Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S5 Ep285: Episode 285: Incredibly Weird Horror Stories

Episode Date: October 24, 2025

Use the promo code SUPERBAD for 10% off all T-shirts! https://dr-creepens-vault.creator-spring.com/listing/the-devil-is-in-the-detail Today’s opening tale of terror is ‘Beneath the Garden’, an original story by the legendary Michael Whitehouse, kindly shared with me via the Creepypasta Wiki and read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license: https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/User:Ghastly_Tales https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Beneath_the_Garden Today’s second offering is parts one and two of ‘My House sits at a Threshold of Evil’, an original story by James Caligo, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all. https://www.reddit.com/user/JamesCaligo/ We round off tonight’s tales of horror with the epic ‘If you're in Greensley next to Forever 21, please look out for the mannequin in the window. The one that looks like it’s crying’, an original story by Trash Tia, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all. https://www.reddit.com/user/Trash_Tia/

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We believe OCT scans are so important they're included with every standard eye exam. Book an eye exam at Spexsavers.cavers.cai.c.a. Eye exams are provided by independent optometrists. Visit Spexavers.com to learn more. Welcome to Dr. Creepen's Dungeon. Weird stories scare us because they defy logic and pull us into a world where the rules no longer apply. Unlike traditional horror, where the source of fear can be named or understood, weird tales often leave us grasping for meaning, disturbing us with the unknown and the inexplicable.

They tap into deep subconscious fears by presenting realities just slightly off from our own, where something feels wrong, but we can't explain why. That sense of unease lingers, making us question what's real and, what might be hiding just out of sight, as we shall see in tonight's two tales of terror. As ever before we begin, word of caution, tonight's stories may contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. Then let's begin. Beneath the Garden by Michael Whitehouse. Frederick loved his garden, almost as much as he loved killing. He would spend hours each week feeding, cutting, maintaining a

nurturing the lawn and the flower beds, taking great pride in having what was widely regarded as the most impressive garden in the entire town. It was May, and it was Frederick's hope that in the coming weeks he'd be judged by the local garden enthusiasts association as the best amateur garden in the area for an unprecedented sixth year in a row. He knew that once judging commenced, the committee could arrive on any day with almost no advance warning. Surprise visits were their specialty, but he was confident that his floral displays and pristine lawn would once again rule supreme. All he had to do was sabotage his nearest rivals with a little weed killer at night. Of course, Frederick knew he'd most probably win in any case, but he never liked to leave anything

to chance. Just as long as things did not get out of hand as they had done two years previous. Lucy Rindridge had cared for and produced a wonderful front garden display that year. Even Frederick admitted that she'd done herself proud as he cast his eye over her luscious tulips, roses and carnations, smiling of course while talking to her, but in reality thinking that he couldn't allow someone like this to best him. A week before the judging window, he did what he had to do. It was difficult, of course, not to arouse suspicion. Frederick's victims were normally those whom he thought no one would miss.

the homeless drifters illegal immigrants but of course runaways were his specialty children could be so easily manipulated lucy rindridge was different she was known she had friends nearby and a daughter who lived out of town frederick had not initially thought of killing her he just wanted to poison her garden teach her a lesson not to get her hopes up or meddle in frederick's territory but when she had not to get her hopes up or meddle in frederick's territory but when she had not to be she was not to kill her to kill her her returned home earlier than expected that night, just as he was taking a piss on her back lawn after pouring the last of the weed killer into her rose bushes. Those feelings of compulsion which Frederick reveled in so much suddenly began to stir. He'd first felt the strange arousal when he was eleven years old. Her neighbour's dog had found its way into his family garden, and was digging up one of Frederick's mother's prize, Iris Siberica. Of course, Frederick could not allow such a filthy creature to defile his mother's beautiful work without thinking he crushed its skull with a garden rock and immediately he became intoxicated by a lustful yearning which could only be

satisfied by killing while he was relatively prolific he quickly developed a skill for remaining undetected a talent which he prided himself in almost as much but not quite as his garden once those the same feelings of desire built up inside him, Frederick could not resist the opportunity to dispose of poor old Lucy Rindridge. Unless black in the neighbourhood, he thought to himself as he lay in wait outside, covered by the night. It was so very easy. The old lady had left her back door unlocked.

Sneaking inside, Frederick found his prey sitting in her living room. The house consisted of the usual emasculation of long-lived life. Pieces of pottery, the odd figurine, and antique glock, pictures of family and friends long since past. The entire place reminded Frederick of his grandmother. That heartless bitch. He crept towards Lucy Rindridge's armchair slowly, methodically, each step accompanied by a growing feeling of excitement stirring below. The old hag had no idea what was coming, and Frederick could not wait to see that flicker of fear and pain oozing out of her eyes as he's,

hand straggled the life out of her circling her chair he moved swiftly but what he was presented with almost disappointed him the old lady was ill she must have come home early from her usual bingo night because she was sick and it was clear that even without frederick's handiwork mrs rindridge was not long for this world she stared up at him her slow laboured breathing the only sound in the building as she She pointed towards her house phone on a table nearby, pleading for compassion silently with her eyes. Frederick began laughing uncontrollably. "'You want me to phone an ambulance?' He scoffed as he gleefully skipped over to the phone.

Raising the receiver, he continued. "'Hello? "'Is that the hospital? "'I was wondering if he could come over to 68.' He turned to the helpless woman. "'It's 68, isn't it, dear?' "'Before entering back into his fictitious conversation "'with the emergency services.

"'Yes, 68 Dupin Avenue. "'Oh, please do hurry. "'I think this poor helpless woman might not make it.' "'Sloving the phone down, "'Freder continued laughing in fits and starts "'as he staggered in a jovial fashion over to her chair. "'Glaring down at the old lady "'whose eyes were now filled with tears,

Frederick leaned over, whispering softly into her right ear. Oh, really, I'm sorry, dear, but your type don't belong around here. I had my way, I'd burn you all, like the old days. But as my mother always says, you just have to make do with what God gives you. And in my case, God gave me these. Frederick stared down at his leather-clad hands momentarily, with an exuberate smile stretching from ear. ear. Encircling the helpless woman's throat with his ever-faithful fingers squeezing tighter and tighter, immense satisfaction coursed through his body. As the tears rolled down

Lucy's face and the last light diminished from her eyes, Frederick chuckled to himself, whispering, Oh, by the way, I poisoned your garden too. Looks like I'll be winning again this year. He gritted his teeth together, promoted. losing his composure shaking the old lady's body by the throat violently as it should be she was dead and frederick was delighted a shock and condemnation throughout the town was followed quickly by a much publicized police investigation that frederick was not a suspect nor was he even questioned of course he gave a lovely heartfelt speech about lucy rindridge at the next meeting of the local Garden Association. Oh, there wasn't a dry eye in the church hall that night. Even the normally

stoic Mr. Holt, chairman of the association, complimented Frederick on his thoughtful and kind words. Frederick was very pleased. The only issue which worried him was that he'd broken a golden rule. Never kill anyone, you know. It wasn't that there weren't people whom Frederick knew that he would love to kill, but rather he was smarter than the rest. Smarter than the Ted Bundy's and John Wayne Gases of the world. Smart enough to never get caught. There was a variety of ways to ensure that he would never be suspected of a murder. For starters, he'd kill miles from home, out of town. Furthermore, he was a dab hand with makeup and latex solution, ensuring that he had quite a convincing disguise when he was on the prow, protecting him from identity. He was a

identification. He'd wear a realistic wig over an airtight, bald cap as well as a crime-scene suit used by forensic experts under his newly bought clothes. This would limit the risk of dropping a hair fibre or scrap of skin which could easily be used to identify his DNA. Yes, he was quite careful. But killing someone he knew who lived just a few streets away and without the usual precautions, This was an amateur mistake, and he would be damned before committing it again. Frederick had only poisoned Lucy Rindridge's garden, along with the bluebell display of another competitor, three years before that. He knew that people would become suspicious if it happened every year to the other entrance, but this year he had to get rid of two great displays.

While he still believed that his garden was the finest garden in town, he didn't trust the judges to always make the correct decision. He had to poison Tom Hartley's centrepiece lawn and Paddy Rossier's annoyingly original Apple Orchard display at the back of her farm. Sixteen days before the judging window, Frederick decided to make his move. He'd take care of Paddy's apple orchard first, as the poison would take longer to affect the trees than Hartley's lawn, although his backup plan of a little fire could always come

to play should the chemicals not have the desired effect in time. Just as he was preparing to leave his house to sabotage the orchard, the doorbell rang. Frederick wasn't expecting any guests, and the occasional unscheduled visitor always irked him, especially when it could hinder his plans. In a foul mood he opened the door, and there she stood. Such a vision full of life, vibrant and glowing. The girl must have been no older than nineteen and frederick loathed anyone outside of his own social standing both higher and lower there was something intoxicating charming even about her dark green jacket frayed and worn her blue denim jeans ripped at the knees and her blonde unkempt hair caressing her face resting on her

shoulders um can i help you young lady frederick asked with a wry smile on his face "'Hello, sir. "'I'm collecting for the charity trust RSF "'and was wondering if you'd have a few minutes to chat "'about the great work we do. "'She smiled sweetly, "'and Frederick suddenly became aware "'of striking her blue eyes were.

"'He paused for a moment. "'Of course, come in, come in.' "'Frederick opened the door fully, "'bathing the young woman in the warm glow of his hall lights. "'She hesitated. Actually, sir, we're not supposed to enter people's houses when we're on our own. Nonsense. Nonsense, come in.

I'm not going to bite. She hesitated still. Frederick changed tactic. Well, I am busy at the moment. In fact, I was just going to go out, so I'd rather touch you inside while I get my things ready. Please don't worry. It's not like I'm a serial killer or anything. Frederick grinned, and to the girl, his eyes.

exuded nothing but kindness the truth is that even approaching the age of 50 frederick was still quite able to charm and manipulate others with his sympathetic and naturally handsome features okay it won't take a minute she responded entering the house as he closed the front door and ushered his beautiful guest into the lounge frederick felt that familiar and welcome arousal begin to build from deep down within sitting on a break brown leather armchair next to Frederick's pristine open fireplace, the girl entered into a charity pitch. She smiled and kept eye contact at all times, seeming friendly, familiar yet not intrusively so. After a few minutes of listening, it suddenly occurred to him that he hadn't listened to a word she'd said.

He smiled at her, nodding in agreement as she expertly ran through her well-practice pitch. But he didn't know what the charity was, nor did he care. His attention had been caught by a ring she was wearing on her right hand. It wasn't a wedding or engagement ring, but the way she touched it with her other hand, the way she caressed it without realizing, she had a deep-seated affection for it. Seeing someone so attached to an object

made Frederick fantasize about the pain he could cause by taking it. Ah, the old urges increased with such thoughts. The ring itself did not seem particularly striking. A golden piece of jewelry, which didn't look valuable in the slightest, although it had an unusual lattice on it, but it was the affection that she seemed to subconsciously place upon it, which stuck in Frederick's mind the most.

