Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S5 Ep289: Episode 289: Weird and Bizarre Horror Stories

Episode Date: November 7, 2025

Today’s opening tale of the macabre is ‘Bainbridge Asylum is Looking to Hire a New Director… Applicants Beware’ by Jeanius Breiling, kindly shared with me via the Dr. Creepen sub-reddit  and narrated here for you all with the author’s permission: https://www.reddit.com/user/Jeanius_Breiling/ Today’s second fantastic offering is the epic ‘Mounds: Invasive Species’, a wonderful story by Michael G. Lockhart, AKA BearLair64, kindly shared with me via my sub-reddit and narrated here for you all with the author’s express permission: https://www.reddit.com/user/BearLair64/ Tonight’s final terrifying tale is ‘My C.O.D Rival Is Trying to Kill Me’, an original work by RCainTales, kindly shared with me via the Creepypasta Wiki and narrated here for you all with the permission of the author under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license. https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/User:RCainTales https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/My_CoD_Rival_is_Trying_to_Kill_Me

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BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. Unusual or ambiguous situations often frighten us because our brains are wired to prioritize safety and predictability. And something doesn't fit our expectations. We can't easily judge whether it's a threat which triggers our alert systems. This uncertainty combined with the lack of control or clear understanding creates discomfort and heightens our instinctive fear response. In short, the unfamiliar feels risky and how. our minds react accordingly, as we shall see in tonight's three tales.

As ever before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's stories may contain strong language as one of those descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. Then let's begin. Beambres Asylum is looking to hire a new director. Applicants. Beware. Patient. Peter Ingram.

Is this thing on? Right, so my name is Peter. Peter, my friends, but heck, I killed on my friends, so go ahead and call me Peter. Look, I'll just tell you from the get-go that I'm crazy, certified, insane. I mean, that's why I'm here, right? They don't lock anyone away in Bainbridge Asylum unless they're bat-shit, no matter what some of the other patients would have you believe. Bat-shit and violent.

Well, only four of my personalities are violent, really, but we all agree that I'm here, right where I belong. I don't think of myself as a violent man, but I do get some enjoyment out of seeing how creative my alter egos are when they spill the blood of others. Feel free to judge me. It doesn't matter. Anyway, you're not here to listen to me prattle on about my personal issues, right? You're here to learn about some of the strange goings on at this noble old building. that we, the condemn crazies, call home. I'm sure you'll be tempted to pass off a lot of what I say is nonsensical drivel

concocted in the disturbed halls of a broken mind. But listen here. I'm insane, but I'm not stupid. I'm not a liar, nor have I ever suffered from hallucinations, aside from when I was under the influence of illicit drugs. I won't pretend to understand everything that went on, but I know what I saw. I know the truth. no matter what the egg-eds have to say about it.

Right, so we aren't being allowed a ton of time for this interview, so I'll just share with you the scariest thing I've ever witnessed here, or anywhere for that matter. It happened on a day not too long ago during lunch. I was been allowed to join some of my fellow crazes in cafeteria B-2 of the B-Wort, which is where we get to eat lunch when the egg-heads are fairly certain we're not going to cause trouble.

I get to eat there when I'm Peter, because I never cause trouble. Like I said, I'm not a liar, even when I'm not Peter. So after 15 years, they've come to trust that I am who I say I am when asked. I only change after sleeping or after a seizure, so they know I won't suddenly decide to hurt someone or anything like that. On the whole, I'm probably one of the easiest patients to care for. Well, except when I'm Henry.

Things get a lot more exciting and dangerous when I'm him. Anyway, that day at lunch, I decided to sit near Mason. relative newcomer to the nut house. He had apparently worked in construction until the day he killed and partially ate two of his co-workers on the job. Well, cannibalism isn't really my cupper, but Mason's a nice enough guy

when the voices in his head aren't urging him to eat the flesh of the chosen. He's pretty laid back on a normal day, so it's easy to see when he's worked up and fighting his demons. Even Henry knows to keep his distance then. But this day he was fine, so I sat down to his own.

left, being careful to leave two empty seats between us. You always have to leave two seats open on either side of him in case his dead co-workers are in attendance. Hey Mason, I said. I heard you had a visitor this morning. Peter? He asked, I am me cautiously. The one and only, I answered, chuckling lightly to let him know there was no danger here. Right, he said, turning his attention back of the food on his plate. Yeah, the wife came by with my kid. He chewed on a baby carrot in silence for a moment, and then sighed. She still won't talk to me or even look in my direction, you know. My boy, well, he tries to be all cheerful like, but I can tell he isn't comfortable

with the way me and his mum are. I can still see his love for me shining in his little eyes, but there's also a lot of sadness there. I expect it won't do it much good to keep seeing me in this place, but what can I do, man? They won't ever let me go back home. Hmm, I grunted in agreement, swallowing a mouth full of mashed potatoes. Well, at least he doesn't have to stay here anyway. Not like that kid Galloway.

Thank God for small favors. He laughed. Do you know that Galloway kid's father still tries to get them to allow him a one-on-one visit with his own son? My boy ever tried to kill me like what Galloway did to his dad. They wouldn't have to worry about his sorry about here. He'd be sitting comfortably at the bottom of a six-foot concrete grave. Ain't that the truth? I smiled, chugging down half the milk in my cup. Honestly, I'm not sure I share Mason's sentiment about Galloway. If I'd ever had a son, I might be

proud to have one who accomplished what that boy had, even if I had to become one of his victims. I can only imagine the fun I might have had with a little pup to raise. "'Peter,' Mason Garth suddenly, staring at a spot above me and behind me. "'I—' "'He's stammered. "'His left eye, starting to twitch. "'Do you see that thing? "'It's not one of mine.'

"'I don't know. "'I don't usually like to involve myself in other wacko's psychological misfires, "'but something about the look in his eyes "'made me think it would be wise to take a look for myself. There was a very distinct feeling of something dangerous lurking behind me that made me instinctively want to protect my spine, or maybe it wasn't a feeling so much as the naked terror written on Mason's face that got to me. I quickly whipped my head around to see what was going on, and he helped in shock at the vision before me. Again, I freely admit that I am insane, and I know that you'll be disinclined to fully believe my account of this incident.

But I know what I saw. I know that Mason and I witnessed the same thing, with no possible explanation for that except for us actually having seen it with our own eyes. This was no hallucination. As far as I know, hallucinations don't typically kill people, not directly anyway. Just please bear with me and listen to my whole story before you shut off the recorder and move on to the next crazy. You don't have to believe me, but just listen.

What I saw, I kid you not, was a little old granny, plastered most of the way up the wall behind our table. Like, seriously, the face was that of the stereotypical old white grandma, with friendly wrinkles and laugh lines, sparkling blue eyes and a benevolent smile on her lips. A long silver hair was done up in a messy bun atop her head, and her yellow was adorned with small pearl earrings. The reading glasses resting across the bridge of her nose added a touch of charming intelligence. It was a kind of face that automatically brought to mind images of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and homemade lemonade, story time by the fireplace,

magical purses and peppermint candies. I might well have been pleasantly surprised if it hadn't been for the rest of her. You see, the granny wore no clothes. From her neck down she was long and fleshy, almost like a slug with her absence of limbs. Her skin looked like the exact color and texture of a thawed, store-bought, plucked chicken. The edges of her skin, where it connected with the wall,

were an almost lavender shade of purple, and they flapped and undulated lightly as though disturbed by a breeze. When she moved a little closer to us, her attention was more snake-like than sluggish in its quickness and side-to-side action. I jerked back in surprise and knocked over my cup of milk, but never let my eyes leave the horror on the wall. I felt Mason's strong hands gripped my shoulders and pull me closer to him. Dead co-workers be damned.

Hey, what's the problem over here? Came the booming voice of Mr. Manny, one of the security guards from our ward. He stepped in front of us with his hands hovering menacingly over both his club and his taser. I couldn't fathom how he hadn't seen the thing on the wall on his way over to us. when I tried my best to draw his attention to the problem by wildly gesticulating in its direction. Mason only tightened his fearful grip on me as we both wordlessly trembled. Mr. Manny only grunted in frustration and reached his walkie-talkie, presumably to call for some assistance in getting us out of the cafeteria before we cause a disturbance.

The granny never gave him a chance. Quickly slithering down closer to the guards, the creature shot. got too thick long tendrils out of her body and wrapped them around his neck. Mr. Manney's arm shot down to his sides and he went completely rigid as the granny turned him to face her and pulled him in close. He looked completely terrified and I'm sure he would have screamed his head off if he'd been allowed to make a sound. And as it was, he appeared that the awful monstrosity had him under some sort of paralysis

with her hold and all he could do was stare helplessly and wet his pants. The granny gazed at him lovingly, as what a grandmother doting on her beloved grandchild's, cooing softly as the ends of her tendrils stroked his cheeks. The end of that tender moment finally came when two smaller appendages with long, rudimentary fingers emerged from under the master's chin. The fingers held long, sharp knitting needles

that looked to be made of the same substance as her body, but I couldn't help but think that they looked fitting for a nightmare grandma. The way she put those knitting needles into Mr. Manney's eyes, though, seemed unbecoming of any grandmother outside of hell. It was only after that horrid act that Mr. Mani was finally able to let it a piercing, agonized scream. Out of my mind with terror, I wildly looked around the room, hoping to see other guards running over to deal with the grotesque elderly abomination on the wall. Unbelievably, no one else in the room seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary,

not the other patients, not the guards, not the orderlies, or other staff present in the cafeteria. Mason and I were the only unfortunate witnesses of this ghoulish event. It was as if we'd somehow been moved to just out of reach of the mundane world for a personal show of insanity beyond comprehension. A painful tightening of Mason's grip on my shoulders brought my attention back to that which I wish I could unsee. I don't know how to properly explain what I saw on. Next. Even now I find it difficult to wrap my mind around what the granny creature did to Mr. Manning.

The best way I can describe it is to say that she unraveled him. He came apart like a ball of yarn as she worked him over and used his unraveled flesh to knit a hooded covering for her body. She used some of his bones for accents in her bloody garment, fashioning them into buttons and flower-like patterns. She let his internal organs and uniform fall to the floor in an unused pile gore. Afterwards, the monster donned her cloak, retracted her appendages, and looked approvingly at her handiwork. And she kindly smiled at us, and slithered her way back up the wall and into an open vent in the ceiling. Only after Mason let go of his hold on me, to collapse onto the floor in blessed unconsciousness, did I finally manage a proper scream of my own. Almost

like some spell had been broken when the creature had left the room, the entire cafeteria suddenly became aware of the chaos happening in our section. The bloody remains that used to be Mr. Manny caused everyone to fly into a panic, with some of the other crazes becoming violent at the sight of the carnage. I just sat screaming through it all until a seizure stole me away and Patricia took my place.

For what I hear, she'd found a good place to hide until things settled down and the patients were taken out of that. So, anyway, the story that every day. everyone's being fed about the incident is that an unnamed psycho in the ward managed to sneak into the cafeteria and kill the guard who discovered him. No explanation of how this random schico reduced Mr. Manning to such a state without being noticed by the rest of the people in the room. Masons and my accounts are discredited because we're insane, of course. And who believe it even if we

weren't? I don't know. Maybe I'm just crazier than I thought, and none of what I saw was real, but then why did the director of Bainbridge suddenly decide to resign after that? What did he see on the security footage that day? Believe me, that man has seen a lot of messed up stuff in all his years of working here. What was it that finally put him over the edge? I just don't know anymore. Anyway, that's all I've got for you. If you ever want to know about the other weird things I've seen in this place,

you know where to find me? I just wish that I wasn't here anymore in Bainbridge. I've been in this place for a long time, but things just don't feel much like home anymore. I don't feel safer, you know? Well, good luck to whomever you pegged to be the next director of this crazy farm. He's going to need it. Think about your health for a second. Are your eyes the first thing that come to mind?

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Visit specksavers.cavers.cai to learn more. Security officer, Aaron Mackey. My name's Aaron Mackey. I'm 38 years old. I've been working security for about 10 years. I graduated from my AV-League University with a fan. fancy degree in English, but I didn't put food on the table. So here I am. Used to work the prison up north, but my wife got a nice promotion at her job, and you could finally afford to buy a house

in a nicer neighbourhood out this way. My buddy, who also worked security, put in a good word for me here at Bainbridge Asylum. I was hired within a week of moving to my new place. The pay raise I took by signing onto this place is just about worth a hassle, if not entirely fulfilling. Well, don't get me on. I'm glad to have found employment here. It's just that Bainbridge is weird. I mean, it's an insane asylum, so you're bound to see some crazy shit happen more often than not, but some things that go on here are strange even for a place that houses the criminally insane. I've only been working here for about four months, but I've already seen my fair share of unexplainable occurrences, one of which I'll share with you here. Now, before you get to asking,

I'm not going to talk about what happened to Officer Mani. I personally never met the guy because we'd never worked the same wards. I worked primarily on the D-Word, which is where we care for the elderly patients. For reasons, never fully explained to me. Officer Mani was no longer permitted access to the D-Ward, though we'd worked many a night shift there prior to my joining the security team. From what little I've heard, he maybe wasn't as gentle as he should have been while dealing with some of the more fragile or sickly old people here.

as far as the nature of his death, and I only know what upper management has told everyone. There are some interesting theories floating around the building that contradict the memo we all received. Anyway, instead of wasting your time with hearsay about something that doesn't relate to me, I'll tell you about something abnormal that I've actually witnessed. Now, for the most part, I'm strictly a day-shift worker.

I sometimes cover shifts on other wards, but I almost never work nights. I like to get my work done while my wife is working, and my daughters are at school, so we can spend all our evenings together as a family. This is really important to me since I work weekends, and I want to spend as much time with my girls as possible. I've only volunteered to work a night shift once, and that was because my wife took the girls to visit her parents for a weekend.

