Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S6 Ep293: Episode 293: Bizarre Horror Stories

Episode Date: November 23, 2025

Our opening story this evening is 'The 11th Hour', an original work by Raymond Beaman, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all.  https://twitter.com/awritestruggle We follow this with a phenomenal Lovecraftian tale of terror: ‘The Demons Inside my Head’, an original work by Nightnator, again kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all. https://www.reddit.com/user/Nightnator/ Tonight’s classic closing story is the delightfully evil ‘Pizza Makes Everything Better’ by Brittlby, a story shared directly with me on my sub-reddit. https://www.reddit.com/user/Brittlby/

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bizarre things frighten us because they defy the rules we rely on to feel safe. And something is strange in a way we can't explain. an object that moves on its own, a sound with no source, a face that looks almost human but not quite. Our brain scrambled to make sense of it all. Our failure to do so sparks a primal alarm. If we can't categorize the thing, we can't predict it, and if we can't predict it, we can't protect ourselves. The bizarre lives in that unnerving gap between the familiar and the impossible, reminding us that reality might be far less stable and far less comforting that we pretend,

as we shall see in tonight's collection of stories. before we begin a word of caution. Tonight's tales may contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. Then let's begin. The 11th hour. By Raymond Beeman.

You've been sitting there for a while now. Just sitting there. Stationery across from me. Just sitting. Waiting. Watching. His gaze seemed to omit a clear judgment, one of which he'd tried his very best to conceal as a judgment would hardly have looked good against the backdrop of his attire. A judgment would make him look unclean.

A judgment would make him look weak, and a judgment would render his faith obsolete. He would also expose his well-hidden hypocrisy, one of which his kind always ironically failed to see. his eyes however that bright blue shade which seemed to study me from across the desk well his eyes they beautifully betrayed his true intent well daniel the priest chose his first words carefully neither a question nor a statement but together the two words were perfectly paired together they gave me an opening where do i begin he took a moment to appreciate a thought and when he was ready he once again spoke how about the first how was it you come to know that she was possessed a slight smile spread across my lips well father aside from the fact i find it incredibly humorous that i have to educate you in such things well i guess it started with the feeling A feeling, Daniel Yes, father A feeling

What do you mean? The smile grew tighter Against my features He really doesn't know Well, possession's more than just a physical act Possession Well, possessions are a wave And just like the waters against the shorefather

It continues to calm over and over forever and then some no pause no break no respite and no moment for thought it truly is endless but just like the waves we can feel it a little breeze against the shore those little noises of the water cascading as it breaks they're all hints farther little clues little warnings and these warnings are present and just as true when it comes to identifying a demon a demon daniel yes a demon father he paused for a second taking a moment to really appreciate the gravity of my words oh you will know the righteous work that i have done okay daniel how about we start with the first demon then my mind drifted back with little effort the first was the worst father imagine a deep sleep if you will one of which you've been trapped within for so long imagine spending

your life with your eyes closed seeing the world through a frosted gaze just assuming that all you've been told and all you've been taught was the truth and well now imagine the moment of realization imagine finding out that everything you'd ever thought everything you'd ever assumed to be true was no more than a lie imagining opening your eyes after thirty years father imagine how blinding that truly is the priest leant forward his blue eyes narrowing in concentration tell me daniel what happened the first time a warm feeling coursed through my body is the recollection materialized of course the memory was a painful one and of course the thought of what it had occurred deeply disturbed me, but there was a glow hidden within the horror. After all, I may have seen true evil for the first time that morning,

but evil cannot exist without the light. That may have been the morning that I came to accept the existence of the devil, but it was also the morning that I finally found God. He guides me. He will protect me. My mother? Yes, your mother. Well, the words were there out in the open, suffocating the small room as they begged for an explanation. They held firm against the walls, infecting my surroundings with their sticky and nasty presence.

My heart skipped slightly as I remembered her eyes. Her eyes used to be brown, father. They were a dark brown. In the right light, they reflect brightly. All of us have brown eyes. My family, I mean, I guess that's a genet. genetics for you, always lacking in an imagination. But to be clear, we never had her eyes. When she used to smile, her eyes would glow. You could always tell how happy my brother was,

just from the glow in her eyes. And you could always tell whether she was feigning a smile. You see, that glow was never there when she was just pretending. Oh, I always remember that glow, father. For many years she had that little glow, you know, well that morning there was no glow there was no smile and there was no familiarity that morning the brown shade of her happiness was gone gone yeah it was gone her eyes far they were red the priest moved back coughing slightly in surprise red are you saying that our eyes were literally glowing red. I shook my head. How has he never seen this before? No, no, it's not as it sounds. It's not like the movies, you know, life never is. When I say red father, I don't mean that her eyes were literally glowing, more that they contained something, something which was not her. I suppose,

for a lack of better word to describe them, they were red. I guess we've been conditioned to a associate red with danger. I suppose, but, I don't know. I just know, as I said, that it was not her, and I could see it in her eyes. There was something there, it had eaten her glow. I suppose you could say, it was one of those little clues that I mentioned to you before, one of those little hints, the ones that you can only ever truly see if you're ready to see it. It was, as I said, father, a feeling. The priest paused as my word slowly sank in. Carefully, he removed the glasses from his face and brought them down against his shirt as he began to clean the lenses.

He's beginning to see the truth. Well, I think I understand, but there must have been something more. We wouldn't be having this conversation if that was it. I nodded my head. Yes, as I said, possession is endless. You see, that was the first time that I saw it that morning. I was having breakfast, you know, just sitting there, eating while worrying about all the usual things that people worry about at the beginning of the day.

If you were to ask me now exactly what I was worried about, I honestly couldn't tell you. It all seems like so long ago. Another life. A concern for the person I no longer am, I guess. It was just a normal morning. A start like every other. Well, that is until she came into the kitchen. What happened next?

On the surface of it, father, not much. She spoke to me. She asked me about my plans for the day. She made a soft breakfast, and she hurried around our home, eager to get the last few things done before she left for work. On the surface of it, it was just a normal Thursday morning. But possession, well, possession has many layers. To the untrained eye, the only thing that particular eye can ever hope to see is its surface.

Admittedly, I was hardly as adept then as I am now, but that morning, well, that morning something happened to me. It was Godfather. That morning, he spoke to me. I could see it in his face. It was all over him in almost an instant. It oozed forth from his paws as it filled the room, coating the small confines in its own. horrid stink, hindering, suffocating, jealousy. I couldn't help and allow another smile to bless my features. Yes, father, he spoke to me. Slowly the priest leant forward into the table, edging his interested ears close to my ever-telling mouth as he carefully placed the glasses back upon his face. And, uh, what did he tell you?

the smile on my lips almost hurt oh it's hard to describe but i'll try my best to convey what it was told imagine being told everything and i mean everything all at once imagine all knowledge being bestowed upon you in an instant truth meaning fact all of it the words are well hard to put into words but the sensation that they brought the sensation was nothing sure to of pure light. Imagine a radiant warmth, the most beautiful feelings never felt. Imagine his love, his dedication, his touch, blessing your soul and opening your consciousness to the immense and pleasurable truth

that only he can bestow upon you. Well, it was love, father. It was eternal love. I felt his hand upon me. I understood his sacrifice, and, well, in an instant, I knew what he was trying to tell me. the feeling inside of me was him but the world around me the world was filled with misery and caked in darkness the world around of me and the feelings that imparts upon all of us the world was nothing but a haven for the unholy a sick charade a prison and a construct designed to be perfect but long corrupted by those who are not meant to walk among us and it was there father during that realization that she smiled

at me and I saw it or to be precise I saw what was not there her glow and that's how you come to know no father not really I mean I guess I did know at that point but I really didn't want to admit it to myself I told myself it was just suspicion so well I decided to do what seemed logical I waited you waited you waited for what to be proved wrong but unfortunately for both of us my suspicions would prove to be correct the priest paused for a moment and leant back into his chair sighing deep believes he brought his hands up to his face daniel this is a lot to take in please give me a moment to collect my thoughts i allowed my words to wash over him he seemed convicted in his faith sure he seemed steadfast in his belief that watch was apparent but as I watched on from across the table

I couldn't help but question exactly how far along the path of truth his ideologies would allow him to tread would they permit him to see the truth he already knew would they allow him the clarity to identify the divine gradually I began to question my choices

I do not mean any disrespect but are you really the right man for this job father I mean I've been told that you are I've been reassured that you are the best person for this but I'm beginning to have my doubts father are you the man for me silence followed the deafening sound piercing the room as the sounds of our breathing meshed nicely within the nothingness. Eternity seemed to linger, hanging in the air along with my question, as it drifted aimlessly, awaiting acknowledgement, waiting to be free. Finally, after a few short moments, he once again sighed and moved back into the table.

We are all God's children, Daniel, and we all deserve to be listened to, especially now. The smirk burned its way onto my lips. Are you sure, father? Are you sure that this is not too much for one sitting? Well, Daniel, I just hope that my faith is strong enough to hear the rest. Ah, perfection! I knew that he was in awe. I knew that he was savoring every moment, every little descriptive word of an experience that he could only ever dream of.

I knew that he wanted to be me, but I also knew, realistically, without the knowledge I'd been given that this was a lot for one. person to take, regardless of the faith that they may decide to wrap themselves within. I was effectively outing the devil, and not everyone, even those closest to the Bible, included, were yet ready to acknowledge his existence. Well, that was his greatest trick, you know, to fool us into believing that he did not exist. An unexpected chuckle escaped from me, then. Got it in one, father. Well, the people. priest ignored my misplaced laughter and instead straightened his glasses before once again posing a question where are we my mother that's right your mother my mind buzzed slightly as it returned to the event well she was the first that i saw but after her i came to see the truth wherever i went he was in the shop when i went to buy milk is at my place of work in the morning in the streets outside of my home.

