of it at the time. Maybe there was a mistake, and she'd forgotten to change it when she left me. I looked at the paper again.

The amount listed would more than cover my medical bills from the stabbing with quite a bit left over. I felt a gnawing feeling come over me then, creeping up from the deepest pit of my stomach, spreading through my body. My breath came quickly as I turned my gaze towards the wall. The red slashes, marks and patterns were still there. The book still sat on the floor, but it wasn't glowing anymore. It looked like any other book. The sigil of wealth attraction. Well, it had worked. I suppose I should have felt remorse. Should have felt something or anything for the cost.

I didn't. It felt like, well, calmic justice. She had left me so vulnerable or so shattered. My best wasn't good enough for her, no matter how hard I'd tried. And now she was dead. And I was going to be debt-free because of it. I felt better at that moment than I had in years. It didn't take me long to shower and put on clean clothes.

I even took the time to star my hair. I had an appointment, after all. Before I walked up the stairs, I looked at the wall, and then to the book, that I smile. I spent that whole day running errands. I got the check, pretended to be upset, but thankful, and paid off the hospital after depositing it at the bank. I'd never seen my account balance so high,

even after all of the bills. In celebration, I decided to go out to eat. The newfound confidence I had was intoxicating. There was a seafood place downtown that I really enjoyed but could barely afford. It would be a welcome change from the cheap rations I was used to, especially since I literally couldn't remember how long it had been since my last meal. I walked across the street towards a line of weathered brick buildings in neon signs. From the corner of my eye I thought I could see a figure, imagination perhaps.

I kept walking. The smell of food was making my mouth water and my stomach rumbled. It was a nice day and the doors were open everywhere. Just before I stepped across the threshold of the restaurant, I felt it. The hand on my shoulder that wrenched me backwards. My feet left the ground and I hung suspended as time slowed all around me and the world grew hazy and translucent. People were poor.

Mastep, beer pouring out of a tap ceased midstream, hanging against gravity. It's as if I've been poured from the world and into a separate dimension, shielded from human eyes. I realised then that I could move, the hand on my shoulder effortlessly spinning me round. My feet kicked and my hands flailed, but against nothing. The cold blue eyes stared at me from beneath the shadows of a hat brim. the musty smell of wool filled my nostrils. Be calm, child, came a deep voice that filled my head.

I stopped struggling and hung there in the nothingness. Good fortune has found you, the voice continued, though I couldn't see a mouth that uttered the words. What do you want? I asked in a panic. What will you give? A token, perhaps, of your appreciation,

to show your thanks, to acknowledge us. Well, you must give back, child. Tell me, I shouted in exasperation. We cannot tell you what to give, or else it is not a gift. Not wait too long, else, all be undone. I fell then from suspension.

The haze swelled about me, and was gone by the time my feet hit the ground. I blinked and looked around. The world had come back to life. I was laughter amidst the music. music, a cladder of dishes somewhere, and the scratching of a chair against the floor. I didn't move for a moment until jolted back to presents by the hostess asking how many in my party. I stumbled over my words before, stammering that I would be alone.

She nodded and bid me to follow her to a table on the patio. Your server will be right with you. I thanked her as she wandered back through the maze of tables. I sat collecting my thoughts until the waiter came up. I looked at him with his wide smile and couldn't help but smile back, feeling all of a sudden at ease. I don't know why I left my phone number on the receipt next to a generous tip. I normally don't do such things.

I'm not that forward. I tried not to think about it as I looked at the object scattered across my living room. The book was little help, so I turned to the internet. I needed to construct an altar, or at least I thought I needed to. back. Those words kept repeating themselves in my head. I piled flat stones next to the wall where I'd drawn the sigil. Upon them I placed a large, heavy wooden platter. Next came the candles. I felt a bit ridiculous, like I was involved in some stereotypical horror movie, but I didn't know what else to do. And the scar where I'd been stabbed was starting to ache. All must not be undone. I knelt down