Now, my in-laws are good people, but I can only take them in small doses. You know how it is. Anyway, that night I was assigned to work on the seawatt, which houses a lot of patients undergoing experimental treatment. treatments. Now, I won't lie. That war gives me the creeps even in the bright light of day. I wasn't looking forward to spending my time there after the sun went down, but, as they say, beggars can't be choosers. Honestly, the shift started out much quieter than I was expecting, with the chaotic noises of the day becoming more subdued by the hour. I was actually kind of

enjoying myself since I was paired up with Officer Franklin for the night's rounds. Remember that buddy you helped me acquire that position? Yep, that's Franklin. Well, he's a solid dude, quick, reliable, and funny as hell. With him there, I might well have decided to pull a few more night shifts on the sea wards. Unfortunately, I happened upon a situation that might keep me off night duty for the foreseeable future. It was around 3am when... Oh, come on. It was around 3 a.m. when Franklin and I went to do our fourth patrol of the mostly slumbering ward. There were a few nocturnal patients pacing their rooms or drawing weird pictures or doing whatever else crazy people think to do in the wee hours of the morning. Since there wasn't much going on at that hour, Franklin and I decided

to split up and check on different corridors to get the patrol done faster. Well, that isn't standard procedure, of course, but sometimes this job just has a way of lulling you into feeling like things are safer than they really are. Anyway, Franklin took the east wing while I went to check out the West Wing. You might already be familiar with Bainbridge's peculiar room numbering system, which apparently stem from some superstitions of the original designer. All patient rooms are given even numbers. In fact, the only odd numbers you'll find in the building are on storage and maintenance rooms. No one has ever told me if any exceptions to this rule, and I have no reason to believe that there are any. Except, well, that night, I'm sure I saw something that maybe wasn't supposed to be there.

I mean, it wasn't there. He couldn't have been. And yet, as I went down the corridor, I did my usual peeking into the windows of each room to make sure nothing alarming, let's say, was happening with any of the patients. C20 was sleeping.

C-22 was sleeping. C-24 was sitting up in bed, staring at his hands with a terrified expression on his face. Nothing unusual that. C-26 was sleeping. C-27 was... C-27. I stepped back away from the door and stared up at the numbered tile above it.

C-27. I looked to the left and to the right of it, and sure enough, C-27 sat between rooms C-26 and C-28. When it wasn't unusual to find storage rooms among the patient rooms, and this one had a door that looked just like a patient-room door, complete with observation window. I was pretty sure I didn't notice such an anomaly during any of our previous rounds, but there's always the chance that I'd simply passed it.

Anyhow, there it was, and I still had a job to do, so I cautiously approached the door to C-27 and looked in. The patient in room C-27 was standing in front of the wall opposite the door, facing away from me with his arms outstretched and his palms pressed against the wall. There was a large, ornate drawing, of a leafless tree that covered most of the wall's surface, beautifully detailed and drawn entirely in a rust-colored ink or paint. The patient himself wore no clothes and was almost skeletal in appearance. His taut skin was bone white, and I could see the outline of every rib growing out of his

prominent spine. His very visible blood vessels all seemed to be in motion, squeezing rhythmically as though pushing all of his blood to his hands via peristalysis. The great tree on the wall seemed to be growing even larger, as if it fed from the blood of that man. I didn't know what to do. There was something seriously wrong going on in C-27, and I felt ill-equipped to do anything about it. I did feel like I should probably get the patient away from that tree, though, as I took out my keycard and went to unlock the door.

Looking down, I was shocked to see that there was nowhere for my keycard to go. The door-nob had an old-fashioned keyhole in it, unlike any other patient door I'd ever seen in this place. I grabbed the knob and trying to turn it, but it wouldn't budge. I jiggle the knob and jerked at the door a few times, we all giving up and looking back to the window. I nearly chucked on my tongue when I saw the patient's face a few inches away from mine on the other side of the gloves.

The man looked absolutely furious, with his thin, white mouth contorted into a vicious snarl. His blue eyes looked feral, wide open with tiny pupils and yellowed sclera. The skin of his face had been stretched so thin that it had ripped open in several places. His long blonde hair hung in wispy strands from its patchy scalp.

The few teeth he still had embedded in his shrivel-dug gums were blackened with rot and his tongue was a sickly purple colour. I suddenly didn't want to open the door. In fact I hoped with everything in me that the door was incapable of opening. I started to back away slowly, but then quickened my pace when the man in that room smashed his forehead into the window. I tripped over my own feet in my haste and cried out as I hit the floor hard with my right hip.

I cried out again as his head forcefully hit the window a second time, breaking away the glass barrier. I screen bloody murder when the guy started climbing and pushing his thin frame through the opening. At the sound of running footsteps coming in my direction, I turned to see him. see Franklin sprinting to my rescue. He skidded to a halt right in front of me, blocking my view from the approaching horror. Mackie, what's going on? he yelled, sweeping his flashlight around to look for trouble. Behind you, I weased. He's coming out of C-27. C-27? Mackie, there's no C-27? Franklin said with ample concern on his face as he looked me over.

He stepped aside so that we could both look back at the place I'd been facing. There was, of course, nothing there except a blank wall situated between C-26 and C-28. Bullshit! I yelled as I scrambled to my feet and made my way over to the wall on wobbly legs. I felt the hard permanence of the wall under my palms and shook my head at the craziness of the situation. No way, I cried, refused. refusing to believe that my mind had just made all of that up. No way, I said, more softly, feeling defeated but also relieved. I let Franklin guide me gently away from the wall and back toward the Seaworth security office.

We didn't say anything the whole way there, and I didn't even feel like I could look my friend in the eye for fear that he might see insanity in mine. Listen, Franklin said once we were back in the office and had found a corner to ourselves, "'Don't tell the others what you saw tonight,' he told me, nodding his head in the direction of the other offices there. No one will think you're crazy for it, given the strange things we've all seen around here from time to time. But they will give you crap and probably a new nickname for it, especially if they find out you scream like a little girl. But you don't know what I saw,' I argued feebly. How do you know I didn't legitimately lose my marbles out there?

"'Well, like I said,' he sighed, placing a hand on my shoulder. "'We've all seen things. "'It doesn't matter what you saw specifically. "'Sometimes it's best not to look too closely, though. "'Takes getting used to, but when you see things at Bainbridge that defy a reason, "'like a room that shouldn't be there. "'Take note of it, move on. "'Understand?

"'Whatever you just saw, let it go. "'You don't want to go so far down the rabbit hole that you end up occupying one of the rooms here yourself. Some things here extend beyond the scope of your job. You leave those things well alone, and you'll be all right. Franklin, I breathed, shaking my head, wonderingly. Why the hell would you sign me up for a job like this? You're a tough guy, Mackey.

I knew you could handle it, he said dismissively. Reaching into a nearby cabinet, he grabbed two snacks and pushed one towards me. Want a bear claw? Look, whatever you may think about my story, just know that this place is not for the faint of heart. The last director undoubtedly knew this, and was able to tough it out here for a mighty long time. I don't even want to know what would chase a man like him out of this place, but the next director had better be someone tough as nails. Someone who will be okay with taking a closer look at the things that the rest of us aren't paid enough to do.

I sure wouldn't want to be the one to do it I pity the one you find Patient Elisha Barnes I'm Elisha Barnes I'm not supposed to be here you know They put me in here because I'm a witch But stake burning is no longer allowed

I'm sure I've killed a few men But it's only because I needed their body parts of my spells Sue me or whatever And those kids at the park had to die because they got a particular ritual wrong. Their souls had become corrupted, and they would have slaughtered the whole city. I mean, I know I'm into some dark shit,

but that doesn't mean I want to be the cause of the world's demise. It wasn't my fault that those idiots didn't follow my instructions to the letter. But I was the one to introduce them to the ritual, so their killing spree would have been on me. So yeah, you're welcome. If I'd let that group live, you would probably be dead by now.

So, the story is that our esteemed director has decided to resign, right? That's a load of bull. I have it on good authority that he's still here at Bainbridge Asylum. You know, the one thing that really used to grow my gears about this place was that someone like me had to languish here under the label of insanity or someone like him got to run the place. Do you have any idea what kinds of dark stuff that guy was into? Well, I'm willing to bet he murdered a lot more people than I ever have.

It's the only way you reach the depths of depraved power that he'd reached. Well, no, it's not so bad since he's stuck here as much as I am, maybe even more so. Yeah, I heard he got his very own secret room on Seward. Serves him right. You're probably wondering why I don't witch my way out of this place, right? Well, main bridge is a pretty magical place and had its own rules that need to be followed. Before I got locked up here, I'd actually become well-versed on the law that surrounds the asylum. I loved hunting down places of dark histories, and this asylum was close to where I lived,

so naturally I learned a lot about it. Are you aware that Bainbridge is built right on the top of the site of the Brisbane massacre? Over 200 people dead and buried right under our feet. Look it up, it's a fascinating story. The original founders of the asylum were said to have been a group of necroman who were building a school here dedicated to furthering their research on raising the debt. Okay, I know that's not what the official history states about them, but I look to more truthful sources for my information.

Anyway, the design of this building follows a set of rules that governed the behavior of the magic here. Oh, admittedly, I haven't quite figured out how all of that works yet. The master I serve is not allowed to assist me in my endeavors to discover the inner workings of Bainbridge's power. The energy is expressed here a downright perplexing, and often more dangerous than I'm used to handling. I somehow don't think that the original founders accomplished whatever it was that they were trying to achieve. It's like they omitted something important, or they mistranslated an important ritual from one of the old texts. It seems like they unintentionally created a powerful, malevolent, intelligent, but confused beast when they built Bainbridge. And now no one can control it or figure it out.

just ask the last director. I suppose I'll go on and tell you about my near-death experience here. It's been labelled a suicide attempt, of course, but I can tell you I've never been suicidal in my life. Believe me, I know where my master comes from, and I'm in no hurry to get there. Although my master won't outright confirm my suspicions, I fear that if I die in this asylum, I won't get to leave.

my own energy will just become another awful part of this place and that's not something I'm overly eager to face nothing in my life is so bad that I'm willing to forfeit it for any afterlife I can imagine for myself I used to really enjoy exploring Bainbridge at night this building is a secretive place but at night it lets its hair down and allows itself to really be seen by those who are inclined to look

yes I have my ways of getting out of my room at night and no, I'm not going to reveal them. Just know that walls and doors are a lot more porous than they appear, that I haven't yet met a room that can hold me or keep me out if I have a mind to exit or enter. Unfortunately, many of the entities that exist within these wars can boast of the same prowess, so escaping unwanted visitors can be a tricky thing. There wasn't too much of a problem for me until, well, they almost got myself killed. That night I decided to explore a walled-off section of the A-Word that most people don't know about.

According to dark historians, this area is known as the rush. Thanks to some confused bit of magic, time runs more quickly than usually in there. And I don't mean just the time on your watch will be speeding by. Everything moves as if on permanent fast forward. Like something's rushing to get everything to where it's going. It's a very strange phenomenon to think about, let alone to experience. I thought it would be the coolest thing to check out for myself, but it never occurred to me that something might live there.

I truly regret having opened that can of worms. So, as it turns out, the rush isn't really that impressive when you're in it. To an outside observer, it'll look amazing, but for the person inside the rush, everything appears to be normal. because everything's moving at an increased speed, including your thoughts, nothing seems to be moving differently. Well, that realization was a bit of a letdown for me, but it was still neat to feel that unique energy of the place

and to discover all the things that have been left behind in the haste to cover it up. Surprisingly, there wasn't much dust or any real signs of decay about the area, and not a single bug or cobweb to be seen. A few sounds of scurrying alerted me to the presence of mice or rats within the walls, but I didn't notice droppings anywhere. The floors in this area looked like some kind of off-white linoleum, unlike the pink and baby blue vinyl towel currently used by the rest of the asylum. Also, unlike the rest of the asylum,

the doors to the rooms were made of a dark brown, heavy wood. Instead of windows to look through, each door had a small opening with a sliding barrier for observation. The door knobs were old and wooden, with a keyhole resting beneath each one. None of the doors I tried were locked, which meant I could have had to look around without having to waste energy on creative entry. Well, I guess the ease of entering made me forget caution, as I never even bothered to look through the observation hole before opening the door. The first room I entered was furnished with a wooden bed frame that was bolted to the wall and a small wooden desk that was bolted to the floor.

The walls were plastered with crayon drawings of flowers, rainbows and an assortment of bugs and animals. On the desk I had a few professional-looking sketches of the very walls of the room With all the drawings present All the cutesy pictures on the walls made me gag I was rather fond of the sketches A pocketed one to take with me

And moved on to the next room The only furniture present in the second room Was a single wooden chair Sitting in the room centre Facing away from the door In the chair sat a large orange and yellow teddy bear That looked like it was homemade The fabric and pattern of its skin seemed consistent with what a woman might use for a summer dress.

The one remaining button eye on its face was yellow and shaped like a flower. The nose was a black felt material, while the stitching that created its smile was brown. A syringe filled with a dark substance punctured the bear's face where the missing eye should have been. I could feel that that bear was very angry, so I picked it up and squeezed it against my chest, taking some of its burden into myself before returning to its chair. Yes, I know, I'm such a sentimental fool sometimes, but the bear appreciated it, and I left the room better than I found it. The third room was trouble.

