Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S6 Ep299: Episode 299: Uniquely Weird Horror Stories

Episode Date: December 11, 2025

Today’s first fantastic offering is the epic ‘Crius’, a wonderful story by Red Hot Owl, kindly shared with me via my sub-reddit and narrated here for you all with the author’s express permission: https://www.reddit.com/user/RedHotOwl/ Tonight’s next terrifying tale is ''Nika's Shadow'', a contemporary work by the wonderful MLycantrope, kindly shared with me via my sub-reddit and read here with the author’s express permission. https://www.reddit.com/user/MLycantrope/ Our third horrific tale of the macabre for this evening is ‘The Person on The Other Side of The Mirror Offered to Trade Places with Me’ by the wonderfully talented Corpse Child, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me narrate it here for you all: https://www.reddit.com/u/Corpse_Child/ Our penultimate tale of terror is ‘What I discovered in the Jungles of South America’, an original work by Mr. Charms 505, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all (original title: ‘Thanks to Me the World Is Allowed to be Destroyed by Man’). https://www.reddit.com/user/Mr_Charms_505/ We round off proceedings with ‘What Remains’, a phenomenal story by kalenryan13, shared directly with me via my sub-reddit and read here with the author’s express permission: https://www.reddit.com/user/kalenryan13/

What if this was someone in your family that had a chronic illness that they could not get away from? Millions of Americans live with a disease that has no cure. I was diagnosed with a rare form of sarcoma. The most immediate findings indicated that I should lose my leg. It ended up taking four clinical trials in 25 years to get me to this point. Cures are within reach. if we invest in funding for life-saving medical research that's needed to find them. Even if they're unsuccessful in my treatment that they will have learned from my treatment

that will be able to allow others to stand on my shoulders to be able to be helped. Join the Fight for Cures. Tell your elected representatives to support American medical research. Visit UnitedforCures.org slash action to send a letter today. Paid for by United for Cure's action Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. Uniquely weird things scare us because they sit just, Just outside the boundaries of what our brains consider normal or predictable.

And something is almost familiar, but twisted in a way we can't explain, it disrupts our sense of safety and forces our minds to work overtime trying to understand it. This gap between recognition and confusion triggers a primal alert system. If we can't recognize a thing, categorize it. We can't judge whether it's dangerous. That uncertainty, that feeling of something's wrong, but I don't know what, is exactly what makes the strange and uncanny so deeply unsettling as we shall see in tonight's collection of stories

now as ever before we begin a word of caution tonight's tales may contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery that sounds like your kind of thing then let's begin Prius by Red Hot Al The American writer of horror fiction, best known for his creation of the Cotula mythos, H.P. Lovecraft once said,

The oldest and strangest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is the fear of the unknown. Well, an iconic quote to be certain, yet I must respectfully disagree with Mr. Lovecraft. The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind isn't fear of the unknown. is our obsession with understanding it fear is but a stepping stone to be conquered curiosity on the other hand is relentless uncompromising it's our curiosity that defines us as a species and it is said that curiosity will eventually be our downfall my name is Monica Schultz I'm originally from Germany but I was scouted fairly early in my fledgling career I'm a marine biologist of

sorts. I work for a subdivision of the US government that specialises in the discovery and a study of anomalous aquatic life. My occupation might seem oddly specific at first, but you can rest assured that we exist for a reason. Keep listening, and you'll soon find out why. You've probably heard of the infamous bloop at some point in your life. In the unlikely event that you haven't, the bloop was a powerful ultra-low frequency. underwater sound of uncertain origin detected by the National Ocean and Atmospheric Administration in 1997.

It was a reoccurring topic of discussion by both scientists and the media alike for over a decade. Until in 2012, the NOAA went on to disprove some of the bolder theories, stating that the sound appears to be consistent with noises generated via Arctic glacial movements. Or at least that's the explanation

that they come up with after we pressured them into covering it up. The reason we did that is because earlier that same year, the sound was detected once again. However, this time we had the modern equipment necessary to pinpoint the general location of its source.

An expedition was promptly organized. When the first sets of data and images came back, one of us knew how to react. I can only imagine how the first scientist must have felt once they realized the sheer scale of what resided directly below them. Now I have made my fair share of unconventional discoveries over the years, ancient sunken cities, deep-sea creatures that border on the mythical, entire ecosystems comprised of bizarre, downright alien flora and fauna, and yet nothing could have prepared me for what we ended up finding down there, dwelling in the cold depths of the southern ocean beneath its expansive sheet of ice.

I could hardly tell what I was looking at initially. It was clearly massive in scale, since even from a distance, the probe could fit only a fraction of its mass in a single frame. It resembled an enormous glob of blubbery, pinkish flesh, suspended less than a mile from the bottom of the ocean. With the aid of different echo-sounding measurement techniques, on-site personnel, were able to determine that the globular structure appeared to be occupying a space of about one kilometer. You don't have to be an expert to know that an organism of such ridiculous, a size shouldn't exist. In spite of that, further research proved that it was indeed organic in nature, single-handedly demolishing a lot of our preconceived notions about the reality of life on Earth. Thus began Project Ultra Fauna. Our purpose was to study and

understand this impossible organism, which we later dubbed Creus, after one of the titans in Greek mythology. Back at the start of 2013, I was deployed to our newly established base in Antarctica. I wasn't the sole researcher there, but I was the most experienced, especially in my particular field. The privilege of studying such a phenomenon up close and personal, more than made up for the unpleasant work conditions. Well, in a way, I saw this opportunity as the culmination of my entire career.

The first order of business was to install a 24-7 underwater surveillance system around the subject. This proved to be a challenge given its colossal size and the depth. depth at which it resided. Thankfully its movement seemed extremely restricted, limited to the clusters of thin tendrils and appendage-like growths gathered across its otherwise dormant mass, each possessing a maximum reach of about 200 meters. Initial observations determined their function to be primarily defensive. One of our drones was immediately ensnared, crushed and torn apart upon attempting to collect a sample.

Creus reacted in much the same way when approached by other sea life as well, who didn't utilise any of the material left behind. There were literal whale carcasses left to just float there, decomposing at the bottom of the abyss. This posed the question as to how something so absurdly giant could even sustain itself to begin with.

Apart from its pseudo-tentacles, the surface of Creus was an expanse of smooth, pulsating flesh, no orifices to be seen. One of my colleagues proposed an interesting theory. Perhaps its outermost layer acted as a filter, and its source of food was the microorganisms and bacteria it deliberately cultivated by leaving behind dead tissue. Well, of course, we couldn't confirm any of that without a sample, and the idea that an entity of such immense scale survives solely in our diet of microorganisms was far-fetched to say the least. It didn't seem to to produce any waste that we could analyze either.

We attempted sending multiple drones out at once, each approaching from a different angle. But the result was the same every time. They were destroyed as soon as they got within 200 metres of crows. Government funding or not, we couldn't just keep throwing expensive tech at it and hope for the best. Around that time was when the first incident happened. His name was Gregory, one of our lead engineers.

I'd always known him to be a reserved and stoic man, an old-fashioned professional, so he imagined my surprise when he kicked open the door to the monitoring station and threatened all of us at gunpoint. He looked completely out of his mind, slapping the side of his head with one hand while holding the gun with the other, spearing nonsense that we couldn't decipher. There were already traces of blood splattered across his face and overalls, which we later found out were from the guard he'd ambushed with a pipe wrench before stealing his side of. Upon noticing the large screen that displayed a grid of all the video

feeds we had of Chris, he'd out the most pitiful whale I'd ever heard a man produce, and opened fire on the equipment. We'd took cover as sparks and bullets began to fly. I winced every time something flew over my head, half expecting it to graze my skull. Whatever his true motives were, He did manage to destroy a significant chunk of our hardware before shoving the barrel in his own mouth and pulling the trigger. He didn't get the quick and painless death he was likely hoping for either, though. His aim was a bit too off centre and he ended up blowing half of his jaw off instead. Of course, the poor bastard was already presumed dead by the time security finally showed up,

slumped against a wall and sitting in a pool of his own blood. All research was temporarily put on hold while we waited for the replacement equipment to arrive. That and, naturally, we needed some time to recover from this ordeal. Like I mentioned before, Gregory was always known as the reliable veteran, the grumpy old-timer who'd seen it all. I couldn't even begin to speculate as to what could have driven him to such a state. The next similar incident was with our lead physician,

Dr. Lee, who had apparently locked herself in the sick bay and refused to come out. After she'd altogether stopped responding, on-site security were called to manually disable the lock, only to find her limp body sprawled across the exam table, half-clutching a syringe. Her colleagues were immediately able to conclude that she had committed suicide via a lethal injection of pentobarbital. Prior to taking her life, she had also seized what medical supply she could and tried to dispose of them by stuffing them down a toilet. Then there was my assistant, Bryce. From what I was told, he was caught trying to overload the central heating system

and, not wanting to be captured and interrogated, used a piece of glass to slid his own throat. In addition to the alarming frequency at which they were occurring, each of these suicides seemed to double as deliberate attempts to sabotage our efforts. All of the victims had close to nothing in common, So trying to establish some sort of connection between them quickly proved to be a hopeless endeavour. Time was becoming as precious a resource as any. The bigwigs back home were starting to get impatient.

Admittedly, we hadn't made much progress. It was difficult to focus on the job when you didn't know if the person next to you was teetering on the verge of a manic episode. We started hearing rumours that the military were itching to get involved as they viewed the existence of Creus as a matter of national and global security.

Don't ask me how they came up with such a conclusion where our report certainly didn't reflect their concerns. Regardless, we were given an ultimatum. We had exactly two months to figure out what Creus was and how it worked, otherwise we'd be taken off the project and, well, likely terminated in order to prevent a leak. The pressure was on. I only slept for about three hours every other day.

It was to say that most of us were running on fumes would have been an understatement. We were like walking automatons, going through the motions that we were programmed to do when wasting little energy on anything else. Adding to the oppressive atmosphere was the arrival of the winter season, which here means weeks of near perpetual darkness. It also came as no surprise when another death was confirmed. The victim this time was a fact that.

fellow researcher who was found dead in his cabin, lying naked in the middle of it with a large horizontal sliced across his stomach and covered in multiple punctures. A quick toxicology report, coupled with the empty pill bottles, found littering his bed and nightstand, suggested the initial cause of death was likely voluntary. Of course, that also meant that all of the injuries were done by somewhat post-mortem. They were far too surgical and severe to be self-inflated. The cut in the man's abdomen, in particular, seemed to have been forcefully stretched open. Somebody had been picking through his guts, and then using the residue to finger paint on the claustrophobic cabin's singular window. Although I wasn't present, nor was I allowed anywhere near the victim's quarters,

since it technically wasn't my job to look into such matters. I did see a recreation of the grisly drawing, if you can even call it that. I'm not sure exactly how to describe it. It resembled a simple stick figure with extra arms and legs, and enclosed in a larger circle. The whole thing was oddly ritualistic, quite unlike the previous cases that seemed more focused on inciting panic and discord among the crew. Yes, this whole thing was, oddly ritualistic, quite unlike the previous cases. But as unnerving as it all was, I couldn't afford to dwell on it for too long. We were getting closer to our first breakthrough since I got here.

One of our hydrophon arrays managed to isolate a low, almost radio-like frequency emanating from somewhere within Creus' core. Though I wouldn't call it electronic in nature, it also wasn't consistent with anything a purely biological organism should have been capable of producing. Honestly, it was downright alien. I wonder we hadn't noticed it previously. It was a bold assumption, but could this constant, near undetectable sound, be the reason why people were killing themselves?

The prospect of certain sound patterns affecting one's mental state isn't exactly a foreign concept, especially if you happen to work for the US government. Like the tendrils, perhaps this was just another defensive mechanism, albeit a more subtle one. In the wake of this new revelation, an idea emerged. What if we were to try and replicate the signal? The goal was to elicit some sort of reaction or possibly even acknowledgement from the immense creature. It was a stretch, but then again we were already grasping at straws.

