Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S6 Ep305: Episode 305: Totally Bizarre Horror Stories

Episode Date: January 6, 2026

Use the promo code SUPERBAD for 10% off all T-shirts! https://dr-creepens-vault.creator-spring.com/listing/the-devil-is-in-the-detail Tonight’s first hellishly terrifying horror story is ‘How to Survive in Hell’, a truly horrific tale by Ratrotted, kindly shared with me via the Creepypasta wiki and read here under the conditions of the CC-BY-SA license:https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/How_to_Survive_in_HellTonight’s second terrifying tale of the strange and macabre is ‘Jason’s Greatest Hit’ by the wonderfully talented Corpse Child, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me narrate it here for you all:u/Corpse_Child/r/DrCreepensVault/comments/wfo7pd/jasons_greatest_hit/Our final terrifying tale of the strange and macabre is both parts of ‘Night of the knuckle biters’ by the wonderfully talented Corpse Child, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me narrate it here for you all:u/Corpse_Child/r/DrCreepensVault/comments/xyjbzz/night_of_the_knucklebiters_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. Bizarre things scare us because they disrupt our sense of order and predictability. Our brains are wired to look for patterns and when we're. something doesn't fit when it's familiar but wrong, it triggers uncertainty and loss of control. The bizarre lives in that uncomfortable space between the known and the unknown, where we can't easily explain or categorize what we're seeing. That ambiguity forces our imagination to fill in the gaps,

often with worst-case scenarios, making the fear feel personal, intimate and hard to shake, as we shall see in tonight's three stories. Now, as ever before we begin, a word of caution, may contain strong language as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. And let's begin. How to survive in hell? Part 1 I woke up in a birthing sack.

Panicked and choking on amniotic fluid. I clawed at the fleshy walls, fighting with all my terrified strength to free myself. With a wet ripping sound, I was dumped onto the muddy cobbles of the street below, twisting my ankle as I landed. Cold rain blasted my naked body clean of the sacks liquid. I tried and failed to get to my feet. The street was alien to me, an insane medley of architecture ranging from the modern to the prehistoric. The sky above boiled with storm clouds, illuminating my surroundings with non-stop flashes of lightning.

A man walked over to me. His hair was matted with filth, and the rain streaked down his mismatched leather clothes. He said nothing. Just watch me squirm on the floor. Please, I gasped. Help me. He answered by slamming a foot down on my face, breaking my jaw and making my vision real. Moved onto my limbs, stamping and tugging until he heard the bone snap.

Crippled. naked and screaming, there was nothing I could do to defend myself when he started to eat me alive. My introduction to hell wasn't unusual. Very few people survived their first hour, let alone their first night. When they die, they go through the same thing again, emerging from a new birthing sack into another part of the city. Eventually they learn to attack the first person they see, and if they're lucky, they'll be able to kill that person. Well, that's the one rule of hell, the strong take from the weak. Get used to the idea, and you might just make it through the afterlife. I'm going to give you a helping hand. Consider this your handbook to

hell, a primer on the inferno. I'll make no mistake, though. I'm not doing this out of the goodness of my heart. When you die, you'll owe me one. Don't worry about trying to find me, I guarantee we'll run into each other eventually. Eternity is a long, freaking time, so it's a matter of when rather than if. I'll do as I tell you, and you'll have a better chance than most of avoiding my own nasty introduction to the pit.

Welcome to hell. Some people swear they saw a light at the end of the tunnel when they died, or to my mind those people were either hallucinated or they're lying. Most of us just wake up in a birthing sack a few minutes after death. The buildings of hell are covered in the things, horrible yellow-brown pimples growing out of the brick.

I've already mentioned that the first thing you need to do is claw your way out and get ready to fight. This is where the real bitch of this situation comes into play since not everyone has the strength to break through their sack's flesh. You get the body you had just before you died, see? so let's say you were born a cripple or maybe you died too young or too old tough shit you're going to have a rough eternity drowning and birthing fluid over and over if you manage to break free of your sack don't waste time moping around wondering what the fuck happened get on your feet and get ready to defend yourself chances are good that the first person who sees you will be hungry there are no plants or animals in hell so cannon Rehabilism is your only option if you don't fancy starving to death and having to start over.

Yes, aim to kill the first person you see. It might take a few tries. Most of Hell's residents have been fighting for survival a lot longer than you. They might have armour made from tan skin, scavaged metal and bone. It'll also certainly have a shiv, a club or axe. All of that will be useful to you if you can take it from them. The next thing to do is find shelter. It never stops raining in hell, and pneumonia is a shitty way to die.

Well, luckily, you'll have a selection of buildings to choose from. Ever wanted to live in a run-down Victorian manner with half a roof and no furniture? How about an ancient Egyptian mud-brick hovel? If people have built it, you can find a crumbling version of it in hell. Pick a building, kill any squatters you find, and move in. The best houses are the ones that come with a supply of scrap metal and timber. Not only are these good for making weapons with, they are also vital for getting drinkable water.

Well, I learn the hard way that Hell's rain is teeming with disease. It has to be boiled before it's safe, so getting a fire going and something to make a bulb with is a necessity. So, we've killed our first man and found a home. Things are going well. Get that far in York? I don't want to hang on to what you have forever. You won't.

Something will kill you eventually, and you'll have to start over. My record is a year. If you want to beat that, you'll need to understand hell and its denizens. The damned. The people of hell can be grouped into two categories. The first, the fresh meat. These are those who've just climbed out of a birthing set. It's kill or be killed when it comes to fresh meat, always has been.

The newly birthed want clothing and tools, and we'll kill to get hold of them. The second category, the residents, and they view fresh meat as a quick and easy supply of food, leather and bone. Residents have an easier time of it for sure, and all of them will fight to retain their resident status for as long as they can. Make no mistake, though. Residents victimize each other justice. much as they prey on the fresh meats. If you're a woman, for instance, well, you'd better get over any hang-ups you have about rape. Women get raped in hell far more than men, it's just a fact. If you're not one of those bodybuilders or warrior women, do the smart thing and prostitute

yourself for protection. Self-respect doesn't keep your breathing. Now, remember how you get the body you had just before you dies? Well, that fact forms the core of hell's society. The truth of the matter is that throughout history It's usually being men who die in battle That means that in hell There are a lot of young men with strong bodies fit for war

Don't like that Tough Those are the guys who call the shots If you can't fight them You better do as they tell you If you live long enough or fight well enough You might get invited into one of the resident tribes These are groups of people who band together

for the sake of safety in numbers. Believe me, being part of a group makes things a lot easier in hell. However, keep in mind that you're only part of the tribe for as long as you're a resident. Get yourself killed and is back to being fresh meat. Tribes offer the closest thing to civilized society you'll find in how. If you're part of a tribe, you have people on your side who probably won't kill you unless shit gets rough. It doesn't sound like much, but that's about as good as it gets rough. That's about as good as it gets.

My own survival record was, thanks to getting into a tribe. Life was good for a while there. We had about 50 soldiers and plenty of girls to fuck. Nobody could touch us, and the man abided by an honour code. So the usual fear of being stabbed in the back by your friends wasn't too much of an issue. I could have spent my eternity in reasonable comfort, but hell, well, hell has ways of fucking over a good thing.

human flesh and boiled rainwater doesn't exactly make for a balanced diet, and sooner or later even the strongest resident dies of malnutrition. I did well to last a year on it, though the last few months were agony. Well, if I believed in God, I'd swear he designed hell in such a way that nobody stays on top of the food chain for long. The city and the wasteland. most of the damned living dis the city of hell that's where all the fresh meat is born and considering the size of the place coupled with a short life expectancy a lot of people will spend eternity without ever setting foot outside of this i'll take my advice do not leave the city things are rough on the streets that's true but trust me when i say it gets a whole lot worse if you try to leave This is surrounded by a wasteland called Gehenna.

At first glance, it doesn't look like much. Just an empty expanse of grey stretching out into infinity. Sometimes the dam lose that fire in the belly, you know, the will to survive, and set off wandering into Gehenna. Most of them never come back. I made the walk myself once, a long time ago. I don't care how hard you think you are, spend enough time in hell, and it starts to break.

you down. I'm not going to sit here and tell you that I'm a good person who never deserve this. Nobody can say that and not be a liar. I'm not evil, though, or rather I wasn't, until I got to hell. You murder, rape and torture because you know they do the same to you. You're murdered, raped and tortured because they know you'll do the same to them. I give it long enough, and you just don't want to face it anymore, and that's when you take the walk into Gehena. The first couple of miles I walked were nothing special. The rain stopped after a while, the sludge beneath my feet giving way to grey ash, and I caught my first glimpse of hell's sky beyond the clouds. It was a flat grey with a white sun, completely devoid of beauty or warmth.

I trudged on. While walking through Gehenna, I lost any urge to eat, drink or sleep My body started to waste away But I didn't care Even when my skin started to peel away And my bones were exposed I didn't care The further I walked

The hollower I became in mind, body and soul I don't know what would have happened If I kept going Frankly, I don't want to know Some part of me still wanted to live And so I turned back I walked for days Maybe weeks

and yet when I turned around this was only a few steps away I stepped back into the city and my body finally fell apart and when I emerged from my birthing sack I swore never to step foot in Gehena again

escaping from hell there are ways to leave hell perhaps should be obvious otherwise I wouldn't be talking to you would I sometimes the living get it into their heads that they want to talk with the dead. They get their crystals, incense and spirit boards in the hopes of reaching their loved ones. Most do nothing more than trick themselves into thinking they've made contact, and they

smile or cry, convince their beloved granny is playing the harp on a cloud somewhere before getting on with their lives. A few have the skill to actually reach us, though. They can open a gate between hell and the world of the living that we perceive as a pillar of fire stretching down from the clouds. As soon as one of those pillars shows up, the dammed scramble to be the first one to get to it. You haven't seen the true nature of man until you've watched thousands of the dam swarming over each other, kicking, biting and clawing to be the one who escapes. Contacting the dead always results in a bloodbath. Even the most civilized tribes fall apart the instant it becomes clear that only one of them can leave. I have left hell twice now, left my body behind,

that pillar of fire up into the clouds. Some people believe that you can be possessed by demons now. Let me tell you something. Demons aren't real. What the living see is demonic possession is just one of the damned testing out their new body. Let's face it, if you fought your way out of hell to get back to the world of the living, you're not going to be on your best behaviour for long. Sooner or later, we take things too far. Our host dies, or their family cave and recruit an exorcist, and then we're fresh out of the birthing sack and on the streets again. Well, I'm going to go now.

When you get to hell, remember my advice and that you owe me one. Maybe we can form a tribe someday. For the time being, though, I want to see what my new body can do. Part 2. By now you should have a good idea. idea of what you can expect from how you know to kill the first person you see when you fight your way out of a birthing sack you know to find clothing tools and shelter and you know that no matter what you do how well you do some day it's back to being fresh meat this is the biggest city you can

imagine tribes fight and die for territory and taking a wrong turn is a fucking death sentence you're going to feel for where you should and shouldn't go eventually develop the kind of street smarts you need to stay a resident for more than a day. Even so there are places in this that you should know about. Let's do a little sightseeing tour of hell. Maybe the advance warning will do you some good. Skin Street. Allow me to tell you about the first time I saw Skin Street. I dropped out of my birthing sack onto the road, stood straight back up and got myself ready to fight. Nobody was there. Not a single person was out on a street that stretched for miles in either direction.