When I put my hand on the door-nob of that room, I felt something that should have at least gotten me to take a peek into the room before opening the door. It felt wrong. I don't know of any other way to describe it. If I've been anywhere else except for Bainbridge, that feeling would have caused me to walk away unless my master had made a specific request for me to bypass that decision. I think the overall strangeness of this asylum and its various energies has weakened my inhibitions

to a degree. Or maybe I've just grown stupider over the years. Whatever the reason for my lack of caution, I opened the door to the third room and stepped right in. The first thing that grabbed my attention were the numbers on the wall. walls. I mean, it almost seemed like the walls themselves were completely made of numbers. Numbers on top of numbers, big, small, different colours, even numbers in different languages. Some of them were so ornate that they wouldn't have looked out of place in an art museum. Others were crudely carved into the walls. Still others looked like ethereal caveman paintings. Even though I couldn't read all of them, it didn't take me long to understand that all of the numbers were odd. Well, I didn't bowed

in a place like this, so I quickly decided to take my leave. I actually might have left the room unscathed, except that I suddenly noticed that there was a fully intact bed on the right side of the room, and the bed was occupied. Sitting Indian-style on the red duvet that covered the mattress was a young man that looked to be about my age, which is to say a little bit older than someone fresh out of college. Yes, I know I look old for my age. It happens when you live a life like a life. mine. Anyway, the guy didn't have a shirt on, but he was wearing what looked like white scrub bottoms. His flawlessly chiseled body might have been a real turn on if his skin wasn't this

awful greyish blue colour. His lips, nipples, fingernails and toenails were tar black. He had no hair on any part of his body that was visible to me. His irises were a crystal clear blue, while the whites of his eyes were the bright red of arterial blood. "'Who are you?' I spat in surprise, without thinking about whether it was safe to start a conversation with this guy or not. "'Oh!' he croaked, leaning forward a little and cocking his head to the side. "'Who are you?' His voice was soft and somewhat pleasant, but it sounded like he hadn't spoken in a long time, and he might have been thirsty. "'I'm a—I'm a—' "'Orya,' I lied, giving him the name the name

that I usually gave to supernatural entities I encountered. There's a power in name, so you should never give your name away lightly. No, he said, sitting up straight and narrowing his eyes at me. That's one strike. Why have you come here? He broke. Um... I pause for a moment, unsure of what game we might be playing here.

I could sense that just leaving was no longer an option. Not now that I had his attention. I decided to be honest, just for the moment, since I wasn't sure yet what kind of danger this entity represented. I was curious. I had heard about this area called The Rush, and I decided to do some exploring. Yes, he sighed.

The Rush is my home. There's a wall that keeps out the living. How did you get in? I took a path hidden to most. "'Walls are no real barrier for me?' "'I replied carefully. "'I'm sorry if my presence has disturbed your peace. "'Are you able to leave here?' I wondered.

"'That's another strike,' he growled, "'bearing his red teeth in anger. "'Your question is not valid. "'You may try another question, but it's probably not a good idea.' "'His angry skull transformed into a sly grin "'as his eyes travelled along the numbered walls "'before resting back on the... me. Are you odd or even? He asked.

What? I sputtered. I don't understand the question. How can I be odd or even? At this point I knew there was no way I was going to pass whatever test this was, so I started trying to calculate how quickly I could get from here to the other side of the wall that sealed the rush away from the rest of Bainbridge. The panic rising in my chest made it difficult to think through all the steps needed to get out of there. You are a nervous little rabbit, aren't you? He chuckled. Don't worry, you're an odd number for sure.

An even number couldn't have entered this room. The door would have been locked to you. That was, of course, your last strike. But fortunately for you, that means that you'll be able to stay here with me forever and always. Before I could react, the entity's hand shot across the room and wrap themselves firmly around my neck. He never left his place upon his bed, nor did he change his seated position. His arms had merely extended as much as they needed to in order to close the distance

between us, and now they began pulling to drag me over to him. There wasn't much time to think because we weren't a great distance away from each other, and because he wouldn't let me draw in a breath. I reached into my pocket and grabbed the little folding knife I keep on me when exploring the building. No, I won't tell you where I kept it stashed during the day. I dug my heels into the floor, trying to buy myself time while I geared up to do what was necessary. The little knife wasn't likely to even scratch the surface of the entity's skin, but my master had left me away to protect myself under the most extreme circumstances. I'd have to get in good and deep for it, though.

Working as quickly as I could, I stabbed the knife into my left wrist and dragged it up my forearm, hoping beyond hope that that would be enough. Growing weaker by the second, I desperately beat my arm against his, splashing my blood all over him. Blessed air rushed into my lungs as the entity release me, his lengthened arms flailing about as he howled in pain. I fell to the floor, feeling dizzy and disoriented, but knowing that I'd probably die if I stayed where I was for too much longer. I got to my feet and exited the room as quickly as I could, slamming the door shut behind me. The deafening roars chasing me out of the room spurred me on as I spent all that I had pushing myself toward the wall through which I needed to escape. I'd almost reached the barrier

when the world around me faded into the black halls of unconsciousness. I'm still not sure how I managed to get out of the rush. Apparently one of the night patrols found me bleeding to death on the floor of one of the C-Word corridors. Now I live on E-Wort, the suicide ward. I don't mind it here, honestly. I don't get to spend much time alone anymore, which I'm okay with. My nightly explorations are over. I happily take the sedatives offered to me and sleep like a normal person now.

I'm sure the day might come when I feel comfortable enough to take on another adventure in the dark, but then again, maybe not. Bainbridge is just too powerful and too unpredictable. It just doesn't feel safe to explore anymore. Look, I know that you probably don't believe a word of what I just said. I mean, witches and dark magic are things that go bump in the night, right? But you need to warn the next director.

This place is not to be trifled with. Here, there be monsters. I had to damn near kill myself in order to save my own life. Bainbridge Asylum will devour you, digest you, and here you will stay. Patient. Bethany Stalwood. Wait, are you recording this? I don't think I can do this.

You probably won't believe me anyway, and if the director gets wind of this, he's just been itching for a reason to send me to the experimental ward. I'm getting better, I swear. What? The director's resigned. That can't be right. Really? You're looking for a new one?

Well, then maybe there's hope after all. You promise this isn't some kind of trick. Okay, then, I'll tell you what really happened to put me here. My name is Bethany Starwad. I used to work here at Bainbridge Asylum as a nurse in the Emergency Surgery War. I mostly worked dayshish because I enjoyed a pretty healthy nightlife, but I usually worked a few nights. night shifts a month, just to mix things up a bit. As you might imagine, the day shift here is

often really busy. Things are a lot quieter at night, though you do have the odd emergency here and there. Like that weird girl, Elisha, what's her face. I was here working the night that witch-bitch nearly bled herself out. Honestly, I've never understood why crazy murderers shouldn't be allowed to off themselves. They'd be doing everyone else a favour, right? Anyway, I was working a night shift on the ES ward, chatting it up with my friend Samantha to pass the time more quickly. You want all the juiciest news about what's going on around Bainbridge? You talk to Samantha. If you want to know the truest versions of what's going on, well, maybe she's not the one to ask. But she can make the night breeze by before you know it. God, I miss working with her.

I can only imagine what she's telling everyone about me, though. Not to be mean, but I really wish it could have been her instead. The whole thing came down to a toy incost and I lost. You see, earlier that night, we lost a patient that was rushed over to us from Seaword. According to the guards on duty, the guy had jumped from his bed and had somehow landed awkwardly enough to have broken his neck. Now, I don't know if you've seen the beds over on Seaword, but those things are no more than glorified mattresses. You tell me if somebody jumps off one of those and lands hard enough to break his freaking neck, I call bullshit But

That's the story they decided to stick with And it was really none of my business If the guards played a little too rough With some of these murderous crooks Anyway The guy didn't last too much longer After he arrived at the EES Our doctor pronounced him dead

And we covered him up with a sheet And moved his body over to a corner Where he wouldn't be in the way Crude, I know But the morgue wasn't open to us at night One of the weird rules of this place Though I think I might be started to understand that one.

So, close to three in the morning, Sarah came up to the intake desk where me and Samantha were silly. Sarah and another nurse, Charlene, had been watching over the patients in the main recovery room. Sarah needed a cigarette break and asked if one of us could go sit with Charlene until she got back. No biggie, but me and Samantha were both feeling kind of lazy that moment, so we decided to flip a coin.

It's just my bad luck that the coin chose to send me to take Sarah's place that night. or any other freaking night you might be here talking to Sarah or Samantha will I be working my day shift on the ES and looking forward to another wild night out as it was after the coin tox I grabbed my book of Sudoku puzzles and a pencil I went to join Charlene in recovery I mean Charlene was a nice girl and all but talking to her was about the same as talking to an old dusty librarian she had no social life to speak of and didn't have more than two words to say in response to any anything you'd say. Boring. I don't know how Sarah managed to work so many shifts paired up with her. It drove me crazy just having to spend ten minutes with her. I don't really mean to speak ill of the dead. I certainly didn't want her to die. I just wish that she could have died on a different night or that someone else had discovered her. As it was when I walked into the recovery room, I found Charlene convulsing face down in a pool of her own blood, just to have. Just a few of her own blood,

few feet away from the entrance to the room. I almost cried out, should have cried out, but I guess I was shocked into silence. I was thinking like, did Sarah do this? Did she finally snap after getting stuck with Charlene for so many shifts? What if she comes back to take me out? What if she already got Samantha while I was on my way here? Yeah, my panic thoughts caused me to waste a few precious seconds just standing there like an idiot. But finally my training kicked in and I rushed forward to see what kind of trouble Charlene was in and what I could do to help. It was after I'd knelt down next to her, though. I caught movement to the right of me.

I turned and looked up to see the patient that had died earlier, standing next to the nearest patient bed and staring at me. I mean, I still had that dead glaze to them, but he was definitely looking at me. He stood straight up, except that his head was still awkwardly cocked to the side and the skin of his neck looked like it didn't fit right. His jaw was hanging open and his fat bluish tongue was poking out, dry and dead. He lifted his hand to his mouth with his pointer finger lifted, like he was trying to shush me. Then he lifted his right hand, showing me his scalpel before slicing it down into the throat of the recovering patient he stood next to. I choked off a scream in my own throat and I mean I swallowed it hard when the dead guy James something or other

shuffled toward me holding that scalpel then I watched as he went over to the next patient bed and did it again I wanted to scream so bad every time he went to stab a patient but I didn't dare make a sound because he was watching me the whole time with his finger held up to his mouth I was so scared and I didn't want to die there in that room with that monster I mean, sure, all those patients didn't want to die either, but they were all murderous, so they kind of deserved it. There were 11 patients recovering in that room, and not one was spared. It wasn't until the dead guy had killed the last patient that I realized I was the only target left in the room. I'd hope that he'd go away and leave me alone after he was done butchering everyone else.

I'd been quiet and let him do his thing, after all. But once he was done with the last, he was done with the last. last patient. He held up that terrible scalpel and came shuffling toward me. I suddenly didn't want to be alone anymore, and I mean, I don't think I've ever been so alone in my life. I lifted Charlene and hugged her tightly to me. I knew she was dead at this point, but I needed to hold her anyway. And then, with a dead man almost right on top of me, I shut my eyes and screamed like my life depended on it. That's how the other nurses found. me, just sitting on the floor, holding a dead nurse and screaming my face off. Apparently I put

up quite a fight and wouldn't let anyone touch me until they'd found a way to sedate me. I mean, I was fully riled up, thinking I was about to die. I wasn't trying to hurt anybody or anything like that. I was just trying to live. But that's not how everyone else saw it. Nobody saw any of that night's events my way. That's why I'm a patient here now, of course. They all think I love. I lost my marbles and killed all those people myself that night. I mean, I was a victim. I didn't kill anybody at any time. But they all want to say that there's no other logical explanation of what happened.

According to all the staff present, and even according to video footage, there had been a temporary power outage affecting the ES wards. Get this, it's supposed to have started as I was on my way to the recovery room. Oh, I know I didn't go wandering around anywhere in the dark that night. I could see everything the whole time. The lights around me know so much as flickered, let alone turn completely off. Yet the security footage absolutely showed

that everything went black in the recovery room just before the horror show began. I mean, all of the lights, the monitors, everything turned off. For some reason, even the backup power supply remained off during that time. Charlene, of course, was still alive and unharmed when everything went dark. When everything abruptly came back on,

All there was to see was me surrounded by dead patients and holding a dead nurse, screaming like my hair was on fire. The dead guy was found exactly where we'd placed him, still covered with the sheet. So, that's it. I'm supposed to have walked into the recovery room that night, under the cover of darkness, and stabbed a bunch of patients in a nurse to death. Me with my secret night vision goggles. I mean, how was I supposed to see well enough to have killed all those people?

people with such precision. The doctors all want to tell me it's more plausible than a dead guy getting up and killing everyone without getting a drop of blood on him, going back to rest exactly as he was before, so no one would notice. Well, I beg to differ. I know what I saw, and I know that I don't belong here. Please tell the next director what I told you. Tell him that this is not justice and that I am not crazy.

