Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S6 Ep301: Episode 301: The Devil’s House

Episode Date: December 23, 2025

Today’s opening phenomenal tale of terror is ‘A serial killer broke into my house, that isn't even the scary part’, by H.R. Welch, kindly shared directly with me via my subreddit and read here with the author’s express permission: u/Narrow_Muscle9572 We follow that with ‘The Bus Ride Down Foulcroft Row’ by The Vesper’s Bell, AKA A. Vespertine, either shared directly with me via my sub-reddit and read here with the express permission of the author, or available at the Creepypasta Wiki and read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license: u/A_Vespertine/ r/DrCreepensVault/comments/ws32tb/the_bus_ride_down_foulcroft_row/ Tonight’s fabulous final unmissable story is all six parts of ‘The Devils House’, an original story by Positive Tennis 6626, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all. u/Positive_Tennis_6626/ r/DrCreepensVault/comments/y46uj7/the_devils_house_part_one_halloween_special/

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please contact Connix Ontario at 1866-531-2600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Welcome to Dr. Creepin's Dungeon. The devil's house is set to look ordinary at first glance, a quiet place with straight walls and a welcoming door. you linger, the more wrong it feels. The air inside is heavy as if it presses against your lungs and the rooms never seem to stay the same size twice. Footsteps echo where no one walks and every mirror reflects something just a moment slower than it should. Its house built not to

shelter, but attempt. The place that learns your fears rearranges itself around your regrets and invites you to stay just long enough to forget you ever wanted to leave. As we shall see It's a nice collection of stories. As ever before we begin, 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. And let's begin. A serial killer broke into my house.

That isn't even the scary part. By H.R. Welch. It was around midnight a few years ago when I heard the sound of someone breaking into my house. my house. I don't think I had more than 20 minutes to sleep, but as soon as I heard the window being broken, I was wide awake and looking for my phone to call the police. Unfortunately, I'd left it downstairs charging in the kitchen, the source of the break-in. After psyching myself up to go downstairs, I saw the silhouette of a man sitting at my kitchen table. It was dark, so I couldn't see him, but the stink coming off the man was enough to curl my nose hairs. It was obvious

even without the lights on that he was homeless. I was about to throw him out, but as soon as I turned on the lights, couldn't help but feel bad for this stranger. He was sickly skinny, dirty, with long stringy hair that grew in patches and a matching beard. The way he sat there motionless, with tears forming in his thousand-yard stare, it seemed to me that he'd given up on life. I was about to tell him to get out, but as soon as I opened my mouth,

I noticed that he had a shotgun on his lap. I nervously asked him what he wanted, but he didn't answer me. Instead, he just sat still and stared straight ahead as if he wasn't even in the room with me. As a kid, I was instructed to give the homeless food instead of money, since they might buy booze or drugs with it. So instead, I decided to warm the man up with leftovers in the microwave. As I did so, I prodded the stranger with questions, like, if he wanted me to call anyone. Well, he didn't answer for a long time and hardly noticed the first.

food I'd placed in front of him once it was ready. However, once he started talking, he told me a story that would change my life forever. He said his name was Cole Dyer, and admitted to killing 20 people. I'm not at all embarrassed to say that I cried and begged for my life at this point. This only angered Cole, who ordered me to shut up and sit down, so he could tell me something. Doing what he said, Cole told me. that his first victim was a hooker who he'd choked to death. This one wasn't killed like the others because he didn't know how he wanted to do it at the time,

or, for that matter, knew that he had a taste for it. After killing her, Cole expected someone to come by to arrest him, but after a while with no detectives or police coming by, Cole figured he was in the clear. Finally having a way to vent his frustrations and no longer feeling like some cog in the machine, Cole's murderous fantasies took on a life of their own. Eventually he started to consider himself

the Pasadorn killer. The reason Cole liked that name could only be explained by his twisted sense of righteousness and questionable moral compass, which was explained to me in great detail. The gist of it was that if he killed enough pests, good things would come back to him. Symbolising this,

he'd replace the head of his pre-reacted, previous victim with the most current. Realising killing people he knew was a sure way of getting caught, Cole learned what questions to ask complete strangers to discover the pests in their lives because, well, who didn't like talking about themselves? Cole explained that he was great at talking to people and could talk the devil into lighting himself on a fire. Because of this gift, it was easy for Cole to learn where these people lived, worked,

what they drove, and much more. Since the murders were spread out nationwide and none of his victims had any connection to the others. Authorities were at a loss. They told the public they were chasing leads, but they never even questioned Cole about his hobby. It was at this point that Cole demanded that I grab a pen and paper and jot down this tale.

Who was I to say no? Even though he had his hands on the table, there was still a shotgun in his lap. I didn't want to bet that it wasn't loaded, or that I was faster than he was. The safe bet was just to write the story he was telling me and hope he'd show me mercy. While scouting for the twenty-first victim, Cole had found himself behind a small series of apartment buildings.

It was here Cole started to shake as if he was scared. I heard a small group of people huddled around someone's basement apartment, whispering to whoever was inside. They were ways away, so I couldn't make out the details of the time, but I could see that something wasn't right about them. They were dirty, long greasy hair and beards. There was something else about them. Something, well, something evil.

One by one, they'd stopped their hushed whispering and turned their gazes towards cold. This prompted him to return to his car, and on the way he dared a peek over his shoulder. when he did they were following him but stayed just out of the cone of light the street lamps provided creep me out I was already thinking

of finding someone else to kill because I don't like killing an apartment buildings too many neighbors you know when I saw them though they sort of settled it I wasn't going to go back there kept looking back in the mirror

on the way home to see if I was being followed but in the five-hour drive I didn't see a thing behind me. Next day, however, I noticed a car driving slowly through my parking lot every few hours. Smoking lots of weird at the time and I figured I was just being paranoid.

The next night I woke up to a tapping on the door. As Cole explained to me what happened next, he started to rock back and forth, the way I've seen children doing in an effort to calm themselves down before continuing the story. I thought it was my imagination at first.

Then I started hearing my name being whispered from the hallway. When I realized I wasn't imagining the noises, I looked out the peephole. Carl described at least five filthy and malnourished faces, partially covered by long, unkempt hair that did little to hide their dark, sunken eyes, that shone with a kind of hate and sin that even the pass-it-on-killer feared. Oh, they spent the entire night begging me to come out. out. In the building Cole called home, it wasn't uncommon to hear drunken exes pound on doors demanding to be let in, so their begging went on for hours. Eventually a neighbor, Cole never

bothered to get to know, but shed a thin wall with, decided to open the door to tell the strangers to keep it down. She stopped mid-sentence the moment she saw them. Cole explained. They pushed her back into her apartment and all piled in. They were tearing through her place for a while and I could hear her cry, which caused them to laugh. If I didn't have a head in the freezer, I would have called the frickin' cops man. Eventually, they made the woman call out to Cole, begging him to come out from his apartment. Cole could hear them telling her what to say. When she did, they'd laugh and instruct her to say it louder. When Cole refused to open the door, Or respond, they grew bored and started getting violent with the woman.

First the sounds of punches, things getting broken, but then... Oh, Jesus, they were eating her. It was loud and wet and lasted until the sun came up. I didn't want to interrupt someone who was obviously crazy. After all, who knows how a madman thinks. The best course of action for me to take was to remain silent and a loud call to go on for as long as he wanted. Cole didn't leave his room until noon.

By then he was confident that they were gone and they were safe to leave. There was no way I was going to stay there. No freaking way. Cole barely touched the meatloaf I'd eat it up for him because he was too distraught. Considering how he looked, I thought he was going to inhale it. After packing his car and making sure

to remember the head of his previous victim, who he kept on ice. Cole went to some army surplus store to get what he needed to get away for a while. After Cole, this meant staying at a seedy hotel. About a week later, he was getting some grub at some grocery store. I'm just walking in the parking lot and mind my own business, right? That's when I saw them again. Drove up right behind me and laid on the horn.

I didn't even bother getting something to eat. I just wanted to get the hell. out of there. By the time Cole remembered that he'd left the head of his previous victim back in the mini-fridge at the hotel, he'd already crossed two state lines, and I could tell this bothered him. At this point of the story, Cole had to take a moment, and knowing that he had a shotgun on his lap, I gave it to him. I thought that my kindness will be repaid, and I could keep my head once he'd finished his tail. I poured him some milk and offed him the rest of the baby carrots I had in the fridge.

Cole traded his car for a van shortly after that encounter, because there was no doubt that whoever was following him knew what he was driving. Well, at least I could sleep in the van, right? Saves money on hotels and shit. It only took five weeks or so after trading in the van, that Cole crossed his pursuers' paths once more. This time he was in deep sleep when he heard them say his name, causing his eyes to shoot open,

immediately locking on the dark eyes of a woman with the same sinister resemblance as the man Cole had seen outside his apartment. However, without a beard, this woman's disfiguration was more noticeable. When she smiled, it was like she didn't have nearly enough teeth. The few that she had was small and brown and grew freaking everywhere. Cole explained this as his dirty fingers fidgeted with the gun in his lap. like the gums and the inside of the cheeks and shit even in the dark cold could see their black eyes glow with hateful light and when he turned over the engine the headlights revealed dozens of her family

standing ten or so feet apart oh someone naked cold explained his eyes growing distant as he was reliving that painful memory they were standing still smiling and just looking at me like they were given me permission to leave. Cole told me that he swerved to hit a few with his front tire or to at least clip them with the van's fat ass, however they all just stepped to the side,

effortlessly avoiding getting run down. When I got the opportunity to ask what he meant by her family, he revealed that that was a recent term given to them. At the time he thought they were demons or vampires, but no longer thinks that's the case for reasons he didn't share at the time. After that encounter, Cole abandoned the van and stole a car. It was confessed to me that this was what he was doing

whenever he felt that they were closing in on him, usually with the sensation of a tightening of his chest or his balls, triggered by anything from something he'd imagined seeing in the corner of his eye to the cries coming from a murder of crows. Ziegzagging across the country, Cole made every effort to forever rid himself with these people, and the hateful pulse that resonated from them. Cole would stay inside at night, and if he could, he'd sleep during the day.

He'd pass the time by reading and listening to music. It was a surprise to me that he preferred classical, considering how he looked. My shock must have been apparent, because Cole explained that Vivaldi's concerto number five was his favourite, and thanked his mother for getting him into tasteful music. While on the run, Cole would take odd jobs here and there to pay for what he needed to the survive. A tractor assembly line in Michigan, a tall booth operator in Florida, and a semi-way station in Nevada. Whatever job paid him in cash, and as long as he didn't have to work at night, no matter where he found work, he would not stay long before feeling that they were closing in on him

and would more often than not leave before getting his paycheck. I'll spare you the details of what Cole felt he had to do in order to survive up to this point. Up to now, he'd been talking to a captive audience due to his shotgun on his lap for well over four hours. The night Cole came to my house was shortly after leaving a place he'd stayed at for about three months, aloft above a bar in northern Canada. When asked why he'd want to live above a bar while on the run, Cole shrugged and said that he thought a bar full of people at night would keep him safe. When they finally arrived, they softly cried out his name from the back alley under his window.

With all the music being played downstairs, Cole had no idea how long they'd been calling, but the moment he knew it was them, the giggling began. They flattered Cole by saying they were his biggest fans, and tried to prove it to him by telling him details that only the pass-it-on killer would not. Cunning off her head is hard. Even if you have power tools, it's messy shit. It took a while before I got the hang of it, though. Cole confessed, oblivious to my disgust.

I rigged a bike pump up to a catheter, snaked it through the auxiliary nerve until it reached the superior van I cala. It only took about two minutes before the blood start flowing. By then, removing the head was pretty much blood-free. Cole swore to me that, up to this point, he'd never spoken to them. But that night at the bar, he finally had enough

and accused them of being vampires, due to the fact they needed permission to come in. As soon as I said that, everything went silent. It must have been used to the sounds they were making because I didn't notice it until it stopped. That's when someone with a strange accent told me that they weren't vampires, but in fact something else.

Something that I am. But Cole never finished this thought. In the silence that followed, I didn't know what he was going to do, and this terrified me. It might have been a lack of sleep on my part, possibly even momentary insanity, but I had to know who or what was chasing coal. When he asked, he didn't answer, so I pressed my luck and asked him what else needs permission to enter a house other than vampires.