Even if my assumption about the frequency's purpose was correct, it wasn't like they were going to prematurely end the project because of it. The mission was much too important. Fortunately, a couple of the staff had backgrounds in audio-engineer. engineering, making the process a whole lot easier than it would have been otherwise. Not so fortunate was the fact that our work kept getting disrupted by the escalating number of suicides. By day 20 of our two-month deadline, nearly one-third of my research team were gone. People that looked completely stable one day were dead the next.

Some of the bodies were discovered in various stages of dissection, their blood used to decorate the walls with that same symbol. While the deaths themselves were impossible to predict, it couldn't help but wonder how our unnamed corpse desecrator kept getting away with it. There were cameras virtually everywhere, and surely somebody would have identified them. It was almost as if our overseers were allowing this madness to continue. I'll never forget standing outside my room, coffee in hand and looking down at the severed human finger lying at my doorstep. There was a crimson trail leading away from its door. and towards the shared bathroom. I knew that I was being baited, but I didn't care.

My morbid curiosity outweighed my need for self-preservation. Whoever was doing this was clearly trying to show me something, and frankly I was fed up with having more questions and answers. And so, like a good little lab rat, I followed the proverbial cheese trail to its sauce. As soon as I saw that the door to one of the stores was hanging open, inviting me to peek inside, I already knew what I was going to find there. Sure enough, there it was.

The body of the young man to whom the finger belonged to, stripped and propped against the toilet. His intestine spilled over his lap and onto the floor, forming a pile. His head hung at an angle, green eyes clouded and vacant. His face didn't seem too familiar, maybe one of the maintenance boys. There was a scalpel left in bed. in his throat, likely the primary cause of death, before the body was further mutilated. Painted onto the ivory tiles behind him was the, by that point, all too familiar calling card, a multi-limbed figure with a circle drawn around it, as though trapped within the boundaries

of the shape. That's when the realisation finally struck me. It was so obvious, how did I not think of it sooner? I practically sprinted out of the bathroom and down the dimly lit hallway. My heart was racing. Beads of anxious sweat trickled down my brow. I must have seemed deranged as I emerged into the mess hall where most of my crew were having breakfast. Before anyone could accuse me of having lost my mind,

I snatched a hard-boiled egg from a colleague's tray and held it up to the fluorescent lights. It's an egg, I laughed. it's a goddamn egg. Well, it made so much sense. Creus wasn't just a vaguely spherical mass of writhing meat, but rather the organic vessel of the true Titan, waiting to be born. Its sole purpose was to sustain and protect whatever was developing inside of it, explaining its apparent lack of basic biological needs.

I was immediately challenged on my rash deduction, but I was confident in its validity. I knew that I was right and no one could convince me otherwise. Besides, I didn't need them to believe me, so long as everyone did their job. As we approached the dreaded deadline, our research centre started looking more like a slaughterhouse. It became commonplace to spot the dismembered remains of some poor fool decorating the corridors. The last time I saw a guard was them hanging from the ceiling via the cord wrapped around their neck. The comparatively saner among us had to take matters into our own hands when it came to safeguarding our progress.

Finally, on May 26, 2013, we deployed the transmitter. We wanted to sink it as close to the subject as possible before turning it on. The tension in the control room was palpable. What little remained of the original crew were gathered around the central monitor. This was it. We had neither the time, resources nor staff, to afford having to go back to the drawing-ball. The fate of our entire operation hinged on this one final experiment. If it failed, everything we endured thus far would have been for naught.

I glanced at the dial in front of me inside. Turning up the amplifier, I announced to a completely silent audience. Obviously we couldn't hear it, but we could see it. see that the oversized speaker was beginning to vibrate. When viewed from above, it looked like an insignificant speck against the dark expanse of living tissue, the scale of which was still hard to believe. Come on, you bastard, somebody muttered behind me, anxiously gnawing away at his knuckles. Are we waited and waited? But nothing happened. There were no spikes in the measurements, no visual signs of stirring. The subject was as passive as ever. It was a far-fetched

idea from the start, yet we'd convinced ourselves that it just had to work. It was the only thing keeping us going. All of the sacrifices, all of the casualties, there had to be some purpose to it all. After everything I'd done, everything I'd seen and been through, I wasn't going to let it end like this. I clenched my teeth and shoved past my distraught colleagues. None of them even acknowledged me until I picked up the radio. There were several military vessels patrolling the ocean around the frozen continent, and their purpose was to dissuade foreign powers from seizing a foothold, but I had other plans for them. This is Professor Schultz from Research Station B-55. If anybody hears me, please respond. It's an emergency.

Well, it took some convincing acting, but I was able to finally get in contact with the captain of one of the ships, to whom I proceeded to breathlessly explain that they had to launch an attack on Chris. My justification was that the giant creature had turned hostile, I was in the process of releasing some sort of toxin into the water, which, in addition to the untold ecological consequences, threatened to reveal the entire operation to the rest of the world. I stressed that time was of the essence and that they needed to act now before it was too late. A few of my subordinates tried to stop me, but the rest had understood what must be done piled onto them and held them down. Several missiles were launched. The impact was something to

behold. As I predicted, the torpedoes were immediately intercepted by the grasping appendages, but the resulting explosion was enough to send ripples across the whole organic structure. After all, my goal wasn't to destroy it. No, it was to provoke it. We received word from the people stationed on the shore that they could feel the ice beneath them begin to rumble. The buzzing in the air became so loud that we could hear it without the aid of our audio equipment, this tinnitus-like ringing that just kept amplifying until I could no longer hear myself think. All of a sudden it ceased entirely, granting us a rare moment of unimpeded clarity,

during which I was able to reflect on what I'd just done. It would appear that the signal had been affecting all of us from the start, just in different ways. The men and women we last understood its message for what it was, a warning to cease tampering with something we could never hope to understand, followed by the realization that death is the only true escape from the inherent defect that is human curiosity. For others of a similar mindset to my own, it had the exact opposite and likely inadvertent effect of stimulating our zealous obsession with knowing the unknowable, and pursuing said knowledge at the expense of all else, like moths to flames.

I heard a familiar well coming from the storage room, adjacent to where we were gathered. While the others remained glued to the screen, I stepped away from the console and went over to investigate. Hunched on the other side of the door was none other than Gregory, the engineer whose attempted suicide marked the start of our descent into madness. He appeared to have somehow survived, albeit with one half of his face stitched and stapled shut. Who'd ever treated him hadn't done all that good of a job. The wounds looked infected to the point that they were leaking pus. His right eye was red and swollen, clearly impairing his vision. He was kneeling beside yet another recently disembowed carcass, and looking down at

his bloody hands in horror. It would appear that we'd found our elusive artist. With the signal temporarily gone, and its influence over our minds subsiding, the unfortunate wretch was confronted with the reality of his actions. He turned his hideous expression towards me in an almost pleading manner, as though expecting me to assure him that none of this was his fault, that he too was the instrument of some higher power that transcends our limited comprehension. And then, it happened. The bloop, just as I'd heard it countless times in recordings, only much, much louder. I left Gregory

to his lamenting and raced back to the control room, barring a few of its destroyed limbs that were already starting to regrow. The surface of Creus appeared overall to be intact. We hadn't even made a dent. All-reading showed that it also wasn't what was producing the high-amplitude sound. No, it was coming from somewhere else entirely. The radio cracked alive. Come in, B-55. We are detecting a large shape moving straight for us. Here's the target. and that's the last we heard of them. I tried to re-establish contact with the rest of the patrol fleet, but nobody responded.

The crew operating from the coastline described the sea as being deathly quiet. Ah, it was probably time to just call HQ, confessed to what had happened and request an extraction. Just as I was about to take a moment to regain my faculties and think of what to do next, we received yet another transmission from the shore. Ah, Charles, you might want to see this. The blurry face of the man in charge of handling the survey equipment

appeared on our feet. He wiped the lens with his sleeve and turned the camera towards the ocean. At first I didn't know what I was meant to be looking at precisely. The water was indeed eerily stagnant. It was as if I was looking at a murky pond, not a sea. constellations lit up the sky Rivaling the moon with how brightly they shone And then

I finally made it out There in the distance beyond the glaciers Was what looked like a giant Lampost It took me a minute to realise that one of the lights littering the sky Was actually connected to a narrow stem That projected upwards from the ocean's surface It blended so seamlessly with the view

that I would have never noticed it if it hadn't shifted ever so slightly. Once I did, however, I couldn't prime my eyes away from it. Its silver luminescence was intoxicatingly soothing, like the sweet song of a siren, drawing you towards the centre of a whirlpool. I could only imagine how alluring the dangling orb

must have been in person. A few of the lads said they were going to grab a bow and go check it out. I told him it was a bad idea but they wouldn't listen. One even got violent when I tried to stop him. Started swinging at me, a lunatic. The older man, holding the camera, explained.

As a marine biologist, I'm not sure why it took me so long to realize what that thing obviously was. My best guess is that it was part of its intended effect on the viewer, overriding our senses and causing us to ignore the clear signs of danger in order to lure us in, much like an anglerfish lures its price. before I could yell for them to get the hell out of there

it was too late all I could do was watch as the black ocean suddenly clasped in on itself revealing the all-consuming more that awaited beneath it teeth the size of radio towers broke the surface and eclipsed everything eventually even the sky

so my absolute horror I realized that we were looking at the inside of an enormous jaw which meant that the rest of it was somewhere behind the camera. Oh, dear God, oh no. We heard the sound of ice-cracking, followed by the panic screams of our comrades. Our perspective tilted and then turned to static.

No, no, no, no, no! Signal lost. One by one, all of our remaining video feeds went dark as well. There was no point in true. trying to reach out again. The outpost was lost, swallowed by an eldrish monstrosity along with everybody there. It was all my fault. If my hypothesis was correct and Creus was indeed an egg, then logic dictates that what we just glimpsed must have been the thing that laid it. It's probably just protecting its nest. I'll call it a feeling, but now that we've

intruded on its territory, I don't think that it's going to stay put for much longer. sooner or later all of humanity will be reminded of how truly insignificant we are it's just a matter of time and well that's it that's a story of everything that happened here nobody ever came to retrieve us i guess the government's idea of disposing of us was to simply cut off all communications and leave us for debt it's been close to two years now surviving in this frozen wasteland most if not Not all of the others have either expired or gone insane. I've salvished enough food to last me a couple of weeks, but I can't say the same for fuel, which is why I've decided that it's time to leave. If I'm going to freeze to death anyway, I'd rather it be out there than in here.

I'm leaving this file on my personal computer just in case somebody does find this place. To whomever is reading it, first of all screw you for not coming sooner and second you can find all of my research in the hidden compartment below the desk hopefully the majority of it is still legible do with it what you will

as for me it's time for me to get going be safe and remember if you happen to see a light out there think twice before following it What if this was someone in your family that had a chronic illness that they could not get away from? Millions of Americans live with a disease that has no cure. I was diagnosed with a rare form of sarcoma.

The most immediate findings indicated that I should lose my leg. But it ended up taking four clinical trials in 25 years to get me to this point. Cures are within reach. if we invest in funding for life-saving medical research that's needed to find them. Even if they're unsuccessful in my treatment that they will have learned from my treatment that will be able to allow others to stand on my shoulders to be able to be helped. Join the Fight for Cures. Tell your elected representatives to support American medical research. Visit Unitedforcures.org slash action to send a letter today, paid for by Unified

United for Cures Action. The McDonald's snack wrap is back. You brought it back. Ranch snack wrap. Spicy snack wrap? You broke the internet. For a snack. Snack wrap is back.