I can't stay here. The most frightful things happen here all the time. now. I mean, working here for a shift is so different from being here 24-7. I get to witness a lot more of the action now. It's like this place just up and soaked up all the crazy from the patients living in this damned asylum. And the new director needs to know this. He needs to know that this place isn't normal, and he has to let me out. Please. Patient. Francis Galloway. You're not planning on becoming the next. next director here, are you? Too bad the place could really use someone like you. I can already tell that you're someone I could like, someone I could trust. Maybe you'll reconsider him. Well,

in the meantime, let me tell you what you've come to here. My name is Galloway and I'm 13 years old. I'm here because of what I did at my coming of age ceremony. You see, my father is a powerful man, with the kind of wealth most people can't even work up in their pitiful imagination. I'm here nations. He gives but a pittance to charity and the world thinks he's the most kind and generous person alive. Sure, he wears the mask well, but it's just so easy to fool people these days. He's actually quite a greedy man, almost like a Wendigo in his hunger for endless riches. He's delved deeply into the darkest places imaginable to attain all that he has, including a son who would be worthy of taking on such a sizable inheritance. I was meant to prove my worth

on the day I turned 13. Most of it was pretty simple stuff, like basic rituals and routine sacrifices. I got most of it without breaking a sweat. I killed 24 supposedly pure souls and was quite ready to kill the 25th that would seal the deal and end the ceremony. But when my father presented my little sister Fanny

as the final sacrifice, I refused. Fanny had apparently been given life for that purpose. But that's not what I saw. growing up. From the time I was two, she'd been there with me, ice shining with love for me from the very start. I can't say I loved her, not really knowing if I'm capable of love, but I always just wanted to protect her. And the way she always looked up to me no matter what I did, I'd kill for her. I did kill for her, in fact. I took out all aid of my father's followers who prepared my sister for the sacrifice, and I tried to kill my father.

Well, my father is stronger than he looks. I'd gone about halfway through, severing his head from his neck, when he backhanded me forcefully enough to send me flying across the room, where I hit the wall and fell unconscious to the floor. Now, mind you, my father, wasn't upset about my having tried to take his life. On the contrary, he was pleased to announce that I'd proven myself worthy of my inheritance. Well, he thought I might have been too sentimental and, therefore, weak, when I'd refused to kill my sister.

However, when I tried to kill him instead, my father realized that it hadn't been a matter of love so much as preference. I wasn't able to sever a blood tie after all. And the reason I'm here now is because of disobedience to my father. I'm very much in line to inherit his vast wealth and knowledge, but my willful act had to be punished. So my father and his followers said and did what they had to in order to get me committed to Bainbridge Asylum. They figured it would be the perfect place for me to continue my devourable. development and education in the dark arts, given its history and reputation, while also serving to put me in my proper place as my father's progeny. There was one unexpected drawback, however,

the asylum's director. Bainbridge is a very unique structure, when it lives, it breathes, it eats, it follows its own logic, and it bestows power upon the one who's meant to care for it. The director of the asylum becomes the almighty king of this domain, and it's easy to be it. It's easy for a weak man to let such power get to his head. The last director was a greedy tyrant, who made many decisions based on whatever met his fancy at the time. Bainbridge had no objections to this, so long as its needs were met. However, my father very much objected when the director would not give in to my father's

demands. After fruitless arguing back and forth, my father finally decided that it was time to make the director disappear. My father is able to come visit me any time he wants. now. Admittedly, it's a nice change from the strictness of the situation before. I really didn't like that last director, especially the way he would look at me, like I was just some bug he could crush underfoot whenever he was ready. I'm sure I'll see him again sometime in the future, and what he no fear then.

My father doesn't yet realize what he's actually done here, but I will wait until I'm older and stronger before I glue him in. You see, I don't need his thought. and power anymore. Really, I never did. I found what I need at Bainbridge Asylum, and, as it turns out, this place needs me too. Whatever my father did to the previous director of Bainbridge messed up the already tenuous balance of the asylum's energy. Thanks to the resident witch of Eward, I've been able to wander about the asylum at night, feeling its walls, learning its secrets, calming its fevers, and helping it to heal. And in return, Bainbridge has promised me a much

greater inheritance than my father could ever offer. I'm not able to accept it yet, being so young and inexperienced, but when the time comes, I will be the greatest director of Bainbridge asylum has ever had, and I'll be the only director thereafter. Yes, being created under similar circumstances and belonging to the darkness itself, the asylum and I are fated to become as one. The next director needs to know this. He or she will need to know that his or her power will be a temporary fixture, and that when it's my time, my rise will be immediate and terrible.

The director will have my thanks, and will be greatly rewarded for having fulfilled the stewardship contracts. In fact, I plan to give that person the wealth that my father had planned for me to continue hoarding upon his death. Is that not generous of me? Will you not consider becoming the next director? Oh, I do hope it will be you. Bainbridge and I.

We like you. Come join our team. You won't regret it. Mounds. Invasive species. By bare layer 64. Calvin delved into the soft earth in the flowerbeds that he and his wife had made

after they settled into their new home. Doris was at work. They only had one day off together each week and a day each to themselves while the other worked. There was a nice arrangement. The rest of the time they were. were home together or both at work.

As he considered how content they were, or at least how content he was, he felt a sharp sting register on his wrist. He pulled back his hand from the rich dirt even as he felt second and third bites along the back of his hand. Oh, nasty little... He trowed off, understanding the futility of cursing the little red insects. Fire ants possessed a nasty bite or sting, whatever it was that they did,

and there was simply no escaping them. They were, after all, simply defending what they perceived to be their territory. He set aside his tools and stood to examine the ground. Sure enough, they'd begun a miniature mound town on the edging material for the beds. Not much of it showed, but he knew that it was more likely extensive below the surface.

He couldn't stop himself from scratching the waltz that soon rose. He brushed at his hand an arm to remove any other attackers he may have failed to detect. He used the garden hose to wash off his hand and wrist. Cool water felt good, though the itching and burning returned immediately after he shut off the flow. The burning sensations from the stings demonstrated how the creatures had earned the fire part of their morica. He retrieved a bag of what was advertised as mound killer from the garden shed and spread a liberal amount on the mound. He followed the instruct. He Follow the instructions and watered in the grains of the substance with a sprinkle from the hose.

I got more fire ants. The loud ejaculation caused his heart to leap into his throat for a moment. His neighbour, Tanner James, no relation to Jesse. The elderly man stated upon each introduction or mention of his last name, stood just behind him. You know, as long as you're careful, you can use diesel fuel for the same purpose. Nobody'll complain, since nobody pays much attention. We ain't exactly a high dollar district where people get nosy.

Sit them homeless at the HOA. He cackled us, though. He'd spoken some great and humorous wisdom. Calvin shrugged internally. I guess he has to entertain himself, with his wife part in front of the TV all day. Never mind who he offends. Well, Tanner, had this stuff, and I think it may work. I noticed that you have several dead mounds around your yard.

I wonder why the bare dirt was tinted that bluish color. Not from the diesel? Tanner grinned. Yellow teeth glistening in the morning sun. You're already getting a hot that day. Ah, it is. When you get tired of spending all that muller on fancy store-bought stuff, just get you a yellow can and drown them in oily fuel.

Dead mounds leave bare spots no matter what. Ah, so wild if they turn a little blue. I've been noticing lots of mouths this year. Wet spring. Looks like a hot summer already. A bad combo when it comes to fire ants. Skeeters, too. Bugs light things wet.

Then hot. He let that sentence hang for a moment. Apparently so that Calvin could cringe. Just like an old girl. He cackled more loudly now than ever. Clap Calvin. on the shoulder and then returned to his own yard. I really need to install a fence.

Calvin groused quietly. His small wound still burned. He checked them again. The inflamed wounds had already sprouted little white postules on their crowns. He knew that if he popped them, they might become sores, yet if he didn't,

they would definitely become sores, despite the medical advice he'd found online after previous things. Yep. Definitely stings, he recalled. They latch on with a bite, then inject venom, bastards. He decided that he'd had enough for the day and went inside. He'd check on the mound after lunch to make sure no creepy crawlers had escaped his route.

Oh, I'm sorry you got boo-boos, honey boy. Doris kissed her husband's hand and wrist near the ant bites. Oh, not on them, gross. She shivered internally. just went for you because you're so sweet. We can work on the plant bed tomorrow if you want. Maybe we just do some shopping. Let's see how we feel.

Calvin smiled. Thank you for the healing kisses. I know the bites are gross. I'll eventually turn into sauce. Maybe. Never know. Oh, by the way, it's sugar ants that go for sweets. These red monsters go for flesh.

You pause for a moment. hoping he hadn't spoiled her unusually a bullion mood. Then, just to ensure he avoided a whiplash from her emotional roller coaster, he agreed with her. Yeah, shop in tomorrow. And if you feel like it and the weather stays nice, some outside work. I checked and the Moundkiller stuff did the trick. Nothing left but those little white pellets, the eggs.

He rolled his eyes. Oh, and what Tanner suggested using diesel fuel to kill him. "'Not sure how that man is still alive. "'He's so sloppy about things, sometimes a little dangerous.' "'Doris snorted. "'Got me. "'I just hope he doesn't burn down the neighborhood. "'If his old house and all the junk in the yard caught fire,

"'the entire block would burn to a cinder.' "'Tanner!' "'Hesmeralda screeched from her recliner. "'Pray me a cold drink, when you get done in the kitchen.' "'Tana shuffled into the living room "'and set a cold can of soda water on the tree. train next to his wife of 33 years. He knew she shouldn't drink so much of the sugary substance, but hearing her wine and gripe

was worse than watching her feet swell from the diabetes. She glared up at him as he passed. What, now he even going to put it in a glass with some ice? Town aside and shuffled back into the kitchen. As he awaited the chipped ice to spray from the dispenser, he felt a stinging sensation on his barefoot. He looked down. and saw a little dark figure scrunched in effort on top of his foot.

He grunted and used his other foot to partially crush the assailant and dispose of it at the same time. He let go and fell to the floor to twitch and attempt to stand and walk on its remaining limbs. "'I must have carried that one in from when I was in the yard,' he mumbled. He carried the glass back into the living room and set it beside the soft drink can. He ignored Essie's continued glare. It may have derived from her failing sight as much as from one of her vile moods at the loss of her physical abilities. Oh, watching say him old. He again dodged the glare, but not the seething tone in her voice.

Yeah, you know I like to find out what's happening on my shows. These are about real people, you know. This is the big finale episode. We find out who the father is and who Brittany is going to marry. Oh, I like that tall, handsome guy. "'Dah.' "'Tan interrupted with a yelp, "'and instinctively slapped at his leg.

"'He rubbed the spot through his pants "'and then slapped it again in a slightly different spot. "'Well, what's the matter, Tan?' "'Her tone and demeaner had shifted, "'though she continued to stare ahead at the screen "'rather than look to see the problem for herself. "'He grumbled in low tones for a moment, "'as if asking himself the same question.

"'He came to a conclusion. Oh, I think I got ants in my pants. He continued to slap and scratch, then stood and scrapled at the back side of his breeches. As he smirled, her mood finally lightning. You got ants in your pants on the other side of France, where the man drink their beer and the women show their... Oh, shut it, will you?

Her husband barked. This really hurts. I've got to get him off me. He then scurried into the bathroom and peeled. off his trousers. He spotted at several figures that crawled all over his exposed skin in attempts to find new territory to a sail. Even as he batted and scrubbed at his bare flesh with one hand, he fumbled with the controls to get the water flowing in the tub. He paused to allow the warm water to reach the faucet, then pull the activator to the shower. He nearly broke off the knob

when what felt like a particularly large specimen of Antford chomped him in a, very sensitive place. He grunted and caught himself before he slapped those. Well, he dropped his drawers and retrieved the squirming little monstrosity from the left-side bulge in his scrotum. Gotcha! Well, the ant was actually no bigger than its fellows. It had merely gotten in a bite or sting, in a delicate set of nerves. He rubbed his fingers together to crush the diminutive perverse. Well, that didn't always work. Fire ants were tough to kill. absence of a poisonous substance, but he ensured that this one's carapace crumbled. He snapped his fingers towards the toilet.

I know you little turds can swim, but not when you're crushed and flushed. He followed words with action, and soon his nemesis was swirling toward the septic system. By then he'd received a few more bite-stings, too close to sensitive areas. He plunged himself into the shower and began to scrub vigorously. He continued until long after all the petite soldiers were washed into the drain. He kept the water running to ensure that they didn't climb back up inside of the pipe, and because he received so little respite from the stings, it felt for all the world as though the bites he already had were fresh and continuing.

Eventually, his fingers pruned. He shut off the water and rummish for a clean towel. Out of curiosity, he counted the stings. Eighteen, wow, new personal record. Calvin opened his shed and then picked up the extra large bag of mound killer to deposit inside. He flicked the light switch so he could see what he was doing in the dim interior. Nothing happened. Well, naturally, he flicked it several more times, and nothing continued to happen.

Ah, great. He rolled his eyes, then set the... heavy bag on the floor and went to check the breaker. The breaker indicated that there was power flowing into the structure. He flipped it off and back on anyway. He returned to the shed and found that the switch still did not produce light as he wished. Light bulb, he exclaimed and snapped his fingers. He returned to the house and rummished for a fresh light bulb, one of the old incandescent types. He remembered to take along his little emergency flashlight, so that he could avoid stumbling over items on the floor of the shed.

On the way back, he felt several odd little bites on his ankles and lower legs. As he reached the doorway to the shed, the stings began. Tiny scarlet warriors injected toxin alkaloid venom, Solinopsin. He'd found the name on a search engine. He clearly set down the items in his hands and began to brush and scrub at the irritated wounds under his work pants, and in the low socks he liked to wear with his light shoes this time of year. He eventually put a stop to each of the fiery itching spots, at least stop to the injections. The burning sensations continued.