Again, he didn't answer, and even though I knew it was a mistake to poke the bear, I started to ask again. As soon as the worst, I'd leave my mouth, Cole reached into his inner breast pocket and pulled out what I thought at the time was paper napkins. After inspecting it for a moment, with an expression I've never seen before,

Cole slapped them down on the table between us. Written on them in everything from pen to marker to pencil with the messages. Let us in, open the door, and more. It's hard to tell what else was said because the writing overlapped. However, it was clear to me that these messages were written by dozens of people. As I picked up one to look at it closer and possibly ascertain what was written, my finger rubbed the glossy underside.

Turning it over, I saw that it was a photograph, and in it Cole was sleeping in what appeared to be a small apartment. The next appeared to be him in an abandoned bus, a dirty attic, and so on. and some of the pictures Cole looked 20 years younger it made me wonder just how long he was on the run for I know that stress can prematurely age people but I had a hard time believing that the person in the picture and Cole were one and the same even though there was a part of me that knew what I was looking at

I needed to hear it from the man himself but before I could ask Cole said they don't need permission to enter someone's house as he stared blankly into the empty space behind me. He sat there quietly for what seemed like an hour before Cole said anything else. When he did, it was as if he'd suddenly remembered that he was telling me a story and picked up from where he'd left off.

The part where they then cut the power to the apartment and the bar under him. I didn't tell alarm before the woman Tendin Bar that night was shouting at them not to come closer. they just laughed to her a pardon all I could do was wait until morning to come Cole confessed this with a shake of his head as if to eject the thoughts from his mind

The thing is Canada has some long nice during the winter I only had enough food for a few days Cole didn't tell me how long he'd stayed in that room for and I didn't want to ask It was obvious from the thousand yards dead that these events were still fresh in his

mind, so I kept my mouth shut. When Cole left his room, he saw gore sprinkled everywhere, like a trailer breadcrumbs that started from behind the bar and let ride to my apartment. Careful not to touch anything with his bare hands, Cole told me that he'd empty the cash register and stole a toolbox from the back office

so he could switch license plates whenever he felt the need to in the future to throw his pursuers off his scent. I don't know how to stop. them. I think I'd have a good idea of how to slow him down, Cole said. But before he could elaborate, he noticed that the sun was shining through the window, and we'd been talking for hours. Thankful that he'd gone another night without seeing them, and having someone he thought he could talk to, Cole thanked me for listening. I didn't know what to say to such a story. What could I say? The awkward moments that followed, I filled the void by rambling about

whatever came to mind, eventually telling him about my boss and how he's always looking over my shoulder and wouldn't leave me alone, as if this was at all similar to Cole's own story. I didn't think anything of Cole asking me if I liked my job, or where I worked at the time, and soon I was answering all of his questions. After a short while, Cole thanked me, at the time I assumed that was because I took the time to listen to him. Then he took my car keys off the counter and left without another word. Well, it might have been about ten minutes after Cole left before I called the police, and all I said to them was that my house was broken into and that my car was stolen.

After all, if I said anything else, it might have made me look as crazy as Cole. Maybe it was just me being tired, but I was truly afraid that the police were thinking I was insane if I told them a story Cole had told me. The more distance I put between myself and that night, the less real it felt. But then reality set in once I learned that my boss was found dead a few days later. According to the local newspaper, the Whisper Allie Echo. Pieces of my boss were found all over his bedroom. Most people in town considered this to be a rumor to stir up newspaper sales,

and I wanted to agree, but it was hard, considering Cole's tale. In the back of my head, the idea of what Cole told me being true kept teasing me. It bothered me so much that I ended up hiring a private investigator, a decision that I came to regret. A week later, I received a phone call informing me that my boss's head was found in the middle of another bloody mess all the way in Cleveland. Over the next few weeks, I kept thinking of the story Cole had told me. Those thoughts weren't front and centre. They were creeping in the back, ready to pounce on a happy moment to turn it sour. I didn't take long before I started seeing dark patches dart from one shadow of the next,

disappearing as soon as I turned to look at it. First I chalked this up to being a mouse. The reflection off my glasses was just a lack of sleep. After all, it was much harder to sleep in a house that was broken into. Hoping it wasn't mice because of my hatred towards them, I bought some medicine in town so I could get some rest at night. It worked wonders when it came to getting shut I, but did nothing to stop me from seeing these shadows.

With an embarrassing frequency, I'd imagine the reflecting eyes on the side of the road were Coles night visitors, or think of them whenever I heard the house settle. It was as though, toying with the idea of them being real was enough to invite them into my life. Well, don't recall what came first. Hearing my name being called out in public,

the familiar sound of the call. coring of crows, all the soft scraping at my screen windows at night. However, once I realized that the noises and the visions were real, there was no way to block them out. At night the soft whispers were hard to make out, and the more I tried to ignore them, the more they took centre stage. I couldn't tell you how many nights I stayed up just so I could put my ear up to the wall, but I can tell you it was worth the effort because, unlike Cole, I don't know. I I know what they want. The first night I opened the door for them was terrifying, like losing one's virginity.

Even with Cole's descriptions, there was no way I could have been prepared for their appearance, because they resembled the humans the way a shark looks like a minnow. During these conversations, they instructed me to share Cole's story with the world, so some of his madness could rub off on others, and season the meat. as long as I did this for them they'd allow me to live with that in mind it's only a matter of time before they come

and visit you maybe it'll start with seeing shadows in the corner of your eyes the sounds of whispering or something similar to the coring of crows but no matter how it starts you should know it's the beginning of the end once you've been seasoned enough

they all strike and when they do you can thank me a better and more successful parted on killer than Cole ever was The bus ride down Falcroft Row

by Vespers Bell It was just after dark and I'm standing by myself at an abandoned bus stop on an almost equally abandoned street waiting in near pitch black conditions for a bus that logically would never come. Most of the streetlights didn't work anymore, and the derelict industrial buildings

now house nothing but the desperate and the depraved. The only points of light that reached my eyes from wholesome windows or bustling vehicles seemed a world away. I was terrified that at any moment some creep would come slinking out of the shadows to do unthinkable things to me, but I resisted the urge to flee back

to the relative safety of downtown, just a little bit longer, and I'd know if the Fowlcroft bus route was real. For longer than anyone cared to remember, people in my city have claimed to see an old bus puttering along the streets of the industrial district at night, travelling a route that's been discontinued for decades, and after all the buses have stopped running. Somber Mory is not that big of a city. It only has seven bus routes, none of them run after 10pm, None of them go any closer to the industrial district than Alcabee Street anymore.

An occasional sighting of a bus out after hours and off-root wouldn't be all that weird, but it's always in the same area, and its marquee reads Route 9, Falcroft, Fable. Well, allegedly, anyway, no one's ever been able to get a clear enough photo of it for its marquee to be legible. There used to be a street called Faircroft, when people actually lived in the industrial, district. But as manufacturing jobs dried up and became automated, Faircroft was left to fester until people started calling it Falcroft. Eventually it was demolished, and that whole section of land became part of Avalon Cemetery. People who claim they've seen the Falcroft bus say it drives straight under and overpass towards where Faircroft used to be, and then vanishes.

Aside from only showing up after hours, it doesn't seem to be any real pattern in when the Falcroft bus appears. Months, even years, can pass between sightings. I wouldn't actually have been that intriguing of an urban legend to me, if not for one final detail. The passengers. At least several people have claimed that the Falcroft bus not only carries passengers, but also accepts and discharges them at abandoned bus stops. Since it only runs at night, no one's ever gotten a good look at them. And so, I decided that I was going to be the first. first. The idea occurred to me when I was buying bus tickets and automated kiosk. This may or may not be relevant, but they're all made by a local company called Thorne Tech that owns property in the

industrial district. I don't know if it was a glitch or something more sinister, but when the kiosk recognized me, I got a pop-up saying I was pre-approved for an exclusive bus route and asked if I wanted to buy a ticket. I almost clicked no, thinking it was nothing but spam. but the idea of an exclusive bus route piqued my curiosity. I would have liked more information, of course, but the kiosk refused to provide any. My only options were to buy or not buy, so I clicked buy, hoping I'd be debited some ungodly amount. We pop-up vanished, and I heard the ticket dispenser start whirring as it printed out the little hexagonal QR code voucher that the Avalon Transit Commission uses.

With a quick yank, I ripped it off and held it up to see what the hell I'd just bought. The ticket read, adult single, no charge, limited time promotion. Redeemable only at Stop A, Route 9. Falcroft Fable. 10 p.m. to 3 a.m., adibetrium. Ticket is non-transferable. I was flabbergasted. The Kiersk had, completely at random, given me a ticket for the fact.

I figured it had to be a prank or a publicity stunt or something. I immediately started playing around on the kiosk to try and find out more, but there was nothing else about Falcroft or an exclusive bus route. Looking it up online didn't yield any results either, so that left just one option. That's why I was standing alone at an abandoned bus stop on the wrong side of the tracks at 10 o'clock at night. ad obitrium means at will or at your pleasure and i had to assume that meant the will of the ticket holder since i didn't see how anyone could catch a ride that only came when it felt like it

there was no expiry date on the ticket nor any date at all for that matter but for all i knew that information was in the QR code so i decided to use it immediately rather than risk it becoming invalid i promised myself that it was only going to do this once if the bus didn't come then it was just a dumb joke and I was an idiot for falling for it could have been worse than a joke of course I realised that could have been a trap to lure me out into the middle of nowhere

and sell me to human traffickers or something I really should have just torn that ticket up and forgotten all about it but I knew that if I did a little voice in my head would always have wondered hey what if that had been for real That was a thought racing through my mind when I saw a bus turn the corner and started ahead in my direction. There's nothing unusual about it at first, just one of those bright blue electric buses that the city had been making a big fuss about rolling out to keep on target for their carbon neutral goals.

I was a little disappointed. I'd expected a phantom bus to be a little more antiquated. I glanced up at its marquee, certainly it would only say, how to do it? service. But instead, it said Route 9, Falcroft, Fable. Ominously, it began slowing down and pulling over towards

the bus stop. I fought off an instinct to flee, and instead held my ground with my ticket in hand. Rolled to a gentle stop, with its front door precisely aligned with me, a pneumatic snake-like hiss escaping as they folded open. Sitting in the driver's seat

was an older black man with closely cropped white hair and thin glasses. He looked friendly and professional enough, wearing the same royal blue tie and sweater vest combo that I'd seen other bus drivers wearing before. But considering how few bus drivers we had was a little concerning that I didn't recognize him. Evening, he greeted me with a smile and a nod. I nodded back, taking a tentative step on board.

I started to move the ticket towards a scanner. but then hesitated. Hey, um, where's the end of the line? I asked. Abel Street, just like it says on the sign. I'll get you there, don't worry. The trip might get a little bumpy, but I'll get you there, he assured me. Notting my gratitude, I scanned the ticket, and the door snapped shut behind me. The driver was already taking the bus back out onto the road before I'd even sat down.

apparently in a hurry to get underway. I appeared at my reflection in the window, struggling to see anything past it, and wondering if there was anyone outside watching me ride away in the mythical Fowlcroft bus. I took a good look around the inside to confirm if I was truly the only passenger on the bus, and it seemed like I was.

Nothing inside seemed to be out of the ordinary either. I leaned out of my seats a bit to see where we were going, I saw that the driver was taking her straight to the overpass where other witnesses had alleged the bus vanished into thin air. With a nervous swallow, I grabbed the nearest rod and brace myself or whatever was about to come. The driver glanced into his rear-view mirror and seemed to notice my apprehension.

Sea-bills, everyone, he said with a reassuring smile just as we entered the overpass. Have you ever driven under an overpass in the bus? pouring rain, and for a fleeting instant the downpour vanishes, and you're immersed in a sudden and disorienting silence. That's what it felt like, going under that overpass. The lights flickered, and in the space between light and dark, the outside world was swapped for a surreal landscape of hundred-meter-tall dead trees with pale, peeling bark and naked branches.

There were no leaves to be seen at all, either in the canopy or on the forest floor. the barren ground was a charred black and even the fungi blooming out of the dead wood looked to be crumbling into dust everything outside the bus looked to be dead and the unpainted asphalt road was in a severe state of disrepair as well i looked up to see if i could steal a glance at the sky through the dense skeletal branches but what bare patches i could see were only a sullen grey a beautiful desolation isn't it the driver asked slowly going down to accommodate the winding forest road we now found ourselves on. Yeah, it really is, I said softly. Not what I expected, though. I read that Faircroft Row used to be housing for factory workers back in the day. Housing, oh, that's a generous term.