As he watched the girl run her hand and fingers over it, that sense of desire, arousal, that excitement, came to the fore once again. With each touch, his need to wrap his hands around her throat and crush the life out of her increased, and his heart pumped from it. as his teeth gritted together. Suddenly she broke off from her monologue,

noticing Frederick's preoccupation with the ring, and obviously disturbed by it. Oh, I'm sorry, am I distracting you? She ceased playing with it, but her sense of apprehension only fuelled his sordid desire. But no, not at all. Frederick took a deep breath, then relaxed back in his chair.

No matter how much he desired to crush that silky white, throat no matter how much he yearned to see that look of horror in her beautiful face as he throttled the life from her he knew that he could never murder in his own home that would be amateur yeah the fear of getting caught was exhilarating but the reality of it was a terrifying prospect he knew what happened to people like him in prison especially when on a few occasions he'd done more than just murder his victims man woman or child leaning forward frederick inquired so well Um, what is this RSF exactly?

The Romani Support Fund, she answered, obviously puzzled that he'd not been listening. Romani as in Gypsy, Frederick asked sternly. Yes, exactly. You know a great many gypsy travellers are persecuted against simply for their beliefs. We do all we can to combat this by raising awareness about Romani traditions. We try to help society at large understand that travellers need not be feared. The girl smiled, but she couldn't hide her obvious discomfort or her worry. It was clear that she sensed something unusual about her hosts.

That flicker of fear excited Frederick deeply, but it mixed with a growing anger, a potent combination in any scenario. You want me to give money to that dirty scum? Frederick asked angrily. We're just trying to break down prejudice, the girl answered. Her voice shaking now. Then a fatal mistake followed. In a brief moment of bravery, the girl stood up and looked Frederick squarely in the eyes. Our people deserved to be treated better than... Frederick flew off his chair in a rage, giving in to his urges. Gypsy scum in my house.

One hand wrapped around her throat while the other came crunching down repeatedly onto her face. The sound of cartilage snapping under the force of his blows, as her nose broke in several places, drowned out the garbled noises that the girl produced as she tried to scream, but Frederick's grip did not provide her that luxury. Ah, he didn't stop. Finally, after several minutes of beating the poor girl, Frederick's rage began to lift. She was dead and unrecognisable. And of course he felt no remorse.

In fact, he was smiling to himself, exhilarated and filled with pleasure. but then the reality sank in he'd just murdered someone in his own house another rule broken our panic took over the floor was covered in blood as was the chair she'd sat on her DNA would be everywhere right he had to slow down think clearly he was smarter than this way smarter everything would have to go the carpet the chair even the wallpaper and the out of the would go for the hallway too. Everything she'd touched or might have touched had to be replaced. But what of the body? Well, that was not so simple. He'd have to dispose of it somehow.

After calming his nerves, Frederick dragged the girl's corpse through the hallway. Her one's beautiful blonde hair now soaked in blood. Her features are a palted mess. He felt no remorse, no sense of pity or guilt. Dragging the girl by the feet he occasionally.

he felt the snap or stretch of a ligament as he pulled her into the bathroom. With a concerted effort, he threw her lifeless cadaver into the white porcelain bath, panting heavily. Now the bathroom would need to go as well. In order to avert suspicion, he'd have to take the body out in pieces and bury it somewhere. In the garden shed there was an axe and a hacksaw, which he knew would get the job done. Covered in blood, Frederick had to take a quick shower. in order to step outside and get the tools he needed just in case he was seen he had to be expertly careful from now on if he wanted to get out of this mess it was easy enough to remove the blood

superficially from his skin while standing on the girl's corpse while showering was a little awkward frederick took great pleasure in it digging his heels into a body with delight laughing to himself as the water washed the blood from his hands and face took an hour to cut the body up into manageable but he dismembered bodies many times before and after a great amount of effort the job was done Placing the head and arms in a thick black bin bag with the torso in a large plastic storage box and the legs in another bag Frederick showered once more and then nonchalantly placed the bags and box into the boot of his car Which sat eagerly in the driveway Frederick was always doing gardening work at strange hours and the moving of a box in a few bags this late in the evening

did not look out of the ordinary. By now it was well into the night, and after driving for fifteen minutes, he reached the edge of town, bemoaning his luck as he passed the Rossier farm with that beautiful orchard in the back. He'd take care of that later. There was no way he was going to let anyone stop him

from winning his sixth annual gardening award. The town which Frederick lived in was surrounded by lush countryside, but at night it took on a more menacing form. Not to Frederick, of course. He laughed at himself, knowing that it was he that people should be frightened of, but nonetheless driving through the lonely country roads with the dismembered body of a gypsy girl in his car for company, well, gave him

occasional pause. He drove carefully and all the roads were deserted at this time of night. He didn't wish to draw unneeded attention towards himself or his recently deceased passenger. Knowing the area well, he immediately headed for the old Corey, which sat off an abandoned road. It would be a little difficult to get to, as nature had claimed it through the years of neglect, but no one ever went there, and the water which now filled it was a perfect place to discard a body. Bad luck and frustration again. As he approached the quarry, Frederick noticed a car driving off of the road ahead towards his desired destination. And he couldn't believe his luck.

What could someone possibly be doing here at this time of night? something unwholesome in any case it looked like the driver had a scrawny old man for company in the back seat hicks frederick thought to himself angrily he'd not have minded dealing with both of them but his current situation was his priority he had to dispose of the body and get back to the house to begin the clean-up as quickly as possible there existed in his mind no doubt that the police will begin investigating the girl's disappearance within a day or so may take him a week to replace and clean the blood-soaked carpets wallpaper and bathroom and it had to be done without arousing suspicion this meant finding similar old wallpaper and used carpets so that if the police did enter his house it wouldn't appear as if he'd suspiciously replaced anything he had to focus though the body was the priority now there was nothing else for it he was going to have to bury the body somewhere

and hope for the best perhaps he could return when the missing person's case group cold and then he could figure out a more efficient way of dealing with the remains. After taking a number of shortcuts away from the quarry and navigating a number of woodland areas and fields, Frederick finally found a suitable location to dispose of the girl. The car climbed up a single-track dirt road as the suspension struggled with the uneven surface. For a moment he thought he heard something move in the box behind him, but it was obvious that the contents were just being thrown around a little by the drive. Frederick was not a superstitious man, but he remembered a story his mother had told him as a child

about it being bad luck to turn a gypsy away from your door. Well, he'd done a little more than turn her away. Frederick was amused by this. Pulling into the side of the road under an old oak tree, he stared up at the night sky through his sunroof observing its claw-like branches, which stretched out over. ahead across the entire track. It was pitch black, with no street lamps to illuminate the way, but Frederick had come prepared, bringing both a shovel and a torch with him. Our nervousness began to creep into his thinking. What if someone was here too? What if someone saw the girl at his

door? How could he have been so amateur? Pulling the box containing the girl's torso out of the car, he once more smiled to himself. He really really, he really, really thought it was worth it he'd not enjoyed killing someone so much since that little boy under the Mansfield bridge three years earlier disappearing into the woods with the large box was difficult in the end he had to drag it behind him with one hand so that he could use the other to light the way with the torch there was something bothering him though something which he'd forgotten it was just on the verge of his awareness he was sure it would come back to him eventually but it remained there, sticking into him like a thorn in his mind.

Three trips later, through the undergrowth between closed-knit trees, over a couple of streams, and stumbling generally about in the dark, Frederick had managed to move all of the body parts from the car, placing them under a tree about twenty minutes into the woods. The place was substantially overgrown, and it was clear that no one visited here regularly. Surely the corpse would not be discovered here. A confidence began to build inside him, the feeling that, at the very least, no one should find her body for years to come, and by then it would be rotten.

Frederick considered this a suitable ending for a gypsy girl. The ground was difficult to dig, held together as it was with roots and wild grass, but with each shovel of earth and fallen leaves this difficulty was not Frederick's main concern. that niggling thought of having forgotten something important kept racing through the back of his mind after an hour or so the hole was deep enough and he emptied the torso from the box into it followed quickly by the legs head and arms staring down at his handiwork frederick was most satisfied and while grinning from ear to ear reliving the ecstasy in his mind of killing and cutting up the girl into pieces he suddenly realized what he'd forgotten. Sticking out amongst the severed body parts was a hand,

and on that hand was the girl's ring. Oh, he was relieved. It had been worrying him that he'd forgotten something important, but it was just the desire for that ring, the desire to have something which that beautiful girl had been so affectionate about, something that turned him on, the desecration of whatever memories or sense, sentiment that ring held for her, now kept by her killer. But it was risky. He'd never done that

before. Taking mementos was a mistake. He knew this. He knew that numerous killers had been caught for that very reason. But sitting there in that muddy hole, as if beckoning him towards it, was a trinket he simply could not resist. In fact, the urge to possess it was almost as great as the urge he'd felt to kill her. Well, this was unusual, but Frederick uncharacteristically dismissed those worries. Shimmered under the light of the torch, and he thought to himself for a moment that it appeared as if new,

far removed from its worn and worthless initially impression bag of the house. He had to have it. Jumping into the hole, he grabbed the finger and tugged greedily at the ring. Again and again he twisted and poured it. but he just would not come off. As he pushed and squeezed and contorted and forced with all his strength to remove the ring, something shook him.

It was the fear of being caught, and it had been produced by a familiar sound. A car was driving somewhere nearby. What sounded like the continual grunt of a powerful engine accompanied by the sound of wheels on ground, spurred Frederick into action. Grabbing the shovel, he places foot on the. the silky white hand and severed the finger from it.

Pocketing the finger with the ring still attached, he clambered out of the hole and began to fill it in, burying the girl's remains as quickly as possible. The engine noise grew louder, as it seemed to be nearing from some undecipherable direction. He simply couldn't figure out where the vehicle was coming from. Perhaps there was another road nearby of which he was unaware. as what's increasingly sounded like a ferociously powerful truck drew closer and closer finally light split the trees illuminating frederick's hideous accomplishments headlights closer and closer still the woods were now bright with a luminous white light which temporarily left frederick feeling blinded but despite its obvious proximity he still couldn't understand where it was coming from It was as if the light was darting through the densely populated trees, with the sound of roots, bushes and branches heaving and cracking as they gave way to the vehicle's unrelenting

brute force. Now he found himself running, but not before grabbing the bags, throwing them and the shovel into the box and making for his car. The monstrous roar of the engine was now upon him, and the blinding light surely came from only metres behind. This was it. He was caught. Frederick was terrified.