and lit the candles attempted to make my offering, herbs and tobacco, a glass of rum and a tin of scented oil. I closed my eyes and spoke out in a quiet voice, bidding that who or whatever required the gift took it. The candles flickered and the pain of the wound faded away. I opened my eyes and took a deep breath. It worked. That was easy enough. I sighed. I went to stand when the pain came back, sudden and sharp, causing me to double over and hit the altar. The glass of rum broke, and the liquid ran across the platter, pulling up until I could see what appeared to be two eyes in it, staring at me with disapproval. There's a knock at my door, then, and the eyes disappeared. I heard a voice calling from the top of the stairs. The pain

lessened, and I stood. Hey, Aubrey, are you here? It said. It said. The waiter from the restaurant. We've been talking and texting for a couple of days and were supposed to go out on a date. He'd arrived to pick me up. I'd completely forgotten. Oh yeah, come on in. I shouted up the stairs as I shuffled into the bathroom. I'll be out in a minute.

I looked into the mirror, pushing the hair from my face as I heard the door open and shut and heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Make yourself at home. I won't be long. I called out as I tried to compose myself, blood beginning to seep from the wound. I rummaged through the drawer and found a bandage, pressing it to my stomach. No hurry. Kind of creepy in here, I heard him say. He sounded distracted. I began to panic again. The altar, the sigil, he was seeing all of it. Maybe he'd ignore it. "'Oh! Oh!

"'Shit!' I heard it mutter, then, "'and the pain in my wound subsided. "'I've heard a surge throughout my body.' "'I stood up, then, slowly peeling the bandage back. "'Everything looked fine. "'The wound was backed to a small pink scar, "'and the blood was gone. "'I looked at myself in the mirror,

"'hardly recognising the face I was looking at as I spoke. "'Everything all right out there?' "'I asked, as well. "'Yeah, sorry, I didn't mean to be messing with your stuff. "'Cut my finger on some broken glass you got here. "'What is all of this? Are you a witch or something?' "'I opened the bathroom door and walked out. "'The light was dim in the room as the sun was setting.

"'I smiled coyly as I stepped near him. "'He was holding his bleeding finger, and I reached out, "'gently taking his hand into mine. "'I looked at the cut, and then down at the altar. The blood had mixed with the rum in a swirling pool. The flash of an eye shone briefly before figures began to flicker and danced as they had on the walls that first night. I spun him gently, dropping his hand and running one of my own across his back and onto his shoulder.

I leaned in then as he tilted his head back, his breath growing quicker, and in his ear I whispered it. Something like that. There wasn't much of a struggle as I'd pull. plunged the scissors from the bathroom drawer into his neck, again and again. The spray of red falling like a soft summer rain. It covered me in a light mist that eventually gathered to run in rivulets down my face and neck. Blood poured onto the altar.

He fell, gurgling onto the floor, hoarding his throat, kicking weakly as the life began to fade from his eyes. The flames of the candles grew until they seemed to lick at the sea. I dropped the scissors and leaned over the altar, placing a hand on each side of it, staring at the pool of dancing figures until a face appeared. Blue eyes stared at me from the mud. I offer this as a token of my gratitude. I spoke through clenched teeth. The eyes seemed to grow until I could see a face. Then the face became an entire head.

The white teeth were nearly blinding as the head smiled and, The eyes gave me a wink. Everything then faded as the candles snuffed themselves out. I felt alive with power. And I liked it. It took days of scrubbing to erase the sign of him from my apartment. His car and body I got rid of that night, down the curb of the levee road into the river of the dead man curve.

If he's ever found it, it would be like everyone else who's ever driven off of it, to be claimed by the dark water. They'll say he was driving too fast, missed the turn. Maybe they'll eventually put up a guardrail. I wasn't worried. No one would suspect a nobody like me of having anything to do with it. No one would probably ever believe I was ever at that fancy of a restaurant to begin with. What I wanted to focus on was the book, to maintain the power.