Slum's more like it. Those places were falling apart before they were even abandoned, the driver commented. You know who their original landlord was? Yeah, the official Samba Mori website says that Faircroft Row was donated to the city by Crowley and Chamberlain. Yeah, that old bank on Druid Street, I replied. It says it was generously donated, which, if you ask me, is a sickeningly sycophantic choice of words for trading an eyesore and class action lawsuit waiting to happen for a tax ride off and getting the city council off your back. The driver retorted.

But they weren't the original owners, though. Chamberlain's many things, but he's not a slum lord. He evicted the whole street the instant he repossessed it. Or his grandfather did, if that's the sorry-ass excuse that immortal son of a bitch is peddling these days. Ah, Faircroft Row was originally owned by its namesake, Felix Faircrood. He may not have heard of him. He's not as prominent in local folklore, say, Seneca Chamberlain or Thadier's

horn, but he used to own a good deal of property around town. He fancied himself as a gentleman, venture of sorts, went off on over a dozen expeditions to exotic parts over the years. It was those expeditions, not to mention his cavalier attitude regarding his own investments, that caused his fortune to dwindle and his properties to deteriorate. He was a proud man, though. Didn't take it kindly when he got wind that people were calling this place Fowlercroft Row. so you're saying he's responsible for this place i asked confused turning my head towards the window just in time to catch a glimpse of a silhouette ducking behind one of the distant trees hey there's something out there yeah yeah there is he said with a tinge of melancholy to his voice oh back to felix he'd originally use the land right between the same

cemetery and the industrial district is a slum because it was the cheapest real estate in town. But when his fortune started taking a turn for the worst, he realized this presented an opportunity of sorts. He hop-knob with Chamberlain and his buddies, even enough to know that they were into some occult shenanigans, some of which they used to Avalon Cemetery for. Organic king, the witch who's supposed to have found of the town, is buried out there or some nonsense like that. Well, I don't know. But Felix, you can't. got it into his head to expand Faircroft row further out into the cemetery, the opposite of what ended up happening, ironically enough. His thinking was that if the richest men in town wanted

to keep it intact, if he just went through the rigmarole of making it look like he was serious about buying some of the cemetery from the city, then Chamberlain would simply make him a counteroffer, fairly naive of him in retrospect. As he spoke, more of the silhouettes started peeking out from behind the trees. They were still distant, so I couldn't make out much of them in detail, but they looked like shrouded humanoid forms composed of deep purple storm clouds. The only feature I could make out was a pair of pure white eyes, blinking curiously at the bus as we drove by. I took out my phone to try and take a video of them, but found that either the battery was dead or that the phone was broken altogether. Oh, no flash photography, please. Wouldn't want

Spook him. The driver chided playfully. So, Felix goes to the city council with his proposal of buying some of the Avalon Cemetery land to expand Faircroft Row, made insured to offer just enough money that they can't just turn him down on the spot. They hum and whore a bit, saying they'll need to survey the area, investigate what sort of impact it'll have on the community, that kind of thing. But they'll get bad to him. What they actually do is run straight to Chamberlain to see how he didn't like the matter dealt with. Being the vindictive and conniving little weasel that he is, he pretends

to go along with the idea. Invites Felix to meet him there one evening so they can discuss exactly what parts of the cemetery he gets sold, and how Felix will develop it. Well, Felix didn't suspect a thing. Still seemed to think that if he could sell Chamberlain on the idea even harder,

he could take Faircroft row off his hands all together and do it himself. They were getting close now. The forms lurking behind the trees. They were on either side of the road, both ahead and behind us. The nearer they got, the more likely they were to duck behind a tree the instant I looked directly at them. They appeared to becoming more emboldened, however, and it felt like their numbers had risen exponentially. A few moments ago, they had been just one, but now it seemed like nearly every other tree hid one of these strange beings.

I became aware of a soft, rapid whispering sound. I realized it must have been the creatures conversing with one another in their native tongue. Yeah, are we in danger? I asked the bus driver, as I shifted my gaze between the bus's doors, wondering if they were strong enough to keep the things out. Well, danger or not, I'm going to finish my story. He replied adamantly. Felix gets to the cemetery. He finds the chamberlains had a brand new mausoleum built right on the border between the graveyard and aircraft row. Enraged and bewildered, he demands to know the meaning of it, but Chamberlain assures him that it will be made clear once he steps inside. Seeing no harm in humoring him, Felix obliges.

And that's technically the last anyone ever saw of him, so the story gets a bit more anecdotal from here. Third-hand accounts of people who heard it from people, who heard it from Chamberlain, that sort of thing. Chamberlain leads Felix into the morning. Mausoleum, and tells him that while he's awful his idea of expanding the occupancy of the cemetery, not a big fan of the current impoverished residence of Faircroft Row. Not to worry, though, as he has an alternative demographic already lined up. So, as dark as it was in that mausoleum, Felix was just able to make out the white eyes staring back at him. I screamed, then, as the creatures rushed out of the forest en masse

and threw themselves up against the windows, peering in from both sides with ravenous eyes. I still couldn't make out any other facial features, but could see a faint outline delineating their heads from the hoods. The wind had picked up, and the dead trees started creaking and cracking in its gusts. One broke clean and half and fell in front of us, blocking our path. "'What are they?' I screamed, frantically searching for anything I could possibly use as a weapon against such a massive and ethereal horde. The driver put the bus into Park and folded his hands into his lap, apparently resigned to our face. "'It's all right. Really it is,' he tried to assuage me.

"'They're remnants, or at least that's what I like to call them. "'The whole place is a remnant of a world that's just been slowly, fading away. It would probably have faded into nothing already if it weren't for Chamberlain. He used Felix as a sacrifice to pair this world with ours, stabilizing its decay. Don't ask me what he got out of it, but rest assured he didn't do it out of pure benevolence. At first, this created an issue with the remnants occasionally phasing over into the immediate area at night, a problem Chamberlain solved by seizing all of Felix's assets and donating Faircroft Road the city council to merge with avalon oh the cemetery's closed at night and occasional ghost

sighting in a cemetery's nothing to worry about this road where on now needs to be traveled now and then by someone from our world to hate maintain the connection and keep this world from fading away that same damn tree tries to block the path every time though and it's pretty heavy for an old man to move on his own my eyes went wide with horror as i saw I saw him methodically place his hand on the door lever. What are you doing? I demanded. Ah, they're not going to hurt us. They want us to make it through.

Otherwise, they risk their world fading again, the driver explained. They're just here to protect us from environmental hazards, let's say. Yeah, they're probably a bit curious, too. If you want, you can open a window, and you'll see they're harmless. But we have to go out there. remove that trunk before the weather gets even worse. I looked out at the dozens of remnants surrounding the bus, and the hundreds, if not thousands, in the forest just beyond.

They were definitely inquisitive, but nothing they were doing was explicitly hostile. They had enough numbers that they could easily have overturned the bus if they wanted to. I really had no reason to believe all disbelieved the bus driver's explanation for what was happening. But he was right that the fallen trunk needed to be moved if we would. We wanted to get out of there. Reluctantly, I reached for the nearest window and slowly pulled it open. The remnants nearest at the window winced at the sudden movement, taking a step back in surprise. Their frenzied whispers to one another were still utterly unintelligible to me, but at the very

least they carried some connotation of wary excitement. One of them was brave enough to take a step back towards me, gently reaching up its nebulous hand in a gesture of congeniality. hesitantly i reached my hand out of the window and placed my palm against its went right through my hand feeling nothing but heavy mist and static electricity the remnant's eyes turned to smiling half moons while the rest of its kind gibbered hurriedly amongst themselves my head reflexively whipped around sharply at the sound of the bus door opening well let's get to it then the driver said as his tired arthritic legs carried him slowly down the short staircase. Taking one last cautious glance at the horde of remnants waiting outside, I chased after him. The remnants cleared a path for the driver as he hobbled towards the fallen tree.

I'm sure if they would extend the same courtesy to me, I made sure to stay close to him. The remnant with the smiling eyes came closest to us and seemed to be watching us with the greatest interest. Don't you wander off the road, and especially don't lose sight of it he warned me these woods are disorienting if you lose the road the odds are slim you'll find it again what was this place what were these people i asked gawking at the desolate world around me in a mix of pity confusion and terror i don't know what

they were just what they are and that's in need of our help he replied as we came to a stop by the tree trunk I don't try to lift it, just rolling it enough for us to get by. Bending down with him, I helped roll the tree over, letting out a gasp of shock when I saw a startling human-like face twisted in rage and agony emerging from its decaying bark. Oh God, is that? I began to ask. Felix, yeah. A bit of hymns in everything here now, but for some reason this tree in particular is easiest for him to topple over the driver replied i don't pay him any mind he's not too happy about having to be the one to keep this world from fading away but the cost of his freedom would mean

letting everyone else here perish he nodded towards the horde of remnants who were now all staring at me in anxious anticipation waiting to see what i do pausing for only a moment i bent back down and resumed pushing the tree off the road as its face grew more and more more grotesque and outraged with each role. When the road was clear, they helped the driver hobble back into the bus, and we were off. The horde of remnants escorted us the rest of the way, but now their overall mood seemed much more jubilant. The wind howled, and the trees groaned under the strain, but no more of them succeeded in blocking our path. Before long I spotted another overpass up ahead.

The first man-made structure other than the road that I'd seen in this place. The remnants all fell behind us now, the one with smiling eyes leading the way and waving goodbye. Not wanting to be rude, I gave a little wave back. When we went under the overpass, the lights flickered again, and when they came back on, we were in Somba Morrie, somewhere between downtown and the suburbs. Well, here we are. Fogs and Fable, last stop. The bus driver announced as he pulled up to the bus stop. looking up into the rear-view mirror, giving me an appreciative smile.

Thanks for your help. The first time doesn't always go this smoothly. Hey, do you know why I was offered the ticket? I asked, holding it up in the air for him to see. I don't. I'm just the bus driver, he said with a shake of his head. I don't know who assigns the tickets or what their reasoning is. Just that I need at least one.

passenger with me and that passenger is yet to let me down he then reached into his pocket pulling out a small blue and white car here you are one commissary bus pass for your trouble he said with some embarrassment I know it's not much but I appreciate the help if you ever want to go on another ride down Falcroft row just wait at a defunct bus stop after hours with that card I'll be there things go easier for me when my messenger already knows what's going on, and the remnants seem better nature, too. I can't offer you much in return, other than what else I know. I bit my lip nervously for a moment before gingerly accepting the bus pass.

I'll think about it, was my non-committal response. The driver nodded, understandably, opening the door to let me off. As the bus drove away, I noticed that its marquee now read. out of service, and there was nothing to distinguish it from any other bus in the fleet. I reached for my phone and found that not only was it working, but at the time was only a little past ten, as if the ride through the remnant realm had barely taken any time at all. I was relieved at first,

but that revelation gave me an uneasy feeling that took a moment to coalesce into a conscious thought. If my short bus ride in the remnant realm accounted for nothing in my reality, and how long had Felix's imprisonment, which had lasted over a century on the outside, felt like to him? The Devil's House, by Positive Tennis, 6226. Part 1 The sky was dishwasher grey and the colt drizzle began. It wasn't rain, but just enough that I needed to periodically use the windshield wipers. Oh, I should probably introduce myself.

My name's Erica, and I'm a lead investigative reporter. Well, that's the title they gave me. In reality, I'm the only reporter for the newspaper I write for. It's a small town, so small in fact that we don't even offer an online newspaper. There's one thing that everyone in this town loves to read about, haunted houses. Not ghosts, boulder geese, or flying Ouija boards, but the people who go to the Halloween stores that are set up in abandoned shop car. They buy a bunch of cheap animatronics and turn their garage into a haunted house.

That isn't quite like Not Scary Farm or Halloween Horror Nights. Trust me, I've tried going to them. My boss tells me we don't have it in the budget to send me across the country and that we barely have the money for new office chairs. So this was a rare occasion. I was at my desk typing on my computer that was still using Windows 95. I was putting the finishing touches on the big story of the year. who is going to be crowned pumpkin queen at this year's Harvest Fest.

It was at this moment that a letter came across my desk. It read. Congratulations to the lucky recipient of this letter. You've been selected to participate in the media day for the opening of the devil's house. This new haunted house is opening this October. As we know, budges might be tight, so we're offering a $50 gift card for gas. It's yours to keep regardless if you come or not. although we are frightfully looking forward to hearing you scream.

