Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S5 Ep279: Episode 279: Something Hiding in the Closet

Episode Date: September 30, 2025

Today’s phenomenal feature-length story is all four episodes of ‘My Wife Believes There Is Something in Our Closet’, an original series by Yung Seti; shared directly with me via my sub-reddit and read here with the author’s express permission:  https://www.reddit.com/user/YungSeti/

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Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. Things lurking in closets or under beds terrifies because they tap into a primal fear of the unseen. The idea that danger could be hiding just out of sight, and the spaces we're supposed to feel safest. Beds and closets are intimate, everyday places, turning them into hiding spots from monsters corrupts our sense of security. The shadows, the half-open closet door, the silence under the mattress, All invite our imagination to fill in the blanks with something far worse than reality,

making these childhood fears linger well into adulthood, as we shall see in tonight's feature-length story. Now, as ever before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's tale may contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. And let's begin. My wife believes there's something in our closet. By Young SETI.

Part 1. The following was recovered from the phone of one Calvin Rogers, 32 years of age. It has remained in the possession of the Cold Lake Paranormal Society for almost two years now, maintained in almost complete secrecy since May of 2022. Before we intrepid truth seekers got our eyes on it, and now so will you. Despite the fantastic nature of the account and the lack of government record identifying those whom it most prominently features, My contacts at the Institute insist upon the validity of the events detail below

and I have reason to trust them, which is rare of me. My name is Darcy Whitmore, and I'm a member of the Open Eye Society, an organization with a singular goal of complete and total disclosure of the truth. Unlike those stuffy old codgers at the CLPC, we believe that if you find yourself drawn to a place like this, attracted to the stories of the otherworldly, well, you deserve answers, and our work is meant for you.

This is the first we've attempted to share our findings on this site, and I hope that a like-minded audience may find it enlightening. Because there are stories that must be told, secrets that call the shadows that lurk in every corner of our world home, and it is the right of every man, woman and child to know the truth of this world. In places like Redbrook, stories like... that of Calvin Rogers, far from isolated incidents. I suppose that's enough from me for now. Be wary, be wise, and look to the unknown with an open eye. Darcy Whitmore, Cold Lake Paranormal

Institute, case number one two, six three, far name, through the doorway. The night before this all began, I had a nightmare. It's only now after the events of that day and the horrors that have unfolded, that I've begun. gone to recall it. It's funny how the brain works like that sometimes. I'm starting with this because I've come to realize it was truly when this all began. I could hardly recall it that morning, though its effects seem to linger well into my waking hours, an uneasiness that accompanied me well into the morning breakfast. Now I find myself returning to it, like uncovering a lost memory. I wonder if there's any hope for me. In my dream, there had been a storm,

the lights of which I struggled to even describe. It was as though the world itself had descended into a roaring nothingness of biting snow and wind. I knew somehow that I was home, or near enough anyway, and yet also that every step, no matter where I turned, seemed to bring me farther away, deeper into the frigid void. It was cold, so cold it seemed as if the wind penetrated my very skin, settling upon my very bones, and all I knew was that I had. I had to get out of this place. That's when I heard it.

Like a song from somewhere within the roaring void. Faint, but growing with each step I took nearer, until I could make out something in the whiteness. A door, standing firm and undisturbed as though unaware that there was no house around it, some distance away. That wasn't all. I could feel something else, something coming from beyond the door, standing just ajar, through which I could see a bit of blackness as though somehow

there was something on the other side beyond the storm. I could feel a gnawing inside me, something close to hunger, yet only for the warmth that I knew lay just beyond the threshold. Before I could help myself, I was walking towards it. Then I was running. With such speed and ferocity, I felt more like an animal than man, a singular goal in mind, get to the other side, leave this place. I awoke this morning, the contents of the nightmare beginning to fade to the back of my mind. In an instant, though, that unease seemed to linger, that and the cold in the air that morning.

I didn't even have to look outside to know that I'd find snow on the ground. Oh, I guess I'm rambling. I don't know how to start something like this. A greeting feels odd, given I'm alone while writing this. well I suppose at some point someone will be reading this if it's to be of any use to us in almost 24 hours since this all began

I find myself at my wits end so I'm writing this with a hope that perhaps it may serve as a journal of Janice and I's situation my wife has never been the superstitious type quite the opposite in fact for as long as I'd known her a little over a decade now

she'd been sharp analytical perhaps to fault Janice had always spoken at a mile a minute, explaining every detail of whatever it was that had caught her current interest. Those brown eyes always seeming to pick the world apart with a sense of wonder and interest. I'd always attributed it to her passion for the sciences, something I adored about her, which had played in her favour in life given her career in archaeology. Working as both a professor and at times still a research in the field, she'd always viewed things from their most logical angle, never the sort to be swayed by myth or ghost stories.

And yet, over a period of hours, it seems as though I've lost her, to forces the very idea of which either of us would have laughed at mere hours prior. It's almost strange how mundane today began. Nothing in those first few hours to indicate the sudden shift things were to take. Janice was, what is, a professor of both chemistry and archaeology, at the local college, something of a side job to keep her busy in between research sponsored by the college when she was out doing the work that she truly loved. But when she wasn't teaching, the work varied between assignments for the two departments, something she'd always taken pride in as a sign of recognition for her ability.

She was brilliant. It's one of the things I loved about her. It was clear her colleagues valued her for it, entrusting her to take part in what she always described as groundbreaking research. even if I never did understand what was so revolutionary about uncovering a few old arrowheads or used pick axes, well, I found her passion infectious. A most recent assignment had begun almost three months ago. As she told it, it had apparently been another venture of the Redbrook Community College's surprisingly sizable archaeology department, a three-week dig out in the centre of the Red Brook Forest Preserve in search of artifacts,

tools and other remnants of the people that had once called this place home long before us. Her work on the project had ended a mere week prior. Whatever it was, they had her doing day in, day out at that school, having kept her out of the house for a large part of the month's proceeding, and sequestering her to the office when she was writing countless papers and taking part in many a Zoom meeting behind closed doors. Though she'd always adored her work, in the past few weeks I could see exhaustion gnawing at her more and more.

Dinner's finished in a hurry, and the hours she spent hunched over a laptop growing longer and longer until the project had ended. Even her sleep had suffered. The few hours she did spend in bed seemingly racked with nightmares that made her mutter to herself, the contents of which she'd never cared to share or hardly remembered some mornings.

I'd done my best to offer what little support I could over that time, though it helped little that my job kept me almost as busy, but I did my best to lend a helping hand. I'd always admired that about her, the passion with which she dedicated herself to her job. Though she had the credentials to be working anywhere, she treated the little college of Redbrook and the responsibilities it seemed to heap upon her, like Harvard, working with a dedication I could only hope to replicate. With her school having led out for its winter break that Monday, it seemed she'd been allowed reprieve from the extracurricular work the college busied her with.

She'd found herself left with almost three weeks of free time that I could tell she had been even more eager than to take her advantage of. Oh, I, on the other hand, had a busy day ahead. I work as an electrician for one of the local power companies. The snowstorm had struck the entire town literally overnight. none of the weather channels had predicted it and half of the region got caught with its pants down in its wake a myriad of neighborhoods were suffering from power issues jannis and our own having been down for most of the early morning hours the company i worked for was one of two in our small

town that could handle such a thing and the local government had contracted us to help get power back to everyone yeah i'll be back around eight i told her on my way out the door where she'd wait still wearing her pajamas from the night before, complete with a thick grey bathrobe and coffee wafting steam from her favourite mark. And I'll be here, she said, smiling to herself following a quick sip of the coffee, as if the very thought was amusing. Got to go over some of our findings from last week,

write a post for the Historical Society, and then I've got a long hot day planned with Dr. Meredith Gray and company. She added, with a mock post-British accent. Well, do give the good dog my warmest regards, I returned, leaning in as she pulled me in for a kiss. I'm thinking Thai for dinner. I'll grab it after work, sound good. Oh, I get the day to myself and Thai food to end it. Have I ever told you I love you?

She smiled. I could feel that warm sensation in me that had been there since the day we met. A singular dimple on the right side of her face, I'd laughed for as long as I'd noticed it visible. I laughed at that, plunting one final kiss on her cheek, above that little dimple before we gave our goodbyes, and I was out on my way to work. It was the last normal conversation we had before. Everything. It was around 11.30 to 12 p.m. that day, when I got a text from her that seemed odd. They'd benign enough that I hadn't given it much thought.

Hey, did you leave the closet door open? In the bedroom? No, but haven't been in there today. Why? It was a few minutes before she responded, and a few minutes longer before I was free to check sneaking a glance at my phone behind our truck during a bit of downtime. No reason. I had to grab something from the room and I noticed it was open. I was just curious. Love you. Have a good day. I returned her affections with a quick emoji, sliding my phone into my pocket as I returned to the day's work. It'd be barely an hour later that I'd feel the buzz at the side of my leg indicating another text. Here, I'm going to run to the bathroom. Back in five, I told Dale, my co-worker, making my way towards the stairs out of the basement we'd been working in.

Make sure you shut the door. The older woman whose house we'd been working in called out from atop the stairwell. She had been watching us the entire time we worked, checking the power in her basement as hers was the only one in the blocks. still out after hours of work. She'd perched there like a bird in a tree, nervous eyes watching us through a mess of grey hair, as she gripped a bath-throat shut around her. And stay away from the closet in the hallway, she added quickly, those watery eyes locking onto me with a wavering firmness that made the hair on my neck rise. Um, we'll do, ma'am, I offered, tipping my heart hat as I slipped past her. It felt an odd request, yet I'd had no intentions of doing so in the first

place, and felt even less of a need to pry into the desires of the unwhirl old woman. It was a strong smell, a nauseating mix of ammonia and whiskey which clung to her skin like an awful cologne, though it lingered through the entire house, which looked like it had gone months since it had last been cleaned. I gaze for a moment at one of the photos, through which a man peered back me through an image grainy with the haze of time. His expression stern and serious, a military cap on his head. A husband, I could assume, likely gone now. Handsome enough guy. Even through the sepia haze of old images, I could make out a sharp jawline and defined features. His eyes were the most striking, affected by that condition that caused the irises to be two different colors,

green and blue if the hazy image was any indication. His wife stood beside him in several images, almost unrecognizable from the woman I'd seen drifting through the home, a bright-eyed smiling young lady who could have caught my eye at one time. She clung to him in the images, beaming with a look that could only be described as immense pride, and though he seemed the sort not to smile, even he cracked an old grin. They looked happy. May the home I stood in all the more saddening in comparison.

A thick layer of dust clung to the photos, as it did everything in the home, illuminated only by the light streaming through the few open windows. Most of the others drawn shut, their curtains taped to the walls on either side. The woman, Mrs. Aldridge, her name was, was hardly in better shape. Even in the relative gloom of the house I could make out the dark bags under her eyes, and skin that looked paper-thin clinging to bones. I felt sympathy for the woman, who'd likely outlived anyone whose job it would be to check on her,

leaving no one to notice as her faculties declined and her condition with them. It seemed to have been weeks since she'd last bathed herself or even had a full meal. I made a mental note that I should probably call the relevant authorities. By the look and smell of the place, she'd long since lost the urge or ability to care for herself. It was more than just that, though. All of the doors in the house sat open as far as I could tell. All but one, a single door I could see down the hallway shut firmly.

Curiosity stirred, and before I could determine why, I stepped closer, cringing against the creek of the floorboards beneath my feet as I stepped into the hallway. The wall was lined with photos, depicting a family over the years, most of which included a face I could hardly recognise as Mrs. Aldrich, seemingly taken lifetimes ago. As I approached the door, I noticed immediately something unusual. It was held shut with a latch on the outside, a glance around confirmed that it was the only door in the house that did so. I ran a finger over the latch, running my thumb and forefinger together after the facts. "'Hm, barely any dust,' I muttered to myself.