I read through it over and over again until I believed I found a way. to harness the magic to wield it without elaborate ritual of course i'd need to give it back but i had an idea i picked up the marker and stood before the wall and an empty panel and i began to create i waited until night to ascend the staircase and venture into the world i felt good and i looked good i was essentially a new person I carried myself with a grace I didn't think was possible. There was the slightest bit of breeze that caused the branches of the cypress trees to sway as I walked beneath the arches they made on the edge of town. Any other time in my life I had been terrified,

afraid something would be spat from the depths of night to take me. But no more. I didn't feel fear. I felt as though the night would bend to my will. It was a high that was addictive. It wasn't long until I saw the house, a single pitiful beam of light spilling from a window. The bedroom window. I knew that place well.

I watched through the pane of glass, standing in the vegetable garden. Well, she loved her gardening. The figure walked back and forth, alternating between sitting on the edge of the bed and the chair in front of a television. I lifted my hand, cupping it to my mouth like a microphone for my experiment. I whispered his name. Kevin. He jerked his head up and began looking around the room. I smiled behind my hand as he shrugged and settled again. Kevin, I whispered once more, causing him to shoot up to his feet. A step backwards as I saw him approached the window, slipping around the corner of a small toolshed and out of sight. I glanced around the corner to see him turn, shaking his

head and walked into his closet. He opened it and pulled a pistol down off of the top shell. I recognized it. It was the same one he'd wanted for so long, the one I'd seen him dream about, the one I'd saved money for so long so that I could give it to him on his birthday, before he stole her from me, back when we were still friends. I while my way back through the garden, sitting with my back against the wall of the house beneath the window. I closed my eyes and let my thoughts drift back through time. I thought about when we were young. Two awkward children who protected each other from the bullies.

We played together, laughed together, told each other's secrets and grew together. As he came into his own, as a young man, we began to drift apart. But that was all right. We were still dear friends. I wrapped my arms around my chest as I sat there, hugging himself tightly and gently, rocking back and fall. I could hear like sobbing from inside. I thought about how happy I was when I met her and couldn't wait to introduce the two of them.

The look on their faces, how much it hurt when I realized there was something going on when I wasn't around. The anguish I felt, shame that I couldn't bring myself to confront them. Look of pity they gave me when they knew that I knew but wouldn't say it. The utter devastation when they both, walked away together, leaving me behind. My eyes were squeezed shut hard against the tear that

threatened to trickle down my face as I remembered everything. How unbearable the pain of being, how I'd thought about killing myself just so it would stop. I was making him feeling it. He was feeling it all as I had. The physical and mental strain that haunted me all that time, how broken I was, seeing no way out. I didn't look back. when I heard the gunshots. The thud of a body against the floor was all the confirmation I needed. When I opened my eyes they were dry and I felt like a weight to be lifted. How satisfying it was that he finally felt it all just as I had. But his last moments were moments of grief, confusion and a feeling that nothing could help. I took a deep breath as I pushed up and away from the wall.

And I walked back into the darkness, spinning with my arms held in. out, letting the night wrap around me like a shroud. I smiled and laughed as it took me. This was my destiny. It was getting late, I thought. Dawn wouldn't be too far away. Still I'd need to pay for the power, for the favour. That was all right. The path I chose to take home will lead right by the preacher's house, and I knew he lived alone. That was how it all started. No one looks at me with pity in their eyes anymore. If anything, it's now envy. Envy of the boldness with which I carry myself.

The aura of strength that I exude, the supreme confidence with which I speak. No one feels sorry for me anymore. Now they wish they were me. Obviously I had to leave my hometown. In order to fly, I had to leave the nest, so to speak. But not before leaving my mouth. I hear rumors from time to time of something worse than evil that lives there.

I've got much better at the whole thing. I've even managed to find more of the books. Turns out it's a set. A long ancient set that has been added to by various cultures for thousands of years. It shouldn't exist, but it does. And I've made it my mission to complete it. It's become my passion, my obsession. My quest to find the real magic.

The spirits guide me and I hope we'll continue to do so as long as I remember to give something back. And so once again, we reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small favor of you. Wherever you get your podcast wrong, please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review as it really helps the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.