The address is listed below. Sincerely, Lucy, devil's house owner and operator. I brought the letter up to my boss. He was more than thrilled to send me there, mainly because it would not cost him anything to do so. My GPS took me off the main highway and onto a dirt road. A little ways up was a big hand-painted sign saying parking, with an arrow pointing to the right.

parking was just a big open area in the woods there were about a dozen or so cars already parted there on top of a hill sat a house and from the distance all that could be seen was the top of its roof and a few spires sticking up a stone wall surrounded the house and between the wall and the house was a forest of trees the tops of the trees were bare of all their leaves

people were gathered in front of a gate as I walked up I opened my handheld notebook and quickly jotted fake trees and olives very spooky excellent details i took out my digital camera and snapped a picture i looked over and saw someone i knew frank i said out loud and the man turned around erika he said with a questioning tone oh my gosh erika it is you how have you been i haven't seen you since college frank walked over and gave me a hug he's just a head taller than me as brown eyes isn't too bad to look at. So how are the wife and kids? I asked Frank.

Frank let out a sigh of sadness. Barbara and the kids left me six months ago. I was overseas covering the war, and she said enough was enough. There was an ode on the table and everything. Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry to hear that, my sad. So, um, how are you and your husband? He's still working at the Sheriff's Department.

No, um, he works as a... I was unable to complete my sentence. A man wearing a striped three-piece suit and a fedora hat strolled up to the gates. With the smooth, almost snake-like voice, he said, Welcome to the devil's house. The gates opened with a cryptic creek on its rusted hinges. We all looked through the gates, noticing on our left that there was a small wooden shack that said, tickets, food, and souvenirs.

The letters of each word had little trails of paint under them, as if written in still wet blood. The group of reporters and photographers started to make their way up to the winding forest path. About halfway to the house, the group stopped in a large opening in the woods where a fire was already blazing away. The man in the suit stood in front of the fire pit and explained, Oh, this is where the main waiting area is. The path to the left takes you to the graveyard and the exit of the house. The right path takes you to the house itself, and here is where the scare begins.

the fire flared up and a man jumped out from the woods he raised a chainsaw above his head and revved it I'd be remiss if I didn't say I had peed a little yeah the chainsaw cut out and left only the sound of the fire crackling the man in the suit shouted begone demon your master commands it and the man with a chainsaw walked back into the woods the man in the suit turned back to the group and said

Where are my manners? My name is Lucy, and this is my house. He raised both hands in the air, dramatically, and the fire flared back up. But when the bathrooms are to your left? The group let out a collected laugh. I snapped a couple of photos and wrote in my book. A waiting area sets the mood with a campfire and trees all round. They're also nice clean bathrooms.

Oh, come on, everyone. Let's continue to the manor and stay with the group. I don't want to lose anyone, well, not yet. Lucy said and then laid out her defilish laugh. Creepy ambient music started to play as the group made its way to the house. The house was big with a small waist-high stone wall with mossy overgrowth and circling the front. A small gate was open and the path turned to stone as two sets of small stone stairs led up to a small hill to the house. A stone wall followed the path and lanterns were flickering every ten feet or so. I took a picture with my phone

along with my digital camera movement of shadows flashed by the windows and a small light glowed faintly in the centre's fire window I noticed a plaque hidden by overgrowth I moved part of the shrub away and I could just make out the word Raven's word I wrote in my notebook

Three-story Victorian Manor run down and dilapidated Background music combined with the overall spooky atmosphere That definitely will cause even the bravest among us to have their anxiety heightened. Lucy greeted us one by one, shaking hands as people entered the manner. It was just then that I realized I was the only female in the group of people,

which consisted of 14, maybe 18 in all. When I got next to Lucy, he said, Welcome, so glad you can make it. He looked at me, and instead of shaking my hand, he kissed it. A wave of euphoria rushed out from my hand down to my feet, and then up to my head, finally return into the back of my hand where he'd kiss me.

The feeling could be best described as overjoyed. It's like the feeling of running out of your bedroom on Christmas morning, mixed with the panic of going over the first drop on a roller coaster. All these feelings happen in just a few seconds. I looked up to see Lucy giving me his best seductive look as his eyes met mine. And I smiled back awkwardly and said, Thank you. The seductive look faltered for a mere second.

He then leaned in and whispered, My, my, my, my, and we the strong world one. Got my eye on you, child. He handed me a scrap of paper with the number 11 on it. I walked into the waiting area. Once the last person was in, Lucy said, Good luck, oh, and one last thing. If you make it out of the devil's house,

you'll be granted one wish. With those parting words, he closed the door from the outside. The two suits of armour that were still, standing sentry inside the doorway, turned on a pedestal, and their lances cross, marking an X in front of the door, barring any escape. The waiting room had a Victorian era feel. The wallpaper was torn in some spots, exposing the wooden wall behind, and a small table was in the center of the room.

A second-story walkway that overlooks the main room has a large set of stairs in the middle that rise up a few feet before splitting left and right and connecting to the walkway above. A voice came out of speakers mounted to the wall. It almost sounded like Vincent Price. Welcome. This house is full of thrills and jills and is meant to be walked alone. When your number is called, please enter the room on your left. There's only one sure way to leave.

Just then the room went black and a scream could be heard. The lights came back on and a skeleton was hanging down in front of the small table in the center of the room with a noose around its neck, with the toes just scraping the top of the table. The voice called out the numbers one at a time, and the person would enter the next room. The door closed behind them, and a few minutes later the next number was called.

Frank was number seven. Gave me a thumbs up as he walked into the room. Then, after a while, my number was called. I had butterflies in my stomach, but was excited to see what was coming next. part two i walked into the manor's smoking room it was just as old and run down as the waiting room the fireplace which was cold and dark like the rest of the room was in the middle of the far wall two chairs sat by the fireplace and just behind them was a table with a mouldy old wedding cake i looked around and saw a small bookshelf on one side of the room sitting in one of the chairs was a shrivelled-up corpse wearing a faded year hallowing wedding dress.

I wrote in my notebook. First room is creepy yet cozy. The makeup on the body is top notch. Just then a woman's soft, wispy voice caught out. There was once beauty in this house. Just then the lights dimmed to complete darkness. Then the light started coming on from the bottom to the walls, which continued to get brighter until the room was well lit.

The fireplace burst into light. The room itself looked like it was brand new. Even the wedding cake was mould-free and looked very moist and ready to be eaten. The dried-up corpse in the wedding dress rose out of her chair and turned toward me. A beautiful woman was in its place. She had a bouquet of flowers in her hands. The bride walked up to me and asked in a soft voice, Will you marry me?

I held up my left hand and showed her my wedding room. Well, first off, I'm happily married. Second, I don't play on both sides of the fence, if you know what I mean. She looked taken aback, in shock, and replied with, You're a woman? Oh, no, no, no, no, no, that's no good. Do you know what they do to women in this house? She handed me her bouquet of flowers, lifted up her dress, and ran to the bookshelf.

She pulled a book, and the bookshelf swung open, revealing a hidden passage. Oh, you have to go. You have to go now. don't get caught and remember the only way through is to keep moving forward. As I was walking towards her in the secret door, the light in the room started to dim. The air began to get musty and old. The wallpaper began to fade, and the cake started to grow mouldy.

Even the woman and her dress were growing discoloured. As the secret door began to close behind me, the last glimpse I got of her was the sadness on her face as she turned into a dry husk. The door closed with a soft click. Hey, lady, wait, I still got your bouquet. I was waiting for the door to open and for the actress to take her prop back. That's when the flowers that were once beautiful and colourful were blackened, dry and dead.

Damn, how the heck, I thought as I examined the flowers. Okay, well, I'm just going to leave them on the ground. I shouted so she could hear me. The secret passageway was cold and damp, my footsteps echoing along the faintly lit hallway. Hmm, uplighting and scrim may be mixed with a projector. Yeah, that's it, I thought, as I snapped my finger in a ha-ha, and I'd figured it out. I changed the angle of the light, white out the scrim, and project a new image on them. The path led down some steps to a door labeled Spirit Room.

Spirit room. I wonder what's in there. Probably ghost seances and stuff like that. Slowly pushed the door open. Two big wooden barrels with taps in them sat behind a wooden bar and empty wine glasses covered in dust and cobwamps lied in the bar. Three bottles with liquid in them red, vampire breath, master blood and mummy's curse. Behind the bar a skeleton wearing a red jacket with the name Isaac displayed on the rusty name tag was doing finger guns. I let out a laugh. I'm old enough to get that reference. I heard a soft hiss as a fog machine discharged in the corner.

The fog slowly filled the room. I took out my notebook and wrote, Thirsty? Stop in the spirit room for a drink, though the staff is not that lively. I took a moment to look around. Upon seeing no one, I stooply asked out loud,

Where do I go? I heard a crack in a snap And turned to see Isaac's arms and hands Were both pointing right. He was pointing towards a small doorway With the words tasting room Written above it. Inside the room, a table was set up in the middle

And two chairs set across from each other. One chair was empty While the other had a lump of something closely resembling a man. Portraits hung on the wall And a wine rack was in one corner. The room itself was covered top to bottom in spider webs like someone had brought in a cotton candy machine, turned it on and let it spray the room down. A muffling sound could be heard as I got closer to the middle of the room.

This is something I was reluctant to do as I hate spiders. The lump was wriggling and sobs of help could be heard coming from this spiderwebs cocoon. It was then that I saw the spider. His body had to be two inches in length. I shuddered as I watched it crawl out of the wriggling cocoon man. The spider was followed by a second one, and then another. The left part of my brain was like, that's just a projection image.

But the right part of my brain was like, oh, that's nice, I'm going to run now. I rushed right out of that room and slammed the door behind me. I turned back around and looked through a small window in the door. The lump convulsed in the seat, and then the mass began to expand. and bigger and bigger until it burst open and hundreds of spiders crawled out the chest cavity spilling into the room this immediately gave me the hebi-jeebies i wrote in my notebook

tasting room who's doing the tasting the humans or the spider well that was a cool special effect i wonder how they got that small of a tv in the door to act like a fake window i turned away from the door as i emerged from the darkness a huge spider jumped out at me I let out of scream as its sticky web hit me. Then, with a pneumonic hiss, the spider attracted into the darkness. I examined the sticky web and let out a chuckle. Silly string. It's just silly string. The transitional hallway took me to an iron door.

I put my hand on it to push it open. Well, this almost feels real. It couldn't be possible, though. It would weigh hundreds of pounds. It took some extra effort and pushing me. with both hands to get it to open. The room on the other side was dark, lit only by a few flickering lanterns on the wall. An iron prison cell was against this wall. Three feral-looking humans were locked up. The clothes were torn and barely hung on their bony frames. They made inhuman sounds at me. A small light appeared from an opening, and a deep voice boomed out. Meat for the master,

scraps for the prisoners. just then body parts were hands feet individual fingers and some internal organs fell from the hole and into the cage the creatures inside went crazy and dove into the pile attacking each other like starving dogs one grabbed a foot then ran over to the bars and started eating it in front of me like corn on the cop his teeth were broken and stained red blood leaked from the chunk of flesh ripped from the severed foot i took a step away and shot The smell in the room was that of a full portable toilet on a hot summer day. A door to my side began to slowly open. On the other side of the door stood a short man. He said, "'Goodn't talk, Fräulelein' and gave me a creepy grin.

My one year of high school German was finally paying off. "'Oh, hello, how are you?' I replied. He spoke in English, but it was very heavily accented. Hello, I'm the dungeon master, and you are. I'm Erica, one of the reporters doing a story on this hearted house. Hey, I know you're not supposed to break character, but can I interview you? Yeah, but first is you must do something for me. Well, I guess, what is it? I asked tentatively.

In the past, some actors like to interact with their guess, so I was hoping it wouldn't be too bad. "'Ah, follow me, Fraulein. "'No one can leave Dust Dungeon with—' "'What, you say, ah, their innocence. "'We walked into another room with arm and leg shackles on the wall. "'Manyval torture devices were laying on the centre rack. "'There was a long table set at a 45-degree angle "'with rope attached to a log on the top and bottom.