He picked up his items and quickly entered the structure and switched out the light bulbs. He returned to the doorway and once again flick the switch. I stubbornly refused to activate his lights. He cursed as he felt a fresh round of light. wounds inflicted on his feet and ankles. He shone the little flashlight toward the floor. It was swarming with fire ants. He allowed the beam to roll around the interior,

and spied large groups of the insects gathered on every surface near the ground and climbing upwards on others, even the fresh bag of mound killer that lay near his feet. As the fresh pain from the renewed, constant stinging drove him out of this place, he noted that the exposed wiring in the unfurbed, finished building had been chewed to pieces in several places. He read about that as well, but had forgotten that they liked to chew on electrical wires. By the time he got the last of his attackers to stop, to flee or to die, he was in agony. His legs from the knees down to his toes

were covered in welts. Doris put some calamine lotion on the bite and sting marks, but it did little to relieve his misery. His wife looked up towards his face, a worried expression on her own. "'Babe, you got over thirty bites or whatever, just around your left ankle.' She grasped his right foot and rotated it to an uncomfortable angle as she searched for more welts and pimples. Only twenty-five I saw on the right ankle, but that's a lot. Lots of others on your legs.' Calvin nodded. I know, I don't feel so good. He felt the sinking sensation in his esophagus,

and the heavy feel at the base of his throat that indicated he would vomit. He extracted himself from his wife's rough examination and made it to the bathroom. Doris didn't go in after him. They had established early in their marriage that she didn't do puking. When he was done, he washed his face and found that he was sweating profusely and was short of breath. "'God, how many stings would it take to cause a serious reaction?' he asked himself. He then managed to stumble back to the couch and sprawl before he lost consciousness. He never even heard the siren from the ambulance, Doris had decided to summon,

nor felt the sensations on the ride to the emergency room. "'I sure hope Calvin will be okay soon.' Mrs. Butterfield patted at Doris' arm. She was a nice elderly lady who lived across the street and won over from Calvin and Doris. with her daughter and two teen grandchildren. Her daughter was away on a short stretch at the county jail, routine misdemeanors, no currently charged felonies. Poor thing will be a great-grandmother soon, Doris thought.

The way that granddaughter sluts around, just like her mother. Aloud, she gave the standard appropriate response, though. Oh, they're just keeping a day or two because he got shot of breath. I scheduled an exterminator to come over this. afternoon. That backyard has too many fire ants for just mound killer pallets. The elderly lady nodded. Yes, they're worse than I've seen them. Carl picked up several stings just the other day. Oh, nasty welts. Now I have no excuses left to get him outdoors and away from those video games, even for a little while. She glanced up at the sky.

Oh, that exterminator may have to wait a day or two. Looks like it'll rain soon. The exterminator beat the rain. She informed Doris that as long as he beat the rain by half an hour, the treatments would wipe out all of the mounds. He looked woefully around the yard once he completed the treatment. He lifted his cap and scratched at his balding scalp. That's a shame we can't tolerate fire ants. They voraciously consume populations of fleas, ticks, termites, cockroaches,

shinch bugs, mosquito eggs and larva, scorpions, all kinds of other pesky insects. If they didn't have that sting, they'd be quite useful. Then again, they wouldn't be able to kill and eat all those other bugs without the venom. Besides, some people claim that they're an invasive species. I think they're just migrating, looking for greener pastures. Well, thank you, sir. Doris used the pause in the man's otherwise non-stop lecture on fire ants to complete their transaction. and get him on his way.

She'd heard from the doctor that Calvin would be home in the morning. When the first fat, cold drops of rain fell, she decided that it wouldn't be a good idea to drive all the way to the hospital tonight for a visit. He'd keep until the morning. She wanted the rest. The exterminator's treatment had had nearly an hour to work before the serious rain arrived.

The deluge that followed, washed ants and poison alike around the yard and out into the drains in adjacent properties. It was a good night to stay indoors. Chanel spread her towel in the backyard of her grandmother's home. The grass was already looking, a little sear and brown, but she couldn't get to the beach any time soon, with summer high school occupying the first few weeks of summer break.

I wouldn't do that if I were you, her younger brother Carl warned in his most ominous tones. I got stung like all over the other day. It made me kind of sick. Chanel wanted to ignore the little pest But knew that he would continue with his admonitions Until she put a firm stop to it Learning disabled

He's just like dumbass He makes me kind of sick She glared and sent the nasty thoughts in his direction To no avail He continued to stand and stare From the open sliding glass door Mouth agape and shoulders slumped I don't like

Plan on digging under junk in the yard like you. Besides, I already checked. Nothing under my beach towel, but dirt and yellow grass. Go back inside and play your stupid games. Kyle blinked several times, then shuffled back towards his room at his computer. He was soon lost to the boring real world as artificial sound effects blasted through his headphones. Meanwhile, his sister stretched luxuriantly on her anterior, soaking up the warm rays of Sol Invictors, while her mind wandered over the wasteland that was her adolescent life, with Grandma, internal eye-roll. She drifted into a light doze, dreams of escape to more urban environments and of freer existence. Well, her dreamscape

included slightly altered images of videos she'd watched, while beat music thrummed in the background of her senses. A heavy bass thump added a thrilling sense of danger. The swaying dancers who sported suggestive clothing and waved firearms menacingly added to the joy. Fire sprang from nearby trash cans, mere set pieces to give the video, dream, interesting lighting effects. Oh, the flames leapt into the air at first, then started to trail along the ground and engulf her legs and bugs, then her lower back. She turned and thrashed. and they licked up her body along her stomach to her breasts. The spark landed, and she sat up in distress.

When she rose, she expected the sensations to cease, yet they remained all too real. She brushed it herself and looked in horror to witness what appeared to be hundreds of dark little figures, each with a hint of red in its colouring, and all swarming over her body, front and back with no regard for her personal privacy. each one

Stung at least twice, several of them more times Chanel screeched and ran into the house yelling for help She ran past her brother's room Where he perched, oblivious to all but the game In which he was currently engaged The one that to him seemed so much more interesting than mere life experiences

She ran to her grandmother's room She ain't here The girl wailed And she bolted Grandma Butterfield's bathroom, all the while scratching and batting at her invenomed flesh. She plopped into the tub and opened up the forces to fall. She wasn't conscious to see that the fire ants merely floated away from her and attached themselves to their nearest fellows and eventually to the first available surface,

and from there to clamber from the expanse of the tub and out into the house. Tanner flipped and flopped in his bed. he was running a fever. His dreams turned immediately to nightmares. The heat and flames he felt emanated from within rather than from attacks by external forces. Just as the searing agony reached a crescendo, the heat was doused,

and he plunged into an icy chill that shocked his dream self so profoundly that it awakened him. His last thoughts in the dream state were that his screams seemed higher-pitched than they should be, and came from a distance. As he stared blankly at the TV screen before her. All original thoughts banished in place of the drivel that spewed forth from her shows. Tanner!

She barked, but received no response. A lazy ass, she grumbled. Tanner, bring me a drink. My legs are swollen. I can't walk. Well, her legs were indeed swollen, the combination of illnesses that had begun with diabetes, and it progressed due to her stubborn refusal to adjust her lifestyle and eating habits.

Her mood had typically soured as her blood sugar rose, and now her lazy husband was ignoring her, or gone to bed early. She felt a burning sting on her cangle. It wasn't as bad as the neuropathy sensations, but it was bad enough. She hadn't been outside for a couple of years, so she'd forgotten what an insect sting felt like. But she was quickly reminded As she experienced a series of them

Along both legs She yelped and cursed and slapped At her thick, celluliting gorge legs In her distress She switched on the lamp On the little table beside her Her remaining instincts Were to view her attackers

To determine whether there was a way To thwart their advance To stop the pain She immediately noticed That the rug that covered the worn spot In the carpet at the foot of her recliner, seemed to shift. Its pattern of multicolored concentric rings blurred with the movement of hundreds,

maybe thousands of carapace-covered forms. They seethed and writhed and crawled relentlessly, towards her. Her pulse raced shallowly within her massive frame. She breathed rapidly but weakly, the pace and strength of her lungs matched to that of her heart. she finally managed a scream of agony and terror she was trapped in her recliner she normally remained ensconced on her queenly throne voluntarily

and could neither rise on her own or walk more than necessary to make it to the bathroom back now she couldn't even manage to get the chair to lean forward to get the footrest to lower her already flaccid and atrophied muscles could not get the blood and oxygen necessary to function the rest of her body grew as weak as her pulse and breathing and on the fire ants marched

onto the yellowish noggahide of the big chair and from there onto her copious flesh her screams grew weaker and had all but ceased by the time Tanner stumbled into the room to check on his bride yes he he heard himself rasp his throat was scratchy and swollen and his eyes puffed

He clung to the open frame of the passage between the back rooms of the house and the living room. It was an older design, what he referred to as an ant farm, Warren of rooms, closets, and hallway passages. He switched on the living room light. It flickered a little, having been barely used for some time. Essex preferred her lamp. The floor was covered with fire ants. They slithered and thumped along from several openings in the room.

the floor near the base of the recliner. They swarmed over the form of his wife. Her features twisted into a grim expression that spoke of a fist clenching around her formally beating heart. He couldn't help her, and so he stumbled toward the back door. Maybe one of the neighbors could help him. Kyle! The name elicited no reaction, but the firm grip on his shoulder startled the young teen to adrenaline-fuelled alertness. It was his same. grandmother. He slumped, heart still thumping, and senses heightened. Kyle, where's your sister? I want to talk to the two of you.

Kyle glared for an instant, all that he dared, when faced with his sweet but indomitable grandmother, and then shrugged. Don't know, Grandma. I haven't seen her for a while. She was out in the backyard laying on a towel. Mrs. Butterfield walked to the backsliding glass doors and peered into the yard. One door was left open, allowing the climate control in the house to strive to air-condition the entire outdoors. There was a big beach towel, wadded and discarded on the back lawn, but no sign of Chanel. She shook her head and tottered down the hallway to see if the girl was in her room. Well, the door was unlocked for a change, so she unceremoniously opened it to catch the girl in whatever nefarious act she was assuredly completing.

The room was empty. She proceeded to the master bedroom, hers, internally threatening the little beast if she'd gotten into her grandmother's personal items. Still no signs of the brand. Then she saw that the carpet that separated the bedroom from the towered floor of the bathroom was wet. Through the partially open door, she could tell that water coated the interior floor. Chanel, what are you doing in my bathroom? she snapped. She drew closer and finally dared to look inside. Her granddaughter bobbed in the warm water as it slopped over the side of the tub.

In the pool, several flotillas of fire ants had banded together to form their own naval assault forms. Many had reached the carpeted area and had marched beyond the seeping fluid. She felt several stings on her ankles as she shut off the forcet and felt at the girl stretched in the tub. The water was still warm, but the girl was not. Weird, Calvin exclaimed as Doris drove him toward their home. What's the neighbors out and about? You think they're here to grieve me? He gave her one smile, and Doris rode her eyes at his attempted humor.

Probably not. The next to neighbors and the ones across from us were still inquired when I left to get you. She craned her neck as though she'd be able to see more through the, windshield than it currently allowed. Hey, that's an ambulance in front of the Butterfield Place. I was just talking with her yesterday. I see her and the grandson. Don't see Minnie Holt.

Probably outwalk in the streets or in juvie next to her mommy, dearest. Calvin snorted lightly. Ah, come on, babe, that ain't nice. Girl's just a teenager. It was an old discussion. Doris was convinced that Chanel was headed for a life of promiscuity in possibly the sex trade, interspersed with visits to the county jail or even state prison, perhaps some drugs, a downward spiral.

Calvin thought that the girl's acting out behaviour was a phase brought on when her father deserted the family, and her mother proved to be more in love with her addictions than her kids. Yet he could see that something worse than abandonment or imprisonment had clearly occurred. Yeah, looks like they're pretty shaken. Mrs. Butterfield looks terrible. "'A boy never did look right. "'Never gets outside, but, well, now.'

"'He trailed off impotently, "'appalled at the expressions and demeanour "'of his neighbours on the worst day in their lives. "'So far.' "'Doris managed to squeeze past several vehicles and pedestrians "'and wedged their car into the driveway, "'spluttering expletives the entire time "'and wishing hate and destruction on the drivers

"'who block the street and driveway. "'Too many people here!' She informed her husband, who had observed the same without her assistance. Police and look, those two have cameras. There's a couple of media trucks down the street. She turned off the engine and exited the car in a rush to go over and find out what had happened. Calvin slowly unfastened his safety belt. He shook his head and muttered.

Oh, hey, don't worry, babe. I just got out of the hospital, almost died, but hey, I'll manage. So glad you care more about me. an idle gossip. He caught up to his dearly beloved spouse as Mrs. Butterfield clutched at her. Oh, Doris, Marceau, she's gone, the older woman solved. Calvin shook his head again. He wasn't that surprised about a death, and stuff happened. He was more shocked that Mrs. Butterfield had looked to Doris as a potential source of support. He knew his better half was as cold and uncaring as one of the anqueathes in the mounds, well, where Chanel was concerned.

She projected a caring image to others, though, and may have actually liked Mrs. Butterfield as much as she did anyone. Kyle simply stared at the pavement beneath his feet and tried to hide the fact that he'd had his phone out chatting with his buddies. He'd had to log out of his desktop before he could let his friends online know what had happened. Now he was getting return messages, most doubting the veracity of his tale of sudden, non-pixel, fantasy death.

Calvin looked all around for a particular figure. Hey, where's Tanner? He has to be eaten this up. He'd asked the question to the ether, rather than anyone in particular. However, another neighbour responded. Ain't seen the old man all day. Think maybe he or his old lady is sick.

Calvin couldn't recall the man's first name. His last was Diaz, maybe Carlos, Charlie, whatever. He nodded in acknowledgement that the man had heard and attempted to answer his inquiry. I'm going to go check on them. He, for no reason in particular, informed his neighbour. Mr. Diaz nodded and made to go with him.

They soon found themselves ringing the doorbell and knocking for the Jameses. There was no answer, so Calvin went around to try and peek inside a window or the back glass door. The interior of the home was dark, there seemed to be no power. He possessed a dead feel with no hum of life or light.

He made his way around to the back door and felt his gorge rise at the sight that awaited him. Tanner was sprawled on the back patio. His body swarmed with an impossible number of crawling, biting, stinging insects. He knew there was nothing he could do but summon the EMS crew.