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Please play responsibly. If you have questions or concerns about your gambling or someone close to you, please contact Connix Ontario at 1866-531-2600 to speak to an advice. free of charge. BenMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with iGaming Ontario. Then, as if a beacon of hope, his car came into view, sitting as it was at the edge of the woods. Making his way towards it, immediately the noise and light behind seemed to follow, but his slight changing direction had managed to buy him some time. Breaking through the tree line, finally Frederick was at the car. As he unlocked the car, he fumbled for his keys,

falling into the driver's seat the light was now on the road and as he frantically pulled himself out of the car to pick up the box he'd left outside he caught a glimpse of what lay ahead it looked like points of light as you would expect to come from the front of a large truck but some shape from behind the light contorted and moved unnaturally within something with purpose something with form but it most certainly was not man-made it's grossly Thrones echoed out through the trees. Somehow Frederick knew. It wanted him.

Throwing the box into the backseat, he plunged the key with force into the ignition and began to reverse as quickly as possible down the inclined road. The car swerved and slid on the mud as it rushed down the hill, several times threatening to crean straight off the road into one of several ditches. If that happened, whatever was in that light would be. be upon him. The light was now only a few metres away, and as it approached, Frederick could feel an intense heat coming from it. The noise, now surely no car engine, was a deafening crescendo of anger and hate, of metal upon metal, nails upon slate. As its furorore increased

and the light intensified to a blinding haze, Frederick began to weep, crying like a small child. But now, he was out. The car spun around as it reached the crossroad, throwing the car into first he hit the accelerator, speeding off in the direction of town as fast as he could. Almost delirious with fear, Frederick raced home. He didn't care about drawing attention to himself, he just wanted the safety of his own property, his own little bubble. And soon enough he was there. Once home he fixed himself a stiff drink, and after the self-persuasion of denying the existence of the unnatural light in the woods, the reality of the blood-stained lounge, hallway and bathroom brought a level of sobriety to his mind. Over the next three hours, as he bleached the bathroom and tore up the carpets in the offending rooms, Frederick persuaded himself that his strange encounter had been entirely due to the stress of the situation.

Yeah, that was it. A stress, purely and simply. He cursed that he had ever laid eyes on that girl, but as he damned her very existence under his breath, he took comfort knowing that he had at least got her ring, that thing which she loved, taken by false, cherished by her killer. For some reason the ring drew him to it. He derived great pleasure knowing that he'd not only brutally murdered a gyman,

a group of people he had utter disdain for but he possessed something which meant a great deal to her and possibly even her family oh this made him very happy he just wished he could have been there when her parents were told she was dead to see their faces to frederick that would be bliss with that thought in his mind he slept well that night the following day however Frederick's greatest fears were realised. In the afternoon another unwelcome and unscheduled knock came to his door. It was the police. They were making routine inquiries, asking if anyone had encountered the girl,

as she'd been seen last by one of Frederick's neighbours fundraising on their street. He played it cool, though. He showed great concern for the poor girl, and even asked if he could have a photo of her so that he could organise the local neighbourhood watch, make copies posting them around the neighbourhood. The police bought it, and Frederick was delighted.

But that delight did not last long. Two days later, the police came calling again. Luckily Frederick had replaced the carpets and bleached the bathroom by this time, so it appeared as if nothing was amiss. But he could tell that the police were curious. They asked to come in, at which Frederick obliged, and after a few questions they politely left. Perhaps they were wanting to see inside everyone's house in the street, as that was the last

place she was supposed to be. But Frederick couldn't take any chances, and one of the police officers, a woman by the name of McClellan, seemed to be a little too interested in his house. He had no choice but to bring forward his plans and replace the bathroom suite and all other items the girl may have come into contact with. If the police ended up running a forensic investigation of the house, He had to remove the possibility of them finding anything. Marshed to Frederick Sugar-in,

this certainly had to include the finger. But the more he considered it, no matter how we're logical it seemed, perhaps he would keep the ring. It was a dangerous course of action, but there was just something deep within which seemed to compel him to retain it. Unfortunately, he'd been unable so far to remove the ring from the finger

and had been preoccupied with the disposal of the old carpet an armchair, while covering everything else in bleach. Any trace of the girl had to go. To make matters worse, it was only a couple of days before the two-week judging window, when the Garden Association panel could appear at any time to reprise its display, and this was exactly what Frederick did not need. He had to win that prize. The finger was in a locked drawer in the cellar.

As soon as the police were gone, Frederick rushed down the stairs, open the drawer and gazed at the now pallid finger wrapped in that sliver of gold. Holding the finger in his hand, Frederick was surprised by the change in its appearance. He knew that the human body goes through a series of changes as it rots, but it was uncanny. The finger now resembled that of an old woman's. Furthermore, the ring which had stubbornly clung to its former owner now simply slipped off with ease. Holding it in his hands, aroused by the thought of its emotional value to the girl, Frederick knew beyond all doubt that he must keep it.

The house was too dangerous a place to hide the ring, but perhaps, just perhaps, burying it in the garden provides sufficient obscurity for now. Yes, how pleasing it was to think of his beautiful garden, the roses, the carnations, the vibrant green lawn, being once again voted as the best in the entire town by the association, all the while housing that relic of Frederick's most recent convent. conquest. Strolling down the garden path, trowel in hand, he breathed in the aromas and pleasant

surroundings of his making, and decided upon reflection to bury the ring between the roses. Lush and red, it seemed the perfect place for it. Deeing a small hole between two long stems, Frederick committed the ring to the ground before returning to the house. He had intended to dispose of the girl's finger immediately, but upon crossing the threshold into his house, he had house, Frederick was overcome with an entirely unpleasant sensation. Walking along his hallway, a distinct feeling of nausea began to pervade his senses. With each step further into his home, the discomfort increased in intensity, and before Frederick knew what was going on, he'd passed out on his bed, flawed by sickness and an accompanying seething pain in his left eye. Darkness fell,

and Frederick's sickness was now overtaken by an all-encompassing. feeling of weakness. The night grew heavy, and although he woke several times throughout, he was unable to leave his bed. He lay there in the pitch black night, paralyzed by illness. It was as if his limbs were made of lead, and he did not possess the strength to so much as lift them. Fading in and out of consciousness, Frederick began to dwell on the terrifying thought that he may be dying. As he lay there contemplating this unwelcome idea, a sound somewhere, in the house caught his attention. A creek, a most certain

creak of a floorboard. Frederick quickly concluded that he was delirious and that the creaking sound finding its way to him in the darkness was in fact an hallucination. That was it, surely. Perhaps this was food poisoning

or perhaps it was a spontaneous migraine. Yes, he'd heard of a boy in his school year whom the doctors believed was dying only for him to recover in a matter of days. The doctors were convinced that it had been an acute, spontaneous migraine, and his body had gone into shock due to the pain, partially shutting down.

Yes, that was it. This was a migraine. As painful and sickening as it was, Frederick knew he just had to wait it out. Perhaps he'd recover enough to call a doctor in the morning. But then he loathed the idea of having anyone in the house, while evidence of his deeds still remained. It was just too much of a risk.

Another creek. well this time accompanied by subsequent noise. Something familiar, a noise which Frederick had heard on numerous occasions, but not in this context. It was rhythmic, yet subtle, and occasionally followed by another Creek of the floorboards, two sounds which seemed to fill the darkness. Realisation.

The creek was a shifting of weight. The accompanying noise was a slow scuffling of bare feet on carpet and hard floor. cumbersome, sluggish footsteps, as if the actions of a drunk or sleepwalker. Frederick lay there helpless. If there was indeed an intruder in his house, there was little he could do about it.

He just hoped that it was all in his mind. The most he could do was lift his head slightly and peer towards the open doorway in his room, which led to the hallway. The shuffling noise continued slowly. It certainly sounded really enough, but thankfully in the darkness he could not see anything. Of course, there wasn't one single light on in the house.

There was no way that an intruder could see without a torch, and if they had one, he would have seen the light himself in the hallway. Frederick let out a sigh of relief. He'd long held the fear that someone connected to one of his victims may come calling one day, looking for revenge. On several occasions he'd even been moved to investigate a knock or creak in the house, house, only to realize that each noise was merely the sound of a normal, empty house at night. He was sure now that his illness was merely exacerbating this insecurity.

While contemplating this, Frederick became aware that the shuffling footsteps had ceased. Perhaps he was getting better. Yes, he was sure he wasn't feeling quite as nauseous as he had done before, but he still felt too drained to move. A good night's sleep was in order. lying there Frederick's mind slowly began to piece together the horror of his situation

what little lights slipped through the blinds from the streetlights outside slowly allowed Frederick's twisted brain to make sense of the shadows and darkness which lay ahead there was a reason that footsteps had stopped there in the hallway

in that void of night someone stood motionless staring at Frederick lying helpless on his bed He tried to gasp in horror, but his voice had left him, his mouth dry and heartbeat palpable. Frederick could not quite decipher the figure in the hall's features, nor could he tell whether it was a man or a woman. One thing he knew beyond all certainty was that it was watching him. The person's eyes were almost visible, faint but frighteningly present, a cold, continuous stare. He assumed that the intruder would attack at some point,

lunging towards him. But as the minutes passed, it simply remains still, standing there in the darkness. Suddenly it let out a subtle and yet audible groan. Not quite a word, but as if it were trying to say something. Then it slowly turned to its right and shuffled down the stairs into the cellar. Frederick lay for at least an hour staring into the cellar. the hall, waiting for his guest to make its way back up the stairs and to finish him off.

But nothing was heard, no sound produce or sight given. It was as if the figure had made its home in the dank coldness of the cellar. The agonising pain returned in Frederick's left eye. So overwhelming was it that despite his attempts to remain awake and regain his strength to await that shambling, shuffling visitors return from the bowels of the house, he couldn't resist his body's weakness. He passed out. The next day, Frederick awoke. The sickening nausea in his stomach and the pain in his left eye had disappeared, and it seemed as though he'd regained most of his strength, although a distant, drained feeling remained within. A fogginess clouded his memory of the previous night, and while the pain had diminished,

the repercussions of his sudden illness had not. He was blind in his left eye, gazing into a bathroom mirror, Frederick was presented with an horrific sight. His left eye was clouded white, as if the pigment had been completely removed, and his face had a strikingly haggard look to it, as if he'd aged ten or fifteen years overnight. Panic set in. He needed to see a doctor as soon as possible. However, he would use the trip to dispose of the girl's finger, which was still locked in the drawer down in the cellar. Of course. The cellar. The memory of that shuffling figure in the hallway returned, and Frederick found himself reluctant to venture down below. What if it was still there?