I relaxed a little and took a look around. Most of the streets in Diss are a labyrinthian network of buildings. You spend most of your stay in hell, paranoid that, just around the corner, there's someone ready to beat you down. Skin Street isn't like that. It's a single straight line with only the rain and the darkness to hamper visibility. I felt more vulnerable there than I felt in any other part of Diss. ever walked into a wide empty space and suddenly felt exposed yeah imagine also being naked unarmed

and in hell still i knew what i was supposed to do the first step was to find some clothing that's where i learned how skinstreet got its name every building every busted street light and gas lamp was decorated with flayed skin i'd been in hell long enough by that point to not be too freaked out but I'd be lying if I said it didn't affect me. In a fuck-up kind of way, it reminded me of Christmas. You know, people hanging wreaths and lights from their houses, that sort of thing. I remember the time I'd spent with my family, with my kids on Christmas morning. Oh, feelings like that get you killed.

So I pushed them back down and pulled some scraps from the nearest building. If somebody was going to leave some clothing material lying about, I might as well take it right. I didn't know it at the time But every step I took on Skin Street Was being watched When the attack came I didn't even get a glimpse of the guy Bang

My skull fractured from an expert swing of a club Whoever hit me went for the eyes The second I hit the floor Stuck his fingers into both the sockets I was blind and crying like a baby When he started to peel my skin away Here's a thing Some people have fucked up even by hell

standards. The loners, serial killers, stalkers and psychos all make their way to Skin Street in the end. Most of the damned use the whole body of a kill, but the Skin Street people they like to take trophies. They leave their ornaments out as bait for the ignorance, skulking in the shadows and waiting for the best moment to ambush. So if you find yourself on Skin Street, you're going to have to think fast. Forget clothing, just grab a rock, a piece of wood or anything else you can use as a weapon. Stay out of the shadows. Keep checking behind you and get out of there as quickly as you can.

Perdition Farms. You're going to be chased in hell. That's unavoidable. At some point you'll stumble into somebody bigger than you, or you'll find yourself outnumbered. Forget about a fair fight. If somebody can take you down without you fighting back, you bet that's what they'll do.

It's easy to lose focus when you're running for your life. You can forget to pay attention to your surroundings. And that, my friend, is a big mistake. The outskirts of perdition farms are littered with billboards. They promise free food and safety to anybody fucking stupid enough to believe them. The tribes that fight over that particular territory like to herd people of the streets and into the industrial complex they call home. Well, the good news is that those tribes,

won't kill you. The bad news is that they're big fans of taking people alive. They've got a project, you see. Been working on it for as long as I can remember. I couldn't tell you who originally decided that hell should have organized food production, only that the idea stuck, and that over the years, countless tribes have taken it upon themselves to try and make that dream a reality.

Get yourself captured by them, and you can look forward to a bit of slave labour. and for the most part the perdition farm tribes try to make use of the birthing pods as a source of food they force their slaves to harvest them from the walls grind them up in industrial vats and mix them with blood body parts rainwater anything else that could conceivably make a bra the life of a slave is short brutal and disgusting particularly when those slaves are used as guinea pigs for the latest concoction You see, amniotic fluid can be drunk if you're desperate, though drinking too much is guaranteed to make you empty your stomach from every available orifice.

The flesh of the sacks is a different matter, though. I couldn't tell you exactly what the birthing sacks are. Some people say their actual flesh, while others swear they're more like a fungus. What I do know is that they repair themselves over time. Eat some of their flesh, and over the next few days you'll grow a new birthing sex. sack inside you. It's a small mercy that you won't live long enough to see it break through your skin. You'll be dead shortly after your stomach bursts. If you're lucky, your days as a slave will end when the tribe decides they want some real meat. They're not stupid enough to test their

broth themselves, not when there's no shortage of slaves in hell. Well, look, I can't force you to stay out of perdition farms. I can only offer advice. In my opinion, if you think you're being herded there, it's better to take whatever's to hand and cut your own throat. I'd take fresh meat status a hundred times before spending another day on those farms.

The Boneyard. So, maybe you're thinking to yourself, hey, I'm the kind of nudge-job who join a cult. Is there anything in hell for me? Well, if that sounds like you, the Boneyard has you covered. You see, there's a certain kind of religious fanatic who really does belong in hell.

I'm not talking about the old dears who bake cakes to raise money for the new church roof here. I'm talking about the guys who went to war because God commanded it, who burned women for supposedly consorting with demons, and who saw nothing wrong with fucking the odd kid. When those people get to hell, they're too thick-headed to make sense of what happened. Why face reality when you can pretend it's all just a test of, faith. They find like-minded folk in the boneyard. I'm told that at one time the bonyard was a cathedral surrounded by a cemetery that stretched from horizon to horizon. Well,

maybe that's true. I don't know. These days, it's a shanty town of temples and churches built from material scavenged from the streets. Everywhere you look, you'll find wild-eyed zealots preaching their own twisted version of redemption and gangs of masked men on the prowl for fresh converts. mortification of the flesh is the main pastime in the bonyards if you listen to the cacophony of sermons you'll be informed of how the flesh is wicked and must be purged of sin how lucky we are to be given such a holy duty how fortunate to be given the opportunity to redeem ourselves before god the people of the bonyard have had a long time and plenty of fricking practice when it comes to mastering torture and degradation. Well, I'm not a good person. I've killed, raped, and cannibalized, but I can

honestly tell you I'd never have been able to dream up some of the shit that goes on in the bone yard. I wandered in there by accident once, and I've never been able to get what I saw out of my brain. I watched a woman naked and bound, forced onto her knees, and violated with iron rods. A preacher sewed his own eyes and lips shut in front of a crowd, before soaring off his manhood with a piece of slate. boy of maybe 14 was publicly crucified. A girl was drowned in shit. An older man had sharpened flint pushed under his fingernails. I could list off a hundred other atrocities done in the name of redemption. So yeah, stay away from the bone yard. People there decided

that hell just isn't ghoulish enough for their liking. Forget about redemption, forget about God. The only way out of hell is by riding a pillar of fire and taking over a living body. focus on that if you want to escape the damned can't offer you salvation the damned only offer pain part three i have to leave you soon for them to make the most of life on earth

I'm afraid I'm going to have to skip town while I've had plenty to keep myself entertained this body just isn't suitable for a run in with the police It's only a matter of time until some nosy neighbour thinks to pick up the phone With the humidity over the last few days Mummy and Daddy are already pretty right Well, it's something you have to understand

Hell is a big place I've given you fair warning about a few of the locations I myself have run into And that'll have to do Even if I wrote a library's worth of novels solely dedicated to mapping out the distinct locations in Diss I still couldn't tell you everything about the city What I can do is give you a bit of information

About some of the damned The Slaughter Man Take a moment to think about all the celebrities you know How many of them do you reckon would do well in dis Not many, I'll wager, perhaps none Fame and fortune on earth Doesn't count for shit when you're dead Very few people are strong enough, mean enough

and downright psychotic enough to earn a reputation in hell. Those few who have what it takes are people you never want to meet. And the slaughterman is one of hell's legends. A huge bearded man with filed teeth, bloodshot eyes and foam on his lips. Rumour has it that the day he first emerged from a birthing sack, he was unlucky enough to land at the feet of a slaver tribe. While those tribesmen chuckled to themselves and ready their clubs and whips, I'm only too happy to take some fresh meat, captive.

Outnumbered dozen to one, naked, unarmed and brand new to hell, most people wouldn't stand a chance. If you believe the stories, the slaughterman shrugged off the clubs battering against him and the whips cutting into his flesh as though they were insect bites. He picked up the first slaver, put his hand into the man's mouth, and pulled his jaw right off his skull. He then moved on to another, then another. tearing them apart with his bare hands until the survivors turned and fled.

Nobody knows for sure who he was in life. I've heard theories, though, the most popular one being that he was the berserker of Stanford Bridge. Supposedly, a single Viking held up the English army single-handed. It didn't matter that he could never win, that he was outnumbered, that his enemies had better weapons and armour. He stood on that bridge and he fought. By the time he was brought down, he killed no less than four. 40 man. I don't know how true any of this is. I've never seen the slaughter man for myself

and I don't fucking want to. What I can tell you for sure is that people don't become legendary in hell without good reason. I guess that the only one who knows the truth is the slaughter man himself and he isn't saying anything. Since the day he arrived in hell, he's only spoken once. The fleeing slavers heard it as the slaughter man tore their tribe apart. Naked, blood and surrounded by corpses, the slaughterman looked up to the storm-wracked sky and bowed a single word. Valhalla! Hell-hounds. How about a little story?

I wasn't new to hell. I'd made myself some clothes in a wooden club, found shelter, had a big slab of meat roasting over a campfire. The only thing I didn't have was a tribe. the area I'd been birthed in seems slummy even for discs all half-clapsed hovels and mud huts iron was scarce, barely enough to make myself a water bowl all in all not a good spot for a tribe well my plan was simple enough

and have a decent meal carve myself a shiv or two in case I lost my club then find somewhere more or less dry to sleep after that I set off to look for a tribe even the mildest tribal initiations result in a few scars on a broken nose, so I wanted to be as well-rested as I could be. Sleep in hell is both vital and dangerous. There's an act of finding somewhere that's simultaneously sheltered, hidden, and with access to an escape route. Even then you never get more than a few hours at a time. In hell, the slightest suspicious noise should scare their

shit out of you. A low-thrody growl definitely counts as a suspicious noise. I leapt out of my impromptu nest of skins and wood, raised my club, and returned the growl with one of my own. A woman had crept into my building and was staring at me with dilated pupils. She looked to be in a bad way, skinny, naked, and covered in weeping sores. Her lips peel back to reveal broken and jagged teeth. It took me all of a second to size her up. She'd been living rough for days or weeks.

judging from her protruding ribs and bloated stomach she was well on her way to dying of starvation so she was weak hungry and she didn't have a weapon I've already eaten I said relaxing a little and giving my club a few practice swings but no sense in letting you go to waste though

I took steps towards her and she bolted she just turned right around and scampered away in a strange animal gait I took off after her, certain that I could outpace her. Even if there wasn't much meat on her, bones can still be useful. I chased her through a few streets, struggling to keep my footing on the muddy ground. When I finally got close enough to swing my club, she stopped dead. The suddenness of it all caught me off guard, and I tripped over her, losing my club as I fell. She howled in triumph, a sound that was echoed by a dozen other throat.

Well, that day I learned two things about the hell-hounds. The people who lose their minds have become little more than beasts after enduring centuries in hell. Firstly, they have the necessary animal cunning to hunt as a pack. Secondly, human teeth and fingernails are perfectly capable of ripping flesh from the bone. The surgeons. Modern doctors rarely thrive in hell. Academia and reliance on.

on technology don't leave you in the best state to endure the endless violence and brutality. There are exceptions, though. The people learn to sew their friends back together amid the machine gunfire of the Somme, shamans, witch doctors, and holy men who endured famine and warfare, survivalists who know how to courtorize their own wounds in the middle of a forest. Now, those are some of the people who might be just strong enough to apply their trade to the damned. After all, working knowledge of basic medicine is just one of those things that's beyond a lot of the meatheads roaming dis. Most of health surgeons find a tribe as soon as they're able. Their tools might be crude, but they soon learn to make do. Flint, slate, and shards

of glass serve as their scalples. They make thread from human hair and needles from slivers of iron. Whenever a member of the tribe has an infected sore, a surgeon will be the one to drain the pus, A tribal surgeon could, well, save your life, but they'll do it without anesthetic. Then there are the freelance surgeons, the people who try to go it alone. They make themselves a uniform, the theory being that the damned will recognize them if they all look alike. It doesn't really work, but, and you can't expect much logic from people who've lost count of how many times they've died. For one thing, fashions change over time. I'm told that freelancers wore headdresses and bone necklaces at one.

one point. The current trend is to mimic Venetian plague doctors by donning a beak mask and wearing a long coat of fire blackened skin. Freelancers are rare, very rare in fact. You'll see thousands of the dam for every freelance surgeon you come across. When you do come across one, be fucking careful. Firstly, surgeons don't get a free pass in hell. And the damned are more likely to attack a freelancer, they are to barter their tools, clothes or slaves in exchange. for his services. You can't be certain if the man in the bird mask and black coat really is a surgeon or somebody who murdered a surgeon and took his clothes.