The lock seemed new, the metal's still gleaming, unperturbed by the same rust and wear of age that everything else in the home seemed to have. For reasons I couldn't quite determine, I found myself feeling strangely uneasy with the revelation. A sound from where I couldn't be certain, but it seemed like it had come from the other side of the locked door. I paused, so still for a moment that even my breath ceased, as I listened, slowly drawing my ear against it.

There was nothing for a moment, and then again another low, quiet thud from within, followed by the hiss of something being dragged along the floor. I felt my heartbeat begin to quicken, swallowing hard against the sudden lump in my throat as I tried to make out just what I was hearing. Someone was inside, that much I was certain of, and apparently locked in by Mrs. Aldridge. Hello, I whispered, finding myself moved to action before I could think. There was silence from the other end, for so long that I began to wonder if I'd heard anything at all. And then, a whisper. Faint, so faint the words disappeared into a blur.

I inched forward, ears perked to listen closer, a bunch of footsteps from the other side, so quick I'd hardly been able to react, pulling myself away from the door before something, someone slammed against the other side with such force the entire wall shook. Fuck, I breathed, stumbling back into the opposing wall, heart racing with a nauseating force. I stepped forward again, watching the door with an unblinking gaze, as though, whoever lurk behind might burst through at any moment with ill intent. With each step, the sounds on the other side grew louder until I could make it out. Thick, hissing breath, bordering on a growl, like a cross between a big dog or a massive cat.

I felt my skin crawl. The sound so primal, so animalistic, it made my fight or flight response want to trigger. There was no easy. escaping the realization that someone, something, was inside. A closet, she'd called it, yet I could have sworn that whoever lay on the opposite side of the door had run a distance far too large for any closet. I felt my headspin at the questions being raised, but I had no time to consider any of them as I heard the creek of the basement stairwell, snapping me back into the very reason I was

upstairs to begin with. I hurriedly made my way back towards the living room. eager to finish the job by, so I felt the beginnings of a strange sort of disquiet beginning to knit its way through me. You didn't open it, did you? The voice from behind me nearly made me leap from my skin as I twirled to face it. The woman stood before me, her eyes narrowed with suspicion, and yet somehow fear seemed to radiate from her. I, the door, I asked sheepishly, swallowing hard against the embarrassment at the revelation that she'd somehow seen me. No, no, I didn't, I offered. She watched me, scanning my features as if searching for the truth,

before deciding she was satisfied with the response. I knew I likely should have left at that moment, but curiosity and a need to see that no one was being harmed overtook my judgment. "'Um, is there—is there someone locked in that room, ma'am?' I asked, though I was certain I already knew the answer. For a moment, I could see something in her expression, something wavering between fear and hope. Her lips parted, as though she were about to speak, and then, in an instant, it was gone. Mrs. Aldridge shook her head. "'No,' she sighed.

I'm the only other person in this house. I just, um, since the cold winds blew in, don't go in there. She shook her head, and I could see something swirling beneath those tired eyes, sadness, confusion and longing all in equal measures. Anson, he's at work, he'll be back soon, soon. He wouldn't want me to go in there. I nodded, curious but unwilling to pry. I didn't recognize.

the name, and it didn't take much to gather it must be her husband. A glance around the house told me it was in poor condition. I couldn't imagine any other person living in such squalor, but I was in no position to push further, though I could feel all the questions accumulating. And it's not a room, she added, her eyes meeting mine with an expression I couldn't read, but made me feel uneasy all the same. The only rooms are upstairs. The only one anyone stays in is my own.

That door leads to the hall closet. Ah, okay, I see. I must have been a dog or something, I offered. My mind brought back to the sound of the breathing, wet and low and far from any sound a human should be capable of. I see. Well, look, I'm sorry for the disturbance. I finished, taking the opportunity to make my exit.

If I could step outside, Mrs. Aldridge offered. a final statement, mundane, though it filled me with an eerie sort of unease. I don't have any pets, sir. I haven't for years. It's just me and my Anson. I seem to fill with something at the name, a misty sort of forgetfulness I'd seen in my grandmother years prior in the earliest stages of her dementia. For a moment she seemed to gaze around the house, as though she were looking for something lost, a strange sort of desperation watering her gaze until it settled behind her.

Her eyes lingered for a moment on that closet door. I could hear her mutter her the name again. Anson. Hardly a whispered breath is though she'd record a lost memory. She shook her head, the memory of the man I assumed to be a husband, present in all the photos that scattered her home, seeming to slip away in an instant.

That storm, she gestured to the open door. It brought more than just snow on those winds to this little town of ours. Redbrook's always been an odd place. There's no doubt. But never had I felt unsafe before, before now. She sighed. This place just doesn't feel like home. She peered back at the closet door.

Then to me, and for a moment I felt as though there was an unspoken plea. still I had no idea what I could do and I had a full day ahead why nodded making a mental note to call for a welfare check on the woman at some point I stepped outside boots crunching atop the tightly packed snow as I made my way to the portable toilet we set up a few yards away from the vehicles sat on the only empty lot of grass amid the cul-de-sac we were working in the past few minutes ran through my mind an odd and less discerned series of events that felt like something out of a strange nightmare, that woman's words

lingered all the while. I could hardly remember why I was stepping out when the buzz of another text brought me back to the present. I rubbed my hands together, doing my best to fight back the chill biting through the gloves before grabbing my phone and entering. There's something wrong with the closet. It's open again, Genesis' message read. That damn closet again. Couldn't help but feel a twinge of irritation at the interruption, which felt strangely unnecessary given how busy I was. I'm sorry to bother you at work.

I was just hoping you could take a look at it when you get home. I think the hinges are loose or something. I sighed, dismissing my momentary irritation as a side effect of the stress of work, the bitter Illinois cold, and my lingering unease from whatever was just unfolding in Mrs. Aldridge's house. Still, I had several hours left of the work, and a few more jobs to get to before I could head home. I couldn't take a break to check my phone for constant updates about our apparently faulty closet. I'll take a look, I type my response, adding, in the meantime, don't worry about it.

Put something heavy in front of the door until I can get back to fix it. Okay, a response came quickly, as though she'd been waiting by the phone for me to text back. What time will you be back? I found my mind returned to Mrs. Aldridge's basement. The wires in the wall still exposed and needing to be covered, and after that we had two more jobs

needing completion before we called it a night. Oh, a few hours, why? No reason. Just want you home. It's stupid, I know, but I'm just a little creeped out. I had a strange sense of unease, faint but lingering, like cobwebs clinging to my thoughts.

Janice knew my schedule, and she was aware of how busy the day was. It felt odd that she'd ask. It seemed the situation with the closet was unnerving her for reasons I couldn't begin to understand. I felt a shiver gripped me, only partially from the chill permeating the space, also from the odd coincidence of it all. The day had been a long one, seemingly most of the town affected by the sudden storm, and it seemed to have left more than a biting chill in the air, a strange sort of surreality appearing to cling to every waking moment.

Still, I could be of little use to Janice from inside a porta-potty, and the sooner I finished work, the sooner I could be back with her. I'll be home soon, it'll be all right, I responded. If you need anything, text me. I stepped out of the receptacle, trudging back towards the house. as a strange cloud seemed to hang overhead. I felt motivated to get home sooner than usual. As I stepped back inside the house,

I immediately felt something was off. The air was thick with a suffocating sort of tension, a smell of burning ozone heavy. It took only a few moments for me to notice the door in the hallway. It was open, its latch hanging uselessly from the wall, broken. "'Mrs. Aldrich,' I called, "'approached the door with a rising sense of dread

"'that I couldn't seem to shake. "'There was no response, "'nothing but a faint hum that hung in the air "'with a ghastly effect, "'a strange, discordant tune. "'Though I couldn't see who was making it, "'I could tell their voice seemed unusually deep. "'Mrs. Aldridge,' I called again,

"'the strangeness of the situation "'forming a knot in my chest, "'a sort of unease I hadn't, felt since childhood gripping me. I'm in here. It was faint, hardly above a croaking whisper, drifting from around the open doorway, barely audible beneath the odd humming that seemed to grow louder,

but I could tell it was her. Who was she in there with? The question sent a wave of disquiet through me that I couldn't understand. Is, um, everything all right? The still faces in the dust. laden portraits that line the walls seem to watch me disapprovingly. I'm not a small guy by any definition of the word,

and Mrs. Aldrich couldn't have weighed more than 90 pounds. And yet that voice, it was wrong. Something in that odd hum, almost mocking, the tune strange and otherworldly and yet familiar. It frightened me more than I cared to admit. And still, something, hubris, perhaps, at the thought of being frightened off by some old woman or eerie tune, pushed me forward, driving me forth into yet another creaking step.

Sir? The voice came from somewhere over my shoulder, making me leap far more than it should have as I whirled to face it. Mrs. Aldridge stood before me, looking almost every bit as frightened as I did. Looking almost every bit as frightened as I'd felt. eyes wide and hands outreached as if to try and catch me. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. No, I sighed, taking a moment to catch my breath and will my heart to cease racing.

I'm fine. Sorry, I was lost in thought. She shook her head, reaching out and placing a hand on my shoulder, eyes meeting mine with a look that told me she knew something more. Ah, it's all right. Ever since that storm, it's like something bad blew in with the winds. And this place, she shook her head once more, staring past me. I turned to meet her gaze, my heart dropping into my stomach as I saw the closet door. It sat undisturbed, the lock unbroken.

My head spun, the questions likely worn plainly on my face as I turned back. back to her. I just wish my Anson would come home from work, she breathed. It's been so long. She laughed. It was a humorless, bitter sound. The drive to the last job felt like a long one. Much of my time spent staring at the road ahead, recounting those moments in Mrs. Aldridge's house. We'd left the old woman's home hours prior, leaving her to watch from the window as the van pulled out of the oldersack. The rest of the time in her house had passed without incident, which managed to get her power back on in an hour or so, much to her relief. However, all the time my mind was on that closet door. I was so certain I'd seen the lock smashed, the door ajar, and those sounds. It all

felt so real, and yet, well, it made me wonder if I hadn't got enough sleep the night before. It's strange how the mind attempts to paint over the impossible details in life, desperate not to disturb its comfortable understanding of the world. We rode in silence to our next job, a 15-minute drive across the streets of Redbrook. The already quiet town seemed all but abandoned in the wake of the previous night's storm, the streets mostly unoccupied, but for a sparse few. Redbrook had always been an odd place, the kind of town it seemed even Google had forgotten. It, like most of the small towns in this area, had served as something of a living quarters for the families that had lived in the area when the rust belt was still shining steel, and the work was plentiful.

But now, like so many other towns in the area, Cold Lake, Raybrook and others, it existed as a fading memory to the world around it, used only as a stopping-off point for the various families stationed at the nearby military base, built where the old mill used to sit. The area was the sort of place with as many ghost stories and urban legend as actual history. I'd never been one for the ghost stories myself, not the sort to buy into the usual small-town myths, but it was on days like this that I found myself wandering. We just arrived at our last job when I got the next text from Janice. As I read her message from the passenger seat of the vehicle,

I could feel every alarm bell blaring in my head. I think there's something in the house. Hey, um, give me a second. I muttered to my co-worker as he stepped out of the vehicle. I've got to call my wife. He nodded, shutting the door behind him as I quickly navigated to the call button. The phone rang, each chiming tone from the other end, making my heartbeat quicken with suffocating anxiety.