"'The wheels were attached to the log "'so that as you turned the wheel, the rope got tighter. "'The rope would be tied around the victim's arms and legs, legs and would be so painful until it ripped them apart. There was a person already tied up and gagged, which looked very uncomfortable. Okay, Frotland, what I need you to do is spin bisville till dasperson screams, the dungeon master told me. I know that this could not be real.

The limbs must be fake and the table must be hollow, so as to cleverly disguise where the store the prop limbs. I just wanted to get this over with her, and get to the intercourse. I walked to one of the wheels, while the man was shaking his head back and forth in a frantic no movement. I gave it one full rotation, and allowed Pop rang out to simulate the cartilage in the shoulder joint snapping. The man on the rack let out a muffled scream and tried to plead for it to stop.

Oh wow, Four Lion. You did that with nine hesitation. Okay, we can do your interview now. He sat down at a small table, and the anguish cries could be heard from the person still on the rank. Wow, I thought, that person really doesn't want to break character. I pulled out my notebook and began the interview. Um, so, when did you start working for Lucy? It was 1946, right after that guilty verdict in the Nuremberg trials, the dungeon master said.

and I eyed him suspiciously. Okay, then. How did you get this job? I asked. Oh, yeah, that one is easy. Lucy was impressed with my work, so he offered me a deal to work for him by torturing the souls of the damned for all eternity. Well, I let Arasai and close my notebook.

What is wrong, Fraulein? I am answering your question. Oh, you think this is fair. don't you. Ah, rest assured, Roland, it is all too real. I need an assistant and you will do just fine. Join me and we can rule this land. Well, our conversation was interrupted by divine intervention, as another person could be heard opening up the heavy iron door to the dungeon. I must go. Another victim awaits. I'm thinking, thus, Spanish tickler. The dungeon master said as he walked over to a wall with a variety of torture devices.

He grabbed a pair of iron gloves with two long and thick bronze-curved spikes on the end. It looked like a tiger's claw. He looked at me and said, This is good for going deep into a man's flesh and, with a simple wrist flick, separates dust flesh from bones. He tried handing them to me. Would you like to try, Fraulein? I shook my head and said,

no I'm good but thanks and with that the dungeon master slipped on the gloves gave the claws a quick swipe in the air and walked out this guy's too shot short of a full bottle I thought I looked around from room to room noticing all manner of torture equipment until I came across a spiral staircase leading up I was halfway up when I heard a hellish scream coming from the dungeon when I reached the top of the stairs there was a small hatch I walked through that hatch and found myself in a coat room. After locating the door out, I ended up in a long hallway. The door closed behind me, and the sound startled me. When I turn around, the door was gone. I was left looking at a wall. The hallway had purple striped wallpaper, which was ripped and had black mold all over it. The carpet was a bright red, almost like the carpet you might see in a movie theatre. I looked left and right, not sure which way to go. Then I heard it, just briefly. The sound of ballroom music played.

It was soft at first, and I started heading toward the sound. I felt like the walls were closing in on me with each step. Just then I turned a corner, I saw that I was on the second floor looking down into a great dining hall, which was full of people. Part 3 The dining hall had a long wooden table on one side, with an absolute monstrous feast, turkey ham, mashed potatoes, you name it.

All of it looked delicious and fresh, and the smell was heavenly, like it was Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner combined. My mouth was salivating. In front of a stone fireplace, there was a closed casket with fresh flowers all around it, and a morning wreath with the name G. Hightower. On the far side of the room, there was an open area where couples were dancing in sync with one another as a man played the pipe organ the music stopped and the couple stood next to each other the music started to repeat and everyone started dancing again something was off about the couples they were all

translucent i mean i could see through them it's as if they were ghosts no no i thought and there's no such thing as ghosts looking closer at the faces of the dancers i noticed that their look of happiness was overshadowed with a look of pain and misery. When the guys picked the girls up to spin them around, I thought that the bottom of their shoes were crimson red. No, not their shoes. Their dancing shoes were worn down to nothing. That was the bottom of their feet.

I gasped as the area where they were dancing was slick with blood. They were being forced to dance until their feet were bleeding. Inside my own head, I thought, this is not really a ghost. Ghosts are not real and ghosts wouldn't bleed. My husband told me they'd do this. What's it called again? I began to snap my fingers.

Pepper's ghost effect, yeah. It's just a bunch of mannequins dressed up with red paint on their feet spinning on a rotating table or something. There's a big panel of glass in front of me and the mannequin is below in a room painted all black and just reflecting through the glass onto the dance floor. It's just like if you place an object on the dash of your car and you can see through the object in the windshield.

Ah, right. Figured it out, I said out loud. Just then the music stopped, and all the ghosts in the room looked up at me. They pointed right at me and flew upwards in a way. I was just a little freaked out after that. I stood there looking down at an empty dining hall, just waiting. I was waiting for it to start back up, but nothing happened.

I finally started walking and came across some stairs, leading down with a red velvet rope pushed off to one side. I got my camera ready to take pictures as I began my descent down the stairs. With each step, the once tantalizing smells and hypnotic brightness of the room started to fade.

When I reached the bottom of the stairs by the closed casket, the morning wreath was withering away and the bright flowers were drained of all the colors. The casket sprung open and a half-decade corpse popped up, screamed, and then went back into the casket.

I nearly had a heart attack. I took a step back and then stepped forward again. The casket opened and the person inside did the same thing. Oh, just a robot. You had me go in there for a second, I said as I wagged my finger at the casket. When I turned around, I sought the table with food on it. I dropped my camera, which was luckily attached to the sling around my neck, stopping it from hitting the floor.

The food, which was once so. so luscious and smelled heavenly, was now rotting and festering. Hundreds of rats ran all around the table eating scraps of food, or what remained of it. The rats began eating each other and gnawing at the remains of the dinner guests. One of the former dinner guests turned toward me, exposing the half of his cheek and face that had been eaten away. It was as if the guest was giving me a permanent half-grin. The jaw was open, and a big fat rat crawled out, dragging the breast.

person's tongue with it. The smell was overwhelming. A voice of a Neanderthal rang out. Meat for the master. Scraps for the prisoners. He was carrying a large bowl of still steaming hot ground beef. It was pink, raw and looked like it hadn't been cooked at all. He was tall and big and wore a pig mask along with a butcher's apron. The bowl of meat was set down and the rats attacked each other for it. He looked up, saw me and said, Oh, I smell lunch. The butcher started walking over to me. I quickly walked back and said,

Hey man, it's cool. I'm just lost. Part of me was freaking out, but the other part of me was like, no, he can't hurt us. This is a haunted house with a lot of nightmare fuel, but it's not real. I kept backing up until I heard the wush of the casket lid opening up. A wet, cold, bony hand grabbed my arms, pinning me in place. Hey, let me go, I protested. When I turned to see who'd grab me, it was to my horror.

The half-dead corpse in the casket held me in place, his teeth chomping right next to my ear, making a clicking sound as teeth smashed into teeth. That's when the man in the pig mask walked up to me. He bent down to get in my face and gave two sniffs. "'Ah, fresh meat,' he exclaimed. "'The butcher grabbed me by my long red hair "'and began to drag me across the dining-room floor.

"'My scalp was burning as if it was going to rip from my skull. "'I tried to fight back, but at my angle all I could do was be dragged on my back. "'I reached and grabbed the table-leg, "'holding fast until a rat fell on top of me, "'which caused me to scream and let go. "'The pain was agonizing, and hot tears started running down my face. Once we got on the dance floor, the cold, slick blood made being dragged more tolerable, but it was still painful.

When we entered the kitchen, I was picked up and thrown into a stainless steel table with one of his big hands pinning my hair down. The table was wide enough that I couldn't roll off. I was stuck. The rat that fell on me was still crawling around on my legs. I was kicking in a desperate attempt to get it off. And that's when my foot hit something solid. A towel rack.

I thought. The butcher reached with his free hand and grabbed the large rat and squashed it in his hand. The squeaking and breaking of bones was the only sound it made. The rat's guts hit the ground with a sickly smack.

And with one flick of his wrist he chucked the remainder of the rat next to a meat grinder. He picked up a meat cleaver with his free hand and said, Meat for the master, scraps for the prisoners. And with that he raised the cleaver

above his head, gearing up for the mother-of-all swings downward. I was able to get both feet hooked under the towel rack, and the voice in my head said, Come on, Erica, you didn't do all that strength training for nothing. As the cleaver came down, I pulled my legs up to my core for all I was worth. I could hear the sound closely resembling paper being cut.

The pressure of my hair being pulled was gone, almost instant relief, had to act fast. I rolled off the table and sprung to my feet. Whether it was real or fake, I wanted a weapon. It could be a knife, a meat hammer, anything. All the cutlery was on the opposite side of the table, which I'd rolled away from in order to get away from whatever that hellish thing is. He was standing next to all the knives now. I saw the meek lever stuck into the cutting board where only seconds ago my head once laid. Long trails of red hair, mum, red hair was strewn about on the table.

My hand landed on my camera, and the lanyard still around my neck. I took the camera and started swinging it around like I was some half-ass cowgirl in my first rodeo. I got three fast rotations around my head and yelled, Eat this! And I smashed the camera right into the side of his pig mask, which caused him to stumble backward. His foot came down on the remains of the rat's guts, and he fell backwards. He must have hit the power button in his fall,

because the meat grinder that was bolted to the kitchen counter growled to life, which was followed by the sound of meat getting shredded. I gasped, knowing that I was sentenced to 103-octane nightmare fuel as this person's left hand was slowly sucked into the me grinder. It pulled him in, first the fingers, then the hand, followed by the forearm. The grinding of meat and bones froze. me. This thing showed no emotion, no pain, no panic. He just kept trying to pull his arm free, which was slowly turned to ground hamburger meat. He looked down and saw that he was still holding

the meat clover in his other hand. He violently hacked away at his left arm in an attempt to cut it off before he was completely ground to meat. He cut into his own flesh, the cleaver chipped away at the bone. Using his own weight, he dropped down to the ground. The angle at which his arm was bent caused the bone to break right above the elbow in a disturbing crack. Tendons and meat hung loosely from the stub of his left arm. Every bead of this thing's heart pumped more of his blood onto the floor. The sharp bone that broke unevenly protruded from its mangled end. It managed to take three steps forward toward me before falling to the ground.

I stood there frozen for what seemed like forever. My mind was racing as I fumbled to get my father. phone, but almost dropped it. My camera lay in pieces on the floor and was covered in blood. I called 911. 911, what's the address of your emergency? The dispatcher asked in a car voice. Um, yeah, it's...

I reached into my pocket for the letter and read off the address. Okay, thank you, and what happened? asked the dispatcher. Well, you see, I was attacked by one of the actors. of the haunted house and um yeah there was an accident you need to send hell right away i fumbled okay we're sending paramedics out to your location thank you so much please get here fast and that's when the dispatcher's voice changed she said the next word slowly you dumb bitch what what do you just say I asked in a shot tone.

Why did you murder the butcher, Erica? That's not very nice to murder people. But, no, it was an accident. It was self-defense. I stammered as I began to cry. A cackling laugh erupted from the phone. You just don't get it. No one's coming to help you.

You were in hell and you're going to die down here like the rest of us. And then the line went dead. I paced back and forth in the kitchen for some time, trying to figure everything out. I tried the door to go back to the ballroom, but it was locked. What did the bride say to me? The only way through is to go forward. There was a door leading elsewhere deeper into the house. I was reluctant to go, though.

I looked down at my cell phone. Full bars. I laughed to myself and thought, full coverage in hell. In most horror stories, there is no soul. phone service. I looked at my phone again. Where it normally says L-T-E or 5G, it was replaced with H-E-L-L. I thought about calling my husband or even my mom, but I didn't know what that would do or if I could actually reach them. I didn't want to risk it. So with much anxiety about the unknown, I pushed open the door leading out of the kitchen and entered a dark servants hallway. It had

narrow wooden walls and a floor and none of the fancy or elegant features. This was just for servants to use. Once the door to the kitchen closed, I tried to open it again, but it wouldn't budge. I let out a deep breath I didn't realize I was holding and started walking. The silence was creepy. The background music and sounds synonymous with haunted houses was just not there. I saw a light coming from a window within a door. I peaked in and a saw what looked like a doctor's examination room. Someone was strapped into a hellish-looking dentist chair. Not seeing anyone other than the person in the chair. I pushed open the door and stood in the doorway so the door couldn't shut. Hello? Anyone there? I called out. The person

in the chair began to frantically wriggle and move. Help me. Anyone? Please, before he comes back, the man pleaded. It sounded like Frank. Frank, is that you? Erica, yeah, Erica, it's me. Can you get me out of here? I ran into the room and let the door close behind me. Frank was sitting in what appeared to be a dentist chair. His head was strapped down so he couldn't move it. His arms were out to his sides like an airplane.