Perhaps they made the outfit themselves in order to draw the weak and the wounded clothes. Advertising doesn't always work as intended in this. If the freelancer turns out to be genuine, that doesn't give you an excuse to drop your guard though. Freelance surgeons aren't usually the most stable people. put it another way freelancers are usually sadistic fucking psychopaths

sure they might stitch you back together and send you on your way they might also decide it would be more interesting if they stitch you to somebody else they might think paying an arm and a leg for their service should be taken literally they might turn out to be some wannabe

serial killer who's yet defined their way to Skin Street for each freelancer trying to do a tough job in a tougher place there are a dozen or so minglers who want to try out their toys on somebody too injured to fight back. Stick with your tribe surgeon if you're lucky enough to have one. Failing that, learn to patch up your own wounds. Trust me, if you're able to read, you've already got the intellectual advantage over a lot of hell's residents. Universal education is pretty recent.

Freelancers aren't worth the risk. Cambians I'll be honest with you here I don't know if cambians actually exist what I'm going to tell you is something that somebody else told me it's up to you to decide if it's true or not personally I really

fucking hope it isn't people rape one another in hell happens a lot if you're not strong enough it'll happen to you a lot the good news for the ladies out there is that damned men fire blanks you'll almost never be impregnated and i say almost never because if you believe the stories there's an incredibly slim chance that a couple of those little swimmers will be awake and looking for an air just to put this in

perspective we're talking conjoined twins levels of unlikeliness here and that's just conception the chances of a pregnant woman surviving the full nine months in hell are probably conjoined triplets levels of unlikely you're talking about a perfect storm of beating the odds hit but this is eternity a monkey randomly smashing keys on a typewriter will eventually produce the complete works of Shakespeare if it goes at it for eternity

and the result of that perfect storm of those monkeys with their typewriters is a Cambian a child conceived and born in hell I'm not saying they exist, okay. I'm saying I've met somebody who swears it's true and that he's seen a cambian for himself. You see babies in their birthing sacks from time to time. Usually it's just a body.

Occasionally you see one drowning. Most of the damned ignore them. They wouldn't survive a day on the streets, even if you could afford to devote your full attention to them. Better to leave them be. It's only the really fucked up people who cut through the accent. Yeah, I'm not even going to finish that thought. Anyway, I'm getting sidetracked. So, this Cambian, who may or may not have existed, apparently

looked like a normal child. It cried, it shit, and it sucked its mother's tits just like a regular baby wood. The mother was part of a tribe, and they'd been able to protect her throughout her pregnancy. Couldn't tell you why. Curiosity, perhaps. when it was born the whole tribe gathered around to have a look among them was the man who told me this story somebody i'd met years later and would eventually kill this man cut the baby's court and lifted it up to his face every man in the tribe had raped the mother at one point or another and he wanted to see if the child looked anything like him Well, the Cambian looked like a normal child in every way but one. Its eyes were dead, lifeless, like a doll's. Sure, the kid was alive. It wriggled and cried like a normal baby.

Those eyes were wide open, though, not scrunched clothes like a newborn's eye should be. Wide open, empty doll's eyes. If that story is true, I don't blame the tribe for killing the child. Something like that shouldn't exist. right I'm done I have to go and this is the point where people like to have things nicely tied up

a few dragon slain a few maiden saved at the very least you could expect some kind of moral lesson to think of I think that in this case that sort of thing is missing the point there are no dragons to slay no morals to learn we do not live happily ever after there's no grand revelation no clever twist no purpose no redemption no hope there's only eternity among our own kind

before he died the lead singer of a band i was in wrote a song that i'm starting to think is cursed and what's worse i just released it jason's greatest hit by you're corpse child oh god oh god what have i done there's a way to fix this right i can still fix this right okay look whatever happens to you or anyone else i want you all to understand something right now i didn't know okay i didn't know this is what was going to happen i just wanted to pay tribute to my friend. How was I supposed to know this might have had something to do with it? Okay, just breathe. Just breathe. So, um, I used to be in a band. I was the bassist and occasionally played piano on some of our

slower pieces. It was me, Vince, who played the guitar and backup vocals. Ricky, our drummer, Hammerhand, we nicknamed him on account of the way he bangs the absolute shit out of his drum set, which for us somehow works perfectly. Oh, and Jason. Our leader, front man and geek guitarists. Together we were the seraphim. Yeah, cheesy as hell, I know, but that was us. Saviors of symphony. It basically tells you who we were and what we were about.

Basically, our music was the kind that one moment you're listening to something heavy, brutal and gut-twisting, or think bathroom or mayhem. Then the next, in a transition that just somehow works, you're listening to something that's both elegant and heavy at the same time. You're probably thinking, how is that supposed to work, Brad? How can you have that combination sound good? You know what? It's an excellent question.

The excellent answer is, how the fuck should I know? All I can say about it is that, well, it just does. Okay, so that was a bit harsh, but you get the idea right. We were the seraphim, and our music was a combination that seemed weird to most people, including us ourselves believe me but was still loved by those that had heard it i bet you're also wondering why you haven't heard of us before well aside from the fact that i've just spent the last few hours or so trying to wipe any of our other songs from our sound cloud or our youtube pages for good measure we weren't that big for one thing we haven't been around that long we see something else to keep in mind we're all just a bunch of stoned off our assy idiots in college you happen to know or at least we're able to to learn quickly, how to actually play instruments. We never had any big gigs or anything, mostly just performing at carnivals or county fairs.

We always talked, of course, that we make it to perform at big time shows like Woodstock or Michigan Stadium or some shit like that, you know, the big time. And while we had actual goals and hopes for that, a small pilot inside of us all knew that it was probably unlikely. Well, not impossible, but not likely, you know. well all of us that is except for jason for him that was his single life goal the one only thing that he ever seemed to focus on i mean the guy will give less than zero shits about his grades in his glasses circling the drain or even the fact that his girlfriend was sleeping around in him something she all but publicly announced on her snapchat well all of that he could watch burn without saying so much as a single word or so we all thought anyways but

When it came to the band, making it big, he was all business. The man was devoted to the music, to say the least. I remember either me or Vince would constantly hear him either humming a tune we'd not heard before, or even outright singing a whole new set of lyrics. That wasn't all. He'd essentially coach us along, trying to work with each of us to, in his words,

perfect the angel's call. Basically, he had a vision for all of us, and he'd stop at nothing to make sure we all fit that picture. most of the time this turned out to be cool because it allowed us all to get better and pursue something together you know another time so this obsession would drive a bit of tension between the four of us like i said he had a vision and if we didn't fit that vision in some way falling short or just not driven enough at the time he'd sometimes harshly do everything in his power and more to fix that well admittedly me and the others worried about him because of this again we all

love the band and all but especially his time went on and we performed a few times we started to feel like it was never enough that we could never amount to the same level of devotion as him even though we were really trying to his credit jason was talented he wasn't just all talk with his devotion no he could definitely sing and he had some awesome ideas i remember one song we did he had the idea for me and ricky too instead of using our instruments, used the machinery in his dad's old workshop to create a sort of ambience while he and Vince did vocals.

It was weird, yes, and it wasn't one of our more popular tracks, but it was one of my favourites. Like I said, that was us. Weird, different, unique. Fun, at least when we could do something bizarre like that.

Hence the name. Seraphim, as in angels. Beings that couldn't be found. them by mankind, right? Things that couldn't be understood that weren't necessarily meant to be understood like others. I guess I'm trying to say that that's what our music was all about.

Anyway, so we'd played a few small gigs at the time and people seemed to like us well enough. We'd also been trying to submit to a few record labels that either never heard back from any of them or the ones that did get back to us were, quote, unquote, soft passes. This, of course, kind of sucked for all of us, but none more than Jason. We could all see it too,

how it affected him. It started with him constantly having us practice for damn near ten hours a day for several weeks. Every time something got botched, even just by a little bit, or just wasn't what he wanted it to sound like, well, the way he imagined it sounding, he'd push us that much harder and harder.

Over time, he'd start to lash out at us all for it as well. And on the few occasions he wasn't cracking the whip over us, He'd lock himself in his dorm, not coming out or speaking to us at all until the next time we got together to practice. I think, even at the time, this was what really started eating away at me personally. It worried me just how much it got to him whenever we'd get a rejection letter. I knew it was his dream and all to be represented by an actual label, getting an actual record deal. Again, all of us wanted that, but whereas we were still able to accept the L while still trying to truck on, Having fun with it, Jason only became more and more bitter and determined to make it all come true.

As it got worse, I wasn't sure what we were supposed to do. I remember it was on one of the occasions I mentioned earlier, where he was holed up in his dorm that Vince and I actually ended up getting into an argument over whether or not just to quit the seraphim altogether. He thought Jason was just turning into an overly obsessive jackass, while I was more worried about his mental well-being. I figured abandoning him

even if he was just being kind of a jerk was probably the worst mistake to make in this instant Vincent on the other hand was over it in the end

we settled on me talking to Jason see if maybe I could get through to him that the way he was going about all of this was getting to be a problem for us

you know honestly I didn't have that high of hopes for the plan to work after all he was the leader he was the one that started us in the first place

what weight would my words hold well i guess in a way that makes this all kind of even more my fault doesn't it i went to him one day after a particularly harsh practice session the whole time was spent more or less with jason reaming vince that his vocals were off-key somehow to be honest i thought vince sounded perfectly fine better actually than he had in most of the other songs he'd been in but for whatever reason it just wasn't right wasn't perfect and of course Ricky and I had gotten holes almost just as big ripped in our houses by him as well we're all sick of it and frankly just about sick of it at all Vince ended up walking out pissed off just half an hour before we'd stop for the day

Ricky followed soon after only about ten minutes later it was just me and Jason I remember how he had that look, the same one he had when we were turned down for a gig or a possible record deal. It was his look of defeat, like he was just about ready to give up himself. Oh, I hated seeing him like that. I knew I had to say something. Hey man, I began, trying to sound as genuinely sympathetic as I possibly could. He didn't move or say anything.

His eyes stayed fixed to the floor with an icy stare. Jason, I asked. Nothing. I slowly walked over and put my hand gently on his shoulder. Hey dude, are you okay? That was when he looked up at me. His eyes were wide, yet dead at the same time. His most gut-wrenchingly serious expression I'd ever seen on his,

or as well as anyone else's for that matter's face. It actually spooked me a little. He then looked back to the floor. Hey, come on, I said, attempting to guide him out of the room. Why don't you and I go for a drive? Need some food, maybe. Alone, I walk the twilight trail. I raised my eyebrow.

I just barely heard him. His voice was so soft, he'd almost cracked at the same time. What? I asked. With skin so pale, heart so rent, and so. soul, so battered, I forever walk this twilight trail, utterly spent and scattered. He held his hand up to his face. With these hands I create and break, with this tongue I state and slake.

I just stared at him. His face stayed chiseled in that look of cold stoicism. He then snapped his head up abruptly to look at me. Pencil, he blurted. What? Wait, what? Pencil, paper. Give them to me now. I stood blinking for a moment. Mine completely blank. Now, he barked. His eyes opening wider now, looking wild in a way.