Hello? She breathed. I couldn't be certain, but she sounded tired, practically sighing the word as though having just completed a marathon. Hey, babe, I responded. trying to disguise the apprehension in my voice. Is everything all right? I could hear a breath on the other end, shaky and silent,

and though not a single word had been spoken, I could feel the cold bloom of icicles in my veins. I thought, I'm sorry, everything's okay. I've just been freaking out. I thought I hurt someone upstairs. The embers of anxiety, kindled hotter now, a small blaze sparking in my chest at her words. What do you mean? I asked, feeling the questions rise at a mile a minute,

as though understanding could do away with the powerlessness I felt miles from home. Are you safe? Did you hear something? Did you see someone? Yes, no, I... She sighed on the other end, the sound long and infused with an unusual sort of heaviness. What's wrong? I pressed. I could hear that something was bothering her. That much was excruciatingly obvious. There was an edge in her tone, the likes of which I hadn't ever heard before.

Janice had never been one easily to scare. Ghost stories and the like always fell flat before her overly analytical mind. And even the real-life horror stories never seemed to disturb her more than usual. And yet, now, now she's still. sounded frightened, speaking with a tone I'd only ever seen reserved for health scares, and that which could disturb her, and even then never with such palpable terror. I thought I heard a door slam when I was in the bathroom, so I thought you must be home. She began, and in her voice I could hear a wavering fear that made my stomach turn.

I called for you, and obviously you didn't answer, but, God, I feel crazy, but I could swear I could hear someone growling in the bedroom. Her words sent a chill down my spine that lingered before spreading out into my very blood. I shouldn't have looked. I know that was stupid, but I thought you were playing some dumb prank. And when I went in and saw the closet door open again, I was sure of it. He's being an ass, I thought, teasing me about this closet thing. I called for you again, and again there was nothing.

So I went in and looked and, It felt like the knot in my throat threatened to choke me, my guts twisting into awful rings as I clung to her every word. It was empty. I don't understand how, but it was empty. I could hear something in there just whispering and growling like some animal. But the second I rounded the doorway to look, it was gone. She sighed again. The full weight of what she was saying somehow.

audible in the sound. I know how it sounds. It's crazy. It sounds so stupid even saying this, but... Even though it looks empty. It doesn't feel empty, babe. I don't know how to describe it, and I don't know what's going on, and it's starting to freak me out. I just want you to come home soon.

My mind weighed, my options. My responsibilities to work balance against the gnawing anxiety that had lived with me since the older woman's house that morning, begging me to return home. The chill that hung in the air, the familiar garments of the Illinois weather, felt especially biting, the heat from the car long since failing out against the chill pressing inward

until I could see my breath lingering before me. I'll be home soon, I said, the anxiety finally winning out. I'll give Dale an excuse and head back after this last job. Okay, she breathed, and though I could hear the reassurance in her tone. It was cut with an equal measure of palpable unease that made me wonder if I wasn't making the wrong choice, if I shouldn't be there sooner somehow. I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm

acting like this. It's freezing in here and this storm. I don't know, she laughed, though there was little humor in the sound. It seems to have blown in something with the wind. Maybe I need some rest. You know, I haven't been sleeping well with work. Something in her words sent a chill racing towards my heart, like a pointed dagger buried deep. All at once I record the words of the old woman, eerily similar. I found myself adjusting uneasily in the truck. It was true that since her increased workload had robbed her of her free time, it had also seemed to rob her of a good night's rest.

The past few weeks she'd been having nightmares of some sort, the kind that led to muttering and tossing and turning and waking up somehow more tired than you would have been when you'd lie down the night before. Yet somehow, this felt like something more than a lack of sleep, a word stirring something cold and uneasy in my chest. I'm coming home now. I was speaking the words before I could determine against them, already stepping forth from my vehicle to move into the driver's seat. No, don't. I don't want you to get in trouble. Well, it's just... Listen.

When you get back, we have to talk. I could feel a familiar pit in my chest at those words. The trauma of past relationships triggering something of a fight or flight response in me. About? I asked. Did I do something wrong? No, no, baby. She sighed as though trying to determine how best to explain some complicated matter to a child.

I haven't been being honest with you. Her words sent more chills rippling through me like a stone tossed into a frozen lake, all of the potential implications of her apparent dishonesty hitting like a ton of bricks. Honest about. I tried to keep the obvious anxiety out of my tone, but the effort was wasted. Oh, I didn't cheat her anything. I'd never do that to you. She spoke as if she could hear my childish concerns over the phone.

But there's... There's a lot I need to tell you about my work, about the last few months. I can't say it over the phone. Just get here safe, okay? Okay, I answered. Apprehension like a guillotine hanging heavy overhead. Well, look, I won't pretend I'm not a little freaked out by that. I'm not going to lie, but I trust you.

Are you sure everything is all right? You're okay? There was no reply, only a heavy sigh from Janice. For a moment I could hear only the faintest sounds of movement on the other end, somewhere distant as though in another room. Janice gave a sharp gasp, and my stomach turned in response. Jan? I'm fine, she added quickly. But I have to go.

We'll talk when you get home. But please, please, it... There was a noise. A crash so resounding, it sounded nearby, even over the phone, followed by a continuous pounding. sound. Janice, are you okay? I began, anix searing hot in my chest as I listened helplessly to whatever commotion was unfolding on the other end. There was only the shrill beeping of a call ended, followed by silence. It wasn't even a minute before I'd torn out of the driveway the work van was parked in, barreling through town and towards my home, towards Janice. All the while,

my mind painted horrific scenes to fit whatever I just heard. Falling victim a dozen times over in my mind to whatever masked intruders or maniacs I just knew had found their way into my home. I committed to sending a text to Dale and our manager, making sure to have another van sent out to pick him up and offering a brief apology and some excuse, likely sickness on Janice's part. At that moment, the lingering unease that had lurked with me since that morning had avalancheed into a suffocating dread, I wished only to return home at that moment and to my wife's side. The buzz of my phone snapped me back to attention as I saw the notification for a text, Genesis' name hovering above. Calvin Rogers, 1991.

I felt an immediate confusion at the message, a combination of my name and birth year, strange and entirely out of place for the conversation we'd been having. But still I took some brief solace in knowing she was at least all right, still able to text me despite whatever I'd just heard. I sent a question mark in response, unwilling to take the time necessary to type out a question as my eyes wavered between the road ahead and my phone screen. Something was going on, but what?

I couldn't begin to understand, but it felt very much like invisible gears were moving all around me, twisting and turning the world in dreamlike motions. The drive back felt excruciatingly long, as though every red light had been triggered intentionally for the sole purpose of slowing my return, the apprehension swelling inside of me like a tidal wave with each second ticking by as I rode in silence. The faint hum of the car and the wind outside served as the only sounds, disquieting howl that was like dead wood to kindle the flames of my unease.

The world beyond was pale and dead, the result of that storm which had come and gone so suddenly. Janice's words seemed to play again in my head, followed by the end of our call, and I had to wonder what more had come with the ice and death of that storm. The buzzer of my phone from the cup holder beside me broke me from my concentration. I fully expected to find Dale's name there, or someone from work ready to chastise me for abandoning a job, but to my chagrin, it was Janice's name a light on the screen. Hello? I answered swiftly, raising the phone to my ear. Calvin?

I could hear her breathe my name, though her voice was hardly above a strained whisper. Janice, I called, voice shaky with the rush of anxious energy. I'm on my way. Is everything all right? I waited her response, nearly suffocating with the tension I felt.

My foot grew heavier on the gas. It was hardly five miles away, but it felt like hours. The distance between my house suddenly excruciated, long despite how small the town was. Her words came, breathed quickly, and hardly above a whisper, as though worried someone close by might be listening. It's not me, Calvin. I know what it'll look like, but it's not me. I'm so sorry, but you can't trust her. At that, the line went dead. Part two. I felt my heart lurching to my chest. I actually don't.

only by the speed of the car lurching forward as I raced to beat the yellow light ahead, barely making it to a string of angry beeps from oncoming traffic. I went on like that until I reached the house. I hardly paused to turn the car off as I pulled into the driveway, leaping out and up to the door as I fumbled for my keys. Janice, I called as the door swung open to reveal an empty foyer and living room, only the echo of my voice as a response. I stepped inside and immediately felt my skin crawl, an awful charge buzzing in the room, like the feeling of the air after a violent storm.

The floor creaked under the weight of my work boot as I stepped inside, scanning for any sign of my wife. A quick glance into the living room revealed no sign of her, save for a half-empty coffee mug on the table in front of the couch. The television was on, playing some Netflix reality show or another, but it was muted which felt. felt odd given the circumstances. I felt a cold snake of dread coil tighter around my gut, making my way through to the kitchen, which was equally empty, and finally towards the stairs that would carry me to the second floor. As I approached the foot of the stairs,

I could hear the faintest whispering echoing from somewhere upstairs. It was so faint I couldn't make out the words, and when I tried to dismiss it as perhaps coming from our bedroom television, I couldn't do away with the sick feeling it gave. me. Suddenly I felt transported back to the hallway in Mrs. Aldridge's room, each step nearer to the top of the stairs eerily familiar to that moment before the doorway. I called for her once more at the top of the stairs, my voice echoing through the hallway with an effect that was uncomfortably isolating. Yet every creak of the stairs raised the hairs on my neck to attention and forced a glance

over my shoulder. It felt like I wasn't alone. That much I was certain of. As I stepped into my bedroom, there were two things I felt immediately. The first was a wave of what I can only describe as abject terror. I flicked on the light, casting the empty room in a warm glow that somehow did little to do away with my fears. The second was the cold. The room was freezing, as though someone had left open a window amid the negative temperatures outside. Though a quick look around proved that not to be the case. No, it wasn't coming from the window, I realised.

But the closet, the realization of which only added to my fear and confusion. The cold sweat began to knit at my brow, my stomach wavering at the sudden and overwhelming sense of surreality that clung to the air like an awful stench. My eyes fell immediately on the closet door across the room from me. It hung just barely ajar, and yet there was no mistake in the source of that indiscernible whispering coming from somewhere within. I felt an almost magnetic pull away from the door. Every molecule in my body charged with a primal panic that screamed only danger.

Yet I had to find Janice, and if she was in there for whatever reason, I stalled my nerves as I approached the door, the source from which the surreality that filled the air seemed to pour like a busted fire hydrant. I flicked the light switch, once, then twice, to no avail. Cursing the damn bulb to myself, I pulled the door open. In an instant, The odd whispering ceased. Inside I found a darkness, so oppressive, I was sure I was seeing wrong.

The light of the room seemed to reach inside only to be smothered by shadow so thick it seemed almost tangible. Something in me screamed for me to step away to shut the door and leave the room behind, and yet a louder voice, almost audible in my head, called me forward. I reached out, my hand moving past the boundaries of the doorway as I felt for the opposite wall. We'd lived in the house for years, and from previous renovations I knew our closet was barely more than four feet in length. And yet, as I reached inside, couldn't help but feel as though I was grasping into a void, a creeping sensation rising in me that at any moment I'd feel the clasp of cold hands around

my wrist, pulling me into an abyss waiting to envelop me. I pulled back, feeling no hint of the wall on either side, and that rising dread threatening to swallow me whole. Janice, I mumbled. You in there? My voice came low, almost by instinct, as though if I spoke too loud, the wrong thing might hear me.

My ears perked as I listened for the sound of movement or anything, and after several moments I could hear it, the faintest, wet, breathing. A sensation like thousands of cold needles rolled across my skin, raising every hair in its wake and leaving a bit in my chest which the dread flooded to fill.