He was locked into what looked like a cheese grater that ran from the shoulder to the wrist of each hand. His legs were in stirrups like he was about to give birth. His pants were on the floor, and a tarp covered him from the pelvis down. "'And what happened to you?' I asked, as I was trying to figure out how to free his arms. "'Well, me and my photographer, that's him over there in the corner. I looked over and saw the top half of a person chained to a wall just hanging there. He was missing everything from the navel down, and his organs were laying in a pile beneath him. Yeah, he and I decided to meet up in the house.

he was the one person before me and he was just going to wait in the next room we met right after the smoking room in a long hallway everything was normal there was a fog machine and jump scares over there you get the idea well the voice told us that everyone had to go alone no buddy system

and we both got a jab in the neck and woke up here Frank is there a key or something to get this open it's locked I don't know. I've only been awake for a few minutes. I'm scared. Please get me out of here. Suddenly, footsteps could be heard echoing down a hallway leading into the door I hadn't opened yet. Just by the sound of the calm, even walk, I could tell this would not end well. God, Frank, I'm so sorry, but I can't get you out of here. I turned to quickly hide in one of the full-length cabinets.

through the slid in the door I could see a figure wearing a black suit he had brown hair and was wearing a skull face mask that covered his face from the cheeks to his hairline but left his mouth and nose exposed with a smooth British accent the voice said

good evening Frank the doctor is in part four the doctor sat down down in a trolley chair grabbed a stethoscope from a drawer and put it around his neck rolling up to frank he put the stethoscope in his ears and pressed it against frank's chest in his smooth voice he said so frank how are the wife and kids oh yeah they're gone he let out a laugh and continued on the lungs sound good not a smoker that's really good now stick out your tongue and say ah

frank kept his mouth shut and the doctor said no no frank do it and i'll give you a lollipop frank remained resolute in his decision the doctor drake the stethoscope around his neck a look of defeat could be seen on the lower half of his face as he rolled himself over to another drawer and let out a sigh he grabbed a chisel used for carving wood and a construction hammer then wheel back over to frank frank's arm was locked in the contraption and had only a little wiggle room to move. The doctor put the chisel on Frank's second knuckle, but every time the doctor was about to hit the chisel, Frank would move, and the chisel would slip, leaving a cut on his finger. Please, Frank, stop making this hard on yourself. The doctor said, as he calmly put the tools down, dug around in the drawer next to the cabinet I was hiding in.

The doctor stopped looking at the drawer, and stared into the cabinet almost right at me. I wasn't sure if he could see me in the dark, of the cabinets. So I held my breath and the doctor went back to digging around for something and began talking. You know what I used to do before I was a doctor, Frank? The doctor looked back at Frank. Not much of a talker, are we? That's okay. Everyone talks to me. The doctor extracted three lush spikes from the drawer. They looked like knitting needles. The doctor leaned over, Frank and said, I was in education. I taught kids for a living, but then found my calling.

In a swift motion, the doctor jabbed the large knitting-nealed in one of the holes in the device, holding the arm in place. He went right through Frank's arm between the ulna and the radius bones. The doctor repeated this twice more, pinning the arm in place, which prevented Frank from moving his arm at all. Frank didn't seem to feel pain at all, but his eyes were wide in terror. "'Ah, yes, you're probably wondering why you're not feeling pain. "'The needles I stabbed you with have a low-grade sedative in them. "'It's something the groundskeeper and I have been working on.' "'Then the doctor calmly picked up the chisel and hammer

"'and placed it against Frank's knuckle. "'With one whack of the hammer, the doctor popped Frank's finger off completely. "'Blood squirted out, causing me to feel lightheaded in my hiding place. "'Frank screamed in pain as the doctor pulled out a tongue depressor and jammed it down Frank's throat. Frank started to gag and gasp for air. The doctor removed the depressor and said, See, was that hard?

No, it wasn't. Don't be a cry, baby. You cut off my finger, you asshole. Frank shouted. The doctor removed a penlight from his jacket pocket and shot it in Frank's eye. Oh, fascinating. No tears, but I have something for that.

the doctor went to a glass cabinet and pulled out a small glass vial and began to speak you see frank when you cut an onion the reason you cry is a smell mixed with the water in your eye which reacts in a way that causes a small amount of acid to be created and your eyes water to flush it out the doctor picked up a pipette and pulled one drop of liquid out of the bottle so let's see what a small amount of concentrated acid will do to your eye well frank screamed and pleaded no no no anything but that please don't please have mercy right before the doctor could drop the acid the body on the wall began to move and groan the doctor turned oh i forgot about you the butcher should have taken you oh frank i'm sorry i'll be right back i need to find someone frank let out a sigh of relief and muttered thank you merciful heaven the doctor spun on his heels and leaned over Frank's face.

Hey, buddy, we don't talk about heaven here. He squeezed the pipette of acid into Frank's eye then and walked out the door with the sound of sizzling and popping as Frank's eye became liquid. I waited a minute or two before I snuck out of the cabinet and out of the doctor's office. These were definitely the most gut-churning minutes of my life. Now in a dark, cold hallway,

I expelled the contents of my stomach onto the stone ground. The horror I witnessed, the sounds I heard, and the screams will stay with me as long as I live. After taking a few moments to regain my composure, I began to move down the dark hallway, lit only by a few flickering torches on the wall. The hallway zigged and zagged, closed and opened, and at some points I had to walk sideways, and other times it got so wide I couldn't see the sides. When I heard calm and steady footsteps accompanied by the whistling of an unfamiliar tune, well I ran

I didn't want to be an acquaintance of whoever or whatever was following me I found a wooden door with an upside down cross on it I pushed it open and ran in as I crossed the threshold I felt something swipe at me a bush of air

grazed the back of my neck I closed the door harder than I should have and it slammed with a loud bang I looked around and noticed I was in a church it was a very gothic dark church church, where you'd see the normal red, purple and white colour you'd associate with the house of worship, well, it was all just black. A group of eight people stood around an altar. One was

wearing a skull-goat mask, and the rest wore robes with hoods that covered their faces. Half-melted candles festooned the area. Everyone at the altar was looking at me. I froze with my back against the door, knowing it wouldn't open, even if I wanted it to. Stay quiet and motionless, not breathing until one by one the figures went back to chanting by the altar. Spill the blood must sacrifice. Spill the blood must sacrifice. I was writing all over the walls in this place of worship. It was like it was written in some sort of bodily fluid or maybe a solid. I honestly didn't want to think too much about it.

Okay, stay quiet. Sound draws them. I was thinking as I began to tiptoe my way towards the big double doors at the end of the room wooden pews with black cloth were lying all over the place as a painfully slow walk back and when suddenly a hand reached out for under a pew and grabbed my ankle

I let out a squeak and the chanting stopped one of the hooded figures turned towards me and I could see the face was messed up he had no eyes but two mouths one in its normal spot under the nose and the other on the forehead both of the witch had a set of razor-sharp teeth the mouth on top was chanting

Spell the blood must sacrifice I slowly looked down to see a man with one leg mangled lying on the ground he looked up at me and mouthed pull me no I mouthed back and slipped out of my shoes

I took two quick steps away and this caused everyone at the altar to stop chanting a look in my direction, trying to figure out my location. I was holding my breath, trying not to make a sound. My lungs were burning and my mind was screaming in my skull. Hey, you did, you need to breathe, or I'll make you breathe. Just as my lungs were about to explode, they turned around. I slowly let out air in little sips until the pressure in my lungs went down.

The first step I took with no shoes on, I realized that the carpet was wet. Now that my sock had become wet, I was in a new level of hell with that alone. I bent to slowly, and I mean agonizingly slowly, made my way to the doors that would lead to my salvation from this room into another. I was just a few steps away from freedom when something whizzed past my head and smashed into the table next to me. This caused the candles on top to hit the floor and the creatures to stop chanting.

I looked down and saw that it was my shoe I snapped my head up and over to see the guy with a mangled leg he managed to get himself in a sitting position in one of the pews just then the creatures rushed at me screaming and screeching so loudly that it was painful they were on me so fast that I had no time to run the final foot or so to the door I reached for something anything my hand could grab and found a candelabra I swung for the fences and connected with

one of the abominations with a satisfying crunch to its arm. The other six surrounded and swarmed all over me. They grabbed my legs and arms. The arm with the candelabra remained free, and I was swinging it wildly without hitting anything. Then the chanting resumed. Spill the blood must sacrifice. Spill the blood must sacrifice.

Faster and faster the chanting went as I was being carried to the altar to be sacrificed. the one with the goat-mask blew into an Aztec death-wistle, the sound of which caused me to go into full panic mode. I bucked, squirmed, and kicked, trying to break free from these creatures restraining me. Right before I got to the altar, I saw the guy sitting in the pew with a smirk on his face like he'd won. Well, if I was going out, I wanted to give this as a going-away gift,

so with all the strength I could muster, I chucked the candle-ar at him, and it hit him square in his smug face. In my mind, I was thinking, hell yet, two points. All of a sudden I was in free fall. I hit the ground with a loud thud, and the wind was knocked out of me. I was gasping for air when the creatures surrounded me started to chant. Blood has been spilled. They must be sacrificed. Blood has been spilled. They must be sacrificed. I looked up when the guy sitting in the pew had a very wicked nosebleed.

Wait, what? No, no, no, no, wait. The man screamed as they picked him up and carried him over to the altar. I sat up and walked over to the door. At this point the creatures had no interest in me. I opened the doors, flipped this room the bird, and walked out. My hopes were dashed and my legs gave out as I collapsed back into the starting room. The skeleton was still hanging from the rafters. The night's lances were still blocking the door.

Just because I could, though, I tried to open the main doors to the outside. They were locked. The doors to the left was locked. Of course, I was already there, I thought, and I went to the right side of the main stairs and tried those doors and opened them. I stood in the doorway, holding them open, shocked by what I saw.

It was the grand hall. All the food was on the ground, as well as what looked like a fresh body missing an arm, and entrails hanging out as the rats greedily fed upon them. The butcher was on top of the table, laying on his back as the doctor was sewing up a new arm on him the dungeon master was assisting the doctor mostly trying to keep the rats from eating out of the open wound that was being sewn shut the dungeon master looked up his eyes growing wide in excitement and said oh frulein you are back

he turned to the doctor doctor i can finish up here don't you go get her young ah with pleasure dm replied the doctor as he stood at the doctor as he stood up. He started walking towards me and pulled out a scalpel. I'm going to cut a hole and I'm going to make it wide. Wait, doctor, the dungeon master shouted. The doctor stopped and lifted one finger in my direction to say, wait a moment, and turned towards the dungeon master. What is it, dear, I'm kind of in the middle of something, as he gestured towards me. I was frozen. My flight or fight response had been burned out after everything I'd encountered so far,

and a small part of me was completely fascinated by the fact that two demons were actually arguing over something. Please don't cut this one. I vaunt her as my apprentice in Dost's dungeon. In anger, the doctor threw the scalpel behind him. It slid along the floor to my feet, and I picked it up as a weapon. The doctor pulled out a syringe with a green glowing, glowing lulling. liquid in size. Ah, fine, but you owe me one.

Oh, sure, sure. Then World War III happens. I'll make sure we are on the same sides this time. Now, get dust for a light. The doctor looked at me, with a sly grin. Come here. Time for your medicine. I took one step back and let the door close.

I turned and ran up the stairs, bolted to the left, and ran down a long hallway. I picked a door at random and ducked inside. Part 5. It turned out to be the master bedroom, which consisted of valuable hardwood floors, hand-carved windowsills, and a stone fireplace,

with a stone chimney going all the way up to the 11-foot high ceiling. It was a king-sized bed against one of the walls. A person sat on the bed crying. I held up the scampal and croaked out, are you real the man turned to me as he was crying blood accompanied by a thousand-yard stare he spoke in a soft voice that of someone who's been mentally broken yeah i am i was with a group of reporters and the same as you oh my gosh what happened to you i asked in a sympathetic tone

the doctor got me jab me with this blue liquid i started seeing things He caught it his good night cocktail Every time I close my eyes And every time I blink I see things Things I know are not true Replaying over and over again My wife cheating on me

My house on fire with my kids Slaping the window trying to get out While they're burning alive screaming That it's my fault Oh my dog viciously attacking me When I bend down to pet him Oh and so much more I can't get it to stop

I try cutting my eyelids off With this kid's safety scissors I found But it didn't help nothing does to my shock his eyelids were mangled one was missing half the lid the other was hanging on only by a thin strip of skin when he blinked his eye squirted blood and he cried out in pain what about the windows can we open it or try to smash it out i asked frantically as i dashed over to the window and tried to open it no you can't i tried hey how do you think i broke the scissors that window was bulletproof or something couldn't even get the glass to chip. A man looked down and his eyes rested on the scalpel I was holding. His voice changed from one of sadness to anger. Hey, give me the knife, he growled.