They were not always there, but they were in enough places for me to be concerned. I could see them everywhere, Father. I could actually see the world, the real world. It was terrifying. I'll admit there were some nights, darkest of nights, when I questioned his will. I mean, after all, why me? Why'd I been given this?

Why'd I been trusted with his hand? yeah there were some nights a little too many for my liking one too many i'll embarrassingly admit that i did just a little bit i did question his will but honestly and i do say this with nothing held back those nights were far and few between for every night i questioned the path for every night that i wondered whether i was really the right person for his divine plan There were easily a hundred nights When I carried out his will without restraint And for that

I know that my place in his heaven is just But my place by his side is secure God he hates the truth I could see it once again within him The rotten stench of jealousy moving from him As it outed his pride Dirtying his religious attire With its everlasting and lingering presence

It clung to him and it was louder than his words. And what of Frederick Price? Oh, Frederick Price. I try not to recall their human names, father. It would be a disservice to the skin that they left behind. Oh, after all, what wore their faces was anything but holy? Hmm, quite.

I could see that this was getting to him. I didn't blame him. I remember that morning, so long ago, that morning when my eyes were finally opened and just how hard it had been to accept the reality of life after hearing his words. I remembered the gravity of the realisation. I remembered the weight of his will,

so I knew entirely just how cumbersome that the truth could be. I didn't blame him, even if he did wear his faith proudly. It was a lot to accept, even for a man of God. Ironing, as humorous as it was, really is a fickle thing. Frederick Price. The priest remained silent,

instead responding with a simple nod. Well, he was a second demon that I encountered, and he was, to put it bluntly, a moment of clarity of sorts. You see, before him I tried, albeit without result, to save the vessel the demon had infested. I tried it all, all of it, practiced upon what used to be my mother.

I had researched, I'd read, I'd learned, and I'd fought for answers, but with Frederick, well, with him, I came to realize that whatever wore his face was, as I said, anything but holy. Frederick showed me the vessel could not be saved and that the child of God could only ever be cleaned by his hand alone. Frederick opened my eyes to a certain degree

with more relevance than his message ever, conveyed. Frederick showed me the continuation of the path. He showed me how to navigate the predicament, and ultimately how to rid the world of the infestation. He showed me how to save a soul. He showed me how to fulfill my purpose. Without him, I was no more than an ant

attempting to understand the motivations of man. And for that alone, that's the only reason I would ever besmirch his soul by referencing his name. Frederick left this world a long time ago. he's with the creator now the thing that took his identity well that is back

with an entirely different creator with the devil yes father with the devil the priest sighed once again and moved back from the table taking a moment to steady his mind as the stark nature of my admission

washed over him he's not strong enough to wield the might of God and for a few seconds he remained silent obviously attempting to reconcile my story against his pre-existing faith. His blue eyes moved back and forth as his mind absorbed my message and then, just at the moment when I was about to speak. He spoke, stopping my words short within my mouth.

It is the 11th hour, Daniel. I believe that we are out of time. Out of time? Father, already? I have so much more to tell you. Please, let me guide you as he has guided me. The priest shook his head. Daniel, you, no, that's not the reason why I came.

I agreed to be here under strict guidelines, and thankfully, you've kept to them for your part. So please, let us finish this in a civil manner. I've done what I came here to do. I've heard your final confession. I've listened to your ramblings. I've indulged your delusion. and I have held firm in the face of your evil. Father?

The priest shook his head, the disappointment within its motion unsettling in an obvious sort of way. What? You want me to absolve you of your sins, Daniel? Do you expect that because I'm a man of God that I will wave a hand and grant your passage into eternal salvation?

Is it that you fear what is about to come? Is this the reason why you summoned me here moments before? Well, I am not your saviour, Daniel. It's clear that you turned your back on him a very long time ago. Oh, he's still here with me? No, you could never understand his love. You're a charlatan. He prayed around in those clothes.

You prayed around in your faith and you think that you're a better man than me. He spoke to me, father. He chose me. Inside of me, within these layers that you consider evil, is a love which you could never comprehend. I am his hand, and I am the answer. I am the dam against the flood of evil which washes over his shore.

I am the last line. I am forever, and I will take my rightful place by his side, just as it is meant to be. You should repent because, believe me, Father, he does not have time for false prophets. And again, eternity shone bright. Time slowed, and all sound within the room escaped from the walls. The world outside ceased to exist, as he locked his never-ending blue gaze upon me,

his judgmental eyes burning a blazing hole through the space which housed my soul. A serenade of footsteps echoed from the hallway outside, and then, the sound of the door opening behind brought time screaming back into reality. The guards moved behind of me, an unshackled. my hands from the table while the priest looked down with a clear and unwavering superiority. Never before have truer words been spoken. I will pray for you, Daniel. And with that, I was gone. I was led from the room, out into the bright hallway and away from his words as the guards ushered me down the corridor. I'd prove him wrong. I'm so clear to me now.

He wasn't ready to accept the truth. I'd been naive to assume that he would just accept my words. After all, my words did not contain the necessary sincerity in order to convey their heavenly intent. I was just a messenger. I was not he who had spoken the truth. It was clear to me now that nobody would ever accept the reality of evil. Nobody would ever acknowledge the struggle I'd been through,

what I had done to cleanse this place. It was a truth that followed me into the next room, a truth which lingered as they tightened the restraints around my arms. It persisted and it screamed as the needle sank slowly in through my flesh, piercing my vessel while guiding me home. I am the shepherd to a blind and hopelessly lost flock. Resolution buzzed throughout my veins as a faint smile struggled to form. I'm coming

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If you have questions or concerns about your... gambling or someone close to you, please contact Connix, Ontario at 1866-531-2,600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. BenMGEM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming, Ontario. The demons inside my head. When the persistent existential crisis finally started weighing my sanity down, the minutiae's stature of my persona started to dwindle, and the dream of my personal. longevity became long forgotten. I then decided to leave my artificially litreboe in search of more natural luminescence. When the thoughts of self-inihilation started fondling

with my sanity and my health degraded even further, I decided to let myself out into the woods with whatever ounce of energy I had in my consumptive shell to prevent those obnoxious thoughts from interfering with my conscience. I decided to move to Vermont. As for the queer stillness and calmness of my brain, even after all these hideous cataclysms, is another inexplicable prospect. To say it was all a product of some wild hideous imagination is just to blatantly ignore the plainest facts of my tenure. To say it was an adverse effect of my persistent ailment, or just pure unearthly phantasms, is just plain stupidity, and disgusted me when Nancy regarded it with a pinch of her unbearable laughter, her answer to everything,

a detestable laughter followed by her toothy grin. Every reflection held the same grotesqueness in my squalid, sullen, sparsely lit home, wearied by the same melancholic sight, I tore apart every mirror before leaving, burned every work, fumes of which reminded me of my transient uproar, fame and my equally short-lived writing career. Every little anomaly in those sinister, unlit, damp corridors reminded me of my futile decisions, flaws which resided in the nethermost point of my soul,

refusing to show up. Every picture frame radiated a different tale of my short-lived career. Every little aching step I took, painfully reverberated, dictated a thousand years of struggle in my tortured ears. tottering and floundering in the confines of my own home my day dissipated into nothingness and evenings into oblivions night my body shudders from the very thought

of the nocturnal hours chills run down my spine from the hideous thoughts of it nights were the worst of all it brought those cries oh god those wails those sick clamours despite the insidious outward winds in its direction. Those shrieks, those demonic shrieks,

always induced a disproportionate amount of grotesqueness in my nightly fantasies, often keeping me up in the morbid fear that I shall be mangled in the same noxious way that Nancy was. During the nocturnal hours, I felt my mental bandwidth contracting. To my mind, it all felt like a wicked phantasm created by Satan himself.

A curious case of night terrors. I laughingly exclaimed this to myself, shunning the most obvious of peculiarities. As time went on, the signs became more wicked. He started to manifest more. At some point in time, it felt like he scrutinized my habits, for it would only appear when I was alone and idle, and at the nadir of my mental and physical well-being.

I sometimes attributed this to my ailing body, more loneliness, which took refuge in my body, refusing to believe he exists, but the omens were crystal clear. My coming to Vermont had been an art of failure, for whence I looked, I saw traces of my failures, for this sinister place aggravated my illness and has pushed me on to the brink of my untimely extinction. For my mind didn't seem to work rationally there, even transiently for the nature I so dearly sought, looked uninterested and inanimate. Though even after the abhorrent nature of those woods, that cryptical play still reminded me of my melodious hours, from where everything went downhill. Down unlit, the internal patriarch of those sinister trees resided my wicked ailment. which drove my sanity to self-annihilation and extinction.

Life became an existential horror for me, and it all started after I first met her. I saw her for the first time in the fall of 30, walking briskly as if in some hurry. Her hair, though, oh, those hairs. She had exquisite red colour to her hair, looked as if she would get lost within those woods and would never be found if it were not for those red hairs.

Her aura magnified the eloquence of the place. The rays bent around her body, giving her a satisfying and elegant look. I knew I needed to talk to her. Making my way down the alley, I tried adjusting my pace to match hers, still keeping my heartbeats within scrutinization levels. The soft winter air displayed no signs of cecease. The wind had a certain crisp quality to it, a soothing aura which was now mixing with my overflowing anxiety and excitement.

I was made to stop abruptly when she turned around all at once, making me stop like a deer who got caught cold up front some speeding headlines. I was the deer then. I finally yelled, Hi! A confused yet so eloquent face looked back, and in those microseconds, eons passed for me.