He snapped abruptly from my confused stupor. I scrambled over to my backpack and pulled out my notebook and pencil from class and gave it to him. He snatched them from me and scurried out of the garage to his car. Hey, hey, wait, I called out. reaching out for him to stop what are you doing when i was too late he was long gone by the time i could reach him if he did hear me he didn't try to let on now what the hell was that about i wondered standing in the driveway of his parents old house confused tired and frankly just outright done for the day mentally exhausted with everything from that day well actually from the entire week if we're going to be honest here

I grabbed my backpack and base and headed back to my dorm at the campus As soon as I got back I threw myself on my couch and maybe five minutes later I was out like a light The next morning I remember waking up in a panic I realized that the time was almost 11.30

I was late for practice I started moving in a frenzy to get ready and out of the door Oh fuck Jason's gonna be pissed I thought as I looked at my phone expecting to see at least ten missed calls and about a hundred pissed off text messages from Jason wondering where the hell I was. I was a bit shocked, however, to find absolutely nothing from him

or any of the other two. Regardless, I still got dressed in a hurry before flying out of the dorm and to the parking lot. I got in my car and panicked a text to Vince, telling him I was on my way and to let Jason know and tell him in advance that I was sorry for waking up late. about half a minute later Vince texted me back saying that they weren't there I was confused

oh yeah uh didn't we tell you like he wasn't even there man Ricky and I waited for almost an hour and a half hmm when did he cancel practice and how come no one said anything to me he shot back with a shrug and replied saying fuck if I know man been trying to get a hold of him all morning so far he's gone completely ghost he didn't say anything to either of you all before no to be honest we kind of figured he was avoiding talking to us after what happened yesterday speaking of which you talk to him yeah sort of and i hesitated for a moment truthfully i wasn't sure exactly what to say i mean like i told him we sort of talked that it wasn't like any sort of agreement or understanding was reached. Well, we didn't really say much.

What do you mean? Well, I don't know, like he just started laying out some lyrics or something. Guess some new song he was going to try or something, maybe. He flaked afterwards. He then shot me the confused emoji. Oh, yeah, man, it was weird. I think maybe he's holding up again, planning a new song maybe. Oh, maybe. That might explain why he hasn't returned either mine or Ricky's calls.

Honestly, I'm not sweating it, though. Between you and me, I had more than half a mind to say, fuck this, and not even try to show up today. Well, um, do me a favor. Send him a message and tell him to call me. Okay, yes. Don't see why it matters, though. Seriously, bro, I say enjoy the day off. God knows we've been putting up with more than enough of this shit. And we've earned a break. Well, I'm seriously looking to see if I can find openings for other bands.

Look, just text him, dude. Fine, whatever. After that, I turned around and headed back to the dorm. While I was relieved, I wasn't missing practice, therefore didn't have to worry about catching shit from Jason. I didn't exactly relax, though. Yeah, Vince had a point. We did need the day off,

having spent almost the last three weeks straight busting our asses in rehearsal. That said, though, something just didn't feel quite right. I know I said before how we'd sometimes call off practice for a day or two and go darken us, but even then he would typically still send a text out to the three of us saying so, but not this time. Why? I tried thinking back to the situation in the garage.

I tried to think about the lyrics I'd heard, what they meant. if anything, and, or if there were something I might have heard before. None of it drew any conclusions, though. The best I had at the moment was what I told Vince, that he was working on putting together a new song for us. Again, though, why had he not said anything beforehand or responded to any of us? Well, this had me pacing the floor for the rest of the night, as well as for the next few days,

during all of which Jason kept complete radio silence. as when it got to that Saturday, about two weeks ago now, and we'd still not heard a single thing from him, and I got worried. Prince told me he'd messaged him to call me, though something tells me that either he was bullshitting about that, or he was right about Jason giving the two of them the cold shoulder. Either way, I knew something wasn't entirely on the up and up.

That's when I decided to go to his house and try talking to him directly there. Because I wasn't trying to be an asshole, as well as possibly a way to try and get his attention early on, I shot him a text, letting him know I was coming over, and I wanted to talk. Again, I had hoped he would have responded, either saying it was cool or just straight up telling me to fuck right off. But no, nothing. This was making me more and more agitated.

I actually began wondering if maybe he was in trouble, like something had happened. Look, call me what you want, overbearing, worry water, overreacting. I don't care, but I knew something just wasn't right. Gold shoulder or hibernating, whatever it was, it wasn't normal, even for Jason. Jason, I called out, knocking on his front door. I listened for a second. Nothing. I tried knocking again. I knew he was home, given that his car was there when I pulled up. Jason, you home? Come on, man, open up. It's me, Brad. I want to talk to you. Silence.

I beat on the door one last time, this time sounding like my fist was a jackhammer against it. Even this got no answer. I then started peering through the windows to see if he was in the living room. I couldn't see much of anything, though. The room was dark. I started tapping on the window, trying to call out from there. Still, nothing.

Now I was getting a bit of a bit. aggravated. I mean, come on, what did I do to piss him off her? I had not said a damn word to him about any of this. They didn't even have his way, and yet there I was, being basically ignored. I decided to try going around to the back, to see if he let me in through the back door. When I got around to the back, though, I started to hear the sound of his voice coming from the basement level. It was him, but at the same time, it wasn't entirely, if that makes any sense. It sounded a lot more like it was his voice, but coming from an old, a bigger guy. Not only that, but it also seemed to carry a sort of echo to it,

one that, in a way, I felt sort of run through me, resonating off my bones and causing my insides to churn a bit. It was as queasy a feeling as it was weird. Despite this, I moved in closer to listen to what I thought I heard him saying. Alone, I fell from graceful paradise, and only pain I have to tell from the this abyss from which I cannot rise. With skin so pale, heart so rent, and so so battered, I forever walk this twilight trail, utterly spent and scattered.

With his hands I create and break. With this tongue I state and slake. With these lips I lull to sleep, those who can cry from their crypts. I stopped. Following this, I heard the sounds of what sounded like a sort of weak groaning, like he was in pain. This sent me into almost immediate panic mode. Jason, I shouted.

Hang on, I'm coming. I rushed down to the basement door. When I tried to open it, it was locked, tight as a drum. I yanked and jerked furiously, but it was no use. Jason, let me in. I heard another weak groaning coming from the other side. I then started battering the door with my shoulder. Still, this did no good either.

This is when I decided, Screw this. I went to one of the back windows leading into the kitchen and smashed it with a rock. I hated having to destroy my friend's property like that. Well, never mind the legal trouble, breaking the entering and all. But I had to do something, right?

What's worse? Just after I climbed through the window, I faintly smelled what, smelled like something that was burning. I called out. Jason, you okay? I was met with more sounds of painful groaning, now I'm becoming louder. I rushed down to the basement door from the kitchen.

At first, this door too was locked. Fortunately though, one good shove with my shoulder and it opened right up for me. That said, though, part of me almost wishes that it hadn't. Inside the basement was dark, except for the very centre of the room where Jason was. There, surrounded by candles, arranged in a way. weird formation was Jason on his knees, bare-chested and clutching a knife in one hand and his little tape recorder in the other. What sent my blood to solid ice, though, were the numerous slashes I saw running across his chest and down his stomach. As well as this, I could see

on the floor around him were what looked to be strange symbols, presumably scrawled in his blood. Jason, I shouted. His eyes snapped open. Why? and his neck jerked over to see me. For a moment, we just stared at each other, me in horror, him with the most deranged look I'd ever seen on his saw, or anybody else for that matters, face.

It was the same face you'd see on an animal that spots a predator watching it. I took a step forward, careful not to startle him any further. I wasn't real sure as to his state of mind, so I wasn't going to take any chances with him still holding that knife. Bro, put down the knife,

Okay, it's just me, let's talk, just put down the knife. We just kept staring at me. His eyes were fixed right on mine. It was like I wasn't even talking to a person here, but rather a puppet or statue. He was still like one too, completely stiff, poised almost. I took another step towards him. Jason, put the knife down, man. I saw his eyes look down to the knife in his left hand.

I took another step forward as he continued examining the knife in his hand. He looked back up at me as I took one more step forward, reaching toward him. Hey, give me the knife, okay? He exchanged one more glance between the knife and me, before reaching out toward me to give me the knife. I slowly, cautiously approached to take it from him. I stayed poised myself, ready for him to try and attack me with it. Again, I wasn't exactly sure where his head was at, just that it wasn't where it should be.

Luckily for me, he seemed to be working his way back to that because he relinquished the knife without any sort of struggle. I carefully took the knife and threw it across the room. He stayed still, still looking at me with a wild expression. Jason, I said, taking his outstretched hand, Come on, man. Let's get out of here. He wouldn't move. Suddenly I heard him whisper. In the cold, dark abyss, I walk alone.

An angel who once lived in bliss. Now for my sins, I must atone. I looked at him confused. Jason, talk to me. What's going on? I was getting scared now. I didn't know what I was supposed to do. He sat still, just staring at me.

I tried pulling for him to stand up, to lead him up and out of the basement, but he wouldn't budge. Jason, come on, man, let's get out of here. He started slowly shaking his head. No, man, he said softly. I can't. What?

Why not? I looked at him, and he just stared back at me. I can't go yet. The song's not finished. I have to finish the song. It has to be perfect. Every muscle in my body tensed up, immediately hearing that. My mind screamed.

Perfect. I kept pulling his hand. Come on, man. You've got to get out of him. He just sat, shaking his head, looking at the floor. No. Can't go. Got to finish the...

I cut him off. Forget the song, man. He looked back out and he startled. Look what's happened, man. Look what you're doing to yourself. You look down at his chest. This isn't healthy. I know you want to be successful with this and all, but this isn't okay.

Come on, let's get out of here. We can go somewhere and find someone to... I said no, damn it. He snapped. and now I was the one who was spooked he was staring back at me again I have to finish the song why

why is it so important to you that you're doing this thing to yourself you wouldn't get it he said tightly closing his eyes when I was about to lose it now what the fuck what do you mean I wouldn't get it what's there to get

you're locking yourself in your freaking basement for a week straight cutting yourself and now you're just going to sit here and tell me to screw off like hell once again we just locked each other in another staring match both of us had looks of determination on our faces looks of desperation almost he was adamant to stay and i was hellbound to get his ass out of that basement i'm not leaving until the song's finished he declared now do yourself amy me a favor and get the fuck out i didn't move i wanted to keep pressing to somehow force him to come out there with me but i didn't i couldn't make him move and it was getting to be pretty clear to me by

that point that nothing i could say or do was going to convince him otherwise now he barked stalled again i finally left the basement and went back into the kitchen as i headed back out to my car I took out my phone and dialed 9-1-1. I may not have been able to force him to come out of there myself, but I wasn't going to leave him to keep doing that to himself either. I told them I believed Jason's life was in danger, and I'd found him cutting himself. Only about three minutes later, the police and ambulance arrived.

They tried at first to call for him to come out. When he wouldn't, I took them around to the back and showed him the window I'd broken into to get in, explaining that I did so after hearing him, him in pain. They went in and found him, bringing him out. As he came out, he looked at me with a look of both agitation and, in a way, fear. It was a look that said, what the hell have you done? Well, I thought I was saving his life. He was taken to the hospital after that. I decided to give him some space for the first week, figuring he felt pretty

raw with me. When I thought with some time though, you know, things would settle down. He'd come back, he put on some meds, see a counsellor, and we'd go back to the way things used to be with the band. We'd have fun with it, yeah. He's early in the morning that Wednesday though, that I got a call from Vince. He and Ricky had decided to visit him that Tuesday after I told them what had happened. He told me Jason wouldn't talk to them, except to keep repeating those lyrics. Alone. I walk the twilight trail. Apparently late that night after they left, Jason was found by one of the nurses

with his arms opened wide and blood soaking his bed. He was estimated to have been dead for at least an hour by that time. When I asked how the hell that could have happened, how he could have done that, you know, given that he was on the seventh floor. He answers with the admitted, expected answer of, well, fuck if I'd know.

It showed up on the news that afternoon. My Facebook and Twitter feeds were also peppered with RIP Jason Wayne posts, as well as a few questions from fans. Yeah, we actually have a fan base, just one that's very small and very slow at growing, asking what would happen with the syrophim now that our lead singer's gone. Well, truthfully, I wasn't sure about that myself. The funeral was that Saturday, and I wanted to put together something in his memory. I decided to compile some of our greatest songs onto a CD to play at his funeral, along with some of the pictures of us from some of our happiest moments.