After he was done heaving up the nice breakfast of hospital food. He shakily made his way back toward the front of the home. Diaz greeted him halfway. A man, you don't look so pretty good. What a... Calvin interrupted him.

Tanner's dead. Fire ants all over him. His corpse, anyway. Couldn't get close. Gotta tell EMS. Diaz was a quick study and nodded. He helped Calvin along and they soon had official assistance.

Calvin wondered vagantly what the police officers who escorted the EMS workers were supposed to do about an enormous swarm of ants. It's not like they could shoot or tase them. Handcuffs and baddens would definitely be useless. Even animal control would have to pass on this one. Nets and cages were insufficient to hold the tiny terror posed by the fire ant colonies. Turn on the water! He heard someone call in the backyard. We'll have to hose them offs.

We can get to him. Hey, someone go around front and check on the one. presently an officer and a medic rounded the far corner of the house and approached the front door neither calvin nor deez had tried to open the door they were good enough neighbours that they wouldn't have been so intrusive and besides they each privately suspected that tanner had guns in the house and would shoot anyone he perceived as an intruder before he asked any questions the door was unlocked and the officer entered first she took a few steps and then bolted back over the threshold.

She's in there, but the whole place is crawling, filled with ants. We need some help. I'll get animal control, maybe at the fire department with the big hoses. And she began to slap at her lower legs, clearly distressed. I can't believe it. We'd us three neighbors in one day. Or to bugs. Calvin sat at the kitchen table with his head and his hands.

Doris hovered about, making lunch as they reviewed. the events of the day. It was past nightfall, and the bodies had at least been carted away from the area. It took the exterminators all afternoon to kill enough of those fire ants so the first responders could get to the bodies. He shuddered at the memory of the ravished carcass that had been

his neighbour, Tanner. Good thing they had enough of those biohazard suits to go around. How don't anyone could withstand the stink of that poison? Who knows what'd they be breathing? Doris Dowley dismissed his concerns for the police, fire and EMS personnel. What about what we're breathing? I can smell that junk even now. I don't know if it's in my sinuses or really here in the house.

Either way, it gives me a headache. I think we should sue somebody. Calvin ensured that she did not observe him as he shook his head. I don't know who to sue. The city, Homeowners Association. Maybe the people that hired the exterminator. The exterminator, but the chemical company. What are the fire ants?

Doris slammed her hands onto the table and mercilessly jarred the headache Calvin already sported. I don't care, she stated emphatically. I want some money out of somebody. They put us all through this, and they need to pay. Calvin knew he couldn't apply reason to the discussion. The pronouns had just attacked, under the leadership of the ominous

General of they. Maybe we can talk to a lawyer. This stuff has been in the news all evening. Maybe some ambulance chaser will contact us. On that note, he rose and made his way to the living room to catch the latest updates on the TV. He knew that Mrs. Butterfield was staying at a hotel. The James family had been notified

to the tragedy that had befallen their elder relatives. People who lived in the Blaze Hill Villas subdivision knew what had happened. They had been played by the invasive species for a long time, and this year had promised to be the worst ever. Calvin wondered whether the reporters had gotten the cause-of-death statements from the medical examiner. Surely someone would have blabbed.

When the report finally queued, he turned up the volume. While officials have not yet released the causes of death in the Blaze Hill Villa's fatality incidents, our correspondents have managed to contact some of the residents who have theories of their own. Yanni Sanchez-Diaz. Yeah, like my husband, he was there at one of them places. He said that there was like ants all over the place, like fire ants.

They couldn't get close. And they brought in some exterminators, looked like something off that alien Honda show. Don't know what killed them. The people. I think that the ants were just, just like eaten the bodies. It was like nasty.

Like, where you have it. This person's partner had a first-hand look at the scene. We expect that there will be a further press release in the morning once the scene has been cleared for investigators. And the reports moved on to larger tragic events in the world at large. Calvin sighed. Oh, guess that sums up the lives of three human beings.

His mumble was interrupted by, the tones of an incoming call. He dug out his device and after several swipes got the thing to answer. Hello, this is Calvin. The voice on the other end proved to be that of another neighbour, the one who lived up the next street near the apex of Blaze Hill Villas. Oh, Calvin, my friend, this is Namala Harik of the HOA. We're convening a special meeting of the HOA members

to address the tragedies from earlier. We're concerned that there's... some sort of toxin or perhaps a human-caused danger to our residents. We'd like you and your significant other to come. It'll be at my place. We have enough room around the pool to accommodate those who will show. Calvin knew that Namala called him because he regularly attended these meetings. Most of the neighbours ignored them.

Doris had never been to one. Of course, what day and time? He collected the necessary details and carried the message to the general... to Doris. To his shock and dismay, she agreed to come along. She wanted to give the H-O-A board a peace of her mind.

Or Calvin only hoped that she wouldn't drop it on them from a great height. Somebody might be crushed. So we've agreed in principle to arrange a mass extermination program in the entire subdivision and we'll take bids for a contractor, yes? Heriquis always one to be sure,

especially when the meeting was attended by a large and interested audience. There was a general buzz of what sounded like affirmations and a few raised voices that spoke of action, and he felt pleased that his initial and only reasonable suggestion met with general approval.

He had nothing else to offer in any case. By the end of the next working day, every employee in the locally owned Six-Legged Solutions was hard at work, searching for and destroying ant-mounds of every kind in the Blaze Hill Villas Compact.

At noon, Mr. Cara, the owner, approached Namala and the other offices of the HOA and smiled ingratiatingly. I'm afraid we've run short of solution. There are more mounds than we anticipated. We have more in order and, well, frankly, shipping was slower than we expected. I'm going back to the office shortly and I'll do everything in my ability to rush the shipment. I'll explain that it's an emergency. Namala Harig, assumed and offended expression. But you promised to end this problem today?

We have a contract. Kara nodded. Yes, please, but this infection is on a far grander scale than anything we've ever encountered. I've been doing this for over 20 years and I've never found so many nests. An old company would have enough poison on hand to address such a large-scale challenge. I promise we will get the job done, even if we have to postpone other contracts. Well, Harique was still unsatisfied. He had a crisis on his hands.

He wanted to maintain his position as president of the HOA. He had the biggest house and the most money. He lived highest on the hill, and he felt that he should have the position based on those virtues alone. And yet in this absurd place, people insisted on elections, so he'd have to please them for a time. I suppose we'll have to wait for you to get your solution, he spat, and then brushed his hands together to wash away the conflict. You should not have taken on the contract when you knew you were short. For now, continue, but we will wish to know by mid-morning tomorrow whether you have enough product to complete your task. And if not, we will hire a better company.

Kara nodded. Fair enough, but I'll warn you. my first idea was to ask around to borrow from one of the other companies. No one had any. Every exterminated in the city is working overtime. We may be all that's available. Even while Mr. Carr explained the deficiencies of his company, one of his exterminator team members was still at work with her last bit of solution.

She was in Calvin and Doris' backyard, near the flower beds. They were both at work, but everyone had signed permission forms to allow the exterminator, to enter their property to destroy the insectoid scourge. Javonne had planned her route carefully so that she could get near the houses where the two old folks and the teen girl had nied. She fancied herself as a crime scene investigator, maybe a lab technician,

thought she'd be able to solve the investigation if she could get close enough. The other yards were surrounded by crime scene tape and signs that included dire warnings for anyone who trespassed on the scene without official authorization. As she worked her way along the flower bed, sidling her way toward the James' property line, she felt the ground grown spongy.

The crust of bare dirt gave way several times, and she nearly stumbled. Yet she was intent on catching a good, lurid view of the other yard. She felt her leg then plunged into a deep hole, like one left by a rotted tree. Her other leg wrenched painfully for a moment before it descended to follow the first. Chivonne quickly found herself trapped up to her ample waist, and then the bites and stings of aggravated defenders of the mound set her to screaming. There were tens of thousands of them on her in moments. She screamed and called for help in an increasingly attenuated voice,

finally trailing off into, Oh, Lordy, oh Lordy, oh Lordy! As Chivon's pleas went unanswered in the mortal realm, Leroy Dabke paced his yard, mumbling to himself and occasionally cursing the exterminators for failing to reach his property before their noon break. He was unaware that the break would be longer than a lunch hour, and assumed that they would make their way up to his home soon time in the afternoon. He was high on the hill, with the other folks who could afford pools. He had expected to have his property addressed soonest. He rarely entered the grassy knoll that rose beyond his pool area, and might be able to.

the high point of Blaze Hill. He'd noted the browning of the grass, but chalked it up to a looming drought. Such things did not normally concern him, yet it meant a depreciation in the value of his home. Lazy, not all priority. His grousing matched his pacing exactly, an odd parody of a song and dance.

On the last chorus, he extended the routine by a few paces, and found himself knee-deep in a quagmire near his pool. He hadn't recognised that the ground was wet in that space, clearly from some minor leak that had time to build a subterranean quicksand pit. He had no way to know that the ground had been further weakened by a multitude of tiny tunnels, food storage and air cradle holes. His curses and cause for damnation on every personage he could recall resounded through the green space and echoed out across the water that was rarely disturbed by an actual swimmer. He clawed his way from the muck and mire As he felt the stings begin He knew that he was under some form of assault

By thousands of stingers Somewhere in his subconscious He recalled that if a swarm of bees attacked One should plunge into any available body of water These sensations were definitely stings So he crawled and then stumbled the last few paces to the water And plunged into the sparkling light blue relief while it worked for a moment the waters were cool and soothing but then the stings resumed he surfaced and swam toward the deep end he wore only shorts and a golf shirt his sandals were somewhere still in the mud being attacked by minuscule pincers and in venom stingers he reached the deepest part of the pool and dove he stayed down longer than he'd ever done previously and swatted a

every hint of movement on his flesh. Many of the wee warriors fled and floated to the surface. Leroy soon joined them and he spluttered and heaved in great breaths. He looked around in hope that the swarm would have dissipated or the individual

members of it drowned. Instead, there was a carpet of small red bodies on the water. They clung to one another and floated, a coast guard for the colony. And they soon sank the battleship Debka. My late afternoon,

virtually everyone in the Blaise Hill Villa's neighbourhood was gathered in Namala Harik's pool area. Please, please, the exterminator court and said that they've received some more solution and returned shortly. They're taking care of the problem, we must remain calm. It was the wrong thing to say to people who were afraid and working themselves up into a frenzy of anger

that would supplant the embarrassing feelings of fear that brought them together on this hot afternoon. Doris, ever a firebrand when it suited her mood, gave voice, a loud voice, to what was on most minds. What's happening? We've had people disappear. We've had people stung and put in the hospital.

Why is this happening? What are you doing about it? What's in the poison? Karen hunkered beside his wife, who now stood in front of one of the few available chairs. He watched the faces around, him as they flushed or darkened with rising ire he looked further back to the fringes of the crowd even the people along the fence at the rear of the gathering seemed to froth with anger they milled

and shouts arose it soon registered that they were not shouts of fury but of terror and pain Calvin stretched to his best height then gave up and clambered onto the chair Doris gave him a scorching look at the feel of his hand on her shoulder when he placed it there to steady himself. What are you? Why are you interrupting? Finally dawned on her that something was wrong. She changed her line of questioning slightly. What are you doing? What's going on back there?

McAlvin didn't answer. He stood stock still and watched in dread, as rose and then waves of his neighbours disappeared from view. The collapse picked up pace and he soon found himself plunged into darkness. The falling sensation had been brief and his momentum was arrested somewhat by the dirt that fell with him. He felt a crushing weight on his abdomen and found it hard to breathe. The weight turned to a sharp thrust from Doris' elbow

as she tried to use him for support so that she'd be. could rise. Dirt still rained on around them, and the muffled screams of the dying penetrated to their space in the new Blaze Hill Villa's mouth. My call of duty rival is trying to kill me. I'm going to fucking murder you if you drop into that next game. I read the PSN message from Atomic Blitz 89 with a chortle of skepticism. For posturing sake, I sent him my full address and goaded him. Come get me, bitch, I replied. You know, I just pissed that you can't get on my level.

Riot shield noob, brown scrub. You ain't far away. Charleston's only a couple of miles out. I'll make sure you never play C-O-D again, one-shot hacking Riot Shield hogging frickin' frickin' prick. Good. I laughed as I joined in the next game. then utterly annihilated Blitz

with the exact same strategy I'd employed in the previous game. Needless to say, he wasn't happy, and decided to throw some choice expletives in my way that were, shall we say, politically incorrect. Oh, classy indeed, Blitz. Well, he finally left the game

and I was free to continue my virtual slaughter without any fuss. Anyone else who had a problem with me and didn't feel the need to contact me and simply left the game. Well, I was eventually reported, by some angry child, and the moderators in their infinite wisdom decided to temporarily ban me for hacking. What did they know?

I scoffed and poured myself the last cup of tea from the fridge, left the empty jug next to the trash can. My roommate, Sidney, emerged from her room and passed me as she turned the corner toward the kitchen. She didn't say anything to me, though. When I sat back on the couch, I managed to catch a good look at the crease under her shorts, where her thighs connected to her ass. Maybe she was still mad about the prank I pulled last night, leaving that Ouija board open. I told her that I wanted to be open about her pagan thing,

but I can't help being experimental. After all, if someone tells me the one thing you're not supposed to do, well, that's the one thing I want to do the most. My TV turned on by itself, Reggie, she said, sitting opposite me on the couch. You need to close that bog quickly. I can feel it getting colder already. tell you what you take note of every weird thing that happens and i'll do the same it'd be like a little

science experiment we've got two variables me the skeptic and you the believer wouldn't that be fascinating you win the no bell for sure she said rolling her eyes oh come on sid what's the worst that can happen as soon as i finished that sentence sid jumped as she saw the cap from the empty jug of tea fly off and land with the sound of thin plastic on hardwood. I look behind me, then look back at Sid with a sigh. Attack of the 50-foot tea jug. Run for your lives. She was not amused.