I reached for my phone, almost cursing myself mentally for forgetting its presence in my pocket as I pulled it out, intent to aim the light into the darkness ahead. The feeling of a hand closing on my shoulder set every nerve alight as I spun with a fist raised and ready to meet my assailants. The sight of Janice, shrinking away from me at my immediate aggression, was like a bucket of ice water on the fires of full. fear-induced anger rolling through me. I'm sorry.

Oh, fuck, I... I searched for an excuse, my hand gesturing lamely at the closet door behind me. I thought I heard something, and... Before I could find an excuse, I found myself being pulled into a hug so tight it silenced me on the spot,

a conflicting mix of confusion and yet an undeniable relief at the sight of her all searched through me at once. And still, there was that lingering, knees, made no better by her sudden appearance to my disappointment. If anything, it seemed to grow, that sensation that something was wrong, something in plain sight and yet obscured. It was like forgetting a word, just at the tip of your tongue, a disconcerting, almost surreal sort of sensation. It's okay, Janice spoke, her tone heavy with emotion. I'm just, I'm just glad you're

home. There was something in her expression that I couldn't read, like a vague sort of wildness in her eyes that she was doing her best to hide. She ran a hand along my face as though it had been years since we'd last seen one another. I felt that her palm was freezing, cold and clammy as as though she'd just had her hands buried in snow. Jesus Christ, I breathed, shuddering as a chill racked my body, before grabbing her hand and cupping it between my own in an effort to warm her. you're freezing like ice cold were you outside i asked getting my first good look at her in hours her features seemed to confirm the answer before she could speak her eyelids the palest of blues as were her lips which seemed chapped beyond anything reasonable and there was more something to her appearance

i couldn't quite peg yet felt off looking back it was all too obvious but at that moment With my mind everywhere, it lurked just beyond my recognition. Still, I could feel the questions piling up, overwhelmed with everything about the situation. I elected, only to pull her into a hug. Yeah, I'm all right. I was waiting outside for you. She could see the question on my face before I could even ask it. I don't know.

I freak myself out today. I'm sorry. I know I worried you. everything's fine, I promise. I was a look in her eyes that told me whatever had happened. She was eager to forget about it. Perhaps it was some embarrassment at the whole ordeal. Nothing had really happened,

and she was hesitant to acknowledge she'd let childish fears get away with her, and the behaviour is certainly uncharacteristic. And yet, after all my uneasy experiences throughout the day, even moments prior, I found it difficult to accept. Um, are you sure? I could hear the consternation in my tone, voice wavering as the hair on the back of my neck still perked, the door behind me seeming to loom uneasily. I thought I'd heard you up here, I began, though I realized quickly I was unsure of how to even

explain the moments before her arrival, my own recollection feeling almost dreamlike, the serality of it all making it feel foolish. I don't know. I silently relented the question. It's been an odd day. She nodded, smiling, though the expression didn't seem to reach her eyes. It has. I'm sorry if I scared you.

I think maybe I didn't get enough sleep. Why don't you come to bed, warm me up? She smiled with that, running a hand along my face once more. It was a gesture clearly meant to calm my nerves. and yet in that moment I felt my stomach sink as though a black hole had opened itself within me. Suddenly, as though whispered by a ghost, I could hear the last words Janice had said to me over the phone. It's not me, Calvin. I know what it'll look like, but it's not me. I'm so sorry, but you can't trust her.

That cold, seeping dread ran down my back like melting ice, his realization struck an awful blow. A dimple, that little detail that I'd all but obsessed over in our time together. Something I knew all too well was on the left side of her face. It may seem a small thing, perhaps, but it struck me like a bolt of lightning. I know that woman's face better than my own. I could only wonder how I'd missed it for this long. Her face. It was wrong.

The features were all reversed or misshapen in subtle, at apparent ways, as though I was somehow staring into a reflection or computer recreation of my janice, and once I noticed it was impossible to unsee. At once I felt a coldness clinging to my skin, a lingering unease that made my stomach turn. Something was deeply wrong. I couldn't put the pieces together, they were beginning to grow clearer in my mind, though still disordered. Something had happened while I was away, something involving that damned closet. I could see the frown working its way into her features, my consternation apparent in my expression, despite my best attempts to conceal my growing panic. Are you okay? I'm sorry if I scared

you. Just forget about it, okay? Everything's all right. She spoke with that voice that was so familiar, and yet that now that I listened it closely, was off, just a tad deeper and slightly more raspy than it had ever been before. This person, whoever it was, she wasn't my wife. The thought felt insane, conspiratorial and utterly devoid of reality, and yet I was as sure as anything. I tried to force a smile, though I knew it was weak. I'm, yeah, I'm good, I lied, trying my best to force some levity in my voice where I felt an utter void, growing with each question that occurred to me by the second. Where was Janice? My Janice? What was happening? Why? Perhaps most importantly, who or what

had replaced her, and what had they done to her? I went to blurt them out at her, yet that little voice in my head that had seemingly screamed out from the moment I'd entered the house seemed to warn against it. Whatever had happened, I knew better than to act until I learned my own. more. To do that, I was going to have to act clueless. Exhausted, but I'm okay. I'm glad you're fine. Hey, I'm hungry. I began, doing my best to appear as casual as possible, given my every nerve seemed alight. Hey, I'm thinking Chinese tonight, I offered, before adding, I know it's your favorite. She smiled, and I felt something cold lurching me at the expression. None of the usual warmth present.

in her eyes. You know me well. That was last night. It's 2.13 a.m. now. I'm writing this from the couch on my laptop. Janice is asleep upstairs. I'm not sure what my next move will be. I know I can't go to the police.

There's nothing concrete to tell them. For now I'll have to observe and see what I can learn and collect it here in hopes that one of you good folks can offer some advice. thanks in advance and wish me luck or pray for me whichever i suppose and for janis wherever she is right now i don't know where to begin the past day has upended everything i thought i knew about my wife my life and the town i've called home for as long as i can remember i waited until janis or whoever it was upstairs had gone to sleep it had been hours before she'd left my side and all the while i couldn't shake

the feeling that she was watching me. I would catch her eyes on me every so often. Though she'd fain a smile, I could always feel that sensation that I was being observed, my every action scrutinized. We'd spent much of the night in relative silence, between bouts of eating from Janice, as though it had been weeks since she'd had a full meal. Every so often she'd returned to the kitchen, fixing herself some meal or another. I'd listen from atop the stairs as the kitchen fell silent. I swear I could hear the faintest sounds like an animal tearing into flesh, low growls, and sounds I knew were impossible for any human.

I don't know when I settled on the conclusion that the person in my bed may not be human. My mind fell to storm of paranoia, everything about the night feeling eerily like I was losing my grip on my insanity. And yet I couldn't escape with strangeness at hand, that feeling like I was in a waking nightmare. and the true horror was yet to begin. By the time she'd fallen asleep, I knew I needed to search for information.

I'd managed to sneak Janice's laptop downstairs, intent on going through it for some hope of a clue. A short search for her phone had proven useless, and none of the cause I discreetly made had gone through, leaving the computer as my only potential lead. I made my way to the couch, angling myself in such a way as to maintain a view of the stairs

leading towards the bedroom. Opening the device, I felt my stomach turn at the screensaver. It was an image of the two of us. Janice, as she truly was, taken months before on a hike, I felt a strange sort of yearning

for a woman who, by all accounts, was only a floor away, though I knew there was something more at play. Resolve burned like coals in my chest. I was going to get to the bottom of all of this, this strange web of half-formed mysteries, somehow, and I was going to return to that happiness. I possessed a confidence that would serve as a straw shield under the onslaught that I'd soon find myself against, though. I could see several notifications on the

screen, displaying a series of missed video calls and messages. Though most of them had come from me, there were several emails from a dot-gov account I didn't recognize, all of which raised my suspicion to a fever pitch. The headline on one caught my eye immediately, setting my heart to pounding with a nauseating suspicion. Urgent. Project doorway. Unforeseen effects.

Potential dangers. It had been sent a mere three hours prior, unopened by the looks of it. Project doorway. I found myself repeating the words. Nothing in them. ringing even the faintest of bells. I couldn't understand why something that reads so official and almost threatening

would be being sent to Janice. Her work wasn't the sort that should have any sort of danger attached. She was a college professor and an archaeologist. Neither job was known for its potential dangers. At any other time, I might have disregarded the message assuming it to be some spam missed by the filter. But at the events of the day, it all felt too coincidental to leave to chance.

I tried the password she'd used for most of her accounts. She shared with me long ago in case anything ever happened. Janice had always been one for precautions, the sort of person who had her emergency contacts numbered. At the time it hadn't seemed odd. But as I entered each of the passwords, I found none of them worked. I'd never had reason to go on my wife's computer before. We were much too old to check one another's messages.

and I had my own. The possibility that she changed it at some point and forgotten to tell me seemed to lurk overhead like a guillotine, threatening to cut off the only potential leads I may have as to what was going on. I could feel desperation growing in me, and with each attempt,

the device eventually warned me that another failed attempt would result in its locking for several hours. Oh, fuck, I spat, standing for a moment as if to better allow myself to think. I ran my hands along my face, the full weight of my situation seeming to press in around me. What a thought occurred, like a flashlight shining in a dark forest, and I found myself quickly returning to my place,

opening my phone and navigating to Janice and I's text thread. The last message she sent had been entirely out of place at that moment, but now it felt like a thread of understanding had emerged, guiding me forward. I punched in my name and birth year, clapping my hands together in a momentary wave of satisfaction before the need for silence occurred to me, suspicion like thistles on a vine creeping over my brain. I navigated to her messages, scanning the missed calls using the caller ID application she used for work. Always prepared, I muttered, smiling at the thought, though it felt bittersweet. There were several from me and three more from someone appearing only as unknown caller.

They were spread out over the last few hours, the most recent arriving a mere hour prior, when Janice had still been in my company. I could recall no such phone calls being made, no ringing, or even the briefest moment of fumbling with her phone. It had grown obvious to me at some point that whoever, or whatever, this doppelganger was, she didn't have my wife's cell phone. The thought offered the faintest ray of hope, though as I made my way in my way. to her emails, I found it quickly buried under a growing mound of confusion. I clicked the first, the only labelled doorway project, I found myself reading the most recent email in a chain that spanned several months, the content of which only made me feel as though the whole I was in had grown deeper,

the truth of whatever was unfolding even more obscured. The emails seemed to detail the preparation and results of some sort of experiment. or a series of them, government run by the looks of it, taking place between staff at the local college in Redbrook and its counterpart at the nearby town of Cold Lake, apparently the old military base just outside of town, which until that moment I'd known to have been decommissioned since the 80s. I've never considered myself a dumb person, in fact quite the opposite.

My field requires a certain level of technical know-how, and yet I found myself utterly dumbfounded by what I've found myself utterly dumbfounded by what I'm. I was reading. What I could gather, the procedure seemed to be some sort of experiment dealing with energy and theoretical methods of transportation. But that was the extent of what I could gather before it devolved into a level of scientific lingo far beyond my pay grade. And more than that, I was sure I had to be misunderstanding as what I was reading seemed,

well, impossible. Beyond the messages received, I found myself both perplexed and disturbed by those my wife had seemed to send in response. Her tone, every bit as clinical. Her responses as arcane and unfamiliar as those before. I talked to my wife about her work at the school before. While there were things about being an archaeology professor, I'm sure I was yet to understand. There was no doubt in my mind that whatever she was involved in was far beyond that. My eyes scanned the months of emails, anxiety passing over in waves of a rising tide as I did so. There were all manner of official-looking titles and bold warnings about confidentiality,

each making my stomach turn with the sensation that I was stumbling into something larger than I'd realized. I swallowed hard against the knot I felt forming in my throat. I had to start somewhere, I realized, lest I risk being drowned under the sheer weight of it all. Beginning with the most recent of the unread messages, I began reading. Dr. Rogers. Dr. Anders has made multiple attempts to reach you, to fill you in on the events of the past day. There's been an unusual increase in our readings at the Redwood Field Office. The test was a success, perhaps too much so.