It was while I was compiling the playlist that an idea occurred to me, one that I now wish that I've shut down immediately. I decided to try checking out the song he was working on, the one he'd never finished. I thought, what better way to commemorate him right, and to release the one song that he'd apparently prized the most. to show the world his, or at least what he believed to be, his greatest hit. I was able to get the tape recorder he'd used to record himself when I found him, and I started going through it.

This proved to be difficult, however, as most of what was on the tape was just bits and pieces. Unfinished fragments, failed attempts, I guessed. Well, that was until I got to the end, and that was when the entire song played out. Like when I heard it before, just before I'd gone in for him that day. Well, Jason's voice sounded different, much deeper than usual. Under this full moon, I lie awake. Long I wait for the tomb of which my hands will make. Under the sun, I toil and ache.

Desperately from destiny, I try to run only to finally break. Forgotten I will be, none will remember me. Once I leave, the world may be granted reprieve. When I reached the ether alone I fell from graceful paradise, and only pain I have to tell from this abyss from which I cannot rise. With skin so pale, heart so rent, and soul so battered, I forever walk this twilight trail, utterly spent and scattered. With these hands I create and break, with this tongue I state and slake.

With these lips I lulled to sleep those whom cry from their crypts. this twilight trail the last are never found only along this moonlit veil may my voice sound well i'll say this at first i wasn't exactly sure what to make of it i know i keep pointing this out but the way the song sounded the way in which his voice sounded so different from what it normally did it just all sounded so surreal well never mind the lyrics themselves how depressing they were i mean sure emotionally brutal songs had always kind of been our thing, but this was just a lot more so than usual. I guess to me at least, I could see how this was personally driven. He felt like he, well, his efforts, our efforts, weren't enough. He kept pushing for the music to be perfect, to be the best, but we kept being

turned down. This drove him to always keep practicing, always keep pushing harder and harder, trying to perfect his work. I guess, though, when he saw that Vince and the rest of us were crumbling under his pressure, he felt like he was alone. Like only he was willing to perfect the music the way he felt it should be. Alone, I walk the Twilight Trail. I guess that's also why he insisted in shutting the rest of us out. He felt that this was a journey only he and he alone could embark on.

The journey along, the Twilight Trail. It's primarily this reason I felt like it was only right to include it in the memorial playlist. You know? I just wish, yes, I wish I'd known the true power this song apparently has. After editing the memorial video, I sent it over to Vince to give to the funeral home before posting it to the band's YouTube channel with the title, Godspeed Jason, RIP. That was it for a while after that.

the rest of the week was kind of surreal. I'd, of course, fallen into a bit of a depression for those next few days, just barely getting out of bed maybe once for the bathroom. I only ate once, that Thursday, and God knows I'd just as well have avoided that, too. What made things worse during that time was the fact that that song kept looping in my head. No matter what I tried, I just couldn't make it stop. I kept hearing it, hearing him.

Forever I walk the twilight trail, lowly spent and scattered. At night time I'd see him when I'd try to go to sleep. He'd be reaching out to me, singing the words to the song, his greatest hit. They'd repeat, and I'd see others, white, wispy, shadowy figures with sad expressions on their faces, surround and join him as he walked down a long path toward a light at the end of the dark expanse ahead. This would always cause me to feel both a sense of anxiety as well as just extreme sadness. It got so bad that when the funeral rolled around, I almost didn't go. Both before and during the service, the day felt like a drag.

Everything felt like it was in slow-mo. Like the day wouldn't end, although we were all in limbo, forever trapped to live out Jason's funeral. Dramatic, I know, but I guess that's depression, isn't it? feels like it'll never end like you're alone walking down the twilight trail those words in jason's voice kept repeating while the pastor talked it was droning hypnotic even in a way eventually i thought i could also hear the sound of whispers ones from people that weren't jason or anyone else i knew for that matter saying do it walk with us i tried to shut it out to much as i could but it was no use finally ended up having to get up and leave before the memorial video was set to play i went straight back to the dorm and buried myself in bed again for hours i just sat there in my dark dorm room depressed as fuck yet almost completely devoid of any thought or feeling

all that was going through my head was that damn song over and over again it wouldn't stop i guess the other thing that's ironic was just how sleepy I was, despite also being anxious about sleeping, dreading what I'd see. And that would turn out to be for good reason, too. That night I saw it all again, the trail, the shadows, Jason, but this time, this was when I was joined by a new, more frightening being. This thing, whatever the fuck it was or is, if anything, was gigantic, at least ten feet high or more, with four large, gangly arms that reached out and began grabbing the shadows, and Jason forcing them into his body. As they were seized, all of them, Jason included, sang to me in unison, sounding just like

how I'd heard Jason sound when he sang, Walk with us down the Twilight Trail. It all get poured into the giant Shadow Thing's body and conjoined with it. The Thing's body then became nothing. more than a giant, dark mass of screams. I then see one of his gangly arms stretched towards me, ready to pull me in with the rest. In an earth-shaking bellow, they all scream out to me one last time

as the thing is about to have me. It all ends with the twilight trail. And that's when I woke up. It was early morning, 9.30 a.m. I heard my phone go off, and when I looked, I saw that it was a text from Vince. one of at least seven or eight that he'd apparently sent me while I was out. The first couple were just simple.

Hey, you're okay? And what happened, man? Just checking up on me. Then the next few sent a few hours later were texts about the song, asking me where I'd gotten it and why Jason sounded so weird on it. The last couple, though, were him telling me that he was hearing them. I mean, the lyrics, just like I was. He said Ricky was apparently having the same thing happening with him.

This made my heart start racing. With a horrifying feeling deep in the pit of my stomach, I began trying to call him. No answer. The same was the case for Ricky, too, straight to voicemail. I texted both of them, begging them to hit me back, telling me that they're all right. Still, I didn't hear anything from either of them the rest of the day, or the next day, or the day after. I had to have blown their phones up to Kingdom Come at least a hundred times each. Yet even as I type this now, I've yet to see or hear from either of them.

Well, this scares me now more than ever because of what I found out. I saw a post one morning, about one of the fans of our page committing suicide. She was found having downed an entire bottle of painkers. Apparently just before she did it, she made this post. I hear him. I hear the seraphim. He wants me to go with him, to walk down the twilight trail. I'm coming. Now normally I'd have passed this off, morbid as this may sound, as just a star-struck fan

who was just sad because Jason was dead. For one thing, she was only 13, but also because this was just one incident, nothing that would have been necessarily connected to the actual song itself. well not yet then however yesterday morning i found my newsfeed flooded with posts with similar messages not all of them were from the fan page either some of them were random people all of them though were posting about the song it was this morning that i saw news headlines about multiple people at least three or four having taken their lives in various ways all of them being one the ones i mentioned having made posts on Facebook. I'll go ahead and say, yes, I was visited and questioned by the cops about this. No, I wasn't arrested, but part of me feels like I ought to have been. Yes, I went and took the memorial video down, which I thought would have gotten rid of the problem before it could

escalate. But no. Somehow, that song's still out there. No who or why, but someone must have gotten a copy from the funeral home and released it on a CD. I found this out just a few hours ago before i started writing this when i found another post this one saying just bought the new seraphim album heard there was a secret track made by jason wayne himself oh can't wait to listen rip jason my heart stopped and i felt nauseous after reading that we have no albums we'd never gotten that far having never even had an actual gig or record deal we only had a handful of tracks we had no kind of releases except except for the memorial

I don't know what to do I'm responsible for this even though I wasn't the one who wrote this song or the one mass producing it now I was the one who went and released it in the first place if it weren't for me that song would never have left that freaking tape recorder those people would still be alive

not only that but I wouldn't be hearing them now even as I write this I'm so sorry I'm scared They want me to join them They want all of us to walk with them To walk with them forever To the end down the twilight trail

That a fraternity's Halloween party Things get messed up When a friend's body is found in the bedroom Now people are afraid of going out at night. Night of the knuckle biters by corpse child. Full moon,

flashing lights, loud ass music, beer, pot, and the hottest girls on campus. Every college boy's dream, right? That was the knuckle biter Empire's Halloween party. This was all, of course, Ronnie's idea. Ronnie Edmonds,

knuckle biter supreme and ruler of parties and chicks. Well, in case you haven't picked up on it yet, yes, we're just a bunch of dumb-ass frat boys. Parties once a month and football games every Friday night during the winter. The four of us, me, Ronnie, Zach, and White Al. We're about the most obnoxious frat on campus at Western State University. We couldn't have cared less. We weren't at football games, like I mentioned, ogling the cheerleaders or trying to and usually failing to score with the chicks at Ronnie's frat house power.

We were usually spending our time coming up with the most extreme stunts and pranks to pull off on the campus. And when I say extreme, we're not just talking about spray painting socket on the Dean's car, though we did do that once, or hooking up a car battery to the seat in one of the bathrooms, so the next unlucky son of a bitch will be on the hot seat when they needed to drop one. No, we're talking more like actually filling up and attempting to light off a potpourri of firecrackers on the trunk of White Al's old piece of shit Ford pickup that was constantly breaking down every two minutes

when you went to turn the damn thing on and watching it go out with a blast on the campus football field. Either that or at the very least trying to dare random people to run across campus in broad daylight bare ass with lit sparklers in their hands shouting long live knuckle

by the Supreme. Yep, we were idiots and yes, you probably should have been arrested a few times. To answer as to why we haven't ever been, since I know you're wondering, well, let me emphasize the word attempt. See, the downside was, next to none of these stunts actually worked like we wanted them to. People, of course, weren't interested in making a quick 20 bucks by running across campus in the buff. And the one time we actually tried the car bomb on the soccer field, well, the damn things were freaking duds.

In short, we were want to be hot shots. even if we couldn't ever pull off half the insane and dangerous shit we came up with on the regular. I know that was kind of a lot, but now you know who we were, and why this whole mess has turned things every which way from loose for me. Well, so anyway, like I said, we were at Ronnie's party. Me and Zach were both nice and stoned, with the bowl he brought, while watching White L dance, or at least try to, in the middle of the living room with a few of the girls while Ronnie was in the kitchen,

and nursing his high with as much of the chips and junk food as he could stuff in his mouth. As the two of us watched, Zach turned to me and said, God, man, just imagine. What, dude? I asked. He pointed to the girls gathered around White Al. Imagine yourself right there, with all them rubbing up against you like that. I looked and snickered. Yeah.

Hey, White Al, back room's all yours, he called out. Wydell glared at him, still continuing to do his little shaking thing that I guess was supposed to count as him dancing. I think he was actually about to stop and walk off somewhere else when one of the girls, and albeit drop-de-gorgeous, babe, that had both mine and Zach's eyes bug him from their sockets, stopped him. She was tall, meeting Wydell, who was the tallest of the knuckle-biders at six foot, her eye level. She was slim, too, forming an almost perfect hourglass shape from her shoulders to where, hips. White Al was thinking the same too, judging from the way in which his eyes were about to shoot out of his own head. She winked, bit of a lip, and playfully took his hand, gesturing to the back bedroom of Ronnie's house. What else stood still, looking caught off guard. I, being the good

old pal I was, decided to egg him on, going, Wadale, Wadow, Wadale. Well, soon Zach and a few of the others around him joined in. He looked absolutely embarrassed. and it was hilarious. Of course, I couldn't blame him. Of the four of us, Wydell was always the one we'd expect to always strike out with the ladies. I mean, none of us were real top-notch catches,

as far as that went, I'll admit, but, well, Wydell had always been the responsible, or at least the most responsible knuckle-biter. It was at least 51% of the reason we had him hanging out with us, while the other three of us were doing shit that would get us, and probably others, if we've been honest,

killed. What, oh, we'd be the one that'd be there so that we'd have at least a slight chance of surviving whatever stupid stunt we were trying to pull off at any given moment. Funny how that works, I guess. Well, anyway, there he was. Presented with his golden opportunity, and what does he do?