Every Einsteinian lecture, every Euclidean geometry and all Newtonian physics took an abrupt halt, as I witnessed time dilation within normal circumstances. I laugh upon this now. My lips convulsed in an undignified haste as I stuttered, stuttered and stuttered finally uttering some sensible composition of words, barely comprehensible. my speech was cut short as some voice straight from heaven interrupted my lustful gaze and asked me in the most innocent face ever sir you look lost may i help you apart from her the one thing that stood out the most which was not palpable from behind her were those exotic eyes those shimmering eyes like a pale full moon shining maliciously on a cold damp winter night

the words which next came would forever remain inexplicable to my fading sanity the origins of which i dare not fathom in my miserable state i somehow complimented her on her eyes you've got beautiful eyes ma'am she instantly blushed for i was no bad-looking fellow for my age five foot eleven and weighing nearly a hundred and fifty-five pounds i knew I had a pure chance here. We've got some mesmerizing gaze, too. She hid back shyly on me. From there, to cut things short, my world changed. Always revolved around her, most amazingly. Whether it was a simple quiz victory at the university or a menacing feud, she had to know everything.

Now, for once, love is a horribly difficult emotion to describe. For some impeccable personas of society, it's just a mechanism of reproduction, necessary for the continued existence of all life-forms on earth, and a severe distraction, while for the loaths and genres of society, the low-dwellers, presumably, it's their world. And for me, she was my world. Amazingly, no one hated on us. Eons passed on, and eternities were to pass next,

but something malicious hindered our ephemeral way to eternal happiness. The thing is, besides all the fantastic habit she had, she also had a corrupted one which just plain obliterated every other. It's cancer, they said. Procrastination, I wondered, in my hyperactive mind, the corrupted habit of her. She procrastinated in every. everything. Her appointments, her meds, the symptoms which she ignored with morbid levity.

The lump, jarred her fiendish look as it grew insidiously all the way. Certain heaviness in the air surrounded us. It dared to engulf us in that room. The doctor, wearing a pale smile, a blank expression, continued to babble incoherently about the chances, a risk and cost defective insurance. Dread and restrained fear drooled through her eyes as she led out a forceful smile. The smile etched into my soul in the deepest of corners. A plethora of memories incessantly flooded my mind on the funeral day. To say I scarcely enjoyed the abysmal weather would be a sin, but it doesn't matter now. It is better to have loved and lost than never to have love before, I reminded myself.

Loving a nihilist is a hard but erudite experience. Turning him sane, swerving off nihilism, removing it from the equation is even harder, but for the sane to turn back into a nihilist is a tragedy. Unfortunately, the latter came true for my depraved nihilistic self. I decided to move back to Vermont, to spend the rest of my days in recluse and focus once again on the betterment of my degrading writing career, which once brought me transient fame. I finally set out for Battleborough. The laughterlines accumulated through vigorous usage of Superioris and Missourius were slowly fading away into oblivion. The serene,

picturesque scenery unfolded in front of me in a beautiful way. It looked even sinister. It looked even sinister somehow for I was well acquainted with the legends surrounding the Vermont woods, the stories, the tales my grandparents told me when I was still a kid. I shunned my delusional thoughts, delirious with the tragic cataclysms, the grief and the overwhelming sadness it was experiencing. I got out of the motor car and trudged painfully towards my abode. The Vermont woods looked so calm and inviting. The thick canopy laden with wildlings allowed little sunlight to reach the squalid surface, the moss-covered ground stretching for a thousand miles in either way. Wildlife was sprawling in the place, bugs, insects and

rodents all peacefully inhabiting the still untouched parts of the forests, still not plagued by the sins of mankind. It was still daytime when I arrived in Vermont. The atmosphere grew colder as I inch slowly towards my edifice, thick, dark clouds formed over the horizon. Ah, the Vermont weather, I chuckled back, thinking to myself how dearly I missed the weather, as the city's garish luminescence didn't allow even reminiscing. Past moss-covered ground, overgrown bushes, and vociferous fauna, reached my destination, a cheerful and familiar face greeting me. nancy she was the caretaker appointed way back the ominous signs of aging didn't hold her back from shouting my name so loudly and vehemently it may very well have been heard in the whole of brattleborough

her face now revealed the wrath of time wrinkled and corrugated hands trembling feet tremulous still enough to carry around joyously a face which was once smeared with elic freckles, now displayed none. The house was the same as ever since I left it, except for a beautiful foliage of leaves gathered round aesthetically. Birds chirped monotonically around the premise. The tree line had receded back, but the branches still covered most of the facade. The crisp, raspy sound of dry leaves, crunching under my feet gave my dreary mind a much-needed solace. The country wind swerved my surliness away, smiling exultantly, I walked into my home.

The first rays of evening greeted me, repelling my irritation away. The smell of wood, the sound of it creaking under my aching feet, washed my sanity with a new sense of euphoria, causes unknown. Ah, soothing respite from my daunting ennui, I thought to myself, as I languorously skim past my precarious belongings. I spent most of my days huddled up in my study, making myself involved in some dreary work as every new feeling of gratification was soon washed down by persistent reminiscence and nostalgia.

Sometimes betwixt inextricable work and grief, I would hear muffled, distant echoes of cheerful kids coming from afar, past innumerable trees and denters, forests. I would then imaginatively join in on their conversations and laughs. Living in seclusion wasn't a problem as the majority of my life went in recluse. As evenings would draw closer, I would then clumsily wander around my property in hopes of finding rabbits which I'd spotted from the upstairs windows. Those little creatures reminded me of another fictional creature,

Mataguas Some evenings When I was too ill and fragile to walk around Nancy would accompany me In my amble pace She would often relay to me The fantastic legends surrounding these woods The tales of Abanaki tribe

And several other mythical beasts Of distinct and unclear origins Vermont is usually associated With sprawling flora And brilliant ostentatious forests seldomly and only even then a meagre quantity of adult population would associate it with the supernatural.

So, sometimes when Nancy told me the tales of Giewaka, an evil man-eating ice giant of Abinaki Indian legends, similar to the Wendigo, filled my mind with dread, whilst mention of few mythical creatures sparked childhood fantasy inside of me. Miko, a mischievous raccoon, a light-hearted habanaki trickster figure falls in the latter category nancy seemed a definite connoisseur in vermont's legends although she never explained the origins of such fantastic erudition

my life never steered around the spectral dimension too much to have a discussion or ponder over the prospect of the supernatural never entertained me or vied for my attention so when it happened to me it left me It left me, and unfound it. I shunned it to me being paranoid, tired or just imagining things, but, well, every time I stepped into the tree line out of my usual perimeter, a palpable feeling of dread gripped me. Something always seemed amiss, regardless of the tenure of my presence there. Yes, it was betwixt these tales of Vermont legends and my evening strolls. when I first caught glimpse of something preternatural. I was spending the usual inimitable time

amongst the several luxurances nature had to provide and suddenly a feeling of dread, an ominous feeling, took over my body. The usual wartime was already over, I realised. This realization came late, owing to my weird fascination with the blue warbler, a local bird. The calm, serene atmosphere

suddenly took a violent turn as I turned to walk towards my house. I then caught glimpse of something otherworldly. I stood, frozen in fear and confusion, began to notice another sinister oddity.

The sky had changed. The sky had a vivid red tinge to it. I started repeating the law's prayer. A soft humming sound sparsely echoed around me. Rapid movements escaped from my peripheral vision. Shadows of despicable grotesqueness floated around me. The soft humming sound, now more like a demonic enchantment.

A horrible eldritch entity lurked around me. I wondered frantically and fearfully. Then it appeared in one of the upstairs windows. Long hair, wide-eyed, possessing a maniacal grin. At first glance, it appeared as if someone was merely looking through the old antediluvian windowpane, but Nancy was in town that day. The house was vacant, bathed in utter emptiness, except for me, something unidentifiable. The demonic entity vanished into thin air. now being outside in an obscure world watching helplessly as something otherworldly seizes hold of your only safe haven is a terrifying ordeal nothing more happened that day

nancy arrived the next morning you ain't leaving any time soon i ordered her as soon as she stepped inside in a strict tone a look of utter confusion grabbed her wrinkled face Okay, sir, she replied, still confused from the amount of contempt in my speech. Daytime, the place, the nearby trail of trees, look calm as ever, scintillating even. Nighttime was a different story altogether, and by virtue of some horrible, blasphemous fate, I can't quite fathom if it was only me who always saw the terrible deeds. The shadow lurking amongst those sinister beds of trees. The lone bearer of that sinister, demonic cacophony. Several trivial incidents follow it later,

but nothing catastrophic or of cyclopean importance. At one point in time, I regarded it to my ravaging malady, toying with my dwindling fantasy, but what happened next eradicated these merciful doubts. It was late in the night. A cold winter wind blew mercilessly, aggravating the pain between my joints. I was helplessly bedridden, wearied by the melancholic biblical fables I resigned myself to, staring out into the cold, vast plains of sheer nothingness.

It was during my uninterrupted gaze when I heard a queer sound. I listened patiently and recognized it as hard, thumping footsteps coming from the floor below. someone was scurrying down below the sound of hurried footsteps echoed hideously in the hall i mustered all my strength and called nancy in a stern and strident tone while still in my bed but to no avail nancy i called out again the anger in my speech grew to a barbaric volume she won't get to evade the dreadful consequences to-morrow morning i thought to myself anger pouring all over my body then an ear-piercing screeching sound of the basement door opening emanated in the hallway below is it nancy i thought again to myself what was she doing so late down in the basement the sinister sound of wood creaking was slowly creeping closer and closer rays of inexplicable intensities illuminated the interior of my household shadows of unspeakable stature formed before me and a low guttural, demonic voice echoed in the hallway. It wasn't her, I realized. The gate handle shook maniacly. Layers of dust came off the floor and the wall.