Ba-da-a-p-p-ba. Nika's Shadow by M. Lyonthrope. Every winter, there's this thing that comes out of the lake and stalks my property. This is a 13th year this has happened Every time it happens I'm forced to stay indoors Because I can't bear to hear its voice Or to see its face

A face that it stole A face that doesn't belong to it This parody of a woman As it wanders around my property Clad in swamp growth Screeching and moaning as it does Somehow It stole her face

Somehow it stole Nika's face Nika and I met when we were kids She was an orphan And my father had just passed away We were both broken from a very young age Looking back I feel like she's the only person I ever loved Besides my parents

We became fast friends And by the time she was supposed to start her life as an adult My mother had passed away too I was so alone in this world And so was Nika Being familiar with a bottle already back then I remember one night I offered her to come stay with me. I explained I had nobody besides her, and she laughed before her expression turned solemn

again, noting that she didn't have anyone else besides me either. We moved in together, but not for long. Nika, who never knew a home or a family, couldn't stay too long in one place. She was a nomad, a flame without source or restraint. For all of her confidence and strength that she projected onto the world, she was lonely and hurt. I knew this much because well what we had was special I could see it in her eyes that's why I always let her go because I always knew she'd come back

and she did she'd disappear for a while and then come back sometimes alone sometimes with a man or a woman who she claimed to have feelings for we both knew these were lies she loved no one truly well she loved me but it wasn't romantic

that was different I've seen her break so many hearts but she always professed to be concerned with only breaking mine i kept telling her she could never do that but that was a lie too yeah she broke mine nika broke my heart the last time she came back when she came back she was different her skin was pale her stature meek and gaunt there wasn't much of her usual fiery self she was cold slow and fading she never told me what had happened to her but i knew she wouldn't last for long i could see that in her eyes eyes. Nika always lied to drink. Besides me, that was her only other love. The last we'd live

together, though, she'd drunk like a horse. That's when I realized she wasn't making it out anymore. The same woman I've seen laugh through broken bones and torn organs, through hunger, through immense physical and emotional pain. She could beat all of that, but this time she wasn't beating the disease that ate at her. She never told me what it was, and I could never find the strength the maker tell me. She gets saying, she'd be fine, but I knew she was lying. One night when we were about to go to sleep, as we lay in bed, she said she could see this black shadow standing there looming over her, growing darker and colder with each passing day. She said she saw it pull out a thread from inside of her. A white little thread came out of her chest and into the shadow's

mouth. I thought she was being metaphorical about whatever she'd had, but she'd She insisted on being literal, and we had a bit of an argument about it. I called her insane, and she laughed at me, calling me a psycho instead. She and I, we always had those minor arguments and disagreements. Didn't always see eye to eye, but all these arguments, well, they ended with banter. I forgot about Nika's shadow, but couldn't unsee her deterioration. She withered away like a flower in the summer heat, becoming smaller, thinner. Her skin tightened around her body, becoming leathery.

Those shining eyes of hers became sunken, while her cheekbones became more and more noticeable. Her strength was failing away. She spent days doing nothing but lying in bed. Sometimes she'd moan and cry weakly in her sleep. I couldn't do anything but watch, and it ate away at me. It gnawed at me at the point when I started drinking way too much.

Got to the point I couldn't tell apart Nika's corpse-like appearance from my healthy-looking ideal of her. We spent days drinking and talking. Oh, a lie if I said I could remember what we talked about, or how long we spent like this, because I never remember anything from that period. I remember the taste of alcohol and misery in my mouth as I watched the only person I cared about being sucked out of this world

by some sort of evil dressed in a man's shadow. Oh, I've seen the abomination, I've seen it once, and that was enough to burn it into my own. my memory for all eternity. I woke up one night and found myself face to face with a pitch black shadow standing over Nika. Its pernicious shape

connected to her broken form with a white little thread. A barely visible one. I wanted to move, but I couldn't. My body was frozen in place. The thing must have noticed me is I saw a thick, pure, white smile form on its dome.

When I saw that sickening smile, the room turned frozen, and I I felt a knife pierced my chest. Sucked the air out of my lungs as the sound of my heartbeat bombarded my ears. I was choking on the void in my throat as the shadow smell grew larger and larger. Panicked, I tried moving, but nothing came. My body wasn't in my control anymore. My skin turned to marble, a statue stuck in place for as long as the demonic kept its invisible eyes locked on me.

It simply faded. finally allowing me to break out of its spell. Once I pull myself away and not formed in my stomach, I let out a scream, and ended up puking all over myself. Thankfully I didn't wake Nika up. I remember her face, though, from that night. Seems so comfortable, so calm. The morning after I told her about the shadow,

she looked at me like she'd seen a ghost before bursting out into pained laughter. She admitted that the shadow man was just a joke, she'd pulled on me. And yet, I've seen it. I was adamant about knowing what I'd seen. She wouldn't believe me, however, instead saying that she must have finally driven me mad

like everyone else she came into contact with. She said I was losing it. She wasn't entirely wrong. I was losing it. I was losing her. Not long after I found her body in the bathtub. cold and still when something inside of me broke a sharp pain shot through my body as i watched her lifeless body floating in the water wasn't purely emotional it was quite physical this pain

i felt like i'd lost a part of my body i couldn't move my gaze away her form transfixed me in place feeling the tears streaming down my face i couldn't feel anything else nothing at all. It's like it threw me into a vacuum of emotions. Nothing came in, nothing went out. Nothing moved, nothing changed. Everything stayed motionless, colourless. I remember a little from that day or any day after that one for a long, long time. I don't know how long. All I know is that there was a lot of booze, a black hole inside, and the corpse of my beloved Nika laying in one room. My mind snapped. I was so lost and, if I'm not hurting, just lost and floating in absolute nothingness, not in a good way.

Trapped inside my little bubble of pleasant memories and memetic happiness with a person who was gone forever. The days bled into weeks, and those soon became months. It all flashed by me like a little spark. I didn't care. At that point I didn't care out anything at all. I was too busy drowning myself in alcohol, hoping to feel something. No sensations came, however, and at one point even the alcohol started losing its burning edge, slowly turning into a hydrant rather than an intoxicant.

She filled the house with the stench of decay, but I could barely register that. I was far too gone at this point. I didn't care about it. Anika's room became a horror show, her body slowly decomposing into a gooey puddle of brown and black material draped over a skeleton. I've been to that many times over the months God, what haven't I done around those remains of hers? I prayed at her remains, I've cried on top of them, and I've spoken to them, everything, I did it all.

I was a madman who spoke to a decay and pile of bones and kept on crying just how much they loved them. She was gone, but I couldn't let her body go even though not much had remained of it. I spent my days drinking and puking on myself or talking to the quickly disintegrating body I spent my nights dreaming about drowning at the hands of Nika in the lake by the house soon enough I fell in love with the thought of drowning in that freaking lake whenever I thought about just throwing myself into the waters with a rock tides around my neck I remember just how peaceful and how beautiful she looked in death her form was impeccable to behold as I watched her float in the bathtub

and in these moments of grim recollection I felt myself feel something again thinking about my death I found peace somewhere deep down inside I was dreaming of reuniting with her on the other side and eventually my intrusive thoughts became even more prevalent and I opted for that one step towards immortality life had become nothing but a painful monotonous chore

fueled by alcohol and self-destruction life was no longer worth it even cutting myself and burning myself with cigarette butts did nothing i wasn't living instead i was just an animated sack of shit and chemicals and i needed a way out i wanted to see her again she was calling me to join her in my dreams begging me to follow her into the realm of endless darkness where she was so lonely and cold finally had enough and took that one last step Well, tried to, anyway. There's nobody left in this world whom I care for. Not that there's anyone to care about me. After all, I had no bridges left, as everyone I'd ever loved had died. I think it's funny today, as the awful thing outside calls out my name using Nika's voice, demanding I come out, demanding I set it free.

I let her go. I did. She forced me to let her go. Nika terrorized me from beyond the realm of the dead To let her go She forced me to untangle myself from her filthy remains And I did I ended up burning whatever was left of her Took a while, but I did

And now this thing Nika's shadow, Nika's demon Still pretending like I have a part of her with me The only thing I have now is memories As the prospect of my ending Is funny to me now so was the prospect of remaining alive was back then I was ready to end it all there and then

I set the whole thing up and was about to throw myself into the lake a boulder tied with a strap to my neck as I watched the calm waters below for a moment I got lost in the serene scenery almost able to find a semblance of joy in my own pitiful existence before I could notice though dark clouds covered the sky slowly casting a gloomy shade over the beautiful scenery As I watched the winds rocking the waters in the lake below, forming waves, I could hear a voice.

It called me faintly from below. It felt airless and watery. I felt the tears streaming down my eyes and I was about to reunite with my beloved. But then I looked down again. The sensation of a sharp knife pierced both my lungs as a scream echo through the blackened skies. I fell down backwards, clenching the boulder and shivered. with fear and disgust. Another awful scream pierced my eardrums

louder than the last. The waters in the lake rose as the winds became violent, bashing against my body, making my skin shiver even more. What I'd seen down below made little sense. Even thinking about it, makes me shudder to this day. A third scream pierced the air,

coinciding with a thunder-clap, sending shockwaves through my body. It was my name. something down below had screamed my name something furious something irrational a thing that shouldn't exist something so terrible even I couldn't handle watching it

a thing from my worst nightmares I have never been so afraid in my entire life as I was in those moments or feelings were back in the form of sheer terror Untying the strap that tied my neck to the boulder, I left it there and ran as fast as I could back home. I locked the door and the windows before running to Nika's room.

This time the stench of her mostly decayed body was almost unbearable. Even then I remained right by her, huddled next to the gore and decay stained bed on which I'd left her unburied remains. I spent the next ten hours sitting on the floor, shaking in fear as images of that thing in the flashed themselves before my eyes repeatedly. I couldn't move. I couldn't think straight. I couldn't do anything as the panic slowly corrupted my mind.

Inserting impossible images into my eyes, slowly burning away at what remained of my sanity. Eventually, my body gave out and I passed out. When I woke up, the stench of death was far worse than it had been prior to when I'd fallen asleep. It was truly hellish. I ran out of the room, only to slip on a puddle of water. The whole hallway was wet.

I shouldn't have been in any water. My head was spinning, and I was groaning because of the pain pulsating in the back of my head. None of this made sense. I stumbled to the bathroom to wash my face and attempt to come back to my senses. The water in the bathtub was running, overflowing the tub dripping onto the floor. I didn't turn it on. My heartbeat became rapid.

My mind was going around itself in circles, nothing. made sense. I heard a breathy sigh behind me, and chills ran down my spine as I turned around slowly. There she was, in the mirror. Her face contorted into pure rage and hatred, a parody of a once beautiful woman who had become a ghastly monstrosity that threatened to devour me there and then. I fell down and averted my gaze for a second, and mustering up all the courage I still had in me, I looked at the mirror, and she was gone. The thing that was in the lake somehow had followed me home. These were my first encounters with it, but they wouldn't be the last.

Over the next few weeks this thing became a fixture of my life, a permanent reminder of my worst wound, one that could never heal. The thing that would appear behind me and whisper awful things in my ear, It would stand there in the mirror and windows. It would stare and accuse me with its ugly, soulless black eyes. Somehow it would mess with the water and electricity in the house. It would stand there and stare at my nika every time I went into a room. It would stand over me at night and hiss.

Every time I saw this thing, I felt myself losing a part of myself. It would just stand there and make me feel like I'd be losing a piece. This is what Nika spoke of when she said that there's a shadow that's sucking her out of existence. For me, there was no white thread, no void. I had to watch as the darkness of oblivion had twisted my only friend into a sick, decaying, ghoulish parody of herself to torment and mock my loss, and me. I finally lost it with this thing when I went into Nika's room, and it was beyond cold. I was painfully cold inside, dropping to near freezing temperatures.

I left the window open to ventilate out the stench of death. Kneeling down beside her remains, I stayed there for a few months, in total silence, just remembering the good times with her. Something cracked audibly in the room. I'd allowed myself to become so lost in thought I didn't notice the source of this cracking. I was only pulled out of my memories

by the sound of a gasping skeleton as it awkwardly rose from the gore and decay-stained sheets, reaching out to me. I felt backward as my heartbeat became erratic. The room had gone suddenly even colder, and my body shook violently with fear as the skeletal remains of my dearly beloved pulled themselves up and crawled out towards me.