The device seems to have expanded its reach beyond our intended area of effect. If the numbers are to be believed, the magnetic activity in the town has spiked, and we've received some concerning reports from some of your fellow staff regarding potentially. potential unforeseen side effects of the project. We would like for you to report back to base as soon as possible for something of an unofficial quarantine of those we believe may be most affected. While the situation is urgent, I would like to encourage caution and level-headedness as we begin.

It is imperative that the matter is dealt with swiftly and effectively that any panic on the part of our staff might prove greatly detrimental at this time. We thank you for your cooperation. Dr. Brian Alexander, Ph.D., head of operations at the Redbrook Research Facility. None of it made any sense to me. Janice had never at any point mentioned taking part in any sort of experiment, especially none that might require a quarantine. I'd wanted to believe it had been sent on accidents,

but her messages from earlier had disproved that theory. She'd been hiding something from me, something massive by the looks of it. I could feel a strange mix of irritation and dawning horror at the realization that as complicated a web as I already seemed to find myself in. It had grown all the more complex and had been weaving itself around my household long before I was aware it even existed. Oh, Janice, I found myself breathing, an odd and sudden sort of grief taking hold. What the hell have you gotten us into? I began the following email. sent just over two hours later.

To all staff. If you have received this message, you were requested to report back to the nearest base or military installation in your area. We are working closely with local officials to ensure all procedures are followed effectively. This request is mandatory, with failure to meet the requirements

potentially punishable under Code 42 of Federal Regulations, part 70 and 71, by either fine or a fine, imprisonment. We encourage discretion and urgency in your handling of this process. Personal belongings capable of being fit in a backpack or something of similar size will be permitted following security checks. However, we will be requiring all cell phones, cameras and devices capable of recording to be temporarily confiscated. We appreciate your prompt cooperation. I could feel my heart thudding like a hammer against my chest as I try to make sense of it all.

My wife had gotten herself involved in something massive, and whatever it was, it seemed to have gone catastrophically wrong. The notable shift in tone between the messages struck me as important. Despite the almost clinical tone of the last email, I could sense the urgency behind it. The faint creak of the floorboards above my head made my stomach lurch. It was followed by several more. She was awake. that woman who looks so much like my wife and yet not quite I had to hurry

I scroll to the final message feeling my face grow warm with the rush of blood moving through me as I read Staff disregard the prior messages we apologize for any inconvenience or panic they may have caused Dr Alexander will be on leave until further notice Project doorway will continue

We have made great progress And the fears that the few Shall not stand in the way Of the progression of the many Dr. Anson Aldridge Acting Head of Operations At the Redwood Research Facility Aldridge

I breathed The name itching at my brain With a faint familiarity As if a match Had been struck amidst the darkness It clicked My mind returning to the image Of the man I'd seen that morning

Several times throughout the house I'd been sent to. Mrs. Aldridge, the woman had been called, and the realization hit like a ton of bricks. And her husband, she'd mentioned his name, hadn't she? I could feel a nauseating sort of unease as I recalled her words. Her husband was dead, wasn't he? I could have sworn she'd said as much, and yet,

here seemed evidence to the contrary. Perhaps it had all been an assumption on my part, With all that had unfurled throughout the day, such small details seemed impossible to recall. The sudden rush of movement from somewhere upstairs, a cacophony of thuds like some large animal bounding across the floor just above my head made me freeze in my tracks. The blood in my veins seemed to grow thick and syrupy, moving through my veins with a chilling effect.

Janice? My voice wavered far more than I'd anticipated, as it seemed to hang in the impending silence with an unusual weight, anticipation weaved into the quiet that seemed to grip the very world around me. I shut the laptop, rising as carefully as I could, feeling that odd sensation that warned me that making the slightest sound would be dangerous. I winced if the floor creaked beneath my weight. "'Hunny?' I called.

The word feeling like poison in my mouth as I addressed the problem. person upstairs. I felt insane. Surely none of this made any sense. Surely I was being ridiculous. Misunderstanding something about what had happened throughout the day. Calvin? Genesis' voice seemed to float through the air with a sing-song lilt from somewhere upstairs.

There was something in her tone, something in the almost cruel humor with which she spoke my name that made me stir uneasily. Come to bed, Calvin. I miss you. Something was wrong. I could feel it in my gut, a churning unease all too similar to what I'd felt that morning, standing in Mrs. Aldridge's living room

while that voice summoned me from the open doorway. A voice. It wasn't right. There was something in it, a wheezing sort of hiss that made my stomach turn. "'You okay, babe?' I called, doing my best to hide the strain of fear from my voice. She knows. The thought was like ice water doused over me, setting the goosebumps to rising across my skin. I was another sudden scurry of movement upstairs, this time closer, perhaps in the hallways by the sounds of it.

I rounded the couch to get a better view up the stairs, feeling the voice again practically shrugly. for me to leave, to turn my back on that house and not look back. I knew it wasn't an option. Wherever my wife was, I wasn't going to stop until I'd found her, and understood just what she'd gotten involved in. Janice, I called again. I peered up the stairway, cloaked in a darkness so thick it almost seemed like I could reach out and touch it. The top of the landing, sitting empty, just barely illuminated by the faintest light

stretching up from the living room. A long, errant creek rang out from somewhere just beyond where even the light seemed able or willing to venture. I could just barely make out a form, standing mostly obscured by the wall, with the long, dark hair hanging over the face. Janice stood unnaturally still, hiding herself behind the wall as she peaked around the corner

in an almost childish fashion, Her neck craned at such an angle that I couldn't make sense of it. Certain the shadows were playing tricks with my vision. A single hand gripped the corner of the wall, muscles tense like a claw as she tapped repeatedly, almost absent-mindedly. I could feel the blood turned to ice in my veins. Everything about the scene before me oozing an uncomfortable surreality that made the air feel of static and awful tension. "'Sweetheart!' "'The voice that echoed from the top of the stairs

"'made my skin crawl. "'It was Janice's, but not quite, "'though it had come through a broken recording "'of some cheap AI program. "'Come to bed!' "'There was something almost mocking in the way she, "'it, spoke to me, "'as though an unspoken threat lingered between each syllable.

"'I could feel a sudden rage "'burning hot in my chest, momentarily greater than the fear that had rooted me in place. This thing, whoever or whatever it was, dared to mock me in my own home, mimicking the face and voice of the woman I loved. I could feel hot indignation driving me forth as I took my first steps up the creaking stairs. I don't know who you are, I growled through gritted teeth, hoping it would serve to stave off the fear still lingering in my voice.

I don't know who you are, but you are not my wife. A hair cocked to the side with such suddenness I paused momentarily as it watched me in a way that was oddly reminiscent of an owl, head turned at an angle that seemed impossible to replicate. I still couldn't make out much of the face, but I could now barely see its mouth, lips thin and grey pulled back in a humorless smirk.

Still, I pressed on, driven forth by a bravery few, fueled only by rage and a mind teetering unsteadily on the borders of mental exhaustion. So you're going to tell me where Janice is and what the fuck you've done to her? Then you're going to get the fuck out of my house and crawl back into whatever hellhole you stumbled out of. This is not your home. I found myself paused, halfway up the stairs, hardly aware I'd stopped at all. For a moment the air held silent, with attention. and so heavy it felt almost gravitational.

My eyes didn't waver from the woman at the top of the stairs, though. For a split second, I almost allowed myself to hope the tirade had worked. As if it could read my mind, the reaction was instant. The thing that looked like Janice threw its head back, her hair falling back to reveal its face, and in an instant, I felt all of that artificial barrado drained from me. Her mouth hung open like the victim of some heinous car accident, the bones jutting out at the right side of her face in such a way

that I could feel a sharp pain in my own jaw at the sight of it. The skin clung to a skeletal form, thick and paler than the fresh snow, though all through its surface ran dark, jagged cracks as if left in stone, all leading up to those eyes, or rather the twin pits that glared back at me from where her eyes ought to have been. It screamed, although that's perhaps not the best way to describe the sound it made. Something like the shriek of a victim in a horror movie, roar and ragged and helpless, and just as present was a deep howl, almost wolf-like, that made my very bones tremble.

I watched, rooted in place by a fear so palpable, I could feel my knees growing rubbery under my own weight. the scene before me every bit something from a nightmare. His head began to twitch, turning almost clockwise with all the grace of a jammed gear, the sound of crackling bones wringing out and making my stomach turn in unrest. It started forward, neck swaying unnaturally as more of its form came into view, and suddenly I felt the sensation returned to my legs, that primal part of my brain screaming only one thing. "'Run,' stumbled backward, barely managing to catch myself on the railing as I watched its sway forth.

Its neck seemed to stretch twice the length of anything that should be possible, head bobbing side to side under its weight, its arm stretched around the wall, bending in ways my mind strained to understand as those tapping fingers began to dig into the drywall. I open my mouth to speak. A question dying in my throat is only a sharp breath. was managed. I turned for a moment, taking the last few steps in leaps, nearly landing awkwardly on my ankle as I hit the ground. A chance to glance behind me for just a second, just in time to see it emerge from behind the wall.

His body was a stretched mockery of the human form, like those stick figures drawn by children, limbs grotesquely elongated and sharpened at every angle. I'm to bed! It groaned the words, jaw wavering uselessly as it spoke, its voice sickeningly reminiscent of a car accident, like metal on flesh, wet and harsh. It moved down the stairs with such discordant motion for a moment that I thought it lost balance

before realizing what I was seeing. It wasn't falling, but rather bounding after me, its body twisting impossibly as it gripped the stairs below with clawed hands and feet, twisting like as slinky as it moved. Only its face remained still, like a fixed point amidst its storm of crackling limbs as those gaping sockets bore into me with a look of empty-minded fixation. Through the door, through the door, you'll cling to the devil for warmth, through the door. It crooned, repeating the words like some hideous song as it rushed forth. For a split second, I considered going for the laptop.

The couch was only a few feet away, but it was behind me, and to do so I'd have to risk bringing myself nearer to the thing on the stairs, barely a yard away now. There was no time, I realized, and I hardly had the wherewithal to grab the keys from the bowl on the table in the foyer before fumbling against the door's lock. My fingers felt like they had a mind of their own, adrenaline coursing through me, making my movements twitchy and ungraceful. Oh, come the fuck on, I hissed. finally managing to pull the door open as the beast's thudding approach grew impossibly loud,

the heat of its breath almost singeing the hairs on my neck. I didn't take the time to look, or even grab my boots, tearing out through the entryway into the stinging cold. I'd hardly realized I was screaming until the sounds of the neighbourhood dogs, baying and barking in response, alerted me to it. I could see the lights flickering to life in the still windows of my neighbour's homes, shadows moving behind curtains as they look to see the cause of the commotion. The snow bit at my bare feet as I tore down the driveway, rounding my work vehicle in an instant, allowing me a momentary glimpse of the doorway.

There it stood, its figure draped in darkness, the shadow cast across the frozen lawn by the light of the house. It looked normal again, or as normal as it ever had, glaring at me with hate-filled eyes. I pulled the door open, climbed into the car, and locked it behind me in one clumsy motion before fumbling the keys into the ignition. All the while, my eyes stayed on the form of that thing,

swaying gently in the doorway, fingers twitching at its side as though desperate to be digging into my flesh. Her lips moved, though I couldn't hear her through the roaring wind, I somehow knew what she was saying. That same eerie sentence. Through the door. Through the door. The devil for warmth.