Waiting. Waiting for him. After showering and getting dressed, not without difficulty, adjusting to the loss of one eye, he became aware of the marks on his floor. The unmistakable sight of soil dragged across the carpet and hard wood. now Frederick knew the previous night was no hallucination someone had broken into his house someone had watched him lying ill for some unknown reason

and then hid in the cellar or perhaps he'd been poisoned that would account for everything he would show whoever was down there that he was not a man to be trifled with even with one eye he was twice as dangerous as anyone else downing at the top of the stairs to the cellar Frederick held a large butcher's knife in one hand, a metallic silver torch in the other.

He was not used to the experience of fear, other than the fear of being caught, but now Frederick was filled with apprehension, not just for what lurked below, but also for what lurked within. What kind of illness or poison was this? Taking a deep breath he slowly descended the stairs, his torchlight illuminating the stone floors and grey-bricked walls. The cellar was the only place in Frederick's house that could have been considered cluttered, with unused pieces of furniture

strewn around the large floor space. This, combined with columns of other junk and papers, provided the perfect place for a rather macabre game of hide-and-seek. Frederick was not pleased. After 15 minutes of uneasy exploration, he was finally satisfied that the intruder must have left after he passed out.

scheming the contents of the cellar one last time, with the yellow circular light emanating from his torch, two marks on the floor stood out as unfamiliar. Approaching them quickly became clear what the marks were. Two muddied footprints standing in front of an old worn desk, the same desk which contained the gypsy girl's severed finger. Frederick rushed to the desk drawer and found that it had been forced open. Taking another deep breath, he looked inside,

and realized immediately that the finger was gone. A million thoughts rushed through Frederick's perverted mind. Why had they taken the finger? Was he going to be blackmailed? Was someone going to toy with him before setting the families of his victims loose? Should he expect to knock at the door at any moment? Coincidences can be shockingly unnerving. Just as the thought filtered through his mind,

the front door was indeed knocked on several times by his own. yet another unscheduled visitor. Frederick ascended the stairs like a madman, clutching the butcher's knife ready to claim another victim in his rage. Rushing towards the door, he grasped the knife at dear life behind his back, and opened it. Standing there were three familiar faces, the faces of the local Garden Association's judging committee.

They were here to judge his garden, that which he'd worked on all year round, to produce in his opinion his best display yet the judges were obviously shot by frederick's appearance specifically his white clouded eye and just as he began his usual attempts of manipulation and charm to persuade them that all was well the pangs of nausea returned along with a searing pain now in his right eye he had to return to bed immediately the judges were of course more than willing to appraise frederick's garden without his presence and completely understood that he required rest, especially given his terrible appearance. Frederick mustered a pathetic smile,

and on closing the door, staggered to his bedroom, not before opening his window to allow him to hear the thoughts of the judge, you thought. I thought of calling a doctor entered his mind once more, but he'd only do that once his beautiful garden had been judged. Nothing could ruin that. His limbs began to feel heavy once more, and the pain in his right eye was almost unbearable. He lay on his bed, again helpless, listening intently to what the judging committee had to say, expecting a glowing and spectacular appraisal. Something was wrong. As soon as the judges entered the front garden, Frederick recoiled in horror,

as it became increasingly apparent that they were not impressed by this year's effort. One judge exclaimed, Quite awful, while another described it as a total mess. Frederick was not having this. How dare they question his display? With all of his will, he pulled himself back out of bed, staggering in agony down the hall towards and then out of the door. The daylight stung his eye, and the pain seemed to grow with intensity

as he circled the side of the house and out into the front garden. What he saw sickened him. It was a mess. The lawn was dying, covered in patches of brown, dried grass, The roses are wilted, their petals rotten around the edges. Now, Frederick's prize flower beds were covered in black spots as if a terrible disease had attacked every plant overnight. That's not possible.

Frederick screamed as he staggered drunkenly towards the judges, grabbing one of them by the shirt collar, dribbling a rancid liquid onto their shoulder. Who did this? I'll kill them. I'll kill them, those dirty gypsy bastards. Frederick foamed at the mouth, wheezing while the... the three judges' faces turned to fear and aversion disgusted at the sight of such a man clearly deranged by illness.

Turning his anger towards the judges, Frederick chased them from his now withered and spoiled garden. If he'd had the strength, he would have happily killed all three of them, but the sickness and pain within forced him to seek out his bed once more. The local town doctor, Dr. Miller, visited Frederick that day, but even he couldn't fathom the nature or cause of the illness. Frederick's condition seemed to be completely erratic. One day his eyesight would return, and he would appear as youthful as he always had. The next, his eye would cloud over again, and he'd be bedridden, reduced to having the physical

strength of a sick man ravaged with age. Yet he refused to be admitted to hospital, terrified by the possibility of the police finding evidence that he killed the girl. On the days when he was well, he slowly replaced the wallpaper and bathroom, moving as best he could any trace of his previous victim. One of Frederick's neighbours, a woman by the name of O'Malley, observed to Dr. Miller that Frederick's health seemed to correspond with a bizarre phenomenon taking place in his garden.

On the days he was well, the garden would be returned to its former glory with a luscious green lawn and wonderful floral display. Yet on the days when he was ill, the garden would rot. It was as if the two were connected by an invisible bond. While Dr. Miller could not account for the bizarre nightly changes in Frederick's garden, he of course dismissed this observation as idle town chat, superstition at its worst. On the last few days of the Garden Association's judging window, Frederick grew increasingly ill. The garden wilted, as did his health.

As pockets of dying grass became a permanent fixture on his lawn, so did painful gangreness soars appear in numbers all over his face. some body. As the flowers died, Frederick's hair slowly thinned and his teeth began to fall out, and as the black spots claimed every plan in the garden, Frederick's strength left him. On the day that Paddy Rossier's orchard-themed garden won the town's garden of the ear ward, Frederick lay helpless, unable to move from his bed, frail and bereft of the strength which had allowed him to kill so many innocent victims. Blinded, his eyes, clouded and useless.

As the night drew in, something stirred in the cellar. At first it was faint, uncertain, but after a time Frederick knew the truth, someone was down there. With the shuffling footstep, he lay paralysed by pain

as somebody slowly climbed the cellar stairs. This time he had no hope of seeing the intruder. It didn't matter that the house was in darkness. Frederick's world was now of a permanent night. As the shuffling feet edged their way with unsure footing from the cellar door to the edge of his bed, he tried to scream. But no sound was produced, nor any mercy given. It was the town doctor who found Frederick.

And what he discovered remains to this day a medical mystery. The garden which he'd taken such careful pride in had been overrun by a rare black fungus, which had systematically killed every blade of grass, every flower, every sign of life. The autopsy showed that the same fungus had somehow contaminated Frederick's body. It was assumed that somehow he caught it while tending to his garden. It had rotted him from the inside out,

causing massive amounts of damage to his nervous system. A terrible slow and painful death. However, it was not the presence of this mould in Frederick's brain, which puzzled doctors and forensic examiners alike. It was the contents of his stomach which provoked such outrage from the townspeople. For inside Frederick's stomach, it was found a solitary finger

out of a young girl who'd recently disappeared, unremarkable in appearance, save for an unusual golden ring which it wore in death, as it had done, in life. My house sits at the threshold of evil. by James Caligal. There's a saying in the new town I've moved into,

Don't move here. Well, I wish I could have found that out sooner rather than later. But unfortunately, I'd found myself in the clutches of a messy divorce that forced me to move to this small town in southern Illinois, a town called Orbondale. Well, that alone wasn't bad, I mean, besides the fact that I had to live in Illinois, but that alone wasn't the reason for the horrific nightmare that I found myself stuck in.

My current trouble started on the day of moving into an old house, built with two stories, but unpainted and with signs of rot, desecrating the outside wood. I had on my hands a nasty case of a fixer-upper, but, well, that might be therapeutic for me, for the time being. Yes, I needed to stop thinking about her and how she'd run off with my brother. I thought perhaps working with my hands

will be beneficial for me in the end. If only that would have been the case. I went out of the back of the house and took a good look at the rocky cliffs behind, dropping down some 50 to 60 feet. Down below was a beautiful stretch of trees that were already changing to the luscious colours of autumn, red, orange and yellow. The crisp air was already nipping at my face. I thought I could work with this, just have to get a heater from a bedroom. nevertheless i was going to have to get as much of the essential stuff running as quickly as possible i got the house quite cheap for a good reason there was no electricity gas or any of the other essential

stuff that we need these days i was soon worried about when i'd get to take my next shower well if you ask anyone in town they'd say that the house had been abandoned for all they knew I had a battery-powered heater which I hope might last through the night. First time I'd ever use one of these. I preferred to sleep in a sleeping bag on top of my bed instead of a simple blanket. That's just about all I could manage at this time. Now, just as I was about to fall asleep, I heard something outside. A loud groaning sound that resembled the sound of an elk pierced through the woods.

There was something completely off about it. the echoing never ceased and it kept travelling through my house as well as across the surrounding land never was it impeded by the trees or the walls definitely spooky but I didn't bother to worry about it for the time being as far as I was concerned

it was just the natural wildlife outside after I'd finished making some instant coffee the next morning I went out to the back to taking the fresh woodland air it seemed like the best kind of thing to do to get used to this new lifestyle that I'd found myself in. Upon stepping towards the edge, I stepped on something slimy, or meaty even.

Hidden in the tall grass was the carcass of a mutilated animal. It may have been some sort of gopher, that I'm not too certain of due to it appearing to have been ripped completely apart. I wasn't happy about this discovery. Already my new boots were getting blood tracked all over them. Oh, damn it.

I shouted angrily. I was well aware that I wasn't going to get anywhere with cleaning them here. The best I could do was to scrape the blood and meat off on the grass. This wasn't a pleasant sight. I was actually angry that something had killed its prey in my yard. I'm going to need to get something from the store to deal with this problem, I said to myself. After I went back in to get ready, I heard something far off in the distance, far out in the woods. making a wailing shrill call.

I went to the window and looked out. There was nothing, just like before. At the supermarket, I was getting some raccoon repellent and some other supplies to help me fix up the house. Once I garden all that, I stood in line, and immediately I ended up striking up a conversation with this man behind me. Ah, see you're doing a little home improvement, eh? I turned around, trying to hide.

hide my nerves. I'd been bugging me the entire time since I'd heard that sound. Oh, at least, yes, a little something to get that water system running. I believe I have well water. He chuckled and said, I'm Nate, and extended his hand. I did the same, and as we shook hands, I replied, Henry. So, um, you mentioned that your water isn't working. Why is that? I, um, I felt a little self-conscious about mentioning that house. The one that's all dilapidated, and I saw for the rest of the town with its vintage homes that have been kept nice and well decorated, while mine is this rotten blight. I, um, I don't know.

Ah, you don't know? He asked again. Yeah, yeah, it's just that I bought the wrecked house by the cliffside. Well, his expression changed so rapidly once I'd said that, but he asked again, clearly for confirmation of what I'd said. You don't mean, oh my God, they're still trying to sell that place? What's wrong? I asked, becoming increasingly unnerved by this conversation's sudden turn. We told me that we should check out first, before he explained further about an old town legend in the area.