I screamed and crawled away from the reanimated cadaver, but it followed me relentlessly. Too shocked to do anything, I kept on crawling until it grabbed a hold of my leg. At that point, I finally snapped. Whatever humanity remained in me died in that instant,

and I just kicked the un-living hell out of this skeleton. Great happiness and terrible sadness overcame me at that moment. Somehow I found the strength and the will to get up and continuously beat on the perverted remains of what used to be Nika. I kept on beating and kicking those bones until I could do so no longer. Whatever took over the remains wouldn't get out. either in a moment of desperation I made the hardest choice I'd ever had to make with tears in my eyes and great pain weighing on my heart I had to come to terms with my loss I could no longer keep the

one I loved by my side till death has due part it said for a good reason it would seem dragging the unliving the unliving corpse of my beloved to the hearth dousing the rotten possessed bones in alcohol and throwing them into the fire. I couldn't watch as they burned, and I couldn't stand the sound of the inhuman cries that emanated from within the flames. I drank myself into oblivion that day

to forget my misery, but I was never successful in escaping it. That day, after I'd passed out from over-consumption, I had the worst kind of nightmare. I was dragging my beloved Nika to the shower. She was kicking and screaming weakly, resisting my grass but to no avail she was too weak to break free i shoved her face into the sink and turned on the water crying tears burning my face and muffled gargles cutting my eardrums i watched as my body was killing me one person i'd ever loved

when she finally stopped moving i placed her lifeless body in the tub and filled it with warm water i watched her reawaken before showing her head under the hot water once more and then I woke up. It was dark and I was alone. Nika was gone and with her the shadow. I had a lot of mourning to do, but time partially heals all wounds. The days have become bearable as they turned into weeks and later into months. I was used to being alone, but the thought of being actually alone in this world always lingered in my mind. It still does. I still miss her every single day. Well, I know I'm alone, but that's the way I like. it. Nika did indeed drive me mad because I refused to replace her with anyone else. That being said, there's still something lusting after me out there. Every winter it comes

back, wearing her form to torment me. I don't know what it is, but it's there, and as long as I'm inside, it can't reach me. I've learned that for the first time I've seen it after cremating Nika. I've had that same terrible nightmare Nearly a year after I encountered the undead Waking out from it, drenched in a cold sweat My heart still beating violently I headed outside to cool off I grabbed a smoke and my coat

Went out Finally relaxing I noticed someone walking around in the woods I called out to them Remarking that few people visit this place Once the person turned around to face me My body tensed up and the shape filled my head with these ugly memories. Nika's twisted and perverted, dead face plastered to its head.

A toothless grin ever so widening and sickening, pure white eyes contorted and pure hatred, stared at me, wet black hair draped over its gaunt form. The thing noticed me and bolted right toward me. I saw it speeding in my direction, covering a great distance with each leap. Seeing its progression, I ran back inside, locking the door out the windows. I stood behind the door, waiting for it to make its move, but nothing came. It was dead silent, no banging or trying to break it. It was gone, seemingly.

He nearly gave me a heart attack while I passed a window. Just stood there, staring at me, its ugly, ghoulish face trying to say something. I don't know what it wants, nor do I care to know. I guess this thing that killed Nika is real. It's after me, and while it's here every time I go out, it tries to reach me, but I always go back inside as it's seemingly unable to enter the house. I'll stay indoors for the week or two it shows up for, and after that it disappears again until the next year.

This is the 13th year Nika's shadow has been stalking me. A grim reminder of the things I've done, and the things I might have done but have purposefully erased from memory with copious amounts of alcohol. What if this was someone in your family that had a chronic illness that they could not get away from? Millions of Americans live with a disease that has no cure. I was diagnosed with a rare form of sarcoma. The most immediate findings indicated that I should lose my leg. It ended up taking four clinical trials in 25 years to get me to this point. Cures are within reach if we invest in funding for life-saving medical research that's needed to find them.

Even if they're unsuccessful in my treatment that they will have learned from my treatment that will be able to allow others to stand on my shoulders, to be able to be helped. Join the fight for Cures. Tell your elected representatives to support American medical research. Visit UnitedforCures.org slash action to send a letter today, paid for by United for Cures Action. Driving in a Honda Wonderland. It's that time of year again.

Happy Honda Days, where you can drive in a Honda Wonderland of your own, with a great offer on a fun to drive new Accord, Civic, CRV, or HRV. For a limited time, well-qualified buyers can get a 3.99% APR on a 20-25 Accord or a 2026 CRV, a 4.99% APR on a 2026 Civic or a 3.49% APR on a 2026 HRV. See dealer for financing details at Spoo, CivicS.I. and Type-O. Well, they say that the moment the mirror does not recognize us anymore. The guards are no longer in our hands. and in effect we have failed to see to the bottom line of our life story

and thus lost our identity. A concept explored in tonight's story. The person on the other side of the mirror offered to trade places with me by corpse child. Well, I'll admit it. I used to have a thing for always looking at myself in the mirror. It's not really a vanity thing, actually. More like the opposite.

You see, I say, suffer from body dysmorphia. Where you'd look at me and think, he's not bad looking or even, hmm, it's kind of cute. I'd think I looked foggly as hell. The other thing with all that is that one moment I'll look in the mirror and think I look fine, but maybe five seconds later I start noticing things that I think make me look ugly. It's been this way for me since high school and I don't expect it to get any better. I've developed anorexia because of it and therapy has never really been much used to me. Now, I'm not asking for sympathy or help for this.

Personally, I wouldn't have said anything about it at all if it didn't apply to why I'm writing this. After all, it's not exactly comfortable for me, a guy, to admit some shit like that. So, anyway, yeah, I'm almost always looking at myself in the mirror or some reflective surface. Again, it used to be a sort of method of self-assurance, though, like I said, it never really helped.

but ever since I saw it my life has now changed in more horrific ways than I thought possible and it's caused me to avoid mirrors entirely what is it you may ask well good question you've had it so good a question it's why I have to write this

maybe someone can shed a bit of light on exactly what the hell it is I'll try to explain this the best way I can I can't guarantee you'll understand it all God knows I sure as hell don't It was the night of my senior prom when I first saw it I'd managed to actually land a date with Janet A girl I'd been trying to ask out for most of that year And that night I learned to pop that question to her

During the slow dance part That is until I was grabbing punch from me and my girl When Eddie did see Eddie Decided to try and swing dance with his date right next to the punch bowl He ended up sending the girl hurling straight into me right as I was pouring Janet's drink, toppling the both of us over and causing punch to spill all over the both of us.

Unfortunately, she landed right on top of me, and Janet didn't see me get knocked over by the girl. In other words, when she came over to the punch table, all she saw was a chick on top of me, all giggly and shit like it was somehow funny to her and that I had just taken it. Janet immediately got pissed and decided to slosh another cupful in my face before storming out of the gymnasium.

What was worse was, that now everyone was staring at me, laughing their asses off. As quickly as I could, I made a break for the bathroom. Once inside, a propped big trash can that they keep in the bathrooms against the door before looking into the mirror. I was coated in cherry punch, and my hair was already getting sticky from it. It was also all over my brand-new suit that I had bought only a week ago, hoping to help make an impression to Janet.

A fat chance of that. It was also drenched with red. It honestly looked like I'd just bought it. butcher somebody. Great job, Lanny, old pal. I thought bitterly, looking in the mirror. You lose the girl and you look shitter than ever. I grabbed one of the paper towels and began trying to clean myself up. Oh, yes, you do. At first I didn't really hear it and I just kept wiping my face. It must have just been my inner self-loathing, I figured. Ah, you really do look shit, Leonard. I'm surprised she even said yes in the first place.

I looked up to the mirror to see my face smiling at me, well, sort of. It was more like what I wished my face would look like. Strong, broad chin as opposed to my pointy one that could cut through glass and solid ice with slick, well-calmed hair, and no glasses. In short, he, well, it looked handsome, perfect, everything I wasn't. Hey, what the... Yep, I'm you. well actually no i'm what you aren't i'm what you wish you could be stood still slack jawed the reflection then smiled wider and said i mean just look at you the failure carved in punch and looking like a scarecrow that just got wasted

you couldn't possibly think you're going to pick up any dates the way you are he then chuckled and said unlike me what the hell what's going on here? I rub my eyes and looked at the mirror again. You were still there, my insulting reflection, still smiling almost deviously. So, and just who the fuck are you? I snapped back at him. I told you. I'm what you wish you could be.

I'm what you should be. What the hell is that supposed to mean? I'm just fine the way I am. Obviously, deep down, even I knew this was horseshit when I said it. Like I said, I've always had a problem with self-loathing. And, of course, this thing wasn't stupid, and immediately called my bluff. Ah, that's a good one. You could be a comedian with lines like that, if you weren't such a fuck up with everything.

I mean, really, you honestly expect me to believe that you are just fine the way you are. For God's sake, just think about why you're even in here. I caught my eyebrows in confusion. What's that supposed to mean? What are you even... I stopped, pinched the bridge of my nose and said, laughing. Actually, you know what? Forget I asked.

I don't even know why I'm even arguing this. You're my reflection. What do you know? You're not real. Not real. It spat. Ah, that's your first mistake. I am very real.

As real as you are, perhaps. it grin wide again, even more so. What? How are you more real? I mean, you only exist in a mirror. How does this make you better than me? You mean, besides the fact that I'm far better looking than you, how about I don't try to bullshit myself into believing that things I just find the way they are, when they clearly aren't? At least I can honestly say things like, things are great the way they are, and it not be an obvious lie. And I was stumped.

I wasn't sure which felt worse, which sent me more into a tailspin, the fact that I was having hallucinations in the mirror, arguing with them, or the fact that somewhere deep inside I felt like it was right. Either way, this was starting to irritate me, and I wanted to end this debate. What's wrong? It chided condescendingly. I asked for words, no defence. Okay, look, aside from berating me from my face, is there an actual reason you showed up?

What the hell do you want from me here? It let out of chuckling and said, I'm here because I'm actually a nice guy. I've come to offer you a way out. A way to be better. To be me. What do you mean? I watched him reach his hand out to me.

Come with me and I'll show you. I stood still. Nothing about this felt right to me. I mean, besides the obvious concern of my reflection is talking to me, something about what he was actually saying just seemed, well, somehow off. What was he talking about, offering me a way to be better? Better how? Who, maybe what, even is he really?

Come on, what do he got to lose, your dignity? He snickered. Oh, trust me. You've long since fucked that up. That's when I started losing my patience. Who was this asshole to kick me while I was already down? Up yours, I spat venomously. And he almost immediately dropped the shit-eating grin he'd plastered on his face.

For a moment he looked agitated, pissed off, like he was about to leap through the mirror and try to get me or something. Suddenly his mouth parted again to that deranged grin from before, and he said, I'll suit yourself. I can wait. After that he vanished and my reflection was normal. A 5-1 lanky, shaggy-haired, four-eyed loser with ghostly pale skin and pimples covering three-quarters of his face. For a solid five minutes I stood in the mirror, trying to make sure what I was seeing was the real thing.

Finally I splashed cold water on my face before leaving the bathroom. But from there I immediately made my way out. of school and to my car. Driving home I thought about what had just happened. Admittedly, I figured most of this was just me imagining shit because I was down, sort of like how you imagine yourself being given an award, or how you'd imagine girls throwing themselves at you when you're feeling good or confidence. Only, of course, this was the opposite, being mocked instead of praised. But there was still one thing that wasn't sitting well with me. What was it talking about? A chance chance to be like him. What did he mean by going with him? Go where? Into the mirror? What was he

talking about when he said that he could wait? By the time I got home, I had no real conclusions other than I was just beating myself up over screwing things up at the dance. And being exhausted, I decided just to call it case closed with that. I'm just being too hard on myself. Just get some rest tomorrow, try to be more positive. positive or something. So the next day I decided to do just that. Decided to wear my favourite t-shirt and my leather jacket. I'd even decided I'd wear my shades instead of my glasses that day.