He stands there, jaw hanging open like an idiot. A few other girls, all just as hot as the one in front of him, then come up and take his other hand with sly smiles of their own. Eventually, they managed to coax him to move, and they led him all the way to the back room. Oh, how'd a boy. Get him, why, guy? I shouted. I heard the door close, and everyone turned down the music and tried to listen closely. We couldn't hear anything. We figured, you know, he's probably nervous. Like I said, it was his first time. Eventually, though, interest in this started to fade after about five or so minutes with absolute.

nothing happening and the music was turned back up another ten or twenty minutes went by before Ronnie came back into the living room hey what's going on i missed something zach and i grinned oh bro you missed white l scoring with chicks i exclaimed and his eyes grew you're bullshit no dude zack said ask anyone here they'll tell you he looked around at the crowd and back to the two of us "'You'd be proud.' "'Who was it?' he asked, still looking skeptical. "'I shrugged. "'I don't know.

"'It's this really cute chick and a couple of her friends. "'I haven't seen them before. "'I don't even think they're actually from the campus. "'His eyes got even bigger with shock. "'Friends!' he exclaimed. "'You mean to tell me he actually landed more than one at the same time?' "'Zac and I both nodded, grinning excitedly. He stared in shock for another moment before his face fell into one of outrage.

Hey, hold up. You mean to tell me that frick is getting it on before I had my turn? God, that fuck. Oh, lighten up, dude. Zach chided. You've had all the time to have your shot and you decided to pick out in the kitchen. I shrugged in agreement and told him, you stay quiet.

You bite it. There was our little credo. It was supposed to mean something similar to YOLO, you know. You get one shot, you better take it, basically. Of course, this didn't mean shit to him. I was always a big sort of unspoken rule between the knuckle-byter empire when it came to parties. We could have as much fun with whatever girl we managed to get lucky with that night in the backroom for however long we liked, so long as he got the first session.

It was a sort of a little brocote type of thing, even if we weren't exactly big on the idea. We didn't usually oppose it, but I figured, like Zach said, he'd had all that time. Plus, it was White Al's first ever. You'd think he'd have been willing to cut a little slack right? Oh, Ronnie started stomping off toward the back room. Zach and I embraced ourselves to have to hear him scream at the top of his lungs at White Al. Well, we heard him shout.

What the fuck? I could tell something he was off, though. Oh, God. What the fuck? Zach and I looked at each other alarm before jumping up from the couch and running for the back room. Zach reached the room ahead of me. Dude, what's... Oh my God!

I made it the rest of the way to the room and instantly felt sick to my stomach. The bed was torn and cut up every inch covered in rips and slashes. Also covered in these from head to toe, almost at the point where I couldn't even recognize him. was Wydell, who was gasping and wheezing, even coughing up spurts of blood. On the wall, as well as on his chest and both his palms, was a pentagram. "'Wydell!' I cried, pushing past the other two and rushing over to the bed. Zach turned and reched while Ronnie just stood frozen in the doorway. Wydell weirdly spasmed while spitting out bigger and bigger spurts of blood.

"'Hey, why? Stay with me, man.' I turned to the others and shouted. What are you doing, stand in there? Go, get 911 on the phone. We can't, dude, Ronnie exclaimed. What do you mean we can't? Dude, you're trying to get us busted. He held up the joint he had behind his ear.

Look, he's going to fucking die if we don't. He remained stiff. Dude, trust me, this is a hell of a lot worse than a freaking possession charge. Get the ambulance on the phone now. I stared wildly at him, making it clear that I was going to put my foot in his ass if he didn't. Reluctantly, yet desperately,

he ran back into the living room to call 911 while also clearing out the rest of the guests. Zach, grab me a towel. He ran to the bathroom and came back with an old dirty towel. Right here, help me plug his wound. Which one? He asked. I looked around, almost wasn't sure, given how much his body had been ripped up.

Finally, I told him to wrap it around the pentagram on his chest. I then carefully tried performing CPR. I didn't know what else to do, besides that and trying to prop his head up. Never really had much knowledge of first aid. I mean, sure enough, this at least got him to stop coughing up blood, but he continued wheezing. Hey, what happened, dude? Zach asked Widel, as if he was going to actually be able to answer that. Wydell gasped harder and harder, like he was actually trying to speak.

Nothing came out, though. Ronnie came running back into the room. Okay, they're on their way. Is he going to be... I don't know yet. He is everyone else gone? Yeah. Wydell's body began to relax and his eyes started to glaze over with his head lolling limply to one side.

"'Why?' I said, shaking him gently. "'Wydell, come on, man. Stay with me.' I could feel his chest relaxing under my hands. He wasn't going to make it much longer. I started shaking him harder. "'Wydell, why, Al?' I then resorted again to chest compressions, stopping every ten to fifteen seconds to give him mouth to mouth.

Nothing seemed to be working. His heartbeat was so faint by that point that, I almost didn't feel it, despite how hard I was pressing. What I considered to be a true stroke of luck, almost even the work of a miracle. I heard the sirens outside. That's them, Ronnie said. I'll go let them in.

He and Zach then rushed out of the room and into the living room, leaving me alone with a rapidly fading Waddell. Ten seconds later, paramedics flooded the room and told me they'd handled it from there. I was let out of the room, while they started trying to prep him to be moved. My mind was wrecked, to say the least. I mean, one moment shit's fine and dandy.

My friend is about to get his first lucky night with a couple of hot chicks. And then, just 15 or 20 minutes later, he was choking on his own blood after having been mauled by what must have been a big-ass wolvering or something. This alone was enough to put me into a frenzy, obviously. But what stuck out to me even more were, of course, the pentagrams. I'm no kind of religious nut by any stretch. I grew up atheist, but I wasn't born yesterday. I'd seen shit like this both online and on TV.

I knew what a human sacrifice looked like. Not only this, but I also saw the window wide open in the room while I was trying to revive White Al. One thing I knew for a fact was that Ronnie never opened that window. Usually so he could keep the weed fumes contained whenever he was having one of his turns with the back room. and because I also knew no one else was in there at the time I knew it's had to do with those girls

they did that to him and then they fled out of the window disappearing into the night that much was certain to me even then with my brain scrambling worse than a pan of eggs what wasn't making any sense to me was why and or even how okay so maybe the chicks were part of some crazy murder cold or something

Again, I'd have maybe explained the pentagrams. But even still, though, how the hell could they've done that to him? Part 2. Wydell was then rushed off to the hospital as police arrived at the house. The rest of that night was spent being interrogated by the police. We tried telling them the same thing I've been saying here, that we don't know shit about what happened in that room. but it was still another four or five hours of them assaulting us with questions before they

finally let us go home. Zach Ronnie and I split up from there, with them, at least I assume, going back to the campus while I decided to head to the hospital to check up on White Al. Admittedly, I wasn't sure what I was supposed to expect, other than to hear that he didn't even make it there. Yes, it was a relief then that I stood corrected when they told me he'd actually stabilized. The doctors told me he was asleep and had been for the last. last three hours. Well, he almost lost him, the doctor added, juggling dryly. But wherever your

boy's on, it's some powerful stuff. What do you mean? I asked him. Well, you saw him right. Losing as much blood as he did, plus several slashed tendons and even one or two slashed arteries. He should have bid it before we could get him on the table. But he's still kicking, sleeping now like a baby. He chuckled again when he said this. I stared confused at him. Sorry, it wasn't mean in any disrespect, just astonished by it, that's all. Yeah, um, okay, whatever, can I see him? He looked at his watch.

I'm afraid not, pal, he said, looking up at me, tapping his watch. Come back in about six hours. With that, I turned and left back towards the campus. On the way, I texted Ronnie and Zach, telling them Wydell it made it and he was okay. Ronnie texted back. Thank God. What do you think could have happened? I texted back, telling him,

fuck if I knew. He must really have wanted it rough, huh? Dude, what the fuck? Our boy is in hospital and you're making jokes. Sorry. Seriously, though. Who are those chicks anyway? You know him?

No, man. I told you. Never seen him. before. I don't think they're even from the college. And how they find my place? I mean, you know our Halloween party was invite only, right? I stopped. There was another enigma, one I'd never even considered before then. He was right. We, or at least me and Ronnie, had only told a select few people that we were even having that party at his house that night. And whoever we did allow on the guest list, we made sure all four of us knew about it.

We also explicitly stated the whole invite-only thing to the guests, meaning that they weren't allowed to bring anyone else in on it either. Well, again, that's how me and Ronnie did anyways. That led me to wonder then who, if not me or Ronnie, knew them and invited them? The only options were either A, Widel himself, or B, Zach. I told this to Ronnie. I doubt Zach would have known.

I'll ask him, though. after that i drove back the rest of the way to the campus and headed back to my dorm where i crashed out of sheer exhaustion despite this though i didn't sleep well i couldn't get the image out of my head of seeing whidelles splayed across ronnie's bed like that all hacked up with pentagrams all over him i woke up at around eight o'clock that morning though to a flood of text from ronny dude look at this shit following this was a google link to a news article on YouTube, as well as about five or six different screenshots. Each one was of the hospital. One or two of them looked like the inside of some of the rooms all torn apart, stuff having been thrown all over the place like a tornado had swept through, while others were of actual people having been torn apart. Some of them didn't even have much left of them anymore,

looking like hunks of bloody meat and bones scattered across the floor. Dude, when was this taken? This morning, dude. Have you seen the footage yet?" I responded that I hadn't and clicked the video. Footage of the hospital from the photos appeared with the headline reading, brutal violence in hospital at late hours of the night. He went on to show similar pictures inside the hospital, along with people, patients and nurses alike,

being wheeled out of the place. Seeing the place from the outside, I realised it was the hospital why Dal was in. This put me on edge, causing me. to spend the entire video tensely waiting for it to be revealed that Wydell had been mutilated again along with the others. A woman came on the screen then. Only hours ago this morning, authorities responded to a distressed call from a member of the St. Leonard's Memorial Hospital staff. According to the anonymous caller, screams and sounds of a struggle were heard from the east wing of the facility. The screen transitioned then to a walk inside the hospital. I saw large scratches

running across the lengths of both the floor and the walls. The screen transitioned then to a walk inside the hospital. I saw Lars scratches running across the length of both the floor and the walls. Authorities claim to arrive to what they described to be a madhouse with hordes of people clamoring out of the hospital for their lives. Police officer Gordon LeVay is quoted in saying that the situation was nothing short of utter chaos. He then cut to the officer. Oh, it was wild, he said.

We pulled up and we couldn't even get into the parking lot because people were scattered all over the place. It took us almost 20 minutes to be able to calm enough people down to even get into the parking lot. It cut back to the reporter. When asked what happened inside, this was what Officer LeVay had to say. Then cut back to the officer.

When we could finally get someone to calm down long enough to even talk us, the most consistent detail we could even make out was that something about a monster rampaging through the place we sent a unit in things just went down from there the footage then cut back to the hospital with a recording that played with the radio communications for about the first minute or so it was typical back and forth chatter

between the inside and outside units suddenly though I could hear the inside unit starting to panic as growling noises picked up in the distance From there it devolved into chaos, with the inside crew shouting frantically for backup and firing their guns in a frenzy and ground crew trying to discern what was going on. The chaos escalated when just about all I could hear from the inside unit's side was screams of pain, and the growling turning into straight-up roaring. Hearing this made my blood freeze solid.

My body was stiff. I couldn't even move my eyelids to blink. I just stared, slack-jawed at my phone screen, as the reporter went on to say that no suspects, human or otherwise, were detained, and the investigation into the situation was ongoing. Of course, this brought me no comfort. All I could do was wonder what the hell was growling in the background. What the hell had all the cops thrown into a panic like that? And what caused the destruction of the hospital like it was shown? This, and what the hell had happened to my friend in there? Was he okay? Immediately after the news clip had ended, I texted Ronnie back telling him I'd watch the news clip. Dude, what was that? You heard the shit in the background, right?