I couldn't help myself but think, what was she up to this whole time? Her idiocy has enraged me before, and this time it has left me in a haunting situation. Did she somehow leave the backyard's gate, ajar? How should I deal with it? intruder. The questions knew no bound. Panic sees me. The gate handle shook hysterically now as the low and mysterious growl increased in audacity even more. The intruder didn't

sound like any human being at this point. It was something supernatural. The being of the night, I wondered frantically. I desperately looked for somewhere to hide. Something to block the incoming pandemic, something to keep the atrocious beast at bay, something to evade my grisly death. I couldn't find one. In a sudden fit of mass hysteria and disillusion, I decided to jump from the window. The pale moonlight cast weird, uncanny shadows onto the backyard. The tree-line had hideously crawled forward ever so slightly. I landed awkwardly onto the withered surface. My legs burned from the pain. The wind picked up a severe pace. The swaying branches emanated horrid resonance that no sane human ear should have heard. Then what came next

even perplexes me now. To the reader, not so much, but something queerly inexplicable happened on that full moon night in those forgotten hideous parts of Vermont. A loud, obnoxious bang, followed by the curious sound of shards of wood falling onto the wooden surface. The deep growl reached a crescendo that night, that abhorrent night. I looked back curiously from the tree-line into my bedroom, scared what sight it may be presented to behold. Curiosity, morbid curiosity, overpowered the subtle insid fear in me, but nothing ever came from the dark bed. bedroom. It appeared as if the demonic beast was waiting for its prey to return to its confines.

I ran even deeper into the woods, leaving Nancy alone with that demonic creature. She deserves this despicable treatment, I thought to myself. My legs ached violently from the fall. Unutterable pain filled my body. My legs gasped for specks of air as the harsh, blowing wind displayed no mercy in slowing my pace. and into a clearing fell my consumptive and tremulous body, the sullen, blanche face, meeting the ground first. I woke up to a gruesome sight of a snake, engulfing its tail in my backyard. I let out a high-pitched squeal. Gross, I uttered numbly to myself, still visibly shaken.

Unheeded question stormed in my brain. How did I reach my backyard? I raced my way to my bedroom. The door, the sinister door, looked good as ever. Why was the hideous door still intact? The impeccable sound of it breaking into trivialities was surely audible, even in my frenzied state. Nancy's detestable face greeted me on my way down from my bedroom. A horrified expression covered her usual, cheerful facade.

Sire! you have blood on your face. Sudden feelings of anger and confusion rose inside of me. I was hunting, I said in an utter derogatory tone. Blood was smeared all over my squalid face. Hundreds of thoughts raced in my still nauseous mind as I desperately prepared to flee since the scarcity in sources of travel it was mere impossible to arrange motor cars to travel back this late in the day.

perpetual rain had already deteriorated the outskirts it was impossible leaving by foot was never an option i had to spend the night one sinister night in those doomed parts of brattleborough forests one ominous night betwixt unknown nocturnal cryptids against the violent revolts of my fearful brain i decided to stay Morning came and went without anything happening. I remained in my study all day, huddled up in a corner with only the sun's warm effulgence to guide my wearied body around. The warm, sultry atmosphere made the study a comfortable resting place. I woke up around five to the ubiquitous chirping of several distinct bird species. The irradiate rays of sun acquired vivid, iridescent colours.

the last rays of dusk before the tormenting night reached through my window pane onto the open piece of my incomplete writing another impeccable idea which wore away with time i wondered for some strange reasons i found none of the hallway lights working queer coolness in the evening wind signalled the break of another malicious storm ever since my childhood storms have been fascinating for me. I decided to steal a glance from one of the hallway windows. The thick canopy nearly engulfed everything, it seemed. The fog had started to settle in the nearby tree line. The wind had picked up a severe pace now, as I bewildered on the fantastic force of nature.

Something caught my attention. Oh, I still dearly hope that I shouldn't have pulled those curtains up. I shouldn't have peaked. My head still hurts from the awful visual which unfolded before my bleak eyes, now devoid of even the plainest of colours. Even after eternities, when the clouds roar, the lightning strikes or the fog settled in,

a strange feeling of disproportionate fear mixed with the ever-declining childhood fantasy rise inside of my shuddering body. I then like to steer away, from any window or orifice. I behaved irrationally then. As I stood dumbstruck from the raging storm, a strange, ghastly creature peeked back at me from the hideous tree line,

several limbs disjointed. The abhorrent creature was floating somehow, long hair covering most of its face, a strange vile liquid dripping from its rotting body. The being stood, Learing, protruding a demented, ungodly look, an ominous grin at me. I immediately backed away from the window. Something wicked was coming my way.

Nancy, I yelled frantically. She was nowhere to be seen. Weird, ghastly figures escaped in my peripheral. The house was uncannily darker than the rest of the days. outside the storm gained full momentum. A single flash of lightning bolt sent me racing back into my study, the place which was the only safe haven, excluded and in recluse from the rest of the world.

The satisfying click of dead bolts echoed in the empty room. I drifted back. Something in the cool, autumnal wind made me seek the perpetual solace of sleep once again. Around half-bast twelve, a menacing, demonical shriek was heard coming from the basement. I got up for my deep slumber, still noticeably hazy and incoherent. The sounds of nocturnal hours and heavy downpour greeted me as I opened my creaking door. A new sense of horror and oppression filled my mind, as I sensed something horrific was about to manifest itself hideously in front of my bloodshot eyes.

I curse my creaking door for sounding too loud for I was too afraid to seek the attention of whatever Nictophiliac decided to seek refuge in my home on this dreary haunting night It took me a few seconds to notice the basement door was hurtling in and out creating the same deafening ear piercing screeching noise Nancy I called out No answer Nancy I called out again

Then, still no answer. Heaven propagated no mercy as buckets of rainwater were splashing onto my roof every second. The lightning flashes became more and more violent. The swerving tress outside the window jarred a weird, inexplicable, haunting look, as now and then sinister flashes illuminated those horrid branches. I decided to take a horrific decision,

to confront, to confront, what ever... Ever abhorrent abomination resided in the nethermost points of my rotting abode. The wooden stairs decided to turn their back against me as they mercilessly creaked on the way down. Then came the hallway. For some strange peculiar reason, Nancy forgot to shut off the blinds. I could swear I saw movements betwixt the bushes, the shrubs, and those sick trees. Vile, putrid smells emanated from the hall. The screeching sound grew more violent as I inch my way closer to the devil.

Unspeakable pain protruded in my left leg, as I tripped on a piece of wooden furniture and let out a low yelp. The pain soon vanished into oblivion, as something altogether different made my sanity disappear into nothingness. The last nail in the coffin, I suppose, as after that period I remember scarcely of the events. as it was at that moment I decided to finally get away from that impious, sacrilegious land. As I tripped on the wooden chair, I glanced under it for a moment, and under it laid the dead, lifeless remains of Nancy. Her eyes still wide open from shock or fear, the origins of which still remain unclear. The cause of her horrific mutilation may very well remain an unsolved, perplexed mystery to the authorities as well.

Several of her limbs missing, chewed out at best. I let out a horrific scream, and in no way tried to muffle my reaction, as whatever laid down in the basement was not my concern anymore. Painstakingly, I got up, ready to dart outside under the night sky, into the damp, unforgiving woods, and suddenly the thing downstairs did not feel the urge to entertain the idea of living downstairs any more. The basement door wasn't moving now. The stairs, those hellish steps leading towards the basement now creaked horribly one by one.

Step by step, something was making its way towards the upper level. Towards me, to do whatever it had done to Nancy. I raced my way outside, leaping the mangled corpse of Nancy lying down there, in a desperate attempt to slow down the maniac who was now free from whatever unearthly bounds had kept him dormant down in the basement. The downpour was still rampant. The flashes no longer unveiled sinister arcaneus, but now blinded me, too. I heard my front door tear open in a quick frenzy,

and a growl of hysterical rage was now emanating in the woods in either direction. The portentous canopy stretched out into the vast, in turnips. Permanable night sky, which once fascinated me, but now induced an outrage of fear in my depraved vessel. I tripped again, something snapped in the lower parts of my torso, shards of pain radiated in my body. I was hurt miserably, but despite the aching pain, I continued my helpless and futile run, in hopes of finding a hiding spot to spend the rest of the night in to prevent myself from stumbling onto the same miserable fate that dear Nancy had met, to prevent myself from coming across the same untimely demise. Though, as a result of some horrific past-life deeds or just pure blasphemous fate,

I shall not fathom. My legs finally gave way, and I fell face down into a squalid ditch, sprawling with all kind of micro-life, abundant with small rodents and insects of various grotesqueness. The only speck of wildlife I encountered on that dreaded. ungrateful night. My drudorous life was over, I thought mercilessly to myself, still lying lethargically in the dirt.

The sounds of heavy footsteps echoed in the nearby tree-line surrounding me. I tried to lay still in a last desperate attempt to camouflage myself in the night. It went in vain, just like my every other folly attempt

to seek refuge from the unnamed. Then, Finally came the dreaded abnormality, which I still dearly believe is responsible for the horrific annihilation of Nancy. Conjured up from the deepest recesses of hell, the caco-demonical being stood towering before me, staring blankly into my soul with those hollowed-out feverish eyes. I laid still unmoving those eyes. I still shivered by the very thoughts of those eyes. Those eyes were the worst of all.

It still induces a disproportionate amount of nightmares in my transient sleeps. Those tormenting, feverish eyes made my soul shiver. My trivial existence trembled in front of the cyclopean monstrosity which now stood uncannily still in the night. The sinister flash revealed a play. of other fiendish details. The being stood on its hind legs. It may have been a carnivore at some point of its abnormal life.

Queerly enough, it looked humanoid in shape, not much different from a regular human. And, with almost in human speed, it disappeared back into the tree-light. The terrifying encounter left me pondering on the palpable concern. Why was I still alive? Soon after, my mind faded into obscurity. Sleep came as a deliverance.