Look, I have an idea. Let me show you that everything has a logical explanation. I walked over to the offending tea jug and lifted it to find an air-conditioning vent underneath. Yep, thought so, I muttered. I opened the front door and stuck my hand out to feel cold still air. Then upon inspecting the thermostat, my hypothesis fit right into place. Don't have all day, said Sid. Not to worry.

I just needed to confirm what I suspected. You said it was beginning to feel cold, right? This apartment complex is not exactly famous for its total enclosure from the outside, so naturally the coming cold season is going to bleed inside a bit. That's where the thermostat comes into play. It detected the lower in temperature and started blowing hot air from the vents, which is where I incidentally placed the empty tea jug. The air inside the jug began to get hotter,

expanding the pressure inside until the cap finally flew off and released the hot air. I replaced the cap onto the jug and set it back on top of the vent to recreate the incident. You know, I've never really shed on your jacket. you for what you believe, she said. I really don't get why you feel the need to constantly challenge me. Well, for one thing, I don't believe in anything beyond what I can prove. Secondly, the only one who's always trying to get me to do this, that and the other thing, just because the moon goddess or whoever said so. I'm not going vegan. I won't go lights out on a full moon, and if you're only to participate in your magic rituals, then you should expect a little criticism.

Remind me to never include you in anything again. Hey now, I don't mean to sound like an asshole. You're still my friend and all. I just think a little healthy debate keeps the mind alive. I just wish you had more of an open mind. With a sudden pot, the cap once again flew off the jug and landed on the hardwood. Told you, I said with a smirk. Sidney shook her head.

Just close the damn board. Please, for me. She stormed back into her room, leaving me alone with the game I still couldn't play for several more hours. Just as well, I needed a break, and it'd be midnight in a few hours' time. I spent the rest of the night coupling popcorn and beer with a horror movie. It's one of those basic possession movies, and I secretly hoped Sid would walk by as soon as the demon appeared on screen. The look on her face would be priceless. She never did, unfortunately.

Well, not until all the power in her. our apartment suddenly shut off. Ah, you gotta be kidding me. I rolled onto my feet off the couch and navigated my way through the pitch dark corridor toward the breaker closet. Sid came out with the flashlight of a cell phone guide in the way. What happened? That's what I want to find out.

Hey, give me a light, will you? After giving the breaker the once over, I told Sid that nothing appeared to be off about it. She suggested the power company may have cut the power but I distinctly remembered paying the bill last week. Besides, I said, they would have sent someone here to cut it, and there's no way someone would come this late. I started across the living room toward the window

to confirm that no one was out near the electrical meter. Do you see anything? Sid sounded rather unnerved when I hesitated to answer. Hmm, that's not an electrician out there, I said. Sid rushed next to me to see what I was looking at. It was the figure of a man, obscured in shade. He didn't even run, simply facing the two of us through the window with a menacing presence. I can't believe it.

You know what that is, right? Sid whispered. I know who that frickin is. It's Atomic Blitz, 89. Who? No, that's... This crazy bastard really came and did it, didn't he? drove all the way from Charleston just to curb my power. I'm going to kill him.

Reg, stop. Sid grabbed my arm. That's a shadow person. They're very powerful supernatural entities, and there's no finding them. Stay inside, please. Let go. He's going to get away.

A yank free of Sid's grip and run out the door. By the time I went down the stairs and out into the parking lot, however, I found Blitz had already started his car and peeled out onto the main road, tyres squealing on the pavement. Sid followed after she found him leaving the moment I stepped outside. Oh, thank the God it's gone, she said. To shadow people often use a Mazda as they prefer motor transport, I scoffed. Sid yanked my earlobe with a scowl, shivering as she rushed back upstairs to warm up under her blankets.

I contacted the police the morning after, but they were less than helpful. The only thing I had was the guy's game attack, and they promised, rather dubiously, to find his real name and charge him. I may as well not even have called them at all, as the only thing I got out of it was a patrol car frequenting our parking lot at night. The electrician wouldn't be there to fix the power for another day, and that just left Sid and me with nothing to do. We tried wasting most of the day out on the town.

Driving nowhere in particular, trying a new Indian restaurant and hanging out at the arcades. I almost forgot how funny Sid was throughout the whole trip, and I missed the quality time we used to spend with each other upon first moving in. Personally, I blamed her boyfriend for taking up so much of her attention. I never got along with him, for all the times he mooched off of her and me by extension. If Sid had been with me instead, I would have treated her right. Oh, I didn't forget the argument we had the night before. and after a few rounds of ski ball, I must have the courage to apologize to her.

Hey, um, I know I can be a dick sometimes, but I really don't mean to be. Whenever something nags at my thoughts, I just spill it out sometimes. You are a dick, said Sid, but you're my dick. Ooh, I say, I had a big one of that. I aim my ball for the tiniest hole marked 10,000, but Sid bumped her waist against. mine and I completely miss my shot. The ball landed up against the back ramp and rolled right back down the lane. Well, she managed to win a little prize with our combined tickets and rushed back into the

bedroom as soon as we got home. The utter silence struck me instantly when she left me alone with my thoughts in the dim living room. It grew darker still as the sun went down. Funny how I used to hate the sunlight glaring on my TV, but now I silently pleaded for it to stay up for just a minute longer. Well, my night got even worse when Sid's boyfriend came to steal her away. Better to spend time with the guy who's got power than with me, I figured.

It never occurred to me that I might use the last hour of sunlight to read one of my books, sitting unread on my nightstand. I wasted too much time on my phone, however, and the second the battery died, the sun had completely set. Despite being fully awakened, despite my swelling eagerness to contact Blitz for his pathetic, pettically petty gesture, I forced myself to sleep. My eyes were closed, but my brain continued to churn through everything that had happened the past day.

All the rage and the joy only served to confuse me and wedge my eyelids open, frustrating me even further. Everything just came back to sit, though, and all the emotions lingering in my gut that I knew would never be satisfied. Nothing ever goes the way I plan. And in a blinding flash of light and sudden pop, I was jolted awake, wide-eyed as a deer, my heart pumping like an engine. When I regained my bearings, I saw static glowing from the TV. I was excited for a moment, but all the other lights were still out.

I could tell it was well past midnight, so no one would come to fix the power now. The static snow began to swirl and morph, as if the outline of some moving image were attempting to take shape. A faint trill and crackle emanated from the TV, reminiscent of a low note from a synthesizer that wasn't fully plugged into a speaker. My eyes fell heavy to the glowing light and the soothing tones humming over the fading audio brakes. Before I knew it, I was fast asleep. I woke to gentle rays of light sneaking across the living room floor from the window. It must have been a dream. I wondered how Sid would interpret that one. Did she even make it back home yet?

I sat for a moment in agonizing silence, then the kitchen light beamed on with a loud electric hum and a familiar beep sounded from underneath the TV. The soft blue glow from my PS4 turned to a clean white, and the TV lit up to the account selection screen. I selected Regitarian 01, and immediately opened my call of duty game to quickly get my fix that I'd been waiting so long for.

Before I could even enter the lobby, however, I received a message. My heart filled with fiery bile and beat ferociously as I read the name, Atomic Blitz 89. I could hardly believe he actually went through the trouble to be notified when I came back online, but the message I read confirmed my suspicions. Got your power back, I see, he said. I entered my messages with more haste and fury than I'd ever done. on before. We had the cops here, dumbass. You're fuck now. Me? Why, sir? How could you suspect me of doing something like cutting your power? I could practically see the smug look on his face as I

read that. Seriously, who the hell actually drives across the state to cut someone's power? Well, a psychopath, that's who. Pure, unabashed, white-coat psychopath. That's you, Jackoff. "'Whatever. Not my fault you can't compete with the pros, and just dick around with lower-level players.' "'Not my fault. Your mom dropped you down the stairs as a baby. "'Have fun, Smurf.' "'I didn't bother responding to this last message. "'Wasn't the first time I've been called a Smurf. "'Can't help that the lobby sends me into matches with a load of players that suck.

"'Besides, sometimes you just need to relax and let off some steam on the newbies, which was exactly what I intended to do just then. Needless to say, I blocked Blitz. I never wanted to be in a match with him again. That guy is likely to get killed if he keeps up that behaviour, or even kills someone himself. In the following matches I played, I decided not to wear the headset, as I'd had enough interaction from salty players for the day.

It was enough for me to just hear them wail at the silent killer stalking the battleground that they just couldn't get a leg up on. As I was about to enter a new match, the TV suddenly cut out. Oh, what the... again! I looked around, but noticed the kitchen lights still working, as well as the PS4. With that, I breathed a sigh of relief before the images popped back up on the screen. Oh, thank hell, it's just a glitch. I was calm until I noticed what match lobby I'd been placed in.

Though I hadn't intended to enter a one-on-one match, there was only one other player with no bots to fill in the empty slots. His name was an incomprehensible mishmash of letters, numbers and symbols that I can't even begin to remember. The map was the usual suburban setting with all the open houses connected by empty roads and curbs. One thing I didn't recall from this particular map was the fact it was set at night and not a single streetlight was lit. The only thing allowing me to see was a flashlight attached to my rifle.

As I approached a threshold leading up onto the street, I moved behind the wall and slightly peaked around the corner to see if there was anyone nearby. Keeping the rifle at my hip, left the flashlight lowered, limiting my vision, but gaining the element of surprise. I could barely make out the shapes beyond the house across the street, but upon intently focusing,

I saw an obscured figure move through the shadows. As it moved, the faint light from its weapon moved along with him, And I realized this was the other player. I was delighted to have such luck to find him first, and I decided to taunt him by plugging my headset back in. I see you, I teased. As soon as I spoke, his flashlight lit up like a beacon, frantically moving up and down, left and right.

I hid back behind the wall just before his flashlight passed over me, and I chuckled. Time to put him out of his misery, I thought. I ran up to the upper level and looked out through the second-story window. Once I aimed my sights toward the other player, I could see him more clearly than ever, so much so that I could practically see the whites of his avatar's eyes. His light quickly flashed on to me when he was far too late. In the split-second move, I aimed directly for his stomach and began firing

until the recoil lifted my aim up to his house. Blood spattered behind the little game sprite, and he fell backward onto the peasant. pavement, the screen display and the victory icon for me. In the time before he respawned, I knew I would need to find a new position. I thought a little game of hide-and-seek would be a fun way to train my stealth skills. Jumping out from the window into the street, I looked down at the player's corpse. Once I shone my flashlight, I felt my stomach twist into knots. His face was more detailed than I thought possible from this game.

The creases along his cheeks and lips displayed a strange sorrow to match his deep brown eyes. Those eyes held my attention the most. They seemed large to begin with, but presently widened with intense shock. Well, it hadn't occurred to me until several seconds staring at the man's face that, well, I realized the body hadn't vanished as I had expected it to. Just as that thought passed from my mind, a deep, menacing purer sounded from the sky. The closest thing I can liken it to is a table crossing a wooden floor without any cushioning beneath the legs, but amplified through a heavy bass speaker. Following this sound, a discomforting skittering sound echoed around the map, like sandpaper rubbed together quickly.

I couldn't begin to make sense of the noises, but I knew that there was no time to dwell on it, as I'd been standing out in the open for too long. raising up from the corpse i turned around and found the same man standing right behind me free from his wounds but wearing the same fearful expression i tried to fire my weapon but my controller appeared to be useless my avatar just stood staring at the man as an amorphous shape rose from behind him he remained immobilized as the shaded black ooze crept over the top of his head and began to consume him just before it passed over his eyes my tv cut to static, my PS4 cut off with a mechanical clacking sound. Oh, you are shitting me. I stepped forward and leaned into the PS4, giving it a good few slaps on the roof of the machine. Well, the last slap supposedly worked, as I could see my TV return to a blue screen in my peripheral vision. I found the system had jumped to a message I'd received from the player.

It was bizarre, to say the least, and as unreadable as this. username, though, if memory serves, the message read. Sothoros, Gisthin, Sarr-plath, Yarsplath, Dolgarisar, Yarsplas, Vivisar, Yeris-Sar, Yeris-Plaz, Yirik. The hell, I whispered, there was no way I was going to make head not tailor that. I thought that a single word response would make communication easier. English? I typed. After a few seconds, I received a message badge. Yes. Where are you from? Sithyn Plath. Before I could respond, he sent a second message.

Sorry, many, please. Where? First. First. home, yeath somith. Then Ayendara. Great feast there. Zaras, Kiddik. Hmm, cool. My name's Reggie. What's your name?

No. Sorry, you don't have to tell me. So what happened with that match? That was weird. Yes. Saras Viz. Ghost. You believe in ghosts?

There was a much longer pause after I sent that last message. All right, I'll bite. You think we can contact him? Yes, speak. A spirit, can you understand me? Yeah, I can understand you. What's your name? Atomic Blitz 89.

I felt the same hot bile rise in my throat as I did when Blitz had messaged me on these real I never threw the controller across the room so hard in my life than when I read this goddamn name on the screen. When I came back to my senses, after a few deep breaths, I stumped towards my controller and picked it up. It took a few wax with my palm for it to start working again. Then I sent my last message to this psycho bastard. Fuck off and leave me alone, you demented Looney Tune piece of shit. With that, I completely shut off my PS4 and TV altogether. I couldn't believe I let myself look like such an idiot in front of Blitz.

How did he even manage to make the game go into that weird match? It was beyond my comprehension. For all I know, Blitz is the stereotypical basement dweller that lives and breathes computers. I settled myself at that thought, thinking he must have nothing else in the world to keep him occupied. At least I had friends like Seart. When Seid eventually came back home, she appeared surprised that the lights were on, but my little gaming corner was shut down. I thought you'd be right back on your game, she said.