Oh, shit was freaky. Yeah, I heard it. Sounded like a dog or something. Big-ass dog. A dog? What dog would be big enough to do all that? Destroying the place like that? I don't know, man.

Oh, shit. That's just what it sounded like to me. I mean, it's obvious whatever the freaking thing was. It wasn't a person. True, still, though. I don't know how it could have even got in. I mean, how could it just bust it in like that? Aren't they usually some kind of security staked out at the place?

What the hell are you asking me for? You knew about this before I did. Yeah, but you were there last night, weren't you? I stopped. He was right again. I was there. Only hours before this all took place. everything was fine both when I'd arrived and I'd left but then where did this thing come from

and how did I or nobody else see it yeah I was and you didn't see any big-ass dogs there did you no you're right I didn't see anything like that what about our boy why you think he's okay well my heart went into a frenzy I don't know dude he was how cold when I left the hospital. Doc say he pulled through by a miracle when he got there. They wouldn't let me see him, though. I was going to try and talk to him today.

Yeah, a fat chance of that. Yeah, well, hey, you talk to Zach yet? Ask him if he knew the girls from the party last night, and how they showed up. Yeah, he swears up and down he's never seen him before in his life. Well, I believe him, like I believe you. Yeah, but then,

How could they have known? Dude, you don't think maybe... What? But maybe Wydell might have invited him, do you? You're serious. Why, Del? I'd sooner believe it was you that did it before him. And besides, why would he invite Chicks-Hooa just to mutilate him like that?

Well, I mean, if he didn't know him, I doubt it was because he wanted to get freak with him like that. Well, you saw the pentagrams, right? Occult shit, you know. Yeah, I've been thinking about that. You think that's why they were at a party to perform some sort of human sacrifice? Oh, possible.

Why, Widel, though? I don't know, man. Hell, all I know is I didn't invite him. You didn't invite him. Zach didn't, either. That would have to leave him. And now there's whatever the hell this thing is on the news.

No, man. She's got me all screwed up in all kinds of different ways. Look, man, I've got to go now. Got to get ready for class. God, Professor Rathburn's class today, too. Oh, fuck. Okay, let me know if something else

fucked up happens without me noticing, okay. Got it. Also, see if you can talk to White Al. See how he's holding up, and if he knows anything. Well, I'll try, dude. Although I don't know how I'd be able to do that. Why not? Well, when the patients moved last night when they were evacuating?

Yeah, so check Ellis General. If they moved them anywhere, it'd likely be there. It's only about two or three blocks out from St. London's. Okay, I'll try there after my two-thirty class. Part three. After that, the conversation ended. and out at the clock. It was only 10.30.

I decided to spend the rest of the time looking into both any possible satanic cults that might have been well known in the area, as well as asking for good enough measure. A few of the approved VIPs for the party, if maybe one of them knew the girls, and, or might have decided to invite them against the rules. And on that end, I got more or less the exact same answer

that I gave to Ronnie. They'd never seen or spoken to either of the girls before the party that night. I didn't want to admit it. Not at all, given what had happened. But it looked like the only explanation for how those girls even showed up to begin with was that Wydell had been the one to invite them. Of course, I could see where Ronnie was coming from, that he likely wasn't aware of who they really were

or what they apparently had planned for him. I mean, aren't the best serial killers the ones you can't just automatically look at and say, oh, yeah, there's something weird about you, sir. But even still, that begs the question of how it of even. known them to begin with. Yeah, I keep hopping on about the fact that he'd always been the runt of the knuckle-bide-a-litter, but only because it was, for most cases, true. It was always the level-headed one that could counterbalance the insanity of the rest of his three, you know. Before that night, the kid couldn't even land a date with a girl or get a phone number

at one of our regular parties. But there he was that night, at our Halloween invite-only party, with two bombshells all over him, ready to take him to pound out. What happened in between? I'd have believed in it being a stroke of luck or twist of fate if it hadn't ended with him being flayed alive on my best friend's bed like that. Another thing that struck me from out of nowhere, something I hadn't even considered before. Now, of course, I'm no kind of expert on witchcraft or black magic rituals

or any shit like that. I'm atheist. But why didn't they finish him that night? night on the bed. I mean, sure, it wasn't exactly an isolated space, surrounded by other people, and it was considered a miracle that he was supposedly alive when I went to the hospital that night, but I couldn't help but feel it. It wasn't really luck that pulled him through. I mean, think about it for a second. There was at least a 15-minute gap between the time the girls led Wiedel into the back room and the time Ronnie found him. And during that time,

no one saw or heard a damn thing. In other words, there was five. far more than enough time for them to off him and make out the window like they did with no one to do anything about it and yet he made it i got just about the same results as far as trying to research any articles about satanic ritual murders in the area just as well i guess like i said they obviously know how to do this shit without getting caught and i decided to look into wicken rituals in general specifically ones that pertain to live sacrifices For the most part, there weren't many, at least not any with details that would have been connected to what happened with Wydell at the party. Then, however, I found something on a web page detailing the practice of practical lycanthropy.

Skimming through the page, I was able to spot some of the pictures of pentagrams being tattooed into people's palms, sort of like a branding. Apparently this was a community type of thing, too. People united under the belief of what they referred to as werewolf magic. Now I bet I know what you're thinking when you hear that Again it, trust me, I was too However, no This apparently wasn't the practice of people

Actually transforming under the full moon Or anything like that At least not under normal circumstances With this practice For the most part The people that practiced this were more into spiritually based transformations Unleashing your inner wolf

As they frequently termed it And like I said it looked relatively harmless. Oh, sure, but nothing extreme like what had happened. That was until I read a bit more into a bit of the culture's history. Apparently around the 60s and 70s, there was a massive growing panic about stuff like that, or cult shit. Similar to the Salem witch hunts,

apparently people carried a growing panic about werewolves. From what little I'd read, apparently one of these supposed werewolf cults, as the post referred to them as, was a cut above the rain. in terms of putting their practices into motion. In other words, like what you're probably expecting here, this particular cult was less interested in connections with nature

or becoming one with their animal spirits, and more interested in populating the earth with werewolves. When I tried to look, though, the post didn't mention any of the cults or any members in specific by name. All that was there was a short blurb about their little master race of werewolves' plan and how they apparently went underground almost entirely after supposedly causing such a panic, with thousands of people having been found mutilated almost beyond recognition. Though their method of introducing others into the fold was just as interesting.

I read that this cult apparently observed a specific ritual where they fully embrace their bestial nature, embracing their rage and unbridled savagery, and exact their brutality upon the new pledge until he or she is. close to death, by which time they'll flee, leaving the pledge to embrace their own savage nature in order to not only save themselves, but also integrate into their pack. Well, I'll admit, I was lost reading this. Keep in mind, the normal practice of practical lycanthropy was an oddity to me. Now here I was, reading some shit you'd expect to see in a shitty 80s movie.

Yet how the hell was I supposed to deny it? As bad shit as any of this sounded to me, I couldn't lie and say it didn't add up. We all started turning as a chill crawled up and down my back. Yeah, it was all coming together. The pentagrams, with the sight listing the marks on the palms being a tell-tale sign of a werewolf practitioner, the fact that Wydell was still alive, despite major blood loss, and the fact that the girls had ample time to finish him off.

And most of all, the way he was apparently recovering so quickly. What was that in the hospital? By that time, it was time for me to head into class. As you could imagine, I couldn't pay attention to a damn thing the professor was saying. Fortunately, I think it was only a review day anyway. Afterwards, I made a B-line for Airless General Hospital. It was around 3.30 when I got there. I walked to the desk and asked the receptionist to see Wiedel.

Name, she asked, disinterested. Greg Last name too, sir I sighed Didn't have time for this Dias Gregory Dias Wydell Lawrence is my friend

And I wanted to check on him So can you please take me to him She just gave me a blank look Before rolling her eyes And typing on her keyboard Let's see White Larence He said his name was

I nodded Yeah, sorry sir I'm afraid we don't have anyone admitted here with the name Waddell Lawrence. My eyes went wide. What do you mean he isn't here? I exclaimed. She just shrugged, still giving me that annoyed look. Are you sure? You check through all the patient's names.

She sighed and turned the computer monitor to face me. Look here. She pointed to a search bar and typed in Widel's name. Nothing. If it was here, it would have shown up just now. I hate to say this, but your friend ain't here. I sighed exasperatedly. What was I supposed to do?

If he wasn't there, then where was he? I even made the mistake of asking if patients from St. Leonard's had actually been admitted there after relocation. This earned me an annoyed groan and an exasperated, yes. We're left after that. On the drive back to campus, I texted Ronnie, telling him why don't. wasn't at Ellis General. Seriously? Yeah, and I don't know where else he'd be.

You were right about that being where they move the others from St. Leonard's, but not him. Well, the news did mention a lot of them didn't make it. You don't think... Actually, dude, I might have something even worse. What? I sent him the link to the post on practical lycanthropy and told him to read the section on the werewolf cults. About ten to twenty minutes later, he texted back

"'Dood, what the—what is this shit? "'Friken werewolves? "'Yeah, I know, it's weird. "'But read the part of the underground one, "'the ones that apparently want to get others to join. "'Yeah, I saw that. "' Kinda sick if you ask me.' "'I rolled my eyes in annoyance.

"'Really, Ronnie? "'You make jokes now?' "'Dud. It's kind of fucked up, don't you think? Well, yeah, I mean, it's messed up, but still. Dude, I think that's what happened at the party last night. I think they performed this ritual on him, and damn near killed him. Now he's missing, and there's the incident of the hospital.

Greg, man, are you seriously trying to tell me you think Wydell's a werewolf? No. I'm saying that our friend's now missing. Those freaky chicks are still out there. I don't know what's going on or where the hell to. look for him. Okay, calm down, man. Here, I'm going to call the police and tell him he's missing and ask around campus if they've seen

anything. Okay, well, I'm headed back to campus now. After that, I continued down the highway, until I spotted it out of the corner of my eye. It was the two girls from the party. They were walking down the sidewalk, laughing about something. because I was so caught up with them I almost didn't catch the fact that several cars in front of me had all of a sudden stopped at the red light

I ended up slamming on the brakes narrowly avoiding rear-ending them after catching my breath I watched the girls continue walking into the nearby grove that was just a few miles out from the college the thought occurred to me then that must be their little meeting place that must have been where they ran off to that night

after attacking White Al and then I wondered what if they know where he was now? And with this in mind, I decided to pull off and follow after them. Their pace was admittedly faster than I would have expected, but that also meant it be easier for me to tell them without being seen. I followed them across the bridge and into the grove, and they kept a steady pace ahead of me,

just enough where I could still see them, but not enough for them to notice as long as they face forward. And they kept walking deeper and deeper, And the further I went along, the more clustered I noticed the trees were, blocking off more and more of the light from bleeding into the grove. It got harder and harder to see both the girls as when was the actual road ahead of me. While I still had decent enough lighting, I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture of the two girls and sent them to Ronnie, telling him I'd found them, and I believed that they were hiding somewhere in the grove. I was shaken up from my phone, however, when I thought I saw a large shadow,

zip across the trees at the right of me. It was fast, and at first I thought it was simply a trick of the light or something. The girls were still directly ahead of me, slowly walking deeper and deeper, until I could just barely even make out their outlines. Well, looking at the clock, I saw in panic that it was already getting on for 5.45. The sun would be going down soon, and, with as dark as it was already, it was going to be a pain in the ass to try and navigate without turning on. my headlights, thus giving myself a way to watch the girls ahead of me.