Once that was over, we stood outside. the store and talked. He had such a grim tone in his voice that he hadn't had before. If I were you, I wouldn't stay in that place for a single night. Oh, you could offer me millions of dollars and I wouldn't do it. Why is that? That house isn't in a good location, so to speak. There's been a string of murders tied up with it. Upon hearing that, I became agitated, but the realtor hadn't told me about that. Yeah, I am already stayed there last night, and nothing happened. Ah, could be a week, could be a month.

Shoot, it could take a whole year before that thing in the woods just beyond the cliff size takes notice that you're in its house. Well, back it up. What thing are you talking about? Yeah, there's a creature living in those woods, man. When it finds out that you're inside the house. It won't be happy. When I'd say trying to get that place up and running again

is going to be a dead giveaway of your presence. Well, I can't live without water and electricity. He cut me off. You shouldn't be living in that house, period. If you don't want to end up in the obitories in an early grave, I suggest you pack up your things and book it. I can't. I have nowhere else to go.

Hey, the streets would be kind. to you. I can tell you that there's plenty of motels around here that'll let you stay. Go to the Auburndale Motel down Westshire Avenue. The guy who runs the place knows about that house and he'll let you stay for a few days for free so you can get yourself back on your feet without worrying about your pocket change. I took a few steps back, gripping tighter around my bags. I was trying my best not to look so visibly angry at him, but my face must have betrayed me. We could tell that I wasn't happy and said, Hey, I'll live here.

When you're ready to get out there real quick, you can stay here for a day or so. My wife might get a little grouchy, but she'll understand the situation. He handed me a quickly written note then and took a few more things back from me, concluding that this conversation was over. We exchanged goodbyes,

but deep down I was hoping I wouldn't have to deal with him again. I wasn't about to abandon my home over some silly old town legend. back home I set everything down on the floor at the front door and went into the kitchen to see if I could cook up some coffee packets I was going to need a triple shot espresso for this day I had a lot of work to do on those pipes well that was easier said than done

once I had my coffee and started working on some of the pipes down in the basement I struggled to deal with what I found all these weird items from companies stretching all the way back to the thirties vintage Coca-Cola cans, an old tire-wheel that looked like it belonged to a car from the 20s, and a bunch of other garbage that I wasn't keen on keeping around. Although I thought a can of Coca-Cola might be worth something. Well, once I got to work on the pipes, I took one off and saw that it was completely rusted through. I'm glad I bought the appropriate size for the replacement.

The real problem was how I was barely able to get any more pipes off. and they were so rusted that a lot of them almost looked like they merged into one. Well, there was also this sticky, brownish goo that covered certain corners of the basement. One particularly nasty corner in the front right of the house was set with an organized circle of candles and a bowl filled with that brown goo. What exactly it was, I wasn't ditching to find out. Part of me wanted to clean this stuff up, just in case it was toxic, but then again, Maybe I should hire some professionals to fix my house after all.

I was losing motivation fast to try and deal with all these problems. I just wanted my utilities back on. I did give up. I walked back upstairs to make a few phone calls in the meantime. But I kept feeling an unusual chill down my spine every time I took a look out of the back window of the kitchen. For a brief moment, I thought I saw a light blink through some of the trees. When it was already dusk outside The sun had gone down

But the light was still partially there What was even more frightening Was it looked as if the blinking light Was getting closer to my house Well that night those words from Nate Haunted me While I locked my door Because at this point I was having second feelings

About staying here Oh how I wish he wouldn't have told me all that stuff Well thankfully Everything was quiet for the first years. I did manage to fall asleep until that is around 4 a.m. I say 4 a.m. because that's when I was interrupted from my sleep by a piercing elk scream. I jumped out of my bed, a rush of adrenaline hitting me quick. That sounded like it was inside my house. I heard a crashing sound below. Going downstairs, I was just about to go down to the basement,

but realized that I needed a weapon if I was to deal with some home intruder. I ran into the kitchen to grab a knife, but briefly glanced out of the window. I saw something rushing off towards the cliff. Once it did, it started walking down the pathway that led down, and its hand was a staff with a candle-lit lantern attached at the top. It was draped in a cloak with a hood obscuring its head

from my limited field of vision. Well, from what I could see poking out from the third, hood, there were two long tusks that were probably a foot long each. But I could have sworn that I saw something else, something like a mask, an animal skull mask. But it was gone before I could even process what I was seeing in deeper detail. Well, after that encounter, I quickly called 911. As I was waiting for them, I wanted to quickly check the basement. Going down there, I didn't see any of the windows broken.

but I knew that he'd come down here because there were pieces of paper scattered all over the place, as well as one of the shelves that was attached to the walls having been torn out. Creeped out by the darkness down there, and worried about my intruder coming back. I went back up and stayed outside the front, waiting for the flashing lights of the cops. A cop did eventually show up. He looked apprehensive with his sunken blue eyes and the large moustaff like Joseph Stalin. honestly though he looked as if he was the man himself but he had three long scars around his neck that his collar wasn't quite covering you're the homeowner i said yes to his question i was

expecting him to do a quick search of the house but he didn't do anything of the sort instead proceeding to lecture me which i wasn't expecting you decided to move into the house yeah i hate to tell you this son, but I already know that there's nothing we can do to help you. I was practically appalled by the inaction and lack of sympathy for what I'd gone through. Excuse me,

someone broke into my house and you're not even going to try and figure out who or how they got in. He rolled his eyes and, with a raspy voice, told me that he was already done with this conversation, saying, did you see the suspect?

Kind of. What did it look like? The fact that you used the word it instead of him or them told me enough that this wasn't the first time that cops had been caught out to this house. They were well aware of the situation. They were wearing a cloak. So, um, like I said, there's nothing that we can do to help you. Whatever this thing is, it's beyond our abilities to handle.

You'd be better off taking your chances up with getting help from a private. an advocate, wasn't able to sort back to this man. Well, he just went back to his cop car and drove away. The apathy that I was experiencing was jarring, and I never expected the police to be so disconnected from my situation. But perhaps my intruder was something that the police were not equipped to deal with, and they decided it wasn't worth the effort to even try. That didn't make it any better, despite the rationale.

And I kept thinking about Nate. It told me something about how the town didn't like this house. Part of me felt like I should adhere to their fears about the home and jump ship. But I wasn't in the mood to try and start all over again. Maybe I should give it one more night and spend the day trying to figure out how this thing got into the basement to begin with. The next morning I made it my mission to look around through the basement and figure out how this thing had got in.

From what I could remember, it stood on two legs and it was not going to garner any attention from the police. I wasn't in a position where I could move out immediately, and I wasn't ready to abandon the house yet. I'd already spent the money on buying it, and I wasn't exactly keen on ending it this way. But no matter where I looked in the basement, I saw nothing except the piles of rubbish and trash

that littered and were stacked up onto the walls. I spent possibly three hours just trying to look for something, but still I saw that it was nothing but that brown goo and debriefers. I sat down on the steps, resting my head back uncomfortably, but having no will to try and go out the rest of them. I took several deep breaths, my hands aching from the hours of working with them. My God, this sucks, I muttered in frustration. I took a quick survey of the room around me, wondering if maybe I was going about this all wrong. Perhaps there was indeed a hole nearby.

I'd thought that maybe there was a window that was something. cluttered over, but perhaps there was actually a genuinely large hole that the creature was crawling through. So I spent another two hours just throwing shelves and bookcases around, trying to clear away as much as I could from the walls. And after doing all of that I found, nothing, I sighed, defeatedly. Practically on the verge of tears, I gave up and went upstairs to rest in my bed. After all of that, I couldn't find any entrance as to how this creature could come in. And a part of me had another fear working its way into me. Would it be back tonight? I didn't have a gun license, so naturally I didn't have a gun. I was going to have to use anything

else that could be a weapon to handle this situation to the best of my abilities. And so something blunt or something sharp would have to make do. To ease my mind, I went out to the town to grab some more tools to work with, and maybe even learn a little bit about my problem. Unfortunately, I wasn't ready to confront Nate about it again, so I guess you could say I went out to get a second opinion. I saw a church, I knew that I could get some information from them, since the building looks like it's been here for decades, possibly even a century. Well, I never like being in a religious building. To me, there was nothing great about these institutions. but I was desperate and I needed answers. Hopefully the new shovel I got would help with searching for holes in my basement.

A pastor noticed that I was looking around and approached me. Hello, have you come to pray? Um, no, no, that wasn't the reason for my visit. I just have some questions about some town law. I wouldn't have chosen this place for something like that. the library is always open to those who want valuable information about the town yeah i know but um i bought the house on the cliff i was hoping that you'd have some knowledge about its history on his face grimaced and i could see the creases of his wrinkles folding as he looked as if he was overwhelmed with a wave of grief his voice at first as sweet as any friendly sympathetic old man could be

now deepened into a serious and slightly colder tone. Get out of that house. He was practically ordering me. Why, though? Well, it's not necessarily the house, it's a problem. It's just that it borders on the realm of something evil in the woods beneath those cliffs. A monster, a being so grotesque that it wiped out all Native American tribes in the area. I sat down on the stairs of the speaker's platform,

and listened as he explained further. In the late 1800s, when this town was finally going up, a rich man who was also an owner of the opium tray going on in China, built one of his homes on that cliffside, the house you currently inhabit. For a few months his staff reported that they, occasionally they'd hear something in the basement or in the attic. Then on one September afternoon, a gardener said he heard something at the edge of the pathway

and decided to go check it out. He never returned. There was no screaming of any sort. It was just as if he'd wandered towards the edge, enter the domain of the woods down below, and, well, vanished. I was curious about the Native Americans, so I asked him about their story. Reports are sketchy.

From what we know, they arrived here sometime in the 1400s. They only lasted for about a year before their entire tribe was wiped out. They weren't even allowed to leave because a subsequent snowstorm ravaged the area, forced them to hunker down. During that time their numbers were being whittled away by the creature in those woods. What is it? Well, at this point I was thinking that it would be something supernatural. Well, this is a church and this was a pastor, so I was expecting something that could, well, would coincide with his fate. It is not from Earth.

It came from the stars and landed here many thousands of years ago, devouring any life forms that come within the vicinity of those woods. And, I hate to say, that house just so happens to be too close to its home. Well, I definitely hadn't expected a pastor of all people to give me that answer. I would have expected an astronomer or biologist to give me that, or maybe more so a conspiracy theorist. is there um nothing i can do to get it out many tried that rich man i mentioned earlier his whole staff was eventually wiped out

he ended up gathering a search party to go into the woods and look for them because the last thing he heard was that they were all being dragged out towards those trees the search party never returned either nothing and no one ever gets out i swallowed I realized that I knew where this was going. Clearly there had to be more to this story, though. How many people have inhabited that house before me? He stroked his chin for a moment and contemplated what he was going to say next. I could tell he wasn't comfortable with what he had to say.