It was that freaking blitz guy all along, I said. I freaking knew it too. Are you sure? Sid cocked her head dubiously. He literally started messaging me the minute I came back online. When I pressed him on it, he practically admitted to cutting our power. After that, I blocked him, but he used some weird sock account to screw with my game.

I don't know how he did it, but Blitz told me it was him after I made a fool of myself in front of him. I don't know if it's all him. Something weird happened to me, too. Who else could it be? I mean, right, what happened exactly? Sid shook her head and sat opposite me on the couch. But you'll just think I'm crazy. What if I made you a promise?

I said with a hand on my heart. the more I know about what's going on, the quicker I can get to the bottom of it. I swear I won't say anything. I'll only listen. Sid looked down at her hands while fiddling her fingers together. She glanced at me to see my expression was genuine, then turned her head toward her room. Her lips turned upward in a distressful smile as though she was unsure whether to laugh or cry. I had to get out of here.

That's why I called my boyfriend. "'Syed rocked her whole body back and forth, "'ready to fly into a panic once she finished her story. "'Right after we got home, "'I felt this really malicious presence in my room. "'I thought something might be outside, "'so I looked out the window, "'and all of a sudden I found some guy from the other building

"'just staring right at me through his window. "'He's definitely been peeping in on me, "'so I texted my boyfriend to come get me. "'I'm pretty sure he saw my cell phone light, "'and that's what made him shut the blinds on his window. I closed mine too, and lay back on the bed just texting until I could leave. As soon as I shut my phone off, there was this... Sid's face became flustered, and her breath staggered.

Go on. No judgment here, I said. I saw this figure all in black. Sid held back tears as she recounted the thing she'd seen. It looked straight at me from the corner of my room with these dimly glowing red eyes. and there were horns jutting out from either side of its head. Neither of us moved, but I practically felt paralyzed. It only raised its hand when I was about to scream. The way its arm moved looked more mechanical than anything,

and it locked itself in that position. My lungs felt tight and could only breathe when I concentrated. Once my cell phone vibrated, it suddenly vanished, and that's when I bolted out the door for my boyfriend. Sid's hands were noticeably trembling. I simply nodded my head. I'm sorry, that sounds pretty intense. I'm sure you have a theory by now.

Maybe, but I promised I'd just listen. Then listen to this. We've got a demon in the house, and it's all because of that damn Ouija board. There's no such thing as Spirit, Sid. That guy from the other building is obviously Blitz. He must have broken into a vacant apartment and is watching us from there manipulating everything going on.

So much for listening. We? Guy must be a technical mastermind. He's nuts, of course, but genius. Reggie? What do you mean by we saw? You saw something too, didn't you? Sid eyed me intensely.

I didn't reply. What would be the point other than putting more fuel into hysterical fire. I already knew the answer, but she wouldn't accept any explanation other than her own. Sid didn't talk to me for the rest of the day, saying she'd fix it herself. She disappeared into her room with sage, matches, and a bundle of candles. I assumed her plan was to call one of her gods or what have you to ghost bust our apartment. In the meantime, I decided to handle it my own way.

I turned the PS4 back on and send a message to Blitz, telling him I knew he was hiding in the building across from us. I told him that he may have Sid ford with his hacking skills and magic tricks, but I wasn't so easily frightened. His account showed he was last online roughly three hours ago, which would coincide with about the same time I was dropped in that odd map with his sock account. He didn't reply for several minutes. I opened the blinds on the living room window, beaming my cell phone flashlight in the direction of the window Sid claimed to have seen the guy. I passed my hand over the light up and down to mimic a slow strobing signal so he would know that I knew.

After a few seconds of signaling him, I heard the jingle of a received message. Here is he, Sothoros. Very funny, asshole. Will you just fuck off and leave us alone? Get lost, get alive. Sid, saw Zoso? Zosso.

her. I scoffed in disbelief. Did Blitz honestly think I hadn't heard that name before? I mean, anyone with half a brain and access to Google can find that old urban legend. Oh, how clever of you. He went on a Wikipedia binge after watching The Exorcist.

Try out of them that man. Vizisar. I jumped when I heard a loud pop coming from Sid's room. She squirled from the shock of whatever had caused a sound and I hastened toward her room. She opened the door. She opened the door and showed me the roll of sage in her hand with jagged strips curling from its halved end.

Smoke still streamed from its tip, but there were no embers indicating any fire at lit it. It just exploded in my hands. I get away from the window. I rushed to grab Sid by the shoulders and pulled her away from her room into the short hallway. Reg, I need you to listen to me. Look, this is serious. He's got a gun and he almost shot you. We need to sneak our way out at the front door without being seen from the living room window. Once we were out, we need to flag down the patrol car.

Reggie, shut the hell up and listen to me for one second. There was no bullet that went through the window. The sage literally just exploded in my hand. That makes no damn sense. I let go of Sid an inch toward her room. As if I wouldn't know the window was shut, feel free to check for any broken glass. I gingerly peaked around the corner, but found the window was fully intact.

Bits of charred sage littered Sid's floor where it presumably had exploded. Maybe he puts something in it. Don't give me that shit, Reg, because I swear, if you're about to postulate that your rival online snuck nitroglycerine in my reagents, and I'm going to lose it. Look, just stop. Don't say another word to me. I'm about to settle this once and for all, and you can do whatever the hell you want. Just don't come knocking because I won't answer.

Sit rushed into the kitchen to grab a fillet knife, unlocked herself in a room, slamming the door in my face. My heart raced up into my throats, but my anger wasn't directed solely at Sid. It was blitz that was causing all this. That was my theory, well, until I heard a loud pounding at the door, followed by a deep, firm voice. Arnsburg County, said the cop behind the door. I recognise the voice as the one who said he would be patrolling the area.

Initially, when I opened the door, I noticed how late in the evening it appeared outside. I planned to alleviate any worries he might have had over the noise, but he spoke first. I won't keep you long, sir. I just have a couple of questions for you. He handed me a photograph from a stack of papers he was holding. Are you familiar with this person? My eyes widened when I saw the face on the photo. I shook my head slowly, not in an answer to his question, but simply in dissoning.

believe. The sorrowful mouth, the deep brown eyes with a man in the picture brought me instantly back to the strange match I assumed Blitz had set up. Now, without the helmet, I could see his upturned brows that only emphasized the sad expression locked onto his face. No, I said, still shaking my head. What about him? His girlfriend found him dead just a few hours ago and contacted Charleston County. Then they contacted us when they found a slight connection to you. I don't get it. I mean, who is he? Gregory Simpson. You probably better know him as Atomic Blitz 89. I looked at the cop and helped my breath. It's not possible. I mean, what happened to him? I'm not at liberty to discuss that. The chief may decide to tell you when you talk to him,

but that's not my call. Am I under arrest? No, I only meant during questioning. We may call on you tomorrow for it, but just remember that it's only routine. You were seen leaving your apartment yesterday after the power incident. Oh, yeah, Sydney and I just went for food and ski ball.

I don't doubt it. My job is to make sure you're here tomorrow. I'd advise against any long trips beyond a grocery run. I'll be here. I handed him the photograph back and slowly closed the door as he bid me good day. My legs turned into jello and I staggered onto the couch from the weight of the news. I looked back at the messages sent from the unknown user and when I'd asked the spirit for his name. If Blitz was really trying to contact me, he wouldn't use a name I'd never heard before.

There was no way he could convince an actual police officer to play a petty game of revenge against me. But there was no way Blitz could actually. should be a ghost hunting us? Why was Sid convinced he was a demon anyway? These impossibilities not my head like metal balls on a Newtonian pendulum, pounding my tempers from left to right again and again. I needed answers, and my gut told me that whatever controlled the obscure account had something to do with it.

Where is Gregory Simpson? I typed. Zeresht. What does that mean? gone I already know that what did you do to him Saras

I don't know what that means speak English and I slammed my controller onto the floor fuck you I said aloud fuck the user typed

no I shook my head no you've got a microphone in here don't you? Sothor's Krenicht. The window is opened. I can hear. I can see.

I can taste. What do you want? Fisht Vige. I smell the demon. Fist Gyrig. I smell a goddess. Saras, Morgad Gyrig. A feast I've been waiting for eons.

Is that what you want? A meal? I didn't get a reply for a whole minute, and I could swear I heard a faint whimpering from Sid's room. Part of me was tempted to check on her, but I didn't want to agitate her further. You killed Blitz, didn't you? Morrigan Zeresht.

Yeah, Plath, Zoso. I don't know what that means. I began looking through every corner and crevice for microphones or cameras, but to no avail. Who are you? You did this, Sid shouted from a bedroom. She burst through the door with a face red from tears. You open that freaking regia board, and now they're dead. Sid's hands were trembling.

Her left hand had been cut while the right gripped the knife firmly. Who's they? I asked. Before I could blink, Sid's. It pounced on me and tried to stab me in the chest. I grabbed her by the arm to stop her, but her weight brought us both to the ground. That thing killed Morgan, my patron goddess. I had a vision of her cannibalized body. A demon was trying to hide from it.

You let something in that didn't belong in this world. It's all your fault. You're nuts! I rolled over on top of her and wrestled the knife out of her hand, tossing it far away. She clasped her hands around my throat and squeezed her thumb into my Adam's apple. Well, the last thing I wanted to do was hit Sid, but the pressure against my windpipe was unbearable, and I disoriented her with a swift, hard slap across the face. Her grip loosened, and I was able to release myself from her grip.

It's your fault, it's all your fault, Sid whimpered. Oh, you want me to fix it? I stood up and took out the Ouija board, left open in the closet. All right, we'll do this your way, then. I'll close the damn thing. We don't even know what it is. Maybe not, I said, turning to look at the TV screen. But now we have a name. It saw where I was pointing, which displayed the last message after I'd asked the thing who it was.

Terrific, she said. And I'd mean anything to you? No, it's not from here. It ate a god. nothing makes sense. Sid's expression suddenly changed to menace, and she turned her head in my direction with mechanical fluidity. I'm next in line for its meal,

but I can satiate it with you to in time for my escape. Or Sid's voice was low and booming. My God, what's got into you? Her body is mine now. Sid took the planchette and made a circular motion on the center of the board. You'll die one way or another. Do as you please with her in your last moments. Don't think you can hide your desire from me.

What? You're sick, demon, I said. Sid responded only with a devilish smile. I wasn't sure at the time if I'd totally bored into the idea, but if I was going to do this Sid's way, I would play her or it's game. She moved the planchette over the letters C-H-I-R and traced two soacles over the R. before she could make it to the rest of the letters she appeared to be stuck her hands lifted from the board trembling the planchette began to move then on its own without an air of subtlety whatsoever it moved not slowly but violently quick between h and a again and again and again it repeated the motion until the legs of the planchette bore scratches on the board both of us were paralyzed since its hands remained still in the air as if they were were bound together by invisible tethers. Presently, the TV cut to static,

in a deep, loud, harm echoed from behind it. Rather than coming from the speakers, it seemed as if the screen was acting like a window that muffled whatever hid behind it. Zon-Zo! Vivis-Shar! The entity said. It gurgled and chittered as it spoke, resembling the speech of a bubbling, oozing mass

rather than anything close to humanoid. no said growled she me viz also she me plav stalgar the voice followed with a bizarre imitation of human cackling a gleeful burbling that sounded rough for sandpaper but what monstrosity the unbearable noises promised couldn't prepare me for the utterly shocking horror which crawled out of the static tv screen the compact enough to fit its bulbous head through the third 30-inch screen. It spilled the rest of its body out like lengths and lengths of a giant centipede. The black carapaces on its back housed a sallow, gelatinous form with millions of skittering legs underneath. It raised its body up, towering over Sid, and protracted a pair of short mandibles snapping hungrily. At the bottom of his head, if I could even call it a chin, while two stalks appeared to drip down and opened orbital eyes,

which she can only liken to that of a mantis shrimp. As it moved on Sid, the mandibles dug deep into her shoulder to allow the creature's mouth to rip apart her flesh piece by piece. She didn't scream, but neither did I. We were trapped in our position, as if paralytic venom in our bodies had frozen us into plates. I knew she could feel it, though, and perhaps the demon did as it,

well. I'll never know, for the creature escaped out of the living room window once it was done with his meal. It's funny, though. Sid reminded me of a half-eaten buffalo wing just then. I thought that Cherifit would have gotten me too, but I supposed it wasn't hungry for Dolgarza, mortal flesh. It had a particular craving for Vizishar that night. Etherial flesh. I'd hardly noticed, but I'd never moved from that spot by the time the police found me the day after. How silly of me to forget I had an appointment with the chief investigator. I suppose there was no need for questions after what they found in my apartment. When I was being questioned, I recall one of the many interrogators mentioning that Gregory Simpson was mutilated the same way Sid was.

I didn't know anyone named Simpson, but I told them that I think my old friend, Atomic Blitz-89, and also had the misfortune of running into cheer refite. They keep me in my own room now. I traded some favours with my neighbours and managed to acquire a tool to scratch notes on the walls. Just a simple bit of decoding from memory. Oh, I'm so close to unlocking its language. Years he was so often paired with question marks in the PSN messages.

But what is it asking exactly? Or could it be a prefix? Well, I need more information. I must contact it once again. How fascinating it would be to speak the language of a completely new life form. I carved the letters into the floor and allowed my tool to act as a planchette. Sothoros, Krenicht, Zars, Zars, I said, circling the tool around the center of my makeshift board. Hiss, cherished, his.

cherish it his and so once again we reach the end of tonight's podcast my thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to listen now I'd ask one small favor of you

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