I spun around. No, no, you find your own weapon, I said, as he stood up and I noticed that he had a very intimidating figure. I said, give me the knife, lady. Or I'd use it on you and then go myself. So give it to me. I took a few monstrous steps towards me. I held the scalpel in both hands with the blade pointed at him.

The little blade was sharp, but I felt it wouldn't do much to stop this man. Stay back. I'm warning you. As I backed away, I did my best to keep the shakiness out of my voice, but I failed miserably. Last chance to put it down and walk away before I put you down. So I put the scalpel down on the dresser with shaking hands and backed further away. He calmly walked over and picked it up. He looked at me, relieved, as he nodded to something behind me. The door to get out of this room's behind you.

He said this in a calm tone, as if he just made peace with everything. Not wanting to take my eyes off him, I walked backwards until my back hit the door. I reached behind me for a door handle and panicked a little when I couldn't find it. Then my hand brushed against something smooth. I turned the handle and walked in. The last thing I saw as I closed the door was the man's long shadows on the wall. He plunged something into his forearm near his wrist and pulled it all the way to his elbow. I pressed my head against the door and slowly turned, not one to see what new horror awaited me.

To my surprise, it was a bathroom. Not a dirty, disheveled bathroom as one would expect to see either. And this bathroom was spotless. Clean white stone floors, a whirlpool tub, and a toilet with gold trim. There was a sea-foam green countertop with two sinks. The washer and dryer were hidden in the corner. This room was an oasis in an endless desert. I checked every cabinet, a shelf, nook and cranny.

It was all normal. I took my shoe off, put my wet sock in the dryer and turned it on. Fifteen minutes later, I had a warm, dry sock. I just finished up doing my business and was washing my hands when the lights flickered. oh no no no i groaned a wet black rope of hair that smelled like sewer snaked its way out of the sink drain and shot towards my face i was able to dive out of the way just in time it then retreated back into the sink drain the smell of copper became noticeable very quickly blood thick and sticky began to overflow out of the sink and onto the floor the whirlpool tub turned on producing red foam as the bathtub began to to churn the blood. It reminded me of the world's biggest bowl of tomato soup. A loud bang got my attention as the door for both the washer and dryer blew off their hinges and slammed into the wall. Large amounts of blood were coming out of the washer and dryer now,

and it was flowing with the same amount of force as jets at the top of a water slide. The room quickly began to fill. It was over the tops of my shoes and then up to my knees. By the time I made it to the door leading out, it was up to my waist, and then my chest. It was like being in a hot shower. The door wouldn't open. The pressure from the blood was holding the door shut. In an instant, it was up to my chin, and I was treading blood trying to stay afloat. My head now bummed the ceiling. I took my last gulps of air, we felt slipping below the surface. I couldn't see more than a foot in front of me. Everything was red and warm. I had a groan and a loud crack, and was suddenly sucked out of the room

and out into the hallway. The door lost its battle with the rising pressure in the room and broke into two. I came to a stop sitting on the floor with my legs out in front of me. I began gasping for air and I started to laugh uncontrollably. It was a crazy person's laugh. This went on for a while until the last of my giggles left and my sanity slowly returned. I stood up and thought to myself, gee, talk about high blood pressure.

I was still dripping in blood as I made. made my way to the end of the hallway, where a single door stood. I took a deep breath, opened the door, and walked in. It was a child's room. Toys and games were all over the floor. The voice of a small girl called out to me. Do you want to be my new mommy? I looked up to see a young girl, maybe six years old. She was swinging from a swing attached to the ceiling. Something was off about the swing, but I couldn't tell from this, distance what it was. The child spoke again.

Play with me forever and ever, and never have a bedtime. Oh, listen, I'm just trying to get out of here. It's a tempting offer, but I'm going to have to say no. Well, this angered the little girl. You know what happened to the last person who didn't want to be my daddy and play with me forever? I turned him into this swing,

and now he has to play with me. She began to laugh, and with every passing second her voice became deeper and scarier she leapt from the swing and stuck to the wall crawling like a cockroach the swing fell down in front of me to my disbelief it was made out of human skin and bones and the skin was stretched tightly to use as a rope and the bones as the seat the little girl said i'll make you into a slide or maybe a new table for tea parties i ran to the next door but before i could open it, the girl appeared upside down in front of the door, giggling. You can't leave yet. After the day I'd had, I was getting sick of all this. I twisted at the waist and gave the hardest punch I could throw right at the side of her head.

She went flying to the ground and began to sob in pain. Why did you hit me? She said in her little kid voice. For a split second, I felt bad and panicked. Did I really just punch a kid in the face? Then I remembered that this was hell. I blew air out of my nose, opened the door and said, You'll be fine, you're not even a real child.

Her demon voice came out screaming, and she lunged at me. Her nails now turned into sharp daggers. I'll kill you. I slammed the door in her face, and was rewarded with a loud thud as she smacked into the other side. This newfound badassness, I began walking down the hallway with my head held high. that is until I reached the library The next door I tried

led me into the library It was darkly lit With oil lamps on the wall There was a lantern sitting on the table I took the lantern And began to walk down rows upon rows of books I held the lantern And started looking at the titles

Jeff the Killer Slender Man, Russian sleep experiment And the Lord of the Feast To name just a few I heard a familiar voice coming from a different part of the room. I put my head slowly around the corner of the book-chief and saw the doctor sitting in a very old, comfy-looking chair.

His half-scull mask reflected the glow of the fire in the fireplace next to him. An old tape recorder was going. It was the kind of the big tape reels on both sides. An old radio microphone sat next to him on a small table. The doctor had a book in his hands. I couldn't make out the title. The doctor said

But until the next time My dear friends Have very very sweet dreams And bye-bye He had a button on the tape recorder gingerly Set the book down Turns towards me and says Well well well

Miss Erica is it You've course quite a little ruckus down here Haven't you And all the courage I gained Instantly drained from me I took off running as fast as I could I turned back to see him rise from his chair and slowly walk towards me. His voice echoed off the walls.

Ah, Miss Erica, this chamber has no windows and no doors, so I offer you this challenge to find a way out. I thought to myself, Is this guy really quoting the haunted mansion? Come on, be a tad bit more original. I turned a corner, and the doctor appeared in front of me. He smoothly pulled out his syringe with the green liquid. inside. Ah, you see, darling, the devil might run hell, but this room is mine. I know all the

ins and outs. Now, be a good girl and take your shot. He lunged at me trying to drive the long needle home into my soft flesh. I grabbed his wrist with the syringe in it and forced the needle away from me and grabbed his other arm. We were out of deadlock. With my adrenaline pumping, I was able to keep him at bay when I was starting to time. fire. Now, now, the dungeon master wants you to take your medicine, the doctor said as we struggle back and forth. I shouted at him. I don't have insurance. I cocked my head back and landed an almost perfect headbut right into the doctor's nose. The doctor dropped his syringe and staggered back in pain. I picked it up. It was ice cold. I slammed the heavy gauge needle into the doctor's

thigh and he looked down in surprise. Hey, what the, was all he was able to get out as I depressed the plunger. The doctor instantly clasped to the ground. I tried to stand, but it was difficult. It was like my legs weren't understanding what I wanted them to do. I remembered what my husband had told me once. I had but a knife fighter the same. No arm wins. It's just different degrees of losing. I fell to the ground. As I lay there, I looked up and saw a string hanging down from the ceiling. When I was finally able to stand, I searched the doctor's pockets to try and find anything useful.

Unfortunately, there was nothing. Pulling over a chair, I was just able to reach the string. I reached up and gave it a solid pull. The square formed in the ceiling. And the square part of the ceiling swung down and a ladder unfolded all the way to the ground. I let the ladder sit there, not wanting to climb it into the attic. I looked around but it was just as the doctor said

no doors to open with a deep breath and much trepidation I began climbing up into the attic as it got closer to the top the sound of a slowly thudding heartbeat was getting louder and louder dust and cobwebs were everywhere and a single light bulb hung in the middle

of the room once inside the attic door retracted automatically and closed with a loud bang it was cold and everything in the room was uneasy. I found a mannequin on the ground with a hangman's noose around its neck. Dump, cardboard boxes were pushed up against the wall, full of paper, nothing useful at all. The single hanging light bulb began to slowly swing back and forth, though no air movement was noticeable. At the far end, there was an open window. It was small but just big enough for someone

to get out. Freedom, I thought. I looked down and saw that I was three store. I was three stories up, and then I had an idea. I grabbed the noose and tied one end to the rafter and tossed the rest out of the window. I did some quick mouth and determined it would still be a two-story drop even if I was hanging from the end of the rope. I rested my back against the wall, I just cried. Freedom was right there, but I didn't want to risk the fall. I could break a leg or an ankle and then have to crawl my way to the parking lot. And then the idea came to me. I thought of the skeleton hanging from the main room. I went over to the mannequin, grabbed him,

and slowly but surely dragged him over to the window. He was surprisingly heavy for a mannequin. I pulled the rope up and put the news back around the mannequin's neck. I started to lift him out of the window when I felt a bulge in his pants. Good sir, are you happy to see me? I said out loud with a laugh. I reached into the mannequin's pocket and found a wallet. No driver's license or bank cards, but it did have $200 in cash, which I took.

Oh, thanks, buddy. I'm going to need this for therapy. It's expensive. With that, I gave the mannequin one big push out of the window. I had a sickening, wet snap. I looked, thinking that the rope had broken, but everything looked normal. I sat on the window's edge, grabbing the rope and slowly stood down it. I got to the mannequin, and put my feet on his shoulders. I started with my half-assed attempt at shimmying down him. His shoulders were squishy, but I began to crawl down the mannequin. He was very soft and cold, nothing like he'd been before.

Then we got face to face. I looked, and in my shock I almost lost my grip. He was a real person. His eyes had maggots eating them away, and his hair lulled from side to side. I was frozen, looking at the face of this man. This man I'd just killed by hanging him. No, no, I thought, this is just the house playing tricks on you. All right, keep going.

Thankfully, I was able to hang on to his ankles, and from there it was only a four-foot drop. I looked up at the house as it started to rain. Oh, screw you, I screamed, and flipped it at the bird. I started walking into the woods then, trying to get back to my car. I felt like I wore for hours with no progress. I was cold, soaked to the bone, on the verge of collapse, when I saw a warm glow from a small house attached to a greenhouse. As I approached the door, it opened, and an old woman came out.

Part six. Oh, my goodness, she said. Oh, dear, come in, come in. You must be freezing. Where did a little thing like you come from? She wrapped a warm blanket around me. My teeth were chattering. "'The devil's house,' I replied.

I was whisked inside by her strong arms, which gave me a little push. The door closed, and she locked it behind her. "'Oh, you poor little thing. I'll put some tea on to warm you up.' As the old woman went off into the kitchen, I looked around the small, warm room. Someone who was wrong. It was definitely something I could not put my finger on, but, well, it all seemed off-putting. "'Do you need any help there?' I asked, trying to be plight.