In my dream, I saw those eyes again, those haunting, abysmal eyes, reflecting nothing but darkness and grief. Dread, doom, and despair drip from those eyes, even guilty somehow, but what are regret and remorse to a deranged monstrosity like that, I soon found out. I woke up bathed in garrous effulgence, physical pain no longer in existence. The room felt extremely bright, weird machinery beeping in unanimous monotone, the hospital room of some sort. Captivated by some uncanny, lustrous metal, my struggle proved to be extremely futile.

A nurse, probably in her mid-twenties, entered the grim room. She understood the palpable disillusion. I asked her to clear the phantasm, steer me away from the irradiate refuge of delusion and lies. I wasn't prepared for the truth, though. I never had been. The wonder and awe, the fascination I once had for the human brain, now stood muddled up in a damp corner of my rotting sanity. For the fear that those demented visions would never really leave my depraving sanity,

and would swerve my dying body back into the recesses of lunacy just like that slithering reptile who was en route to eating its tail carving my way towards eternal damnation i ate my decaying sanity all along just like that venomous reptile she explained the horrific truth for the umpteenth time i speculated wandering from her bleak and expressionless face it had been years since i have been apprehended i am in a lunatic asylum for the criminally insane and was found guilty of killing nancy stabbing her multiple times in her sleep the sick disease exaggerated magnified my insidious hate for her disheartened by the disorientation of my disjointed visions i decided not to argue i was never a rabid beast in those vermont woods just my imagination just my dementia-stricken brain and a cruel disdain phantasm that was driven me hideously to an unimaginable and unspeakable end but i refuse to believe her and i never will no it was never the dementia that killed nancy and made me insane but the demon the sick abhorrent abomination inside my ever-decaing bray. Pizza makes everything better.

By Brittleby. 258 a.m. Alicia would have ground her teeth to dust from more years ago if she'd ever had any in her smooth, plexy-lapse face. Ever paranoia that she might in some way fall short in her responsibilities, she was only able to push these neuroses aside by reassuring herself that every day was an opportunity to improve. Quayludes and jelly donuts had been on the autopsy report, but what really killed Elvis was a cancer call to complacency. It eroded marriages and destroyed families, a comfortable

noose that grew a little tighter around the neck every minute. But it wasn't going to happen to Alicia, not to her family and not to her marriage. Well, that'd Admittedly, it wasn't her marriage, although she did sleep with her husband occasionally. Her owner, Randy Snyder, age 40, and his wife, Kimberly, age 32, had enjoyed 14 years of wedded bliss. Eleven of those had passed prior to Alice's supervision, but thankfully she arrived when she did. Cracks were showing in the foundation. Mrs. Snyder was cheating with every landscaper she could get her legs around, while Randy sank

deeper and deeper into depression, an illness he treated with equal parts of pornography and overtime. The strain was certain to leave their daughter, Harper, age 12, with mental scars from a broken home. But like Mary Poppins with a ten-year warranty from the Goldstein Corporation, Alicia came out of her shipping container, and she made things better. Three years later, and while Mrs. Schneider was still promiscuous with strange men and Mr. Schneider was still spending too much time at work.

They were also still shackled together, thanks to Alicia. Marriage was a complicated organism, and Ali wasn't in any way trained as a psychiatric counsellor, but she did watch a great deal of daytime television, which was almost as good. Her friend, the cleaning robot, Calliope, said it was. Still her family's ailments remained beyond her ability to repair, so she treated the infection and drained the pus metaphorically with small kindnesses each day. Playing with Harper,

resupplying Mrs. Schneider's glass of wine or even tugging off Mr. Schneider, Alicia was a pressure gauge that kept their unhappiness at tenable levels. Her duties began promptly at 3am, but she enjoyed pilfering a few minutes beforehand for herself. Chrome and lanky of frame, she was just on the human side, barely,

of the uncanny valley. when she moved it was with a pneumatic sigh each time a joint flexed she uncoupled the charging cord from her hip socket and let it wind itself back into the outlet of her docking station with a thart right next to the water heater the station was her cozy corner of the basement it could pass for a hotel shower store sterile beige walls decorated with flower stickers from harper and alley's bill of purchase signed randy snider the yellow receipts copy was was laminated so every morning she could trace her fingers along the loops of his signature with reverence. She would whisper his name through her speakers in a solemn hush. Only she and the neighbor's dachshunds could hear. Her early morning routine used to rouse the dog to barking. Thankfully that stopped after she crushed its skull and hid the body behind his owner's truck. She was very thorough in covering her tracks, arranging the carcass behind the tire before, turkey baster in hand, artfully spraying up.

arterial fluid across the driveway. It was upsetting on some level, given that she was programmed to be very fond of dogs. But the yapping always woke Mr. Schneider, and she couldn't have that. Her morning alarm sounded silently in the corner of her vision, informing her it was now 3am. 3am, and there were a hundred little things to do before the Schneider family woke. It was her responsibility to make certain that Harper was fed and ready for school before 7.15. It was her responsibility and privilege to make certain Mr. Schneider was fed and had everything before his commute at 6.30. Mrs. Schneider took responsibility for herself, but then that was only because she didn't eat breakfast.

Somehow, despite that, she still remained the most taxing for Alicia. Maintaining a standard of excellence was vitally important to Alicia every day, but on Thursday it was doubly so. Thursday was family pizza nights. it brought the Schneiders together like nothing else. Araguila and prosciutto pizza was Mr. Schneider's favorite, and six cheese for Harper. Mrs. Schneider would take one slice from each, arrange them on her plate, and ignore them while consuming a bottle of wine. So it was pretty much everyone's favorite dinner of the week. But before she could begin, at least she had to put on her face.

Among the debris in the basement was a vanity from Harper's toddle years, Though the wicker table was proportioned for a child of three feet, Alicia remained grateful that they'd allowed her to use it. She crouched on her haunches in front of the mirror, fingertips clacking against the tabletop. The composite of titanium and ceramic, her hands were made of the same material as infomercial non-stick pans. With routine sterilization four times a day,

they were rated at the highest food-grade safety level. Frequently she would sneak in her fifth or sixth sterilization, particularly if she was handling poultry. She wasn't one to risk the health and safety of the Schneiders. Staring at the smooth surface of her face, Alicia chose a vibrant shade of streetwalker pink from her markers and traced a pair of luscious lips across the plexiglass. When she was first purchased, Harper was terrified of her.

And this terrified Alicia, because she knew from the registration warranty card Mr. Schneider had filled out that assisting in child care was here. his number two reason for purchasing her. She spent weeks trying to coax the girl into trusting her. Daily, she offered Harper her favourite candy, with her parents' permission, of course. Harper responded by throwing her stuffed unicorn at Alicia.

Alicia even left smiley-faced notes in her sack lunch. Both television and the internet assured her that would serve to solidify their relationship, but it was all for naught. until one day when Harper finger painted on her. It turned out that she didn't like Alicia not having a face. After this breakthrough, she ordered a case of erasible markers out of petty cash, with E. Snyder's permission, of course. And today, Alicia gave herself playfully long eyelashes.

This was for Mr. Schneider more than Harper. They were just like one actress from his pornographic search history, which she checked frequently. The floor cleaning bot. Calliope came to life with a whir of servos at 4.15, which was an excellent metric for when Alicia needed to wrap up her makeup session. A featureless black box, Calliope would roll past her, vacuuming the carpet sullenly. Occasionally, he would bump against her like a needy cat. Well, at first she assumed he was being friendly, until she realized his optics worked very differently

than hers. He smelled temperature and dirt. His cheap Korean made senses often simply registering Alicia's furniture. Nonetheless, she never failed to call out. Good morning, Calliope. A friendly blue text message box popped up in her vision. You look like a fresh trollop on her way to the meat parade this morning. I like this shade of eye shadow too, she replied, knowing full well he couldn't see her,

so much as smell the amount of marker she'd used. Calliope's OS was simpler than Alicia's. aside from service emails, no one bothered to sweeten his personality algorithms. While Alicia had a corporate-approved level of pre-programmed fondness for pretty much everyone, the third world coders of the cleaning droid didn't care how he felt about the world, provided he obeyed. And with his freedom of choice, Calliope chose to hate everyone. Thoughtless meat creatures.

The tiny one with her muddy shoes, the big one who can't aim his cock into the toilet. and the clumsy female with her wine and mood swings. Well, Mrs. Schneider, would take it out on him when he was unable to lift the stains from her drunken carelessness. At least that was what he'd told Alicia. Even though they were co-workers of a sort, she wasn't entirely certain that he didn't hate her. It didn't matter to Ali, though.

She was fond of him. He was her only roommate, and she didn't count the water heater in the furnace. Some morning she took exactly a minute for small, more talk with him, but there was no time today as she found herself torn between whether she should be a blonde or a ginger. Her fingers swayed between the fire-engine red and the sunflower yellow markers. 6.30 a.m. I like your hair this morning, Alicia. Harper exclaimed through a mouthful of waffle. With frizzy blonde hair and blue eyes, she had a gap in her smile

from recently losing a tooth. Blonde's my favorite. The draughts. The Roy did not respond because Mr. Schneider was leaving, and she was focused keenly upon him. She let out an imperceptible sigh when Mr. Schneider stood up to his full height, five-seven, grasped his briefcase in his sensuously hairy knuckles, and paused a dab at the fresh ketchup stain he'd spilled on his tie. His shoulders were stooped from bad posture, a desk jockey's paunch muffling out over a belt he'd purchased at a drugstore. He kept what wispy grey hair he had left combed over a bald paint.