Dozens of people have come and gone. And by gone, I mean they were viciously torn apart by something that hunts people like a ravenous animal, but has the intelligence of something far, aren't human. I believe I remember someone. I think it was the cop. He said something about a family. There have been so many people who were unaware, believing that they were getting a good deal on such a fixer up a house. They ended up to become a just on a list of people on the victim's list. After hearing all of that, they thanked him for the information and realized I had to make a decision. Could I really go back to the house and face off against something that rattled everyone in this town down to their very cause?

A monster that stalks and massacres any who tried to make a home too close to it? Already the day was getting late. I decided to play a game of chance. I went back to the house to spend one more night. If I had another situation with the creature, I'd have to get out. But I was going to keep all of my stuff packed up just to make sure. I was still thinking that I could keep this thing out of the house if I could just find out where it was hiding, that hole in the basement. I kept poking around with the shovel, trying to see if I could cave in a secret entrance somewhere and the walls were on the floor.

Still, I got nothing, and it was already getting late. There was no more light outside, and I was relying heavily on candles at this point. I was just about ready to quit, but I decided to take one more swing at the crumbled flooring. I lifted the shovel high But I accidentally hit the roof in the process I just rammed right through the floorboards on the first floor And I was now really mad with my own stupid decision Here I was destroying my house even further

Trying to figure out if something was getting in through the basement Through a secret passage that no matter where I look for it Seemed impossible There was nothing All the walls were solid God this sucks I shouted in frustration and started swinging the shovel down hard onto the ground.

I kept chipping away at the broken concrete until something caught my eye once my raging moment had passed. I lifted and I moved closer towards a strange formation of different material that didn't match the aging concrete coloring. God, is that a... It was.

It was a bone, the lower jaw of a human skull. Well, my heart was racing and I was just about ready to leave that room right then and there. Grab all of my clothes, get out of this house, and go to that motel that it was told would be a safe place for me. But there was this vibration running through the floor, and all of the cans down there started to shake ever so slightly. Something was moving. I quickly ran behind one of the bookcases that I'd pulled away from the wall, and I hid. As I said, I'm not all that religious. but let's just say that I was praying for certain this time.

The room started to fill with this hushed whispering. I covered my ears, but came to the horrifying realization that they were inside my head. When I peaked around the corner of the bookcase, the wall facing opposite to the stairs had begun to ripple like water. I honestly couldn't understand what was going on. Then a long skeletal hand pierced through,

the brick wall, then the rest of the arm, and then the whole body came through. I'd left my candles burning still, so I was able to get a good look at the monstrosity that stood before me. I'd say it was around six foot five inches. It had appendages that were mostly just bones, with only a little flesh keeping them attached to one another, mainly around the joints. I did see something else. Whatever it was, it was strapped, in black shoulder plating, a large grey robe that covered its leather under armour, and it had large blood-soaked black boots. Its arms were long and fingers were twice the length of a human's. But even after all of that, its face was the most hideous part to look at.

I was trembling just from the sight of its dear skull face, and where its eyes should be, a blue light was emitting. It had two long tusks coming. out from the sides of its lower jaw and two long horns that were curving inwards towards each other just straight above its head. He started walking again after taking its brief look around the room. I quickly retreated back behind the bookcase, hoping it wasn't aware of my presence. It walked with a heavy clanking of its metal boots, went up the stairs, unaware of my existence, and it was scraping something metal against the rotten wood. When I peaked around the corner,

and saw that it had a long broad sword in its left hand. I could hear it walking around the first floor, opening doors. Now I knew for certain that it was looking for me. Now this was nothing more than a nightmare that I just wanted to wake up from. When I moved from my hiding place and went a little closer to the steps, I wonder how long it would take before the creature gave up. Then I heard it ascend to the next floor. I could hear then the thrashing around of my stuff,

and that's what was getting under my skin. It had destroyed all of my things, and now it was waiting for me. Well, I wasn't going to have it. I went up to the first floor, quietly. Then I saw that I still have my gasoline tanks, which were originally meant from mowing the lawn, that I'd left in the living room. With stealthy caution,

I dumped the gasoline all over the first floor as quickly as I could. I was wondering what that creature was doing. I hadn't heard it since it had gone up there. Almost, I whispered to myself. Almost what? A deep snake-like voice came from behind me. I jumped and dropped the gasoline tank.

When I turned around, that thing was standing right behind me, lurking right over me. I took as many steps as I could back towards the wall. Attempting to burn down my house. Pothetic. What are you? It moved closer with the clanking of its boots, making my heart jump each time it did.

I am the eons beyond humanity's time on this world. I roared this world first. until your kind started showing up. You relegated me to my small dwelling, and occasionally tried to take that from me too, but I will not yield. I'm sorry, I didn't know you lived here. I was on the verge of tears

and trying to plead for some sort of mercy from this otherwise malicious entity. It's no issue. I'm an understanding, fellow. It just so happens that I have the taste for human flesh. Realising what that entailed, the creature opened its mouth wide and was about to take a huge chomp out of my face. But I ducked to my left, desperately hoping to find the matches in the kitchen.

The creature howled like an angry elk, chasing after me, walking just like a man. Well, that alone was bizarre. What was in the kitchen, I grabbed the matches. and tried to strike one. The first one failed, so I was forced to pull out another one as the creature increasingly closed the gap between us. They couldn't run, I guess, or maybe it was just so confident that it would catch me. Either way, I had to keep walking backwards out into the hallway

that exited onto the dining room. We briefly walked around in circles, around this old dining-room table, the creature holding up its sword and smashing through it. Finally I managed to light the second one, and then I dropped it to the ground, hoping that this will be it for this thing. Well, I hadn't fought far ahead. I was still stuck in the house. In a panic I used my shoe to quickly kill the flame, hoping that it wouldn't catch any of the

gasoline. I'm running out of matches. It laughed. And it was right. I only had one left. We went back into the kitchen, and the creature relaxed a little. Well, I was almost insulted by how it was taking its leisurely time with me. I desperately kept trying to light another match, but no matter how many times I tried, nothing worked.

It was dead, a dead match. My eyes were so fixated on this creature now that I couldn't run. I'd locked the door earlier, and that would give it the time it needed to grab me and finish me off. It was over for me. The creature laughed some more then, and it slid across the tile flooring, saying, Oh, how tragic. I will say you put up a better fight than most of my previous victims. For that, I'll give you a warrior's way out of this life.

And it slid its sword real fast to give me a quick chop. But just then a burst of flames erupted in the kitchen that was slowly travelling across the floor. The scraping of the sword against the aged towel, it ended up causing sparks on the ground without even realizing it. It cried out in pain as his body was quickly engulfed in flames. Why, on the other hand, spent no more time there. I ran for the door, glad that I didn't have the gasoline over this section. Once I was outside, I was able to catch my breath and turn around as the flames quickly engulfed the dried up wood inside, and that creature was still wailing.

But it was over. Everything was over. After the whole incident, I was fortunately able to file for insurance. I'm so glad I went out and got this when I first got the house. Well, the story I went with was that one of my gasoline tanks had fallen over, and there was an electrical fire. And thankfully that story was able to stick. With the money I was able to get, I could just about move into a simple mobile home in a different town.

Well, this was much better, and there was no cosmic monster that was living close by in this town, thankfully. Well, despite what I believe I saw, I don't think the creature really died in the fire. I went back about a week after the whole place had burned to the ground. It was late at night, and I just wanted to have a bit of reassurance that it was gone. I went to the edge of the cliff, I looked down at the forest and thought about how beautiful it was. I was now in a rather melancholy mood about the whole ordeal. Oh, how nice it would have been to have woken up every day to see such a beautiful sight. But something caught my eye for a brief moment.

When I looked down, I could have sworn I saw a bright light moving under the trees, like a lantern flashing through the leaves, followed by the call of an elk howling if you're in Greensley next to Forever 21 please look out from the mannequin in the window

the one that looks like it's crying I'm not a fan of shopping malls I mean why shop in real life when online stores exist it baffled me that people preferred shopping in public when they could sit in the comfort of their own home with a frothy latte

the newest style is just to tap away Well, my parents, though, were not exactly technologically advanced. I mean, sure, they own a phone and an iPad, which they're practically glued to all day. But Mom is convinced that if she uses her credit card online, some anonymous scammer will empty her bank accounts. Well, those things do happen. I'm not saying they don't. But Mom won't even online shop on big brown clothing sites. Ones that have very clear, we are not a scam banner at the bottom of the page. Well, over the last year, she's been kind of forced to use online stores, but Mom still hates it.

She still asks me a hundred times if the transaction is safe and then goes into panic mode when the page freezes. It doesn't freeze because of some faceless entity stealing all her saving. And it freezes because she taps by now repeatedly. The only site Mom trusts is Amazon. It took her a year to fully get used to buying things. well I guess she was forced to get used to it when we went into lockdown mum had to swallow her stubbornness unlike my mother

I don't go to the mall unless I absolutely have to or my friend drags me there on a day out I prefer the park or maybe the local swimming pool but Nina wasn't the type to argue with when she rang me a few days ago excitedly gushing about a shopping trip she'd been planning all morning I felt like I had to say yes I graduated back in May

and I'm taking a gap year before college next year Nina was doing the same but job searching wasn't on her mind No shopping was She was talking so far so convoluted I could barely understand her But I got the gist of it It was sales season

And Nina was eager to be the first in line I'm not sure if I've made it clear But I hate going out in public I've suffered from anxiety since I'm I was a kid and untreated it blared into my teenage of it. I take meds for it and I'm not as bad as I used to be, but I still hate enclosed spaces such as our local mall. I'm fine going to school or work, but being in a crowd is just a no-no. Well, Greensley is a small town and I like that. Neither wants to move to New York or L.A., but city life terrifies me. I can't even go to the mall without

freaking out and I can't imagine what move into a big city like New York would do to me. Anyway, I didn't exactly have a choice that day. Mom and Dad were at work and I used the excuse that there was job searching with Nina. It started out, fun. We got take-out noodles from a fancy Japanese restaurant that Nina insisted on paying for, and we scoured Barnes & Noble. The problem started when Nina got to the clothes stores. I say stores, but she spent pretty much all after.

noon in forever 21. Well, sure, I like looking at clothes, but Nina takes ages. Last summer, during a heat wave, she took nearly three hours in one store. I was hoping history wasn't going to repeat itself. After all, I had told her multiple times I didn't want to spend forever in the clothing stores. Nina had laughed, insisting that she wouldn't be more than half an hour. When an hour had passed and she was still staring at the same dress and bad combo, I realized I had my made a mistake. Two hours passed, then three. I'm not sure what I ended up doing. Forever 21 was right in the middle of the mall, just next to the food court. I knew the exits by heart. Once my stomach started twisting with nausea, although so familiar a prick of panic

creeping up my spine, my palms grew sweaty. I tried to follow Nina, I tried to give her compliments, but after several pathetic ones riddled with the same adjectives I ended up walking around aimlessly I tried to distract myself with my phone but the smell of food was making me feel sick there was a record store opposite I spent maybe two minutes in there but the music was too loud and the crowd outside was growing I felt like I was suffocating behind my mask I had to get out that's all I could think I had to get out I had to suck actual air into my lungs or I was going to die. Well, that was my mind talking.