Sure enough, it was actually kind of working. I actually felt good about myself. In truth, I felt great. This made me want to check myself out in the mirror. At first I was almost ecstatic. My confidence was through the roof. I looked like a badass. I thought I looked like the Terminator,

albeit a very skinny, not in the least bit physically threatening one. Soon, though, it happened again. There he was my bullying reflection in the mirror, complete with a shodine smirk stretched right across his face. Wow, look at you, Lenny, he chided in a mocking voice. You think you've got it, huh? You think you're a hard shit now because of some new threads. He chuckled and shook his head.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. It's not real. He's not real. He's just in your head. Wrong. My eyes snapped open again. Like last time, his mouth was stretched into a deranged grin. I'm not in your head.

If I was, we wouldn't be having this conversation, would we? We wouldn't need to. My heart started slowly racing. If this wasn't in my head, then... But, he said, cutting my thoughts off dead in their tracks. That's why I'm here. I want to be in your head. I want to be you.

I caught my eyebrows at him. What do you mean? I shouldn't be in here, Leonard. I'm what you should be. Think about it. You're always feeling it, aren't you? That sense you're not good enough. Hell, isn't that why you're always looking in the mirror?

This made my blood start to go cold. How do you... Because I am that peace. Everyone has it. That piece of them that they lack. The reason they can't ever feel good about themselves. It's why you can't ever feel content with yourself or anything you do. Why you are such a screw-up with life.

Oh, yeah? So what? You'd be my saving grace? You, my reflection. You'll make my life better. I actually laughed at this. God, even if I believed you, why would I want to let you in? You're a jerk. What will you do is spew insults at me? His smile fell, and he sighed. Oh, what can I say? I call it like I see it on you, my friend. He whistled condescendingly. damn my anxiety was quickly being replaced with frustration

I felt like I was less than two seconds from putting my fist through the frickin' mirror straight into his smug-ass face you know what go to hell I shouted before storming out of the bathroom slamming the door behind me hey what's all that about my mom asked peeking around the corner from the kitchen I gave her the classic nothing mark line, before grabbing my book bag from my room and heading out for school. Well, despite what happened, I was determined to keep my good mood going. I wasn't going to let some asshole in the mirror ruin my day.

On the drive to school, though, I started thinking about it again. What does he mean by becoming me? Nothing about that made any sense to me. I mean, for starters, how exactly would he become me? What did that even mean? that led to the other thing he kept saying about how he was what I should be well how did that mean too I actually ended up with the onset of a migraine from trying to rack my head around this shit

so I shook it off when I got to school whatever happened with my head or not I told myself that it was nothing I was gonna have a good day and I wasn't gonna let anything or anyone take that from me like this morning it actually seemed to work for a while I felt good about myself. I felt like I was a certified badass. We used until lunch where in front of everyone, including Janet, I was accidentally tripped by Victor Coleman, captain of the school's varsity football team. This caused me to faceplants straight into my lunch tray, covering my face with the ranch dressing I had on my salad. Unfortunately, this also caused my open milk carton to slosh out, splashing across the front of him. Looking at his face, now almost foaming at the

mouth his rage, I took off quicker than I'd ever thought possible towards the bathrooms. I could hear him chasing after me at ramming speed, like a ball that was ready to run me through with its horns. To my utter relief, though, I managed to actually make it and slam the door right as Victor crashed into it. "'Come out here, you fucking pussy!' shouted Victor from the other side of the door. Pressing against the door, I could feel several loud bangs from the other side from him trying to ram through it. Finally, though, he seemed to give up and everything was quiet again.

I spent the remainder of the lunch period hiding in the bathroom. Well, look at you, I heard as I was cleaning myself up. I looked up and, you guessed it. There he was, complete with his snide-ass smirk.

How's it going, her? Being a badass and all. Oh, fuck off, I growled. Oh, this was just what I needed, right? to be kicked while I'm already down? Well, you laughed at this. Look, I told you, I just call shit the way I see it.

Come on, you can't keep lying to yourself here. You know, you can't face the world. Just look at yourself. I mean, really, look. And for a second, he disappeared, and I saw myself again, my true self. How much of a puny, ugly loser I look like.

I was horrified. No, no, no, this isn't me. Is it? I'm not this ugly, am I? I started shaking my head. This isn't real. He isn't real. No, this is real.

It's all in your... Oh, how dense are you? I looked again to see you his back, staring at me in annoyance. Have you not heard a single damn word I've been telling you? If I was in your head, I wouldn't be. here.

What are you talking about? Beware. In here, he replied, pointing his finger downward. In the mirror. I was in your head, you won't be in this situation right now, hiding with your tail between your legs in the bathroom.

Think about it. As inside your head, you wouldn't be a failure. You wouldn't go to sleep and wake up every day, a loser. I was flawed. I wanted to attempt to cram all of this and his smug-smirk straight up his ass. Moreover, I still wanted to believe that

this was all just extreme self-loathing, that this person, this thing in the mirror, was just a figment of my imagination. Seeing myself then, the way I truly looked in the mirror, I couldn't find the strength to voice any kind of argument. He was right. I was still just a coward and a loser. I still couldn't get anything right

with anything or anyone. I'd wanted so badly for him to be wrong, but I knew, deep down, that he wasn't. My eyes were starting to burn with tears. Here, he said, holding his hand out towards me again. Come with me. Trade places with me. Let me take over out there, and I'll make everything better.

I stood there, looking at his outstretched hand. I could feel my body shaking, both from excitement and anxiety. The muscles in my arm twitched, wanting to move forward toward the mirror. Come on, Lanny. Take my hand, and everything will be all better. But what'll happen to me? Ah, don't you worry about that. I've already taken care of that.

You'll take my place in here while I take the driver's seat. just know that I'll make everything better for you out there how's that sound well I won't lie I don't know exactly what it is about how he said this but I actually felt convinced I know that you're probably thinking why in the world would I fall for some shit like this

and I watch TV does this ever end well and you know what you're absolutely right about all of that but I don't exactly expect you to really get it it wasn't you that truly saw yourself for the open failure that you were it was me and I was sick of it I was done going to sleep and waking up a failure

every day like he said I was done with feeling self-conscious every time I looked in the mirror I was done feeling bad about having to feel bad about saying that just because I'm a guy I was done having to feel. I slowly reached up to the mirror where his hand was.

I watched his smile widen the closer my hand came to his. As soon as it was only an inch from the mirror, I heard the bell ring signaling the end of lunch. For only a brief moment I glimps the reflection's face, no longer looking like a perfect version of me, but now had a concave face with albino skin pulled taut over his skull, as well as two pitch black craters that leaked some sort of bright purple icor where his eyes had been and several rows of crooked jagged teeth.

Before I'd been able to back out and run though, I felt something cold and tight wrap around my wrist and forcefully jerked me towards the mirror. Everything seemed to go dark, but the only way I can really describe what happened next is that something seemed to pull me out of my body. Think of what it's like to have someone reached, through your stomach and pull your insides out like they were pulling out the insides of a pumpkin. It was basically that, except I felt no pain. Instead, it was more just a sense of pressure,

and then bop, and then I felt completely empty. The next thing I'm able to see is just a bright white ball in the middle of a black purgatorial expanse around me. It's far back in the distance, and I struggled to try and reach out for it. That was when I noticed that I could, didn't see my arms. Then, even more horrifying, I looked down to see I didn't even have a body anymore. Instead, I was a ball of ashy white steam or mist. I wanted to scream harder than I've ever done before, but when I opened my mouth, I was unable to make any sort of sound at all. I tried to move towards the white circle again. It felt like all of Earth's gravity was bearing down on me, while at the same time feeling completely weightless.

Eventually, I managed to scramble my way to it and looked into it. I could see the school bathroom with me, or at least my body, standing there, staring back at me with that familiar shit-eating smirk, partying the left corner of its mouth. I tried again to scream, even harder this time, demanding he fixed whatever he'd just done to me and give me my body back. But nothing sounded. He leaned in close, still smirking. And I heard him say,

Thanks for this. Don't worry, I'll make everything better. Have fun. He then chuckle before turning and leaving the bathroom. I was trying feebly to push my way back through the white circle, back into the outside world, to no purpose. I stopped when I felt myself being pulled back away from the hole. Looking back, I saw that somehow,

despite everything around me being dark and empty as it was. It seemed to actually get even darker the further back I went. Well, to best describe it, it's like what you hear a black hole in space is like, a place where light is stretched out and ripped apart, dissolving into nothing. That's exactly what it felt like was happening to me, too, when I was pulled into it. Despite what I said earlier about not feeling my soul getting ejected from my body when I was pulled into the mirror, this was the opposite. I felt it.

Everything, every agonizing second, as I was pulled and stretched in every direction humanly possible, as well as some that weren't. It began to very slowly erode in the pit or void of advanced darkness. It almost didn't seem to end. What was worse was that I couldn't even lose consciousness through any of it. I was awake. I was lucid. I was forced to endure all of this without even being able to lose my mind. I don't know exactly when it all actually did end.

Time seeming not to exist where I was, but finally I was released from the void out into the open purgatory again. I saw there was another white glowing circle ahead of me. Like before, it took tremendous effort, but I managed to find my way to it. Looking out, I could see the face of a man, probably early mid-20s, standing in a small, dirty motel bathroom.

His eyes were sunken, His skin pale and sagging like it was a size too big for his bones. He was sullen, depressed, and looked sick. I watched him splash water on his face before taking out a pill bottle and downing five of them. Looking close, I saw that the label read Prozac. I instantly felt a wave of alarm rushed through me. What the hell are you doing? It took me a moment to realize that my voice actually worked out.

He looked up to me. I don't know how I must have appeared to him, but he seemed confused, like how I was in his position, and began touching his face. What the? I heard him say, shocked and bewildered. Who are you? I hesitated for a moment. I wasn't sure how to answer him. Like I said, I don't know what I actually looked like to him. From my end, I was still a shapeless apparition with dark holes for eyes. but I guess, given that he didn't immediately run screaming, that this wasn't what he saw. I must have appeared somewhat familiar to him. Realising this, a strong sense of familiarity, a deja vu, if you will, like I'd been through this similar instance before, and the big question started coming to me.

Was this what the, for lack of a better term, other me had experienced? Was this what it was like for him? Did he have to suffer the agony from the black hole that I did? I've come to offer you and out, a way to be better, to be me. And that's when it all finally hit me. It all made sense now, and I was horrified. I finally understood why he was so persistent with me, why he wouldn't leave me alone.

Every time I dodged him, he must have been sucked away, forced back into the void to be torn apart by the fathomless darkness. I wonder then what it must have been like for him when he was. was still human, when he was still whole before being pulled to the other side. How long I wondered had he had to suffer like this? Looking at this man in front of me, this depressed, drugged-out shell, I started thinking of every insult my reflection of throwing my way. I started to realize that it wasn't out of arrogance. He didn't believe what he said about how much better than me he was. How could he? But I understood now.

He was desperate. He was as desperate for an out as I was. He was just as miserable and yearning for the pain to end as I was, just like I was to the man in front of me. He was willing to say or do anything to get out. I realized then that that's what I'd have to do as well. I'm you, I declared finally, sounding as confident as possible. He looked at me, cocking his eyebrow.

Well, no, I'm... actually better than you. How does that mean? He looked at the pill bottle in confusion before looking back to me and shaking his head. I mean that I'm a better you and no, I'm not just a side effect of the happy pills either. I'm real and I want to help you.