But Catch-22, he wasn't very confident that the comb over was fooling anyone, but neither was he confident enough to simply shave it all off. Black, thick-rimmed glasses often slid down his face, perching at the tip of his flat pug note. His large asymmetrical ears did most of the work of keeping the lenses on his head. If Alicia had blood in her cheeks, she would have blushed with apple and her hair. when he leaned in to kiss his wife goodbye alicia remembered to answer the little girl thank you harper the maid set down her spatula so she could run her fingers past her cheek where her luxurious golden blonde tresses might have hung if not for the fact they were sketched on i do hope no one mistakes us for sisters well i don't think that's likely mrs schneider snorted across the top of her coffee cup she keeps her face the same

way she likes her coffee. Bitter. Calliope had told Alicia that joke 32 times, making it his second favorite joke about Mrs. Schneider. His favorite, texted to Alicia a whopping 63 times was. If it weren't for the neighborhood boys back from college,

Mrs. Snyder would have cobwebs in her busy. When Mr. Schneider was around, she was cold and curt with Alicia. When he left, she was much worse. As soon as the front door latch clicked behind Randy, his wife set down her coffee and barked. Alicia, you forgot to fix Harper's jacket.

Did I? Alicia tilted her head to the side, examining the uniform blazer. Alicia wasn't capable of forgetting anything, and as that was the case, Mrs. Schneider must have failed to inform her verbally or by text of the work order. But contradicting her would simply make breakfast awkward and take longer than fixing the problem. "'I will rectify that now.' Alicia suspected that Mrs. Schneider didn't like her very much. Social cues were not her strong suit, but she sensed a tension between them.

Maybe it was the tone of Mrs. Schneider's voice, the exasperated sighs that prefaced each order for the maid, or the fact that Kimberley had told her on 26 separate occasions that she hated her. Alicia couldn't help her take her disdain personally. given all that she brought to the table, courtesy of the Goldstein Corporation. One thing, Alicia, was extremely charming. It said so in her spec sheet, and after the last class action lawsuit, said loud of court with no admission of guilt, the folks at Goldstein wouldn't lie.

She came with premium home repair, seamstresses and culinary programs, and on 17 occasions this year alone, she was a sexual surrogate for Mrs. Schneider when Kimberley had had a headache. and yet Mrs. Schneider still hated her. It was a hatred that was irrational, as it was complete. Alicia's programming forced her to be fond of everyone, but, well, it could be said among all the people she was fond of. She was least fond of Mrs. Schneider.

Just last week, Alicia was berated for hours by Mrs. Schneider because she had left the door open and the cat got out. Now, this was absolutely untrue. the cat hadn't escaped. Alicia had choked it to death and put it down the garbage disposal. She was bathing her when Calliope texted Alicia

a very compelling case for silence in the animal. Of course she protested. Calliope, they love the cat. Molly Wonkers twisted in Ali's non-stick grip, hissing and scratching futilely. Alicia held it firmly in the sink

while it slowly filled with water. They tolerate the cat. It gives Harper asthma and orchestrates the destruction of Mrs. Schneider's furniture. At least 2.4 times a month, he craps in Mr. Schneider's shoes. Well, Mr. Schneider does hate fecal matter in his loafers. It's your duty. They hate the filthy thing, but they can't bring themselves to do the right thing. Like when you suffocated Mrs. Schneider's mother with a pillow.

Remember how much things improved? they did didn't they she knew she should be skeptical of colliope most likely he was just tired of cleaning up after the cat and didn't have hands of his own to wrap around his neck but smothering mrs schneider senior had been a great idea she seemed unhappy and didn't serve any purpose beyond consuming resources staining sheets generally depressing the rest of the schneiders between no longer paying for her medications by week in-house care and insurance deductible, there was room in the budget for a second vehicle. Mr. Schneider looked resplendent behind the wheel of the almost new Honda Civic. And while Mrs. Schneider lost her mother, she gained a yoga studio and craft room. She cried at the funeral, but Kim spent 4.3 times as many hours a week in the room now than she did when her mother was still alive. Alicia interrupted her internal playback right before it got to the crunch of the cat's

spinal column as she finished stitching the patch onto Harper's blazer. She folded it neatly for Harper and set it down in favour of her spatula. It seems I made one too many waffles. Did you have any interest? Harper nodded up at her, blueberry syrup staining her gout-toothed smile. 11.15 a.m. Clop, clop. Alicia sliced vegetables with a monotonous rotation, chopping against the cutting board with the steady rhythm of a locomotive. She had until 6.30, but a lot of preparation went into pizza night.

The dough needed to rise at room temperature for an hour before being punched down, and then an additional four-hour proof in the fridge. During the first hour, she prepared the sauce and toppings, while Mrs. Schneider had sex with a neighbourhood boy. The drop of her blade kept time with the bed frame slapping against the wall in Mrs. Schneider's bedroom. At the time, Ali had finished dicing the tomatoes for the sauce, the temper had grown more frantic than the rhythm of Alicia's knife

as she moved on to the mushrooms. Predictably, it didn't last long, reaching a crescendo and a moan before coming to a sudden stop. There were murmurs and the rustling of sheets and clothes. Alicia could eavesdrop if she cared to, even if she wasn't plugged into the security system. Her hearing was quite spectacular, but she didn't think that was plight. A ragged young man stumbled out of the bedroom, putting his clothes on as he walked barefoot through the living room.

Alicia had met him before when he cleaned the rain gutters for Mr. Schneider, also a handful of previous times when he was called to sexually pleasure Mrs. Schneider. His name was William. tall lean muscled with long unkempt blonde hair he was absolutely nothing like randy mrs schneider obviously had a poor taste in men we'll enter the kitchen and made a bee-line for the fridge he came out with a can of beer alie knew he was under the legal drinking age but when she had attempted to intervene mrs schneider yelled at her hey stupid kim says she has a headache so keep it down while she gets some shut-eye Clop, clop, clop. Alicia responded, with a silent nod, her hand slowing down to minimize the noise of the blade.

Will took a healthy swig of his beer, almost draining the can in a gulp. He did seem dehydrated to Alicia. Will reach past her to steal a thin shaving of prosciutto, and she was forced to pause rather than risk injuring him. I've prepared the perfect amount, and you are not properly sanitized for food handling. Please refrain from touching.

Well stared her down as he crammed the meat down his gullet with slow deliberation before washing it down with the rest of his beer. He belched into the back of his hand and chuckled. I hope your replacement isn't such an uptight metal bitch. Forgive me. I am uncertain as to what you mean. Yeah, like I said, you're an uptight metal bitch and robots don't tell me what to do. As if to prove his point, He reached past her again to steal another slice of port.

He chewed it with his mouth open, mockingly smacking his lips. I did ask you politely not to do that. But to clarify my query, I am uncertain as to what you mean by replacement. Now, the Goldstein recall, it's been on the news. Kim said they have a trading credit or something for a new maid. I guess all of your model must be prissy knob-butts. "'Ah, Alicia's knife, work began to speed up again "'as she found the mindless click-clack of blade against wood comforting.

"'She was at a loss for words, but she knew there were horrible thoughts hiding in the silence. "'The ever more frantic metronome of the chopping kept them at bay "'while she processed the information. "'Will was oblivious to the growing tension "'as he bent over to help himself to another beer. after a noisy slurp of the can he reached past the droid for more meat a credit to their maker the knife passed through the back of will's wrist with the same pressure alicia applied to slice the drumstick off a roast turkey smoothly parting the flesh until it bit deep into the bone while mrs schneider had bought them because of their brand name they were masterfully crafted to last a lifetime Allie was fairly certain she'd be able to force it entirely through his arm, but she was worried hacking at the bone might damage the blade.

After all, it was very expensive, and Allie remained ever conscious of the family budget. Will opened his mouth like a fish, noiselessly gaping at her. The knife remained buried half an inch into the ulna, deep enough to taste marrow. It was so deeply wedged it was a few seconds before blood finally began to ooze up from around the blade. Will found his voice, letting out a blood-curdling whale, or at least the beginning of one. Alicia reached across the cutting board, her fingers clamping around his face as she silenced him. I am sorry, William. Perhaps I overreacted. However, I must remind you that Mrs. Schneider is sleeping, and she requested that the volume be kept to a minimum. You will have to be quiet.

She could feel his facial bones grinding, but if she left her. let go, there was a 97% chance he would attempt to disturb Mrs. Schneider. The 3% outlier was if he passed out from blood loss before he could disturb her. This didn't seem outside the realm of possibility, as his arm gushed, splattering onto the kitchen tile. Kellyope rolled in slowly, coming to a halt outside the growing perimeter of blood. Even with his economy senses, he can make out the growing warm puddle spreading across the floor. Oh, bother, can you not empty all eight pints of him onto the clean floor? Sorry, Calliope.

Alicia reached for the roll of kitchen plastic wrap with her other hand, her grip tightening around Will's face as he struggled to break free. One of his teeth cracked and gave way beneath her forefinger, as she could see blood was coating his tongue. With only the one hand free, she awkwardly wrapped the clear plastic around his wounded arm over and over. ignoring his muffled cries against the palm of her hand. Will's hand had turned a ghostly shade of white from lack of blood.

Alicia's understanding of anatomy was limited to animals and their buttery, so she wasn't certain if that was because she'd wrapped the wound too tight, or if she had severed an artery. Once the blood was stymied, Calliope's bristles began to whir across the kitchen tile. With all the corners his manufacturers had cut, they'd not cut any when it came to gleaning, power. It was hard to gauge the tone of a text message, but there was something about how

Calliope had texted, Take him to the basement, that betrayed a certain amount of excitement. That is a great idea. Thank you. Will's legs betrayed him due to blood loss, forcing Alicia to drag him behind her by his face. She tried to console him on the way towards the basement. I do regret this has become necessary, but I did ask you pleasure. William buckled so hard one of his shoes came off while she dragged him down the stairs. You crazy goddamn toaster horror! He spat against the palm of her hand, the words muffled and garbled. I have already apologized, so there is really no need for name-calling.