I know it was. I know it was stupid but once. The thought was rooted. I couldn't suppress it. I felt like I was drowning. I could no longer remember the exits. I could taste the noodles from my lunch in the back of my throat. I was going to throw up.

My mind kept telling me. I was going to throw up. And everyone was looking at me. I find it hard to tell people that I'm sick, so I end up not telling them. I keep it to myself and pray that I start to feel better. Except by that point I was shaking. I could barely breathe, and I keep swallowing bile coating the back of my throat. When I found Nina standing in front of a mirror, holding a dress to her slim figure,

I had to choke back a sob. Hey! I tried to smile, tried to act like it was fine. Nina, we've been in here for ages. Oh, he's cute. Nina cut me off, twirling around, a blonde hair, a halo in her face. I've always envied her looks compared to mine. While Nina looks like a model, I'm kind of bland.

And her hands were a combination, the exact same skirt. I struggled to figure out what she was talking about, when my gaze followed hers. Nina was talking about a mannequin a few metres away Forever 21 had a guys and girl section with the girls section being downstairs and the guys at the bottom of an escalator although in the girls section for the summer fall collection there were a myriad of mannequins both male and female

the one Nina was staring at was an adult male mannequin it wore a tight black shirt skinny jeans and sunglasses like my friend once I called caught sight of it, I couldn't look away. Nina must be in thinking the same as me, because she turned to me, a grin plastered on her lips. Min? She marched over to the mannequin and ran her manicure down the material of its t-shirt. This is the hottest freaking mannequin I've ever seen, she gushed.

Are we totally sure he's not real? I was fairly sure it, not he, wasn't real. anything was plastic for god's sake i couldn't help agreeing with her at least in the back of my head the mannequin didn't look human no that wasn't it but he didn't look like a mannequin either well if that makes any sense nina's eyes were wide she cocked her head to the side her lips curling into a frown i know this sounds crazy but does he look familiar to you i expected her to be joking around but her expression was deadly serious like well i feel like i've seen him before it's crazy right i folded my arms giving the mannequin a once over she was right i didn't recognize the face because there wasn't really one at least not at first glance when i look closer though there were facial features i couldn't ignore looking past the plastic sheen the perfect jawline i realized i was seeing exactly the same. But, well, I'd never say that. Nina needed glasses but insisting on wearing contacts on a

prescription that barely helped her. I'd lost count of how many times I'd had to yank her out the way of a car. Him. Nina, it's a plastic doll. But Min, how can you not see it? She snorted out of laugh. He's got actual eyebrows. Her eyes snapped to his lower torso and kept going. I knew where she was looking and I felt my cheeks grow warm. Nina, are you done? Her gaze snapped me. Why that much detail, though? Her lips curved into a smirk and she squealed,

nearly bumping into a passing woman who shot her an odd look. Is it so we can show off to the girl mannequins? I was slowly losing my patience. I probably making the more human-like to market the clothes better. Nina scrunched up her face before sighing with a knot. She took a step back. I didn't move. Maybe it was a sick feeling that was growing worse in my gut.

But my feet were glued to the floor. I went to look at the mannequin properly when a bustling crowd of teenagers weren't around me. But part of me expected Nina to marvel at it more. Well, she shook her head with a grin. You're right. He's plastic. But he's kind of hot right. She waggled her eyebrows at me.

Is it weird that I'm crushing on actual plastic? I ignored the comment and forced myself to follow her to the changing rooms, where she spent nearly an hour picking out the best outfits. When Nina was done, the store was emptying. The sales assistant crept up behind us. She looked tired, but she was somehow maintaining a Cheshire cat grin. I wondered how many girls like Nina showed up on a daily basis. We close in five minutes.

You two should head to the checkout counter. Nina bought four t-shirts and three dresses. When she was swiping her card, my dancing stomach decided it really needed to go to the bathroom. I was half aware of a bathroom by the changing rooms. Hey, I'm going to head to the bathroom, I said. My cheeks blazing. Don't wait for me, okay.

I'll walk home. Just the idea of sitting in Nina's car without aircon, For a 45-minute drive made me want to curl into the ground and die. Nina looked baffled. What she nodded? Are you okay? Her eyes narrowed. Min, you look kind of pale.

I'm fine, I choked out, backing away. It's my... It's my time of the month. Ah, okay. Nina's expression brightened that. Did you need a pad? I shook my head. No, it's fine.

She nodded, swinging her bags around. Oh, the motion made me feel worse. Hey, um, do me a favor. My phone died, but I really want a picture of Daniel. Can you get one when you come out? Daniel? She giggled. Behind the counter, the sales assistant laughed along.

The mannequin, you know, the hot one. Ah, yes. The sales assistant nodded while forwarding up Nina's clothes. and mannequins get a lot of attention, particularly the male ones. We have had several boys taking selfies with the girl mannequins too. It's adorable. Nina, with her usual charm, grinned. The one by the door is gorgeous.

How do you make them so lifelike? No idea. The sales assistant shrugged. Been here a while. I only started last year. Hey, men. Nina was now in Nina land. though I wasn't surprised.

Do you think if we grab him and run, we'll get caught? I didn't reply, dashing instead to the bathroom. I don't know how long I spent in there. I could hear voices from outside, stuff shouting their goodbyes between colleagues. The noodles from the Japanese place didn't exactly agree with my stomach. I scroll through my Instagram, searching for anything to distract me.

Nina had already made a post with an unflattering snap of the two of us in front of a mirror. I liked and commented. I thought it was food poisoning, but I didn't throw up. The stomach pains and nausea, but I didn't actually bar. When the pop music stopped playing over the speakers, and the lights flick it off outside, I panicked. Or the word, weight, was stuck in the back of my throat, but I swallowed it down. The bathroom, thankfully, was well lit. I did a quick one-server in the mirror. I cheated. I cheap, were pale and I looked horrific but at least Nina was gone now when I hesitating slipped through the gap in the door I stepped out straight into the pitch dark

hallway leading back into the store the lights were still on though there was no sign of anyone the checkout counters were empty the shutters were yet to be pulled down so I hurried for the exit instead of leaving the store though I found myself gravitating towards the hot mannequin once again playing with my phone in my hands. Nina wanted a photo, and sure I could tell her I didn't have time, but part of me wanted to snap a picture of it too. Something about it, the way it was perched on its stand.

Human-like features carved into glistening white plastic. It gave me the creeps. Still, though, I took a few steps back and held up my phone, snapping several shots. When I looked at them, they were blurry and unfocused, so I tried again. this time with the flash on. I removed the raybans so I could get as much detail as possible. But once I could see eyes that were far too intricate,

I snapped more photos to get it over with. Those mannequin's eyes were really freaking me out. If I suspended my disbelief for a moment, I found myself wondering how long the design had taken. Someone must have spent hours carving the Irish in each individual lash. I wasn't really paying attention to the mannequin my attention was on the photo

I was staring at it and the twisting feeling in my gut just got worse but it wasn't because of food poisoning no I could have sworn the mannequin had blinked bearing at the photo it didn't look like a full blink

oh more like his eyes were flickering moving oh The voice, the male voice which sliced into the silence, a voice that shouldn't have been there, sent me stumbling backwards, my phone flying out of my hands and hitting the floor with an audible crack. In front of me the mannequin's eyes had blinked open and were half-lidded, staring at me in confusion. No, I wasn't crazy. I was seeing emotion, actual emotion in its face.

When it brought up its hands to stare down at them and then clawed its face, I realized it had fingernails. It moved like a human being, not like a plastic doll. The mannequin's gaze was stuck to its own hands, and then its eyes, its human eyes the colour of warm chestnut, was settling on me. The longer I looked at it, or I guess him, I understood what Nina had said was right. The mannequin didn't look human. It looked too human to be plastic, to be a doll,

and yet when I drunk him fully in, trapped in my own state of paralysis, he was starting to look less plastic, like it was dripping away, revealing light tan skin. Fuck, the mannequin blinked, his voice a soft croak. When he blinked again, this time rapidly, I glimps veins of dark red bleeding to life. My heart cataported.

There was no way, I thought Dizzily. There was no fucking way that that much detail had been put in. There was no way I wasn't looking at a person. How? How long has it been? His words were hitting the sound barrier, but I wasn't registering them. All I could think was that I had to get out. Whatever was happening, I wanted no part in it.

I was hallucinating. I thought hysterically, taking slow steps back. One step. Two. But I couldn't turn around. Not yet. I couldn't stop staring at the mannequin which was looking less and less like a mannequin by the second. I wasn't staring at a plastic doll.

I was looking at a boy. No. A man. Maybe 19 or 20. His expression. I could only see. I could only see fear, and it didn't make sense on a mannequin's face, because I was supposed to be looking at one right. I've been around him all afternoon, following Nina around. I'd

passed him multiple times, and not once did I wonder if there was a living, breathing human under her. What I was seeing now defied logic and science and reality. It shouldn't have been real. It shouldn't have been staring at me right in the face. And so I was seeing now, defied logic and science and reality. It shouldn't have been real. It shouldn't have been staring at me right in the face. and so I did what any other person would do. I dug down, grabbed my phone, and I ran. At least I tried to run. I'd only taken three shaky steps before a sharp yelp filled the air.

When I twisted around, the mannequin had crumpled to the floor. When he lifted his head to look at me, I caught tears glistening on those perfect cheeks. He was crying. He croaked, struggling to keep. get up, but his body was failing him. Every time he tried, he dropped back down with a startled cry. I found my gaze gravitating towards his cheeks, and I swore something was chipping away

from his cheek, falling away, tiny white flakes dancing in the air. Everything inside me, every instant I had, was telling me to leave him to run for it. But the boy was hysterical. It reminded me of a child who couldn't walk yet. When he failed to get up once again, I held out a trembling arm. Please, he have to help me. I don't know where I am. I keep waking up and I don't know where I am. I see faces staring at me.