He scoffed. Right, you're going to help me. Even the freaking shrinks can't help me. What are you going to do? I couldn't help but smile at this. this, not because I was happy or even because of my excitement to get out, but just the sheer irony of it. I want to make you an offer. Try places with me. Let me take over out there. I'll make everything better. You can probably see how this plays out now. Granted, it actually took a few

tries, each failure resulting in me being pulled back to the void to be pulled apart again, but eventually the opportunity came. He just lost his job and found out his girlfriend had been sleeping around with another far better off man than him worse still for him he was out of his supply of the Prozac

in short he was at his breaking point which meant that all it would take was one more offer to persuade him to take my place in the mirror all I had to do was say the right words and I was out of here and say them I did

and free I was tape my hand and everything will be all better you know how I said it felt painless when I was forced from my body into the mirror well it was the opposite coming out it felt like I was being pressed and stuffed into a box that was far too small

it was suffocating at first but it only took a couple of seconds before I adjusted I had a body again I was a person again I could talk I could scream a shout cry in love. I could feel. I looked at the bathroom mirror. For a brief moment I saw him. A gaunt, white, misty face with two pitch black holes where his eyes used to be. His mouth open wide, screaming. He was then pulled back from the mirror, sucked away into the void to suffer like I had.

I have to admit, I felt sorry for him when I saw this, but at the same time I had to get out. Thank you. I'll make everything better. Since then, I've done just that. He's in this man's face, I've managed to restore most of what he was missing in his life. His body, which used to look like it was already almost one foot in the grave, despite him only being 28 years old, now looks healthy. In fact, it looks handsome even, having taken up a membership at a nearby fitness centre. He now has a job as a web designer, utilising the IT obsession I'd had in my former life.

he's even talking to a new girl now one that has his old squeeze beat every which way from Sunday his life is actually better now even if he can't live it I like to think of it as the least I can do for him after what he did I live now wearing his face using his name

Isaac Nolda and I'll live the best life possible both for him and myself Oh and I decided to smash every mirror in the apartment I always make it a point to avoid mirrors

I do this because I know what I'll see there'll be another person another poor soul like me and the others who is just desperate to escape and this is why any time I have self-dounce

anytime I feel like a failure like I need to look in the mirror I stop and remind myself of what way on the other side. If you love to travel, Capital One has a rewards credit card that's perfect for you. With the Capital One Venture X card, you earn unlimited double miles on everything you buy.

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Walden University set a course for change, certified to operate by Shev. My friends call me Al, but they are few and far between, the last one passing about 12 years ago. Now there's no one left, call me Al, and so I believe it's the right time to tell my tale to the world. I am a 96-year-old man, born September 4th, 1922 in Berkshire, Massachusetts. Being 96 years old, I can tell you that I've seen some wondrous and awe-inspiring things in my lifetime. When I was a young boy, I remember seeing people still riding horses and buggies out in the countryside, I remember listening to the radio at night for entertainment.

I remember when DC Comics was first created and started selling their fantastic stories. And then, time passed, and soon we were landing on the moon, watching movies on smaller screens in our own homes, talking with people across the country instantly on computers, and building bombs that could vaporize hundreds of thousands instantly and poison the rest of the world for the remaining survivors. Yes, along with the amazing wonders I've seen in this long lifetime, I've seen the myriad of horrible things that mankind has done to their fellow neighbours. A lot of the younger people in this world claim to be living in the worst of times, yet they have never known the fear that gripped the world during the early 1960s, when we all literally expected the entire world to explode.

Tensions have died down enough so that people don't have the creepy. suspicions that their own neighbours are agents of a foreign power, waiting for the opportunity to steal secrets of their country, and use them to enslave the general populace. Yet, even when all these horrible experiences and realities flooded our world with despair, anger, and hopelessness, I kept on smiling, content. You see, I experienced something during World War II when I was serving with the OSS or office of strategic services that changed me and my view of the world forever. A lot of men had their minds and souls altered by that tragic period of history.

But I wasn't changed by any shell shock from being in the front lines or from discovery of the massacres committed by the Nazis or the Empire of Japan. I never even went to the European or Pacific theatre. Yet I saw something worse than any soldier that was deployed to either one. I mentioned earlier. I worked for the OSS during the war. For those of you who don't know, the OSS was the precursor to the CIA, created by FDR and based on the famous British SIS. Not only were we responsible for espionage action behind enemy lines,

but we also were behind propaganda and subversion throughout the world, along with our MI6 allies. though many people in modern times may not be aware of it. South America was a huge battleground for the various intelligence agencies in the Allies and Axis powers. Mexico and Brazil, though officially neutral, were very cooperative to the Allies while the nations of Argentina and Chile were sympathetic to the Axis powers and became major points of Operation Bolivar,

which involved transporting intelligence via radio and ship to Berlin. It was the fall of 1942, and being a young buck of 20, and filled with patriotic zealotry, I was ecstatic to be assigned my first field mission, taking place in the jungles of the Missionis province of Argentina. There had been reports that multiple agents of the Sycahydeinst des Reichfjures, S.A.S. aka. the SD were seen entering the jungle with many different containers of unknown equipment. The SD was the intelligence service for the SS, so our higher-ups knew that something big could have been underway in the dark canopies, where our reconplains were blind. Preferring to be safe than sorry, they ordered me and six other agents to find these SD agents, capture them, and find out what they were doing.

We were all deployed in Paraguay, as that was the safest place for us to be deployed without arising in the prying eyes of the Nazi spy network. Every one of the seven agents sent into the jungle had co-names corresponding to our founding fathers. The seven oists were John Adams, Benjamin Franklin, Alexander Hamilton, John Hay, Thomas Jefferson, James Madison, and George Washington. Washington was the one in charge, of course, and I was John Adams within the lot. I don't know why they assigned us these names. Maybe they thought it would boost our morale being named after America's founders. I can't say. Whatever the reason, the seven of us were just glad we had each other, no matter what our names were, as we began our expedition into the dense jungles of Missionis.

Ahead of us was a hot, humid forest of both beauty and danger that none of us had ever experienced in our lives. To this day, over all the exquisite pieces of art I've seen hanging up in museums across the globe, I place the lush, life-filled, primeval forest of Missione's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen on this world. On the flip side of that coin, the eldritch monstrosities that awaited myself and my companions within those dense trees as forever instilled in me an instinctual terror of any forest, and I would rather be tortured to death than take another step into that place.

We'd been briefed about our mission, but as we began our foray into the overgrown undergrowth, Washington filled the rest of us in on the important details that only he'd been privy to. The SD agents, four in total, had been in contact with a local tribe native to the area and seemed to be cooperating with them in some way. One of the containers the SD were bringing into the jungle with them

had been broken into, and the contents photographed by one of our agents. Our expectations of what had been in the container, container could not have been more wrong. Instead of weapons, medicine, food or intel, the container had been filled with cultural items. There was golden jewellery, Nazi propaganda, history books, pictures of Adolf Hitler and his inner circle, things that were considered gifts in the civilized world. That was why our orders were to capture and interrogate.

The Allies wanted to know for whom these gifts were intended. That was also the reason all of us were dressed in Nazi soldier garb and given Nazi weapons. Even though only Washington and Franklin spoke German fluently, the higher-ups hoped our disguises would get us close enough to the four SD agents, so we didn't have to shoot them. I can't say I enjoyed wearing the clothing of our enemies, but I was a man who followed orders and swallows his pride for the good of our nation. Washington continued to tell us

we had an idea of the general area of where the SD agents could be for that was about it the plan was to get as deep into the jungle as possible the first two days and then split into three groups two pairs of two would scout in opposite directions while the remaining three would set up a base camp

the two groups we report back to later however right then and there Washington told us how stupid that plan was, and that was not going to be how this mission went. We will be sticking together, using seven pairs of eyes to flush out signs of Nazi occupation. If we encountered any resistance, seven guns will be used to wipe it out. When we encountered the SD agents, seven bodies will be there to tackle them to the ground, and seven scary American faces

would make them spill their guts. Everyone like this planned far better than the first, and we continued our march with smiles on our faces. Our enthusiasm about the mission faded with the setting sun. An exhausting day of trekking through unknown territory, combined with seeing things like spiders bigger than our fists, catching and eating birds, had drained us physically and mentally.

all of us had spent time camping in woodlands but none of us had ever experienced anything like this even when we stopped at night to rest we didn't really get very much though we had a fire it had to be a small one so as to not attract unwanted attention even with a small amount of light produced from the flames we could see countless glowing eyes watching us

from the foliage surrounding us Our ears were bombarded with unfamiliar cause of creatures And the fear of being ambushed by a jungle cat Nazi friendly natives Or something still undiscovered by science Dwelling in the dark depths of the jungle Let us have fitful sleep at best Though we always had a man on watch

Even the knowledge that one of our companions had our backs Didn't really help When dawn came We ate lightly and resumed our search This became our routine for the next five days. Every day we would see at least one be auteous sight the jungle would be inclined to show us and experience one more horror

that awaited within these dense leaves and plants of the shadowy place. I can recall clearest on the third day that we discovered a hidden grotto with an amazing looking pond. The sunlight gleamed against the water, making it shine brighter than any jewel I'd ever seen before. Yet, when Franklin went to fill his canteen, a snake larger than anything I'd seen, sprang forth from the water and wrapped itself around him, both squeezing the life out of him and trying to drag him back into the water to drown him. Luckily for Franklin, the other six of us were

upon the monster in an instant, hacking and stabbing the beast with our knives, killing it before it had a chance to kill Franklin or break any of his bones. Five of us, including me. found out later that night that giant snake tastes like chicken it's in the afternoon on the sixth day that Jefferson discovered a boot print in the muck

we all took a look and collectively agreed that this was a Nazi boot as we didn't think any of the natives would be wearing boots or shoes at all Washington ordered us all to fan out and we all began to slowly and stealthily follow the direction the tracks seemed to be going Every once in a while

Someone will report to the rest of us That they found another bootmark And we would adjust our direction accordingly Every track we discovered Seemed more and more recent And by the time the sun set on the sixth day We came across the native village The SD agents were staying in

Now in my old age I've made it a point to try and expand my mind And rid myself of the many stereotypes Of the different people of the world that had been all I knew in my youth. An example of this is my knowledge of Native Americans. Growing up, it was a typical cowboys and Indians games with the rest of my neighbourhood kids,

and we portrayed them in a very unfair and very spiteful way. Travelling the South West and Northwestern, visiting the tribes that lived there when I was in my 60s, I discovered complex cultures and skillful pottery, amazing beadwork and beautiful dances, with proud and kind people behind them all. No one culture is perfect, but I know that almost everything

that had been pushed on me about Native Americans in my youth have been cruel misrepresentations. But, well, the tribe we discovered in those dark depths of the Argentinian jungle, they were every bad story of native cruelty and savagery come to life. The clearing we came across that housed the village was on a downward slope that put us about ten feet higher than the place. We could clearly see, even in the dying light, the village had a crude wall of cut logs surrounding it.

From the light of torches that were spanned across the top of the wall, we could identify that attached to the outside of the wall were primitive spikes. every spike was occupied by some part of the human body arms legs or full torsosos some were fresh blood still slowly seeping out of the wound used to separate it from the body while others were so old they were almost completely skeletal it was nice that all of us were still spread out from one another so that no one vomited on anyone else but themselves i think washington was the only one who didn't branch, thanks to being a veteran of the First World War. Gathering together, Washington began formulating a plan in whispers, when Hamilton suddenly interjected with, hey, do you guys hear that? Washington was about to berate him for interrupting, but then the sound reached all of our ears, and he remained silent in order to listen. Through the typical nighttime jungle noises, there was a faint chanting upon the air. From the looks on the other agent's faces, I could tell that none of us were familiar

with the language. Though I couldn't understand a single word that was being chanted, something in my mind was actively repulsed by the chorus of human voices. Whatever was being spoken, just felt wrong, like no human should be speaking that dreaded dialect. It caused myself and Madison to shiver involuntarily. Our position on the high ground enabled us to spot two entrances into the village, on the left and right side of us. After grimacing from the sound of the eerie chanting, slowly growing loudly with every passing second, Washington told us the battle plan.