Before I could open the kitchen door, the old lady appeared and said, "'Oh, no, no, no, the tea's already done.' She handed me the tea, which smelled wonderful. "'Now, drink up, dear,' said the old woman, and she stared at me. "'Oh, um, I think I'll let it cool,' I said, as I brought the tea back to my chair and set it on the small table next to me. a few seconds passed and the old lady quite insistently said drink up don't let the tea go too cold now i put the cup of tea to my face out of the corner of my eye i could see the old lady watching me her smile curled up just enough that it was off-putting i put the tea back down and asked so how long have you lived out in the woods her left eye twitched and her smile faltered. She immediately came back with,

Oh, well, my whole life, it's just me and my plants. Oh, I do insist you drink your tea now. I don't want you catching a cold. My mind started to race. Plants. Hmm, plants. Didn't the doctor mention something about a groundskeeper? Well, thanks for your hospitality, but I'm actually going to get my car. It's in the parking lot, and I just want to get home. Well, as I stood up with frail old woman, jumped from her seat surprisingly fast her voice changed from that of a sweet old woman to one of a

demonic person every word she spoke was dripping with hatred you can't leave red dear you have to drink your tea and she ran at me screaming i bolted into the kitchen where i saw a teapot on the stove and crushed plants next to it and the room was cramped and i almost tripped over the table I raced to the hallway, took a right, and ended up in a massive greenhouse. I was running down rows of plants, trees and all sorts of greenery. I saw a man posed in an awkward position with flowers growing out of his finger and a tree growing out of his mouth, his face filled with pain. I passed waist-high tables covered with pots of soil.

Each pot consisted of wiggling hands and feet. Venus flytraps the size of a car were taking huge chunks out of a car, cow that was hanging from the ceiling. There was a chemist station where plants drip their contents into beakers and test tubes. A sharp pain shot from my calf when I hit the ground. I looked back to see a massive vine wrapped around my leg.

I tried to pull it away, but the vine held tight. The sound echoed off the glass at the greenhouse. The old lady walked around from the corner holding a wicked-looking set of gardening shears. I panicked with each step that brought her closer to me. My eyes darted around, looking for anything I could use. My eyes caught sight of a rusty, half-broken, handheld trowel underneath the greenhouse table.

I held it up, and the old lady cackled at me. What are you going to do with that? Make a sand castle. I raised the trowel above my head and brought the sharp edge down onto the vine, cutting into it deeply. A clearish liquid ooze from it. the cut. The old lady let out a scream and I brought the trowel down

on the vine again and again, furiously trying to cut through it. And then, I was free. I hoped to my feet and took off running. The old lady was right on my heels screaming at me. I'll kill you. You hurt my precious babies.

I reached the door just as she put her hands on me and pulled me back inside the greenhouse. I saw red and screamed like a cornered animal. I charged at the old lady and swung that trowl at her like it was going for a home run. It connected, and I could feel her old leathery skin cut apart like Christmas paper with a new pair of scissors. The old lady took a step back, more in surprise than anything, and then laughed at me.

You think that'll hurt me. She was cut off mid-sentence, and she saw the clearish liquid from when I cut the plant dripped from my improvised weapon. in horror she dropped her shears took a few steps back and looked at the cut on her arm oh no no no no she ran off in a way like her life was on the line knocking plants off tables she was like a possessed woman as she made her way out of the greenhouse her open the door to leave without a second thought i yelled get bent lady and walked out to the cool fall air i walked for a few minutes and had to rest I had shortness of breath and was starting to cough. The pain in my leg was back. I looked down to see part of the pulsating vine still attached to it. When I bent down to pull it off, I noticed it had several spiked prongs

that had dug into the meaty part of my calf. I let out a cry of pain as I carefully pulled the remaining part of the vine off my leg. I could see the same clearish liquid lightly flowing out of the wound. Oh shit, that's probably not good. I continued walking, well aware of my worsening symptoms. My temperature had begun to rise. I was sweating as if I'd just run a marathon, and I was beginning to stagger. My vision went blurry, and at one point I dropped my trowel, though I can't remember doing so.

I saw a small building that resembled a utility shed. I figured if it was going to pass out or die, might as well be inside. I pushed open the double doors with a last of my strength. It was dark inside I took one step in and fell down a set of steps I hit the bottom of the steps and rolled a little It was dark

With just a few religious-looking candles lighting it My head was swimming from the poison in my veins And from the fall I was sitting down now with my back against a wall I looked like I was in a crypt I could just make out rows of marble squares With names on them then something heavy fell in my lap it was a head a human head with the last of my strength i threw it against the opposite wall where upon impact it shattered what the hell i thought scooting forward on my butt

i turned to look at the wall where there were four more heads no they were marble busts and underneath there were words carved start to shriek and harmonize grim, grinning ghosts come out too. It was the last thing I read before I blacked out. I awoke in a dark tunnel with someone dragging me. My head was bouncing off the uneven surface. I tried to call out, but my mouth was dry, so I groan loudly. The man carrying me by the leg stopped and looked at me.

Oh, good, you're awake. But I need you asleep yet. Night-night-time. He swung a large, steep. dick which made contact with my head, knocking me out. I awoke some time later. Not sure how much time had passed, but I couldn't move my arms or legs. My one leg was swollen from where the vine had been wrapped around it.

I could hear banging all around me, and knew that other people were trapped just like me. The sound of a sore turning on could be heard, followed by a blood, curdling scream. I tried to move, but with the poison still in my body, I could just barely wiggle my fingers. just then a small door opened by my feet bright white light flooded the small space I was in it was so bright it hurt my eyes I was pulled out of my small room and placed onto a cart I was still lying on my back while I was wheeled into a room with three tables

two other bodies were occupying these tables I was able to look around but not much it was just enough to notice bottles of embalming fluid and formaldehyde at my feet across the room was a cremator the man wearing an apron was wheeling one person from the table and putting him in the cremator he closed the door locked it and turned the machine on within seconds the person inside started screaming i could see him kicking at the glass his skin burning and sticking to the small window all of a sudden he went quiet the mortician sipped on a drink and said time to get a fresh one from the back. You two don't go anywhere now. As he left a room, I heard a, pst. I used all my strength to turn my head to the side and look at the person strapped down at the table next to me. Hey, you, you're not strapped down. Can you move? No, I can't. I got poisoned or something

from a plant. I can kind of wig on my fingers, though. Just then, we could hear footsteps returning from the back room. Hey, I'm Paul, look, just stay still and be quiet. We'll figure a way out of this. The mortician came through the door with another body on the cart and placed it on the empty table next to me. The autopsy began. He cut out organs, cutting away chunks of flesh like it was roast beef at a cutting station. The wet smack of this person's liver hit the floor, followed by an, oops, that might have been important. Then, then, then, was a scream of this person waking up halfway through his own autopsy. The sickening, slurping sound could be heard as blood was pumped out of his body and right

onto the ground. The k-k-k-k-k-k-k-k of a staple gun being shot into flesh was the sound that followed. The door swung open, and a hulking figure stood in the doorway. Meat for the master, its voice booms. Hey, the meat's over there, the mortician said, waving his arms over to a blood-soaked basket. The butcher, now with two different coloured skinned arms, stopped and looked at me. He walked over and started to sniff my hair in my neck. I could feel his skin touching me. Get your meat and get out of here. She isn't ready yet. The look of hatred burned through the

butcher's eyes as he picked up the wet basket of human organs and left, never breaking eye contact with me. The mortician turned to look at me and said, sorry he tends to get curious sometimes he's like a new puppy but don't worry you're next and with that he left the room stay can you move yet paul asked yeah man it takes a lot of effort but i can do this i lifted one arm up in the air and held it for a few seconds before letting it drop on the table with a thought can you reach the release button for my strap paul asked i can try I said as I strained and pulled to reach. We could hear the footsteps of the mortician's shoes on the concrete floor. I strained and wiggled. I was a few inches from the button.

I was trying to press it without falling off the table. My legs weren't fully functioning yet. Just at the very last second I was able to click the button on the side of poor straps and release him. Well, I was able to release the top strap anyway. I just got back into position as the mortician walked right up to me. He leaned in and said, All right, since you're still paralyzed, I'll be doing this autopsy without any anesthesia.

You can't risk you going into shock. He was about to cut into my flesh. When a loud, boom, rang out. The mortician's eyes went out of focus. There was another loud, boom. Paul was standing over the mortician with a rubber mallet. Paul picked up the body, put it on the cart. and wheeled the mortician over to the cremator and turned it on.

Paul, what are you doing? I asked. Erica, I've seen too many horror movies. I'm burning the body. Paul took the key off the mortician, unlocked the crematory door, and threw the body in with all the grace of a drunk person building a house of cards. It then closed and locked the door. Okay, we can go now. just then screams erupted from behind

the mortician's face was pressed against the glass window hair and ears completely burned away a muffled you think you can kill me came from the cremator with three powerful punches the glass cracked and shattered the mortician began to pull himself out his charred and burnt skin cut down to the bone

and there were shards of red-hot glass that remained in his frame he crawled completely out and before anyone could react he'd pick me up by the neck I struggled to breathe the mortician said something but with his lips and part of his cheeks burned off all that came out were unintelligible words

accompanied with a perpetual smile that was burned into his face I grabbed his arms and pulled but all I managed to do was have his burnt skin slide down to his elbow Paul ran up and jabbed a long needle into the mortician's chest Well, the mortician paid little attention to this, and with a free hand he pushed Paul down to the ground.

But the needle had a hose hooked up to it. With a flip of a switch, a small pump word to life, and the mortician's blood began to pump out and onto the floor. Within seconds, the mortician had clapsed to the ground as a wet sucking sound continued. Paul helped me off the ground and said, Yeah, now we can go. We exited the funeral home and found ourselves outside in a cemetery. This was the same cemetery we'd passed to get to the house. After a few minutes of walking, we ended up in the opening in the woods.

The fire in the centre was still burning. We started walking down the path towards the parking lot. It's over. It's finally over, I thought. Suddenly, out of the darkness, we heard the growl of a chainsaw, and it was close. I took off running with Paul right behind me He didn't need to be told to do the same Well the sound of the saw grew closer As we ran to the last bend in the path

I could see the parking lot I ran through the gates and into the parking lot gasping for air And I looked back to see Paul just standing there He was only a few yards from the gate And then I noticed the chainsaw sticking out through his chest The blades were still spinning And throwing blood and bits of bone everywhere

The chainsaw pulled out, and Paul slumped to the ground. The demon with the chainsaw looked at me, and then turned to walk back into the woods. A slow clap began behind me, and I spun to see Lucy standing there in his suit. I could hear the sound of a church bell ringing in the distance. Well, well, well, Erica, you survived the devil's house. Congratulations. What is your wish? Lucy asked. "'My, wish?' I stammered. "'Why, yes, child, don't you remember?

"'I said at the beginning that the first person who gets out "'will be granted one wish. "'So what'll it be? Money? Fame, power.' "'I wish, I wish,' I said and pointed to the Victorian manor on the hill. "'I wish that this place would burn to the ground and never exist.' Lucy looked taking aback you sure you can wish for anything you want dead relative back to always win the lottery even to stop world hunger you're really sure i replied without a doubt burn that mother down to the ground lucy let out a sigh mumbled something about do you know how long it took me to make this place to punish humans with a snap of his fingers there was a loud wush followed by a massive gust of wind that almost knocked me over and

he was so intense that the hair on my neck felt singed i looked back at the forest down the house everything around it was engulfed in flames lucy took off his hat even in two small horns protruding from his head he then bowed down to me and said until next time erika and they took my hand and kissed it there was no tingly surge this time I got into my car and drove down the road as the manor burned behind me I drove in silence for a few moments and then looked at my phone

LTE was back I tried the radio but only got static I clicked scan and managed to pick up one channel it came in with heavy static but it was able to make out this is Evelyn from 104.6 FM have a safe night and be careful out there

Epilogue I arrived home with the sun already far below the horizon I was greeted by the sound of happy barking from my two Pembroke-W Welsh corgis The youngest of the two is only six months old He was so excited to see me that he emptied his bladder right there in the kitchen as I walked in I cleaned up the mess, let the dogs out, fed them, gave them lots of tummy rubs I took some time to shower and clean up the best I could. I started dinner, spaghetti and breadsticks, when I heard the garage door open and clothes.

My husband walked through the door, looking absolutely exhausted. He looked at me and smiled. Hey, do you do something with your hair? he asked. I absent mightily touched my hair, forgetting it was cut down to shoulder length. Yeah, I just got a trim. I laughed I noticed he wasn't wearing his work vest Hey babe, what happened to your vest?

Oh yeah, I lost it in an underground lake It was kind of a sink or swim situation And he chuckled back at me Well, dinner's ready Spaghetti and breadsticks, one of your favorites We sat down and enjoyed the quiet meal So, how was your day? I asked well i've fought some native american demon monsters in the mind today how about you sounds exciting i replied i think i met the actual devil today we leave a pretty exciting life don't we we both laughed happy to be safe at home

And so once again, we reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small favor of you. Wherever you get your podcast from, please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review as it really helps the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.