I can't move. I can't fucking breathe. When he broke down, I found myself wrapping my hand around his arm hesitantly. I nearly let go. Shivers spiking up. down my spine. I hadn't touched plastic. Oh, I touched skin. I touched skin that had been hardened to look like plastic. I couldn't help myself. The words slipped out. You're a mannequin, I hissed out sharply. I couldn't stop myself from running my fingers up and down his arms, touching real skin.

when I risked tracing his lips and nose and eyes well they were real his hair which had been asleep back seemed to come to life dark curls bouncing back into place it didn't make sense to me none of this made sense to me he was a mannequin but then he wasn't he was an inanimate doll

and then he wasn't the boy hissed out waving me away can you stop His eyes were wide, lips curled almost like an animal. Do I look like a fucking mannequin to you? It, but... It's the camera flash, he muttered, more to himself than me. The camera flash brings us back.

Before I could speak, he sent me a panicked look, his eyes growing frenzied. Dad, is Dad here? Dad? I repeated with a whimper. He nodded. I don't remember much, except Dad. All I remember is drowning.

I remember screaming into freezing cold water. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't shout or cry. I was going to... I was going to die. Then I felt arms around me. It was Dad. He pulled me out and helped me breathe again.

He gave me my breath back. There was a light smile on the boy's lips, as if he was reminiscing. before his expression darkened. Then he wouldn't let us go. He wouldn't let me see my mom, and when I tried to get out, he... He did something to me. He took away my thoughts and my breath, and I was...

I was lost, I was lost for so long. And then this boy... He trowed off, his voice breaking. This kind boy. One day he brought me back. I don't know how, but I could breathe again. He told me he was going to get us out, all of us. He told me he was going to take us home, and I was going to see my mum again.

And then Dad took him away, and I fell asleep again. I fell asleep until now. My mouth was filled with questions, but I choked them back when he forced himself up, holding out his arms to steady himself. When I offered to help, he shook his head. I watched him stumble over to another of the mannequins, a pretty female one brandishing a light pink summer dress and raybans i didn't want to look properly at her because i knew when i did i'd get the same feeling i wasn't looking at a mannequin i was looking at a person

i didn't want to think that that the mannequin was just like the boy trapped behind a spell i still couldn't understand skin and blood and bodily organs armored under plastic i thought about the way nina had laughed at the mannequin hours earlier, shouting that the mannequin's body sent unrealistic expectations for women. Except he was a real body. Yes, sir, the boy whined. He stood on his tiptoes, wrapping his arms around her and trying to heave her off of the stand. He twisted around to face me. Don't you stand there? I need to get her down. A camera flash brings us back, so do the same to her. And he was yelling and I didn't have the heart to tell him my phone was dead.

I'd maxed out completely with the photos of him for Nina. I couldn't move, watching the boy try to heave the female mannequin off of the stand. I wondered if I was losing my fucking mind. When he couldn't lift her, he dragged his feet over to a second male mannequin, one with a leather jacket and designer shirt underneath. Noah, he said in the breath. I'll get you and Jess are out of here, okay? Just hold on a bit longer.

We're all getting the fuck out of here. Without turning to me, his hand still grasping Noah's arm. The boy let out a choked sob. What you did to me? He said shakily. Can you do it again? My phone's dead, I said softly. But look, don't worry.

I'm going to help you. The boy broke down. his knees hitting the floor. I felt the emotion writhing through him. I need to get out, he was whispering, tearing at his hair. I need to get out. Please, I need to get out. Please, help me get out. I just want to go home. I want my mom. I don't want to be here anymore. Somehow, I coerce words in my mouth. You're not going to be, I said. I'm getting you out. I look skeptical. His gaze going to his lap.

All of us? You promise? I nodded. What's your name? The boy lifted his head back to look at me, and I caught desperation in his eyes. My name is... Ben?

A male grunt sounded, and the boy stiffened. Young man, where are you? You know your father doesn't like it when you leave your stand. "'Shit!' Ben grabbed me, struggling to pull me to my feet. His face was inches from mine, hot breath feathering my cheeks. If I'd had any doubts before that he wasn't human, that moment crushed them. "'The police,' he said, grasping my hands and squeezing hard. "'Go to the cops and bring them here.

"'I don't think I can run, and I only slow you down. "'Listen to me. You have to get them to listen. Even if you sound crazy, get them to come here. I wanted to argue with him. I wanted to tell him that there was no freaking way the cops would believe me. I didn't want to leave him. I didn't want to leave him here to a fate worse than death if I failed. Ben Maddox, Ben whispered.

His fingers entangled with mine, hot and sticky with sweat, and I reveled in the feeling of real human flesh. He was real. Ben was real and I was going to get him out I was going to end his nightmare My name is Ben Maddox He then gestured to the exits The shutters were halfway down

Go Footsteps I had to slap a hand over my mouth Oh Ben The man's voice was soft You know I don't like it when you disobey me before I could speak he jumped up on shaky legs and raised his arms all right dad you got me he said loudly and I took that as my cue to make a run for it I didn't think I just ran I ran until I was at the

mall's exit stepping out into fresh cool air it was night and the sky was pitch black the police station wasn't far I found myself sitting in a box-like room in front of of a cop who looked about my dad's age with grayish hair and stains down his shirt. I'd been hysterical and out of breath when I'd run into the station. They provided me with a glass of milk that I kept sipping until my stomach complained. I could barely believe anything that had happened, and there were still holes I couldn't understand. Like how Ben and Jesser hadn't aged, and how their skin could look and feel so much like plastic.

With doubts still haunting the back of my mind, I told the officers everything, ignoring their raised eyebrows and twitching lips. Let me get this straight. He eyed me like I was crazy, and I felt crazy. I got out a notepad, but when I glanced at it, he'd only written, Forever 21 and Manichens. You're telling me the Manichens in Forever 21 are actual people. I nodded, copping down the rest of my milk. I know I sound crazy.

Ben told me that, but if you just go there and see for yourself. Ben. The cop raised an eyebrow. The door stood open and a female officer strode in. I nodded. Ben Maddox, I said sharply, and Jesser, I think her name was. Ben Maddox? The officer's exchanged glances before the man fixed me with a steely glare.

He sat back, picking up his notebook and flicking through it. Young lady, have you heard of the Moorhead incident? Something cold slithered down my spine. I shook my head, even when I had it, at least vaguely. Mama talked about it a few times, and maybe Nina, but I was never interested enough to ask them to expand on it. The woman came to sit opposite me. Miss Atlas, can you confirm you're talking about Ben Maddox and Jess are sharp? her eyes darkened because ben maddox and jess are sharp i've been dead for six years what i couldn't resist a startled laugh

but the officers weren't smiling before i could continue the woman was pulling out her own phone with a sigh on the 7th of october 2015 five students from moorhead university tragically lost their lives when their bus drove off of a bridge. They looked for the bodies, but apparently they were either swept out to see or crushed on the rocks down below. She placed her phone in front of me. There was a photo of a news clipping showing a headline. But I didn't look at the headline.

No, my gaze landed on a small, grainy picture of a group of college students, with the band in front, smiling brightly, his arms around a girl who looked like she was mid-laugh, and a guy pulling her face. Well, their parents wanted no trace. of the incident on the internet for privacy the woman murmured however I kept this she let out a sigh 19 years old with her whole lives ahead of them one of them kids was my friend's little girl Poppy they called her she was studying creative writing poor girl

wanted to be an author well it felt well it felt like my reality was crumbling before my very eyes that was what Ben had meant by drowning and being saved. But they weren't dead. Whoever Ben's father was had taken them. No, I shook my head, my heart in my throat. I jumped up, slamming my hands down. No, I'm telling you, if you just go there, you'll understand. I spoke to Ben. He told me he'd nearly died.

He told me he almost drowned, but someone had saved him. Someone, the officer repeated. Yes, the store owner, the boss. "'If you're playing a prank, it's one hell of a sick one,' the woman said. "'Let those kids' souls rest in peace.' When it became evident that they weren't listening to me, I begged them. I begged them because all I could think about was Ben and Jessa and the others being trapped there. When the mail office had finally caved, the two of them drove me to the Greenslee Mall.

When I was back in front of Forever 21, the police by my side, I was confident. An oldish-looking man wearing a crinkled suit Was standing outside, letting the shutters down. When he caught sight of us, his eyes narrowed, Before he pasted on a smile. Evening officers, he gestured to the shutters. I'm about to close up. He choked out a laugh.

It's been one hell of a day. What can I do for you? I'm going to have to ask to look inside, The mail officer said, like it pained him to say it. The young lady here says your mannequins are actually people. He cleared his throat, specifically those of the moorhead victims. The man's expression crumpled.

Oh, wow, I'm not sure I understand. It'll only take a second. The male officer rolled his eyes. When the man pushed up the shutters, I rushed inside. The first thing I noticed was Ben was gone. Jessa was still there. A sweater had been thrown over her. Still, I ran over to her and shook the mannequing,

uncaring how insane I looked. Jessa, I whispered, before twisting around to face the officers. Do any of you have a phone? If you take a photo, they'll come back. Uh-uh. The female officer shook her head. She joined me and knocked on Jess's head. "'You're telling me this mannequin right here is 19-year-old Jess of shot?'

"'Yes.' "'I was shaking, and my blood was boiling. "'They didn't believe me. "'They didn't fucking believe me.' "'Well, Ben, was right here. "'It was here. "'That guy?' "'I pointed to the man.

"'He did something to him.' "'The man raised his arms with a skull. "'Young lady, I have no idea what you're talking about. "'If you're talking about one of the male-man mannequins. I put him in the back for polishing. I don't have any kids, I promise. He was laughing. This bastard was laughing at me, and I looked out of my mind. Bring him out, I said stiffly. If you use flash in front of their eyes, they'll snap out of it. That's enough. The female officer grabbed my arm. Ma'am, I know what game you're playing, but I should arrest you for wasting an office's

time. Her grip was tight on my arm and she dragged me from the store. You're a disturbed little girl who needs psychological help, she spats. Jesus Christ, things you kids come up with these days to get attention. I was taken back to the station and my mom was called. She didn't speak to me, keeping her head down. When we were leaving, my mom was muttering about parking spaces and how much they cost. We passed the same room I'd been in. A glimpse the store owner and the male officer. The two of them were sitting together. Fifty thousand, the officer murmured. I ain't going any lower. The store owner cackled.

Brave Tom, but you have yourself a deal. He rose to his feet with a sigh. I'll make sure to keep him in check. Mina. My mom was pulling on my hand and dragging me from the station before I could try to tell her. It's not like she believed me anyway. I tried to tell her. I've told her multiple times. It's like talking to a brick wall.

I went back to Forever 21 yesterday. Ben's in the window now. I feel like the store owner is mocking me, parading Ben in the window to show that he's triumphant. Oh, fuck him. I'm getting bent out of there. So, do me a favor. If you're in Greenslee next to Forever 21,

please look out for a mannequin in the window. He's the one who looks almost lifelike. And if you look closer, it looks like he's crying. And so once again, reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to listen.

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