We were to split into two groups, one for each of the entrances to the village, The group of three would see what was going on in the village and determine if the SD agents were there. If they weren't, the three would leave, meet up with the other four, and we would continue our search in the jungle. If they were there, the three would cause panic with gunfire and grenades. We were ordered to do our best to avoid killing the natives, but there would be no repercussions if we did. The SD agents, on the other hand, were only to be killed if absolutely. necessary. Hopefully, the agents would attempt to flee out the second opening in the wall, where the group of four would capture them at gunpoint. It was myself, Hamilton, and Jay

who were chosen to be the three infiltrating agents. Checking our weapons and ammo, we crept down to the wall and made our way slowly to the left entrance of the village, all the while gritting our teeth as the infernal chanting continued to attack our senses and sanity. When we reached the left opening in the wall, we were a bit surprised to find no guards posted there. We were a bit surprised, but chalked it up to good fortune, and doing our best to keep ourselves in the shadows, we sneaked into the village. The huts that served as homes within that unhallow place were far worse than the wall we'd encountered when we first entered the clearing. Clumps of skulls hung from every hut's doorway, some of them

still bearing rotting flesh. Skin was stretched into canvases, where scenes of torture, rape, and general mayhem were somehow seared in with amazing detail. The smell was horrific, a mixture of rot and decay, fresh blood and fecal matter, burning meat and exotic spices. Hamilton and I had to pause to get our stomachs under control, while Jay wasn't fast enough and vomited as quietly as he could behind a hut. Wiping his mouth, he gave the two of us a determined look,

which we shared back with him, and we continued our stealthy approach to where we determined was the centre of the community. Hiding in the shadows of a larger hut, it came across a scene of absolute monstrosity within the centre of the village. It looked like all the inhabitants, I think about 75 in total.

were gathered there, their bodies painted completely black, wearing loose loincloths that seemed to be made of human skin. They all had their backs to us, facing a raised wooden platform around seven feet off the ground. The throng of natives was a source of that horrid warble that had reached a loud crescendo, forcing me to use all my willpower to not place my hands across my ears and scream to try and drown it out. On the raised platform, I could see a shrine and an altar. The shrine was a mixture of primitive art and tools, all looked to be fashioned from bones and leather of men, and of articles that were similar to what Washington had told us

was found in the one container of the SD agents. I could make out the glint of weird-looking golden statues, a stack of books, a stormtrooper helmet and a picture of Hitler mixed in with the horrendous tributaries. The SD agents were on the platform, along with an old and native man in an impeccable and abominable headdress, and a young girl. The old native man was clearly a shaman, dressed in ceremonial garb that matched the horribleness of his headdress. The four men in black leather coats each held on to the struggling and screaming girls' limbs

upon the altar with one arm, and held aloft a chunk of black stone in the other. Triumphant and nefarious grins were plastered on their lips, and even at our distance I could tell their eyes shone with a destructive light. The shaman, with a headdress made of gold, gems and skulls, was raging a large, malicious-looking stone dagger with two hands above his head. He was shouting something I could not understand, as he brought the weapon over his head. But his intentions were as clear as day.

My soul was screaming at me to stop this. Our mission was to capture and interrogate, but some primeval part of my instincts was telling me to kill them before it was too late. Too late for what? I did not know. But I knew something terrible would happen if we let that old man kill that young girl right there and then.

I wanted to turn my head to Hamilton, who was beside me. I wanted to try and convince him that we needed to act right now and begin killing these fiends. But something told me the time to act was now, for the sake of the girl, for the sake of me,

and for the sake of the world. I raised my Gavir 43 and fired. I used to be a decent shot, but I hadn't taken the time to aim properly on account with a recoil, yet something in the universe, whether it be fate, luck or divine providence, was on my side that night, for my bullet missed my target, yet hid its mark.

A sacrifice was still made, and I regret to this day that I hadn't decided to shoot earlier to allow my marksmanship to be more accurate, but I got the job done. The native priest, who was my original target, plunged the dagger down into the chest of the young girl uninterrupted, his weapon causing her frightened shrieks to cease and her fear-filled struggles to go limp. Yet, as the dagger was rushing down to meet with flesh, my bullet rocketed into one of the obsidian crystals the SD agents held aloft, shattering it into a million tiny pieces, right before the dagger met its victim. A hundred things seemed to happen all at once after that.

The crowd immediately stopped chanting and was silent. The shaman screamed in both fury and fear, as the body of the girl began to spasm uncontrollably. The four SD agents backed away from the altar, stark terror adorning their faces. The three remaining crystals that had been held aloft were floating in mid-air, an energy that looked like black lightning arcing between the three of them and culminating in the chest of the child.

The shaman was struggling to release the dagger and back away like the agents, but something was keeping his hands rooted to the dagger, and the dagger stuck firmly in the girl's chest. One of the agents, as he backed away, spotted the three of us, and shouted something, reaching to his belt for his sidearm. That was when Hamilton and Jay started unloading indiscriminately with their MP40s into the crowd and the figures on the platform. I wish I could describe the ensuing battle that began, but I can't.

I wasn't focused on the battle in the slightest. In fact, Jay would tell me later that more than a few billets came inches away from hitting me as I stood there, seemingly in a trance. I told them all only once why I was just standing there, ignoring the chaos of the gunfight around me, and after none of them believe me, I changed my official story to a breakdown of nerves. It was easiest for me just to lie,

but now I don't have to spin that facade anymore. I can finally speak the truth after decades of falsehoods. The dark portal was appearing from within the chest of the dead girl, the same hue of black that radiated and crackled between the three stones. It stretched from palm to palm, reached down to her right foot, but could not go any further. The final form of this dark portal was a half circle, its centre line cutting straight from left palm to right angle, with the shaman and his dagger in the centre. He was trying to break free of the darkness, yelling something and constantly shifting his hate-filled gaze from me back to the inky blackness. And that's when I noticed. He was talking to something within that demonic gateway, for indeed it was a gate.

Black tendrils, so void of light they stood out against the surrounding twilight, were slithering from the portal, slowly wrapping themselves around the man as he wailed in protest and horror. Ever so slowly, they began to drag him into the abyss, ignoring his thrashing and pleading, and I saw his flesh peeling off every inch of him that touched that unnatural darkness. It took only moments, but it felt like years before his head was the only thing left in our world, aside from the piles of skin on the edges of the gateway, he gave me one last look of absolute loathing before his face disappeared into the lightlessness of the void

his headdress falling with a clank to the platform and then the eye appeared it was massive too big for the portal to reveal its true size yet I still gazed upon its many pupils its constant shape and colour changing iris and the malicious intent it held for the one who had ruined its return to this earth. Its stare forever left a scar upon my soul, for I knew then

that I was beheld with animosity by a being that could be considered a god. It had been so close to stepping into our mortal plain, yet this human, this bug, this insignificant assembly of atoms, had stopped it dead in its tracks, earning me its eternal loathing. If it ever had the chance, it would do things to me, torture me with methods beyond the comprehension of what even the most sadistic psychopath could dream. Then it was gone, vanishing within the portal, as the three obsidian stones shattered and fell to the platform. It took a violent shaking from Jay to fully awaken me from my rapture, and I found out I'd miss

the whole party. In front of me lay fifteen dead net. natives from the crowd. On the platform was the body of one of the SD agents, completely shot up, and what remained of the girl. Everything except her head and complete left leg had vanished into thin air. None of the other agents could explain what had happened to her. When Hamilton, Jay and I went to the entrance, where the other four awaited, we came across another gruesome scene. Twenty or so natives were dead. Two of the SD agents were also dead, and the last one was dying, talking quietly with Washington as he bled out.

I've never seen a man's face so pale with fear as Washington's was. Whatever that Nazi was whispering in his ear, it was nothing pleasant. As we approached, the dying SD agent noticed me and turned to look at me with a smug expression of defiance. You may have stopped him from entering his kingdom this time, he said in perfect English. It may take a hundred more years, maybe even a thousand, but the world will run red with the blood of men again, and he shall be led through, and on that day the Reich shall welcome him and bask in his glory, and all you fools will beg for mercy, and receive none. He will tear your souls apart, along with the world.

this world. He will rebuild it in his image, and the glorious Reich shall be his angels for eternity. The SD agent hacked up some blood, tried to say more, couldn't, shuddered violently, and then died. The rest of the mission, well, there isn't much to talk about. We gathered what valuables and potential pieces of interest that we could and made our way out of the jungle. The night I told the rest of the group, what I'd seen, and they didn't believe me, I managed to ask Washington, in private, what the SD agent had told him. His face paled at even remembering his words, and all he could say was, just the ravings of a dying insane man, nothing more.

I found out a few years later that Washington hanged himself soon after the mission. His suicide note reading only? No proof that he was right, but no proof that he was wrong. I don't want to take that chance. God rest his soul. So, here we are, 2019. I'm the last surviving member of that team, and I have no family left to tell this story to. My wife and son are both long dead, though they're officially still missing.

That's the problem with being a spy The only spies people want to hear about A captured spies and dead spies I wish they'd had the decency just to go after me And leave my family alone But decency is hard to come by in this world And mercy and goodwill don't exist In the secret wars waged by the big governments of this planet

But no big public wars have covered the lands with blood again And I'm always thankful for that. The rise of Nazis across the globe again is a big disconcerting. But there nothing compared to the original, so I'm not too worried. The fact that Earth and everything living on it is in our power to create or destroy brings me comfort. I'm not saying that I'd be happy if we ended up blowing up the planet, but, well, the idea that our own destruction is in our hands, that we as a species have a choice in our own survival or extinction. That's what helped me sleep at night. I've seen the alternative in my dreams. I see what happens if my

bullet misses that black crystal, and the other worldly abomination those SD agents call God gets a full gateway to enter our world. I see that monstrous eye, gazing at every living soul across the globe, unleashing torments and sufferings upon the general populace of the planet. I hear the screams and pleads for death as massive, black-clothed beings fly through the sky. Their halos are blood-red swastika that drips pestilence and poison onto the people. I smell and taste the acrid air, filled with stench of rotten sickness, the iron of blood so thick you can taste it. But most of all, I feel the hostility towards me like a fire, burning away my skin and charring my muscle

and bone. I awake screaming, and though my senses return and ground me in reality, I know that it's still out there somewhere, waiting for its chance to return. I know that it's still watching me with that gargantuan eye, and I know that it is still furious. If you love to travel, Capital One has a rewards credit card that's perfect for you. With the Capital One Venture X card, you earn unlimited double miles on everything you buy. Plus, you get premium benefits at a collection of luxury hotels when you book on Capital One travel. And with Venture X, you get access to over 1,000 airport lounges worldwide.

Open up a world of travel possibilities with a Capital One Venture X card. What's in your wallet? Terms apply. Lounge access is subject to change. See Capital One.com for details. My heart stopped for a second. In the distance, the castle towered over the rest of the landscape. With each crack of thunder and spear of lightning,

the gigantic, fleshy structure was silhouetted in the shadows. Purple clouds hovered over the fortress. It stretched a mile or two wide. In the center was a spire that rose into the sky, almost up to the clouds. Everything went black for a second. With the boom of thunder, a blue lance shot across the sky

and lit up the castle again. At the top of the tower was a bulbous yellow eye. A dark pupil sat in the middle. The eye blinked and everything went dark again. The castle brought back all the memories of my fighting days in Oklahoma. The last time I'd seen one of these fortresses was out in the sprawling, oaky countryside.