Through the door. As the car hummed to life, I tore out of the driveway, not slowing down until my neighborhood had disappeared in the rear view. Eventually, realizing I was going nowhere fast, I poured into the edge of the parking lot of a local gas station. I punched the steering wheel. once, then twice, again and again, until my fist had started to bleed, trying out all the while. It did little to make me feel better, but the outburst had been building from the moment it all began. When exactly was that? I couldn't tell anymore. It all begun for me that morning, with a visit to the old woman's house. What was her name? Mrs. Aldrich. No, perhaps even sooner than that. I could recollect that. I could recollect that.

vague images of a dream. They'd been something the night before. It scratched at the back of my mind like an animal against a locked door, desperate to be heard. The snow, the doorway. It came back as if a switch had been turned. The nightmare before the morning this had all begun. I could almost feel the snow biting at my skin again, blinding my every direction until I'd seen it. What a I seen? I shook my head as though the motion might shake loose recollection. Through the door. The thing that wore Janice's face seemed to croon out in my head. The doorway. I dreamed of a doorway. It had to mean something, as ridiculous as it seemed, to assign such meaning to a dream. I was at my wits' end, and anything felt possible.

I stepped out into the parking lot, the slush underfoot gnawing at my skin. in, still numb from my mad flight from the house. I needed shoes. It was a small thing, but whatever was to come, I wasn't going to do it barefoot. Strolling into the gas station, I ignored the odd glance from the lowen cashier, as I grabbed the cheapest pair of shoes available, a pair of ugly, cheap things that looked like the sort every grandmother owns. They were half a size too small, but they prevent me from losing a toad of frostbite,

which felt dangerously possible at the moment. Throwing a twenty on the table, I quickly exited, muttering an apology to the cashier for reasons I wasn't certain, modeling the newest addition to my wardrobe. As I slared into the driver's seat, I found myself unable to move for several moments, gazing ahead at the mundanity of the gas station. I had to stifle a laugh.

It all seemed so normal. There were monsters in my house, and my wife was gone, and yet the world had the audacity to seem normal. Without any other ideas of what to do, mind racing with impossible events, I pulled out my phone and began updating my account to the day's events. It seems foolish now,

but at the moment, with my very grasp on what I understood to be reality fading, I needed to do something that made sense, and it felt that if I at least wrote the events out, perhaps it would all make it less incesternation, And beyond that, there was a hope, faint though it was, that I'd be able to share it with Janice soon enough, and somehow she'd used that big brain of hers to explain how I'd simply misunderstood it all, and through some scientific phenomenon or another, it had all been a stress-induced delusion. A bit back a smile.

I thought of her long, drawn-out explanation, bringing the first sense of warmth I'd felt since that morning. I still didn't feel any better by the time I'd finished. Nearly an hour had passed and several uneasy glances from the cashier shot at me through the window. I sat alone in my car, freezing, feet crunched into shoes two sizes too small, and with an impossible story to which I had no conclusion, no hint of what to do next. It was then that an idea occurred to me. Before I could consider whether it was a good one, I pulled the car forward and out of the parking lot. The hint of some perceived progress pushing me for. The drive to Mrs. Aldridge's

house was a stomach-turning one. In the darkness, the forest-lined roads felt constricting, as though I was being herded towards the edge of town into the killing fields. I felt my stomach turning as I made the winding path into her cul-de-sac. The lights were off in all of the homes, only a few porch lights and cars parked in driveways speaking to occupants, none of which spoke of wealth or a particular amount of care. I had noted how run down the neighbourhood looked, as though time had forgotten it long before the rest of Redbrook, its occupants realizing there was no hope in maintenance.

The part in the street in front of the house I'd seen that morning, and in the darkness it felt all the more foreboding. My heart beat against my chest as I stared at the path ahead, a little voice in me raising a possibility I didn't want to acknowledge, and I may be staring at the path of my own demise. For a moment I considered leaving, but it took only a few seconds to realize home wasn't an option. And without Janice, where could I call home?

I had nothing. All of my stuff was still at the house, and the thought of going back with anything short of the military felt utterly out of the question. I knew even if somehow I could claim my home back from the thing that lurked its halls now, what good would it be without my wife? I had to find answers, appearing out at the dark form of the house ahead.

Well, it seemed as good a place as any to start. I thought Mrs. Aldridge unstable that morning. Yet after the events of the day, I couldn't help but wonder how far my own mind-state was from hers. I couldn't shake the idea that perhaps there was more to what the old woman knew. Stealing myself, I stepped out of the car and into the cloying light air. I was still wearing my work pants from the day, but I hadn't. been left time to grab a jacket. The air stung at my arms as I walked the pathway up to the doorway. I felt no rush to return to that place, visions of that door in the hallway filling my mind.

Around the doorbell, to no effect, knocking and fighting back a chill as I listened to the sound echo through the silence of the night. There was nothing from inside, and for a moment I wondered if the woman had left the home behind. If my creeping suspicion, about what lay beyond the closet door were correct. I couldn't blame her. But where would that leave me? Before I had time to dwell on the thought, the sound of creaking movement

within the old structure broke through the quiet. My mind seemed to run with the sounds, painting images of creatures, much like the one I'd just escaped shambling towards the doorway. I could hear footsteps growing nearer. It's just beyond the door, a little voice screamed. It's just beyond the door.

jaw, gnawing, ready to swallow you whole. The door swung open, and it took all I had not to stumble away. The woman stared up at me, peering nervously from behind the door with eyes wide. Did my Anson send you? I considered lying for a moment, but the faint ray of hope in the woman's eyes made me decide against it. No, no, ma'am, I said, quickly, adding, but I would like to help him. and you, if you can help me. She seemed to consider my words,

where I was furrowing for a moment before she stood back. After a moment, she shook her head. No, no, we don't need your help. No, thank you. Before I could speak, the door had shut. My mouth hung open as I began to realize I had no idea of what to do next. Turning to head back to the van, I foot all the way to the world on my shoulders.

I'd reach the end of the sidewalk when I heard the click of a lock. Come in, quick! I turned to see her, peering conspiratorially from the doorway, hardly opened a slit. She beckoned, peering past me through narrowed eyes. I hurried to oblige, speedwalking to meet her, and stepping inside and into the comparative warmth of the frigid home. Mrs. Aldridge bore a nightgown and a thick sweater, pulled tight around her midsection. I kicked my feet off at the door, stepping inside as she closed it behind me. What can I do? What can I do to help Hanson?

She hardly missed a beat, stepping in front of me and asking the question with an expression reminiscent of a child waiting for a comforting answer. I need to know what happened to him. Everything. before he left, but before I got here. I need to know about... I paused, glancing past her and down the hall at the still shut door. Oh, I felt an urge to step closer to check that the lock was still fixed.

But with the way the woman watched me, I could tell any unnecessary movements might unnerve her. I couldn't blame her. I felt just as uneasy. I wondered for a moment if she'd seen things that I had, dismissing the thought in. instantly as a more dreadful one emerged. Of course not. Otherwise, she'd be dead, just like you almost were. She followed my gaze, raising her arms to hug herself,

as though a chill had moved through the air. Somehow I felt it, too. Let's step upstairs. I don't like it down here. I nodded hesitantly and followed as the woman led me toward the stairs leading to the second floor. The hall at the top of the stairs was a little. as dark as the rest of the house and somehow colder, as though somewhere in one of the rooms that lined it, a window sat open. Why not turn on a light? This can't be safe, I found myself

asking. Oh, I like it better this way, she muttered. It saves on the electric. The answer felt lacking, but I didn't want to press on, sensing I'd already pushed the woman far past her comfort zone with my presence alone. I followed as she moved towards a room at the end of the hall, the only one with a light on within, streaming faintly from the doorway which hung ajar. She stepped into the doorway, pushing the door aside and beckoning me to enter. I nodded my appreciation, doing my best to ignore the blanket of surreal unease that seemed to drape over everything, but her eyes never met mine. She stared past me, eyes wide, and she stared wide. as she peered into the darkness.

I turned to face what she was looking towards, finding nothing but an open doorway at the end of the hall. Hmm. Had it always been open? We'd walked past it just moments prior. I felt an uneasy chill, I refused to let the nerves that seemed to haunt the place like ghosts take root.

I entered the room. Smelled of age, sweat and mothballs, a general mess spread about the place that matched the state. of the rest of their home. There was one area that seemed untouched by the chaos, a desk against the far wall, atop which sat an ancient desktop monitor,

a desktop of similar antiquity beneath. The bed was unkempt, vague stains visible on the sheets beneath. I elected to stand, keeping my back to the corner, arms folded to stave off the chills brought on by the freezing air. I could see that a window was open, it took all I had not to close,

it myself. I watched, waiting uneasily for the woman to speak, a part of me waiting for her to shut the door, begging for it. After a moment of peering down the hall, she entered the room, muttering to herself far too low for me to hear. I cleared my throat, seemingly startling her, as though she'd forgotten for a moment that I'd been there. So, um, Anson, before he... What was he working on before everything changed? It was an educated guess that, like myself, this woman had found herself foisted into a situation beyond her understanding, but one I could make given the suddenness of my own events.

She frowned, shaking her head for a moment before sighing. I don't understand it all too well. Anson's always been such a smart man. Brilliant. She smiled then. The first genuine one, seen in the short time I'd known her, but the expression was clearly clouded by that same misty forgetfulness. He always knows things, always knows. That's okay, Mrs. Aldridge, just

whatever you can remember, anything at all really, it'd be a huge help. He never wanted to talk about his work. I made him, really. She started, looking up at me with a pleading stare. It's not his fault. It's mine. I always asked, always pressed. Oh, I knew I shouldn't, but, oh, his mind's such a beautiful thing, and I always wanted to know what he knew, new things, wonderful things that it had conjured up. After so many years of marriage, it gets hard to keep your work a secret, and eventually he, well, he didn't anymore. The look in her eyes was of someone unloading a weight, long bed alone. was frighteningly lucid given the state I'd only ever seen her in.

It was gone just as quickly as it appeared, though, guilt etched across her wizened features. Oh, you won't tell him, will you? I just couldn't handle costing him his job. He loves it, he does. He just, well, he couldn't abide by this new project at first. She glanced back at me as though recalling my own hinted connection with her husband. But he understands now. I swear, he supports it all. He didn't get it before, but he does now. I swear to Jesus, he understands. I could tell that whatever his job was, secrecy had been integral. The idea that I may report whatever indiscretions he may have had seemed horrifying to her. I could feel a rock forming in my gut.

whatever it was that Anson had been involved in, whatever suspicions or disagreements he'd had with it, and whatever horrors he'd put this woman through to create the tired, frightened person before me, or my Janice was involved in it too. And unlike Anson, she hadn't seen fit to clue me in. Didn't know whether I was more horrified or angry by the revelation. Took only a moment for the latter to win out.

Anson was gone as far as I could tell, so was Janice. And the thing at my house, well, I didn't want to dwell on that for too long. Whatever the case, I felt no doubt in my mind that this thing, this project doorway, as the emails had called it, was the reason for it all. Before I could respond, Mrs. Aldridge stepped away, shaking her head for a moment as she muttered another string of silent words far too unintelligible for me to make out. She sat on the edge of the bed Running her hands over her face As she sighed No

She sighed sounding as though all the world's exhaustion Had been carried in a singular exhale No You won't tell them She breathed Seemingly resolute in her statement As though something in my silence

Had confirmed it I nodded No no I won't tell them Not to tell you the truth I think Anson was right I don't think the doorway project is good. I think it's putting all of us in danger.