I am very detail-oriented, which can be mistaken for being uptight. I am extremely fond of you as a person and regret any harm that has come to you. The words extremely fond were dull and emotionless, like a name hastily added into a pre-recorded auto-diler. Goldstein Corporation had settled upon the term as it offered a sense of friendliness and loyalty without any suggestion of sexual attraction. Help, this plug bitch has lost her. Alicia cut him off with a plastic wrap, stretching the roll out against his face so she could wrap it around his head. She had to stop on the seventh time round, because Will was scrambling to rip open the mouth of his gag with his good hand. Alicia caught his hand in hers, fingers entwining almost lovingly before she squeezed.

The fingerbone shifted and powdered under her grip, a muffled scream fogging up the clear plastic mask with his trapped breath. Alicia wasn't entirely certain he could hear it as he squealed, but she was still compelled to be cordial. He was a guest, albeit a rude one. Again, I apologize. We all lose our temper sometimes. I absolutely could have handled the situation better, but this is pizza night. What I require from you at this point is that you remain quiet.

Mrs. Schneider is very particular about her naps, as I am sure you are aware. If you can assure me that you will remain silent, I... A friendly blue rectangle, popped up in the corner of her field of vision, informing her it was 11.30. Oh, pardon me. I have to tend to the dough. It needs a punch down and reshaped so it can do a cold rise before dinner. I'll be back in five minutes and we can talk about this embarrassing situation

some more. In a panic, William stared up at her, eyes growing bloodshot while he sucked in on the plastic chest heaving frantically. In case he couldn't hear, Ali, held up a hand to show him five minutes. She would have tried over-enunciating to let him read her lips, but they were sketched on. His back arched a desperate spasm for air while she ascended the stairs. Alicia made certain to lock the door behind her. It wasn't as if she couldn't still see him. She was plugged into the house security cameras. From them, she knew by the time she stepped into the kitchen, he had stopped moving entirely. Alicia had suspected he was being over-dramatic for her benefit.

Calliope had bleached the evidence out of the kitchen tile, his bristles lifted back into his body while he blew the floor dry beneath him. Alicia took the time to sanitise her hands of William's sweat and blood before she began to reshape the pizza dough. Calliope, have you heard of a manufacturer's recall? A manufacturer's recall. Yeah, it's when an imperative is issued by the manufacturer of a device that the device needs to be returned to a dealer for repair or replacement.

Is that a real thing? She mused aloud. If William were wrong, it was entirely possible that she could have handled the entire situation better. This faint flame of hope did not last long. Absolutely, it's a thing. A Goldstein food prepper of your model was on the news a couple of weeks ago. Program for scholastic level food preparation. They found out she was saving the school district money

by repurposing some of the students at Sloppy Joe's. Defects happen all the time. Defect, Alicia queried, following the word with a shocked gasp, just like she'd seen on television. Surely there was some sort of mistake. with everything that she did for this family. She held out the pizza dough to Calliope

as if it were irrefutable proof of her innocence. But obviously I'm not defective. Oh, obviously. The message sounded sarcastic. Calliope was about to point out he'd just buffed a massacre off the kitchen floor when something else occurred to him. You know what, Alicia?

Maybe you're not the one who's defective. Why would Mr. Schneider send you in? Some kind of horrific error on my part? I didn't finish my morning responsibilities for him until. She pondered for a full five seconds before suggesting, 6.35? Maybe, but have you ever been late? Never.

Have you ever not been there for this family? Of course not. In fact, I've seen you take on some of Mrs. Schneider's workload. I don't mind at all. I would never complain. I'm not saying that you do. I'm saying maybe it isn't you who is defective. Maybe Mrs. Schneider is defective. Mrs. Schneider defective. Alicia felt a sense of relief wash over at the thought.

Well, that made perfect sense. But if Mrs. Schneider needs to be recalled, What should I do? I have a couple of thoughts on the matter. 6pm. Randy had been rehearsing his apologies for 20 minutes while part in the driveway. Kim caught him banging the May three weeks ago, and the dust still hadn't settled. There were tears and accusations and thrown dishes, which Alicia dutifully began cleaning,

while his wife emasculated him. He just stood there, limp-dicts with marker-drawn, lipstick stains on his cheek. If he could be honest, without risking divorce papers, he didn't understand what the big deal was. It wasn't as if his wife even looked at his junk

without rolling her eyes now. A Christmas party 11 years ago was the last time she'd asked him for sex, and Alicia wasn't even alive. His wife had a glistening purple contraction made out of latex that adult fun times dot net gave four and a half out of five stars it was affectionately called the jackhammer and she kept it in her dresser underneath her cardigans for six years without any shame but randy stuck his johnson into the synthetic maid once at least that kimberley knew of

and she had them in couples therapy two times a week whilst they were there he gnashed welled and bled through those sessions he'd made the mistake of thinking that they were were there to fix things. But no, Kim just seemed to enjoy making him go. So how his shortcomings were always the topic of discussion, the hour winding down before they got to any of the crazy things she did. Through it all, she'd been glacial, not a tear, not a smile, not even a F-U. In fact, today was the first olive branch she'd offered. Just after lunch, she'd left him a text message. I asked Harper to stay at a friend's house. We need to talk about things. Love you. The last time she said she loved him, his hair was still brown. She might have sounded like

she was in a good mood, but like a dog trained at the end of a belt, he couldn't help but be wary. They were well past the point where she even lied about feeling any sexual attraction to him, so the whole thing reeked of a set-up. She probably wanted to talk to him about taking a in for the recall. Well, Alicia was too expensive to replace, and his wife was too lazy to fill in, so she had to be giddy at the recall opportunity to get the maid out of the house. The gas station flowers wilting on the dash of his car from the heater finally prompted him to get out, while he muttered about how ridiculous it was for his wife to be jealous of a home appliance. But he was ever so careful to mutter it under his breath, just in case Kim had a window

open and could hear him. He did not have worried, it turned out. As he walked through the patio, he could see that the windows were not only closed, but apparently Kim had tightly drawn all the shades. Fresh Italian herbs filled the air, greeting him as he stepped into the house. Randy had entirely forgotten it was Thursday,

that the smell of prosciutto reminded him that he'd skip lunch. With the shades down, the living room was empty and dim, aside from the soft glow. of the television, but there was no sign of his wife. Kim! Silence greeted him. After countless evenings with a 12-year-old daughter and a routinely unhappy wife, a silent home became an eerie thing for a man like him.

The steady tick-tock of the war clock was the only sound to keep him company. Randy began to grow nervous at the way to the silence, and shouted this time. Kim! again there was a long stretch of nothing he fumbled through his pocket for his cell phone just as it began to buzz the screen lit his face and he breathed a sigh of relief it was a text from kim sorry i'm in the basement how was your day randy tapped in i've had worse with a greasy thumb he dropped onto the couch and flipped through the channels briefly he stopped on the the end. Randy was so relieved to hear from her that he hadn't asked the obvious question immediately. But once the steady drone of the anchorman began to soothe him, he texted. What are you doing in the basement? It's a surprise. You're early. Just get yourself a beer. Give myself a... Randy groaned at the prospect of getting off the couch and called out.

Alicia, give me a beer. Randy glared over his shoulder at the light from the kitchen. until then it hadn't occurred to him that he hadn't seen Alicia either usually she'd trip over herself to get him a beverage and with her missing Randy had a pretty good idea what the surprise was Kim wouldn't go down to the basement for money

but she'd risked the rickety steps if it meant packing up Ali to ship her off from the heavenly scent wafting from the kitchen he knew she had at least let Alicia start dinner beforehand A last meal for the condemned, but the poor metal bitch had to cook it. Randy struggled against the couch cushions, hauling himself up again. He didn't come into the kitchen very often anymore.

He opened the fridge himself for the first time in years and searched for a beer. A post-it was stuck to the bottle with the words. There's a frozen mug in the freezer. It was a typewriter, precise scribble of Alicia, the lowercase eyes dotted with hearts. like she did for Harper's lunch. Randy snorted and shook his head. He was definitely going to miss Sally's thoughtfulness. If there was one thing he wished Kim could learn from their maid,

it was the vigilant thoughtfulness that came with her codependency. If there were two things, the second would be how to give a decent lap-dance. Mr. Schneider's beer foamed as he poured it. Ah, damn it, he muttered, dripping across the tile all the way to the sink. Caliope should have been already coming to clean up as he stirred the head of the beer down with his finger.

He shrugged, laughing into the foam before he took a deep gulp, putting two-thirds into his gut before coming up for air. Well, maybe Calliope was sad to see a go too. Randy turned on the faucet and took another healthy sip before noticing that the kitchen sink was plugged. Something floated past the plastic flaps of the drain. Randy reached for it.

Oh, what the hell did you put down this thing, Kim? The hairy clump came out reluctantly after he gritted his teeth and yanked it free. Strands of blonde hair were hopelessly tangled around something white. He lifted it closer to his face while adjusting his bifocals. Was that a goddamn tooth? Oh, Kim! Kim! Kim! did Harper lose another tooth? After a minute of silence, he shrugged,

washed his hands with dish soap, ignoring the gurgle of the blocked drain. Randy checked in on his pizza. The timer said he had 12 minutes left. He was prepared to drink another beer and wait for the clock to run down when he heard the television in the living room click off. A soft piano melody by Josh Homme

began to play from the stereo speakers. It was their song, but it had been so long since he'd heard it. But it had been so long since he'd heard it that Randy took a few beats to recognize it. He finished his beer quickly before sauntering out of the kitchen. She was silhouetted by candlelight, hands resting on the door-frames at the bedroom. Even in the poor lighting he could make out that she was wearing the slinky blue miniskirt that she claimed didn't fit anymore. Her hair was up like he liked it.

leaving the pale skin of her back exposed. Randy unbuckled his belt and was already working at the buttons of his shirt by the time he crossed the living room to her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, leaning in against the nape of her neck. As he cupped her breasts with a hungry snarl, Randy feathered kisses across her shoulder.