I decided, having already snapped a photo of them in the grove, to show to the police, to turn around and head back the rest of the way to the campus, when? This time from the left, up in the tree-lines of the large shadow figure again. I watched it bound from one tree to the next, beating down right at me with large, burning, yellow eyes. The thing wasn't just huge either. it was fast. It was keeping up with the car's pace effortlessly. I mean, yeah, I was keeping it to relatively slow to begin with

so I could track the girls. But even still, this thing was easily keeping at least one tree ahead of the car. For a while, I kept my focus fixed on it, continuing further into the grove. When I finally broke away, though, and looked forward again, the girls were gone. In the split second this moment had to set in, the beast from the trees launched itself at the car landing directly onto the hood and damn near flipping the car over the whiplash caused me to end up bouncing my head off of both the driver's side window and the steering wheel

part four immediately my vision was reduced to clouds and stars as i watched the beast and then stepped down off the hood of the car i couldn't see a thing of its face or anything else side of its yellowed eyes. I heard it roar out before sending both of its bolder-sized fists down to smash the hood of the car again. I was once more launched forward, once again slamming my face into the steering wheel. Dazed, I saw the blurred form of the beast then rear back before sending its gigantic fists through the windshield, grabbing me tightly by the throat and hoisting me into the air. I could hear the thing snarly. I was only being held inches of from its face, and I vaguely made out the shape of its head to be that of a dog or a wolf. Oh, Jesus, it's one of them. It's a fucking whirlwolf. The beast then chokeslammed me back down

on the hood of my car, holding me there until my vision clouded over completely. I felt my flailing arms then begin to go limp. Soon I was out like a light. The last thing I could remember was, oh please God, oh please, Ronnie, tell me you've called the cops and showed them that picture. To my absolute shock and amazement, I actually woke up again. I was groggy and my hair throbbed and pounded. By that time the sun was gone. A night had completely taken over, making seeing anything around me almost impossible.

I tried to get up to move, only to find my wrists and ankles have been tied down. What in the hell? "'Oh, he's awake,' I heard a soft voice say, giggling. I looked over to see the leader of the three girls standing over to the right of me. The other two were standing at my feet. "'What the hell?' I groaned, stirring. "'What is this? What the fuck is going on?' One of the other two then squealed and said,

"'I want to do it.' "'Patience,' the main one chided. this is his night remember she looked behind the other two toward the darkness of the rest of the grove there just barely silhouated in the albeit pitiful rays of the moon was the hulking behemoth that had me only a moment to go he stepped forward i could hear its angered growling as it approached instantly i sat about trying to struggle against whatever it was that had been restrained to it was no use though i could feel whatever it was around my wrists and ankles painfully digging into them.

I figured they must have used piano wire or something to tie me down where they had. Let me go. What are you doing? What do you want from me? My mind and body were both locked in a frenzy. The main girl came closer to me, grinning deviously. Oh, he's scared.

One of the other two squealed. With the beast walked closer and closer, I could start to feel its hot snubes. hard breaths from about a foot away. I don't think you'd make a good addition to the pack. The other of the two said condescendingly. Enough, the main girl snapped. He'll make a fine addition.

He just needs to embrace, that's all. Just like any of us. The other two nodded to her in agreement before looking back at me and grinning. Embrace, I exclaimed. Wait, wait, what are you talking about? What are you doing with me? The same as what we do for the world, the main girl said smoothly. What?

The beast was laring over me now. We are setting the world free, setting humanity free. Free from what? From itself. You live in fear and in weakness. We are going to set the world free from this by ridding the world of humanity. raising up a new generation of people's much better, much more elevated beyond human beings. She slowly stepped away and the beast took another step towards me and began to reach down.

I started to struggle, trying to keep from being grabbed. When you embrace the starving beast within you, you'll see them. You'll see what will happen for you like you did for your friend here. My eyes grew at this. Oh, so it's true. It's actually fucking real. Why, Dal is a freaking werewolf? Hey, what are you?

I let out a cry of pain, cutting me off, when one of the beast's claws delivered a stinging slash across my cheek. It felt like I'd just taken a red hot fire poker across my face. Mingo chuckled. Only through pain and insurance will you be able to embrace the beast inside. you. Following this, the next minute and a half was spent in the most agonizing pain I could ever feel in my entire life, the past or in the future. The beast, Wydell, began to mercilessly hack, bite, slash, and just mindlessly tear me open all across my body. My throat burned

from how hard I was screaming. The only things I could hear over them, besides Wydell's growls, were the girls cackling. At one point, to her, the main one say, Can you feel it? Can you feel the beast awakening inside you? Soon I felt my arms and legs start to go completely numb.

My vision blurred once again and soon, dark clouds formed across the outlines of my eyes. Whidell kept hacking and hacking away at me, ripping bigger and bigger gashes open all across my body. I was so weak by that point

then I couldn't scream anymore, only let out a very weak groaning. Faintly I watched as the girl, then approached Wydell from behind, and each drew a knife from their pockets. The main girl held up a hand to Wydell, stopping in mid-swipe. Enough, she said, coming closer to me with her knife. She approached me from ahead, while the other two gathered either side of me. He must be marked for the pack if he's to join us.

Then I watched her and the other two look up at the night sky. The full moon shone down upon the five of us in the grove, managing somehow to bleed all the way through the trees. That's when I watched the three of them begin to transform. They groaned and cried out in pain and adrenaline as I saw their bodies break and reshape themselves until they, themselves, were giant walls like Widal was. Then the four of them were all leering down at me with the yellow eyes.

In unison, the four of them raised up and howled at the moon. I was fading fast. I was already feeling myself slip in and out. consciousness. Then, with two of the she-wolves at my right and left, the main one in the centre, my feet alongside Wydell, I watched them plunge their knives down into both my hands and my chest, and begin dragging the blades into the pattern of the pentagram. Despite being weak and my throat being shot all to hell from Wydell's assault, I couldn't hold back from letting out a shrill cry of pain as they slowly and agonizingly did this. When they finished, they once

again rose up and howled at the moon. By that point, pain, blood loss, and just sheer exhaustion took effect over my body, and I faded out completely. Oh, this time I was sure that would be game over for me. Unfortunately, though, as I'd find out just a few hours later, it wasn't. When I woke up, it was the bright fluorescent lights and the steady sound of an EKG monitor a beeping. To my right was a tray of different surgical implements, some of them encaked in blood, indicating they'd been used while I was out. My head throbbed horribly, and when I went to move, I found my wrists to be strapped to the bed. Before I could panic, wondering what the hell the deal was, the door to the room opened and a nurse walked in. Well, look who's awake, she said

cheerfully, giving me an admittedly cute little smile. How are you feeling, hon? I groaned. I lied. I lied my head's in a freaking blander. She giggled, and I tried to raise up my wrists where she could see, asking. Hey, what's the deal with this? Her smile fell slightly.

Well, she began, noticeably hesitant. See, when we brought you in, you were, well, let's just say you, were restless. She chuckled awkwardly as she said this. Restless, I asked. She looked at me again, now noticeably a bit more anxious. What are you talking about? Restless.

How? Hell, how did I even get here? Her eyes were fixed wide on me. You don't remember anything? I closed my eyes. The last thing I could remember was with the whirlwalls howling at the moon and carving the pentagrams into me. "'Of course I couldn't exactly say that to her, could I?

"'Instead I told her that I just remember going into the grove "'and blacking out after a big-ass dog attacked me. "'A huge stretch of the truth, "'but at least a hell of a lot more believable, right?' "'You don't remember anything after that?' she asked nervously. "'No, I don't... "'What happened?' "'Before she could go any further, the door opened again

"'and two police officers walked in. Could we, um, have a minute? One of them, a tall and extremely stocky one asked. The nurse nodded and got up to leave. He then turned to me and said, Gregory Dyers. I nodded. My name's Officer Cordell, and this is my partner, Officer Tanner.

Officer Tanner nodded to me, looking concentrated. Now, Greg, Officer Cordell went on. I can see you've been through well. quite a night and he whistled take it whatever happened also probably screwed you up in the head as well yeah so i get you probably ain't gonna remember too much so why didn't you tell me tell us what you do remember i was um following these two girls into the grove i stopped realizing how creepy that sounded i looked at the officers but they seemed concentrated on my story They were at a party at my friend's house the other night, and they attacked my friend Waddell Lawrence.

The two exchanged a look between each other before looking back to me. Go on, Officer Cordell prompted. Yeah, I was following them into the woods when this giant animal, I think it was a giant dog or something, came out from the trees and attacked me. So the dog did this, and he pointed. to the pentagrams. No, they did. The girls?

I nodded. How was this before or after the dog attack? Officer Tanner asked. After, look, the dog, or wolf or whatever it was, attacked me. When I woke up, the girls had me tied down and were performing some sort of human sacrifice ritual or something. I swear that's all I remember.

Look, I can prove it. Look at my phone. "'Officer Cordell raised his hands, cutting me off, saying, "'Oh, whoa, calm down. "'Your story's actually checked out so far.' "'I raised my eyebrows. "'Yeah, one of your little pals called in an anonymous tip "'about these three girls you're talking about,

"'saying they were responsible for what happened to the Lawrence boy "'and that you tracked them into the grove. "'Nice one, by the way, but next time, "'maybe you don't try and go and do it alone, eh?' "'Okay, um, but—' "'Then why am I strapped to the bed?' "'We exchanged another glance with Officer Tanner, "'similar to the nervous glances the nurse

"'had been giving me earlier. "'Well, like I said, we took your friend's tip "'and tracked you into the grove. "'When we did, at first, you were out cold. "'Well, I figured we were too late, as cut up as you were. "'I don't know where, though, "'when an ambulance tried moving here, "'you just up and went berserk.'

My eyes widened. What do you mean by berserk? I mean berserk. You started growling, scratching, even bit a chunk out of two of the ambulances. Took me in two other offices just to hold you down long enough for one of them to hit you with some tranquilizer before they brought you here. My heart fell into my stomach. I looked at my palms again, seeing the pentagram staring back up at me.

exact their brutality upon the new pledge until he or she is close to death by which time they will flee leaving the pledge to embrace their own savage nature in order to not only save themselves but also integrate into their pack "'No, no, no, no, no, oh, God, I remembered.' "'Hey, you okay there, son?' Officer Cordell asked. "'I didn't answer. I just kept staring at my palms in horror.' The officers then stood up and turned to leave. Officer Cordell placed a card on the table next to me. "'Well, give us a call. If there's anything else, you—' "'Oh, wait,' I blurted.

"'Girls, what happened with that?' you guys caught him right officer cordell's face and sigh of disappointment gave me my answer they were still out there he told me they were going to continue scouring the grove looking for them but that it wasn't entirely likely that they'd find them there knowing now the place would be under investigation they left after that this was just yesterday i've been here laid up at ellis general since then i've heard anything from ronnie or zan They still don't even know about Wydell. They still think he's either missing or was killed in the attack at St. Leonard's. Well, I'm not sure I could tell them the truth about it either. Like I said, I'm no kind of believer in spiritual transformation or whatever the hell it was called. But I know what I saw in the grove that night. What's worse?

Now I'm one of them. They've taken me in as one of them now, just like they did with Wydell. I'm going to be a goddamn whirl for the rest of my life one night a fucking Halloween party and now I'm afraid of the night God, I don't want it to turn night again

I don't know what to do other than whenever they finally release me from the hospital well I'm just going to get in my car and I'm going to drive as far away as absolutely possible I want to be as far away as possible if I have to live this way I'm just scared though that I won't make it that long It'll be getting dark soon

And I think the moon might still be full tonight Well I hate to say it But if that's the case I hope to God these straps are tight enough I hope to God these straps are tight enough and so once again we reach the end of tonight's podcast my thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to listen now i'd ask one small favor of you wherever you get your podcast wrong please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review as it really helps the podcast that's it for this week but i'll be back again same time same place and i do so hope you'll join me once more Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.