Her eyes shone with recognition at the name, though at the mention of danger it was gone, replaced by an animal sort of panic that instantly made me regret my choice of words. No, no, no, no, it's nothing like that. Anson swears he was wrong. Don't you get it, he was wrong? Well, I pressed on,

despite Mrs. Aldridge's clearly growing agitation, buried beneath all of the confusion, I could tell that this woman had answers, perhaps enough to lead me back to my Janix. I had to pierce through the fog that surrounded them. I had to know just what she knew. I understand, but, well, my wife, she works with Anson. Well, it wasn't a lie. I think she's in trouble. I'd like to understand your husband's reservations. Here I chose my words carefully, keeping you. mind, the woman seemed to have something of a hair trigger for panic. She watched me for a moment, before peering over my shoulder as if to be certain no one was

listening in. He, um, he didn't think it was safe, she began. I nodded, prompting her to go on. Your wife? She worked on it, too? I nodded once more. Yeah, I, uh, yeah, yeah, she did. Does.

I tried to swallow back the bitter taste the words left on my tongue. Hmm. She seemed to consider the information for a moment. How much did you talk about? How much did she tell you about what they do? I was almost taken aback by the sudden return of lucidity as she watched me, eyes seeming to scan my face for answers unspoken. Ah, not much, I admitted.

It was mostly the truth. In reality, she'd told me. me nothing at all, the little information I had coming from her laptop. It occurred to me for a moment that it had been her decision to share the password with me, and to warn me, though only vaguely of her replacement. It had been her final act before, well, I wasn't sure. I tried to take some comfort in the fact that she'd at least attempted to leave me with something to move forward with. She smiled, a thin-lipped, empathetic sort of look. Don't hold it against her. It's not up to them. When it comes to that sort of work,

all the spook stuff, the things I never really understood, well, there's all kinds of laws and red tape. If anything, be proud. She takes her work serious. And she quickly added, not that my anson doesn't. Oh, there's nobody who cares more than he does, but this old bird peck the secrecy out of him. For some reason, pride was the last thing I felt, especially regarding her secrecy. Confused, angry and terrified, all felt more apt descriptions. I couldn't deny Janice's work ethic, though. Even before all of this, that much was undeniable. I'd watched her run herself ragged in the weeks prior working on, well, it occurred to me I didn't know what she was working on now. Though the suspicion was growing that her story about assignments

had been at best a partial truth obscuring a greater secret, and at worst entirely a lie. I decided to ask just what I needed to know. I wanted to get out of the house, though I wasn't sure where. It was freezing, and beyond the cold, I felt something else in the air, something I'd tried to ignore since I'd entered, but found it persistent, like a skeletal claw of dread caressing at my back. Yeah, um, what were they working on? Janice, my wife, she never got the chance to tell me before. I trailed off. Before what?

I still had no idea where she was. Before she was killed by that thing in your house, probably. While you were at work, she was being ripped to shreds. Oh, I shook my head as though to dispel that hideous little voice breathing life into the thoughts I yearned to ignore. I don't know, I finally admitted. The words seeming to release some sort of... weight that I always seemed to forget I was bearing. I don't know anything. There was something in the way she looked at me upon hearing that. Sympathy, sadness, guilt. I didn't know what she had to

feel guilty for. It was Janice who owed all of the answers. Well, take a seat, she offered, gesturing at the bed. There's, well, there's a lot. It's all right, I said, doing my best to reject the offer politely without offending the only hope of information I had. I'll be going soon. She winced at that. I felt a pang of sadness upon noticing. Couldn't blame the woman for not wanting to be alone, not after what I suspect she may know.

Suit yourself. Your wife, my answer, they're the smart ones. Smarter than usual, the sort of smart that gets you noticed by people in charge. Couldn't deny that. I always felt Janice could be working for Nasser or the CIA or Harvard or something. I suppose she should have suspected something. The job they have, you don't apply for. You get recruited.

They work for America, you see. A smile cracked across her ancient features, a genuine pride gleaming in her eyes. Defense industry, I wondered. It would explain the secrecy. and Janice was certainly smart enough to be working on some top secret space jets. But no, that wouldn't explain the thing in my house. It wouldn't explain half of what I'd gone through.

Unless it could, some new age mind-altering guess? As awful as it seemed, I almost preferred it to the idea that reality as I knew it was something negotiable. So they... they make bombs? I asked. Feeling stupid for the question, though. I wasn't sure how else to ask it. She looked taken aback. No, no. You really don't know.

And they study the real stuff. It protects us from the other things. Other things, I asked, though I felt the creeping suspicion that I knew what some of those other things were, that I'd barely escaped from it with my life. She nodded with such ferocity, her head seemed ready to come loose. the bad ones, the ones we all try to turn into stories to scare the children, the reason our

ancestors were so scared of the dark, I felt something cold inside me at her words, like something old and dead lurching from the grave. Monstrous, I asked, feeling the word far too childish for the things I felt she was implicating. A smile crept to her lips. Mm-hmm. the work they do protects us from all of it all of the things they can't let us hear about

they keep the bad stuff away keep the door shut except the smile fell then replaced by a deep set frown just as suddenly something about her choice of words keep the door shut

and it felt familiar I record the awful crooning of the Janice thing as it had chased me from my home, and the nightmare at return from the recesses of my mind. Except... She looked troubled, except a lot given her general state. Her brows furrowed, and another string of muttering followed as she seemed to argue whether she'd said too much, debating with some unseen judge. Finally, seemingly winning her mental battle, she pressed on, though I could see that dark cloud

still hanging across her features. Well, they they realize perhaps we could be better helped if they opened it. Opened, open the door, I asked. The door to what? To the other side.

That little voice that had lurt with me all that day seemed to whisper. The other side of what? Reality? I wasn't sure I wanted the answer, though my options seemed limited. The door to the other places. The places where the others live.

The places that aren't like this one. I could see a tremor working its way through her. Her eyes roaming past me with the glassy sort of expression one would expect from a traumatized veteran. My stomach turned, the implications of her terror making me feel sick. You're talking about those monsters. I started, heart strumming like a war drummers, pieces of an awful puzzle began to take faint shape.

Those things from the closet. Her eyes widened to such an extent they seemed ready to spring forth from her skull. Oh well, yes, but no, they aren't. We thought so too, you see. My Anson, he was convinced they were coming to hurt us, to replace us all and steal something they lacked. She spoke the,

words at a feverish rate, stepping closer with eyes wide, quickly adding, but that's not true, is it? No, they just want to help us, to show us another way. I could feel the vague haste starting to allow the faintest path to appear before me. The piece is slowly falling into place, though leaving unignorable gaps. I pushed through her seemingly dementia-induced ramblings, desperate for answers. To steal what? I asked. If there was any reason that these things might have taken my wife, I needed to know. Whatever she had, if I could, I don't know, bargain maybe. It seemed a weak hope, but it was something.

She looked disturbed, so the question had awoken her from some lovely daydream. The warmth, she spoke, eyes narrowing as though it were the most obvious statement in the world. It's so cold where they come from. So cold, and the wind bites like starving dogs. They just want to be warm. Can't you understand that? I record my nightmare, the bits of it that remained fresh in my mind, though more were growing clearer. I remembered the doorway, the feeling of the cold, such cold like nothing I'd ever known,

and the singular active thought. I need to get out. I need to get warm. I felt something stirring in my gut then, like the movement of something. something alive. For a moment I record Janice in the nights before it had all begun, all those nights of fitful sleep, stought by nightmare she could never retain, or refused to share, I considered. Began to grow the eerie suspicion I knew what she'd been seeing all of those nights. I nodded in response to Mrs. Aldridge's question, though I surely didn't

understand, though perhaps it seemed I was beginning to. Do the things from those places? Can they affect dreams? The question felt silly, vague and conspiratorial. Yet as I awaited the response of a seemingly mad old woman, I could tell that I'd never spoken of anything more serious. Dreams, she repeated the word, gazing past me as though trying to recall its meaning.

Dreams, yes, it's the only way they can reach out to us. The only time our minds are open enough to hear them. Anson could tell you better, I'm sure. He understood all the scientific what-sits better than I ever could. Why? I asked. Feeling a skin-crawling sensation at the idea of my mind, my sleep being invaded by those things. Reach out for what?

Oh, I couldn't hope to know that. I don't think anyone could. Anson used to think. She shook her head. head. Oh, well, never mind that. He was wrong. He says so himself. Used to think what, I pressed, that nauseating feeling pushing me forth, despite the woman's obvious discomfort with the topic. I should have left it there. I should have thanked her for a time and excuse myself, putting Mrs. Aldridge's home far behind me. But I didn't. I suppose

the result would have been the same either way. The flow of information as choppy and confused as it was, was the closest thing I'd had to answer since the day began. I found the faint clarity almost intoxicating. Well, it's not true, I swear, but he used to think it was a way to weaken us, get inside the mind and twist it up so they could track us down like a... She snapped, attempting to recollect the word. Like a GPS, lure us in.

Her words seemed to lower the temperature in the air by several degrees. Lour us to where? I asked. To their place. Through the doors and into the snow. I felt something cold and sharp in my gut, like an icy dagger twisting itself deep. Through the door, through the door, you'll cling to the devil for warmth through the door. That old song of the thing that had worn my wife's face. seemed all the more threatening now. It seemed that the dread I felt was written across my face.

Mrs. Aldridge stepped forward, raising a hand in a placating gesture. Oh, it's not true, I promise. Anson promises, it's not true at all. Yeah, he misunderstood them, don't you see? She spoke like some passionate Southern pastor, preaching the gospel, a conviction that seemed almost divine woven into every word. She placed a hand on my shoulder, a comforting gesture in theory, though it made my skin crawl.

They need us. They need our help. Don't be scared. I shook my head, something in me feeling the need to push back against the woman's rhetoric. I knew it was foolish given how unstable she seemed. The way she tried to paint those preachers, as though they were helpless. It was wrong. Worse than that, I knew it could get her killed.

It occurred to me, perhaps for the first time with such clarity, in all my time in the house, I hadn't seen hide nor hair of this Anson outside of the pictures. In fact, I was quite certain he was dead. So that begs the question. How do you know all this, Mrs. Aldrich? I asked. My Anson told me. He told me what lies through the doorway. Isn't it wonderful?

Her words were like being. doused in ice water, jarring and sudden, snap me back into the present. Appeared past her, glancing about the room for any sign of something out of place, before realizing the futility of my effort in an unfamiliar environment. All of a sudden I just wanted to leave, to be as far from this place as I could, but to go where? Through the door. It was a thought whispered from the dark recess.

of my mind, though I found the thought lingering stubbornly. The closet, I muttered, realization sparking to life in me. The closet door. I felt like an idiot as the thoughts connected, in all the terror, missing what now seemed so obvious. Well, I'd known, subconsciously anyway, that animal sense that lingers from our days hiding from the predators that stalked the darkness, always shrieking. for me to stay away. Suddenly I felt I had some idea of where Janice might be, or at least where

I'd have to go to find her. Through the doors, through the closet doors where that dark feeling seemed to shoot forth like a newly discovered spring. Mrs. Aldridge's eyes widened in surprise, her grip on my shoulder growing tighter. You mustn't be afraid, boy, she breathed, still gazing up at me with that fanatic sort of glee. I promise it's not so bad. They only want to show us. He promised. I felt that knot in my chest grow impossibly tight.