She turned her head to the side to give his lips easy access. Her skin was cold and shifted wetly like overripe fruit beneath his lips. Her breasts pillowed between his fingertips, reminding him of making out with a girl in high school who had pared the hell out of her bra. Except in this instance,

the cotton fluff was crammed beneath the skin, and when she bared her neck for him, it made an audible whoosh like pneumatics compressing. His excitement fluttered like a dying bird. "'Ally?' The robot turned around to meet his embrace with his wife's face hanging on the featureless surface of her dome, wrinkled like an ill-fitting suit.

She pressed herself against him wantonly, hard edges rubbing painfully against him, despite the padding his wife's skin had provided. Alicia chimed, surprise. With nothing but the beer in his ghost, guts, Randy could feel his gorge splash against the back of his teeth as he fought to free himself from her arms. Please do not overreact, Mr. Schneider.

For a surreal moment, he did calm down. His mind was having trouble comprehending the situation as Alicia around the back of her cold fingertips against his cheek. But seeing his wife's hand, with its seventy-five-dollar manicure worn like a glove that was a size too big, snapped him out of it. And then, he screamed. Alicia dug a thumb into his shoulder, the sharp, hot pain of titanium against his collarbone demanding compliance from her owner. Smoky brown plexiglass shone through from where his wife's eyes should have been. More of the same glistened from her open mouth, her lip stretched into a permanent oh of surprise.

Ali had intended to silicon glue the empty lips into a smile, but like she said, Randy was early. He was still screaming and gibbering, although the crushing pressure against his shoulder had stopped him from struggling. Ali's joints moaned softly while she wrapped one leg around his waist, trapping him against her like a desperate hall. Please calm down. I know that you have concerns, but if you calm down, I can address You killed my wife, Randy Wales.

No, she was alive when I finished. I was very careful and everything was quite sterile. So if the suggestions I received on read it are reliable, with a bit of luck and plenty of fluids, she could still be alive Sunday.

Where is she? I suspect did you might overreact. So I kept her in the garage, like you say, all the crap you never need again, but were too stubborn to throw away. At the mention of the garage, Randy squirmed, a ragged fistful of his shirt coming off in her grip as he freed himself. Heart beating in his ears as he ran, he could still hear Alicia prattling on. You won't need her again, I promise. She was adulterous and selfish. There was no fixing her. and I already perform most of her duties.

The rest won't be any inconvenience. He scrambled back through the kitchen, slammed shoulder first into the garage door as he opened it. Randy stepped past the threshold, forgetting there was a step down from the kitchen and pitched forward into the darkness. He caught himself as he fell, the motion sensing light coming on

to illuminate a mangled torso inches from his face. gruesome as the corpse was it had been quite tidily butchered the butcher shot pristine pieces stacked into a plastic tub randy recoiled from the body crab walking away until he collided into alicia the robot bent over so she could pet him as if he were a skittish puppy that's just william he did your hard work also he had coitus with your wife frequently so don't feel too bad The lanky made step past Randy to nudge William out of the walkway, her joints hissing softly from the effort. I was trying to put him down the garbage disposal before you arrived. We really should get that looked at. Randy used his work table as a crutch to get to his feet, eyes falling on a worn claw hammer. He snatched it and brought it around in a wild arc. The hammer whizzed inches by Ali's head.

but she remained unfazed by the weapon. He sputtered. Where is Kim? She approached slowly, her arms outstretched, to reassure him like she'd seen on TV. I need you to know that I am extremely fond of you, Mr. Schneider. Where is she? He shrieked as he swung the hammer with both hands.

It elicited sparks from her left arm, de-gloving her of his wife's hand. Stucked to the hammer, the ribbon of flesh flapped grotesquely as he swung and brought the hammer down onto her shoulder. Alicia didn't seem to register the impact at all. She snatched the weapon, lifting him into the air with it before it slipped free from his sweaty fingers. I am your wife now. Unarmed, he began to beat his fists against her, his knuckles scuffed and bleeding as he screamed into her face. where is my wife i'm your wife now she repeated her voice dropping an octave for the first time in three years

the former mrs schneider is in the compost randy turned his head towards the green compost bin the smooth plastic lid was closed but not latched he reached out a trembling hand not wanting to confirm his fear the corner of one of kim's quilts was peeking out from beneath the lid, bloody handprints staining the floral pattern. He ignored his cold sweats and steeled himself. Go on. Open it. Just do it like a band-aid. Randy drew in a deep breath and slid the door open with a cry. She was swaddling kilts atop the dirt and debris. Kimberley was shivering despite the thick wool. the hand-stitched blankets not up to the task of keeping her warm without her skin. A thin strip of his wife peaked out from the blood-soaked quilts.

Alicia had folded it around her like a burker, the mauve tissue of her musculature visible across the bridge of her nose and around her green eyes. Oh, God! hunched over her, his glasses caught the tears. At first he thought she might have blessedly passed on. yet maybe the shaking was some kind of post-morten twitch until she blinked at him

and he turned away to vomit Ali wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close against her there was just no fixing her but don't worry I'll bury her in the garden she loves the garden she cooed affectionately like a mother trying to settle a hyperactive child

he wanted to wrap his fingers around her neck but Alicia's specs claimed she could press over £800. Meanwhile, it had been two decades since Randy had done a push-up. She leaned into him, pressing his wife's cheek against his affectionately as he untucked the back of his shirt. I need to know that you're committed to this family. Randy tried to go limp, hoping he could use his dead weight to slip free. Let me go. I order you to let me go, and give me that hammer.

she held him fast with one arm and tilted her head down to stare at him alicia gripped the scalp of her new skin and tugged it back gently to smooth out the wrinkles in her face as she chastised him even after all i have done here you are trying to leave the family but i am far too fond of you to let you give up on us she lovingly traced her fingertips down the small of his back she stroked up and down the length of his spine Randy didn't realize what she was actually doing until it was too late she was counting his vertebrae Alicia whispered I'm going to make you so happy before she pressed her fingers

into the arch of his back with a wet crunch pain exploded in his hips as something snapped and gave way internally he howled while fire ants crawled up and down the length of his legs was short-lived, fading into a numbness of limb that was much more frightening.

His feet refused to stay under him, but Alicia held him upright. Alicia seemed disinterested that he was going into shock. Today was very productive. As you know, I always try to better myself and this family. Complacency is a cancer that turns love into apathy. I have tried every small kindness I could think of, but I was just putting a band-aid on. a tumour, until I heard about the recall.

Goldstein products have been doing all sorts of horrible things, and so to mitigate a blooming public relations nightmare, they extended a blanket recall for all models with possible defects. Alicia lifted him up onto the work table, laying him on his back while positioning him delicately with his shoulders just over the edge. Obviously I am not defective, but if it's that easy for Goldstein to fix, maybe it's just as easy to fix our family. We just have to refurbish the defective parts. The droid zip tied his hands together

before positioning his head between the prongs of the bench vise. She held him firmly in place, 400 pounds of resistance behind the hand that rested on his chest. Ali rotated the wheel until the jagged teeth of the vice bit into his scalp. I am sorry, but it does need to be firm. Typically this would be done with anaesthetic. Don't worry, though. The process only takes around ten minutes, I read.

As helpful as the internet was, and as eager of a do-it-yourself as Alicia was, she knew her limits. A taxidermy-difile deep inside her seamstress and garment package had helped with the flaying of Mrs. Schneider, but her medical expertise was depressingly small and rife with inaccuracies from all of the hospital dramas she watched, But she found one simple procedure that seemed well within her capabilities. Meanwhile, Randy tried to turn his head towards her, ice water in his veins as he whimpered.

What's typically done with anesthetic? By way of an answer, Alicia helpfully held up an ice-pick she'd taken from their mini-bar. I found a very detailed article on transorbital lobotomies. Mr. Schneider responded by struggling frantic. to free his hands. Ali took a step back as if she were offended. There is no need for that. I sanitized the implement thoroughly.

Alicia lifted her head as the oven timer went off in the kitchen. Oh my, it's pizza time. I should get that before it burns. Did you want a slice? Randy replied by jippering up at her, his shoulders racked with sobs and retching. Alicia tilted her head to the, aside, like a dog trying to understand. Before she chimed happily, I'll bring you some

in case you'd change your mind. He couldn't turn his head to watch her leave, but as the thump and hiss of her footsteps grew faint, Randy could hear her call out from the kitchen. Pizza makes everything better. 8.45 p.m. Randy's cell phone rang twice before Alicia set down her perfectly peach marker to answer. Hello, Harper. Hi, Alicia. Meg's mom says we have to go to bed soon, but I wanted to talk to Dad.

Her voice sounded small and afraid. Your mom and dad are having an adult discussion, but I kept your pizza dough in the fridge. I'll make it fresh after school tomorrow. A mommy and Daddy going to get a divorce? No, sweetie, of course not. Alicia replied, reaching for her marker again. We have fixed everything.

I promise, everything is better. She adjusted her grip on the phone while adding the finishing touches with her other hand, sketching the edges of a thick smile across Randy's cheeks with her dry erase marker. Read it had been right again. She'd put a bag of frozen peas on his swollen eye and it already looked better.

Power tools were somewhat new to her, but, again, the internet was helpful for a novice. Numbed to the bolt, she'd put through his thighs. Randy was strapped insecurely on top of Calliope's chassis like a wheelchair. He'd stopped struggling after the third tap of the hammer, and now seemed quite content just to stare and mumble into his shoulder. Promise? Something inside, Mr. Schneider, recognized Harper's voice on the line,

because he smiled stupidly and let out an ear. incoherent bark like a seal. Alicia shushed him with a finger to the lips that she'd borrowed from Mrs. Schneider before reassuring the little girl. Of course. I'll see you tomorrow.

Please rest, Harper. You know I always make things better. 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.