Another freedom fighter once said to me, they make them castles because they're trying to show us who's king now. Afterwards, he chuckled, cracked his neck and said, I show them who's king. The next day I found his body on the battlefield in six different pieces. My Humvey's headlights illuminated the road ahead of me. Rats scurried across the street. rain beat against the windows

I had flashbacks from the day before the sound of thunder replaced the singing of the cannons and the rain was a dull drone of gunshots I reached the edge of the parking lot the movie theatre was decaying moss and lichens draped the cracking walls like Christmas tinsel two letters were still left hanging on the side TH they read

the rest had fallen and shattered on the pavement I rolled to a halt by the front entry doors vines dangled from the overhang I pause for a moment then a distant scream echoed in my mind another flashback another mutilated corpse I threw the Humvee into park

stole the key from the ignition and lifted my helmet onto my head turning on the night vision I stepped out of the Humvee the world's shaded green screen by night vision. Fleshy tentacles tickled the air, sticking out from behind an abandoned hover speeder in the parking lot. When I blinked, the tentacles were gone. My insides were wriggling like worms. I shivered. My knees tickled like they might buckle and give out if I hallucinated the tentacles again. Locking the Humvee behind me, I entered the theatre. A blurred figure stood

in the distance, by the snack bar, obscured by the helmet's low-quality optics. I felt my skin flaring when I noticed him at first. I turned off the night vision and switched on my headlamps. His figure had lost most of its muscle now. When I first met him, when I was four, he was tall and his muscles were bulging. The man who stood there was a skeleton now. He held a mouldy paper cup in his hand, eyeing it down behind the mask of his helmet. Maybe cut the lights, he whispered, his voice echoing across the theatre.

Oh, right, I said, sorry. I heard his footsteps as he approached me, reaching out a hand to shake mine. I gripped it and shook, looking into the mask that covered his face. Its appearance was distorted through the night vision, but I could see markings and paintings over his suit of armour. A rifle was slung over his shoulder, and he wore a bandolier stocked with grenades and flares. It's been a long time. I grinned.

I only been four years, he shrugged, snickering. How's that drink? I asked. He scoffed. Still good. He chucked the cup behind him. It splashed as it landed on the carpet. Maybe keep it down, I joked.

Oh, piss off, he mumbled. Christ, how I've missed you. How have you been? Oh, I've been good. At least I'm doing better than how we did in our Oklahoma days. How have you been? Oh, Jesus, don't remind me about Oklahoma. Fucking massacre.

How do you expect me to be doing? We're at war. He patted me on the shoulder then. I threw my arm around his neck and we began to walk towards the snack counter. Well, I see you're still the same man, at least in your head. where do your muscles go I've lost it times have been rough

really I know we're fighting in the same state now but you haven't seen the shit happening by Omaha did you see that stronghold out there one with a massive eye I took my arm off him he jumped over the counter as did I yeah the one with the fucking eye

you know how many attack rounds we've done on that thing I'm not sure I want to know. You're scaring me just talking about it. I've done 23. Twenty-three fucking raids. My jaw dropped, and I spun around to look at him. You can't be serious. I mean, we only did five on that one in Oklahoma.

Yeah, that's what I told my commander. He exclaimed, shaking his head. I sniffed. There was mold growing in the back of the pot. popcorn machine. The glass was shattered, leaving behind a thin metal frame. I imagined it being full of butter-scented, fluffy popcorn. More flashbacks. This time, ones of childhood memories, skateboarding downtown, lifting in the mornings before soccer, getting stranded on the country road at three in the morning. Remember that time we got kicked out of a movie theater with Martin

and Zander? I asked. He turned to me. I tried to imagine what. what he looked like beneath the helmet's mask. I hope there was a smile underneath that. Was that the time when you launched a bowlful across the theatre, and then you and Xander started fighting with it? And then came the usher. Ah, you goddamn idiots! He sneered.

Oh, let's hear about all the bright energy as you've had then. Not getting kicked out? I froze, and then I snick it to myself. I guess you and Marden were the smarter of us for. I stepped over a pile of glass, watching a spider crawl along the wall. A very observant of you. I'm a very observant person, I said.

A spider trundled towards a drink dispenser. Just as I've observed this drink machine. I pointed at it. Fascinating, would you not agree, my acquaintance? He coughed and shook his head. Like I said, and Xander. God damn idiots. Observe, comrade, I said, reaching out a hand. I pressed the black plastic lever that extended down from one of the soda dispensers. The lever snapped as a dolep of

frigid slush splashed out of the machine. It coated my leather glove in muck. I cursed, tore my hand away and shook off the goop. He chuckled for a moment, his arms crossed, leaning against the countertop. There was a spider making its way across the front of his helmet. There's a spider. I know, he said, smacking it and then shaking his gloved hand. This is the man. I've got a lot to tell you, and it's not exactly good news.

Yeah? I asked. He nodded his head. I'd love to stay here and talk for a while. I'd probably die for it, to be honest, but you and I have both got duties. we're already breaking them a little by even being here. So, why'd you call me out here, then? Just to see me for a bit, or what?

He shook his head. I chewed on the inside of my cheek, listening as the rain came down harder. A boat of lightning flashed through the glass wall on the other end of the lobby. We'll get to that, but I want to say a few things. I step back a little,

crunching the glass beneath my feet, boots. I leaned against the drink machine, hearing a definite snap as I touched the plastic. Another splash of murky water driveled from inside. I'm all ears, Captain. Great. You're going to need those. He drew in a long breath and let out a heavy sigh. The thunder rumbled again. I think I'm going to be a dead man after a few days. That's the honest truth. Don't say that. There's only a hundred men left in the Omaha Company. Haven't you heard? I struggled to say the words.

You're kidding. Last Saturday the ravenness came. At least a thousand of them. They killed 300 of us. Probably didn't hear about it because the rest of the insurgency doesn't want you to know about it. We didn't stand a chance. They knew where every single one of us was. Don't know how.

But they knew where every base. hideout stronghold and foxhole was a few even got found in the tunnels now with only a hundred of us left with nothing against the second wave it's coming i don't know when but it won't be long feels like they spared us almost you know what they can do i swallowed the lump in my throat a flash from outside illuminated the lobby i'm i'm sorry how many civilian casualties the silence was cruel 500 he mumbled the number had the impact of a bullet i didn't speak for a minute neither did he the rat squealed i scanned the theatre feeling pins and needles all over my body my hands vibrated cursed with tremors i controlled my shaking so keep talking

I murmured. He cleared his throat. I don't have anyone left to trust. He paused. I know we fought a lot. Sometimes with punches instead of words. But we always apologized after. That'll be the end of it.

I'd be a dead man if you hadn't been with me in Oklahoma. You'd have died too if I wasn't there for you. Yeah, I'm getting sappy, but I don't think I'll ever get another chance to get this sappy with somebody. we're two very very different people you annoy the shit out of me sometimes I'm sure I piss you off plenty too but I have no idea what the hell

we do without each other you don't sound like yourself I mean you've never been much of a speech giver he shrugged you deserve it you've been my best friend always I don't take this the wrong way

but you're an idiot I taught you everything how to talk to girls, how to get some balls, you know, life. But even then, you never used me as a father you never had. You never begged me to help you. If you did, I told your ass right off. You were my best man at my wedding. You came over and surprised me when I got into college.

You convinced me to keep playing guitar when I was going to quit. Called me when Brooke broke up with me and left a box of condoms on my porch as a joke. Stupid as hell, but I need it. that night. He started to choke on his words. Hey, I love you to death, and I can't trust anyone else more than you. My eyes began to sting. My throat got tight, and all the words that had been building up there were now caught in a net. I opened my mouth to talk, but stopped. I swallowed all the emotion back and then took off my helmet. I tapped a button on my armour, and a white beam flashed from the light on my arm.

I shone it on my face and spoke in a small, near silent warble. Take off your helmet, I told him. He hesitated, then, slow like his hands grasped the sides of his helmet. He pulled it off, holding it at his side with one hand. With the other he lit up his face. His eyes were sunken, purple bags formed under them. His sandy blonde hair was unruly. A wet mop.

Streaks of mud coated his chin and jawline. Oh, my friend looked like King Odysseus must have, after coming home to Ithaca. He had that lost at sea look about him. Now the squirming feeling in my chest was replaced with a frigid, aching sensation. I don't want you to die, I chirped. My voice disappearing.

His eyes started to get puffy and red. Don't you fucking cry on me now. If you've ever learned anything from me, it's that you don't need to cry about everything. Now, like I was trying to say, there wasn't ever another man on this planet that I trusted more than you, and if there was, they're probably dead now. There's not a lot left, but I know what remains. I stared at him, my lower lip twitching.

My face began to get hot, I felt my skin turned cherry red. Hope. I chuckled. The years have changed you after all. No, it's not supposed to sound cliche. My daughter, Hope, he said, matter of family. Another mental bullet. I started to frown. What do you mean? I asked. A smirk appeared on his face. He scratched the back of his hand and took a few steps forward towards me. He put a hand on my shoulder, and I looked into his face. small hazel eyes.

If I'm going to die, I'm not taking hope with me, he said. And this was the third bullet. I stammered as I tried to find the right words. I can't take care of her. She's your daughter. My voice began to trail.

He shook his head. What's the mission of insurgency? He asked. I looked into his eyes again, and the answer came to me. To fight the ravenous, I whispered. Now, think about it. I did.

Blue light shrouded us as a fork of electricity blasted across the Nebraska sky. I've done you a thousand favours over the years. And you paid me back by fighting up my side and saving my life a few times. But this, this is more than that. This is my everything. my lips flipped between frowns and smiles I thought all of my organs

were shriveling up and decaying as we spoke and now I placed a hand on his shoulder I'll take good care of her Norfolk safe at least it will be for a while he raised his arm covering his cough perfect

there was another long silence now filled only by the sounds of scampering animals and ambience of the storm i love you to death i said i love you too dumbass he leaned in closer wrapping his arms around me in an embrace i held it for a while we stood there two grown-ass men hugging in an abandoned movie theater for at least 30 seconds he let go first he started by putting his helmet back on and then turning off his light i followed suit what remained his hope I reminded him he scoffed idiot that's more like it let's go pick her up I got some

squadmates watching her she's not far from here as soon as you get her you'll speed till you're out of the city well at least until you're far enough away from the city that you can't see that fucking eye that mother fucking eye I joked he reached out his hand and I shook it once more. His grip had lost some of its strength. He now appeared even smaller than he already had at first. His hunched corpse stood before me, still armed and dressed in his battle armour. To fight the ravenous and protect the people, I thought. Right, we started to walk out of the theatre. Now you tell your commanding officers you found hold by accidents. I want you to take us somewhere in northwestern Nebraska if she gets heated in Norfolk.

Dumber research, that's about the safest place. That's the badlands. Less food. And less of the ravenous. I don't care. I paused. You got it, boss. Yeah, and I know you want your rations too, but don't forget to feed her.

I'm listening. He shot me a look. And I got something big to ask if you. I frowned Our walking slowed to a momentary halt Yeah If it comes down to it You'll die for her, right

I winced I tried to breathe as we started to walk again Someone's got to look after her I mumbled We pushed our way out of the glass doors Walked out from underneath the overhang Into the gushing rain It was coming down

heavier now the earthy scent of mud and fresh rainfall filled the air lightning lit up the sky revealing the castle in the distance i stared into its bulging eye i wondered if it could see us i wondered if that's how they'd found all the freedom fighters the humvee unlocked as i pressed the button on the key and clambered into the driver's seat i pushed the key into the ignition and turned the engine roaring to life The windshield wipers started up, waving the sheets of water off the glass. I removed my helmet and fasten my seatbelt. My friend settled in, stretching and scratching his chin. I guess we do have some time to talk now, I mentioned.

He stared at me for a moment, a coy smile tugging at the edges of his lips. Just shut up and drive. 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.

If you love to travel, Capital One has a rewards credit card that's perfect for you. With the Capital One Venture X card, you earn unlimited double miles on everything you buy. Plus, you get premium benefits at a collection of luxury hotels when you book on Capital One travel. And with Venture X, you get access to over 1,000 airport lounges worldwide. Open up a world of travel possibilities with a Capital One Venture X card. What's in your wallet? Terms apply. Lounge access is subject to change. See Capital One.com for details.