When did he tell you this, Mrs. Aldridge? When did Anson tell you these things? Well, just before you arrived, of course. Eyes widened, breaking her gaze as I stared past her and interested. the open doorway. The implications of her words began to unravel, scratching the back of my mind aggressively as one awful thought began to ring out. I hadn't checked the closet door when I'd entered. I wasn't sure if the lock was still engaged, as if in confirmation of my most awful fears, from somewhere beyond the threshold of the doorway, within the darkness that hung

like a blindfold, there was the faint but unmistakable creak of movement against ancient floorboards. Someone, something else, was in the house with us. Bart four, a step past the old woman, intent on shutting the door before whoever or whatever could enter. As soon as I moved, I could feel her grip tightened, bony fingers digging like claws into my shoulder. Turning to face her, I met a wild-eyed sort of desperation. She hurried to stand in front of me again, and immediately I knew I'd made a mistake entering. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, she muttered, repeating the phrase like some broken record,

arms outstretched, stepping towards me as though to hurt me away from the door. You can't go. He told me you must stay, you must. I had no intention of hurting the woman, but I had just as little intent on being kept in this place waiting for, whatever, stalked through those halls to corner me in this dingy bedroom. I spared past the woman, hoping to dash to the doorway, but as soon as I'd made my way past, I could feel those clawing hands again, digging into my shoulder and arm as she gripped with every bit of strength it seemed her failing body could muster. I hadn't expected it, and in my haste,

pulled her off balance. I twirled in an attempt to catch her, my mind instantly swerving from any thoughts of escape, to avoiding a manslaughter charge, then the two of us landed on the floor in a painful heap. I could smell that awful mix of sweat and what seemed like stale urine thick on her skin, making my stomach twist and protest

as I struggled to free myself from beneath her. Get off, I grunted, crying the woman's hands free with one hand, hand as I use the other to push her off of me, sliding from beneath her and struggling to find my feet. Please, please! She crawled forward frantically, hands wrapping around my leg as she fought to pull me closer. You've got to!

Another long-pronounced cry of the floorboards from somewhere behind me made my stomach shrink. I could feel the room somehow grow colder, something I'd have thought impossible before, as though there had been a window open directly behind me, a gnawing breeze rolling along my back. Every hair along my spine rose to attention as I struggled with a decision to face what I knew I would find behind me. I had no choice. There was only one way out that didn't involve a dive from a second-story window.

I turned to face the doorway. Darkness filled its threshold like a physical form. cold, obsidian nothingness yawning forth as if to swallow us whole. But the faintest of seconds it appeared empty, a thought that was only vaguely comforting with the unshakable sensation that I was being watched. Then I saw them. Twin gems of sapphire and emerald, burning as though the very flames of hell glowed behind them,

floating in the nothingness like awful stars. It only took a moment long. to make out the suggestion of a form, somehow darker than the pitch black that surrounded it, gazing in at us with impossible eyes. Oh, Anson, I kept him here, like you asked. The poor boy is so confused, darling, tell him, tell him all the wonderful things you've told me. I turned to see that Mrs. Aldridge was on her knees, hands clasped in front of her as though in

some twisted sort of prayer to something I knew was far from any god worthy of worship. It all clicked in an instant. Of course I'd seen no sign of the woman's husband. He was likely dead, or missing just as my own wife was. Of course, Mrs. Aldridge was clearly unwell. Her mind long since having waved and given way beneath the weight of old age and disease, or the impossibility of the knowledge she found her and her husband faced with. Of course he'd tricked her. All she'd wanted was for her husband to return, and something had convinced her he had. I faced the horror before me, feeling a numbness in substitution of bravery, as though my nerves had burned themselves out from all the day's terror.

I needed only to know. Where is she? I asked. Where is my wife? Its head, cocked in the darkness, visible only by the motion of those twin eyes, glowing with such brightness it was beginning to make my head pound. The sound it made was like a glacier cracking, a gasp long and drawn out and impossibly deep, as though all the world's dead things had exhaled their final breath in unison. I've shown you, where the fire never glows, and the beating of mother's hearts over open chests are the only warmness. for the children. The corners of my vision began to dance with dark shapes. My head swimming as though I'd gone underwater, and it had been too long since I'd been up for air. I stumbled slightly,

catching my balance and straightening, unwilling to show any give in the face of this thing. I was grasping in the darkness for answers, but something in me said that if there was any sort of hierarchy to these creatures, the one that stood before me was near the top of the pyramid. From it seemed to pour a sort of ancientness I couldn't comprehend, like being made to stand before the sun, and it spoke with just as much terrible wisdom. It was like a living element, freezing wind seemed to pour forth through the doorway as though reality itself was struggling to adjust to its being. I wanted to move, but I felt trapped under its gaze, my body unresponsive as though my thoughts

were distant suggestions. I have to go, I thought. The thoughts coming a mile a minute. I have to get back to my house, to the doorway, to Janice. It was all I could think, and yet somehow I knew the longer I dwelt in that thing's presence, the more I risked never seeing my home again and falling into those eyes that burned with memories of unknowable things and nightmares older than mankind. They opened the doors for us, summoned us with a beacon across the darkness,

and we shall answer the call. Have you seen them, child? The voice that boomed through the doorway was impossible, ancient and all-encompassing, the sound of the old dead forests and all of their secrets, the whispers of the grave we desperately ignore in the late hours. Have you seen the children of the cold? Have you held them close? warm them beneath the fires of your beating heart.

It was a whisper, hardly more than a breath. It was a booming command beaming from the horns that signal the end of days. It gnawed at my mind with an impossible itch, until I could feel the very threads of my sanity coming apart at the seams. I wanted to shriek until my throat was roar, and the iron taste of blood filled my mouth. I wanted to run. I wanted to go through the doorway.

I wanted to pass out or die or or I wanted to help them. I wanted to be anywhere else but here and yet the weight of the moment press me down like all the world's gravity. Lost in the storm, of course, it can only wander home to the hungry flames

that will feed on its skin amidst the frost. I could feel it in my head. It was an awful foreign sensation. Its eyes seemed. seemingly digging through my mind, like a surgeon plucking and weaving as it saw fit. The sudden scramble of motion at my feet snapped me back to attention as I turned to see Mrs. Aldridge. She was in tears, but wore a smile somehow, almost as horrific as the thing in the darkness. She hadn't even bothered to rise to her feet, crawling towards the thing, babbling apologies

and words of praise like a child expecting a scolding from her god. I was grateful for the moment of lucidity it granted me, snapping me from the creature's spell long enough for a singular thought to crystallize. I had to go. The darkness seemed to spill over the doorway as she approached and I could see the immediate confusion in her expression amidst the madness. I stumbled back as I watched the nothingness,

like streams of running water stretched across the wooden floorboards, leaving behind in their wake veritable sheets of darkness. Like cloth. The lights in the room flickered. My heart froze, and again the floorboards creaked as the thing that wasn't Anson stepped into the room. I could think of nothing else to do. Panic searing through me as my eyes searched desperately, failing me in the darkness. I ran.

I could feel my shoulder collide with the wall, a dull crack audible in my ears, followed by a searing pain. But I didn't stop following the wall. until I reached the doorway. I could feel it, hardly inches away, like a living block of ice and stone. Anson, Anson, my love, I've done everything, everything you said, please. I could hear Mrs. Aldridge's voice,

shrill and panicked and pleading from somewhere behind me. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered besides escape. As I felt the doorway, I allowed myself the faintest moment of high. hope. Then I felt it. The skin of my bare arm brushed against it, and in an instant it was as though all of the blood had been drained from the limb.

Skin was cold and dead and wet like a corpse in the snow, and at that moment it felt as though something had been stolen from me. Pins and needles danced through my arm as I fell out of the doorway, turning for only a moment to face the creature as I grabbed my arm instinctively. I could see that its head was turned, those glowing eyes fixed on me, and somehow I was certain that I could feel a smile beneath them, as cold and dead as it had felt. That was all it took to push me forth again, using my hands to guide my mad dash out of the house, nearly losing my balance several times on the stairs. I didn't stop running until I'd reached the front door, turning only to glance back down the hallway at the closest door I'd seen that morning. It was wide open.

A shriek tore through the night air, the sort I'd only ever heard in movies before, or videos on the internet that I'd tried to forget, the sort that meant death. Mrs. Aldridge's no doubt. It was long and shrill and seemed to go on far too long, echoing after me as I ran out of the house into my van. I paused only long enough to unlock the vehicle,

peering up into the window that would belong to Mrs. Ordridge's, as I pulled myself inside. I could see something behind the dust-laden glass, illuminated only by the faint moonlight breaking through the clouds ahead. For a moment it seemed Mrs. Aldrich stood in the window, gazing back at me with an expression I couldn't comprehend. But as my car sprang to life, eyes never once wavering from that window, I quickly realized I was wrong.

It wasn't Mrs. Orridge, any more than the thing in my home had been my wife. Her jaw hung impossibly wide and slack at one side, her nose pressed closely to her face though she'd been dealt a devastating blow. And despite it all, she smiled. It was a broken, unfitting expression on that face, and I knew it wasn't hers at all. The skin fit wrong, and her eyes. glowed like gems forged in hellfire. I breathed a whispered apology to the late Mrs. Aldrich, though I doubted there was anything

I could do. With the devil watching, I made my way down the road out of the cul-de-sac and towards my hand. I felt like a wrung-out towel, drained of all energy and capability of thought, driving only on autopilot. Wasn't until I'd rounded the corner of my neighbourhood that the implications of what I'd seen occurred to me. She'd screamed. She had screamed, and it wore her skin. I felt my foot grow heavy on the gas pedal, the roar of the engine inviting me forth as I watched the tree line of the

forest at the end of our street grow nearer. She was dead. Mrs. Aldridge was dead, and it wore her skin. It would be so simple, so quick. I could feel my foot practically pressing against the floor of the car as it barreled fall. It had worn my Janice's skin, and she was dead. I hardly recognized a scream for filling the car as my own, but it had snapped me back to sanity enough to make me slam down on the brake. The car shrieked forward in a jerking skid, yet somehow I felt the world had gone motionless. I knew there was a possibility I was wrong.

I had no idea how these things worked. Of course, perhaps my wife was still alive, somewhere in a world devoid of warmth, where the snow never ceased. Hell, frozen over. Well, there was no joke, but I laughed, laughed until I cried. Then I wrote this. Sitting in the car at the end of my street. I'm going to finish this and post it to every fucking social media I've got. Won't do me any good now.

I doubt it'll do much good for Janice. but at the very least I'll make sure this gets out that someone out there knows what happened to us I love my wife despite whatever secret she may have kept which I doubt I'll have the answer to now but maybe one of you will it doesn't matter now

I'm going home I'm going to kill or be killed by that thing wearing my wife's skin and if it's the latter I'm going to open that closet door I think I know what I'll find The entryway to another world I'm going to look for my wife now

Or die trying Don't know how to end something like this So goodbye for now Hopefully I'll be able to update you all If I somehow managed to get through and back from the other side And Janice If you're reading this I love you

I love you now And past the moment of my last breath and I'll follow you into hell. There were no following messages found on the cell phone of Calvin Rogers. The work vehicle mentioned was located by the police after being reported by a neighbor who found it at the end of the street, driver's side door orjar, with a cell phone on the driver's seat. The company the van belongs to denies any reports of anyone by that name having worked there

and grew quite hostile at repeated questioning. How this is possible given there are, Apparently no records of Calvin Rogers remains to be seen. A death record has been located for an Elmira Aldrich, with the cause unlisted, unusual given the nature of the record. As of yet, no records have been found leading back to a project doorway, a military institute at Redbook, or collaboration with the local university. Of course, we here at the Open Eye Society know that can be taken with a grain of salt. I wish I could offer a conclusion for you all, answers to the questions I'm certain this has left you with, but unfortunately I myself must still seek them.

However, let that hunger for knowledge drive you forth, and let not the secrets in the dark be kept from you. We will aid you all as best as we can. Be wary, be wise, and look to the unknown with an open eye. Darcy Whitmore 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 from 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.